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moderndaybard · 4 years ago

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2020 Critmas Fic Day 25

Take a Chance…Catch ‘Em all (CR C2/Pokemon Crossover Ficlet)

It’d certainly been a turbulent Pokemon Challenge season, leaving many convinced the Wildemount Pokemon League Championship would have to be called off (reigniting the debate about whether the Menagerie, Dwendalian, and Xhorhas regions ought to separate out with their own regional leagues, given the near-constant tension and strife between them), but peace had been secured (for the moment) and the biggest tournament of the year was about to commence.

Seven entrants in particular were creating quite a stir during the tournament lead-up and opening ceremonies—as they had since emerging from seemingly nowhere early in the season. To some, they were nuisances, to others, heroes, still others saw them as loose cannons, but all could agree that they were powerful trainers with loaded teams. (Seriously, how did they get into the kind of shenanigans that ended with each of them having a Legendary Pokemon anchoring their teams, along with the now-standard Mega-Evolving or Gigantimaxing Pokemon?)

They’d traveled as a team; they’d trained as a team; they’d triumphed as a team—perhaps the only thing giving anyone else a chance in the tournament was that hey could not compete as a team, but would have to stand on their own. (But then again, each on their own was a force to be reckoned with for sure…)

…

There was Veth, who seemed to sing rapidly between ‘Team Mom’ and ‘Trouble-Maker-In Chief’, and her eclectic team: Buttons, her Klefki was her oldest partner; Whiskey, her Spinda was unpredictable—useful in a pinch, but he caused nearly as much trouble as he prevented; her Thievul, Rogue, made up for a lack of brute power with her blinding speed; River, the Gigantimaxing Lapras, seemed to make even her own trainer wary; likewise, Nott, the Sableye, had taken a long time for Veth to come to terms with, to work with; and the Legendary Zapdos, Motherhood, dared anyone to even think of messing with her family—blood or no.

Caleb had been traveling with Veth long before they’d met up with the other five of the Nein, and his Delphox, Wizard, had been with him even longer, as had his Mega-Evolving Blaziken, Fireball. Frumpkin, the Meowstic, had been the next, beloved, addition to the team, followed a little later by the Gigalith, Transmuter’s Stone. As a battler, Caleb was well-known for his creative tactics when employing Polymorph, his Ditto, but speculation abounded regarding how he’d come to have Atonement, the Legendary Shaymin, on his team. (Truthfully, even he could not say—though he’d sought it for so long.)

There was some debate and discussion of whether Beau was officially affiliated with the Ioun Academy for Trainers or not—at first, she’d seemed to be a runaway student, but now she appeared to occasionally be running missions for them as a kind of faculty member—but there was no denying that she was a skilled battler and a keen strategist. Her first partner had been a Snivy (now Serperior), the iconic Pokemon of her family, named Lionett. They two had struggled to work together at first (apparently), but they had come to develop a style that was uniquely theirs, unconnected to her family, and in that, partner and trainer had found their bond. Likewise, Monk, her Mienshao, and Cobalt Soul, her Mega-Evolving Lucario, had taken some getting used to as she navigated her relationship with the Academy. All she would say about her acquisition of Tarot the Xatu was that he was ‘a gift from a friend’; while her back-and-forth sniping with her Noctowl, Professor Thaddeus somehow (no one watching from the outside could quite say how) led to a decent win record for them. And guarding them all as Beau guarded her friends’ happiness and well-being was Sentinel, the legendary Zamazenta.

The bubbly trainer from Nicodranas, Jester, had quite the varied team that leant itself to a very unorthodox battle style. Trickery, her Mega-Evolving Banette, seemed quite the dark and spooky partner for someone so fond of pink and pastries, while Ruby, the Ninetails, had all the elegance and grandeur of her namesake. The Inteleon, Gentleman, was a recent addition, but kept a narrowed eye on anyone that got too close to his precious trainer; while many marveled that such a battered- and haggard-looking Zangoose as Sprinkle was still alive, much less still following his trainer’s coaching. While many dismissed Smeargle as a ‘gimmicky’ Pokemon, Jester proved time and again that her Paints could be useful if only one was clever…as clever, say, as the Legendary Hoopah, her beloved Traveler….

