27th May 09 - Synecdoche New York

Last week my brain had regressed to being nine years old, and I’d hoped the damage hadn’t been permanent. It seems that maybe I’ve caused more damage to my intellectual core than I’d at first realised. Synecdoche New York is by one of my favourite screenwriters (Charlie Kaufman). It’s been soaked in the slather of critics' praise, considered by some to be a masterpiece. And I’m never one to admit failure. Or a weakness in my brain. But I have to admit this.

I didn’t understand.

God it feels weird to write that.

Kaufman’s ideas have always astounded and excited me, his audacity to write himself into his own film (Adaptation), or crushing interpretation of relationships (Eternal Sunshine). Even a hole that leads into John Malkovich’s brain makes some sort of sense. But with Synecdoche I failed even at the first hurdle of pronouncing the bloody title. Featuring the ever brilliant Philip Seymour Hoffman as a theatre director who… well, loses his mind? Dies? Dreams? Or really does create a replica of New York inside a giant warehouse in order to create a play reflecting real life. God knows.

The trouble is the film plays out its duration without explanation, which is normally fine and dandy. Films that make you go “huh?” until their end reveal are often a joy, because you can then go back over the film with a new understanding and pick up on a heck of a lot more. Synecdoche, however, gives a hazy explanation, possibly hidden in a monologue or two or some reference to the time or whatever. It’s unclear. And being unclear just a little so you can have a ponder and figure stuff out for yourself is all well and good. But being so unclear that you leave without anything to go by at all means you’ve spent the last two hours watching something weird and meaningless. And if I wanted to do that I’d just watch Inland Empire again.

The frustration is there are some lovely moments and ideas in here. The warehouse-within-a-warehouse. The actors playing actors playing the main characters. The therapist. The strange dentist. The speeches, like “we're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't.” This could be a stark exploration of what it means to be alive. It could well be. Or maybe not. But what it definitely is, is confusing.

With a stellar cast (among others there’s Catherine Keener, Michelle Williams, Samantha Morton, Emily Watson) and a superb writer, this film should have been one of the best. It’s been dubbed “ambitious”, which is certainly true. But in adding too many layers and hiding the clues, Kaufman seems to have made it just that bit too difficult. Like a jigsaw puzzle featuring baked beans – the only puzzle my mother has ever given up in her illustrious jigsaw career – there is being tricky enough to test you but cause enjoyment, and being so tricky that it just ends up left in pieces on the table.

In short: though I’m curious to re-watch in order to try and make sense and perhaps gain more enjoyment from the numerous particulars I may have missed first time around, Synecdoche New York is still a disappointment. Tiny pieces of brilliance stirred into some baffling soup. I can’t even fathom what rating it should get, so will stick to a CF0. It doesn’t seem right to mark it lower than 17 Again, but also doesn’t seem right to give it higher marks when it made me admit to not understanding. Let’s hope my higher brain function returns soon.

24th May 09 - Hannah Montana: The Movie

Ok. Let me explain. I never understood what Hannah Montana was, merely hated it from a distance because she was younger than me and smiles lots and seemed to be in that Disney gang of creepy Efron-bred performers. But then one weekend the Disney channel put on a 48-hour marathon of Hannah Montana, and this, combined with a post-alcohol state and the TV already being on the channel after my comrade’s obsession with creepy Efron-bred performers, meant I ended up watching several hours of Hannah Montana. After a while her goofy southern charm started to worm its way into my consciousness, and so it was only natural I would follow her to the cinema screens. In an entirely ironic way of course.

For those who know nothing of Montana, here is a quick overview. Miley Cirus, daughter of Billy Ray (the achey-breaky-heart chap) plays Miley Stewart, a normal girl who also happens to be a mega famous popstar called Hannah Montana. By the clever use of wigs, Miley can keep her normal life and her Hannah popstar life separate. This concept starts to get confusing when her real life dad also plays her on screen dad, called “Bobby Ray”. And the fictional Hannah Montana releases real-life CDs and goes on tour. And real life Miley also releases her own material and goes on tour. And in the film, fictional Miley ALSO creates her own material, which has ALSO been released. It’s as complex and fascinating as The Hills. Make of that what you will…

Anyway, the film deals with vast themes of identity and family. No, really. Montana gets too big for her boots so her daddy sends her back home to rediscover the real Miley. She falls in love with a cute cowboy, rides a horse and saves the town. Go Miley! Obviously this is Disney, and essentially a child’s film, so there’s also stuff like people getting cake on their faces, or non-fatal alligator attacks. Plus a host of songs, although thankfully they’re relatively short and don’t have much of a High School Musical dancey feel to them.

Now, only a month ago I purposefully watched a shit film (17 Again) and happily admitted to it. Montana is a different bag, though. It was actually rather emotional, good fun, made possible by the engaging Cirus, a rising star with already phenomenal success in tween land.

Yes, it was pretty clichéd, reasonably corny, a bit silly, childish… but hell, I enjoyed it anyway. Perhaps the sugar from my pick n’ mix regressed my brain back to being nine years old. Hopefully the damage won’t be permanent and I’ll be back to watching subtitled films in an empty cinema, guffawing at unfunny moments to show everyone how clever I am. For now, Hannah Montana is harmless fun with a star so frighteningly accomplished already that I fear a Britney backlash anytime soon. If 17 Again can do it, so can Miley, and her film also nabs a CF0.

20th May 09 - X-Men Origins: Wolverine

During the opening ceremony for this year’s Oscars, lovely Hugh Jackman did a sterling performance culminating in a loud proclamation that he was Wolverine. Having played the widely popular character for four films now, it’s no doubt that Jackman is right, the man embodying everything about the character – the guttural growl of fury, the veined muscular arms, the copious hair. Lovely Hugh was the highlight of the three X-Men films, so it’s no wonder they were quick to spin off a prequel.

Origins does exactly what it says on the tin, showing us Wolvy from little ankle-biter to adulthood and with the whole “not dying” thing, his adulthood spans a century or so. Skipping over these bits with an opening titles montage, the film settles on the period where Wolverine meets Stryker, filling in the blanks from X-2 and showing just how Wolvy gets his metal claws, and why he has no memory of it.

