Or, as I like to refer to it, the best movie I've ever almost walked out of.* A day later and I'm frankly fascinated by this movie.
It starts with the 3D. 3D's seen a lot of abuse since Avatar and, while I enjoy seeing films in 3D, some are more worth the price of admission than others. In Hugo, Scorcese shows everyone how it should be done in the opening minutes, and keeps it up throughout the film, as he immerses you in the movie's world, allowing you to experience the full 3D effect without resorting (too often) to throwing things out of the screen at you.
Even when he does, it's such a part of the scene that it doesn't call attention to itself... usually. there are exceptions... most notably the Station Inspector's dog, whose "charging at the camera" moments are the most visually jarring in an otherwise impeccable use of the technology.
The fact that Scorcese uses this technology to tell a story about silent films is an irony (or is it a conceit?) I came to savor. His passion for the art of movie-making drives the narrative once we get into Georges Méliès story, and his use of these pieces of movie history punctuate what amounts to a love letter to the Cinema.
But it's not all peaches and cream for me. As I mentioned above, I nearly walked out before the movie "became magical." My dissatisfaction started early... I was captivated, at first, by the visuals... the sweeping camera movements, the way the snowflakes flew into your face drawing you into the frame (yes, subtly "throwing things in your face", but that subtlety is what made it so effective).
But the visuals only distracted me for a short time. I began to fidget as the story progressed and I found myself disengaged... watching the movie from the outside (despite the immersion that 3D is supposed to provide) and not caring much about any of the characters. It's not that the film was slow, or lacked pace. It had its own rhythm and pace, and it never seemed to drag. I just wasn't terribly interested and hadn't found a point of entry into the story.The pieces of the story were all there... they just weren't connecting for me, instead each progressing down its own path, out of sync with the other elements.
At an hour and twenty minutes in, I was checking my watch, wondering how much longer this damn thing was going to last, and if I had the patience to sit through it all. And then, suddenly, something clicked... the disparate story elements now made sense, the story began to mesh and the narrative to propel. If felt to me like the movie had become a mirror of the automaton that Hugo was repairing (or vice versa)... that the movie needed to find its heart the way the automaton needed its heart-shaped key. There's a part of me that wants to believe that was intentional. There's another (more cynical) part of me that despises the romanticism of that last sentence, and rejects the notion that anyone would take that kind of chance with their film.
Whatever the case, for the next 45 minutes, I was captivated, gladly along for the ride and left with an appreciation for the film that I would not have thought possible an hour earlier.
*It can be argued that this is a relatively small category, as I've only ever walked out on 2 films while in the theatre... the original Conan the Barbarian (about the time Arnold punched the camel, I believe) and City Slickers (Billy Crystal's "tears of a clown" moment was unwatchable, and my definitive example of why an actor should never play depression). But I have "walked out of" countless Netflix and DVD viewings, so for the purposes of this discussion, I'm mentally including those here.
It starts with the 3D. 3D's seen a lot of abuse since Avatar and, while I enjoy seeing films in 3D, some are more worth the price of admission than others. In Hugo, Scorcese shows everyone how it should be done in the opening minutes, and keeps it up throughout the film, as he immerses you in the movie's world, allowing you to experience the full 3D effect without resorting (too often) to throwing things out of the screen at you.
Even when he does, it's such a part of the scene that it doesn't call attention to itself... usually. there are exceptions... most notably the Station Inspector's dog, whose "charging at the camera" moments are the most visually jarring in an otherwise impeccable use of the technology.
The fact that Scorcese uses this technology to tell a story about silent films is an irony (or is it a conceit?) I came to savor. His passion for the art of movie-making drives the narrative once we get into Georges Méliès story, and his use of these pieces of movie history punctuate what amounts to a love letter to the Cinema.
But it's not all peaches and cream for me. As I mentioned above, I nearly walked out before the movie "became magical." My dissatisfaction started early... I was captivated, at first, by the visuals... the sweeping camera movements, the way the snowflakes flew into your face drawing you into the frame (yes, subtly "throwing things in your face", but that subtlety is what made it so effective).
But the visuals only distracted me for a short time. I began to fidget as the story progressed and I found myself disengaged... watching the movie from the outside (despite the immersion that 3D is supposed to provide) and not caring much about any of the characters. It's not that the film was slow, or lacked pace. It had its own rhythm and pace, and it never seemed to drag. I just wasn't terribly interested and hadn't found a point of entry into the story.The pieces of the story were all there... they just weren't connecting for me, instead each progressing down its own path, out of sync with the other elements.
At an hour and twenty minutes in, I was checking my watch, wondering how much longer this damn thing was going to last, and if I had the patience to sit through it all. And then, suddenly, something clicked... the disparate story elements now made sense, the story began to mesh and the narrative to propel. If felt to me like the movie had become a mirror of the automaton that Hugo was repairing (or vice versa)... that the movie needed to find its heart the way the automaton needed its heart-shaped key. There's a part of me that wants to believe that was intentional. There's another (more cynical) part of me that despises the romanticism of that last sentence, and rejects the notion that anyone would take that kind of chance with their film.
Whatever the case, for the next 45 minutes, I was captivated, gladly along for the ride and left with an appreciation for the film that I would not have thought possible an hour earlier.
*It can be argued that this is a relatively small category, as I've only ever walked out on 2 films while in the theatre... the original Conan the Barbarian (about the time Arnold punched the camel, I believe) and City Slickers (Billy Crystal's "tears of a clown" moment was unwatchable, and my definitive example of why an actor should never play depression). But I have "walked out of" countless Netflix and DVD viewings, so for the purposes of this discussion, I'm mentally including those here.
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