Overview of 2015 Scores Part 1 of 3

I seem to be consistently buying 27-29 new soundtracks a year since I started these sublimely prosaic “Year in Review” posts. Although I wouldn’t call any of them duds, I can’t really say there were any jaw-dropping masterpieces either. Film-score wise, I’ll remember 2015 as the year I discovered Miklós Rózsa and Naoki Sato; nothing I’ve heard this year exhilarated me more than the scores to, say, Ben-Hur or Space Battleship Yamato.

2015 saw Thomas Newman tucking a second Bond score and a first Spielberg score under his belt; neither was particularly outstanding, but they still evinced Newman’s compositional and dramatic dexterity; his Oscar is long overdue. Brian Tyler also took on two high-profile scores, one of which featured surprise contributions from Danny Elfman. John Powell also provided a “surprise” replacement score, while his old compadre Harry Gregson-Williams proved that he’s still force to be reckoned with. And while one force awakened in December, the year belonged to Michael Giacchino, who wrote four scores ranging from very good to excellent.

2015 did have its fair share of lamentable scores, but I elected not to buy them on CD or digital; hearing them in the film was enough. Chappie by Hans Zimmer turned out to be a bunch of electronic noise—certainly a disappointment following his work on Interstellar the previous year. I literally don’t remember if there was any original score in Clouds of Sils Maria, but I do remember some classical pieces, Pachelbel’s Canon in D being the foremost. Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation by Joe Kraemer wasn’t bad, but it didn’t grab me, especially after I read so many rave reviews. Finally, Mad Max: Fury Road by Tom Holkenborg had perhaps five minutes of music that made me perk up my non-elfin ears a bit, but the rest failed to rise above standard RC monotony.

Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention James Horner. His score for Southpaw featured a sadly nondescript, droning score. On a happier note, I did discover Cocoon, one of his masterpieces. I was never the biggest fan of Horner’s music, despite really liking a few of his scores. After his untimely death, I re-evaluated some of his works—A Beautiful Mind was as dull as ever besides the sublime opening 90 seconds of the first track, but I’ve gained more appreciation for Glory and The Perfect Storm. His best works did manifest his superb dramatic instincts, and it’s fitting that La-La Land Records capped off this year with an expanded release of Braveheart—one testament of many to the remarkable gifts of a man taken from us all too soon.

I know there are still oodles of scores that I haven’t listened to, but at this point, it will take me a while before I can get to anything new. For the time being, here is my ranking of 2015’s scores:

28. He Named Me Malala (Thomas Newman)

Newman sat firmly in his comfort zone for this documentary, and the results aren’t quite as consistently entertaining as Saving Mr. Banks, his comfort zone score from last year. Still, tracks like “A Pashtun Story” and “Which Camera Now?” offer generous helpings of Newman’s appealing, sequence-based bundles of exotic color, while “School V. Celebrity” bristles with optimistic enthusiasm entirely befitting the young girl who serves as the documentary’s subject. “The Women” imparts tranquility through an almost Renaissance-styled tune, while “66 Million Girls” features poignant piano and female vocals and touching orchestral swells. Outside those cues, though, the score remains low-key, as many tracks pass by without making much of an impression. If Newman writes another comfort zone score next year, let’s hope that its average tracks match the quality of this score’s highlight tracks.

27. Furious 7 (Brian Tyler)

If you want a score dripping with testosterone-fueled adrenaline, you can count on Brian Tyler to deliver—all with a winning smile and painstakingly styled hair. Tyler’s score for this film is a step back from his entertaining tunes to Fast Five, though still better than what any other composer has brought to this series so far. Electronics play a bigger role here—I’d say they were dubstep-influenced, but what do I know? “A Completely Insane Plan,” “Mountain Hijack,” “Party Crashers,” and “Hobbs Is the Cavalry” offer spurts of Tyler’s action, but none prove as thrilling as the extended “Train Heist” or “Vault Heist” from Fast Five—I suspect much of 7’s action has been cut from the album. The over-the-top (if brief) stentorian, doomsday choral statements in “Battle of the Titans” do offer campy entertainment, while the statements of the simple yet energizing Fast Five theme form a satisfying link to the past.

26. Goosebumps (Danny Elfman)

Danny Elfman has always been one of my favorite composers, and many film score fans have hailed this score as a throwback to Elfman’s fun, Gothic days—how’s that for an oxymoron? Indeed, fleeting phrases call to mind bits like Sleepy Hollow, the Mayor’s theme from Nightmare Before Christmas, Catwoman’s and Penguin’s themes from Batman Returns, and Elfman’s trademark, twisted lullaby-celeste melodies. Yet this score didn’t really cohere for me. The title track is a clear highlight, with the sinuous main theme snaking its way through the orchestra, complete with theremin and voices. A surprisingly tender theme, first heard in “Ferris Wheel,” developed in cues such as “Hannah’s Back” and “Farewell,” rounds out the thematic palette. Neither theme is among Elfman’s best, though, so despite the expected dexterity of Elfman’s writing, this score will have to settle for a lesser position in the composer’s impressive catalog.

25. SPECTRE (Thomas Newman)

I enjoyed Newman’s score for Skyfall, though I’d still rate it below most of David Arnold’s Bond entries. SPECTRE is less consistent than Skyfall, dragged down by a fair share of droning tracks. Newman derives much of the action material from Skyfall’s pre-credit sequence and, during the climax, a throbbing, 13-note electric guitar ostinato from “The Moors.” Still, Newman adds a dash of vibrancy to SPECTRE with his use of voices, backing the orchestra in “The Eternal City” before bursting forth magnificently in the premier action cue “Backfire.” “Snow Plane,” “Safe House,” and “Detonation” offer escalating action enhancing the sense of jeopardy (though of course we know that Bond won’t die) while “Westminster Bridge” features a ripping statement of the Bond theme for trumpets in such a high register that it would make David Arnold grin. Though Newman uses the choir sparingly, the choral work really does provide most of the score’s interest; as Angels in America proves, Newman + choir = brilliance.

24. The End of the Tour (Danny Elfman)

Elfman in subdued drama mode is always a nice change of pace, even if it seldom results in show-stopping scores. Mallet percussion instruments (including marimba) serve as the metallic spine of this score. Most of the tracks consist of drawn-out notes meditating on whatever the film’s characters are ruminating on, I suppose. But in tracks such as “Talk to Jan” and “Minneapolis,” the percolating percussion creates an atmosphere at once amiable, kinetic, and subtly melancholy. “Mall of America” evokes a more carefree happiness, inviting the listener to cast aside their cares for its 48 second running time. The chimes of tubular bells lend “Going Sour” a more reverent tint, though buzzing electronics keep the tone from becoming liturgical. Though Elfman displays inventiveness with the instrumentation, he doesn’t provide the score with a melodic hook or profound emotion. However, his track record proves that he probably did provide what was best for the film.

23. The Walk (Alan Silvestri)

Lacking a strong central theme, this score instead relies on nimble lines on solo instruments and the charm of its variegated set pieces. “Young Philippe” introduces a delightful waltz theme that would make a worthy dance partner with the effervescently confident main character, but the theme sadly doesn’t recur that often—in fact, it reaches its lush apex in the very next cue, “The Towers of Notre Dame,” and only appears in fragmented form in the last track. (I’m too lazy to type out its full name, which is worthy of James Horner.) “We Have a Problem” showcases Silvestri’s always-exciting rhythmic action, but quiet, anticipatory tension makes up the bulk of the score. Synth choir (mostly female, except for in the cue “I Feel Thankful”) aptly reflects the ethereal, almost otherworldly feeling of walking thousands of feet in the air, but a strong main theme to reflect Petit’s physical and emotional journey would’ve helped make this score even better

22. San Andreas (Andrew Lockington)

Andrew Lockington writes accomplished, adventurous music that has pleased many, yet I find his music lacks that ineffable enchantment that makes me really love a particular score. San Andreas finds Lockington writing in a more modern style than he has previously, complete with pounding drums, low string ostinatos, and Inception foghorns. The “Main Theme” introduces an elegiac boys’ choir, and a lyrical sense of melody infuses much of the action cues with anthemic triumph. In some ways, this score represents how I wish Hans Zimmer’s action style had developed after 1998. But while “Extinction” and “Resuscitation” thrust the choir to heights of glory (OK, I’m exaggerating a bit), the themes themselves are nebulous; even after listening to the bookend tracks several times, I have trouble picking out the themes in the body of the score. Some have compared Lockington to David Arnold; while I won’t get into that here, I will say that Lockington’s scores always tend to peter out, while Arnold liked to end his adventure scores with spectacularly overblown apotheoses, complete with blazing orchestral fanfares and rapturous choral hosannas.