There was one other trainer from the Menagerie Region: Fjord, originally from Port Damali, whose own diverse team marked quite the convolute path he’d taken to get to where he stood now. He’d started after receiving Warlock, his Malamar from unknown sources—and it was that mystery that’d set him on this journey. Along the search for answers, he’d found Crystal, the strange Carbink, and Uk’otoa, the menacing Spiritomb, in short order. But whatever he’d learned seemed not so satisfy what he’d truly been looking for and, after adding his disciplined Kingdra, Captain, he seemed to change track altogether with his Mega-Evolving Kangaskhan, Paladin, and the Legendary Zacian, Star Razor. But whatever had prompted the changes, there was no denying the comfort and confidence he now battled with.

Caduceus originally hailed from outside of the three regions, and had joined the others after an unexpected confrontation with an Evil team had turned deadly, early on. He’d come to their aid, then come along, with his gentle Meganium, Cleric, Graveyard, his deceptively-spooky Trevenant, and his Polteageist with the on-the-nose-name of ‘Tea’ (apparently it was an old family joke?). Speaking of the rest of his family, he had been using this journey, at least in part, as a means of finding what had become of them, finding Decompose, his Shiinotic, and Gorgon, the Gigantimaxing Copperajah, and finally his parents, aunt, and siblings—thankfully alive and (now) safe. All the while, guiding, guarding, and anchoring his team was the Legendary Lugia he called Melora with warmth and reverence.

Yasha, the one member of the group from the Xhorhas Region, (if the wilder, southernmost part of it), was an undeniably intimidating sight—as were her first two partners: Barbarian, her Mega-Evolving Garachomp, and Orhpanmaker, her foul-tempered Hydreigon. But there was a softer, gentle side to the woman as well, clearly demonstrated in her tender care for the Comfey she called Zuala with an odd, sad smile. Bone Harp, her music-loving Alolan Marowak perhaps best embodied the duality of his trainer, even as Angel Wings, the Togekiss, best exemplified the hope and the light that she strove for, despite her painful past. But less any opponent be tempted to forget the sheer power at her command, the team was anchored by Strom Lord, the Legendary Zekrom.

…

Yes, the Mighty Nein (as they were called for reasons no one in the watching crowd fully understood) were certainly the center of attention as the opening ceremony of the tournament unfolded—stories of their convoluted and dangerous journey to this point had spread on ahead of them, even ridiculous rumors that they’d single-handedly stopped the latest war and brought peace to the regions; and many were curious to see what they could muster as solo battlers, rather than the unit that they had operate as for so many of their adventures. Then, the final entrant of the tournament was introduced and his team revealed, and a ripple went though the stadium crowd and home audience alike—could this contender be the one who could upset what had looked to be a sure sweep for the Nein?

He was introduced simply as ‘Matt’, but there was nothing simple about his team: Pumat the Oranguru was a formidable tank; Kiri the Chatot hid some surprising tricks while her gimmick distracted attention; his Gigantimaxing Drednaw, Orly, was fearsome in battle despite a generally friendly disposition; crowd-favorite Essek, the Weavile, was no above using shady tactics where necessary, while Yussa, his Kommo-o tended to rely more on overwhelming power. But a pall hung over the arena as his own Legendary was revealed—what did it mean that he had a Guzzlord, and why was it called ‘The Eyes of Nine’?

…

As the ceremony drew to a close, one man turned away form the large screen outside of the stadium—he’d seen as much as he needed to, what he’d come to see. He looked to his own team of three—found along a path of a life anything but simple: Bloodhunter, the Grimmsnarl whose terrifying appearance belied a selfless heart; the colorful and fun-loving Oricorio, Carnival; and the solemn Chandelure he called Death while still smiling). Mollymauk nodded to the three of them with a friendly wink as they made their way from the stadium.

“Don’t they all look impressive now? Hardly recognize ‘em. Let’s put old Luci down once and for all and heave a heartfelt reunion—Whatdya say?”

