Sing Street

Irish writer/director John Carney is making a little niche for himself in Hollywood by crafting small, indie love stories built around singer/songwriters. He had a big success in 2007 with Once, the story of two struggling street musicians falling in love as they busk together in modern day Dublin. The film’s song “Falling Slowly” won the Oscar that year for best song. In 2013, Carney made Begin Again about a washed up music industry exec who tries to redeem his career with a fresh-faced young songwriter in New York City.

 

In 2016, Carney wrote and directed Sing Street. Set in Carney’s native Dublin, it is the story of how teenage Connor attempts to form a band in order to impress a girl. Both of which he manages to do. If the plot sounds pretty lightweight, that’s because it is. There are additional details, of course, but they are quickly skimmed over. Other band members? No problem. A flyer posted in the school’s hallway brings talented, easy to get along with fellow students. Expensive instruments? Easy. One of the kids has a dad in a covers band who apparently never had any problem with a bunch of 15 year olds hauling his stuff all over Ireland. Original songs? Taken care of. As it happens, Connor is practically a prodigy, producing winsome, dancy song after song with an ease that might make actual songwriters tear their hair out in jealousy.

The thing is, the film isn’t really trying for reality. It looks and sounds authentic to lower middle class family and school life in the 1980s when the film is set, but that’s not really the goal of the picture. Rather than a realistic exploration of what it’s like to start a band in high school, Sing Street is actually a musical fantasia – a story that departs from reality to explore the creator’s obsessions in this case, the different facets of 1980s pop music. As Connor discovers the synth pop of Duran Duran, the gothic theatricality of The Cure, or the loud, foot-stomping anger of the Sex Pistols, his songs and look evolve to match the new territory he encounters. 

When I say, Sing Street isn’t realistic, I don’t mean it as a criticism. On the contrary, it’s an immensely enjoyable film because of its unabashed embrace of a teenage dream world in which the quiet guy gets the girl, writes amazing songs, and stages a raucous, climactic concert complete with a triumphant middle finger to the powers that be. That’s what makes the film great. Its unironic celebration of the highs and lows, the yearning and the daydreams of teenage existence give Sing Street its power.

The conclusion is ambiguous and rightfully so. Connor and his girlfriend flee the triumphant concert, knowing they’re never going to top that moment in their hometown, and steal his small family boat to cross over to England. Connor has his demo tapes and his girlfriend has her modeling experience from all of his videos. They want to make a go of it in the big city. The film ends just as they’ve lost sight of the Irish shore but can’t see England yet. They’re stuck in the fog, with large waves beginning to toss the small boat, and giant ferries passing by almost unseen in the fog, stirring up giant wakes. Like most ambitious teenagers, they are right in the middle and aren’t sure of what’s coming next. It’s a wonderful visual metaphor for both the fear and the thrill of being an adolescent, feeling like everything is possible but not really knowing all the forces churning around you. The film fades to black, leaving it to viewers to decide whether or not the two catch a break and make it big in the city. I, for one, hope they make it.

Moana

Disney’s new film Moana is a powerhouse of charm with a strong pedigree. First of all, it was directed by John Musker and Ron Clements, the team that directed two of the three films that saved Disney animation from certain doom in the late 80s and early 90s – The Little Mermaid, which began the company’s renaissance in 1989 and Aladdin which solidified it after the smash of Beauty and the Beast. Next, its male lead, the Polynesian demigod Maui, is voiced by Dewayne “The Rock” Johnson who has evolved from a ridiculously cartoonish professional wrestler into a ridiculously charming actor who is now voicing cartoons and who has never given a performance where it didn’t seem as though he was secretly winking at the audience and saying. “Hey, isn’t this fun?” Also, the music is co-written by wunderkind-of-the-moment Lin-Manuel Miranda, the Pulitzer, Tony, and MacArthur-genius award winning composer and creator of Hamilton (which I mention in the off-chance you just back from the moon or being lost at sea for a couple of years and haven’t heard of it.) Add to this team the full force of Disney designers and animators plus a lovely performance from Auli'i Cravalho (OW-lee-EE cruh-VAHL-ee-oh) the 16 year old unknown from Hawaii, and you end up with a very good film and a worthy addition to the Disney feature film collection. 

 Moana refreshingly departs from the tired scenario of having a young princess pursuing or being pursued by a prince and instead is a story of a young woman developing her talents and potential in order to become who she really is and to contribute to the greater good. While not a princess, Moana is the daughter of the chief on a tropical island. Though her people are primarily farmers and never travel beyond the island’s protective reef, Moana is drawn to the water from birth much to the dismay of her parents. A legend introduced at the beginning of the film explains that a thousand years ago, the brash, arrogant demigod Maui once stole the heart of Te Fiti, an island goddess, and introduced darkness into the world. By the time we meet Moana and her people, the darkness has spread and the crops on the island begin to die. It becomes clear Moana is the chosen one who has to travel across the sea, find Maui, and convince him to return the heart and save the world.

