The Reluctant Godmother

I was looking forward to “Happy Feet”. I was. I missed it in the theaters, then the first Netflix disc was corrupt and several days later I was happily parked on the couch with G and L and a cup of tea. From the first “heartsong” I was confused. Confusion quickly morphed into dismay. Dismay met its limits when Mumble and Gloria are ostracized by the conformist elders and go off to find those interesting humans. We just could not take it another frame. Seriously. Elvis meets Prince in the most disturbing bird-love scene ever invented. Then Elvis has a pelvis malfunction and drops the egg, and the kid comes out with Savion Glover disease, tap dancing his way to social rejection? And then there’s Robin Williams. And…Robin Williams again. The world cannot take yet another Genie reprise, let alone twice in one movie. But back to our engaging hero and the yawning plot. Mumble is laughed off the iceberg and escapes the evil leopard seal clutches only to hit the land of comic relief penguins who don’t work but really know how to party. And…they’re Mexican. Noone minded the racist crows in Dumbo at the time, so I guess I’m to see this as…color? Chew on that for a moment, in light of current immigration debates. So the Mexicans rely on a drag queen oracle (err, Robin Williams) for life counseling, and this oracle spits gibberish and dips behind the rocks for a smoke break with a bunch of babes. A Mexi-can’t? How did this drivel make penguins popular? My ears hurt from all the weird singing, my head hurt from the weird Aliens Attack ice shuffling. So at the point Mumble found his heartsong I was happy right along with him, thinking I could go to bed. You must know that I almost never walk out of or fail to watch through a film. But this one wasn’t over. Stop. Eject. Mail to Netflix. Rating: zero stars.

What to say about Meet the Robinsons? I’ll leave out my rant on the special El Capitan “VIP” seating that entitles you to a small bucket of over-salty popcorn and a Pepsi drink for nearly double Arclight rates. Let’s just focus on the movie. My reaction in a word: bewildered. It’s a gorgeous looking splendiferous 3D feast for the eyes. When the young Lewis is flashed into the future it’s an easter egg pastel World of Tomorrow in hyper designed art deco (if you’ve seen Robots, you’ve seen it). The much-touted “family of the future” is a group of crazy misfits that make no sense whatsoever. Crooning frogs? A mechanical bowler hat with a diabolical plan to turn the world into post-apocalyptic Terminator battlezone where people are slaves to a coal-fueled industrial bowler hat menace? The Robinson estate is a fun-house home for ADD sufferers off their meds and we’re forced to spend way too much time there. Strip down the kinetic imagery and the ever changing scale, and the annoying ensemble cast and you’ll find…well, you may find yourself scratching your head. I’ve been accused more than once of being too Spock-like in wanting logic in a plot. Fair enough, but I’ll continue to complain when the stories are weak! This one is a flimsy string of messages, which is to say that the story does not exist. And yes, I meant messages. Not morals. Messages. Don’t dwell in the past. You can create your own future. Failure is just a test of character. Obsession is rewarded (no, that’s me). Teaching frogs to croon is a worthy life’s work, apparently. Perfecting the trajectory of meatballs in a food fight is praise-worthy. Huh? After spending so much time with whiney Lewis and trying to find some reason to care about his nutso family, I found myself cheering for the long-suffering, sleep-deprived little Goob.