I find it no surprise that the two movie critics I most commonly
read, Andrew O’Hehir and Roger Ebert, both use the word “breathtaking”
in their reviews of Martin Scorcese’s Hugo. Stunning,
arresting, awesome… I am disappointed that off the top of my head I
cannot find more synonyms to describe the visuals of the movie. They are
a remarkable achievement. We get a beautifully recreated Paris, and a
finely detailed train station, both strewn with dreamy hues. We see all
the inner machinations of clocks, an automaton, toys, and other gadgets.
At least one scene finds our protagonist treading hesitantly through a
nighttime snowfall towards a residential building surrounded by statues
of some kind of goblin creatures realized in very fine detail. At least
one scene gives us a 19th century magic show put on in a gorgeous theater. Other flashback scenes recreate the sets of old movies such as A Trip to the Moon.
The recreation of the set is stunning by modern standards, and one can
only marvel at what an invention the actual thing must’ve been in its
own time. The whole thing is a visual marvel. As much as perhaps any
other movie to date, including Avatar, Hugo begs to be seen in theaters and in 3D.
I went into Hugo very ignorant of the plot. I did not read about it; I have not read the book from which it is adapted. Young Hugo and his father, both skilled clock repairmen, acquire a curious thing called an automaton. When Hugo’s father dies unexpectedly, Hugo is determined to find out what this contraption can do. As the film began to unfold, I suspected that the “bringing to life” of the automaton might be the climactic moment of the film. Not so. That “bringing to life” moment arrives roughly 1/3rd into the movie and actually introduces what feels like an almost new plot, though it isn’t entirely: the automaton reveals something mysterious and of extraordinary personal intrigue to one of the two child characters (by this time Hugo has befriended Isabelle, the adopted daughter of a shop owner from whom he’d been caught stealing).
The children’s need to answer the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation drives most of the rest of the action, except roughly the last 20 minutes. The film has a final action sequence after all the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation are answered. The rest of this review will spoil some of those revelations, though not explicitly, and possibly no more so than any other review as reviewing the film would be quite a challenge without doing so. Just warning.
The real stars of Hugo are George Méliès and early cinema. Méliès films are displayed often during Hugo, and at least once it treats us to a montage of very-old-cinema footage. Viewing the sustained presentation of actual very old movies, pretty much all of them released between 1900 and 1930, in 3D format on a modern movie theater was transcendent. The footage’s presentation conveys abiding affection for cinema’s incipient decades. I felt like I was viewing an intentionally lush valentine and thank-you card to Méliès, the Lumiere Brothers, on up to Chaplin and other pioneers, direct from Scorcese on behalf of all of us. It is very touching. Scenes with Ben Kingsley as Méliès creating his art, he and his actors proceeding with the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morning, are almost equally endearing.
Since viewing Hugo, I learned that old film preservation is a pet cause of Scorcese’s. If Hugo is an imperfect film, it is probably because the entire plot seems ultimately in service as a vehicle to deliver the previously described affecting scenes. When not displaying old cinema clips or depicting old cinema in the making or viewing, the film suffers from a little too much cliché from characters and scenes. The kids, Isabelle and Hugo, seem largely straight from the fairy tale cookie-cutter. Hugo is the orphan vs. the world. His most endearing moments come when he is interacting with his father (Jude Law), and his father dies early in the film. After this, we are offered little insight into Hugo’s internal life other than what is needed to drive the plot. Asa Butterfield, as Hugo, struck me as a gifted actor. He’s given the tall order of being the centerpiece of a special effects extravaganza directed by someone named Scorcese and starring someone named Kingsley, yet he never appears overwhelmed by the task. The story just didn’t seem to offer him much opportunity to not look like he was channeling Elijah Wood as burdened Frodo. Isabelle is a watered-down Hermione Granger. The kids have British accents, seeming all set for a Mary Poppins appearance. They love and pursue adventure even if they risk getting into trouble, Bridge to Tarabithia comes to mind. The constant presence of a large clock tower, a la Peter Pan, and a suspense scene involving a wardrobe but no Aslan, doesn’t help the story escape some sense of contrivance (the clock tower does get a chance to be part of the film’s most suspenseful moment which doubles as an homage to Harold Lloyd’s famous clock-dangling scene in Safety Last!).
Instead of Jumanji animals or Lemony Snicket villains as obstacles in their quest, the kids get Sacha Baron Cohen as an uptight clumsily-authoritarian station manager. When he is not fulfilling his plot obligations as scourge to Hugo, Cohen’s character is a source some hearty laughs, such as a peripheral gag involving his character talking with another character about that other character’s relationship problems. Cohen’s character also fulfills one cliché that I enjoyed: the villain whose cold heart is warmed by the story’s end. Almost all the best moments in Hugo that don’t directly feature old cinema are moments that include Cohen’s character. Borat cemented a reputation for Cohen as one of the most daring and enterprising entertainers of our time, so it seems very fitting for him to be cast in a film that successfully infuses early cinema pioneers with the same characteristics.