21. Victor Frankenstein (Craig Armstrong)

Although Armstrong fleshes out the film’s characters with Gothic music (and, considering Mary Shelley’s original book, the word “Gothic” is actually appropriate), he focuses more on brooding darkness than on thrilling terror—the opposite of Patrick Doyle’s approach to Kenneth Branagh’s Frankenstein film. In “Dark Red Theme 2,” lush strings and sympathetic choir pour out a melody of resigned tragedy. “Igor Transformed” boasts a childlike, almost heavenly rendition of the theme, demonstrating the melody’s versatility. When the action does come in “Gordon’s Escape,” “Turpin’s Theme,” “Reunited,” and “Finale,” brass snarls, arpeggios swirl, voices chant, and strings rampage alongside the onscreen monster(s). Particularly impressive is how Armstrong wrings dark tragedy, usually the domain of low strings and brass, out of high strings and female voices. Armstrong doesn’t use the themes as much as I would’ve liked, and while the score does well portraying the tragic, it doesn’t quite become truly heart-rending. Still, I was mostly impressed by this score from an unexpected quarter.

Read Part 2 here.

Read Part 3 here.

The Good Dinosaur (Film)

After the dazzlingly sublime Inside Out (still my favorite film of 2015), it's hard to believe that a film fraught with so much behind-the-scenes turmoil would top it. But hey, Toy Story 2's production brought Pixar down to its knees, and yet it turned out to be the best film in that peerless trilogy. The Good Dinosaur's original director, Bob Peterson (a Pixar stalwart, co-directing Up and lending his voice to the characters of Geri, Roz, Mr. Ray, and Dug), was replaced fairly late in production with Peter Sohn (another Pixar regular, director of the short Partly Cloudy, and the voice of Emile and Squishy Squibbles). The trailers for the film didn't inspire me--though most Pixar trailers don't--so I was feeling a little dubious. Did the film assuage my skepticism?

The "high-concept" premise the film propounds is, "What if dinosaurs weren't killed by that gigantic meteor?" (To which that ever-ruminative philosopher Willy Wonka would reply, "What if my beard were made of green spinach?") How would dinosaurs and humans interact with each other? I'm sure there would have been a whole lot of munching going on, but the film takes a gentler, more kid-friendly approach. Actually, one of the aspects of the film that surprised me was that humans play a diminished role in the film. The only real interaction we see between dinos and humans is between the two protagonists, Arlo (a plant-eater that looks like a Brachiosaurus) and Spot, a human boy. We don't see how human societies interact with the various dinosaur societies.

In fact, the film takes a "boy and his dog" approach (in which the Arlo is the boy and Spot is the dog) to the central relationship, which makes me question why the filmmakers had to use a dinosaur and a human at all. If you're going to make a film about animals, you should have a strong story and character reason for using those particular animals--otherwise, they're just eye candy. The Lion King is a good example of how to use animal archetypes to further the story and deepen the character relationships, even if it's not 100% accurate to real life. (We all know that Scar would actually have an American accent, just like the rest of his family.) Dinosaurs are cool (or at least we think so--who knows; maybe in real life they were pathetic), but the story could've been about a prehistoric boy and a wolf making their way through the wilderness. I do think it would be intriguing to see how humans would deal with Velociraptors, T-Rexes, or even herbivores as large as the Supersaurus, but alas, The Good Dinosaur does not treat the audience to such interactions.

Another odd choice is the contrast between the lush, breathtaking, realistic environments and the cartoony character designs of the dinosaurs. I'm not going to vilify this decision as half of the Internet is doing, and indeed, it does make some sense with the filmmakers' intent that nature be the antagonist. I do think that Finding Nemo found a better balance between the environment and character design--in fact, in that film, the filmmakers found they had to pull back on the realism and stylize the backgrounds when they found their initial tests too realistic. (Polar Express/Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, anyone?)

Speaking of Finding Nemo, The Good Dinosaur has a similar structure: two characters going on an episodic quest, meeting a variety of different characters and situations along the way. However, The Good Dinosaur's episodes feel more detached than Nemo's, and the situations less clever and humorous. One encounter features a trio of Tyrannosaurs; while they're somewhat reminiscent of the sharks in Nemo, there's no real motivation behind their behavior, much less one as amusing as "Fish are friends, not food."

The musical score, by brothers Mychael and Jeff Danna, does an adequate job punctuating the grandeur of the landscape and lends a decent amount of emotion to the more tender scenes. However, the themes didn't stick in my memory, and the Super Danna Brothers' work here doesn't come close to matching the admittedly lofty heights of Michael Giacchino's Pixar scores (save Cars 2), or even Thomas Newman's scores and Randy Newman's better efforts. There's not much quantitatively wrong with the score--I like the use of exotic instruments (especially percussion) for one--but it's still missing that intangible quality that makes a good score great.

So far, this has been a fairly negative review, but there's still plenty in The Good Dinosaur to recommend. The voice work is effective, with each actor embodying his or her character. Much of the film falls on Raymond Ochoa's performance as Arlo, and he acquits himself nicely. Sam Elliott, Steve Zahn, and Anna Paquin play the more colorful side characters with panache while not calling attention to themselves. But Jeffrey Wright and Frances McDormand as Arlo's parents prove the most impressive, their naturalistic, non-grandstanding performances making you truly believe in their characters as people instead of animated characters voiced by celebrities.

The Good Dinosaur's plot is pretty predictable, but the simple story allows the film to develop the emotional scenes that serve as its core. No, they're nowhere near as touching as the moving scenes in Inside Out, but they do feel earned. (One of The Good Dinosaur's writers, Meg LeFauve, also co-wrote Inside Out.) Some animated films today (mostly non-Disney and non-Pixar) try to shoehorn in tear-jerking scenes, but they feel manipulative and tacky. While The Good Dinosaur is not a top-quality film, especially by Pixar's standards, it still evinces the studio's adroit ability at telling stories in an emotionally meaningful manner.

Mother (Japanese TV Drama): Part 2

Read Part 1 here.

I've written all these superlatives about this show, but I haven't even gotten to the one aspect of it that left me absolutely flummoxed, alternately in unbelieving awe and near tears at its total sublimity: the acting of Ashida Mana as the young girl whom Nao "kidnaps" and saves from abuse. I'd seen Ashida in Pacific Rim, playing the young Mako Mori, and I thought she was pretty good. Her palpable fear and, even better, her look of absolute adoration toward Idris Elba's character made up probably the best acting moments in that movie. (Not that she had a whole lot of competition, even though I really enjoyed the movie as a whole.) But her acting in Mother is something else entirely.

I don't expect much from child or teen actors because, for the most part, they're still learning their craft and the fundamentals of how people interact in different situations. (Plus, I think it's kind of mean to call out a kid for not being a good actor.) In elementary school, I acted in four plays--three tiny parts and one fairly substantial part. However, I barely knew what the heck I was doing and, dare I say, so did most of the other kids in those plays. Of course, they were all better actors than I was, but even at that age I recognized that, even though the directors were truly talented and endlessly forbearing, this was children's theater; the final production wouldn't really appeal to anyone who wasn't related to or friends with one of the actors. So I never expected Ashida to be one of the better actors in Mother, much less the best. I mean, given this story's premise, I thought her acting was going to be either a) a bit bratty and obnoxious, or b) so nauseatingly treacly and cloying as to make one's teeth fall out. (Sadly, that's how most of these characters turn out).

If nothing else, Ashida is the only actress whose performance has pushed me over the edge to moistened eyes--and four times at that. Her character, Rena, despite having suffered deplorable abuse, displays a veneer of cheerfulness to the outside world. Part of this joy stems from a warm and loving core that refuses to be snuffed out completely, but Nao soon realizes that Rena is repressing her darker emotions in an effort to make others happy so that, just maybe, they'll accept and love her back. The pair's first extended encounter takes place at a diner; Nao clearly wants to be left alone, but Rena, left unsupervised by her mother, detects that Nao is a soul who both needs companionship and could possibly offer comfort to the forlorn child. Sure, Rena's attempts to endear herself to this outwardly stoic woman are cute and all, but there is a desperation behind Rena's near-incessant chatting. When Nao eventually tells Rena to (basically) shut up, Rena complies with a wide, amiable smile. Of course, it's meant to be ingratiating, but Ashida acts with impressively natural grace so it doesn't feel forced, manipulative, or tacky--which is probably how it would have come across if pretty much any other child actor (and many adult actors) had done the role.

