FILM REVIEW: LET THE FIRE BURN

A scene from Let the Fire Burn.

Bloodhound cops

By Don Simpson

 

May 13, 1985 was a pivotal moment in my childhood. I remember watching the local Philadelphia news that evening, mesmerized that a city’s police force would drop two pounds of military explosives onto a city row house, knowing that innocent women and children were inside the building. This was before 24-hour cable television news channels were the norm, so the fact that all three local news stations were so fixated on this event for the evening was equally fascinating. News reporters were broadcasting live from the scene, giving their firsthand accounts of the events. I specifically recall that my 12-year-old self felt like I was watching war correspondents, as explosions, fire and gun fire erupted. There was an unreal level of urgency and mayhem. I had recently discovered the word, "anarchy," and on May 13, 1985, I finally understood what that word meant. This was total chaos, and it was all incredibly frightening to me; but what frightened me the most was, as far as I could tell, the local police force initiated the chaos and they had no control over the rapidly escalating situation.

 

It really was a war. Philadelphia police acknowledged firing over 10,000 rounds of ammunition. The leader of MOVE, John Africa, was one of six adults who died in the fire; but even more disheartening, five innocent children died. In the end, 65 West Philly homes were burned to the ground by the six-alarm fire. Even if the few men inside the MOVE compound were as dangerous as the police would lead us to believe, the working class people who lived in the other 64 homes were totally innocent. So, why did Mayor Wilson Goode authorize this bombing? More importantly, why did he give the infamous command to “let the fire burn”?

 

Admittedly, I was quite naive, especially in the realm of race and politics. Prior to that evening, I had no idea that MOVE even existed. It was not until years later that I began to learn more about MOVE; but the more I learned about MOVE, the more confused I became about the events of May 13, 1985.

 

Founded by John Africa in 1972, MOVE was a predominantly African-American communal Christian society that opposed science, medicine and technology; preferring a Neo-Luddite, hunter-gatherer lifestyle. The confrontations between these anarcho-primitivists and the police became legendary, mainly because it seemed as though no one would ever tell the real truth about any of the events.

 

The years of violent confrontations between MOVE and the police culminated on May 13, 1985, and even though a few local news affiliates were recording everything live, the information available to the public seemed inherently biased. This is where Jason Osder’s documentary, Let the Fire Burn, comes in. Twenty-eight years after Philadelphia became known as “The City that Bombed Itself,” Osder premiered an artfully-edited archival footage documentary about MOVE at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York City. Assembled primarily from news footage and video recordings collected by an mayor-appointed investigative commission, Let the Fire Burn avoids any heavy-handed narration or directorial voice. Instead, Osder presents the audience with a riveting 88-minutes of firsthand documentation and allows us to come to our own conclusions. Regardless, it is difficult to avoid the obvious roles that prejudice, intolerance and fear played in the decisions made by Mayor Goode and the Philadelphia Police on May 13, 1985.

 

This is a part of Philadelphia history that is rarely acknowledged. I hope the reverberations of Let the Fire Burn will haunt Goode for the rest of his life; but, first and foremost, I hope the truth behind these events continues to bubble towards the surface.

THEATER REVIEW: MADAME BUTTERFLY

A scene from Madame Butterfly.

On the wings of lust

By Ed Rampell

Giacomo Puccini’s 1904 Madame Butterfly is among the most beloved operas of all time, and rightfully so. From our 21^stcentury “post-racial” (as if!) perch it’s easy to get up on our high horses and dismiss this early stab (no pun intended) at depicting interracial romance as being stereotypical, even racist. For instance, in commentary accompanying a Turner Classic Movies screening of Son of the Gods, Robert Osborne criticized this 1930 pre-Code film about racism -- sexual and otherwise -- against Asians in America as “cringe-worthy” and “creaky.” The usually circumspect Osborne went on to disparage D.W. Griffith’s 1919 classic Broken Blossoms, which was actually a plea for understanding and tolerance that likewise starred Richard Barthelmess.

