Steven Spielberg is one of those filmmakers that downright
demands attention, although not for reasons you may think. Sure, he’s the guy
largely responsible for the modern-day blockbuster and has helped shape
American cinema into what it is today, but in the last few years, it seems like
the guy has kicked into a higher gear. Along with working with alarming
regularity for a filmmaker of his stature, releasing five films in as many
years, he has also taken to collaborating with some pretty high-profile names
during that time. Between working with Peter Jackson along with some of the
biggest names in British screenwriting on The Adventures Of Tintin, putting a
script written by legendary playwright Tony Kushner to the screen with Lincoln
or bringing in the Coen brothers to help polish up last year’s excellent Bridge Of Spies, he seems to be a magnet for big-name talent behind the scenes right
now. And keeping up with that pattern, he has brought a bunch of his regular
teammates to make a big-budget version of a story by Roald Dahl, responsible
for Matilda, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory and The Witches, among many
other classics. So, with all this hype behind it, how does it hold up?
The cast list is rather small, but they certainly packed it
in tightly when it came to performance ability. Rylance had already proven to
be a good pairing with Spielberg thanks to last year’s Bridge Of Spies, and he
returns that synergy ten-fold here as this mesmerisingly kind soul. Rather than
coming across as being simple-minded, which given how his character is written
could have happened way too easily, he instead maintains a sense of complacency
with how he is, who he is and what
his place in the world is. Rylance’s voice helps a lot as well, giving an
endlessly comforting air to every work he speaks that makes the potentially My
First Stockholm Syndrome plot sit way easier than it has any right to.
Barnhill is about as textbook Roald Dahl protagonist as you can get, being exceedingly precocious while still keeping that childish innocence about her. It shouldn’t be difficult to link her performance and mannerisms to that of Mara Wilson as Matilda, something that was no doubt intentional. The voice of the Fleshlumpeater, the head-strong leader of the giants, has a certain arresting quality in how smooth it is, something that makes a lot more sense once you realise that said voice is coming from Jemaine Clement of Flight Of The Conchords; the man just has that natural air to his voice no matter what role he’s in. Outside of a few noticeable faces further on in the story, like Penelope Wilton as the epitome of all things British (and yet, not insufferably stuffy) with the Queen and Rafe Spall as her butler, that’s about it as far as the cast goes.
Barnhill is about as textbook Roald Dahl protagonist as you can get, being exceedingly precocious while still keeping that childish innocence about her. It shouldn’t be difficult to link her performance and mannerisms to that of Mara Wilson as Matilda, something that was no doubt intentional. The voice of the Fleshlumpeater, the head-strong leader of the giants, has a certain arresting quality in how smooth it is, something that makes a lot more sense once you realise that said voice is coming from Jemaine Clement of Flight Of The Conchords; the man just has that natural air to his voice no matter what role he’s in. Outside of a few noticeable faces further on in the story, like Penelope Wilton as the epitome of all things British (and yet, not insufferably stuffy) with the Queen and Rafe Spall as her butler, that’s about it as far as the cast goes.
Spielberg’s legacy as a filmmaker, even after all the many
decades since he first started, is intact for reasons that will perfectly
obvious once the film begins. He seems to have taken a slightly Kubrickian
approach with the source material, in that a large amount of the production
leans on the visuals. The results of which are mostly good, but still come
across as slightly mixed. Despite the basic notion of depicting
several-feet-tall giants, what we see of Giant Country and its inhabitants is
weirdly domestic. It doesn’t have this insane kind of grandeur to it, as one
might expect from the idea of showing what is quite literally an undiscovered
country, but instead a sense of intimacy. The BFG’s house is definitely imbued
with lots of whimsy, something that Spielberg has honed over a career of
crafting some of the most celebrated family films of all time, but it still
feels like a home. There are wide open fields outside the house, but there’s
nothing all that alien about them.
I’d accuse this film of sucking out all the wonder through making everything feel this small, but all it ends up doing is making it easier to relate to the BFG himself. Once again, anything to help ease the kidnapping startup. We have Zemeckis-level motion-capture used for the giants, which actually works at making them seem tangible… when there aren’t any humans on screen. I don’t know what it is about integrating effects work with live-action, but it seems like even the old masters struggle with such things because there is the occasional jarring moment when you can see both of them at once. This is what I mean by “mixed”: Both are good, but not so much when they come together.
