The Polar Express
(2004)
The
Polar Express careers along the uncanny valley,
fuelled on fatal, carbon monoxide-rich festive fumes. I’d avoided this one for
a decade, pretty good going, but I figured, since it was Robert Zemeckis, I ought
to at least ticket-inspect it at some point. Representing the director’s first ill-conceived
plunge into performance capture, an affliction that would last the best part of
a decade (thankfully we were spared his Yellow
Submarine remake), The Polar Express
is exactly as hollow and dispiriting as I expected.
Worse, it’s the stuff of nightmares. Waxy, dead-eyed children climb aboard
this adaptation of Chris Van Allsburg’s children’s book, powered by the
thinnest and least charming of plotlines on their way to the North Pole. The
stops fail to muster interest or evoke magic, the kids are downright
disturbing, and Tom Hanks, essaying five different roles (this is his Dr. Strangelove, folks), is entirely
lacking in presence or charisma.
One of his, besides the main conductor, is
an especially unnerving Santa, who appears to be recovering from facial
reconstructive surgery. The elves are freakish, and the array of both
traditional and (rubbish) original Christmas tunes do nothing to staunch the
rapid loss of merriment and cheer of anyone unfortunate enough to be distracted
by the ghoulish spectacle. It’s evident from his subsequent ventures that
Zemeckis’ motives and belief in performance capture were sincere, but they
translate here into the most cynical, aesthetically distressing yuletide
experience imaginable.
Not all such excursions are doomed to
failure; Spielberg showed how it could be done with The Adventures of Tintin, and I might give The Polar Express that, just possibly, it has some level of merit
when seen in 3D. But, if you have to watch it with goggles on to get anything
from it, that’s Exhibit A in how lacking in nourishment the pixel feast is
right there; one requires at least an approximation of a movie without it. Beowulf held a certain car-crash quality,
whereby you could see certain things working amid the misconceived execution,
and A Christmas Carol, despite being
entirely redundant, is underpinned by solid source material. There’s nothing to
recommend The Polar Express.
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