OPPENHEIMER (2023)

“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, ‘Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds’. I suppose we all thought that one way or another.” – J. Robert Oppenheimer, 1965.

The arrival of a new Christopher Nolan picture is always an event to look forward to, and rarely does the man disappoint. Even some of his rare misfires – The Dark Knight Rises (2012) being the first that springs to mind on account of it being riddled with plot holes and rife with conveniences and contrivances – are still more interesting and made with exceptionally more care than the majority of other mainstream releases. His last movie was the admirably silly, maximalist sci-fi espionage yarn Tenet (2020). Now, I seem to be in the minority in that I actually greatly enjoyed Tenet, but even I could see that it was a zealous indulgence of the director’s most egregious tendencies: it was cryptic, byzantine, overly earnest and the plot was basically Thunderball (1965) with time travel.

Three years later Nolan is back in serious territory with Oppenheimer, a tense and grandly executed thriller inspired by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherman’s Pulitzer Prize–winning biography American Prometheus. Over the course of three-hours, Nolan’s chronicle of J. Robert Oppenheimer deftly weaves back-and-forth between several story threads that span four decades, some shot in colour and others in stark monochrome that recall Oliver Stone’s energetically edited cinematic jigsaws JFK (1991) and Nixon (1995). In one, Dr. Oppenheimer heads a team of the best and brightest minds at Los Alamos during the Second World War in a pulse-pounding race against the Nazis to develop the world’s first atomic weapon; in another we learn of how the great physicist was stripped of his security clearance; the third concerns the intriguing animosity between Oppenheimer and a Lewis Strauss, the chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission. Throughout the many layers, however, Oppenheimer is, at its heart, a heady, brooding tale that plumps the complexities and contradictories of an enigmatic man placed in an unenviable position, as he must risk the perilous moral conundrum of potentially destroying the world in order to save it.

Boasting a gifted ensemble with more names than one would find in the Screen Actor Guild directory and atmospheric yet intimate photography by Hoyte Van Hoytema, Oppenheimer is Mr. Nolan’s densest and most cerebral work since his breakout feature Memento (2000). In every sense, this is a film of staggering magnitude, bursting with characters, dialogue and timelines (à la 2017’s Dunkirk) but the huge spectacle – amplified by the gigantic IMAX screen – never overwhelms or devours. Indeed, there is something almost biblical about this film, an intensity that almost defies articulation. The notion that an outwardly unassuming, chain-smoking academic like Dr. Oppenheimer – played with steely aplomb by frequent Nolan muse Cillian Murphy – could engineer a device so powerful, so deadly is truly terrifying, and Oppenheimer revels in that sense of danger.

Given that Oppenheimer is a Nolan production, it goes without saying that this is a meticulously made movie. In a formal sense, this is near perfection, amalgamating the grandeur of a David Lean, the chilly intellectualism of a Stanley Kubrick, the straightforward, no-nonsense professional male camaraderie of a Howard Hawks film with a touch of the hallucinatory one would expect from the works of Roeg or Resnais. The direction, photography and editing is impeccable, as is Ludwig Göransson’s exceptional score which richly marries the orchestral with the electronic. Every scene is full of sweep and stateliness that recalls the masterful Lawrence of Arabia (1962) and Doctor Zhivago (1965). Watching Oppenheimer is akin to observing a painter at the peak of his powers, a maestro in full command of his craft, a general who earns respect from those around him not only by virtue of his rank and insignia but by the sheer professionalism with which he conducts his business. Oppenheimer showcases the director’s skill and style as a storyteller, combining the scale and spectacle of a prime Spielberg hit with the intellectual integrity and artistic adroitness usually reserved for the art-house circuit. His movies are big, beautiful, poetic and personal but never pretentious. Such a feat is exceptionally rare in contemporary cinema. The extraordinary thing is that Oppenheimer might be Nolan’s biggest and most beautiful film yet.

