View more photos of Jim Henson and his early Muppets.

Alongside the felt-free Alain Resnais retrospective, this month the Gene Siskel Film Center is re-running a substantial portion of “Muppets, Music & Magic: Jim Henson’s Legacy,” which was a significant popular success last year for the State Street cinematheque.

 The Muppets survey ranges from feature-length offerings to a program of Henson’s shorts and commercials. Of particular interest is “Muppets History 201” — the “101” survey played the Film Center last fall — which reminds us just how far back Henson’s marionette/puppet hybrids go on the pop culture timeline.

 “Muppets” and “Eisenhower years” don’t seem to go together, somehow. I always associated the Muppets with “Sesame Street,” of which I was an enormous fan. But the year I was born, 1961, Dave Garroway brought Jim and Jane Henson and their creations onto “The Today Show.” By that time they’d already made a name for themselves on “Sam and Friends,” which aired in the Washington, D.C. area beginning in 1955.

 The Muppets were regulars on “The Jimmy Dean Show” in the early ‘60s. They did 25 guest spots on Ed Sullivan. They  entertained Jack Paar and Dick Cavett. And once they helped make “Sesame Street” and got their own show and became movie stars, they were everywhere, from commercials to Car son’s couch. Kermit the Frog even guest-hosted “The Tonight Show” once.

There was a twee side to some of their entertainment legacy. But what’s remarkable about Henson’s characters is, in the main, their genuine not-sticky-sweetness. They’re just sweet enough, really. Henson and his longtime collaborator (and later, film director) Frank Oz were fantastically complementary talents. Think of how magically right “Sesame Street’s” Ernie and Bert were as a couple, no matter how often Bert (to whom SpongeBob’s Squidward owes everything) broke down into neurotic despair over some playful provocation. Henson’s voice as Kermit is one of the great, grin-inducing vocal characterizations in the history of American show business.

 A generation after “Sesame Street,” long after Henson’s 1990 death at age 53 of streptococcus pneumonia, the Jim Henson Company and the Disney Channel teamed up for a series called “Bear in the Big Blue House.” I loved that show: It was our son’s favorite when he was very young, and compared to the squalling aggravations that pass for pre-teen amusements now, it was like a spiritual retreat. Hen son was a gentle soul (though some of his slapstick, particularly in some of his TV commercials, bordered on the sadistic). Mainly he knew how to make people laugh, and create characters who, like Kermit, changed with the decades but never tried to keep up with the times.

“Muppets History 201” will be screened 8 p.m. Saturday Nov. 7. Craig Shemin, representing The Jim Henson Legacy, will introduce the program. Check siskelfilmcenter.org for the complete Muppets survey, or call 312-846-2800.

Movies on the radio: Michael Phillips chats with Greg Jarrett in the 6:30 a.m. hour Friday on WGN-AM 720.
And on TV: Phillips co-hosts “At the Movies” with A.O. Scott, airing after late local news Saturdays and 11 a.m. Sundays on WLS-Ch. 7.
 
 
 

The first 20 minutes of “Precious,” the full title of which is “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire,” are so intense and pitched so high, you may not feel like sticking it out. My advice: Stick it out. This is an exceptional film about nearly unendurable circumstances, endured. You will come out the other side of it a markedly enriched filmgoer.

The story of Claireece “Precious” Jones” tells of a New York City teenager living in 1980s Harlem, raped by her barely glimpsed father, abused by her unfathomably cruel mother. Precious is illiterate but bright, and against her mother’s wishes she switches to an alternative school where, in a literacy workshop, she comes under the life-saving tutelage of Ms. Rain (Paula Patton). The 16-year-old Precious has one child and another on the way, both by her own father. Her life (and director Lee Daniels’ wrenching film) becomes a mosaic of pain and promise, sunny skies and grief, with enough of an emotional impact to put a dent in the most jaded audience.

The novel was published in 1996. Screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher has toned down some of the miseries inflicted on Precious, but this is no whitewash on the order of the film version of “The Color Purple” (a book referenced directly in Sapphire’s original). It is true to its source, and only in the coda do we feel as if we’re getting more affirmation than the protagonist’s narrative circumstances support. The film is rough around the edges but fantastically well-acted, and truly alive.

The miracle of the ensemble is that it does, in fact, feel like an ensemble. Newcomer Gabourey Sidibe plays Precious, and she is phenomenally expressive in her portrayal of a huge young woman shouldering a massive amount of adversity. Mo’Nique plays the pivotal role of Precious’ vicious mother — Ronald Reagan’s nightmare vision of a “welfare queen” come to life. Some have claimed this portrayal comes too close to minstrelsy for comfort. God knows Mo’Nique is asked to do some pretty horrible things, but “Precious” keeps this character just this side of cardboard monstrosity. There’ll be an Oscar nomination or two in this film’s near future.

And Mariah Carey — who knew the pop diva had such a good, honest, clean performance in her? She plays a social worker, and in a couple of lengthy interactions, Carey and Sidibe find common performance ground where you wouldn’t think any existed.

