By: Nimra Khan

Hayao Miyazaki, legendary Japanese animator and co-founder of Studio Ghibli, best known for his work on animated classics like Spirited Away and My Neighbour Totoro, received an honorary Oscar at the Governor’s Award Ceremony on Nov 8. All I have to say is it’s about time.

Miyazaki has become known as the “Walt Disney of Japan,” who still adheres to the traditional style of animation where one draws out each frame of the movie by hand. This incredible attention to detail is present across the twenty feature films that Studio Ghibli has created since 1986 and resulted in films that rival many works of art. These films have brought considerable success in Japan, especially with the overseas success of Spirited Away, which is also the highest grossing film in Japan.

This success is furthered by the enthusiasm of John Lasseter (chief creative officer at Disney and Pixar), who has worked to show American audiences the beauty of Miyazaki’s work, resulting in the two animators becoming friends over the years. Unfortunately, despite Miyazaki’s efforts and powerful partnerships, he has only received one Oscar back in 2001 for Spirited Away. While he has since been nominated twice for other works, this is only the second Oscar for the filmmaker, making the award that much more important.

Miyazaki took the stage at the ceremony as Lasseter enthusiastically presented him the award. Given to us through a translator, Miyazaki began his acceptance speech with “my wife tells me that I’m a very lucky man,” as he described how happy he was to have been a part of the last era of animated films created with pen and paper. Regardless of the awkwardness that language barriers provide, Miyazaki possessed the decorum of a man with enough experience to rival most people in the room, as he stepped off the stage with an “arigatou gozaimasu” (thank you).

Unfortunately, this award also follows Miyazaki’s official announcement of retirement, making The Wind Rises his final feature film with Studio Ghibli. Like many people all over the world, Miyazaki’s films inspired me when I was a child, and continue to inspire me into adulthood. I’m heartbroken to see him leave, but I will always be thankful for the respect I gained for animation through his work. This Oscar only scratches the surface in terms of appreciating the amount of joy he has brought to children all around the world, but it is definitely a step in the right direction. Like many fans, I have my fingers crossed hoping that this won’t be the last we see of Miyazaki.

By: Ronald Leung

 

An Academy Award is certainly a fantastic achievement: to be declared the best in the highly-competitive film industry is nothing to scoff at. It’s understandable then, that the acceptance speech that follows can be dramatic, hilarious or overwhelming. Here’s a look at the five most memorable Oscar acceptance speeches.

  1. Adrien Brody – Best Actor, The Pianist (2002)

Brody made history by becoming the youngest actor to win the Academy Award for Best Actor at the age of 29, so you can certainly imagine his excitement. He was so excited that he went ahead and planted an impromptu kiss on announcer Halle Berry that lasted quite a while. Berry, although quite shocked at first, clearly did not have a bad time herself.

  1. Angelina Jolie – Best Supporting Actress, Girl Interrupted (2000)

Before Brangelina, Jolie also showed some mouth-to-mouth at the Academy Awards by kissing her brother. She added how she was “in love with” him in her acceptance speech. It certainly gave the audience a little pause.

  1.  Joe Pesci – Best Supporting Actor, Goodfellas (1991)

Usually the emotion of winning an Oscar translates to a length acceptance speech, but not for Pesci. He takes the cake for possibly having the shortest speech in Academy Awards History: “It was my privilege: thank you.”

  1. Greer Garson – Best Actress, Mrs. Miniver (1942)

Garson was so surprised at winning that she hadn’t prepared anything to say – resulting in a rambling 7-minute speech. The Academy then imposed a 45 second time limit for all future speeches.

  1. Marlon Brando – Best Actor, The Godfather (1973)

Brando famously snubbed the Academy by sending Native American activist Sacheen Littlefeather to refuse his Oscar. He wanted to protest against the stereotypical portrayal of the Native Americans, and also their unfair treatment at the hands of the US Government.

The Artist
Starring: Jean Dejuardin
Directed by: Michael Hazanivicus

3 1/2 out of 5 stars

Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor

On the surface, The Artist is a familiar story. Love, loss, redemption – you get the idea. Its trait of distinction, mind you, is that it dares with two cinematic no-no’s in the face of anxious modernity: silence, and black and white.