Whether it be the lorry flip on a public street in The Dark Knight (2008), the mind-melting rotating hotel hallway in Inception (2010), the hijacking of a plane during the opening of The Dark Knight Rises or the Boeing 747 crash in Tenet, Nolan is known for orchestrating memorably outlandish set-pieces. However, the pivotal set-piece in this movie – that being the detonation of Trinity – is surely his most jaw-dropping to date and ranks among the most mesmerising things I’ve seen achieved on the big screen, up there with 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and the awesome climax of Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977). As to those who might find the meaty three-hour runtime daunting, fear not, for this, in spite of its length and the plethora of scholarly scenes with boffins in rooms spouting technobabble about quantum physics, never has a dull moment. For better or worse, while it is Nolan at his most verbose he leavens the heavy verbiage with some inspired visuals, ample moments of tension and the occasional touch of the expressionistic. When it’s all said and done, this is a very busy movie that barrels along at a rocket’s pace.

But while Nolan is irrefutably the confident puppet master, the nucleus that holds the film together in front of the lens is Cillian Murphy. As the broken, brooding architect of the instrument capable of untold wanton destruction and a naïve man haunted by the horror of his own invention, the magnetic Murphy, complete with wide-eyed, faraway stares and a husky, John Huston-like cadence, is simply outstanding. Watching him as his soul-piercing blue eyes blazed the screen, one could not help but be reminded of the sphinx-like Peter O’Toole in Lawrence. Murphy, whether he’s appearing in genre affairs like Nolan’s Batman trilogy, 28 Days Later (2002) or A Quiet Place Part II (2020) or smaller, introspective projects like Ken Loach’s Palme d’Or winning The Wind That Shakes the Barley (2006), has consistently displayed his ability to be a quietly captivating and chameleonic performer. And yet it is here in Oppenheimer that the versatile, introspective Murphy delivers a true career-best height worthy of all awards, recognition and plaudits. The comparisons between Oppenheimer with the mythical Prometheus, the misguided Titan of ancient Greek myth that defied the Gods by stealing fire from Olympus and giving it to the mortals, is about as subtle as a bomb going off (an apt analogy), but the more that unfolds the closer Oppenheimer starts to resemble a Faust or a Frankenstein. Like the field in which he specialises, Oppenheimer is a walking puzzle: he is a true polymath and polyglot, a far-thinking visionary yet infuriatingly myopic, sensitive yet arrogant, a scholar as well as a keen outdoorsman, a devoted family man and a louche, a flag waver for the downtrodden yet a man clothed in privilege. Nolan has a long history of placing tortured, work-obsessed male protagonists in the spotlight, but Robert Oppenheimer, as portrayed by Murphy, is indisputably the most fascinating, bedevilling character ever drawn in Nolan’s filmography with the exception of Heath Ledger’s iconic incarnation of the Joker, and Murphy deserves all the credit in the world.

Murphy’s A-list co-stars Matt Damon and Robert Downey Jr. provide supple support. The former is the obligatory and obstinate army general figure who often locks horns with the famed physicist; the frosty but mutually respectful relationship between the realms of science and the military have been seen many times before, the most notable that springs to mind being the many quarrelsome episodes between Andrew Keir and Julian Glover in Hammer’s adaptation of Nigel Kneale’s Quatermass and the Pit (1967). However, it is Robert Downey Jr. who, in a subdued but shrewdly striking part as businessman and philanthropist Lewis Strauss (pronounced “Straws”), astonishes the most. As Oppenheimer’s wily, obsessive and insecure nemesis, the visibly gaunt Downey Jr. is indelible and impeccable as the sleazy, serpentine ambitious government official. After ten years making the big bucks playing Iron Man in the MCU, it is legitimately refreshing to be reminded how charismatic an actor Downey Jr. can be when given the opportunity to spread his wings. The dogged rivalry between Murphy’s Oppenheimer and Downey Jr.’s Strauss is reminiscent of the dynamic between Valjean and Javert in Hugo’s Les Misérables, Mozart and Salieri in Amadeus (1984) or even the quarrelling magicians Nolan’s own The Prestige (2006); both men see the strengths and shortcomings in one another, and it makes for quite riveting viewing. The story of Oppenheimer and Strauss is a familiar one: that of how the envy and vindictiveness of small, insignificant men (in this case, Downey Jr.) can bring about the downfall of great, exceptionally gifted men like a Robert Oppenheimer.

