Category: Favorite Films

In this series of Favorite Films, we’ll feature the genre that drove many of us to do what we do: Animation.

There are countless films that feature the use of animation, from live action to fully-animated cartoon features, including those that have lost their grasp in our fast-growing technological society, namely Hand-Drawn (2D) animation and Stop-Motion (sometimes referred to as claymation). Despite the host of good CG films that have been made in the past couple of decades I opted for this select group of traditionally crafted films because of their extraordinary quality and their impact on me personally. You may feel differently. That said, I hope that you’ll revisit these films (assuming you’ve watched them all before) and see them as the incredible wonders that they are.

Pinnochio (directed by Ham Luske & Ben Sharpsteen)

According to Animation critic and historian, Charles Soloman, “Pinocchio remains the most perfect animated feature Walt Disney produced.” It’s hard for me to disagree. Despite its age, having been made in 1940 just before the advent of WWII, it still holds strong in almost every category; story, layout, color, and, of course, character animation which featured the likes of pioneers Freddie Moore and Bill Tytla whom essentially established the style and character appeal that would come to define Disney animation. Although it’s not Disney’s first film to launch cartoon features seriously — that honor belongs to Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs — it was really the first animated film to tell a truly human story, one that honors the power of myth, features the strength of human courage, and displays the importance of living true and good. Unlike the films of today, which primarily feature characters who don’t fit in or seek individual greatness, themes very typical of modern society that glorifies a more selfish, ego-centric, achievement is everything mentality. Instead, Pinnochio is a story of faith, honesty, love and redemption. Here, we learn that a lifetime of service symbolized by the kindness and generosity of the elderly Gepetto (who has devoted his entire existence to making charming toys for children), is rewarded with the gift of a puppet son. But just because he deserves a boy of his own doesn’t mean the boy himself deserves this gift of love and the blessing of life.

Despite being guided by an official conscience (in the being of Jiminy Cricket) we see how quickly Pinnochio fails to uphold his end of the deal. We’re all familiar with temptation, only in greater variation and abundance today than ever before. Yet we completely understand the young puppet’s trials in his journey. First, he’s lured into the life of fame and glory by the clever fox and then, despite being exploited by the flamboyant yet frightening Stromboli, Pinnochio still refuses to learn his lesson on living up to higher principles. He lies, and then after his release, is easily coerced back towards the easy life of drinking, smoking and gambling before both he and his newfound friend Lampwick get shipped off as donkeys for slavery and slaughter. It’s only in the last act that our protagonist redeems himself, in his search for what’s most important — his father who loves him. Braving the dangerous ocean and the whale Monstro, Pinnochio sacrifices all, not for himself, but for another human being. Can there be a better, and more meaningful message for young people today than that?

My Neighbor Totoro (directed by Hayao Miyazaki)

Hayao Miyazaki has made many fabulous films, but none have captured the wonder, magic and innocence of being a child like his perrenial classic, My Neighbor Totoro. The title character himself has become the iconic symbol of the Studio Ghibli since its inception. A story that seems almost “plotless,” it’s a tale that simply details a few summer days in the lives of two young children who reside alone with their father while their mother is away at the hospital.  No reasons or explanation of her stay are given, nor are they necessary. There are no good guys versus bad guys, no chase sequences or fight scenes or any outstanding obstacles that need to be overcome. Such scenarios are not the focus here, but rather the everso peculiar, minute and attentive moments that intrigue the minds of children. In the grounds of their charming country home, Satsuke and Mei discover magical creatures abound, from the fuzzy black dust critters — “Makkuro Kurosuke” which literally translate into “Pitch-black Blackies” — to the marvelously strange yet cute bunny-like character Totoro and his furry companions. Here are the kinds of experiences that are being taken away from children today; the experience of risk and discovery, of joy and wonderment. The blend of reality into imagination is seamless, much like all the best experiences of childhood. And like the best of all modern art, it’s a film that can’t really be explained but one that grabs hold of you and pulls you into its imaginative world.

