Pixar

Pixar, my one-time love, where have you gone?

I'm taking a much-needed brake from politics. Searching for entertainment, I finally decided to watch Pixar's "Brave." What a mistake that was. I was not entertained. I was actually quite bored. Following a trend of lowering expectations, and then still managing to disappoint, Pixar has, once again, outdone itself.

But before I lament what has become of Pixar, let me revel in the past for a moment. There was, of course, "Toy Story," which, while never my favorite, must be recognized as a good story, a good script, and innovative animation. Then came "A Bug's Life," their  first adaptation ("Seven Samurai," look it up), and ultimately a cute, but forgettable film. Then, they hit a magnificent stride, with "Monsters, Inc.," "The Incredibles," and "Finding Nemo." There's something kind of ugly and pedestrian about "Cars" that I've never quite been able to pinpoint, but even that relative failure in terms of compelling storytelling stands far above what comes later. 

Cars: a story in which things created by humans for humans exist in a world without humans.

Or

Cars: even after humans have been devoured by their machines, mystically fusing their souls into        

engines and carburators, love still conquers all.

Then, there was the beautiful "Ratatouille," which made everyone feel like an epicurean, and which tackled some very nuanced issues such as theft and cynicism with a deft hand. And then there was "Wall-E," the crowning achievement, the masterpiece, the opus, the most beautiful opening 45 minutes of an animated film I have ever seen, the ultimate example of what can happen when a story develops from the single premise of a character in a situation and a circumstance.

Because that is what separates all of these films (excepting "A Bug's Life) from what comes next: the method of story development. "Wall-E" is the perfect example of this, so I'll stick with that film to explain. If you listen to them talk about the making of "Wall-E," it begins with a random "what if?" What if the last sentient being on earth were a trash-compacting robot? Literally, every single component of the movie can be traced back to that question, that premise. A character (robot) in a situation (all alone) and a circumstance (abandoned planet). Then comes the question of what is this robot like, and working off of the reality of what a robot is, they felt that his personality would have developed out of his interaction with human artifacts, turning him into a sort of innocent, tramp-like beach-comber. The central question of the story arrives when they try to think of the one thing that would be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a plant: life. Then there are questions about the world he lives in. What are the circumstances that would lead to his present-day circumstance--an abandoned planet full of trash? What if human beings produced so much trash that the planet became uninhabitable? Anyhow, I could go on, but I hope you get the idea. This is the type of storytelling that Pixar has brought to the world of animation, and has become famous for.

So pretty.

Now, let's talk about "Up!" I know that I am in the minority when it comes to hating this movie, so let me explain. The first fifteen minutes were truly beautiful. They were a shining example of what I was just talking about. Then comes the boy, which, in and of itself, can be justified with further development. Sadly, we never get there. Instead, after the last funny sequence in the film, where the old man imagines dropping the boy off on a city building, a sequence that is entirely born out of those two characters interacting within a given set of situations and circumstances (are you seeing the thread, here?), we unfortunately land in South America. On the wrong side of the canyon. With only three days worth of air in which a fat boy and an old man are supposed to trek a house to the other side. You would think that, given the fact that "Finding Nemo" did wonders with a similar problem, where a fearful clownfish and a well-intentioned fish with no short-term memory had to travel across the ocean to save the boy, that this dilemma would be enough for the story of the old man and the boy to develop. 

"Now, Dori. Why does the audience care about this story?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know! It's ummm . . . wait a minute, it'll come to me . . . "

"Dori?"

"Yes? What? Why are you rolling your eyes at me?"

But no, there must be an annoying endangered bird, a set of talking dogs, and a dastardly villain. This story, which began so beautifully, based entirely on the development of characters, their desires, and their limitations, devolves so quickly into a plot-point-focused, rapid-paced, high-jinx-and-antics hullabaloo, ending in a groan-inducing sequence complete with a dogs-playing-poker gag, the fat boy (though we haven't seen him grow in strength at all) magically pulling himself up the rope, and the old man, introduced as being so frail he couldn't maneuver without his walker, suddenly becoming a geriatric fighting machine. What. The. Fuck. 

