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 When
it was first announced that the next film from Martin Scorsese, the man who has
long been anointed as America's Finest Filmmaker, was going to be a an
adaptation of the acclaimed children's book "The Invention of Hugo Cabret," many
observers reacted to the news as if it were some kind of bizarre joke. After
all, while Scorsese has long proclaimed that his own fascination with the cinema
began when he was a small child, there was precious little in his filmography
that one could actually show to the tykes without either boring or scarring the
majority of them for life. Not only that, the story promised to be the kind of
elaborate fantasy piece that required someone with a flair for presenting lavish
special-effects tableaus--not exactly the kind of spectacles that are part of
his celebrated bag of tricks--and the further development that he would be
shooting it in 3D, a move perceived as being just another attempt to follow in
the massively successful footsteps of "Avatar," served as a further cause for
alarm. In the hands of someone like Steven Spielberg or Terry Gilliam, such a
project would be awaited with bated breath by every film fan worth his or her
salt but coming from someone like Scorsese, even his greatest admirers found
themselves regarding it as a giant question mark at best and a potentially
massive disaster at worst.
Those fans will be relieved to know that "Hugo," as it has now been dubbed, is
neither a question mark nor a disaster. In fact, it is not even really a family
film in the traditional sense of the word. What it is, in fact, is a Martin
Scorsese film through and through and aside from the fact that the profanity
count is close to nil and that the short person running around does not
eventually wind up getting whacked in a rec room or buried alive in a cornfield,
it still burns with the passion and intensity that has made his work so
distinctive, not to mention the joy that he still gets in celebrating and paying
homage to the art form that he has dedicated his life's work to pursuing. This
time around, he goes back to its earliest days and presents us with a film that
somehow works both as a love letter to the joys to be derived from the cinema,
as spectator and creator alike, and as a marvelously engrossing and
high-spirited adventure that is as enchanting as any of the "Harry Potter"
movies and may be even more so because the magic that it is dealing with is the
kind that still has the power to enchant and amaze even after all of its secrets
appear to have been revealed.
The phrase “movie magic” has either been lost or diluted these days; this is not
to say everyone’s grown too weary and cynical to believe in it anymore, but,
like anything magical, we perhaps begin to take it for granted as we get older.
Combine this with the advent of all the information that allows us to track a
film when it’s just the glimmer in the eye of a screenwriter (or marketing
executive or toy company), and it’s easy to see how we sometimes lose sight of
the transcendent power of going to the movies. That’s an act that, in turn,
allows us to go to other places, and Martin Scorsese’s “Hugo” is a brilliant,
heartfelt celebration that reclaims that by going all the way back to cinema’s
infancy.
Actually, it’s probably more astute to say it begins in cinema’s adolescence, in
1930s Paris, where Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) is a street urchin that’s been
abandoned by his uncle in the wake of his father’s death. Left in charge of
keeping the clocks running at the local train station, he spends his days
traversing about as a petty thief, much to the dismay of the local police
inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen). The only thing that remains of his father is a
broken automaton that he’s attempted to repair; however, he also needs a special
key that will make it fully functional. One day, he meets a local toy shop
proprietor (Ben Kinglsey) and his goddaughter, Isabelle (Chloe Moretz), a duo
who may hold that key, which may also unlock the old man’s long hidden past.
That hidden past is where the magic is, as we learn that the toy shop owner is
actually Georges Méliès, the famed silent movie director. Only now, he’s not so
famous--instead, he’s been discarded by time, forgotten--which likely seems
inconceivable to the modern cineaste, though it’s mostly based in reality (Méliès
did end up broke, even after selling off his films). Those uninitiated needn’t
worry--“Hugo” serves as a fine introduction to not only Méliès, but also the
silent era. And if you’re worried that the whole thing comes off as some stodgy,
Film School 101 lecture, rest assured that it’s delivered with genuine, joyous
passion by Scorsese. He’s one of cinema’s old masters, but “Hugo” reveals him at
his most spirited, marrying the energy of a first year film student with the
craft of a veteran.
This isn’t just a celebration of an art form--it’s an exaltation of the movies,
particularly its magical powers. There’s a line of dialogue that I think sums up
“Hugo” quite well; it comes when Hugo is discussing the movies with Isabelle
(who has never been), specifically the trips he and his father would take. He
explains that his father once described films as being like dreams projected in
daylight, a wonderfully romantic notion that reminds us of the awe and wonder of
film. Scorsese takes us back to the days where audiences were daunted by the
Lumières’ ability to project a train arriving at a station--that’s a quaint
notion the snow, but the image of theater patrons cowering as that train rushed
at the screen is perhaps the ideal of the cinema--we can only wish that we were
so affected these days.
