Crikey I have been seeing a lot of shite recently, haven’t I? Ok, so maybe a wedding based rom-com isn’t my usual choice. But this was one of those impromptu cinema trips, limited by what I’d already seen and what my companions were willing to watch. I went in expecting utter toss. I wouldn’t say I was pleasantly surprised, but I’d definitely remove ’utter’ from my prediction.
Thankfully staying away from too much lovey-duvy nonsense, Wedding Daze is all about forlorn romantic Anderson (American Pie’s Jason Biggs) randomly asking a complete stranger, kooky waitress Katie (Wedding Crasher’s Isla Fisher with lovely hair) to marry him. When she decides to accept on a whim, hilarious antics ensue.. Well, by ‘hilarious’ I mean ‘vaguely smile-inducing’. And by ‘antics’ I mean ‘a few misunderstandings and stuff’. The tone aims towards gross-out, resulting in some grimacing scenes (parental fetishes) and some sort of funny slap-stick moments (toothpaste spat in the eye).
There’s not much else to write about, really. It wasn’t horrendous and certainly passed the time. But I’d get the same enjoyment from watching foolish teenagers skate-boarding off pavements for an hour in the hope that one of them will fall off. And that would have been cheaper. Wedding Daze is a bit of toss, but harmless none-the-less. And frankly better than Ocean’s Thirteen. Therefore it cruises in with CF-2.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
21st June 07 - Ocean's Thirteen
Like Fantastic Four 2, my willingness to watch this was only down to being tired in Munich and wanting a good sit down somewhere air-conditioned. Ocean’s Eleven was good fun, but Ocean’s Twelve was quite frankly offensive. I’d read that Ocean’s Thirteen is the apology for Twelve. If that’s the case, then this is the sort of apology you’d use when you actually didn’t really mean it. One of those “yeah, sorry, whatever” moments where you roll your eyes. In short, Ocean’s Thirteen is a teenager’s apology.
But let’s throw this out there - it’s not as bad as Twelve. They at least attempt a story with purpose rather than film themselves out on holiday in European cities. One of the gang is stung by Willie Bank (Al Pacino with orange hair that can’t possibly be his own) so the rest gather together to get Willie back with the most elaborate sting you’ve ever heard (yeah, let’s make an earthquake…) Cue lots of inconceivable devices used by the gang, lots of montages of them walking about Las Vegas with “cool” music playing, and… well, I’m trying to think of a third thing to complete this sentence, but I’m drawing a blank. That’s because the film is the equivalent of an episode of popular BBC show The Hustle. Only it’s longer, has more famous people in it, and their hustle isn’t actually that clever. As it all plays out, you’ll think to yourself ;“this can’t just be it, there’ll be something else, something very very clever coming up and… oh. No, that was it.”
I can’t really see a point to them having made this film. The simple story is overcomplicated by numerous plot strands that aren’t fully explained, but don’t actually mean anything anyway. Random jokes are thrown out and sit uncomfortably next to the bland nature of the rest of the film. And let’s face it, who gives a damn if this cool, suave bunch of guys with a shed load of money actually get away with whatever it is they want to do? In the first film there was the challenge of “how will they do it?” In this film problems are solved with the greatest of ease, or the most ludicrous of plans (aforementioned earthquake). Plus there’s the “comic” use of a chemical that makes women want to sleep with the wearer. Um… Rohypnol isn’t funny guys. And neither is your made-up chemical.
Though it didn’t aggravate me as much as Twelve, Ocean’s Thirteen was still frustrating, pointless, and, like the Bavarian mountain I recently visited, Wank. Thus it slips down to CF-3. Stop it now, guys. Apology not accepted.
But let’s throw this out there - it’s not as bad as Twelve. They at least attempt a story with purpose rather than film themselves out on holiday in European cities. One of the gang is stung by Willie Bank (Al Pacino with orange hair that can’t possibly be his own) so the rest gather together to get Willie back with the most elaborate sting you’ve ever heard (yeah, let’s make an earthquake…) Cue lots of inconceivable devices used by the gang, lots of montages of them walking about Las Vegas with “cool” music playing, and… well, I’m trying to think of a third thing to complete this sentence, but I’m drawing a blank. That’s because the film is the equivalent of an episode of popular BBC show The Hustle. Only it’s longer, has more famous people in it, and their hustle isn’t actually that clever. As it all plays out, you’ll think to yourself ;“this can’t just be it, there’ll be something else, something very very clever coming up and… oh. No, that was it.”
I can’t really see a point to them having made this film. The simple story is overcomplicated by numerous plot strands that aren’t fully explained, but don’t actually mean anything anyway. Random jokes are thrown out and sit uncomfortably next to the bland nature of the rest of the film. And let’s face it, who gives a damn if this cool, suave bunch of guys with a shed load of money actually get away with whatever it is they want to do? In the first film there was the challenge of “how will they do it?” In this film problems are solved with the greatest of ease, or the most ludicrous of plans (aforementioned earthquake). Plus there’s the “comic” use of a chemical that makes women want to sleep with the wearer. Um… Rohypnol isn’t funny guys. And neither is your made-up chemical.
Though it didn’t aggravate me as much as Twelve, Ocean’s Thirteen was still frustrating, pointless, and, like the Bavarian mountain I recently visited, Wank. Thus it slips down to CF-3. Stop it now, guys. Apology not accepted.
Friday, June 15, 2007
15th June 07 - Fantastic Four 2: Rise of the Silver Surfer
Every sane fibre of my being would have kept me away from watching this. I haven’t seen the first one because it looked like it’d be a gaudy, silly child’s film. But, my situation as a cold, tired traveller in a wet Copenhagen propelled me into the cinema, and this was the only real choice. And yup. It was a gaudy, silly child’s film.
However, that doesn’t mean it didn’t pass the time in a reasonably enjoyable fashion. It’s bright and colourful with good effects and a sort of likeable bunch of characters. The Human Torch (Chris Evans) is amusingly cocky. The Thing (Michael Chiklis) is fascinating to watch after getting through a few series of the Sheild (it’s baby-faced brutal cop - covered in stone! When’s he going to hurt someone…?) Mr Fantastic (Ioan Gruffudd) is a little naff but dead stretchy. And then there’s The Invisible Woman (Jessica Alba). She’s just plain scary. Her eyes are the most weirdly CGI-enhanced plastically creepy eyes I have ever seen. Couple them with massive lips, skinny face and unnatural blonde hair, and she resembles a creepy version of a creepy plastic doll that’s got all warped in the sun. It’s a shame they had to “enhance” Alba in this way (she avoids my hate-list somehow, probably because she’s not yet smug like the Johanssons and Knightleys) but it does sort of add to the comic book feel.
The film revolves around the Silver Surfer, and his big boss who actually eats planets. Pretty cool, really, yet any hint of darkness is constantly washed away with slapstick moments, or silly jokes, or camels. But hey - FF is not a dark comic, and this film matches the mood perfectly. Characters behave in laughably stupid ways (hey you’re evil, I’m not trusting you. Now wait in this room filled with useful tools while I turn my back. Don’t do anything evil, though.. I’ll just be over here..) And the baddy, Dr Doom (the lovely Julian McMahon from Nip/Tuck) is ham-tastic. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d added comedy sound effects during the fight scenes. Maybe little animated birds twittering round someone’s unconscious head. Or Mr Fantastic slipping on a banana peel.
It’s all very silly and a bit throw-away, but not half as horrendous as DareDevil. The Danes certainly enjoyed it, though I suspect their subtitles had better jokes (there was a lot of laughing in the cinema at jokes that weren’t overly funny.) I wouldn’t go out of my way to recommend this, but it didn’t rate too highly on my scorn-meter. Therefore Fantastic Four comes in with a CF-1. Not Fantastic, but not Four-king awful either (that’s about the level of humour you can expect. Minus the swearing.)
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
23rd May 07 - Zodiac
David Fincher has a weird habit of either missing the mark (Panic Room, Alien 3), hitting the mark solidly (The Game, Se7en) or hitting it so spot on it’s enough to make your head spin with the greatness (Fight Club). With his sixth film, Fincher tackles a real life detective story, that of 60s/70s serial killer “The Zodiac”, a creepy dude who liked sending letters to newspapers confessing to various killings and threatening more of the same. A bit scarier than your usual disgruntled Daily Mail reader writing in to complain about that week’s inflamed nonsense. Sorry - that was off topic, but hey.
Anyway, Fincher lines himself up with a cast who are not only fantastic actors but also, much to my joy, lovely to look at: Jake Gyllenhaal, Robert Downy Jr and Mark Ruffalo. It’s winning already. Lovely Jake plays a geeky cartoonist for a newspaper, who also has a knack for solving puzzles and getting a bit obsessed with things. Lovely Bobby-Jr plays a ruthless reporter at the same paper, who writes up the Zodiac stories and is also a raging alcoholic. And Lovely Mark plays the detective assigned to the case, along with his partner Anthony Edwards (ER’s Doctor Greene, though he probably hates that he’s forever linked to that character. He gets to have a full head of hair in this, so that should make up for it.)
The film follows the investigations into the Zodiac killer, both from the detective’s point of view and that of lovely Jake, whose character decides to write a book on the case (said book written in real life, by the real life lovely Jake - Robert Graysmith - on which this film is based. Or something.) It makes up your basic serial killer v detective type of film, except this one doesn’t have a flash resolution (being stuck to real-life, where thrilling stand-offs never happen) and delves into a variety of other genres. There’s definitely a thriller/creep-fest element to it, giving the audience a front-row seat on a few of the Zodiac’s brutal slayings, and there are a few Se7en-style dark basement get-the-hell-out-of-there moments that’ll have you wriggling in your seat. There’s also a nice tale of obsession (Mr Graysmith just not letting go at expense of his family) and some chuckles to add to the flavour.
On top of all of this, Fincher has been sure to make his stylish mark. It’s like he’s peed all over the film - wherever you look you’ll get a whiff of Fincher. His camera goes off on fun journeys, be it peering out a car window, perched atop the Golden Gate bridge, or somehow following a moving vehicle in exactly the same birds-eye-view style as Grand Theft Auto. Thankfully he keeps his fun to the filler scenes, letting his formidable cast carry themselves. It all adds up to be one slick, solid piece of film.
At 158 minutes this is a stocky beast, but the time flies by in a mixture of suspense and intrigue. With a great cast, a fascinating story (all the more because it’s true) and some clever direction, Zodiac makes a killing with a CF3.
Anyway, Fincher lines himself up with a cast who are not only fantastic actors but also, much to my joy, lovely to look at: Jake Gyllenhaal, Robert Downy Jr and Mark Ruffalo. It’s winning already. Lovely Jake plays a geeky cartoonist for a newspaper, who also has a knack for solving puzzles and getting a bit obsessed with things. Lovely Bobby-Jr plays a ruthless reporter at the same paper, who writes up the Zodiac stories and is also a raging alcoholic. And Lovely Mark plays the detective assigned to the case, along with his partner Anthony Edwards (ER’s Doctor Greene, though he probably hates that he’s forever linked to that character. He gets to have a full head of hair in this, so that should make up for it.)
The film follows the investigations into the Zodiac killer, both from the detective’s point of view and that of lovely Jake, whose character decides to write a book on the case (said book written in real life, by the real life lovely Jake - Robert Graysmith - on which this film is based. Or something.) It makes up your basic serial killer v detective type of film, except this one doesn’t have a flash resolution (being stuck to real-life, where thrilling stand-offs never happen) and delves into a variety of other genres. There’s definitely a thriller/creep-fest element to it, giving the audience a front-row seat on a few of the Zodiac’s brutal slayings, and there are a few Se7en-style dark basement get-the-hell-out-of-there moments that’ll have you wriggling in your seat. There’s also a nice tale of obsession (Mr Graysmith just not letting go at expense of his family) and some chuckles to add to the flavour.
On top of all of this, Fincher has been sure to make his stylish mark. It’s like he’s peed all over the film - wherever you look you’ll get a whiff of Fincher. His camera goes off on fun journeys, be it peering out a car window, perched atop the Golden Gate bridge, or somehow following a moving vehicle in exactly the same birds-eye-view style as Grand Theft Auto. Thankfully he keeps his fun to the filler scenes, letting his formidable cast carry themselves. It all adds up to be one slick, solid piece of film.
At 158 minutes this is a stocky beast, but the time flies by in a mixture of suspense and intrigue. With a great cast, a fascinating story (all the more because it’s true) and some clever direction, Zodiac makes a killing with a CF3.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
16th May 07 - 28 Weeks Later
At first this looked like another lazy sequel. Keep the same story, change the title a little, swap all the main characters, add some Americans, plonk a random director in and hear the cash registers ching away with money spent by brainless fools who’ll watch any old rubbish if it’s bright and colourful. They even have a floppy haired pair of child siblings as the protagonists. As the well-known saying goes, it sounded like hell in a basket.
But it’s not quite as bad as it seems. For one thing the sequel is leap-frogging off a strong original. 28 Days… was from Danny Boyle/Alex Garland (the duo who brought us April’s CF3 rated Sunshine) and featured a new breed of zombie fun. Instead of shambling slow morons, 28 Days had super-speedy, bloody-faced lunatics. And though Boyle and Garland are absent from this sequel, the new director is Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, the Spanish writer/director of excellent 2001 flick Intacto. Chuck in Robert Carlyle and a bigger budget, and suddenly things start looking up.
