Review: Toy Story Toons

Oh dear, it’s been well over a year since I last wrote something about the Toy Story franchise (which was a post on Toy Story That Time Forgot in December 2020) and since then a whole other movie in the series has been released – though to rather mixed reception.

Having discussed the original trilogy, the Buzz Lightyear cartoon of the early noughts, and the two holiday specials (Halloween and Christmas) it’s now time to turn my attention to what’s known as the Toy Story Toons: three short films set post-Toy Story 3 and pre-Toy Story 4 in Bonnie’s house. Together forming a neat little mini-trilogy, they are Hawaiian Vacation, Small Fry and Partysaurus Rex, originally released over 2011 – 2012 at the start of the theatrical releases of various Pixar/Disney films.

Though they may be short, they each contain the seed of creative storytelling innovation that’s so prevalent throughout this franchise. Well... two out of three do. Small Fry has a fun premise, but fails to utilize it in the devastatingly clever way you’d expect from a Toy Story short, though Hawaiian Vacation and Partysaurus Rex make up for it by being instant classics: perfect gems of comedy and colour.  

Their run-time isn’t long enough for the extended parent/child metaphors of the films, or even the fun parodies and character portraits of the two holiday specials (which showcased Trixie and Jessie respectively). Rather, they just have fun with the concept of how small sentient toys negotiate a giant world. How do you fake a holiday getaway with the limited resources of a child’s bedroom? And what does bath-time look like through the eyes of a toy? Someone at Pixar said: “what if it was like a rave?” and I think that’s genius.

Review: The Adventures of Maid Marian

For a few months now, I have been beside myself with excitement at the approaching release of a film called The Adventures of Maid Marian, which seemed to combine two of my favourite things: one of the most legendary heroines of all time, and terrible films. Sometimes an awful movie can be just as (if not more so) fun and entertaining as a brilliant one, and judging by the trailer released a couple of months ago, The Adventures of Maid Marian promised to deliver.

Cheap production values, awkward dialogue, performers who looked like they’d been hired straight out of their high school drama club... damn, I love this delightful garbage. These are the sorts of films that make you sit back and ponder: who made this? And why? Where did they get their funding? What inspired them to do any of this? How is it even real?

As such, the film ended up being a mild disappointment in the sense that it wasn’t nearly as bad as I hoped it would be. The plot is relatively coherent. The acting isn’t awful. The cinematography is actually downright gorgeous at times. I was anticipating boom mics dipping into shots and costumes purchased at the two-dollar store; what I got was a by-no-means unwatchable B movie.

But having already hyped this movie so much over the past few months, and (probably) being the only human being on Earth who has actually watched it, I feel honour-bound to dedicate a post to the experience. Here goes...

Review: Fear Street trilogy

Yup, I’m doing it: writing up a list of detailed reasons as to why the Fear Street trilogy was so damn good: harrowing, cathartic, heartfelt, tragic and just what I needed at this specific point in time.

Let’s get some disclaimers down first. It ain’t high art. I’m pretty sure my ecstatically enthusiastic response is at least partly due to the fact that I was not in any way, shape or form expecting this to be good. I was actually looking forward to it being bad in the same way that R.L. Stine’s body of work is generally pretty bad: cheesy, pulpy, gory, lightweight nonsense.  

So imagine my shock when I found myself increasingly engrossed in how this story unfolded. Just keep in mind that I went in with very low expectations, for if you decide to watch on the basis of my recommendation there’s every chance I’ve already overhyped it for you. And that’s assuming you’re into the horror/slasher genre anyway. Not everyone is.

Also, for any long-time fans of Stine’s Fear Street, you may want to keep in mind that this actually has very little to do with the books. It’s set in a town called Shadyside and… that’s about it. No Fear family (certainly no Simon or Angelica), no explanation about why Sarah’s last name is spelt Fier, and (strangest of all) no actual Fear Street. There’s a passing glimpse of a Fier Street, but doesn’t figure into the plot in any way.

I believe the very basic premise of a bus accident leading to a cheerleader uncovering the grave of Sarah Fear and getting possessed is lifted from the Cheerleaders trilogy (though the entire context has been changed) but for the most part, if you’re expecting any recognizable plot-points from the books… don’t.

