3.5 stars. Rating: PG, and somewhat generously, for rude humor and considerable scary action
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.22.12
All Pixar animated films are
lush, impeccably mounted productions — every backdrop fine-tuned to the height
of available imaging technology, every scene timed to comic perfection — and Brave is no different.
The long, long ago and far, far
away Scottish Highlands setting has a verdant ambiance granted even greater
verisimilitude by the careful application of 3D cinematography; the resulting
full-immersion sensation is as breathtaking to us, in these early years of the
21st century, as William Garity’s ground-breaking multi-plane camera work was
for audiences of Disney’s early 1930s and ’40s animated classics.
The characters here are fun and feisty,
often exaggerated for comic relief, and led by Merida, a resourceful and
headstrong heroine who is voiced fabulously by Kelly Macdonald. Merida’s pluck,
determination and stubborn defiance of tradition are matched only by her
flaming, flowing red tresses: as much a part of her presence and personality as
her oh-so-familiar teenage angst.
All the elements are in place ...
except one.
The most important one.
However well Brenda Chapman’s
original story may have flowed, as first conceived, it has become something of
a mess in the hands of screenwriters Mark Andrews, Steve Purcell, Irene Mecchi
and Chapman herself, along with (no doubt) the uncredited participation of
many, many more Pixar staffers. The result plays less like a cohesive,
thematically consistent narrative and more like a committee effort calculated
to hit all the essential demographic targets.
In the mid-1970s, before
attempting his first thriller, physician Robin Cook thoroughly analyzed
then-best-selling novels to determine what they had in common; he then sat down
and wrote Coma, which incorporated what he had learned. Despite reading like
a soulless product, it became a smash hit and kick-started Cook’s second career
as a successful author.
Brave has that same sense of
having been crafted from a laundry list of “what works” ... which is a shame.
Pixar’s best films are truly original creations that establish their own
trends; Brave, in contrast, too often echoes bits and pieces from other
sources.
Indeed, a major plot point is
lifted wholly — and quite disappointingly — from a 2003 Disney (non-Pixar)
animated film, which I’ll not identify in order to avoid a major spoiler. But
the prominence of this unexpected detour sends Brave into a direction rather at
odds with its premise, while also compromising the integrity of Merida’s
character to a somewhat unfortunate degree.
A brief prologue reveals that,
even as a wee lass, Merida lacks the refinement and, ah, girlish composure that
would be expected of the first-born daughter of King Fergus (Billy Connolly)
and Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson). Merida is much more passionate about archery,
an interest her father encourages by presenting the girl with a bow on her
birthday ... much to the displeasure of his wife.
Flash-forward about a decade, and
Merida has grown into a bonny lass; she now has three impish little brothers —
identical triplets Harris, Hubert and Hamish — who live to gorge themselves on
sweets stolen by any means necessary. Merida loves nothing more than jumping
atop her beloved Clydesdale, Angus, and plunging through the surrounding
highland forests, where she has erected a maze-like obstacle course laden with
hanging targets designed to further test her already impressive archery skills.
This is a joyous, exhilarating
sequence that draws cheers each time one of Merida’s arrows hits its mark. It’s
also by far the most exciting scene in the film, and therefore represents
something of a mistake by co-directors Chapman and Mark Andrews. They set up expectations
here, with respect to Merida’s archery skills, which aren’t fulfilled as the
story builds to its eventual climax.
Because — and this is completely unacceptable—
the eventual third-act crisis isn’t solved by anything having to do with
Merida’s archery prowess. Can you imagine author Suzanne Collins foolishly
deciding to take Katniss’ bow away from her, midway through The Hunger Games?
Anyway, Merida’s life takes a
calamitous turn when she learns that she’s intended to wed the first-born son of
one of three other unruly co-rulers of this land: massive Lord MacGuffin (Kevin
McKidd); surly Lord Macintosh (Craig Ferguson), forever bedecked in blue war
paint; and cantankerous, quick-tempered Lord Dingwall (Robbie Coltrane). Such a
planned betrothal is traditional, Queen Elinor explains; the headstrong Merida
sees only that her life is being ruined.
