Top Ten Animated Films with Guest Writer Tucker Meijer: #10 Critics Take
Tucker’s Take on Jeremy’s #10:
The Iron Giant
On a Friday night in my sophomore year of college, I found myself huddled with a few of my closest friends in the small common room of my suite. We weren’t going out that night, but a lot of other people were and, as the noise from a college weekend echoed through the suite’s open window, I watched The Iron Giant for the first time.
Now, I cannot separate The Iron Giant from the people with whom I first watched it. Of course, it is apt that the film is so intertwined with memories some of my closest friends; after all, as Jeremy noted in his review, The Iron Giant is ultimately about friendship. The Giant may be a robot, but the friendship between he and Hogarth is so intensely human. It is a friendship that is built from mutual respect and trust, which, Jeremy rightfully points out, culminates in the two characters saving one another at the film’s conclusion.
In the film, the friendship between Hogarth and the Giant is the centerpiece. But the bond between the characters cannot be extricated from the commentary about technology, its place in the world, and its implications on humanity. The Giant is a technological marvel and throughout the film, director Brad Bird (who you’ll see appearing a little later in my list) challenges the audience’s perceptions of whether this marvel (and indeed, technology in general) is a good or bad creation.
In my opinion, the film doesn’t actually take a hard stance one way or another about technology’s presence. Rather, it challenges the audiences by exploring the moral gray area as it relates to tech. While the Giant saving Rockwell from the missile is a solid argument for “good” technology, the fact that that he intercepts a missile – another human creation – muddies the overwhelmingly positive view of technology. It comes down to a human creation being used for good (the Giant) and defeating another human creation that being used for evil (the missile). I love this ambiguity, as it challenges the audience to think more critically about the technology in their own lives, begging the questions: “What tech is being used for good? What tech has a more insidious purpose? How can the ‘good’ tech override the ‘bad’ tech?”
Looking back, this movie, made in 1999, seems almost prescient, as technology has become such an integral part of our lived experiences in 2019. This is the magic of The Iron Giant. It feels absolutely timeless. I love that Jeremy describes it as a movie between a boy and his dog, again pointing towards the very real, human relationship between Hogarth and the Giant. I have never had a dog (but I’ve always wanted one) and for me, watching The Iron Giant affirms everything that I know about the relationship between pets and their owners; the connection between them is incredibly deep, resonant, and full of mutual love and admiration.
For me, The Iron Giant perfectly encapsulates the beauty of the animated film, on a thematic and narrative level. As Jeremy describes in his review, the setting of the film is integral to the plot; we are immediately placed in the midst of the Cold War. This fact only sharpens the movie’s focus on how politics, governments, and war (or fear of one to come) causes ripples everywhere, even in a small town in Maine. This is a great example of why animated movies are more than just “kid’s movies,” as they are so often mislabeled. What seems on the surface a movie about the bond between a kid and a robot is actually a much deeper exploration of the paranoia that comes with fear of the nuclear.
Right now, the world is hooked on superhero movies, with people flocking to catch the latest Marvel flick. As Jeremy mentioned, the Giant himself is undoubtedly a superhero, making The Iron Giant a movie about the bond between a boy and a superhero and how they both save one another in the end. For this reason, I have nothing but a deep love of The Iron Giant and all it says about technology, friendship, and love.
Jeremy’ Take on Tucker’s #10:
In his first essay / film review on his top ten list of the best animated films, Tucker reveals a great deal of how he approaches cinema. There’s more than a little Pauline Kael in this young film critic. Pauline, who wrote a film criticism book, I Lost it At the Movies, which suggests a similar visceral emotional reaction to movies, would love Tucker’s description of “yes”, just “yes”. In defining what made Inside Out magical, Tucker says his reaction to the film was simply “yes”. I too like that description.
I’ve had that feeling several times in my lifetime. When a movie sneaks through my cerebral and technical approach to cinema and hits me hard in my emotions. Lost and Delirious is one of those films for the joy of the main character; so is Lethal Weapon for the fun in buddy action comedy duo Gibson and Glover bring; so is Aliens for its non-stop action and terror.
I don’t imagine that this series is going to lead to a lot of loud, exasperated exchanges and disagreements over our selection of animated films. My guess is that each of us is probably going to name films to our top ten that the other cinephile loves. Such is the case with Tucker’s selection for the tenth best animated film. I agree Inside Out is simply “yes.” In fact, stay tuned, you may see this movie again.
