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!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
30th August 06 - Severance
Monday, August 28, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, August 18, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
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.
“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.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
26th July 06 - Little Fish
I was too hot during this week’s film, so this may have had an impact on my mood. It seems the price you pay for trying to be pretentious and going to art house cinemas is a lack of air conditioning. So maybe it’s best to bear this in mind when you’re reading the rest of my review.
Little Fish is an Aussie film about a recovering heroin addict. It’s my second Australian film of the week, having watched the excellent Chopper (found at a bargain £2.98 in a DVD sale) at the weekend.
But back to Little Fish. You can’t fault the acting. Cate Blanchett breezes through as Tracy, her angst sketched out on her skeletal face, proving her rank as a top actress. A heavily bearded Hugo Weaving breaks free of Agent Smith and portrays a retired footie star, utterly dependant on drugs and slowly wasting away. And Noni Hazelhurst captures the mother figure perfectly; her worry, frustration and love etched on to her face as she is unable to protect her children from the big wide world. And heroin.
The ties between the characters and various events in their past are all slowly realised over the course of the film, building up solid characters with plenty of background. But here’s where the main problem lies. Imagine, if you will, that someone starts leading you somewhere, handing you various bits of cutlery along the way. There are all different types of cutlery, so you make sure you keep them all separate and remember which one’s which. Then, at the end, you are presented with a cup of tepid water and a straw. “What exactly was the need for all this cutlery,” you might ask. “After all that effort it wasn’t used at all. There was no point to the cutlery.” And the other person would just shrug.
Replace the cutlery with the character detail, and the water with the ending, and you get why I was a bit annoyed with this film. Lots of slow build-up, then just a big fizzle at the end. As an example of its impact on me, I’d actually much rather review Chopper instead. In fact, sod it. I will.
Chopper was made in 2000 and is about real life criminal/writer Mark Brandon ‘Chopper’ Read. It mixes shockingly brutal moments of violence with some belting humour (on being stabbed by his best mate, Chopper’s loyal defence is; ‘It’s no big deal. It’s like… if your mum stabbed you.’) Eric Bana plays the fascinating character of Chopper to perfection, highlighted especially once you’ve watched the DVD extras including interviews with the real-life man. A terrifying temper mixed with narcissistic tendencies and a cracking sense of humour makes a perfect front-man. Throw in some innovative directing techniques and you’ve got a smashing piece of film, as long as you’re ok with watching a man willingly have his ears cut off.
Little Fish was well acted, but long and, quite frankly, boring. It loses one CF point for failing to engage me, thus making CF -1. Chopper, on the other hand, gains an extra point for thoroughly engaging me, and another point purely for Eric Bana (my already high opinion of him has increased significantly since seeing this performance.) It therefore makes CF2. The fact that this review has been hi-jacked by a £2.98 DVD I saw four days ago only serves to highlight how insignificant I found this week’s film. Little Fish? More like one of those single cell organisms at the very depths of the sea.
Little Fish is an Aussie film about a recovering heroin addict. It’s my second Australian film of the week, having watched the excellent Chopper (found at a bargain £2.98 in a DVD sale) at the weekend.
But back to Little Fish. You can’t fault the acting. Cate Blanchett breezes through as Tracy, her angst sketched out on her skeletal face, proving her rank as a top actress. A heavily bearded Hugo Weaving breaks free of Agent Smith and portrays a retired footie star, utterly dependant on drugs and slowly wasting away. And Noni Hazelhurst captures the mother figure perfectly; her worry, frustration and love etched on to her face as she is unable to protect her children from the big wide world. And heroin.
The ties between the characters and various events in their past are all slowly realised over the course of the film, building up solid characters with plenty of background. But here’s where the main problem lies. Imagine, if you will, that someone starts leading you somewhere, handing you various bits of cutlery along the way. There are all different types of cutlery, so you make sure you keep them all separate and remember which one’s which. Then, at the end, you are presented with a cup of tepid water and a straw. “What exactly was the need for all this cutlery,” you might ask. “After all that effort it wasn’t used at all. There was no point to the cutlery.” And the other person would just shrug.
Replace the cutlery with the character detail, and the water with the ending, and you get why I was a bit annoyed with this film. Lots of slow build-up, then just a big fizzle at the end. As an example of its impact on me, I’d actually much rather review Chopper instead. In fact, sod it. I will.
Chopper was made in 2000 and is about real life criminal/writer Mark Brandon ‘Chopper’ Read. It mixes shockingly brutal moments of violence with some belting humour (on being stabbed by his best mate, Chopper’s loyal defence is; ‘It’s no big deal. It’s like… if your mum stabbed you.’) Eric Bana plays the fascinating character of Chopper to perfection, highlighted especially once you’ve watched the DVD extras including interviews with the real-life man. A terrifying temper mixed with narcissistic tendencies and a cracking sense of humour makes a perfect front-man. Throw in some innovative directing techniques and you’ve got a smashing piece of film, as long as you’re ok with watching a man willingly have his ears cut off.
Little Fish was well acted, but long and, quite frankly, boring. It loses one CF point for failing to engage me, thus making CF -1. Chopper, on the other hand, gains an extra point for thoroughly engaging me, and another point purely for Eric Bana (my already high opinion of him has increased significantly since seeing this performance.) It therefore makes CF2. The fact that this review has been hi-jacked by a £2.98 DVD I saw four days ago only serves to highlight how insignificant I found this week’s film. Little Fish? More like one of those single cell organisms at the very depths of the sea.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
19th July 06 - Superman Returns
In the super-hero family, Spider-man would be the quiet, intellectual one. Batman, the moody teenager. The X-Men would be an assortment of weird cousins. And Superman would be the loud, slightly irritating older sibling, who probably goes to drama school. Personally I prefer the humanity in Spider-Man and the dark streak in Batman. Superman is a bit too super for my liking. The only streak of humanity in him is through his love of Lois Lane, but even when this isn’t reciprocated he doesn’t get mad. He just goes off and saves a few folk. He’s a bit of a goody-two shoes really. But hey, that’s the character, and that’s what Bryan Singer’s had to play with. And he’s done a bloody good job.
Superman Returns is a loud, brash, fun summer film. As with MI3, don’t expect any more and you’ll have a great time. It makes 154 minutes feel like a joyous stroll through the park, especially compared to the 3 day trawl through the depths of hell that was Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s been a week and I still haven’t got over it. Anyway, different film, different experience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen the original two (this is set after Superman II, ignoring the dire third and fourth efforts) or are new to the franchise. Through a couple of flashbacks and snippets of dialogue you get the general idea about who Superman is and what he can do (though you’d have to have had no exposure to popular culture in your entire life not to know anything about him. You weirdo.)
There’s some great nostalgia with the original theme tune (that’s been in my head all day and therefore made everything I’ve done somehow heroic) and crappy 70s effects on the credits. Singer handles the pace very carefully, slowly building up the story and characters, holding back instead of just rushing in and doing ‘super’ things. But when he does let go the fun really begins. The plane sequence is fantastic, and there’re some way cool ‘Superman impervious to harm’ moments. There’s also a welcome slice of humour throughout, especially some tongue-in-cheek winks at the franchise’s gaping flaws (really, how stupid do you have to be not to know that Superman and Clark are the same person?)