(Also on AO3, with my other fics)

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analisegrey · 6 years ago

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Februwhump Prompt:

“Who would the whumpee take a beating for?” (Read on AO3)

Caleb’s always been goal-oriented.

He likes having something to strive for, a box he can mark off when he’s accomplished something; that inclination is honed when he gets to Soltryce- each new spell he learns, every milestone of knowledge, he goes after with fevered abandon. His time in the country with Master Ikithon doesn’t exactly dampen the tendency. The desire to please combined with the need to hit the next goal, do the next thing, pressing ever forward- it’s a terrible and heady combination that Trent utilizes ruthlessly.

And still, after all that, after breaking and reforming, after traveling alone, after finally finding new companions, he’s still goal-oriented. He has one large, overwhelming goal, and it’s always in the back of his mind, waiting, but sometimes it gets overshadowed, pushed temporarily to the side by immediate need.

For instance-

The cell they’re in is cool and damp, moisture dripping down the walls in shining rivulets. Jester’s out cold when they’re dragged in, but Caleb’s awake, if only barely, and so catches pieces of conversation, taunts and threats. He’s known jailers like this before, had suffered extensively under them in the jail where he met Nott. He knows the type- overconfident, cruel, inclined to go after the weakest, softest target, because they don’t want a challenge so much as a reaction.

Caleb weighs his options as he waits for Jester to wake up. They’re both spent from the fight before they were captured, and he knows that especially without his components, they’re on their own until help arrives. He’s moved her so her head is pillowed on his lap, and he absently cards his fingers through her hair as he thinks. He knows this type of people, knows what they’re capable of, how they react, who they’ll likely go for once they’re ready to start. He knows, and he refuses to let that happen.

There’s a rustle of fabric and a shift of movement as Jester starts to wake up, groaning as her eyes slit open.

“What- what happened, where-”

Caleb gently squeezes her shoulder. “I am afraid things went rather poorly, Jester. We are in a cell.”

Her brow crinkles in confusion before her eyes go wide and she jolts up to sitting, Caleb barely leaning back in time to avoid getting knocked in the chin. She’s scrambling to her feet and heading for the door before Caleb can stop her, her fingers digging into the edges where the frame and the door meet, looking for purchase, for a catch, anything, as her tail lashes behind her.

“We need to get out, we need to get the door open, we have to leave- ”

Caleb gets up and moves to her side, catching carefully at her wrists and tugging. He knows he has no hope of moving her if she doesn’t want to allow it, and is relieved when she lets him.

“Jester, you must be calm.”

She turns to him wild-eyed and pale, her skin washed out to a sickly light blue. “Caleb-” Her voice wavers with panic, and his resolve only strengthens as he gets a more secure grip on her and pulls. She goes with him as he leads her back to the far wall and sits, bringing her with him; her skirts pool around her, and he puts an arm around her after only a moment’s hesitation. She’s shaking, her breathes quick and hitching, and he’s familiar enough with the sounds of panic and terror to recognize it. He gives her a squeeze.

“Jester, I know this is frightening. It’s not a great situation, but we must believe the others will come and get us out. We have done it before, and they will do it again.”

“I know, I know , it’s just, what will happen in the meantime? I can’t- I can’t do that again, Caleb, I can’t- ”

If his plan’s going to work, he needs her calm, needs her strong. He feels for her, he does, but he needs her to get herself under control.

“Jester.” He keeps his voice soft, calm, soothing, and takes her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “I know this is a terrible situation, and while neither of us wants to be here, this is especially hard for you after everything you have been through. I can’t guarantee everything will be okay right now, but I believe- I have to believe- that the others are coming, and we just need to be strong until then.”

She sniffles, eyes red-tinged and wet as she looks up at him. He knows how strong she is, physically and emotionally, but right now she looks small, frightened, and he’s reminded how young and sheltered she is, and he feels the protective urge he normally feels for her surge. He will not let them hurt her, not if he has anything to say about it.

“I need you to listen to me, Jester, you can do that, ja ?”

She nods, though she doesn’t look very sure, and he smiles.