Daniels allows himself the fantasy outlet of Precious’ imagination: When the sexual violence (or other kinds of violence) gets to be too much, the young woman escapes into herself and we see her on-screen as she dreams herself to be: all dolled up on the fashion runway, or attending some paparazzi-laden premiere. Some of the visualizations are conventionally realized, but the necessity of such scenes is clear.
Still, “Precious” is at its best when it spends time in the classroom, and when we get to know a host of tough, smart characters on their own terms. These sequences rival those in the recent French film “The Class.” We root for these survivors, not because they’re being set up as rooting interests by the filmmakers, but because their back-and-forth is so sharp and vivid and dynamic. These supporting characters keep the movie hopping. It’s not an easy film to watch. But neither, for many reasons, is “Precious” easy to forget.

Related:

"Precious" photos

Video: Michael Phillips reviews "Precious"

Video: "Precious" trailer

MPAA rating: R (for child abuse including sexual assault and pervasive language).
Cast: Gabourey Sidibe (Precious); Mo’Nique (Mary); Paula Patton (Ms. Rain); Mariah Carey (Ms. Weiss); Sherri Shepherd (Cornrows); Lenny Kravitz (Nurse John)
Credits: Directed by: Lee Daniels; written by Geoffrey Fletcher, based on the novel “Push” by Sapphire; produced by Daniels, Sarah Siegel-Magness and Gary Magness. A Lionsgate release. Running time: 1:49.
 

The script by Jonathan Parker and Catherine di Napoli, which Parker directed, is a tale of two brothers. Adrian, played by Adam Goldberg, devotes his sour life to music so forbiddingly atonal, he believes that harmony was “a capitalist plot to sell pianos.” Brother Josh, played with a bland air of superiority by Eion Bailey, is the opposite: no standards, no artistic fire in the belly, but lots of money in the bank. His paintings decorate countless hotel lobby walls, and Madeline, his rep, played by Marley Shelton, likes to keep his stuff “in back,” where the swells visiting her gallery for its more adventurous offerings will never see it.

 Both brothers have a yen for Madeline, who, in one of the film’s few successful running gags, is always wearing clothing made of vinyl or squeaky leather or excessive zipper components. She’s not a sight gag; she’s a sound gag. I wish the movie had more sly jabs up its sleeve. Too much of the time we’re stuck on repeat, as we listen to different characters pull variations on the theme of insecure narcissism. In one scene, Adrian unleashes his preferred brand of atonal angst on a restaurant audience. In another, Madeline’s hot-hot-hot installation artist, played by Vinnie Jones, explains that he’s not influenced by the past, he’s influencing the past.

 A surer hand behind the camera might’ve finessed the jokes more effectively, or established a consistent and satisfying tone. Playwrights as diverse as Donald Margulies, Tina Howe and James Lapine have dissected characters such as these before, and better. “(Untitled)” has too much repetition, not enough variation.

The women fare best, and if it weren’t for the British actress Lucy Punch, very droll as Adrian’s game but long-suffering clarinet player, the movie would have no contrast of any kind, nothing to vary its jargon-mad game.

MPAA rating: R (for language and nude images).
Cast: Adam Goldberg (Adrian); Marley Shelton (Madeline); Eion Bailey (Josh); Lucy Punch (The Clarinet); Vinnie Jones (Ray); Zak Orth (Porter)
Credits: Directed by: Jonathan Parker; written by Parker and Catherine di Napoli; produced by di Napoli, Parker and Andreas Olavarria. A Samuel Goldwyn Films release. Running time: 1:36.
 

Plus, Jim Carrey is good as Scrooge. There’s surprisingly little shtick in his performance. (He plays all the key ghosts as well, and Scrooge at various stages of his younger life.)

I’m all over the place regarding this all-over-the-place project, though I prefer it to Zemeckis’ previous motion-capture animated features, “The Polar Express” (2004) and “Beowulf” (2007). Those really gave me the willies. Why did Anthony Hopkins have a digital beard in “Beowulf”? I still wake up screaming over that one. I can’t spend all that time in the uncanny valley between doll-like inhumanity and approximations of humanity without starting to sweat.

With “A Christmas Carol,” at least, Zemeckis has hold of a story that flies around and flits through time, so the whiz-bang aerial swoops over 1840s London aren’t entirely jarring. In many ways Zemeckis’ adaptation stays true to its source. The best scenes are the quietest: Early on, as we follow Scrooge through his petty, venal paces, Carrey (digitally outfitted with a chin and a nose of roughly equal length) plays the character’s meanness and solitude for keeps. It’s a thoughtful and honest performance, which is a strange thing to say about a film so hung up on  visual fakery.

The actors do their thing, and then Zemeckis and his fellow lab technicians take over. Gary Oldman provides the raw performance fodder for Bob Cratchit (who, as digitally manipulated, resembles Joe E. Brown) as well as Tiny Tim. Bob Hoskins turns up as Mr. Fezziwig, among others. Zemeckis has made strides since “The Polar Express” in terms of facial expressivity. And yet I remain cold to the motion-capture genre. Or rather, it remains cold to me. I always feel like the eyes aren’t right, the foreheads are too Botoxed and the teeth were stolen from George Washington.