Ashida not only embodies Rena's character to an uncanny extent, but she is also able to portray the character's inner desperation just peeking out from under her ebullient exterior. It's difficult for me, as an adult writer, to write lines for a character whose inner qualities are barely perceptible beneath a masked facade. That a five-year-old can so fearlessly yet naturally portray such a character is incredible. When I was five, my biggest challenge was deciding whether to read a book or play Reader Rabbit (which taught me the word "keg") on the Apple II during Free Choice.

As you can imagine, it's all the more heart-wrenching when Rena's despair breaks through her sunniness. There are at least four scenes (the ones that moistened my eyes) where Rena is trying so hard not to let her sadness break through and overwhelm her, but she just can't. And while it's happening, she's still trying like heck to stifle it, but the emotion just overwhelms her, coming out in agonizing spurts. These scenes, while profoundly heartbreaking to watch, also offer the sublime brilliance of an actress who understands how to portray such sadness. I know nothing about Ashida's personal life, but I'm willing to wager that she's been through nothing close to what Rena goes through. I don't know how much of the specifics she actually understood about her character's situation, but what's important is that her reactions and emotions are spot-on, imbued with compassionate sympathy. One truly feels that she is acting and reacting in the moment as a real child in that situation would; there is no visible sign of premeditation or preparation that you can find even in some very good actors--child or adult. Of course, credit must also go to the penetratingly astute writing of Sakamoto Yuji and the sensitive directing of Mizuta Nobuo and Naganuma Makoto, all of whom drew the best out of not only Ashida, but the rest of the cast as well.

Ashida went on to star in several other OK to good dramas--Usagi Drop, Sayonara Bokutachi no Youchien (written by Mother screenwriter Sakamoto Yuji), Beautiful Rain, and Marumo no Okite. All great performances, but her other non-Mother performance that utterly floored me was Ashita Mama ga Inai. She's apparently a singing sensation in Japan too, but what can I say, she just sounds like a moderately above-average kid singer. It is her acting, infused with preternatural empathy and understanding of human feeling, where her true and considerable talent lies.

Mother (Japanese TV Drama): Part 1

Prefatory Note: I will use the Japanese convention of listing the family (last) name first and the given name last--basically the opposite of how we write names in America.

I love a good action movie. From Kick-Ass and The Raid to Aliens and Die Hard, a well choreographed, directed, and edited action film thrills me, enthralls me, delights me. Indeed, what may be my favorite film, The Incredibles, features a healthy dose of pyrotechnic action alongside the ingeniously constructed story and richly realized characters.

Not to say that I have totally eschewed non-action films to this point. I have a great fondness for films such as Beauty and the Beast, City Lights, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Moonrise Kingdom. But to say that I actively seek out soap operas and weepy TV series would be erroneous. Which, of course, is the very nature of Japanese dramas (and Korean ones too, from what I gather).

I can't quite recall how I stumbled upon Mother, or, more importantly, why I decided to watch it.  Chalk it up to an unexplainable whim, of which I admittedly have many. Maybe it's because I'm half-Japanese and wanted to "explore my roots." Maybe I wanted to see how much Japanese I could remember from high school. (Not a whole lot, as it turned out). But I got sucked into watching all 11 episodes of this exceptional series (most episodes are 46 minutes, with the first running 71 minutes and the last running 58 minutes).

Now, this is a drama in which almost all the characters--certainly all the important ones--are female. Yet in an age when many female characters are still either one-note damsels-in-distress or tough chicks, it's more than refreshing to find a show in which--just as in life--we find a wide range of female characters, each of whom feature their own complexities, nuances, and variegated approaches to life.

Here's the basic premise: A young woman, Suzuhara Nao, is subbing at an elementary school and forms a connection with an oddly perspicacious student, eight-year-old Michiki Rena. Over the course of the pilot, Nao discovers that Rena doesn't have the best home situation; an utterly despicable (yet sadly believable) act by Rena's mother sets the plot in motion…

Before I start gushing, I will say that the show isn't without its flaws. Many scenes are very deliberately paced, to put it kindly, and could have been tightened up just a bit. The penultimate episode's cliffhanger also promises more than what the finale actually delivered--not that the ending was bad, it's just that it didn't quite reach the heights of what came before. The main plot involves Nao and Rena, but some of the scenes devoted to the subplots aren't quite as engaging. But the show's biggest blunder is about three-quarters through the final episode. Just as a poignant scene is about to hit its emotional peak, those stupid sponsor logos pop up directly over the scene, complete with the a voice-over saying, "Thank you to these companies for ruining this scene," or something to that effect. It doesn't help that the smiling moon logo of the main sponsor, Kao, makes you want to punch it right in its smug little moon-face.

The acting throughout is superb. Matsuyuki Yasuko plays Nao as understated, forgoing extreme facial calisthenics in favor of a more natural approach. Her emotions churn deep inside her, yet you can tell that they're there. When the circumstances of the story inevitably cause those emotions to erupt, it's all the more emotionally affecting. Ono Machiko as Michiki Hitomi, Rena's mom, does well portraying a distasteful, pitiful character in a hopeless situation she's mostly created for herself. (Ono is also great in Saikou no Rikon, in which she plays in irrepressibly vivacious bundle of life. When some actors portray characters on opposite sides of the spectrum, it seems like they're trying too hard. Yet Ono pulls off both these disparate characters with impressive aplomb.)

Takahata Atsuko (the voice of Lady Sagami in The Tale of the Princess Kaguya) as Suzuhara Toko, Nao's mother, is an outwardly blunt, caustic hard-hitter with a deep reservoir of emotion. In one scene, she's signing an important document, and the look of utter despondency on her face, not believing what's happening and not knowing where to turn, is painful. Tanaka Yuko (the voice of Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke) plays Mochizuki Hana; I won't reveal her part in the story, but she deftly portrays a character whose heartbreaking forbearance stems from a deeply ingrained sense of guilt.

The dialogue (written by Sakamoto Yuji, screenwriter of the aforementioned Saikou no Rikon) adroitly encapsulates the thoughts and emotions of each character. Yes, some of the scenes between Nao and Hana are a bit slow, but these characters in particular are expressing their innermost feelings for the first time; it makes sense that they take time to get their points across.

The episodes are structured in such a way that most of them end with a cliffhanger. Each episode ends with the credits playing (unobtrusively) over the final minutes. In one episode, the credits come at the very beginning, which should tip you off that some sh*t's going to go down at the end of the episode--and boy, does it ever.

(MILD SPOILER) And, of course, in another episode the credits play over a lighthearted (though somewhat bittersweet) scene that, for those so inclined (i.e., not me), causes an "Aww, how cute" reaction. The credits end, and the scene seems to be over. The episode's done, right? Then, out of nowhere, the scene gets extremely emotional very quickly, a poignant gut-punch that devastated me, catching me completely off guard. (END MILD SPOILER)

And the mastermind behind this little scene? Tune in next time to read about Mother's most essential ingredient, the attribute that lifted it from a well-written drama into an artistic tour de force that I will keep thinking about for years to come.

Read Part 2 here.

Pan (John Powell)

In Brief:
John Powell, a rather cheeky chap who, refreshingly, doesn't seem to give a hoot about proper interview decorum, writes some of the most breathlessly irrepressible, exhilarating music on the planet. Unfortunately, many of his solo animation scores (especially the Blue Sky efforts) switch styles and tones at such a head-spinning rate (a technique known as "Mickey-Mousing") that they fail to create a sense of momentum, making them difficult to enjoy. You could call them ADHD scores. But when Powell creates (or is allowed to create) a score with coherent development, the results are sensational: the How to Train Your Dragon series (referred to as HTTYD for the rest of this post), Bolt, X-Men: The Last Stand, and (with Harry Gregson-Williams) Antz and Chicken Run are among the finest scores written today. His score for Pan sits somewhere between his sublime scores and his schizophrenic ones, incorporating elements of both.

Pan, starring Hugh Jackman, is an origin story of the famed Greek god with Jackman as the eponymous hero; he won the role over James McAvoy in a bitter, hard-fought contest. Just kidding; of course, it's a prequel to James Barrie's renowned play about the Boy Who you know the rest. (No, not "Lived.") Director Joe Wright normally works with talented composer Dario Marianelli (Oscar-winner for his score to Wright's Atonement), but the studio, presciently concerned about the appeal of the film, replaced Marianelli with Powell. Because as Troy and the 2013 Romeo and Juliet proved, when a film fares poorly with test audiences, changing the score will fix everything.