I’d accuse this film of sucking out all the wonder through making everything feel this small, but all it ends up doing is making it easier to relate to the BFG himself. Once again, anything to help ease the kidnapping startup. We have Zemeckis-level motion-capture used for the giants, which actually works at making them seem tangible… when there aren’t any humans on screen. I don’t know what it is about integrating effects work with live-action, but it seems like even the old masters struggle with such things because there is the occasional jarring moment when you can see both of them at once. This is what I mean by “mixed”: Both are good, but not so much when they come together.
Written by frequent Spielberg collaborator Melissa Mathison,
as well as being the scribe for the perplexingly emotional bit of nostalgia The
Indian In The Cupboard, this story seems a tad too… basic, for lack of a better
term, to be chosen as the story of Roald Dahl’s that should be adapted. It has
the standard tropes of depicting outsiders and how children aren’t as simple as
we’d like to think, but none of the real captivation and nuance that one might
get from something like Matilda or Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory. Hell,
there’s an entire scene centred around the suspense of when everyone is going
to start letting out extremely violent flatulence thanks to a drink the giant
brings with him. But as the film carries on, and we get to see a few certain
pictures and a few certain writings in the BFG’s house, the reason for why this
was chosen is made shockingly clear.
This film, at least in how it frames the titular character, is meant to be a tribute to Dahl himself. The outsider who can craft dreams like a mad alchemist, whom can only seem to relate to the innocent hearts of children, combined with how Dahl’s drawings appear in the film along with the aforementioned bits of writing the BFG gets up to near the end; the BFG is Roald Dahl, in this film’s eyes. Now, as it stands, this is a remarkably nice idea, both as an approach to adaptation as well as the fact that this film was first released on the day of Dahl’s 100th birthday. But, judging by this along with similar intentions made with Spielberg’s Kubrick collaboration/tribute A.I., the man isn’t that comfortable with nodding to his forebears. I say that because this seems like a very surface interpretation of Dahl’s work, primarily because even for a film that features child-eating monsters, this is a surprisingly safe film. It doesn’t carry any of the darker undercurrents that run rampant through a lot of the man’s work, making this come across, as much as I loathe to use the term, a very Hollywood form of tribute.
This film, at least in how it frames the titular character, is meant to be a tribute to Dahl himself. The outsider who can craft dreams like a mad alchemist, whom can only seem to relate to the innocent hearts of children, combined with how Dahl’s drawings appear in the film along with the aforementioned bits of writing the BFG gets up to near the end; the BFG is Roald Dahl, in this film’s eyes. Now, as it stands, this is a remarkably nice idea, both as an approach to adaptation as well as the fact that this film was first released on the day of Dahl’s 100th birthday. But, judging by this along with similar intentions made with Spielberg’s Kubrick collaboration/tribute A.I., the man isn’t that comfortable with nodding to his forebears. I say that because this seems like a very surface interpretation of Dahl’s work, primarily because even for a film that features child-eating monsters, this is a surprisingly safe film. It doesn’t carry any of the darker undercurrents that run rampant through a lot of the man’s work, making this come across, as much as I loathe to use the term, a very Hollywood form of tribute.
This is probably not helped by the soundtrack, and you know
something is seriously amiss when I have to bring up the work of John bloody
Williams as a negative. The man has worked with Spielberg for most of his
professional career, so it is without doubt that he has some knowing about how
the man thinks as a filmmaker. That seems rather lacking here, as whatever
issues I have with the somewhat sanitised story are only exemplified through
Williams’ score. It’s almost like he was stuck in ‘whimsy’ mode and they
couldn’t get the technicians in to switch him off, because this might be some
of the most treacly orchestration I’ve heard in any of the films I’ve discussed
on this site. While the rest of the film may skimp on the dark stuff, it still
manages to keep a decent pace from start to finish and the performances and
visual splendour definitely help make it a comfortable watch. But once the
score kicks in, it sends the film dangling over the edge and about to land
squarely on the sugar-encrusted rocks of bad Oscar bait fare. It’s all rather
textbook in its sweeping instrumentation, but it ultimately becomes the last
straw that ends up threatening to overload the film’s tone.
All in all, as much as I may have complained above, this is
a rather nice feature. Whether it ultimately stands as a fitting tribute to
Roald Dahl himself will be a question only a few good years of separation will
be able to answer, but as a film in its own right, it shows that even when
Spielberg is somewhat on auto-pilot, he is still a staggeringly good filmmaker.
The visuals are a tad askew when put together, but show a lot of effort and
patience when into making them that ended up working for the best, the acting
is stellar and the writing, while a bit too soft given the source material,
still carries that undeniably Dahlian air that has allowed his works to live on
for as long as they have.
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