Newby Brandon Routh steps up to the super mantel, and does a damn good job. He definitely looks the part, and easily plays the bumbling goofball mixed with the quiet alien who’s so in lurve. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to shrug off his Superman cape to delve into different roles, but I hear he’s signed up for the next two so at least he’ll have some income for the next few years. Kate Bosworth plays Lois reasonably well, but it’s a case of ‘she’s an intelligent woman… and now she’s sprawled on the floor in a dress split to her thighs.’ Maybe I should wait for a new Supergirl to get a film that doesn’t portray women as sexual objects. Oh wait…
As for Kevin Spacey. Lordy, he puts the ‘ham’ in ‘hamming’, clearly enjoying his role as Lex Luthor. He’s great fun to watch, and his melodramatic campness makes his utterly ludicrous evil plot (creating a new continent out of magic crystals…) easy to take onboard. Now, ludicrous is a word you can apply to this film. It is ridiculous. But that’s why it’s so much fun. And it’s been setup for sequels that could take the plot in a very interesting direction. My main criticism would be that it dragged a little at the end – Superman saves the day but then there’s another twenty minutes of film.
Superman makes CF0, and I’m giving it an extra point for being an enjoyable blockbuster that made me smile. Therefore it makes CF1. Super!
Superman Returns is a loud, brash, fun summer film. As with MI3, don’t expect any more and you’ll have a great time. It makes 154 minutes feel like a joyous stroll through the park, especially compared to the 3 day trawl through the depths of hell that was Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s been a week and I still haven’t got over it. Anyway, different film, different experience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen the original two (this is set after Superman II, ignoring the dire third and fourth efforts) or are new to the franchise. Through a couple of flashbacks and snippets of dialogue you get the general idea about who Superman is and what he can do (though you’d have to have had no exposure to popular culture in your entire life not to know anything about him. You weirdo.)
There’s some great nostalgia with the original theme tune (that’s been in my head all day and therefore made everything I’ve done somehow heroic) and crappy 70s effects on the credits. Singer handles the pace very carefully, slowly building up the story and characters, holding back instead of just rushing in and doing ‘super’ things. But when he does let go the fun really begins. The plane sequence is fantastic, and there’re some way cool ‘Superman impervious to harm’ moments. There’s also a welcome slice of humour throughout, especially some tongue-in-cheek winks at the franchise’s gaping flaws (really, how stupid do you have to be not to know that Superman and Clark are the same person?)
Newby Brandon Routh steps up to the super mantel, and does a damn good job. He definitely looks the part, and easily plays the bumbling goofball mixed with the quiet alien who’s so in lurve. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to shrug off his Superman cape to delve into different roles, but I hear he’s signed up for the next two so at least he’ll have some income for the next few years. Kate Bosworth plays Lois reasonably well, but it’s a case of ‘she’s an intelligent woman… and now she’s sprawled on the floor in a dress split to her thighs.’ Maybe I should wait for a new Supergirl to get a film that doesn’t portray women as sexual objects. Oh wait…
As for Kevin Spacey. Lordy, he puts the ‘ham’ in ‘hamming’, clearly enjoying his role as Lex Luthor. He’s great fun to watch, and his melodramatic campness makes his utterly ludicrous evil plot (creating a new continent out of magic crystals…) easy to take onboard. Now, ludicrous is a word you can apply to this film. It is ridiculous. But that’s why it’s so much fun. And it’s been setup for sequels that could take the plot in a very interesting direction. My main criticism would be that it dragged a little at the end – Superman saves the day but then there’s another twenty minutes of film.
Superman makes CF0, and I’m giving it an extra point for being an enjoyable blockbuster that made me smile. Therefore it makes CF1. Super!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
13th July 06 - Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
The first outing of Pirates was surprisingly enjoyable. Amusing, cool immortal pirates that go all skeleton in the moonlight, Johnny Depp stealing the show with his fantastically bizarre Captain Sparrow. For a summer blockbuster it wasn’t that bad. My only gripes were with some of the ‘acting’ and that it was a bit too long. This second edition isn’t as amusing, lacks the cool immortal pirates that go all skeleton in the moonlight, and Depp’s screen time is reduced. The acting is worse. And it’s 150 minutes long. One hundred and fifty minutes. Let me try and explain what those 150 minutes are like.
First off, the plot. This is the sort of thing that young children come up with when their imaginations go into hyper-drive and they start to make little sense and get a bit annoying. I can just imagine a small boy dictating the plot to Gore Verbinski: “and then the big squid monster crushes up the boat and everyone runs around and it gets crushed up, and then, and then the big squid monster crushes up another boat but they blast it away and it goes ‘eeeeerrrrr’ but then it comes back and crushes it up again, but they blowed it all up and it’s going ‘eeerrrrr’ and then, and then it comes back again and…” At this point you’d pat the boy on the head, softly enough to say that you appreciate his thoughts, but firmly enough to make him stop. What seems to have happened is they gave Gore $200million to make two of the bloody films. Two! There’s another one to come! What more could they possibly have to say with this, except have more scenes with no reason? Take the 20 minute segment on the cannibal island. What was the purpose of it? There was literally no purpose. None.
And then there’s the cast. I usually feel quite sorry for Orlando Bloom. He’s like the simpleton you can’t shout at. But really, come on. This guy’s getting paid to do this? In the first film he was wooden, but battled through. In this film it’s like he’s doing an impression of himself. It’s so bad it made me wonder if this was tongue-in-cheek acting. WHEN THE OWN-ER-LEY THING YOU CAN DO IS SAY EV-ER-REE-THING VE-REY CL-EER-LEY AND IN A VE-REY LOUD VOICE you have to wonder how much longer you can get away with it before someone twigs that you’re a bit crap. Keira Knightly… well, she’s on the same list that Scarlett Johansson’s on (see Hard Candy review). With her orange face, square jaw and smugness that just oozes from every pore. All you saw of her was her constant straining. Must…be…sexy… Must…squint…more…
And good old Depp, who should have saved us from this. He did it in the first one. But this one is so long, so arduous to watch, that he just can’t do it. He brings a few smiles, but they mean nothing through all the tears of pain. It looks like he’s having fun with the role. At least someone was.
Of course, there were a few breaks in the cloud. Some bits were quite funny, the designs of Davey Jones and his water-themed crew were pretty cool and well CGI-ed, and a couple of the action pieces (mostly involving things rolling with people in them) were quite interesting, though that interest wore off after the first ten minutes of the same action. It’s like Michael Bay had a hand in it. Michael: look it’s really cool. Audience: yes, we suppose. Michael: yeah, look, it’s still really cool. Audience: yes, it was pretty cool, but we’re a bit bored now. Michael: yeah! Audience: For the love of God stop!
The icing on the cake was, after 150 long, long minutes, there was no resolution. The film just stopped. That sort of trickery worked for Lord of the Rings, because those films had a weighty plot and were, you know, good. 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. Don’t get me wrong – I was glad it finished. It was so sudden, though, I was left a little shell-shocked. It was like having some work-men use a pneumatic drill outside your bedroom window for 150 minutes, and then suddenly stop. With a start you realise what blissful silence sounds like, and then remember how torturous the last 150 minutes had been, and then hate those work-men with every fibre of your being.
Pirates doesn’t make CF0, surprisingly. It loses one point for having shit acting and a shit plot. It loses another for featuring Keira Knightly. And it loses another for having the cheek to ruin 150 minutes of my precious life. A Cinemafool first: Pirates makes CF-3. Bastards.
Monday, July 03, 2006
28th June 06 - Hard Candy
Paedophiles are a risky subject. There’s an obvious sentence if ever I wrote one. The Woodsman (see my top 10 films of 2005) proved you could handle the subject and produce an uncomfortable, but captivating piece of film, with Kevin Bacon turning in an outstanding performance as a man whose internal struggle is enough to trigger sympathy, despite his actions. Hard Candy manages to trigger sympathy too, only the struggle isn’t so much internal, more ‘oh Christ why is there an ice pack on my balls?!??!’