Pan's score starts out rather nondescriptly, but it gains strength, vitality, and consistency as it goes along. Many of the early cues are plagued by abrupt shifts, I assume to reflect the comic nature of the on-screen action; just as you think the music is going to burst forth in a glorious explosion of melody, it stops and changes gears to more slapstick music. But by the time the climactic action cues "Flying Ship Fight" (how descriptive) and "A Boy Who Could Fly" roll around, the tone becomes more consistently adventurous and swashbuckling. I was able to discern three themes, though to be honest, I only picked out the main theme on my first listen. Peter's theme and what I call the "origin" theme are short motifs of only a few notes each; the former theme does have a B section, but it's seldom used--I only hear it in "Floating/Neverland Ahoy!" and "Transfiguration." The main theme, while rousing, has an opening phrase very similar to the flying theme from HTTYD. But hey, the opening to Miklós Rózsa's main themes for Knights of the Round Table, El Cid, and Judah's theme for Ben-Hur sound similar; they're all masterpieces, so I won't give Powell too much grief.

"Kidnapped/Galleon Dog Fight" contains the toe-tapping, stylish, rhythmically peppy kind of music that practically screams Powell; it'll bring a smile to the face of anyone who likes and is familiar with his work. The poignant material lacks emotional depth, but perhaps that's just reflecting the film itself. The aforementioned climactic action tracks are like Powell's HTTYD scores on a diet, but they still feature the composer's busy orchestral figures, intense choral writing, radiant fanfares, and fantastic build-ups to thunderous renditions of thrilling melodies. Those unfamiliar with Powell's work would be better off listening to his How to Train Your Dragon scores (or the portion of Kung Fu Panda 2 linked below), and those familiar with his work will probably be reminded of some of his other, superior scores. Still, some cues did give me an adrenaline rush, impressing me with their surging vibrancy and only slightly restrained grandeur. Though tempered in parts by its comic mood shifts, Powell's score to Pan, when at its best, gushes with verve.

Playlist-Worthy Tracks:
Kidnapped/Galleon Dog Fight
Inverted Galleon
Pirates vs Heroes vs Natives vs Chickens
A Warrior's Fate
Flying Ship Fight
A Boy Who Could Fly
Transfiguration

Analysis Begins with Anal:

Prefatory Note: The CD includes four songs (you know, those things with lyrics), but other than a dark, stentorian rendition of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" for choir, none of them grabbed me at all.

Opening Overture: A piano solo introduces the main theme. Although this main theme mainly appears in an adventurous guise, this first statement is almost melancholy. Dancing, pulsing strings take over before becoming more tender (like meat). A delicate flute and then strings play a meandering melody over glittering harp, mallet percussion, and subtle guitar.

Air Raid/Office Raid: Pizzicato strings, snare drum, and high strings frolic over fluttery flute interjections. Lower instruments take over, followed by a tuba allusion to the main theme. Clarinet plays a florid, more recognizable development of the main theme.

Kidnapped/Galleon Dog Fight: Piano and brass chorale trade phrases, introducing what I'll call Peter's theme (but who knows, it could be Batman's theme). Snare and churning orchestra hurtle into a massive downward glissando that in turn leads to Powell's signature rhythmic, effervescent action, complete with an array of percussion. The main theme enters on strings before an almost mariachi-like brass outburst at 1:26. The jazzy Powell groove continues with an energetic two-note high string phrase. At 3:49 a more dramatic melody enters on brass, but flute keeps the tone lighthearted. The energy increases as a meandering melody continues above swirling string and woodwind runs. Brimming with the zest of Powell's animation scores (Kung Fu Panda, Bolt), this track reminds me why Powell's music can be so irresistible.

Floating/Neverland Ahoy!: Shimmering harp and flutes lead to a beautiful string statement of Peter's theme. With a sudden sting, the score turns playful again. Subtle electric guitar and orchestra state one of the most complete statements of Peter's theme over snazzy percussion.

Murmurs of Love and Death: A fiddle-like violin plays under string swells. The strings start a cyclical ostinato as instruments play off each other's beats--this would probably sound like a mess if played by a middle-school orchestra. This passage reminds me a bit of the track "Sphere and Loathing" from Michael Giacchino's Tomorrowland. A sudden col legno hit at 1:19 has significant startle potential if you play the score at high volume like I did. Strings take their time playing a slow melody.

Mine Escape: Acoustic guitar and strings lead to a hint of the main theme. Fluttering flute and guitar continue as flute, oboe, brass, then full orchestra continue to develop the main theme, including an agile, "pirate-jig" variation starting at 1:49. Invigorating string swirls lend energy, but the comical stop and go nature of the music interrupts the momentum slightly. In the final minute, a tubular bell toll and pause precede the boldest statement of the main theme yet.

Inverted Galleon: An exuberant version of the main theme missing the tenth note (lending a dynamic vigor to the theme) gives way to an adventurous variation of Peter's theme. Robust descending brass phrases recall the action music from HTTYD. Another pause leads to a triumphant statement of Peter's theme and a brief rhythmically energetic section, almost like Powell's "Zen Ball Master" from Kung Fu Panda 2, (0:50-3:30) but not as rousing (or long--it lasts for less than 10 seconds).

Neverbirds: Bagpipe-like instruments lead to a jig-like theme. "Tribal" percussion leads to keening strings. Orchestral Mickey-Mousing dominates the cue until a guitar softly states the main theme.

Tramp Stamp: More exotic percussion and hand clapping percolate for a minute before the orchestra enters with a semi-fanfare. Strings trade phrases of the main theme before brass and then orchestra belt radiant renditions of the same.

Origin Story: Piano introduces what I'll call the "origin" theme against menacing low brass. (I don't know what or who this theme represents, but I'm not about to see the movie to find out.) Choir enters with a doleful but sadly brief requiem before the lonely piano takes over. Strings seesaw as the origin theme hovers above. Harp and guitar strum under Peter's theme on strings.

Pirates vs Natives vs Heroes vs Chickens: An ominous circular phrase leads to a skittering ostinato, then Powell percussion rhythms take over. Almost frantic runs from various orchestral sections--string here, flutes there--cascade beneath outbursts of the main theme. The concluding descending phrase receives some particularly rousing workouts at 2:30 and 2:53, with an uncharacteristically ebullient version of the origin theme intervening at 2:40. Flute over a quiet string ostinato leads to a somewhat sinister rendition of the main theme.

Crocodiles and Mermaids: Acoustic guitar plays Peter's theme before baleful brass--for what must be the mermaids--enters. Incomplete main theme fragments poke through before ethereal voices--for what must be the crocodiles--coo over sweeping strings, harp, and an oboe phrase of the main theme.

A Warrior's Fate: The opening features a double bait-and-switch that you'll find either clever or annoying. A poignant choir note quickly makes way for a playful dance-like rhythm with Peter's theme on strings. Choir accompanies wistfully before pulling an about-face, crescendoing as male voices enter, pulling the music into menacing action mode. The voices eventually quiet down with warm strings and minor statement of Peter's theme. The main theme travels among clarinet, flute, and French horn. A rendition of the origin theme on ethnic flute (starting at 2:51), with "tribal" percussion and choral accompaniment, highlights an oddly energetic yet poignant section at cue's end.

Flying Ship Fight: The Glorious Boss Battle Part 1. Low brass and strings over clanking percussion play dangerously before main theme asserts itself. Here, stripped down to its essence, the main theme sounds even more like the flying theme from HTTYD. Fateful choir statements (at 0:48) punctuate a delicate/driving percussion ostinato--one of my favorite passages of the score. The cascading string ostinato continues as male choir takes over, amping up the energy further before momentarily quieting for Peter's theme. An utterly joyous, swashbuckling outburst of the main theme finally interrupts the cascading ostinato. At 3:05, the main theme ends with an ascending phase instead of a descending one, and then  the dynamic "missing note" version of the theme from "Inverted Galleon" starts at 3:26. The soaring origin theme plays in action mode at 4:05. Nautical rhythms abound as the action continues, chime flourishes punctuating the orchestral fireworks throughout.  A minor, exotic sounding variation of Peter's theme enters 6 minutes in with the missing note variation of the main theme following soon after. The main theme breaks down into an ostinato, flutes trilling above as the cue hurtles to an abrupt conclusion.

