Moore's film has a pungent nostalgia for the stories told to us before we drift off and dream
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Tomm Moore's Irish fairytale The Secret of Kells, co-directed by Nora Twomey, is a work of enchanting stillness and color. If Up (or any of the Pixar films, really) broke ground for animation in terms of density of storytelling and freedom of movement, Moore's unlikely Oscar-nominee succeeds as a reminder of the often breathtaking simplicity of shape, line, and color; unlike The Princess and the Frog, it does not lose itself in convoluted plot points and ends up all the more bewitching for it.
Thematically, however, Kells and Frog share a blithe traditionalism. The hero of Kells is a young monk-to-be named Brendan (voiced by Evan McGuire) who falls in love with art and expression. Looked after by his humorless, strict uncle (voiced by Brendan Gleeson), the Abbott of the monastery where he stays, Brendan witnesses from the outset when the storied Brother Aiden arrives carrying a mythical tome. Taking a shine to the inquisitive Brendan, Aiden asks the spirited redhead to help him gather materials and write a central chapter of the Book of Kells, at which point our young hero is smitten.
The most important of the materials is a certain type of berry used to create green ink, and as Brendan voyages outside the gated monastery, Moore, Twomey and their talented conglomeration of international artists -- from Ireland, Belgium and France -- depict the vastness of the wilderness with an uncommon and lively lushness. Many of the still backgrounds can be traced back to post-impressionism, but the film, at 75 minutes, wears its precise artistry with humility and flows delicately from the peacefulness of the forest where our hero, true to form, meets a lithe, magical girl named Aisling, to the darkness of an evil cave where Brendan faces a submerged serpent.
Brendan's meetings with Aisling and Aiden, not to mention his newfound love for storytelling and imagery, cause his uncle to banish him to the basement as the monastery prepares for an attack from a rampaging horde of Norsemen. Bathed in lashing reds and billowing blacks, the attack on the monastery is a thing to behold, both in its aesthetic splendor and its subdued horror. But for all its lovingly made imagery and simplicity of structure, Kells remains fatigued in its storytelling. Written by Fabrice Ziolkowski, from a story by Moore, the film's central conflicts are too easily approached and dissipated, leaving the tale light and dull at times; there are moments where we feel like a conflict has been created simply to give another variety of colorful lines, both curled and straight.
Thankfully, the film does not bring Brendan to a place where he becomes a holy avenger or is tasked with the burden of romance. He is an artist applying his craft, perhaps prophetically so, like the artists who created him in their formative years. Refracted through a magic crystal that shows detail and texture where there was once only blank parchment, Brendan's vision is that of a storyteller, and Moore's film has a pungent nostalgia for the stories told to us before we drift off and dream.
Playboy Rating: 2
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Tomm Moore's Irish fairytale The Secret of Kells, co-directed by Nora Twomey, is a work of enchanting stillness and color. If Up (or any of the Pixar films, really) broke ground for animation in terms of density of storytelling and freedom of movement, Moore's unlikely Oscar-nominee succeeds as a reminder of the often breathtaking simplicity of shape, line, and color; unlike The Princess and the Frog, it does not lose itself in convoluted plot points and ends up all the more bewitching for it.
Thematically, however, Kells and Frog share a blithe traditionalism. The hero of Kells is a young monk-to-be named Brendan (voiced by Evan McGuire) who falls in love with art and expression. Looked after by his humorless, strict uncle (voiced by Brendan Gleeson), the Abbott of the monastery where he stays, Brendan witnesses from the outset when the storied Brother Aiden arrives carrying a mythical tome. Taking a shine to the inquisitive Brendan, Aiden asks the spirited redhead to help him gather materials and write a central chapter of the Book of Kells, at which point our young hero is smitten.
The most important of the materials is a certain type of berry used to create green ink, and as Brendan voyages outside the gated monastery, Moore, Twomey and their talented conglomeration of international artists -- from Ireland, Belgium and France -- depict the vastness of the wilderness with an uncommon and lively lushness. Many of the still backgrounds can be traced back to post-impressionism, but the film, at 75 minutes, wears its precise artistry with humility and flows delicately from the peacefulness of the forest where our hero, true to form, meets a lithe, magical girl named Aisling, to the darkness of an evil cave where Brendan faces a submerged serpent.
Brendan's meetings with Aisling and Aiden, not to mention his newfound love for storytelling and imagery, cause his uncle to banish him to the basement as the monastery prepares for an attack from a rampaging horde of Norsemen. Bathed in lashing reds and billowing blacks, the attack on the monastery is a thing to behold, both in its aesthetic splendor and its subdued horror. But for all its lovingly made imagery and simplicity of structure, Kells remains fatigued in its storytelling. Written by Fabrice Ziolkowski, from a story by Moore, the film's central conflicts are too easily approached and dissipated, leaving the tale light and dull at times; there are moments where we feel like a conflict has been created simply to give another variety of colorful lines, both curled and straight.
Thankfully, the film does not bring Brendan to a place where he becomes a holy avenger or is tasked with the burden of romance. He is an artist applying his craft, perhaps prophetically so, like the artists who created him in their formative years. Refracted through a magic crystal that shows detail and texture where there was once only blank parchment, Brendan's vision is that of a storyteller, and Moore's film has a pungent nostalgia for the stories told to us before we drift off and dream.
Playboy Rating: 2
You may also be interested in:
She's Out of My League - review
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo - review
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