One of the joys about Tucker’s memory, perhaps a core memory, is that he saw this film as a child. I can see little Tucker going into this movie and coming out with a feeling of profoundness, perhaps unsure what it exactly meant, but as he grew up, coming to realize the importance of sadness and creating those core memories of self. For myself, I of course saw this as a seasoned film critic and writer. I admired the animation so much. I wondered at the incredible sense of adult humor including the abstraction chamber and the reference to Waiting for Godot. I marveled at the understanding of the human psyche portrayed in such an ingenious way. I knew I was watching a great film. But for a moment, I too became a child. When Bing Bong, Riley’s old imaginary friend, decides he loves Riley for giving him life and returns the favor. I too was a child again, remembering my own imaginary friend, Snuggles, a rabbit, who was my companion for so long.
In discussing the decline of Pixar at the time preceding the release of Inside Out, I think that Tucker nails something important. In the era of sequels we currently live in, Pixar, for the longest time, had stood against the tide. Their sole entry in sequels for the longest time was Toy Story 2; itself a masterful example of reinventing the original film and expanding it properly. Then, indeed, Pixar succumbed to the sequel craze. Cars 2 indeed was a sign of things to come. I am not one of the admirers of Brave, even though it explores a mother daughter relationship incredibly well, nor was a fan of Monsters University. Inside Out brought Pixar back it’s mojo and the story related by the New York Times about its creation really explains why Pixar movies are typically of such a high caliber.
Pete Docter, the director of Inside Out, refused to show John Lasseter, the executive at the time of Pixar, a cut or sequence of Inside Out. He knew it wasn’t good despite having two years to create the film. The problem was, he didn’t know what was wrong. John was not happy. Pete ended up avoiding him for weeks, trying to figure out what was wrong on long walks. He told the New York Times that ultimately the problem was with the main characters. Originally, it was Joy and Fear that become trapped outside the command center in the brain. Pete said that Joy and Fear being opposites made the most comical sense. But, in those walks, Pete figured out that the key main character was Sadness. Most studios and production companies would force the director to finish what they had already done, but when Pete explained the problem to John, John agreed it was time to start over. The commitment at Pixar to the importance of story is second to none in the film industry. It is no surprise that more of their films may appear on Tucker’s list and, perhaps, on mine as well.
Tucker Meijer Introduction:
Website: Tucker’s Report Card: https://tuckersreportcard.weebly.com/?fbclid=IwAR2FQ_ZU9e4jZrWx9rKD74J1XoMysZ5totzQnZTAYdpA4Qd_drktygIbrZg
My love of cinema began with animated movies. They are the first films that truly moved me and made me realize how deeply I love the cinematic medium. This love was further deepened when I took the class Film Composition and Literature, taught by Jeremy Lum, in my senior year of high school. It was then that I learned that film was something you could actually study in school. So, I went to Amherst College where I studied Film and English and am now fulfilling a goal of mine to start a blog where I write about the films I’ve seen. It’s even more exciting that I am able to do this with Jeremy, the first person who cultivated my love of film. Here, he and I count down our top ten favorite animated films.
Jeremy Lum Introduction:
Animation began my love of cinema. Growing up, it was the first form of film I fell in love with. I was lucky to grow up during the Disney Renaissance, which began with The Little Mermaid as well as grow up during the emergence of the legendary animator, Hayao Miyazaki. Following my love of cinema, I began writing reviews since I was in high school, before having the privilege of attending NYU Tisch Dramatic Writing program and then working at New Line Cinema before finally returning to my former high school to teach film for the past twelve years. One of the great joys over these past years has been witnessing students come to understand and love cinema. It is a true pleasure to be writing this series of our choices for our ten favorite animated films with Tucker, one of my former students.
Tucker’s #10:
Inside/Out
Everyone who knows me is aware of my deep love for every one of Pixar's movies (except for the Cars sequels, which I refuse to see). For that reason, I could probably find a way to make this list just Pixar movies. For the sake of variety, I will attempt to keep those to a minimum (although you will be seeing a few more as the list goes on). But Inside Out is one of the Pixar movies that has touched me the most and for that reason, I had to include it somewhere on the list.
When Inside Out hit the theaters in 2015, it felt like a breath of fresh air for Pixar. After the release of the stunning Toy Story 3, Pixar hit a little bit of a lull with Cars 2 in 2011, Brave in 2012, and Monsters University in 2013. For me, the two stunningly mediocre offerings (as I said, I refuse to watch Cars 2) were such disappointments; even though I saw them both before I really found a passion for film, I distinctly remember feeling like the magic of Toy Story 3 and Up was missing from them. And then my family and I went to the theater to see Inside Out.
Sometimes when I watch a movie, I am hit with a conglomeration of different feelings that I can only describe as the feeling of "yes." It's a feeling that is triggered by many different aspects of the experience of going to watch a film. It can be triggered by the personal: I see an iteration, a form, or a piece of myself on screen and think, "Yes. That's me." Or it can be triggered by the technical elements of the film: I see a shot that is so cinematographically wonderful that I think, "Yes. I am awed by this beauty." Or it can be a combination of all of these and causes me to fall in love with what I'm watching on screen.
