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I look out across the seared moviescape that is November — bereft of a Harry Potter movie to be psyched for — and I’m finding it hard to find 5 movies I’m genuinely excited about. I found 3 to talk about last week, but I’m having to fake it a bit for these last 2. … more…
Let’s get one thing straight: Amy Adams is adorable.
The sweet silliness of the collective Disney animated fairy-tale landscape meets the rough reality of Noo Yawk. Why didn’t someone think of this sooner and pull it off as perfectly as Enchanted does?
Oh, thank the gods. Thank crazy Walt Disney’s head in a cryogenic freezer. Thank the army of producers and FX geeks and writers and cast and studio execs and focus-group gurus and everyone else who made this prepackaged, ready-for-synergy-marketing, lowest-common-denominator junk cinema the most cheesalicious, escape-a-riffic it could be.
Is it ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ or ‘Highlander 2: The Quickening’?
How did a cautionary tale about obnoxious little kids and a celebration of nonconformity turn into a cautionary tale about the psychosis of reclusive oddballism and a celebration of obnoxious kids?
‘Ahhhh! Nature! It’s all over me! Get it off!’ screams Melman the urban giraffe once he reaches the titular island in *Madagascar,* and New Yorkers will scream, too, with laughter, because we recognize ourselves in it, and everyone else will scream with laughter because they’ll think it’s making fun of our neuroses. But we like our neuroses just fine, thank you, and appreciate the tribute to them that *Madagascar* is.
So I’m sitting there in the dark with my little reporter notebook, diligently taking notes and formulating theses to support my contention that *The Pacifier* fails as a film, and I think it was during a burst of abject whimpering from the very famous critic sitting next to me, whom I guarantee you’ve seen on TV, that I suddenly and finally realized the futility of life, the ubiquitousness of pain, and the infinite emptiness of the universe that we puny humans on our puny planet in our puny corner of the cosmos cannot hope to ameliorate.
This live-action 1960s Disney furball adventure flick is lot less charming than it surely was back in the Kennedy era. Poor Lobo! He’s not bad, he’s just misunderstood, even by his own film.
Forget that this is based on a ride at Disney World, and a pretty sorry one, at that — know that it’s a wonderfully exhausting, refreshingly unironic, delightfully old-fashioned swashbuckler.
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