1st Feb 07 - Bobby

Emilio Estevez has come a long way from his ‘butt in the moonlight walk’ in National Lampoon’s Loaded Weapon 1 (which if you’ve a) not seen, or b) seen and hated, then you should a) watch it – it’s on Channel 5 about five times a day, or b) leave this web site immediately as it is clear you have no soul and I do not wish to write for you anymore).

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes – Emilio has come a long way. He’s not only written and directed Bobby, he’s also roped in a drillion stars to be in it. We’ve got, among others, Anthony Hopkins, Helen Hunt, Laurence Fishburne, Heather Graham, Joshua Jackson, Lindsey Lohan, William H. Macy, Demi Moore, (deep breath), Martin Sheen, Christian Slater, Sharon Stone, Elijah Wood. Basically I could write an entire review just listing the cast, but that isn’t overly interesting so I’ll stop.

With such an ensemble you run the risk of a “Me! Me! No, me!” effect, with a dozen egos battling for attention. And though everyone gets a turn to do a spot of acting, Emilio keeps them all in check so we get good performances rather than “anything you can act, I can act better” stand-offs. The first few minutes of the film are taken up with thoughts along the lines of ‘there’s whats-his-face, is that one Stone? There’s the hobbit, it’s Pacey from Dawson’s Creek!’ But after the novelty factor of star spotting subsides, what are you left with?

Well, the film focuses in on the inhabitants of the Ambassador Hotel on June 6th, 1968 – the day that Robert F. Kennedy was killed. We get to dip in and out of various lives, be they kitchen staff, switchboard girls, managers, hotel guests or people working on Kennedy’s election team. With so many characters it’s impossible to get an in-depth view into their lives, but ultimately they serve only to bring up some whoppingly relevant issues.

I know, I know. I always go on about issues and themes. But when it’s the point of a film you have to note them. Otherwise you’d look at this as a simple story about Bobby’s assassination and you’d say ‘it’s crap – you barely see him and what’s the point of everyone else?’ But let’s taking a running stab at what’s going on here. First off there’s the big one: this is 60’s America suffering from violence, racism, poverty, environmental issues and a war with obscure reasons causing the deaths of thousands. Um, familiar-much? Kennedy was cited as the solution to many of these problems, and his death packs an unpleasant punch when you look at the state of the world today.

But float away from the political and there are some other neat little ideas going on. Our celebrity-obsessed nation is mirrored perfectly. We’ve got a drunkard famous singer talking to her dowdy hairdresser about the short shelf-life of women. Who’s playing them? Demi Moore and Sharon Stone, who are both superb, and both in their forties. They could’ve written that piece themselves no doubt. There’s also Helen Hunt obsessing over her appearance, stressing that her shoes aren’t right and people are going to notice. I couldn’t help but think of the “circle of shame” in crappy celebrity magazines. By using such a well-known cast, these thoughts are given more resonance. Clever Emilio.

There are a few moments where Bobby wavers dangerously into Crash “oh look at me pointing out things really obvious I’m so clever and brilliant and lazy” territory, and perhaps there are one too many monologues or touching moments involving bloody sports (hurray my team’s winning, my entire life troubles are now solved as I smile gleefully like the simple sports-fan that I am). There’s also an unnecessary acid-trip with Ashton Kutcher that is almost embarrassingly trite.

But Bobby washes over all the flaws with its final act, building into an emotional and affecting finish, and a clever mix of footage from past and present. The risk with multiple-character plots is the loss of real empathy with the characters because there’re too many, but Bobby pulls it off by combining everything into a thought-provoking issue-riddled collage. I’m giving it one point for the nicely handled pace and clever use of stars, and another for matching past situations with present to create an affecting piece of film. So Bobby leaps in with CF2.

24th Jan 07 - The Last King of Scotland

I’ve learnt things from this week’s film:

Learnt thing number one: Idi Amin was a wacky man.

Learnt thing number two: calling Idi Amin a ‘wacky man’ does not really justify how horrendous his actions were.

Learnt thing number three: English people are ugly, sandal wearing weasels who spoilt everything.

Learnt thing number four: Scottish people are acceptable to Hollywood.

Learnt thing number five: Forest Whitaker can really act and this performance is justifiably Oscar nominated.

Learnt thing number six: What James McAvoy’s pee pee looks like.

Learnt thing number seven: I’m probably too old to be calling it a ‘pee pee’.

Learnt thing number eight: It’s clever to use a young jolly Scottish (not miserable English) doctor as the window to this fundamental part of Ugandan history.

Learnt thing number nine: Starting a film with an orange happy glow makes the grisly finale interestingly disjointed and therefore gives it more impact.

Learnt thing number ten: Good films can be spoilt a little by only briefly touching on interesting father/son relationships and wedging in parts of Amin’s background in weird, stilted bits of dialogue (“I’m going to tell you about how I grew up… um, there. Told you. Now you can go.”)

Learnt thing number eleven: Having a broken cinema seat makes a two hour film drag. Or getting a bit slow in the middle makes a two hour film drag.

Learnt thing number twelve: If you expect a film to be a powerful, gut-busting piece of cinema and it turns out to be solid but not overwhelming, you are more disappointed than usual.

Learnt thing number thirteen: If you take into consideration learnt thing number twelve, then this film can only make CF0, mainly because of the lack of expected ‘oomph’.

Learnt thing number fourteen: Writing reviews in this fashion is quite easy, and reduces the need to make full sentences.

Learnt thing number fifteen: Taking learnt thing number fourteen into consideration, I could easily write for a tabloid.

17th January 2007 - A Prairie Home Companion

I was crammed into the smallest of screens in a pretentious cinema for this film, the last of Robert Altman’s (director of MASH) before his death at the end of 2006. It’s about the last recording of a live-radio country and western variety show. You know the ones. Well, you don’t – unless you’re from that weird bit in America where they still listen to that sort of crap. Sorry, did that insult any of my two readers? I doubt it.

Anyway, it’s this weirdly archaic show where a variety of country and western singers belt out songs, and alas it’s being shut down. The film takes place entirely on the last performance. And, erm, that’s about it really. Oh, there’s a bit of fantasy stuff too. I’m not really sure why. Or if there’s any point to the story at all, really. But there’s lots of singing. But I don’t find singing that interesting. Oh dear.

My struggle with that last paragraph reflects my struggle with the film. See, there is a lot in there that’s good. Altman’s direction is smooth, with lots of play on reflections. The dialogue is played brilliantly, with characters overlapping each other to create a natural flow throughout the film. There are some amusing songs (especially the ‘bad-jokes’ song, and the sung advertisements). Plus the cast are undeniably great – Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin play singing sisters, with Lindsay Lohan making first steps in an adult film as Streep’s daughter. The ever watchable John C. Reilly and Woody Harrelson are a pair of rude cowboys. Kevin Kline is the madcap producer. And Tommy Lee Jones pops up as the evil guy trying to bring them all down. He could also be the devil, but that’s me trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

But though all the components are good, it feels like they’ve been cobbled together into some weird, incoherent hybrid monster. There’s random bursts of slapstick comedy, some dips into character backgrounds that never really get off the ground, a lot of singing that sometimes could be a parody, but sometimes is just a general song. Kevin Kline is a comical, noir-esque character, but everyone else plays it pretty straight. And there’s a frickin’ angel in it. What the hell is going on?

The only sense I got from it was a chilling nod at the theme of death. Though it’s been advertised as a jolly sing-song, everything in it whiffed of demise. The end of the radio show, the destruction of the theatre, the literal demise of one cast member, the frickin’ angel. Play it against Altman’s unfortunate passing away, and it becomes a sort of goodbye. But it isn’t a goodbye, because Altman was very much alive when he shot it. So it’s either a conscious reference, a subconscious one, or just an unlucky coincidence. Without the coincidence, though, the film feels a little directionless, and felt a lot longer than its 105 minutes. For me, there were too many songs, but then I am a miserable bastard, remember.

It’s taken me a while to figure out how to rate this. On the one hand there are lots of likeable elements. On the other hand, the lack of purpose and (for me) unnecessary constant singing meant I didn’t wholly enjoy it. But on the other hand (this incoherent hybrid monster has three hands) I did spend a long time pondering what it could have meant, and if a film can make me ponder then I commend it. So overall it scrapes a CF0, but only because I’m being generous. I’m nice like that.

10th Jan 07 - Apocalypto

There’s a plethora of negatives attached to this film that will no doubt keep the majority of happy-go-lucky cinema pundits away. It’s directed by Mel Gibson, whose last film was a religious horror, and whose name has been in the press attached to bad things like alcohol, crazy relatives and Jew-bashing. It’s subtitled due to the use of a weird ancient Mayan dialect. It has a cast of complete unknowns. It has a relatively graphic use of violence. And it’s about some ancient weird tribe-folk, so what the hell has that got to do with us joyful Westerners?

But could you just do something for me? Forget who made it. Accept that ancient Mayans would not speak “American”. And just watch it as one of those great films with a great hero who must face a difficult journey filled with adventure. Because that’s all it is. Strip away all the supposed alienating qualities and you’ve got a basic adventure story. And you know what? It’s bloody good.

I of course had my reservations. But within the opening five minutes I was instantly engaged. These strange men, with bones through their noses, spouting a weird language and living in a forest are shown bantering, playing practical jokes and complaining about their mother-in-laws. The unknown suddenly becomes the familiar, and all it took was five minutes. It seems that Gibbo’s a clever story-teller.

What follows is a bracing tale as our hero ‘Jaguar Paw’ is taken away from his family and must make a dangerous trip in order to return to them. I won’t go into any further detail to avoid ruining it (unlike most other reviewers) but as guide to how absorbing the story is, I didn’t feel like I’d been sitting for 139 minutes, I forgot that the cinema was about minus five in temperature, and I accidentally drank my companions drink instead of my own (sorry about that).

Violence is present, but in a controlled fashion, so that the worst injuries are more suggested with quick editing than gratuitously put on screen. The actual gore is far less than that in your Hostel or Saw genre, but because you feel more for the characters the impact is tenfold. I know I’m not too fussed with your basic impaling and beheading, but my (now drink-less) companion is not a fan of violence in the slightest, but found it to be just about manageable.