To be honest, I went in expecting a so-so film, with the only interest coming from just how far they can push the torture levels. Before you brand me a scary freak, my interest in torture is a) limited only to the make-believe land of film, and b) out of amusement at the thought of slightly geeky filmmakers giggling in a little room and trying to come up with the most extreme scenes they can imagine. Having read hints at what Hard Candy had to offer, I was quite intrigued. But not expecting lots.
So hurray to low expectations, because what I got was a film that, yes, had some good ol’ torture, but also had fleshed out characters and issues you could really sink your teeth into. Jeff (Patrick Wilson) is a creepy bastard, with very little going for him. Hayley (Ellen Page) is a feisty fourteen-year-old with witty banter and a hardened moral streak. So how, at some parts, can you find yourself rooting for Jeff? Who is the hero in this piece? The terrified paedophile or the psychotic girl with a scalpel? Of course Jeff is a bad man. You know that. He deserves what’s coming to him. But then you suddenly realise you’re willing him to grab that phone and make an escape. What’s going on?!
Probably the film’s strength comes with its leads. Patrick Wilson’s sheer terror, alarm, frustration, pain – it’s all etched out on his face so vividly you wonder if it’s really just props they’re using down there. And Ellen Page (Kitty from X3) is definitely one to watch. She’s younger than me (19), very very good and so far hasn’t joined the likes of Scarlett Johansson on my ‘girls who are younger than me and more successful who I hate with a passion’ list. She has just the right levels of confidence without the smug arrogance of Scarlett. Sorry – shouldn’t start down that road or this review will take a very different turn.
Anyway, as to the torture, this is what should be shown to all film school students as a guide of how to elicit moans from audience members without showing anything being done to, erm, ‘members’ on screen. There is very little in the way of gore. It’s all suggestion, and it’s plainly enough. Jeff’s face, her gentle assurances (“this might pull a bit”) and an occasional noise. It’s uncomfortable viewing, but fantastically well done.
Of course there’re some flaws. A few plot holes, maybe the ending was a bit flat, maybe some of it was a little bit silly. But this is a bold effort from relative new-comers to film (David Slade as director, and Brian Nelson as writer). Though it didn’t overwhelm me, it still offered more to chew over than I was expecting. Hard Candy – less boiled sweet, more Chewitt. It gains CF0, and has an extra point for being more than just a torture film. CF1.
To be honest, I went in expecting a so-so film, with the only interest coming from just how far they can push the torture levels. Before you brand me a scary freak, my interest in torture is a) limited only to the make-believe land of film, and b) out of amusement at the thought of slightly geeky filmmakers giggling in a little room and trying to come up with the most extreme scenes they can imagine. Having read hints at what Hard Candy had to offer, I was quite intrigued. But not expecting lots.
So hurray to low expectations, because what I got was a film that, yes, had some good ol’ torture, but also had fleshed out characters and issues you could really sink your teeth into. Jeff (Patrick Wilson) is a creepy bastard, with very little going for him. Hayley (Ellen Page) is a feisty fourteen-year-old with witty banter and a hardened moral streak. So how, at some parts, can you find yourself rooting for Jeff? Who is the hero in this piece? The terrified paedophile or the psychotic girl with a scalpel? Of course Jeff is a bad man. You know that. He deserves what’s coming to him. But then you suddenly realise you’re willing him to grab that phone and make an escape. What’s going on?!
Probably the film’s strength comes with its leads. Patrick Wilson’s sheer terror, alarm, frustration, pain – it’s all etched out on his face so vividly you wonder if it’s really just props they’re using down there. And Ellen Page (Kitty from X3) is definitely one to watch. She’s younger than me (19), very very good and so far hasn’t joined the likes of Scarlett Johansson on my ‘girls who are younger than me and more successful who I hate with a passion’ list. She has just the right levels of confidence without the smug arrogance of Scarlett. Sorry – shouldn’t start down that road or this review will take a very different turn.
Anyway, as to the torture, this is what should be shown to all film school students as a guide of how to elicit moans from audience members without showing anything being done to, erm, ‘members’ on screen. There is very little in the way of gore. It’s all suggestion, and it’s plainly enough. Jeff’s face, her gentle assurances (“this might pull a bit”) and an occasional noise. It’s uncomfortable viewing, but fantastically well done.
Of course there’re some flaws. A few plot holes, maybe the ending was a bit flat, maybe some of it was a little bit silly. But this is a bold effort from relative new-comers to film (David Slade as director, and Brian Nelson as writer). Though it didn’t overwhelm me, it still offered more to chew over than I was expecting. Hard Candy – less boiled sweet, more Chewitt. It gains CF0, and has an extra point for being more than just a torture film. CF1.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
21st June 06 - Thank You For Smoking
Utter the phrase ‘a film about a pro-tobacco lobbyist’ and feel the hands reaching for the phones by people who like to complain about things that if they disapprove of so much they should use their tiny brains and not watch instead of whining about them and spoiling it for the rest of us free-thinking intelligent beings who understand the concept of satire and don’t always take things at face value. Sorry – pet hate.
Anyway, Thank You For Smoking (TYFS) centres on Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart - in his first lead role as far as I can tell) who’s a hated man because he spends his days promoting cancer on a stick. He’s a smarmy sweet talker, twisting ideas and propelling them right back at you. And he’s really good at it. But as the lead, we of course can’t have Nick as a total arse, otherwise the audience will never root for him. So bring in small alien-faced son, who looks up to his dad as a role model. There – now he’s more human. And Eckhart manages it – you’re convinced this guy can twist his morals enough to continue with his career, but through the loving glances at his son and very occasional facial twitch as his morals are stretched to the limit, he’s also a likeable guy.
TYFS takes a no frills approach to the Tobacco vs Health Authority battle of morals. There is no black and white. The Tobacco companies are constantly trying to find ‘no evidence’ of health risks to soil their name, and the health guys are trying to find ‘cancer kids with no hope’, to further increase their point. And maybe the tobacco guys are shown as sleazy but successful, while the health guys are weedy and a bit pathetic. Biased? Is the satire really satire, or is this film actually funded by the tobacco companies in a huge conspiracy to make smoking cool? The noticeable absence of any kind of smoking in this film dispels any such thoughts, which are pretty stupid thoughts anyway.
So, was it good? Yes. (If only reviews could be this simple. It would certainly save me, and you, lots of time.) TYFS was easy to watch, amusing, some great one liners, some great performances, some food for thought. It certainly was good, and as such it makes CF0 (which, as a reminder, means I liked it and would recommend it). But it doesn’t gain any extra points. And here’s why. First off, there were too many characters. Some, like Katie Holmes’ reporter, are vacuous and one dimensional (also, as an ex-trainee journo, I am always angered by the portrayal of reporters as evil creatures whoring themselves out for the story) and others, like Rob Lowe’s loopy Hollywood casting agent (his reply to ‘when do you sleep’ was “Sunday”) should’ve been used in more than one scene. The wry tone was sweetened a little too much for my liking by the father/son aspect, especially towards the end, and though it was pretty amusing, there were stretches where my mind wandered away from the screen and on into pretty places inside my brain. For just a 93 minute jaunt, it felt a lot longer.
But hey, that’s just me being picky. Still enjoyed it. Wasn’t blown away, but it’s good enough to get CF0 and that, surely, is something to celebrate. Perhaps with a cigarette...