The remaining star-studded roster of players all do their parts justice, whether they be Nolan regulars like the avuncular Kenneth Branagh or veteran thespian Tom Conti in his poignant, rueful role as Albert Einstein, or newcomers such as the terrific Emily Blunt as the iron-willed, sharp-tongued biologist and botanist wife of Oppenheimer. Florence Pugh, the only other major female character besides Blunt, is lamentably peripheral as Oppenheimer’s leftie lover, which is bitterly disappointing considering her elegant skill as an actress and the fact that she receives a deceptively high billing. Despite her short scenes, however, Pugh is nonetheless a transfixing screen presence to be reckoned with and her character, a fragile figure who befalls a tragic fate, is mightily impactful. Special mention should also go to the transformative Gary Oldman for his memorable cameo as President Harry S. Truman.

Nolan’s Oppenheimer is, to paraphrase the title character himself in the scene where he attempts to explain a tricky quantum mechanics concept to a Berkeley student, “a paradox, but it works”. Amidst a landscape wherein everything seems to be slavishly motivated by commerce with little regard for artistic flair, stitched together with rushed writing, lazy and lifeless performances and second-rate technical accoutrements, a singular, cleverly crafted picture such as this is something to cherish and never be taken for granted. Since The Dark Knight Trilogy, Nolan has been perfecting the art and process of making smart, finely-tuned blockbusters that demand the attention of the audience and can only be fully appreciated in the multiplex, free of distractions. In many ways, one gets the impression that Nolan’s whole trajectory has been leading to this. In the hands of another, this could have easily been a dry, dull, tedious exercise but through some adroit and ingenious craftsmanship this explosive epic has become a visceral, operatic mosaic of everything great about film and filmmaking and a true treasure for the thinking cinephile.

Intense, haunting and pensive, Oppenheimer remains a real rarity: a genre-bending, major studio-backed big-budget picture based on an interesting chapter in our history, full of spectacular, canvas-filling imagery, ingenious practical effects and clearly made with passion by a magisterial moviemaker at the top of his game. This, Top Gun: Maverick (2022) and Spielberg’s West Side Story (2021) are the sorts of movies I thought Hollywood was incapable of making these days.

BARBIE (2023)

Hollywood truly is a strange place. In the past we’ve had movies based on books, comics, true life events, video games and everything in between. It’s a wonder that we’ve yet to have a motion picture that takes its inspiration from a line of bubble baths or a perfume brand. The world of toys is also another venture that is no stranger to the magic of the movies. Hell, we’ve even had the pleasure of experiencing films that originated as board games. Now, to any cynics out there, the very thought of a film being even partly inspired by a toy product will probably elicit a rhythm of audible groans of complete and utter dread, and if the movies based on toys that already exist are anything to go by – Masters of the Universe (1987), Trolls (2016), Playmobil: The Movie (2019), Snake Eyes (2021) – then such reactions are warranted. The movie we’ll be looking at today takes its name from perhaps the most famous of all the toy lines in western commercialism: Barbie, that impossibly proportioned doll loved by juvenile girls and loathed by feminists the world over.

Plenty of people scoffed when news of a film based on the popular doll emerged, but following some canny marketing and publicity leaks, it somehow became one of the year’s most anticipated products, both ironically and genuinely. The most fascinating aspect about this movie isn’t the fact that it’s a big-budget studio blockbuster based around a toy, nor does its eccentricities lie within the cast (which – in a bit of pitch-perfect casting – just so happens to be led by the enviably photogenic pair of Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling). No, instead the real intrigue lies in the director, that being none other than Greta Gerwig – the very same Greta Gerwig known for starring in those micro-budgeted urban-based comedies and for directing acclaimed humanist dramedies and feminist reimaginings like Lady Bird (2017) and Little Women (2019). The former, though over-praised, was certainly one of the more thoughtful tales of female adolescence released in recent years (though, for my money, Olivia Wilde’s Booksmart from 2019 was superior); but the latter, a heartfelt adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s famous novel, was nothing less than an effervescent triumph in that not only did it do justice to its source but also stood as its own entity.

Initially, the very idea that an indie darling like Gerwig elicited trepidation that it was yet another case of a promising filmmaker being seduced by the dollar signs and pandering to the evil big-buck corporations. I – like many other cinephiles, I imagine – grumbled that Gerwig had, to use that oft-used and tactless phrase, ‘sold out’. However, once that teaser trailer found its way onto the internet, lampooning the justly famous opening of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) by replacing the bone thrown into the air by the primates with porcelain babies smashed by little girls in favour of an adult Barbie doll, one’s anxieties began to assuage. Suddenly, the ironic prospect that someone like Gerwig should even be tangentially associated with a mass-appealing movie like Barbie became so weirdly and audaciously irresistible that one felt that they needn’t have bothered with such steroid-fuelled marketing.