The main antagonist is Wolverine’s brother, a fanged and clawed Liev Schreiber, whose dangerous lust for chaos and the kill is marred by some dodgy wire-work and him looking slightly silly. The plot trundles along, throwing up some new mutants for the effects folk to show off (including some cool sword work), a sound of music moment with nice gratuitous topless shot of lovely Hugh, and some good old-fashioned redemption.

Lovely Hugh really puts some welly into it, doing an ace job of super angry Wolverine, grunting his way through fights and flinging himself at helicopters in the stand-out motorbike chase sequence. His co-stars are a mixed bag, either little sparks that are cruelly underused – Ryan Reynolds as a snappy-talking swordsman, and a rather handsome Taylor Kitsch as Gambit – or a bit of a waste of time – Daniel Henney as the blando Agent Zero, and Will I Am popping up in a cowboy hat for no reason at all.

Despite Lovely Hugh’s outstanding portrayal of an ace character, Wolverine doesn’t have the wow-impact it promised, more the impact of a flan hitting a pavement. That is, a thick thud that makes some sort of impression but one that can be easily washed away. It was definitely enjoyable, particularly Lovely Hugh’s naked run through the forest, but worthy of no more than a recommended CF0. I never say no to flan, after all.

6th May 09 - Crank: High Voltage

Ah Crank. The baffling, chaotic bash from 2006 starring Jason Statham as Chev Chelios, a hitman poisoned with a drug that requires adrenaline levels to be kept high, creating a film that I described watching in “dazed amazement”. Given Crank’s ending no one expected a sequel, but the news of Crank: High Voltage certainly sparked excitement for cinemafool. Geddit? “High voltage - sparked”? I’m so clever…

Anyway, in this instalment our Chev has only gone and had his heart stolen and replaced with a mechanical version with a slowly dying battery. Of course. Along the same lines as the first, Chev must stalk the streets in search of the culprits, all the while performing increasingly insane stunts in order to keep his heart ticking. There are some that say Crank is highly unbelievable. To them I smack my forehead and say “well duurrr”. Even the film itself refers to the plot of its predecessor as “highly implausible”.

Crank is the computer game that never was, the resultant nightmare of a teenage boy with attention deficit disorder after gorging on a diet of sherbert, fizzy drinks and Grand Theft Auto. Don’t have Crank 2 on imax screens – you will cause mass eye haemorrhaging. The directing duo of Neveldine and Taylor, responsible for the first instalment, go all out once more, battering your senses with fast edits, booming soundtrack, random imagery, gore, guns, and a heck of a lot of boobs.

If it didn’t openly mock itself or so closely mirror itself to computer games (check out the first-person style shooter shots at the start) then this would be a horrific ball of shit, with a repulsive attitude towards women, gross stereotyping of most races and careless glamorisation of violence. But Crank has its tongue in its cheek, not enough to be a straight spoof, but enough to make everything a good giggle instead of appalling trash. Statham delivers with a straight face, even when wearing an electric dog collar or rubbing up to a granny.

There are so many little touches to the film – the “9 seconds later” cut scene, Statham’s “chicken and broccoli” quip after killing some Chinese men, the nonsensical Godzilla-esque fight – that it would stand repeat viewings despite a paper thin plot that spirals into, um, a reanimated head (seriously).

If you don’t approach this with the right attitude, you’ll probably be offended within five minutes or have some sort of seizure at the vibrant opening credits. But take Crank how it’s intended – an insane discharge of entertaining nonsense – and you’ll no doubt love it. It lacks the unexpected charm of the original, but still gains a nice CF0. I can’t wait to see what the new Crank / Transporter vehicle will be for Statham. Here’s hoping it involves more flapping hospital gowns.

29th April 09 - 17 Again

It’s time for my quarterly dose of purposefully watching a shit film (see January’s Bride Wars) in an effort to get into the mindset of the general public pleb in order to try and extend the audience catchment area of this site. Granted, calling everyone a pleb might have just hindered my plans, but let’s be honest – anyone who watches this shite on purpose probably can’t read anyway.

So, after successfully insulting everyone let’s get down to it. 17 Again is the offspring of Big and Freaky Friday, the lazy-bods in Disney having the brain wave of making the guy younger instead of older – genius! We await 17 going on 70, when Dame Judi Dench wakes up to find she’s now Miley Cirus. God that’d be a good film.

The main draw of this film is Zac Efron. This is the guy all the kids have been going on about, the star of the rampage-inducing High School Musical series, who is now reaching an age where it’s morally acceptable to like him for us older ‘kids’. People seem to love Zac because of his dreamlike eyes, perfect hair, cheeky charm and slender yet muscular frame. This is just what I’ve read, anyway. It’s easy to see why he’s popular, the lad carrying this film happily enough, with smart little replications of his older-self’s mannerisms (Matthew Perry, looking like a haggard crab in comparison to his younger star, and thus probably wanting to kill himself by the end of the shoot).

Zac seems almost too perfect, though, the product of some sort of Disney breeding programme which is spawning hundreds of mini-Zacs and Zacettes (the trailers showed us what to expect in the future – hundreds of mini-Zacs singing and dancing and smiling at you. For ever. And ever.) It’s slightly disconcerting, but also intriguing – will our Zac steer his career like DiCaprio, swapping pretty-boy for pretty-damn-amazing film choices? Or will he head the way of Britney, damaged and distorted by the press? Although let’s be honest – he’s a guy, so the press aren’t going to make fun of him being too fat or too thin, or wait around to get shots up his trousers (there’s an idea for them…)

Efron is in fact upstaged by nerdy adult best mate Ned (Thomas Lennon) who steals the majority of laughs, or “smirks” as they more often were. Some amusingly cringey and weird moments aside (young Zac + old wife, or more worryingly, young Zac + daughter) 17 Again is largely unremarkable but not wholly unpleasant, made bearable by the antics of Ned and Efron’s effortless charm. A few gratuitous slo-mo shots of him without a top on seem to sweeten the deal. With a good message for the kids (stop being such a whiney-pants about screwing up your life, and don’t have unprotected sex or you’ll turn into a whiney-pants who’s screwed up his life) this is reasonable, but sits below the superior original Big and the ultimately more fun 13 going on 30. It just about sneaks in to a CF0 on the strength of its cast. And because it didn’t have a song in it.