I left that movie not knowing how I felt, because I loved Pixar, and the reason I loved them was because of their dedication to the art of storytelling. Something was wrong, though, and I couldn't figure it out. Then, I realized I was mad. I was really angry, and not because I expected more from Pixar, but because it started out with my expectations being met. The premise of that movie was everything I could have hoped that Pixar would have done. And so, when the raucous last two-thirds hit, I was still kind of clinging to the solidity of the opening, not realizing we were never going back there. Never. And it took me about twenty minutes after the film was over to realize it.

"Toy Story 3" is a different matter. It just coasts on the sentimentality the previous two "Toy Story" films built up in their audience. I have never seen a more emotionally manipulative (and not in the good way) scene than the last one, where Andy teaches the younger girl how to play with his toys. I have nothing to say, really, other than sentimental drivel.

I can't speak toward "Cars 2," as it is currently the only Pixar movie I haven't seen, but I'm more than dispirited by the fact that they seem to be going the way of the rest of Hollywood, relying on the money-grab of franchise sequels (and prequels, in the case of "Monsters, University"), rather than taking a risk on a new development.

And that brings us to "Brave." "Brave" reminds me of three other animated films--"How To Train Your Dragon," "Tangled," and "The Secret of Kells""--all jumbled together, each one better than this bizarre, disjointed tale of a heroine who poisons her mother. The script, dear God! the script! Did no one ever tell the writers you don't have your characters ask out loud the questions your audience should be asking themselves? Did anyone ever explain to them what "show, don't tell" actually means? Did anyone ask them to scale back on the montages, please? Or that in order to have a story about the relationship between a mother and daughter, it might be important to develop that relationship a bit? I seriously spent the first thirty minutes of this movie wondering what it was about, not because I was lacking for plot points, but because I simply had no idea what I was supposed to be focused on, what I was supposed to care about. 

Duh. You're supposed to care about my hair.

Then comes the fight, where the mother throws the daughter's bow into the fire, and the daughter slices through the tapestry. When the mother pulls the bow out of the fire, I actually had to explain why she did it to my husband based solely on my assumptions of what they were going for, rather than what they had achieved. Then comes the witch sequence, which is so rushed and unsupported by anything leading up to it that the beauty of the animation is completely lost. It also weakens the character of Merida (the daughter) considerably that she is so gullible as to not question the spell she's given, even though the witch's character never directly tells her what will happen. Given that this spell is supposed to affect her mother, and not herself, you would think that Pixar, once so in tune with the emotional and moral dilemmas of their characters, would recognize that in order for an audience to accept this scenario, the circumstances leading up to it would have to be dire. But, no. The development of the central conflict is ultimately portrayed as nothing but commonplace teenage rebellion.

"I forbid you from practicing archery."

"You're ruining my life!" 

*door slam*

Take "The Little Mermaid," which has a similar set of circumstances, dealt with in a much more sympathetic manner. Ariel is the rebellious teenager, King Triton the overbearing parent. Their relationship is built with depth and understanding. 

"Oh, Daddy! You're the best!"

Their fight, which leads to Ariel's determination to go to Ursula for help, is epic. The cruelty of Triton's wrath is the stuff of nightmares, and it is completely understandable that Ariel would feel so trapped by it that she would seek a desperate alternative. 

"But you're scary as shit when you're mad."

And yet, when we see Triton again, we understand that his cruelty was coming from a place of legitimate concern, and he regrets his harshness, but felt he had little choice. In addition, the scene with Ursula, also epic, makes it very clear that Ariel understands the price of her actions, yet agrees to the sacrifice all the same. It is different, of course, because Ursula's spell is intended for Ariel, not Triton, and therefore the sacrifice is for Ariel alone to feel (at least, as far as she knows). Taking it back to "Brave," though, where the sacrifice is on the part of someone else (making Merida a truly selfish character), there is a way to make the scenario understandable. It requires some palpable self-doubt on the part of Merida, some moral squeamishness about altering her mother for her own ends, concern for her mother's safety, perhaps, and a bit more clever riddling on the part of the witch. Dramatic irony is a wonderful thing, but when the ignorance of the character is treated like a given plot-point, rather than a character- or situation-based misunderstanding, it makes the audience lose sympathy for the character, because he or she just seems like an idiot. In the case of "The Little Mermaid," Ariel thinks she understands the consequences of her actions, because she is ignorant of Ursula's plots against her father. She's not stupid, she's just young, angry, desperate, and in love. Merida is young, angry, desperate in a very teenage-angsty way, selfish, reckless, and dumb.    