In the same vein some may deride Ukrainian soprano Oksana Dyka’s turn as the title character in Madame Butterfly as “Yellowface” -- a white person impersonating a character of Asian ancestry through cosmetics, costuming, mannerisms, etc., which is also true for other “Oriental” roles performed by Caucasians in this production. Perhaps. Racism is certainly America’s original sin and disg-race-ful, and should always be exposed, wherever it rears its proverbially ugly head. But at the same time, in hindsight, we must not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Griffith richly deserved to be protested and picketed for his vile racism in 1915’s The Birth of a Nation, but his subsequent Broken Blossoms, like his 1916 masterpiece, Intolerance, are motion picture pleas against man’s inhumanity to man, and can be viewed as attempts to make up for the harm he did with his racially despicable Civil War epic. Again, I don’t mean for a second to excuse racism and stereotyping, but I am arguing that we must view works of art within the context of their times. Having said all that --

Meanwhile, back at the review:

The splendid first act of Madame Butterfly ranks with the very best work in all of the L.A. Opera productions I’ve covered. Michael Yeargan’s scenery and costuming are evocative of turn of the last century Japan. The libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica quickly reveals B.F. Pinkerton’s (Montana-born tenor Brandon Jovanovich) perfidy and opportunistic streak, as he likens the 99-year lease on his home -- which he has a monthly annullment option -- to his marital vows to eponymous character, Cio-Cio-San. Like the shoji panels at his hilltop house overlooking the harbor, he views his marriage -- arranged by matrimonial broker Goro (Manila-born tenor Rodell Rosel) -- as sliding, lasting only during his brief Naval deployment to Japan, until he makes “real” nuptials with, shall we say, “one of his own kind.” 

The thoughtless Pinkerton confides his treachery to U.S. Consul Sharpless (Philadelphia-born bass baritone Eric Owens -- and BTW, since we’re discussing race specific casting, would the U.S. diplomatic corps have had an African American represent U.S. interests overseas in 1904?).

The unfortunate Cio-Cio-San has had to support herself and her family since her father’s hara-kiri death (her revealing of the blade that did the suicidal deed early in Act I foreshadows what is to happen) by becoming a geisha. Pinkerton is clearly smitten by the charming Cio-Cio-San, and likens the kimono-clad beauty to art, flowers and insects; she refers to herself as a “goddess.” It never seems to occur to either of them (in particular to Pinkerton) that this “Butterfly” is merely human, a flesh and blood being with heart, soul and psyche. Indeed, it turns out Cio-Cio-San is only 15 years old, so by today’s standards, Pinkerton is arguably a child molester, if not a child rapist.

Cio-Cio-San is described as having profound feelings for her white “husband”; perhaps because of her father’s fate, and the limited options available to a young lady in early 20^th century Japan, she seeks to escape social restrictions by “marrying” an American and elevating her status. Cio-Cio-San turns her back on her ancestral religion, incurring the wrath of the Bonze (New York-born bass Stefan Szkafarowsky), who disrupts her “wedding” ceremony, and casts a sort of fatwa upon the two star crossed lovers.

Nevertheless, afterward, when its bedtime without Bonze, lighting designer Stephen Strawbridge illumines the lovers’ marital bed with the constellations in a dazzlingly romantic expression of their passion. The scene captures what, to paraphrase Spike Lee, could be called “bamboo fever,” as East meets West in sexual bliss.

But alas, as Rudyard Kipling put it, “never the twain shall meet.” Act II greatly encapsulates the action, as Pinkerton ships out, leaving behind Cio-Cio-San and, unbeknownst to Pinkerton, a love child. And unbeknownst to Butterfly, her American has flitted away and wed a fellow Yankee Doodle Dandy. As Butterfly pines away for her feckless gaijin (Caucasian), she sings the breathtakingly beautiful aria "Un bel di" ("One Fine Day"), which Dyka delivers flawlessly and movingly (even if it may be politically incorrect for a Ukrainian to portray an Asian, and anatomically incorrect for a hefty 34 year old to depict a slender teen). Well, when that not so mighty fine day does arrive -- and with it, Mrs. Pinkerton -- let’s just say it’s “ciao,” Cio-Cio-San.

