This the first of what will be the occasional film review. Please pardon a missed character name here or a precise location there – while the Roku has a pause button, parenting does not.
We don’t have to wait long to be offered magic in Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey. Phylicia Rashad cracks the spine of a fairytale book, and its cover whirs with steampunk glee. We are promised a visual treat, and that promise is upheld through every meticulously designed frame to come.
The initial premise is simple. Phylicia Rashad is going to tell her sweet grandchildren, and us, an old-timey tale about Jeronicus Jangle, the famous Victorian-ish era inventor, and this story-within-a-story will illuminate some goodly lesson for us all. It’s The Princess Bride, but everyone’s a little prettier, a little sweeter. The young actors are somehow even more adorable than peak-Fred Savage. And Phylicia Rashad is a radiant replacement for the grizzled Peter Falk, who was a little bit annoyed with a child who was, frankly, a little annoying, in the earlier film.
The story Rashad plunges us into is a sensory delight. Jangle is a vibrant and ebullient family man and innovator, the proprietor of a dreamy toy emporium that would make Mr. Magorium drool with envy. Jeronicus, his family, and his charges, are introduced in a triumphant but anachronistic musical number that, just like the mechanical book glimpsed moments before, are signals that this film will test our perceptions of reality. We will ultimately find that existentialism is at the very core of this film’s artistic impulse. Through the constant introduction of shocking shifts in tone we will become increasingly distanced and increasingly aware of our own isolation as individuals, outside of the story world. The experience transforms into something so utterly baffling that we have to assume the filmmakers are very interested in fucking with us, the viewers. It’s a kid’s film we’re talking about here, but the creative team essentially says, “Hi, children. The world is full of mystery, and if you’re hoping to ever get a damn answer, well, wish in one hand and potty-train in the other and see which one fills up first.”
But we’re not quite there yet. We wait for the final beat to drop on Jangle’s ecstatic musical number, and it’s then that the bottom falls out. Suddenly, we are staring at an old and embittered Forest Whitaker. There is no transition, not even a breath before we are delivered this titan of the screen, in closeup, visiting unexplained and unspeakable emotional cruelty upon a young girl and boy. We’re left to wonder – are they his captives? How dark is this thing gonna get?
It’s a credit to Mr. Whitaker who, even when cast in roles where his character is defined by brute force, like his convincing debut as a football star in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, or as a philosophical hitman in Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai, the actor can’t help but exude an incredible generosity of spirit. A gentleness. In that moment, his innate lightness might be the only thing making the film watchable. Still, it’s shocking to see him absolutely eviscerating these two kids for no g-d reason. What we do learn is that Whitaker’s character is a pawnbroker, doing business out of Jangle’s old shop. The children work tirelessly in his attic, and in their spare time they have managed to build a talking robot.
My all-time-favorite robot-built-by-a-child is Jinx, from SpaceCamp. When I was growing up, my babysitter, HBO, let me watch SpaceCamp about a million times. Its 1986 release and proximity to the Challenger disaster intensified everything about the movie. The plot concerns a group of kids at the titular Space Camp who get blasted off into orbit, thanks to Jinx’s handiwork. The stakes of the Challenger explosion made the movie’s happy ending even more hopeful, and also made it okay for a Florida kid to dream again about being an astronaut.
But the robot built by the children of Jingle Jangle is far more impressive. I mean, they are probably in the Victorian era, maybe. And the robot can fly? And it can make them fly!?! What the actual ----? This very cool robot is the perfect fulfillment of the movie’s early magical promises.
But then Keegan-Michael Key enters, turned all the way up, and perhaps he is actually the inventor of the flying talking robot, which would make much more sense. Because he’s an adult, and a flying talking robot is not a feat simply accomplished. He even has the police with him, along with a set of original blueprints, proving that his stolen property should be restored.
The dispute is settled with what sets off a chain reaction of big and fast reveals. Keegan-Michael Key was a fraud. The pawnbroker was Jeronicus Jangle, himself, and the robot was his all along, as was a small doll impersonating Antonio Banderas as Puss in Boots.
A swift return to the early Princess Bride bookending device provides one final jarring downshift into the denouement, if you could call it that. A denouement implies a narrative relationship to a rising action, a falling action, and a climax. Denouement implies structure. But Jingle Jangle proves itself an experimental art film, through and through. Jingle Jangle is unconcerned with traditional narrative models. Jingle Jangle is probing to discover whether or not impressive visuals and brief but illuminating character portraits (Forest Whitaker’s Jangle, for instance, is searing, even if deeply discomforting) are a watchable form of contemporary cinema. In an entertainment landscape that is saturated with content and in which there are an unlimited number of “channels” is there an audience for big-budget non-cinema? No, Jingle Jangle doesn’t care about much. It doesn’t care about expectations. It doesn’t care about awards. Jingle Jangle doesn’t care about you or me. Jingle Jangle only cares about troubling the psyche with questions about art for art’s sake in the lonely world of corona. It might just be the movie of our times.
Overalls & Particulars
Acting: Phylicia Rashad is luminous and possibly has a robot head? Forest Whitaker is a deity. The kids are enthusiastic. All of this feels appropriate.
Script: Probably.
Runtime: Yep.
Recommend? This should be a movie for everyone, but is probably best suited for recent retirees, undergraduate philosophy students, and others whose worldview includes an embrace of the unknown.
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What I’m Up To
Playing Dominion with my wonderful wife, and enjoying what is essentially five days of vacation, since our fella’s school closed early for the week. It’s been glorious.
What I’m Into
I’m always into The Office, and this week was paying special attention to thematic unity in S6:E26, “The Whistleblower.” It is an incredible exploration of genre, set up like a whodunnit, complete with wonderfully crafted interrogations and reveals. Brief gags, like Ryan’s WUPHF are the result of years of story build-up, and huge arcs are wrapped and begun with every scene. It’s a masterful episode, and directed by everyone’s least-loved HR manager – Toby (Paul Lieberstein).
Let’s Head Out To
The announcement of multiple successful vaccines and the promise of new national leadership has me feeling hopeful, sometimes, for the first time in a while. Still, we are hunkered down, and I hope you’ll do the same. Let’s take care of each other.