“The men who brought us here are going to come back.” She freezes under his hands, her breath starting to pick up again, and he squeezes, trying to ground her. “They are going to come back, but I have a plan. I will not let them harm you; but you must work with me. I can only do so much, so you must be strong. I need you to look fearsome.”

Her brows furrow again in confusion as she looks him over, her tail moving agitatedly behind her. “But how will you do that? They took all your stuff, Caleb, your components, your coat, your books- how are we going to fight back?”

He shakes his head. “My plan is not to fight, not with magic or fists. I plan to fight with this,” he says as he taps his temple with a finger. “I do not need to be stronger or have my components in order to out-think them. I am going to play a part, and I need you to as well for it to work. It will be scary, but I know you can do it. You are a very good actress, ja? They will not know what hit them.”

Her eyes narrow momentarily, and he worries she’s figured him out, but then her face relaxes and she gives him a tremulous smile, which he mirrors back to her.

“Okay, I think I can do that, Caleb.”

“I know you can, blueberry.”

She smile brightens at the nickname, as he’d hoped it would. Now for the hard part.

“I need you to promise me something though, Jester. This is very important.”

“What?”

“When they come back, I want you to try to get in front of me. I am also going to be acting a part, and it may be difficult to watch, but I need you not to interfere otherwise. Whatever you see me do, whatever you hear me say, just know that I’m acting, and it will be alright. Can you do that?”

Her lips press together, pensive and pinched, the dark blue of her lips paling before she nods, her expression growing hard and resolute. “Okay okay okay, yes, I can do this. We will get through this, and the others will come, and everything will be okay.”

He smiles at her, and he hopes it doesn’t look as much like a grimace as it feels.

They pass the time chatting about nonsense and when they hear a door clang open nearby they both tense. In the last few seconds before the cell door opens, he turns and whispers, “Don’t forget- you are fierce, blueberry, and I am just acting.”

The door swings open and Jester plays her part perfectly, straightening up and snarling an oath in Infernal, coming to her feet in front of him as he slowly gets to his behind her, feigning weakness.

One of the few benefits of being a self-confessed coward, of being afraid nearly all the time, is that when it matters, when it’s actually helpful , it’s no hardship to play the weakling. He barely has to try for the fear he normally keeps bottled up show readily on his face, for the near-constant dread to become manifest. When their jailers enter the room, Caleb presses himself back against the wall, shuddering as the cold and damp seep in through the thin fabric of his shirt. He hunches inward, makes himself look small, an easy target, and bless the two buffoons holding them captive, they buy it.

“Grab him. Let’s make ‘im squeal.”

Caleb’s eyes go wide in only partially-feigned horror, and shakes his head, pressing back further, though there’s nowhere to go.

“Nein , no, please- ”

Jester tries to stay in front of him but fierce as she is, she’s easily thrown aside. Their captors may be immensely stupid and easily manipulated, but they’re strong, grabbing him with ease and carrying him toward the door. He plays it up, yelling and pleading in a way that normally would fill him with shame, but he’s fueled by his need to keep them focused on him and their attention away from Jester. He gets a last glimpse of her as they pull him through the door and she looks utterly stricken; he hopes she’ll forgive him eventually.

He’s taken down the hall to a room that's bare except for a wooden chair in the middle of it. They throw him onto it, and one of them hauls back and punches him in the jaw, snapping his head to the side and setting his ears ringing. By the time his head clears, his arms have been wrenched behind him and his wrists tightly bound and anchored to the chair. He struggles and they laugh, each grabbing an ankle even as he tries to kick at them; they tie those to the chair as well until soon he’s completely helpless. He tries not to panic, reminds himself he wanted this, that this was his preferred outcome, but it’s difficult to remember when one of the men is standing in front of him grinning and the other is behind him with a large meaty hand clamped on his shoulder. The hand on his shoulder slides to his throat, gripping and pulling his head up and back and for a split second he feels a flash of real fear, thinks he's miscalculated terribly, but then the other man slams his fist into Caleb's stomach, and the fear is replaced with a calmer resignation. His body tries to fold over, but the ropes at his wrists and the hand at his throat keep him from moving, so all he can do is choke on a cry and shake. They work him over with the ease of long practice, moving in tandem and causing pain with little break between. He's quickly breathless, screams caught in his throat as blows rain down faster than he can process. At one point a blow knocks him sideways and the whole chair tilts precariously before it tips, taking him with it. He feels it as his left arm snaps at the forearm when his whole weight, chair and all, land on it; he's screamed himself hoarse but still finds voice enough to cry out. The men just laugh and continue, and throughout the beating the thought Caleb keeps firmly situated in his mind is, ‘At least it’s not Jester.’

