January Movies and Television

Here are the movies and the television series I watched in January, separated into decades.

Movies

1970’s

Rankin/Bass’ The Hobbit (1977): The original animated version of The Hobbit, covering most of the tale in just under two hours, and better in almost every respect than the live action Hobbit trilogy. Yes, the animation and voice over work and songs are a little dated, but they still capture the wonder and whimsy of the story with great effect. Every major event - barring Beorn’s house and the Arkenstone - is covered, and, most importantly, no significant extra-canonical nonsense is added. There is no filler here. The story-telling is sparse and precise, but not overly rushed. There are many songs, as in the book, and they are artfully used to advance the narrative. The depiction of the Wood Elves seems a little strange, but then we have become accustomed to Orlando Bloom as Legolas, and who are we to say that they weren’t in fact greenish and bandy-legged? And, gloriously, Smaug retains his threat and menace, (unlike in the trilogy where he is stupidly bested in a scene reminiscent of a theme park ride by a handful of hapless dwarves.) A far better introduction to the Lord of the Rings movies than anything else. 

2000’s

The Fellowship of the Ring (2001):

The Two Towers (2002):

The Return of the King (2003): I watched these three, extended editions, back to back to back again with about 300 other people at the Rio theatre. It was like a religious experience, and I’m not exaggerating. There were cheers and gasps and tears throughout. In a very non-religious cinema, in an extremely non-religious neighbourhood in a thoroughly secular city, a host of people were completely engaged with JRR Tolkien’s Christ-infused story. They were entranced by this Catholic writer’s words about love, death, beauty, goodness, hope, pity, and eternity. Just as faith was kept alive in the Soviet Union through the works of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, it may be that faith is inspired in a faithless West through Tolkien and his ilk. (Jan)

2020’s

The Menu (2022): A very dark comedy, which at heart is a bitterly satirical take-down of the idolisation of food culture and celebrity chefs. It is essentially answering the question: What if Ratatouille was a movie about psychopaths instead of rats? A small group of entitled, insufferable people board a boat and go to Hawthorne Island, where they have paid an exorbitant amount for a tasting experience with Chef, played insanely by Ralph Fiennes. Chef’s staff are devoted to him and his methods - in ways that grow increasingly disturbing throughout the movie. The pretentiousness of chef and foodie culture is on full display in this movie, as is an underlying message that maybe, just maybe, food is for eating and not just experiencing. The third act descends into full dark comic absurdity. It is not realistic, but it is not meant to be. (Jan)

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022): Another take on the old tale, with many of the classic del Toro tropes thrown in. It is certainly a more mature version, one which does not skirt at faith (there are some clear Christ parallels happening with Pinocchio in this version, and even some biblically-accurate angel-type creatures), war (it takes place during the First and then Second World War, and Mussolini makes an appearance), and death. The main focus is the father-child relationship, the good and the bad of it, and this is quite well done. It is funny, whimsical, and terrifically sad. It is also gorgeously animated and voiced, especially Pinocchio’s singing by Gregory Mann, and David Bradley is wonderful as Geppetto. (Jan)

The French Dispatch (2021): An extraordinarily Wes Anderson-esque Wes Anderson movie. It is the story of The French Dispatch, a (fictional) largely unread Sunday supplement to the Liberty Kansas Evening Sun, a magazine created by a host of bizarre, ex-pat reporters and a dedicated editor (played by Bill Murray, of course) in Ennui, France. The film takes the shape of three long, unconnected stories in one edition of The French Dispatch, and then one final attempt to write the obituary of the editor, upon whose death the magazine is concluded. It is, of course, quirky, filled with close-ups and camera pans, mixing live action and cartoon, with quick, witty dialogue (“a weakness in cartography, a curse of the homosexual.”) and loads of pretension. All of Anderson’s normal, excellent cast members are back, and some more are added. Anderson, at his best, employs his tropes to tell a coherent narrative. This movie, given its tripartite structure, is not exactly coherent, except in its overall portrayal of the weirdest magazine in the world. Not his best (The Grand Budapest Hotel or Moonrise Kingdom) nor his worst (Isle of Dogs, IMO) but even Anderson at his middling is worth watching, because he is so unlike everyone else. (Jan)

After Yang (2022): A slow, gentle, exquisite meditation on death, memory, and family. Set in the future, a mother and father with an adopted Chinese daughter have purchased a “Technosapien” big brother for her. Yang’s purpose is to help mind his little sister and to connect her to her Chinese culture and heritage. But after several years Yang shuts down, and the family are forced to ask questions about the nature of life and death, particularly as more and more of Yang’s inner life is revealed to them. This is the kind of science fiction film that allows an unhurried exploration of questions that really matter, and is meant not so much to dazzle with future technology as to cause us to wonder at our own existence.

Television

Severance, Season 1: This is an absolutely phenomenal show, built on the premise of severance, a technology that can split a person’s mind so that they exist separately at work and away from work. In other words, your work self - your “Innie” - only gains consciousness on the elevator ride to the basement of Lumon industries, and loses it again on the way up after the work day is over. They have no memory of their personal history; their entire lives are spent inside the office, doing mysterious work which they do not understand. The show is a labyrinth, reflected in the maze-like hallways and offices the characters walk through. We spend most of our time with the four office mates and their three superiors (who are not severed), but we also get some glimpses of their exterior lives, especially that of Mark S, played by Adam Scott. He is confronted by a former work mate, and begins to wonder - both Innie and Outie version - whether Lumon is as good as they project themselves to be. It is acting at its finest, and the exquisite storyline and direction (mainly by Ben Stiller) present the viewer with an existential hell of Kafkaesque/Kubrickian proportions, as we begin to reckon with the implications of the vulnerability of such cut-off people. It is also a vicious critique of the modern job-scape, with some zingers thrown in at corporate-political-medical power and the silliness of the self-help world as well. The first season ends on as tense and finely-tuned cliff-hanger as exists in television, and I cannot wait for season two.