The Little Mermaid, Roger Ebert, Godzilla and the Deferential Wrath for Film Criticism
Or How Movies We Love, and Don't, Make Us Love Them
I have successfully slaughtered two hours watching Disney’s live action The Little Mermaid (2023). Order a round of surprises for everyone: I had a decent time. The movie worked well enough, was visually impressive and I enjoyed the family-safe jokes. The Little Mermaid is a technically well-made production, but let's be honest, that should be expected with these Disney-sized budgets. (Halle Bailey, who played Ariel, wore a $150,000 wig. [1] Meanwhile, Disney CEO Bob Iger laid off 7,000 jobs to improve the company’s financial health. [2] Excellent work, Bob.) Director Rob Marshall and his team clearly put a lot of work into a visually strong flick with surprisingly solid performances. Yet there's no escaping studio cynicism for remaking what are some of cinema's greatest animated films. Disney has essentially mined its Citizen Kane and Casablanca equivalents for the IP wars. While it (and I acknowledge, in this case, “it” is an incredibly broad word) is always about the money, it’s not unreasonable to expect studios be less transparent about their plutomania. Would I be wondering about this if the movie were truly that well made? Or has Disney set up its filmmakers to fail against derisive nostalgia? The point of bringing this up isn’t to give an answer—or find one for that matter. It is the context of this specific production’s artistic worth that highlights why movie criticism should never be a checklist, but observations.
I’m reminded of the late Roger Ebert’s review of J.J. Abrams’s Star Trek (2009). While I enjoyed the movie, Ebert was less favorable. One thing that stuck out was how he found contradiction in nuance, particularly when it came to the primitive way a futuristic drill weapon dangled from a spaceship. “The platform is suspended from Arthur C. Clark’s ‘space elevator,’ but instead of fullerenes, the cable is made of metallic chunks the size of refrigerators,” Ebert mused, “I mention these details only to demonstrate that the movie raises its yo-yo finger to the science, while embracing the fiction.” [3] Oh, a mind with cahonies willing to question the aesthetic plausibility of an established world.
Ebert’s words didn’t change my mind about the film, but the aforementioned quote stuck with me as a valid reflection. While the device’s design never bothered me, I admired his attention to such detail—One I hadn’t considered before. Maybe, just maybe, the aspects he spoke of could have been more imaginative.
And therein lies the success of a great film critic. No matter how expansive or minute the observation, the job of film writers is not to convince readers if a movie is good or bad, but to make them think - question - observe - discuss. Perhaps some broad sense of truth may be uncovered in the process. Through said process, a "technically well-made" film, like The Little Mermaid, can feel rudimentary, due to numerous circumstances or issues, and perceived flawed pictures might have more return in spite of their problems. Pinpointing why is what invites thought and discussion.
Let’s play the technically well-made against the perceived flawed for a moment. Godzilla vs. Megalon (1973) versus The Little Mermaid (2023). The battle of the century between movies that are galaxies apart. Predictably, I would suspect many cite the latter as a stronger film. Does that conclusion come with considering the time for which they were made, culture, budget, talent, goals, and visual language? What does it say about Rob Marshall, fighting the uphill battle of thinly veiled nostalgia porn with a $250 million, pandemic-inflated price tag, versus Jun Fukuda’s less-than-1/250th Mermaid’s budget and three weeks of shooting during industry decline? [4] Megalon’s nuclear-phobia lip service may not be any more hollow than Mermaid’s shoehorned inclusivity, but it’s worth noting that both movies were made at a time when these topics were, and are, prevalent. They will age as contemporaries of their eras. The Disney flick continues the growing motif of a digital age, whereas Toho’s superhero matinee spitfires the look and feel of 1970s televised tokusatsu. In what context should the visuals be compared? If Megalon fails at looking realistic, Mermaid certainly fails at looking like tokusatsu. Neither exactly win favor from the other’s objective.
At the end of the day, the comparison likely reveals two films with little in common. Best to square them up with the likes of Gamera vs. Zigra (1971) and Aladdin (2019). Yet, thoughtfully pursuing such an absurd comparison opens a door of appreciation—If not for one movie, then certainly for the other.
The Godzilla series is something I’ve watched specific “fans” feel is void of any critical thought or context. Some see them as wrestling matches, or throwaway Youtube videos, or throwaway entertainment. David Kalat challenges that status. “In order to explore the root causes and cultural significance of Godzilla absurdity, it is necessary to take these movies seriously,” he declared, “all of them.” [5] Indeed, during my time as a woefully underpaid writer for a now-defunct entertainment column in a city paper, Ebert’s influence was foremost on my mind—Along with another longtime hero. Godzilla’s franchise had a fascinating history of structure that begged to be looked at. After all, could a then-50-year-old series have survived so long without truly being about something? As earnestly as I examined the cultural, cinematic, and financial history of the Godzilla series, I taught myself to do so with other films. Audiences usually have some semblance of understanding if a movie is good or bad, but what else is there? I dare not presume to have mined cinema in ways Ebert, Leonard Maltin, Pauline Kael, or my contemporary Scott Mendelson have, but tread lightly. I overthink better than the best over-thunks. (Admire restraint. Follow Mendelson.)
Engaging with film in such a critical manner is hardly a chore either. For many critics, this is how we enjoy films. Media literacy and context are the true forms of film criticism and it’s an experience that confirms we are participating with art. Not because it’s an independent, Wes Anderson flick, but because it’s a medium that invites an excavation for truth. This reminder is brought to you by Sebastian’s invitation to stay “under the sea” where Godzilla sleeps through Tomatometer announcements.
Sources:
[1] E! Online - The Little Mermaid: Halle Bailey’s Locs and Hair Extensions Cost $150,000
[2] L.A. Times - Disney layoffs begin this week. Iger says 7,000 job cuts to finish before summer
[3] Roger Ebert - The franchise on the edge of forever
[5] A Critical History and Filmography of Toho’s Godzilla Series: 2nd Ed. - Pg. 5 - David Kalat