What was Puccini getting at 108 years ago? Madame Butterfly is much more than a mere Mikado minstrel show. (Indeed, from 1915 to 1920 Japanese opera singer Tamaki Miura played the part in America and Europe.) Pinkerton’s rank is relatively low; he’s only a lieutenant, after all. It’s as if the color of his skin and racial pedigree was such that it bestowed a social status that outshone that of another suitor, the wealthy aristocrat Prince Yamadori (Korean-born baritone Museop Kim), who tries to woo Butterfly while her unfaithful “husband” sails the seven seas. His American-ness seems to be the allure for the outcast geisha Cio-Cio-San, who has been spurned by her own people and their cultural codes. Madame Butterfly is subject to interpretation, but I suspect Puccini, who so sympathized with countercultural artistes in La Boheme and political prisoners in Tosca, was criticizing racial intolerance, and not interracial love.

Ron Daniels ably directs the production which has some complex mass scenes, and Grant Gershon wields his baton with all the finesse of a musical samurai, conducting Puccini’s effervescent score.


Madame Butterfly runs through Dec. 9 at LA Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: (213)972-8001; www.laopera.com.

 

AFI 2012: THE CENTRAL PARK FIVE

A scene from The Central Park Five

Burns, New York, Burns

By Ed Rampell

In the nonfiction films of Ken Burns, from The Civil War to The Central Park Five, race is a recurring theme, . The latter is the latest and perhaps most contemporary of the history obsessed filmmaker, and it is all about race and racism. As a “Native” New Yorker, of course I was aware of 1989’s Central Park Jogger case, wherein five Black and Latino teens were charged with being part of a “wolf pack” that went on a “wilding” rampage -- as the racist media put it -- brutally assaulting and gang raping a white woman jogging in the Park. The quintet of Harlem teenagers were convicted and served prison time.

Although I moved from N.Y. decades ago, I visited from time to time and stayed in touch with City residents, but somehow I never knew about what eventually happened regarding this case and to the five Harlemites, who are now grown men. Leave it to Ken Burns, America’s TV documentarian par excellence, to bring us up to date with the startling revelations regarding what reallyhappened and what the Central Park Five are currently up to. It’s genuinely astonishing and horrifying. The outcome is one of the worst examples of the press burying, instead of reporting, the news. While the front page stories about rape and mayhem were front page news, subsequent events are submerged on page 12 -- if at all.

Leave it to Burns and his co-creators, David McMahon and Sarah Burns, to exhume this riveting story with a riveting feature length documentary that will have viewers sitting on the edges of their seats, filled with outrage and unable to take their reddened eyes off of the screen. After watching this must see movie, audiences may join the young Rev. Al Sharpton in chanting: “No justice, no peace!” Hopefully, Burns’ doc will help render both justice and peace for the Central Park Five who are, in that ultimate Alfred Hitchcock tradition, literally “the wrong men.”

If you see only one film at AFI Film Festival this year, don’t miss Burns’ bravura The Central Park Five!


The Central Park Five screens: Monday, Nov. 5, 1:15 p.m. at the Chinese 2.

 

  

 

 

PAFF 2012: DARK GIRLS



On the "set" of Dark Girls.

In the b(l)ackground

By Ed Rampell

Bill Duke is best known to audiences for appearing in highly commercial  action pix, such as Ah-nold Schwarzenegger's two 1980s hits, Commando and Predator, plus Action Jackson, as well as in 1970s TV crime fighting series like Kojak, Charlie's Angels and Starsky and Hutch. The 6'4" shaved head African-American actor is less known as one of Hollywood's working directors, not only of many television programs, but of features, such as the Whoopi Goldberg Sister Act sequel, the made-for-TV movie about the Black Panthers' forerunners, Deacons For Defense, plus 1993's The Cemetery Club. In the latter, Duke raised eyebrows by breaking the mold and directing a mostly Caucasian and female cast led by Olympia Dukakis and Ellen Burstyn.

