Director: J A. Bayona
Cast: Lewis MacDougall, Liam Neeson, Felicity Jones, Toby Kebbell, Sigourney Weaver, Geraldine Chaplin
Rating: 12
Running Time: 108 Minutes
Release Date: 01/01/17
I love a lot of things that cinema, literature and television can accomplish but none more so than in its presentation of the complexities of human emotion. Superheroes, I can take or leave yet the most truly awe-inspiring thing about art is how it can unpick the infinite minutia of our souls and tap into a part of us we never realised was there.
Such is the way of art, I’m drawn to these stories. Not the black and white but the middle ground. The gulfs between love and hate, loss and hope where the sides blur into one and only the most interesting, richly drawn characters can be found.
And of them all, there’s nothing quite like the tempestuous rapids of grief. Where each new thought brings such relief and sorrow and even time fails to compose itself with complicated emotions bouncing between both sides.
A MONSTER CALLS, directed by J A. Bayona (The Impossible) and adapted from the novel by Patrick Ness who’s also on scripting duties here, is a story about a young boy (Lewis MacDougall) who delves into his imagination to cope with his mother’s terminal illness.
It’s a tough watch at times but manages to tread the line between fantasy and drama, whilst never sacrificing either. Grief and fear are the linchpins of the story and though the emotion is heightened it’s never gratuitous.
Reminiscent of the heartbreaking BRIDGE TO TERABITHIAÂ it deals in death and pain in a similar way, as a young boy struggles to cope with a loss or the expectation of.
I admit I haven’t read the books, so I can’t speak on how it’s adapted but as a film, it works as a terrific piece of cinema.
The visuals are simply stunning, with gorgeous watercolour animation used to tell the Tree Monster’s tales. This, in turn, effortlessly blends in with the cinematography which is simple yet brings shadow and depth to the fantastical and real world locals.
The score from Fernando Velázquez is subtle and sublime, never too overwrought or underplayed. Whilst the performances are universally terrific.
Newcomer Lewis MacDougall is another in a line of fantastic child stars to be found in recent years. He can capture such isolated heartbreak with minimal facial expressions and the intensity of the later scenes, as he screams his anguish into the void, are remarkable.
Felicity Jones also does a great job as Conor’s mum, both playful and spirited, yet torn apart because she feels like she’s letting her son down.
If anything does let the film down it’s perhaps Sigourney Weaver‘s dodgy English accent which can sometimes take you out of the film during the more touching scenes. Her resilience as Conor’s grandmother is performed well, yet her star power can sometimes pull you out of a fairly grounded tale.
Yet, there’s nothing to be cynical about here. There are the throws of cliché and at times it feels a little like a DOCTOR WHO special but it’s such a rich story, made with such technical elegance that it never truly loses that sense of wonder.
Imagination and nuanced drama blends together, making something so beautiful to look at yet with the heart-rending wallop you’d expect. It made me cry, but it also made me think about how the emotions at play, when you’re mourning before you’ve actually lost something, can be astounding when done right.
It’ll keep you thinking about it for a good while after and I suppose that’s the point. Art, in the end, helps us make sense of our damn human feelings and whether it succeeds or not, knowing that we’re not alone in the confusing melee of our emotions is what makes all great art truly memorable.
VerdictÂ