You could try to read into the film, maybe finding a crazed religious leader taking too much pride in his land, destroying the earth and needlessly sacrificing men a little too familiar. But let’s not – let’s just watch it for what it is. A film with good characters, tension, excitement, (making me mentally utter the famous line from Monty Python and the Holy Grail: “run away! Run away!”) strong direction and even a tapir-mounted camera. Come on – a camera on the back of a running tapir. How can you not like it?

Of course, the story isn’t quite deep enough to warrant a huge emotional or intellectual impact, and the sprint to the finish ends in more of a half-hearted jog than a beefy finale that might’ve satisfied a little more. But this is still a good film. Keeping in mind the CF ratings have been updated (see the review of 2006), I’m awarding Apocalypto a point for being exciting, engaging and surprisingly fabulous, and another point for having a camera on a tapir, bringing it to CF2. Ignore everything you think will be bad, overcome your prejudices against the director and the subtitles, and you will be nicely surprised.

3rd January 07 - Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

The first film of 2007 smells. All right, not literally. But it felt like someone was trying to rub salt in the wound as a whole film about the power of scent is shown to a girl whose nose is bunged up with a left-over Christmas cold.

But anyway, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, is based on the best selling novel ‘Das Parfum’ by Patrick Suskind. It tells the story of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, a young chap born into grotty Paris with a remarkably fantastic sense of smell. His talent allows him to create spell-binding perfumes, but his real passion is the luxurious scent of a woman (well, we do smell nice, don’t we) and he becomes obsessed with finding a way to capture the smell. Unfortunately for us women, the best way to capture the smell involves whacking us over the head and wrapping up our dead bodies in animal fat. Mmm.

The lead is young Brit Ben Whishaw, whose credits include Layer Cake, Enduring Love and ‘Pingu’ off Nathan Barley. He manages to portray a freakish murderer with huge dollops of naivety, holding his wincingly scrawny body awkwardly, portraying most of his feelings without speech and making me want to cuddle him (is that wrong?) Considering he was probably told ‘act like you’re smelling nice things’ for about 90% of the film, he does a damn good job, and carries the long, dialogue-free portions of the film with surprising ease.

But making a film all about smells has its difficulties. Smell-o-vision has yet to be invented (why is that? We have 3-D, even the implausible 4-D rides at Disney – why no smell-o-vision eh?) so you’d expect a film that revolves so heavily around the idea of scent to employ some interesting tactics to convey the right pongs to the audience. Unfortunately, a huge creative opportunity is missed, and we instead get close ups of things in slow motion. Look, he smells fish – close up of a fish – look, he smells woman – close up of a woman’s hair – look, he smells shit – close up of… well, you get the point. Granted, it points out what he’s smelling, but after two hours of the same technique you start to tire. There are so many visual and aural tools available that could have brought this film to life, making the audience experience a rich, interesting world, mirroring Jean-Baptiste’s experiences. But instead we just get close-ups.

A few other niggles may include the common; ‘aye up I is a cock-erny Parisian’ and the inclusion of Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman playing themselves. Again. Also the kindly old-man narration that handily explains lots of things and makes it sound like a children’s story. With a tale like this there are many directions they could have taken, some of them interesting and different and darkly daring. They didn’t go for those. Instead they went for safe. Which doesn’t produce a bad film, just not an outstanding one.

And this isn’t a bad film. Despite the niggles, the plot is unusual and deals with some interesting ideas. Your scent is cited as being your very soul, and poor old Jean-Baptiste discovers he doesn’t have a scent of his own. When he concocts the ultimate scent, the resulting reaction and his slow realisation of the importance of human contact and love makes for an interesting little fable. It’s like a Just So story. But with murder and nudity.

For the plot and the strength of lead actor Ben Whishaw, Perfume reaches the recommendable CF0, but it fails to gain any further points due to missing out on an abundance of creative opportunities and for having silly accents. First flick of 2007 – CF0. Let’s see if we can improve on that.

The Cinemafool Review of 2006

It’s hard to believe 2006 has rolled past already. With 41 films seen in 2005, I can happily reveal that this year I’ve seen not just 41, not just 42, but a plentiful 43 new films at the cinema. Not bad considering I spent two months away from the big screen with my foot caked in bandages and scar tissue. And lest us not forget the trips to the cinema that have not been noted on this site, be it obscure old foreign flicks (the German ‘23’ – thanks Kinoland, quite enjoyed that one), the old classics (Nightmare Before Christmas, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) or the “oh my God I didn’t remember this being so frickin’ depressing” Watership Down.

But let’s get to the important stuff. The top 10 of 2006. Below is the list in chronological order. You may notice I have included an updated rating. This is because I’m trying to utilise my CF points more in 2007, with CF5 being maximum brilliance, CF0 being recommended, and CF-5 being maximum shite. The updated ratings for these 10 films will be used as a guide for next year’s reviews.

So here we go – the Top 10 of 2006. You seen any?

A Cock & Bull Story
What: Michael Winterbottom’s attempt at an unfilmable book, with a blend of fiction and realism.
Seen: 1st February
Rating given: 8
Updated rating: CF2
I said then: Sometimes amusing, but not an out-and-out comedy… a refreshing attempt at something new.
I say now: Slightly misunderstood, you probably have to be a bit pretentious to get it. But look to the comparisons between Coogan and his character and you’ll see this is a smart little film with some brilliant little touches.
I also used the phrase: I’m so far up my own arse.

Tsotsi
What: Emotional Oscar winner for best foreign language film about a thug who ends up looking after a baby.
Seen: 27th April
Rating given: 8.5/10
Updated Rating: CF3
I said then: Afterwards I was left with a wedge of emotion… anyone who feels nothing after watching this film doesn’t just have a heart of stone – they’re soulless evil.
I say now: Still a solid film, and though I wouldn’t rush to watch it over and over, I’d definitely recommend it.
I also used the phrase: I’m not even a big fan of babies.

Brick
What: High school film noir, with Third Rock From The Sun’s Joseph Gordon-Levitt as a pupil solving the murder of his girl.
Seen: 16th May
Rating given: CF2
Updated rating: CF2
I said then: Keep noir in your mind and it hits the spot… there was some good stuff in this film.
I say now: Joseph Gordon-Levitt is the driving force behind Brick’s entry into the top 10. It’s on my radar as a film to watch again, and with his solid performance and some unusual and creative direction, this is a good, original (well, is a homage ever really original?) effort for the year.
I also used the phrase: A glasses-wearing hero who isn’t a dweeb.


Tideland
What: Terry Gilliam’s insane style is applied to the story of a young girl who makes friends with her dolls’ heads and some creepy creepy neighbours.
Seen: 8th August
Rating given: CF1
Updated rating: CF2
I said then: If you accept its differences and are willing to open your mind, you may well enjoy Tideland… it dared to be a bit different, the performances were impressive… well done Terry.
I say now: Stuck with me, this one, and I’ve marked it as one to re-watch. Bit of an odd one, but there’s something distinctly charming about it. Go on. Try it and see.
I also used the phrase: a mind-fuck.

A Scanner Darkly
What: Adaptation of Philip K Dick’s book on addiction, starring Keanu Reaves all animated with rotoscope technology.
Seen: 23rd August
Rating given: CF2
Updated rating: CF3
I said then: The essence of the book was captured successfully… realising Dick’s idea perfectly.
I say now: Visually one of the most captivating films of the year, and probably the closet adaptation of Dick’s work to date.
I also used the phrase: Like giving Ben Affleck a crayon.

Severance
What: British comedy/horror sees a bunch of office workers picked off in the woods by a creepy dude.
Seen: 30th August
Rating given: CF1
Updated rating: CF2
I said then: A decent script, likeable characters and some moments of absurd hilarity. This is why it shines. Best way to sum it up is “knife in the arse”. In reality, it’s pretty damn unpleasant. But it’s also funny as hell.
I say now: This makes the top 10 because it was so much fun. Fun horror, fun comedy. And amongst all the darkness of this top 10, you need a bit of fun. Especially when it’s done this well.
I also used the phrase: Creepy dude with a pair of shears.


Right At Your Door
What: LA dirty bomb drama that bypasses the disaster flick and goes right for the human heart.
Seen: 24th September
Rating given: CF2
Updated rating: CF4
I said then: An emotional, unsettling drama worthy of your attention.
I say now: Still makes me shudder, this is a little film with a big impact. Watch it.
I also used the phrase: Reminded me of a scene in Watership Down.

Children Of Men
What: Chilling vision of a buggered future with no kids and a crap government obsessed with illegal immigrants.
Seen: 27th Sep 06
Rating given: CF3
Updated rating: CF5
I said then: I just command you to watch this film… a chilling yet believable view of the future and some stupendous direction.
I say now: Still in my mind as one of the best films seen this year. It’s a tad bleak, but oh so very good.
I also used the phrase: average action pleb.


The Departed
What: Scorsese’s third film with DiCaprio, combining mafia/police mole confusion into a bulky drama.
Seen: 14th October
Rating given: CF2
Updated rating: CF4
I said then: The plot is sly… the performances spot on…a master-class in acting and directing.
I say now: A good introduction to Scorsese for beginners, or another solid contribution to his impressive CV. Beefy acting, engaging plot. Another brilliant effort.
I also used the phrase: Probably all tourists.


Pan’s Labyrinth
What: Dark Spanish film that sets the horrors of the Spanish civil war set against a little girl’s fantasies inside a creepy Labyrinth.
Seen: 6th Dec
Rating given: CF2
Updated rating: CF3
I said then: An unsettling but compelling experience. It boasts a strong cast, prominent direction and awesome effects.
I say now: The most recently seen of the top 10, but its sheer presence and texture make this a strong contender this year. Not a frolic of fun, but definitely worth your attention.
I also used the phrase: David Bowie’s gigantic crotch.


2006: The Turkeys
There were a few films that got my goat this year, either for being a bit disappointing, irritatingly bland or just utter shite. The main culprits were:

Little Fish
What: Cate Blanchett plays Aussie drug addict.
Seen: 26th July
Rating given: CF-1
Updated rating: CF-2
I used phrases like:
Lots of slow build-up, then just a big fizzle at the end.
Well acted, but long and quite frankly boring.
Insignificant.
More like one of those single cell organisms at the very depths of the sea.