Well, things aren’t exactly looking up for the characters, or the world for that matter. The film takes place 28 weeks after the original (hence the name. Clever, innit?) England has been purged of the ‘rage virus’ that caused so much havoc and the American army are supervising the reintegration of a non bloody-faced-lunatic population. But uh-oh – is that a fresh out-break I spy? Before you can say ‘is that blood you’re weeping’, London is back into a state of chaos. And now our new batch of survivors have to battle with both the angry infected, and also the crazy army, whose idea of ‘only trying to help’ is by horribly killing lots of civilians (seems familiar…)
With the luxury of not having to set up the scenario, Fresnadillo can leap straight into lots and lots of frantic running, violence and general horror. It’s great fun, and the director plays around with some neat little set pieces, in particular a pitch-black stumble through a deserted tube station, seen only through the night-vision of a sniper rifle. There’s jumps, thrills and a fantastic use of a helicopter (causing grimaces from one side of me, and giggles from the other). It’s enough to raise your heart rate throughout, and satisfies all basic speedy-zombie necessities. Watching Robert Carlyle pegging down a hillside, closely followed by a flock of rabid, scary people, is definitely my definition of fun.
The film does suffer a little from the removed original British roots. The slow set-up and story of the first film is abandoned in favour of a basic “we have to get from here to there” mentality, which seems to perfectly mirror your traditional horror computer game. “I’ll meet you over there, once you’ve performed a series of tasks” says their potential saviour. No, bloody-well meet me right here, please. You can almost count the levels as they work their way through.
The characters are also fairly generic, and almost all action pieces take place in front of some sort of London landmark. But hell, it’s a fast, fun and exhilarating ride, and it’s done pretty damn well. And so, just as the imaginative direction lifts this out of easy-sequel naffness, the rating is lifted to a commendable CF1. If only for the helicopter scene. Now that’s effective crowd control, if ever I saw it.
But it’s not quite as bad as it seems. For one thing the sequel is leap-frogging off a strong original. 28 Days… was from Danny Boyle/Alex Garland (the duo who brought us April’s CF3 rated Sunshine) and featured a new breed of zombie fun. Instead of shambling slow morons, 28 Days had super-speedy, bloody-faced lunatics. And though Boyle and Garland are absent from this sequel, the new director is Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, the Spanish writer/director of excellent 2001 flick Intacto. Chuck in Robert Carlyle and a bigger budget, and suddenly things start looking up.
Well, things aren’t exactly looking up for the characters, or the world for that matter. The film takes place 28 weeks after the original (hence the name. Clever, innit?) England has been purged of the ‘rage virus’ that caused so much havoc and the American army are supervising the reintegration of a non bloody-faced-lunatic population. But uh-oh – is that a fresh out-break I spy? Before you can say ‘is that blood you’re weeping’, London is back into a state of chaos. And now our new batch of survivors have to battle with both the angry infected, and also the crazy army, whose idea of ‘only trying to help’ is by horribly killing lots of civilians (seems familiar…)
With the luxury of not having to set up the scenario, Fresnadillo can leap straight into lots and lots of frantic running, violence and general horror. It’s great fun, and the director plays around with some neat little set pieces, in particular a pitch-black stumble through a deserted tube station, seen only through the night-vision of a sniper rifle. There’s jumps, thrills and a fantastic use of a helicopter (causing grimaces from one side of me, and giggles from the other). It’s enough to raise your heart rate throughout, and satisfies all basic speedy-zombie necessities. Watching Robert Carlyle pegging down a hillside, closely followed by a flock of rabid, scary people, is definitely my definition of fun.
The film does suffer a little from the removed original British roots. The slow set-up and story of the first film is abandoned in favour of a basic “we have to get from here to there” mentality, which seems to perfectly mirror your traditional horror computer game. “I’ll meet you over there, once you’ve performed a series of tasks” says their potential saviour. No, bloody-well meet me right here, please. You can almost count the levels as they work their way through.
The characters are also fairly generic, and almost all action pieces take place in front of some sort of London landmark. But hell, it’s a fast, fun and exhilarating ride, and it’s done pretty damn well. And so, just as the imaginative direction lifts this out of easy-sequel naffness, the rating is lifted to a commendable CF1. If only for the helicopter scene. Now that’s effective crowd control, if ever I saw it.
Monday, May 14, 2007
9th May 07 - Fast Food Nation
Yeah yeah yeah. We all know that fast food is bad for us. It’s already been covered in books, films, television - in fact, even if you haven’t seen or heard anything, it’s blindingly obvious that a big greasy burger is not going to produce healthy results. You’d have to be a total moron not to know this - in fact, you’d deserve to get flabby arteries if you thought any different. So why do we need another film about it all? What is there left to say?
Well, it seems Richard Linklater (who brought us last year’s A Scanner Darkly - a CF top 10) foresaw the above paragraph when he teamed up with Eric Schlosser, the writer of factual novel ‘Fast Food Nation’. Using Eric’s book as a starting point, the guys created a fictional fast food chain (Mickey’s Burgers) and a ensemble of fictional characters. And they used them all to say a heck of a lot more than ‘burgers are bad’.
Not that they come down on the side of burgers. One third of the film follows Don (Greg Kinnear, Little Miss Sunshine), a marketing exec at Mickey’s sent to investigate why traces of cow shit have been found in their burgers. Yummy. This is the point where a non beef-eater such as myself would stick their thumbs to the sides of their heads and waggle their fingers at everyone else, tongue protruding in a ‘ner ner ner-ner ner’ gesture, while secretly thanking the film-makers for a) not focussing on chicken-based products, and b) not showing all the genetically produced fungus that goes into meat substitutes. But at least I haven’t been eating cow shit. Ner ner.
The film’s other narrative strands follow a group of illegal Mexican immigrants sent to work in a meat-packing factory (from which the shit cometh), and a bunch of teenagers who work in one of the chains. The plot strands offer neat little ethical thoughts - the meatpackers are illegal, but they’ve come from poverty and this is a better choice, and Mr Marketing man knows he’s allowing shit and chemicals into the burgers, but they’re not killing anyone, he doesn’t have the power to stop it, and his family have to eat too. So who’s in the wrong, precisely?
But the big mamma of points is summed up in one scene, when a group of activists break down a fence up at the burgers-to-be cattle ranch in order to save the animals. The fence is down, but the cows just don’t want to move - they’re either too dumb to realise, or too afraid to escape their surroundings. Linklater’s basically saying everyone is a big dumb cow, putting up with everything that’s crap in the world because they’re too lazy, or afraid, or stupid to really do anything about it, even when there’s sometimes a solution staring them in the face. Now, I don’t think there’s any issue in particular that he’s aiming at here - just general apathy. Lots of characters harp on about taking action, making a stand, making a difference etc etc. It’s all very inspiring, and I came out of the cinema both completely ready to make a stand against the first atrocity I saw, and also feeling slightly nauseous from the graphic slaughter house scenes at the end.
At times the tone tips a little too far into preachy, with some scenes a bit too blatant (characters occasionally chatter away, then appear to throw in “yes, here comes this opinion which is very poignant” [looks at audience to check they’re paying attention]) and the split narrative creates a strange, disjointed feel to the piece. But with a great cast, some great messages and a clever way of transferring the text to screen, Fast Food Nation scrapes in with a CF2. It’s a shame that the people who could really benefit from its message will be more likely staring blankly at the wall in their nearest shit-burger outlet, than paying attention to the cinema.
Well, it seems Richard Linklater (who brought us last year’s A Scanner Darkly - a CF top 10) foresaw the above paragraph when he teamed up with Eric Schlosser, the writer of factual novel ‘Fast Food Nation’. Using Eric’s book as a starting point, the guys created a fictional fast food chain (Mickey’s Burgers) and a ensemble of fictional characters. And they used them all to say a heck of a lot more than ‘burgers are bad’.
Not that they come down on the side of burgers. One third of the film follows Don (Greg Kinnear, Little Miss Sunshine), a marketing exec at Mickey’s sent to investigate why traces of cow shit have been found in their burgers. Yummy. This is the point where a non beef-eater such as myself would stick their thumbs to the sides of their heads and waggle their fingers at everyone else, tongue protruding in a ‘ner ner ner-ner ner’ gesture, while secretly thanking the film-makers for a) not focussing on chicken-based products, and b) not showing all the genetically produced fungus that goes into meat substitutes. But at least I haven’t been eating cow shit. Ner ner.
The film’s other narrative strands follow a group of illegal Mexican immigrants sent to work in a meat-packing factory (from which the shit cometh), and a bunch of teenagers who work in one of the chains. The plot strands offer neat little ethical thoughts - the meatpackers are illegal, but they’ve come from poverty and this is a better choice, and Mr Marketing man knows he’s allowing shit and chemicals into the burgers, but they’re not killing anyone, he doesn’t have the power to stop it, and his family have to eat too. So who’s in the wrong, precisely?
But the big mamma of points is summed up in one scene, when a group of activists break down a fence up at the burgers-to-be cattle ranch in order to save the animals. The fence is down, but the cows just don’t want to move - they’re either too dumb to realise, or too afraid to escape their surroundings. Linklater’s basically saying everyone is a big dumb cow, putting up with everything that’s crap in the world because they’re too lazy, or afraid, or stupid to really do anything about it, even when there’s sometimes a solution staring them in the face. Now, I don’t think there’s any issue in particular that he’s aiming at here - just general apathy. Lots of characters harp on about taking action, making a stand, making a difference etc etc. It’s all very inspiring, and I came out of the cinema both completely ready to make a stand against the first atrocity I saw, and also feeling slightly nauseous from the graphic slaughter house scenes at the end.
At times the tone tips a little too far into preachy, with some scenes a bit too blatant (characters occasionally chatter away, then appear to throw in “yes, here comes this opinion which is very poignant” [looks at audience to check they’re paying attention]) and the split narrative creates a strange, disjointed feel to the piece. But with a great cast, some great messages and a clever way of transferring the text to screen, Fast Food Nation scrapes in with a CF2. It’s a shame that the people who could really benefit from its message will be more likely staring blankly at the wall in their nearest shit-burger outlet, than paying attention to the cinema.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
5th May 07 - Spider-Man 3
As they said in the previous two films, with great power comes great responsibility, and that is the cross that Sam Raimi must bear in his third offering of your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man (must get the hyphen in there or I’ll get in trouble…) His first film was met with ‘I didn’t think you could do it’ amazement. His second a jaw-dropping step up (come on, how can you not admire the Doc-Ock awakens scene?). I’m aware I may be spiralling into a pit of nerd-dom here, but who cares. Spider-Man rules, and if you don’t think so then I raise my palm to you in defiance. And written on my palm is “you are a fool”.
Anyway, it was with half excitement, half trepidation that I approached Spidey 3. Excitement because the first two were solid, exciting, funny and dark, and were one of the best comic book adaptations out there. Trepidation because it’s always been difficult to trump it three times in a row (save for Lord of the Rings, but face it - that’s just one big film split into three). Could Raimi pull another great film out of the bag? Well?
Well. Let’s get this out there: it was good. It was absolutely brimming with plot. First off there’s baddy one, the Sandman, a surprisingly subdued Thomas Haden Church whose molecular structure gets sort of, er, well he’s made out of sand basically. And you can’t really kill sand. Then there’s baddy two, the new Goblin who emerged at the end of the last film. James Franco’s brow furrows away as he harbours a mega grudge against his best mate, who he knows is a) Spider-Man, and b) responsible for his father’s death. Not a healthy grudge that one. And then there’s baddy three, a black alien parasite thingy that makes Spidey a little bit naughty and later spawns Venom (fan-boys/girls excited about that character coming into celluloid light.)
So three baddies, plus Spidey’s battle with his own ego, plus difficulties with girlfriend MJ, and it all could equal busy mess. We saw it with X-Men 3, when the deluge of new characters meant nobody had time to really develop. So here’s where it’s hats off to Raimi, because not only does he give all baddies chance to hog the limelight and have their own background, and fit in various relationship woes, AND fit in Peter Parker’s decline to meanness, he also manages to find the time for a dance number (more on that later…) At 140 minutes (ten less than Pirates) it’s certainly impressive that there’s never a sense of urgency. Aunt May can still deliver nice little speeches, Peter can get teary over his Uncle again, and Bruce Campbell can have an even longer cameo, which was brill.
The action sequences are once again astounding. Spidey falls in slow-mo, dodging round falling rubble. He gets thrown through buildings, punched out of moving vehicles, and does lots of other dead cool stuff. The effects on Sandman are flabbergasting, Spidey literally kicking his legs from under him at times. There are definitely wow-moments, but there’re genuinely funny moments too. And then there are some that teeter on the brink of silly (see afore-mentioned dance number). It’s brave of Raimi to try something so obscure, and amusing to watch Peter Parker’s bad side, complete with evil hair-do etcetera. But the silliness stretched a little too long at times, making my enjoyment turn into a bit of bafflement. There’s also a healthy spread of fight scenes, but not one that really shines out as the new, never-been-done one. The effects are outstanding, but we’ve seen many building-fights before. There’s no equivalent Spidey 2 train chase here.