The plot hits all the standard points – the bickering and tension between the two leads, the two of them learning to cooperate by facing adversity together, the moment in the third act when all seems lost, and, of course, the triumphant climax in which Moana realizes something that no one else does and thereby acts selflessly and saves the world. Except for the Polynesian setting, there’s nothing terribly original about anything in the story.

But the film’s success lies more in the charm and appeal of the execution rather than in the originality of the story itself. Johnson and Cravalho’s performances are both immensely likeable and their voice work is actual performance rather than just shtick. As ever, the animation and production design are world-class. The wall-sized and shaped Maui is a particular visual treat as is Te Ka, the frightening, vengeful fire demon that turns up when Maui steals the heart of Te Fiti. 

The songs are lovely but generally aren’t as catchy as some of Disney’s big hits. It’s unlikely that you’re going to hear any of them playing on the radio in your car anytime soon. I’m okay with that because I prefer it when a movie is successful simply because it’s good and not because it’s been cross-marketed into oblivion. Moana has made 84 million dollars in less than a week and that’s because it’s good. The fact that Disney will ply our children with Moana toys, stuffed animals, happy meals, DVD sing-longs, and pajamas is simply the price we have to pay to get them to continue to make good movies.

Arrival

Director Denis Villeneuve’s new science fiction film Arrival bears minor resemblance to other alien invasion movies – smart ones like District 9, dumb ones like Independence Day and its sequel, and even cheesy ones like great 80s TV miniseries V. Like all of those, Arrival begins with massive alien space craft appearing suddenly over seemingly random spots all across the earth. The shell-shaped ships loom there in the sky as earthlings collectively work themselves into cosmic-sized fit of losing their junk.

However, giant ships ominously hanging in the air above terrified human kind is pretty much where the comparisons between Arrival and other aliens-come-to-earth movies end. Rather than a big, dumb collection of explosions and slobbery monsters piloting flying saucers, Arrival is an extraordinarily quiet, contemplative meditation on the haziness of language and the excruciating balance in life between joy and pain. This was not directed by Michael Bay and does not star Will Smith, friends.

Amy Adams plays Dr. Louise Banks, a brilliant linguist, called upon to help the military communicate with the aliens in the ship that hangs over a wide, startlingly picturesque valley in Montana. Along with Ian Donnelly, a theoretical physicist played by Jeremy Renner, Banks regularly ascends into the 1500 foot tall craft to have one-on-one chat sessions with a pair of giant aliens they nickname Abbot and Costello who resemble a cross between a whale, an elephant, a squid, and my freaking nightmares. The aliens stay behind a glass partition and are largely swathed in the gray, smoky clouds of their atmosphere. They fade in and out of sight, becoming unclear as Banks and Donnelly try to find a common linguistic ground to somehow make their intentions more clear.

Clouds and mist and fog are recurring visual themes throughout the movie and serve as a symbol for how difficult it is to be really clear about what we mean when we speak. The script of the film highlights the cloudiness of human language and points out how confused aliens might be if we tried to explain the difference between say, a tool and a weapon. As Banks and Donnelly try to build common ground inside the ship, the echo chamber of the 24 hour news cycle in the outside world stokes fear and panic as people wonder week after week, what are the aliens in these giant ships going to do? Why are they here? The two scientists work desperately to communicate as world militaries begin to gather and get antsy.

While there are very superficial similarities to movies like Independence Day and of course, any film featuring towering black structures from space also references 2001: A Space Odyssey, the film Arrival most resembles is 1986’s The Sacrifice, the last film of the great Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky. Like Arrival, The Sacrifice features a protagonist who knows what’s coming in the future, knows that there’s pain ahead, but chooses that path anyway.  In its stillness, how it portrays people reacting to what they think is an apocalyptic situation, and in how the main character makes a choice to sacrifice something in exchange for the greater good, I can’t help but think that director Villeneuve had to have watched Tarkovsky’s final masterpiece in prepping for Arrival.

Adams and Renner are both fine actors, and I appreciate that the script doesn’t succumb to the cliché of having the gruff military leaders berate the egghead scientists only to be proven wrong in the end. The scientists’ military contact is played by Forrest Whittaker who always brings a dignity and seriousness to his roles. In fact, Arrival doesn’t fall victim to many clichés at all. With a complicated but ultimately rewarding script, understated and believable performances, and cinematography that is as lovely and carefully thought-out as anything I’ve seen on a movie screen in a long while, it takes what could be very familiar territory and makes something thought-provoking and worthwhile.