The men start to slow down, tired and covered in sweat, and Caleb would breathe a sigh of relief if he could; his ribs scream at him when he draws breath, his broken arm a throbbing misery at his side. He hurts everywhere, bursts of pain so prevalent it’s difficult to tell where one begins and another ends. They untie his legs, then his arms, and his vision goes dim and watery as they pick him up again, heedless of his broken arm, and drag him back through the door and down the hallway to the cell.

He desperately wants to pass out, to get away from the pain if only for a little while, but he can’t yet. There’s still one more part of this to do before he can allow himself the respite of unconsciousness.

They slam the door to the cell open and toss him through it. He's unable to catch himself and lands awkwardly on his front, his broken arm hitting the ground with enough force that he thinks he does pass out, if only for a few seconds. The next moment he’s aware it’s to find gentle hands on his face, warm and careful as they feel around his cheeks and jaw.

“Oh, Caleb- ” That’s Jester, and she sounds anguished. He forces his eyes open to look up at her and she’s blurry, but he thinks that’s mostly do to his eyes being partially swollen shut than anything else. She looks like she’s been crying, her face crumpled in distress, and he reaches for one of her hands with his good one.

“Jester, it’s okay.” It’s hard to speak, his voice barely there, his throat burning with the effort.

Her face twists, grief and anger warring with each other for dominance in her expression. “Caleb, it is not okay.” Her hands flex minutely on his face and he winces at the pressure on the bruising he can feel painting his skin. “Do you even know what you look like? Look what they’ve done to you, Caleb, your arm, and your face, and, and-” She looks perilously close to tears, and while it guts him to see it, he holds tight to the fact that it’s him here on the floor beat to shit, and not her, that it’s him with the broken arm and ribs, not her. He remembers- because he always remembers, doesn’t he?- what she looked like when they found her and Fjord and Yasha at the Sour Nest. Dirty, bruised, tear-streaked and devastated, and there’s not a lot he’s proud of in his life, but this is one thing he can hold onto. He kept this from happening to her, from happening to her again. She may have experienced this kind of cruelty, but he’s had practice, and if there’s any benefit to the things that have happened in his life, it’s that it’s prepared him for this, has put him in a position to be able to spare Jester.

He manages to pull a smile out for her, squeezes one of her wrists in a shaking hand before letting his arm fall back to his side.

“It’s alright, Jester. It is- it’s better this way. You are stronger anyway, ja? If we need to fight to get out, it’s better that you be strong and healthy.” He’s trying to focus, to stay awake to keep her company, but it’s so hard. His words are slurring, and it’s probably not a great idea to fall asleep, but he doesn’t think he’s going to have a choice in a moment. “You were wonderful, blueberry. Du warst perfekt.”

His eyes slide closed, and he passes out to the feel of Jester’s hands warm on his face.

#analisegrey fics #februwhump #Critical Role season 2 #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #whump #Caleb whump #protective!Caleb

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chicagoindiecritics · 5 years ago

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: REWIND REVIEW: The Lion King

(Image courtesy of Walt Disney Pictures via wdsmediafile.com)

For an occasional new segment, Every Movie Has a Lesson will cover upcoming home media releases combining an “overdue” or “rewind” film review, complete with life lessons, and an unboxed look at special features.

THE LION KING

Anyone who seeks to own this version of The Lion King is doing so with a “how did they do that?” curiosity. The technical brilliance is its biggest selling point. That interest is answered very well by this disc release. Unlike its Pixar and Marvel offerings, Disney compiled a legitimate look into this re-imaginings wholly revolutionary bells and whistles. This movie will look gorgeous on your high-end television at home.

