Review: "Oz the Great and Powerful"

"Oz the Great and Powerful" is one of those movie projects that likely began in earnestness, progressed with craftsmanship and joy, and was completely doomed from the outset.

And not because it's some sort of cinematic travesty to make a prequel to "The Wizard of Oz," one of the most iconic films ever made. The writings of L. Frank Baum (and his descendents) have been translated many times before and after 1939, including two "official" sequels, one of them animated, neither of which anyone remembers.

This "Oz," alas, is destined to join them.

Director Sam Raimi, his cast and crew started from a place of puzzlement rather than wonderment, which is what this material should be all about. Their film never quite decides if it wants to be parody, comedy or fantasy. The result is a smug, overly ornamented amalgam of all three.

James Franco as the titular character, a charlatan magician turned wizard savior, feels like he belongs to another movie. Screenwriters Mitchell Kapner and David Lindsay-Abaire construct him as a self-deluding dreamer, a man with an outsized conception of himself. Franco and Raimi, though, keep nudging him toward charming rapscallion.

This Oz is too full of himself to be sympathetic, and too smarmy to be endearing. Franco's omnipresent grin is somewhere between the Cheshire cat's smile and a discomfiting leer. Oz knows he's fraud, and isn't bothered about it, other than it keeps him from attaining the greatness he feels he deserves. This character is missing a key ingredient of self-loathing.

Not only is this wizard not wonderful, he's not even particularly likeable.

Like the original, "Oz the Great and Powerful" begins in Kansas in the early 20th century, rendered in murky black-and-white. Oz is a carnival huckster plying his trade before unschooled hayseeds, teasing the simple-minded women with gifts and flattery. When a crippled girl asks him to use his "magic" to make her walk, he seems affronted that she would demand any substantial feat of him.

One balloon ride through a tornado later, Oz descends into the multi-colored world that bears his name, and also carries his prophecy: a mighty wizard will defeat the evil witches who have killed the king and usurped his land.

A charming young lass named Theodora (Mila Kunis) presents herself as his guide and, she announces, his future queen once Oz has slain the witches and assumed the throne. Kunis' transparent lack of basic thespian skills, and the fact that she keeps getting cast in movies that require them, is one of Hollywood's most enduring peculiarities.

She introduces him to her sister Evanora (Rachel Weisz), who dispatches Oz off to slay the villainous witch. But when he finally encounters her (played by Michelle Williams), things are not all as they seem.

Much like Dorothy before him, Oz collects companions along the way. A flying monkey in a bellhop costume (voiced by Zach Braff) becomes his sworn servant, while a little doll girl made literally out of delicate china (Joey King) is saved by some of his technological magic.

There are also the prerequisite Munchkins, who are basically trotted out for one aborted musical bit, plus helpful townsfolk and some industrious tinkers (led by Bill Cobbs).

The computer-generated imagery is spectacular, and it's meant to be. Rather than making the CGI subservient to the narrative, Raimi often goes in for long, lingering shots of landscapes, flora and fauna -- sheer spectacle for its own sake.

Like its supposed wizard, "Oz the Great and Powerful" is too enamored with itself to stir up any real magic.

2 stars out of four

Review: "Get Low"

"I built myself a jail and put myself in it for 40 years," is how renowned hermit Felix Bush describes his self-imposed exile. Now grown old and feeling Death's hand tightening its grip, he wants one last furlough so he can throw himself a huge funeral, with himself as the (living) guest of honor, before it's time to "get low."

In olden days -- or at least the cinematic reflection of them -- every town had someone like Bush: He's far more spoken about than spoken to, with dark stories of his deeds building upon each other, one generation to the next.

We'd call them outcasts, except hermits like Bush have removed themselves from society voluntarily. Absent any concrete reason for shunning them, people create their own, until the truth is buried under a slow avalanche of whispers.

Robert Duvall got his start in movies nearly a half-century ago playing one such recluse, Boo Radley in "To Kill a Mockingbird," and "Get Low" completes the circle.

Imagine if Jem and Scout had never met Boo, but grown up continuing to feed his mystery, and bequeathed their fears and questions to their own children: The result would be Felix Bush.

Stories about him abound: That he's secretly rich, or that he once killed several men with just his fists. One day in the 1920s Bush hitches up his mule and wagon and rides into town, and the folks of Caleb County act as if Ichabod Crane has come to call. He's a ghost, and a legend. People have grown so comfortable with the mythology surrounding Bush, they have no idea what to do when the actual man presents himself.

But Bush has business to conduct: He wants to arrange his own funeral, where people can come together to share their stories about him. Finding no satisfaction with the local reverend (Gerald McRaney), he turns to the local funeral home, owned by recent transplant Frank Quinn.

Quinn, deliciously played by Bill Murray, is disturbed by his clientele's reluctance to avail themselves of his services: Business is slow. "One thing about Chicago, people knew how to die -- shot, drowned, run over ... whatever it took."

Quinn is at first put off by Bush's unusual request to attend his own funeral, but is something of a flimflam man and desperately wants the business. "Ooooo ... hermit money," he chants as they first drive up to Bush's remote shack.

But his young protégé, Buddy (a solid Lucas Black), has qualms. As he gets to know Bush, his fears settle into something like sympathy for the ornery old coot. He grows especially worried when Bush announces that he will raffle off his prime 300 acres, and cash starts deluging the funeral home. "Money makes people do funny things," Buddy says, and we can feel him inwardly turn toward Quinn when he says this.

Two other notable characters, wonderfully played by veteran actors, crop up: Mattie (Sissy Spacek), whose history with Bush goes back far enough to pierce his shroud of mystery, and Charlie Jackson (Bill Cobbs), an old preacher who is his only friend and confessor.

Director Aaron Schneider and screenwriters Chris Provenzano and C. Gaby Mitchell recognize this is an actor-driven film, less about a narrative progression than the richness of individual scenes shared by a handful of interesting characters. I enjoyed the film's bleak look and period authenticity, though its conclusion feels too tidy.

It's the complex, yet grounded performance by Duvall that gives the movie its weight and grit. When he first appears, Bush is nearly monosyllabic and impenetrable, but as he grows used to being around people again, a more layered creature emerges from this shell.

Duvall shows us the man who has reveled in being a hermit and is terrified of letting anyone in, but craves the peace he knows he will only find in the company of others.

There's a great scene at the very beginning where, after being pestered by some local boys, Bush takes down his old "No trespassing" sign and puts up a new one: "No damn trespassing! Beware of mule." The oddity of that threat hides an invitation.

3 stars out of four