A Boy Who Could Fly: The Glorious Boss Battle Part 2. The melancholy piano statement of the main theme from the overture returns. Another cascading string ostinato enters with ominous bass drum beats. A fanfare-like brass statement of Peter's theme ushers in a celebratory mood. At 1:40, low brass and strings (I think) reference the origin theme. Choir (first women, then men), add to the steadily increasing pyrotechnics--impressively, the rhythm of their melody is different from what the orchestra's playing. More HTTYD-esque statements of the main theme play at 2:51. The choir continues cataclysmically, reaching almost Lord of the Rings/Mt. Doom proportions, but Powell's upbeat percussion grooves and chime runs are never too far away. About 4:08 in, an unadorned, portentous choir phrase enters, quite similar to a phrase from the cue "Phoenix Rises" from Powell's X-Men: The Last Stand. The choir continues raging alongside the origin theme. Peter's theme over humming choir (reminiscent of "Toothless Lost" from HTTYD 2) closes the cue.

Transfiguration: In this cue, which I assume plays under Blackbeard's transfiguration into Wolverine, the lush apotheosis of Peter's theme for the string section highlights the cue. French horn joins for the final statement. Piano, then harp and humming chorus follow.

Fetching the Boys: Playful pizzicato phrases start things off. French horn and strings briefly play the main theme in a noble guise. The snazzy energy from "Kidnapped/Galleon Dog Fight" returns (including the mariachi-like phrase). French horn, oboe, then strings play a content version of the main theme. Strings play a wandering melody before the orchestra and choir swell, fading out to a false ending. A final cadence from the orchestra provides the real ending, with a final cheeky note on glockenspiel.

The Martian (Harry Gregson-Williams)

In Brief:

In The Martian, Matt Damon finds himself stranded on Mars. Using only disco music and potatoes (the "nassty chips" so cruelly rejected by Gollum), he devises a way to survive until NASA can bring him back to his home planet of Neptune. (Isn't that what the "N" in NASA stands for?)

Director Ridley Scott doesn't stick with one composer, but he still formed relationships with a few. Though Scott notoriously rejected parts of Jerry Goldsmith's score to Alien (and Universal subsequently rejected Goldsmith's entire score to the American release of Scott's Legend), he did manage to stick with Hans Zimmer for six films and Zimmer apprentice Marc Streitenfeld for five. Though the scores from the latter composer were unremarkable, Prometheus did boast a captivating main theme by Harry Gregson-Williams that overshadowed the rest of Streitenfeld's score. Gregson-Williams had worked with Scott on 2005's Kingdom of Heaven, the best score in a Scott film since Goldsmith's Legend 20 years earlier. Now, Gregson-Williams returns to the Scott fold, providing The Martian with a hypnotic, entrancing, and ultimately triumphant score.

Gregson-Williams generally has two sides: the propulsive, electronic sound he's used for his seven films with Ridley's late brother Tony (such as Spy Game, Man on Fire, and Unstoppable) and the lush, full-bodied orchestral idiom of Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, the first two Narnia films, and (with John Powell) Chicken Run and Antz. His score for the Martian mixes elements from both. Captivating and, at times, thrilling electronics nestle comfortably alongside rich orchestral melodies and precisely written tunes for solo instruments. The electronic sounds range from more modern beats to optimistic-sounding 8-bit elements. The simple main theme, versatile enough to evoke different moods on different instruments, infuses the score with an aspirational quality throughout its running time. Although individual cues such as "Making Water," "Hexadecimals," and "Crossing Mars" feature remarkable orchestral/electronic build-ups, the dramatic arc of the score as a whole, slowly building to its cathartic conclusion, proves even more impressive.

There's no single cue to match the glorious (though somewhat melodically derivative) cues "Shenzou" (1:30-4:45) and "Gravity" (2:45-end) from Steven Price's score to the similarly themed--you guessed it--Gravity, but The Martian is a stronger score overall. Though not as crowd-pleasing as Gregson-Williams's Sinbad, Chicken Run, or Team America: World Police, this score boasts an impressive array of sounds and colors, both electronic and acoustic, to please the ears.

Playlist-Worthy Tracks:

Emergency Launch
Making Water
Hexadecimals
Crossing Mars
See You in a Few
Fly Like Iron Man

Analysis Begins with Anal:

Mars: A synthetic rumble leads to tinkling piano and electronics. The synthesizer then opens up the soundscape, evoking an ethereal quality. The main theme, a desolate yet aspirational tune for electric guitar, enters. A low string variation of the theme is framed by bubbling low synth.

Emergency Launch: The cue opens with a bass beat with ominous low string swells and a see-sawing phrase that recalls Jerry Goldsmith's Alien score. A stylish, somewhat "pop"-like string ostinato leads to ominous brass. A string chorale with answering brass blossoms to an emotional statement of the main theme with subtle choir. Eerie choir and strings lend an otherworldly tint to the end of the cue.

Making Water: A buzzing synth leads to rippling harp over an upbeat, charmingly old-fashioned-sounding synth beat. A propulsive string ostinato enters, the main theme growing on strings and horns over snare-like percussion. Gregson-Williams deftly creates a sense of momentum, adding new electronic elements, orchestral instruments, and volume as the cue progresses. In some ways, this cue resembles Daft Punk's score to Tron: Legacy, a score on which Gregson-Williams consulted.

Spotting Movement: Fluttering synth ostinatos transform into a more beat-like pattern, flitting around the stereo field. The bubbling low synth from the opening track returns to round things out.

Science the S*** Out of This: A low ostinato on what I can only describe as low wind chimes precedes a variation of the main theme variation on low strings. Propulsive synths, calling to mind Gregson-Williams's work on the Metal Gear Solid video games, enter near the end.

Messages from Hermes: An echoing electric violin phrase floats over a delicate synth bed. Desolate French horn perfectly evokes the Martian landscape (though what do I know; the scene could be of Matt Damon doing the macarena).  Piano slowly ekes out the main theme.  Strings rise, leading to an energetic, almost rousing ostinato with wide intervals.

Sprouting Potatoes: (Boil them, mash them, stick them in a stew.) Science-y synths and guitar lead to expressive solo cello. Strings play an optimistic motif based on four notes.

Watney's Alive!: We had science-y synths in the last track--well, now we have static-y synths. Piano attempts to form shape of main theme. The last 30 seconds pick up the pace with propulsive electronic rhythms.

Pathfinder: And now we have queasy synths. Chime-like sounds play as the piano again tries to find main theme.

Hexadecimals: More video game-y 8-bit synth, including rippling cascades, features here. A lush electronic crescendo recalls Henry Jackman's superb score to Wreck-It-Ralph (and the title track in particular).

Crossing Mars: Processed electric guitar plays the main theme over a lonely string bed. French horn and strings play a variation of the main theme in a warm, almost Americana style. The theme and instrumental layers slowly keep building and building, female choir finally entering as one of the final developments. Unlike Making Water, this track uses mostly orchestral elements to propel the momentum forward, but the effect is just as invigorating.

Reap & Sow: Sneaky Metal Gear Solid-like synths enter before turning in a completely different direction with a cello statement of the main theme. A bass drop (or whatever you call that thing that turns up in so much dubstep music) leads to a driving string ostinato and echoing trumpet phrases.

Crops Are Dead: A female voice keens an elegy (for the crops?) Bassoon takes over, finally "sobbing" out the main theme before female voice ends the cue.  The whole track is almost like a duet for soprano and bassoon, lending a quiet sincerity to the score that one wouldn't expect in a tent-pole movie.

Work the Problem: A synth noise in this cue reminds me of Robyn Miller's eerie score for the computer game Myst. A techno rhythm enters, complete with ramp up (like a less brash version of Gregson-Williams's music for The Equalizer.)

See You in a Few: Solo piano starts the cue off, sustained synth chords providing harmony. A harpsichord-esque instrument slowly plays the main theme. Piano then picks up the theme, allowing it to slowly develop over the course of the cue. Choir enters, preceding a beautiful string swell. Male choir comes to the fore before rumbling synth takes over, but the choir soon fights back as the percussion starts an invigorating rhythm.

Build a Bomb: A synth pulse makes its way around the stereo field. After a questioning, 4-note rising ostinato, the strings start to build, slowly ascending in pitch.