Anyway, Thank You For Smoking (TYFS) centres on Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart - in his first lead role as far as I can tell) who’s a hated man because he spends his days promoting cancer on a stick. He’s a smarmy sweet talker, twisting ideas and propelling them right back at you. And he’s really good at it. But as the lead, we of course can’t have Nick as a total arse, otherwise the audience will never root for him. So bring in small alien-faced son, who looks up to his dad as a role model. There – now he’s more human. And Eckhart manages it – you’re convinced this guy can twist his morals enough to continue with his career, but through the loving glances at his son and very occasional facial twitch as his morals are stretched to the limit, he’s also a likeable guy.
TYFS takes a no frills approach to the Tobacco vs Health Authority battle of morals. There is no black and white. The Tobacco companies are constantly trying to find ‘no evidence’ of health risks to soil their name, and the health guys are trying to find ‘cancer kids with no hope’, to further increase their point. And maybe the tobacco guys are shown as sleazy but successful, while the health guys are weedy and a bit pathetic. Biased? Is the satire really satire, or is this film actually funded by the tobacco companies in a huge conspiracy to make smoking cool? The noticeable absence of any kind of smoking in this film dispels any such thoughts, which are pretty stupid thoughts anyway.
So, was it good? Yes. (If only reviews could be this simple. It would certainly save me, and you, lots of time.) TYFS was easy to watch, amusing, some great one liners, some great performances, some food for thought. It certainly was good, and as such it makes CF0 (which, as a reminder, means I liked it and would recommend it). But it doesn’t gain any extra points. And here’s why. First off, there were too many characters. Some, like Katie Holmes’ reporter, are vacuous and one dimensional (also, as an ex-trainee journo, I am always angered by the portrayal of reporters as evil creatures whoring themselves out for the story) and others, like Rob Lowe’s loopy Hollywood casting agent (his reply to ‘when do you sleep’ was “Sunday”) should’ve been used in more than one scene. The wry tone was sweetened a little too much for my liking by the father/son aspect, especially towards the end, and though it was pretty amusing, there were stretches where my mind wandered away from the screen and on into pretty places inside my brain. For just a 93 minute jaunt, it felt a lot longer.
But hey, that’s just me being picky. Still enjoyed it. Wasn’t blown away, but it’s good enough to get CF0 and that, surely, is something to celebrate. Perhaps with a cigarette...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
14th June 06 - Mission: Impossible III
There was a bit of a film drought this week (I just cannot bring myself to watch the Da Vinci Code. It goes against every fibre of my brain) so I found myself opting for Mission: Impossible III. The first one was pretty enjoyable, the second had a lot of slow mo and doves (cheers Mr. Woo) so I was expecting a fairly entertaining, but definitely silly affair. My expectations were pleasingly met.
MI3 has everything you could possibly want. Car chases, helicopter chases, chases on foot, shoot-outs, fist fights, gadgets, parachutes, clever plans to foil the baddies. Bombs implanted in brains. Brilliant stuff. There’s a team of hot young spies, Ving Rhames doing one-liners, Laurence Fishburne’s huge mottled head, hell even Simon Pegg as an Oxford-trained IT type guy. Something for everyone. Director J.J.Abrams (of Lost and Alias) delivers a slick, stylish approach, with well handled action scenes, bits of slow-mo (but not over-blown aka Woo) and an absolutely belting start. All films should start like that (beaten up Tom, gun to girlfriend’s head, countdown from 10…) Brilliant stuff.
The presence of the Cruise may put some people off. His celebrity persona has certainly rubbed quite a few people up the wrong way. Constantly happy, a bit of a creepy relationship, and beliefs that I won’t comment on, just in case I’m sued for using words like ‘manipulative’ and ‘bizarre’. But like him or not, the guy can do good films. True, he may play a similar character in everything I’ve seen (apart from in the excellent Magnolia) but you can’t help but admire his on-screen status. Action-wise, he delivers the goods – sprinting about, leaping on to cars, hanging out of helicopters. For a 44 year old, he ain’t half bad. And, bless him, he works his socks off to really get those emotions out there, with those big, blurred wounded eyes. I suspect he’s had some sort of surgical procedure that allows him to press a button and create a tear from his left eye on cue. There’s always a left eye tear – you watch.
Of course this film is flawed, as are most ‘action’ flicks. Characters are impervious to enemy fire but can take out others with single shots, locks are picked with the slightest of ease, latex masks are stupidly realistic and there are some areas of the plot that they don’t even bother explaining. But that’s what you expect from Mission Impossible. If you don’t, then you’re an idiot and you deserve to be disappointed. Accept the silliness and just sit back and enjoy. I did, and because it delivered what I wanted it gains a CF0 rating.
MI3 has everything you could possibly want. Car chases, helicopter chases, chases on foot, shoot-outs, fist fights, gadgets, parachutes, clever plans to foil the baddies. Bombs implanted in brains. Brilliant stuff. There’s a team of hot young spies, Ving Rhames doing one-liners, Laurence Fishburne’s huge mottled head, hell even Simon Pegg as an Oxford-trained IT type guy. Something for everyone. Director J.J.Abrams (of Lost and Alias) delivers a slick, stylish approach, with well handled action scenes, bits of slow-mo (but not over-blown aka Woo) and an absolutely belting start. All films should start like that (beaten up Tom, gun to girlfriend’s head, countdown from 10…) Brilliant stuff.
The presence of the Cruise may put some people off. His celebrity persona has certainly rubbed quite a few people up the wrong way. Constantly happy, a bit of a creepy relationship, and beliefs that I won’t comment on, just in case I’m sued for using words like ‘manipulative’ and ‘bizarre’. But like him or not, the guy can do good films. True, he may play a similar character in everything I’ve seen (apart from in the excellent Magnolia) but you can’t help but admire his on-screen status. Action-wise, he delivers the goods – sprinting about, leaping on to cars, hanging out of helicopters. For a 44 year old, he ain’t half bad. And, bless him, he works his socks off to really get those emotions out there, with those big, blurred wounded eyes. I suspect he’s had some sort of surgical procedure that allows him to press a button and create a tear from his left eye on cue. There’s always a left eye tear – you watch.
Of course this film is flawed, as are most ‘action’ flicks. Characters are impervious to enemy fire but can take out others with single shots, locks are picked with the slightest of ease, latex masks are stupidly realistic and there are some areas of the plot that they don’t even bother explaining. But that’s what you expect from Mission Impossible. If you don’t, then you’re an idiot and you deserve to be disappointed. Accept the silliness and just sit back and enjoy. I did, and because it delivered what I wanted it gains a CF0 rating.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
7th June 06 - Down in the Valley
Cowboys are so hot right now. Everyone wants to be one. Harlan (Edward Norton) is no exception. He has the clothes, he knows the moves. He’s in modern day L.A. It’s a mismatch that could spark a comic masterpiece, where the crazy cowboy doesn’t understand modern life and everyone has a good laugh, a bit like the Beverly Hillbillies. And by comic masterpiece, I mean crushing torment.
But I’m totally digressing, because Down in the Valley isn’t a crushing comedy at all. It starts off as a gentle summer romance and slowly twists into a skewed western/thriller combo type thing. Harlan meets Tobe (Evan Rachel Wood, played by a bleached skeleton) and despite the age difference (Tobe’s a rebellious teen) they fall in love. Aw. It’s all summer fields and swaying grasses and swings on trees. It’s like summer on screen. And yes, maybe not a whole lot happens. But there’re hints that maybe Harlan’s a tad insane. And each hint adds to the general sense of foreboding that casts a cloud over all the summer fun and makes it just that little bit more interesting.
