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There were those that expressed confusion when it was announced that Martin Scorsese, arguably one of the all-time-great film directors, whose films are often brutally violent, would be adapting a children’s novel. That confusion continued as the first trailer was released, a hodgepodge of silliness that seemed tonally inept. Yet those of us who were familiar with Brian Selznick’s illustrated novel The Invention of Hugo Cabret (a lovely story told half in words and half in pencil sketches, expressing emotion like a silent film) understood exactly why Martin would be interested in this particular story. There are the rare times when a material and a director are perfect for each other, and Hugo is one of those rare times. This film is pure cinema.
Our titular character Hugo Cabret is an orphan who resides in a train station in Paris. Hugo is broken. Like the clocks, gears, and machines that Hugo surrounds himself with, he needs to be fixed. As the film begins and we glide through the streets of Paris, finally making our way into the train station and revealing Hugo, a few things are clear. Scorsese, working with his production designer Dante Ferretti and cinematographer Robert Richardson, has composed and orchestrated this film like a symphony. Each shot is informed by character and location, each movement perfectly choreographed, each color selected with thought. Martin’s long-time collaborator Thelma Schoonmaker proves once again how great editing can make a film sing. But there is another aspect in play here: multiple dimensions. Working with 3D for the first time, Scorsese has made the greatest yet argument for the worth and legitimacy of 3D in serious filmmaking. Its use here is not a gimmick or a trick but rather a device to further immerse the audience into the environment of the film. In terms of Hugo this has deep thematic resonance as at its core the film is about the way immersion into art is vitally important to life. As snow flakes drift over the head of the audience and the Station Inspector’s (a hilarious Sacha Baron Cohen) menacing visage looks directly at us, it is clear that Scorsese is reveling in the opportunity to further blur the line between cinema and reality.
The other thing that is clear is that Hugo is an observer. Residing behind the walls of the train station in an abandoned apartment that used to belong to his drunk uncle (Ray Winstone), Hugo watches as the patrons and workers of the train station carry out their lives. There is a sadness behind Hugo’s eyes that the young Asa Butterfield portrays with delicacy and vulnerability. Hugo longs for a life of his own and to no longer be alone. Scorsese populates the train station with wonderful actors like Emily Mortimer, Richard Griffiths, Frances De La Tour, and Christopher Lee. These are real actors, not mere extras. They bring grace and subtlety to the lives of these people and as we periodically check back in on them the world of this film feels whole. There is also the sad, old shopkeeper Georges, portrayed with gravitas and despair by Sir Ben Kingsley, his wife Jeanne (the lovely Helen McCrory), and their goddaughter Isabelle (Chloe Moretz). It is through this strange, small family that Hugo’s world begins to open wide.
As the film begins it plays like an unusually smart and elegant children’s adventure film. Hugo befriends Isabelle, a precocious young girl with a taste for books, big words, and adventure. Chloe Moretz brings a maturity to Isabelle that most young actresses are simply not capable of. Evolution is the key to any great story, however, and that is certainly the case here. What begins as a simple film evolves into the most pure and magical love letter to cinema since 1988’s Cinema Paradiso. This film holds cinema and art to the highest of ideals and it argues that not only must old cinema be preserved, it must be watched. In an age when younger (and older!) people are content watching pure schlock, this is a potent and imperative message. We can see traces of Scorsese within Hugo; they are isolated children who fall in love with film. It is now clear why Scorsese adapted this novel and this is perhaps the most personal film he has ever made. In a way I feel that this film with inform for future generations the way that viewings of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull are approached.
In the second half of the film Scorsese creates absolutely gorgeous imagery. The world of the film never quite feels real, but rather like a magical pop up book in which art, dreams, and reality are intertwined. As film begins to play more importance, Scorsese revels in re-creating moments from Harold Lloyd’s Safety Last and the Lumiere brothers’ Arrival at the Train Station with the characters from his own story. The gifted actor Michael Stuhlbarg as professor Rene Tabard opens up the eyes of Hugo (and thusly the audience) to the world of film and stage magic. The ties between the two are stronger than you might think.
Hugo is an impeccable film and one that earns every emotional beat. Gorgeously realized by a true cinema master it is bursting from the seams with love and magic. Composer Howard Shore helps set the scene with some of the best work of his career, and scribe John Logan beautifully adapts the challenging novel. It is a film that has the ability to surprise us with its depth and potency. Filled with magic and whimsy, with ticking clocks and gears and strange mechanical men, it is a film that will be loved and talked about for a very long time. I only hope that efforts are made to preserve it.
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Last edited by SpikeDurden; 12-15-2011 at 11:02 PM..