Spider-Man 3 is a solid, exciting and smart start to the summer blockbuster season. During the middle of the film I was fully engaged, fully on the edge of my seat, and my internal CF scale reached a 5 in places. But with a little too much of the silly, and a lacking of real wow-factor for the finale, the scale slipped down to the still-impressive CF3. Good film - but leave it at a trilogy, please. There isn’t much more you can do with this franchise, save ruin it.
Anyway, it was with half excitement, half trepidation that I approached Spidey 3. Excitement because the first two were solid, exciting, funny and dark, and were one of the best comic book adaptations out there. Trepidation because it’s always been difficult to trump it three times in a row (save for Lord of the Rings, but face it - that’s just one big film split into three). Could Raimi pull another great film out of the bag? Well?
Well. Let’s get this out there: it was good. It was absolutely brimming with plot. First off there’s baddy one, the Sandman, a surprisingly subdued Thomas Haden Church whose molecular structure gets sort of, er, well he’s made out of sand basically. And you can’t really kill sand. Then there’s baddy two, the new Goblin who emerged at the end of the last film. James Franco’s brow furrows away as he harbours a mega grudge against his best mate, who he knows is a) Spider-Man, and b) responsible for his father’s death. Not a healthy grudge that one. And then there’s baddy three, a black alien parasite thingy that makes Spidey a little bit naughty and later spawns Venom (fan-boys/girls excited about that character coming into celluloid light.)
So three baddies, plus Spidey’s battle with his own ego, plus difficulties with girlfriend MJ, and it all could equal busy mess. We saw it with X-Men 3, when the deluge of new characters meant nobody had time to really develop. So here’s where it’s hats off to Raimi, because not only does he give all baddies chance to hog the limelight and have their own background, and fit in various relationship woes, AND fit in Peter Parker’s decline to meanness, he also manages to find the time for a dance number (more on that later…) At 140 minutes (ten less than Pirates) it’s certainly impressive that there’s never a sense of urgency. Aunt May can still deliver nice little speeches, Peter can get teary over his Uncle again, and Bruce Campbell can have an even longer cameo, which was brill.
The action sequences are once again astounding. Spidey falls in slow-mo, dodging round falling rubble. He gets thrown through buildings, punched out of moving vehicles, and does lots of other dead cool stuff. The effects on Sandman are flabbergasting, Spidey literally kicking his legs from under him at times. There are definitely wow-moments, but there’re genuinely funny moments too. And then there are some that teeter on the brink of silly (see afore-mentioned dance number). It’s brave of Raimi to try something so obscure, and amusing to watch Peter Parker’s bad side, complete with evil hair-do etcetera. But the silliness stretched a little too long at times, making my enjoyment turn into a bit of bafflement. There’s also a healthy spread of fight scenes, but not one that really shines out as the new, never-been-done one. The effects are outstanding, but we’ve seen many building-fights before. There’s no equivalent Spidey 2 train chase here.
Spider-Man 3 is a solid, exciting and smart start to the summer blockbuster season. During the middle of the film I was fully engaged, fully on the edge of my seat, and my internal CF scale reached a 5 in places. But with a little too much of the silly, and a lacking of real wow-factor for the finale, the scale slipped down to the still-impressive CF3. Good film - but leave it at a trilogy, please. There isn’t much more you can do with this franchise, save ruin it.
Friday, May 04, 2007
2nd May 07 - This Is England
The critics were clambering over themselves to praise this one, and though I was eager to see what all the fuss was about, there was also a sense of trepidation. British films seem to fall into two categories. Either painting England as a bright, cosmopolitan London street filled with quirky people who say ‘bugger’ and fall in love within twenty seconds. Or they’re grimmer than the Grimm Brothers. A story about skinheads in the 80s made me suspect this would be grim-central. I was preparing myself for a rough (shaven-headed) ride. This is England, after all.
The film centres on twelve year-old Shaun, who’s lost his daddy in the Falklands War and finds unlikely camaraderie with a bunch of brace-wearing, doc-martin laden skin heads. But it’s not as nasty as it seems. Far from it, in fact. This bunch, lead by the charismatic Woody, are nice, energetic guys who like to hang out. That’s all. They take Shaun under their wing, go to a few house parties, chill out in the local café. It looks like great fun. But then big skinhead Combo comes home from prison with some interesting ideas about sending the non-British “back home”. He likes angry, threatening fun. Oh dear…
Yet despite the grotty 80s setting and questionable nature of many of the characters, This is England is at times warm, funny and engrossing. Dialogue flows naturally from an utterly likeable cast, drawing humour from the slightest inflection or gesture. Thomas Turgoose, who was thirteen at the time of filming, is a cracking little actor, and he carries the weight of the film with ease. For much of the first half I watched with a smile on my face at the good, honest entertainment beaming back at me.
But don’t get me wrong. This is England definitely packs a punch - actually, more like a head-butt to the face. There’s a distinct lack of violence throughout the majority of the film, but under all the fun and laughs of Woody and co is the underlying fear. As Combo makes his way on to screen, that fear becomes threatening. And rather than rely only on the nasty side of things, director and writer Shane Meadows goes for the heart strings too. Watching young Shaun whimper about his father yanks at the heart strings - like The Lion King, but with skinheads.
Wrap up the fun, fear and emotion of the basic plot and characters and you’ve got a strong film. Add in the blindingly obvious issues that resonate with every single thing happening today, and you‘ve got a film with mega weight. People dying in unnecessary war, unrest in the populace, enigmatic leaders bringing about extremist groups. It’s a tad depressing that we’ve changed the branding but haven’t actually moved very far in the last twenty years. Meadows uses a tight film to show us This is indeed England. Buggering hell.
A powerful film that’ll leave you shaken, but with laughter to at least soften the blow, This is England clocks up a mighty CF4. Watch it.
The film centres on twelve year-old Shaun, who’s lost his daddy in the Falklands War and finds unlikely camaraderie with a bunch of brace-wearing, doc-martin laden skin heads. But it’s not as nasty as it seems. Far from it, in fact. This bunch, lead by the charismatic Woody, are nice, energetic guys who like to hang out. That’s all. They take Shaun under their wing, go to a few house parties, chill out in the local café. It looks like great fun. But then big skinhead Combo comes home from prison with some interesting ideas about sending the non-British “back home”. He likes angry, threatening fun. Oh dear…
Yet despite the grotty 80s setting and questionable nature of many of the characters, This is England is at times warm, funny and engrossing. Dialogue flows naturally from an utterly likeable cast, drawing humour from the slightest inflection or gesture. Thomas Turgoose, who was thirteen at the time of filming, is a cracking little actor, and he carries the weight of the film with ease. For much of the first half I watched with a smile on my face at the good, honest entertainment beaming back at me.
But don’t get me wrong. This is England definitely packs a punch - actually, more like a head-butt to the face. There’s a distinct lack of violence throughout the majority of the film, but under all the fun and laughs of Woody and co is the underlying fear. As Combo makes his way on to screen, that fear becomes threatening. And rather than rely only on the nasty side of things, director and writer Shane Meadows goes for the heart strings too. Watching young Shaun whimper about his father yanks at the heart strings - like The Lion King, but with skinheads.
Wrap up the fun, fear and emotion of the basic plot and characters and you’ve got a strong film. Add in the blindingly obvious issues that resonate with every single thing happening today, and you‘ve got a film with mega weight. People dying in unnecessary war, unrest in the populace, enigmatic leaders bringing about extremist groups. It’s a tad depressing that we’ve changed the branding but haven’t actually moved very far in the last twenty years. Meadows uses a tight film to show us This is indeed England. Buggering hell.
A powerful film that’ll leave you shaken, but with laughter to at least soften the blow, This is England clocks up a mighty CF4. Watch it.
Monday, April 30, 2007
25th April 07 - Blades of Glory
Few people know that I could have been an Olympic figure skater. If I’d just been ice skating more than once, learnt how to let go of the side without falling over, and practised for many hours a day over a period of years. It’s amazing how a few little details can completely alter your life.
I mention my brush with ice-based stardom because this season the comedy folk have decided to plonk their buddy-movie sports comedy into the world of champion figure skating. The set-up is simple. Two rivals - the angelic Jimmy MacElroy (Jon Heder) and sex-addict wild man Chazz Michael Michaels (Will Ferrell) are banned from their beloved sport, but discover a loophole that will allow them to compete again. The catch? It has to be as a pair. It’s paint-by-numbers comedy. Even your general idiotic member of the public would be able to map out the plot. But rather than fall into bland comedy hell, Blades of Glory has a few aces up its sleeve.
Ace one: the cast. Will Ferrell may be starting to be a bit overkill on films at the moment (I wish he’d slow it down and concentrate on picking the best films to work on, rather than a slap-dash stew of semi-amusing to so-so clones), but he brings a cocky edge of absurdity to Chazz. Jon Heder proves he’s not just Napoleon Dynamite (as fabulous as he was). His amazing teeth and golden locks are enough to drawn smiles alone, but coupled with a laid-back naivety and a penchant for wearing ridiculous costumes and he’s a worthy contender to Ferrell for taking the comedy crown of the film.
Sweeping in to take the glory, however, is Will Arnett (probably the best character in the brilliant Arrested Development) as the lads’ main rival. His physical comedy is genius - just the way he holds himself, or lies on a sofa, is enough to make you grin. It’s a great shame he isn’t in this film as much as he should have been.
Ace two: the premise. Because despite the obvious sports-comedy formula, this is still two men ice skating together. There’s plenty of opportunity to create comic scenarios that are unique to this sport. Macho posturing resulting in a bare-chested slide across grazing ice. Dubious new lifts involving hands on parts. Ridiculous routines. It’s all there, plus some great surreal moments too.
Combine these two aces and you get a comedy that produces constant smiles, occasional chuckles and one or two guffaws. It was surprisingly good, but this is coming from the perspective that on first glance I was expecting it to be complete shit. Though it’s amusing with some great lines and performances, there’s still the genre element that it can’t quite break out of. This is no Zoolander or Anchorman. Plus there are some really disturbing CGI shots, where the actors’ faces are superimposed on to a leaping skater. I’m being picky here, but they freaked me out.
A welcome bout of fun after all the seriousness of the last few weeks, and impending heaviness of next week (stay tuned to see why) but as this film never really went the extra comedy mile, I’m just going to award it the base-recommended CF0.
I mention my brush with ice-based stardom because this season the comedy folk have decided to plonk their buddy-movie sports comedy into the world of champion figure skating. The set-up is simple. Two rivals - the angelic Jimmy MacElroy (Jon Heder) and sex-addict wild man Chazz Michael Michaels (Will Ferrell) are banned from their beloved sport, but discover a loophole that will allow them to compete again. The catch? It has to be as a pair. It’s paint-by-numbers comedy. Even your general idiotic member of the public would be able to map out the plot. But rather than fall into bland comedy hell, Blades of Glory has a few aces up its sleeve.
Ace one: the cast. Will Ferrell may be starting to be a bit overkill on films at the moment (I wish he’d slow it down and concentrate on picking the best films to work on, rather than a slap-dash stew of semi-amusing to so-so clones), but he brings a cocky edge of absurdity to Chazz. Jon Heder proves he’s not just Napoleon Dynamite (as fabulous as he was). His amazing teeth and golden locks are enough to drawn smiles alone, but coupled with a laid-back naivety and a penchant for wearing ridiculous costumes and he’s a worthy contender to Ferrell for taking the comedy crown of the film.
Sweeping in to take the glory, however, is Will Arnett (probably the best character in the brilliant Arrested Development) as the lads’ main rival. His physical comedy is genius - just the way he holds himself, or lies on a sofa, is enough to make you grin. It’s a great shame he isn’t in this film as much as he should have been.
Ace two: the premise. Because despite the obvious sports-comedy formula, this is still two men ice skating together. There’s plenty of opportunity to create comic scenarios that are unique to this sport. Macho posturing resulting in a bare-chested slide across grazing ice. Dubious new lifts involving hands on parts. Ridiculous routines. It’s all there, plus some great surreal moments too.
Combine these two aces and you get a comedy that produces constant smiles, occasional chuckles and one or two guffaws. It was surprisingly good, but this is coming from the perspective that on first glance I was expecting it to be complete shit. Though it’s amusing with some great lines and performances, there’s still the genre element that it can’t quite break out of. This is no Zoolander or Anchorman. Plus there are some really disturbing CGI shots, where the actors’ faces are superimposed on to a leaping skater. I’m being picky here, but they freaked me out.
A welcome bout of fun after all the seriousness of the last few weeks, and impending heaviness of next week (stay tuned to see why) but as this film never really went the extra comedy mile, I’m just going to award it the base-recommended CF0.
Monday, April 23, 2007
21st April 07 - Half Nelson
At first glance you could write this film off as yet another teacher v pupils “drama”, usually involving a clash of class or race (or both, as Hollywood tends to make links there). The teacher struggles to gain the trust of the pupils, they get frustrated, then break some barriers, a learning montage ensues before another challenge is thrown in their path which will inevitably be solved for an uplifting finale (see current release Freedom Writers. White female teaches black class. Not at all like Michelle Pfieffer did back in ‘95 with Dangerous Minds - and she had Coolio on the soundtrack. Beat that Hilary Swank).