The unusual hype surrounding Barbie makes it almost critically bulletproof; whatever one has to say with regards to its quality is almost certainly an irrelevance as it seems that everyone has already made up their mind whether they’ll like it or not long before the picture has even entered circulation. Nevertheless, having now seen it, Barbie, Gerwig’s first (and which we now know will not be her last) mainstream studio-backed outing, is a flawed, confused but honourable and playful piece of commercial cinema that should please plenty of spectators and will most certainly have the suits over at Mattel HQ grinning from ear-to-ear. Those who desire little else than a slice of entertaining escapism for themselves, their friends and family will, for the most part, leave with a spring in their step. On the other side of the spectrum, cynical film aficionados who like to type out lengthy reviews for no one else’s pleasure other than their own (*cough* *cough*) will also surely have ample amount of material to discuss, both good and bad. I would even go so far as to prognosticate that in five, ten, maybe even fifteen years time when film students arrive at their first semester and are asked by their disillusioned, cardigan-wearing tutor to name the film that made them want to be involved in the industry, a handful will jubilantly respond with Barbie.

When it comes to the primary players, Margot Robbie plays the titular role very straight and sweet and, consequently, appears as committed and charming as she always does. Meanwhile, it is the charismatic Gosling who proves to be quite the amusing scene-stealer as Barbie’s beach-bound beau. Though Gosling’s convincing and physically witty performance will garner the most attention, the real star of the picture is unquestionably Sarah Greenwood’s bedazzling production design which, to it’s credit, stays true to the iconography of the Mattel brand. That is to say, the film is a pink playground – very, very pink. All the dizzying stuff in the utopian Barbie Land, presided over by a woman and governed by Panglossian laws, is quite the splendiferous treat for the eyes, excessively replete with delirious visual touches inspired by the fabulous films of Powell and Pressburger – specifically A Matter of Life and Death (1946) and The Red Shoes (1948) – and Jacques Demy’s luscious and lavish The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) with Catherine Deneuve. Film buffs with a fondness for those gay, eye-popping Technicolor fantasias from the golden days of the ‘dream factory’ like Singin’ in the Rain (1952) and Gigi (1958) will surely be left salivating as they gaze upon Barbie and Ken’s resplendent utopia in all its exuberant, upbeat, peach-coloured and pearlescent glory. There’s even some Busby Berkeley inspired musical numbers for good measure.

On the surface, Barbie is everything you’d expect it to be: a gaudy, candy-coloured spectacle that should appeal to the young and the young-at-heart. However, despite presenting itself as an undeniably good-natured and spirited affair drenched in cutesy camp and neon, the film becomes a totally different beast around the halfway point. Once Barbie and Ken leave their world behind and enter our own, the bulk of the narrative may appear to regurgitate the most childish of adventure stories – think The Wizard of Oz (1939) or The NeverEnding Story (1984) – but it quickly becomes clear that, alas and alack, this is and was never a family flick in the traditional sense, so kudos to the marketing team for successfully hoodwinking us. What begins as a benign and bouncy bubble-gum flavoured blockbuster swiftly morphs into a self-aware, postmodern ouroboros narrative – harbouring shades of Clueless (1995) and Legally Blonde (2001) – about the woes of adulthood and existentialism, a Pandora’s box of sexism, objectification, rampant consumerism and the omnipresent patriarchy. Unfortunately, the picture tiptoes around these themes and never delves too deeply into the plethora of ideas it pushes to the foreground, resulting in a mawkish, contradictory, artificial and sometimes airheaded thesis that lacks nuance and talks itself into a circle.

With all its thematic twists and turns, meanderings and the gluttony of issues it brings attention to, the movie quickly becomes the embodiment of that age-old saying about too many cooks in the kitchen. It tries to have it both ways as it attempts to smoothly walk that delicate tightrope of being an arch and irreverent opera of pop-art kitsch and appease the corporate backers, all whilst trying to take said sponsors to task and be a scathing satire of the very thing it’s promoting. While not problematic, per se, that strive to be subversive and snarky about materialism and misogyny is questionable and dubious in a $125 million movie about a toy that many label the very paragon of materialism and institutionalised misogyny. But, thankfully, the wry jabs aren’t as obnoxious or ill-conceived as those you’ll find in Disney/Lucasfilm’s vacuous The Last Jedi (2017) or the recently released Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Still, one must never forget that at the end of the day, while this is significantly more thought-out and superlatively manufactured than most others of similar ilk, an advert is still an advert and this is a very elongated, very profligate advert.

