Childhood is a magic time. Between the ages of 2 and, oh about
10, children see and hear and believe things that older folks
cannot. Despite the improbability of one overweight, elderly
man's delivering presents to six billion people between the
hours of midnight and 4 a.m. on Christmas day even with the
help of a team of loyal and fast-moving reindeer kids believe in
Santa Claus as much as they give credence to the existence of
Wendy and Pinocchio. If they see monsters under their bed
occasionally, that problem is more than compensated for since
children, unless abused or poverty-stricken, are living through
the most mystical time of their lives. To take Santa away from
them would be akin to committing emotional abuse.
So it is that little eight-year-old Hero Boy closes his eyes on
Christmas Eve, perhaps hoping to catch Santa in the act of
sliding down the chimney of his suburban home. He pretends to
be asleep when his parents check him out, and just as he is
dropping off for real, he is awakened by a clatter that makes the
house shake as though in the center of an earthquake. Just
outside the window is The Polar Express, a train circa 1930 with
a big, beaming light in the front and a conductor who suggests
that he get on for a trip to the North Pole. Without parental
permission, he jumps right on, makes friends with a diverse
assortment of kids near his own age, and in less time that it
would take the late great Concorde to reach the top of the world,
he's there. They say the moving toward a destination is itself
the principal purpose of adventurous travel, but in Hero Boy's
case, he gets not only what is literally a roller-coaster ride
(which some critics will undoubtedly call the whole movie in their
quotes) but a smashing, amazing, wondrous terminal where he
gets to meet a towering Santa while gazing at a pile of presents
that would easily take care of all the young ones living in
Hoboken.
If "The Polar Express" were a conventionally-made movie, it
would probably be at the top of any Academy list for awards.
What is truly a "trip," though, is that the picture, directed
brilliantly by Robert Zemeckis, is animated, but animated in a
special way never before used in a complete, feature-length film
a major cinematic breakthrough that should impact films of this
nature for years to come. As we watch the realistic shapes of
human beings that move swiftly across the screen, we're seeing
not the actual performers but set of computer-generated images
that open up the small book by Chris Van Allsburg into
three-dimensional images. There are real actors, though, who
go through the motions without a backdrop of setting, each
wearing up to 150 "jewels" which are picked up by the
computers and transformed by hundreds of specialists into
three-dimensional figures, each of which bearing the actual
facial expressions and body language of the live performers.
But without a great adventure, such inventiveness might pall
were it night that "The Polar Express" itself zooms and lurches,
picking up children along the way including one poor and Lonely
Boy who comes literally on the wrong side and insists that
"Christmas doesn't work for me." He isolates himself from the
others, but when coaxed by Hero Boy and the Boy's new friend
Hero Girl, he joins them: the new friendship becomes the
greatest Christmas present he'd ever had.
The trip to the North Pole and its aftermath features Tom Hanks
in (count 'em) five roles as the voices of the Hero Boy, the Boy's
Father, the Conductor, the Hobo, even the towering Santa.
Peter Scolari turns in an appropriately sad sack voice for Lonely
Boy with Nona Gaye as the eight-year-old girl who has a knack
for introducing shy people to the rest of the gang. The geek is
represented by the voice of Eddie Deezen as the bespectacled
Know-It-All Boy.
The digital cast includes literally thousands of elves who dance
and cheer the arrival of Santa while the compositions of
photographers Don Burgess and Robert Presley decorate the
mise-en-scene with light and shade, all giving the entire
production a Norman Rockwell look a simpler time where war,
racism and poverty hardly exist. The soundtrack booms with a
theme that sounds strangely like the principal song from Andrew
Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera, and there is at least
one song which is an absolute delight. Note especially the
show-stopping number toward the beginning of the story in
which the avuncular train master, who is particularly skilled at
punching personal messages into the tickets of the passengers,
asks whether refreshments are in order. Getting a unanimous
vote for same, he sends out a crew of tuxedo-clad waiters who
bounce about the car turning somersaults and handing out cups
of steaming hot chocolate with aplomb.
While "The Polar Express" is obviously on the short list for at
least one Oscar for Best Animated Feature, the best is yet to
come as the entire movie will be re-released some time after the
November 10th opening day in 3-D and projected in IMAX
theaters.
Copyright © 2004 Harvey Karten