ANTICIPATORY SET AND PRIOR KNOWLEDGE:

Jon Favreau’s The Lion King stands as the biggest test to all of that progress and the attached criticism because of how little beyond the pristinely pixelated exterior is actually “reimagined.” So incredibly and, dare I say, unnecessarily much is nearly a shot-for-shot duplication of Disney’s most popular and most successful film of their Renaissance era. Duplicated enjoyment may have been the goal, but that makes one question a tangible purpose for truly needing any such update. Luckily, the shininess, so to speak, is an undeniably impressive and redeeming feature to a lack of implemented originality.

With around thirty minutes of extra marination here and there simplified by screenwriter and former steady Brett Ratner and Steven Spielberg collaborator Jeff Nathanson, the well-worn tale of The Lion King, with all of its hefty Shakespearean elements, is retold for a new generation. The habitat-sustaining balance of predator and prey on Pride Rock and the coming-of-age journey of an impatient young lion cub named Simba are derailed by the tragic death of his kingly father Mufasa (James Earl Jones). The pourer of snake oil and the engineer of this tragic royal coup is Mufasa’s rebuffed and cerebral younger brother Scar (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and his enlisted army of hyenas. Shamed to believing his idolized father’s death was his fault, Simba leaves the savanna and grows into an adult (Donald Glover) in a lush jungle far away under the practical tutelage and scrappy friendship of a meerkat named Timon (Billy Eichner) and a warthog named Pumbaa (Seth Rogen). When his former betrothed lioness (Beyonce Knowles-Carter) and a spiritual soothsaying baboon (John Kani) from his past discover Simba is alive, they urge him to return home and claim his birthright.

LESSON #1: KIDS, LET’S LEARN ABOUT FOOD CHAINS AND FOOD WEBS — Depending on your chosen educator in the movie, Timon or Mufasa, you either have a straight line (food chain) or a grander circle (food web) to describe linked survival. It’s like the duel between facts and “fake news” only sung as an anthem to help you remember. Everything that lives will die and become the ingredients to a future living thing. We all are the products of that matter ourselves. It’s just what order you observe or place you occupy in the chain or the web.

LESSON #2: CARRY NO TROUBLE OR PROBLEMS IN YOUR LIFE — Just as in 1994, the catchy “Hakuna Matata” comprises your specially packaged teachable nugget for the target demographic. The Swahili phrase meaning “no trouble” or “no problems” remains good advice for moving on from past mistakes and perceived failures with an attitude change to focus on the present and future.

MY TAKE:

The opening line of my review for Aladdin read “It is becoming increasingly tedious to both critique and enjoy these Disney “re-imaginings.” That hasn’t changed. Go back before that with Dumbo and I said “Audiences constantly question the values of duplicated enjoyment or tangible purpose for needing anything new and shiny made from something that worked just that way it was intended decades ago.” That hasn’t changed either. Now, when I go back two years to Beauty and the Beast and read my words of “Let them be different, whether that’s better or worse, because they are different. View them separately and independently. Judge them separately and independently,” I see where the situations have changed for me and for this line of movies. I can’t do that anymore.

It is the present entertainment landscape and the future dividends that have powered this 2019 presentation to an immense level of anticipation. There is no disputing this movie’s immediate and constant wow factor as a stunning visual and technical spectacle. The photo-real animation of The Moving Picture Company supervised by three-time Oscar winner Robert Logato, fellow Jungle Book Oscar winner Adam Valdez, and promoted top supervisor Elliot Newman add divine ethereal layers and qualities to every corner of Caleb Deschanel’s laboratory cinematography, right down to the wind, bugs, hair, and dust. The conjured natural beauty and animal physicality is easily some of the best-looking CGI work Disney has ever attempted of film.

The trade-off with the hyper-detailed realism is the loss of engaging and exaggerated personification of characters and performances from traditional hand-drawn animation. This happened for The Jungle Book as well. Nearly all of the expressive eyes, mouths, and other emotional facial features are flattened and reduced by limits of physiological accuracy. Cartoons, more often than not, will always do that better. It shows here and it is showmanship that is dearly missed.

