The Swell Season live at Rumsey Playfield, Central Park, New York – September 17, 2008


Glen Hansard (of The Frames and The Commitments – read The Dork Report review) and Markéta Irglová recorded an album together called The Swell Season, and now tour under the name. They fell in love while filming the excellent Once (read The Dork Report review), and are now a couple.

Interestingly, they got their Oscar-winning song “Falling Slowly” out of the way right away, perhaps to avoid having the audience call it out as a request over and over throughout the evening. Personally, I felt Hansard goofed off a bit too much, even during serious songs like a new one I believe was called “Broke Down.”

swell_season.jpgGlen Hansard live in Central Park

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Love Will Tear Us Apart: Anton Corbijn’s Control

Control movie poster


Control is one of the very few rare musical biopics to ever appeal to me, even though I am only barely familiar with the music of Joy Division, and even less so of the history of its tragically doomed lead singer Ian Curtis. To testify to the film’s power, I immediately purchased The Best of Joy Division right after watching the movie. Listening more deeply to them for the first time, I’m struck by how much influence they obviously had, most obviously Interpol but also no less than U2 (especially their first three albums, and in Adam Clayton’s bass playing particularly).

Sam Riley as Ian Curtis in Anton Anton Corbijn's Control

Control begins with Curtis (Sam Riley) as a young lad in 1970s Manchester, absorbing all the rock star lessons that are there to be heard in David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane. He applies androgynous glam-rock makeup modeled after Bowie and Brian Eno, pops pills (ironic, considering the wide cocktail of drugs he’s later legitimately prescribed when his epilepsy manifests), writes anguished poetry, and sees the Sex Pistols live in their prime: “they were crap.” But his own band Joy Division creates a genuine new sound, a world apart from glam or punk. They seize the attention of Manchester music scene maven Tony Wilson (Craig Parkinson) with a hand-scrawled note reading “JOY DIVISION YOU CUNT,” hand-delivered immediately before a scorchingly intense live set. Wilson, himself immortalized by Steve Coogan in Michael Winterbottom’s brilliant biopic 24 Hour Party People, becomes their greatest advocate, literally signing their contract to Factory Records in his own blood.

Sam Riley and Samantha Morton in Anton Anton Corbijn's Control
Love Will Tear Us Apart

Curtis’ fame came before the comforts of money. He found himself on the covers of magazines, offered a tour of America, and desired by exotic women while still reliant on a depressing desk job and tortured by his own ambivalence towards his young family. Samantha Morton plays his wife Deborah as a shy, overly trusting girl. The real Deborah was later to write her autobiography and co-produce this film with Tony Wilson.

Director Anton Corbijn is most famous for his music videos and portraits, including the iconic The Joshua Tree sleeve for U2. Even though this is his first feature film, he is intimately experienced with the art of capturing rock (and rock stars) on film.

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Named after the ancient Persian city, Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel Persepolis is a memoir of her life in Europe and Iran after the Iranian revolution. This animated feature joins the growing ranks of comic book adaptations that prove that comics are not only about superheroes that dress up in animal-themed costumes to battle crime. Hopefully it, along with other good comics-to-film triumphs Ghost World and A History of Violence, will broaden moviegoers’ awareness of the many alternative genres already explored in comics.

PersepolisThe spirit of punk invades Iran

In a rare privilege perhaps only ever shared by Frank Miller in making Sin City with Robert Rodriguez, Satrapi served as co-director and writer of the film (with Vincent Paronnaud). She sings music to my ears in the DVD bonus features; to paraphrase, she states that it is a fool’s errand to make a literal, strict adaptation of any graphic novel to film. As comics writer Alan Moore once brilliantly and succinctly put it, comics are wholly unlike movies because, simply, “movies move.” The recent trend in Hollywood is to perform fan service (as it’s known) and make the most literally faithful adaptations possible. Sin City, 300, and the upcoming Watchmen all procede from the flawed presumption that the source materials’ fanbase (the nerdy, genre-convention-attending strawmen in studios’ equations that they expect to be buying the tickets and DVDs) want nothing less than perfect transitions from page to screen. But such a thing is never possible, let alone desirable.