The thing is though, this trilogy does Fear Street better than Stine. Perhaps that’s hubris to say out loud, but the truth is that Stine’s writing never went within a million miles of things like complex characterization or meaningful themes – they were cheap paperbacks that existed for grisly deaths, red herrings, and at least one big twist. And that’s okay! Fans knew what to expect and loved them for it.

But this trilogy takes the general vibe of Fear Street – teenagers with no parental supervision, high school rivalries, generational secrets, cliffhangers and fake-outs, the seedy side of the American dream – and crafts something vaguely familiar but wholly original out of it. It captures the spirit of the books while staking out its own narrative territory.

Suffice to say: spoilers below the cut. If you’re even vaguely curious about these films, watch them before reading this.

Review: The Craft and The Craft Legacy

SPOILERS FOR BOTH MOVIES

If you were an adolescent girl who came of age in the nineties, then it’s safe to assume you went through a witch phase. I’m not entirely sure what it was about that specific decade that kickstarted such a heightened interest in witchcraft, but it gave us Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Charmed, Practical Magic and The Craft, as well as a range of paperbacks ranging in quality from L.J. Smith’s The Secret Circle to Cate Tiernan’s Sweep, Silver Ravenwolf’s Witches' Chillers to Isobel Bird’s Circle of Three. Even Hocus Pocus.

Okay, so a few of those were technically released in the very early noughts, but nearly all of these properties have had a long shelf-life. Most of them are now considered cult classics, and since then there have been two prequels to Practical Magic, a short-lived television adaptation of The Secret Circle, Netflix’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, a reboot to Charmed with a race-lifted cast, and again – even Hocus Pocus has a sequel coming out.

Then there’s what we’re here to talk about today: The Craft Legacy, the 2020 sequel to the original Craft film.

Released in 1996, The Craft is one of those rare examples of a cult classic that was reasonably well-received by critics and a box-office success at the time of its release. In fact, you could make a case for it being the source of the nineties witch-craze, particularly when it comes to the subgenre’s modern connotations with sisterhood and girl-power.

Of course, that subtext was always there to some extent, as it’s impossible to extract the subject of witchcraft from that of a. womankind, b. the wielding of power, and c. the societal fear of combining those two things: women with power. From the term “witch” naturally emerges themes of persecution and ostracization from society, particularly the subjugation of women at the hands of the patriarchy across the course of human history.

Review: Raya and the Last Dragon

I took my friend’s two eldest kids to Raya and the Last Dragon over the weekend, partly because she’s just had her fourth child and needs a break, and partly because I wanted to see it myself. Disney Princess films are always going to have a special place in my heart, and seeing how they evolve over the decades is something I find genuinely fascinating.

Since Mulan, many of their stories have existed outside a Euro-centric setting, since Tiana, more princesses have been allowed to exhibit personality flaws to some extent, and since Elsa, they haven’t necessarily had a love interest along for the ride. Raya ticks all these boxes, being a young princess trained in martial arts, living in an Asian-inspired setting (filled with various cultural references to Laos, Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Singapore and Malaysia) and no romantic arc to speak of – unless you count her rapport with Namaari, the film’s antagonist.

A word that’s been coming up a lot in various reviews is “formulaic” – and yeah, it’s fair. This doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad, as a familiar plot with the right characterization and garnishes can be more rewarding than whatever gibberish Christopher Nolan has just released, but Disney (as we can clearly see with the MCU and Star Wars) is definitely making itself comfortable in the “familiar, risk-free” mode of storytelling.

SPOILERS

Review: Anastasia (film and musical)

 I’m back on my Anastasia bullshit.

It’s hard to know why I love this movie so much. I mean, I’m the first to admit that it’s ridiculous to the point of offensiveness, seeing as it’s a lighthearted musical based on the real-life assassination of an entire family. Whatever you may think of Nikolai II Alexandrovich Romanov – or even monarchies in general – he was by all accounts a loving husband and father, and his five children (who at the time of their deaths were aged between thirteen and twenty-two) certainly did not deserve such a violent end.