22nd April 09 - In the Loop

Usually a comedy with more than a couple of writers suggests once of those that have required extensive rewriting and extra fart gags just to fill the naff joke quota. But In The Loop’s writing team is an obscure-comedy fan’s wet dream, featuring those involved with genius like Partridge (Armando Iannucci – also the director of In the Loop), Peep Show (Jesse Armstrong), The Armstrong & Miller Show (Simon Blackwell), and the TV-parent of this film The Thick Of It (Ian Martin & Tony Roche, as well as everyone else already mentioned).

Such writing delights make for a dialogue-snappy film, sparkling with diamond-sharp insults and eloquent put-downs dripping in sarcasm (the “willy-banjo” a particular favourite). The plot is at first sprawling, with various characters colliding with each other in a seemingly directionless manner, until the plot threads are suddenly and swiftly tied together in a blunt and bold attack on one of the biggest government lies in the last decade.

The characters are too numerous to go through, but the big favourite has to be Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi), a Scottish powerhouse of cunning anger and superfluous swearing, dodging the simple “angry sweary man” label through some excellent acting from Capaldi when we spy a few cracks in his tough hide. The rest of the cast are equally excellent and each get their turn to shine, including James Soprano, sorry, Gandolfini, who has the best angry-breathing ever.

With Iannucci’s laid-back direction and unfolding plot development, In the Loop feels more like a feature-length BBC3 comedy than a multiplex dweller, but compared to the rest of mostly tosh out in the cinema at the moment, there’s no harm in watching a TV comedy on a massive screen surrounded by strangers. Funny, sharp, intelligent and ever so slightly depressing, In the Loop is a proud example of Britain’s writing talent, and a withering reminder of how crap politics can be. It easily makes a CF2.

15th April 09 - Let the Right One In

Last week I challenged the fictional film world to try and live up to the high marks the last two documentaries have gained. It seems they heard me over in Sweden.

Let the Right One In is a lovely tale of a young boy in 80s Sweden whose human interaction consists of dodging bullies and being ignored by his parents. Lucky for him there’s a new next door neighbour, a girl around his age. Although she’s only out at night, doesn’t feel the cold and is partial to some human haemoglobin. Bless. It’s just how I imagine Angel rip-off Twilight to be, if the characters were 12 year old Swedish kids instead of hormone fuelled preeners.

This film avoids the leather jacket cliché and instead puts vampires back to being creatures, preying on humans with an animalistic lust for blood, growling and pouncing – unusual when on the outside this beast is a 12 year old girl. Eli, played by Lina Leandersson, is superb, being only 14 in real life and yet evoking such age and experience in her eyes when playing the older vampire, with a sorrow bedded in her eyes at the lonelier aspects of her existence. Her human counterpart, Oskar (Kare Hedebrant), sporting possibly the most stereotypically Swedish hair-do ever, is equally good, a fact confirmed by my Swedish correspondent.

The violence in this film is stark yet unflashy, at times surprisingly brutal (acid + face = youch) but sometimes almost comically so, particularly in the beautifully composed swimming pool scene. Cringy CGI cats aside, the film is visually solid, the icy Swedish backdrop clashing nicely with the warmth of the two lead’s developing friendship. It tests your morality somewhat, and that’s part of its charm. On the one side a heart-warming tale of friendship where it’s most needed, on the other a dark glimpse into a potentially destructive and violent relationship.

Let the Right One In takes a couple of old formulas (vampire mythology plus child befriending non-human – see ET) and melds them into something captivating, beautiful and slightly disconcerting. Always nice to get a film with such varying tones, this soars to a CF3, and claws back another victory for the world of fiction. Go on. Let the right film in.

8th April 09 - Religulous

Ah religion. Like the whole football idea last week, religion is another concept to have escaped my understanding. As a child I prayed to god that I’d stop having bad dreams, and when I discovered this didn’t work I came to the realisation that it was all a bit made up and silly. This was a nine year-old’s conclusion. The fact that fully grown adults – millions of them – still cling to religion is baffling, and it seems comedian Bill Maher agrees as he heads up this documentary on just why people still practice religion, and the harm it can do to the human race.

Maher embarks on his journey with a bemused fascination with beliefs, asking the obvious questions that aren’t asked often enough and at times highlighting the corrupt and hypocritical nature of those who preach. He uncovers some characters who are ridiculous enough to cause hilarity – the self proclaimed “reincarnation of Jesus” (who makes money via a tv show), the man who plays Jesus in a Christian theme park in Florida, a gay man who married a lesbian and now refuses to believe that “gay” exists, and the creator of the first creationist museum. But alongside such people – we’ll call them “mentals” – Maher adds his own humour, be it smirking asides or cheeky add-ons in the form of subtitles or clips of popular culture to emphasise his point. Or just make fun.

And this isn’t just a Jesus-bashing, as Maher covers a variety of religions (albeit with a heavy focus on Christianity and a lighter touch on others, although since criticism of others can land you with death threats it’s no wonder why he steps more carefully). His overall point – that we need to stop this nonsense and concentrate on more important things like not destroying the earth and each other – is an important point to make, and makes you wish this film was made available to a wider audience rather than a small cinema screen full of guffawing pretentioles like me.

Though at times it seems the focus runs off course in favour of interviewing mentals for laughs, Religulous is still a funny and important documentary, enraging as it enlightens and making a point that’s so bloody obvious it’s painful – painful when you know not nearly enough people realise it already. I demand you find a partial believer and trick them into seeing this film, perhaps under the guise that it’s “The Passion – part two”. If we can get the casual believer on to the rational side, perhaps there’ll be enough of us to tackle such nonsensical ideas like having religious politicians.