What you don’t want to do is stash Half Nelson into the same category. Initially you might want to. There is a skinny white teacher, Dan (Ryan Gosling) sitting in front of a racially-opposite classroom. Skinny white teacher wants to change people. Skinny white teacher struggles. But the struggle has nothing to do with the kids, or the other teachers. It’s because skinny white teacher happens to be addicted to crack.
So begins a low key drama following Dan’s attempts to change and his unlikely friendship with a thirteen year-old pupil, Drey (Shareeka Epps). The pace is undeniably sluggish - this is no ‘here’s your plot, this is an event, isn’t it all tied up and easy to follow’ film. But at some point in the first thirty minutes I suddenly found myself completely and utterly absorbed with the characters. And I totally blame the actors.
Ryan Gosling’s best actor Oscar nomination is entirely justified. The lovely 25 year-old fills his performance with little ticks, cracking his knuckles, wiping his lips on his shirt collar, wiping the sweat from his druggy brow. He kicks ass as a teacher, his rapport with the children full of charm and wit - believably so. And under everything you can sense his bubbling frustration. The guy talks constantly to his students about the importance of change, yet is painfully aware of the crappy world he lives in, and miserably unable to shake his own addiction.
His unexpected friend is played by the frighteningly brilliant teenager Shareeka Epps (unfortunately it looks like she’s about to be shamefully wasted in Alien Vs Predator 2.) She plays Drey as a confident, streetwise teen with a gentle streak of vulnerability as she’s pulled between a friendship with the flawed but caring Dan, and a drug-dealing, yet potentially more stable, friend of her family.
This film has lots of components that usually irritate me. The over-done teacher/pupil genre, the ‘adult/child’ buddy movie (children aren’t that great to be friends with, you know. They’re stupid) and a drug addicted ‘hero’ (there’s such an over-reliance on using drugs to make your characters all like edgy and cool and stuff. It’s not edgy or cool - it’s boring. Who cares if they’re addicted to anything? I had a phase where I really was unable to eat just a single Mingle, but did I make myself the central character of a film and brood around with my affliction? No.) But via stupendous acting, a temperate touch from writer/director Ryan Fleck that creates a mellow mood to match that of the characters, and some flickers of comedy and watery-eye woe, Half Nelson pushes through all of my usual grievances and emerges as an original, engaging piece of work.
Not your multiplex-filler, but stick with this film and you will be highly rewarded. Half Nelson clocks up a worthy CF3. Plus I’ve now found a new young actor to “admire”. Gosling looks good with a beard.
What you don’t want to do is stash Half Nelson into the same category. Initially you might want to. There is a skinny white teacher, Dan (Ryan Gosling) sitting in front of a racially-opposite classroom. Skinny white teacher wants to change people. Skinny white teacher struggles. But the struggle has nothing to do with the kids, or the other teachers. It’s because skinny white teacher happens to be addicted to crack.
So begins a low key drama following Dan’s attempts to change and his unlikely friendship with a thirteen year-old pupil, Drey (Shareeka Epps). The pace is undeniably sluggish - this is no ‘here’s your plot, this is an event, isn’t it all tied up and easy to follow’ film. But at some point in the first thirty minutes I suddenly found myself completely and utterly absorbed with the characters. And I totally blame the actors.
Ryan Gosling’s best actor Oscar nomination is entirely justified. The lovely 25 year-old fills his performance with little ticks, cracking his knuckles, wiping his lips on his shirt collar, wiping the sweat from his druggy brow. He kicks ass as a teacher, his rapport with the children full of charm and wit - believably so. And under everything you can sense his bubbling frustration. The guy talks constantly to his students about the importance of change, yet is painfully aware of the crappy world he lives in, and miserably unable to shake his own addiction.
His unexpected friend is played by the frighteningly brilliant teenager Shareeka Epps (unfortunately it looks like she’s about to be shamefully wasted in Alien Vs Predator 2.) She plays Drey as a confident, streetwise teen with a gentle streak of vulnerability as she’s pulled between a friendship with the flawed but caring Dan, and a drug-dealing, yet potentially more stable, friend of her family.
This film has lots of components that usually irritate me. The over-done teacher/pupil genre, the ‘adult/child’ buddy movie (children aren’t that great to be friends with, you know. They’re stupid) and a drug addicted ‘hero’ (there’s such an over-reliance on using drugs to make your characters all like edgy and cool and stuff. It’s not edgy or cool - it’s boring. Who cares if they’re addicted to anything? I had a phase where I really was unable to eat just a single Mingle, but did I make myself the central character of a film and brood around with my affliction? No.) But via stupendous acting, a temperate touch from writer/director Ryan Fleck that creates a mellow mood to match that of the characters, and some flickers of comedy and watery-eye woe, Half Nelson pushes through all of my usual grievances and emerges as an original, engaging piece of work.
Not your multiplex-filler, but stick with this film and you will be highly rewarded. Half Nelson clocks up a worthy CF3. Plus I’ve now found a new young actor to “admire”. Gosling looks good with a beard.
18th April 07 - The Lives of Others
I invite you to cast your minds back a couple of months to Cinemafool’s thoughts about the Oscars, in particular the “Best Foreign Language Film” section. The winner was Das Leben der Anderen, aka “The Lives of Others”, and my initial response was “Never heard of it. How can some random German film win when the infinitely better El Laberinto del Fauno was in the same category?” Well, now I can change my statement. Let’s see what it’ll change to…
The Lives of Others plonks itself into early 80’s East Germany and focuses on their ‘Stasi’ - the Secret Police. What a fun bunch they are. Rigorously spying on people, monitoring politically rebellious behaviour and delivering punishing interrogations. But when one of their best, Hauptmann Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Muhe) is assigned to watch over acclaimed writer Georg (Sebastian Koch), the training goes out the window.
Gerd settles himself into monitoring Georg’s every move and soon becomes fascinated with his life. And why not - Georg is a fabulous writer, in love with a beautiful actress and boasting an impressive head of hair. Compare that to Gerd (and there are some great comparisons in this film) with his grey apartment, empty life and skeletal dome, and it’s no wonder he starts to act a little strange. But when Georg’s actions start to veer away from acceptable, Gerd’s integrity is tested.
Though quite understated in places, there are some lovely little moments in this film as you watch Gerd tracking his targets every motion throughout the house, occasionally having an impact. It’s easy to see how involved Gerd can become. It must be like a real life game of The Sims. At one point he listens in to a tender moment between Georg and his lady, trying to mimic their embrace. We then see his later attempt to recreate such closeness (a prostitute with quite frankly dangerous breasts - sorry to fly off the subject and tone, but seriously they could very easily smother a man.) Such sad yet amusing moments are brought to life by Ulrich Muhe, his mostly silent performance summing up every emotion with a crestfallen grace.
At a chunky 137 minutes, there’s huge potential for this film to become an arduous monster. It’s German, it’s ugly 80s politics. It’s a recipe for woe. Long, important woe. But thankfully the film flies by, with touches of humour, intrigue and gentle tragedy. However, I did feel that Gerd’s change of heart was brought on a little too easily, and that perhaps the obsession side of things could have been explored even more. Though I enjoyed the film, it didn’t leave an enormous impression on me. It didn’t shake up my emotions too much, or make me think too deeply (apart from “crikey I’m glad it’s not the 80s and I don’t live in East Germany”.) It didn’t grab me by the head and shake me around. Like Pan did.
Not that I want all films to shake my brain about - if that was the case I’d not likely survive weekly cinema trips. But for an Oscar winning, Pan-beating film I expected a little bit more. So to rewrite my initial Oscar reaction: “The Lives of Others. I have heard of it. Good film, well crafted. But shouldn’t have won when the more striking Pan’s Labyrinth was in the same category.”
For using a fascinating subject and setting but still retaining a sense of pace and plot, I’m awarding one point. And for making 137 minutes float by with strong performances, I’m giving it another. Thus, The Lives of Others makes a CF2. But this proves that the Oscars are wrong, and I am, as ever, utterly and completely correct.
The Lives of Others plonks itself into early 80’s East Germany and focuses on their ‘Stasi’ - the Secret Police. What a fun bunch they are. Rigorously spying on people, monitoring politically rebellious behaviour and delivering punishing interrogations. But when one of their best, Hauptmann Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Muhe) is assigned to watch over acclaimed writer Georg (Sebastian Koch), the training goes out the window.
Gerd settles himself into monitoring Georg’s every move and soon becomes fascinated with his life. And why not - Georg is a fabulous writer, in love with a beautiful actress and boasting an impressive head of hair. Compare that to Gerd (and there are some great comparisons in this film) with his grey apartment, empty life and skeletal dome, and it’s no wonder he starts to act a little strange. But when Georg’s actions start to veer away from acceptable, Gerd’s integrity is tested.
Though quite understated in places, there are some lovely little moments in this film as you watch Gerd tracking his targets every motion throughout the house, occasionally having an impact. It’s easy to see how involved Gerd can become. It must be like a real life game of The Sims. At one point he listens in to a tender moment between Georg and his lady, trying to mimic their embrace. We then see his later attempt to recreate such closeness (a prostitute with quite frankly dangerous breasts - sorry to fly off the subject and tone, but seriously they could very easily smother a man.) Such sad yet amusing moments are brought to life by Ulrich Muhe, his mostly silent performance summing up every emotion with a crestfallen grace.
At a chunky 137 minutes, there’s huge potential for this film to become an arduous monster. It’s German, it’s ugly 80s politics. It’s a recipe for woe. Long, important woe. But thankfully the film flies by, with touches of humour, intrigue and gentle tragedy. However, I did feel that Gerd’s change of heart was brought on a little too easily, and that perhaps the obsession side of things could have been explored even more. Though I enjoyed the film, it didn’t leave an enormous impression on me. It didn’t shake up my emotions too much, or make me think too deeply (apart from “crikey I’m glad it’s not the 80s and I don’t live in East Germany”.) It didn’t grab me by the head and shake me around. Like Pan did.
Not that I want all films to shake my brain about - if that was the case I’d not likely survive weekly cinema trips. But for an Oscar winning, Pan-beating film I expected a little bit more. So to rewrite my initial Oscar reaction: “The Lives of Others. I have heard of it. Good film, well crafted. But shouldn’t have won when the more striking Pan’s Labyrinth was in the same category.”
For using a fascinating subject and setting but still retaining a sense of pace and plot, I’m awarding one point. And for making 137 minutes float by with strong performances, I’m giving it another. Thus, The Lives of Others makes a CF2. But this proves that the Oscars are wrong, and I am, as ever, utterly and completely correct.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
11th April 07 - Sunshine
September 2005. Tenerife. Temperatures were way over 40c, and after falling asleep in the afternoon I woke to find I had a bright-red chest. My first proper sunburn. It really hurt.
I’m sharing this story to show that I’ve had direct experience with the power of the sun, so I could really relate to the characters in this film as they risked immediate and complete combustion. No, really.
Oh ok, let’s be serious. Sunshine is set sixty years in the future, and the sun is on its way out. In a last ditch effort, mankind have sent off a team of astronauts strapped to a bomb the size of Manhattan, with the aim to ‘restart the sun’. It sounds like the plot from another ridiculous Hollywood disaster turd. But this isn’t Hollywood. It’s Danny Boyle (director of Shallow Grave, Trainspotting) and Alex Garland (author of The Beach), whose last collaboration brought us 28 Days Later, a grotty horror that made zombies sprint and showed London as a deserted mess. With Sunshine they’ve been handed a bigger budget, but it’s the same talent in the driving seat. Hurrah.
So we still have an abundance of effects, but stuff like a decent story, believable characters and well crafted tension haven’t been forgotten. There’s no inappropriate romance (we’re about to die but let’s pause to talk about our feelings), no paint-by-numbers characters (hello, I will be your token minority for today’s film. I shall also be the first to die), and nobody has a quirky dog. Instead it’s intimate, disturbing and claustrophobic as hell. Proper old-school sci-fi in space. Things get broken so people have to go out and fix them. People go a bit crazy. Situations become utterly hopeless. It’s all good fun.
Boyle’s direction adds a definite edge, and the cast are varied enough without going into stereotype mode. Cillian Murphy, who also ran lots in 28 Days Later, is quietly excellent, making you route for him by emoting through weirdly large blue eyes. Rose Byrne (Troy) is a bit moody, Chris Evans (not the ginger one – it’s the one from Fantastic Four) is surprisingly angry as the sort of jock, and Michelle Yeoh (Crouching Tiger) is a passionate plant, er, woman. Throw in a psycho psychiatrist, a couple of wimp types and a strong but silent captain, then add danger situations. What you end up with is finger-wringing tension as you suspect something bad’s about to happen, and then oh no it is happening. Cue freezing to death, burning to death. Like I said – it’s all good fun.
Amongst all the scary space-horror is also the chance to consider how utterly helpless humans are, more environmental woe and a bit of religious stuff to boot. All in all, a smart thriller. It does get a little garbled towards the end, and at times sticks so close to the rules of a space-sci-fi thriller (ala Alien, Event Horizon etc) that it becomes slightly predictable. But it laughs in the face of Hollywood (it’s British, if you haven’t guessed) and stirs up enough ‘urgh’ to leave a lasting impression in your gut that does take a while to subside.
For having great ideas, intelligent characters and fear-inducing direction, Sunshine brightens up the week with a CF3. Just remember your sunscreen.
I’m sharing this story to show that I’ve had direct experience with the power of the sun, so I could really relate to the characters in this film as they risked immediate and complete combustion. No, really.