And did you know that director Miyazaki actually designed and hand-animated much of the film himself?  Can you imagine, especially in our age of corporate hierarchy, mass production and outscourcing of labour, such devotion? All around, the film is gorgeous to look at. Each background of My Neighbor Totoro is meticulously painted in luminous watercolor — the purity and translucency of the medium required to capture the marvelous mix of nature and Japanese architecture. In the end, we have a perfect piece of art, a film about experience, friendship and exploration.  A world created that we want to become real, a place where we want to hang out and stay, perhaps forever.  I still remember the first time I saw that crazy “Cat bus,” I said to myself “I want one” — it didn’t matter that I was already a full-fledged adult male. Such is the magic and charm of this incredibly beautiful film.

Nightmare Before Christmas (directed by Henry Selick)

Tim Burton made three absolutely brilliant and imaginative movies: Edward Scissorhands, Beetlejuice and his stop-motion masterpiece, Nightmare Before Christmas (which was actually directed by Henry Selick). Unbelievably strange yet intriguing, the underground world of Halloween characters taking over the Christmas holidays is not only original in its conception, but brilliant in its execution.  The story begins with Jack Skellington, the lonely prince of Halloween, in a state of boredom and depression. Despite his stange looks and the bizarre world in which he inhabits, we somehow can relate to him. Despite all his comforts and position of authority, Jack has simply found that life has become all too repetitive and predictable. No challenges, no discoveries. No meaning. Then suddenly, during a detour into the alter-worlds of holiday seasons, he comes upon the idea of hijaking Christmas Day itself, including an elaborate plan to kidnap Santa Claus. Unaware of the damage his actions cause, Jack find himself in greater trouble than he can possibly imagine, as he proves to be a disasterous Santa Claus substitute. All goes to hell, literally, as his selfish adventure disrupts the entire order of the holiday universe.

With stunny creativity and design, Nightmare Before Christmas is filled with memorable characters and character set pieces. From the utterly awesome design of the two-faced Mayor, to those of the wonderfully freakish Dr. Finklestein and Oogie Boogie, Burton’s imagination factory is on full display here. When I was visiting the Los Angeles County Museum of Modern Art featuring a special touring collection of artworks created from all of Tim Burton’s films, the most delicious pieces were the drawings, sculptures and setpieces from this particular film. And to boot, the movie’s got a great plot, an endearing hero and a marvelous score composed by Danny Elfman (who also provided the voice for Jack Skellington). All of it’s weird, a little scary and a helluva lot of fun.

Akira (directed by Katsuhiro Otomo)

There are few films that are as explosively dynamic as Katsuhiro Otomo’s 1988 cyberpunk anime classic Akira, based on the writer-director’s own legendary Manga comic series. With a theme that is debated to this very day, it’s a film that’s mandatory viewing when being introduced to Japanese animation. Set in the post-apocalyptic city of Neo-Tokyo, its story features a cast of youths, headed by Kaneda, the leader of a local biker gang whose childhood friend, Tetsuo gets hospitalized after a motorcycle collision. In a dynamic turn of events, Tetsuo becomes infected with super-kinetic abilities, powers he’s inherited from the other victim of the vehicular accident, a psychic esper named Takashi. Not used to his new powers, Tetsuo is overwelmed with headaches and allusions, leading him towards a rage of mass destruction, the kind of destruction that could destroy everything as foreseen by Takashi. In a bid to stop Tetsuo, the gang’s leader Kaneda is forced to battle his friend to prevent absolute destruction of Neo Tokyo, a world only recently rebuilt after a previous disasterous event caused by another esper from before their time, a character named Akira.

The film’s themes and prophecies are both complex, convoluted and controversial. Mixing the themes  of lost youth with the visions of a cyber-tech world, including telekinesis and singularity (a topic much discussed in today’s fast approaching world of AI and Robotics), Akira is a daring film that would invite endless post-viewership conversation. Accompanied by a kinetic techno score by Shōji Yamashiro and featuring breath-taking hand-drawn animation including some of the best VFX animation ever seen, it’s a film that explodes violently on screen while taking its audience with it. The energy and emotions are so intense, it’s an experience unlike any other film, whether animated or live action. It’s a true science fiction masterpiece.