Now the surprisingly soft spoken Duke is shattering celluloid stereotypes again by co-directing the hard hitting, eye opening documentary Dark Girls, about "colorism" -- not only within the African-American community, but among non-blacks here and peoples around the world. Colorism is a sort of preferential judgment system based solely on skin color and tone, the caliber of hair (how straight is it?) and eye color -- as opposed to assessing individuals on what Dr. Martin Luther King called “the contents of one’s character.”

In particular, as the title suggests, Duke's doc looks at how this phenomenon affects females of color, although it is the first in a trilogy to include Yellow Brick Road (about the "high yellow"/"mulatto" phenomenon of the perception of lighter skinned people) and What is a Man. Dark Girls' interviewees include a number of extremely insightful psychologists, as well as children, teens, adults and elders impacted by colorism, such as African-American women are the least married demographic in the USA by far. Most of the documentary’s subjects are black; many of the onscreen victims of colorism are full of anguish, especially as this form of racism often comes from others of African ancestry. Comic Michael Coylar scores some pithy points about the color barrier couched in wit, while The Help actress Viola Davis insists upon not remaining helpless while racial scorn is heaped upon her.

One of the recurring interviewees is a lighter skinned mom who frets over having a darker daughter who denies her own Negritude and refuses to identify as being black. However, this mother seems completely oblivious to what appears to be her own hair straightening and dying blonde of her locks -- what message does this send to her little girl?

Like Bed Stuy-born Chris Rock’s 2009 directorial debut, Good Hair, Duke fearlessly takes on sensitive subject matter -- call him the “Duke of Curl.” When asked why Duke was "airing blacks' dirty laundry" he replied: "Because it's stinking up the house." Along with co-director D. Channsin Berry, Duke belies cultural cliches and goes where angels fear to tread, by tackling a touchy subject few would deal with (although Spike Lee boldly did in his controversial 1988 musical School Daze). Duke’s well-made nonfiction film anticipates and deals with a lot of my “what about” thoughts, such as, for example, the fact that while Thailand is full of dark skinned people, only the lighter skinned Asians appear on television.

However, I would have liked a brief look at Frantz Fanon’s groundbreaking book about the psychopathology of colonialism, Black Skins, White Masks – especially since Fanon himself was a psychiatrist, as are many of this film’s talking heads. Plus, the doc is totally devoid of any sort of class analysis of colorism -- just as plantation masters benefited by perceived divisions between house and field hands, today’s divided working class profits our corporate overlords. Ever since the Roman Empire, divide and conquer has been the name of the oppression game. Nevertheless, Dark Girls is a major, must see work.

The screening of Dark Girls I attended was completely sold out, and was followed by an extremely lively Q&A with Duke in person.



FILM REVIEW: CITY OF LIFE AND DEATH

A scene from City of Life and Death.

Flow our tears the testimonies read

By John Esther

As Hitler and company were busy turning Europe into an abattoir their non-Occidental bootstrapping companions in the land of the rising sun marched into Nanjing, China, December 1937 to conquer, rape, steal and kill their purportedly racial inferiors.

Boiling with racial hatred, the Japanese Imperial Army systematically, randomly, wantonly killed thousands of Chinese civilians and soldiers who had already surrendered. As the Chinese city canvas swirls and whirlpools into a fury of reductive madness, a group of Chinese and Europeans are allowed to create a Safety Zone where the sick, sad and surrendered are safe from the sickness, sadism and spurious violence outside the gates. But that can only last so long.

Based on recorded witness testimony, writer-director Lu Chuan (Missing Gun; Kekexili, Mountain Patrol) plays out the atrocities in smart fashion by portraying the madness of fascism, racism, sexism and war from both the Chinese as well as Japanese perspectives, sympathizing with both sides but damningly indicting the Japanese Imperial Army for its unforgivable behavior. In other words: Yes, I see what you went through; you still royally fucked up and you better know it. Stuff does not just happen.

