A Monster Calls | Little White Lies

A Mon­ster Calls

28 Dec 2016 / Released: 01 Jan 2017

Gnarled tree trunk with man standing beside it in rural landscape.
Gnarled tree trunk with man standing beside it in rural landscape.
2

Anticipation.

Oh no, not another young adult-oriented cash grab.

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Enjoyment.

A determinedly weird and macabre exploration of mortality.

4

In Retrospect.

Makes you feel like there might be more life in the old YA engine yet.

This inven­tive and emo­tion­al YA fan­ta­sy looks out how teenagers cope with depression.

Gawky pre-teen boys head­ing on a fan­tas­ti­cal voy­age of dis­cov­ery from the safe­ty of their bed­room? Change the record will you. We’re liv­ing in a world of Pot­ter pre­tenders, a rest­less search to find the next goo­gly-eyed boy wiz­ard who is able save us all from some cranky old British char­ac­ter actor.

While JA Bayona’s A Mon­ster Calls looks to be a type’ of movie, one cleav­ing to the gener­ic zeit­geist with every breath in its body, the truth is some­thing quite dif­fer­ent. Patrick Ness has adapt­ed his own macabre 2011 illus­trat­ed nov­el for the screen, and the result is an entire­ly new kind of YA saga – sen­si­tive rather than super­fi­cial, cre­ative rather than pro­sa­ic, humane rather than trad­ing on sin­gle-serv­ing heroes with zero personality.

Just to look at bedrag­gled latchkey lon­er Conor (Lewis Mac­Dougall), you imme­di­ate­ly know something’s up. Bul­lied, depressed, wait­ing des­per­ate­ly for life to land him with a juicy trump card, he finds con­so­la­tion in draw­ing pic­tures. He lives with his moth­er (Felic­i­ty Jones) who is suf­fer­ing from some kind of ill­ness. She smoth­ers him in her love, per­haps in the knowl­edge that their time togeth­er is limited.

The film’s heart­break­ing depic­tion of an ultra tac­tile moth­er-son rela­tion­ship is what pow­ers the dra­ma. And it’s Jones who does most of the emo­tion­al heavy lift­ing, nev­er allow­ing her char­ac­ter to wal­low in unearned sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty or lapse into high-fre­quen­cy melo­dra­ma. It’s a mighty per­for­mance, pos­si­bly her best yet.

Woman smiling and embracing a sleeping man on a couch.

Yet Conor is the main focus. He gazes from his win­dow toward the noth­ing­ness of the night. He spies a grave­yard on a hill­side in the mid­dle dis­tance. An old tree, up there on the hori­zon, begins to stir. It lifts up from its roots, stands tall and stomps across the land­scape. It nabs Conor from his bed like some sort of arbo­re­al King Kong and begins to talk – with the husky tones of Liam Nee­son, no less.

An ini­tial burst of furi­ous anger gives way to a more thought­ful dis­course. Conor believes the tree mon­ster to be a frag­ment of his vivid imag­i­na­tion, but the tree claims oth­er­wise. The tree promis­es to tell his young cap­tor three tales, each of which is intend­ed help him to see life with more clar­i­ty. Each minia­ture fable is ren­dered as an unspeak­ably beau­ti­ful and whol­ly orig­i­nal dig­i­tal ani­ma­tion. How Bay­ona man­ages to drop these gor­geous asides into the broad­er dra­ma and still retain the film’s sin­gu­lar sweep is noth­ing short of mirac­u­lous. It helps that the shorts them­selves are, each one, a work of high art in their own right.

It’s when A Mon­ster Calls glides into its final act that every­thing falls into place. Conor’s rite of pas­sage is actu­al­ly more like a ter­ri­fy­ing bap­tism of fire – as it should be. The film pon­ders out loud how teenagers are able to cope with death when they could nev­er be expect­ed to under­stand its true grav­i­ty. It’s not about learn­ing a sin­gle, cov­er-all truth which helps to soothe all ills. It’s about accept­ing the many lessons that come from our banal dai­ly inter­ac­tions, whether that’s with a revolt­ing school bul­ly, a well-mean­ing but swad­dling grand­par­ent, or a fire-breath­ing tree monster.

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