Basing a children’s animated film around such an event, and adding talking bats, musical numbers and a happy ending is questionable to say the least. Yet watching this at age twelve, I hardly cared about any of that. I first learned of the film’s existence during the Golden Globe Awards of 1998, in which it was nominated twice for Best Original Song (Once Upon a December and Journey to the Past), and something about the clips just captivated me. The countdown began…

By the time it hit New Zealand theatres I had successfully hyped up my little sister and my best friend, and finally getting to see it was an Event in the way that going to the movies just isn’t anymore. And no, I’m not talking about the way Star Wars or Marvel films or any other big blockbusters are promoted as must-see big-screen Events, but rather the way you occasionally approach a film and just know that it’s going to soak into your psyche and become a formative experience.

I’ve only felt this way about three other films in my adult life: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), The Illusionist (2006) and Song of the Sea (2014) and in revisiting any of them it’s not just the memory of the stories that appeal, but recalling the storm of emotions I felt while watching them for the first time. I’m sure we’ve all got books or movies or shows like this – ones that feel engrained in our subconscious either through having watched them at a very early age or by the way they cater so perfectly to our unique tastes and preferences that they feel like they were crafted for us personally.

When I take into account my other favourite movies – The Neverending Story (1984), Labyrinth (1984), The Secret Garden (1993), Sleepy Hollow (1999), The Mummy (1999), and The Others (2001) it’s clear how Anastasia fits into my storytelling predilections. It’s a period drama with a strong female protagonist, beautiful animation, a complex love story between two people with genuine chemistry who have to earn their happy ending, some ethical dilemmas, and a fairy tale ambiance that’s tinged with loss and regret, but also a strong sense of enduring hope. Give or take a few of these elements, and that describes all my favourite films.

So I was perhaps always destined to be obsessed with Anastasia. Which, as I said, is absurd, because this movie is bonkers.

Review: Emma (yes, all of them)

Over the last four weeks I’ve discovered the perfect combination of comforts for surviving lockdown: chocolate and Jane Austen – specifically Emma, her fourth published work and arguably her best novel. 

Yet even with nothing else to do, I didn’t have the time or energy to reread the book itself, so I made do with all five adaptations of the story, from the BBC’s miniseries in 1972, the Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle in 1996, the second BBC adaption to come out that same year, their third televised attempt in 2009, and Autumn de Wilde’s interpretation of early 2020.

The story certainly knows how to time itself, averaging one (nearly) every decade, at (rough) ten year intervals.

I’ve often believed that the reason Emma and Pride and Prejudice are over-represented in media is due to the fact Elizabeth and Emma are spirited in a way the ladies of Mansfield Park and Persuasion aren’t. Austen was saying something very different about social expectations and personal fortitude in her treatment of Anne Elliot and Fanny Price, which has inevitably led to screenwriters finding them “less fun”... but perhaps not entirely without reason. 

Elizabeth and Emma are more dynamic characters; they are different women at the end of their stories than they were at the beginning. It’s perhaps due to the internal change required of its main character that Emma is generally considered Austen’s finest work (even if Pride and Prejudice remains her most beloved) with a protagonist that is deeply flawed yet all the more lovable for it. 

According to Austen herself: "I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like", and yet we do like Emma – not in spite of her faults, but because of them. Her snobbery, her meddling, her foolishness – it’s all so entertaining that it’s almost disappointing when she grows out of it.

Austen also deserves credit for taking the familiar beats of a romance novel and turning them inside out. In any other story it’s beautiful, impoverished and musically gifted Jane Fairfax who would be our protagonist, with Frank as the dashing, unpredictable love interest who promises to save her from a life of destitution if only she can endure the secrecy that’s required to survive his formidable aunt.

Emma stands in ignorance of the drama happening right under her nose, never doubting that she’s the main character but not realizing the point of her arc is to realize how wrong she is about everything, and that her true love isn’t the charming, enigmatic Frank but George Knightley: old family friend, next door neighbour and technical brother-in-law. 

All of Emma’s matchmaking attempts end in disaster, she completely misinterprets Mr Elton and Frank Churchill, and is completely wrong about everything. She’s… dare I say… clueless?