However, “Hugo” isn’t a lament by any means; it’d be more apt to call it a
rejoinder to all of this. It doesn’t live to merely homage that bygone era, even
if it does inundate us in its language and visuals. For example, even Cohen’s
police inspector falls in love with a pretty flower girl (Emily Mortimer), an
obvious echo of Chaplin’s “City Lights.” But it’s not the mere surface level
that’s echoed here, as Scorsese somehow channels the pure joy that is the final
frame of “City Lights” and applies it to his own film, which is delivered
through the eyes of a couple of adolescent protagonists, yet refuses to pander
to childish impulses.
I think it’s fair to call “Hugo” a children’s film--it’s full of whimsical and
fanciful ideals. It’s ostensibly about two kids embarking on a grand adventure,
though it never capitulates to abject silliness. Instead, it funnels that wonder
and whimsy into a strikingly mature exploration of discovery; at the heart here
is a tale of two broken people looking for their place in life. Both Méliès and
Hugo are listless for different reasons, and both will eventually bond over
film, which speaks to the medium’s ultimate transcendent power.
They can be a nice diversion, sure, but the real enchantment of the movies lies
in its ability to capture our collective imaginations. If there’s any lament to
be found in “Hugo,” it’s that we’ve gotten so far away from this sort of
primacy; the film community at times has become a cesspool of resentment and
negativity. Perhaps ironically, it’s happened in an age where it’s easier than
ever to network with fellow enthusiasts; sometimes, though, I can’t help but
think we’re somehow all further apart. “Hugo” evokes why we love movies in the
first place and why we want to share them, and I think we can learn from the
incredible, authentic happiness these characters receive from showing and
watching movies.
The flicker and hum of an old projector weave an enchanting spell, and Scorsese
similarly dazzles us with a masterful display that relies on those old magic
tricks--a crackling, affecting story, fine performances, and a gorgeously
realized art direction. This is a stunning film to behold; draped in a
meticulously ornate period design, it effectively evokes not only 1930s Paris,
but also a sort of storybook aesthetic. With its vibrant, somewhat nostalgic
sheen, “Hugo” resembles a dream itself; it’s a film that I could simply watch
and derive pleasure from on a purely visual level. Scorsese is keenly aware of
this, as he allows us to drink in this world early and often with some long,
mesmerizing sequences with little or no dialogue. We watch Hugo trample through
this world, peeking into the train station from behind its walls; more
breathtaking, however, is when he glimpses outside, into the huge and
magnificent. The City of Lights is expectedly luminous, and its revelation feels
like a grand foreshadowing of Hugo’s adventure; if I could borrow a phrase from
a film myself, he’s about to take his first step into a much larger world.
His journey is compelling, as, again, these characters are realized beyond their
storybook conceptions; Butterfield is a capable in capturing the lead
character’s Dickensian qualities, especially the necessary vulnerability and
resolve. Moretz continues to build upon her already impressive career, once
again bringing a remarkable maturity to the role of Isabelle, while Kingsley
gives an incredibly moving turn as Méliès. Even when he’s introduced as the
cantankerous shop owner, we sense that something tragic and sad lies behind his
eyes. When flashbacks take us back to Méliès’s younger days, Kingsley is
vivacious, bringing forth the directors’ showmanship and flair.
Those sequences are among the film’s most breathtaking and most celebratory of
film itself. They treat us to reproductions of Méliès’s productions and allow us
to glimpse at some of that old movie magic. Something about the crudeness and
practicality of these tricks is fascinating; this is not to discredit the
awesome and incredible work of modern CGI artists, but there’s something just a
little bit less captivating about pixels. I think it’s here that Scorsese also
completely justifies the use of 3D; it’s obvious that a film about wizardly film
pioneers like Méliès would lend itself to the third dimension, but Scorsese
employs it in a transfixing manner to fully take us away to another world, much
in the way Méliès himself took audiences to the moon and back.
Cinephiles should appreciate “Hugo” on some level; its message about film
preservation alone should be repeated from the highest mountaintop. More
importantly, though, “Hugo” could breed an entirely new crop of cinephiles,
provided it reaches an audience. While it’s far from indoctrinating, it’s a
beautifully realized tribute that effortlessly relays the importance of
appreciating motion pictures as art. Calling this a love letter is both trite
and short-sighted. “Hugo” is more like an elegantly composed symphony comprised
of familiar movements but delivered with the fervor of authentic brilliance;
Scorsese’s career has been marked by transgressive films, and “Hugo” feels like
the daring, audacious capstone to a monumental life that’s been spent at the
movies. Time well spent.
"Hugo" is a masterpiece, one of the very best films of the year and as personal
and deeply felt as anything that Martin Scorsese has ever done. |
