A-Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker Starring Auli'i Cravalho and Dwayne Johnson Review by Jon Kissel |  |
The second half of the cinematic 2010’s has been marked by backlash against more diverse storytelling, especially when women star in franchise reboots. Ghostbusters, Star Wars, and the Ocean’s movies all experienced resentment against a shift away from white male protagonists. On the one hand, the trifling man-babies who complain about something so insignificant should be ignored at all costs. On the other hand, they can be wholly marginalized by telling new stories, a practice that allows studios to find unique voices from underrepresented backgrounds and create new properties that future generations of braindead executives can strip-mine for content. Disney now contains such vast holdings that they can recycle comic book content indefinitely and shunt riskier (i.e. not based on preexisting properties) projects into other storied divisions like Disney Animation, home of the exceptional Moana. Looking for innovation from a studio that’s been adapting fairy tales for almost a century would seem a fool’s errand, but Disney’s reach means it can attract great minds like the film’s composer Lin-Manuel Miranda and funnel his work through veteran directors like Disney mainstays Ron Clements and John Musker. Moana’s considerable pedigree, its novelty as a tale set amongst Polynesian villagers, and its absence of princess-related baggage makes it into one of the best animated features in Disney’s long history.
The most predictable aspect of Moana is its chosen-one framework, something not surprising based on its wide audience and its eight writers. Joseph Campbell would immediately recognize this film with its call to adventure and rejection of that call, only to boldly take it back up again after experiencing a moment of doubt. While the film skirts Cinderalla or Snow White ickiness, it is still about a princess, though she finds herself in a more egalitarian society where her goal isn’t to find a prince, an avenue the film never even nods at. As the daughter of Chief Tui (Temuera Morrison), the titular character, voiced by Auli’i Cravalho is never in doubt about what’s expected of her. She’s going to take her father’s place one day, and she has to learn how to lead their small village of farmers and gatherers. However, Moana has always been drawn to the ocean, a place off-limits to the tribe due to lore of sea monsters unleashed by the recklessness of the demigod Maui (Dwayne Johnson). Besides, why leave and risk safety when we have everything right here? This dynamic is informed by Miranda’s opening song which tracks the tamping down of Moana’s inclination towards the water, placing her not as some prisoner in a gilded cage but as the willing acceptor of her duty. With a level of emotional complexity not common in Disney animations, the song weighs one’s desires against their obligations and communicates the guilt of not being happy despite having all of one’s needs met.
This tropical paradise is upset by the dwindling of resources, and there’s suddenly a practical need to venture beyond the island’s harbor. The root cause is associated with Maui and his theft of an artifact from the creation goddess, and with the blessing of her similarly rebellious grandma Tala (a fantastic Rachel House), Moana takes a boat from a long-hidden trove of sailing vessels and sets out to find Maui. Their subsequent adventures as plucky ladyboss and overconfident braggart take them through incredible setpieces, deriving inspiration from sources as varied as Fury Road and David Bowie with spectacular results.
As strong as the action is and as humorous as the interplay between Moana and Maui often gets, the star of the film is Miranda’s soundtrack. In collaborating with Polynesian musician Opetaia Foa’i, Miranda’s work is consistently affecting and projects a feeling of authenticity. Moana’s anthemic solo How Far I’ll Go works off of the earnest Cravalho’s belting while Miranda’s unique lyrical rhythms put his stamp on the song. Playing a giant crab, Jemaine Clement gets to whip out his Bowie impression in Shiny while Johnson displays yet another of his talents in the bouncy You’re Welcome.