You know the manure’s going to hit the fan sooner or later, but when and how turns out to be a well played shock. And then things start to get a bit strange. There’s a fugitive situation, chases, shoot outs. What starts out as a meandering stroll turns into a bit of a scrabble, and perhaps writer/director David Jacobson gets a little bit carried away with it all. Unfortunately this is at the cost of the tone, which was slowly developed over the first half, and is then peed on from a great height by all the guns.
But, flawed though it may be, I still liked this film. The cast are indestructibly good. To be honest I could watch Ed Norton read out the Yellowpages and still be enthralled. He’s fast becoming one of my favourite actors, and adds great depth to mixed up Harlan, who’s just tying to find an identity. And likes guns. Evan Rachel Wood, annoyingly just nineteen years old, is solidly sultry, and little Rory Culkin, who’s surprisingly seventeen, plays a convincing thirteen year old. Top all that with David Morse (he’s in everything you’ve ever seen) as the sometimes violent but slightly sympathetic father figure, and you’ve got a pretty damn good cast.
Despite the muddled finale, there are also some great little touches. The slow sink into Western territory, matching our gradual understanding of Harlan’s dodgy sanity, offers up some striking contrasts. A car vs. horse chase through a posh housing development. A splendid shoot out on the set of a Western film set. It’s just a shame that the film started to feel just as confused as Harlan towards the end.
I’ve been struggling to rate this film. It makes CF0, gains a point for the acting, but loses one for getting all weird at the end. So CF0 it is.
But I’m totally digressing, because Down in the Valley isn’t a crushing comedy at all. It starts off as a gentle summer romance and slowly twists into a skewed western/thriller combo type thing. Harlan meets Tobe (Evan Rachel Wood, played by a bleached skeleton) and despite the age difference (Tobe’s a rebellious teen) they fall in love. Aw. It’s all summer fields and swaying grasses and swings on trees. It’s like summer on screen. And yes, maybe not a whole lot happens. But there’re hints that maybe Harlan’s a tad insane. And each hint adds to the general sense of foreboding that casts a cloud over all the summer fun and makes it just that little bit more interesting.
You know the manure’s going to hit the fan sooner or later, but when and how turns out to be a well played shock. And then things start to get a bit strange. There’s a fugitive situation, chases, shoot outs. What starts out as a meandering stroll turns into a bit of a scrabble, and perhaps writer/director David Jacobson gets a little bit carried away with it all. Unfortunately this is at the cost of the tone, which was slowly developed over the first half, and is then peed on from a great height by all the guns.
But, flawed though it may be, I still liked this film. The cast are indestructibly good. To be honest I could watch Ed Norton read out the Yellowpages and still be enthralled. He’s fast becoming one of my favourite actors, and adds great depth to mixed up Harlan, who’s just tying to find an identity. And likes guns. Evan Rachel Wood, annoyingly just nineteen years old, is solidly sultry, and little Rory Culkin, who’s surprisingly seventeen, plays a convincing thirteen year old. Top all that with David Morse (he’s in everything you’ve ever seen) as the sometimes violent but slightly sympathetic father figure, and you’ve got a pretty damn good cast.
Despite the muddled finale, there are also some great little touches. The slow sink into Western territory, matching our gradual understanding of Harlan’s dodgy sanity, offers up some striking contrasts. A car vs. horse chase through a posh housing development. A splendid shoot out on the set of a Western film set. It’s just a shame that the film started to feel just as confused as Harlan towards the end.
I’ve been struggling to rate this film. It makes CF0, gains a point for the acting, but loses one for getting all weird at the end. So CF0 it is.
Friday, June 02, 2006
1st June 06 - X-Men: The Last Stand
Ah comics. The source of a cornucopia of characters from which Mr. Movieland can pick and choose, sometimes creating genius (Spider-Man, Batman Begins) and sometimes creating a frightening mess (Daredevil, Catwoman). X-Men has already spouted two films, both of which didn’t do too bad a job. And now we get this third and supposedly final offering (I'll believe it when I see it) which starts off this summer’s blockbuster run.
As a partial nerd (I watched the cartoons, but didn’t read the comics) I was looking forward to X3, but went in expecting a mediocre effort based on reviews and instincts. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself, well, pleasantly surprised. Being the final film gets rid of the sequel pressure, giving a free-for-all on plot turns. And some plot turns genuinely shocked me. I kept expecting there to be a ‘surprise! We didn’t really just do that!’ But there never was. This slight feeling of doom helped to darken X3’s mood, and give it more of an edge. My main problem with the previous films was they felt too much of a 12-rated affair. It was violence and chaos but in a 12-rated way. A bit too safe for my liking. But despite X3’s 12A stamp, there are some pretty horrific moments, which if watched through an 8 year old’s eyes might make a psychological stamp similar to the one imprinted on my brain from the T-1000.
Anyway, there’re some neat moments in this film (especially the transformation from Jean into the Phoenix, despite being inaccurate) and some great action set pieces. There’re also a trillion new characters, which highlights the fundamental flaw with trying to film X-Men. Through an endless stream of comics you can set up characters and give them all the depth and back-story you want. In a couple of hours, you’re going to struggle. Not only do you need to introduce the newbies, you’ve got all the old favourites to include, plus a couple of lines of plot, plus fight scenes and action pieces. It doesn’t leave much room for dialogue, or much time for any depth to the characters, and the film suffers for it. The new faces include Vinnie Jones (playing himself) as the unstoppable Juggernaut, who is fairly unstoppable for about three seconds. There’s a few S&M style baddie mutants who share five minutes of screen time (they get a turn each to do their powers), and the brilliant Angel, whose character showed so much promise after being introduced as a child trying desperately to file down his wings, and who is completely and shamefully wasted.
The familiar faces also suffer with the jam-packed nature of the film. Even wonderful Wolverine feels deflated, with less time to be angry and wise-cracking, instead just going through the motions and whipping out his claws on cue. But for some reason Storm is given more screen time. Who made that stupid decision? Storm’s rubbish. They may have given her a new hair do and let her fly around a bit, but my interest in her character is about as small as Halle Berry’s waist. The main ‘players’ over on the baddies side, Magneto and the Phoenix, spend most of their time standing with their legs slightly apart and watching stuff, waiting for something to do.
It’s a case of too much crammed in to too little. But what else could they have done? If they were to go into full detail the film would be about 6 hours long. And if they didn’t bother bringing in anyone new then what’s the point in another sequel? It’s a tough job, and overall it wasn’t done half bad. There’s thrills, there’s a few ideas thrown up to ponder and there’s a darkness in it that I admired. If you stay till after the credits then you get a scene that is quite frankly creepy, creepy, creepy. Plus you get to see a blue Frasier Crane kick ass. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s still enjoyable. It makes CF0, and I’m awarding an extra point because it had the balls to avoid the safe route, and instead do some nasty things to our beloved X-Men. Therefore it’s a CF1.
As a partial nerd (I watched the cartoons, but didn’t read the comics) I was looking forward to X3, but went in expecting a mediocre effort based on reviews and instincts. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself, well, pleasantly surprised. Being the final film gets rid of the sequel pressure, giving a free-for-all on plot turns. And some plot turns genuinely shocked me. I kept expecting there to be a ‘surprise! We didn’t really just do that!’ But there never was. This slight feeling of doom helped to darken X3’s mood, and give it more of an edge. My main problem with the previous films was they felt too much of a 12-rated affair. It was violence and chaos but in a 12-rated way. A bit too safe for my liking. But despite X3’s 12A stamp, there are some pretty horrific moments, which if watched through an 8 year old’s eyes might make a psychological stamp similar to the one imprinted on my brain from the T-1000.
