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FILM REVIEWSFILMS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE 2013 - Pt. 1 |
IRON MAN 3
The Stark Knight Rises
WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS...
How do you follow up the biggest superhero blockbuster of all time and simultaneously usher the Marvel franchise into what they’ve dubbed Phase Two, now that all the current heroes have had their standalone film and their unifying flick?
A pickle, n’est-ce pas?
The risk was always going to be that the following Marvel standalone story would end up being comparatively underwhelming.
Verdict?
This could very well be the best standalone Marvel film yet.
Here’s the obligatory skinny.
The film picks up where The Avengers left off: Stark is now on his own after the events in New York. His super compadres have gone off on their separate ways, after they all went head to head with “gods, aliens and other dimensions”. He is visibly shaken up and now prone to panic attacks. Basically, he’s suffering from PTSD, which is making his relationship with Pepper Potts (the returning Gwyneth Paltrow) a tad strained.
Adding to his woes is the looming presence of old connaissance Aldrich Killian (Guy Pearce) and former flame Maya Hansen (Rebecca Hall) who have developed Extremis, a biotechnology that reprograms DNA.
As if this weren’t enough, a terrorist called The Mandarin (Ben Kingsley) is being a peculiar nuisance: not only is he sending the President some threatening videos, he also seems to mysteriously have access to the Extremis power…
What’s does a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist have to do to get some holidays?
How do you follow up the biggest superhero blockbuster of all time and simultaneously usher the Marvel franchise into what they’ve dubbed Phase Two, now that all the current heroes have had their standalone film and their unifying flick?
A pickle, n’est-ce pas?
The risk was always going to be that the following Marvel standalone story would end up being comparatively underwhelming.
Verdict?
This could very well be the best standalone Marvel film yet.
Here’s the obligatory skinny.
The film picks up where The Avengers left off: Stark is now on his own after the events in New York. His super compadres have gone off on their separate ways, after they all went head to head with “gods, aliens and other dimensions”. He is visibly shaken up and now prone to panic attacks. Basically, he’s suffering from PTSD, which is making his relationship with Pepper Potts (the returning Gwyneth Paltrow) a tad strained.
Adding to his woes is the looming presence of old connaissance Aldrich Killian (Guy Pearce) and former flame Maya Hansen (Rebecca Hall) who have developed Extremis, a biotechnology that reprograms DNA.
As if this weren’t enough, a terrorist called The Mandarin (Ben Kingsley) is being a peculiar nuisance: not only is he sending the President some threatening videos, he also seems to mysteriously have access to the Extremis power…
What’s does a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist have to do to get some holidays?
When looking back at the previous Marvel films, one thing they’ve always gotten right is the audacious choice in directors: Jon Favreau, Kenneth Branagh, Joss Whedon… These filmmakers were chosen for their creativity, as opposed to ‘safer’ bets who had countless action flicks in their bags. Iron Man 3 is no different and Marvel once again got it spot on by hiring Shane - Lethal Weapon - Black to helm this difficult third installment.
It’s worth mentioning that despite his numerous screenwriting credits, Iron Man 3 is only Shane Black’s second film as director, the first being the BRILLIANT Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, also with Downey Jr. This can only add to the director’s merit with this, his second film.
Black makes a smart move in making this first-film-since-Avengers a more personal story and one which, whilst acknowledging the most recent film (mention of the “events in New York” or, as one protagonist says: “Ever since the guy with the hammer fell out of the sky, subtlety kind of went out of the window.”), manages to stand on its own two feet. Thanks to his vision and script, co-penned by Drew Pearce, Iron Man 3 manages to raise the stakes by making the third film a more threatening and character-centered story.
Indeed, much like The Dark Knight Rises or Skyfall, the threat goes nerve-deep; we see Stark fall from grace, stripped of his comfort zone and having to rebuild himself from scratch in order to face a more challenging threat than he’s faced before. We see more of our hero outside of his suit than in it, hammering the thematic ‘what-makes-a-superhero?’ point across: this is a character in a state of malaise, one who is coming to terms with the fact he is, as he so eloquently puts it, “just a man in a can”.
However, it’s not all doom and gloom, (the firm of) Black and Pearce having understood that one of the key elements that made The Avengers so exciting was the humour. Lesson learnt, as this is just as funny (if not more so) than its predecessor, proving once more that it is possible to pull off a successful action film without going into levels of Nolan-esque darkness. (Not that there’s anything wrong with Nolan’s darkness… It’s just that the tone for Marvel should, nay NEEDS to be different.)
The script (even if after Iron Man 2, anything script-wise was going to be a significant improvement) is spectacular, managing to strike the right balance in exploring deep and relevant themes while keeping the humour on the forefront. It is full of Black-isms (the Christmas setting, the smoke and mirrors detective feel, the voiceover, the loquacious henchmen…) and thankfully so, because the director expertly manages to balance the action and the elements one would expect from such a film with his own unique signature. The film is better for all the trademark Black puns and sharp zingers ("Dads leave - there's no need to be a pussy about it"), slick meta gags, hilarious and surprising beats and even Downton Abbey jokes. In this respect, Iron Man 3 is akin to the director’s aforementioned directorial debut: it’s basically Kiss Kiss Bang Bang BANG BANG BOOM BOOM WIZZ BANG.
It’s worth mentioning that despite his numerous screenwriting credits, Iron Man 3 is only Shane Black’s second film as director, the first being the BRILLIANT Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, also with Downey Jr. This can only add to the director’s merit with this, his second film.
Black makes a smart move in making this first-film-since-Avengers a more personal story and one which, whilst acknowledging the most recent film (mention of the “events in New York” or, as one protagonist says: “Ever since the guy with the hammer fell out of the sky, subtlety kind of went out of the window.”), manages to stand on its own two feet. Thanks to his vision and script, co-penned by Drew Pearce, Iron Man 3 manages to raise the stakes by making the third film a more threatening and character-centered story.
Indeed, much like The Dark Knight Rises or Skyfall, the threat goes nerve-deep; we see Stark fall from grace, stripped of his comfort zone and having to rebuild himself from scratch in order to face a more challenging threat than he’s faced before. We see more of our hero outside of his suit than in it, hammering the thematic ‘what-makes-a-superhero?’ point across: this is a character in a state of malaise, one who is coming to terms with the fact he is, as he so eloquently puts it, “just a man in a can”.
However, it’s not all doom and gloom, (the firm of) Black and Pearce having understood that one of the key elements that made The Avengers so exciting was the humour. Lesson learnt, as this is just as funny (if not more so) than its predecessor, proving once more that it is possible to pull off a successful action film without going into levels of Nolan-esque darkness. (Not that there’s anything wrong with Nolan’s darkness… It’s just that the tone for Marvel should, nay NEEDS to be different.)
The script (even if after Iron Man 2, anything script-wise was going to be a significant improvement) is spectacular, managing to strike the right balance in exploring deep and relevant themes while keeping the humour on the forefront. It is full of Black-isms (the Christmas setting, the smoke and mirrors detective feel, the voiceover, the loquacious henchmen…) and thankfully so, because the director expertly manages to balance the action and the elements one would expect from such a film with his own unique signature. The film is better for all the trademark Black puns and sharp zingers ("Dads leave - there's no need to be a pussy about it"), slick meta gags, hilarious and surprising beats and even Downton Abbey jokes. In this respect, Iron Man 3 is akin to the director’s aforementioned directorial debut: it’s basically Kiss Kiss Bang Bang BANG BANG BOOM BOOM WIZZ BANG.
Performances are very strong, the cast clearly having a billboard time with the material they’ve been given. Robert Downey Jr. clearly benefits from the script, which suits his razor sharp delivery to a T; Don Cheadle’s James Rhodes is the Murtaugh to his Riggs; Paltrow gets a lot more to do this time around as the previously quite bland and now a lot more 3-dimensional Pepper Potts. Of particular note is the young Ty Simpkins, who also does a great job as the pre-pubescent wunderkind Harley (future Iron Man, anyone?).
As for the villains… Well…
So far, villain-wise, Tom Hiddleston’s terrific performance as Loki has been the high point of the Marvel universe. Let’s face glaring facts: if there’s one aspect in which these films needed a pants-down spanking, it’s in the antagonist territory. Looking at the evidence, a bald Jeff Bridges, a Russian man with a parrot, Tim Roth getting his own anger-management issues and a red-faced Nazi didn’t exactly induce the willies or present any palpable threats. Even the aliens in The Avengers didn’t really make many scrotums shrivel. Loki is the odd one out, a complex, Shakespearian nemesis that thankfully returns several times in the films and will apparently continue to do so...
However, Iron Man 3 has now rectified this issue and provided a complex villain, in more ways than one: The Mandarin. Guy Pearce is solid as a rock but full marks must go to Ben Kingsley, who is nothing short of unique with his portrayal of the bearded terrorist. The plot-spinning and jawdropping beat will blindside viewers (“A think tank thinked him up!”) and is simultaneously hilarious, daring and cheeky. Even if it resembles the Batman Begins / Ra’s Al Ghul twist, the execution is far more surprising here and reveals a genuinely brave move on Marvel’s part, one of the film’s definite high points.
As for the villains… Well…
So far, villain-wise, Tom Hiddleston’s terrific performance as Loki has been the high point of the Marvel universe. Let’s face glaring facts: if there’s one aspect in which these films needed a pants-down spanking, it’s in the antagonist territory. Looking at the evidence, a bald Jeff Bridges, a Russian man with a parrot, Tim Roth getting his own anger-management issues and a red-faced Nazi didn’t exactly induce the willies or present any palpable threats. Even the aliens in The Avengers didn’t really make many scrotums shrivel. Loki is the odd one out, a complex, Shakespearian nemesis that thankfully returns several times in the films and will apparently continue to do so...
However, Iron Man 3 has now rectified this issue and provided a complex villain, in more ways than one: The Mandarin. Guy Pearce is solid as a rock but full marks must go to Ben Kingsley, who is nothing short of unique with his portrayal of the bearded terrorist. The plot-spinning and jawdropping beat will blindside viewers (“A think tank thinked him up!”) and is simultaneously hilarious, daring and cheeky. Even if it resembles the Batman Begins / Ra’s Al Ghul twist, the execution is far more surprising here and reveals a genuinely brave move on Marvel’s part, one of the film’s definite high points.
Does it all work?
Not quite.
It’s arguable that considering recent quality action films, Iron Man 3’s narrative structure is far from original: as previously mentioned, it’s very much akin to The Dark Knight Rises or even Skyfall in the way the main and damaged hero is removed from his comfort zone and faced with a more personal threat that makes him a lot more vulnerable. Then again, this narrative tool is deeply engrained in the hero mythos, so no harm, no foul.
However, the editing is a very messy and confusing during certain action scenes, especially towards the end and the less said about the useless 3D the better. All it serves is to darken the colour scheme and needlessly piss off viewers. Surplus to requirement...and then some.
Lastly, even if Pepper does get a meatier turn here, her character arc is rushed, borderline boring at the end: she’s infected, she dies, she resurrects, she kicks arse, she’s cured, she remains superhero material… all in a Usain Bolt record time. It doesn’t quite work and one can’t help but feel that the audience was cheated of a significant death. Think what you will, but it’s hard to deny that her demise could have been a great plot device, one that would have delivered a very different Tony Stark when we see him next in The Avengers 2.
However, these are minor quibbles and do not in any way hinder the enjoyment procured. How could they, when you have a brilliant helicopter attack, that Air Force One attack sequence, Stark’s makeshift boot-glove-handgun attack, the “I don’t even like working here, these guys are weird” line, a platoon of 42 Iron Man suits for the suit-hopping grand finale aaaaaaaaand… a giant rabbit with boobs?
(It’s worth mentioning that the rabbit boobs are actually its stumpy arms.)
(Any excuse is a good one to use the word ‘boobs’ in a review.)
Not quite.
It’s arguable that considering recent quality action films, Iron Man 3’s narrative structure is far from original: as previously mentioned, it’s very much akin to The Dark Knight Rises or even Skyfall in the way the main and damaged hero is removed from his comfort zone and faced with a more personal threat that makes him a lot more vulnerable. Then again, this narrative tool is deeply engrained in the hero mythos, so no harm, no foul.
However, the editing is a very messy and confusing during certain action scenes, especially towards the end and the less said about the useless 3D the better. All it serves is to darken the colour scheme and needlessly piss off viewers. Surplus to requirement...and then some.
Lastly, even if Pepper does get a meatier turn here, her character arc is rushed, borderline boring at the end: she’s infected, she dies, she resurrects, she kicks arse, she’s cured, she remains superhero material… all in a Usain Bolt record time. It doesn’t quite work and one can’t help but feel that the audience was cheated of a significant death. Think what you will, but it’s hard to deny that her demise could have been a great plot device, one that would have delivered a very different Tony Stark when we see him next in The Avengers 2.
However, these are minor quibbles and do not in any way hinder the enjoyment procured. How could they, when you have a brilliant helicopter attack, that Air Force One attack sequence, Stark’s makeshift boot-glove-handgun attack, the “I don’t even like working here, these guys are weird” line, a platoon of 42 Iron Man suits for the suit-hopping grand finale aaaaaaaaand… a giant rabbit with boobs?
(It’s worth mentioning that the rabbit boobs are actually its stumpy arms.)
(Any excuse is a good one to use the word ‘boobs’ in a review.)
One lasting impression many will feel once they’ve seen this new Marvel chapter is how one can only admire what the studio is doing. Indeed, the cogs are turning nicely in a well-oiled and meticulously-built machine. Make no mistake: the Marvel Cinematic Universe is not only one hell of a cinematic undertaking, but a risky endeavor that is making sense when one looks at the bigger picture.
Phase One started with Iron Man, so it makes sense that Phase Two does so as well. This second chapter however, boldly starts as a sort of veiled conclusion for Marvel’s first hero but does nonetheless fully acknowledge that Stark is the glue that holds the mighty bricks together… Once more, it does feel like a solid game plan has been set up, laid down and is being expertly handled.
That isn’t to say that all the Marvel films have been brilliant: indeed, they’ve not all been as solid as this recent adventure, but Great Odin’s Beard, they’ve all been bloody entertaining!
As for final scene, many will be surprised to find out that the obligatory post-credit sequence doesn’t pave the way for the bigger picture. There’s no shout-out to the upcoming Guardians of the Galaxy for instance… Just a closing sketch of sorts that further solidifies this film’s status as a standalone: we understand that the entire film was in fact Stark opening up to his new BFF Bruce Banner.
Phase One started with Iron Man, so it makes sense that Phase Two does so as well. This second chapter however, boldly starts as a sort of veiled conclusion for Marvel’s first hero but does nonetheless fully acknowledge that Stark is the glue that holds the mighty bricks together… Once more, it does feel like a solid game plan has been set up, laid down and is being expertly handled.
That isn’t to say that all the Marvel films have been brilliant: indeed, they’ve not all been as solid as this recent adventure, but Great Odin’s Beard, they’ve all been bloody entertaining!
As for final scene, many will be surprised to find out that the obligatory post-credit sequence doesn’t pave the way for the bigger picture. There’s no shout-out to the upcoming Guardians of the Galaxy for instance… Just a closing sketch of sorts that further solidifies this film’s status as a standalone: we understand that the entire film was in fact Stark opening up to his new BFF Bruce Banner.
