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Once Upon a Time

3/13/2015

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See that headline? Terrible. Well, no, not terrible, but predictable. As much as I’d love to push those four words onto my editor, I chose them. Not just trite, but at the headwaters of trite. The wellspring of familiar story conventions with ruts worn on either side the territory is so well tread. But you know, sometimes, to hell with the road less traveled. Keep your gritty re-imagining. Spare me another inside out hero as villain perspective bending alteration of a classic. Sometimes a fairy tale demands to be rendered in sparkling, optimistic, conventional fashion. Disney’s newest iteration of Cinderella is just that, sweet, familiar, and—if you’re willing—hopeful.

So, let’s clear the air here, Disney sanitized most of the fairy tales for which they’re famous. Cinderella is no different, but with some golden slippers here and a wishing tree there, it’s still drawn from the persecuted heroine archetype. It’s not so much the liberties Disney is prone to take with their adaptations; it’s the Disney-fication of heavy subject matter. Cinderella is littered with dead parents and awful, emotionally wounded people, but there is a soft focus, sunny patina to the entire affair. Will it drive you crazy? It could, but maybe try not to be so jaded all the time…
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I was genuinely surprised when I saw Kenneth Branagh was at the helm, and he deserves tremendous kudos. In the ensuing days if you’re collecting all the reviews you can find, you’re likely to see critiques claiming the film is shallow, or empty, or weightless, and I’m comfortable saying that was an integral part of the aim. Cinderella is some good old fashion filmmaking, almost broaching on love letter to golden age cinema. Branagh indulges in a couple bits of glitzy camera work, but two sequences in particular—the Royal Ball and an intimate moment shared between Cinderella and the Prince in a secret garden—had me absolutely giddy. So restrained, so poised, so elegant, so enticing in their polite implication, oh so poached in classic Hollywood sensibilities, it’s like George freakin’ Cukor himself was in the canvas chair.

To that end, you know every single beat of this story. There are no surprises, there are no wrinkles, and there are no radical interpretations. The picture does appear to be set in the late 19th century, and the costumes are crazy on point, but other than a nudge in the era, it’s boilerplate. And I couldn’t be happier. The talent does give the vibe you might be watching the sappiest episode of Game of Thrones ever (Robb Stark, Richard Madden, plays the Prince) or…well, any episode of Downton Abbey (Lily James plays Cinderella and Sophie McShera plays evil step-sister Drisella). There are also some other notables on the bill, the unfortunately under-utilized Stellan Skarsgard and the electric Cate Blanchett who utterly owns her long reveal as our Stepmother in question.

If you really want to examine Cinderella critically, it is admittedly more surface than substance. There’s no profound resonance. Even in the moment where they try and reach behind Evil Stepmother’s China doll face to unspool the darkness lingering therein, it’s superficial. Your characters are good or bad, and there are no shades between. The drama is slight, the growth is limited, and the conflicts are little more than stumbling blocks on our upward climb to happily ever after. But it is a fairy tale, broad moral lessons housed in perfunctory narrative packages to plant little seedlings of perceived socially acceptable values.

So what is our broad moral lesson? You need a Prince to save you? Actually, no. In perhaps the only slight tweak, Cinderella’s relief does not happen through a man, but her salvation comes from within. This is emphasized to the point of a bludgeoning, but I like that. Cinderella didn’t need her Prince, but she wanted him, and last I checked that’s still okay.

The grand lesson here is courage and kindness. Repeated ad nauseam, both mantra and moral framework, it’s Cinderella’s reason. I’m not naïve enough to ignore where these lessons fall short, and Alice is the paragon of belief, a pinnacle those of us living in a more cynical world may never reach. All the same, I like the idea finding purchase in a young mind. It’s a good maxim, and if a handful of future optimists adopt these concepts as a guide rope, this iteration of Cinderella has served its purpose. But the echo of courage and kindness is not the greatest achievement of Cinderella; instead it is in rendering the movie with overwhelming earnestness. In this case, the courage is in the film’s kindness, and it’s a welcome relief.