Religulous scores an impressive CF3, another high score for another documentary (see Anvil). Come on “fictional” films – can you keep up with real life?

30th March 09 - The Damned United

The lure of football bypassed me at birth. Becoming emotionally affected to the point of violence, tears or shouting at the telly is a foreign concept to me when it comes to football. I’m bemused by people who are totally obsessed with something that ultimately has no real physical impact on their lives (unless you are actually a footballer or stand to have monetary gain from a team winning). I can understand it, though – a sense of solidarity and probable fun. It’s a concept that’s sullied by the knob-heads who use it as ways to be general knob-heads, but I suspect they’d exploit any popular activity they set their sights on. Cos they’re knob-heads.

Anyway, the purpose of my intro, aside from a way of using the term “knob-head” 3 times (now 4) because it’s a great insult used too rarely at the moment, is to give you some context into how I approach this film. I have no interest in football, and subsequently no knowledge. If a “sport-movie” was to make a big deal about its sport in a big huffy serious manner then I’m not interested, unless it’s a crazy sport like, um, pig racing. I’d watch a film about that. Definitely. Otherwise, a “sport-movie” needs to have something else – character, perhaps – that’ll swing it.

So Damned United sweeps in with a vibrant character to take the lead – Brian Clough – a chap who took on Leeds United and was promptly sacked 44 days later. Brian is an arrogant son-of-a-gun, mouthing off to the media, two fingers to the stuffy club chairs, gaining startling success by bringing up naff Derby and then stonking failure with dirty Leeds. His pride and ambition drive him, sometimes bringing triumph, sometimes costing him more than just some points on the table. With a focus on Clough rather than the game, Damned United nicely avoids stuffy sport territory, the only footie shots featuring my favourite parts (dirty fouls…) and it even handily explains things VERY CLEARLY for those finding football leagues hard to follow.

Michael Sheen steps into Clough’s shoes with cheeky gusto, at times nailing him perfectly (I know this as they showed the real Clough at the end – handy) but other times slipping into a bit of a Frostier direction. His supporting cast are sturdy (Timothy Spall, Jim Broadbent) and director Tom Hooper blends 70s grime into the screen for a nostalgic fuzzy glow. But for such a lively character the film at times felt flat, the crackle between Clough and rival manager Don Revie could have been electric, but instead felt a little subdued, and the overall impression was solid TV drama rather than engaging cinema fodder.

Though my perception may be marred by a lack of enthusiasm for the overall subject matter, and by the knob-heads in the cinema who decided to discuss the film through-out (and should have known better, being married adults) I still can’t get too excited about this. It wasn’t a flop by any means, and engaged enough on a non-sport level, but fails to gain anything more than a general recommended CF0.

21st March 09 - Watchmen

Let’s be honest. Does the world of cinema really need another graphic novel adaptation? Even if it’s supposedly “the greatest graphic novel ever in the world ever, like, ever” as it seems to have been labelled. Do we really need to see more slow-mo visuals, laced with technology that’s already impressed a few times over? Do we need to see a big glowing blue-man’s schlong?

The answer, it appears, is hell yes.

From the outside Watchmen could be either just another Sin City, all style-no-substance flop, or another ensemble superhero waste, treading over ground now well-covered by Marvel and the like. The opening fight is visually stunning, albeit suggesting this could be just two hours of slow-mo-fight porn. But the title sequence should convince you otherwise, the complex back-story of this alternative reality (Nixon’s still in power) shown in a series of spectacular snap-shots, backed up by a soundtrack from Dylan and stamping down a foot that says “actually, this is not just another superhero film”.

And though the bare bones of it is, the overall tone really, really isn’t. The world is edging closer and closer to nuclear destruction, an amplification of the cold war only with America having a big blue god on their side, and masked vigilantes are outlawed. Probably a good thing as some of them are murdering, sadistic bastards. But the murder of one serves to kick the rest back into the world to investigate, and to allow for various regressions so we can see their actions back in the day.

Visually this film is as fabulous as you’d suspect from Zack Snyder, the guy who brought us 300 (CF reviewed in March 07 as “a crash, bang wallop. In leather thongs.”) The violence is stark and brutal, sometimes causing giggles (buzz saw + arms) but often causing a shocked pause (gun + pregnant lady…) This is rated 18 for a reason, and its sweeping finale goes some way to match that in terms of tone. Don’t let the kiddies watch this unless you want them to be miserable for the rest of their lives.

Standing at a mighty 162 minutes, Watchmen sacrifices bottom-comfort for a bit more depth to the story, yet still missing out on certain aspects from the source material (an even longer director’s cut is set for DVD) or changing other aspects as to be honest they sounded rather silly. Though Synder can be applauded for not just stripping the story down to another bland (and what would have been more confusing) super-hero-arma, it does feel that time could have been trimmed a little further without losing the subtleties of the story.

With a mature and complex plot, twisted and intriguing characters, wowing visual punch and a kick-ass soundtrack, Watchmen certainly proves why it’s based on such a beloved piece of work, and Snyder’s impressive handling proves that amazing visuals can just add to, rather than be the whole film experience. Perhaps a time trim could help it be even slicker, but for now Watchmen impressed enough to warrant a CF3 rating. Ooo!

11th March 09 - Gran Torino

“The second Eastwood film of the year” isn’t a phrase I’d usually type with relish, given his directed films are often slightly hyperinflated, what with critics forming a plug while attempting to kiss his arse. Despite being 20 minutes too long, Changeling wasn’t actually half bad, and Gran Torino is marked as the last film to feature Eastwood in front of the camera. He’s about 102 years old, so it’s fairly understanding.

Gran Torino is angry Clint – grumpy Clint – basically, Hulk Clint. He is moments from grunting “Clint bash” during a tempter tantrum, has a Batman-esque perma-gravel to his voice, and sometimes displays such a comedy-level of anger that you wouldn’t be surprised if jets of steam were shown shooting out of his ears. At times he looks so weirdly old and angry that his face mirrors that of the moments in the two newest Hulk films where they are in transition between real person and Hulk – a sort of CGI face that looks like the actor but is a bit odd and veiny.