It’s a cheeky beat that works perfectly, adding to the smart move that was not bringing in the Avengers cavalry in the form of cameos during the film… To do that would be to weakly give in to what is the ultimate deus ex machina: when the going gets really tough, bring in the Hulk and problem solved… sorry, smashed.
Instead, Black has provided what should be Iron Man’s last solo adventure. Making an Iron Man 4 would be a mistake: each character should get three films maximum (it seems to be going in this direction with the upcoming sequels for Thor and Captain America… Hulk being the exception, even if he’s technically had two already…and one hopes a third with Mark Ruffalo playing the green menace) and with small and cleverly placed details such as the brief return of Yinsen (the scientist who helps Stark in the Middle Eastern cave in the first film) and that ending (chestpiece removed…), the Iron Man story is neatly tied up. It’s a strong exit, one that should not be undermined by another solo outing. He will undoubtedly return in The Avengers 2, possibly as a consultant now that he technically is-but-isn’t Iron Man and should ideally die at the end of this future film, thereby completing his heroic journey…
But more on that in the coming years…
Instead, Black has provided what should be Iron Man’s last solo adventure. Making an Iron Man 4 would be a mistake: each character should get three films maximum (it seems to be going in this direction with the upcoming sequels for Thor and Captain America… Hulk being the exception, even if he’s technically had two already…and one hopes a third with Mark Ruffalo playing the green menace) and with small and cleverly placed details such as the brief return of Yinsen (the scientist who helps Stark in the Middle Eastern cave in the first film) and that ending (chestpiece removed…), the Iron Man story is neatly tied up. It’s a strong exit, one that should not be undermined by another solo outing. He will undoubtedly return in The Avengers 2, possibly as a consultant now that he technically is-but-isn’t Iron Man and should ideally die at the end of this future film, thereby completing his heroic journey…
But more on that in the coming years…
Smart, mischievous, surprisingly audacious (after all, what other film would dare open on Eiffel 65’s ear-bleed-inducing hit?) and above all great fun, Iron Man 3 has delivered the goods and shows that Marvel are not just sticking to the beaten path, but actively looking for new and different ways to elevate their franchise and players. If the rest of Phase Two is as entertaining and risky as this new installment, we’re all in for something quite special.
- D - 01/05/13
- D - 01/05/13
OBLIVION
WALL - E ? CRUIS - E !
Set in a post-apocalyptic future, Tom Cruise plays Jack Reacher… sorry, Harper, an airborne repairman who is tasked to be one half of a two-person “the clean-up team” on planet Earth. Indeed, as explained in the first ten minutes with a voiceover, invading aliens having previously destroyed the Moon, a nuclear war occurred in order to defeat the ‘Scavengers’. Mankind won but were left with the broken crockery, that is to say a mostly inhabitable Earth and nowhere to go… except Titan. It’s Harper’s job to repair drones that keep the Scavengers at bay for a few more weeks before heading off to Titan. However, our hero will of course soon discover that something is not quite right…
Honestly, all would be forgiven for thinking that Oblivion looks like a generic crowd-pleaser where the aesthetics trump all content, a standard vehicle for Cruise running around and using that big gun he always has.
Case and point:
M:I 3
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Jack Reacher
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Oblivion
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Putting this aside, Oblivion, while being the sci-fi action blockbuster that the posters suggest, is actually surprisingly good.
It is a well-orchestrated, well shot (cinematography points a-go-go) and well executed affair. Second-time director Joseph Kosinski (his debut was Tron: Legacy, a visual treat but a hollow piece with no trace of a script) does well in creating an attention-grabbing film, one which looks and sounds incredible. Considering he is originally a designer and comes from an architectural background, this is hardly surprising. But, credit where it’s due: it’s stunning to look at and deserves to be seen on a big screen. As for the score, it is reminiscent of what was achieved with Daft Punk for Tron: Legacy, ie: get a French electro outfit to nail it. This time, m83 ensure that the film is blessed with a great musical soundscape, which at times sounds very Hans Zimmer-esque.
Regarding the cast, they’re all spot-on, with Andrea Riseborough delivering the goods as the second half of the team, Olga Kurylenko showing once more she’s capable of doing pretty much anything she sets her mind to, from Bond girls to Malick muse to now sci-fi intrigue linchpin, and of course the always impressive (if underused) Morgan Freeman. As for Tom Cruise, like or hate the scientologist nutbag, you cannot deny he’s perfect in these roles and remains a terrific actor.
Where Oblivion loses points however is the in the narrative. The main issue is that it’s very predictable. This is a film apparently based on an original idea, but the truth of the matter is it that Kosinski’s film shamelessly borrows from others and makes what is essentially a sci-fi pot-pourri that dampens the narrative beats.
** SPOILERS START **
For example (and there are too many to mention here), anyone who’s seen either 2001: Space Odyssey (HAL is now Sally; the monolith is no longer rectangular but triangular), Moon (the numbers; the deception; the clones), The Island (there is no Titan...), Twelve Monkeys (the sets, in particular the desolated library), Total Recall, WALL-E and / or Solaris will very quickly guess EXACTLY where the plot is going. The ‘Scavengers’ were always going to be the resistance… Of course those numbered suits aren’t a coincidence… And so on and so forth… Even quite obvious details will appear glaring to the learned (is that ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ I see lying about?) and will give away too much too quickly. This is a real shame, as it passes off as slightly lazy / clumsy and does remove a sizeable chunk of the film’s appeal and impact.
** SPOILERS END **
Even if Oblivion is a HUGE leap forward from the disappointing Tron: Legacy (medals should nonetheless have been distributed for getting Olivia Wilde and Beau Garrett to wear those costumes…), it’s hard to shake that niggling feeling that there could have been a greater film in there somewhere, one with its own ideas that could have been more deeply delved-into. However, audience members who are looking for a well-orchestrated and diverting film will be happy: they’ll react to the twist and turns and be satisfied with gorgeous images and the very well-handled action sequences. As for audience members who truly know the sci-fi genre well (your faithful reviewer falls into this category), they will ultimately find an entertaining action-thriller that is surprisingly void of surprises.
(Did you like that? ‘Surprisingly void of surprises’… Ah, the things one can write when sadly still awake at 3am!)
All in all, despite its shortcomings, Oblivion holds its own and is recommended… and fuck you, Sally.
- D - 11/04/13
THE PLACE BEYOND THE PINES
'Drive' on a bike?
The Place Beyond the Pines seems like an action thriller and when synopsized, it certainly sounds like one.
Stunt bike rider Luke (a heavily tattooed Ryan Gosling) is a drifter and lives life day by day until he gets a visit from an old flame, Romina (Eva Mendes). He learns he has a son he never knew about and via a chance meeting with Robin (a fantastic turn by Ben Mendelsohn), he begins to rob a series of banks in order to provide for the child and Romina…
To disclose any more would ruin it. However, as they say, the best laid plans…
Director Derek Cianfrance (who reunites with Gosling for the second time after Blue Valentine) takes the audience by surprise by making a very distinctive and ambitious triptych that goes beyond the obvious marketing strategy.
The first part follows Luke and his struggle to be the father he never had. The second sees the leading man torch being passed to Bradley Cooper’s rookie police officer Avery, who tackles the corruption inherent to the system he placed his faith in. The third and final part shows Cooper’s character dancing with the bones of his seemingly buried past via his son and how the past has a furious tendency to lurk in the shadows before inevitably striking back. The stories are well linked and decently balanced, even if the first segment wins the prize for most surprising. From the second segment onwards, the narrative gets a tad more familiar and errs towards the melodramatic, but manages to reel it in towards the (slightly weaker?) third act.
The performances are top notch, with intense turns from Gosling, Mendes, Mendelsohn and brilliant Dane DeHaan, who each make their mark on the film. Considering how Gosling is absent throughout most of the film, the fact his specter lingers on proves how efficient he is as a screen presence. It does however have to be said that Bradley Cooper shines brightest and is yet again a revelation. ‘Yet again’ because since Silver Linings Playbook, the actor has been showcasing how brilliant he can be when given the right roles. His take is a very confident one and should finally hush naysayers.
Cianfrance (who also penned the script with Ben Coccio and Darius Marder) expertly exposes the different character perspectives, intelligently adds echoes of the three acts within the others (using subtle mirror images and symbols or more obvious narrative and thematic ties) and cleverly makes sure that there are no real heroes in his film. The audience is instead shown a world where the brutal truths only inspire injustice and rage, which the protagonists deal with the only way they can, for the better or for worst. This is where the title comes in. The Place Beyond the Pines literally refers to the Mohawk for Schenectady, the New York city where the film is set but metaphorically evokes the place where these protagonists find and face their demons, where they either accept their destinies (kneeling down in the woods when faced with a loaded gun or buying a symbolically-loaded new bike, for example) or challenge them. It can allude to the small windows (even if they relate to a geographical place) in life where connections are made and how the ripples emanating from these connections will grow to mold or even define lives thereafter.
These ambitious themes are galvanized by one of the film’s other strengths, being the palpable atmosphere, which vaguely resembles 'Twin Peaks' at times (due to the small town setting and its oppressive nature). It’s this brimming tension (also present in the tantalizingly well filmed chase / bike sequences) that contributes to some of the films more unpredictable and better moments.
The Place Beyond the Pines has its flaws (the more classic denouement, the fact that the film could have been stronger with a shorter - 20 minutes or so - running time) but the overall impression is a positive one. This tale of inevitability, about (doomed?) lives and the haunting of the past ultimately plays out like an emotional family drama that doesn’t lack depth or style.
So no, it’s not Drive on a bike. The similarity ends with a) Ryan Gosling playing a badass, b) the terrific soundtrack - kudos to Mike Patton, with some Bruce Springsteen and Bon Iver added for good measure - and c) the fact that The Place Beyond the Pines will surprise many considering its marketing image. It's well worth a watch and is likely to be one of 2013's best.
- D - 22/03/13
CLOUD ATLAS
Cloudy with a chance of Soylent Green
Cloud Atlas is an adaptation of David Mitchell’s 2004 epic novel of the same name. The transition to the silver screen is undertaken by the Wachowski siblings and Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run, Perfume). It tells six stories in six different eras, hopping about from a historical drama set on the high seas, a musical partnership and love story set in 1936’s Cambridge / Edinburgh, a 70s conspiracy thriller, a present-day One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest-like farce, a sci-fi dystopian adventure all the way to a post-apocalyptic world set “106 Winters after The Fall”.
Sound epic? It is.
The first thing I’ll say about Cloud Atlas is that it has the ambition of Aronofsky’s The Fountain or even the Wachowski’s very own The Matrix. It is hard not to admire the ambition of filming what was considered to be unfilmable, a book so rich and impressive that no one else would have touched it with a bargepole. To tackle something that dense, a book that explores themes of interconnectivity, cause and effect, how acts either of kindness or cruelty ripple across generations and time, is admirable to say the least.
The second thing I’ll say is that the film is (Irish thugs aside) very well acted by a cast who have several roles that transcend age, race and even sex. Tom Hanks, Jim Broadbent, Ben Whishaw, James D’Arcy, Jim Sturgess, Zhou Xun, Hugh Grant and even Halle Berry do a great job and embrace their various characters with some pretty amazing make-up jobs… even if Hugo Weaving’s Old Georgie looks like the Mighty Boosh’s The Hitcher.
The third and final thing I’ll say (in this segment of the review) is how superb the visual effects are and that Cloud Atlas delivers a show that is visually grandiose.
However (and you knew this next part was coming solely by the way I’ve structured this review), these previous three bullet points don’t save Cloud Atlas.
If you’ll pardon the analogy, imagine a huge buffet. Food spread out before you, dishes from around the globe, each with their distinct, succulent and tasty arguments. Not all the dishes are going to be to your liking, and you’ll have affinities with specific ones (some people prefer Italian food to a strong curry, others favour Thai food to Lebanese cuisine, and others will head for the sweet rather than the savoury…). Getting to the point, Cloud Atlas is the maddening mix of all these cuisines and tastes together, creating a strange, uneven mix that doesn’t taste as good as any of the dishes served on their own.
The best of aforementioned dishes (read: stories) are clearly the story of Robert Frobisher (a fantastic Ben Whishaw) and the exhilarating sci-fi segment, lead by the spot-on Zhou Xun and Jim Sturgess in full action mode. Aside from these two rewarding stories, the others are quite forgettable and when judged on their own merits, very bland. The counterargument is that these stories are meant to function together in order to achieve something greater as a whole. True, but this only works in the novel. The central message that we are all one (“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”) is powerful on the page but comes off as vapid and somewhat self-indulgent on the screen.
Cloud Atlas will polarize enormously and I can understand many people will consider it as a misunderstood or underrated gem, but no matter how well edited and structured it is, no matter how lavish the visual scope is, the film just doesn’t work. Many can argue that my vision of the film is biased by my enjoyment of the book, but this is a weak argument at best. You see, one of my favourite novels is Patrick Suskind’s ‘Perfume’ and (one of Cloud Atlas’ directors) Tom Tykwer’s adaption (also starring Ben Whishaw), despite its shortcomings, remains in my mind a fantastic one. Furthermore, I am not denying Cloud Atlas’ qualities; it is far from awful (and by God is it entertaining seeing Hugh Grant as a cannibal warrior chief!), but clued up or not before you set foot in the cinema, it is very flawed.
Interesting? To a certain extent. Confusing? Not at all. Long? Yes - it lasts an exhausting 171 minutes. Worth watching? Sure, but it is with a heavy heart that I say Cloud Atlas nevertheless remains a ruddy bloody mess.
I leave you, dear reader, with the following: find the book and read it. The stories follow one another and you’ll want to go back and reread them in order to appreciate the intricacies of David Mitchell’s tour de force… You will not want to subject yourself to another 3 hours of the Wachowskis and Tykwer’s Cloud Atlas.
- D - 15/03/13
THE LAST EXORCISM PART II
The LAST Exorcism... PART II...
This is not a difficult point to make, but as it turns out, it is one that has the merit of encapsulating everything you need to know about this film: consider the title.
Just take a moment now to read this film’s title.
That, boys and girls of all ages, is what we call a glaring and rather hopeless paradox.
Needlessly picking up where the first one left off, The Last Exorcism Part II sees Nell being taken to…
No, tell you what, I won’t waste your time. This ineffectual sequel is lazy, cliché-ridden and brimming to the rim with laughable ideas and dialogue. I mean, come on – the whole chicken thing???
It’s quite simply a cash grab, pure and simple, riding on the wave of its predecessor, which turned a very decent profit considering its original low-budget.
Do however watch The Last Exorcism, which still stands in my mind as a surprisingly strong horror film, with the excellent Patrick Fabian and Ashley Bell (who deserves a lot better than this sequel) giving knockout performances and director Daniel Stamm renewing my faith in the well-worn subject matter.
Considering how dull this second installment is (and mark my words, there’ll be a third considering its ending, probably entitled The Last Exorcism This Time, We Promise, It’s Just We Need To Exorcise Her Again… Again), I’d rather end this review with a 10-point list of things that are less annoying to me than The Last Exorcism Part II:
* Raw nipples when jogging.