Persepolispolitically conscious at a young age

That said, Persepolis the film does share the strikingly stark look of Satrapi’s characteristic pen and ink illustrations. A mostly black & white animated French memoir about a young Iranian woman could never be mistaken for blockbuster material, but it is funny, illuminating, and moving.

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The Shawshank Redemption

The Shawshank Redemption


It’s hard to believe now, but The Shawshank Redemption was a relative flop at the box office, and overlooked in all seven of its Academy Award nominations (losing the 1994 Best Picture to Forrest Gump). But true to its own themes, it found redemption late in life, on television and home video. It regularly tops the running popularity poll in, but has the reputation for never being taken very seriously by critics. In the Charlie Rose Show interview included among the DVD bonus features, director Frank Darabont pierces the legend that the film was poorly reviewed. The four or five most widely read papers in the country did pan the film (Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times being a notable exception), but nationwide, the reviews were highly positive. Shawshank: The Redeeming Feature, a British television documentary also included on the DVD, posits the theory that any critical disdain is attributable to its conclusive happy ending. The original novella and Darabont’s screenplay adaptation both end on an ambiguous note of hope, but the studio Castle Rock specifically requested a concrete happy ending. Darabont still seems to have mixed feelings about the inserted coda, but there’s no doubt it gives its appreciate audiences massive satisfaction and uplift.

Morgan Freeman in The Shawshank RedemptionI know what you think it means, sonny

Despite the movie’s wild popularity, it doesn’t seem widely known to be an adaption of the Stephen King novella Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption (a clunky title without even a “The” to aid in its scansion). It’s an atypical work that deals not at all with the supernatural or the horrific, but King’s highly characteristic voice does show through in the sharp plotting, monstrous villains, and hilariously colorful dialogue. Seriously, did anyone at any time or in any social milieu ever actually call anyone “fuckstick?” Like many of King’s filthy turns of phrase, if they didn’t, they should have. Of note, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption was originally published with three other novellas in a single volume, Different Seasons. Two more became successful films: Apt Pupil (by director Bryan Singer) and The Body (as Stand By Me, by Barry Levinson).

Tim Robbins in The Shawshank RedemptionGet busy living, or get busy dying

The Shawshank Redemption has its share of warm fuzzies, but repeatedly counterpunches with frank representations of the injustice of prison life, including rape, brutality, and exploitation. One glaring area in which it appears to wimp out, however, is its failure to acknowledge race. Racial tensions must have been at least as much of a problem in 1930s-50s prisons as they are now, if not more so. The original character in the novella was a white Irish American, and Darabont reveals in the DVD bonus features that Morgan Freeman was an unconventional addition to the cast, an obviously correct decision they couldn’t pass up. Perhaps injecting racial themes into the script at that point would have been one theme too many for an already overstuffed movie, but they do percolate in the background. Red, for example, reflexively calls even the slightest authority figure “sir.” Not only does Freeman carry a wholly natural gravitas (I recall a review of March of the Penguins that described him as “America’s favorite narrator”) but Red & Andy’s friendship is made that much more profound for the effective irrelevance of their races.

While most Hollywood movies are structured around adversarial relationships between male antagonists, The Shawshank Redemption is a rare tale of deep, sincere male friendship. It could very well be the greatest man-love story ever told, able to bring a lump to the throat of even the most macho of viewers.

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Finding Nemo

Finding Nemo


Andrew Stanton’s Finding Nemo immediately preceded Pixar‘s slightly more sophisticated collaborations with director Brad Bird, The Incredibles and Ratatouille. Despite being one of Pixar’s most kid-friendly films, Finding Nemo is paradoxically full of death and anxiety. But Stanton works in the proven tradition of its spiritual ancestor Bambi, which also famously features a mother’s arbitrary murder in its opening moments. Stanton keeps Finding Nemo childlike without being childish.