And, for that matter, so was the witch! I get that they wanted to veer away from the whole "witches are evil" trope, but giving her no motivation whatsoever turns her into nothing but a plot device. And there is a simple solution to this problem, Pixar! Borrowing from yet another Disney-not-Pixar example, "The Princess and the Frog," for all of its problems, had a witch character motivated by kindness, deftly riddling her way out of providing the easy solution begged of her by suggesting the characters should, instead, search for the right question. This isn't new! Have you ever seen "The Wizard of Oz?!" Even when motivated by bad intent, such as in "Macbeth," magic has historically been treated as a means for characters to learn that what they think they want is not, in fact, what they need. Even freakin' "Harry Potter" has this theme at its heart; with all of the easy wand-magic flying around, the problems we, as an audience, ultimately care about, have much more difficult solutions. And that theme was gift-wrapped for you in the framework of "Brave," fellas! Easy-peasy. Just take the time to develop your damn characters!

Perhaps the most disturbing sequence is when Merida gives the magic cake to her mother. Having absolutely no knowledge of the effect it may have, and seeing her mother respond as though she has been poisoned and, for all she knows, may be dying, all she does is keep asking whether her mother has changed her mind about the marriage! No "Oh, God! Are you alright?!" No "I've made a terrible mistake!" No attempt at the Heimlich (anachronism be damned), a pat on the back, or a glass of water, even. Nope. Just, "Hey, I know you feel like I poisoned you, but what about my problems?" If you wanted your audience to lose all sympathy for your heroine, Pixar, congratulations. The only way this sequence works is if we take for granted the tropes of the fairy tale, where, no matter how misguided his or her actions may be, the hero never causes irreparable harm. And relying on tropes is cheating. It's bad storytelling.

The rest is just a series of montages, seemingly. Again, racing through the heart of the story by developing the relationship between mother and daughter through gag jokes about a bear acting like a sophisticated human. There are so many loose ends and pointless diversions, I lost count. At one point, they focus on the mother's crown, which she has carelessly left on a rock. Maybe they meant to show that the mother was leaving her role as queen behind, but it was never really clear, and never alluded to later, when the crown may have helped in the mistaken identity crisis. Also, we have a similar focus on the leftover magic cake being eyed by the three completely superfluous brothers, which we are led to believe will somehow be relevant later, but no. All it does in turn them into the thing that Pixar has blessedly avoided thus far: cute anthropomorphized animals, bearing only a stuffed-animal-like (kids toys, not taxidermy) resemblance to actuality. 

Pixar's bear cubs.

Actual bear cubs.

It is even more absurd considering that they made the mother turn into a very realistic bear. 

Pixar's mother bear.

Actual mother bear.

But even more importantly, their being bears has absolutely no bearing (get it?) on the story. They proved that they could cause mayhem as humans, so the bear transformation is of absolutely no consequence. AND, there is absolutely no reason to believe that their transformation would be affected in any way by the same resolution as the mother's. Should Merida have mended her relationship with her brothers as well? I mean, with some mental gymnastics, you can extend your willing disbelief to say that it was all part of the same spell, but honestly, I didn't care enough about anybody in the film to try that hard.

And let me just say, as an audience member, you have to earn my suspension of disbelief. I will suspend my disbelief willingly if it appears that I am in capable hands, but it is not a given. If the characters are fully developed, if the relationships are complex, if I am drawn into the story with my inescapable human sympathies, everything I have mentioned here would be something I thought about later. In fact, that's exactly what happened with "Up!" I still stand by what I said about "Up!," but at least it had a beginning that transported you into the world with exquisite pathos. In "Brave," the directors and screenwriters managed to pull off a beginning that was both ham-fistedly obvious, and emotionally obtuse. Within the first fifteen minutes, I could tell you that:

The rebellious princess-wannabe-warrior is the heroine.

Magic will play some role in the story, probably creating the circumstances for the girl to . . . change, somehow?

Also, there will be a bear.

Mom is a bit over-protective.

Dad is kind of an idiot.

All of this has something to do with fate?

