Movie review: Up

... and AWAY!

by John P. Meyer

The latest TV trailer for Up - with its glimpse of the talking dog shtick, which constitutes an important part of the movie's madcap humor - offers just a hint of the film's promising entertainment potential. Which is a good bit more than we got in the early teaser-trailers for the film, which showed a square-jawed old animated chap floating along in his house on the jet stream, while a chubby boy scout hung out on the front porch looking scared.

In fact, one of the most astonishing things about just how entertaining Up ends up being is that the premise seems so - well - un-entertaining. It follows the mostly mundane exploits of a most unlikely dynamic duo engaged in a seemingly randomized adventure. And yet somehow, against all logic, it works.

I mean, we're talking about a grumpy old guy and a boy scout ("Wilderness Explorer," actually) in a floating house. How improbable is that? And just where does one go with such a scenario (besides "up," I mean)? Equally important, how does one get there to begin with?

It's the opening reel of the movie that immediately clues us in to the fact that this is going to be a very special cinematic experience. In the first ten minutes we get the encapsulated story of an entire lifetime shared by Carl Fredricksen (who, in his youth, is voiced by Jeremy Leary) and the girl who will end up sharing her life with him, Ellie (Elie Docter).

Their first outing together ends inauspiciously when Carl breaks his leg while he and Ellie are exploring the upper story of an old house. But having a broken leg turns into a promising opportunity for Carl, who benefits from recuperative visits by his perky young friend; they trade tales of high adventure while longing for the sort of life led by real explorers, such as dirigible pilot and newsreel darling Charles Muntz (Christopher Plummer, gravelly and intense).

We're treated to a whirlwind tour of the succeeding years shared by sweethearts Carl and Ellie. It's a tale of aspirations (they both want to travel to distant, mysterious realms like their idol, Charles Muntz) balanced against fiscal and practical realities (a dented fender drains their travel fund spare change jar; Carl can't afford time away from his balloon-peddling day job at the zoo). Meanwhile time, inexorably, marches on.

This Carl/Ellie opening sequence is remarkably moving (for adults) and ends on a melancholy note that might easily be one of the reasons the film received a PG, as opposed to the G-rating which was originally anticipated (ref. some of the early promotional materials). What it also did was to remind me that the animated medium can be just as wise and wonderful as any live action film.

In our interview, we asked director Pete Docter and producer Jonas Rivera whether they feared this unflinchingly real-life opening sequence might prove a bit intense for kids. They'd apparently test-screened it for lots of children, and found that the cartoon elements succeeded in alleviating the serious impact. (It undoubtedly has a profounder effect on adults, leaving at least this one with embarrassingly watery tear ducts.)

For its remaining 80-some-odd minutes, Up inspires one spontaneous smile after another, peppered copiously by bouts of outright laughter. Old guy Carl (now voiced by a curmudgeonly Edward Asner) starts out on a single-minded quest to deliver Ellie to the site of the semi-mythical South American jungle plateau they'd once dreamed of visiting together. But fate takes an unexpected hand in events, and what Carl presumed to be most important is overshadowed by new human (and animal!) concerns he never dreamt of having.

First-time vocal actor Jordan Nagai speaks for Russell (the young, rotund Wilderness Explorer who stows away on Carl's floating front porch) and does a fine job of conveying annoying nerdiness along with an endearing attraction for animals both minuscule and outsized.

The remaining players on this field of fantastical dreams are mostly of the bestial persuasion, with the lion's share of them being canines (to mix an animal metaphor). Chief among these hounds, particularly in terms of entertainment value, is Dug (Bob Peterson), who takes an immediate liking to the newly-landed explorers because - well - he's a dog, and because, perhaps, his doggie fellows afford him so little respect. (As you'll have noted from the trailer, dogs in the movie are conferred with the ability to voice their thoughts - which consistently return to the subject of SQUIRRELS!)

Perhaps the most charming episode involving Dug and his dog associates comes when we're first introduced to sinister Doberman pack leader Alpha (also voiced by the multi-talented Bob Peterson). Though we are not immediately privy to this information, Alpha's voicebox is stuck in high frequency mode, and thus his potentially menacing commentary is rendered insanely comical due to its nitrous oxide-level register.

The dogs in general are given to speak in oddly-constructed phrases that contribute further to their hilarity: it's as if a freebasing Yoda had composed their dialogue.

Also participating in the mesa-top antics is a big, goofy, honking, expressionless (yet remarkably emotive) flightless bird named Kevin (courtesy of Russell), whose anticipated capture explains the presence of the dogs. And their master.

The CGI landscapes are astonishingly beautiful, presumably rendered more realistic by the actual expedition taken by the filmmakers to the actual tablelands of the remote Venezuela/Guyana/Brazil border country. They came - they saw - they animated, and the results are apparent, even in lowly 2D. (We're sure the 3D version will be spectacular.)

Nit-picking caveat: the swashbuckling action near the end of the film pits two remarkably spry old guys against each other; even though they've been conspicuously using canes and walkers to this point, their geriatric gymnastics give us cause to wonder whether the atmosphere of the jungle highlands is having a fountain of youth effect. Yes, I know this is an animated film, but it's gone to considerable pains to establish an air of verisimilitude. Except for the talking dogs. And the balloon-borne house. And the gigantic, brightly-colored, presumed mythical flightless birds. (O.K., never mind...)