Anyway, Gran Torino is this comedy-style angry Clint fighting neighbourhood gangs, providing a father figure, and just generally being quite racist. If you’ve seen the trailer then it’s fairly obvious of the entire story arc, and to be honest even if you haven’t it’s still reasonably paint-by-numbers. That’s not to say it isn’t entertaining, Clint’s grumpy man bristling against his bratty children and an over-enthusiastic priest being particularly amusing.

Still you can’t help but feel this comedy grump act is oddly juxtaposed with some horrific violent acts – almost as if it’s actually not too bad because it’s a “non-American” being attacked. And the continuous reliance on weapons makes you wonder if it’s sponsored by the National Rifle Association. Need to solve a dispute? Whip out a gun! It’s fun – with a ‘g’. I should sell that tag-line.

Anyway, this is very much a Clint vehicle, with some strikingly poor supporting acting in some places, and you’d wonder if it would be half as popular without the leading man. Still, he gets to close his final film as an actor with a nice Jesus comparison (check out the pose) which I’m sure critics will clamour to agree with. Many are recommending this purely because it is his last. I don’t see why this should be the sole reason to watch it, and its weak plot (feels like a film that was made in the 90s – don’t ask me why) doesn’t give any further points. The only reason would be to chuckle at angry Clint, but if you watch the trailer you’ve pretty much covered it. Therefore Gran Torino gets a slightly underwhelming CF-1. Sorry Clint. Don’t bash me. Or shoot me…

28th Feb 09 - The International

The International has been described as a mix between Bond and Bourne. I can concur with this in a way. It is a mix of the talky bits in Bond that act as fillers between the fight scenes, and the bits in Bourne where they show shots of different European cities. The rest of the mix is filled with shit.

Too blunt? Ok, let me paint this picture. The International starts as a dark little thriller. It’s about a corrupt bank – ooo pertinent to today’s troubled times – and features lots of investigations and cover ups and people getting offed left, right and centre for being involved. Sounds pretty good. Trouble is, though it starts with the hook of “what on earth’s going on here, then?” this soon disintegrates into “this scene is a bit familiar to any other investigatory spy type thriller” (snipers, corridors, walking quickly for long periods of time, cases being turned down by ‘them in charge’) before slowly drifting into “I’ve stopped listened to the characters talk”.

It doesn’t help when the lead characters are bone chillingly transparent, Clive Owen sulking his way through as a man who starts off a bit rubbish and ends up like super assassin Leon, whose back-story is pretty much explained by his co-star saying “hey, I’ve got your file here. With your back-story. How about I read it out loud while we walk?” Said co-star is Naomi Watts, the unbelievable investigator type woman who clings to humanity by having one shot of her family life, before being reduced to “woman on the phone with the information that helps story along”, although granted she does get in on the walking and a tiny bit of action (the bit where Clive Owen out-runs a vehicle…) before being jettisoned from the story altogether, reduced to a name check at the end like we really give a damn about her insignificant presence.

What has got my goat here is that The International starts off with an air of importance. Some stark violence and a gritty plot gave it the edge, the assumption that it might be something more than your usual investigatory thriller piece. And after fudging attempts at making this style work in a way that is enjoyable to watch, it shoe-horns in the most preposterous shoot-up I have ever seen. Initially I thought it was finally getting exciting, until I started to wonder that for a film so intent on being all serious and clever, where all these dispensable henchmen were suddenly coming from and why the lead had turned into Rambo.

After that nonsense the film spiralled into a sea of who-cares, launching characters in willy nilly and churning the plot into indecipherable mulsh. Wholly disappointing, unfulfilling and inferior to most that have gone before it, The International sinks to a paltry CF-2. No wonder Clive looks so miserable – it’s the lowest scoring film of the year so far. Cheer up Clive, worse things could happen. You could be sharing the screen with Julia Roberts next. Oh…

25th February 09 - Anvil: The Story of Anvil

Although its title sounds like a Norwegian cartoon about a small Viking man on a quest for a golden coin, Anvil: The Story of Anvil is probably the best film to grace Cinemafool’s vision so far this year. Although to be fair the crop has been mostly “pretty good” thus far, so it’s easy for something to shine.

Anvil were a band back in the 80’s big enough to play alongside Bon Jovi, Whitesnake, and other back-comb friendly rock acts. They’re now 50-something and still making music, albeit without making money. At first glance this documentary seems to echo the spectacular mockumentary Spinal Tap, almost as if Christopher Guest and co had time travelled forwards, seen this doc, then gone back to parody it first.

As a band, Anvil match Tap for crazy hilarity, sometimes trumping it. Where the Tap used a violin to play the guitar, Anvil used a dildo, and the song “Thumb Hang”, based on a torture method from the Spanish inquisition that they’d read about in school, could easily be a Tap creation. When Anvil attempt a reunion tour, the resulting mishaps (missed trains, insane venues, getting lost) are comedy gold.

But Anvil isn’t just a real life Tap. Though it’s undeniably funny, lead singer Steve ‘Lips’ Kudlow and drummer Robb Reiner melt humanity into the mix. Their strive to continue to do what makes them happy, debt and failure be damned, is both uplifting and heart wrenching at the same time. You chuckle at the half empty bar they’re having to play in, but your heart is also breaking on their behalf. Eccentric, weird, nutters – whatever you want to label them at first – once their quest is stripped to the nub it resonates with all, and suddenly these are just guys wanting to make their lives mean something.

Director Sacha Gervasi crafts this documentary perfectly, throwing out the belly laughs early, pulling you into the heart of the story, then building you up to the grand finale. Though at times some aspects are so bizarre you just have to question their authenticity (drummer’s painting of a poo in a toilet – “my wife won’t let me show it in the living room”) and there must be an element of manipulation to create a story with such a well formed arc. But still, Anvil: The Story of Anvil is the funniest, most touching piece seen so far this year, with reality and a bottom-pleasing running time firmly on its side. It rocks in with a CF2, and will sit neatly next to the Tap on anyone’s DVD collection, although their proximity may cause a rift in reality that destroys us all. Small price to pay.

