I’ll drop everything to go and see an animated feature, especially if it’s in three entire dimensions AND there is a first-person point of view rollercoaster scene in the ad. So there were preview screenings on during the weekend, and I was there, frantically booking online, assuming the movie would be sold out (in reality, there were only about thirty people in the gigantic cinema, which just meant there were less people to make fun of me when I started squeaking uncontrollably during said rollercoaster scene and flapped my arms about.)
The movie opens with the most unexpected and daring theft known to man—someone has stolen the Great Pyramid of Giza and replaced it with an inflatable replica. Watching this on the news is Gru (Steve Carrell), our villain (er, I mean hero) and someone who is incredibly jealous of this large-scale bit of stealing. Gru gathers his minions, a stack of yellow, pint-sized, unintelligible beings kitted out in permanent goggles and blue overalls, and declares that they will steal something even bigger and more amazing than some measly pyramid. When his plan doesn’t exactly work out—thanks to new villain on the block, Vector (Jason Segel)—the only way to remedy the situation involves Gru adopting three little orphan girls who sell irresistible cookies.
Gru’s lack of parenting ability means that Margo, Edith and Agnes are not welcomed with open arms in his house, but instead served with pet bowls of lollies and water, offered some newspaper for wee-wee and poop, and told not to touch anything. Of course, they’re precocious and adorable, so they ignore his wishes, get in his way, smash up his experiments, befriend all the minions, and, unsurprisingly, steal Gru’s heart.
Now, after some consideration, I’ve realised that I should be rating movies. Not by stars, because reviews are opinions and stars try to make it an exact science, but, stealing from school reports, these three options: Below Expectations, Meets Expectations, Exceeds Expectations. Because the reason I’ll pan a critically acclaimed work of art but then act like The A-Team is a masterpiece of modern cinema is because I have certain expectations for what I’m going to see, and that heavily influences my opinion. And Despicable Me did an easy job of getting my first rating: Meets Expectations. Because it’s fun, and funny, and was utterly predictable but that’s okay, because it’s a kid’s movie, and you don’t want the surprise twist to have everyone living unhappily ever after or maimed in the over-the-top explosions, scarring your small child (or inner child) for life. Despicable Me is very much aimed at children, but still entertaining for adults. Some of the jokes almost made me pee my pants, and the 3D was excellent, and any scenes involving too much parent-related love had me shuffling through my handbag for tissues because I’m a big sook. It was good, you should see it.
But it didn’t exceed my expectations. The leap from Gru intent on abandoning the girls at a theme park to reading them bedtime stories and ignoring his devious plans to play with them was basically played out in a couple of minutes of montage that didn’t really explain why someone who had previously popped a kid’s balloon for the lulz was suddenly up for Father of the Year. I knew it was going to happen, that Gru would adore the children, but I couldn’t follow his train of thought. Gru had some flashbacks to his own childhood, with his cold mother (Julie Andrews) breaking his heart consistently; he was also heavily influenced by father-figure/elderly batty scientist Dr Nefario (Russell Brand), who did not like the disruption the children caused and campaigned for them to go. These did add some depth to Gru’s emotions towards family, but still, not enough. It also consistently frustrates me that big-name celebrities continue to be cast for voice work in movies when a) kids don’t give a toss about them most of the time—how many five-year-olds could point out Russell Brand in a line-up?—and b) they’re not actually voice actors. Steve Carell wasn’t completely terrible as Russian-accented Gru, but instead of having him trying so hard to not be Ah-merican that he sounded like he was literally chewing on the words sometimes, why didn’t they, I don’t know, hire a) an actor who specialises in accents or b) an actual Russian actor, god forbid. Russell Brand was fine, though not much of a stretch, as a British scientist, and serial nudist Jason Segel was also passable yet bland as pyjama-wearing villain Vector. And while it was pretty funny, is it entirely necessary to include a dance scene at the end of every animated movie just to watch all the characters dance in an amusing fashion? It’s been done and I am clearly an old fuddy-duddy who is sick of it.
But it was all a good laugh, with some fantastic scenes (Agnes winning a unicorn and screaming, “IT’S SO FLUFFY!” will make you fall off your chair, Gru laboriously reading the book “Sleepy Kittens” is wonderful, and the minions are always a hoot) and a lovely happy realistic moral which is something like “family should come before destroying the world”.
In summary: Meets Expectations
(Please note I had trouble finding an accurate movie poster for this review—it’s actually out September 9 here in Australia. And also, there’s nothing at the end of the credits, though as the cinema kindly didn’t turn on the house lights I did discover it gets very dark in a theatre once the movie has ended and there’s no lights to guide you down the stairs.)
Since telling people I have seen the new Jean-Pierre Jeunet film Micmacs, a strange species of human have emerged; those who did not like Amelie. This was on par with friends telling me they have wings tucked under their shirts: I simply never considered the possibility. And honestly, if you didn’t like Amelie (insert disbelieving sigh here), then you probably won’t dig Micmacs.
Jeunet’s worlds are a quaint, endearing niche of France where the humour is bawdy, the violence painless, and revenge not swift but definitely sweet. Micmacs tells the story of Bazil (Dany Boon), who at his videostore workplace one day becomes the unfortunate recipient of a stray bullet to the head. Instead of killing him, it just leaves him with a scar and an occasional need to concentrate to slow his heart rate. Alas, his stay in hospital has left him with his position replaced and with his flat rented out, so now, homeless and unemployed, he takes up a series of amusing busking jobs (standing on the other side of a pole where a beautiful woman is singing and miming to her is a marvellously fun turn.) Eventually, he is discovered by Placard, a kindly man who knows where someone with Bazil’s level of ingenuity may come in handy.