Anyway, there’re some neat moments in this film (especially the transformation from Jean into the Phoenix, despite being inaccurate) and some great action set pieces. There’re also a trillion new characters, which highlights the fundamental flaw with trying to film X-Men. Through an endless stream of comics you can set up characters and give them all the depth and back-story you want. In a couple of hours, you’re going to struggle. Not only do you need to introduce the newbies, you’ve got all the old favourites to include, plus a couple of lines of plot, plus fight scenes and action pieces. It doesn’t leave much room for dialogue, or much time for any depth to the characters, and the film suffers for it. The new faces include Vinnie Jones (playing himself) as the unstoppable Juggernaut, who is fairly unstoppable for about three seconds. There’s a few S&M style baddie mutants who share five minutes of screen time (they get a turn each to do their powers), and the brilliant Angel, whose character showed so much promise after being introduced as a child trying desperately to file down his wings, and who is completely and shamefully wasted.
The familiar faces also suffer with the jam-packed nature of the film. Even wonderful Wolverine feels deflated, with less time to be angry and wise-cracking, instead just going through the motions and whipping out his claws on cue. But for some reason Storm is given more screen time. Who made that stupid decision? Storm’s rubbish. They may have given her a new hair do and let her fly around a bit, but my interest in her character is about as small as Halle Berry’s waist. The main ‘players’ over on the baddies side, Magneto and the Phoenix, spend most of their time standing with their legs slightly apart and watching stuff, waiting for something to do.
It’s a case of too much crammed in to too little. But what else could they have done? If they were to go into full detail the film would be about 6 hours long. And if they didn’t bother bringing in anyone new then what’s the point in another sequel? It’s a tough job, and overall it wasn’t done half bad. There’s thrills, there’s a few ideas thrown up to ponder and there’s a darkness in it that I admired. If you stay till after the credits then you get a scene that is quite frankly creepy, creepy, creepy. Plus you get to see a blue Frasier Crane kick ass. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s still enjoyable. It makes CF0, and I’m awarding an extra point because it had the balls to avoid the safe route, and instead do some nasty things to our beloved X-Men. Therefore it’s a CF1.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
24th May 06 - Russian Dolls
If you’re told you’re about to see a film that’s in French, English and Russian, the average fool would think that it would entail pretension, confusion and foreign people. Only one is correct in this case. In fact, after a span of off-the-wall cinema choices, Russian Dolls is probably the most “mainstream” film I’ve seen in weeks. The genre is worryingly close to ‘rom-com’, which was at first alarming to me. Just thinking about rom-com’s usually makes me want to kill someone horribly, just to get rid of the fake, sugar-coated view they have of the world. But Russian Dolls takes a more matter-of-fact view on love, as in; it’s unpleasant, difficult and creates a big mess.
Now before all those luvvie duvvies raise their hands in horror and protest, let me finish the review. Russian Dolls centres on Xavier (a carbon copy of Seth from the OC), a just-turned-thirty French writer who spends his time scrabbling for work and trying to find himself a woman. Xavier’s problem is he wants the perfect woman, so he ends up sabotaging fledgling relationships just in case something better comes along. The big idiot. His story spans several countries, gathers numerous characters (some of which featured in the film’s predecessor Auberge Espagnole, which you don’t need to have seen to appreciate this follow up) and delves into several sub-plots, some probably unnecessary but all oddly intriguing.
As far as ‘com’ goes, this film ticks the box. It’s not wet-your-pants hilarious, but there are some very amusing moments, and some brilliantly playful fantasy sequences. The cast are models straight out of an advert for designer clothes. They are all infuriatingly beautiful, and I’d hate every one of them if they couldn’t act. But subtle glances, blinked back tears and cheeky smiles save the day. There’s also lots of nudity – male and female. Something for everyone.
Ok, so back to the ‘rom’. This isn’t the clichéd rubbish that Xavier himself is forced to write for television. Characters are greatly flawed. Audrey Tautou’s Martine is a big cow, flicking through men and using Xavier when she’s lonely. Londoner Wendy keeps going back to her violent loser boyfriend. Xavier screws up a promising relationship by screwing around. Even the one couple who find love of a Russian variety and get married at the end aren’t perfect – their brief looks of uncertainty darkened the mood in places. It’s all quite real, and therefore I liked it. I especially liked Xavier’s final analogy between love and Russian Dolls – that you know the final doll is in there somewhere, but you have to go through all the others to get to it, and you’re never sure if each one will be the last. It’s so very true, and although it casts a small cloud over the potentially happy ending (is she really the last ‘doll’?) it still provides a glimmer of hope for miserable bastards like me - that someday you will stumble across the smallest doll.
Russian Dolls is over two hours long, and perhaps there are scenes and entire sub-plots that can be cut out without affecting the essence of the film. But it’s so jam packed with characters and plot it doesn’t feel like time is being dragged out. Actually, you could probably expand all the subplots and make a decent TV series out of it. But as a stand alone film, it has enough humour, interest and snazzy directing techniques to be successful. It makes CF0, and gains an extra point for having a realist view of romance, and because I fancied the lead actor. Therefore Russian Dolls gets CF1.
Now before all those luvvie duvvies raise their hands in horror and protest, let me finish the review. Russian Dolls centres on Xavier (a carbon copy of Seth from the OC), a just-turned-thirty French writer who spends his time scrabbling for work and trying to find himself a woman. Xavier’s problem is he wants the perfect woman, so he ends up sabotaging fledgling relationships just in case something better comes along. The big idiot. His story spans several countries, gathers numerous characters (some of which featured in the film’s predecessor Auberge Espagnole, which you don’t need to have seen to appreciate this follow up) and delves into several sub-plots, some probably unnecessary but all oddly intriguing.
As far as ‘com’ goes, this film ticks the box. It’s not wet-your-pants hilarious, but there are some very amusing moments, and some brilliantly playful fantasy sequences. The cast are models straight out of an advert for designer clothes. They are all infuriatingly beautiful, and I’d hate every one of them if they couldn’t act. But subtle glances, blinked back tears and cheeky smiles save the day. There’s also lots of nudity – male and female. Something for everyone.
Ok, so back to the ‘rom’. This isn’t the clichéd rubbish that Xavier himself is forced to write for television. Characters are greatly flawed. Audrey Tautou’s Martine is a big cow, flicking through men and using Xavier when she’s lonely. Londoner Wendy keeps going back to her violent loser boyfriend. Xavier screws up a promising relationship by screwing around. Even the one couple who find love of a Russian variety and get married at the end aren’t perfect – their brief looks of uncertainty darkened the mood in places. It’s all quite real, and therefore I liked it. I especially liked Xavier’s final analogy between love and Russian Dolls – that you know the final doll is in there somewhere, but you have to go through all the others to get to it, and you’re never sure if each one will be the last. It’s so very true, and although it casts a small cloud over the potentially happy ending (is she really the last ‘doll’?) it still provides a glimmer of hope for miserable bastards like me - that someday you will stumble across the smallest doll.
