Around the time Pixar were rolling out what will now be remembered as their first definitive critical misfire Cars 2, I remember wondering why the studio would even bother supplementing what was clearly the weakest entry of their exceedingly impressive track record with an unnecessary follow-up.
Then I stumbled upon an article detailing Disney and merchandise sales and the answer suddenly felt really obvious.
In the five years between the theatrical release of the original Cars and the marketing campaign for its middling sequel, Disney had netted itself a cosy $8 billion in global retail sales. We’re not even talking box-office gross here – just millions of tyrannical tykes tugging on the trouser leg of Mum or Dad, expectantly holding up a Flo’s V8 Café pencil case with glossy puppy-dog pupils. We’re talking about the Lightning McQueen plush-toys responsible for countless typhonic tantrums at local Warehouses or Walmarts across the globe, some of which are probably occurring as you read this. We’re talking about the chilling statistic that half of all six to 11-year-old boys in the United States own a Cars T-shirt.
Evidently, that sequel was never intended as a reinvestment into Radiator Springs in the narrative or character sense; rather, the Cars movies – still babysitting the irrational infants of the world, two hours at a time – are more or less seed-planters for a gargantuan monolithic corporation thrilled to bleed billions out of the most impressionable market demographic on offer. But let’s not feign moral outrage or anything; welcome to since always.
Nevertheless, this was a dimension virtually impossible to ignore when approaching The LEGO Movie, a [quite literally] blockbusting action film for children, which also might just be the single biggest product-placement vehicle ever conceived (the Scandinavian toy giants have already seen a 13% boost in revenue: a far cry from the verge of bankruptcy only a decade earlier). Fellow film-blogger Adam has already noted the film’s function as a carriage on the corporate money train, and indeed, I’d scarcely settled into my seat before being assaulted by advertisements for collectable LEGO Movie Happy Meal cups, LEGO Movie video games and public service announcements sponsored by The LEGO Movie, all of this neglecting to mention the relentless commercial that is the feature itself.
It was virtually impossible to sit through these sublime stampedes of dazzling gusto without a goofy grin slapped across my face so I didn’t even try; the enjoyment heightened even further by some of the more spirited, infectiously fun voice-work of recent memory.
But I guess I underestimated how effective said commercial would be. As I exited the cinema, I wanted to drink from the Batman Happy Meal cup, I wanted to purchase “Everything is Awesome” on iTunes, I wanted to build giant metropolises and castles and pirate ships out of the nostalgic construction toys of my childhood. Judging by the general atmosphere buzzing throughout the multiplex, it seemed this sentiment was shared. Yet what was perhaps even more impressive was that this money-carriage, fuelled on the pervasive doctrine of mass consumerism, managed to plant these incentives into a narrative about the power of individualism.
The plot – or whatever loose approximation of one Phil Lord and Chris Miller could be bothered generating – assumes the form of that old “Chosen One” arc; an ordinary LEGO guy (voiced by Chris Pratt) ordained by dubious prophecy to be an extraordinary LEGO saviour, if only he learns to utilise his own uniqueness and creativity. Set against a brain-dead totalitarian society blinded by simple pleasures and incessant propaganda, initially The LEGO Movie seemed more like Subversive Trojan Horse than Blatant Corporate Vehicle, even pitting the forces of good against a super-villain named “Lord Business”.
But a late twist in narrative framing essentially shifts the autonomy away from our plastic heroes and onto us, the consumers; morphing the message to fit the context. Yes, we are still implored to unlock our creative potential, to build off our individual impulses and instincts, to innovate and invent and explore, but implored to preferably do all those things with LEGO, available now at all leading toy outlets. Fade to black. Roll credits. Cue 13% revenue spike.
But all of that might have been harder to swallow if the actual movie itself weren’t such frenetic, fizzy pleasure. Over recent years, Phil Lord and Chris Miller have been steadily mastering their own brand of self-aware, frantic comedy in both animated and live-action formats and The LEGO Movie might just be their most successful entry yet; a rapid-fire, joke-a-minute popcorn flick that strips plot down to basic template and devotes every ounce of its abundant energy to stuffed frames of witty sight-gags and chaotic, absurdist spectacle.
It was virtually impossible to sit through these sublime stampedes of dazzling gusto without a goofy grin slapped across my face so I didn’t even try; the enjoyment heightened even further by some of the more spirited, infectiously fun voice-work of recent memory. The LEGO Movie is undoubtedly a money-train carriage, but one gleefully transplanted to rollercoaster tracks; a dizzying, delirious, delicious mess that smacks of exactly the kind of creativity it preaches at you incessantly.
Now back to this.
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