Alice Through the Looking Glass

Me thinks power has gone to her head

Grade: C –

Director: James Bobin

Starring: Mia Wasikowska, Johnny Depp, Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen

MPAA Rating: PG

Running Time: 1 hr. 53 min.

The Hatter (Johnny Depp) is more sad than mad in Alice Through the Looking Glass, just like the film itself. Director James Bobin strains to retain the abstract milieu of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, but anything resembling a cohesive plot or character development gets chucked down a rabbit hole.

After spending three years following in her late father’s footsteps by sailing the high seas as a ship captain, Alice Kingsleigh (Mia Wasikowska) returns to London to find that her widowed mother faces losing her home unless Alice signs over her boat to former fiancé Hamish (Leo Bill), who also wants to consign Alice to a clerk job. Angry at her mother (why?), Alice is visited by caterpillar-turned butterfly Abolem (voice by the late Alan Rickman), who directs Alice to a mirror that serves as a portal back to Wonderland.

Once there, Alice finds a melancholy Mad Hatter, disconsolate after uncovering an article of clothing that reminds him of his family, which were killed by the Jabberwocky when owned by the defrocked Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter). The Hatter believes his family is alive, but nobody believes him. Egged on by the White Rabbit (Michael Sheen), Cheshire Cat (Stephen Fry), Tweedledee and Tweedledum (Matt Lucas), Alice visits the castle of Time (Sacha Baron Cohen), a half-man, half-machine immortal that oversees the Great Clock, powered by a widget called a Chronosphere. Alice decides to travel back in time to save the Hatter’s family, so she steals the Chronosphere and, in so doing, basically imperils Time’s lifespan and the entire universe.

Alice Through the Looking Glass is a collage of colors, strung together by a convoluted, time-skipping narrative and surface-level characterizations. The performances are exercises in high camp, from Hathaway’s flighty White Queen, to Baron Cohen’s Germanic fusspot, to Depp’s lisping fop. Alice is tediously boring when not being recklessly self-indulgent and misguided. Only Bonham Carter’s delightfully manic Iracebeth makes the film worth watching, but her evil is inexplicably neutered by an ill-advised origin story.

The film is ultimately a lot of sound and silliness signifying nothing but a boring world where emotions are superficial and perfunctory. In other words, everything that Lewis Carroll’s writings are not.

Stoker

Please say you didn't get Joaquin Phoenix 
to kill this husband, too.

Grade: B

Director: Park Chan-wook

Starring: Mia Wasikowska, Nicole Kidman, Matthew Goode and Jacki Weaver

MPAA Rating: R

Running Time: 1 hr. 38 min.

Of all the films to share an ending similar to Spring Breakers, an atmospheric psychological thriller from a South Korean director wouldn’t seem the most likely candidate. But it’s the final act of Stoker that saves this studied fable of familial dysfunction and teen angst.

Director Park Chan-wook (Oldboy) layers K-horror tropes onto a premise drawn from Hitchcock’s “Shadow of a Doubt.” In the wake of her father’s death, 18-year-old India (Mia Wasikowska) and her emotionally distant mother Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) are visited by long lost Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode, adopting the same character name as Joseph Cotten in Hitchcock’s film). The appearance of this tall, dark stranger triggers mysterious dread from everyone—including the family’s housekeeper and great Auntie Gin (Jacki Weaver)—except the flirtatious Evelyn and already moody India.

Making his English-language debut, Park struggles to modulate the cadence of the dialogue and produce realistic caricatures—India’s male high school classmates look like extras from a European stage production of West Side Story. And Park’s hyper-stylized direction nearly sucks any spontaneity from the film during its establishing stages—at one point, a close-up of Kidman’s reddish hair dissolves into an overhead shot of wild reeds. But, once the aesthetics start servicing the storyline—and Charlie literally loosens his belt a bit—the bloody, psychosexual mysteries of this neo-Southern Gothic tale (filmed in and around Nashville, Tenn.) gradually come into tantalizing focus. This includes the open question—stoked by Park—of how much of this story reveals the truth about Charlie and how much are figments of India’s imagination.