Finding Nemo

If I was stranded in a dentist’s office aquarium, and I could take only one of Stanton’s Pixar movies with me, I’m afraid I wouldn’t pick Finding Nemo. I found his follow-up WALL-E (read The Dork Report review) to be a more sophisticated film that relies less on dialog and celebrity personae.

Finding Nemo

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Glengarry Glen Ross

Glengarry Glen Ross movie poster


For better or for worse, Glengarry Glen Ross is very pointedly set in a world of men. I believe only one woman so much as appears in the background of one scene. It’s no accident, oversight, or deliberate act of Hollywood misogyny to banish women from this 24-hour slice of the lives of five bottom-rung salesmen.

Glengarry Glen Ross is full of grand, showboating performances from a dream cast of male master actors Al Pacino, Jack Lemmon, Alec Baldwin, Alan Arkin, Ed Harris, Kevin Spacey, and Jonathan Pryce. Baldwin very nearly steals the entire movie with a hilariously aggressive motivational monologue: “What’s my name? ‘Fuck you,’ that’s my name.” It’s all the more extraordinary that Pryce, sometimes guilty of outrageously affected accents and scenery-consumption, masterfully underplays his part as a shy, passive man who can barely speak, let alone assert himself against predator Ricky Roma (Pacino).

Kevin Spacey and Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen RossAll together now: “What’s my name? …”

The screenplay by David Mamet, expanded from his own stage play, set a high standard for gloriously poetic profanity not to be surpassed until David Milch’s series Deadwood. Famous for his naturalistic dialog (every “um,” “uh,” and stutter is right there on the page; there is no improvisation), Mamet is also a meticulous craftsman of mystery and suspense. But there is one plot detail that trips me up on each viewing: the morning after the sales office is robbed, Shelley Levene (Lemmon) brags about having pulled off an impressive sale of eight units of sketchy property. Roma’s ears prick up at his mention of the signing having been just that morning, obviously sensing something fishy about Levene’s claim. But the time of closure is not inconsistent with Levene’s story, nor is there any reason to suspect that Levene, whatever else he may be guilty of, falsified this particular sale in any way. Roma may simply be surprised that the lately taciturn and ineffectual salesman Levene could not have pulled off such a feat at such an unlikely time unless his spirits were buoyed somehow. Still, Roma demonstrates perhaps the film’s only act of kindness by being the only one to give the old master one last chance to swap victorious war stories.

Kevin Spacey and Jack Lemmon in Glengarry Glen RossShelley “The Machine” Levene wants to make a deal

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O Lucky Man!

O Lucky Man!


Over the course of its truly epic length of 177 minutes, Lindsay Anderson‘s O Lucky Man! (1973) picks up the continuing saga of Mick Travis (Malcolm McDowell) from If… (1968; read The Dork Report Review). While If…. used a British public school as a metaphorical microcosm with which to satirize British class culture, O Lucky Man! widens its lens to take in all of England for its bleak portrait of capitalism triumphant. Travis appears to have matured out of his schoolboy fantasy of perpetrating a school massacre and has since joined the corporate world. Because of McDowell’s inherently impish persona, one might not expect his character here to be sincere, but Travis is now ruthless and genuinely willing to endure anything to climb the ladder of profit and social advancement. Early on, he is urged by a senior colleague to “try not to die like a dog,” but it’s a warning he is never equipped to quite comprehend.

O Lucky Man!When do we live?

His journey is so long and involved that it would hardly count as a spoiler to recount it here: Travis is promoted from the lowest rung on the corporate ladder all the way up to a high-level mission set up to fail. As he is ordered around the English countryside by his officebound superiors, he becomes lost on the way to Scotland, is arrested and tortured by the army, survives a military strike by an unseen enemy, stumbles into an idyll, is nursed back to health (er, literally), donates his body to medical research, falls in with Alan Price‘s touring band (including groupie Patricia (Helen Mirren)), talks his way into the employ of the most venal businessman in England after his previous assistant’s timely suicide (a prime example of Travis’ alleged “luck”), becomes party to illegal chemical weapons sales in a corporate-funded civil war in a third-world nation, takes the fall for his boss, is imprisoned to five years of hard labor, is evidently reformed, tries and fails to talk a poor woman out of suicide with a hilarious litany of trite platitudes, is robbed and becomes homeless, tries to proselytize like Jesus and is, finally and fittingly, stoned by his peers. But in the the end, he is discovered as a future movie star.