Bazil is led to a world located beyond a tunnel of garbage, where a group of people has come together to subsist on the items people throw away. It’s a beautiful world of gadgets and puppets, little engineered displays of robotics done by resident inventor Petit Pierre. An enthralling cast of characters follows, including the Amelie-meek Calculette nearby to supply measurements and all similar knowledge off the top of her head, and the tense and sensitive La Môme Caoutchouc, a contortionist who likes to surprise people by hiding in fridge shelves. With his new friends, Bazil decides to do something about the weapons manufacturers who not only supplied the bullet that deprived him of his original existence, but the land mine that killed his father many years before.
Much is left unsaid in Micmacs; brute emotion and long backstories are eschewed for what is happening now. A man of few words anyway, once entrenched in his new happy world Bazil never reflects sadly upon his lost past. Short, amusing flashbacks are occasionally given for a couple of other characters, but mostly Micmacs is the tale of fun and complicated revenge that Bazil and co launch upon the manufacturers. It’s as cartoonish and entertaining as you could hope, with them spying on the offending men—Nicolas Thibault de Fenouillet and François Marconi—by pretending to be window-washers or hiding in boxes. There’s a bit of sex, with randy characters going at it in fully-clothed, Carry-On-style shrieking delight. Somehow, it tackles the serious issue of taking down people indulging in the misery of others with a light touch; possibly because it’s something many people desire but know is an unrealistic achievement. The final outcome is satisfying, moreso because of the genuine hints of danger throughout the film.
Adding to the fun is self-referential hints, as the characters pass billboards for the movie Micmacs with the scene advertised being the very one you are watching. Jeunet is a fan of casting many of his actors from his previous movies, but all are great; Dany Boon, with his 4/4 name, starts almost bland as he wanders blankly through a post-disability world and then becomes completely endearing; old Jeunet hat Dominique Pinon is his usual volatile self, determined to prove he won a Guinness World Record and then beat it; Julie Ferrier as contortionist and potential tetchy love interest La Môme Caoutchouc is something to behold (and be jealous of); Yolande Moreau appears yet again in a motherly role as Tambouille, there to cook dinner and give anyone what-for if they need it.
As sometimes happens when I get caught up in the movie and miss a sentence of subtitles, I was occasionally confused about what was happening. With such an agreeable bunch of friends, there wasn’t always an exposition-filled discussion about what was happening in the film. No matter; it’s enough to just get swept away. Micmacs is a small delight, something not eternally memorable but impossible not to like. Unless you didn’t like Amelie. Pffft. You’re just saying that, right?
For Christmas this year we had the unexpectedly generous gift of a subscription to the Melbourne Theatre Company. They have a lower-priced version for the under 30 market, which we luckily are part of for an entire year more after this one. We’ve been to eight plays so far this year, which are convincing trying their best to tempt us into forking out the extortionist rates they make you pay once you hit your fourth decade. (I thought that, like car insurance, things got cheaper as you got older, not triple in price. No fair.)
In a French park, two boys have an argument. The result: one of them gets thwacked in the face with a stick and loses two of his teeth. The boys’ parents hold a meeting to discuss how to deal with the situation, imagining themselves as rational people who can deal with the silliness of children and work out a solution. They can’t, of course, because they’re human and humans as a species aren’t well known for their ability to fix problems with words. The whole event becomes a battleground between the couples and those within each relationship, and by the end even the painstakingly organised lounge room the conversation is held in bears the brunt of the event.
Hugo Weaving and his eyebrows starred as Alain, a lawyer whose most important announcements are usually interrupted by the ring of his mobile phone. As with other plays that star People What Are Famous For Being In Movies, the entire theatre went a bit silly every time he made a joke. I couldn’t really fault the cast—especially Alain’s wife Annette, played by Natasha Herbert, whose scene of inelegant illness was utterly convincing and wholly amusing in an immature kind of way. Pamela Rabe and Geoff Morrell round out the cast as Veronique, the injured child’s slightly batshit mother, and her more realistic husband Michel.
This play, translated from Yasmina Reza’s original, has the benefit of both being short—an hour and a half, no intermission—and the funniest play I’ve seen all year. Physical comedy and witticisms abound and I found myself quoting things like “pears!” in a posh (and awful) accent on the car trip home. It handled serious issues with occasionally too light a touch, and despite my enjoyment I could never entirely believe that the more flamboyant reactions the characters were having were realistic. However, until I am also an overprotective and French parent I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t also have a knock-down drag-out fight with my partner while guests were over. Perhaps it’s in the parenting manuals.
As with any art form that discusses classism, even only slightly, I heartily approve of this and advise you to go see it. Psst, there’s eight-dollar parking just down the other end of the road from the Arts Centre, in a warehouse. And grab some hot chips from Lord of the Fries, too, and eat them by the river. Otherwise, don’t bother going. Seriously.
I’ll drop everything to go and see an animated feature, especially if it’s in three entire dimensions AND there is a first-person point of view rollercoaster scene in the ad. So there were preview screenings on during the weekend, and I was there, frantically booking online, assuming the movie would be sold out (in reality, there were only about thirty people in the gigantic cinema, which just meant there were less people to make fun of me when I started squeaking uncontrollably during said rollercoaster scene and flapped my arms about.)