I know all of this after fifteen minutes, and YET, I still have no idea why I care! And, you know what? By the end of the story, it's still not clear. What has the princess accomplished? She gets to marry the prince who wins her heart? What if none of them do? Will she turn someone else into a bear? Will the kingdom be more secure? Will her life now be full of adventure, instead of a relentless tedium of suitors? I have no friggin' clue! Has she successfully overturned all societal conventions regarding sex? No, she's just postponed her engagement in them. Arrrgh! What did I just watch?!

Also, a note on the whole "reworking medieval fairy-tales to better accommodate our contemporary perspectives" thing. Please, stop. Please, don't do this anymore. If the sexist aspects of medieval life make you queasy, don't set your fantasy in medieval times! But, for the love of God! Don't make it seem like all that was needed to change society into a feminist ideal was one rebellious girl! It's insulting to the strong women who lived in that time, as well as to the generations of women in this country, and other countries, who fought for equal rights. 

Really. I did it all by myself. Every other woman in the world was content to be treated like chattel.

It also, ironically, adheres to strict gender roles regarding strength. The mother in this fable is actually very strong, but we don't see the daughter coming to that realization until her mother, as a bear, gets into a fight. We are expected to accept that Merida is "strong" because she would rather shoot an arrow than hold court. I mean, I don't expect this movie to have the same depth as "Game of Thrones," but if you think of Merida as Arya Stark, then her mother is Catelyn Stark. Anyone who has read the books, or seen the show will understand that the two characters have different types of strength, but they are both incredibly admirable in their own ways. Strength is not just defiance, strength can also be bearing a responsibility, which is ultimately what the central conflict of "Brave" boils down to, but is never once addressed.

Another thing I find insulting is that this was hailed as the first Pixar vehicle for a female heroine. But, even though the central story revolves around the relationship between a mother and a daughter, it barely passes the Bechdel test. The screenwriters are clearly so uncomfortable writing female dialogue that is not about men that all that results is awful, forced, trite lines about "why won't you listen?" Maybe I would, if you had anything to say. The best we get is the mother trying to impart some wisdom by retelling a legend--about men. She never makes any attempt to expound upon the moral of the story, where she may well delve into the questions of strength I just mentioned. Nope. She just sets the chess pieces flying, and that's supposed to explain it all. If you consider bear-mime dialogue, I suppose they have exchanges about fishing, but, you know, that's stretching it a bit. Apparently, the female author of the book on which the story is based left the project before it ended. I can't imagine why.

Perhaps the clearest way to explain what went wrong here is to follow Pixar's own, much touted, "Rules of Storytelling."

#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes. (Not the case with Merida, whose sole character defense rests in her ability to "change her fate")

#2: You gotta keep in mind what's interesting to you as an audience, not what's fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different. (Case in point: turning the boys into cuddly bear cubs)

#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won't see what the story is actually about til you're at the end of it. Now rewrite. (Still not clear what the story is about. Another rewrite, please?)

#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___. (This one works, but plot points were never the problem)

#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You'll feel like you're losing valuable stuff but it sets you free. (Oh, really? Focus? Hop over detours? Wouldn't that have been nice?)

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal? (Not well, it would seem. Rather than Nemo's dad discovering strength he didn't think he had, we get Merida, whose discomfort in court means that everything should change to suit her. [this does not mean that I agree with the sexist aspects of medieval court society, but rather that the setting itself restricts the character's ability to move in morally admirable ways])

#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front. (I wonder how much thought was put into the extremely contrived court scene at the end, where the mother decides her daughter should follow her heart?)

#8: Finish your story, let go even if it's not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time. (Please? Please do better next time? Pretty please?)

#9: When you're stuck, make a list of what WOULDN'T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up. (Too many things. Too many.)

#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you've got to recognize it before you can use it. (I like red-heads, archery, medieval garb, and Scottish accents. Oh! And bears! Bears are cool!)

#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you'll never share it with anyone. (If only.)

#12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself. (Or, forget this rule altogether and just go with the most obvious answer to everything. "Casablanca" was an endless series of clichés, and look how well that worked out!)

#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it's poison to the audience. (Can we amend this to say, give them well-supported opinions? Just saying, "I won't" only works for toddlers.)