—Monte Monreal
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First Runner-Up

3/6/2015

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There are no illusions as to where this movie falls in the sterling cannon of Exotic Marigold Hotel films: it’s the second best. Undoubtedly a rather self-satisfied tweaking of the original title—or perhaps a clumsy stab at a Hind-glish gaffe—the name atop this project rightly undercuts any potential confidence. The first one was sort of cute in that pithy "old English people swapping rejoinders" kind of way. But after traveling halfway around the world to find solace in old age, how much further do we need to carry this premise?

To recap, take a bunch of old Brits, India, a rundown hotel, a hopeful yet hapless hotel owner in Sonny (Dev Patel), and Sonny’s girlfriend of which Mother does not approve. Set the cycle to “it all works out for the best,” and you’re caught up. This second installment drops us on the edge of old storylines with limited new potential. Sonny’s pending nuptials to Sunaina (Tina Desai) as well as his angling for big American dollars to expand the hotel compete for the A-plot. From there, plots B through E tumble out as halfheartedly as Douglas Ainslie’s (Bill Nighy) tours of Jaipur’s famous tourist attractions.

There’s really no cursory explanation of the story. The writers try to install every player in this ensemble cast with their own meaningful subplot. As such, the story has more threads than the quality fabrics Evelyn (Dame Judy Dench) is trying to source for her new job. Legit, one of the other storylines. Between hired hits on girlfriends, incognito hotel inspectors, gentleman callers, wedding preparations, and unrequited love, there is a whole mess of story to try and wade through. The real shortcoming isn’t in the film trying to do too much—there is a world where these plots balance—but it’s doing so little with all the story offered.

The plot movement is pretty damn excruciating. With absolutely no surprises, even a payout nestled like a Russian doll in a much more painfully obvious turn is weightless. The movie felt like it ended, or should have ended, at least four separate times, and I was grateful each go round. The saving grace is the Vegas style buffet of considerable talent. And if anybody asks, Maggie Smith (reprising her role as the salty, wise Muriel Donnelly) is still running things until we hear otherwise. Even lingering on the edges of this picture as the lion’s share of plot is given over to others, she is the best.

The review is pretty much over here, but can I indulge in a polemic? There are two things that really bug me about Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

First off, we have got to change how we depict India as westerners in need of some validation. I hate to be that dick who’s all like, “I’ve been to India,” but I am a dick, I have been to India, and it’s not where this movie is set. Much like Wes Anderson’s asinine Darjeeling Limited, India does not require some cutesy makeover. India’s people aren’t wise in their noble poverty. You’re just an asshole. India is dirty and awesome and insane and beautiful and great and just plain horrible. Basically, it’s another place on planet earth, not some mystery to be decoded to fit our newly expanded consciousness. Let’s move on from the bill of goods sold to us by a bunch of gross, wayward hippies and have a bit more respect for a wildly diverse, incredibly complex place. India is India, not a magic, alien land of saris and painted elephants designed to pry open your third eye.

The second element competing for my ire, being old sucks. Or at least SBEMH makes it seem that way. So, like, if I live to get old, the last thing I’m going to do is let the burden of life’s utter nonsense continue to weigh me down. That’s so much of what occupies this movie, septuagenarians and octogenarians still having to learn to let go and enjoy life. I barely hold up my end of the social contract now because I haven’t fully escaped to an age where I’m allowed to fart wherever. But when you’re 70 something and in India and still gripping hold of useless anxieties and social mores, what’s the point? If you’re intent on wringing your hands during the years were you’re given a pass to do, no exaggeration, whatever you want, I have nothing to learn from you.

In the end we do arrive at a lesson of this ilk, but as we knew from the get go, we were always going to limp into a second place finish.

—Monte Monreal

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