*Originally published at INDYweek.com

Alice in Wonderland

Beet juice, Beet juice, Beet juice...

Grade: B –

Director: Tim Burton

Starring: Johnny Depp, Mia Wasikowska, Helena Bonham Carter, Anne Hathaway, Crispin Glover, Michael Sheen, and Alan Rickman

MPAA Rating: PG

Running Time: 1 hour, 48 minutes

There is a lot about Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland that’s curiouser and curiouser, but just not much “muchness.” It is a phantasmagorical fever-dream that is both absorbing and banal, a looking glass that reflects Narnia, Middle-earth, and assorted other child-escapist imaginaria while refracting its source text.

The seemingly sensible argument that Lewis Carroll’s 1865 novella Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland predates The Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings, and similar fare is undercut by Linda Woolverton’s updated screenplay, a mash-up of Alice’s Adventures with Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass and the creatures inhabiting his nonsense poem “Japperwocky.” Although these narrative liberties may repulse English majors and Carroll purists, they do allow Burton the freedom to emboss the story with his own unique vision. What the director does with this license, however, is a conundrum worthy of a Mad Hatter riddle.

Ten years after her first trip to “Underland” – which she does not remember – a now 19-year-old Alice (Mia Wasikowska) finds herself at a personal crossroads. Following the death of her beloved father, Alice is due to become betrothed to a man she does not love in front a throng of family and friends at a Victorian estate party. Problem is, Alice keeps wilting under the pressure and spying a strange white rabbit wearing a waistcoat and a pocket watch which, at the moment of her matrimonial truth, she chases, again, down the rabbit hole.

There, Alice encounters a host of familiar characters: the aforementioned White Rabbit (voice by Michael Sheen); the chain-smoking Blue Caterpillar (Alan Rickman); the Cheshire Cat (Stephen Fry); Tweedledee and Tweedledum; and, of course, the tangerine-hued Hatter, played to Burtonesque delirium by Johnny Depp. Seems only Alice can save Underland from the clutches of the cruel, bulbous-headed Iracebeth the Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter) by slaying the Japperwock and restoring Iracebeth’s younger sister – the kindly, pacifist White Queen (Anne Hathaway) – to the throne.

Burton has always embodied the sentiment behind Alice’s query, “What is the use of a book, without pictures or conversations?” There is wonder in the film’s unrelenting visuals, comic spark, and intriguing voice works – particularly impressive is the trippy cool of Rickman and Fry, while Christopher Lee is instantly recognizable as the Japperwock’s resonant baritone. But, it is a sense of awe not shared by the surprisingly aplomb Alice. Burton’s 3D pictorial of a young girl’s arrested development and reluctant embrace of womanhood belies the fact that Alice’s entire time underground is spent having one creature after another tell her where to go and what to do. Her path seems remarkably inevitable, yet somehow the Alice that crawls out of the rabbit hole now is a budding feminist with aims of carrying on the family business and blazing trade routes to China.

The pleasingly zany spectacle of it all comes at the expense of the story’s soul. Beyond their collective lunacy – “We’re all mad here,” the Cheshire Cat famously informs – we barely ascertain any character motivation. The audience cranes its neck to hear a lone, brief exchange between the regal sisters, hoping for some nugget of exposition about the germ of their animus. The revelation that the Red Queen felt the need to behead her kingly husband passes quickly and without elaboration, much like the emotional undercurrent to her relationship with the head of her Army, the Knave of Hearts (Crispin Glover!).

Woolverton previously penned such inoffensive Disney offerings as Beauty the Beast and The Lion King. So, her Alice in Wonderland scrub is not that surprising, nor is the fact that it may well appeal to younger viewers looking for a slightly edgy, mostly palatable diversion – how else to contextualize Hatter’s abominable final act breakdance? Burton has told interviewers that he never felt emotionally connected to Carroll’s work, and here he seems to be trying – and failing –to bring more rhyme, reason, and heart to this familiar tale. However, another Alice assertion proves as apt as ever: “I don’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it.”

Neil Morris

Originally published at www.indyweek.com