Angel A
What: Luc Besson’s black and white guardian angel blah blah blah.
Seen: 9th August
Rating given: CF-1
Updated rating: CF-2
I used phrases (with the voice of Karen the Producer) like:
It might look very pretty, Luc, but that doesn’t make it a good film.
Your plot is as skeletal as your angel.
God I’d be a great producer.

The History Boys
What: Film adaptation of Alan Bennett’s stage play about school boys trying to get into Oxbridge.
Seen: 1st November
Rating given: CF-2
Updated rating: CF-4
I used phrases like:
The boys were irritating little pricks… I just wanted them all to die horribly.
Characterisation, Spice-Girl style.
The dialogue continued to pour forth like bacterial infected blood from a relentlessly singing, poetry-quoting wound.
All in all I seem to be much crosser than I had originally planned.

And finally. The big tamale.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest.
What: Endless, pointless drivel. At sea.
Seen: 13th July 06
Rating given: CF-3
Updated rating: CF-5
Choice phrases:
150 minutes long.
One hundred and fifty minutes.
The sort of thing that young children come up with when they start to make little sense and get a bit annoying.
Orlando Bloom… the simpleton you can’t shout at… so bad it made me wonder if this was tongue-in-cheek acting.
Keira Knightly… orange face, square jaw and smugness that oozes from every pore.
To have a crap film take up 150 minutes of my life with crap, and then end in a crap way without resolving anything. It’s just taking the piss.
Bastards.

Most Ironic Fact of the Year
Highest grossing film of the year… Shite Pirates of the Shite-ibbean. It grossed over $1 billion.
Thus confirming my view that the majority of the public are idiots.

Second Most Ironic Fact of the Year
I’m highly aware that I saw Shite Pirates of the Shite-ibbean, and therefore contributed to its $1 billion travesty. I only hope that everyone else who saw it also realised their mistake, and the third film tanks like a big, fat, lead-filled tank.

The End

So there you have it. That was 2006. There’s a list of ten films for you to watch. There’s a couple you shouldn’t bother with. Bring on 2007. Let’s see what you have to offer.

13th Dec 06 - Stranger Than Fiction

Remember when Jim Carrey made a host of wacky comedies, carving himself a role as THE comic actor of choice, and then he made a serene, gorgeous film called The Truman Show that threw up interesting ideas about life and showed he had a different kind of acting bone in his body? Remember that? Well guess what Will Ferrell’s done…

Yup, Stranger Than Fiction is, like The Truman Show, an unusual story with a few sparks of humour, but overall a darker tone for what you might consider a ‘mainstream’ film. It features an actor known for loud crazy outbursts acting all quiet and subdued. And has a God-like character overseeing everything. It’s deja-vu, but in a really good way.

Stranger Than Fiction has Ferrell as Harold Crick, a solitary man who leads quite a boring little life, until he suddenly starts to hear a woman’s voice narrating everything he does. Cut to struggling author Kay Eiffel played by Emma Thompson, whose new book is about a solitary man called Harold Crick… The trailer made this look like one of those ‘quirky comedies’ made for Christmas, that try to be clever but end up being shit. But I found myself pleasantly surprised to see a bold idea that unravels into a fascinating study of how you face your life, and your own mortality.

Ferrell is the driving force, and like Carrey, he pulls off the crestfallen look with charm, only occasionally descending into his trademark shouts. It’ll be interesting to see if he pursues this change of acting, or go back to what he does best. He’s supported by the brilliantly dowdy Emma Thompson (come on the Brits) and the likeable, nearly too cute Maggie Gyllenhaal, who plays the token love interest with a bit of sass.

This film engaged me. The plot engaged me, the characters did, and I actually had those emotion thingys that people talk about. I liked it. But here’s why it’s not getting top marks.

It’s a neat idea that’s nicely done, but it’s a little bit lazy. Characters are mega-clichés. Harold is an accountant who’s boring and is obsessed with numbers (stretch of the imagination, that one. Though seriously, I know many accountants and most are a nice bunch with only a healthy liking for figures). The novelist is a bit weird and a chain-smoker who wears a big cardigan. They drag in Queen Latifah, (who, if she wants to be taken seriously as an actress, should really change her name from ‘Queen’) who plays the most pointless role as an assistant to Kay. A role that should have been described as ‘filler so novelist has someone to explain her feelings to because I can’t be bothered finding a better way to show it.’ Similarly, the use of Kay as narrator to Harold feels ever so slightly like cheating. We get to hear everything he’s thinking and feeling without any effort at all. Magic.

But despite that barrage of pickiness, this is still a solid film, and a refreshing addition to your everyday multiplex. Maybe in more creative hands this could’ve been a masterpiece. As it was, this is an enjoyable, engaging film with a strong cast and a reasonably original idea. It gets a point for creating an absorbing two hours, and I’m giving it an extra point because I enjoyed it so much more than I thought I would. Clawing its way at my impending ‘Top 10 of 2006' (will it make it? Stay tuned to find out…) Stranger Than Fiction gets CF2.

6th Dec 06 - Pan's Labyrinth

According to the 80’s classic, Labyrinths are huge mazes full of strange Jim Henson creations, jolly musical interludes and David Bowie’s gigantic crotch. My tip of the day is this: Do not expect the same from Pan’s Labyrinth.

Expect instead a dark, textured, disturbing-as-hell piece that’s most certainly not for kiddies. It’s Spain in 1944, and young Ofelia travels with her pregnant mother to stay with her new stepfather, a captain dealing with the remnants of the Spanish civil war. Ofelia loves reading elaborate fairy tales, and as her mother battles with a difficult pregnancy, Ofelia stumbles across a strange labyrinth filled with mysterious beasties. So far so blah – it could easily be one of those made-for-Christmas kiddie flicks with words like ‘magical’ and ‘enchanting’ attached to it.

But this is from Mexican director Guillermo del Toro, who’s responsible for things like Hellboy and Blade II. His new film is enchanting, but enchanting in the same way that a dripping hell-beast slowly dragging itself over the ground towards you might be enchanting. You’re certainly captivated, but you’re definitely freaking out at the same time. Guillermo designed the beasties himself, the most notable being ‘the Pale-Man’, a hairless baby-eater who inserts his eyes into his palms before commencing chase. Bowie’s crotch was disturbing, but christ, the Pale-Man would scar you for life if you encountered that as a child.

But the labyrinth inhabitants aren’t the only nasty things in this film. Ofelia’s new step dad, Capitan Vidal, is what you might call a bit of a twat. A violent fascist with a fondness for torture, who makes the giant toad Ofelia must deal with look like a cuddly rabbit. The action is split evenly between Ofelia’s adventures in her labyrinth and the ongoing battle between the Capitan and the resistance.

The look of Pan’s Labyrinth is darkly fantastic, but the sound of it adds brilliant texture. Slightest sounds – the creak of leather boots, the sharp crack of a bullet, the thwack of a hammer against face – are enhanced, making Ofelia’s world feel very much alive. The violence is brutal and shocking, but expertly cut. Very little gore is seen, but you most certainly feel it.

The parallels between the real world and the mythical are generally obvious (you'd have to be a fool not to notice the link between scary, monsterous daddy and scary, monsterous, err, monster) but cleverly executed, and the two compliment each other to produce an unsettling but compelling experience. It boasts a strong cast, prominent direction and awesome effects (considering the budget was around $13m – compare that to the $200m of Superman and you realise how absurd Hollywood can be).

For having a substantial impact on me, Pan gets an extra point, and I’m giving it another for portraying fantasy without relying on too many clichés or singing dwarves. Therefore, Pan’s Labyrinth stomps in with a chilling CF2. Watch it. Be enthralled. But don’t expect a fun romp in a maze. Or a big British crotch.

29th Nov 06 - Casino Royale

I don’t like Bond. As a franchise it’s dumb. Dumb action films aimed at blokes. They objectify women, have rubbish puns, laughably silly baddies, an impossibly-good-at-everything lead and there’s always a winter chase on weird jet powered skis. It’s paint-by-numbers entertainment for easily pleased (some might say “simple”) minds. Like I said, it’s aimed at blokes.

Insulting people is fun.

Anyway, the new Bond had words like ‘dark’, ‘violent’ and ‘realistic’ attached to it. They’ve changed the franchise, Batman Begins style, and I was curious to see the results. Spurred on by my MI:3 fun, I pushed past the crowds and faced my Bond hatred head-on. And it wasn’t half bad. By that I mean half of it wasn’t bad. This is a grittier, nastier Bond to the fancy pants smarmy-arse of recent times. The grainy opening battle in the close confines of a toilet cubicle sets the tone. Fights are brutal, angry, bloody. They’re also flamboyant in places, but in less of a silly ‘surfing on a car’ way and more like ‘leaping over cranes’ excitement. There are so many different action pieces I can’t actually remember them all. But I never once rolled my eyes at some unbelievable stunt, so that’s a good sign.

And Daniel Craig. My God. There was this big hoo-har about how you can’t have a blonde Bond, Craig’s not handsome enough, it’ll never work. To that I say ‘Bond is fictional, get over it.’ And I’ll now add ‘have you seen him? I mean, like, actually seen him?’ Because if you have, you’ll know. Craig IS Bond. He has the effortless charm, the sly little smile, the CGI-blue eyes (come on, no one’s eyes can be that blue). And he certainly has the right physique. Bond is a trained killer, after all, and Craig looks like he could very easily kill you. With his big biceps. Lovely big biceps. And he gets stabbed a bit in his smooth, hard stomach. And is naked during a torture scene. Quite frankly, I am now in love with Daniel Craig, and anyone who dares say he isn’t handsome enough will face my wrath.

Crazy fans of Bond might throw their hands up in rage. They can’t change Bond like that! It’s an institution! But despite the darker edges, this is still very much a Bond flick. Women are still around as sexual objects or whimpering idiots. The baddy is the most ludicrously evil-looking baddy ever, sporting a Dr. Evil style eye scar and weeping, yes, actually weeping blood. There are fast cars and nice clothes and glamorous locations. It’s still Bond. Just better. This Bond is human. He’s arrogant, makes mistakes, gets hurt and has lovely thighs.

But as I said before, only half of this film is good. Unfortunately it loses its thrilling impact because it goes on for EVER. At 144 mins (still not the 150 mins of Shit Pirates of the Shit-ibbean) the novelty begins to wear thin, especially as the films ends and then has twenty minutes of naff romance. I know exactly why this was (to show why Bond is like he is, bless him) but there was no need to drag it out for that long and in that way. It’s such a shame, because I was really enjoying this film. But rather than leave the cinema with that excited rush, I instead left a bit annoyed and bored.