Oh ok, let’s be serious. Sunshine is set sixty years in the future, and the sun is on its way out. In a last ditch effort, mankind have sent off a team of astronauts strapped to a bomb the size of Manhattan, with the aim to ‘restart the sun’. It sounds like the plot from another ridiculous Hollywood disaster turd. But this isn’t Hollywood. It’s Danny Boyle (director of Shallow Grave, Trainspotting) and Alex Garland (author of The Beach), whose last collaboration brought us 28 Days Later, a grotty horror that made zombies sprint and showed London as a deserted mess. With Sunshine they’ve been handed a bigger budget, but it’s the same talent in the driving seat. Hurrah.
So we still have an abundance of effects, but stuff like a decent story, believable characters and well crafted tension haven’t been forgotten. There’s no inappropriate romance (we’re about to die but let’s pause to talk about our feelings), no paint-by-numbers characters (hello, I will be your token minority for today’s film. I shall also be the first to die), and nobody has a quirky dog. Instead it’s intimate, disturbing and claustrophobic as hell. Proper old-school sci-fi in space. Things get broken so people have to go out and fix them. People go a bit crazy. Situations become utterly hopeless. It’s all good fun.
Boyle’s direction adds a definite edge, and the cast are varied enough without going into stereotype mode. Cillian Murphy, who also ran lots in 28 Days Later, is quietly excellent, making you route for him by emoting through weirdly large blue eyes. Rose Byrne (Troy) is a bit moody, Chris Evans (not the ginger one – it’s the one from Fantastic Four) is surprisingly angry as the sort of jock, and Michelle Yeoh (Crouching Tiger) is a passionate plant, er, woman. Throw in a psycho psychiatrist, a couple of wimp types and a strong but silent captain, then add danger situations. What you end up with is finger-wringing tension as you suspect something bad’s about to happen, and then oh no it is happening. Cue freezing to death, burning to death. Like I said – it’s all good fun.
Amongst all the scary space-horror is also the chance to consider how utterly helpless humans are, more environmental woe and a bit of religious stuff to boot. All in all, a smart thriller. It does get a little garbled towards the end, and at times sticks so close to the rules of a space-sci-fi thriller (ala Alien, Event Horizon etc) that it becomes slightly predictable. But it laughs in the face of Hollywood (it’s British, if you haven’t guessed) and stirs up enough ‘urgh’ to leave a lasting impression in your gut that does take a while to subside.
For having great ideas, intelligent characters and fear-inducing direction, Sunshine brightens up the week with a CF3. Just remember your sunscreen.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
4th April 07 - The Good German
In a stark contrast to last week’s film, this week we step back in time. From 300’s slick cutting-edge effects we bump decades backwards to the technology of 1945. It’s like listening to an old record – there’s a crackle in the background but something comforting and rich about the experience. Plus it’s George Clooney, and he’s great to look at whatever the picture quality.
Anyway, before I get distracted by George too soon I’d better talk about the film. The Good German comes from Steven Soderbergh, him what directed Ocean’s Eleven (and its (yawn) two follow-ups), Traffic, Erin Brockovich and the excellent Out of Sight, plus others I can’t be bothered to list. With The Good German he films everything on 1945 equipment, which basically means it looks like one of those old films that appear on Channel 4 on Sunday afternoons. You know, the ones you usually turn off because they’re black and white, and old, and we all know that no one had anything useful to say in them days. Not like what we produce now-a-days. Such cultural masterpieces like Norbit.
Sorry, I’m getting distracted again. The Good German is set in post-war Berlin, and follows Georgie as a military journalist who gets dragged into a murder investigation. It’s film noir to the tee, with Cate Blanchett doing her very best pout as the girl George just has to help, and Tobey Maguire as a wormy little American enjoying the spoils of war. There’s some uncomfortable Nazi history thrown in, but the main focus is George and his journey. A journey that involves getting hit over the head all the time. Seriously, he’s rubbish – every time he walks through a door something will come crashing down on his head. You’d think he’d learn. Open a door, then duck George! Duck!
Anyway, it’s all very serious, and everyone seems quite pleased with themselves for filming something old-style. Aren’t they clever! The trouble is, after the novelty you’re left with a standard piece of noir, a genre which has been done to death, and more recently done in more interesting ways (last year’s Brick, in CF’S Top 10 of 2006, brought the genre to technicolour high school with pleasing results). The characters are a little stilted, with the most interesting (Tobey Maguire) barely used, and even George’s usual charisma is buried under a protagonist with few reasons to route for. It’s not done badly, but there’s no sparkle. Soderbergh may have pushed aside today’s supermarket loaf and brought home-made bread to the table, but at the end of the day it’s still bread. He could’ve put some currants in it or something.
I’m not really sure what I’m talking about now, but I’m positive it’s quite insightful. I would say that The Good German is an interesting film with good performances and a vaguely intriguing plot. I wouldn’t say it managed to get above anything more than interesting, so it’s getting a CF0. I’m recommending it, but only if you go out of your way to ask me if it’s any good. And then I’ll just shrug and say ‘sure’. But there’s a rhino in 300, and you don’t get those in 1940’s Berlin.
Anyway, before I get distracted by George too soon I’d better talk about the film. The Good German comes from Steven Soderbergh, him what directed Ocean’s Eleven (and its (yawn) two follow-ups), Traffic, Erin Brockovich and the excellent Out of Sight, plus others I can’t be bothered to list. With The Good German he films everything on 1945 equipment, which basically means it looks like one of those old films that appear on Channel 4 on Sunday afternoons. You know, the ones you usually turn off because they’re black and white, and old, and we all know that no one had anything useful to say in them days. Not like what we produce now-a-days. Such cultural masterpieces like Norbit.
Sorry, I’m getting distracted again. The Good German is set in post-war Berlin, and follows Georgie as a military journalist who gets dragged into a murder investigation. It’s film noir to the tee, with Cate Blanchett doing her very best pout as the girl George just has to help, and Tobey Maguire as a wormy little American enjoying the spoils of war. There’s some uncomfortable Nazi history thrown in, but the main focus is George and his journey. A journey that involves getting hit over the head all the time. Seriously, he’s rubbish – every time he walks through a door something will come crashing down on his head. You’d think he’d learn. Open a door, then duck George! Duck!
Anyway, it’s all very serious, and everyone seems quite pleased with themselves for filming something old-style. Aren’t they clever! The trouble is, after the novelty you’re left with a standard piece of noir, a genre which has been done to death, and more recently done in more interesting ways (last year’s Brick, in CF’S Top 10 of 2006, brought the genre to technicolour high school with pleasing results). The characters are a little stilted, with the most interesting (Tobey Maguire) barely used, and even George’s usual charisma is buried under a protagonist with few reasons to route for. It’s not done badly, but there’s no sparkle. Soderbergh may have pushed aside today’s supermarket loaf and brought home-made bread to the table, but at the end of the day it’s still bread. He could’ve put some currants in it or something.
I’m not really sure what I’m talking about now, but I’m positive it’s quite insightful. I would say that The Good German is an interesting film with good performances and a vaguely intriguing plot. I wouldn’t say it managed to get above anything more than interesting, so it’s getting a CF0. I’m recommending it, but only if you go out of your way to ask me if it’s any good. And then I’ll just shrug and say ‘sure’. But there’s a rhino in 300, and you don’t get those in 1940’s Berlin.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
28th March 07 - 300
After a film drought (post Oscar – pre Easter holidays) my weekly cinema experience exploded back into action with a visually blasting film on a visually-blasting medium (Imax – an eight-storey screen). Talk about coming back with a bang. This was a crash, bang, wallop. In leather thongs.
Of course, you don’t have to see 300 at the Imax to get the full wallop effect. Visually this is a slick punch in the eyes. It’s an adaptation of Frank Miller’s graphic novel, like 2005’s Sin City, and the use of green screen and post-production fiddling means the ‘graphic’ is brought effortlessly to screen. While Sin City stuck to shades of black, white and red, 300 splashes out into the real world, but with a wash of tonal shades and an odd highlight here and there. The result is quite stunning, especially when you consider that the majority of the film was shot in a studio.
This stylish look adds one level of cool, but combine this with a story about some mega-hard Spartan soldiers (300 of them) standing up to an army of thousands, then add violence, a selection of large angry animals, PEOPLE SHOUTING LOTS and slow-mo battle scenes, and you’ve landed in the territory of ‘way cool’. Throw in semi-naked soldiers with air-brushed abs and big lovely thighs, and some elaborate lady nipples for the lads, and you’ve got a film ticking all the right boxes (on a list of ‘what makes a cool film’).
But such fancy pants additions don’t mean squat if you let things get out of control. Just look at efforts like the dire Daredevil. It’s like a hyperactive teenage boy has thrown up on screen. Thankfully, director Zack Snyder (responsible for the frenetic remake of Dawn of the Dead) keeps the reins tight. Battle scenes are awash with chaos, but rather than splurge on fast-editing craziness, Snyder focuses in – a fact I’m grateful of, or an Imax-amplified experience may have caused haemorrhaging. Instead we have scenes following one Spartan, mincing his way through enemy after enemy, limbs flying off in various stages of slo-mo and animated blood spraying the heavens at every slice. Or we stick in the middle of a scrum, heels digging into dirt, fear mixing with sweat, mixing with the Spartan’s insane love of battle.
For all the lavishness, 300 keeps its focus tight, and this is how it wins. Not too silly to be another nonsense flick for teens, but not so pompous that it becomes another Troy / Alexander / Kingdom of Heaven / King Arthur. These films struggled because the ‘serious’ bits were badly scripted and acted, and the battle scenes became unimpressive after a certain fantasy trilogy set the bar for massive battles – a bar that can’t really be beaten, since you invested 9 hours in the characters. 300 does have ‘speaky’ bits, but these are clipped – allowing you to get your breath back in preparation for the next battle, but not boring you to death.
Some critics have complained about the film’s historical inaccuracies. But really, to try and pull this film up on anything remotely factual is a futile task. This is a film based on a comic, featuring monsters, an enemy who is literally a giant drag queen, and a goat-headed man playing a flute. Worrying about history is trying to smile while watching Pirates of the Caribbean. Pointless.
Not that 300 isn’t flawed. The plot’s a little thin on the ground, the dialogue unremarkable, and if you tried to find any subtext you’d come across a frightening array of ideals (the Spartans are so powerful because they throw away their disabled babies… and there’s a disturbing correlation between evil invaders and darker skin colours). But hey – this isn’t trying to say anything (I hope). It’s certainly not trying to be anything other than a stylish graphic novel adaptation. Gripping, wowing and did I mention all the soldier’s thighs? 300 is a well crafted piece of work, and worth seeing on the Imax if you get the chance.
For being very cool but still keeping control, this gets one point, and it gets another simply for featuring a rhino. Therefore 300 marches in with CF2. Smashing.
Of course, you don’t have to see 300 at the Imax to get the full wallop effect. Visually this is a slick punch in the eyes. It’s an adaptation of Frank Miller’s graphic novel, like 2005’s Sin City, and the use of green screen and post-production fiddling means the ‘graphic’ is brought effortlessly to screen. While Sin City stuck to shades of black, white and red, 300 splashes out into the real world, but with a wash of tonal shades and an odd highlight here and there. The result is quite stunning, especially when you consider that the majority of the film was shot in a studio.
This stylish look adds one level of cool, but combine this with a story about some mega-hard Spartan soldiers (300 of them) standing up to an army of thousands, then add violence, a selection of large angry animals, PEOPLE SHOUTING LOTS and slow-mo battle scenes, and you’ve landed in the territory of ‘way cool’. Throw in semi-naked soldiers with air-brushed abs and big lovely thighs, and some elaborate lady nipples for the lads, and you’ve got a film ticking all the right boxes (on a list of ‘what makes a cool film’).
But such fancy pants additions don’t mean squat if you let things get out of control. Just look at efforts like the dire Daredevil. It’s like a hyperactive teenage boy has thrown up on screen. Thankfully, director Zack Snyder (responsible for the frenetic remake of Dawn of the Dead) keeps the reins tight. Battle scenes are awash with chaos, but rather than splurge on fast-editing craziness, Snyder focuses in – a fact I’m grateful of, or an Imax-amplified experience may have caused haemorrhaging. Instead we have scenes following one Spartan, mincing his way through enemy after enemy, limbs flying off in various stages of slo-mo and animated blood spraying the heavens at every slice. Or we stick in the middle of a scrum, heels digging into dirt, fear mixing with sweat, mixing with the Spartan’s insane love of battle.
For all the lavishness, 300 keeps its focus tight, and this is how it wins. Not too silly to be another nonsense flick for teens, but not so pompous that it becomes another Troy / Alexander / Kingdom of Heaven / King Arthur. These films struggled because the ‘serious’ bits were badly scripted and acted, and the battle scenes became unimpressive after a certain fantasy trilogy set the bar for massive battles – a bar that can’t really be beaten, since you invested 9 hours in the characters. 300 does have ‘speaky’ bits, but these are clipped – allowing you to get your breath back in preparation for the next battle, but not boring you to death.
Some critics have complained about the film’s historical inaccuracies. But really, to try and pull this film up on anything remotely factual is a futile task. This is a film based on a comic, featuring monsters, an enemy who is literally a giant drag queen, and a goat-headed man playing a flute. Worrying about history is trying to smile while watching Pirates of the Caribbean. Pointless.
