A Thanksgiving Double Feature: Lady Bird and Coco.

Over Thanksgiving, I was thankful to turn my attention to what I comfortably consider among the year's finest films, Lady Bird from Greta Gerwig, and Disney/Pixar's Coco. Stylistically, the two are practically nothing alike, one a snarky but sweetly delivered time capsule of emotional teenage turbulence, the other a whimsical and tearjerking adventure of heritage and music, and while both are hilarious, they are so in markedly different ways. But I found this particular match-up to actually be a perfect juxtaposition, as both deal in weighty and complex issues of family and parentage, whose oddities and alternating pessimism/optimism served as a great counter balance to each other. Both are terrific works, and I'll leave my thoughts on both today.
 

Lady Bird:

I don't think I've ever had a 180 on anyone the way I have Greta Gerwig. In hindsight, I'm starting to find that the problem isn't a lack of talent. She's certainly established herself both as a very talented writer and great character actress. In fact, her real problem is that she's so idiosyncratic, that when she tries to combine both, it simply comes across as mean-spirited and self-serving, with Mistress America proving an especially egregious showcase for that. In her directorial debut, she's wise to keep herself off-screen and purely behind the scenes, and the result allows her seemingly snippy film and unfiltered attitude an added resonance and warmth that cuts to the bone.

Gerwig finds a natural environment to lend her voice to, providing an autobiographical touch as her surrogate Christine "Lady Bird" tries to navigate the rocky transition to independence and adulthood, in a rocky post 9/11 society where pessimism and general indifference in teens is reaching a heated boil. Ironically the most spectacular thing about Lady Bird is that... it's a film of generally unspectacular events. Watching the film is akin to opening a time capsule, except instead of memorable icons, the past we relive is told entirely through the turbulent, but incredibly mundane moods and attitudes of the time. The film weaves from scene to scene in unfiltered stream of consciousness progression, and by no accident even faces instances of directly dropping or pushing aside significant threads, unraveling and meeting together in often unapologetically odd ways attempting to make sense as it moves on.

In fact, had the film been so one-sided, it perhaps would have suffered the same unfortunate fate as Mistress America, but upon closer inspection, you begin to see why Gerwig's choice of setting was so vital. Lady Bird may be best remembered for its uncompromising snark, and a deadpan sense of humor that had me in several fits, but there's also a great warmth to it. In spite of the indifference, it's also a great capsule of forward thinking progression and boundless potential at the time, and the early precursors of the Millennial era reinventing the generational mold, including pointedly deconstructing the idealized Suburban happy ending. Gerwig may not have invented the coming of age film, but she blesses it with an unmistakable identity, eschewing showy highlight reels in favor of smaller and more meaningful moments, showing that even the mundane can still feel spectacular.

But the glue that truly holds this movie together is Saoirse Ronan, who seems to be getting even better with every starring role of hers. It's by no accident that Ronan is such a magnetic presence in the film, expertly handling the angst and the idealism of a girl who can't help but crave to be the center of attention, navigating down tumultuous and wayward paths as reality begins to take hold, and even the fluke accomplishments of her life start thrusting her idealism into unrealistic territory. It's a character Gerwig doesn't actively try to make you like, but she's also done well to humanize her just enough, and Ronan infuse her with just the right charisma, that what could have been a grating lead is intensely fascinating. But just as impressive is her mother as played by Laurie Metcalf, here crafting a warm, but also heart-rending portrayal of the sacrifice, reasoning, and futile attempts of understanding of motherhood (one of the best ever). It affords Metcalf the type of role and exposure she has always deserved, and its an opportunity she seizes firmly, only further enhancing what a terrific debut Gerwig's film is.


***** / ***** 



Coco:

It's easy to get irritated with Pixar for going sequel crazy in the last decade, especially given their reputation of original, enriching, and deeply emotional films that play well to both children and adults, now taking longer to release inbetween continuations of old franchises. Many say say that Pixar "lost their spark", but that is in no way the case. Any seasoned veteran is inevitably bound to make missteps, but said missteps can also invigorate them into reemerging with a vengeance. Such was Pixar's case when Inside Out signaled their return loud and clear, and their latest original idea Coco, their first musical, and Toy Story 3 director Lee Unkrich's second film, continues the trend of their terrific stamp of quality.