Bond gets a point for roughing up the franchise and bringing a better, tougher Bond to the screen. It gets another point because I am in love with Daniel Craig. But it loses a point for getting carried away with itself and going on and on and on. So Bond marches in with CF1.

15th Nov 06 - The Prestige

There’s been the strangest reaction to this film. Despite a fantastic director (Christopher Nolan - him what darkened Batman and gave Pacino insomnia) and a meaty cast (Hugh Jackman, Christian Bale, Michael Caine and Smug Johansson) most critics seem to have taken a dislike to it. Calling it nasty names like ‘boring’ and giving it no stars. But something you must remember is that critics aren’t always right.

Except this one, of course.

Ignore every bad review. They’re idiots. This is a solid, original thriller, handled by a fabulous (British) director and two very strong leads. The story revolves around two rival magicians and their complete and utter obsession with magic. Their obsessions escalate to the point of thieving, sabotage and violence, and through flashback-within-flashback their story is told. There’s magic tricks, romance, thrills, death and a tiny spattering of comedy. What more do you want?

Bale and Jackman are competent front men, Jackman just nudging ahead with a wider variety of emotions, while Bale, though ever brilliant, still has that slightly smarmy mouth that removes empathy a tad. Even Johansson avoids my wrath with an understated performance (well, as understated as you can be dressed in a corset as a magician’s assistant). And Nolan handles the choppy timeframe perfectly. He’s had practice – his first film being the backwards Memento, which was written by his brother Jonathan, who also co-writes the Prestige screenplay. Memento (in my top 5 films) left me reeling with its brilliance, and though The Prestige doesn’t have quite the same impact, it still has a refreshingly original feel to it, especially compared to the current prequel/sequel/franchise movement.

Perhaps the main flaw is in the delivery of the film’s “trick”. Rather than it finish with a “my, didn’t see that coming” blast, it was more a gradual reveal, leading to a “I think it must be… oh yes it is.” But at least it was engaging enough to make you tot up all the clues to begin with, and there were moments where my heart was beating that little bit faster as I anticipated something nasty was about to happen…

The Prestige is a dark, intriguing thriller, with a brilliant cast and director. It’s gaining an extra point for engaging me and teaching me a little bit about magic. Poo to all you nasty critics – this gets CF1.

10th Nov 06 - The Page Turner

A thriller about a girl who turns the pages for a piano player? I can just see it now. Will she not turn a page fast enough so they end up out of time? Will the pianist stumble and miss a note? Edge of your seat stuff.

I’m being foolish, of course. The ‘thrill’ aspect derives from the revenge tactics of the page turner herself, and the dependent relationship she forges with the pianist. Melanie, you see, has a bit of a grudge. During her childhood piano exam she was put off by one of the examiners and subsequently failed. Many years later she just happens to be working for the very same examiner. Uh-oh. Though really, holding that kind of grudge for something so minimal? Crazy-much? Well, actually, yes. Melanie is two forks short of a pretentious cutlery set. She skulks around with a creepy stare, casually hinting that she’s capable of bad things, obviously obsessed with the pianist. But though some characters notice there’s something up with Melanie, the object of her obsession / revenge becomes utterly dependent on her. And so Melanie can exact her revenge. Mwuhaha.

Unfortunately, Melanie’s revenge turns out to be a bit of a let down. Tension was built, Melanie was played perfectly by Deborah Francois with a sinister coolness, and there were dabs of excitement here and there. But it all came crashing down at the end. Actually, ‘crashing’ isn’t the right word. It was more of a muffled ending, like running into a wall of marshmallow. It stops you, but in an unremarkable way. Not that a literal wall of marshmallow would be unremarkable. It would, in fact, be quite exciting to run into an entire wall made of marshmallow. The Page Turner was more like flopping against a hard pillow. Or an airbag. It just was an unremarkable ending, ok?

Perhaps a lot of the film’s impact was lost during translation. This was a film less about action, and much more about words and emotion, which, unfortunately, is often lost when reading the dialogue at the bottom of the screen. There was an interesting relationship developed, but ultimately I found little motivation to keep on turning any pages, and was disappointed by the ending. The Page Turner flicks back to CF-1. And apologies for the lucid nature of today’s review – I seem to have a bit of a temperature, which may have made my mind wander. I now quite fancy some marshmallow…

8th Nov 06 - Borat

This week was the rare chance to see a film that most people have heard of, and have actually been to see. Borat, or if you want to use the full title, Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, stormed into cinemas after making amused waves in the summer festivals. Critics were coming out with melodramatic statements like ‘you’ll laugh so much you’ll puke’ and the hype monster, as mentioned in the Brick review, was threatening to strike.

With all this in mind, it was with some trepidation that I entered the cinema. I was fond of Borat already after watching his appearances on Da Ali G Show, with his awkward interviews and finger-chewingly uncomfortable expositions of the backwards parts of American (people gaily singly along with Borat as he recounts the song “Throw the Jew Down the Well”). And with his foray into film, you won’t be surprised to find a similar format. Not that that’s a bad thing. Watching Borat interview a bunch of feminists (“our scientists proved that women have smaller brains”) or try his hand at driving lessons brings laugh after embarrassed laugh, as his subjects patiently deal with his sexist, anti-Jew views.

But to beef up the film, Borat expands into a full-on story, as the intrepid TV presenter explores America to make a documentary for back home, and falls in love along the way. All right, it’s not much of a story, but it gives excuse for some fabulous set pieces, the most notable being a fight scene that trounces the Jackass boys for sheer gross entertainment. Other highlights include the xenophobic nature of New York inhabitants (I’d probably run away too if a gangly ‘foreign’ type tried to kiss me) and the gun shop owner who’s happy to recommend the best weapon for killing a Jew. Borat has the ability to show the scariest attitudes of the voting US of A public, and manages to make Michael Moore style points in smaller, funnier, bursts. Not bad for a film with a ‘turd in a bag’ joke.

But, amusing as it was, my laughter didn’t turn into vomit as promised. Perhaps it was because the two bumper trailers I’d been exposed to featured a variety of the best punch lines. Perhaps it was the stunted interview segments, that when nestled into the rest of the plot ended up feeling a little awkward and tacked on. Perhaps the scenes featuring obvious actors cast a cloud of doubt over the supposedly ‘real’ encounters. I suspect it’s because the reviewers that went crazy over it had never seen Borat before, and the entire concept was like some shiny new comedy, rather than a TV-to-film creation.

Still, you’ve got to hand it to creator Sacha Baron Cohen. He’s created a lovable character, despite the outlandish views, and his physical comedy is superb. So yes, funny. But no, not the funniest thing ever. Tinged by the hype monster, I came out feeling ever so slightly let down. But for 84 minutes it’s definitely worth a watch, and for the sheer balls of Sacha Baron Cohen (intentional pun, there) I’m giving this an extra point. Borat makes CF1.

1st Nov 06 - The History Boys

Ok. I haven’t seen the West End version of this. I’m therefore going to be reviewing it based solely on the film’s impact, not the play. So any West End rah-de-rah fans trying to defend the original can put down their duelling gloves. Though they could pick them back up again to defend against the outrageous stereotype I’ve just written.

To get to the bottom of my problem with this film (that’s right. I have a problem with it) I have to quickly point out something. There’s a big difference between a stage play and a film. Granted both are story-telling mediums, and I like both equally. But they are still different. You can show in film, whereas you have to rely more on telling in theatre. Mainly because film gives you control over the audience’s focus. You can edit scenes, use lighting, framing and close-ups. In theatre you can still use clever lighting, but you can’t show the intricate twitches of an actor’s eyes to indicate their feelings. There is no zoom in theatre. Unless the actors pause and suddenly side step up to the audience’s faces. A concept which, though amusing, is implausible, especially when there’s tiered seating. So theatre relies more heavily on dialogue, be it clever (conversations that reveal hidden intentions and emotions) or a bit of a cop-out (bloody monologues). And in film, though dialogue is still very important, there are more elements to play with.

So, to the point of my ramblings. The History Boys is a play, and on screen it is still very much a play. A play without the intimate atmosphere of a theatre. Though the cast are obviously very talented, they are still belting out their lines as if to make sure the people at the back can hear. We can all hear boys – there’s a fricking great microphone above your heads. Every line, though often wittily constructed by accomplished writer Alan Bennett, is punched out, word for word, clear enough so you can hear it but with little or no true emotion. Again, it probably works brilliantly on stage. But on film it left me completely unengaged with the characters, save for a couple who were played, not surprisingly, by more experienced actors on screen. Richard Griffiths, Frances de la Tour and Stephen Campbell Moore were the trio of teachers who managed to deliver their lines in a quieter, mumbled fashion, like what we do in the real world.

And ok, maybe my biggest vice is unrealistic dialogue, a common problem in play-to-screen types (see Closer) so maybe I’m being more pedantic than usual. But I was, how to put it, BORED a lot of the time. It didn’t help that the ‘boys’ (played by actors who seemed to range from 18 to 30 years old) were irritating little pricks. I mean, really. I was sniped at for being a swot at school (unfairly – I wasn’t out to please the teachers, I just had a brain) but at least I didn’t quote poetry and break into song all the time. I know I was supposed to care whether the lads got into Oxbridge or not, but to be honest I just wanted them all to die horribly. Extra irritation ensued because of the token characters. Yey to PC, there’s a black kid and an Asian one, but their characters were so totally underdeveloped that it meant the only thing you could define them by was their race, which surely goes against the PC point. There was also a fat one, a gay one, a religious one, a thick one (why he was in the mix of lads trying for Oxbridge, I don’t know) and a flirty one. It’s characterisation, Spice-Girl style.

Side plots involving a kiddie-fiddling teacher who we were supposed to feel sorry for because he was a ‘nice chap’ were just odd. And it had about three or four endings, all of which made the point of the piece more and more obscure. What was it about? Homosexuality in schools? Differing teaching styles and their effect on pupils? History? Perhaps I completely missed the point, and it’s probably because I stopped listening as the dialogue continued to pour forth like bacterial infected blood from a relentlessly singing, poetry-quoting wound.

