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(More customer reviews)I went to see this movie tonight with a mentally handicapped friend - "Michael" -- (from a L'Arche home here in Winnipeg, Canada). We were the first persons in the theatre for the very first evening showing in this city - and we were the last to leave. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves - enchanted by the movie's subtleties and happily exhausted by its roller-coaster rides.
Time and again, Michael (who is sensitive, compassionate and with a good sense of humor) turned to me in the darkness, smiling in appreciation at the exact same moments I turned to see his reactions. Each time this happened, it was at a moment in the film when some little detail, perfectly captured through superb 'cinematography,' brought moisture to my normally cynical eye, and a warm smile to Michael's innocent face.
Some examples: There is a lone, black child on this apparent 'dream train' to the North Pole - a girl of about ten or eleven years, and like a painting come to life, the miraculous technology at work in this film captures the particular sensibilities of this compassionate, black youngster --- We see small mannerisms of someone comfortable with herself in a way the other (ten or so) white kids on the train are not. And the effect is profound --- the movie audience, including some children of that same age group, went silent at such moments in the film.
My friend Michael - who has a 'savant' genius for perceiving my emotions, and expressing them for me out loud in public --- Michael turned to me with a delighted smile when the girl on the train reaches out to hold the hands of the poorest boy, sitting alone in the rear compartment; and later, she hugs two other boys, (one of them the central character) --- at their final parting. At that moment I held up a finger to my lips to try to hush Michael, but couldn't prevent him from saying aloud: "She's such a sweetheart." There were murmurs of appreciation in the darkness around us, responding to this innocent sentiment.
There is a sublime moment, on the back platform of the moving train -- the Northern Lights glimmering in the distance -- when the young girl joins in song with the poorest kid on the train (a younger boy from a dilapidated home on the "far side of the tracks"). I admit to being overcome with emotion during this duet (a lovely, strong melody with poignant lyrics) - and I blurted out loud to Michael, after the first chorus: "What a wonderful song!" The refrain includes the words "When Christmas comes to town." [It's a song so good that, with some future 'cover versions' by serious musicians who could do it justice --- this "Christmas Comes to Town" song could, I believe, deservedly join the small list of true, Christmas 'classics.']
I'd have to agree with anyone who thinks this movie is a little short on plot. And yet . . . once you've suspended disbelief -- beginning with an earth-shattering, Christmas-eve arrival of a steam-puffing, passenger train on a small-town Michigan street, directly outside the home of the movie's central character -- once we've swallowed that premise, the movie disarmingly embraces the child in us, (including our fears) and our reservations vanish without our noticing.
Just as great `realistic' painters, (think Rembrandt or Vermeer) worked wonders of light & shadow that no mere photograph could ever capture, so too this computer-animated marvel takes your breath away through an accumulation of tiny but acute observations that could never be captured by conventional cinematography. Prime examples from the opening scenes:
A shaft of light illuminates the boy's bedroom, and he is reflected in a chrome, automobile hubcap leaning against a wall; at once we share his view -- through the keyhole of his bedroom door - we can see only the backs and the dressing gowns of mother and father, as they say goodnight to the boy's young sister, after determining the state of her belief in Santa's existence - a belief no longer shared by the older brother, whose eye is at the keyhole.
Later, on the train, there's an exquisite close up of the boy's face, a slight blemish above the pores on his upper right cheek; the `camera' pans in rotation, capturing perfectly, the texture of the boy's hair, and that of the young black girl sitting beside him -- subtleties of such perfection one wonders if the unique, artistic accomplishment of "Polar Express" could ever be surpassed.
The film's last scene, consists entirely of a close-up view of a small, silver bell (of the type associated with sleigh rides) with its attached 'ribbon' of red leather. The little bell helps make the final point about `Belief' --- in things unseen, (or forgotten, and thus inaccessible to some adults). So simple, so powerful, so enlightening an image. My friend Michael turned to me at that moment, with a radiant smile. And we just shook our heads in awe.
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Yes, this movie must have SOME shortcomings - one or two moments that don't quite work as intended by the creators. But right now, in the afterglow, I can't recall what they were. The film was just too satisfying an experience!
I'm a 57-year-old grandfather who happens to believe that "The Polar Express" is the first, true Christmas classic in almost 60 years. Not since the original Kris Kringle "Miracle" movie of 1947, has any film (to my jaded eye) so transcended our secular, commercial views of the Holiday Season, with such uplifting and fresh reminders of the timeless and true spirit of Christmas.
Mark Blackburn
Winnipeg Canada.
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When a doubting young boy takes an extraordinary train ride to the North Pole, he embarks on a journey of self-discovery that shows him that the wonder of life never fades for those who believe.
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