I’ve long been of the opinion
that a good film, much like a good story or a good song, should keep its
audience hooked right until the very end. I once, for instance, became pretty
pissed with my two brothers when they started joking around near the close of Gladiator. If anything, this attitude
has only strengthened since I began to take my own writing seriously, as a
potential livelihood. The feeling being, in that case, that I would very much
like for a given reader to pay full attention to my work throughout its entire
course, and to feel rewarded in some way at the end of that experience.
Therefore, it would be hypocritical, not to mention a little rude, for me not
to pay full attention to the work of other artists.
So, I didn’t exactly anticipate
spending the last ten minutes of Brave
only part-watching. Part looking up from my nearly front-row seat [got there
late], and part looking down at my notepad, sketching out ideas for what has
turned out to be this article.
It isn’t that I was bored,
though, or that I was so disappointed in the film that I felt the need to jot
down my negative responses before it had even ground to a halt. On the
contrary, I was entertained throughout. And I did follow the ending, even
whilst I was writing. I still wanted to see how it all tied together. It was
good, charming, and put a smile on my face.
But it is the fact that I could
be so sure of exactly what was going on even when I wasn’t looking up that
leads me into the point of this piece.
I don’t intend that to sound like
too harsh a criticism. After all, if I were to take that tone, to lambast Brave for being ‘too predictable’, then
I would be met with an all-too-obvious and all-too-deserved reposte – that being
that it is principally a kids’ film. It’s not attempting to be Inception. It is a film with a clear
point – a moral, even – that it wants to convey, and it would have scuppered
that point entirely had the ending been different.
It is no sin for a film to seek
simply to tell its tale and entertain, forsaking any major surprises. It is
certainly far better to do that, and do it as well as Brave does, than it is to shoehorn ridiculous and implausible
twists into a storyline and bugger it up.
On the other hand, if a film sets
out to communicate a message, then, once that message is clear, it doesn’t
perhaps require the viewer’s full attention. Brave laid its cards on the table well before the end, and, as
such, the first half of the film was more entertaining, and arguably more
essential watching. Its joys lie in its sharp, fairly fresh takes on old
character types, and in the animation, art design, and soundtrack. Which
combine to give the film a sense of both spectacle and intimacy. The balance
between the showier scenes and the more introspective moments is well-struck. In
addition, there are good laughs to be had throughout.
The second half, surprises more
or less revealed, is more obviously formulaic, and, whilst entertaining, never
really leaves its conclusion in doubt (unlike the far more daring and
exceptional Toy Story 3).
But that’s OK.
Because Pixar made up for that
before the main feature even started.
La Luna, another in their growing line of justly-celebrated short
films, is a genuine gem. Delightful, on both a visual and thematic level, it is
perhaps only retrospectively that its true brilliance – and the way in which
that brilliance is augmented through its pairing with Brave – can be understood. [Which explains, hopefully, why it took
me nearly the full length of the longer film to write anything down about the
shorter one.]
When it becomes clear that the
two films share the same basic intent/moral, the difference between the two
forms (short and feature films), and the relative merits of each, are thrown
into bright and rather wonderful relief.
That moral is, simply, that the
younger generation should first pay attention to, respect, and learn from the
previous generation, before they can successfully strike out on their own. It is
a timeless, and perhaps rather obvious, even trite message. But it is one that
both films seem convinced of.
However, whereas Brave makes this clear well before the
credits, La Luna – constructed, as is
common for Pixar’s standalone shorts, almost in the form of a single-reel
silent movie, only with gestures and grunts instead of title cards serving as
stand-ins for speech – manages to keep its theme subtly present throughout, and
then still enchant and surprise with its conclusive, summative shot. The notion
that the best results are only achieved through working together and learning
from others certainly sounds trite when worded like that, but is conveyed in La Luna with a cinematic eloquence that
circumvents the cynicism some viewers might otherwise feel.