* People who lack basic manners, especially those who don’t say ‘thank you’ when someone holds the door for them.
* The NME Cool Lists.
* People who give the NME Cool Lists any sort of importance or validity.
* Toby Maguire.
* One Direction.
* The talentless one in The Spice Girls.
* The slutty one in Girls Aloud.
* The fucking useless one in Chris Brown.
* People who use the words ‘swag’, ‘totes’ or the expression ‘bless up’.
Actually, scratch the last two - shit though the film is, it’s not as bad as those ones.
- D - 13/03/13
Do however watch The Last Exorcism, which still stands in my mind as a surprisingly strong horror film, with the excellent Patrick Fabian and Ashley Bell (who deserves a lot better than this sequel) giving knockout performances and director Daniel Stamm renewing my faith in the well-worn subject matter.
Considering how dull this second installment is (and mark my words, there’ll be a third considering its ending, probably entitled The Last Exorcism This Time, We Promise, It’s Just We Need To Exorcise Her Again… Again), I’d rather end this review with a 10-point list of things that are less annoying to me than The Last Exorcism Part II:
* Raw nipples when jogging.
* People who lack basic manners, especially those who don’t say ‘thank you’ when someone holds the door for them.
* The NME Cool Lists.
* People who give the NME Cool Lists any sort of importance or validity.
* Toby Maguire.
* One Direction.
* The talentless one in The Spice Girls.
* The slutty one in Girls Aloud.
* The fucking useless one in Chris Brown.
* People who use the words ‘swag’, ‘totes’ or the expression ‘bless up’.
Actually, scratch the last two - shit though the film is, it’s not as bad as those ones.
- D - 13/03/13
TO THE WONDER
Another Malick? Already?
Terrence Malick films usually follow each other with lengthy intervals. After all, this is a man who has, in the space of over four decades, directed 6 films and took a 20-year break between Days of Heaven and his masterpiece, The Thin Red Line. His latest arrives uncharacteristically only two years after his Palme d’Or-winning Tree of Life.
To The Wonder follows the love story of Neil (Ben Affleck, strong, considering he’s mostly on mute) and Marina (a mesmerizing Olga Kurylenko), who relocate from Paris to his native US with her daughter (the excellent Tatiana Chiline). As the latter states, it is quickly apparent that “something is missing” and that the change in surroundings has become synonymous with the shift in the couple’s relationship. She and her daughter return to Paris and he meets former flame Jane (Rachel McAdams). Added to this is the overlapping story of Father Quintana (the ever-wonderful Javier Bardem), a man of the cloth who his undergoing his own personal crisis.
To The Wonder stands out from past Malick films in that it is the first to be set entirely in present day and sees the director filming scenes of sexual intimacy, something which was in the past only hinted at. Aside from that and accompanied by the beautiful cinematography by Tree of Life-DP Emmanuel Lubezki, the director’s characteristic tics (a vulgar way of putting it, I admit) are alive and well:
* Intimate and murmured voiceovers.
* Lyrical, existential and spiritual musings.
* Abstract stream-of-consciousness.
* Feelings, senses and mood privileged over narrative and character.
* The predominance of a classical score.
If these elements in this rather reductive list are not appealing, don’t bother. If, on the other hand, you enjoy Malick’s previous work, in particular Tree of Life, it’s Christmas.
Indeed, To The Wonder could be seen as an accompaniment piece to his previous film, even going as far as using stock footage from Tree of Life. (Don’t tell me that sea tortoise didn’t look familiar…) It’s about the rise and fall of relationships, the ebb and flow of emotions, the unfathomable and fragile nature of love and faith. It raises a question dear to the director: “What is this love that loves us?”, a line that is very reminiscent of one said by Ben Chaplin’s character in the wonderful (I’ll never say it enough) The Thin Red Line (“Who lit this flame in us?”).
Many will find it frustrating and pretentious (it is true that dialogue like “You, cloud - you love me too” and “I am my own experiment” do border on self-parody) but those who enjoy Malick’s work will see this film as another graceful journey that only he alone could have delivered. No one quite captures beauty on film like this: the ripples on the beach, the Mont Saint-Michel (the titular “wonder”), the fields…
If that’s not your thing, it’s worth saying that Kurylenko’s turn alone is worth the watch. Her character is purposefully less ethereal than Jessica Chastain’s in Tree of Life but like Chastain, her performance is magical. She is the true revelation of this film and shows how much more she has to offer.
Despite not being as ambitious and powerful as it’s predecessor or as satisfying as The Thin Red Line, To The Wonder is still one of the most visually beautiful films you’re likely to see this year.
- D - 08/03/13
SPRING BREAKERS
To paraphrase Jean-Paul Sartre: Hell is other… bikini wearers.
I’m going to show you a still from the film Spring Breakers, followed by one of the film’s poster images. You, dear reader, will form an impulsive opinion based on these two images…
|
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So?
Odds are, you’re probably thinking: American Pie-style free-for-all about a hedonistic trip centered around the infamous American ‘holiday’ (what is referred to in a less debauched way in the UK as ‘reading week’) with LOTS of breasts and James Franco looking like the bastard lovechild of Gary Oldman’s Drexl Spivey and Richard Kiel’s Jaws.
Well, you’re right about the breasts and hedonism. There’s nudity and plenty of it.
You’re also right about Franco looking like a white wannabe cornrowed gangsta.
Beyond that however, think again because Spring Breakers is a strange and surprisingly stylish film that will disappoint those looking for cheap laughs. It’s directed by Harmony Korine, the writer of Larry Clark’s Kids. That should give you some indication of what the film’s tone could be… Larry Clark, having shroomed, with a bigger budget and sponsored by MTV. Ish.
The wafer thin plot goes something like this:
In an escapist bid, Faith (Selena Gomez), Candy (Vanessa Hudgens), Brit (Ashley Benson) and Cotty (Rachel Korine) fund their spring break trip by successfully robbing a local fast-food restaurant. They then join their hard-partying colleagues in sunny Florida. Cue: bong-abusing, weed-smoking, coke-snorting, breast-jiggling and the typical madness which has been seen countless times on MTV specials. Things however take a turn for the bizarre when they are arrested and unexpectedly bailed out of jail (or ‘gaol’ – never really know which spelling is appropriate) by drug dealer Alien (James Franco). Faith rapidly takes the bus home and the remaining three are quickly drawn into their new friend’s world…
This barebones resume doesn’t quite do it justice, as the film does continually surprise by its dark and only sporadically funny tone. Korine clearly has a great time giving former Disney and High School Musical alumni something very different to do and even Franco, who is usually quite bland (127 Hours aside), manages to pull his finger out and delivers the goods: he is unrecognizable as the grotesque and sometimes charming Alien and shows that with the right material, there still might be hope for him yet. The director orchestrates a derision-filled pulp, a coming-of-age story that chips away at the superficial layers. In this regard, Spring Breakers can be seen as a film that shows a particular American dream, via dialogue repetition (“Look at all my shiiiit!”), sound looping (the sound of a gun being cocked punctuates practically every major scene change towards the end) and image splicing and satirically bashes it, along with the hollow elements that Western culture tends to glorify nowadays.
The real pull factor though is the visuals. The cinematography manages to convey the hallucinatory nature of certain scenes and as strange as it may sound, certain shots (including nature ones) are downright beautiful. As for the musical score, it’s an electro orgy (Skrillex a’ plenty) and while it works well, it becomes a tad overused and ultimately feels like a horse is trying to fuck you in the ears. But perhaps that’s the point…
Spring Breakers is not a film to be taken literally or even that seriously. It will polarize, there’s no doubt about that and even if becomes a tad monotonous towards the end, Korine’s trashy, flawed, at times depressing and hypnotic tale about loss of innocence is difficult to dismiss outright. It even manages to make a Britney Spears ballad, sung by piano-playing James Franco, oddly poignant.
(There are some sentences a reviewer never expects to write – that last one would be a good example.)
Put simply, Spring Breakers has the potential to achieve cult status.
- D - 07/03/13
A GOOD DAY TO DIE HARD
Or:
A Good Day To Stop Dicking Around Right Now
Before The Good Die Hard Name Is Dragged Through The Mud Any Further.
A Good Day To Stop Dicking Around Right Now
Before The Good Die Hard Name Is Dragged Through The Mud Any Further.
Let me set the scene before reviewing A Good Day To Die Hard.
With the dire yet self-aware shadow of Expendables 1 & 2 towering over the action genre, it has become terribly fashionable for the aging generation to get back in the field, blow shit up and occasionally complain about their knees. Of late, Arnold Schwarzenegger had The Last Stand, Sylvester Stallone had Bullet to the Head and Bruce Willis tops off the hard-man trio with the fifth installment of the Die Hard franchise.
The scene is now set.
The first thing to say is how I owe Len Wiseman, the director of Die Hard 4.0 (or: Live Free Or Die Hard, the far superior American title) a groveling apology. His much-derided film was not a Die Hard film, having lost the aura with the cold blue colour scheme and the overall hollow atmosphere. It was however, in high insight, a solid enough effort once you removed it from the Die Hard franchise and considered it as a standalone action film. The cyber-terrorism plot strings weren’t very good, but at least there was an idea behind it, showing the aging John McClane as an analogue hero in a digital world.
Len, I’m sorry for having been unduly harsh. Let’s do lunch sometime.
A Good Day To Die Hard sees McClane (Willis, looking bored to death) head to Moscow when his son Jack (a very bland Jai Courtney) is arrested for murder. He seeks to help but discovers that Jack is a covert CIA agent and that daddy dearest has inadvertently thrown a massive spanner in the works. Cue awkward father-son bonding as the family go about Russia “killing scumbags”, uttering shite catchphrases, uncovering a political conspiracy and ending up blowing stuff up in Chernobyl.
I won’t mention anymore, not for spoilers sake, but simply because the Skip Woods’ boring and nonsensical screenplay could have been written by a child with severe learning difficulties. This is the man who, let’s not forget, penned Swordfish, Hitman and X-Men Origins: Wolverine, a man who decided it was a good idea to rely on the weakest of plot devices, a formula used and abused by countless TV sitcoms: when stuck, take the show abroad. Indeed, Die Hard has become, thanks to this installment, relatable to Sex In The City 2, when the menopausal timebombs go to Abu Dhabi, or even 1977’s Are You Being Served?: The Movie, when the cast of the show are sent off on a paid holiday to the Costa Plonka. These film comparisons are telling of the overall quality of A Good Day To Die Hard and once you actually have sat through the first half hour, you wish the whole misguided exercise had been ditched before any cameras started rolling.
What’s wrong with it, you ask?
Everything.
John McClane used to be an ordinary guy facing extraordinary situations, an everyman who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and needs to make do with the little he has. That was the appeal. Now, he has turned into a generic immortal uber-human who can survive just about anything without so much as a broken limb. Gone are the days when you saw his feet bleed because of glass shards (Die Hard) or when you see him utterly shagged out and bleeding out (Die Hard With A Vengeance). Now, the bulletproof hero (and his son) can crash into everything, smash through anything and be put through the most extreme forms of violence without so much as getting an ache or a ringing in the ears. EVEN IF THE BAD GUYS ARE WEARING RADIATION SUITS, THEY DON’T NEED THEM AS THEY ARE IMPERVIOUS TO RADIATION!!!
Speaking of which, where are have the bad guys gone? One of the vital things that made the first and third installments so good was the terrific villains. Even the forth film had a passable one, thanks to Timothy Olyphant‘s efforts. A Good Day To Die Hard has the blandest and most generic antagonists in recent memory: Russians in suits and heavy accents, Russians so Russian they have to have the Russian orthodox cross visibly tattooed behind their ear, so as the audience don’t forget how despicably Russian they are.
Adding to these damning elements are the frantic camera movements, the epileptic editing and the overall poor direction. Indeed, director John Moore screws the pooch by relying on clichéd slow motion and heavy CGI to hide the fact he doesn’t know what he’s doing. His résumé speaks volumes: Behind Enemy Lines; Flight of the Phoenix; The Omen remake; Max Payne. I’m not sure whose idea it was to hire this man to helm the proceedings, but it was one hell of a piss-poor idea.
This beckons the question: why aren’t better directors helming the Die Hard films?? If there’s one thing the best Bond films have taught us, including the wonderful Skyfall, is that if you hire a great director, there are more chances of great things happening. From what I gather, Bruce Willis pretty much runs the show and has an executive say in who is in charge of each episode. Considering his stature and the budget these films have at their disposal, why not splash out and surround yourself with talented scriptwriters and directors?
Predictable, insultingly stupid and just plain dull, A Good Day To Die Hard doesn’t manage to be a passable action film, let alone a Die Hard film. It manages to be the shortest Die Hard, with a running time of 97 minutes, and yet succeeds in boring the bollocks off its audience members.
Time to call it a day, you say?
Not so, brave reader. The sixth one has apparently been green-lit.
Yippee-ki-nay, motherfuckers.
- D - 25/02/13
FIVE FILMS YOU MAY HAVE MISSED IN 2012
We’re nearly 3 months into 2013 and it’s time to look back at some of the films released last year that you may have missed… I’ve chosen 5 films to review and considering the DVDs are currently…
WE’VE chosen…
Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Dear reader, for this 5-fold film fiesta, I shall be joined by my alter-ego, who shall help me make the reviewing process more interactive and ever so slightly protracted. Say hello, split-personality.
Hello.
Lovely. To make things clear, his dialogue shall be in red, while mine will be in…
White?
Yep. We kick off with:
WE’VE chosen…
Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Dear reader, for this 5-fold film fiesta, I shall be joined by my alter-ego, who shall help me make the reviewing process more interactive and ever so slightly protracted. Say hello, split-personality.
Hello.
Lovely. To make things clear, his dialogue shall be in red, while mine will be in…
White?
Yep. We kick off with:
BERBERIAN SOUND STUDIO
Try saying that 10 times without mucking it up!
It’s is mouthful, isn’t it?
Quite. The plot, set in 1976, goes something like this: Gilderoy, a mild-mannered and unassuming English sound technician (flawlessly interpreted by Toby Jones) has arrived in Italy to work in the titular sound studio. He is to begin work on a film called ‘The Equestrian Vortex’, which he believed was about horses and which is in fact a low-budget giallo.
Gia-what?
Giallo. It’s Italian for ‘yellow’.
Still confused.
You would be, wouldn’t you? Giallo is a film genre that originated from Italian literature. These crime books had yellow covers and their themes included elements of horror, mystery and eroticism. They were basically cheap paperbacks that could be referred to as pulp fiction. Giallo then became to refer to the Italian subgenre horror-thriller films, ones that usually had unknown / masked killers, handy with razor blades or sharp instruments, stalking fit women, who at some point showed their breasts. Thanks to filmmakers like Dario Argento, the film genre became hugely popular, with additions of nightmarish dream sequences, even elements of the supernatural. It has influenced many other directors, such as Brian DePalma or even David Fincher. The latter’s Se7en is a great example of a modern giallo and DePalma’s new flick Passion looks just by its trailer to be in the right vein…
Thanks for that, prof. Got a favourite giallo film?
Argento’s The Bird With The Crystal Plumage, without a doubt. Have you even seen an Argento film?