For all of one’s misgivings regarding the farcical fish-out-of-water second half, Barbie is still worthy of appreciation. At the end of the day, the best compliment I can throw at this movie is that it temporarily makes you forget that it’s essentially one profligate advertisement to flog some toys. It’s a lot of fun, confidently made with sincerity by a slew of talented people in front and behind the camera – aside from Gerwig we also have Rodrigo Prieto who lensed the film and Noah Baumbach co-penned the screenplay with the director – and the childlike (not childish) joy that the film exuberates is infectious. Nonetheless, it’s also a victim of its own insufferable hype and stuffed with so many ideas seemingly ripped straight from the pages of Jean-Paul Sartre that it often becomes overwhelmed by them all.

Those who enjoyed the likes of Elf (2003) and Enchanted (2007) will doubtlessly look upon Barbie as a new firm favourite. It may not be The Lego Movie (2014), but Barbie earns points for at least trying to be smarter than the average IP vehicle and the usual crass claptrap that Hollywood has been in the habit of churning out – looking at you Space Jam: A New Legacy (2021).

MISSION: IMPOSIBLE – DEAD RECKONING PART ONE (2023)

I fully admit that I’ve never been a big fan of the MI movies. I watch them once, enjoy them, then move on. However, one has always admired the franchise for its consistency and the fact that Tom Cruise is still trying to – quite literally, it would seem – put his body through hell for his art.

The latest and seventh in the lineup – the first part of a duology – isn’t as bold as the previous three efforts in which one was constantly conscious of Mr. Cruise’s efforts to one-up himself and reinvent the way mainstream action cinema could be photographed and staged; by comparison, Dead Reckoning Part One plays a little safer than Fallout (2018) and Rogue Nation (2015). That isn’t to say, however, that Dead Reckoning won’t rank as one of the highpoints of the summer period. When compared and contrasted with the recently released Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, both that and Dead Reckoning clock in well past the two-hour mark and feature globetrotting expedition for a McGuffin, a fracas atop a moving locomotive and a car chase sequence down crowded streets and tight alleyways. But whereas Dial of Destiny was a joyless, lifeless, bloodless slog, Dead Reckoning at least has the common decency to pass as enjoyable entertainment.

Despite some nauseating exposition and some superfluous scenes here and there, the film flies by at breakneck speed. As for the players, Mr. Cruise walks the walk – and sprints the sprint – with that same effortless ease with which he has always had the fortune to be blessed with, and though he’s now a sexagenarian he’s as spry as ever and ably shows no signs of rust. Meanwhile, the gang of regulars like Ving Rhames, Simon Pegg and Rebecca Ferguson have enough chemistry to set a laboratory ablaze. In her role as a light-fingered master thief who catches Cruise’s eye, the playfully vibrant Hayley Atwell is a welcome addition to the mix as she channels her inner Grace Kelly from Hitchcock’s frothy and breezy thriller To Catch a Thief (1955). The only baffling part – without sounding too juvenile or perpetuating the male gaze – is how sexless and unintimate the companionship between Cruise and Atwell is. The MI movies certainly aren’t alone here, for it appears that every mainstream action adventure released these past few years seem perplexingly prudish – even Bond. Alas, such a qibble on my part is hardly going to dent the muscular armour of this movie. The antagonists, too, are quite the unhinged pair, à la Chris Walken and Grace Jones from A View to a Kill (1985).

The story is, on the surface, pretty absurd and pushing towards the waters of science fiction, but to the credit of everyone involved it never becomes too preposterous, unlike pretty much all of the recent Fast & Furious flicks which are now barely indistinguishable from cartoons. Nevertheless, it is lamentable that the screenplay doesn’t delve too deep or probe many questions with regards to the dangers of A.I. (the true villain of this tale), but I suppose the jaw-dropping, pulse-pounding action is what everyone really comes to these movies for. Rest assured in knowing that the stunts and set-pieces, while not as numerous as previous instalments, are just as exceptionally conceived and ingeniously captured as one would expect them to be. If that’s what you’re looking for, Dead Reckoning offers that in spades, particularly in the climactic train sequence that masterfully evokes Buster Keaton’s exhilarating silent classic The General (1926).