Russian Dolls is over two hours long, and perhaps there are scenes and entire sub-plots that can be cut out without affecting the essence of the film. But it’s so jam packed with characters and plot it doesn’t feel like time is being dragged out. Actually, you could probably expand all the subplots and make a decent TV series out of it. But as a stand alone film, it has enough humour, interest and snazzy directing techniques to be successful. It makes CF0, and gains an extra point for having a realist view of romance, and because I fancied the lead actor. Therefore Russian Dolls gets CF1.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
16th May 06 - Brick
Hype is a tricky devil. It can turn a release date into a highly anticipated event, but make a good film a crushing disappointment. Brick received very good reviews from various folk, and as such I went in expecting something amazing. Mr. Hype strikes again.
But let’s hold back on the usual ‘could have been more’ debate, and look at this film through the right lens. Noir is the term, and for a detailed description of what noir entails, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Film_noir and note the ‘elements’ section. This will give you a clue as to what this film is about.
So, approach this from a homage to noir (what a fun sentence to say in a posh accent) and things start to look better. You have a murder mystery, an alienated hero, a jet black mood and lots of arty farty shots. And it’s all set in high school, but not in an irritating way. These teens are rarely in school, they’re all intelligent enough to be able to scheme and their dialogue is playfully poetic. You’ve got a character called The Brain, who actually looks like Brains from Thunderbirds, and a 26 year-old drug dealer with a cane. It’s teetering on ridiculous and reminded me slightly of Bugsy Malone (which I never warmed to as a child. I didn’t like the kids being scared of those custard guns – couldn’t figure out why they weren’t firing real bullets. I was a slightly disturbed child.)
Anyway, you could take badly to this film and see it as an up itself blah-de-blah type of affair. But keep ‘noir’ in your mind and it hits the spot, mostly because of Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He stomps around, hands stuffed into pockets, curly fringe covering moody stare. And when he breaks down in one scene, the raw emotion still trying to be checked by his tough exterior, there’s a strong hint that this guy’s going to be a big contender in the future. And extra points for having a glasses-wearing hero who isn’t a dweeb.
Other high points include some effective use of lighting with a spinning mirror, jarringly cut fights and a chase scene where the only sound is the echo of desperate footsteps. There was some good stuff in this film. But I didn’t come away completely wowed. Why? First off, there’s Mr. Hype. Secondly, I spent a lot of it struggling to hear muttered clues and remembering which one was Tug and which one was Dode. And thirdly the mystery wasn’t that big a mystery. There was a round-up of the plot at the end, which was necessary, but the whole ‘who dunnit’ angle wasn’t mind blowing. The plot wasn’t really clever, just had a lot of names.
So, on a general out of ten rating, Brick makes 8. On the CF rating, it automatically makes 0. There’s an extra point for Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and another for creating noir and bringing it into the modern day high school. In total it makes CF2.
But let’s hold back on the usual ‘could have been more’ debate, and look at this film through the right lens. Noir is the term, and for a detailed description of what noir entails, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Film_noir and note the ‘elements’ section. This will give you a clue as to what this film is about.
So, approach this from a homage to noir (what a fun sentence to say in a posh accent) and things start to look better. You have a murder mystery, an alienated hero, a jet black mood and lots of arty farty shots. And it’s all set in high school, but not in an irritating way. These teens are rarely in school, they’re all intelligent enough to be able to scheme and their dialogue is playfully poetic. You’ve got a character called The Brain, who actually looks like Brains from Thunderbirds, and a 26 year-old drug dealer with a cane. It’s teetering on ridiculous and reminded me slightly of Bugsy Malone (which I never warmed to as a child. I didn’t like the kids being scared of those custard guns – couldn’t figure out why they weren’t firing real bullets. I was a slightly disturbed child.)
Anyway, you could take badly to this film and see it as an up itself blah-de-blah type of affair. But keep ‘noir’ in your mind and it hits the spot, mostly because of Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He stomps around, hands stuffed into pockets, curly fringe covering moody stare. And when he breaks down in one scene, the raw emotion still trying to be checked by his tough exterior, there’s a strong hint that this guy’s going to be a big contender in the future. And extra points for having a glasses-wearing hero who isn’t a dweeb.
Other high points include some effective use of lighting with a spinning mirror, jarringly cut fights and a chase scene where the only sound is the echo of desperate footsteps. There was some good stuff in this film. But I didn’t come away completely wowed. Why? First off, there’s Mr. Hype. Secondly, I spent a lot of it struggling to hear muttered clues and remembering which one was Tug and which one was Dode. And thirdly the mystery wasn’t that big a mystery. There was a round-up of the plot at the end, which was necessary, but the whole ‘who dunnit’ angle wasn’t mind blowing. The plot wasn’t really clever, just had a lot of names.
So, on a general out of ten rating, Brick makes 8. On the CF rating, it automatically makes 0. There’s an extra point for Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and another for creating noir and bringing it into the modern day high school. In total it makes CF2.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
10th May 06 - The Magician
I could’ve made this film. If I had access to a bald ozzie bloke. And my own video camera. But that’s about all you’d need to recreate it. In an age of $200m budgets, The Magician is a breath of fresh air. Shot on a shoddy camera, with bad sound, no lighting and shaky footage when on foot, this film is the essence of cheapness. And it shows you don’t need mega bucks to make a good piece of film.
The Magician is a ‘documentary’ by a ‘film student’ about Ray the hitman. It centres on one client in particular, and flitters around interviews with Ray about his job and circumstances. To take this view on an already milked concept (see Leon, Assassin, Gross Point Blank, etc etc) is a smart move. Hitmen are generally portrayed as cool dudes, silent hunters, sporting black jackets and slow-mo super kick ass moves. In The Magician you get to see one eating a McDonalds with a glob of mayo on his face.
Ray (Scott Ryan - also the writer and director, the greedy munchkin) is the star of the show. His weird rectangular teeth hide a violent streak that’s often blackly amusing. Though his occupation is a tad morally wrong, we get to see a softer side to him. Well, occasionally soft. The banter between Ray and Max, the documentary maker, is fantastic. Acted so naturally, it’s difficult to tell whether their conversations are scripted or ad-libbed, but the great moral debates they hold (how much money would it take to eat your own shit?) are probably the highlight of this film.
With an original take on the hitman genre and likeable characters, it’s all the more disappointing that The Magician flops at the finale. Themes and ideas that are touched on should have been bulked up so much more. I wanted to know more about Ray, I wanted to see his friendship increase with Max, and I wanted to see that relationship tested by Ray’s occupation. All of this was there, very fleetingly, but it never really took off. If it had, then the emotional impact would have been substantial. As it was, I was left feeling a little flat and mostly disappointed – there was a lot of promise here, and it’s a great shame that it lost the ‘wow’ factor.
The Magician gets 7/10. On the new CF scale (see post ‘The New CF Scale’) it starts at ‘0’, and is awarded one CF point for having such a small budget, and for featuring believable, funny dialogue. It therefore makes CF 1.
The Magician is a ‘documentary’ by a ‘film student’ about Ray the hitman. It centres on one client in particular, and flitters around interviews with Ray about his job and circumstances. To take this view on an already milked concept (see Leon, Assassin, Gross Point Blank, etc etc) is a smart move. Hitmen are generally portrayed as cool dudes, silent hunters, sporting black jackets and slow-mo super kick ass moves. In The Magician you get to see one eating a McDonalds with a glob of mayo on his face.
Ray (Scott Ryan - also the writer and director, the greedy munchkin) is the star of the show. His weird rectangular teeth hide a violent streak that’s often blackly amusing. Though his occupation is a tad morally wrong, we get to see a softer side to him. Well, occasionally soft. The banter between Ray and Max, the documentary maker, is fantastic. Acted so naturally, it’s difficult to tell whether their conversations are scripted or ad-libbed, but the great moral debates they hold (how much money would it take to eat your own shit?) are probably the highlight of this film.