Stellar voice work would supersede that weakness. However, this update lacks a standout showy performance, even with a “let’s do this” and “I got this” modern attitude sprinkled throughout the diverse casting. Now 88, the returning Jones has lost little timbre, but counts as another ingredient of replication rather than an opportunity for newness. Ejiofor is a less oily Scar than Jeremy Irons and his calculated line deliveries of sinister intent and ruthless edge are underplayed and too calm to a degree. Glover and Knowles feel like they are reading more than emoting and hitting high drama. The most zeal, naturally, comes from the characters with the most personality. The chicanery of Eichner and Rogen charms to embezzle each episode of their participation.

What gave 1994’s The Lion King its lasting importance is the trait of majesty. In my eyes, that always came from the music as much as, if not more than, the characters themselves. The songs composed by the famed Elton John with lyrics by Disney hitmaker Tim Rice brought magnetic appeal. Hans Zimmer’s percussive and choral musical score, which stands as his only Oscar-winning work to date, elevated the entire movie’s powerful presence for show-stopping impact. That memorable music, recomposed and reworked by all three men with the infusion and addition of Beyonce, is the smartest and, in the end, the most essential anchoring element of this carryover. That vital strength is successfully retained rather than lost. Now, the musical majesty has a matching and radiant visual one primed to stir both new and old amazement.

LESSON #3: BE A GIVING KING — The generosity of a ruler’s wisdom and actions gain more fealty among their subjects than any fear or oppressive control. Mufasa and Simba earned that loyalty. The other animals in their organic orb of influence genuflect in respect. Can the same effect be evoked from the watching audiences of Jon Favreau’s new achievement as they gain or lose trust in Disney’s reputation with these second comings? The regal resonance of this parable wins. No matter if the version of The Lion King being shown is sketched or coded, we too may bow to the grand splendor on display.

3 STARS

EXTRA CREDIT:

The centerpiece of this home media edition is 53-minute “The Journey to The Lion King.” The presentation is divided into three chapters with director Jon Favreau’s ever-present finger in every pie. This feature easily bests the miniature 5-15 minute attempts of its peers. Even the so-so fans for this remake will find creativity to be impressed by in the production process for this movie.

The first segment is a 13-minute portion documenting the return of composer extraordinaire Hans Zimmer to the project that earned his only Oscar so far in his illustrious career. With a second crack at The Lion King, Zimmer brought increases of drums and vocal force to the familiar. Hearing Zimmer speak on his creative process and goals is fascinating. To have him and Elton John return to curate the score and songs was a coup for the studio and filmmakers.

The middle segment is the best and is subtitled “The Magic.” Here is where we see the extensive shooting process, led by six-time Oscar-nominated cinematographer Caleb Deschanel. The DP, the effects vendor MPC, and Favreau documented their “virtual camera” process. Ben Grossman of MPC built game engine technology where VR headsets rehearse and chart possible camera movements. Those shots are merged with the settings created by Andrew Jones and his animation team from the original animatic storyboards. All involved really go out of their way to explain this very new technique and the conversations are very insightful.

To see more of this outside of “The Journey to The Lion King,” viewers can peruse the “More to Be Scene” selections. Three of the major vocal set pieces (“Circle of Life,” “I Just Can’t Wait to be King,” and “Hakuna Matata”) are presented with side-by-side screen shifts of the four visual layers. Starting with the storyboards and animation to the virtual camera shooting and final finished product, the progression is amazing to see.

Last of the three chapters, “Timeless Tale” brings forward the diverse voice talents of these animal characters and personas. Favreau leads here to explain and defend how this cast of new performers were chosen. They, in turn, excitedly explain their connection to it all. Many grew up as ardent lovers of the original and feel the Favreau opportunity is dream fulfillment and a large honor. The smiles are shared by all around.

Jon Favreau’s feature commentary takes all of this and goes even further with scene-by-scene breakdowns. His complementary insights often emphasize the documentary and photo-realistic goals and desires of the movie and all those working on it. The goal from the beginning was less anthropomorphic emotion to avoid cartooning, which addresses the contention of many for the lack of facial expressions. Emulation came first, right down to the shot creations. According to the director, the more iconic the scene, the more the filmmakers adhered to the known memories without tinkering. Changes were easier to make elsewhere.

