Lesssons In Looking Up: How To Train Your Dragon

Let’s start with a statement of the obvious: Posts here at The Cooler have been few and far between in recent months. Thankfully, that’ll be changing soon – just not quite yet. In fact, things will probably go backward before they go forward. The intense (but fulfilling) work project that significantly limited my writing time all of last year is now at its peak, which means it’s close to being behind me, but for the moment most of my moments – from before dawn until long after dusk – are spent at the office. I write this not to bitch or moan, because I’m truly grateful to have a paying gig that’s challenging and rewarding. Rather, I just wanted to explain why over the next few weeks you’re unlikely to see reviews of of-the-moment films, ranging from Blue Valentine to The King’s Speech, that in one way or another are worth talking about (although Ed Howard and I have nearly wrapped another edition of The Conversations, which concerns one of the 2010’s best films, so stay tuned for that). Expect things to pick up around here sometime in March. Until then, I'll be looking to keep the light on here by offering up some quick snatch-and-grab posts and stuff from the archives.

With that said, on to today’s post …

One of the films I regret not reviewing last year was How To Train Your Dragon, which, although I didn’t see critical darling Toy Story 3, was my favorite animated film of 2010 (runner-up: Despicable Me), and among my top 10 overall. There’s much to like about the film, from its lively score, to its even livelier pace (the movie never slows down, but it never feels rushed either), to its harmonious opening and closing scenes, which make for 2010’s best bookend scenes this side of The Social Network. But most of all, there’s the films thoughtful cinematography.

SLIFR Movie Tree House

It was only a few weeks ago that I was coming home from a movie and spotted, through the leafless tree branches of winter, a majestic tree house. Built out of the back of someone’s property, and accessible by a wooden bridge, the tree house stood tall over unsettled property – a sloping expanse that led down toward the road. Complete with shingles and even a skylight, it was a luxury tree house if I ever saw one, enviable at any age, and the sight of it brought me back to my youth, when I had a fort built against a fence and rope ladder climbing into a tall tree, but no tree house. I always wanted a tree house.

Now I have one. Or, more specifically, now Dennis Cozzalio of Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule (SLIFR) has one, and he’s invited me to come over and play. This week I’m honored to take part in the “SLIFR Movie Tree House,” a Slate-esque online gathering spot that will bring together me, Dennis, Jim Emerson of Scanners and Sheila O’Malley of The Sheila Variations for discussions about the 2010 year in film (and maybe a pillow fight or two). Entries will be posted throughout the week, here and there, so head on over to SLIFR, follow along and comment away. There’s no secret password to get into the tree house. At least that’s what they told me.

Updated with links to all posts, after the jump.

Neutral Corner: The Fighter

Several times while watching David O. Russell’s boxing movie stumble around in cinematic Palookaville, landing a few blows here and there but failing to become a legitimate contenda, I wondered if the film’s biggest downfall might be its name. The Fighter, as a title, is crisp and narrowly focused – evocative of one man locked in a battle all his own. On the other hand, The Fighter, as a film, is loose and widely focused – about a man who is trying to rebuild his boxing career, and about another man, the boxer’s brother, who is under the fist of a crack addiction, and about a woman, the boxer’s mother, who is clawing for control of both of her sons, and about another woman, the boxer’s girlfriend, who is determined to see her man succeed, and about a half dozen other women, the boxer’s sisters, who are hell-bent on eliminating the girlfriend from the family portrait, by force if necessary. The Fighter? That doesn’t represent this film. The Fighters? Plural? That’s more like it.

Oh, what a difference a single letter might have made – less in terms of setting audience expectations than in terms of enabling Russell and the film’s screenwriters to follow their instincts in the first place. As The Figher unfolds it’s impossible to ignore the film’s half-hearted interest in its supposed primary subject. Mark Wahlberg plays the titular pugilist, Micky Ward, whose Rocky-esque rise from mediocrity has all the goods of a dependable – if too familiar – sports movie, but screenwriters Eric Johnson, Scott Silver and Paul Tamasy seem to profile Micky reluctantly, to the point that I wonder if they’re interested in him at all. Over and over again, The Fighter moves away from the taciturn Micky to bask in the absurdity of his family – his scowling sisters, his melodramatic mother and his crack-smoking brother. It’s not hard to see why. The foul-mouthed sisters are as terrifying as anything Ree Dolly faces in her Grimm journey in Winter’s Bone. The mother, Melissa Leo’s Alice, is all hair and attitude – an accent off from Goodfellas. And the brother? Well, given his hyperactive tongue and thirst for attention, Dicky Eklund was set up to be a scene-stealer even before Christian Bale went all-in with his honey-baked performance. All together, Micky’s family could draw attention away from Sarah Palin at a Tea Party rally, so it’s no wonder Micky is overpowered. He’s fighting above his class.

Bests of 2010

Happy New Year! Here’s a look back at the previous year in film, based on what I’ve seen so far.