The runtime may be bloated, but when it comes to adrenaline-inducing thrills that are so relentless they’re liable to leave one exhausted, Dead Reckoning Part One, thanks to the steady guiding hand of director Christopher McQuarrie, a healthy amount of heart and humour and a sturdy score from Lorne Balfe, puts nearly all other tentpole blockbusters to shame. Like J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, the Mission: Impossible movies and its leading man refuse to grow old; it’s amazing to think that while plenty of other potboilers feel the need to go on lengthy hiatus – looking at you, Mr. Bond – the Mission: Impossible movies seem to get more nimble, confident and operatic with each passing instalment.

ELEMENTAL (2023)

Having already directed The Good Dinosaur (2015), Pete Sohn now tackles the elements (quite literally) for Pixar’s newest release and, if nothing else, his efforts this time around hold slightly better results. Set in a big, bustling metropolis, Elemental is a science lesson: what happens when two diametrically opposed elements get together? There’s Ember, a febrile being (quite literally), and Wade, a laidback character made of water, and we follow these two as they discover their similarities in spite of their surface-level differences.

Following on the heels of three direct-to-streaming features – the most interesting being Soul (2020) – and a disastrous return to theatres with last summer’s Lightyear (2022), Pixar finds itself in a precarious position for the first time in their existence as they seem to have something of an identity crisis on their hands. Such an unusual and urgent quest to remind the paying public that they’re still capable of creating must-see multiplex event pictures has undoubtedly placed an unfair amount of pressure on the shoulders of their latest high-concept fable Elemental. As is stands, it looks like Pixar’s quest to find their feet will continue, for the allegorical Elemental is another disappointing affair for the once bullet-proof animation house. The last truly great Pixar movie – as in one that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Toy Story (1995) and Wall-E (2008) – was Inside Out (2015), but everything since then has ranged from decent – Coco (2017), Soul (2020) – to duds. Such a development is a shame given the incredible, decade plus long streak of films, both short and feature-length, the studio released, with every one – barring the Cars movies – being either of comparable quality or an indisputable masterstroke.

It’s a solid but simple movie with a decent concept, but for all its honourable intentions the metaphors ironically don’t seem all that well thought out and has been handled better elsewhere – Zootropolis (2016), for instance. Obviously all movies are contrived and fairly ludicrous to a point, but one can often easily overlook their more ridiculous aspects if the story is strong enough and the characters are engaging enough, but sadly this is not the case with Elemental. It isn’t as clever or as profound as it wants you to think it is and the romance is sappy and corny even by the standards of a mainstream cartoon. The saving grace is that, given that this is a Pixar produced picture, it’s immensely pleasing on the eye as far as the character design and world-building is concerned but beyond that there’s nothing much here.

Elemental is a fine family film but given Pixar’s past pedigree and glories, a product that is merely “fine” simply isn’t enough and anyone expecting or hoping for this to be a return to form will be bitterly crestfallen with the finished product. Even when compared to recent releases such as Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022) or last month’s Across the Spider-Verse, Elemental just appears generic in spite of the fact it cost more than double of both those movies I just mentioned. That distinct artistic flair and risk-taking that made the studio’s previous pictures something worthwhile is conspicuously absent here. Remember the heartbreaking opening of Finding Nemo (2003)? The dialogue-free first act of Wall-E? The touching mini-movie that opened Up (2009), or even the petrifying finale of Toy Story 3 (2010)? If you did then all the power to you, because no segment or sequence in Elemental comes in range of eliciting the same emotional reactions that you felt in those movies mentioned above.

The Pixar movies of today seem to fit into one of two camps: lacklustre sequels/spin-offs that fail to capture the magic of their predecessors – Finding Dory (2016), Incredibles 2 (2018) and Lightyear; or slight and slender narratives that don’t push any boundaries or leave enough of an impression – Onward (2020), Turning Red (2022). Elemental does not shift that balance. Strange to think that in the five years I’ve been reviewing movies, the majority of the best animated films have come from places outside of the Disney/Pixar bubble. Here’s hoping that Inside Out 2 will remedy these ailments.