After that, the other bonus features are pretty short and simple. Entertainment is the chief goal where the movie itself can be played straight or as a sing-along version. For those who want to cut straight to the ditties, there is a Song Selection feature to pick any of the eight lyricized song scenes. Music video inclusions are given to the two new original song additions, “Spirit” by Beyonce and “Never Too Late” by Elton John. Expect one of those to get an Oscar nomination slot come the winter awards season.

The final minor bit is “Protect the Pride.” It is a tidy 3-minute PSA on lions highlighting the beneficial Lion Recovery Fund efforts supported with a bucks from Disney’s fat checkbook. The organization’s goal with this partnership is to double the formerly endangered lion population in the wild by 2050. Helpful and harmless, it represents a positive message and kissed ring at the same time.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#833)

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christsbride · 5 years ago

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The Case against Vanilla

Genesis 12:1-8; Joshua 14:1-15; Psalm 33:3

I cannot imagine anything more boring and less desirable than being poured into the mold of predictability as I grow older. Few things interest me less than the routine, the norm, the expected, the status quo. Call it the rebel in me, but I simply cannot bear plain vanilla when life offers so many other colorful and stimulating flavors. A fresh run at life by an untried route will get my vote every time—in spite of the risk. Stay open-minded for a moment and I'll try to show you why.

John Gardner once pointed out that, by their mid-thirties, most people have stopped acquiring new skills and new attitudes in any aspect of their lives. Does that jolt you? Stop and think, you who are over thirty. How long has it been since you acquired a new skill? How many brand-new attitudes have you adopted—personal, political, social, spiritual, financial—since you turned thirty?

Let's probe a little deeper. Do you drive to work the same way every morning? Are you compelled to approach a problem the identical way every time? Does a maverick (even wild) idea challenge you or cause you to retreat into the security of your shell? Have you lost that enthusiastic zest for discovery and adventure?

Say, you're older than you thought. You're older than you ought! God has arranged an "abundant life" for you, but it's slipping past. You're fast becoming addicted to the narcotic of predictability . . . and the longer you persist, the greater will be the pain of withdrawal.

Living and learning are linked; so are existing and expiring. Each day delivers a totally new set of circumstances and experiences. The same hours and minutes which capture the wonder of a child may deepen the rut of an adult.

Ever watched a preschooler's approach to life? His constant curiosity and probing inquisitiveness make every day completely fresh and exciting. To him, learning is natural; to the adult, it's a nuisance.

"Well," you rationalize, "I'm just too set. That's the way I am . . . you can't change me." Who can't change you? God? Like Israel of old, this sort of thinking puts limits on the Lord, discounting His power and denying His presence. Settling down to the hum-drum, bland diet of tasteless existence is a sure invitation for slackness and indolence to invade and plague your dwelling.

"So how do I break out?" you ask. "I guess I could row to Hawaii in a four-foot dinghy or schedule a February vacation in Iceland . . . maybe the family could tackle Everest this summer. . . ."

Unnecessary! Life abounds with everyday problems needing transformation into creative projects. Try taking life by the throat and achieve mastery over a few things that have haunted and harassed you long enough. Or—how about a course at a nearby school this year . . . or a serious study of some subject all on your own. Why not broaden yourself in some new way to the greater glory of God?

Remember our old friend, Caleb? He was eighty-five and still growing when he gripped an uncertain future and put the torch to the bridges behind him. At a time when the ease and comfort of retirement seemed predictable, he fearlessly faced the invincible giants of the mountain. Read Joshua 14 again. There was no dust on that fella. Every new sunrise introduced another reminder that his body and rocking chair weren't made for each other. While his peers were yawning, Caleb was yearning.

Every one of us was poured into a mold . . . but some are "moldier" than others. If you are determined and work quickly, you can keep the concrete of predictability from setting rock-hard up to your ears. Then again, if the risks and potential dangers of sailing your ship in the vast oceans of uncertainty make you seasick, you'd better anchor yourself near the shallow shore of security. Concrete sinks fast, you know.

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