Coraline (2009) -

A visually compelling parable about the temptations of ingratitude -- the perilous pleasures derived when you're certain that your life sucks. The film focuses on a little girl named Coraline, whose life is characterized by a constant barrage of mundane humiliations (beginning, of course, with the fact that no one seems capable of calling her by her correct name, insisting to address her as "Caroline"). When she and her work-obsessed parents move into a ratty apartment building in the middle of nowhere, Coraline is certain its all part of a scheme to make her miserable and sets out plotting her escape from the dreary new place she now calls home. A mysterious neighbor boy -- who Coraline treats miserably upon their first encounter -- delivers a gift, in the form of a doll that looks remarkably like Coraline. The doll is enchanted, and soon Coraline becomes absorbed in a series of delightful adventures in an alternate universe: one where her parents dote on her, delicious food is plentiful, and both the upstairs and downstairs neighbors present marvelous entertainments solely for Coraline's diversion and amusement. At first it seems like the alternate world is solely of her own dreaming but, as Coraline becomes incrementally more miserable in her daily life, the line separating the two worlds becomes ever less distinct. Of course, there's something ominous about the alternate world -- where everyone has buttons for eyes (kuh-reepy!) -- and soon it becomes clear that something malevolent is afoot on the other side of that little door. (A miniature door is the portal between these parallel dimensions.) As the narrative proceeds, Coraline must accomplish all sorts of formidable tasks in order to rescue several spirits trapped on the other side. The narrative is a moral parable addressed to children, melding the macabre whimsy of Edward Gorey and the magical sermonizing of Shel Silverstein, Carole Kind and/or Maurice Sendak. The one thing missing is the gleeful sense of whimsical possibility that Roald Dahl was so good at, wherein the scary comingled with the silly to make for truly gratifying journey toward moral resolution. The story here -- taken from Neil Gaiman -- seems always to be an adult speaking to a kid, and though Coraline is at the center of the story, she's as annoying and unappealing as "I Don't Care" Pierre or any of the unfortunate Golden Ticket holders. Which proves a problem. I don't know why I'm to care about Coraline, or Coraline's adventures. Indeed, I really am not encouraged to have even as much empathy as I do for Edmund in the first Narnia tale. Coraline's impossible, yet she's the hero. It's a curious narrative dilemma. Visually, however, this film is a feast. Incredible visual spectacles unfold at nearly every turn, all using a delightful "repurposing" sensibility (wherein everyday objects are transformed into thrilling discoveries). Unfortunately, the visual delight -- the film looks just amazing -- doesn't do much to clarify the cynical narrative. So the whole film's a little too scary, a little too arch, and way too emotionally obtuse. I wanted to like it at every turn, but never found my way in. The vocal performances are flat (Teri Hatcher's and Dakota Fanning's especially) and the lesson of this moral parable never truly coalesce. I love genuinely scary, animated ghost stories with kid protagonists -- Monster House, as one example -- but this one seems pitched a little strangely. While there was much to admire about this film, there was little in it love.