I can see that this would be a good piece on stage, and it obviously is since it’s been very successful. But its transfer to film has been, quite frankly, lazy. The dialogue and the delivery need to be smudged and blended so that it flows more smoothly in the film environment. The script should have been altered to account for the new medium. It doesn’t need elaborate explanations of people’s feelings anymore – we can see them, or we should be able to. All in all I seem to be much crosser than I had originally planned, so instead of losing the one point for clunky transition to screen, it’s losing an extra point for making me rant for longer than usual. Fair? By the book of Cinemafool it is, and it’s getting CF-2.

25th Oct 06 - The Devil Wears Prada

I’m back in sunny old England after my recent trip to a much warmer, albeit irritatingly happy country. With half term causing a spurt of kiddie-friendly films, the choice this week was limited, hence my foray into non-gritty territory.

So, The Devil Wears Prada, based on the novel by Lauren Weisberger, is set in the world of high fashion magazines. To be honest my interest in fashion goes as far as… actually, no. It stops right about there. The film isn’t totally fashion obsessed though. It centres on Andy, a journalism graduate who struggles to find work and ends up as a PA for an unreasonable tyrant. God, it’s like someone’s made a film of my life. A big hello to my work colleagues if any of you are reading this – you know I of course don’t think of you as tyrants.

Anyway, Andy ends up working for Miranda Priestly, the viciously blunt editor of ‘Runway’ magazine. Andy must battle through a series of outlandish tasks (like picking up dry cleaning) all the while learning about fashion, and herself. It’s gripping stuff. She, like, totally starts to wear nice coats and boots, and like, totally gains respect from her peers but loses it from her dumpy friends. Yeah, ok, it’s easy to mock. And maybe there are some slightly deeper issues at stake, like how far you can push your own integrity and how successful women are often depicted as bitch-monsters from hell. Plus there’s some neat acting. Anne Hathaway grows up and is a likeable if not a little unremarkable lead, especially compared to Meryl Streep, who nails the icey indifference perfectly, and shines in the one vulnerable scene where she’s sans make up and, er, sans husband. Although it’s a bit crap that a woman as successful as her is a weakling when it comes to losing a relationship. Boo hoo. She could probably buy herself a husband, maybe a whole selection of them. One for every occasion. I seem to be deviating from the review. That’s a bad sign.

If I were to go back to the mocking, I’d maybe pick up on her token friends (one from every race plus a gay guy to boot), the in your face this-is-a-sad-moment soundtrack (most of the songs would probably feature on some sort of ‘girl power – the soundtrack to your life’ compilation) or that it deviates from criticising the various aspects of the fashion industry (the ludicrous diets of stick thin fashionites) to seemingly praising it (Andy celebrates because she drops to a size 4).

It’s not like I hated the film. It was gently amusing. But it’s like going to a restaurant and ordering a salad. There are bits of taste amongst the blandness, but overall you’re left dissatisfied and wishing you’d picked something better off the menu. Glancing at the current releases I spy the ludicrously good Children of Men and The Departed still out, and if you’re only going to pick one thing I’d go for something substantial rather than the salad. Though some people do like salad I guess. Weird people. Anyway, I can’t really recommend this film, so it drops a point, making CF-1.

17th Oct 06 - Little Miss Sunshine

This was watched in a completely empty Floridian cinema, showing the mainstream appeal of this low budget indie flick. It’s a road movie about a dysfunctional family. That very sentence conjures up images of those films that like to be classed as ’kooky’ or ’quirky’. Films that generally make me want to vomit. But joy to the world because this missed the vomit trigger. Just.

Little Miss Sunshine is about one little girl travelling across America to appear in a little girl beauty contest. Her family are a bunch of crazies. A drug addicted Grandpa (the dry Alan Arkin). A failed motivational speaker dad (a delightfully annoying yet desperate Greg Kinnear). A suicidal uncle (Steve Carrel, a refreshing turn in a serious role rather than his usual ’40-year-old Virgin’ style fodder). A miserable teenage brother who’s taken a vow of silence (sullenly good Paul Dano). And a mum who… erm… hang on. A mum who… no. Nothing. No discernable issue with her. Aha. The writer is a guy and we have a bland, general mum role. Good job it’s been handed to the excellent Toni Collette, whose presence beefs up the role and makes her part of the family, rather than a bit of the scenery.

And then there’s the girl herself, played by newcomer Abigail Breslin in the most natural and likeable fashion. It’ll be interesting to see how that one grows up.

Anyway, all the family pile into a bus and make the two day trek to the competition. And here is where the film splits. One half is your stereotypical road movie. Arguments happen, stuff goes wrong, hilarity ensues. Lots of driving montages. The other half is your typical ’competition’ based film. Be it sports, spelling bees, beauty pageants, dog shows, dance competitions… all will end with a build up to the main event and the final performance with guessable results.

So what’s original? Not a huge amount. But with a stellar cast and sharp dialogue, the film does suck you in. You will laugh, you may cry, and you do come to like the majority of the characters in some way. And what’s grand is that no one really overcomes their issues. There’s a ‘family’ message in there, and a stab at mocking the creepiness of beauty pageants for kids, but other than that there’s no huge resolution. Which is realistic. But may also raise the question, “what is the point?”

With this in mind, the film relies on its characters, which works, but also a few set pieces that verge beyond the ridiculous line. I think initially I was going to give this an extra point for the great acting and absorbing characters, but I may have to deduct a point for the silliness in places, the lack of originality and the insistence on giving the mum no real role. So it drops back to the still recommended-but-not-overly-enthusiastic score of CF0.

14th Oct 06 - The Departed

Still in Orlando, and a risky move to try watching a 2 hour, 39 min Scorsese drama. But apart from a couple chatting and a few loud shrieks at violent moments, the audience were fairly well behaved. Probably all tourists.

Anyhoo, this is Scorsese’s third film with Leonardo DiCaprio, after Gangs of New York and The (shamefully-overlooked-by-the-Oscars-in-favour-of-bloody-squinty-Eastwood) Aviator. The pair seem to gel, bringing out the best in Leo, who’s done remarkably well in getting away from his boyish Titanic persona and bringing out a rougher yet vulnerable edge. Along with Leo, The Departed boasts an impressive cast; Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson, Martin Sheen, Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg (with silly hair).

The plot is sly. DiCaprio is an undercover cop, who’s infiltrated Nicholson’s organised crime gang. Damon is part of Nicholson’s crew, but he works as a high ranking police officer. When word gets out on each side that there’s a rat in their midst, the danger to each rat increases, as does their desperation to avoid capture and track each other down. In typical Scorsese style, the characters are gradually etched out, deepened and developed. There’s no hurry, but it never drags. The story sucks you in, envelops you, so that when tension starts to build you really feel it, right in your gut.

The performances were spot on. DiCaprio knitting that brow of his into tortured angst, Damon cold, calculating and refreshingly dangerous, Nicholson craggy, bonkers - as you’d expect, really - but he’s held in control enough to create a menacing mob boss rather than a cartoon one. There’s the theme of identity as the two rats struggle to retain a sense of self throughout their double lives, and some achingly nerve wracking moments as each rat gets closer to the truth.

It’s a shame that the carefully paced story gets a little unravelled towards the end. A lot seems to suddenly happen in quick bursts, and it doesn’t completely satisfy given the brilliant first two hours. But regardless, this is still a great film, with plenty of re-watch potential. It won’t be a big award winner, but what do they know? It’s getting a CF0 with an extra point for well developed characters, and another for being a master-class in acting and directing, bringing it to CF2. Better than any Oscar.

11th Oct 06 - Jackass Number Two

Picture the scene. Wee-Man (that’s a small guy) is on a bridge attached to a bungee rope. The other end of the rope isn’t anchored to the bridge though. It’s attached to a fat man. If the thought of the resulting bungee jump brings a huge smirk to your face then this is certainly the film for you. If you’re tutting and shaking your head at the silly yobs who should get proper jobs, then you should stay well clear. And develop a sense of humour. You miserable sod.

Yep, Jackass 2 is a perfect film for my current location - smack in the middle of Orlando. The louder nature of an American audience (sorry guys, but it’s the truth. You just don’t know how to shut the hell up) is just what you need to give this film the right atmosphere. Because there is no plot to this. No acting, no characterisation, no clever direction. It’s just a bunch of blokes pissing about. And as long as you can laugh with them, then it works perfectly.

Of course, you have to be pretty likeable guys to pull this off. I wouldn’t be too keen on watching some idiot arseholes having fun at the expense of my cinema tickets. But with enough charisma and wit when talking to the camera, and some highly infectious laughter when they’re watching each other, the Jackass lads are a strong team. There’s a good mix of personalities, with the fearless and insane (let’s go fishing for sharks. I’ll be the bait. Just let me get this hook through my cheek…) and the eager but a bit wimpy, which is nice to see. Rather than an unrelenting passion for danger, we get to see some of these boys running, shrieking, panicking and at one point actually crying, and it’s all from fear, not pain. It’s a nice touch of humanity. Poor guys. Though if my mates locked me in a limo and poured a bucket of bees through the sunroof, I would find myself new friends. So they sort of bring it on themselves.

Like the TV series and previous film, Jackass 2 has some utterly hilarious moments (jet-powered bicycle on a pier), some vomit-inducing moments (“milking” a horse, or the “fart-mask”) and some so-so, not hugely funny bits, mostly involving the public. But it’s so fast paced, if you’re not too keen on one segment, you can be assured that something else will come along any second.

I laughed a lot at this film. It’s silly and fun, and leaves no lasting impression. For entertaining me for nearly 2 hours it’s getting a CF0. One to watch with a load of mates. Or noisy Americans.

27th Sep 06 - Children Of Men

An action movie with brains. It was said about The Island, and what they meant was ‘a billion helicopters and a story that will require the average action pleb to use an ounce more of their concentration span to understand the story’. So when another ‘brainy’ film is released, with a sci-fi edge that could easily be trashed by Hollywood, a main star who I don’t particularly like, and the director of a Harry Potter film in control, my cynical brain thought it could well be total and complete pap.