Not that 300 isn’t flawed. The plot’s a little thin on the ground, the dialogue unremarkable, and if you tried to find any subtext you’d come across a frightening array of ideals (the Spartans are so powerful because they throw away their disabled babies… and there’s a disturbing correlation between evil invaders and darker skin colours). But hey – this isn’t trying to say anything (I hope). It’s certainly not trying to be anything other than a stylish graphic novel adaptation. Gripping, wowing and did I mention all the soldier’s thighs? 300 is a well crafted piece of work, and worth seeing on the Imax if you get the chance.
For being very cool but still keeping control, this gets one point, and it gets another simply for featuring a rhino. Therefore 300 marches in with CF2. Smashing.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Documentary Fool
There comes a time when there are no films on that I want to see. Or, there are films out that I’d want to see but Mr Cinema has decided to put them on at dumb times (A Guide to Recognising Your Saints, the new film staring Robert Downy Jr, would have been this week’s review. Now you’ll have to fend for yourselves without my quality opinion. Poor you.)
So instead of the cinema I watched something I’d taped off the telly (bear with me), a documentary (wait for it) that I’d wanted to see at the cinema last year but missed due to similar reasons (there’s the link. It wasn’t like I was about to review Neighbours or anything.) It made me realise that there are many film/documentaries out there that are definitely worth a watch, so in order that I might guide your witless souls towards quality entertainment, I thought I’d briefly go through five highlights of the documentary world that you should watch. Then someday you might be as clever and thoughtful as what I am.
This Film is Not Yet Rated
A doc from 2006 (and the one I watched last night) about the weird ratings systems in the US. As well as showing lots of rude sex scenes that were rated a seemingly dreaded NC17 (that’s 18 to UK folk) and scenes that were ultimately cut (a ‘pooping on his face’ moment in Team America that is hilarious but ‘unacceptable’ even though they’re puppets) this documentary also digs its way in to issues like ‘who has the right to decide the morals of others’, ‘why is female pleasure so offensive to watch’, ‘how come sex is much worse than violence’, and ‘what’s with all the prejudice against gay sex, when stuff like violence to women is ok?’
The main thrust is the involvement of a private detective duo (a fabulously rich couple of characters – and not rich as in money, but rich as in they’re a lesbian couple, deeply in love, who also happen to be great detectives). They’re hired by the director Kirby Dick to try and find the names of the ratings panel members, which are for some reason kept mega private. As they discover the supposed snap shot of America includes mostly middle class whites in their late 40s, Kirby interviews directors, actors and others in the biz to find their experiences and gripes with the system.
Though a little one-sided, this doc is amusing, enlightening and brings up plenty for debate. It’s rated 18 in the UK.
Murderball
Quadriplegics playing rugby in wheelchairs isn’t the most obvious of sport-films, but this doc from 2005 is an exciting, moving piece of work that combines all the typical traits of a sports story (the competing teams, the build up to the main event etc) with some affecting personal stories. The doc follows a group of mostly young lads, including the likes of Mark Zupan (accomplished player, who also pops up in Jackass 2. With a rocket attached to his wheel chair. Shooting him off a pier) and a more recently injured guy coming to terms with everything. It then mixes these stories with the fierce competition between team USA and team Canada.
I watched this while recovering from a foot operation and it promptly stopped me from feeling sorry for myself. It also moved, entertained and gripped me, and I would highly recommend it.
Super Size Me
A 2004 film that really, really made me want to eat a McDonalds (mainly because I watched it after a big night out). But with an intriguing premise (what happens when you eat nothing but McDonalds for a month?) and some balanced questions (a guy who eats a Big Mac every day and stays skinny) this is a relevant, amusing doc.
Bowling for Columbine
Ok, I know a lot of people now see Michael Moore as a whiney sort of fellow, but back in 2002 he produced this smart documentary that delves into America’s gun culture with funny and downright disturbing results. More focused than Fahrenheit 9/11, Bowling for Columbine uses the infamous school massacre as the crux for a look at the media, gun laws and the culture of fear.
Spellbound
Nominated for an Oscar, this 2002 doc centres on the biggest bunch of dweebs you’ve ever seen, makes you pity them, then makes you quite like them, then makes you really root for them as they compete in a spelling-bee competition. It also reminded me how much I can’t spell.
These are just five of the numerous quality documentaries to grace cinemas, and then later most channels ending in ‘4’ (as in BBC, and More – if you’re lucky to be in the UK). Watch out for them. And then, you know, watch them. It’ll do you good.
So instead of the cinema I watched something I’d taped off the telly (bear with me), a documentary (wait for it) that I’d wanted to see at the cinema last year but missed due to similar reasons (there’s the link. It wasn’t like I was about to review Neighbours or anything.) It made me realise that there are many film/documentaries out there that are definitely worth a watch, so in order that I might guide your witless souls towards quality entertainment, I thought I’d briefly go through five highlights of the documentary world that you should watch. Then someday you might be as clever and thoughtful as what I am.
This Film is Not Yet Rated
A doc from 2006 (and the one I watched last night) about the weird ratings systems in the US. As well as showing lots of rude sex scenes that were rated a seemingly dreaded NC17 (that’s 18 to UK folk) and scenes that were ultimately cut (a ‘pooping on his face’ moment in Team America that is hilarious but ‘unacceptable’ even though they’re puppets) this documentary also digs its way in to issues like ‘who has the right to decide the morals of others’, ‘why is female pleasure so offensive to watch’, ‘how come sex is much worse than violence’, and ‘what’s with all the prejudice against gay sex, when stuff like violence to women is ok?’
The main thrust is the involvement of a private detective duo (a fabulously rich couple of characters – and not rich as in money, but rich as in they’re a lesbian couple, deeply in love, who also happen to be great detectives). They’re hired by the director Kirby Dick to try and find the names of the ratings panel members, which are for some reason kept mega private. As they discover the supposed snap shot of America includes mostly middle class whites in their late 40s, Kirby interviews directors, actors and others in the biz to find their experiences and gripes with the system.
Though a little one-sided, this doc is amusing, enlightening and brings up plenty for debate. It’s rated 18 in the UK.
Murderball
Quadriplegics playing rugby in wheelchairs isn’t the most obvious of sport-films, but this doc from 2005 is an exciting, moving piece of work that combines all the typical traits of a sports story (the competing teams, the build up to the main event etc) with some affecting personal stories. The doc follows a group of mostly young lads, including the likes of Mark Zupan (accomplished player, who also pops up in Jackass 2. With a rocket attached to his wheel chair. Shooting him off a pier) and a more recently injured guy coming to terms with everything. It then mixes these stories with the fierce competition between team USA and team Canada.
I watched this while recovering from a foot operation and it promptly stopped me from feeling sorry for myself. It also moved, entertained and gripped me, and I would highly recommend it.
Super Size Me
A 2004 film that really, really made me want to eat a McDonalds (mainly because I watched it after a big night out). But with an intriguing premise (what happens when you eat nothing but McDonalds for a month?) and some balanced questions (a guy who eats a Big Mac every day and stays skinny) this is a relevant, amusing doc.
Bowling for Columbine
Ok, I know a lot of people now see Michael Moore as a whiney sort of fellow, but back in 2002 he produced this smart documentary that delves into America’s gun culture with funny and downright disturbing results. More focused than Fahrenheit 9/11, Bowling for Columbine uses the infamous school massacre as the crux for a look at the media, gun laws and the culture of fear.
Spellbound
Nominated for an Oscar, this 2002 doc centres on the biggest bunch of dweebs you’ve ever seen, makes you pity them, then makes you quite like them, then makes you really root for them as they compete in a spelling-bee competition. It also reminded me how much I can’t spell.
These are just five of the numerous quality documentaries to grace cinemas, and then later most channels ending in ‘4’ (as in BBC, and More – if you’re lucky to be in the UK). Watch out for them. And then, you know, watch them. It’ll do you good.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
7th March 07 - Hot Fuzz
The first time I saw this (on the opening night) it was post-wine, post-opening ten minutes, and post-any seats being available more than ten centimetres away from the screen. Despite having an enjoyable evening I didn’t feel it was fair to review the film under such conditions. So I went again – such is my dedication.
Hot Fuzz comes from the makers of Shaun of the Dead, one of the best comedies in recent years I’d say (and I’d be right, of course). Simon Pegg stars as Nicholas Angel, a police officer so anally good that his London squad ship him off to the country because he’s making them all look bad. In ye olde quiet English town, Angel meets simple PC Danny Butterman (Nick Frost – Pegg’s childhood mate and comedic partner) and slowly finds that life in the countryside isn’t as quiet and boring as it seems.
Just as Shaun enveloped the lad’s love of zombie-flicks, Fuzz sees them tackle the action-genre. The film generally meanders through a mix of bobby-comedy and sparks of slasher-thriller, but its finale is a blast of action madness that looks like the most fun to film. Ever. Though it’s essentially a parody, the film never pokes fun at the genre. It embraces it. And sets it in the aisles of Somerfield. It’s genius in a very British way.
The cast is ever so familiar, with Spaced landladies and Shaun’s bit-parters, and Adam & Joe’s, er, Adam. Bigger names like Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan, Jim Broadbent and Edward Woodward all play parts (some of them wheeled in to purposefully make you go ‘oh look it’s him!’) and Timothy Dalton is brilliantly hammy as the baddy. Even Peter Jackson pops up in an “all right, I had to research this because it’s so quick” cameo.
There’s no doubt this is a funny film. Some great lines, laugh-in-shock moments of violence and grin-inducing action pieces (Matrix-esque battle in a model village, anyone?) But there’s something about it that stops it from climbing the highest ranks of the CF scale. Pegg’s character is bravely different from his Shaun creation, but a little too severe to be wholly likeable. Edgar Wright’s direction features his trademark super-fast cuts, but there are times when it’s just too bloody fast (especially when you’re too close to the screen) and makes watching some fights scenes almost painful. And during the action-fest finale the boys get a little too carried away with having such a good time. Yes, they look very cool in their shades and with their big guns. But it strays too far over into not-as-funny territory for much too long.
But that’s not to say this isn’t an enjoyable film, and as with For Your Consideration, it shats over other ‘comedies’ (Norbit? For christ’s sake, someone burn the fat suit already). Big, bold and British, Hot Fuzz climbs the CF scale with its humour, but falters when the action become a little too ‘actiony’ (it is a word), therefore reaching the commendable heights of CF3.
Hot Fuzz comes from the makers of Shaun of the Dead, one of the best comedies in recent years I’d say (and I’d be right, of course). Simon Pegg stars as Nicholas Angel, a police officer so anally good that his London squad ship him off to the country because he’s making them all look bad. In ye olde quiet English town, Angel meets simple PC Danny Butterman (Nick Frost – Pegg’s childhood mate and comedic partner) and slowly finds that life in the countryside isn’t as quiet and boring as it seems.
Just as Shaun enveloped the lad’s love of zombie-flicks, Fuzz sees them tackle the action-genre. The film generally meanders through a mix of bobby-comedy and sparks of slasher-thriller, but its finale is a blast of action madness that looks like the most fun to film. Ever. Though it’s essentially a parody, the film never pokes fun at the genre. It embraces it. And sets it in the aisles of Somerfield. It’s genius in a very British way.
The cast is ever so familiar, with Spaced landladies and Shaun’s bit-parters, and Adam & Joe’s, er, Adam. Bigger names like Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan, Jim Broadbent and Edward Woodward all play parts (some of them wheeled in to purposefully make you go ‘oh look it’s him!’) and Timothy Dalton is brilliantly hammy as the baddy. Even Peter Jackson pops up in an “all right, I had to research this because it’s so quick” cameo.
There’s no doubt this is a funny film. Some great lines, laugh-in-shock moments of violence and grin-inducing action pieces (Matrix-esque battle in a model village, anyone?) But there’s something about it that stops it from climbing the highest ranks of the CF scale. Pegg’s character is bravely different from his Shaun creation, but a little too severe to be wholly likeable. Edgar Wright’s direction features his trademark super-fast cuts, but there are times when it’s just too bloody fast (especially when you’re too close to the screen) and makes watching some fights scenes almost painful. And during the action-fest finale the boys get a little too carried away with having such a good time. Yes, they look very cool in their shades and with their big guns. But it strays too far over into not-as-funny territory for much too long.
But that’s not to say this isn’t an enjoyable film, and as with For Your Consideration, it shats over other ‘comedies’ (Norbit? For christ’s sake, someone burn the fat suit already). Big, bold and British, Hot Fuzz climbs the CF scale with its humour, but falters when the action become a little too ‘actiony’ (it is a word), therefore reaching the commendable heights of CF3.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
28th Feb 07 - The Science of Sleep
A lovely treat this week. Not only do I get to watch a fabulous film (more on that later) but I get to sit a comfortable distance from the screen. I was beginning to think the cinema was a visual punishment for all the insults I may have doled out in these reviews. It seems that’s not the case, though, so I’ll just carry on mocking people.
