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Much credit goes to Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. Its analysis on a small town's skewed priorities on law and order feels inspired by the United States' many cultures, especially from the perspective of Mildred, played by Oscar winner Frances McDormand (Fargo). She never says a single kind word to anyone, but her true personality blooms once she routinely plants flowers in front of her blood-red billboards as if at the Vietnam memorial. Once there, she shares a melodic conversation with a deer beside the highway, keeping her human. The rest of Ebbing, Missouri also seems given up on America's growth, set instead to let desires run on dunking others beneath self-worth.

Though be warned: the three steps to the feature's creation appears a tad too rushed. The pre-production process mentions the Catholic church of the town exactly once in the first act, missing out on its powerful potential to serve a stronger MacGuffin to the story beyond just its hindrance to society. The production process's cheap burn makeup effects look poor compared to the wounds put on Leonardo DiCaprio's bear wounds. The post-production process disrupts its own narrative flow by throwing a flashback into a moment when dialogue would have sufficed.

Looking at the Oscar's past Best Picture winners, Spotlight and Moonlight, they both kept a consistent visual style, unlike Three Billboards. Primarily, the editor, Jon Gregory (Four Weddings and a Funeral, In Bruges) was a poor choice to put together the feature; a potential Oscar contender ought to require someone more experienced to present a population of human beings turned into thoughtless advertisements. Likewise, cinematographer Ben Davis (Guardians of the Galaxy) resorts to unnecessarily pointing the Steadicam upwards. If treated like a mockumentary similar to This Is Spinal Tap, then a greater impact could linger in this movie's legacy.

Now with the problems out of the way, basically everything else in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri accomplishes its civic duty.

Obviously, cops nowadays are no State Farm, so here their portrayal gets treated positively. Mildred's middle-class family home in particular takes no breather: her ex-husband continues to abuse her while her last shared memory with her murdered daughter reeks in high regret. Maybe the people here were born with it, maybe the pressure to advertise caused everyone to become whatever social message they always talk about. Its timelessness in leaving the precise year vague adds the extra snap, crackle, and pop to the core theme.

My commemorations go to the finger lickin' good performances by the whole cast, every single one proves the power of an ensemble, particularly the underrated actor Caleb Landry Jones (Breaking Bad, Get Out). Yet Sam Rockwell in particular is after an Academy Award nomination, and understandably so: his performance turns agitated one minute and collapsing in silent tears the next.

I appreciate how Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri knew not to excessively milk its timeliness right after it calls the cops a "N*gger Torturing Business," since they lack concentration on actual crimes. Although these cops prefer the equally undignified term "Persons of Color;" even they the authorities think Black people fall short against "normal" White people. This mouth-gaping social relevance soon turns ironic once a new Black police sheriff comes into town.

Beyond the Blacks/Police conflict that challenges old stereotypes, jokes about people's weight and height keep going and going and going without crossing the line towards the offensive. The head of Ebbing's P.R. business even has the name Red, because everyone else around him sees red—both literally and figuratively!

It's a greatly clever style of writing which helps you to think different in a harsh way. We all want and need to preach about what makes us pound our fist on the table, and as depicted here, our abuse of our First Amendment rights turns us into our branding, erasing the definition between our wants and our needs. It really boils down to: Where do you want to go today?

How do you feel after a relative passes on? Sad? Afraid? Regretful? Doubtful? Relieved? Maybe you'll remember your exact emotions after seeing Pixar's newest celebration of family.

A young Mexican boy named Miguel lives with his mamá Luisa and papá Enrique, his little sister Socorro, his aunts Carmen and Gloria, his uncle Berto, his cousins Abel, Rosa, Benny and Manny, his grandparents Franco and Abuelita, and his great grandmother, Coco, together, they're the Rivera family. The ancestors remain dear to the Riveras' memories— well, except the father of Mamá Coco who left his family to pursue music. Today, all the Riveras, Grandma Abuelita in particular, took it to discipline anyone for touching an instrument.

On the other side, a dense city houses Mexico's deceased souls alongside numerous other colorful spirit animals. When one of the inhabitants' photographs is set out by the live family members in the local cemetery on Día de los Muertos, a gate designed to resemble an immigration system gives them the okay to cross the amber leaf bridge to see their loved ones. Miguel knew them for years only through stories and photographs, and now he finally meets them in person after stealing a famous musician's guitar leaves him cursed. Miguel's ancestors include great-great grandmother Imelda, Mamá Coco's mother, the short Papá Julio, the plump Rosita, the horn-eyed Victoria, and the twins Felipe and Óscar; he must receive one of their blessings before sunrise, or else he will be stuck there forever.

But Miguel thinks he found another way home through his musical idol, Ernesto De La Cruz, his great-great uncle from the story! He even has a way to find De La Cruz: Héctor, a silly little man desperate to see his family again since they never once set out his photo. Then once a Shyamalan twist reveals why he wants to see his family again so bad, the true heartache comes full circle.

This production proves Pixar's continually committed research, including the steps outlined in the Día de los Muertos ceremony. Especially amongst the world of the incarnate, beautiful leaves create relaxed candlelight glows, like the long celebrated fun creativity shined by the immortal hopping lamp! I'm sure it keeps accurate to Mexico's family values, since audiences in Mexico were supposedly thrilled at the premiere, taking in $28 million since its October 27th release! The same level of effort goes to the voice actors: Anthony Gonzalez gives a true, soulful performance for Miguel, his musical voice as pure as child actors come, and the right cast surrounds him with further compassionate voices, whether dead or alive.

Yet once Miguel enters the afterlife, coincidences lead him to wherever the narrative takes him. Similar to what the revolutionary animation studio continues failing at, the details of the world prioritize comedy over realism. For instance, the undead skeletons drink liquor, but at the same time, say they need no bathrooms. Some other elements appear to contradict the hard research, such as English being the primary language spoken in a Mexican location. Pixar long succeeded in its widely-loved shorts without dialogue, so couldn't they expand that format to a feature length? I mean, imagine if Coco was entirely in Spanish, except speech kept to a minimum? I think it would have made the experience a lot more authentic.

Looking deeper into the script's issues, the title character, Mamá Coco, gets too little screen time to serve her plot importance justice; she just sits in her wheelchair, eyes half open, less prominent than her highest potential. The writers should have implemented the family theme further by giving each boy and girl (and dog) in the Rivera family a purpose.

In full honesty, the script's issues stem from the protagonist, Miguel; he starts off whiny and selfish, in turn making his growth throughout less earned than its capacity. In fact, quite a few offensive moments seem tossed in for humor's sake, specifically a brief unnecessary scene where Miguel notices a nude portrait model (a skeleton). The depiction of Mexico's afterlife as truth rather than myth may also concern some more religious viewers. And finally, the gate used to allow Mexicans to pass through on Día de los Muertos almost parallels Trump's future vision of his wall, which could offend some more conservative viewers.

Although Coco can overall still please anyone looking for a good holiday treat. These months are not always a happy time, considering the number of deaths around this time, so this special celebration of both life and death just might satisfy our hurt.