Old: Only partly satisfying

Old (2021) • View trailer

Three stars (out of five). Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, sexual candor, nudity and fleeting profanity

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang

Calling this the best film M. Night Shyamalan has made in well over a decade is damning with very faint praise; this is, after all, the man who unleashed stinkers such as After Earth, The Visit, The Happening and The Last Airbender (the latter one of the worst big-budget fantasies ever made).

 

A creepy discovery — from a clever point of view — is made by, from left, Chrystal
(Abbey Lee), Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird), Jarin (Ken Leung), Maddox (Thomasin
McKenzie), Charles (Rufus Sewell), Sedan (Aaron Pierre) and Prisca (Vicky Krieps).

But credit where due: Old is by turns intriguing, mysterious and disturbing. It also holds together, as a story, better than the above-mentioned turkeys: a welcome surprise that can be attributed to the fact that this is not a Shyamalan original script. He has adapted the 2010 graphic novel Sandcastle, by Pierre-Oscar Lévy and Frederick Peeters.

Here’s a bigger revelation: Shyamalan’s altered conclusion — one of his signature twists — is more satisfying than the original’s ruminative metaphor.

 

Mind you, we’re talking a degree of success. There’s still much to complain about here.

 

We meet Guy (Gael García Bernal), wife Prisca (Vicky Krieps) and their children — Maddox (Alexa Swinton) and Trent (Nolan River) — en route to a family holiday in a trendy seaside resort. The atmosphere is a bit tense, the dynamic between Guy and Prisca clearly fragile. Troubled.

 

They attempt to mute such feelings, to spare the kids: not difficult, in such a pampered environment, where attentive staff cater to their every whim. This cheerful prologue is quite pleasant; it allows Guy, Prisca, Maddox, Trent and a few of the other resort guests to define themselves.

 

Guy’s family is encouraged to spend the next day at a gorgeous, secluded cove: “Only for our special guests,” promises the resort manager (Gustaf Hammarsten, oozing false sincerity). This invitation clearly troubles young Idlib (Kailen Jude), the manager’s nephew, who has just befriended Trent.

 

The family accepts; they’re joined by Charles (Rufus Sewell), his Barbie-doll trophy wife Chrystal (Abbey Lee), their 6-year-old daughter Kara (Kyle Bailey), and his mother Agnes (Kathleen Chalfant). The shuttle driver (Shyamalan, in his usual cameo role) deftly evades their questions.

 

The promised cove is peacefully picturesque; the little group is augmented by late-comers Jarin (Ken Leung) and his wife Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird).

 

They’re all surprised to find somebody else on site: Sedan (Aaron Pierre), brooding and isolated in a distant corner, against the sheer rocky walls that enclose the cove. His presence irritates Charles, who seems to have a hair-trigger temper. Actually, the three family groups seem oddly uneasy around each other.

 

(And for no reason, at this early stage; it’s just Shyamalan, clumsily — and needlessly — heightening the disconcerting atmosphere.)

 

Coco: A tasty treat

Coco (2017) • View trailer 
4.5 stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.22.17

This one’s deceptive.

At first blush, Pixar’s Coco feels like the saga of a little boy who desperately wants to embrace melody and song, but is thwarted by parents and relatives with a deeply rooted aversion to music.

As his faithful dog Dante watches attentively, Miguel prepares to receive a blessing from
his long-deceased Mamá Imelda: a necessary ritual, lest the boy be forced to remain
forever in the Land of the Dead. Alas, the blessing will come with strings attached...

That’s accurate enough, but merely the entry point to this wildly imaginative, gloriously colorful and unexpectedly poignant saga of family bonds. Co-directors Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina — who also co-scripted the story, alongside Jason Katz and Matthew Aldrich — have ingeniously employed Mexico’s annual Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration to illustrate the importance of honoring — and remembering — past generations.

The narrative takes place during a single fast-paced day and night, and is laden with gentle messages that range from To Thine Own Self Be True, to There’s No Place Like Home.

In the tradition of Pixar’s best films, the tone veers between droll comedy and heartbreaking pathos, and from larkish excitement to edge-of-the-seat suspense. At the same time, we’re dazzled by the animated equivalent of phenomenal production design, and charmed by some cleverly integrated songs, including an endearing ballad written by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, the Academy Award-winning team behind the power anthem “Let It Go,” from Frozen.

The rather complex narrative defies an elevator pitch, and opens with a prologue that cleverly establishes back-story via Día de los Muertos paper-cut flags. We then meet 12-year-old Miguel (voiced with earnest sincerity by young Anthony Gonzalez), who chafes at the limitations imposed by a jovial clan of shoemakers.

This family business has become the pride of Santa Cecilia: a calling that began with Miguel’s great-great-grandmother Mamá Imelda, as a means of survival when her husband abandoned the family — including toddler daughter Coco — in order to follow his dream of becoming a famous musician. Mamá Imelda’s subsequent ban on music has been enforced strictly by subsequent generations, much to Miguel’s dismay.

He dreams of growing up to be a celebrated musician like his idol, Ernesto de la Cruz, who became the most famous musician in Mexican history: conquering pop charts, movies and concert stages.

But thanks to the disciplinarian edicts of his grandmother Abuelita (Renée Victor), the frustrated Miguel believes that he’s backed into an either/or corner: He must choose between his passion for music, and his love for his family. Efforts at persuasion merely harden Abuelita’s position, and so Miguel — having accidentally stumbled upon a family secret — yields to an ill-advised impulse, as night falls on Día de los Muertos.