This year’s Best Picture winner is a nostalgic ode to Hollywood’s dawn, where acting came from the body and the screen gushed with monochromatic silver and shade.

No film comes easy, and it is this painstakingly constructed risk that gives The Artist its elegance and purpose.

Unusually, the inter-titles (vital of the pre-sound era it mimics) are scarce, leaving the film’s director to conduct solely between musical cues and two sparkling performances.

Hollywood, 1927. Tinseltown’s golden boy, George Valentin (Jean Dejuardin, in his Oscar-winning role) is impervious to failure. Adored by the masses, his swashbuckling stature comes as no fashionable fluke – he dances, he emotes and he seduces, too.

Paired with a capering canine, both man and dog conquer the industry, appeasing public appearances with comedic jest while subsequently obstructing their co-star’s kudos.

Nevertheless, his star burns bright. Looking closely, one will see that Jean Dujardin’s face is etched with ‘classic’ features – undoubtedly the film’s secret weapon.

A finely drawn mustache akin to one Douglas Fairbanks (on which the portrayal is loosely based), a dapper smile and certain machismo to boot, the film absorbs his radiance and projects it to screen, making the silent, black and white film work for a 2012 world.

One day, amidst the rallying onlookers of his latest première, a spontaneous ‘meet cute’ ensues. Surrounded by  the surging press and crackling cameras, fate places casual fan Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo) alongside George, who instantaneously ceases the magic moment to prop his swaggering ego.

Sensation transpires as the tabloids scream, ‘Who is George’s new girl?!’ Sensing a good thing, he and producer Al Zimmer (John Goodman) agree to include Peppy in their next picture.

Attraction blossoms, and the married Valentin soon adopts the role of mentor to the rising starlet, taking her under his wing.

Inevitably, as The Artist reaches 1929, the advent of ‘talkies’ erupt on Hollywood’s lawn, in turn threatening Valentin’s career while propelling Peppy’s.

Persuasion does little to convince him that sound is the future. Self-absorption finds George foolishly financing a silent ‘last hurrah’ as director and star, unknowingly setting himself up for an inescapable fall from fortune and fame, ultimately alienated by his own talkie-phobia.

The film’s look is tightly gelled and charming – much like George’s debonair dress, or its deco decor.

No doubt The Artist is a beautiful looking picture. Trudging deeper, it is also cleverly crafted, sonically challenging our perceptions when real sounds are used for dramatic effect.

Above all else, The Artist is a silent movie. Commend director Michael Hazanivicius for not having compromised, where the word ‘homage’ could have easily come ascribed.

Instead, it is an engaging love triangle between Hollywood and two people who meet within its pivotal years, one representing the old guard (Barrymore, Fairbanks, etc.), the other the future of cinema (Hepburn, Davis).

I liked The Artist because it worked. Indeed it delivers in the face of detractors, with the absence of colour and sound as endearing as the three words that started it all: lights, camera, action!


The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
Directed by: David Fincher
Starring: Daniel Craig, Rooney Mara

4 out of 5 stars

Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor

A little more than a year after gaining critical acclaim for The Social Network, David Fincher is at it again, adapting another well-loved story for the big screen.

In The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Fincher seems to have extended stylistic leftovers from his previous outing and supplanted them into his newest effort with much aplomb.

Keep in mind, this is a remake – disaster could have prevailed. Luckily, the modern day auteur (seemingly unaffected by Hollywood execs) is incapable of making a bad film.

Even his worst film, Alien³, is actually so well crafted and unique in vision, that for all its problems, it manages to avoid pitfalls of a picture obviously sabotaged by producers.

On the basis of my viewing experience, the Americanized version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is a stark and grittier product than its Swedish counterpart. That’s right, it’s a superior remake.

Both director, and writer (Steven Zaillian) do an intelligent job of keeping, adapting and removing various parts of the novel to benefit the film’s flow. The dialogue is natural and terse, allowing characters to consciously step on each other’s lines to add a sense of authenticity.

One of Fincher’s most undervalued talents is his attention to character nuance – avoiding clichés of stilted performances, which in essence builds the unique universes he’s so revered for.

The film follows journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig) and his experiences in Sweeden during the investigation of a 40-year-old murder.  Hired by the wealthy Vanger family to uncover clues to the murder, Blomkvist ends up using the assistance of an accomplished but socially awkward investigator Salander (a equally sultry and scary performance by Rooney Mara).