Emma Woodhouse is also unique for being the only one of Austen’s heroines who is under no familial, financial or even societal pressure to marry. She has no need to worry about her well-being or that of her family, and her father's desire to keep her close only increases her power. She can do whatever she likes, and so when she does eventually wed, it’s entirely because she wants to. 

It gives the book a lightness of spirit that’s missing from her other works, in which Elizabeth, Anne, Elinor and Marianne have to  actually worry about their futures and financial situations, and I suspect that’s another part of the reason why Emma has been adapted so often. So many readers – rightly or wrongly – look upon Austen as escapism, and as such Emma’s complete lack of poverty or long-term worry becomes the most appealing aspect of her story.

Review: Toy Story 3

Perhaps the smartest thing Pixar ever did when it came to the continuation of the Toy Story franchise was to wait. Wait eleven years in fact.

At the conclusion of Toy Story 2, it would seem the story had run its course, for if the first movie was Buzz coming to terms with his identity crisis, then the sequel did the same for Woody. In those final moments, the two friends are at peace with each other and their joint purpose in life. One day Andy would no longer need them, but that day was not today, and it was enough to simply enjoy his childhood while it lasted.

But then… that day did come. And it came in real time. Those who watched Toy Story as kids were now at the end of their adolescence, and it was time to leave their childhoods behind. The third instalment and culmination of the franchise was therefore perfectly primed to make a potent statement on the passage of time, the inevitability of growing up, and the putting away of childish things… if Pixar could pull it off.

Well, of course they could. Just as the sequel was built heavily on the ideas and themes established in the original, Toy Story 3 had the advantage of expanding on everything the first two films had set up for it, as well as an obvious built-in premise: Andy finally outgrows his toys.

This was an impending reality that was discussed throughout Toy Story 2, largely through conversations between Woody and the Prospector, with the latter’s secret agenda leading him to stoke the former’s fear of change and rejection. “Do you really think Andy is going to take you to college?” he asks at one point, a question that’s unexpectedly answered eleven years later.

Um, yes actually.

Review: Avengers Endgame

Isn't it funny that Avengers: Endgame came out in April and three months later absolutely no one is talking about it?

Okay, that's probably because we were almost immediately hit by the Game of Thrones truck, are now in the afterglow of Stranger Things, and have our eyes on the fast-approaching The Rise of Skywalker... but still, I think it's telling that the hype for the culmination of nearly ten years worth of cinematic storytelling died out pretty quickly.

Because as a movie, Avengers: Endgame is much like all the MCU movies. A solid piece of entertainment that provides all the typical beats: lots of gags, some poignancy, fun character moments, bombastic set-pieces, a dash of romance and a villain (okay, Marvel has always been pretty weak with those last two).

As I've said in the past, I'm a casual fan of Marvel, and (unlike Game of Thrones, which snuck up on me without my realizing it) I can say that sincerely this time. General opinion is that The Winter Soldier is the best of the lot and The Dark World the worst, though to me they're of equal quality when it comes to entertainment value.

Which means it was a blessed relief to go into the movie theater and just... watch a movie. No elaborate head-canons to be crushed, no obnoxious shippers/stans screaming in agony, no dramatic disappointment in the way characters were portrayed, no devastated tears when things didn't turn out the way I had overinvested in...

There are some elements of contention: that the time-travel made no sense, that Steve ignored his own advice and lived out his life in the past, and of course Black Widow's fate - but ultimately I'm not that invested in the MCU and so could enjoy the ride without cross-examining everything.

I don't care, and MAN that feels good!

Review: Captain Marvel

I had made plans to watch Captain Marvel in the week before March 15th, and afterwards my friend and I decided to go ahead and see it on the Sunday as we originally intended. If nothing else, it would at least feel like we were doing something normal, and temporarily take our minds off the dark pall hanging over the city.

Which it did, though the downside is that I will probably always subconsciously equate this film with the attack. However, it did make all the wank surrounding its release look even more ridiculous than it already was, so I won't dwell on it except to say Carol is clearly going to have a pivotal role to play in Endgame, and the haters are gonna be so mad about it. 

But as for the movie itself...