Beauty and the Beast (directed by Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale)

In the post “Walt” era, it can be said that Disney studios produced several really successful films, notably The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, and The Lion King, all of which helped revive the animation industry after decades of forgetful stewardship. But it’s the studio’s 1991 hit Beauty and the Beast that signaled a serious turn in the studio’s (and the industry’s) fortunes in the 1990’s. A “rough” work-in-progress reel was debuted at the Film Society of Lincoln Center in front of hoard of film critics  who got to witness, for the first time, the magic of behind the scenes storyboards, pencil tests and colored backgrounds, and all in the form of a full feature-length film. It opened the eyes of an entire new audience to the magic of hand-drawn animation. With a great story and a marvelous set of characters from the Beast, to Mrs. Potts and Gaston, the film delivered the kind of imagination unseen in decades. The result was, for the first time ever, an animated feature film was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar — which is much different from the current format that automatically gives an Academy Award to a feature film for the year under its own category. Back then, animated films were grouped together with other films, and just like any other feature had to compete against a mulititude of live action movies. Furthermore, only five films were selected for Best Picture nominations, rather than ten today. The achievement was both offensive to some and fantastic in the eyes of others.

Based on a classic story, Disney’s Beauty and The Beast was magical in its beauty, warmth and wonderment. The arrival of Glen Keane’s Beast and James Baxter’s Belle showed the kind of acting that was possible in animation even without the likes of Walt’s Nine Old Men at the helm. Although critics at the time lauded the now-dated computer graphics displayed in the ballroom scene, it’s the mind-blowing quality of the character animation and solid storytelling that has made the film a perfect fit with its timeless tale. Until I saw those wonderfully loose drawings done by likes of Glen Keane, and that I could possibly do THAT for a living, I never would’ve  continued my pursuit of animation as a career. It was the magic of the rough “moving” drawing that hooked me. To see that so much can be expressed with so little — literally just a line — was astonishing to me. All this because of the concept of the persistence of vision — a skill animators today often take no notice of, given that a CG puppet already exists in front of the screen as opposed to a blank piece of paper where a character needs to be first imagined and then created. This experience of creating something from nothing is the magic of this craft and the ultimate essence of being an artist. Beauty and the Beast is a film that’s loaded with creative elements that’s also supplemented by a marvelous set of memorable tunes by the trio of Tim Rice, Alan Menken and the late Howard Ashman. Modern-day Disney has yet to match that level of excellence in terms of creating a musical that works so beautifully.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox (directed by Wes Anderson)

I really like Wes Anderson’s films. But I really loved his animated Fantastic Mr. Fox. Based on Roald Dahl’s book of the same name, Anderson’s bold entry into feature film animation surprised me. Taking his centrally-focused, one-point perspective camera stylings and his off-beat quirky humor to this classic English children’s tale was a marriage made in comic heaven. The film starts off with Mr. Fox who, despite leading a life of comfort and relative bliss with a lovely home and family, finds himself irritably disquieted by his animal instincts; he needs to chase chickens. He’s a wild animal after all and living the life of a conservative newspaper reporter just won’t do. And when he breaks his promise to his wife to never to steal again, and instead plans a fantastic heist of Boggis, Bunce and Bean’s poultry farms, he ends up endangering all the animals in his neighborhood, forcing them to hide and live underground as the viscious farmers set out to destroy them.

The film features an all-star voicing cast including the likes of George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Willem Dafoe and Bill Murray. But unlike most other animated films where celebrity names primarily serve marketing aims rather than provide rich characterizations, the actors here really give weight and substance to their roles.  The dialogue here is sharp, mature and yet still marvelously funny to young children. Perhaps because it’s so real — these are conversations adults have all the time and the children are listening. Make no mistake, this is a family film, but it’s also a seriously honest film about human behavior. The vibrant yet nuanced voice performances, witty dialogue and delightful antics by the team of talented stop-motion animators combine harmoniously to make Fantastic Mr. Fox a joy to watch and listen to. Fast-paced, funny and wonderfully-weird, as all Wes Anderson films are, this adventure of Mr. Fox and his cohorts makes for a tasty treat all the way to the very end. There’s even a strange little song that gets interrupted because it makes absolutely no sense at all! What perfect imperfection! The very kind of imperfection that makes this stop-motion animation feature something to be treasured.