Anyway, I’ve been waiting to see The Science of Sleep since last year when it pretended to be released, before cruelly withdrawing itself until now. My excitement came from director Michel Gondry, a man who cut his teeth in music videos. His videos were always the ones that made me go ‘wow’, be they for Bjork, Chemical Brothers, White Stripes or even Kylie, they always displayed Gondry’s bizarre visual style, and let him play around with many different effects. His foray into film began with my favourite screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, starting with the unusual Human Nature before popping out a film that now sits in my top 5 of all time – Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The Science of Sleep (SoS – because it’s too long a title to keep writing it all the time) is Gondry’s first feature length entirely under his own steam. And boy is it good.
The thing with Gondry is he’s obsessed with dreams, and has a funny knack of transferring that strange muddled dream-world on to film. So SoS is all about Stéphane, a young guy with vivid dreams and difficulty in separating them from the real world – a characteristic that makes things a tad difficult when he starts to fall in love with his neighbour. The film is essentially one of those romantic ones with irritating misunderstandings that have “hilarious” results, but under the whimsical, fantastical brain of Gondry it takes on a whole new tone. I think the best word to describe it is charming. Utterly charming.
Mixing live action with a variety of animation techniques creates a sort of child-like quality to the film (Gondry’s passion for animation is apparent back in his music video days – check out his White Stripes video made almost entirely of lego). Toy horses suddenly scamper across the floor, water becomes animated sweet wrappers, the outside world becomes a pulsating mass of cardboard cut-outs. It could all very easily slip into a mess of ‘huh?’ but Gondry keeps everything in check, with a firm enough grip on reality to make a convincing story.
Gondry penned the script himself and creates flowing, genuinely funny dialogue. It’s helped in its delivery by the lead, Gael Garcia Bernal, who is quite frankly incredibly gorgeous. He’s also a pretty fine actor, making Stéphane sympathetic, endearing, a little bit insane and also quite sexy all at once. He switches from sulking toddler, to loved-up fool, to frightened child, to slightly obsessed crazy, to excitable tot, and not once do you lose belief in his character, even when he comes out with statements like “I like your boobs. They're very friendly and unpretentious.”
I watched this film with a continuous smile broken only by bouts of laughter. At the risk of sounding like one of those pompous critics amused at the slightest thing, it was a joy to watch. My admiration for Gondry’s style probably helps. Though it’s nice to see he’s finally been given a full outlet for his dream fascination, I’d be interested to see where he goes next. I hope he can move his imagination on to other things rather than get stuck doing ‘the dream thing’. But that’s all irrelevant right now. The Science of Sleep told a familiar story in an original way, was visually fascinating and had a big ol’ heart beating behind all of it. It was the most enjoyable film so far this year, I’d say, and for that it storms in with a CF4. Who’s going to step up and try to beat that one? Go on – I dare you.
Anyway, I’ve been waiting to see The Science of Sleep since last year when it pretended to be released, before cruelly withdrawing itself until now. My excitement came from director Michel Gondry, a man who cut his teeth in music videos. His videos were always the ones that made me go ‘wow’, be they for Bjork, Chemical Brothers, White Stripes or even Kylie, they always displayed Gondry’s bizarre visual style, and let him play around with many different effects. His foray into film began with my favourite screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, starting with the unusual Human Nature before popping out a film that now sits in my top 5 of all time – Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The Science of Sleep (SoS – because it’s too long a title to keep writing it all the time) is Gondry’s first feature length entirely under his own steam. And boy is it good.
The thing with Gondry is he’s obsessed with dreams, and has a funny knack of transferring that strange muddled dream-world on to film. So SoS is all about Stéphane, a young guy with vivid dreams and difficulty in separating them from the real world – a characteristic that makes things a tad difficult when he starts to fall in love with his neighbour. The film is essentially one of those romantic ones with irritating misunderstandings that have “hilarious” results, but under the whimsical, fantastical brain of Gondry it takes on a whole new tone. I think the best word to describe it is charming. Utterly charming.
Mixing live action with a variety of animation techniques creates a sort of child-like quality to the film (Gondry’s passion for animation is apparent back in his music video days – check out his White Stripes video made almost entirely of lego). Toy horses suddenly scamper across the floor, water becomes animated sweet wrappers, the outside world becomes a pulsating mass of cardboard cut-outs. It could all very easily slip into a mess of ‘huh?’ but Gondry keeps everything in check, with a firm enough grip on reality to make a convincing story.
Gondry penned the script himself and creates flowing, genuinely funny dialogue. It’s helped in its delivery by the lead, Gael Garcia Bernal, who is quite frankly incredibly gorgeous. He’s also a pretty fine actor, making Stéphane sympathetic, endearing, a little bit insane and also quite sexy all at once. He switches from sulking toddler, to loved-up fool, to frightened child, to slightly obsessed crazy, to excitable tot, and not once do you lose belief in his character, even when he comes out with statements like “I like your boobs. They're very friendly and unpretentious.”
I watched this film with a continuous smile broken only by bouts of laughter. At the risk of sounding like one of those pompous critics amused at the slightest thing, it was a joy to watch. My admiration for Gondry’s style probably helps. Though it’s nice to see he’s finally been given a full outlet for his dream fascination, I’d be interested to see where he goes next. I hope he can move his imagination on to other things rather than get stuck doing ‘the dream thing’. But that’s all irrelevant right now. The Science of Sleep told a familiar story in an original way, was visually fascinating and had a big ol’ heart beating behind all of it. It was the most enjoyable film so far this year, I’d say, and for that it storms in with a CF4. Who’s going to step up and try to beat that one? Go on – I dare you.
Cinemafool at the Oscars
The Oscars are a reasonably major event in the world of film, although recently it seems to be more what people wear and how much they cry, than what actually won. I find them quite dubious, mostly due to their insistence on giving Eastwood praise (four nods at directing, two winning) and their sort of naff ‘let’s make up for ignoring’ way of doling out the awards, meaning people like Judi Dench get awarded for a nano-second of time, or Return of the King scores an awards bonanza when the equally good previous two were sort of ignored. It dilutes the impact of the award for me. An ‘Oscar winning’ film is no longer necessarily the best film of the year. Sometimes far from it.
But because Cinemafool likes to have opinions (correct opinions, at that) here is my take on the Oscars 2007:
Best Director: Martin Scorsese
A half-surprise at this one. Marty has been notoriously ignored by Mr Oscar, despite blasting out some of the biggest cult masterpieces (Taxi Driver, Goodfellas, Raging Bull) and some meaty offerings (The Aviator, Gangs of New York). Though The Departed fits more into ‘meaty’ than ‘masterpiece’ (reviewed 14th Oct), this award smacks of “here you go, happy now?’ rather than recognising the film on its own merits.
Saying that, if anyone else had won I’d be ranting on here about what a travesty it is that Marty was shunned yet again. Plus at least Eastwood didn’t win.
Best film: The Departed
See previous comments. The Departed was a good film, making it to the CF Top 10 of 2006, but it doesn’t feel like the BEST film. Still, compared to the quaint but slightly too quirky Little Miss Sunshine (reviewed 17th Oct), the pompous overblown Babel (reviewed 7th Feb), and the I-haven’t-seen-them-but-don’t-fancy-them-therefore-they-must-be-a-bit-rubbish-obviously Letters from Iwo Jima (bloody Eastwood again) and The Queen, I’d have to say that The Departed is the best of the bunch. I am pleased it won.
Best Actor: Forest Whitaker (Last King of Scotland)
As I noted in my review (24th Jan), Forest is worthy of this award, and was my preferred winner anyway. His performance is commanding and certainly gives the film a bit of oh-la-la (as only a mass-murdering crazy person can). Well done Forest.
Best Actress: Helen Mirren (The Queen)
I wasn’t particularly fussed by The Queen – I suspect America’s fascination with the Royals was the root cause of this muscling its way into nominations. I can’t really give much comment. I guess she does good Queen.
Best supporting actor: Alan Arkin (Little Miss Sunshine)
Yeah, he was pretty good. Shame Marky Mark didn’t get one for sporting silly hair in the Departed, though.
Best supporting actress: Jennifer Hudson (Dreamgirls)
I firmly wanted Rinko Kikuchi to nab this one. Her deaf Japanese girl was the best thing in Babel, and I believed firmly deserved a statue. (An Oscar statue, not a literal one. She wasn’t that great).
Best Foreign Language film: Das Leben der Anderen (aka The Lives of Others)
Never heard of it. How can some random German film win when the infinitely better El Laberinto del Fauno (ie Pan’s Labyrinth) was in the same category? I realise saying it’s better when I haven’t seen the other films is a little silly, but come one – Pan was one of the best films of the year and deserves recognition.
Best animated feature film: Happy Feet
I haven’t seen any of the animated entries (the others being Cars and Monster House). The reaction to Happy Feet was positive from those I spoke to, although I had to question their joy. It is dancing penguins after all. Weirdoes.
Best adapted screenplay: The Departed
Fair enough. Children of Men (reviewed 27th Sep) was in this category, but its script was not what made it great.
Best original screenplay: Little Miss Sunshine
Again, Pan’s Labyrinth (reviewed 6th Dec) was popping up in this category. Sunshine was quaint but a little clichéd, though the characters (aside from the mother, as I griped in my review) were nicely etched out. Ok, I give my blessing to this one.
Best original score: Babel
I can’t really remember the music from Babel, except the one song that’s used in the superbly brilliant show Deadwood. Hmm… original score you say?
Best original song: I Need to Wake Up - An Inconvenient Truth (performed by Melissa Etheridge)
Best song? Come on, it’s not the Brits.
Best documentary feature: An Inconvenient Truth
Didn’t watch this one. I know it’s about important things but I just don’t want to hear about it. It’s inconvenient. Ho ho ho.
Best documentary short subject: The Blood of Yingzhou District
I have no idea what this is. Sorry.
Best visual effects: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Oh God. They gave this an award? Ok, the effects were pretty good (reviewed, sorry, destroyed 13th July). And it was up against Poseidon and Superman Returns. But Christ – awarding it? You’ll just encourage them.
Best cinematography: Pan's Labyrinth
I am pleased, but Children of Men was also in this category and I think both films should be awarded for cinematography. But well done Pan.
Best art direction:Pan's Labyrinth
Hell yeah.
Best animated short film:The Danish Poet
Hmm…
Best action short film: West Bank Story
Mmm hmm…
Best costume design: Marie Antoinette
Yeah it probably had nice clothes.
Best make-up: Pan's Labyrinth
Come on Pan!
Best sound mixing: Dreamgirls
I don’t really know what these awards are for anymore.
Sound editing: Letters from Iwo Jima
Eastwood? Come on, was that just to give him something?
Best film editing: The Departed
Again, Children of Men was in here. Though the beauty of that was the lack of editing in many shots so not sure how the award would win.
In total the Departed and Pan’s Labyrinth came out glowing, scooping four and three awards respectively. Not a bad effort, and not too many gripes for a change. In all an interesting, if not uneventful (and therefore a little boring), Oscars for 2007. And did you see J-Lo’s dress? Christ it was hideous…
But because Cinemafool likes to have opinions (correct opinions, at that) here is my take on the Oscars 2007:
Best Director: Martin Scorsese
A half-surprise at this one. Marty has been notoriously ignored by Mr Oscar, despite blasting out some of the biggest cult masterpieces (Taxi Driver, Goodfellas, Raging Bull) and some meaty offerings (The Aviator, Gangs of New York). Though The Departed fits more into ‘meaty’ than ‘masterpiece’ (reviewed 14th Oct), this award smacks of “here you go, happy now?’ rather than recognising the film on its own merits.
Saying that, if anyone else had won I’d be ranting on here about what a travesty it is that Marty was shunned yet again. Plus at least Eastwood didn’t win.
Best film: The Departed
See previous comments. The Departed was a good film, making it to the CF Top 10 of 2006, but it doesn’t feel like the BEST film. Still, compared to the quaint but slightly too quirky Little Miss Sunshine (reviewed 17th Oct), the pompous overblown Babel (reviewed 7th Feb), and the I-haven’t-seen-them-but-don’t-fancy-them-therefore-they-must-be-a-bit-rubbish-obviously Letters from Iwo Jima (bloody Eastwood again) and The Queen, I’d have to say that The Departed is the best of the bunch. I am pleased it won.
Best Actor: Forest Whitaker (Last King of Scotland)
As I noted in my review (24th Jan), Forest is worthy of this award, and was my preferred winner anyway. His performance is commanding and certainly gives the film a bit of oh-la-la (as only a mass-murdering crazy person can). Well done Forest.
Best Actress: Helen Mirren (The Queen)
I wasn’t particularly fussed by The Queen – I suspect America’s fascination with the Royals was the root cause of this muscling its way into nominations. I can’t really give much comment. I guess she does good Queen.
Best supporting actor: Alan Arkin (Little Miss Sunshine)
Yeah, he was pretty good. Shame Marky Mark didn’t get one for sporting silly hair in the Departed, though.
Best supporting actress: Jennifer Hudson (Dreamgirls)
I firmly wanted Rinko Kikuchi to nab this one. Her deaf Japanese girl was the best thing in Babel, and I believed firmly deserved a statue. (An Oscar statue, not a literal one. She wasn’t that great).
Best Foreign Language film: Das Leben der Anderen (aka The Lives of Others)
Never heard of it. How can some random German film win when the infinitely better El Laberinto del Fauno (ie Pan’s Labyrinth) was in the same category? I realise saying it’s better when I haven’t seen the other films is a little silly, but come one – Pan was one of the best films of the year and deserves recognition.