Fly Like Iron Man: Low bass sounds rumble under an echoing two-note flute phrase and a subtle ticking rhythm.  Dissonant brass herald a dramatic crescendo from the whole orchestra. A rapid-fire string ostinato under brass suddenly changes gears to an 8-bit-ish synth rendition of the main theme. Full orchestra, including triumphant brass and male choir, releases the tension that has been building up for the whole score. As the score closes, female choir enters, strings ending with a quiet nod to the three final notes of the opening movement of Richard Stauss's Also Spake Zarathustra (AKA the 2001: A Space Odyssey opening and closing music.)


[Linked Youtube videos are not my uploads.]

The Walk (Alan Silvestri)

In Brief:

Alan Silvestri, who has scored every Robert Zemeckis film since Romancing the Stone in 1984, provides his most faithful collaborator with a warmhearted score. The film, starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt (best known for his critically-acclamied role as Cobra Commander in the first GI Joe movie), chronicles Phillipe Petit's leisurely stroll between the two towers of the World Trade Center. From a wire stretched between the towers' roofs. I'm guessing the film's about more than just the walk, especially as the film's 123 minutes long and the walk itself took about 45 minutes in real life. Or who knows; maybe the credits are 78 minutes long.

The most welcome feature of this score, at a time when most film scores are percussive, synth-based walls of sound, is the varied orchestration. Solo instruments, especially woodwinds, get their time to shine, the players pouring their hearts and carbon dioxide into simple yet gorgeous melodies that enrich the score. Lending variety to the soundtrack are passages of blues/jazz, lush French-flavored waltzes, and brief snatches of brassy, rhythmic action in the best Silvestri tradition (a la Back to the Future and The Avengers). However, the bulk of the score emphasizes warm string writing; an intriguing echoing-piano effect recurs throughout, with eerie (or cheap, depending on your tastes) female synth choir coming to the fore in the last half of the score. While not as thematically rich and stirring as the composer's Forrest Gump, The Polar Express, or even Stuart Little and Lilo & Stitch, it is nowhere near as subdued as Flight, Cast Away, or The Bodyguard. Although there are some recognizable motifs, there's no single strong theme. Yet the stylistic variety, delicacy and clarity of the orchestrations, and sincerity of the melodies add up to a decent achievement from this veteran composer.

Playlist-Worthy Tracks:
Young Phillipe
The Towers of Notre Dame
"We Have a Problem"
"I Feel Thankful"
"They Want to Kill You"
"Perhaps You Brought Them to Life--Gave Them a Soul"

Analysis Begins with Anal:

Pouquoi?: Waves of strings, reminiscent of Cast Away, are what really lie beneath an echoing piano motif. The cue transitions to cool jazz (or maybe that's the wrong term; I don't know all the sub genres of blues/jazz) in the same mold as Who Framed Roger Rabbit? with plucked string bass, sax, drum kit, and muted trumpet.

Young Phillipe: Piano and almost ethereal strings lead into a playful brass waltz, which blossoms gloriously into full orchestra. This delightfully lyrical waltz theme, presumably for some romantic aspect of the story, is the strongest melody of the score.

Two Loves: An accordion serves as the rhythmic spine for a melancholy tune in 3/4 time. Pizzicato strings back flute, clarinet, and piano before the string section takes up the sighing melody.

Towers of Notre Dame: Accordion, clarinet and a plucked instrument I ashamedly can't name lend a distinctly French (but not stuck-up) flavor to the proceedings. The mood changes to jazz again with ballsy brass outbursts and a flute trill before the lovely waltz theme returns in full orchestra; clarinet and celeste gracefully round out the piece.

"It's Something Beautiful": A churning string motor leads to a synth crash. Synth beats pulse under an expectant bassoon tune. Later in the cue, sparse piano hovers above a sustained string line, finishing with the orchestral waltz theme.

Spy Work: Silvestri provides his take on 1960s spy music, complete with bongos, muted brass, and a fat low (tenor? baritone?) sax bass line.

Full of Doubt: Portentous chimes lead to the return of the expectant bassoon tune from "It's Something Beautiful."

Time Passes: Churning strings and brass outbursts find Silvestri in his comfortable action mode. At 0:37, we're treated to a trademark Silvestri brass fanfare and response from strings. The next section with tick-tocking percussion and synth recalls his some of his work on the TV show Cosmos. The strings crescendo against counterpoint from French horns and then trumpets. Frenzied strings build to a final brass stinger.

The Arrow: A cello playing a gypsy-like melody opens the track. Celeste (or maybe it's glockenspiel) play a mischievous, Elfman-like line, charmingly repeated by brass. Strings continue to churn before dying down to meditative piano, celeste, and oboe. A string ostinato returns below menacing low brass.

"We Have a Problem": The ostinato from last track returns, but in pizzicato with a couple of statement from celeste. Silvestri enters his familiar militaristic action mode again before an explosion of synth percussion precedes a continuance of the ostinato. A fatalistic line from trumpets, then strings enters as the synths intensify. A dramatic melody (whose opening sounds just a little like Davy Jones's theme from Hans Zimmer's Pirated of the Caribbean score) provides some neat structural symmetry; as with the previous fatalistic line, it's played by trumpets and repeated in the string section.

The Walk: The Cast Away tone of first track, complete with echoing piano over strings, is reprised. Female synth voices make their first entrance in the score at  2:45 (bringing to mind Titanic, of all things). Strings and horns eventually enter, swelling with a sense of relief.

"I Feel Thankful": The track opens with Fur Elise on piano before the full orchestra--strings then brass--take it up. The bulk of the cue consists of a quasi-march, interrupted twice. The first time, flute, clarinet, and oboe take up waltz theme over the synth choir before launching into an exquisite melody. In the second "interruption," the orchestra busts into a bittersweet theme with male synth choir (the only time we hear male synth voices on the entire soundtrack).

"They Want to Kill You": Synth and percussion punctuate skittering strings, over which an inexorable brass melody plays. The Davy Jones melody returns, then cathartic strings and female voices enter, an inspirational brass melody soaring above. A variation of the melody subsequently repeats in low strings.

"There Is No Why": A brief heavenly string statement, similar to Silvestri's score for James Cameron's The Abyss (the melodic shape recalls the opening of "Bud on the Ledge") opens the cue. The Cast Away swells and echoing piano return briefly before giving way to a  tender, deliberately paced melody for strings with scattered woodwind solos. Echoing piano returns to close the cue.

"Perhaps You Brought Them to Life--Given Them a Soul": Perhaps this cue's lengthy, vaguely pretentious title is an homage to James Horner (who recently passed away in June).  English horn (or very low oboe) starts things off before clarinet, oboe, and flute successfully play fragments of the waltz melody. However, Silvestri alters the tune here, the final note lifting instead of falling. Rich strings and gorgeously cascading piano follow, after which the echoing piano enters for the final time, eventually joined by the orchestra and subtle female synth choir. After a final swell of strings, the echoing piano and a low string tone close out the score on a tranquil note.

The Iron Giant: Signature Edition

I may be biased since Brad Bird is probably my favorite living filmmaker. But The Iron Giant is still a genuinely incredible film (much like its successor) that packs a structurally airtight, good-natured, exhilarating, poignant tale into less than an hour and a half. Rife with heart-pounding action, relatable characters, and heart-wrenching moments, the movie is worthy of in-depth analysis. But for now, I'll be focusing on the Signature Edition, just released to theaters for a limited engagement.

I won't spoil the particulars of the plot here, but the basic premise is a giant robot crash lands on Earth and becomes the ward of a boy named Hogarth Hughes. Hughes finds allies in his mother, Annie, and a laid-back scrap yard owner named Dean McCoppin as he tries to conceal the giant's existence from the government, especially the pesky Agent Kent Mansley (who works for the government).

The Iron Giant did poorly at the box office in 1999; I didn't become aware of it until I saw the video at a relative's house. As a youngster, I remember being awed by the action and bold filmmaking choices. To this day, Iron Giant and The Lego Movie are still the only mainstream American animated films that I think can stand beside the very best of Disney and Pixar. So to see this film in a packed house of fellow fans was a singular opportunity I didn't want to miss.

And the audience reception was fantastic. The "hand underfoot" and lakeside scenes in particular nearly brought the house down, and there was a healthy amount of applause (and even a few cheers) at the end. The thunderous, dynamic sound mix brought clarity to every resounding footfall, weapon, and gastrointestinal burble; the late, great Michael Kamen's alternately playful and stirring score was mixed loud and proud.