Superior to the 2009 film somewhat covering the same material, John Rabe, the latest film by one of China's most impressive "newer" directors (City of Life and Death is Chuan's third film), is an anti-war film of a higher order, thanks to Chuan's stellar screenplay and direction uncovering the internal and external realities of unfettered violence, the haunting colors by director of photographer Cao Yu, Lai Qizhen's stunning sound design and a cast of wonderful actors including, Liu Ye, Hideo Nakaizumi, Gao Yuanyuan, Beverly Peckous, Qin Lan and Yao Di.

On the other hand, John Paisley as John Rabe gives a terrible performance but, it is interesting to note, he is much older and nowhere as heroic than Ulrich Tukur in John Rabe. Tukur gave a much better performance, too.

But Tukur's performance is the only thing to recommend John Rabe over City of Life of Death. 

 

THEATER REVIEW: THE CHINESE MASSACRE

 

Forget it is fake Chinatown 

By Ed Rampell 

If Karl Marx wrote: “the history of all hitherto existing societies is the history of class struggle,” one can add that American history is also the history of ethnic struggle. In The Chinese Massacre (Annotated) playwright Tom Jacobson takes a Howard Zinn-like “people’s history” look at Los Angeles, revealing a little known, yet significant, event in L.A. history. Long before the 20^th century’s Zoot Suit, Watts and L.A. riots there was a pogrom against L.A.’s then-200 inhabitants of Chinese ancestry in 1871.

There are few – if any -- more important, serious subjects than ethnic cleansing and genocide. Jacobson and Circle X Theatre Co. are to be commended for reminding us of this butchery and burning 140 years ago by dramatizing this stain – or rather, bloodstain – on L.A.’s record and reputation, rescuing the Chinese massacre from our collective amnesia. The killing of 18 Chinese men -- almost 10 percent of Chinatown’s population -- surpassed the number of victims of the Manson tribe yet is as forgotten as Squeaky and Charlie remain remembered.

It’s unfortunate that The Chinese Massacre’s bard undercuts not only the seriousness of his content but its power and cohesive flow with a self-reflective, self-indulgent form that repeatedly disrupts and distracts from what otherwise would be compelling storytelling. So-called “Annotators,” such as Lisa Tharps as ex-slave turned community leader Biddy Mason, frequently interrupt the drama, interjecting “footnotes,” commentary and the like. This, the aud is told, is done in the mode of Bertolt Brecht’s “Epic Theatre,” so as to “alienate” viewers from sentimental emotionalism in order to jog them into thinking about what is, after all, merely a staged performance, and what it all means. Get the point?

Brecht was generally content with just doing it (that is, building his Epic techniques into the body of his plays), but that isn’t good enough for Mr. Jacobson, who, we are told, has written more than 50 plays (although we’re also told that he has a day job), including House of the Rising Son, playing right next door on the Atwater Village Theatre’s other stage. To further compound matters, Annotators reveal that the fact-based drama is fictionalized, that dialogue is derived from sources outside the domain of the action and the like. For example, the central character, Lee Tong (West Liang), is fictionalized. This all reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s dictum that flashbacks must never lie about plots, or of a storyteller who keeps interrupting his/her own tale by saying,“But I digress” – and then persisting in doing so.

Although The Chinese Massacre does make reference to subsequent racial clashes between Angelenos, these end in the early 1990s. Looking back at the early, troubled history of Chinese immigrants 140 years ago in L.A., what are we to make of the impact of today’s large Asian-American and Asian population in Los Angeles County? It may not be politically correct to say so, and I don’t mean this as a values statement but simply as a matter of fact: parts of places such as Monterey Park seem more as if one is in Asia than America. The melding and conflict between people of Asian ancestry and those of other ethnic backgrounds continues today, and The Chinese Massacre provides some needed cultural context. Perhaps the best place to end the play could be with that UCLA white female student’s YouTube rant about Asian pupils in the library. Racism, alas, remains with and among us.   

In spite of The Chinese Massacre’s self-referring, tautological technique, viewers who enjoy their drama brewed strong and dramatizations of history will likely appreciate the annals of this not so La-La-Land.

The Chinese Massacre runs through May 28 at Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater Village. For more information: 323/644-1929; www.circlextheatre.org.