O Lucky Man!So long and thanks for the milk

An early form of David Sherwin’s script was written by McDowell himself, based on his own experiences as a coffee salesman. I think it’s fair to presume that the beginning and ending are drawn directly from McDowell’s life story. At opposite ends of the film, the fortunate Travis is chosen from the masses for higher callings. The young man at the beginning is all too eager to commence his journey, but the beaten-down and disillusioned man at the end is no longer able to take any pleasure out of his unlucky luck.

Must read: everything you could possibly want to know about O Lucky Man, from

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King Crimson live at The Nokia Theatre, Times Square, New York City, August 14, 2008


UPDATE I: Welcome to all visitors from DGMLive, and many thanks to Sid for such a high-profile link to this humble blog. I appreciate the kind comments, and especially welcome what is certainly The Dork Report’s first and only celebrity guest, none other than Patricia Fripp!

UPDATE II: I’ve also posted my thoughts about the Saturday, August 16 show. As positive as the below review of Thursday is, Crimson blew it away with a real corker on Saturday.

Last night was the first in the extended grand finale of King Crimson’s 40th Anniversary Tour: a four-night stand at The Nokia Theatre in Times Square, New York City. I hope any random readers that stumble upon this blog entry looking for a blow-by-blow review will excuse this Dork Reporter as he indulges himself with a few observations on Crimson in general before getting around to talking about last night’s concert.

King Crimson live at The Nokia Theater Times Square New YorkI turned my phone off after this picture, I swear

Despite the band’s considerable longevity, the legendary King Crimson has never enjoyed fame or commercial success on a par with many of their so-called “progressive rock” peers (the pejorative term has never really fit King Crimson anyway). Witness, for example, the massively lucrative 2007 world tour by Genesis, itself originally influenced by King Crimson’s 1969 debut album In the Court of the Crimson King. Crimson’s relatively low profile is nobody’s fault but their own, and it is no accident. Crimson has been aggressively uncompromising from the very beginning, rarely willing to coast on past glories or cash-in with grand reunion tours (although many of the original members have toured under the name 21st Century Schizoid Band). It’s worth noting that Crimson has made certain half-hearted forays into the real world of commercialism, having filmed at least one music video (for Sleepless in 1984) and lip-synced their eccentric pop novelty Cat Food on Top of the Pops in 1970. But even so, King Crimson has proven time and again that it would rather break up (sometimes leaving real money on the table) than repeat itself. Huge chunks of their songbook are resistant to casual listening, and let’s be honest, many fans take a snooty pride in Crimson’s low profile and high barrier to entry.

King Crimson is in a constant state of evolution, and many successive incarnations made radical breaks from the past: the original 1969 configuration of the band was born in the hippie era, but had a unique blend of proto-metal aggression (21st Century Schizoid Man) and Mellotron-driven dirges (Epitaph). The 1971-72 band shed much of this portentous weight in favor of jazz-rock improvisation and filthy jokiness (Ladies of the Road). The 1973-74 version dove even deeper into jazz fusion (driven in part by master drummer Bill Bruford), but also unleashed some of the most intense metal instrumentals of Crimson’s entire lifetime. Crimson flamed out in 1974, but reappeared in its most radically new form yet in 1981-84, exploring guitar and drum synthesizers and giving birth to a genre that didn’t even have a name until decades later: “math rock.” King Crimson reappeared yet again in 1994, this time as a “double trio” comprised of paired guitars, drums, and basses. Later, a stripped-down quartet produced two albums of its most difficult (in a good, challenging way) music in 2001-2003.

