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Finding Dory

2003’s Finding Nemo was the first Pixar film to win the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature — an award that didn’t exist in 1995 when Toy Story announced the coming of the animation giant. Pixar went on to win eight of the 15 total Animated Feature awards given so far, with Finding Nemo director Andrew Stanton repeating in 2008 with WALL-E, which remains the studio’s pinnacle.

Despite a failed push into live-action science fantasy with John Carter, Stanton has remained a stalwart at Pixar, working in some capacity on every picture, even after it was absorbed by Disney and Toy Story director John Lasseter was promoted to head of the studio’s animation unit. Pixar is notoriously collaborative, but there’s no denying that Stanton is responsible for a big chunk of the Pixar aesthetic. Which is why the lackluster Finding Dory is so disappointing.

Ellen DeGeneres voices Dory, the Pacific regal blue tang in Finding Dory, Pixar’s sequel to 2003’s blockbuster fish film Finding Nemo.

Let me stipulate here that Finding Dory is not a bad movie. Much thought has gone into this film. The little Pacific regal blue tang (fish fans are sticklers for specifics), voiced by Ellen DeGeneres, stole the show in Finding Nemo, so the choice to put her at the center of the sequel was obvious. Stanton opens in flashback, when Dory is but a mere blue pip with two giant eyes. Dory’s dad, Charlie (Eugene Levy), and mom, Jenny (Diane Keaton), are trying to help their little girl learn the skills to deal with her lack of short-term memory. Then we flash forward to the present, where a grown-up Dory is hanging out on the Great Barrier Reef with her clownfish buddies Marlin (Albert Brooks) and Nemo (Hayden Rolence, replacing the original Nemo, the now-grown-up Alexander Gould) when she begins to have visions about her parents. Dory, feeling deprived of even a memory of her family, decides to try to find them. But it’s a tall order, since she has only the scant bits of information she can dredge out of her easily distracted head. So she persuades Nemo and Marlin to accompany her and keep her focused on her quest. They hitch a ride with some surfer turtles on the California current and head to the Jewel of Morro Bay, which turns out to be a marine biology institute devoted to rehabbing injured wildlife and releasing them back into the sea. The three fish put their scant brain power together to figure out that Dory’s parents are probably in a tank somewhere in the huge aquarium compound, and, with the help of a couple of cockney-accented sea lions (Idris Elba and Dominic West), they plot an aquatic break-in.

Dory as amnesiac protagonist suggests some intriguing possibilities, something like Christopher Nolan’s Memento under the sea. The first two acts of Finding Dory provide some impressive individual set pieces, such as a stingray migration that echoes a classic Disney animation moment, a spectacular chase scene with a bioluminescent squid, and a cameo by Sigourney Weaver playing herself. But where the usual Pixar model is tight and economical, Stanton’s narrative meanders clumsily until the third act kicks in. When Dory hits the “Descent Into the Underworld” part of her Hero’s Journey, the film suddenly clicks into focus. Stanton and his animators pull back to reveal Dory as a tiny blue dot in a vast dark ocean, and, combined with the greatest voice performance of DeGeneres’ career, they show the old Pixar tearjerker machine is still as potent as ever.

The burst of energy is short-lived, however, and even an homage to the wrong-way car chase from To Live and Die in L.A., recreated with a surly octopus (Ed O’Neill, in a terrific vocal performance) behind the wheel, can’t pull Dory out of the ditch.

But then, what do I know? This $200 million lollipop almost paid for its production in three days of release, with the biggest animated movie opening of all time. The kids in the audience I saw it with were quiet and attentive, and they all seemed to really enjoy themselves—although I remember the response to last year’s Inside Out being much more enthusiastic. The Pixar animation masters have created another visual feast, with images and effects not even contemplated in 2003. Had Finding Dory come from any other group of artists, perhaps I would have judged it a success. But Pixar I hold to a higher standard.

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Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (November 27, 2014)

Our borders are so porous that they have become nearly impossible to police. Thousands of aliens sneak into this country every day and head for border towns where they can blend in with people of similar color who speak a similar language, making it impossible to detect who is and who is not a documented citizen.