Review: Toy Story 2

Toy Story 2 is not just a perfect sequel, but a perfect movie – though the fact it’s a perfect movie is entirely contingent on the fact that it’s also a sequel. A debut film simply would not have had time to lay the necessary groundwork to do justice to the questions that Toy Story 2 tackles, and its success is directly derived from its reliance on ideas raised in the first movie, on character development that flows organically from our established understanding of Woody and Buzz, and on expanding their microcosmic world in new and interesting ways.

A story in which Woody seriously considers leaving Andy for a museum in Tokyo could not have existed without one in which he realizes his precarious position in Andy’s affections. A story in which Buzz goes on a dangerous journey to rescue his friend from this folly could not have existed without one in which he’s convinced by that same friend that being a toy is a noble calling.

And a story that explores the impermanence of toys in a child’s life could not have existed without one that already dealt with some of the fears they grappled with in their day-to-day life, whether it was being damaged, lost, or replaced.

So with their first sequel, Pixar demonstrated they knew what a good follow-up should be: a story that expands on the original without repeating it, one that builds on ideas and relationships that have already been established, and one that takes the familiar characters off in new and interesting directions. You can apply these rules to all the best sequels, from The Empire Strikes Back to The Dark Knight to Paddington 2.

Nobody regresses or forgets lessons already learnt; instead they move forward and learn new ones, which are supplemented by new characters, locations and set pieces – none of which are introduced for their own sake, but to better highlight the story’s central theme.

That theme is best summed up in The Dolls’ House by Rumer Godden, another writer of toy stories that I just-so-happen to be reading at the moment, who wrote: “it is an anxious, sometimes dangerous thing to be a doll. Dolls cannot choose, they can only be chosen; they cannot do, they can only be done by; children who do not understand this often do wrong things, and then their dolls are hurt and abused and lost.”

So if the motivating fear of the first Toy Story was the possibility of getting lost and ending up in the hands of a cruel playmate, then Toy Story 2 is about a much more inescapable fate: the abandonment that comes when a child inevitably grows up; of toys being shelved and forgotten and discarded over time.

Review: Toy Story

I never actually saw Toy Story on the big-screen, though I vividly remember my grandmother telling my dad: “I’ve just seen a film you have to take the girls to.” But it wasn’t until it came out on VCR (yes, I’m old now) that I got to watch it – and become temporarily obsessed with it. You know how kids can just watch something over and over again without getting sick of it? For my sister it was E.T., and for me it was Toy Story.

So with the promotion for Toy Story 4 gearing up, I decided to re-watch the entire trilogy (plus the various shorts) and try to figure out just why I was so enamored as a child.

Well, there’s the obvious: what kid isn’t captivated by the idea that their toys come to life as soon as they’ve left the room? Toys are our first friends and confidants; they comfort us at night, guard all our secrets, and provide us with constant companionship, being entirely subservient to whatever our imaginations decide to project upon them.

We love them to bits, and so the possibility that they might love us back is a compelling one. 

Of course, Toy Story certainly isn’t the first tale to explore the idea of living, sentient playthings. Just off the top of my head, there’s also E.T.A. Hoffman’s The Nutcracker, Hans Christian Anderson’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier, Margery Williams Bianco’s The Velveteen Rabbit, Lynne Reid Banks’s The Indian in the Cupboard, Victor Herbert’s Babes in Toyland, and the likes of Winnie the Pooh, Raggedy Anne, and the assorted stories of Rumer Godden. Julian Fellowes got in on the act with The Curious Tale of the Abandoned Toys, and when I was little I read the Sally Anne series by Terrance Dicks, about a group of toys living in a children’s hospital.

And hey, remember Small Soldiers back in 1998? That was a fun one.

My point is that Toy Story certainly wasn’t the first to come up with the idea of living toys. But all good stories start with a good idea, and “toys that come to life when nobody’s around” is a great one, full of magic and possibility, as proved by its popularity over the years. (I recall the early promotion for the film playing on this theme, with one advert asking: “ever wonder why your toys are never where you left them?”)

But what makes Toy Story special is that it’s not just based on one good idea, but several, all of which are explored to the full extent of their potential.