Nope.
I’m ashamed to have you as my split-personality.
You know sometimes, your words… they hurt. Shall we get back to the review?
Yes, lets. Gilderoy…
Strange name, no?
It’s not a particularly popular one, granted. It means‘son of the red-head’.
Wow, we’re really having fun and learning, aren’t we?
Sarcasm will get you nowhere. So, Gilderoy is tasked to supervise the film’s soundtrack in the claustrophobic studio, meaning he must oversee the dubbing process and create sound effects via different means, including chopping up lettuces, boiling water, ripping radishes apart… all to serve the on-screen violence (hair ripping, drowning, torture…). The archetypically reserved chap is somewhat out of his depth, a feeling maximized by the language barrier he encounters and the cultural gap, personified by the extrovert and dissenting crew (the tyrannical producer, the hostile but mind-numbingly sexy secretary, the exploitative and lecherous director…). Having to create recordings of horror and female suffering starts getting to him and his mental state starts progressively disintegrating…
Sounds very nightmarish.
It is, to Kafkaesque proportions. First and foremost, it’s an atmospheric film, one reminiscent of Polanski and David Lynch, especially in the third act. This last part of the film which shows Gilderoy’s subtle loss of grip on reality has its purposefully illogical moments, which are spine-chilling.
What’s so special about this film then? Sell it to me…Bacon-wrap it!
Well, it’s a love letter to 60-70s Italian horror. Writer-director Peter Strickland has struck a good balance between horror and art-house by slowly taking a standard fish-out-of-water story and pushing it towards the realms of the unexplained.
Unexplained?
Yes. The true meaning of the ending is a bit of a conundrum. Think of the confusion felt during Lost Highway for instance…
Oh, bloody hell. So it’s one of those surrealist /‘the journey is more important than the end’ ones, is it?
To a certain extent, minus the surrealist part. The audience makes up its mind afterwards, but much like Lost Highway, it makes for great viewing. Its ambiguity is its strength. Also, we never see the giallo film Gilderoy and the others are working on, making the audience’s imagination run wild. It’s scarier that you don’t see the brutal horror but you hear it and even if you know it’s just a watermelon being sliced in half, the effect is powerfully unnerving. Berberian Sound Studio is also a film for film lovers: you get a peek behind the curtain of post-production magic, getting to see how films are made once the cameras stop rolling.
This doesn’t sound like it’s a crowd pleaser…
It’s a divisive film to say the least and the abrupt and less narratively-driven ending will alienate a few. It is however undeniable that many will want to watch this unique piece again as soon as possible in order to appreciate certain visual details that masquerade as clues throughout the film (the watermelon being handed over, the spider, the letters from Gilderoy’s mother, the “you’re a part of this film’ line…). Yet again, this Lynchian approach is a huge part of the film’s appeal. It will be angrily viewed as nonsense by some and lovingly considered as genius by others.
Is there anything everyone will agree about regarding this film?
Yes: salads and radishes can be menacing. I can’t think of another film that makes fruit and veg scary.
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?
Granted.
Right, I know you don’t give star ratings in your reviews, but would you indulge me for these five films and give stars?
Fine, just this once.
Five.
Fine, just these five times… I give Berberian Sound Studio a merited 4 out of 5 stars, cautioning however that it isn’t for those who need narrative boundaries and for those who don’t enjoy a hefty atmospheric journey.
Sweet. One down, four to go. What’s next, prof?
It’s is mouthful, isn’t it?
Quite. The plot, set in 1976, goes something like this: Gilderoy, a mild-mannered and unassuming English sound technician (flawlessly interpreted by Toby Jones) has arrived in Italy to work in the titular sound studio. He is to begin work on a film called ‘The Equestrian Vortex’, which he believed was about horses and which is in fact a low-budget giallo.
Gia-what?
Giallo. It’s Italian for ‘yellow’.
Still confused.
You would be, wouldn’t you? Giallo is a film genre that originated from Italian literature. These crime books had yellow covers and their themes included elements of horror, mystery and eroticism. They were basically cheap paperbacks that could be referred to as pulp fiction. Giallo then became to refer to the Italian subgenre horror-thriller films, ones that usually had unknown / masked killers, handy with razor blades or sharp instruments, stalking fit women, who at some point showed their breasts. Thanks to filmmakers like Dario Argento, the film genre became hugely popular, with additions of nightmarish dream sequences, even elements of the supernatural. It has influenced many other directors, such as Brian DePalma or even David Fincher. The latter’s Se7en is a great example of a modern giallo and DePalma’s new flick Passion looks just by its trailer to be in the right vein…
Thanks for that, prof. Got a favourite giallo film?
Argento’s The Bird With The Crystal Plumage, without a doubt. Have you even seen an Argento film?
Nope.
I’m ashamed to have you as my split-personality.
You know sometimes, your words… they hurt. Shall we get back to the review?
Yes, lets. Gilderoy…
Strange name, no?
It’s not a particularly popular one, granted. It means‘son of the red-head’.
Wow, we’re really having fun and learning, aren’t we?
Sarcasm will get you nowhere. So, Gilderoy is tasked to supervise the film’s soundtrack in the claustrophobic studio, meaning he must oversee the dubbing process and create sound effects via different means, including chopping up lettuces, boiling water, ripping radishes apart… all to serve the on-screen violence (hair ripping, drowning, torture…). The archetypically reserved chap is somewhat out of his depth, a feeling maximized by the language barrier he encounters and the cultural gap, personified by the extrovert and dissenting crew (the tyrannical producer, the hostile but mind-numbingly sexy secretary, the exploitative and lecherous director…). Having to create recordings of horror and female suffering starts getting to him and his mental state starts progressively disintegrating…
Sounds very nightmarish.
It is, to Kafkaesque proportions. First and foremost, it’s an atmospheric film, one reminiscent of Polanski and David Lynch, especially in the third act. This last part of the film which shows Gilderoy’s subtle loss of grip on reality has its purposefully illogical moments, which are spine-chilling.
What’s so special about this film then? Sell it to me…Bacon-wrap it!
Well, it’s a love letter to 60-70s Italian horror. Writer-director Peter Strickland has struck a good balance between horror and art-house by slowly taking a standard fish-out-of-water story and pushing it towards the realms of the unexplained.
Unexplained?
Yes. The true meaning of the ending is a bit of a conundrum. Think of the confusion felt during Lost Highway for instance…
Oh, bloody hell. So it’s one of those surrealist /‘the journey is more important than the end’ ones, is it?
To a certain extent, minus the surrealist part. The audience makes up its mind afterwards, but much like Lost Highway, it makes for great viewing. Its ambiguity is its strength. Also, we never see the giallo film Gilderoy and the others are working on, making the audience’s imagination run wild. It’s scarier that you don’t see the brutal horror but you hear it and even if you know it’s just a watermelon being sliced in half, the effect is powerfully unnerving. Berberian Sound Studio is also a film for film lovers: you get a peek behind the curtain of post-production magic, getting to see how films are made once the cameras stop rolling.
This doesn’t sound like it’s a crowd pleaser…
It’s a divisive film to say the least and the abrupt and less narratively-driven ending will alienate a few. It is however undeniable that many will want to watch this unique piece again as soon as possible in order to appreciate certain visual details that masquerade as clues throughout the film (the watermelon being handed over, the spider, the letters from Gilderoy’s mother, the “you’re a part of this film’ line…). Yet again, this Lynchian approach is a huge part of the film’s appeal. It will be angrily viewed as nonsense by some and lovingly considered as genius by others.
Is there anything everyone will agree about regarding this film?
Yes: salads and radishes can be menacing. I can’t think of another film that makes fruit and veg scary.
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?
Granted.
Right, I know you don’t give star ratings in your reviews, but would you indulge me for these five films and give stars?
Fine, just this once.
Five.
Fine, just these five times… I give Berberian Sound Studio a merited 4 out of 5 stars, cautioning however that it isn’t for those who need narrative boundaries and for those who don’t enjoy a hefty atmospheric journey.
Sweet. One down, four to go. What’s next, prof?
DREDD
We now come to an action film, a reboot of sorts. In 1995, director Danny Cannon brought Judge Dredd to the big screen, in the aptly named Judge Dredd, with Sylvester Stallone slurring his way through the flick as the its eponymous hero.
It was dredd-ful.
Yes it was and good pun work there. Got any others?
… Is Judge Dredd dredd-ed?
Uh huh…
… Does one of the characters in the new film have dredd-locks…?
You’re scrapping the barrel now, aren’t you?
…
Don’t answer that. Let’s move on. So, after that abysmal film, during which Judge Dredd takes off his helmet, something of a no-no, as he never does in the comic books…
There was a comic book?
Yes, the character comes from the British sci-fi magazine 2000 AD. Not being a huge comic buff, I know little, except that it is set in the future and that he’s a part of a law enforcement group of Judges, who are the police but act as judge, jury and executioner. They can arrest, sentence and execute criminals. He’s the anti-hero/anti-character in the sense the masked, grumpy-looking and inflexible bastard doesn’t say much and is fixed on his goal and nothing more.
This is all a bit police state / fascist-sounding, isn’t it?
Well, yes – it’s a satire of sorts, with the stern character being an exaggeration of extremist right-wing principles… As I was saying, Danny Cannon made a complete pig’s ear out of the film. The script was awful, the helmet was removed and Rob Schneider was cast as the comic foil.
Rob Schneider? Rob Deuce Bigalow Male Gigalow Schneider?
Yes.
That moronic, talentless, mediocrity monger and all round sorry excuse for a comedian was in Judge Dredd?
Yes. Are you done venting?
Yes.
Good. I’ve told you about this before we started – I review, you interject with random details, comments or questions that could push these reviews forward. At no point did I give you blank check to go willy-nilly on a rant about Rob-cocking-Schneider, despite the fact I agree full heartedly with your description of the troll. Now get your act together.
Sorry.
Getting back to Dredd… Pete Travis directs this new version, based on a screenplay by Alex Garland. It is set in the future world of Mega City One, which has basically gone to shit on the back of nuclear war. It’s a bleak nest of crime and violence. The film’s revolves around a day in the life of Dredd: on this occasion, he has one day to evaluate a new Judge rookie, Cassandra Anderson, who as her name suggests, has psychic abilities. Sadly for them and luckily for the audience, it all goes tits up when they end up trapped in a 200-story tower block being ruled by a prostitute turned drug baroness, the all-around bad egg called Ma-Ma. She peddles a new synthetic drug called Slo-Mo, which slows the user’s perception of
time to 1% of normal speed…
So it feels a bit like watching Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides then?
Yes, it’s a lot like that. Anyway, being imprisoned, Dredd and Anderson have to make their way up to the top floor to bring Ma-Ma and her crew to justice before they get taken out of play first.
Hold on… This isn’t a remake of The Raid, by any chance?
No, but there are similarities, you’re right to point out. Dredd doesn’t suffer from the comparison and the two films are very different beasts. Additionally, Alex Garland, the screenwriter began writing Dredd way back in 2006. That said, The Raid remains a great action film and deserves its place in my end of year top 20 (link).
Aha… That’s all very well and nice, but is the film any good?
Yes, it’s definitely worth a watch. Olivia Thirlby (of Juno fame) is brilliant as Anderson, Lena Headey makes for a solid and freaky villain and Karl Urban nails it as Judge Dredd. Considering the tough and monosyllabic character he portrays and the fact he has the helmet on all the time, so basically has to act with his chin and mouth, it’s one hell of a performance. He’s intimidating, clearly gets the role and cannot be praised enough here. As for the setup, it’s simple, with the execution being linear but effective; the end result is an incredibly gritty and surprisingly violent flick. Travis doesn’t shy away from showing some pretty dark, brutal and visceral sequences, aided by the narcotic I mentioned earlier. Cinematographer Anthony Mantle has a great time with the visuals, slowing down certain sequences when protagonists are high on Slo-Mo. The violence is impressively elegant, with bullets piercing flesh and bones snapping in slow motion. It makes eeeeeeeevvvvveeeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyyytttthhhhiiiiiiinnnnggggg llllooooooooooooookkkkk vvvvveeeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyyy nnnnnnniiiiiiiiifffffffttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
What are you doing?
Mimicking the effects of the drugs in type format.
Ok.
Did you not find that funny?
Not really.
Shame. Was pleased when I came up with that. Anyway, the special effects are solid, the script is excellent thanks to Garland…
You have a bit of a man-crush on him, don’t you?
Who wouldn’t? The man’s a genius. He wrote 'The Beach' and 'The Coma', both terrific, as well as scriptwriting 28 Days Later, Sunshine and Never Let Me Go. He can do no wrong.
Talking of 'The Beach', are you still upset about how the film adaptation tainted the memory of the book?
Yes. Very much so. Group therapy has helped though…
You’re visibly shaken. Sorry for mentioning it… Do you want me to finish this segment?
No, no, it’s fine – I’ll power through… Dredd is a hard hitting action film that at a mere 98 minutes wastes no time in getting down and dirty. As much as it could have been better, this balls-to-the-wall action film is a huge improvement on the original (which, true, isn’t saying much…) and is basically the Batman Begins to Judge Dredd’s Batman and Robin…Why are you wriggling about like an evil demon?
…
You want to make another pun, don’t you?
…
Fine, do your thing.
So, basically, you’re saying that this new version is nothing worth dredd-ing?
Oh, clap clap clap.
Stars if you had to?
I’d say a solid 3 out of 5.
It was dredd-ful.
Yes it was and good pun work there. Got any others?
… Is Judge Dredd dredd-ed?
Uh huh…
… Does one of the characters in the new film have dredd-locks…?
You’re scrapping the barrel now, aren’t you?
…
Don’t answer that. Let’s move on. So, after that abysmal film, during which Judge Dredd takes off his helmet, something of a no-no, as he never does in the comic books…
There was a comic book?
Yes, the character comes from the British sci-fi magazine 2000 AD. Not being a huge comic buff, I know little, except that it is set in the future and that he’s a part of a law enforcement group of Judges, who are the police but act as judge, jury and executioner. They can arrest, sentence and execute criminals. He’s the anti-hero/anti-character in the sense the masked, grumpy-looking and inflexible bastard doesn’t say much and is fixed on his goal and nothing more.
This is all a bit police state / fascist-sounding, isn’t it?
Well, yes – it’s a satire of sorts, with the stern character being an exaggeration of extremist right-wing principles… As I was saying, Danny Cannon made a complete pig’s ear out of the film. The script was awful, the helmet was removed and Rob Schneider was cast as the comic foil.
Rob Schneider? Rob Deuce Bigalow Male Gigalow Schneider?
Yes.
That moronic, talentless, mediocrity monger and all round sorry excuse for a comedian was in Judge Dredd?
Yes. Are you done venting?
Yes.
Good. I’ve told you about this before we started – I review, you interject with random details, comments or questions that could push these reviews forward. At no point did I give you blank check to go willy-nilly on a rant about Rob-cocking-Schneider, despite the fact I agree full heartedly with your description of the troll. Now get your act together.
Sorry.