18th Feb 09 - Doubt

The Oscars loom so everything is very Important right now, and everyone is Acting lots and lots. A film adapted from a play about churchy folk and child fiddling seems to tick many Oscar boxes, which often suggests a film is about to be either long, depressing, self indulgent, serious or overinflated nonsense. Amazingly Doubt trots over all such preconceptions and emerges fresh, riveting, amusing and thoroughly enjoyable.

Bringing in a whopping 4 actor-related Oscar noms, Doubt could have been a blank backdrop allowing people to act away while sacrificing a bit of the entertainment factor (see Revolutionary Road…) But its cast powerfully drive the story, a compelling tale of “who dunnit”, or rather “did he dunnit…” when a priest is suspected of messing with an altar boy’s holy vestibule.

Chief investigator is headmistress nun Meryl Streep (up for best actress) who cuts a terrifying figure of authority, channelling her Devil Wears Prada performance into something harsher yet warmer at the same time. Her character delivers the majority of the laughs, her crushing bluntness and devout determination to prove she is right being the central spike to the tale. It’s a perfect role for her to play, but she doesn’t completely steal the limelight. Ever brilliant Philip Seymour Hoffman (up for best actor) plays the priest in the spotlight, superbly mixing creepy (he definitely did it…) with sympathetic distress (he definitely didn’t do it…) The myriad of emotions crossing his large face could indicate any of the two outcomes, and you’ll have as much fun as Streep’s character in trying to decide if he’s telling the truth. Well, as much fun as you can have in investigating such dodgy things.

Taking up the supporting reigns is angel-faced Amy Adams (up for best supporting actress) whose naivety is beautiful, particularly when it cracks, and Viola Davis (also up for best supporting) playing the boy in question’s mother, and probably displaying the best bit of acting snot I have ever seen.

Though adapted from the stage, Doubt sidesteps the usual pitfalls (no one is trying to project across the stalls) but original playwright John Patrick Shanley (nommed for best screenplay) steps up to adapt and direct and perhaps takes some of his stage techniques a little too far. The inclusion of visual analogies is at times so blatant he may as well have had a character carry a load of heavy bags, then exclaim “oh woe is me, I have so much emotional baggage”. The crazy weather and unreliable light bulbs cut into the drama just a little too much, detracting from the already formidable subject matter which is filled with enough subtext to not need any more slathered on the screen.

Still, quibbles aside this was a fully enjoyable film, with superb performances and a simple yet completely effective plot. Points for mashing entertainment with potent drama, and extra points for letting me watch Streep and Hoffman size each other up. Doubt slinks in with a CF2, the first of the year. And check it out – I didn’t even make one single doubt-related pun. But I did mention a child’s holy vestibule. I’m not sure which is worse.

11th Feb 09 - Revolutionary Road

Ah the joys of relationships. The flutter of the heart at the early meetings. The gentle expansion of feelings. The rosey complexion that comes from spending time with the one you love. And the slow decline into seething anger and resentment that makes you not only hate your partner with a fiery passion, but hate yourself and your entire life too.

That’s the picture Revolutionary Road paints for you. As Slumdog has been advertised as a “feel-good hit”, Rev Road could surely be summarised as a “kill-yourself punch”. It is essentially two hours watching people argue, and if you think it’s only the one dysfunctional couple in trouble, there are a few other examples of how miserable your life can become - either through forced and pained ignorance or bitter acceptance.

Of course there’s a little more to it than that. Titanic sweethearts Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio return to the screen together, perhaps showing what might have happened if she didn’t selfishly use all the door for a raft and they’d have been given the chance to be together. They play the feisty Wheelers, a couple who always planned not to get stuck in the family rut and mocked those that did, until several years down the line they realised they were rutted just as much as the next guy. Might I point out that their “rut” involves a nice house, nice neighbourhood, and two “nice” children (nice in the sense that they’re literally never around – seriously, where are their children?!) So this terrible woe they feel and bicker over is purely self indulgent. Boo hoo I’m in a nice house. Boo hoo we have reproduced and can afford to look after them. Boo bloody hoo.

You can sense the reasoning behind some of it, though. Life is, after-all, utterly depressing if you think about it too much. It’s the reason why things like money, houses and children are fairly useful – they’re things to strive for and distract from the thought that life is slowly ticking by. Unfortunately for the Wheelers, the penny has dropped that “this is it” and it has resulted in their relationship imploding. Watching the devastation that follows is both uncomfortable and hilarious, Kate and Leo throwing themselves into the slanging matches with gusto. Being an Oscar aimer, there’s lots and lots of Acting, particularly from Kate who sometimes takes a moment just to stare out the window and have a good ol’ Act for a while, before continuing on. Director Sam Mendes’ static approach makes it feel like you’re watching a play at times, which does work on some aspects (letting the explosive arguments speak for themselves) but creates a starched tone in others, distancing you from the characters.

Though the fire between the two leads is engrossing at times, there are a few niggles with this film. The plot is bone-dry, probably left that way to let lots of Acting in and comments on attitudes towards life etc, but with no real depth given to any of the characters it chunders along and leaves you with a bit of a “so what?” feel (if you can push aside the great feeling of despair it conjures). There is also a ridiculous character – just out of a mental hospital, and therefore happy to speak his mind - shoe-horned in to let the simpler audience members know what’s really going on in our leads minds. And the endless score, seemingly composed of only three piano notes, does start to grate after a while.

Still, superb performances mean it’s often riveting, if not dramatic, and will carry you towards the end with a building sense of dread at what’s to come. But how to score this has posed a problem – though it was finely acted, it’s difficult to recommend a “kill-yourself punch” to someone. Therefore it hits the “good film” jackpot of a CF0, but doesn’t gain any further points as I wouldn’t enthusiastically recommend it to anyone, unless I know someone who wants to mock people in relationships.

