Rio: Samba-hued delight

Rio (2011) • View trailer for Rio
Four stars (out of five). Rating: G, and suitable for all ages
By Derrick Bang


I haven’t had this much fun south of the border, since Donald Duck met Joe Carioca and Panchito in 1945’s The Three Caballeros.

Rafael, right, a toucan deliriously in love with Rio and its annual Carnaval
celebration, insists that natural instincts will take over if Blu, left, simply tries
to fly. Blu has his doubts, and so does Jewel ... who already has seen a few of
the displaced Blu's unsuccessful efforts to leave the ground.

Rio is a joyous, giddy riot of color and song, anchored by captivating characters and propelled by a clever story that delivers plenty of fun — and a sly environmental message — while building to a suspenseful finale. This is, in short, another can’t-miss hit from Blue Sky Studios, the folks behind the equally polished Ice Age franchise.

A few elements — notably the placement of some songs — feel “borrowed” from the formula employed in Madagascar, but not to a bothersome degree; let’s just say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and let it go at that.

Mostly, director/co-scripter Carlos Saldanha scores by skillfully matching character to voice talent, supplying a narrative — with co-writer Don Rhymer — that opens with pizzazz and unfolds in distinctive chapters, and, perhaps more than anything else, reflects the obviously unabashed affection he has for his own home town of Rio de Janeiro.

Not since Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amélie, and its delirious depiction of Paris, has a director concocted such an opulent valentine to his native city.

As this film’s press notes so eloquently — and truthfully — state, Rio is more than a point on a map; it’s a magical place, a state of mind, and an attitude.

The saga begins in the Brazilian jungle, as a baby bird delights in an explosion of colorful avian neighbors indulging in a choreographed winged dance that would do Busby Berkeley proud. Sadly, this euphoric moment doesn’t last; smugglers descend and snatch as many birds as they can toss into cages ... including our terrified youngster.

A long plane trip and a van mishap later, the tropical infant is close to death in a small, snowbound Minnesota community. Salvation arrives in the form of a little girl named Linda, who carefully plucks the tiny creature from its damaged packing crate, promising to care for it.

One charming montage later, the girl has grown up and become the owner of her own small-town bookstore; the bird has matured into a gorgeous blue macaw dubbed Blu. The two are inseparable, and I wish the film could pause long enough to spend more time with the daily routine enjoyed by these two best friends; it’s both droll and touching.

Henry Poole is Here: Whimsical fantasy

Henry Poole Is Here (2008) • View trailer for Henry Poole Is Here
3.5 stars (out of five). Rating: PG, for brief profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.15.08
Buy DVD: Henry Poole Is Here • Buy Blu-Ray: Henry Poole Is Here [Blu-ray]

The quiet, unshaven man, some unknown sorrow weighing him down like the chains binding Marley's ghost, pays cash for the dilapidated, cookie-cutter house in a drab, middle-class Los Angeles neighborhood.

He moves in with minimal furniture, closes all the drapes and pulls all the blinds, and withdraws into a subsistence diet of doughnuts, pizza and alcohol. He wants only to be left alone.

Henry Poole (Luke Wilson) only wants to be left alone, and he naively believes
that retreating within his own house will afford that level of privacy. Imagine
his chagrin, then, when the house itself has other ideas...

God — fate, karma, whatever — has other plans.

Henry Poole Is Here is a quiet little treasure: a rare movie that treats faith, hope and religious conviction with a dignity too frequently absent on the big screen. Director Mark Pellington (Arlington Road, The Mothman Prophecies) and writer Albert Torres, making an impressive big-screen scripting debut, deliver a tender, character-driven drama that at times feels very much like 2005's Millions, an equally delicate British film that confronted Earth-bound miracles with a similar compassion.

Pellington's film is unhurried and expectant, much like its central character. The atmosphere and approach are wholly unlike this director's previous films and TV work — notably half a dozen episodes of Cold Case — which tended to be exploitative and amped-up. Not all directors can so successfully alter their approach to fit the material, but Pellington certainly does so here; he's perfectly content to let Torres' narrative unfold at its own measured pace.

The result is painfully intimate — far more authentic than any so-called "reality" project, such as the laughably unpersuasive American Teen — as if we were eavesdropping on this man at the worst possible moment.

At the risk of sounding like a soapbox lecturer, this once again demonstrates the degree to which scripted drama — which is to say, fiction — can feel far more real than staged and hokey "documentaries."

The title character, Henry, is played by Luke Wilson at his mopey, disheveled best. The actor keeps his usual smugness and smart mouth corked (or Pellington does), instead delivering a carefully modulated less-is-more performance. Henry dresses so sloppily, tends to himself so badly, that at first blush he could be mistaken for a street person ... but even a casual glimpse into his eyes reveals intelligence, pain and something else. Betrayal? Anger?

Answers come slowly.

Henry has purchased this house, in this neighborhood, because it's close to the house in which he grew up. That one, sadly, wasn't on the market; instead, he contents himself with occasionally staring at it from across the street. Aside from these visits, and his equally brief sallies to a nearby grocery store, he tries to remain indoors.