The themes that Martin Scorsese addresses in this film—the thin line between self-recrimination and nostalgia, the effects of advancing technology on thriving art forms, and the lasting effects of a father's love—would seem misguided in a typical children's film. "Hugo," however, a children's film directed by Scorsese—one of the greatest American film directors of all time ("Taxi Driver," "Goodfellas," "The Aviator," "Raging Bull," "The Departed")—is no typical children's film. Scorsese has made a children's film for adults who still experience the joys, wonders, mysteries, and painful epiphanies of childhood.
First of all, the "exotic" setting of a 1930s Parisian train station establishes the wistful tone. The film is beautiful to behold—the colors, the cinematography, the set design, and the art direction are all stunningly beautiful. The plot itself focuses on the titular hero, a young boy who lives in the rafters and bowels of the station and spends his time adjusting the station's numerous clocks, evading the menacing pursuit of the Station Inspector (played by an appropriately surly Sacha Baron Cohen), and searching for parts that animate the automaton left to him by his dead father (played by Jude Law in an unfortunately brief appearance). Through the course of his quest, Hugo encounters an elderly shopkeeper (Ben Kingsley in another masterful performance), the shopkeeper's god-daughter, and a film historian. Through these connections, Hugo begins to piece together not only the mystery of the automaton but also the impact of the beginnings of cinema as an art form.
The film is sumptuous, the plot is charming, the actors are magnificent—yet somehow the film amounts to far less than the sum of its parts. I found myself bored at many points during the film—the story seems to linger a bit too much, allowing the viewer to appreciate (almost excessively so) the aesthetic and nostalgic beauty of the film. Overall, I'm glad I've seen it, but "Hugo" is not a film that I plan on ever watching again.
First of all, the "exotic" setting of a 1930s Parisian train station establishes the wistful tone. The film is beautiful to behold—the colors, the cinematography, the set design, and the art direction are all stunningly beautiful. The plot itself focuses on the titular hero, a young boy who lives in the rafters and bowels of the station and spends his time adjusting the station's numerous clocks, evading the menacing pursuit of the Station Inspector (played by an appropriately surly Sacha Baron Cohen), and searching for parts that animate the automaton left to him by his dead father (played by Jude Law in an unfortunately brief appearance). Through the course of his quest, Hugo encounters an elderly shopkeeper (Ben Kingsley in another masterful performance), the shopkeeper's god-daughter, and a film historian. Through these connections, Hugo begins to piece together not only the mystery of the automaton but also the impact of the beginnings of cinema as an art form.
The film is sumptuous, the plot is charming, the actors are magnificent—yet somehow the film amounts to far less than the sum of its parts. I found myself bored at many points during the film—the story seems to linger a bit too much, allowing the viewer to appreciate (almost excessively so) the aesthetic and nostalgic beauty of the film. Overall, I'm glad I've seen it, but "Hugo" is not a film that I plan on ever watching again.