The bulk of the two and a half hour film consists of observing Blomkvist and Salander as they unravel the lurid mystery from the isolated Wanger Island.

By building both characters up front, the audience is compelled and completely indebted to the investigation. Fincher uses his great eye for imagery and pacing to really sell the picture – particularly in scenes that could have fallen to contrivance, or dullness.

For instance, one set piece shows the two characters in separate locations compiling research and fitting final clues together. About ten minutes into this sequence it dawned that there had been almost no meaningful dialogue. Instead, the entirety of its structure was just a series of pictures, computer screens, printed words and reaction shots. It was also one of the most intense and suspenseful sequences of any film from 2011. Saying it’s impressive would be an understatement. This is Fincher working on all cylinders.

Mara is a revelation as Lisbeth Salander.  Both physically and emotionally, she goes all-in with her portrayal. From the multiple piercings to the detailed tattoos and punk aesthetic, it’s hard to believe that it's the same sweet girl who opened The Social Network as Mark Zuckerberg’s girlfriend.

One cannot discount Craig’s performance either – a fine partner to Mara’s bold interpretation. In addition to the two stellar lead performances, Fincher gets great acting out of Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgard and Joley Richardson.

Fincher does not hold back in portraying adult material here. From two horrific rapes scenes to the depths of torture and mutilation, the film confronts uncomfortable visuals in bleak whites and murky shadows.  These scenes are necessary, though, as the audience ends up feeling empathy for the characters, which, in turn, helps ramp up tension.

Overall, this is a masterfully crafted ‘action’ film – one that makes you think as you recoil or guffaw at its sinister subject matter, or streaks of black humour imbued throughout. Fincher, again, has proven himself a master, elevating his clout amongst Hollywood’s most intriguing talents. You can call it a remake, but I prefer to think of it as a superb continuation of his style and mood so effectively refined in 2010’s The Social Network. Heck, he even got Trent Reznor to come back and do the score.

The Descendants
Starring: George Clooney
Directed by: Alexander Payne

2 out of 5 stars

Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor

From beginning to end, everything that happens in The Descendants feels forced.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: the unspoken danger of a film as well-reviewed as Alexander Payne’s newest is that it can rarely live up to its hype.

An Oscar frontrunner, the familial dramedy imposed here is just as manipulative as it is manufactured, pulling at our heartstrings with forceful tugs and false tears.

The story follows Honolulu lawyer Matt King (George Clooney), the prosperous offspring of a Hawaiian family who is dealt a hand of personal blows.

“Paradise can go fuck itself,” he aptly bemoans in voiceover.

Turns out that a waterskiing mishap has landed Matt’s wife, Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie), in a coma. His two daughters, the precious tween Scottie (Amara Miller) and hard-living teen Alexandra (Shailene Woodley), are beyond his authority, with Alexandra in possession of potentially devastating news. “Dad, Mom was cheating on you!” she vents in a heated exchange, conveniently setting the film, and Clooney, on a mission to discover the identity of his wife’s lover.

The awkward script, penned by four co-writers (which may account for the film’s uneven tone), manages to be simultaneously superficial, simple, mawkish and cliché.

It’s a shame, and a shock, for a man like Payne – so talented, so biting in his previous Election and About Schmidt from years past – that he would wait seven to fashion such a banal dud.

Try as it might, the film’s attempt at humour is largely entrusted to dad jokes, or cheap laughs, like Alexandra’s stoner boyfriend Sid (Nick Krause), a character of great irritation and inexplicability.

Truth be told, his presence and stilted delivery nearly ruins every scene he’s in, making portions of the film’s scenic beauty undercut by Payne’s unwillingness to let up on Sid’s idiotic quips. No family in their right mind would allow a doofus like him to tag along when dealing with personal betrayal. It’s simply poor writing.

Aside from that agony, the film finds Matt unfairly  belittled by his surly, hard-nosed father-in-law (Robert Forster), a man who blames him for Elizabeth’s accident.

Adding to Matt’s responsibilities is the decision (as head of the King family trust) to sell or bequest a large plane of unspoiled Hawaiian property, inherited from ancestors.