Moana’s greatest achievement, however, contains no named characters and comprises a brief vision Moana has of her people’s history. Performed by Miranda and Foa’i and partly sung in Samoan and Tokelauan, We Know the Way is rousing to the point of tears, a demonstration of indigenous ingenuity on par with Henry the Navigator. The seafaring dominance on display in a mere two-minute demonstration communicates a discovery for Moana comparable to fellow recent animation favorite How to Train Your Dragon, wherein both protagonists joyfully discover that what they’ve always suspected is in fact true. The film has a reverence for the pathfinders of the Pacific Ocean, as well they should when all one has to sail the vast expanse of water is the stars, wood, ropes, and sails. The song ends with the transference of knowledge from one generation to another, a bracing exclamation point that clashes with the tragic break in that transference and the implied betrayal of the warm, proud, ingenious people in the vision. The scene is as potent an argument for diverse storytelling as could be made, such that it merely hints at the richness of material set in environments and cultures that don’t prominently feature knights and castles.
Though its basic structure isn’t breaking any new ground, Moana feels like the best possible version of a straightforward adventure story. Told with passion and brimming with life, its story is set apart by its cast made up solely of actors from Polynesian origins, and though the creative team is more monochromatic, it’s never in doubt that the film is foregrounding the culture and the people on display. Miranda’s a songwriting master, as evidenced by repeated forays into youtube to experience the soundtrack again and again. Moana is such a strong entry for Disney that cannibalizing it with sequels sounds perfectly fine with me, though the aforementioned trolls will surely take issue that she’s the lead and not Johnson’s Maui. A-
This tropical paradise is upset by the dwindling of resources, and there’s suddenly a practical need to venture beyond the island’s harbor. The root cause is associated with Maui and his theft of an artifact from the creation goddess, and with the blessing of her similarly rebellious grandma Tala (a fantastic Rachel House), Moana takes a boat from a long-hidden trove of sailing vessels and sets out to find Maui. Their subsequent adventures as plucky ladyboss and overconfident braggart take them through incredible setpieces, deriving inspiration from sources as varied as Fury Road and David Bowie with spectacular results.
As strong as the action is and as humorous as the interplay between Moana and Maui often gets, the star of the film is Miranda’s soundtrack. In collaborating with Polynesian musician Opetaia Foa’i, Miranda’s work is consistently affecting and projects a feeling of authenticity. Moana’s anthemic solo How Far I’ll Go works off of the earnest Cravalho’s belting while Miranda’s unique lyrical rhythms put his stamp on the song. Playing a giant crab, Jemaine Clement gets to whip out his Bowie impression in Shiny while Johnson displays yet another of his talents in the bouncy You’re Welcome.
Moana’s greatest achievement, however, contains no named characters and comprises a brief vision Moana has of her people’s history. Performed by Miranda and Foa’i and partly sung in Samoan and Tokelauan, We Know the Way is rousing to the point of tears, a demonstration of indigenous ingenuity on par with Henry the Navigator. The seafaring dominance on display in a mere two-minute demonstration communicates a discovery for Moana comparable to fellow recent animation favorite How to Train Your Dragon, wherein both protagonists joyfully discover that what they’ve always suspected is in fact true. The film has a reverence for the pathfinders of the Pacific Ocean, as well they should when all one has to sail the vast expanse of water is the stars, wood, ropes, and sails. The song ends with the transference of knowledge from one generation to another, a bracing exclamation point that clashes with the tragic break in that transference and the implied betrayal of the warm, proud, ingenious people in the vision. The scene is as potent an argument for diverse storytelling as could be made, such that it merely hints at the richness of material set in environments and cultures that don’t prominently feature knights and castles.
Though its basic structure isn’t breaking any new ground, Moana feels like the best possible version of a straightforward adventure story. Told with passion and brimming with life, its story is set apart by its cast made up solely of actors from Polynesian origins, and though the creative team is more monochromatic, it’s never in doubt that the film is foregrounding the culture and the people on display. Miranda’s a songwriting master, as evidenced by repeated forays into youtube to experience the soundtrack again and again. Moana is such a strong entry for Disney that cannibalizing it with sequels sounds perfectly fine with me, though the aforementioned trolls will surely take issue that she’s the lead and not Johnson’s Maui. A-
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