Best animated feature film: Happy Feet
I haven’t seen any of the animated entries (the others being Cars and Monster House). The reaction to Happy Feet was positive from those I spoke to, although I had to question their joy. It is dancing penguins after all. Weirdoes.
Best adapted screenplay: The Departed
Fair enough. Children of Men (reviewed 27th Sep) was in this category, but its script was not what made it great.
Best original screenplay: Little Miss Sunshine
Again, Pan’s Labyrinth (reviewed 6th Dec) was popping up in this category. Sunshine was quaint but a little clichéd, though the characters (aside from the mother, as I griped in my review) were nicely etched out. Ok, I give my blessing to this one.
Best original score: Babel
I can’t really remember the music from Babel, except the one song that’s used in the superbly brilliant show Deadwood. Hmm… original score you say?
Best original song: I Need to Wake Up - An Inconvenient Truth (performed by Melissa Etheridge)
Best song? Come on, it’s not the Brits.
Best documentary feature: An Inconvenient Truth
Didn’t watch this one. I know it’s about important things but I just don’t want to hear about it. It’s inconvenient. Ho ho ho.
Best documentary short subject: The Blood of Yingzhou District
I have no idea what this is. Sorry.
Best visual effects: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Oh God. They gave this an award? Ok, the effects were pretty good (reviewed, sorry, destroyed 13th July). And it was up against Poseidon and Superman Returns. But Christ – awarding it? You’ll just encourage them.
Best cinematography: Pan's Labyrinth
I am pleased, but Children of Men was also in this category and I think both films should be awarded for cinematography. But well done Pan.
Best art direction:Pan's Labyrinth
Hell yeah.
Best animated short film:The Danish Poet
Hmm…
Best action short film: West Bank Story
Mmm hmm…
Best costume design: Marie Antoinette
Yeah it probably had nice clothes.
Best make-up: Pan's Labyrinth
Come on Pan!
Best sound mixing: Dreamgirls
I don’t really know what these awards are for anymore.
Sound editing: Letters from Iwo Jima
Eastwood? Come on, was that just to give him something?
Best film editing: The Departed
Again, Children of Men was in here. Though the beauty of that was the lack of editing in many shots so not sure how the award would win.
In total the Departed and Pan’s Labyrinth came out glowing, scooping four and three awards respectively. Not a bad effort, and not too many gripes for a change. In all an interesting, if not uneventful (and therefore a little boring), Oscars for 2007. And did you see J-Lo’s dress? Christ it was hideous…
Thursday, February 22, 2007
21st Feb 07 - For Your Consideration
Sitting inches from a cinema screen seems to be the thing to do at the moment. Last week it was noses-to-the-screen at Hot Fuzz (review to follow in the next couple of weeks when I can watch it from a less upfront position) and this week we were nestled in the Cornerhouse’s living room to watch For Your Consideration, the new comedy from Christopher Guest and co. “Who?” you might ask – to which I’d cuff you round the ear and say “the guys that brought comedy genius into the world through such mock-docs as ‘This is Spinal Tap’ and ‘Best in Show’ you fool.” Then I might apologise if I cuffed you too hard, but really you’d have deserved it.
The likes of Spinal Tap were such winners because the hugely talented ensemble cast threw themselves into the world they were reflecting and created hilarious moments with natural, free-flowing dialogue. The same technique is employed in this new offering, although it mustn’t have taken much preparation to immerse themselves into these roles. The gang play a bunch of actors, film producers and writers.
The story centres on a handful of actors who discover, via internet hype, that their current film may result in an Oscar nomination for their performances. How this potential award changes their attitudes (and in some cases, their actual faces) is the main comic thrust, though there are plenty of opportunities for giggles, be it through Eugene Levy’s useless agent, Jennifer Coolidge’s thicko producer or Guest himself, as the slightly crap director.
The trouble is that despite causing me to chortle, the film also created a frown on completion. The team are experts at this kind of format, but it felt like they were very much aware of this, which perhaps caused them to go on cruise control. Fred Willard turns in a hilarious performance as a dumb and slightly offensive TV presenter. Just looking at some of his outfits, or the trendy ‘ducks arse’ hair style he sports (the guy’s 68) is enough to bring a smile. Trouble is, in Best in Show he plays a dumb and slightly offensive TV commentator. Still just as funny. But watching Consideration you can’t help but feel that they could’ve tried something a little different. Jennifer Coolidge almost always plays a dumb blonde. True, she does it fabulously, but again maybe it’s time she stretched herself. And our very own Ricky Gervais pops up and plays… oh yeah, it’s his ‘Gervais/Brent’ act. Again.
So though Consideration is no doubt funny, with clever little digs at celebrity culture and the problems with hype, it doesn’t boast enough set pieces to match those of the Tap or Best in Show, or even a story as engaging as A Mighty Wind. Instead it’s similar jokes in a different, but not different enough, environment. A great shame, and a conundrum for my ratings. On its own merits this is a funny, clever little film with a brilliant cast, pooing all over the other “comedies” out now (Epic Movie? Come on – stop ripping off everyone else’s jokes just to make the plebs laugh. They’ll laugh at their own reflection, you don’t need to spoil our cinemas on their behalf). But put it in terms of what it could have accomplished and you can’t help but be a little disappointed. I think this deserves more than just a CF0, but I can’t make it any higher than CF1 I’m afraid. If you’re new to Guest then this is worth a gander, but the rest you may find things a little too familiar.
The likes of Spinal Tap were such winners because the hugely talented ensemble cast threw themselves into the world they were reflecting and created hilarious moments with natural, free-flowing dialogue. The same technique is employed in this new offering, although it mustn’t have taken much preparation to immerse themselves into these roles. The gang play a bunch of actors, film producers and writers.
The story centres on a handful of actors who discover, via internet hype, that their current film may result in an Oscar nomination for their performances. How this potential award changes their attitudes (and in some cases, their actual faces) is the main comic thrust, though there are plenty of opportunities for giggles, be it through Eugene Levy’s useless agent, Jennifer Coolidge’s thicko producer or Guest himself, as the slightly crap director.
The trouble is that despite causing me to chortle, the film also created a frown on completion. The team are experts at this kind of format, but it felt like they were very much aware of this, which perhaps caused them to go on cruise control. Fred Willard turns in a hilarious performance as a dumb and slightly offensive TV presenter. Just looking at some of his outfits, or the trendy ‘ducks arse’ hair style he sports (the guy’s 68) is enough to bring a smile. Trouble is, in Best in Show he plays a dumb and slightly offensive TV commentator. Still just as funny. But watching Consideration you can’t help but feel that they could’ve tried something a little different. Jennifer Coolidge almost always plays a dumb blonde. True, she does it fabulously, but again maybe it’s time she stretched herself. And our very own Ricky Gervais pops up and plays… oh yeah, it’s his ‘Gervais/Brent’ act. Again.
So though Consideration is no doubt funny, with clever little digs at celebrity culture and the problems with hype, it doesn’t boast enough set pieces to match those of the Tap or Best in Show, or even a story as engaging as A Mighty Wind. Instead it’s similar jokes in a different, but not different enough, environment. A great shame, and a conundrum for my ratings. On its own merits this is a funny, clever little film with a brilliant cast, pooing all over the other “comedies” out now (Epic Movie? Come on – stop ripping off everyone else’s jokes just to make the plebs laugh. They’ll laugh at their own reflection, you don’t need to spoil our cinemas on their behalf). But put it in terms of what it could have accomplished and you can’t help but be a little disappointed. I think this deserves more than just a CF0, but I can’t make it any higher than CF1 I’m afraid. If you’re new to Guest then this is worth a gander, but the rest you may find things a little too familiar.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
7th Feb 07 - Babel
Here’s a quick insight into how my mind now works while watching a new film (a scary prospect, but bear with me). My opinion starts off at CF0 and then wavers up and down the scale as the film progresses. Imagine a little CF measuring device with a red arm flittering back and forth. That’s my brain. Sometimes it’ll slowly make its way up the scale as the film increases in goodness (see Bobby). Othertimes an event will make it drop to the very bottom (see soppy soppy bits in Casino Royale). At the end of the film I then try to summarise the average reading on my internal CF scale. That’s how it works.
Anyway, the reason I’ve gone into this is because my internal CF measuring device had a long time to waver back and forth with this week’s film. Mainly because this week’s film is about eight days long.
Ok, slight exaggeration. But you certainly get your money’s worth with Babel. It’s 142 minutes and features four different stories, each interlinked in the physical world (the characters having some connection or other) and the arty metaphorical world (they all have, like, communication issues, which is why the film’s called Babel and it’s, like, deep and stuff). To us narrow-minded westerners it was advertised as a Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett vehicle with token foreign co-stars, but in reality the four stories get equal time and attention, located in Morocco, Mexico and Japan.
The high points on my CF scale were rooted to the Japan story of a deaf-mute teenage girl, played by the captivating Rinko Kikuchi (rightly oscar-nominated for best supporting actress). Her character was fascinating, the direction in her segments was superb (especially a blistering club seen through her altered senses) and with a little more to it this could have been a film all on its lonesome. The CF scale was reaching 3.
Then we have Brad and Cate, a married couple taking vacation in Morocco to try and reconcile a few issues (they don’t talk any more – they don’t communicate – see it’s dead clever. Sort of. Well, not that clever.) As disaster strikes their story fades into a mangle of desperation, which is played well by both but seems to just tail off a little at the end. The CF scale wavered down between 1 and 2, dipping when the token British couple appeared who acted like token British twats. Us British, eh? Always such bastards.
The Mexico segment had some of the liveliest scenes (Mexican weddings look fantastic. What a jolly bunch of people) and though it picked up pace towards the end, and I’d enough emotional investment to care what happened to the characters, its finish was also curtailed into a ‘oh’ rather than a ‘wow’. A sort of CF0 to 2 mix on that one.
And finally the fourth segment, focusing on some Moroccan goat farmers, had some moments of well played drama, but again petered out. And that highlights my problem with this film. After such a long investment of my time I wanted a big pay-off at the end. Something to tie everything up, or at least go out with some impact. But no – nothing. My CF scale had gone up and down throughout, rising when characters became well-developed or emotions ran high, then starting to drop as I became aware of the slow passage of time. But with so much potential and an interesting topic to the linguist in me, it was a shame that it wasn’t all put to good use. There was no real lasting impression or ‘message’. I didn’t want a Crash-type film ramming something down my throat, but a small point would’ve been nice.
I mentioned my inner scale at the start to highlight that there were moments in this film that I was putting it at a CF3. But ultimately you have to take films as a whole, and for letting things unravel a bit too much at the end Babel drops down to CF1. Give an Oscar to Rinko. But perhaps just settle for a small applause to Babel.
Anyway, the reason I’ve gone into this is because my internal CF measuring device had a long time to waver back and forth with this week’s film. Mainly because this week’s film is about eight days long.
Ok, slight exaggeration. But you certainly get your money’s worth with Babel. It’s 142 minutes and features four different stories, each interlinked in the physical world (the characters having some connection or other) and the arty metaphorical world (they all have, like, communication issues, which is why the film’s called Babel and it’s, like, deep and stuff). To us narrow-minded westerners it was advertised as a Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett vehicle with token foreign co-stars, but in reality the four stories get equal time and attention, located in Morocco, Mexico and Japan.
The high points on my CF scale were rooted to the Japan story of a deaf-mute teenage girl, played by the captivating Rinko Kikuchi (rightly oscar-nominated for best supporting actress). Her character was fascinating, the direction in her segments was superb (especially a blistering club seen through her altered senses) and with a little more to it this could have been a film all on its lonesome. The CF scale was reaching 3.
Then we have Brad and Cate, a married couple taking vacation in Morocco to try and reconcile a few issues (they don’t talk any more – they don’t communicate – see it’s dead clever. Sort of. Well, not that clever.) As disaster strikes their story fades into a mangle of desperation, which is played well by both but seems to just tail off a little at the end. The CF scale wavered down between 1 and 2, dipping when the token British couple appeared who acted like token British twats. Us British, eh? Always such bastards.
The Mexico segment had some of the liveliest scenes (Mexican weddings look fantastic. What a jolly bunch of people) and though it picked up pace towards the end, and I’d enough emotional investment to care what happened to the characters, its finish was also curtailed into a ‘oh’ rather than a ‘wow’. A sort of CF0 to 2 mix on that one.
And finally the fourth segment, focusing on some Moroccan goat farmers, had some moments of well played drama, but again petered out. And that highlights my problem with this film. After such a long investment of my time I wanted a big pay-off at the end. Something to tie everything up, or at least go out with some impact. But no – nothing. My CF scale had gone up and down throughout, rising when characters became well-developed or emotions ran high, then starting to drop as I became aware of the slow passage of time. But with so much potential and an interesting topic to the linguist in me, it was a shame that it wasn’t all put to good use. There was no real lasting impression or ‘message’. I didn’t want a Crash-type film ramming something down my throat, but a small point would’ve been nice.
I mentioned my inner scale at the start to highlight that there were moments in this film that I was putting it at a CF3. But ultimately you have to take films as a whole, and for letting things unravel a bit too much at the end Babel drops down to CF1. Give an Oscar to Rinko. But perhaps just settle for a small applause to Babel.
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