Of course, it's inevitable to compare the film to another Day of the Dead centric animated feature, The Book of Life from Reel FX. It's not an unfair comparison to make between the two, but outside of a few token ideas and visual flourishes, Coco couldn't feel more different to the overall tone and spirit of The Book of Life. As enjoyable as the latter is, that film's sense of heritage and familial bond embodied by the holiday was hampered by playing second fiddle to the main draw that was the love story. By comparison, Coco's focus on culture and family legacy is placed front and center, bringing out all the potential that the celebration promises, and Pixar's clear extensive research paying off in the long run.

Dealing with death isn't exactly new ground for Disney, given that parents axed from the picture has become synonymous with their animated features, but Pixar has managed to craft a story putting a new perspective on the acceptance of death. The thing is, most movies may use death as a plot device, but I find that few are willing to delve deeply into what those deaths symbolize. If anything, the death that Pixar's writing team - including co-director Adrian Molina - aims for is more metaphorical. A common tradition of the Day of the Dead is to honor the memories of those departed loved ones, in hopes that their spirits may continue revisiting the souls of their living family for generations. This actually serves as a crucial requirement to visit the land of the living, requiring someone's picture be placed by their family in order to venture on, in a way that humorously feels like the complicated process of acquiring Green Cards for Immigration.

It's such a tradition that the film uses to signify a less final, but no less hurtful "death" while one is still *alive*, intentional disassociation and severence. With twelve year-old Miguel's family having strictly forbidden music, the lineage attempts to close themselves off from the selfish actions of their family's grand patriarch, for his selfish venture into stardom over family. I'm sure we've all experienced or seen such a cold-hearted dismissal of family in that vein, and surely anyone who does it has their reasons why, but while closing yourself off sounds easy in principle, it can be much harder to follow through with such a lack of forgiveness. Even if the relationship never reforms, it can be quite toxic to wish such ill-will on those we've perceived as wronging us, in a way that may be slowly killing both of those people by refusing acceptance. Death is not easy to come to grips with, but intentional distance is one even harder to sort out, and I commend this movie for tackling such a weighty issue head on, Pixar once again excelling at making the topics accessible for children, but layered and deeply rewarding to parents.

Music also plays a very important part in Coco, moreso than in any Pixar movie before, practically becoming a character in its own right. So much of this movie is intrinsically tied to themes of legacy and memories left behind, in which music becomes an autobiographical tool continually passing down memories like a source of life blood. But more importantly, music works like a universal language about more than just snappy lyrics or catchy tunes, but also about context, and how the one hearing that music takes its messages, with a versatility and widely varying set of emotions to be triggered by the memories and experiences the content evokes, and sometimes even the most impressive brass ensembles can't hold a candle to the intimacy of a guitar strum. Standout song "Remember Me" from the Lopezes gets an especially intense workout weaving from mood to mood as the movie develops, all the while Pixar regular Michael Giacchino takes full advantage of Mexico's beautiful soundscape and heritage.

But once again, where Pixar have gone above and beyond is in making the world of their movie feel truly alive and full of character. Given the afterlife-centric nature of the film, the filmmakers are afforded an immense freedom and creative potential in crafting their world, a valuable asset to the film's comedic punch, at times dabbling into very macabre territory. It's a terrific visual treat wherein stylish production design and immaculate visuals alone are worth the price of admission, and in fact features some of the most widely expressive and infectious character animation out of any of Pixar's films, not an easy feat given that most of the character roster is dominated by skeletons. And what colorful and memorable characters they are, overflowing with distinct personality and unique ticks, the standout among them being the eccentric and lonely trickster Hector, voiced by Gael Garcia Bernal, that serves as Miguel's guide to the land of the dead. Not only is this friendship at the film's heart a delightful, incredible bond whose strengths are only helped greater with the benefit of hindsight, but Hector himself may be one of Pixar's most impressive visual creations yet, constantly shifting bones and interlocking body parts into new and unnatural twisting shapes, coming apart and reforming with rapid pace.

Given Pixar's massive rebound since Inside Out, I think the point stands that Pixar has never died or lost its spark. In fact, looking at Coco, one could say they injected an almost autobiographical touch to the film, and how those missteps along the way have shaped the narrative of their legacy. But simply because someone has made missteps, doesn't mean that the entire history is tainted by them, and Coco is yet another reminder of the kind of great storytelling Pixar is capable of accomplishing when they've found a tale worthy of their standards.

Oh, and there's also a 20 minute Frozen short before the film. It's cute and fun, but it's a serious momentum killer leading into the main attraction.


***** / *****