FILM REVIEW: HEY, BOO

To Kill a Mockingbird author Harper Lee.

Once was enough

By Ed Rampell 

One of the biggest, most enduring mysteries in American literature is why didn’t Harper Lee ever write another book after the smash success of her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, To Kill a Mockingbird? Her beloved novel was adapted into a movie only about two years after Lee’s bestseller was published (in contrast, it took Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged half a century-plus to make it to the big screen), and the extremely faithful film version won three Oscars, including for Horton Foote’s screenplay. And who can ever forget Gregory Peck’s sensitive, dignified Academy Award-winning depiction of Atticus Finch, the small town attorney who defends an innocent black man in the 1930s segregated South?  

To Kill a Mockingbird captured the zeitgeist of the early 1960s’ Civil Rights movement, and catapulted the young Lee to fame and fortune. Yet she never wrote again. Why? In her documentary Hey, Boo: Harper Lee and 'To Kill a Mockingbird' writer-director Mary Murphy sets out to find out the answer to that literary enigma and more, with clips from director Robert Mulligan’s 1962 movie, archival footage, original interviews and a trip down to Lee’s hometown of Monroeville, Alabama (called Maycomb in the novel).

Alas, as has been her practice since around 1964, Lee -- who is still alive and in her eighties -- remains camera shy. However, a slew of talking heads shed light on the importance and impact of To Kill a Mockingbird, and on Lee herself. The interviewees include Oprah Winfrey, authors such as Scott Turow and Anna Quindlen, Civil Rights leader Andrew Young, musician Roseanne Cash, former newsman Tom Brokaw, etc. However, the most intriguing interviews are with friends of Harper’s and most of all, with her 99-year-old sister Alice Lee.

Although the quirky, ancient Alice -- who still practices law at Monroeville -- is difficult to understand, especially for Yankee ears, she has much to say about her little sister, their small kid days, family life, Harper’s literary process, brush with fame and why she’s never published again. Alice probably comes the closest to revealing the secret of Harper’s perplexing, troubling decision.

In my opinion, this puzzle has much to do with Monroeville’s other fabled novelist, Truman Capote, who also happens to be depicted in To Kill a Mockingbird as Dill John Megna). Capote spent part of his childhood next door to the Lee household. Indeed, while Harper stubbornly refuses to get in front of the camera, she is portrayed by Catherine Keener and Sandra Bullock in two films about Capote’s investigation of the murders he investigated for In Cold Blood, 2005’s Capote and 2006’s Infamous, respectively. Harper assisted Capote with his research in Kansas shortly before To Kill a Mockingbird was published.

Like her childhood friend, Harper relocated to New York, and Truman, who had already attained literary recognition, was helpful in getting To Kill a Mockingbird published. But according to the film, Capote later resented the fact that Harper won a Pulitzer and he didn’t. I suspect that the toll celebrityhood took on Truman and his talent played a major role in turning Harper away from the limelight. However, the experience of being lauded as a literary lioness also affected Harper’s creativity. Whether or not she did try to write another book, the success of To Kill a Mockingbird provided an annuity for her, so unlike the rest of we scribblers, Harper didn’t have to worry about trifles like, you know, earning a living and paying the rent.

Murphy’s documentary doesn’t delve into Harper’s private life. As far as we know she never married, and who knows her sexuality? Truman, of course, was gay, and Lee may have seen how being a celeb under a magnifying glass in a homophobic society adversely affected her childhood pal. Harper might have preferred not to live in a fishbowl and to retreat to the shadows. We have always thought that the tomboy Scout was supposed to be Harper, but perhaps the truth is that she has been more like the reclusive, elusive, eponymous Boo Radley (Robert Duvall’s first movie role).