The border is so long that no fence short of the Wall of China could even begin to stop the migrating hordes that seek sanctuary in the USA. They have infiltrated every major city, and many illegals have had children here so that they can automatically become American citizens. These are the “anchor babies” you’ve heard so much about. There are so many aliens already here that you could never round up and deport them all. And the number of good jobs that they take away from able-bodied Americans is scandalous. They have begun to dominate entire business sectors and have affected popular culture so much that our children are exposed. The lure of cheap drugs has caused Americans in border towns to flock to pharmacies across the border in order to smuggle drugs back into this country.

They talk differently. Their food is different. Their national sports are different. Let’s face it, these people are different than we are. I strongly believe, and many other like-minded patriots agree, that it’s about damn time that we crack down on this endless stampede of Canadians invading our land.

They come across in border towns like Detroit, Buffalo, and Rochester, but those who really want to enter undetected use the wide swaths of land that are too remote to patrol. They enter in places like Duluth, Minnesota, and Grand Forks, North Dakota, and I understand that the farther west you go, the more hardcore the trafficking is in illegal drugs, particularly marijuana. Demand has fallen totally off in Washington state, but I’ve heard about Canucks with calves the size of saskatoons from smuggling backpacks full of dangerously potent cannabis from Vancouver across the border. The Canadians call it “B.C. Bud,” or at least that’s what I was told. And not only are their legal drugs cheaper, I get at least 15 emails per week enticing me to buy them. You can even order them through the mail, flouting the law. And what is this Vicodin they keep wanting me to take?

Canadians don’t care about our laws. They were all bootleggers during prohibition, and some of the most prominent families made their fortunes supplying illegal hooch to Al Capone. Every time our country enters into one of our periodic righteous wars with somebody we don’t like, it’s always Canada that openly welcomes our cowardly draft-dodgers into their midst, especially during that pesky Vietnam business.

Over the past 40 years, there has been a stealth campaign among Canadians to infiltrate and take over the entertainment industry, beginning with the Toronto immigrant Lorne Michaels. In the mid-1970s, he invented a subversive television program called Saturday Night Live, and ever since, he’s relied on Canadians to spread his irreverent message – people like Dan Aykroyd, Martin Short, Norm McDonald, and Mike Meyers. This opened the floodgates for Canadian comedy with imported shows like SCTV, featuring perverted comics like John Candy, Rick Moranis, Catherine O’Hara, and Eugene Levy. Following their migrant trail came Jim Carrey, Howie Mandel, and Tommy Chong who began to take over our movie industry.

If our government had been vigilant enough to keep these freeloaders out, we would never have had to suffer through Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, Wayne’s World, or Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Canadians spend half their lives listening to Gordon Lightfoot and the other half watching hockey. They drink beers called Moosehead and Labatt and live on a diet of bacon and maple syrup, which they pour over everything. They refuse to speak American. Instead of “out and about,” they say, “Oot and aboot.” They swear allegiance to the British crown, and even have a state that wants to secede, where they force everyone to speak French. And now they want this XL Keystone Pipeline to transport Canadian oil across our great country into the Gulf of Mexico so they can sell it to the Russians and Chinese. Of course, there’s absolutely no danger of an oil spill in the Gulf, right?

It’s past time to round up all your Avril Lavignes, your Ryan Goslings, and your Anna Paquins and begin arranging their transport home. It’s shocking how deeply they have burrowed into our society. William Shatner is Canadian. I mean, Captain Kirk is an alien, for God’s sake. Even the hip-hop artist Drake comes from the mean streets of Toronto.

We refer to Mexicans as “illegal aliens,” but Canadians are always, “our friends up north.” I think it’s time to send these toque-wearing, cheese-eating, Celine Dion-listening ice skaters back into their own wretched country. Especially this Seth Rogan fellow, whose “nerd gets the girl” movies have caused young men to resort to gun violence. It’s time this invasion came to an end and relocations are in order.

I only have one request. When the government starts deporting Canadians, please deport Justin Bieber first, aye?