With an original take on the hitman genre and likeable characters, it’s all the more disappointing that The Magician flops at the finale. Themes and ideas that are touched on should have been bulked up so much more. I wanted to know more about Ray, I wanted to see his friendship increase with Max, and I wanted to see that relationship tested by Ray’s occupation. All of this was there, very fleetingly, but it never really took off. If it had, then the emotional impact would have been substantial. As it was, I was left feeling a little flat and mostly disappointed – there was a lot of promise here, and it’s a great shame that it lost the ‘wow’ factor.
The Magician gets 7/10. On the new CF scale (see post ‘The New CF Scale’) it starts at ‘0’, and is awarded one CF point for having such a small budget, and for featuring believable, funny dialogue. It therefore makes CF 1.
The New CF Scale
After recent conversations with my friends at kinoland and emosciencemusings, I have decided to alter the ratings system used on this site. Current ratings are out of 10, with ‘5’ being average, ‘10’ being absolutely impossibly brilliant, and ‘1’ utter and complete shite. But because I choose my cinema trips carefully, I avoid all films that would usually get a below 5 rating, so most of my reviews fall into the ‘7’ category. Hence the repeated use of decimal places to try and distinguish one ‘7’ film from another.
Thus the new Cinemafool (CF) rating is born. It is based on the preconception that every film I go to see is a 7 rated film. On the new scale, 7 = 0. Extra marks can then be scored, up to a maximum of 5, for any aspects of the film that I deem greater than 7. Or for the occasional slip-up, marks can be lost, down to negative 5, depending on the crapness.
For example:
Thus the new Cinemafool (CF) rating is born. It is based on the preconception that every film I go to see is a 7 rated film. On the new scale, 7 = 0. Extra marks can then be scored, up to a maximum of 5, for any aspects of the film that I deem greater than 7. Or for the occasional slip-up, marks can be lost, down to negative 5, depending on the crapness.
For example:
Tsotsi was given 8.5/10 on the old scale.
- It automatically makes ‘0’ because it’s more than 7.
- I’ve decided to add 2 extra marks for the emotional thrust of the film.
- So Tsotsi makes a CF score of 2.
- (Some might think it’d be 1.5, if you take it from 8.5 minus 7. But the scales don’t transfer that neatly. This gives me more scope for films better than a 7.)
Another example:
Closer was awarded 5.5/10.
- It therefore does not even reach CF 0 – instead I put it at CF-2. It loses 2 CF points for having crap dialogue and featuring Clive Owen.
In short, if a film makes CF 0, then it’s worth seeing. The more CF points it gains, the more I’d recommend it. It’s that simple.
From now on all films will be rated on the CF scale, but with an additional rating out of ten for those who are a bit silly and don’t understand what I’ve just plainly written.
Friday, May 05, 2006
4th May 06 - C.R.A.Z.Y
Being gay and having your father hate you for it is not a new concept. Hell, they even covered it in Dawson’s Creek. So I was a bit dubious about watching C.R.A.Z.Y, simply because I’ve seen it all before. But CRAZY (I’m omitting the full stops because it’s just plain annoying to type) has an ace up its sleeve. As well as the ‘I’m gay and my father can’t handle it’ story, there’s an extra ‘religious faith healer’ angle. Interesting…
So we have little Zach, growing up with four brothers and struggling to deal with the very ‘trait’ his father constantly puts down. Zach was born on Christmas day, making him a) grumpy that his birthday has to be shared with Jesus, and b) ‘special’ in his mother’s eyes, supposedly blessed with the ability to heal. As Zach gets older, he finds it more difficult to hide his true feelings and keep his dad happy at the same time. Oh, and he doesn't believe in healing anymore. But sometimes he does.
So what’s good about it? Well, Marc-Andre Grondin, who plays teenage to twenty-something Zach. I found him to be an engaging and likeable lead, not just because I may have fancied the pants off him. He managed to portray the rebellious teen who just wants to be loved without coming across like a brat, and handled his growing fondness for men with confidence, especially when considering the lucky bastard is a year younger than me in real life. The direction (by Jean-Marc Vallee) is punchy and playful, incorporating fantasy scenes without resembling Ally McBeal, and there are some great moments of humour mixed with real poignancy.
Unfortunately, CRAZY struggles with themes and, well, the point. There are lots of neat ideas and characters that are never really played out to their fullest. Apart from his druggy loser older brother, Zach’s other siblings are just background (and why does the clever one have to be wearing glasses? And the exact same pair of glasses ten years later – what, does the director think we’re so stupid that we need such an obvious visual clue to pinpoint which grown-up character is which. Why not add name tags just to be sure.) The whole ‘is Zach a healer’ thing is an interesting side-line, but it’s never really concluded, which makes it feel a bit, well, pointless. It’s like they started out with all these ideas and then didn’t know what to do with them. So instead they send Zach to the desert and have him rescued by some passing travellers. Eh?
The film is a hefty 127 minutes long. You can get a lot into two hours, but CRAZY just doesn’t. Sure, there are some really effective scenes in there, but it’s like having a neat stack of cards and dropping them on the floor. You start off with some structure, but end up with a sprawling mess. I did like most of this film, (the soundtrack was especially good) but it needs tightening up, stripping down, and a clearer idea of what it’s trying to say. However, the acting and bouncy direction manage to bring it up to 7.
So we have little Zach, growing up with four brothers and struggling to deal with the very ‘trait’ his father constantly puts down. Zach was born on Christmas day, making him a) grumpy that his birthday has to be shared with Jesus, and b) ‘special’ in his mother’s eyes, supposedly blessed with the ability to heal. As Zach gets older, he finds it more difficult to hide his true feelings and keep his dad happy at the same time. Oh, and he doesn't believe in healing anymore. But sometimes he does.
So what’s good about it? Well, Marc-Andre Grondin, who plays teenage to twenty-something Zach. I found him to be an engaging and likeable lead, not just because I may have fancied the pants off him. He managed to portray the rebellious teen who just wants to be loved without coming across like a brat, and handled his growing fondness for men with confidence, especially when considering the lucky bastard is a year younger than me in real life. The direction (by Jean-Marc Vallee) is punchy and playful, incorporating fantasy scenes without resembling Ally McBeal, and there are some great moments of humour mixed with real poignancy.
Unfortunately, CRAZY struggles with themes and, well, the point. There are lots of neat ideas and characters that are never really played out to their fullest. Apart from his druggy loser older brother, Zach’s other siblings are just background (and why does the clever one have to be wearing glasses? And the exact same pair of glasses ten years later – what, does the director think we’re so stupid that we need such an obvious visual clue to pinpoint which grown-up character is which. Why not add name tags just to be sure.) The whole ‘is Zach a healer’ thing is an interesting side-line, but it’s never really concluded, which makes it feel a bit, well, pointless. It’s like they started out with all these ideas and then didn’t know what to do with them. So instead they send Zach to the desert and have him rescued by some passing travellers. Eh?
The film is a hefty 127 minutes long. You can get a lot into two hours, but CRAZY just doesn’t. Sure, there are some really effective scenes in there, but it’s like having a neat stack of cards and dropping them on the floor. You start off with some structure, but end up with a sprawling mess. I did like most of this film, (the soundtrack was especially good) but it needs tightening up, stripping down, and a clearer idea of what it’s trying to say. However, the acting and bouncy direction manage to bring it up to 7.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)