For once I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Children of Men is so far from pap. It’s dark, bleak, gritty and bloody fantastic. It’s set in England, in the year 2027; a world where the last child was born 18 years ago and everything’s gone to pot. A world that is so easily where we are heading at the moment it’s completely unsettling. Gathering up a handful of relevant topics – terrorism / “freedom fighters”, war, governments going bonkers, illegal immigrants and concentration camps – and slipping in the fictional infertility problem, gives a meaty chunk of issues to consider. They should probably have shown it at this week’s Labour conference. As well as looking at our current culture of crapness, it also prompts thoughts about children and the whole purpose to our existence. As in, without kids the human race will come to an end, so what’s the point? One character collects precious artworks and is asked why, since there will be no one left to appreciate them. A sobering though, especially when you implement it now – what if in 80 years’ time there will be no one left to appreciate the wonder of this blog? Chilling.

Then there’s Clive Owen. As a rule, I don’t like him. He always seems to try just a bit too hard to be cool, and has what I consider to be a silly voice. But in this film he’s actually pretty good. He broods. He cries. He looks angry. He shouts. I sort of liked him a lot. An achievement in itself.

And an achievement that must be credited to the control of Mexican director Alfonso Cuaron. Who is probably the main reason why this film is so great. The direction is absolutely jaw droppingly fantastically brilliant. Every single scene sticks with Owen. There’s no cut away to the baddies mwuha-ha-ha-ing. You only see what Owen sees. You only know what Owen knows. This is the first bout of realism. The second is the thankful decision of Cuaron to abandon the usual action tactic of employing a huge orchestral soundtrack to help the audience feel what they’re supposed. There’s no “this-is-the-action-scene-you-must-be-excited-right-now” music. Instead he employs natural sound effects, either to invoke terror (buildings exploding is a terrifying enough sound) or build tension (like in a clever farmyard scene, where the build up of animal noises signifies the rising tension).

But it’s the ‘action’ pieces where the direction really pays off. A motorcycle vs car chase happens entirely from inside the car (lord knows where the cameraman’s sitting). And the piece-de-resistance is the seven minute continuous shot as Owen stumbles through a war zone. Takes my breath away when you take into consideration how much planning must’ve gone into that shot. Owen ducks behind one pile of rocks, a bunch of extras in the background fall victim to a volley of shots. Owen dances around the camera and ducks round a corner. More extras dash past. A building suddenly explodes. Blood spatters the camera lens. The camera keeps on rolling. Sure, there must be invisible seams somewhere along the shot, but it’s certainly a stunning piece of work that will have you squirming with tension.

I’m not going to go into details about the plot – it’s best if you avoid all other reviews (idiot reviewers sometimes like to ruin films by writing about all the best plot points - of which there are some mightly good ones that I won't divulge). I just command you to watch this film. It gains a point for being far better than expected. Another point for offering a chilling yet believable view of the future. And another for having some stupendous direction. Therefore, raising the bar for 2006, Children of Men gains CF3. Watch it.

24th Sep 06 - Right At Your Door

It’s not often that a film really rattles me. Sure, I’ve been rattled out of anger (regular readers will know what I’m referencing there) but to legitimately shake me up takes some doing. And this low-budget thriller did the doing. See, I’m so rattled I can’t even write properly.

Right At Your Door centres on married couple Brad and Lexi. Brad lovingly prepares his wife’s morning coffee and watched her go off to work in LA (he’s a musician so stays at home.) Then Brad hears on the radio that a series of explosions have happened in the city. Shit. In a mounting crescendo of panic, Brad tries to get to the city to help her, but is turned back by police. The bombs have released toxic gases into the air. Double shit. Brad seals himself into his home with acres of duct tape and we see the slow realisation that maybe his wife has just been killed. And then looky who shows up, coughing like an old woman and begging to be let inside…

Sparking the “what would I do in that situation” conundrum, Right At Your Door is a tense human drama. Yes, it features a massive attack on Los Angeles, but there are no flashy shots of destruction. We hear the chaos via the ongoing radio broadcasts and that is enough. The film sticks with Brad, with most scenes happening inside his increasingly claustrophobic home as he tries to comfort his wife through the sealed windows and battles with his own fear and confusion.

Such a restrictive premise requires a convincing lead, and Rory Cochrane pulls it off with chokingly realistic ease. The initial scenes, when the sickening realisation that his wife may have been killed grows on his panicked face, must surely strike chords with those whose loved one were in the various affected areas of the world’s recent events. The clawing terror when you can’t get hold of someone, the not knowing, the imagined outcomes. It sends shivers down my spine. Lexi, played by Mary McCormack, also holds her own, especially as she listens to voicemails from her mother, brother and best friend, all essentially saying goodbye. As well as referencing the current ‘arsehole’ culture we’re living in (terrorists, media, government all included) the film also plays perfectly on Joe Public’s mistrust of authority, as soldiers walk about in alien-like suits, giving little information and taking a worryingly firm stance on keeping infection to a minimum.

Perhaps in hindsight the additional characters are a little pointless to the plot, maybe just there to fill in the gaps and bring the running time to a feature film length. But none of that matters when the film builds to its climax. A desperate, rapid bastard of a climax that captures the helpless, frantic panic of the situation in all its unnerving glory. It rattled me. And reminded me of a scene in Watership Down. Which does make sense when you see it. Honest.

A film about dirty bombs in LA may sound like an action packed crap-fest, but Right At Your Door is far from it, and shouldn’t have been advertised that way. It is instead an emotional, unsettling drama worthy of your attention. This film gets an extra point because Rory Cochrane was so believable, and another for shaking me up so much. Therefore it storms in with CF2.

23rd Sep 06 - Crank

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of watching The Transporter 2, one of the most mind blowingly ludicrous films I have ever seen. I don’t think I’ve laughed quite so frequently in a long time, and it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was a laugh of pure joy at the whole spectacle. So when I see a trailer for a film with the same star, playing a similar character in a similar genre, I was genuinely excited. Well, to protect my credibility as a “film critic”, we’ll say I was excited in an ironic way. Honest.

Crank is the story of LA hitman Chev Chelios. Just his name is brilliant. Who in their right mind calls their cockney son ‘Chev’? Anyway, Chev’s pissed a few folk off and wakes up to find he’s been poisoned with a ‘Chinese cocktail’ that will slowly kill him. The only way to slow it down is to keep his adrenaline levels high . So as Chev searches for revenge on his killers, he also has to take drastic action to bump up the old heart rate. This being a film aimed at teenage boys, said action involves drugs, sex and lots of violence.

Now, on skimming through my past cinema choices, this doesn’t exactly sound like my cup of tea. But as with Snakes on a Plane, if I’m in the right mood then I’m a sucker for silly action films, as long as they’re done well. And this one is genius. Take the premise for a start. When your lead has to keep the energy levels up, then there’s a perfect excuse for lots of insane action scenes, and no chance to slow things down for useless plot enhancement. Then take Jason Statham as Chev. I can’t figure out how this guy has wormed his way into the Hollywood action genre. He’s not brilliant when it comes to dialogue. His gruff, multi-cultural accent in the Transporter was part of the hilarity, but at least in Crank he’s allowed to be his Londoner self. And doesn’t have to say too much. Instead, he’s totally mastered the art of walking with purpose and looking really, really pissed off, and effortlessly carries the film on his bulky shoulders.

And then you have the direction. This film has not one, but two directors – Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor – who cut their teeth in the world of commercials. They’re a tag team of chaos, slogging one technique after another at you, sometimes with reason (slow mo/twisted vision for Chev’s poisoned decline) and sometimes with random absurdity (occasional hallucinations, utterly unexplainable subtitles). If it’s not split screen or freeze frame, then they’re using mock-up security camera footage and even satellite views of LA which are credited to Google Earth on screen (whether this is part of the style, or an actual legal requirement, is uncertain.) It certainly raises your own adrenaline levels, and as barmy scene after barmy scene flashes by, you can only watch in dazed amazement and smile. It certainly is silly, but in a surprisingly enjoyable way, and you can get sucked into the story enough to really care how, or if, Chev escapes his fate.

So hats off to the makers. By keeping it an 18 certificate they’re free to have gratuitous violence, nudity (not just female – there’s a fantastic scene where Chev overdoses on synthetic adrenaline in hospital, then has to sprint around LA in just a hospital robe, flashing bottom cheeks like there’s no tomorrow) and the strangest of soundtrack choices. Loud, brash, to the point. This is fun stuff, and delivers what you’d expect. An enjoyable way to spend 83 minutes, and for making me laugh in disbelief it’s getting CF0.

20th Sep 06 - Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

The powerhouse team behind the deliciously silly Anchorman dish out their next offering, the unnecessarily wordy “Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby”. While Anchorman centred around the world of 70’s newsreaders, Talladega goes for NASCAR racers, with Will Ferrell playing Ricky Bobby, a man who just wants to go fast.

Plot wise, this is about as new as a very ancient thing. Just say ‘film about racing drivers’ and you immediately know there’ll be a climb to greatness, a fall, and then a climb back up to the winning finale. It’s the same paint-by-numbers tactic employed by most sport-related films, and the main reason why I’m not a big fan of the genre (the other being I find sport as… is this joke getting old? No - I find it as dull as Pirates of the Caribbean 2.)

But this is Ferrell with Adam McKay, whose improv methods (often influenced by McKay from behind the camera) churned out some killer lines in Anchorman. “The human torch was denied a bank loan” or “by the beard of Zeus” being a couple of classics. Couple this with Ferrell’s talent for comic timing and melodrama and you’re surely on to a winner. Aren’t you…?

Well, in a way yes. There’s a strong supporting cast and some fabulously funny scenes. Sacha Baron Cohen plays Ferrell’s nemesis, with the best French accent you’ll ever hear. John C. Reilly (who’s main trick is to appear in supporting roles and nearly steal the show. Examples: Magnolia, or if you haven’t been exposed to films that are good, Chicago) plays the doting yet thick best friend, plus there’s the big dude from The Green Mile. Stand out scenes include Ricky Bobby’s fire fear and his proof of paralysis (what gets one knife out of your leg? How about another…)

But, and you just knew there’d be a but, this isn’t the comedy masterpiece it could have been. For me, Anchorman truly shines when the cast are allowed to play about, throwing out outlandish comments (“I ate a candle”) and bouncing off each other’s ludicrousness. There are flashes of it in Talladega – especially the literal face-to-face confrontations between Ferrell and his French enemy – and there’s evidence of it in the outtakes at the end, which were the funniest moments by far. But the problem with a subject like NASCAR racing is there’s not a whole lot an actor can do when they’re strapped into a car with a big helmet on. Just as things are getting funny, we’re shown a montage of cars racing. Let’s get this straight – cars aren’t funny. Even though McKay does some neat camera work, I have no interest in the cars, or the racing. In fact, don’t show any racing at all. I just want to see the characters interacting and being stupid. But it felt like every time they were just warming up, the scenes got cut. If I could just get hold of the raw material, I’d bet there are some belting jokes and performances. Why aren’t they all in this film? They’ve been sacrificed for bloody racing shots. It’s a travesty. Look, I’m getting hysterical now.