Among other tropes trotted out in Hugo: the scene that turns out to be a dream sequence, and the climactic scene where one character is absent at the scene’s beginning but arrives at some unknown point, their presence revealed when they speak off-screen, surprising the other characters in the scene.
These banalities cause some moments of Hugo to labor on. But the superlative payoffs- the constant visual feast, the scenes that both reflect and beget profuse reverence for early cinema, a powerful performance from Kingsley and amusing sideshow from Cohen- make Hugo a worthwhile experience.
I went into Hugo very ignorant of the plot. I did not read about it; I have not read the book from which it is adapted. Young Hugo and his father, both skilled clock repairmen, acquire a curious thing called an automaton. When Hugo’s father dies unexpectedly, Hugo is determined to find out what this contraption can do. As the film began to unfold, I suspected that the “bringing to life” of the automaton might be the climactic moment of the film. Not so. That “bringing to life” moment arrives roughly 1/3rd into the movie and actually introduces what feels like an almost new plot, though it isn’t entirely: the automaton reveals something mysterious and of extraordinary personal intrigue to one of the two child characters (by this time Hugo has befriended Isabelle, the adopted daughter of a shop owner from whom he’d been caught stealing).
The children’s need to answer the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation drives most of the rest of the action, except roughly the last 20 minutes. The film has a final action sequence after all the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation are answered. The rest of this review will spoil some of those revelations, though not explicitly, and possibly no more so than any other review as reviewing the film would be quite a challenge without doing so. Just warning.
The real stars of Hugo are George Méliès and early cinema. Méliès films are displayed often during Hugo, and at least once it treats us to a montage of very-old-cinema footage. Viewing the sustained presentation of actual very old movies, pretty much all of them released between 1900 and 1930, in 3D format on a modern movie theater was transcendent. The footage’s presentation conveys abiding affection for cinema’s incipient decades. I felt like I was viewing an intentionally lush valentine and thank-you card to Méliès, the Lumiere Brothers, on up to Chaplin and other pioneers, direct from Scorcese on behalf of all of us. It is very touching. Scenes with Ben Kingsley as Méliès creating his art, he and his actors proceeding with the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morning, are almost equally endearing.
Since viewing Hugo, I learned that old film preservation is a pet cause of Scorcese’s. If Hugo is an imperfect film, it is probably because the entire plot seems ultimately in service as a vehicle to deliver the previously described affecting scenes. When not displaying old cinema clips or depicting old cinema in the making or viewing, the film suffers from a little too much cliché from characters and scenes. The kids, Isabelle and Hugo, seem largely straight from the fairy tale cookie-cutter. Hugo is the orphan vs. the world. His most endearing moments come when he is interacting with his father (Jude Law), and his father dies early in the film. After this, we are offered little insight into Hugo’s internal life other than what is needed to drive the plot. Asa Butterfield, as Hugo, struck me as a gifted actor. He’s given the tall order of being the centerpiece of a special effects extravaganza directed by someone named Scorcese and starring someone named Kingsley, yet he never appears overwhelmed by the task. The story just didn’t seem to offer him much opportunity to not look like he was channeling Elijah Wood as burdened Frodo. Isabelle is a watered-down Hermione Granger. The kids have British accents, seeming all set for a Mary Poppins appearance. They love and pursue adventure even if they risk getting into trouble, Bridge to Tarabithia comes to mind. The constant presence of a large clock tower, a la Peter Pan, and a suspense scene involving a wardrobe but no Aslan, doesn’t help the story escape some sense of contrivance (the clock tower does get a chance to be part of the film’s most suspenseful moment which doubles as an homage to Harold Lloyd’s famous clock-dangling scene in Safety Last!).
Instead of Jumanji animals or Lemony Snicket villains as obstacles in their quest, the kids get Sacha Baron Cohen as an uptight clumsily-authoritarian station manager. When he is not fulfilling his plot obligations as scourge to Hugo, Cohen’s character is a source some hearty laughs, such as a peripheral gag involving his character talking with another character about that other character’s relationship problems. Cohen’s character also fulfills one cliché that I enjoyed: the villain whose cold heart is warmed by the story’s end. Almost all the best moments in Hugo that don’t directly feature old cinema are moments that include Cohen’s character. Borat cemented a reputation for Cohen as one of the most daring and enterprising entertainers of our time, so it seems very fitting for him to be cast in a film that successfully infuses early cinema pioneers with the same characteristics.
Among other tropes trotted out in Hugo: the scene that turns out to be a dream sequence, and the climactic scene where one character is absent at the scene’s beginning but arrives at some unknown point, their presence revealed when they speak off-screen, surprising the other characters in the scene.
These banalities cause some moments of Hugo to labor on. But the superlative payoffs- the constant visual feast, the scenes that both reflect and beget profuse reverence for early cinema, a powerful performance from Kingsley and amusing sideshow from Cohen- make Hugo a worthwhile experience.