King Crimson live at The Nokia Theater Times Square New YorkProof positive: I was there! Should’ve sprung for a better seat, though…

But all this is preamble. Now, the 2008 King Crimson is all about the rhythm section, and it was reflected in last night’s live mix. Bassist Tony Levin and drummers Pat Mastelotto and Gavin Harrison were very LOUD in the mix, sometimes relegating guitarists Robert Fripp and Adrian Belew to supporting roles. Mastelotto and Harrison played three pieces alone (B’Boom and two new untitled drum pieces), and dominated several others (including whole chunks of the thrillingly rearranged Neurotica and Level Five). I’m a huge fan of Trey Gunn (touchstyle guitarist in King Crimson between 1994-2003), having been to two of his solo shows, but boy is it great to hear Tony Levin back in the band. No one stands astride a stage like Levin, playing the bass like the lead instrument it so rarely is.

Although Robert Fripp has been the one consistent member of King Crimson over its 40-year history, it has never been entirely accurate to call it his band (one might even say it’s Adrian Belew’s band, considering his massive songwriting contributions over the years, not to mention his responsibilities as live frontman). Truth be told, Fripp might be fairly described as eccentric, certainly among other rock guitarists. His composition and style of guitar playing are utterly unique, born more from the European classical tradition than blues or jazz. He has also stood apart for his crusading stance against exploitation of musicians by record companies (long before it became cool). Fripp, now 62, has been blogging for years and making noises about retiring from touring for some time now. On the last League of Crafty Guitarists tour in November 2007, he performed partially obscured by his infamous imposing rack of electronics dubbed the Solar Voyager. Evidently, he was road-testing a new mode of playing live, and I would surmise that this new configuration is part of how he conceived of making this latest King Crimson tour possible for him on a personal and professional level. He also now wears large headphones, probably just as much to hear the rest of the band clearly as he does to blot out the sound of dopey audience catcalls. Regrettably, it’s a long-standing King Crimson tradition for the Douchebag Brigade (whom Fripp would call “Basement Dwellers”) to call out facetious requests for songs they know well Crimson will never play (“Moonchild!”) and sometimes just the last names of their heroes, whether or not they are currently in the band (“Bruuuuuford!”). Fripp’s new level of disconnection from the audience may allow him to focus on his bandmates and the music, but it also served to only increase the amount of catcalls from the Douchebag Brigade: “Fripp, show yourself” etc.

Last night, Crimson came right out of the gate with one of their most challenging pieces, The Construkction of Light. Frankly, it was noticeably wobbly at first, probably even to people who weren’t familiar with it. The band’s fumbling was worrisome, but I shouldn’t have doubted; the first section of the piece is by its nature a long, minimalist tension-and-release build-up, and Belew was suffering from technical difficulties (some very noticeable snaps, crackles and pops). A guitar tech solved his troubles before the song kicked into high gear and I was practically dancing in my seat (well, as best I could, considering its odd time signature).

The Construkction of Light was impenetrable to me on first listen in 2000, but Level Five remains a mystery. I still, even now, can’t wrap my brain around it. It was by far the most challenging piece they played last night, in a set list made up largely of what passes for popular favorites in the King Crimson songbook. Level Five is frankly hard work to listen to, and definitely not something I would select to introduce a novice to Crimson.

But as I said, most of the rest of the night was true to its billing as a 40th Anniversary Celebration: Crimson reveled in many of the most rocking pieces they’ve ever composed. The Talking Drum, a piece that starts from total silence on record, now blasts out intensely from its very first note, and builds to a literally screaming climax that in turn explodes into Larks Tongues in Aspic Part II. Larks, together with Red, can always be counted on to blow everyone’s hair back, and maybe the doors off the venue. I believe Fripp has a famous quote about Crimson being able to shred wallpaper at a distance of miles?

King Crimson live at The Nokia Theater Times Square New YorkHeat in the jungle streets

The beautiful ballad Walking on Air provided a break from all the intensity, but it didn’t last long. Fripp, playing more of a supportive role than ever before, stepped out for once and truly cooked in Dinosaur. Dinosaur is also, incidentally, the one song that separates the true Crimson fans from the weekend warriors: anyone who claps during the false ending is a n00b. Crimson closed with a rip-roaring rendition of Vrooom, but Fripp’s lead melody lines in the coda were sadly omitted (he did, however, play them with The League of Crafty Guitarists when I saw them last November). Although I’m fully aware that the evening was not about me and I don’t get to choose, I have to admit I was bummed to not hear Sleepless. I had read on that they had played it earlier on the tour, and as I loved the 1995 arrangement of the piece heard on the live album B’Boom, I was very much looking forward to hearing this version of the band tackle it.