Getting back to Dredd… Pete Travis directs this new version, based on a screenplay by Alex Garland. It is set in the future world of Mega City One, which has basically gone to shit on the back of nuclear war. It’s a bleak nest of crime and violence. The film’s revolves around a day in the life of Dredd: on this occasion, he has one day to evaluate a new Judge rookie, Cassandra Anderson, who as her name suggests, has psychic abilities. Sadly for them and luckily for the audience, it all goes tits up when they end up trapped in a 200-story tower block being ruled by a prostitute turned drug baroness, the all-around bad egg called Ma-Ma. She peddles a new synthetic drug called Slo-Mo, which slows the user’s perception of
time to 1% of normal speed…
So it feels a bit like watching Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides then?
Yes, it’s a lot like that. Anyway, being imprisoned, Dredd and Anderson have to make their way up to the top floor to bring Ma-Ma and her crew to justice before they get taken out of play first.
Hold on… This isn’t a remake of The Raid, by any chance?
No, but there are similarities, you’re right to point out. Dredd doesn’t suffer from the comparison and the two films are very different beasts. Additionally, Alex Garland, the screenwriter began writing Dredd way back in 2006. That said, The Raid remains a great action film and deserves its place in my end of year top 20 (link).
Aha… That’s all very well and nice, but is the film any good?
Yes, it’s definitely worth a watch. Olivia Thirlby (of Juno fame) is brilliant as Anderson, Lena Headey makes for a solid and freaky villain and Karl Urban nails it as Judge Dredd. Considering the tough and monosyllabic character he portrays and the fact he has the helmet on all the time, so basically has to act with his chin and mouth, it’s one hell of a performance. He’s intimidating, clearly gets the role and cannot be praised enough here. As for the setup, it’s simple, with the execution being linear but effective; the end result is an incredibly gritty and surprisingly violent flick. Travis doesn’t shy away from showing some pretty dark, brutal and visceral sequences, aided by the narcotic I mentioned earlier. Cinematographer Anthony Mantle has a great time with the visuals, slowing down certain sequences when protagonists are high on Slo-Mo. The violence is impressively elegant, with bullets piercing flesh and bones snapping in slow motion. It makes eeeeeeeevvvvveeeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyyytttthhhhiiiiiiinnnnggggg llllooooooooooooookkkkk vvvvveeeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyyyy nnnnnnniiiiiiiiifffffffttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
What are you doing?
Mimicking the effects of the drugs in type format.
Ok.
Did you not find that funny?
Not really.
Shame. Was pleased when I came up with that. Anyway, the special effects are solid, the script is excellent thanks to Garland…
You have a bit of a man-crush on him, don’t you?
Who wouldn’t? The man’s a genius. He wrote 'The Beach' and 'The Coma', both terrific, as well as scriptwriting 28 Days Later, Sunshine and Never Let Me Go. He can do no wrong.
Talking of 'The Beach', are you still upset about how the film adaptation tainted the memory of the book?
Yes. Very much so. Group therapy has helped though…
You’re visibly shaken. Sorry for mentioning it… Do you want me to finish this segment?
No, no, it’s fine – I’ll power through… Dredd is a hard hitting action film that at a mere 98 minutes wastes no time in getting down and dirty. As much as it could have been better, this balls-to-the-wall action film is a huge improvement on the original (which, true, isn’t saying much…) and is basically the Batman Begins to Judge Dredd’s Batman and Robin…Why are you wriggling about like an evil demon?
…
You want to make another pun, don’t you?
…
Fine, do your thing.
So, basically, you’re saying that this new version is nothing worth dredd-ing?
Oh, clap clap clap.
Stars if you had to?
I’d say a solid 3 out of 5.
AMERICAN MARY
This is odd and slightly twisted one… Director and writer sisters Jan and Sylvia Soska, who are best known as “The Twisted Twins”, have created a bizarre film that borders on a lot of sub-genres under the horror umbrella. The plot follows Mary Mason, a promising surgery student played by Katharine Isabelle.
She’s really hot.
Yes, she is. Stop interrupting when I’m doing the synopsis. Mary stitches turkeys back together in her spare time to practice her craft and despite her talent, is severely strapped for cash. She thus decides to audition to be a stripper to make ends meet.
She’s smoking hot.
Yes. Message received and understood. Her audition leads to an impromptu one-off and well-paid gig: an illegal surgery on a torture victim for the club owner Billy. This in turn leads her to quickly becoming the black-market go-to girl for gangsters, extreme body-modification addicts and a certain Beatress, who wants to turn herself into a living doll of sorts.
She is not so hot.
Your contributions are becoming slightly wearisome, I have to say. Things go south when Mary becomes the victim of a brutal attack at the hands of someone close to her. She then discovers her revenge and her true calling are both inextricably linked… To say any more would be to take the piss out of the whole thing. However, it is safe to say that this bizarre film starts off very well, with new ground / Cronenberg-esque themes being explored, but gets noticeably weaker in the second half, when it veers into a more traditional rape-revenge film, à la I Spit On Your Grave. It does nonetheless boast a brilliant leading lady…
Who’s hot.
Stop. Just stop. You’re clearly a walking hard-on right now and giving me a bad name by behaving like one of the misogynistic surgeons depicted in the film. I don’t disagree with you but unless you stop repeating how hot she is, I’ll red card you.
… Fine… Still think she’s hot though…
Right, that’s it – you’re banned from the rest of this review. You can come back for the next one. Leave. Scram. Vamoose.
Where were we? Ah, yes – Isabelle is a terrific leading lady in that she doesn’t lack subtlety: she’s funny, cynical at times and even when she starts going to the dark side, the audience never quite feel alienated from the character, making the film all the more disturbing. It’s not a perfect film, with clichés aplenty in the second half, its low-budget showing at points, especially when it comes to the supporting cast. That said, this shocking and at times innovative underground horror flick about female empowerment has the potential to achieve cult status. Right, you can come back now.
Sorry for earlier. Got a little nonplussed.
Yes, you did and I won’t hesitate to throw you out on your ear if it happens again.
Fine.
You’re a waste of space sometimes, you know that?
Hey! I won’t be judged by the man who’s reviewing to himself…
Fair point.
So, how many stars for American Mary?
3. Verges on 2 at times and could have been 4 if the film hadn’t lost itself towards the end.. So 3 it is.
Dandy. Now, I’ve noticed these reviews are quite dark. The Sound Studio one apparently gives the willies and seems to be, pardon my French, somewhat of a headfuck; Dredd is graphically violent and set in a dystopian universe; this last one sounds a tad bleak… Could we potentially have something in a lighter vein for the next review?
Ask and you shall receive…
She’s really hot.
Yes, she is. Stop interrupting when I’m doing the synopsis. Mary stitches turkeys back together in her spare time to practice her craft and despite her talent, is severely strapped for cash. She thus decides to audition to be a stripper to make ends meet.
She’s smoking hot.
Yes. Message received and understood. Her audition leads to an impromptu one-off and well-paid gig: an illegal surgery on a torture victim for the club owner Billy. This in turn leads her to quickly becoming the black-market go-to girl for gangsters, extreme body-modification addicts and a certain Beatress, who wants to turn herself into a living doll of sorts.
She is not so hot.
Your contributions are becoming slightly wearisome, I have to say. Things go south when Mary becomes the victim of a brutal attack at the hands of someone close to her. She then discovers her revenge and her true calling are both inextricably linked… To say any more would be to take the piss out of the whole thing. However, it is safe to say that this bizarre film starts off very well, with new ground / Cronenberg-esque themes being explored, but gets noticeably weaker in the second half, when it veers into a more traditional rape-revenge film, à la I Spit On Your Grave. It does nonetheless boast a brilliant leading lady…
Who’s hot.
Stop. Just stop. You’re clearly a walking hard-on right now and giving me a bad name by behaving like one of the misogynistic surgeons depicted in the film. I don’t disagree with you but unless you stop repeating how hot she is, I’ll red card you.
… Fine… Still think she’s hot though…
Right, that’s it – you’re banned from the rest of this review. You can come back for the next one. Leave. Scram. Vamoose.
Where were we? Ah, yes – Isabelle is a terrific leading lady in that she doesn’t lack subtlety: she’s funny, cynical at times and even when she starts going to the dark side, the audience never quite feel alienated from the character, making the film all the more disturbing. It’s not a perfect film, with clichés aplenty in the second half, its low-budget showing at points, especially when it comes to the supporting cast. That said, this shocking and at times innovative underground horror flick about female empowerment has the potential to achieve cult status. Right, you can come back now.
Sorry for earlier. Got a little nonplussed.
Yes, you did and I won’t hesitate to throw you out on your ear if it happens again.
Fine.
You’re a waste of space sometimes, you know that?
Hey! I won’t be judged by the man who’s reviewing to himself…
Fair point.
So, how many stars for American Mary?
3. Verges on 2 at times and could have been 4 if the film hadn’t lost itself towards the end.. So 3 it is.
Dandy. Now, I’ve noticed these reviews are quite dark. The Sound Studio one apparently gives the willies and seems to be, pardon my French, somewhat of a headfuck; Dredd is graphically violent and set in a dystopian universe; this last one sounds a tad bleak… Could we potentially have something in a lighter vein for the next review?
Ask and you shall receive…
EVERYTHING OR NOTHING:
THE UNTOLD STORY OF 007
Perfectly timed for the spy’s 50th, Everything Or Nothing: The Untold Story of 007, was released last year in a limited number of cinemas in order to celebrate Bond’s cineversary.
Cineversary?
Cinema anniversary. Keep up, please.
It’s not even a word.
Oh do shut up. The documentary directed by Stevan Riley, now out on DVD, follows the Bond universe from Ian Fleming to Sam Mendes and is littered with well edited and thorough interviews ranging from Fleming’s contemporaries (Christopher Lee) to the current producers (Barbara Broccoli and Michael Wilson), famous fans (Bill Clinton)…
Clinton’s a fan?
Yes, stop interrupting. As I was saying, the interviewees are numerous and don’t forget the Bonds themselves, who all played ball and deliver honest, disarming and sometimes funny testimonies about their experiences as 007. All except from Connery.
How can you have a Bond documentary without the first man to play him? Why didn’t Connery appear?
Well, parts of the documentary reveal that issues with Sean Connery play out like a Shakespearian drama. You can hear him in the documentary, but the snippets are archive interviews and sound clips. He was an unknown before Dr. No and Connery gradually grew to believe that the franchise couldn’t survive without him. It’s well documented he was rapidly becoming sick of playing the part and left after You Only Live Twice. He also thought he was being underpaid and that the producers, Harry Saltzman in particular, were manipulative and money grabbing bastards. He came back later on for the awful Diamonds Are Forever but the damning coup de gras was the betrayal, when he starred in a rival Bond film in 1983, going head to head with Roger Moore’s Octopussy. The film, Never Say Never Again, was helmed by Kevin McClory, the real-life nemesis of the official Bond producers Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman.
What’s the beef with McClory then?
He was always suing Broccoli and Saltzman, claiming he had a right to the Bond pie due to the fact he gave Fleming part of the plot threads for the 'Thunderball' book. McClory co-produced the film version with the official producers and then became the pest they just couldn’t shake off. A great deal of the documentary is about the legal troubles this man created for the franchise. Basically, he’s the documentary’s main villain.
That’s all very well and good, but do we find about more about the Bond girls, the cars, the guns...?
Well, you’re going to be disappointed because Riley has smartly avoided those rather obvious elements (which for the most part are common knowledge by now) and instead focused on charting the highs and lows of the fragile series, the pitfalls it faced and the lives of the three people who kick-started the show: Fleming, Broccoli and Saltzman. It focuses on the producers who have kept it alive all these years, passing on the torch in what is essentially now a family affair. Not to fear though: there is a more than healthy dose of contributions from cast and crew, with plenty of funny / juicy anecdotes (Lazenby’s ‘sex test’ covertly organized by the producers; Brosnan wetting himself over the Die Another Day kite-surfing hoopla…) thought provoking moments (Timothy Dalton’s portrayal being ahead of its time, paving the way in advance for Daniel Craig’s turn as 007; the effect of 9/11 on the Bond films), bizarre ones (Robert Davi’s thoughts on Licence To Kill’s poor reception at the box office: “There’s always a message in the ravioli.”) and at times moving ones (Barbara Broccoli recounting the patching up between her father and his former work partner Harry Saltzman after the latter terminated the partnership due to creative differences and financial issues; the overall sadness that seems to prevail when past Bonds describe their ends in the role). It’s fun, revealing and it’s always nice hearing about what happens behind the elitist curtain.
Elitist?
Yes, but in the nicest way. After all, as Brosnan so eloquently puts it, “more men have walked on the moon” than have played Bond.
Too true. However, what bothers me is that your giddy approach about the whole thing, Bond nut that you are, is hardly surprising… You’re over-selling this film because you’re a Bond enthusiast!
Woa woa woa… Hold your horses there, split personality of mine! Everything or Nothing isn’t the perfect film, far from it. There’s decent footage, good use of archives etc, but it does have some pitfalls. For instance, more could have been done regarding the second half of Moore’s career as Bond, the Timothy Dalton era (as he was arguably the best Bond and a mere victim of bad timing and circumstances), or even the musical side of the proceedings, which is borderline missed completely. Additionally, the 1967 David Niven Casino Royale version could have been mentioned instead of harping on about what a dick McClory was. As for Skyfall, don’t expect any behind the scenes material. There’s brief reference to the 23rd adventure towards the end, but Everything Or Nothing is a tasty appetizer that leads up to Skyfall; it doesn’t quite include the latest, record breaking installment, which is a shame.
Did you say ‘dick’ earlier on? I thought this was a family show…
Dick with it… I mean, deal with it. Overall, the whole thing is fascinating but can’t be considered as particularly vital. It’s a DVD extra that is given the preferential treatment. However, it remains a tightly orchestrated affair that celebrates the 007 films and franchise in an honest and forthright manner and avoids being self-indulgent and pompously aggrandizing. As for the aforementioned omissions, there were bound to be a few considering Riley manages to cover 50 years’ worth of films in 95 minutes.
Indeed – that’s refreshingly brief considering the running time of films nowadays. Didn’t you write a very eye-opening and instructive article on the running times of films, which are getting longer year by year and which can be found by clicking on the word link?
Correct. Now stop shamelessly plugging. It’s embarrassing and makes me look a bit desperate.
Sorry. One last thing – what’s the title all about?
It’s where the production company EON, created by Broccoli and Saltzman, gets its name from. EON was the acronym for the producer’s motto. It is NOT named after the video game, in case you were wondering.
Ok. Stars?
3 1/2.
Safe. What’s the last film you’ve got in store for us?
Well, it’s another documentary…
Cineversary?
Cinema anniversary. Keep up, please.
It’s not even a word.
Oh do shut up. The documentary directed by Stevan Riley, now out on DVD, follows the Bond universe from Ian Fleming to Sam Mendes and is littered with well edited and thorough interviews ranging from Fleming’s contemporaries (Christopher Lee) to the current producers (Barbara Broccoli and Michael Wilson), famous fans (Bill Clinton)…
Clinton’s a fan?
Yes, stop interrupting. As I was saying, the interviewees are numerous and don’t forget the Bonds themselves, who all played ball and deliver honest, disarming and sometimes funny testimonies about their experiences as 007. All except from Connery.