I remember being so incredibly struck by this amorphous feeling of affirmation – this feeling of "yes" – when watching Inside Out for the first time in a crowded theater with my family. On the most basic level, it takes place in San Francisco, immediately allowing me some association with the protagonist, Riley ("Yes, that's me"). But on a deeper level, the movie's premise and it's main message – that sadness is as important to one's lived experience as joy – that made me feel such a profound sense of "yes." Of course, it's appropriate that I'm talking so much about a feeling that I can't quite describe, since Inside Out is a look at the feelings - Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear, Disgust – that dictate Riley's life.
This premise is oddly comforting. Feelings are chaotic, messy, and uncontrollable. But to see them personified on the screen as little characters who say funny things and screw up from time to time allows us to feel like there are people in our head who are rooting for us, even if it may seem like no one else is. This was especially poignant for me, a queer kid not quite sure why he felt so weird, different, and yes, sad, so much of the time. In the movie's climax, Sadness takes over the control room in Riley's brain. This causes Riley to break down and tell her parents how much she misses her old life in Minnesota. As she's crying, a new core memory appears.
This moment destroyed me. The notion that sadness is as important to our lives as happiness is not a particularly groundbreaking claim. But to see it done so beautifully on the screen made me feel such an intense feeling of "yes." Everything going on in my head seemed so simple; just like Riley's, my emotions were just struggling to figure everything out and soon, everything would be fine.
The creativity of Inside Out extends to each piece of the impeccably built world. There are so many little, innocuous moments that are wonderful when they're introduced ("train of thought" being an actual train, for example). From the outstanding voice cast (Amy Poehler as Joy is fantastic) to the gorgeous animation, Inside Out works on so many different levels. But the most poignant for me is that this is a movie that makes our emotions – something so unwieldy and overwhelming – a little bit less scary.
I've seen Inside Out many times. It makes me feel so many things. But most of all, it makes me feel "yes."
The Iron Giant
When I was younger, the most tear inducing movie I’d ever seen was not Bambi, but a low-budget live action Disney film: Old Yeller. Watching Old Yeller, one of cinema’s most beloved dogs, come to the rescue of his best friend and owner, Travis, nearly sacrificing himself to defend his master from feral boars remains, to this day, emotionally difficult to watch. Although Travis’ family is able to stitch Old Yeller’s wounds, a far worse fate awaits him. Old Yeller contracts Rabies. Travis has no choice, but to “put down” his best friend. This scene always brings tears to my eyes.
I’ve always loved dogs. I’ve always lived with them. Skeeter, our Alaskan Malamute / German Shepherd mix, was already a member of the family when I was born. Skeeter was my protector. He would sleep in the room with my crib and seek out my parents if I made a sound. Then, came Chips. She was a rescued dog who became my best friend. I have such fond memories of her sleeping on my bed near my feet, yet, by morning, she was always on the pillows and I was at the bottom of the bed.
There is something special about the bond between a kid and his dog. There is a love that cannot be put into words, but is felt in one’s soul. You know that this pet would do anything for you. When you are sad, they are there, knowing you’re sad and wanting to help you feel better. This has led to an archetypal story. A kid and his dog stories tend to be simple, like Old Yeller, Shiloh, or Where the Red Fern Grows. Almost all of these movies have a simplistic view of morality: right and wrong. Then, there is Brad Bird’s The Iron Giant, which is the best kid and his dog film ever made. In this case, the dog is a towering giant robot, but the relationship is the exact same and the movie builds a real relationship between Hogarth and the Iron Giant that evokes the unconditional love between a child and their dog and produces the same tears when love leads to sacrifice.
The first image of the film sets a very different tone than most kid-and-his-dog films. It begins in space. Orbiting earth is a strange object that we all recognize in its silhouette. When it flies by, our suspicions are confirmed when we see the symbol of the hammer and sickle: Sputnik. Immediately evoking a specific place and time, and more importantly a mood, Brad Bird places us into his story. The Cold War was a time of suspicion and mistrust when the red scare caused real fear of nuclear annihilation. It was a time when we as a race realized that our “genius,” being able to create such machines, also meant the possibility that we would all die. Passing by Sputnik and falling to earth, an unknown object, wreathed in flame, falls into the ocean, nearly destroying a ship and killing its captain. Seen only in the dark with its glowing eyes, it presents a frightening image. Given the time period, we assume that this robot from outer space is a form of a weapon. This is confirmed when much later in the film, the Giant acts without realizing, and it’s program responds to the presence of a “gun” by trying to destroy it with a blast of energy out of its eyes. Thus, the glowing eyes in the dark are a startling image. However, that frightening image is juxtaposed against the light of a lighthouse, which the Captain is looking for to lead him to safety in the storm. What a great symbol. The Robot, although possibly dangerous, will guide us to a safe harbor; will guide Hogarth, the young boy, who will adopt him and care for him, to safety.