A few notes about The Nokia Theatre: it was a massive movie theater once upon a time (I recall seeing the hilariously horrible Anaconda there in 1997), but is now a huge, modern concert venue. I love a good pint of beer as much as the next guy, but my heart always sinks when I attend concerts at venues that serve alcohol. There is always a contingent that overindulges and acts out in a way that is evidently amusing to them but annoying to everyone else. I noticed a bunch of obese bald dudes on the lower right of the floor that were obviously drunk and/or high, and no doubt ruining the experience for everyone around them. Also, the venue had video cameras trained on the stage throughout, which very much surprised me, given Fripp’s emphatically-stated objections to the obstructive process of filming concerts. They even managed to capture him on screen at one point, despite his being largely obscured from view (during Larks Tongues in Aspic Part II, I believe). Perhaps someone from Crimson’s road crew had a word with the videographers, because he never appeared on screen again.

One little bit of trivia: a noticed a familiar-looking guy pacing up and down the aisles before and after the show. I thought at first that maybe I might have known him from somewhere, professionally or personally, until it suddenly hit me it might be Tony Geballe, former Crafty Guitarist and member of The Trey Gunn Band. What was he up to? Was he, as a member of the extended King Crimson family, tasked by the band to police the audience for illicit bootleggers? Anyway, whether it was him or not, Geballe is a great guitar player, and I recommend checking out his album Native of the Rain.

I’ve now seen King Crimson three times, first in 1995 in Philadelphia and then in 2001 in New York City. It was a delight to see them again last night, in a slightly rough-and-tumble but exhilarating performance. I look forward to catching them again tomorrow night, and plan on posting some more thoughts on The Dork Report later.

Thanks for reading, to anyone that made it this far! Please leave a comment if you have anything to add.

Official King Crimson site:

Must view: Tony Levin’s photos of Thursday’s concert

Must read: David Fricke’s Rolling Stone review of Thursday’s concert

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen movie poster


Terry Gilliam’s mad, brilliant yarn The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is a strongly anti-war fable to which every kid (and adult!) ought to be exposed. Like the best of its kind (including Ratatouille and Gilliam’s own Time Bandits) The Adventures of Baron Munchausen works on multiple levels and is accessible to all ages. It is, however, a Gilliam film, as as such possessed of a certain degree of darkness and naughtiness. But depictions of tobacco, decapitation, and brief nudity (of the young Uma Thurman variety… thank you, Terry!) were evidently A-OK for kiddies in its era, and merited a mere PG rating. Special mention must also be paid to the spirited performance by a very young, adorable (but in a non-cloying way) Sarah Polley.

John Neville and Sarah Polley in The Adventures of Baron MunchausenOops, we threw the budget projections overboard…

What must be the most ironic caption in cinema history, “The Late 18th Century: The Age of Reason,” is followed immediately by harrowing imagery of warfare that wouldn’t be out of place in Kubrick’s Paths of Glory. Further driving the point home for the slower members of the audience, a trip to Hades finds Vulcan (Oliver Reed) forging ICBMs out of hellfire. In a theme straight out of Noam Chomsky, the military industrial complex (personified by Jonathan Pryce’s hilariously accented bureaucrat) imprisons the people within the walls of their own city with a sham state of perpetual war. In the end, the Baron (John Neville) defeats these villains not with more violence, but by inspiring the people to throw open their doors and thus their minds.

