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A LEGO Brickumentary

“This story is about a simple toy that became, well, more than a toy.”

A Lego Brickumentary is about as glossy, self-congratulatory, overly sugarcoated as PR moves come today.

Its entire 90-minute existence is to glorify its subject: the company found in its title, along with its troubled history, its durability as a toy manufacturer and its long-standing fanbase. Rarely does it delve into anything substantial, or pass knowledge on pop culture trends you couldn’t be informed upon with a quick Google search in our Internet age. It’s shallow and mostly uninformative, and it would be deplorable if it weren’t so damn entertaining. Kief Davidson and Daniel Junge’s examination into the company’s 124 year-old, build-it-yourself product is perhaps the most joyfully pleasant and cheerful exploration into consumerism since, well, The Lego Movie.

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Upbeat, visually pleasant and boosted by Jason Bateman’s typically pleasant presence as the voice of our hair changing, costume accessorizing mini-figure narrator, the documentary is a well-edited, appealing and frivolous study on what makes these iconic simple creations such a continuously relevant creation. With Lego’s success and stocks to skyrocket even further these next couple years (The Lego Movie Sequel, The Lego Batman Movie and Ninjago are all slated to come into theaters within the next three years, not to mention countless video games, amusement park rides and, of course, toy sets on the horizon), this feature is not only relevant but a finely tuned window into what the single-toy company becomes in its toweringly monumental state. It’s a well-natured, squeaky-clean company appraisal, and sometimes — if it’s done well — that’s all right.

There’s no need to overstate Lego’s relevance, but quick interviews with Lego fanatics, like celebrities Trey Parker, Dwight Howard and Ed Sheeran, the company’s master builders (who helped build the set in the final act of The Lego Movie), Adult Fans of Lego (AFOL), Kid Fans of Lego (KFOL), BrickArms creator Will Chapman, Lego-inspired artist Nathan Sawaya, brick filmmakers like Jonathan Vaughn and autistic therapist Dr. Dan LeGoff (his real name, the movie also points out) — who uses the plastic toys to develop cognitive research — demonstrate the universal appeal of this design in a fundamental, accessible and effective way. Like the toy fuels capitalism and individual creative tendencies, so too does A Lego Brickumentary fruitfully capitalize on the community who gives with their simple creation the art, passion and freedom for people to create something either rudimentary or extraordinary with these pegs and blocks.

It doesn’t go deep into the psychological psyche of the product, but it does communicate on the fundamentally human nature of these pieced-together accessories. It can be therapeutic, inspiring, productive or simply a time-passer. It all depends on the person and what they do with the connectable chunks of plastic, and that gets to the heart of why Davidson and Junge succeed. For all the time it spends celebrating the greatness of Lego, the film does grasp something unusually touching and meditative about the nature of this corporatized product.

Where other toys like Barbie or Tickle Me Elmo only let the consumer play with it as the company sees fit, Lego and their product opens the door for people of all-ages to make the billion-dollar corporation’s livelihood into whatever speaks to them. Furthermore, it rewards the fans for their hard-work and efforts, and while they ask people to shell out dollar after dollar, the fans aren’t disheartened because they’re supporting the place letting them grow creatively. It’s a win-win scenario in every way, and A Lego Brickumentary follows suit with that philosophy.

A Lego Brickumentary appeases everyone from hardcore Lego fans to total newbies, even if it’s just a feature-length pat-on-the-back. The Lego Movie let the creativity of the product speak for itself, and molded the story, morality and characters around it. This documentary can’t quite do the same with countless sit-down interviews and non-stop verbal celebration, but it does delve into similar sentimental results. Snappy pacing, fine story concentration and wickedly fun animation sequences aid it — highlighted and supported by an unusually durable running gag about creator Ole Kirk Christiansen’s company burning down three different times early on — and, while it’s easy to get cynical about such a mandated production, there’s enough heart and passion in this film to make it all click together.

6/10

 

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Will Ashton is a staff writer for Cut Print Film. He also writes for The Playlist, We Got This Covered and MovieBoozer. He co-hosts the podcast Cinemaholics. One day, he'll become Jack Burton. You wait and see.

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