Moving to the shore, a small town in Maine, we meet our main character, Hogarth Hughes, riding his bike with urgency towards the town diner. His mother works at the diner as a waitress and he has brought his new pet to try and convince her to allow him to keep it. This is a common occurrence we understand. It’s not stated, but we eventually realize that Hogarth’s father died flying missions in WWII. Hogarth, missing his father, is looking for a friend; looking for a companion. He needs someone. His mom loves him and tries her best, but money is tight and they need to rent a room in their house which is harder with a pet. Impossible when that pet is a squirrel. Hysteria consumes the diner as Hogarth’s pet escapes. Failing to get permission to keep his friend, Hogarth arrives home, finding out his mom has to work late. Building a fort to watch scary movies with his toy laser gun, he scarfs down Twinkies and enjoys the time to himself. That is until the TV loses its picture. When he goes up to investigate what happened to the antenna, he discovers that it has been eaten. A trail leads through fences and into the woods. Hogarth decides to be a hero like his father and grabs his BB gun, running off to find the invading aliens.
When Hogarth discovers the Giant at a power plant, he runs in fear, but the Giant, trying to eat some of the metal of the plant is electrocuted and falls into power wires. Becoming trapped, the robot screams in pain. Hearing that pain, Hogarth recognizes the feeling and goes back to turn off the power, saving the Giant. Soon after, the two become inseparable.
Brad Bird in evoking the 1950’s elicits the paranoia of the time through the government agent Kent Mansley. Kent is an officer not only looking for promotion, but also willing to believe that everything, especially the unknown, is a threat. Kent is even willing to mistreat a child to try and capture the Iron Giant who he assumes was built by the Russians. When you combine the paranoia with the very real elements of a child being raised by a single working mother and loneliness, this animated film does not feel like a simple kid and his dog story, but rather, something more poignant. There is a powerful moment when Hogarth teaches the Iron Giant about death. The images of the Iron Giant and Hogarth being close enough to befriend a deer, before hearing a gunshot and seeing another deer dying, purposefully remind us of Bambi; the film that taught many children about death. There is a weight to this film, like there is to Bambi, that people for some reason don’t always expect in animated films; however, even with this tragic moment and the sacrificial ending The Iron Giant is not a downer. To contrast with the harsh reality and the paranoia, Brad Bird purposefully evokes art, artists, and themes dealing being able to choose what you are as opposed to being stuck with the purpose of your creation, as well as the idea that technology can be used for good, not only destruction.
For example, Hogarth is an unusual name and is actually the name of an artist. The initials H. Hughes of course bring to mind Howard Hughes who was a visionary and believed in the power of technology to improve our lives. Then, there is the town itself named Rockwell. The town is picturesque and could be out of a Norman Rockwell painting. There is also the play on words with Roswell to Rockwell, which of course in pop culture is believed to be the place that aliens landed. Hogarth’s one other friend is an adult hippie artist, Dean McCoppin, who sees the world differently through his artistic perspective. These references remind us that we can look at the world in two different ways. We can see the Iron Giant as a weapon as Kent does, or as a friend as Hogarth does.
The most famous artistic concept of a hopeful view of humanity in the 1950s is undoubtedly Superman. The comic makes an appearance as Hogarth explains to the Giant that the Giant is a hero, like Superman, not villain. In the end, when the threat of nuclear annihilation comes to pass, the Giant chooses to be a hero, launching himself into space and destroying the nuclear missile in orbit. He saves the entire town. A weapon, the Giant, chooses not to be a weapon, but rather to use his power to save others. He has learned to care from his wonderful relationship with Hogarth. In the end, we see Hogarth playing with other kids his age. Having the Giant in his life gave him a friend and allowed him to learn the social skills to interact with others. In the end, they save each other.
Perhaps the most amazing element about The Iron Giant is Brad Bird’s ability to tell such a story with such economy. The movie clocks in at 86 minutes and yet contains more power and believable characters than any Transformer movie. Yes, it is not “realistic” in terms of it’s artistic style, but it is more real than any of the Transformers because we believe and understand the emotions of these characters. This type of story works best in animation, which heightens our reality, allowing us into truly emotional uses of design and mise-en-scene. Hand animation remains my favorite form of animation and Brad Bird is one of the best American animators out there. The Iron Giant is an often overlooked masterpiece of place and relationship, of theme and use of art. Whether you are seeing it for the first time or rewatching it, the movie’s ability to sneak into your heart and make you shed a tear is remarkable. All of this is thanks to the director and animator Brad Bird. Look out for him as you may see him again on my list of the Ten Best Animated films.