Uma Thurman in The Adventures of Baron MunchausenUma comes out of her shell

Must read: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen fun facts from Dreams, the Terry Gilliam Fanzine

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With the delightful WALL-E, Pixar continues its as-yet unbroken winning streak of instant-classic films for all ages. From among their oeuvre, my personal tastes run toward the darker and more psychologically complex The Incredibles and Ratatouille by director Brad Bird. Andrew Stanton’s WALL-E certainly ranks among Pixar’s greatest hits, all films that will resonate decades hence with children of all ages (as the saying goes). Other studios continue to produce disposable pastiches such as Shrek and Ice Age, laden down with pop cultural references that will not age well and eventually be forgotten. While eye-popping now, perhaps some day Pixar’s animation will appear less than state-of-the art, and I do fear that one day Pixar may miscalculate and produce a critical and commercial failure. If they ever do, it will be because they lost their emphasis on storytelling craft and sense for timeless relevance.

WALL-E looks backwards in cinema history for inspiration to envision its grim distant future. WALL-E’s daily travails on an ecologically collapsed Earth resemble the desolate wastelands seen in such joyless apocalyptic downers as The Terminator and The Matrix. WALL-E is the lone survivor of his kind, dispassionately salvaging spare parts from his dead comrades. All this is potentially very scary stuff for kids, but the little guy has become charmingly eccentric over the course of his several-hundred year long mission, and his positive, can-do energy provides an amusing counterpoint to the dead world about him. Still, the themes of loneliness and environmental crisis are there for adults to plainly see and even the youngest viewers to pick up on.

WALL-EWALL-E befriends the DustBuster3000

Long before WALL-E, the camp sci-fi classic Logan’s Run supposed a future devolved humanity, reduced to a self-sustaining infantile state. Humanity imprisoned itself for the sake of survival, but the rational was long since forgotten and the closed system no longer unnecessary. It takes the rebellion of one free spirit to wake up the whole of society to the reality outside the walls of their enclosed womb (or tomb).

WALL-E draws its ecological metaphors and even the visual design of WALL-E himself from the classic hippie science-fiction film Silent Running. The last remnants of an overpopulated Earth’s biosphere are preserved in orbiting greenhouses, until venal corporations decide they are no longer necessary and are to be demolished. But one driven botanist and his team of cute gardening droids conspire to preserve a garden of eden forever, adrift in space, but a great cost: their rebellion is a bloody, murderous one.

The last major cinematic touchstone for WALL-E is, of course, 2001: A Space Odyssey. The visual design of the Buy ‘n’ Large ark carrying the remnants of humanity is all about the clean, white lines of Kubrick’s space station, and none of the filthy grunge that has dominated science fiction ever since Ridley Scott’s Nostromo in Alien (but Sigourney Weaver does provide the voice of the ship’s computer, perhaps finally finding vengeance against Alien‘s evil computer M.O.T.H.E.R.). WALL-E‘s chief villain is the droid AUTO, with the single, sinisterly unblinking red eye of HAL 9000. Both are artificial intelligences that stunt the evolutionary advancing of the human race in a twisted literal reading of their programming to protect it. Deleterious overprotection is also a theme in Andrew Stanton’s Finding Nemo; the Marlon learns that his prohibitive coddling of his son prevents him from blossoming.

WALL-EPistol-packin’ Princess Leia-bot comin’ through!

But more than anything, WALL-E is a love story. If you think about it too much, you realize WALL-E is several hundred years old, and is thus rocking the cradle when he falls for the later model droid EVE. A pistol-packin’, short-tempered spitfire in the fine tradition of Princess Leia, EVE is so far advanced that she’s practically a different species of robot. Still, when WALL-E upends an entire society in stasis, he also awakens EVE to the joys of life.

Pixar has long had business ties to Apple, but this is the first film of theirs to make overt in-jokes. WALL-E has somehow rigged a vintage VHS cassette of Hello, Dolly! to play on an only slightly less vintage iPod. Apple’s resident industrial design genius Jonathan Ive reportedly consulted on the design of EVE. WALL-E’s startup sound is the classic Macintosh boot-up fanfare. The “evil” robot AUTO speaks with the voice of MacInTalk, the text-to-speech technology invented by Apple in the early 90s. Any one of these gags would have been cute, but taken as a whole, one suspects the Berlin wall between companies is breaking down, resulting in crass product placement.

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