4th Feb 09 - Frost/Nixon

It’s sometimes difficult to believe that journalism can be used for anything except pointing out the weight of semi-famous people or making us all panic about how much the public / environment / economy is in trouble and it’s all because of youths / the government / immigrants. But among all the shite, journalism (like this) can have a positive impact on the world, or make some sort of change. And so it can be seen when David Frost, flailing TV host watching his career trickle downhill after a flourish of success, unearthed an apology from Richard Nixon, a jowly president with unusual ideas about the law.

It’s an odd choice to make a film about a TV show that has already been aired, where the seminal moment of success has already been filmed and broadcast and relished. You can’t just replicate what’s already been on TV – why watch someone pretend to do an interview when you can watch the real thing? So Frost/Nixon, based on a play by Peter Morgan who also writes this screenplay, instead takes a look behind the scenes, charting the David/Goliath task ahead and attempting to get into each player’s mindset.

Michael Sheen and Frank Langella do superb jobs at embodying their counterparts, Sheen catching the determination and charm in the face of failure, and Langella mixing sparkling intelligence with crumbling defences. Of course, what the hell would I know – I wasn’t alive when these two went head-to-head. Still, it made for some great cinema, director Ron Howard choosing an almost documentary feel with the solid supporting cast (including the sturdy Sam Rockwell and Kevin Bacon) providing background interviews to set the scene, and in some cases explain what was going on. He also thankfully sidesteps the usual pitfall of stage-to-screen, injecting movement into the piece without losing the crackling dialogue.

You could almost hear Eye of the Tiger rumbling in the background as these two chaps came face to face, the ding-ding of the tape-change allowing their coaches time to pep-talk, and as with all sporting films there’s a training montage, then the baddie pummels the goodie, right up until the last minute epiphany that saves the day.

And yet… we all knew what was coming. Frost gets Nixon to admit everything on air – no spoiler there, it’s fact. And though Sheen does cut an impressive figure as the rogue Frost, how he makes a switch from slightly delusional talkshow host to suddenly getting one over the superiorly intelligent Nixon is barely dealt with, save a wedged in monologue from Nixon and a quick montage of people going to the library. Nixon himself, surely responsible for tremendous death and deception, is elevated to Boris status as a bumbling comic, cracking some of the more amusing lines of the film. Ha ha – he’s racist! And was in charge of America! Really funny.

So though it hooks you with some great performances and a premise that is fascinating and true, Frost/Nixon peters out when we reach the conclusion we already knew with no deep exploration into character, or flourishing finale to cap things off. It could almost be a BBC Saturday drama. One of those good ones, mind – the one-offs, or the three-parters. But a TV drama none-the-less, which is what it all started out as anyway. For its meaty drama Frost/Nixon gains an extra point, but for not really telling us anything we didn’t already know (even us yoofs who weren’t even alive then) it fails to go any higher than a CF1.

28th Jan 09 - Rachel Getting Married

Another wedding film staring Anne Hathaway? Is this the same as last week? Does a robot-faced blonde show up to try and scupper lovely Anne’s wedding plans with hilarious japes and photo montages? I think not. In fact, our lovely Anne isn’t even dressing up as a princess. This time she is Acting. That’s right. She smokes cigarettes and has bad hair and cries. A lot. If she filmed Bride Wars after this then it explains a lot – Bride Wars must have been a relaxing break after staring in this one.

Hathaway plays Kym, a recovering drug addict released from rehab to attend her big sister’s wedding (that’d be Rachel). Before you can say “dysfunctional” the family arguments kick off big-style, as details of Kym’s turbulent and tragic past unfold and her rollercoaster moods ricochet off her sister’s temper. Director Jonathan Demme (Silence of the Lambs, Philadelphia) goes for a documentary approach, following characters around with hand-held cameras and allowing actors to talk over each other, giving it a very natural feel.

The actors excel in this realistic setting, Hathaway rightly Oscar nominated for her performance as the troubled, bratty and grieving Kym, while her co-stars (particularly Rosemarie DeWitt as Rachel) provide a blanket of emotion, either through jealous sister, mental father or withdrawn mother. When the drama crackles, it really crackles, with fierce battles erupting in between barbed comments and pained glances.

Unfortunately it all becomes a little too realistic. If you’ve ever been forced to watch someone’s wedding video you’ll know the tedium of the endless speeches, or the banality of watching other people enjoying the evening entertainment. For some reason, Demme decided that to add authenticity we should literally observe Rachel getting married, in all its uncut, unnecessary glory. And so we have a third of this film being an absorbing, well acted family drama. And two thirds someone’s poorly shot wedding video, before the editor has got to it.

Ultimately, despite the fancy pants way this film is put across, the plot is too thin. Drug addicts, family feuds, weddings… all seem a bit too familiar, and the flowery ending prompts the question “and the point was…?” It does get points for creating a sense of friendship and warmth, and for the first and only funny dishwasher loading scene, but overall it is one of those films where style takes over from substance and the film tucks itself up its own bottom too far to notice the plot slipping out the back of the trousers. So to speak. It’s proven Hathaway can move away from the Bride Wars slop, but let’s hope she can pick something with a little more weight behind it next time. Rachel gets married, but does so with a CF-1. Sorry to spoil her big day.

24th Jan 09 - Role Models

In the rules of watching comedy, it’s always best to stick to the mantra “never watch comedies featuring children or animals”. Chances are they’ll be annoying, either with a gang of kerrrrazee kids causing havoc for some befuddled adult, or a doggy doing kerrrrazee things like humping legs or pulling people off chairs by running away. Hilarious! If you’re seven years old. And stupid.

Role Models does feature children, but easily side steps the usual child-comedy pitfalls by having its children say stuff like “fuck you”. Neat! It’s co-written by Paul Rudd, the sardonic best friend as seen in Knocked Up, 40 Year Old Virgin, Anchorman and, um, Romeo & Juliet. His incredibly dry humour litters the script, with quips laid out so quickly and flatly they’re often easy to miss. Mixed with naughty toilet humour it makes the majority of Role Models into a deliciously dirty comedy, more so when it features lots of kiddy winks.