Here’s what I wish Zemeckis would do: I wish he would explore a variation on motion-capture technology that takes us out of the uncanny valley and into more daring, less realistic imaginings. The most fluid individual passages in “A Christmas Carol” — not the flashy stuff, but the simple, street-level moments — reveal a director who knows how to keep his roving, restless camera eye on the right story details. Half the time he seems to be thinking ahead to the next step in the movie’s commercial afterlife, i.e., the inevitable Disneyland and Disney World attractions. The other half of the time, he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing as a cinematic storyteller. And even if you don’t personally respond to the style, you admire the dogged craftsman behind it.

Related:

"Disney's A Christmas Carol" photos

Watch the "Christmas Carol" trailer

Disney's digital Dickens

MPAA rating: PG (for scary sequences and images)
Cast: Jim Carrey (Ebenezer Scrooge/Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come); Gary Oldman (Bob Cratchit/Tiny Tim/Young Marley/Marley’s Ghost); Colin Firth (Fred); Robin Wright Penn (Belle/Fan); Bob Hoskins (Old Fezziwig/Old Joe); Cary Elwes (Dick Wilkins/Mad Fiddler, et al.)
Credits: Directed by Robert Zemeckis; written by Zemeckis, based on the novella by Charles Dickens; produced by Steve Starkey, Zemeckis and Jack Rapke. A Walt Disney Pictures release. Running time: 1:36
 

Halloween, 1903. "Meet Me in St. Louis," directed by Vincente Minnelli.

In today's Talking Pictures column I take a trip down Memory Lane, which is located at the intersection of Racine, Wisconsin and Seasonal Nostalgia and involves scaring the pants off my childhood neighbors. Also, a quick scan of my favorite trick-or-treating sequences on film.

You have a favorite Halloween film? Even if it's just a "Halloween" film?

"When you don't want to see someone, and you go to a place they're nearly certain to be, what's that called? Is there a clinical term for that?" wonders the slacker-protagonist of Bob Byington's droll comedy. In a flat, dry affect, the movie sings the breakup blues. Justin Rice's Harmony, who as he says "grew up with limited access to mental health," gets eighty-sixed by Jessica (Kristen Tucker) and embarks with extreme dedication on the task of boring his friends and relatives with the post-relationship details of his feelings.

Not widely known in America, the protagonist of “Bronson” is famous in his home country as “Britain’s most violent prisoner,” a man (now in his 50s) who has spent 34 years behind bars, 30 of those in solitary confinement. This is a man, according to Danish co-writer and director Nicolas Winding Refn’s floridly stylized picture, who relishes adversity and lives for the thrill of violence.

Born Michael Peterson in West Wales, he adopted the moniker  belonging to the star of “Death Wish” as his “fighting name.” Each act of on-screen brutality — whether it’s Bronson strangling a pedophile (no moral quandary there, according to the film) or anonymous prison guards wielding clubs against the provocateur with the handlebar mustache — becomes an aria of poetic sadism.

The musical score lays on the Wagner, the Verdi, the Puccini and The Pet Shop Boys. The director clearly has boned up on his source material, primarily Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange” and, in a brothel sequence, David Lynch.

Often Hardy addresses the camera, standing in a black void. Other times he performs a soliloquy based on his life story on a stage, before an audience. He lays everything out with extreme, methodical menace, punctuating his observations (“I wasn’t bad ... not bad bad”) with the occasional, mirthless cackle followed by a deadpan glare and several seconds of unnerving silence. The whole thing seems to be taking place in a music hall inside Bronson’s skull.

The movie doesn’t apologize for the man’s behavior, and while it treats his life as working-class grand opera, it doesn’t romanticize how his glanced-upon development as an artist, a poet, an author and a fitness guru may have saved him from his most sociopathic impulses. I’m not sure what the film, freely riffing on the facts of a grim life while inventing plenty along the way, is up to, really, beyond treating its celebrity-seeking subject as an object of the camera’s horrified adoration.

Hardy is remarkable, however. This is an actor with a memorably expressive rasp of a voice, both blunt and musical. He knows how to work a close-up and perform in an arena of heightened realism, as well as purely artificial theatricality. The movie is very nearly a solo performance piece — “In the Belly of the Beast,” starring a saber-toothed tiger. “Nuffin’ wonky about my upbringing,” Bronson says, early on. Nothing wonky about Hardy’s performance, either.

MPAA rating: R (for violent and disturbing content, graphic nudity, sexuality and language).
Cast: Tom Hardy (Michael Peterson/Charles Bronson); Matt King (Paul Daniels); Amanda Burton (Mum); James Lance (Art Teacher)
Credits: Directed by: Nicolas Winding Refn; written by Brock Norman Brock and Refn; produced by Rupert Preston and Danny Hansford. A Magnet Releasing release. Running time: 1:32.