The two narrative strands cross when Matt discovers that his wife’s lover (Matthew Lillard), a yuppie realtor, is miraculously vacationing with his wife (Judy Greer) and kids adjacent to the rendezvous where Matt is meeting with family, most memorably his breezy cousin (Beau Bridges), to finalize their soon-to-be fortunes. Coincidence or contrivance?

Despite the talented cast put together by Payne, The Descendants boils down to mediocrity of the highest order. My suspicion is that the film hit me wrong, but, perhaps, will hit some just right. Look no further than its seemingly universal acclaim.

I have liked other Payne movies about middle-aged men on journeys of self-discovery, but I couldn’t buy the convenient storytelling and erratic tone that litter this one.

Clooney, always the affable star, gives the film’s best performance, establishing a soft-spoken and refreshingly weary look, decked out in high-waisted slacks and floral-printed shirts.

In terms of real acting, however, it’s nothing new for the man, who relies on his expressive eyes and constantly pursed mouth, so common in better films like Up In The Air and The American.

Having seen it at TIFF in September, where it premiered to upbeat enthusiasm, The Descendants has gone on to reap praise for its enlightened sensitivity.

Best Picture predictions abound; this film, not unlike Slumdog Millionaire, encourages audiences and studios to feel good about themselves.

Not me. Save for Clooney’s solos with his comatose wife, the film’s pathos left me cold and certain. In five years, The Descendants will be forgotten.


 

 

 

Take Shelter
Directed by: Jeff Nichols
Starring: Michael Shannon, Jessica Chastain

4 out of 5 stars

Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor

There can be something positively terrifying about a performance that makes you tense. What Michael Shannon miraculously achieves in Take Shelter goes beyond that, and into embodiment.

With courage, talent and vulnerability, he takes the viewer into the mind of an early-onset schizophrenic, revealing a man torn between apocalyptic premonitions and his relationships with family and friends.

The movie opens on Curtis (Shannon), a construction worker with growing concerns about the clouds and greasy rain that persistently loom over his land. Inside his household we enter domestic normality, where his loving wife, Samantha (Jessica Chastain), attentively upholds family breakfasts and points of discussion. Together they raise their deaf preschooler in what feels like parental conviction and not plot contrivance.

Early in Take Shelter, we become familiar with Curtis’ work routine, as well as his loyal co-worker, Dewart (Sean Whigham). Similarly, Samantha’s outside life is explored, as she divides her time between entrepreneurial interests and her daughter’s sign language classes.

The film shifts though, and soon Curtis begins suffering from night terrors that consume his consciousness. The dreams retain similar motifs of unruly storms that turn familiar faces into murderous souls. In one instance, a vicious nightmare involving the beloved family dog leaves Curtis with a mysteriously sore arm and distrust towards the canine.

When his visions cease to curtail and begin to extend into real life delusions, the separation between prophecy and lunacy symbolically merge with the construction of a backyard storm shelter.

The film is so delicate, so entrenched in Curtis’ intensity that you hold your breath as his social sphere starts breaking away. Events of grave consequence take effect and soon the heart of the film splits into two unsettling realisms: the whispering gossip of his sanity, and the confidence of his own doom’s day suspicions.

Michael Shannon inhabits his extraordinary performance with a scary charisma that cannot be described, but observed. He knows he has a problem. He knows he needs help. When the story reveals a family history of mental illness, he seeks counseling. Hopelessly, the sessions amount to no more than empty compassion and textbook rhetoric, leaving Curtis, and us, in a state of despondency.

The movie excels through its braveness, which requires our empathy as we interpret the decisions made. Why does Curtis insist on building something so absurd at the risk of losing everything? How the film balances dream logic with the disintegration of relationships, marriage and finances is one of its great strengths.

It is precisely the brand of drama that defines Take Shelter, investing heavily in emotional paranoia, as well as post- 9/11 angst and uncertainty.

For a picture of such power, it is refreshing to see the restraint that director Jeff Nichols brings to the narrative. Wisely, he avoids religious aspects of Curtis’ apocalypse and keeps it very close to life, making forces of nature vengeful and destructive right until the very end.

Many films have addressed the plight of mental health, but few rarely seem to live them out. This one does it with a quiet fearlessness that has you thinking days afterwards.

 

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