Here's the latest reviews for Our Sunday Visitor. They have changed format,
and instead of a single long review essay there will be several shorter
reviews.
"Elf"
Step up and shake hands with the movie that is going to be playing in the
next room every Christmas for the rest of your life. "Elf" appears to have been
planned with that small-screen destiny in mind: uncomplicated camerawork
usually features one big image in the middle of the screen, an image you can
identify without squinting even as far away as the refrigerator.
"Elf" has been diligently worked over to ensure that every band in the age
demographic spectrum has been hit. For the little ones there are toys with big,
familiar brand names, so they'll know what to look for at the mall. There are
burp and potty jokes for school kids, and a four-letter-word that now, I
suppose, is considered mild. For young teens there's a sleigh-chase sequence that
sends an aerodynamically unworthy structure hurtling through Gotham's canyons,
for a much longer time than grownups will find interesting. For Mom, there's
the heartwarming tale of a dad who puts his family first and keeps his career
priorities straight. Gotcha! No, the rule is: any movie with a dad is a movie
with a bad dad ("He's on the naughty list," Santa intones), and this one will
give Mom plenty to feel self-righteous about while she does the Christmas
dishes. There's something for Dad, too: slippery, luscious Zooey Deschanel in the
shower.
For as much cynicism as went into assembling this movie, little of it comes
across on-screen, for which we can be grateful. The film is consistently
sincere rather than ironic, cheerful rather than snarky. Will Ferrell, as the title
elf, embodies this spirit well, with an open, puzzled, appealing face that can
be read a mile away, and even as far as the dining room. Casting is the real
treat here, with James Caan doing an excellent turn as Ferrell's long-lost
dad, Ed Asner as a gruff Santa, and Bob Newhart as a stammering, fretful Papa
Elf. Leon Redbone's cameo as Leon the Snowman is forgettable, but his duet with
Deschanel over the closing credits ("Baby, It's Cold Outside") is the most
charming element of the film.
The most troubling element is the plot proposition that Santa's sleigh can't
fly because people don't believe he exists. It's this that the audience is
exhorted to have "faith" in; it's this that sums up the "Christmas spirit." There
is no hint of the Nativity of Christ in this film, and not even an emphasis
on giving to others. The tight focus is on the assertion that Santa knows what
material object you have wished for, and that he will bring it to you.
Believing that equals having the Christmas spirit. Is this really what you want your
children to place their faith in?
Tellingly, "Elf" ends with a tip of the hat to marketing: Caan's job worries
are solved when he founds a children's book company and publishes the very
same tale you have just seen on screen. Children buy the book and all is well!
Buying stuff, it turns out, makes the world go round-and "Elf" will be popping
cutely into your den to tell you, year after year till you die, that's what
Christmas spirit is all about.
"Matrix Revolutions"
Now that we have come to the end of this immense trilogy, a series that
attempted to encompass profound questions about the nature of reality, creation,
and sacrifice, that presented some of the most spectacular visual effects ever
seen, I find myself in one accord with the sentiment spoken in awe-filled tones
during the concluding moments of the film: "It doesn't make any sense."
True, it never did make complete sense. But the first film ("The Matrix",
1999) was so beguiling because it hinted that it would make sense eventually: it
presented a complex alternate world, packed with mystery and worth exploring.
After several years' gap, the second film ("Matrix Reloaded," May 2003)
fumbled to keep things going. Rather than teasing out further mystery, it popped a
few duds-most memorably, that ghosts and zombies are glitches in the
human-reality computer program. Now, that's just clunky.
The second film alternated patches of wordiness with patches of astonishing
action (during the long concluding speech with the whiskered, supercilious
"Architect," my son heard a viewer behind him complain, "Colonel Sanders talks too
much.") This third film throws philosophy overboard and opts for
near-continual fighting. There are a few affecting scenes, such as the moment when a
sixteen-year-old soldier is thrust into chaotic conflict, but such scenes are not
very original; they were staples of the World War II heroism films.
Those great black-and-white war films of the forties and fifties had better
characters and dialogue than "Matrix Revolutions"-indeed, the script is so lame
that most reviews have featured a sampling of the critic's favorite bad
writing, and I'll nominate tough-guy patter like: "Save the dock, Captain? You just
handed it to them on a silver platter." Or this: "The big bupkis. Nada. He's
not in there." Or: "It ain't pretty, but the way I see it, it's the only way
back."
Everybody in the film is a tough guy, even the women. Women are so lean and
masculine that you can almost see the backlash on the horizon, and a wise
speculator would be investing now in hourglass corsets. The most feminine
character, the Oracle, bakes cookies, and advises that chocolate chips should be
massaged in by hand because "Cookies need love like everything else." As queasy as
this line sounds, it is delivered in a no-nonsense baritone by a lady who wears
no makeup and chain-smokes. That's as girly as it gets: there is no role here
for Marilyn Monroe.
All "Matrix Revolutions" has going for it is immense special effects, and
that's only going to be enough for a dwindling audience. It's a shame. The first
"Matrix" film promised so much; the last is merely "sound and fury, signifying
nothing."
*****
Frederica Mathewes-Green
www.frederica.com
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