In any case, this is a heartwarming, entertaining doc for lovers of literature in general, and of To Kill a Mockingbird in particular. Murphy pays the original novel and movie homage by showing how important both were to the Civil Rights movement and puts To Kill a Mockingbird into historical context -- especially as it was written by a young woman who had, once upon a time, grown up in the segregated South. Its tale of racism and injustice, amplified by Peck’s performance as the attorney Atticus who defends the wronged Tom Robinson (the moving Brock Peters), was the quintessential Civil Rights film of its day. In addition, Mary Badham’s badass portrayal of the tomboy Scout stands in stark contrast to the screen’s prim and proper Southern belles. I do declare, Murphy’s doc points out that in addition to striking a blow for equal rights for blacks, To Kill a Mockingbird also made an impact on the issue of gender equality. 

Thank you, Harper Lee.

     

 

FILM REVIEW: HOP

E.B. (voice by Russell Brand) in Hop.

Rabbit test

By John Esther

Assuming its audience is familiar with that lie most American adults tell their children about the Easter Bunny coming around annually to bring candy and hide colored hard-boiled eggs for children to find and consume -- as part of the celebration of Jesus Christ's reported resurrection from the cross -- Hop wastes no time with any holiday back story (the savior is never even mentioned in the movie) and immediately dives forward to a secret candy factory nestled under the Moai statues on Easter Island, Rapa Nui, a Polynesian island in the southeastern Pacific Ocean.

Owner of the wonderful, colorful, dazzling, frazzling, mind-numbing factory is the Easter Bunny (nicely voiced by Hugh Laurie). Running the factory is Carlos (Hank Azaria once again doing the silly Latino voice he did as Agador Spartacus back in the 1996 movie, The Birdcage, and continues as Julio in The Simpsons), an ambitious chick who does not care for the Easter Bunny's "privileged" son, E.B. (voice by the seemingly-ubiquitous Russell Brand), the hare, er, heir apparent to the fortune.

A bunny who just wants to bang on the drums all day, E.B. is not interested in following family traditions and when the time comes to take over the sweetest job in the world, E.B. takes off for Hollywood to become a professional drummer. Sure, why not?

After an accidental encounter, E.B. meets Fred O'Hare (James Marsden), a jobless Valley Boy who has finally exhausted the patience of his parents (Gary Cole and Elizabeth Perkins). Now, while most people would be curious, or notice opportunity, if he or she discovered a rabbit that talked and played the drums, Fred tries to get rid of the cute little creature. But E.B. just will not let go. He is here to fulfill his dreams, but he needs Fred's help. Of course, Fred comes around and is thus rewarded beyond his dreams.

Using animation and live action quite impressively, Hop takes one reactionary myth and uses it to reinforce that myth as well as others. From the Easter Bunny to the classic Hollywood populist carrot about the ordinary schmo who gets the job of his dreams out of dumb luck (just look at Hop co-star David Haselloff's career), Hop is a pretty puffy tale throughout the film.

In addition to the myths, Hop makes a mockery out of workers' rights. Carlos, out of his own greed, leads the chicks at the candy plant on a revolt. Whatever legitimate complaints Carlos may have had against his boss are nullified by his "Latino" tin pot dictatorship. His demands are foreign to the normal machinations of the plant. Ergo, we are to here to root for traditional business as usual and that does not include any advancement in the rights of "chicks." (Hop's most noticeable product placement, Hershey's, has a poor history regarding the use of child slave labor in West Africa.)

In addition to Latinos, what little there is of "The Other" serves as a hammy trope or very little more than something to deride. At best, they should just be happy for the white male heroes. Others may work harder at what they do than Fred has ever tried, but they will never take that great Hershey Highway to the sky and that seems the way things ought to be.

To be fair to the hare, Brand's performance is rather delightful. He accentuates the smarter scenes in the movie. There is actually a pretty amusing second act in Hop involving the developing relationship between Fred and E.B. -- with quite a bit of dialogue that will go straight over the heads of some members of the audience. Fred is a bourgeois brat and E.B.'s upper-class upbringing exposes more of Fred's shortcomings while Fred relays what would happen to a talking bunny rabbit if the authorities got a hold of one. (Actually, it is the same kinds of bad things that happen to non-talking rabbits already in the tragic "name of science.") It is the most honest part of Hop. Too bad the filmmakers had to ensure they re-return Hop into a fairy tale.