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of this is pretty ironic really because the film deals with a young
boy and his encounters with a giant tree monster that's played by
Liam Neeson. Imagine if instead of becoming a tiny dancing pot plant,
Groot had actually become a violent alcoholic that'd just been told
“I think you've had enough”, and you're basically along the right
lines as to what the character is about. As well as obviously
being one of cinema's greatest dramatic actors, it's also nice that
Neeson was able to borrow from his performances in the Taken
series as a raging but paternal
and yet still very wooden tree man. Anyway the young boy is visited
by him (or let's face it- imagines him) during a particularly
miserable time in his life in which his mother, played by Felicity
Jones, appears to be slowly dying. If only somebody would take the boy
to see something fun like Rogue One.. I'm
sure that'd take his mind off the danger his mother is in.
As
a result, the tree tells the boy stories that may or may not relate to
the variety of miseries in his own life but
only on the condition that the child then regale the tree with a
story of his own reoccurring nightmare. The tree claims that he wants
to reveal the boys “truth” which is a secret he keeps about his
mother. Had the tree asked my teenaged self to reveal 'my truth', I'm
pretty sure the best he'd have gotten out of me is an explanation as
to why I have a rock-hard sock hidden in my bed. Initially the child
is confused by the stories told by the tree as they feature heroes
with various moral ambiguities and villains who might not be as
villainous as they originally sound. I won't spoil the stories
specifically but they're all a little bit like if somebody were to
threaten a small child with violence but that then resulted in the
child shutting the fuck up for the rest of the film. Who's the real
villain there? I mean obviously it's the loud little bastard, but you
get the point. It's as though the tree is educating him about the
complicated and chaotic nature of life. A post-modern fairytale
thats sole existence is in teaching its audience that the only way
that a story can believably conclude with a happy ending is if it
takes place in a particularly dodgy massage parlour.
Anyway,
so despite the distraction of the shit-spackled muppet fart that was
the child sat near me, I have to say that I really loved this movie.
Being from director J.A Bayona whose first film, The
Orphanage, was so prominently
promoted by Guillermo Del Toro, the most obvious comparison for A
Monster Calls would be Pan's
Labyrinth. Both have overt
fairytale overtones and essentially boil down to being about a young
child escaping the unbearable misery of their life by losing
themselves to an ambiguously imaginative fantasy world. However I
guess in reality it's simply just the latest in a long line of films
that fit that description from Time Bandits and
My Neighbour Totoro to Labyrinth
and Alice In
Wonderland. I guess kids just
like to escape into their own imaginations which is fine unless the
little pricks are doing it loudly whilst i'm trying to watch a film.
Even something as old as The Wizard Of Oz falls
into this category I suppose. However unlike the sociopathic
Dorothy whose only response to killing a person is to then steal
their shoes, the kid in A Monster Calls is
more than aware that there should be consequences to any of his
wrong-doings. In fact, dealing with your actions seems to be one of
the things that the tree is trying to teach the boy, who gives a great
performance in what is clearly such an emotional role. It's just a
shame that the kid playing the main role looked so distractingly like
a young Ted Raimi really.
Before
seeing this film, I was told to bring tissues which, as attractive as
Felicity Jones is, I just couldn't find a use for when seeing how ill
she looked throughout. However rather than doing a Pee Wee Herman and
playing with their own little Pee Wee Hermans, it seems that other
people were using tissues to wipe their crying eyes. I'd be lying if
I said that my emotional response to the film had been to do a little
eye pissing however that's not to say that the film wasn't sad. The
journey that the poor kid was forced to go on was heart breaking and
played with the level of tragedy and humanity that you'd expect from
the director of The Orphanage and
The Impossible. In
fact, I have to admit that The Impossible did
get to me with my crying starting about two minutes in and ending a
few days after the film had finished. I didn't cry to A
Monster Calls simply because
it's sad- and sadness is a world that I've been living in since I was
about eighteen and realised that the world is shit and one day I'd
die having made literally no long term difference to anything at all.
As is the case with everybody.
What
upsets me are acts of kindness.. such as a group of tsunami survivors
working to help each other despite all being cold, wet, and fucked
up. This isn't to say that there aren't acts of kindness in the film
to counter all the misery, and it's not to say that the film is
depressing to watch. At the end of the day it features Liam Neeson as
a giant tree monster, which I imagine would have made even Schindler's
List a bit of a giggle. It's
simply that rather than being a film for children, A Monster
Calls is more like a film about
childhood and unless you're all too old to remember, being a child
was proper shit. Like the young boy in this film, I too delved into my
brain as a kid and conjured myself up an imaginary friend which is
fucking tragic when you think about it. I told my Aunty that I was
hanging around with a ghost called Mr Sharp and then proceeded to
walk around her garden talking to him. I should probably ask her at
some point if she remembers it to find it if it creeped her out that
I was talking to a ghost or if she simply thought I was a fucking
mental-case. Despite clearly having a schizophrenic level of
imagination in terms of the visions he sees, the young boy always
remains entirely relatable and entirely likeable. At the end of the
day, I suppose this is what makes the film work, the most with
relatable and likeable being two terms that I couldn't apply to the
little cock-smurf literally running around the screening. Thanks for reading,
motherfuckers, and see you next time.
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