Kung Fu Panda 4
by Hope Madden
Animated sequels often work out. Every time you think “Do we really need another Toy Story?” you get one more cartoon masterpiece. Each How to Train Your Dragon movie is a stunner. And Puss in Boots: The Last Wish was not only better than any previous Puss in Boots film, it was better than any Shrek film.
So why not a fourth Kung Fu Panda? Literally no one expected the 2008 original to be a charming, lovely, thoroughly entertaining Oscar nominee. A couple more episodes in and maybe directors Mike Mitchell and Stephanie Stine have the power to entirely reimagine this franchise, find a universal truth and existential meaning that allows this installment to transcend its late-stage sequel position, a la Toy Story 3. Or Toy Story 4.
No, but it’s cute.
Po (Jack Black, lovable even if it’s only his voice) has been named the spiritual leader of the Valley of Peace, which means he must find his successor as Dragon Warrior. But he doesn’t want to. He finally found something he’s good at—kicking butt—and he’s kind of famous for it. And maybe he just fears change.
But all this successor stuff will have to wait. The Chameleon (Viola F. Davis) has a nefarious plan that needs thwarting and Po’s off to handle the situation with the help of this little thieving fox (Awkwafina, who may be voicing every animated film to come out, but she’s great at it).
Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) is disappointed. Naturally.
Hoffman is one of only a handful of returning voice talent—Angelina Jolie, Seth Rogan, Jackie Chan, Lucy Liu and David Cross are noticeably absent. But Ian McShane returns, and that’s a voice we can all listen to all day long, villainous or not. Plus, there’s more room for new characters.
Davis is characteristically wonderful as the evildoer, but it’s really the budding relationship between frenemies Po and Zhen (Awkwafina) that compels interest. Not every actor can carry off animation, but both Black and Awkwafina shine.
The animation is good looking enough. It’s not gorgeous, but it’s nice. The action is fun, the characters are funny enough, and the lessons are solid. And there are these three bloodthirsty little bunnies, and I am a fan.
Kung Fu Panda 4 breaks no new ground, transcends no limitations, but it entertains throughout and delivers a pleasant bit of family-friendly fun. Plus reimagined Ozzy and Britney are a delight.
Totem
by Brandon Thomas
By definition, a totem is “a natural object or animal that is believed by a particular society to have spiritual significance and that is adopted by it as an emblem.” With Totem, her second feature film, director Lila Aviles approaches the esoteric idea of totems through the eyes of a curious 7-year-old girl who is trying to understand the familial chaos surrounding her.
Having been dropped off at her grandfather’s house, Sol (Naima Senties) spends the day wandering from room to room, conversation to conversation, as the adults around her rush to set up a birthday party for Sol’s ailing father. As night falls and the party inches closer, Sol tries to make sense of the mixture of emotions, reactions, and actions coming from each member of her family.
The bulk of Totem is told solely through Sol’s eyes. It’s not a candy-coated depiction of a child’s viewpoint but it’s still an honest one. There’s a feeling of wonderment in even the most mundane things Sol observes. As children, many of us focused on the tiniest of details and differences around us. It’s something the camera captures expertly as is floats through the scene – making the audience feel less like an observer and more a part of the family. Visually, the use of the 1.33:1 aspect ratio – while probably overused in many modern movies – feels at home in the story Totem is telling. This tighter ratio that makes the image look cramped is a perfect visual metaphor for Sol’s large extended family crammed together in her grandfather’s modest home.
Despite the melancholy backdrop of the party, Totem never succumbs to heaviness or melodrama. Each member of Sol’s family is trying to make sense of their own fear and impending grief surrounding her father’s illness. For Sol, this difference is confusing and somewhat alienating. For us, the audience, it’s honest and all too relatable.
It’s never made clear how much Sol knows about her father’s condition. However, despite his circumstances, Sol’s love for her father is undeniable as are his reciprocated feelings, even though they are shared through pain and suffering. For Sol, the most important thing is seeing her father and feeling his embrace.
And for us that becomes the most important thing too.
The Invisible Fight
by Christie Robb
Picture it: the Soviet-Chinese border, 1973. Three Chinese martial-artists dressed up like they are about to join John Travolta for a Saturday night at the discotheque, wire-fu their way into Soviet territory and kick the shit out of some guards.
One of the guards, Rafael (Ursel Tilk) falls in love. With kung fu.
Determined to learn, despite the practice being banned in the USSR, Rafael tries to teach himself. Then, his car fortuitously breaks down in front of a Russian Orthodox monastery. There, in a take on the Shaolin Monastery (birthplace of Shaolin Kung Fu), Rafael begins his true training, both physical and metaphysical.
Only in director Rainer Sarnet’s (November) movie, the trappings of Chinese kung fu are replaced with the long beards, black floor-length gowns, and gilt religious treasures of the Russian Orthodox aesthetic. And all the hand movements are derived from the symbolism of religious iconography.
The look is bright 70s pop art. The sound effects are cartoonlike. The music is Black Sabbath. The fight sequences are amusing and often manage to use food. (I’ve never seen someone weaponize a pierogi before.)
The only thing that got in the way of a thoroughly enjoyable movie-time was the sexual politics. The film really wanted to sort its female characters into the roles of either Madonna-mother or whore-demon. But maybe that’s more the Church’s issue than the movie’s. The kung fu surrealist comedy has the kind of video-store cult-classic vibes that would make for a great weekend watch with a group of rowdy friends.
American Dreamer
by Hope Madden
I was looking forward to American Dreamer, the comedy/drama that pairs Peter Dinklage and Shirley MacLaine as odd couple tenant/homeowner in a comment on the American dream.
And then I found out Matt Dillon and Danny Glover are in it, which appealed as well.
And then I wondered what on earth compelled any of the four of them to take this gig.
Paul Dektor’s film follows Dr. Phil Loder (Dinklage), an adjunct professor of social economics who is very down on his luck. Not sure how he got here? No worries, because a bartender will explain all of it to Loder, who one assumes must already know his own backstory. But this is how bad writing shows itself. And it won’t be the last time.
Loder dreams of home ownership, but he lives in a crappy apartment, drives a 30-year-old Saab, and makes (the bartender explains) less than 50k a year. But then he finds the deal of a lifetime in his price range. He just has to pay now, hold out in the stinky servant’s quarters and wait until the current owner (MacLaine) dies. Then his dream house is all his!
That’s convoluted and contrived enough, but wait, there’s more!
Mainly there’s a lot of sloppy, needless plot devices that do not entertain but do disjoint the overall film. One of these writers (Theodore Melfi) has an Oscar nomination for Hidden Figures. Go figure.
Not that the direction’s any better. Dektor can’t decide if American Dreamer is a slapstick comedy, a sex comedy, or a social diatribe aimed at capitalism. Choosing none of these, he winds up creating an inarticulate mishmash.
Everything that happens outside the relationship between Dinklage and MacLaine feels extraneous, but the focus is almost never on the two leads. Worse still, the actual relationship—what we see of it—is silly and superficial. Because of this, Loder’s arc is unearned.
It’s great to see Dinklage in a lead and in a comedy. Too bad it’s this one.
MacLaine is even more ill-used, and Dillon’s realtor character is unfathomable. You spend the whole time waiting for some revelation, like that he and Loder are boyhood friends or brothers—anything to explain their contemptuous yet close bond.
Maybe I should ask the bartender. I bet he knows.
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