Here are some thoughts on the film, unintentionally written in such a way that one might mistake the thoughts for staunch positions. I entreat one's forgiveness.
I am not sure the purpose of this movie, other than to generate incredible new income; perhaps Disney and the makers intend to supersede the original in history's canon, considering this remake (I might say remaster) objectively superior; but its animated production style puts it somewhat in a different genre, not suitable for direct replacement, and anyway the collective American heart, mushy with nostalgia, cannot easily admit such canon substitution. Yet the two are so damned similar they can hardly stand side-by-side. Maybe it seeks awards. Maybe it seeks to canonize with a broader audience -- which could only be new youth who didn't grow up with the original, and people who object very superficially to "kids movies", that is, cartoons without swear words (this movie of course is a kids movie in all substance). Maybe it is just shameless taxation of the poor and ignorant who we all know must show in masses to pay for this sort of glorious nothing. It's hardly even a choice anymore.
The movie was of course engaging and enjoyable; it was also executed well. This last in this case mostly entails good computerized visuals, which is one of hundreds of components to a film, therefore a small piece, yet to me an unfathomably large task. But that's just me. I'm sure there are many shortcuts to convincing CGI of which I need read only briefly to appreciate. Other ornaments in the great architecture of the execution were pre-cast, for instance, much of the cinematography, much of the music, obviously the narrative and characters, if those blend with "execution"; even the voice actors had little creative task sometimes going line-for-line with their worthy 1994 model. But I routinely enjoyed the film and I admired the new incarnation, if not existentially. The visuals -- the most important update -- were powerful and engrossing, and considered independently I call it a good film.
Updates were minimal, but unmistakable were energetic injections of 2010's humor. Beside the visuals this was the most significant update in my experience, for better or worse. Timon and Pumbaa, Zazu, and the hyenas all shout Generation Z in voices both ecstatic and overwrought. I found this mostly delightful but excessive and unmistakably dystopian. Where is humor headed?
I feel mixed about the potluck musical score. I really like the particular way the tribal drums and melodic chanting are featured; I don't like some of the Elton John contribution; most egregious for me was Zimmer's scoring of hefty moments, which repeatedly featured a light/hopeful lift I found completely dissonant with said moments. That was a true shame to me. But generally I respect the music of this film.
One moment that quietly struck my heart to happiness was when I realized the four lead voices were black. Our culture has come some way since 1994. This colorful condition might have been purely out of reckoning then, if not overtly objected. Yet glad I was we didn't see another The Wiz or 2014's Annie. This was not a film essentially by or for or about black people, and no attempt was made to change the character of the film; I wonder how much intentionality was in the casting? The film is of course set in Africa, and with second language Swahili.
I must admit I felt a little uncomfortable with Gambino and Beyonce harmonizing romantically. I can't possibly disrespect Beyonce's casting, but it wasn't a flawless casting. Her power and dominance were a little overwhelming for me to hear. I got the feeling she was not playing Nala so much as playing Beyonce reading Nala's script, contrary to Glover's performance. I can hardly complain. That may not be her fault either. Unrelated: how about Bruno Mars as Simba?
Now for a very important point. A critic attempting any kind of objectivity must be able to inherit the sensibilities of a broad and self-evident population. There's a fundamental barrier between myself and any broad self-evident population I would service, unless I were writing for a magazine for the excessively intellectual, sensorially deprived. Most good people, properly endowed with sensory impressionability, will stand enchanted by this fantastic visual feast and will bother little with the analytical grit which addicts and afflicts me. Alas my compromised critical competence is exposed: I have dull senses cowering behind a domineering intellect and can no longer predict the normal human experience. Nor has my analysis wrought yet anything very interesting about this film. Thus the fundamental privacy of this blog. But I will state for the record that the film will inspire many wide eyes and many full hearts.
A main complaint for this movie is a sin it did not invent but commits, or reinvents. To worship the devil is to commit all his sins. The 1994 film sinned first. But really it's not as much a sin as a shortcoming here, more ignorance than evil. I despair to find this all over cinema, including infecting films of similar studio and era such as Hercules. What I'm talking about is an upsettingly overwhelming ratio of rising action and conflict to climax and triumph. This is not just family films. We have 95% of the movie consumed by conflict and the last three minutes for resolution -- technically resolution, resolution on paper, though nothing in the viewer's insides feels resolved. I think this is a major oversight. Probably this has something to do with Disney's de facto time limit, and immediately once the plot levels anything left is seen as superfluous for inclusion in a packed tin. But I do not think this is psychologically correct. How sleep vitalizes one's day depends not just on the quality of the sleep but crucially the quality of the waking. If I'm going to the movies to leave emotionally vitalized and satisfied I need my tug from the dark theater to daylight to be sound, independent of the last couple of hours' soundness. So much hinges on these final few moments. I may be nightmaring, but if I wake correctly in my cycle I'll have a good day. A film must heed our emotional cycle and wake us to reality (with the credits) correctly. Films almost universally involve cycles of satisfaction lost and gained back. To rush the waking is to interrupt an emotional arc and destroy the one satisfaction that can't be gained back -- because the viewer is exiting the theater. Studios: it is not enough to work everything out on paper; you must guide our emotions to the solution empathetically, and this requires time for transition. None can endure the depths of melancholy and tears for hours and immediately become bright when things seems to solve. The stress creates residual trauma for a short time, and this weight cannot lift without time. We need our hands held patiently through the well-paced climax, and we need time to absorb a complete display of resolution. Show me more climactic intensity; show me more victory; show me even more victory; show me more aftermath. This film was not satisfying on leaving the theater to me, because I fought for an hour and a half for what? For three minutes of turning action and the kick-in-the-ass credits.
This is a film that strives for compatibility with children, but I don't think this requires compromising compatibility with mature adult tastes. I think that would indicate either a laziness or a disrespect for children. But as this film goes, in my adulthood, ignoring young viewers for the argument, I longed for more intensity. I do think the film is quite intense for the genre. But not intense enough for me. Dramatic potential fell to nought with timid turns, budding darkness crimped and failed at the filmmakers' hands, gravitas faltered, the original gravitas of cinema slain by common humor I can find anywhere outside the theater, humor presented to slay gravitas, humor designed to slay the purpose of movies under the assumption viewers can't endure the purpose of movies when they go to the movies, humor robbing moviegoers of movies and filling us full with nothing.
My company for this theater viewing and I had someways different experiences. He was enthralled by the sensory immersion, the visual spectacle, the feeling of really being in pimped-up fantasy Africa, the beauty exceeding true life. He was absolutely stricken with cute Simba. He was astounded by superior shot composition, framing, movement, lighting, in a lay but tasteful way. I suppose these follow from the complete computer generation of the film. None of this affected me profoundly, but I am ever concept-obsessed and analytical, with high sensory stimulation thresholds, or in other words, mild sensory experience. In film this entails primary attention to the genres, authenticities and consistencies of characters and narrative; literary skill and aesthetics; dissecting characters and plot; often putting the writers to trial against my subconscious artistic model of subtlety, consistency and effortlessness. I focus on writers and their work, and large-scale directorial choices, and importantly I treat the film world and events as reality; I analyze them as I analyze reality, and I analyze how the filmmakers make their reality. Is it authentic, consistent, beautiful, what? Ideally film realities are self-consistent, even if not consistent with our reality, and ideally beautiful and fascinating, insightful, penetrating. I have to learn many sensory sensitivities others find natural. Is it clear from this post that I focus on concepts, thoughts, choices, ideas, not senses? This is natural.
For all my comments I enjoyed the film, virtuous and superfluous as it was.