How can you have a Bond documentary without the first man to play him? Why didn’t Connery appear?
Well, parts of the documentary reveal that issues with Sean Connery play out like a Shakespearian drama. You can hear him in the documentary, but the snippets are archive interviews and sound clips. He was an unknown before Dr. No and Connery gradually grew to believe that the franchise couldn’t survive without him. It’s well documented he was rapidly becoming sick of playing the part and left after You Only Live Twice. He also thought he was being underpaid and that the producers, Harry Saltzman in particular, were manipulative and money grabbing bastards. He came back later on for the awful Diamonds Are Forever but the damning coup de gras was the betrayal, when he starred in a rival Bond film in 1983, going head to head with Roger Moore’s Octopussy. The film, Never Say Never Again, was helmed by Kevin McClory, the real-life nemesis of the official Bond producers Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman.
What’s the beef with McClory then?
He was always suing Broccoli and Saltzman, claiming he had a right to the Bond pie due to the fact he gave Fleming part of the plot threads for the 'Thunderball' book. McClory co-produced the film version with the official producers and then became the pest they just couldn’t shake off. A great deal of the documentary is about the legal troubles this man created for the franchise. Basically, he’s the documentary’s main villain.
That’s all very well and good, but do we find about more about the Bond girls, the cars, the guns...?
Well, you’re going to be disappointed because Riley has smartly avoided those rather obvious elements (which for the most part are common knowledge by now) and instead focused on charting the highs and lows of the fragile series, the pitfalls it faced and the lives of the three people who kick-started the show: Fleming, Broccoli and Saltzman. It focuses on the producers who have kept it alive all these years, passing on the torch in what is essentially now a family affair. Not to fear though: there is a more than healthy dose of contributions from cast and crew, with plenty of funny / juicy anecdotes (Lazenby’s ‘sex test’ covertly organized by the producers; Brosnan wetting himself over the Die Another Day kite-surfing hoopla…) thought provoking moments (Timothy Dalton’s portrayal being ahead of its time, paving the way in advance for Daniel Craig’s turn as 007; the effect of 9/11 on the Bond films), bizarre ones (Robert Davi’s thoughts on Licence To Kill’s poor reception at the box office: “There’s always a message in the ravioli.”) and at times moving ones (Barbara Broccoli recounting the patching up between her father and his former work partner Harry Saltzman after the latter terminated the partnership due to creative differences and financial issues; the overall sadness that seems to prevail when past Bonds describe their ends in the role). It’s fun, revealing and it’s always nice hearing about what happens behind the elitist curtain.
Elitist?
Yes, but in the nicest way. After all, as Brosnan so eloquently puts it, “more men have walked on the moon” than have played Bond.
Too true. However, what bothers me is that your giddy approach about the whole thing, Bond nut that you are, is hardly surprising… You’re over-selling this film because you’re a Bond enthusiast!
Woa woa woa… Hold your horses there, split personality of mine! Everything or Nothing isn’t the perfect film, far from it. There’s decent footage, good use of archives etc, but it does have some pitfalls. For instance, more could have been done regarding the second half of Moore’s career as Bond, the Timothy Dalton era (as he was arguably the best Bond and a mere victim of bad timing and circumstances), or even the musical side of the proceedings, which is borderline missed completely. Additionally, the 1967 David Niven Casino Royale version could have been mentioned instead of harping on about what a dick McClory was. As for Skyfall, don’t expect any behind the scenes material. There’s brief reference to the 23rd adventure towards the end, but Everything Or Nothing is a tasty appetizer that leads up to Skyfall; it doesn’t quite include the latest, record breaking installment, which is a shame.
Did you say ‘dick’ earlier on? I thought this was a family show…
Dick with it… I mean, deal with it. Overall, the whole thing is fascinating but can’t be considered as particularly vital. It’s a DVD extra that is given the preferential treatment. However, it remains a tightly orchestrated affair that celebrates the 007 films and franchise in an honest and forthright manner and avoids being self-indulgent and pompously aggrandizing. As for the aforementioned omissions, there were bound to be a few considering Riley manages to cover 50 years’ worth of films in 95 minutes.
Indeed – that’s refreshingly brief considering the running time of films nowadays. Didn’t you write a very eye-opening and instructive article on the running times of films, which are getting longer year by year and which can be found by clicking on the word link?
Correct. Now stop shamelessly plugging. It’s embarrassing and makes me look a bit desperate.
Sorry. One last thing – what’s the title all about?
It’s where the production company EON, created by Broccoli and Saltzman, gets its name from. EON was the acronym for the producer’s motto. It is NOT named after the video game, in case you were wondering.
Ok. Stars?
3 1/2.
Safe. What’s the last film you’ve got in store for us?
Well, it’s another documentary…
THE IMPOSTER
I do like those big red titles – they really do brighten up your website…
Thanks. Now, in many ways, I’ve saved the best for last.
A little bit like leaving The Green Triangle in the Quality Street box ‘til last then…
Yes, full marks: Bart Layton’s enthralling documentary The Imposter is The Green Triangle. The year is 1994. A Texan teenager, Nicolas Barclay, disappears without a trace, leaving his family distraught and hungry for truth. Three years later, Nicolas is reported found in Spain. Except it’s not Nicolas. It’s a French-Algerian man called Frédéric Bourdin, a talented con-man and master manipulator who is desperate to be anybody other than himself. He manages to convince, as bewildering as it may sound, that he is the missing child, despite not looking or sounding like Nicolas. He is welcomed back to the US by the grieving family, who believe every word.
I’m getting chills.
Good. You should be. This beautifully crafted documentary is quite simply intoxicating. It is fully aware of the absurd implications of the real-life story and yet for 95 minutes, has you on the edge of your seat. It raises so many questions. How did Bourdin manage to pull this off? How could any mother not recognize her own son and why is this family so easily conned? Who is the unreliable narrator: sociopath Bourdin or the family members?
The family?
Yes. Bourdin is repellent but oddly engrossing and at times charming, a child without a family who gives a family their missing child. When you listen to him, you simultaneously find yourself angered by his actions and guiltily understanding some of his twisted logic. However, on the other side is a family whose reactions are bizarre. You comprehend the Barclay family’s desperation via their extreme denial: they want to believe so much they are blinded. Then again, things are never that simple and things don’t add up. You often wonder if there isn’t something more sinister happening, if the manipulation isn’t multifaceted. Are the family covering up something darker, more detestable than any crime committed by Bourdin? Who and what do we trust?
So, who and what do we trust?
Trust me when I say The Imposter is quite unique… There is archive footage, real-life testimonies and at times, the filmmakers cleverly blend these with short, silent dramatic re-enactments. It’s a fascinating and frightening documentary that is just as layered, suspenseful and chilling as any of the best noir thrillers or even horror films. It is about deception and perception and makes sympathies and emotions shift unlike any other documentary I have seen: you’ll be repulsed yet drawn in by Bourdin, saddened by the Barclays yet suspicious of their testimonies… And at the center of all of this is a haunting figure, the missing Nicolas who is still listed as a missing person to this day. You have to see this film to believe how you can be certain of so much one minute and then completely lost the next, how truth, as the saying goes, is truly stranger than fiction.
Rousing stuff. I’ve not seen you this passionate about a film in a while…
In my mind, it is one of the greatest pieces of documentary filmmaking I’ve had the pleasure of seeing, on a par with, if not superior to, gems such as Kurt and Courtney, Senna, or even faux-documentaries such as Exit Through The Gift Shop and Lake Mungo.
If it’s so good, why did you leave this review ‘til last, you bloody fool? You should have put it at the top of the billing! Let’s just hope people have kept on reading until this segment…
Yes, let’s.
I’m guessing this is a 5 star film?
I’d give it 6 if they’d let me.
If who’d let you?
It’s a figure of speech.
You sure? You’ve got me all wound up after that last review…
Pipe down. Right, reviews are over: time for you to go away now.
I don’t wanna…
Don’t make me get the hose… Thank you for reading and hope you look out for at least one of these five films in the near future. Toodleloo. Say bye.
Bye.
There’s a good boy.
- D - 18/02/13
Thanks. Now, in many ways, I’ve saved the best for last.
A little bit like leaving The Green Triangle in the Quality Street box ‘til last then…
Yes, full marks: Bart Layton’s enthralling documentary The Imposter is The Green Triangle. The year is 1994. A Texan teenager, Nicolas Barclay, disappears without a trace, leaving his family distraught and hungry for truth. Three years later, Nicolas is reported found in Spain. Except it’s not Nicolas. It’s a French-Algerian man called Frédéric Bourdin, a talented con-man and master manipulator who is desperate to be anybody other than himself. He manages to convince, as bewildering as it may sound, that he is the missing child, despite not looking or sounding like Nicolas. He is welcomed back to the US by the grieving family, who believe every word.
I’m getting chills.
Good. You should be. This beautifully crafted documentary is quite simply intoxicating. It is fully aware of the absurd implications of the real-life story and yet for 95 minutes, has you on the edge of your seat. It raises so many questions. How did Bourdin manage to pull this off? How could any mother not recognize her own son and why is this family so easily conned? Who is the unreliable narrator: sociopath Bourdin or the family members?
The family?
Yes. Bourdin is repellent but oddly engrossing and at times charming, a child without a family who gives a family their missing child. When you listen to him, you simultaneously find yourself angered by his actions and guiltily understanding some of his twisted logic. However, on the other side is a family whose reactions are bizarre. You comprehend the Barclay family’s desperation via their extreme denial: they want to believe so much they are blinded. Then again, things are never that simple and things don’t add up. You often wonder if there isn’t something more sinister happening, if the manipulation isn’t multifaceted. Are the family covering up something darker, more detestable than any crime committed by Bourdin? Who and what do we trust?
So, who and what do we trust?
Trust me when I say The Imposter is quite unique… There is archive footage, real-life testimonies and at times, the filmmakers cleverly blend these with short, silent dramatic re-enactments. It’s a fascinating and frightening documentary that is just as layered, suspenseful and chilling as any of the best noir thrillers or even horror films. It is about deception and perception and makes sympathies and emotions shift unlike any other documentary I have seen: you’ll be repulsed yet drawn in by Bourdin, saddened by the Barclays yet suspicious of their testimonies… And at the center of all of this is a haunting figure, the missing Nicolas who is still listed as a missing person to this day. You have to see this film to believe how you can be certain of so much one minute and then completely lost the next, how truth, as the saying goes, is truly stranger than fiction.
Rousing stuff. I’ve not seen you this passionate about a film in a while…
In my mind, it is one of the greatest pieces of documentary filmmaking I’ve had the pleasure of seeing, on a par with, if not superior to, gems such as Kurt and Courtney, Senna, or even faux-documentaries such as Exit Through The Gift Shop and Lake Mungo.
If it’s so good, why did you leave this review ‘til last, you bloody fool? You should have put it at the top of the billing! Let’s just hope people have kept on reading until this segment…
Yes, let’s.
I’m guessing this is a 5 star film?
I’d give it 6 if they’d let me.
If who’d let you?
It’s a figure of speech.
You sure? You’ve got me all wound up after that last review…
Pipe down. Right, reviews are over: time for you to go away now.
I don’t wanna…
Don’t make me get the hose… Thank you for reading and hope you look out for at least one of these five films in the near future. Toodleloo. Say bye.
Bye.
There’s a good boy.
- D - 18/02/13
LES MISéRABLES
There will be tears…
Musical adaptations can be hit or miss: for every Evita, Hairspray, or Sweeney Todd, there’s a Mama Mia, a Rock Of Ages or even a Dreamgirls.
I can’t quite fault Rob Marshall’s Nine because of all the lingerie. So much lingerie…
Excuse me while I shower my mind – this review won’t go in the right direction otherwise.
…
We’re back.
DAMN IT!
Ok, now we’re back.
One musical heavyweight hadn’t quite got the silver screen treatment it deserved, a juggernaut so famous and loved that any faithful musical adaptation would be daunting prospect, to say the very least: Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schönberg and Herbert Kretzmer’s version of Victor Hugo’s melodrama, Les Misérables.
To say the source material is known is something of an understatement: the 5-volumed book (which I have proudly finished, even if chunks were skim-read) is quite something and there have been 11 film versions of the book since 1909, not counting the impressive 2000 TV miniseries with Gerard Depardieu and John Malkovitch. The most recent cinema adaptation was in 1998 starred Liam Neeson and Geoffrey Rush and was a very decent take. However, no film adaptation of the West End musical, to my knowledge, had yet been attempted…
Enter Tom Hooper, fresh from his The King’s Speech success.
I won’t take the time to resume the plot, as you should really be up to scratch here. A bit like Christopher Nolan, I refuse to pander and talk down to my readers, but rather assume they are aware with the basic narrative of the story. If not, head over to the source of all knowledge (Wikipedia) and clue yourself up. Quick sharp. Rapido.
I can’t quite believe I had the cojones to even loosely compare myself to Christopher Nolan. I can only apologize.
The first thing to say about Les Misérables is how well Hooper has tackled this ambitious project. In an inspired move, he has made his actors sing live on set, only aided by an earpiece, as opposed to actors recording the songs in studio and miming over the pre-recorded tracks for the cameras. There is very little dialogue beyond bridging lines, allowing the songs to actually be the storytelling drive as opposed to tracks being awkwardly interwoven into the narrative. These choices give the performances one hell of an emotional weight and considering the actors aren’t busy lip-synching, they act… and by God, can they act! It must have been a pressure-filled shoot, but the result is worth it. You believe and are caught by the raw emotions because you get to truly feel them.
Whether it’s Hugh Jackman’s Jean Valjean singing ‘Valjean’s Soliloquy’ or Anne Hathaway’s Fantine singing the iconic ‘I Dreamed A Dream’, the astonishing long sequences are beautiful and impressive to watch. The audience feels the internal struggles of the characters and never once snaps out of the story. Hathaway’s blubbing and crying of the aforementioned musical number is breathtaking, as she sings, even screams the words. The director films it in one beautiful take, making it all the more impressive and heart-wrenching. It is also worth keeping in mind that she is not a professionally trained singer...
I think the word you’re looking for rhymes with ‘duck’.
Or ‘carriage’.
While she will (and has already started to) get the most acting plaudits for her Fantine (and rightly so), Jackman’s performance is no less mesmerizing. His previous musical experience, having started off on stage before the X Men came a-knockin’, clearly shows and his physicality throughout the story is perfect.
The rest of the cast are great, with special mention for Samantha Barks as Éponine and Eddie Redmayne as Marius, who is an impressive surprise, confidently showing his considerable acting abilities, delivering on a promise made with My Week With Marilyn. As for the film’s other lead, many will say that Russell Crowe’s Jalvert is a weak link due to his singing voice. I say, not so. True, he doesn’t have Jackman’s natural singing ability, but his delivery contrasts well with his on-screen nemesis and it works, especially when he delivers one of the musical’s best songs ‘Stars’.