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I love small films — films that are more likely to stay true to the original intent of the writer and closer in execution to the director’s wider vision. Lower budget films have smaller box office expectations so they have greater freedom to explore themes, visual accents and unusual character portrayals. There are no fancy special effects or thundering musical scores. Only stories and characters. Much like real life. They are less contrived and less patronizing but not necessarily less creative or fantastical. After all, real life is filled with unbelievable drama. And the lack of formulas and big management involvement make these films tastefully textural and personal — flavorful ingredients much needed in the broadened global conformity that has enveloped Hollywood. Most of these films exist only because of the love an idea or for the pure love of the craft.

Dead Man (directed by Jim Jarmusch)

Directed by auteur filmmaker Jim Jarmusch, Dead Man is a bizarre yet encapsulating story of a regular man, caught in irregular times — a time of violence, lack of honor, and cold, hard industry. Thinly disguised as a western black comedy, this tale of a city accountant turned gunfighter is really a story about personal discovery and destiny. Life is simply what it is and it’s up to us personally to find out why we’re here on this earth. Starring Johnny Depp — one of the best silent actors of our generation — as the “every man” with no name, his character takes on the identity of poet William Blake, the visionary artist who’s famous for his literary devotion to beauty, innocence and integrity — things obliterated by the Westerner’s capitalistic invasion of native America. In his spiritual journey, Blake makes a new friend, an half-blood native called Nobody (Gary Farmer) who aids him in becoming the hero against all evil and, in so doing, finds his identity and frees his soul. Dead Man is an unusual physical and spiritual adventure, but one that is artistic and strangely entertaining. This little film is sure to stir the emotions of any viewer;  garnering deep admiration or alarming confusion (some of the scenes are quite shocking). Shot in gorgeous black and white, the cinematography is stunning, and to me, the film as a whole is a cold yet gorgeous presentation of the deeper themes at play; it’s poetry unlikely to be seen in front of audiences today.

The Wrestler (directed by Darren Aronofsky)

Darren Aronofsky’s beautiful yet tragic film, is a marvelous viewing experience. Watching it, I find myself gaining much respect for so called “professional wrestlers.” Used in an industry to profit from nationalistic pride and as an outlet for people’s inhibited individual expression, pro wrestlers share a strange seat in American culture and history. Like the gladiators of ancient Rome, these “live” performers of good versus evil, act more as a distraction from the bigger issues of life than as a cure for suppressed freedom or symbol of unified identity. But in Aronfsky’s film, we see the other side, the inside — where the actors in the show reveal their true personal selves; these are real men behind all the lights and cameras. In fact, they’re painfully real — they wear glasses, take drugs for their aches and pains, and get old, fat, and wrinkly. More importantly, each of them struggle, as we do, to survive and to find happiness in this game called life. In Aronofsky’s sincere exposé, we witness the hardships and sacrifices each man has made and how wrestling has damaged those who make this “sport” their vocation. Mickey Rourke — an actor no producer wanted save for director Aronofsky, who persistently fought for his inclusion — delivers the performance of his career; he’s soulful, physically believable and fully engaged. Rourke’s vulnerability enlists the audience’s empathy, as he struggles to find love —with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) a stripper by night and mother by day — and redemption, as he reaches out in hopes of repairing the damaged relationship with his estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Ward). But at this stage of his life, living off his past glory as the once famous Randy “The Ram” Robinson, our protagonist is doomed to fail. He’s simply unprepared for reality — a place more challenging and much crueler than the physical violence he’s subjected to inside of the ring.