Bad boys Danny (Rudd) and Wheeler (a nicely buff Seann William Scott) are forced to carry out community service, being “best friends” for some pretty weird children. There’s Augie, a bespectacled fantasy obsessed teen played by Christopher “McLovin” Mintz-Plasse who is now cemented as the go-to for your general nerdy needs. And Ronnie (Bobb’e J. Thompson – yes, that’s a deliberate hyphen in the middle of Bobbe. He must be pretentious), a foul-mouthed, boobies obsessed young ‘un, who frankly steals the show but could also be verging on a horrendous ethnic stereotype.

There’s a great supporting cast, particularly Jane Lynch as the insane child centre leader, granted playing a character she’s played many times before, but hell she plays it bloody well. There are also some amusing set pieces, such as the camping trip, and Paul Rudd’s bleak take on life always raises a smirk (“It's not that I don't like you, I just don't like to eat with other people”). But – and I’m sure you could detect a ‘but’ coming here – Role Models starts off strong and then suddenly twists into something, well, a bit weak. From dirty adult humour to suddenly a sports-movie-esque quest, with a swift focus on Augie’s role playing battle club type thing. Everyone comes together to help defeat the evil “king” in a big, mock battle scene and… hang on. Weren’t we watching a good comedy on two guys, one a women-obsessed lads lad, and one a dishevelled 30-something depressed at life? Weren’t we laughing at how much they didn’t really care, and how twisted their approach was to looking after two kids? Since when did we care about a fantasy role-playing battle? Since when did it turn into a mushy romance?

Alas, its decline into mediocre battle / romance slosh dampens the comic edge and catapults any real character arc into blando “ooo I do love my woman really” or “um… I haven’t changed at all and was just here for the ruder bits”. Add a couple of unnecessary boob shots and you’ve tainted it with teen boy humour ala “Sex Drive” rather than the suggested quality comedy stock expected from Rudd. As such, Role Models does raise a fair few titters, but by featuring some real life titties and having a plot that goes tits-up it slumps down to a CF0, clinging to a recommendation because it’s a fun Saturday night filler, but failing to raise enough of a chortle to be a great comedy.

21st Jan 09 - Bride Wars

There is a reason why I chose to see this film. I’m not going to go into it, but basically I needed a short film that would take my mind off things without wearing me out mentally. So, in theory, this was the perfect choice. On a normal day this would be a bad choice. Very bad. It has everything I generally dislike: People fawning over weddings claiming they’re the “happiest day in your life”, which is a bold and slightly alarming claim – you mean the ensuing fifty years or so are not going to be as good as today? Nothing will beat sitting in a hot room on small chairs with an Abba mega-mix playing? I may as well kill myself now.

It also has weird photo montages coupled with sage narrative. A plot so thinly constructed a five-year-old could predict what was going to happen (well, maybe not just any five-year-old, but perhaps myself at five, although I was unnaturally clever at that age of course). And it’s set in New frickin’ York. On ordinary days I would have avoided this like Primark on a Saturday afternoon. But I was after something light, and Bride Wars definitely fit the bill without causing too much offence or vomit. I even laughed once, possibly twice, and smiled for at least 50% of the film. A winner!

Well. The leads appear to have a bit of fun with this, but without a huge heap of effort, Hathaway (avoiding my hatred list by being a year older and not smug) winning in the human stakes – that is, being the most sympathetic and also being capable of making actual facial expressions – while Hudson glowers around in the background and raises an eyebrow when describing herself as having put on weight when, quite clearly, she isn’t able to open her mouth wide enough to eat anyway.

The cat fights are fairly fun, but we’ve seen more zing in the few girl spats on episodes of Friends, and the wedding comedy is forever overshadowed by the as yet unbeatable Wedding Singer. As such, nothing particularly shines, the film instead passing by like the consumption of a Milky Way; a not unpleasant but wholly unremarkable sugar injection. No recommendation here, but no real anger either, so a slide into CF-1.

14th Jan 09 - Slumdog Millionaire

Dubbed “the feel good hit of the decade”, Slumdog has been gathering awards and nominations like a squirrel in a nut factory, and caused a stampede of easily swayed pundits to go and see it, expecting a nice, feel good piece on an Indian kid winning Who Wants to be a Millionaire. According to the posters he punches the air in excitement and a woman in yellow falls in love with him, and everyone goes away happy and elated. Feel good!

Slumdog opens with some light torture before moving on to abject poverty, senseless and brutal death, and child exploitation and mutilation. Feel good! It uses the Millionaire questions as a clever way of tracking back through slumdog Jamal’s life, perhaps suggesting that missing an education on a variety of abstract topics does not make you an idiot – life is your education. Nice thought. But Slumdog moves away from that when it’s clear why Jamal went on the programme in the first place, resulting in an overly schmaltzy ending that’s more corny than feel good.

But Danny Boyle’s hyperactive direction mixed with a thumping soundtrack carries you along for most of the film, and you will care what happens to Jamal (a coolly collected Dev Patel) and his older brother (looking weirdly like Michael Jackson in his Thriller days). The story grips mainly during the flashback scenes, following Jamal’s torturous childhood, and it’s only when the past catches up with the present that the foot comes off the accelerator a little, and we are steered towards cheese land.

Still, it’s a nice blend of the Bollywood with the Boyle, whose diversity is impressive given his last film was a claustrophobic horror in space. Perhaps not quite as monumental as the hype machine would have you believe, and very poorly marketed as some feelgood brit-flick (it’s much deeper than that tag would suggest) Slumdog is punchy, original and emotive, slamming you from poo jokes to murder as swiftly as the questions change on Millionaire.

It notches up an extra point for its colourful exuberance but doesn’t really climb any higher for that whiff of cheese, so slumming in neatly with a CF1. Probably the Juno of this Oscar year. Without the pregnancy. Or the strong female character. Or… oh you know what I mean, though.