Indeed, just as there are many
writers who believe that the short story is the best and most direct form of
prose fiction, there is certainly an argument to be made for short films doing
the same thing within the context of cinematic fiction. In such shorts, there
is no need, nor any room, for the tiresome exposition/statements by
protagonists about the things they’ve learnt, which, understandably, grate with
some viewers. Neither is there space for nonsensical subplots, which plague so
many longer films (though not, it should be noted, Brave) and come across simply as filler.
Following this, there is a
further argument to be made for more studios to throw money at short films and
release them not simply for free on YouTube, but as valued works in their own
right (albeit probably not at the cinema). This would be, in some ways, similar
to the shift the music industry saw, as regards the focus being placed more on
the downloading of individual songs rather than the purchasing of whole albums,
with the corollary being that many albums ceased to display concern with
functioning as cohesive entities, content instead to exist as collections of
singles.
There are, of course, film-makers
doing this already, and there are also kinks in this approach which probably
mean it is not ‘commercially viable’ on any grand scale, at least not on its
own. There’s no need for it to be, though. The argument is simply for more
credence and consideration to be given to short films, not for them to supplant
full-length feautures. There are things short fiction is better equipped to
handle than longer variants, is all. Things it can tackle more immediately, and
more effectively. Moral tales are a great example of this, as suggested by the
longevity of Aesop’s Fables, amongst
other works. Moreover, short forms that don't rely upon dialogue often allow the viewer to reach the story's moral/revelation in their own way, in their own words. It becomes something for the audience to discover, rather than something they must be told/have lectured to them.
On the other hand, longer-form fiction can deliver such lectures. It allows for a much more in-depth, and
therefore theoretically more roundly satisfying, consideration of its chosen
themes. It can also give the audience more of a good thing. If all that existed
of, say, Raiders of the Lost Ark was
the opening scene, it would make for a fantastic short film, and would still
give a good sense of the character. However, at full length, it becomes a
masterclass in adventure storytelling, and cinematic entertainment in general.
Yet, there is no need for
film-makers to choose one form at the expense and exclusion of the other, as
Pixar continue to prove. Indeed, perhaps it is even better if a way can be
found, as the studio has with La Luna
and Brave to link the forms together
in some way. A great single can, after all, be improved even further through
inclusion on an album of other, likeminded songs.
A more useful way, beyond this
music-selling metaphor, to consider what Pixar have done here might be to look
at both the short film and the main feature as being parts of an essay on the
same ideas, the same central theme. The short film is the abstract – it
introduces the issue, in an attention-grabbing fashion, and at least hints at
what the essay’s overall conclusion will be. It’s not strictly necessary to
read on to guess with some accuracy what the rest of the essay will argue, but
if the abstract has done its job right, you will.
The main feature is the essay’s
body – it provides examples which interrogate and demonstrate the underlying
argument. These examples should, where possible, be original, entertaining, and
above all else interesting. If that part of the essay has done its job right
(as Brave did), then you’ll probably
have reached the full conclusion before you actually read it.
As I did, enabling me to start
off on this ramble in the first place.
Only, there’s one more crucial
detail that I might have missed, had I still been writing at the time, and not
heading for the door. A dedication to Steve Jobs. Something which was, I guess,
to be expected at the end of the first original Pixar film to be made after his death,
but which also suggests that Brave had
to be that film. And that it had to be coupled with La Luna.
Whatever your opinion of Jobs on
either a personal or professional level (or of Apple and its assorted products), it is inarguable that Pixar would not be where they are today without his early
input. These two films serve as an acknowledgment and show of thanks for that, even
as they demonstrate just how far the company aspires to move forwards without
that input.
I’ll admit, though, that it did
take the onscreen dedication to actually make me reflect upon that, and thereby
to deepen a little further my appreciation of both films. Which shows that it
really does pay to watch a good film all the way through to the finish. And, in
Pixar’s case, that it pays to make people want to do so, whether they end up writing
in notepads at the same time or not.