The new material included an intro by Bird (expressing appreciation to the film's fans and rightly extolling the virtues of hand-drawn animation), a brief (~1 minute) sneak peak at a documentary planned for the film's Blu-ray release, a change of the Maypo commercial to something equally charming, and two entirely new scenes. Well, if you have the DVD already (and who doesn't?) you've seen the scenes already in storyboard form. But the second scene in particular is glorious to see in full animation, hinting at an even darker world lurking in the background (or the skies) of the film. The first added scene is a pleasant little moment, adding to the dramatic arcs of two of the major characters. These scenes were animated at talented animator Ken Duncan's studio; at Disney, Duncan served as supervising animator for Thomas in Pocahontas, Meg in Hercules, Jane in Tarzan, and Captain Amelia and Scroop in Treasure Planet. Other returning names I caught in the Signature Edition credits were supervising animator Tony Fucile (a regular Bird collaborator and veteran of several Disney and Pixar films) and effects supervisor Michel Gagné.

There's so much more I could say about this sublime film, but if you've seen it, you know how excellent it is already. And if you haven't seen it, what are you doing still reading this? Even if you have seen it, go see it in the theater to marvel at its splendor on the big screen. As of this writing, there's one more showing on October 4 at noon (tickets through Fathom Events). It's an awe-inspiring film, a breathtaking experience, helmed by a director about to launch a spectacular career.

Mantis Miscellany--Ranking the X-Men Films

Originally Published August 2, 2013

With the recent and continuing glut of superhero films, including reboots and re-imaginings, the X-Men films seemed to have been somewhat lost in the shuffle nowadays. The Wolverine seems to have been a minor contender this summer compared to Iron Man 3 and Man of Steel. While the quality of the six released films varies widely, it is admirable that the franchise has run on for so long without a “hard reset” as experienced by the Hulk, Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, and (in a few years) The Fantastic Four. Okay, so the first three films had three different actresses for Kitty Pryde, and Nightcrawler was jettisoned after one film, but in a world where major characters like James Rhodes (of Iron Man) and Rachel Dawes (of Batman) are replaced so wantonly, it’s a little refreshing to see attempts at continuity.

With Marvel Studios now being expertly shepherded by Joss Whedon, it falls to controversial comic book scribe Mark Millar (Wanted, Kick-Ass, The Ultimates 1 and 2) to provide guidance to Fox’s Marvel properties (namely, X-Men and the Fantastic Four). Whatever one may think of Millar’s work, one does have to admit that the mad Scot has a soft spot for fans, communicating to them on his website’s forum (forums.millarworld.tv).

However, his influence on Fox’s Marvel films cannot yet be determined, for he had little input on The Wolverine. The film was directed by James Mangold, whose CV includes a diverse array of films such as Cop Land, Girl Interrupted, Kate & Leopold, Identity, Walk the Line, 3:10 to Yuma, and Knight and Day. Darren Aronofsky (Requiem for a Dream, Black Swan) was originally slated to direct the film, which might have been interesting. Or it might have turned out as indistinguishable from the average blockbuster as Gavin Hood’s X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Hood also directed the brilliant South African film Tsotsi).  At any rate, here is my personal ranking of the X-Men films. Warning: There will be spoilers! (Though I will try not to spoil too much of The Wolverine, even though you can see the final reveal coming from a million miles away).

6. X-Men: The Last Stand (Directed By Brett Ratner)

Many comic book fans complained that this film screwed with the characters too much. I don’t know a whit about the comic book X-Men aside from Millar’s run on Ultimate X-Men, but I still thought this was a poor film. Cyclops is dispatched with little fanfare (poor James Marsden) as is Mystique, and Xavier’s “death” doesn’t feel as impactful as it could have been. Nightcrawler, one of the best characters from X2, is forgotten about completely. The film is oddly dull and slow-moving until the climax on Alcatraz, which is competently directed, but comes across as a series of sequential video game missions. First, the minor mutants fight. Once that box is checked, then we move on to Magneto. Only when that mission is completed does Phoenix (AKA Jean Grey) decide to do anything. I realize that this is dramatically sound, but the way it’s conceived and directed is clunky, thus revealing the seams and removing any sense of organic flow.

 I do love the last shot, but it does render the rest of the film moot. This includes Rogue’s final decision, and it’s telling that the filmmakers weren’t sure what they wanted her to do either. They shot two versions of her final scene: one with her taking the cure and one with her not taking it, and they didn’t decide on which one to use until showing it to a test audience (source: DVD deleted scene commentary). Overall, while the direction by Ratner isn’t terrible, it is rather flat. Much more damaging is the screenplay by Simon Kinberg and Zak Penn, which is devoid of heart and doesn’t really make me care about the characters. Kinberg in particular has not written one movie I’ve liked, and it’s one of the reasons I’m worrying a bit about X-Men: Days of Future Past. I’m hoping co-writers Matthew Vaughn and Jane Goldman can balance him out. And speaking of Vaughn, he was originally slated to direct this film, but pulled out when he realized he wouldn’t be allowed to make the movie he wanted to make. He was very critical of The Last Stand, and rightly so.

5. X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Directed By Gavin Hood)

Most people seem to have a seething hatred for this movie. I don’t think it’s all that great, but I also don’t think it’s a disaster on the level of The Last Stand. Ryan Reynolds, who can’t seem to catch a break, is reasonably funny as pre-Deadpool, and future John Carter actors Taylor Kitsch and Lynn Collins as Gambit and Silverfox, respectively. The film doesn’t come together as well as it should, with a bunch of side characters who feel shoehorned in. Logan’s relationship with Victor Creed is implausibly inconsistent. I realize that making them either best buds or bitter enemies isn’t as interesting, but the lack of depth to their relationship makes it seem like Creed’s final decision comes out of nowhere. He and Logan are slicing each other up for the whole movie, and then he just decides to leave.

The actual story of the film also takes a while to get going. After a mawkish childhood prologue, there is a neat title sequence featuring Logan and Creed fighting in different wars though time, but it sadly reduces their early relationship to a montage that focuses more on the cool visuals than on character. Then there is a lengthy excursion with Logan working for William Stryker (the same jerk from X2) and an abbreviated introduction to Silverfox and her relationship with Logan before Stryker returns. Then he gets his adamantium skeleton, and before we know it, he’s flying with Gambit to Three Mile Island for the final confrontation. It’s an oddly paced film, with some scenes seeming to stretch on, but with the whole movie feeling like it could have used more flesh on its bones. The connections to the other X-Men films (particularly with Cyclops) don’t fit well onto the spine of the story. We’ll see how director Gavin Hood does with the upcoming Ender’s Game; if that’s a dog, then we’ll know that Hood really is suited to smaller, more character driven films (like the aforementioned Tsotsi).

4. The Wolverine (Directed By James Mangold)

I was actually debating whether to put this before or after the first X-Men film. The Wolverine does have some really neat moments, and I loved that it was set in Japan, but it was let down by the final act. I didn’t really get into this film until Logan gets to Japan, which thankfully doesn’t take too long.  The film benefits from two superb female characters Yukio and Mariko, a rarity in comic book films. Neither is as great as Hit-Girl obviously, but both characters feature surprisingly nuanced portrayals with some earned emotional moments (though I do also like Anna Paquin in the first X-Men, dodgy accent aside). The former disappears for a long stretch of the film and the latter becomes a damsel in distress at the end, but both are very welcome whenever they appear. Much less impressive is Viper, who is more annoying than threatening, and I know this is superficial, but I was very distracted by that rather unbecoming beauty spot on her lip (I’m not a fan of beauty spots in general).  Frankly, she comes across as an asshole. Famke Janssen as Jean Grey gets a few nice scenes. Will Yun Lee (also seen in the prologue to the James Bond film Die Another Day) is fine as Mariko’s fiancée, though he could’ve used more screentime and development of his arc.

The final villain is severely underdeveloped, especially since he isn’t revealed until just before his demise. We don’t really get a sense of what drove him to do what he did and what changed him as a person. It certainly doesn’t help that his it’s obvious who he is long before the reveal. Logan’s struggle with immortality is interesting, but is merely touched on before it’s dropped. The early action scenes are mostly well done, with a neat bullet train sequence that is unfortunately not character-based at all, as Wolverine is fighting a bunch of anonymous henchmen. The final battle is underwhelming, though Yukio does get some nice moments and there are some consequences for Logan. Other pluses include Hugh Jackman’s portrayal of Logan and the Japan setting, but in the end, the movie ended up promising more that it delivered. The mid-credits scene, though, is pretty chill-inducing.

