The time of lethal foliage is upon us. I suppose it was always there; perhaps we just didn’t see it for what it was. But deadly flora is hardly unique to the present generation. Consider Little Shop of Horrors, Swamp Thing, and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes! Lately, however, vegetation has stepped up its game. Since the century turned, the plants have gotten more human and more aggressive. Cinematic trees have no longer been merely content to create shadows and then hide among them. The Whomping Willow punished Harry, Juan (don’t correct me; I like calling him “Juan;” it gives HP a more ethnic feel) and Hermione in Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban; Ents laid waste to Saruman’s stronghold in The Two Towers; Groot plowed through half the cosmos as one of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Hence, we can hardly be surprised when a giant anthropomorphic tree-man shows up to break stuff and act as child psychologist in A Monster Calls.
A Monster Calls represents the first supertree film which wasn’t, IMHO, clandestine propaganda for an eco-friendly agenda … perhaps the genre is, dare I say, branching out.
“Sucks to be you” English kid o’ th’ week is Conor (Lewis MacDougall). His mum (Felicity Jones) is terminally ill. Dad isn’t in the picture, but grandma Sigourney Weaver is. I’m pretty sure Peter Venkman is the only movie person who ever wanted there to be more of Sigourney Weaver. And, customary to U.K. educational tradition, Conor is being beaten up at school on a regular basis. Believe it not, he’s pretty messed up about all of it, messed up enough, in fact, to invent a Monster: a King Kong-sized tree man to come solve his problems.
The Monster is voiced by Liam Neeson; not quite sure why we needed the CGI; the naturally Frankensteinian Neeson could show up with a branch tied to his head and we’d get the idea.
So one night, Conor has insomnia and while he contemplating how much life sucks, the huge yew tree up the cemetery hill comes to life, uproots itself, and goes for a walk. This awkward behemoth assumes a man-like shape 50 feet high and stomps a direct path to Conor’s window, smashes his bedroom to bits, grabs him up and threatens him … with stories. Yes, A Monster Calls upon Conor for story time. Tell me, did he bring tea and biscuits, too? Does he want to play games and sing songs afterwards? You could say I was a tad skeptical at this point.
The Monster’s Tales, however, were brilliant. I assumed the thing was just gonna lecture Conor, and he did, but each session (for lack of a better word) was about both truth and perception, both light and dark, both appearances and reality. The Monster did less lecturing to his subject than the audience in general, pointing out the failures of demagoguery and blind faith,
while also not necessarily condemning either practice. So few things in life are purely good or purely evil. In turn, we expect Conor to spend his days in silent depression, and he both does and doesn’t. He mixes quiet acceptance with violent rebellion, often lashing out with Monster’s “consent.”
I don’t want to know the boy who is perfectly ok with mom dying young. –even terminally ill Felicity Jones still looks pretty good, btw— Humans tend to have a straightforward idea of how people should react to tragedy. Sometimes it fits; sometimes it doesn’t. Point is, there is no standard. I was put-off at first by Conor’s negative reactions, but in retrospect, it seems appropriate for a boy living through such grief. Does the Monster really exist? Maybe. Maybe there’s true magic to balance out the awful and maybe it’s just a manifestation of Conor’s imagination as a coping mechanism. One way or the other, it’s clear the boy needs the Monster, even when the latter encourages self-destructive behavior. Perhaps we all need one from time-to-time.
♪It had to be yew, it had to be yew
I wandered in pain, went out of my brain, in search of clue
To make feel new, in resolving my blue
Or even throw stones or maybe break bones, in juices I stew
Some others I’ve seen, might rarely be green
Won’t put up a fuss, be deciduous, but they never grew
For no other bush up on the hill
Clomped through my yard, and ruined my sill
It had to be yew, destructive yew, it had to be yew♫
Rated PG-13, 108 Minutes
D: J.A. Bayona
W: Patrick Ness
Genre: Advanced childhood angst
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Those who appreciate middle ground
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Pollyannas
♪ Parody inspired by “It Had to Be You”