Things start to go slightly tits up with the comic relief, in the shape of Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter as Mr and Mrs. Thénardier. Both are excellent in the roles, but it does feel like they’ve walked off the Sweeney Todd stage onto this one. They give fine performances but are ultimately too distracting, especially in the last act, and should have been reigned in more. Distracting (and annoying) also is the cockney urchin shtick that the character of Gavroche is given. I’ll stress there is nothing wrong from the young Daniel Huttlestone’s performance, but considering he is the only one in the film to have such a pronounced accent, it’s just a nuisance. To be fair, it’s the same with the stage show and it’s bothered me ever since the first time I saw it: if he has such a pronounced accent, why don’t the others? It’s a small pet peeve, but one which nonetheless grates.
Even if there are moments in which the film drags a bit (especially the events leading to the barricade), the amazing production design, costumes and overall aesthetic given by the camerawork (the wide angles, the off-framing, the cinematic close-ups…) make Les Misérables a rousing epic.
Sadly, considering the impressive nature of this year’s Oscar line-up (I have now seen all 9 nominees), Les Misérables does pale a little in comparison to some of its fellow running mates in the Best Picture category. Shame, because on another year, it would have been a front-runner for the top award, or what I like to call ‘pulling a Chicago’. Nevertheless, it’s not a film you would want to miss. It manages to remain faithful to the stage show and make its own mark via the unique singing styles, meaning that fans of the original will love it and audience members with no prior knowledge might be taken aback at first but will ultimately no doubt be impressed.
Oh, and bring Kleenex… Plenty of Kleenex.
- D - 15/02/13
GANGSTER SQUAD
L.A. Confidential, this ain't...
Despite an all-star cast, a promising opening, a decent car chase and Emma Stone in a red dress slightly reminiscent of Jessica Rabbit's, Gangster Squad is a by-the-numbers, cliché-ridden, thinly scripted flick that tries a bit too hard to look stylish in order to hide a complete lack of substance. Shame – the cast deserved more and director Ruben Fleischer (Zombieland) is capable of better.
The only plus point is that Gangster Squad is a reminder of how other films did it better: L.A. Confidential remains the one to beat.
- D - 15/02/13
LINCOLN
No vampires this time...
There are some films you go into where you feel their weight even before the lights dim. Expectations are high and rare are the times where you aren’t disappointed.
The mere mention of Steven ‘The Beard’ Spielberg directing a near-3 hour epic whose main protagonist is one of America’s most beloved historical figures, played by one of the greatest actors the seventh art has ever known, seemed to eye-rollingly scream award-bait.
However, the director’s 31st film dispels all cynicism and preconceived ideas.
Wisely choosing not to go full biopic but to instead present a behind-the-scenes legislative drama in which Abraham Lincoln negotiated the passing of the 13th Amendment before the end of the Civil War, Spielberg has made an intense, moving and intelligent film that is often surprisingly funny. It is hard to fault a single performance from the terrific ensemble cast, led by Daniel Day-Lewis, who inhabits the role completely and gives yet again a flawless performance for the ages. No one overshadows the actor, even if the unsung hero of the film is Tommy Lee Jones, who plays Congressman Thaddeus Stevens to utter perfection. As for the film’s aforementioned running time, never once does it become an issue.
Brass tax: Lincoln, thanks also in no small way to Tony Kushner’s literate and engaging screenplay, is riveting. It importantly shows the race issues inherent to the time, the inner-workings of politics, the horrors of war and offers a fascinating glimpse into the life of its titular protagonist.
Undoubtedly one of The Beard’s career bests.
- D - 01/02/13
SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK
Putting the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunction’
Based on Matthew Quick’s book of the same name, Silver Linings Playbook follows the story of ex-teacher Pat (Bradley Cooper) as a formerly undiagnosed bi-polar man who is released into the care of his family (Robert DeNiro and Jacki Weaver) after an 8 month stint in psychiatric care. His time there was prompted by him nearly beating to death his wife’s lover, after he runs in on them bumping uglies in the shower.
One sympathizes (but does not condone).
Upon returning home, he continues to firmly cling onto the belief that his marriage can be saved and endeavors to see life with overwhelming optimism, seeing the silver lining in everything.
Hence the title.
Amidst staying on his meds, going to therapy and attempting to stay away from his wife (restraining order and all), he very quickly meets Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence), a lost soul who recently lost her husband and who dealt with it by sleeping with everyone at work and thus subsequently getting fired. Pat’s obsessive plan to get his wife back is galvanized by this encounter, as the young Tiffany eventually offers to help him if he becomes her dance partner…
By all rights, this could easily have been a soppy, run-of-the-mill disaster. It’s true that the premise could be perceived as slightly grating and formulaic: dealing with mental illness in an Oscar-baiting fashion / redemption through dancing / salvation through romance… However and against all preconceived notions, director David O. Russell (Three Kings, I Heart Huckabees, The Fighter) has delivered a very touching and enjoyable dramady. He manages to expertly balance the right doses of humour he injects in the drama, making sure that comedy can be found in the serious moments and more unexpectedly, vice-versa. Russell also makes sure that his direction mirrors the subject matter: the pace is purposefully schizophrenic and the camera movements often mimic Pat’s mental state, with sudden unsteady pans, quick cuts, frantic zooms and unfocused shots. It’s simply done and very clever.
However, the true pull factor of Silver Linings Playbook however is the performances.
Bradley Cooper is somewhat of a revelation. He showed he could be a credible leading man and charismatic screen presence in films like The Hangover, the underrated The A-Team or even the disappointing Limitless (also starring DeNiro), which he just-about-but-not-quite saved from the brink. Here, he gets to properly stretch his acting chops and convincingly straddles both the crazy and the sane, making the character someone the audience truly roots for. His infectious energy works well and the tender moments which occur post-anger outbreaks, especially when bouncing off DeNiro, are actually heartbreaking. It’s a noteworthy performance that is enhanced by the chemistry he has with Jennifer Lawrence.
The latter gives nothing less than one of her best performances, alongside her turn as Ree Dolly in Winter’s Bone. From the outbursts of emotion to the subtle looks she gives, Lawrence’s nuanced and fun portrayal of the damaged Tiffany is nigh-on perfect. A lesser actress might not have been able to convey the dramatic nature of this character while also adding some whimsical charm (and a healthy dose of sex appeal). Whether it’s her 'Lord of the Flies' (one of my favourite books, I might add) skinny or the way she rapidly wins over Pat’s dad, it’s a joy to watch and yet again demonstrates how multifaceted Lawrence is as an actress.
As for the ‘supporting’ players, they’re all top-notch. DeNiro shines brightly and gives one of his best performances in years as Pat’s dad, a hardcore Philly Eagles fan (bloody American football...) whose sporting superstitions are actually boarding on OCD (making his character not so different from his son, despite his inability to fully connect with him). His performance is terrific, culminating in a touching moment between him and Pat towards the end, a brief piece of dialogue that could have easily been thrown away but is delivered with understated brio. As for the others, the wonderful Jacki Weaver (mind-blowing in Animal Kingdom) is great as the long-suffering mother, also obsessed in her own way with her pre-match homemade crab snacks. Chris Tucker (who hasn’t been seen in a wee while) respectfully scene-steals (“Black it up!”) as Danny, Pat’s institution mate who routinely enjoys an escape or two and the often overlooked Anupam Kher plays Pat’s therapist Dr. Patel with the right dose of comedy.
The only element which lets the film down somewhat is the script, which on occasion could have done with a polish. The ‘you be my dance partner and I’ll be your go-between’ is a smidge contrived, the dialogue is sometimes clunky and while the crowd-pleasing ending works and is exactly what the doctor ordered, it was predictable a mile off.
However, while it lacks some of the bravery of the often hated and misunderstood I Heart Huckabees, all offenses are pushed aside by the previously mentioned and brilliantly handled balance between the pain the characters carry and the comic tone of the film. After all, this is not a film that is interested in breaking new ground. Instead, it embraces the genre conventions, subverts a couple of these and offers a feisty freshness that leaves you feeling like 100 dollars, to paraphrase Jonathan Safran Foer.
500 Days of Summer did it.
Crazy Stupid Love did it.
Silver Linings Playbook has done it.
- D - 30/01/13
One sympathizes (but does not condone).
Upon returning home, he continues to firmly cling onto the belief that his marriage can be saved and endeavors to see life with overwhelming optimism, seeing the silver lining in everything.
Hence the title.
Amidst staying on his meds, going to therapy and attempting to stay away from his wife (restraining order and all), he very quickly meets Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence), a lost soul who recently lost her husband and who dealt with it by sleeping with everyone at work and thus subsequently getting fired. Pat’s obsessive plan to get his wife back is galvanized by this encounter, as the young Tiffany eventually offers to help him if he becomes her dance partner…
By all rights, this could easily have been a soppy, run-of-the-mill disaster. It’s true that the premise could be perceived as slightly grating and formulaic: dealing with mental illness in an Oscar-baiting fashion / redemption through dancing / salvation through romance… However and against all preconceived notions, director David O. Russell (Three Kings, I Heart Huckabees, The Fighter) has delivered a very touching and enjoyable dramady. He manages to expertly balance the right doses of humour he injects in the drama, making sure that comedy can be found in the serious moments and more unexpectedly, vice-versa. Russell also makes sure that his direction mirrors the subject matter: the pace is purposefully schizophrenic and the camera movements often mimic Pat’s mental state, with sudden unsteady pans, quick cuts, frantic zooms and unfocused shots. It’s simply done and very clever.
However, the true pull factor of Silver Linings Playbook however is the performances.
Bradley Cooper is somewhat of a revelation. He showed he could be a credible leading man and charismatic screen presence in films like The Hangover, the underrated The A-Team or even the disappointing Limitless (also starring DeNiro), which he just-about-but-not-quite saved from the brink. Here, he gets to properly stretch his acting chops and convincingly straddles both the crazy and the sane, making the character someone the audience truly roots for. His infectious energy works well and the tender moments which occur post-anger outbreaks, especially when bouncing off DeNiro, are actually heartbreaking. It’s a noteworthy performance that is enhanced by the chemistry he has with Jennifer Lawrence.
The latter gives nothing less than one of her best performances, alongside her turn as Ree Dolly in Winter’s Bone. From the outbursts of emotion to the subtle looks she gives, Lawrence’s nuanced and fun portrayal of the damaged Tiffany is nigh-on perfect. A lesser actress might not have been able to convey the dramatic nature of this character while also adding some whimsical charm (and a healthy dose of sex appeal). Whether it’s her 'Lord of the Flies' (one of my favourite books, I might add) skinny or the way she rapidly wins over Pat’s dad, it’s a joy to watch and yet again demonstrates how multifaceted Lawrence is as an actress.
As for the ‘supporting’ players, they’re all top-notch. DeNiro shines brightly and gives one of his best performances in years as Pat’s dad, a hardcore Philly Eagles fan (bloody American football...) whose sporting superstitions are actually boarding on OCD (making his character not so different from his son, despite his inability to fully connect with him). His performance is terrific, culminating in a touching moment between him and Pat towards the end, a brief piece of dialogue that could have easily been thrown away but is delivered with understated brio. As for the others, the wonderful Jacki Weaver (mind-blowing in Animal Kingdom) is great as the long-suffering mother, also obsessed in her own way with her pre-match homemade crab snacks. Chris Tucker (who hasn’t been seen in a wee while) respectfully scene-steals (“Black it up!”) as Danny, Pat’s institution mate who routinely enjoys an escape or two and the often overlooked Anupam Kher plays Pat’s therapist Dr. Patel with the right dose of comedy.
The only element which lets the film down somewhat is the script, which on occasion could have done with a polish. The ‘you be my dance partner and I’ll be your go-between’ is a smidge contrived, the dialogue is sometimes clunky and while the crowd-pleasing ending works and is exactly what the doctor ordered, it was predictable a mile off.
However, while it lacks some of the bravery of the often hated and misunderstood I Heart Huckabees, all offenses are pushed aside by the previously mentioned and brilliantly handled balance between the pain the characters carry and the comic tone of the film. After all, this is not a film that is interested in breaking new ground. Instead, it embraces the genre conventions, subverts a couple of these and offers a feisty freshness that leaves you feeling like 100 dollars, to paraphrase Jonathan Safran Foer.
500 Days of Summer did it.
Crazy Stupid Love did it.
Silver Linings Playbook has done it.
- D - 30/01/13
ZERO DARK THIRTY
"Here's to the big breaks and the little people that make 'em happen."
Zero Dark Thirty opens with a black screen. No words. Just total blackness. All the audience get are recordings of 9/11 victims calling emergency services, their families and loved ones. We hear their fear, their rapidly fading hope and their deaths.
After their terrific and award-winning collaboration on 2009’s The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow and writer Mark Boal have teamed up once more to tackle the events leading up to the 2011 assassination of Osama Bin Laden. Zero Dark Thirty spans from 2003 until May 2011 and its aforementioned opening tells you all you need to know: it is haunting, gripping, stripped down of all artifice and cliché and very close to the bone.
The film can be separated into three sections: tracking down targets linked to Bin Laden, showing intense interrogation scenes; tracking down a specific target, which could lead to the mastermind behind the 2001 attacks; the breathtaking assault on the compound in Pakistan. From the scenes featuring water-boarding and other forms of gritty torture to the methodical, the procedural tracking of targets, all the way to the final act, the audience is taken on a ten-year ride via ginger CIA spook Maya. (Think Homeland’s Carrie Mathison, minus the pills and that fucking wobbly chin.) Her determination to pursue a singular lead which involves an Al-Qaeda go-between is the narrative anchor and eventually leads to the infamous evening in 2011. She is played to perfection by Jessica Chastain, who gives an understated and controlled performance, one of a driven, dedicated woman who is on a mission. No easy task, considering she has no backstory whatsoever and is never once given one of those Oscar clip speeches that one would come to expect considering the subject matter. On the contrary: Zero Dark Thirty is in no way a character study and Chastain has to make do with a purposeful lack of three-dimensionality. It makes her turn all the more impressive.
The tough portrayal of Maya is representative of the film as a whole: it is unapologetically challenging. It conveys a very real sense of confusion that highlights the reality of what could have been turned into a mythical, over-simplistic quest. Even though some details are naturally fictionalized, at no point does the audience get to stop and question whether the events unfolding before them lack authenticity. However, in searching for said authenticity and making the procedural approach as objective as a documentary, Bigelow makes it hard for the audience to fully immerse themselves. We are shown what happened: a long (the film does stretch to nearly 160 minutes) set-up before a contrasting climax. Very few films have taken that brave stance and shown to this extent how spying is not the glossed-up Hollywood versions we are used to: it is a grinding routine, characterized by trails closing, agents and assets dying, torture used and then dropped, results not always materializing, a lot of acronyms and plaudits not being abundant. This clinical tone is admirable but does mean that the audience has to keep up with a plot that often lacks intrigue and a slow rhythm, despite sudden and genuinely shocking adrenaline bursts.
Another aspect which adds to this realism is the use of the terrific ensemble cast, which includes Jason Clarke, Mark Strong, Joel Edgerton, Jennifer Ehle, Harold Perrineau, Kyle Chandler, Edgar Ramirez, James Gandolfini and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-him appearance by John Barrowman. (BARROWMAN??? Yes, you read correctly.) They all appear, play their parts and vanish. Once a part is played in the grand scheme, the audience doesn’t get to know where the players go from there.