3. X-Men (Directed By Bryan Singer)

This film, released in 2000, arguably set off the modern superhero film craze. The duo of X-Men and X2, followed by the even better Spider-Man and Spider-Man 2 (these two are the real amazing Spider-Man films), proved that superheroes in film could be popular again. Director Bryan Singer had previously directed smaller films like Public Access, Apt Pupil, and the superlative The Usual Suspects, and proved he could adequately handle a big-budget blockbuster (though it took until X2 for him to really find his stride). X-Men has a surprisingly small feel despite a climax atop the Statue of Liberty, and the action sequences until the end are minimal. There are some uneasy touches, like the accents of Storm and Rogue, and a Joss Whedon-penned line (the “toad struck by lightning” zinger) that either Halle Barry or Singer completely misunderstood (likely both) and thus made it sound more horrible than it should have. Then again, Whedon also wrote the film’s best line (“You’re a dick.”) The actual screenplay by David Hayter (also the voice of Snake in Metal Gear Solid) is, well, solid. Get out of my mind, Liquid!

Most of the cast, including Jackman, Patrick Stewart, and Ian McKellan, is effective, and the story does an admirable job at introducing the characters and giving them depth and conflict. Rogue, played by the always-welcome Anna Paquin, happily gets a lot to do here, and in many ways it is more through her eyes than Logan’s through which we are introduced to the X-Men. Paquin superbly portrays her sense of alienation that’s actually quite affecting (if you ignore the fake accent which she thankfully dropped in subsequent films), supported by a subplot with Bobby Drake/Iceman and Mystique. In way, her character perfectly encapsulates the mutants’ struggles with acceptance in their society. It’s too bad that she was basically ignored in the sequels, though at least she got to feature in at least one film. Poor Cyclops was shafted in all three. Speaking of Cyclops, the love triangle between him, Logan, and Jean Grey isn’t quite as compelling as it could have been; Logan does come across as an opportunistic churl, and Cyclops is a bit of a cipher.  The story chugs along at a decent pace towards the climax, which is effectively staged. There is a sense of Singer and the cast getting their feet wet, so the film isn’t as polished as X2, but it’s a good introduction to these characters and their world.

2. X2: X-Men United (Directed By Bryan Singer)

X2 improves upon the first X-Men film, with more assured direction by Singer and a script that, for the most part, expands upon issues only touched upon previously. It also introduces one of the best cinematic X-Men characters: Nightcrawler. Alan Cumming gives a highly sympathetic performance as the character grows from mind-controlled killer to insecure outcast to hero. We get more backstory for Logan without sacrificing all the mystery, a temporary team-up of the X-Men with Magneto, and a truly detestable villain in William Stryker, who provides a real threat without coming across as just annoying and toothless (see Viper in The Wolverine). The theme of mutant acceptance is fleshed out with a scene featuring Iceman and his parents. This time, we not only get a sense of rejection and betrayal—his stupid brother calls the police!—but also an immediate sense of danger as Pyro attacks the police when they arrive. It’s effective, even if it borders on preachy.

There are also some great action set pieces, starting with Nightcrawler’s attack on the White House and continuing with a horrifying assault by Stryker’s forces on the X-Men mansion. The X-Jet chase with the fighter jets is kind of stupid, but is given visual interest by Storm’s “perfect storm.” The extended climax is tense and exciting with constant reversals of fortune, highlights being Logan’s fight with Deathstrike, Magneto’s manipulation of Xavier in Stryker’s Cerebro, and Jean’s “sacrifice.” But the climax does drag on for too long and seems to end several times (at 134 minutes, this is the longest X-Men film). The scene where Stryker’s son manipulates Xavier to kill all the mutants seems a little off and unconvincing. Maybe it’s because Xavier gives in so easily, or maybe because the kid in that scene doesn’t act very well (or wasn’t directed well). The final scene with Stryker drags a bit, and the whole thing gets a little cumbersome by the end. Some of the themes are stated in a heavy-handed manner as well. But these are only small issues that detract only minimally from this film’s considerable strengths.

1. X-Men: First Class (Directed By Matthew Vaughn)

Ironically, my favorite X-Men film has only one cast member from the previous X-Men films, and it’s in a cameo—though it’s probably one of the funniest cameos I’ve seen. Before the film came out, certain fanboys derisively referred to the film as a choice phrase made by taking one letter out of the word First and two out of Class (I’ll let you figure out which letters they are.) Most of them were shut up by the final product, an expertly-directed film featuring two elite lead performances and depth of character beyond any found in the previous X-Men films. The few minor hiccups include underdeveloped side characters and a wooden performance by January Jones as Emma Frost, the former due to diminished prep time and the latter due to who knows what. But these are vastly overshadowed by the film’s firm grasp of character and story structure, and much of that is probably attributable to director Matthew Vaughn.

I was a fan of Vaughn before First Class (he also directed Layer Cake, Stardust, and Kick-Ass), but was worried about how his anarchic sensibility would fit into the more mainstream world of X-Men. There are some more conventional elements, such as the side characters, but Vaughn was able to bring a sense of unpredictability and even harshness into the X-Men films. From the first scene with Sebastian Shaw (Kevin Bacon) and a young Magneto to Shaw’s demise, the aforementioned cameo, some of Magneto’s early acts, and not one but two scenes set at sex parlors, the film is at the higher end of the PG-13 rating. (The Wolverine undoubtedly benefited from the trail blazed by Vaughn in First Class). But beyond these superficial elements, Vaughn also devotes extensive time to building the relationship between Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) and Erik/Magneto (Michael Fassbender). The script, a rewrite by Vaughn and Jane Goldman from a previous draft by Ashley Edward Miller and Zack Stentz, mines the richness between the two mutants as much as a major superhero film can. The scene where Charles helps Erik move the radar dish is my favorite scene in the whole X-Men series—a perfect combination of despair, triumph, and release. Despite these explorations, the film never drags, and even the scenes with the “sidekick” mutants are entertaining. Jennifer Lawrence also does a stellar job as Mystique, creating a charismatic character who still has a ways to go before she becomes the Mystique of the first three X-Men films. Her relationship with Hank McCoy/Beast (Nicholas Hoult) is understated, and the inner conflicts of both characters deeply affect that relationship. Vaughn and the actors do a great job of bringing the characters—especially Charles, Erik, Mystique, and Beast—to life.

It wouldn’t be a major superhero film without action, and Vaughn proves that he is one of the best action directors working today. All of Erik’s early scenes are filled with suspense and brutality, including the boat scene where he runs into Charles. Shaw’s attack on the mutant compound exceeds the mansion attack in X2 in terms of terror, thrills, conflict, and emotion. The last half hour of the film is a cornucopia of exhilarating action, nail-biting suspense, and emotional release. Unlike in X2, the pace never drags and all the various action scenes are masterfully conceived and put together. Vaughn always shows the action clearly, his unobtrusive camera work letting the thrills stand on their own. There is no shortage of great moments, including Banshee’s method of flying, the sub lift, and the final confrontation with Shaw. Even after the “boss” is defeated, there is still a threat, and it relates to Erik’s character. And he is stopped not by a slash of adamantium claws or a bursting dam, but by himself when he realizes what he’s done to Charles. It all culminates in an emotional apotheosis that, while not spectacular or tear-jerking, is entirely fitting. I know I sound like a raving fanboy, but I do enjoy this film a lot, and I do acknowledge its mentioned weaknesses (yes, “mutant and proud” is pretty cheesy). It’s not even my favorite comic book or superhero film, and it’s actually my least favorite of Vaughn’s four films. But I still like it, and I can’t really apologize for that.

The Future

Next up is X-Men: Days of Future Past, directed by Bryan Singer and written by Matthew Vaughn, Jane Goldman, and Simon Kinberg. As it features both the First Class cast and the original cast in a time travel story, there is a risk that the film could become a bloated mess. I would be a little more excited about the film if Vaughn were directing (he originally was, but left, and to top it off, he’s not doing Kick-Ass 2 either) or if Kinberg wasn’t involved (unfortunately, he’s working on a Star Wars film too, though not Episode VII). Though admittedly, most of the original cast is probably in the film because of Singer. The Usual Suspects was a high peak early in Singer’s career, and one could argue that X2 was a later, somewhat smaller peak that he hasn’t matched since. After X2, Singer went on to do Superman Returns, Valkyrie, and Jack the Giant Slayer. Not a lot to inspire confidence there, but maybe he can reach his earlier heights again. There’s a lot of expectation for this film, and as it’s always a bummer to be disappointed, here’s hoping that Singer delivers.

See also Ranking the X-Men Film Scores