Damien Chazelle is a revolutionary traditionalist. If he helms a movie chronicling the heroic travails of a drummer, he’ll grab you by your ungodly cuffs and make you feel the drummer’s rage and insanity until you start to sweat and swear quietly to yourself, unable to quite comprehend the magnificent crescendo of pure cinematic energy emanating from the screen. If he makes a bittersweet jazz-themed romance musical about the Herculean gap between dreams and reality, he will leave you unbearably dizzy with melancholy by the film’s end, shaken and wounded and gratified and intoxicated.
Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone pick up on the film’s exuberant flow and take it in stride. Their chemistry makes the film; there is some Annie Hall in there, some Casablanca, but the film, like its stars, is driven forward with unbridled invention. The seamlessly flowing colors of clothes and aquamarine skylines and the neon-lit streets of L.A. mix together so wholesomely well, you’d think this guy’s been making movies for an entire century now. Because how else does a film like this even exist?
The film belongs to its cast and its director, but it belongs just as much to Tom Cross, whose editing prowess elevates the film’s pathos into some obscure, otherworldly feeling; it belongs to Justin Hurwitz, whose original score is the movie’s thrillingly rich, complex heartbeat; and it belongs to Linus Sandgren who shoots this odyssey in glorious widescreen Cinemascope at 24-paintings-per-second. All my respect and love to the lighting department, production design and make-up crew. La La Land looks and sounds and feels and breathes like a true musical: a relentlessly poignant film that has no other agenda for existing before you except to ask that you give a little more love.
To the people who, like me, sit and stand and walk and live in the sidelines of their lives transfixed by the endless possibilities of how it could all turn out: this movie is for us. Mia and Sebastian are our angels.
We are extremely lucky to be living in a golden age of blockbuster animated cinema: a time where our mainstream colorful biggies wrestle not with mere physical challenges, but with intensely self-aware psychological and spiritual ones.
Let me just start off by saying this: Kung Fu Panda 3 is the best of the trilogy. It has everything we already expect: kickass, unstoppable A-grade humor, absolutely gorgeous 3D animation, amazeballs action sequences and a meaningful, heartwarming story.
But this one stands out on its spiritual intensity alone; while the first two had some beautiful things to say about identity and self-awareness, this one is a soulful haiku on finding one’s place in the universe, and being okay with whatever you unearth. There is endless wisdom here, and proof that a great film is never just a film.
Based on the concept of ‘chi’ that signifies the energy present in all living things, the movie’s journey is one of achieving serenity and oneness with all of creation. The plot of this film is home to ancient Chinese philosophy, the simple concept that having two dads is the same as having a dad and a mom, solving earthly confusion and hurt through laughter and compassion, healing through growth – the list goes on and on.
I wish there was more I could say about how peacefully charming this movie is, but I’d be wasting your time. In times like these, where the world is perpetually at war with itself, a kid raised on these steady offerings from Disney-Pixar and Dreamworks will grow up to be a citizen of the world, and learn, in due time, that it is never too late to do the right thing. With works of art like these, we’re teaching them the only way to save our world.
Still from Wreck-It Ralph (2012).
An extraordinary film no matter how you look at it: retrograde coolness, morally complex, explosively imaginative, emotionally rich story of a videogame underdog standing up to a tyrant.
And that last scene, my lord. The kind of film you wish to watch with your kids someday.
Quote from Waking Life (2001).
Richard Linklater is a gift from the universe to mankind. There has to be some sort of assertive cosmic ballet going on just beyond our senses to make a soul as inconceivably nourished with the power of learning and bestowed with the superpower of rendering the unspeakable into verbal actuality with the help of dialogue in film.
Waking Life is many things: a dream masquerading as cinema, cinema masquerading as a dream, a call for taking up arms against the controlled regiments of sane consciousness, a tale of absurdist philosophy. Every moment filters into the next without explanation or effort. Just like life.
Still from Short Term 12 (2013).
Here is the definitive Brie Larson performance that figuratively killed me a little when I first watched it. Emotionally, Short Term 12 is a knockout.
A soul-stirring, extraordinarily humane, inspiring film.