The final armed assault merits extra mention. Partly filmed in night-vision, it is a real-time, white-knuckle affair that stops one breathing until the choppers have safely made it back to base. It is clever, outstandingly well filmed, boasts moments of unflinching violence and could be one of the greatest and most believable assault sequences on celluloid. This last act ends on a spot-on emotional beat: no air-punching, celebrating a job well done, but rather a sense of palpable catharsis that boils down to a tearful release of tension.
Despite the fact Kathryn Bigelow’s latest film has been at the center of several controversies regarding the depiction of torture and how Zero Dark Thirty could expose too much classified information, this white noise (which is about as relevant and as pertinent as the controversies surrounding Tarantino’s Django Unchained) should not deter from its dramatic mastery. In fact, both Zero Dark Thirty and its predecessor could even be said to function jointly, the director having made a two-sided portrayal of war. The Hurt Locker deals with the psychological state of soldiers in Iraq and what wars, on a more general and psychological basis, do to men; Zero Dark Thirty, while not being as immediately satisfying as the latter, is a nigh-on definitive and absorbing testimony of what was dubbed the ‘War on Terror’. The common ground? Both are enticing, memorable and thought-provoking examples of fearless filmmaking.
- D - 25/01/13
DJANGO UNCHAINED
Rambunctious sort of film, ain’t it ?
WARNING: MILD SPOILERS
While they are entities in their own right, Quentin Tarantino flicks are self-conscious, playful and often cheekily anachronistic love letters to particular genres, an exploration of the director’s impressively vast tastes in cinema. Let’s take a quick trip down memory lane:
Reservoir Dogs - the director’s Ringo Lam-inspired heist film.
Pulp Fiction - his very own post-modern neo-noir / American pulp.
Jackie Brown - his Blaxploitation / Foxy Brown pastiche.
Kill Bill1 & 2 - a more than heavy hat-tip to revenge films, Sonny Chiba, the Hong Kong martial arts / chanbara flicks.
Death Proof - Tarantino’s Grindhouse (mis)take.
Inglorious Basterds - his Macaroni/ Euro war film / Castellari tribute.
It was only a matter of time before he fully paid homage to the Spaghetti Western genre, one he has hinted at in some of his previous films. In this respect, Django Unchained is Tarantino giving a 21 gun salute to this genre, tipping his hat to Sergio Corbucci, whilst adding some of his beloved themes, such as revenge and a decent dose of Blaxploitation.
So, while Tarantino’s genre intentions appear recognizable, is the finished product any good or has he gone down the self-indulgent Death Proof road?
The answer is no, he has not and yes, the silver tongued Devil has delivered the goodies.
"State your business, or prepare to get winged!"
Texas. 1858. Two years before the start of the American Civil War.
King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) is a German bounty hunter, formerly a travelling dentist, who frees the enslaved Django (Jamie Foxx) for his bounty-hunting needs: Schultz hopes he will help him identify the Brittle Brothers, his next paycheck. However, once that little mission is accomplished, Django reveals his calling: finding his enslaved wife Broomhilda (the beautiful Kerry Washington) and getting medieval on the arse of those who are keeping them apart. With the sympathetic and somewhat conflicted Schultz on his side, Django’s search bring the two gunslingers to Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), a Francophile (but not Francophone) plantation owner who likes to be called ‘Monsieur’ and who gets his ya-ya’s watching his slaves beat one another to death. This nasty bastard owns Broomhilda and our heroes must come up with a plan to free her without letting Candie know that they are not in the slave-fighting business but in the freeing-wifey business. Cue: heavy shouting, colourful language, splendiferous facial hair and pints and pints of blood.
The first thing that is striking about Django Unchained is how, as it stands, it is Tarantino’s most linear film. There are the mandatory grainy and stylish flashbacks, granted, but no chapter divisions, no chronological ellipses and no voiceovers. It actually simply and refreshingly boils down to a rescue-the-damsel-in-distress fairy tale. The film even spells out for the audience when Schultz tells his new protégé a German myth over a campfire. Brünnhilde (Broomhilda’s namesake) is on top of a mountain (Candie-Land), guarded by a dragon (Candie) and surrounded by hellfire (all the other hurdles that get in the way). In Schultz’ mind, Django is the incarnation of the mythical hero Siegfried and considering meeting “a real live Siegfried is a big deal for a German”, he chooses to make the perilous journey to the dragon’s lair with him. The first half of the film is about how Schultz and Django establish their partnership; the second half is the mission. That’s a straightforward as they come for the director and the lack of narrative chopping allows the story to flow quite seamlessly.
However, make no mistake: just because the director has stripped the narrative construction to the essentials, doesn’t mean Tarantino’s unique brand of shenanigans have wandered astray. The script fizzles with his trademark dialogue and quotable verbosity, while he also clearly has a blast with the genre’s typical camera moves, pastiche-ing (yes, I’ve made up a word, deal with it) the silly fast zooms and reveling in the ludicrously OTT violence. Indeed, it’s hard to recall a recent film that operatically employed such explosive blood squibs and boasted walls literally being painted gory red. As a whole, it’s a film, much like its predecessor Inglorious Basterds, that can go in the blink of an eye from laugh-out-loud funny to a full-on orgy of violence. It also wouldn’t be a Tarantino flick without some decent cameos - keep an eye out for Don Johnson, Jonah Hill, Michael Parks and Zoe Bell. As for the quick exchange at the bar between Jamie Foxx and Franco Nero, the original Django, it’ll provoke nerdgasms aplenty!
However, what really makes Django Unchained special are the performances.
"Gentlemen, you had my curiosity. But now you have my attention."
Jamie Foxx makes for a very solid leading man, playing the titular hero as soft-spoken yet very deadly; without saying much, the actor manages to convey the hatred and passion he feels, much like the silent archetypes of the Western genre. Adding to Foxx’s inherent charisma is his comic timing, not only in the delivery of the lines but in his facial expressions, never bettered when he sits by the campfire as Schultz tells the tale of Brünnhilde: he mimics an excitable child being told a bedtime story, eagerly nodding and wriggling about.
Somewhat unfairly, many will bypass Foxx’s performance. This cannot be fully condemned though. No matter how good he is as the leading man, the show undeniably belongs to its supporting players.
Leading the pack is Christoph Waltz. From the minute his character is introduced (with his pearly white-crowned cart and his horse Fritz), you know you’re in for a treat. True, the role is brilliantly written, but Waltz relishes every line of the loquacious dialogue, much like he did in Inglorious Basterds as Col. Hans Landa. The similarity between the two characters ends there, as Waltz injects the dapper Schultz with a beaming warmth that fills the screen. Schultz is hilarious and an effortlessly engaging presence due to the fact Waltz makes him simultaneously polite and very lethal. There is also a complexity to the character, as he is conflicted by the position he’s in (he abhors slavery yet uses it to his advantage in order to find the Brittle Brothers), willing to shoot a man in front of his son and yet is capable of being sympathetic to the plight of his newly found accomplice. Top it off by his infectious laughter, his natural magnetism and the way he straightens up his moustache, Waltz steals the show in more ways than one.
He is not the only one. Scroll back up. “Players”. Plural.
It is no mere coincidence that the film reaches it pinnacle at the Candie-Land ranch, where a dinner scene goes from society entertainment to an amped-up confrontation between the films major protagonists. The threat of violence is omnipresent in this scene (which can be likened to the bar scene in Inglorious Basterds, even if it doesn’t quite match it tension-wise) and credit resides in no small part in Leonardo DiCaprio’s towering turn as the racist little prince Calvin Candie. DiCaprio is nothing short of outstanding as the piece’s main antagonist and much like Waltz, clearly has a blast with the material he is given. The actor gets to play one of the most horrific characters to date, a vain, spoilt and suave man whose polite façade hides a ferocious and frightening temper. When he bursts, enthusiastically wielding his harmer and bellowing insults across the table, all eyes are on him. The performance is measured, camp and the right amount of obscenely malevolent. Hats off to the actor and lest we forget, to the director who’s script and craft manages to get these terrific performances out of his actors.
Lastly, it’s impossible to talk about DiCaprio’s performance without mentioning the superb double-act his character forms with Stephen, Candie’s head house-slave, brilliantly and unexpectedly played by Samuel L. Jackson. ‘Unexpectedly’ because one tends to forget how good Jackson is when he’s not saying ‘yes’ to every script that comes his way. He turns up late in the film and chews the scenery, introducing a fantastic dose of humour and hatred; he is a hilarious, cranky old man who is the worst kind of traitor: one to his own cause. He is outraged at the idea that Django gets to stay in “the big house”, would love nothing more than to throw a spanner in the works of Django and Schultz’ covert plans and clearly shows that evil transcends race. Jackson is hunchbacked, sports grey hair, old-man make-up and has a Parkinson-like tremor that adds a certain unsettling and dastardly quality to the character. Not that they are an extensive authority by any means, but it is nevertheless a travesty that Samuel L. Jackson hasn’t been nominated for any major awards as supporting actor for Stephen.
"Your boss looks a little green around the gills."
"He just ain't used to seein' a man ripped apart by dogs is all."
"But you are used to it?"
"I'm just a little more used to Americans than he is."
The mention of the previous character is a good way to introduce one aspect of Tarantino’s film that has already stirred up quite a fuss, especially across the pond: Django Unchained is at its heart a love story (prince rescues princess) but also a tale of slavery. Tarantino and Jackson fearlessly tackle the “Uncle Tom” figure through Stephen; he is loyal to his white master and treats the slaves with pure contempt. This character’s portrayal and the over-zealous use of the ‘N-word’ is in many ways Tarantino throwing the major in the air as he tackles a dark chapter in America’s history, a move he knows will push the buttons of many. Many will go nuts over the racial politics of it all. There have already been mind-numbingly stupid reactions, such as Spike Lee’s, who has blindly labeled the film “disrespectful” without even having seen it. (Just writing that sentence is enough to make one want to scrunch up ones face before eye-bulgingly uttering the word ‘WHAT?’.) It comes with the territory when a director choses to address a subject matter that many wish to forget. Tarantino cleverly does this not through a full out drama about slavery (which would be very un-Tarantino of him) but via exploitation cinema, proving that it can deal with serious issues. Slavery is therefore not the main point of the film, even if the director does not shy away from dealing with elements linked to the matter, one which Hollywood is still clearly touchy about. No one waited for Quentin to show up and ruffle some feathers, but then again, not many American films have tackled the subject quite as full-on as he has here. Spielberg’s Amistad counts. I have yet to see Lincoln (also by The Beard), so it’s hard to say… The less said about Amazing Grace, the better.
Plus, it’s a British film, so it doesn’t count in this context.
So there.
It is undeniable that Django Unchained blatantly shows the horrors of slavery by making it the ever-present backdrop and context of Django’s story: we see the daily abuse there was and how a man could claim another man as his own. Sadly, modern examples show that history takes it sweet time in moving along…
Many will get bogged down over ‘N-word’. True, it’s uttered A LOT but considering the historical setting of the film, would you expect anything less? It would be like omitting to show Nazi salutes in a film set in WW2 Germany.
Many will (and already have) stated that the Klu Klux Klan scene is not appropriate, considering its comic tone. To those who agree, please get one or all of the following: a) perspective; b) a sense of humour; c) a life.
The KKK scene in question is one of the film’s funniest and greatest, one destined to be remembered as one of Tarantino’s best. It shows some pretty useless clansmen arguing about whether or not they should wear their white bag masks and how the eye-holes are problematic. The scene is comedy gold. To those who don’t find it funny, that is your right. To those who find it unspeakably offensive, allow me to address you once more, this time by lovingly and pompously quoting Ustinov: “Comedy is simply a funny way of being serious.” Making something laughable only stresses the ridicule of, in this case, those who once wore white masks… and those who still sadly and presently continue to uphold laughable ‘values’ linked to darker times.
And as for you, Spike Lee - rule number one: you watch a film before you earn the right to diss it. You clearly don’t realise that you too are your own worst enemy.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist."
Let’s get back to the film, shall we?
Pages could be written about how great and quotable the script is, how the cinematography is gorgeous and how the soundtrack kicks all kinds of arse.
Seriously, dear reader, get on it: few can eclectically mix Verdi, Luis Bacalov, Ennio Morricone, Johnny Cash, James Brown, John Legend, 2Pac and RZA and make it make perfect sense…
However, it’s time to address what’s not so great about Tarantino’s 7th outing… (Yes, 7th - the director himself considers the Kill Bills as two halves of the same 4th.)
It’s undeniable that despite its many qualities, one often gets the feeling that Django Unchained fully shines thanks to its scenes and to the performances, as opposed to successfully functioning as a whole unit. Two things contribute to this sensation: the films length and that last minute crowbarred cameo. Shy of 3 hours, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine how tighter the film could have been without a number scenes, which could easily have been cut without harming the overall quality. Also, as entertaining and as somewhat downright funny as the final shootouts are, the film suffers from the nigh-on simultaneous deaths of Schultz and Candie, yet again underlining how fantastic Waltz and DiCaprio are in the roles and how much they bring to the proceedings. The whole Australian mini-act sadly arrives near the end of the film and with it, the director’s cameo as a slave transporter. It doesn’t work and because it is so close to the grand finale, this jarring element lingers on the mind once the curtain falls. Even if the scene has its final comic beat, it serves no real purpose and could have been replaced by another narrative trick to get Django back in gun-toting action. As fun as it is to see Tarantino in front of the camera (Desperado, From Dusk Til Dawn, Planet Terror), he should have known better on this distracting occasion. Sorry QT.
Minor grievances.
We still cool, Quentin?
I hope so. Let me round up to make up for the “should have known better” thing…
Stylistically violent, audaciously crude and superbly performed, Django Unchained is a strong, witty, and bloody labour of love. It’s a fine addition to his filmography and no one crazy or talented enough could have helmed such a hugely entertaining genre hybrid.
I like the way you Spaghetti Western, boy…
- D - 21/01/13
THE MASTER
Masterpiece?
Wouldn’t it be refreshing for everyone if I kicked off 2013 with a shorter, sleeker and overall more digest review that doesn’t require too much attention and focus?
Well, allow me to oblige and ease you into this new year gently…
Regardless of the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson’s sixth film (about a traumatized war veteran Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) who desperately drifts around in order to find a purpose to his now rootless existence, believing he has found a belonging upon stumbling into the life of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a cult-leader of freshly-created – and loosely based on L. Ron Hubbard’s Scientology - The Cause) merits a lengthy review that delves into its rich thematic traits (ranging from Steinbeck-like undertones to themes such as nostalgia, the search for meaning, power, obsession and what is essentially a twisted love story between its two leading men), its poetical and visual beauty (topped off by a uneasy, edgy and quite brilliant musical score by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood) and its mind-blowing performances (not just the controlled and ever-charismatic Philip Seymour Hoffman and the tender, animalistic and utterly mesmerizing Joaquin Phoenix, but also the brilliant Amy Adams and her powerful turn as the Machiavellian woman behind the master), I shall give you, dear reader, the following as my review:
The Master, while lacking the mastery of Anderson’s masterclass masterwork There Will Be Blood, is a masterfully mastered masterstroke from a masterful director who has masterminded a fascinating film that would have been a masterpiece had it been significantly shorter.
Toodles.
- D - 13/01/13