Right. This was an enjoyable film. I did laugh. But at no point did my face hurt, or were there tears in my eyes, and this means it wasn’t the comedy that it should have been. It was OK. From McKay and Ferrell it should have been brilliant. So no extra points, you hear? That’ll teach you for venturing into bloody sport movie territory. CF0.

30th August 06 - Severance

People getting lost in the middle of nowhere and then hunted down by some creepy dude is almost a genre in itself. It’s an old favourite with horror folk, and can be seen everywhere, like this year’s remake The Hills Have Eyes (creepy dude in desert), last year’s Wolf Creek (creepy dude in outback), the old classic Friday the 13th (creepy dude in summer camp) and the once banned The Burning (creepy dude with a pair of shears.)

What you expect from these films is bland characters, a bit of build up, and then lots of running about and getting killed. They can be done well (Wolf Creek) or badly (the abysmal remake of Texas Chainsaw) but they generally do what they say on the tin. Well, if the tin says “people run about and get killed.” What Severance has done is take the tin and wedge it into a big comedy bottle to form some sort of weird tin/bottle hybrid. And… what on earth am I talking about?

Right, Severance is a British horror. Take one bus load of office workers, send them to a Romanian forest for a team building weekend, and throw in a few crazy guys with a penchant for torture. It’s not rocket science. It’s people running about in a forest getting killed. But it also veers from the usual template of this genre, and adds a decent script, likeable characters and some moments of absurd hilarity. And this is why it shines. One moment you’re tensely waiting for something to jump out at them. The next they’re berating the office nerd for feeding them a pie he ‘found’ (“but it was wrapped in tin foil…”) One minute you’re wincing as a rusty bear trap goes snap. The next you’re laughing out loud as there’s a struggle to fit a severed leg into the fridge.

There’s banter, black humour, pokes at the recent ‘terror’ obsession, extreme violence and sometimes-verging-on-inappropriate belly laughs. What more do you want? How about self awareness? Writer/Director Christopher Smith is a big horror fan, and knows all too well what he’s doing here. Example: he knows that these sorts of film often shamelessly feature women’s boobies. So he shamelessly shows some too – but in such a way that you can almost feel him smirking behind the camera. As such, rather than have the usual “oh for god’s sake” reaction to such female exploitation, I’m just laughing away at the topless bird firing a machine gun in slow motion. But Severance never descends into total parody. Like Snakes on a Plane, though it recognises the various pitfalls of its chosen genre, it still sticks to the rules.

The horror in this film isn’t quite horror enough to be a successful horror film, and the comedy isn’t relentless enough for it to be a full-blown comedy. But with the two parts equally mixed, a new genre is created. Not like Shaun of the Dead (that is pure comedy, with occasional stabs of gore) and not like The Burning (horror, with occasional pangs of amusement), this is half an exciting yet scary run through the woods, and half a clever, hilarious jape. Maybe the best way to sum it up is “knife in the arse”. In reality, it’s pretty damn unpleasant. But it’s also funny as hell.

For a fresh take on a fun genre, this gets CF0, and for making me jump and laugh in equal parts, I’m giving this an extra point. CF1. Come on the British!

27th August 06 - Snakes on a Plane

There’s two types of people when it comes to this film. The ones who know that it’s an internet hyped, Samuel L Jackson fuelled work of ludicrous genius. And the ones who have to ask what it’s about, despite the fact that to have a more self-explanatory title would involve showing someone the script and using a big fat marker to highlight the key plot points. Of which there is one. There are snakes. And they’re on a plane. It really isn’t that difficult to understand.

To pull off a film with this preposterous a concept is not as easy as it sounds. This could’ve been another Anaconda. Beyond ridiculous and into waste of money territory. But with more hype than the Blair Witch Project and support from a loud, bald bloke who swears (that’ll be Jackson) Snakes transcended B-Movie pap into an event picture. People were excited about it. And I was one of them.

What’s not to get excited about? There’s Sammy J, of course, who I could happily listen to while he shouts out the contents of the Daily Mail (and that’s saying something). He’s just ace. True, he may have been typecast now as the shouty cool guy. But he does it so well. The most celebrated line, “I’m tired of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane,” is indeed pure brilliance, but Snakes offers so much more, and not just from Jackson. There’s “get this fucking snake off my ass!” and the most amusing, if not cringe-worthy “get off my dick!” from a man to a snake, after it emerges from the toilet.

Of course, for some people, a film needs more premise than just snakes on a plane. So the film starts with an explanation (happy now?) It’s an outlandish plot to off a key witness, with Sammy J the FBI agent brought in to chaperone said witness back to LA on a plane. Can you guess the bad guy’s idea? Stick a crate load of poisonous snakes in the cargo hold, add pheromones to make them crazy (as Sam explains it: “Snakes on crack”) and release. And it’s the release you’re waiting for. After being introduced to a host of semi-stereotypes, you’re just waiting for those big worms to come creeping out.

It’s here that Snakes really pulls it off. You could’ve had two hours of bad actors wrestling with plastic snakes, which would’ve been hilarious but possibly tiresome. And though Snakes has purposeful comedy moments (aforementioned toilet attack, plus unnecessary sex scene with resulting nipple attack) there’s also actual tension. As the release of oxygen masks drops snakes all over the passengers, there’s something quite disturbing about watching people battling to escape while snakes strike from all sides. It’s chaotic, well directed, and cleverly mixes the fun ‘ooo’ moments, with the wincing ‘urgh’ (some nice impaling added in here and there, including a fantastic stiletto in the ear.)

Snakes on a Plane is pure thriller fun. My main problem with thrillers is their predictable characters and preposterous action scenes (not much left when you take those out, actually…) But because Snakes knows how silly it is, then the preposterous is replaced with enjoyment, with some unexpected jumps in-between. You could probably find a lot to dislike in this film if you’ve had your sense of humour wiped clean and replaced with an old flannel, but for the rest of the human race this is a fun, thrilling summer blockbuster. It’s not going to change your life, make you think, or reveal anything new about the human psyche. But it’s snakes on a plane. And it’s a CF0, with an extra point for pulling it off so well, making a motherfucking CF1.

23rd August 06 - A Scanner Darkly

As an intellectual (not nerd) I read a lot of science fiction, and have a particular fondness for Philip K. Dick. His work has often been targeted by Hollywood – Blade Runner, Total Recall, Minority Report, Paycheck – mostly for his vivid visions of the future. As a writer, Dick often creates a general tone of morose confusion, and though his ideas are outstanding, it’s always the feeling behind them that gives his work more emotional punch. Unfortunately, Joe Public doesn’t always want something they have to ponder, so Mr Hollywood takes Dick’s work and strips it down to the barest ideas, then adds a beefy actor and makes a fortune. It’s like giving Ben Affleck a crayon and asking him to recreate the Mona Lisa.

So on reading that Richard Linklater has created the most faithful adaptation of a Dick novel yet, I was quite excited about this film. At its simplest level, A Scanner Darkly is about undercover cops investigating users of a highly addictive drug called Substance D. It’s set seven years in the future, so there’s not a huge amount of the ‘sci’ in the ‘fi’. But delving deeper, the story centres on Bob Arctor/Fred (Keanu Reeves, acting quite well), the undercover cop whose brain is slowly being eaten away by the very drug he’s investigating, so much so that he begins to lose sight of who he really is. Delve a bit deeper still, and it’s Dick’s way of exploring the darkest nature of addiction, something he knows only too well (being a user himself, which may have made him a tad mental and cost the lives of many of his friends.)

What immediately makes this film stand out is Linklater’s use of rotoscoping, which is the method of laying animation over film. In layman’s terms, it looks pretty damn cool. And took bloody ages – 500 hours for one minute of animation, to be anally factual. But as well as giving the film a unique look (well, unique alongside Linklater’s previous work Waking Life) the technique finally allows Dick’s lucid writing style to be visualised. Faces flicker, the patterns on t-shirts shift, hallucinations of giant bugs can be brought to screen without looking massively out of place. Where it works best is with the ‘scramble suits’ worn by the cops to keep their identities a secret. The suits flick through hundreds of different images at a time, creating an almost disorientating effect, but realising Dick’s idea perfectly.

But it’s not just a pretty picture. Far from it. The overall tone is dark, and I feel a great sadness when watching Arctor’s decline. There are moments of light with Robert Downy Jr’s energetic and ever so slightly dangerous Barris, and Woody Harrlesson’s idiotic Luckman. Watching their demented conversations about bicycle gears, or Barris’ attempt to make a gun silencer, gives some light relief. But if Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas is the brightly coloured, loud-mouthed uncle of the ‘films-about-drugs’ family, then Scanner is the poetic, yet clinically depressed teen.

Having read the book, I suffered from the ‘hang on, I’m sure that bit doesn’t go there’ phenomena. Some details were left out (understandably to keep the 100 minute run-time, though it’s a shame the extent of Arctor’s confusion isn’t fully developed) and other events were in a different order. But overall the essence of the book was captured successfully. For being faithful, I’m awarding Scanner a point, and I’m giving it another point for using an innovative visual technique to good effect. So A Scanner Darkly makes CF2. Not everyone will like it. But I do. And that’s what counts.

22nd August 06 - Terkel In Trouble

I’ve been concerned about my reputation of late. I’ve been labelled as someone who only watches obscure foreign films. Unfortunately Terkel won’t help my case, and may in fact push me down the path towards ‘pretentious arsehole’, (“towards?” you might ask, insinuating that I am already there. To which I might tell you to bog off.)

But two points to keep in mind here. One, this was a preview of Terkel in Trouble, which means it isn’t on general release yet, and therefore like me, you may not have heard of it. Two, the tickets were free. But, as much as I might defend it, Terkel is a Danish animation. Pretension, pretension, pretension.