It’s the familiar generation gap
writ large, and made worse by the fact that, deep in his heart, King Fergus
wants his daughter to be happy ... and Merida knows this. But the prim and
proper Elinor, whose mere presence can calm the rowdiest Scottish warrior,
insists upon decorum and custom.
Merida will have none of this.
First she embarrasses the other clan lords (quite stylishly, it should be
acknowledged). Then she has one of those calamitous arguments with her mother,
with both women saying and doing things that they’ll have cause to regret. At
which point Merida takes off, astride Angus, and winds up following a trail of
ghostly, neon-blue will-o’-the-wisps that lead her into a magical realm of the
forest.
One fateful encounter later,
Merida returns home with the means to have a wish fulfilled ... and we all know
how that usually goes. In the grand tradition of all ill-advised bargains with
magical entities, Merida’s wish has catastrophic consequences.
At which point, she’s the only
one able to clean up her own mess ... assuming she can deduce the means to do
so. More to the point, her selfish, reckless behavior does serious damage to
our willingness to sympathize with her.
Things get dire in the third act,
with a level of peril that occasionally overwhelms the family-friendly PG
rating. Parents should think twice before bringing very young viewers; several
sequences are quite scary.
While I’ve always advocated the
presence of fairy tale grim tidings, in order to make happy endings that much
happier, I can’t help feeling that Andrews and Chapman worked the fright factor
a bit too much. The climactic menace and bloodlust are completely at odds with the
film’s playful set-up and deliberately exaggerated characters, particularly the
silly clan lords and their even sillier first-born sons, who vie for Merida’s
hand in marriage.
We’ve seen this juxtaposition of
tone before, in other animated features. The similarly oafish Gaston turns
quite nasty toward the end of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, while the final,
incredibly massive beastie in How to Train Your Dragon is rather a shock,
after spending so much time with that film’s mostly foolish Vikings.
But the savage events that
concluded those two films felt more thematically appropriate, and consistent
with the preceding storylines; both climaxes also allowed their respective
protagonists to act bravely and honorably. That’s not quite the case in Brave, where I rather doubt that Merida has learned the necessary lesson; the
denouement lets her off rather easily, considering previous transgressions.
Mostly, though, the story beats
feel begged, borrowed and stolen: a bit of Beauty and the Beast here; a
soupçon of Lord of the Rings there; a nod toward Disney’s Snow White, with
a magic tart standing in for a poisoned apple; and a marvelous horse that —
although an engaging supporting character — evokes memories of Maximus, the similarly
intelligent steed in Disney’s Tangled.
I also kept waiting for Merida’s
three younger brothers to play a bigger part in the story, but it doesn’t
happen; they never rise above sidebar slapstick, although their familiarity
with the castle’s many secret passages does come in handy.
The Merida we meet, during the
film’s first act, deserves better. She’s a vivacious, inspirational character
who earns both our trust and respect ... at first. But too much of what happens
next feels contrived, most particularly a midpoint narrative shift so abrupt
that it feels as if we — and Merida — have stumbled into an entirely different
story.
That’s a shame, because a lot is
riding on this film: Pixar’s first human heroine, and the company’s first
female feature director, albeit one working alongside a male colleague.
It should be noted that Chapman
has strong credentials: She also co-directed 1998’s The Prince of Egypt, and
earned scripting credits on Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King and Chicken Run, before joining Pixar to co-plot Cars. I’d love to see the Brave that would have resulted from her sole vision, but of course that’s
impossible.
Meanwhile, I can only lament the
unsatisfying, clumsily assembled storyline that simply doesn’t allow Merida to
be her best self.
1 comment:
This was something I discussed with my wife when we left the theater after seeing it. It was, we agreed, a Good movie. But it wasn't, we also agreed, a good Pixar movie. It didn't have the oomph or emotional impact or powerful storytelling that UP or Wall-E had. Brave was pretty to look at, but suffered in that storyboard planning that usually hallmarks the great films that Pixar is normally known for.
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