Dead Poet’s Society (directed by Peter Weir)

In Peter Weir’s Dead Poet’s Society we enter the world of elite education, where the future leaders of society are formed and made. Here, John Keating (Robin Williams) returns to his old-school stomping grounds as a literature teacher of young boys, each of whom are as confused as they are excited about becoming men. Under the subtle guidance and provocation by Keating, the boys  form their own mysterious  club — the “Dead Poets Society” — a secret place for personal exploration, comraderie and of course, poetry. Here, the boys discover freedom, individuality, and even love. But in their excitement, they battle against conformity and rigid doctrine that makes the very elite institution they reside in famous. Discipline is the order of the day, and the preaching and teaching style of Keating, who favors poets like William Shakespeare and Walt Whitman, are viewed as anarchist. Dangerous drama unfolds, but not without Keating’s impact as a teacher changing each and every one of these young men. Williams is incredible here; he invites, intrigues and inspires. In fact, his Keating is a huge personal inspiration for myself as a teacher. If we are each to live as real men, we must reach for things far greater than what has been given. We must live with courage. Dead Poet’s Society is a film that dares to exhibit its values to its audience, and that makes it a bold and powerful statement of art.

Glengarry Glen Ross (directed by James Foley)

James Foley’s film adaption of David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play is absolutely fabulous entertainment. Seldom does dialogue have such bite to it. Boasting a cast of superior talents (including Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon,  Alec Baldwin, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Kevin Spacey and Jonathan Pryce) the characters explode on screen.  Despite grossing a measly $10 million dollars at the domestic box office, the film will sit in history as perhaps the best and harshest presentation of the life of a salesman. Playing the lead character Shelley Levene, Jack Lemmon is old, vulnerable and behind in his sales numbers. With the pressure to keep his job and support his chronically-ill daughter, he’s forced to lower his principles as a man, making attempts to charm the new manager Williamson (Kevin Spacey) and even consider bribery, for he is THAT desperate. As the story unfolds, the audience gets a true sense of the dissasociation that capitalism brings to daily existence. Revered or discarded based only on a “what have you done for us lately” attitude, it symbolizes the Darwin-esque society that we’ve come to accept. There’s no sympathy for any “loser” — circumstances be damned. “Good father? Fuck you, go home and play with your kids” says Blake (Alec Baldwin), the superstar salesman sent from “downtown” to add pressure to all the men in the suburban sales office, by noting emphatically that only the two strongest performers of the month will keep their jobs. The contrast created by the events surrounding the current top sales dog, Ricky Roma (Al Pacino) and the antics of Blake, as well as the dubious tactics exercised by all the other salesmen in the office, make Levine, who was once a very successful salesman himself, a sympathetic character. We forget that he too, was once a lying and deceitful trickster. The film is worth watching for the acting alone. Alec Baldwin’s cameo is legendary. Taking place mostly within the confines of a small, unspectacular office space, Glengarry Glen Ross, despite being a profanity-laced film, is one that delights the ears.

History of Violence (directed by David Cronenberg)

History of Violence is a tiny film taking place in a tiny town. But what figures in it are the deepest and most profound of questions; are we defined by our pre-determined makeup (our genes and upbringing)? Or are we able to re-define our lives by our conscious choices? If we come from a family of monsters are we not monsters? Or are we only monsters if we behave like one? In Cronenberg’s film, the central character Tom Stall (Viggo Mortenson), is a shy man with a unique secret, a hidden history of violence. Until a unique set of events occur in his home town, he’s living life happily, honorably and peacefully. The arrival of some colorful characters from his past changes everything. Sought out by the Eastern mob from Philadelphia, Tom’s hidden identity is ultimately revealed, turning his and his family’s life completely upside down. In a soulful yet fierce performance by Viggo Mortenson, Tom’s character is both sympathetic and frightening — he’s both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. We’re not sure what to make of him or how he’ll respond to each challenge that surfaces. Surrounded by an excellent supporting cast, Cronenberg’s History of Violence sucks you into a world of scary men, and in this case, the scariest of them all turns out to be the one we’ve been living with all along. Do we root for him because he’s the protagonist? Does he not deserve the chance to prove himself, just as we hope to be given the opportunity to prove ourselves? The final scenes of the film reveal the piercing impact the events have on its characters. The look on the eyes of Tom Stall, the eyes of his adversary Ritchie (William Hurt) and that of his wife (Mario Bello) speak louder than any words can possibly say. This is the power of film regardless of its size.

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