But hang on a minute. This isn’t how it sounds. It’s probably closer to South Park than Spirited Away. It’s a sort of computer animated morality tale about young Terkel who’s getting bullied at school. And it’s one of the closest depictions of school-age kids I’ve seen in an animation. Let’s face it – children nowadays are unpleasant little shits who should be drowned in a large bucket of rancid water (of course I’m generalising. A small minority are acceptable.) And in Terkel’s world they smoke, swear and are cruelly unpleasant. This realism might well appeal to ‘the kids’ and may help to pass on the anti-bullying message.

But this isn’t just made-for-schools trite. Terkel is at times laugh-out-loud inappropriate. There’s random acts of extreme violence (falling down stairs, fork in the eye, ear bitten off), unpleasant deaths (birds flying into walls, people splatting after jumping from high places) and lots and lots of swearing. The presence of songs worried me a little. As a rule, I despise musicals (except for ones that use the music in a clever way, or feature Ewan McGregor). I think it’s because they remind me of drama school arses, belting out ‘summer-bloody-loving’ with wide, smug smiles, speaking LOUD-ERLY and pronouncing everything ala Orlando Bloom, thinking they’re acting geniuses when in fact they’re just little arrogant rich kids with more money than talent who flounce around and waste perfectly good oxygen that could be used for the rest of the world.

Sorry – where was I? Oh yes, there are songs in Terkel. And they started off not too long, and with some amusing lyrics, so it was ok. And then an absolute gem popped up. An R&B love song, describing one character’s sudden realisation that he liked a girl, all because of what she said to him, which was (and this formed the basis of the chorus): “Fuck of you twat, you’re ugly and your mum shags horses.” Brilliant stuff, especially with an added key change.

So Terkel isn’t exactly a kid’s film. The plot and messages resonate with kiddie morals, but the adult jokes aren’t carefully folded in ala Pixar. You just can’t hide a gag involving child prostitution to rich white tourists in Thailand. Guilty laughter would be the general consensus, and this film was a guilty pleasure. It’s also dubbed with some ace British talent, including Bill Bailey, Adrian Edmondson, and Johnny Vegas (stretching his acting skills to play a drunken lout).

Perhaps it falters when the adult humour occasionally subsides, and you wonder exactly who this film is for. Teenagers? Kids? Adults? Who knows. If you find South Park a waste of space you’re probably not going to take well to Terkel. But if your sense of humour twists just the right way, there’ll be enough tid bits to keep you amused. I think I’m going to be kind and give this CF0. This is a recommendation for DVD rental only, though. If you’re an adult and go to see this at the cinema, people might think you’re a bit weird.

16th August 06 - My Super Ex-Girlfriend

Some light relief for this week’s cinema outing, as we’ve hit a bit of a cinema drought (soon to be replenished no doubt). My views on the genre of romantic comedies have already been set out in my review of Russian Dolls (something along the lines of their sugary view of the world making me want to hurt someone with hammers) so I was slightly dubious about My Super Ex-Girlfriend, although the presence of Ivan Reitman (Ghostbuster’s director) and the fact it’s a superhero based yarn gave me some hope.

Super-Ex plays on your ‘scary psycho ex’ fears, and asks that well known question: what if your ex was also a super-hero with phenomenal super powers who could whip your arse all the way into space without breaking sweat? It’s an intriguing idea, nicely slotted in after X-Men and Superman to play on our current superhero fetish.

And there are some brilliant twists on the old superhero theme. Uma Thurman’s G-Girl may be great at saving the world, but she’s also jealous and a little bit insane. A missile’s heading for New York, but she’s not so keen to go and help because she’d be leaving her boyfriend with the blonde ‘slut’ from work. Uma doesn’t ham it up, playing her flawed character with little ticks and nicely timed bursts of rage. Meanwhile Luke Wilson coasts as the likeable, but slightly bland male lead, and a plump Eddie Izzard is the baddie with a really weird accent.

What’s quite disappointing about Super-Ex is all the missed chances. There’s little sparks of genius here and there (the literal mile high club, her super quick sabotage of a presentation, a shark thrown through a window) but it’s just not enough to make the grade. There’s so much potential for this to be a genuinely funny film, but it ends up an amusing way to pass the time. Raise the certificate to a 15, up the ludicrous revenge tactics, have more screen time with Luke’s sex-obsessed loser best friend, and I’d be a happy cinema bunny. As it was, I’m struggling to give it a proper rating. It wasn’t like I hated it, but it didn’t have much of an impact. So I’ll give it a CF “good film for Saturday evening DVD when you’re tired and not really up for anything challenging or too engaging”. Or, if I had to be harsh, a CF -1.

9th August 06 - Angel-A

Imagine, if you will, that I am Karen the Producer, sitting in my plush office and receiving a visit from Luc Besson.

“Luc,” I say, in Godfather-esque tones, “Luc, you gave us Leon, which explored a fascinating relationship between a little girl and a hitman, that became a cult classic. You gave us the Fifth Element, which was slightly weird but almost charming. And there was that Joan of Arc one, but we’ll forget that. But you’ve been away for six years, Luc. Six long years. What have you brought me after all this time?”

Luc slams a script down on my desk in triumph. “I bring you this, Karen the Producer,” he says. “My new film. Angel-A. Imagine this: a man is so down on his luck and life that he’s about to kill himself, when,” he holds up a finger, “wait for it… an angel appears to show him life’s not all that bad.”

“Luc,” I say. “That’s ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’”

“No,” he says. “It’s different. The angel is a bit edgy, not at all how you’d picture an angel.”

“Been done in Dogma,” I say.

“No, but she teaches him to love.”

“A Life Less Ordinary.”

“No, no, get this,” Luc says. “They fall in love!”

“City of Angels,” I say, getting a bit weary. “Luc, is there anything that makes this film original?”

“Well, the angel is a six-foot blonde in a black mini-dress.”

“Interesting,” I say. “What else?”

“The man is quite small. So when she stands next to him, she dwarfs him.”

“Ok,” I say. “What else?”

“Um…” Luc’s face falls. “It’s in French?”

“Luc,” I say, getting impatient now. “Let me get this straight. You’ve made a film with very little originality, and,” I say, reading through the script with super speed, “from the looks of it, the only interesting bit, where the angel questions her own existence, isn’t explored fully and is a bit out of the blue.”

“Well,” Luc says, whimpering slightly. “I’m making it in black and white.”

“It might look very pretty, Luc, but that doesn’t make it a good film,” I say, throwing his script back at him. A tear runs down Luc’s cheek.

“Oh,” he says, crestfallen.

“It’s not like it’s an unbearable film,” I say, with some sympathy. “It’s not like Pirates of the Caribbean. But I expected something more substantial. Your plot is as skeletal as your angel.”

Luc just stands there, bottom lip trembling.

“I’m deducting one point because your film lacks any sort of weight. You’re getting CF-1, Luc. Do you understand?”

Luc nods silently.

“Now go away and do something better. I know you’re capable. You just have to prove it.”

I point to the door, and Luc shuffles out of my office clutching his script.

God I’d be a great producer.

8th August 06 - Tideland

Because I’m an ultra hip dude, I saw, in a room full of nerds, a preview of Tideland, complete with intro and post-film Q&A with the man himself Terry Gilliam (the director, if this means nothing to you.) It was a good film to have a Q&A with.

From the poor reception with critics, I was expecting Tideland to be trademark Gilliam madness, but amplified. It’s difficult to forget the relentless bizarreness of Brazil and the insanity-inducing score and spiralling plot of Twelve Monkeys. Though fascinating to watch, when first viewing Gilliam’s work it can often be a tough ride. Like a feverish dream that you can’t quite escape from. Or, the technical term; a ‘mind-fuck’. I was quite concerned I would emerge from Tideland a broken nerd. But huzzah! This wasn’t the case.

Granted, Tideland isn’t a breezy summer blockbuster of fun. It follows little Jeliza-Rose as she moves out to the middle of nowhere. Her parents are useless junkies and her only friends are the heads of her dolls. Starving and alone, Jeliza forges friendships with a half-blind taxidermy-loving loon and a brain damaged bloke called Dickens. So far, so huh?

But this is where Gilliam’s introduction to the film helped (unfortunately I don’t think he’s available to sit in every screening of Tideland around the country.) Before the film he said he was fed up of the media’s current portrayal of children as innocents and weaklings, and he wanted to remind us that they were very resilient creatures. He also said to approach the film from a child’s viewpoint. And this approach is the only way to watch the film. Yes, sneak sly glances from your adult perspective just to understand the true meaning of what’s going on, but in order to process this film without being enraged you have to become a child. That way you can find someone teasing peanut butter past the bloated tongue of their father’s corpse amusing, rather than just plain disturbing.

It’s this child-like viewpoint of the world that made this film so captivating. Jeliza’s imagination is the driving force. Her flights of fancy, touching interpretations of the world and conversations with her ‘friends’ the dolls are all intriguing and competently handled by Gilliam. Jodelle Ferland, at just nine and a half, takes the lead and blows Dakota out of the water in terms of ‘oh-Christ-she’s-a-child-and-she’s-a-professional-actor’ and she’s solidly supported by Jeff Bridges, Janet McTeer and Brendan Fletcher. The film dabbles in humour, horror, fantasy and skims the border of inappropriateness in places. You’re never sure where you stand with it, or where it’s going to take you. Though this means you can never truly settle into the film first-time, it makes a refreshing change from the predictability of standard Hollywood cack.

For some reason Tideland has sparked out-rage in some parts of the world. I wasn’t offended by any of it, and can’t see how people could be upset at a religious fanatic who likes to embalm dead relatives to keep them ‘alive’. What may put some people off is how this film doesn’t conform to a typical plot structure. I’m not saying that all films that are ‘different’ are works of pretentious genius. Some are tosh (see Lost In Translation – or ‘over-long self indulgent mass of nothing’.) But if you accept its differences and are willing to open your mind, you may well enjoy Tideland, or at least find something to think about. It’s taken me a while to figure out how much I liked it, and I’ve boiled it down to this: it makes CF0, and I think I’ll give it an extra point because it dared to be a bit different, the performances were impressive, and the talking dolls heads were very amusing. Therefore Tideland gets CF1. Well done Terry.