#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What's the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That's the heart of it. (Because . . . bears!)

#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations. (I dunno. Prolly, if I was the mother, I'd be rightfully effing pissed. If I were the daughter, prolly so damn guilty I would beg for forgiveness as soon as my mother started looking like she was gonna die, making the movie much shorter, I imagine.)

#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don't succeed? Stack the odds against. (What are the stakes? Well, I'm not so sure there were any, considering that having succeeded, she still has to, eventually, marry one of the damn princes. The odds of getting one that will make her happy by physical competition are actually greater than choosing for herself from a very limited pool. We adapt better to circumstances beyond our control than to circumstances where we feel confined to choose the best of a limited selection. Not really fairy tale material, but true.)

#17: No work is ever wasted. If it's not working, let go and move on - it'll come back around to be useful later. (Hmmmm . . . not sure that it did, guys.)

#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining. (What type of testing, exactly?)

#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating. (Oh, really? So, like, when she sees the rift in the stone and suddenly realizes she cut a similar rift in the tapestry--not that it mattered in the end, but it led her, ultimately to realize that the "broken bond" was that between her and her mother. Also, her mother, as a bear, suddenly having a change of heart for no discernible reason? Cheaters.)

#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d'you rearrange them into what you DO like? (I think I've done just that, thank you.)

#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can't just write ‘cool'. What would make YOU act that way? (Ummm . . . yeah. Red-heads are "cool," archery is "cool," rebellious teenagers are "cool," magic is "cool." Moms, on the other hand? Not cool. Marriage? Way not cool. Bears are cooler than moms. Lets turn her into a bear!)

#22: What's the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there. (Mother and daughter have a tight bond, but grow apart. Mother tries to instill in her daughter a sense of duty and responsibility, daughter wants to run free. Things come to a head with marriage proposals. Daughter runs away. Encounters witch, hoping for a solution to her problems. Witch offers a solution, but with a twist. Mom gets turned into a bear. Mother and daughter embark on a journey to fix the transformation before it is too late. Over the course of their trials, they knit themselves back together with mutual respect. Spell is broken, mother respects daughter's wishes, and daughter begins to listen to her mother's lessons on responsibility. The end. Fleshing this story out does not mean decorating it. It means delving into it. There is a huge difference.)

And thus, by their own guidelines, they failed. The failure that began when the house landed in South America in "Up!" continues here, and I am so sad. Nothing can last forever, true, but the storytelling triumphs of Pixar were so magical, and raised the bar, not just for the animation world, but for the movie world as a whole. Someone will pick up the slack. That's just how it goes. And if "Wall-E" is the best thing you've ever done, you have a reason to hold your head up high. But it also means that we expect more from you. It's true that if this were a Dreamworks movie, I wouldn't have been surprised, except for the fact that I went to see it at all. But "Up!" was far worse than anything you'd done before, "Toy Story 3" worse yet, "Cars 2" I can't speak to, and if the best I can say for "Brave" is that it approximates the storytelling prowess of Dreamworks, I am all aflutter to see what you'll do to the elegant and beautiful story of "Monsters, Inc." with your prequel.

Where to go from here? Frat-boy humor, naturally!

There is one scene in "Wall-E" that is so heartbreaking that, even knowing the ending, I cry every time. And it is a scene that was not in the original cut of the film. Originally, when EVE fixes the utterly broken Wall-E, and re-boots his computer system, he came back immediately, personality intact. When watching the film, the director felt, intrinsically, that something was missing. Some important moment wasn't there. And it goes back to the reality of what a robot is, and how Wall-E's character was built from his experience, not his hardwiring. There is nothing so palpably tragic as watching the shell of this character who spent the last hour and a half winning your heart simply going through the motions of his programming. It hurts every time. And that pain is what this whole rant is about. We don't care about Wall-E because he is well-designed, because he is well-rendered. We care because he is innocent, and kind, and determined, and funny, and yes, in love. We care because of who he is, not because he performs his functions efficiently. "Brave" is your robot shell, Pixar. Your engine got trampled in the plot-focused cogs of the last part of "Up!," and you used the franchise sequels to fix your mechanics, but what is at work here is a husk, a frame, decorated to imitate life, but it has no anima, no personality, and it breaks my heart.