There’s an amazing start to this film, where Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) frolics across the road towards her beloved Mr Big, when suddenly bam! A bus hits her - ironically the very bus that carries her advertisement, which is seen in every opening sequence to the much loved Sex & The City series. Carrie is tragically killed, and in a fit of despair Mr Big goes on a rampage through New York, slaughters the other three main characters (Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda) before falling into a pit of nuclear waste, which changes his molecular structure so that he literally becomes Mr Big, towering above the buildings of New York and destroying everything in his path. Meanwhile a group of twenty-somethings have to escape from the city, all the while filming their escapades on shaky-cam. Mr Big is eventually felled by a hoard of angry gophers and some aliens.
Ok. That isn’t quite what happens. But wouldn’t it have been something special? Something you could only really do as a one-off special feature? Something to make use of a bigger budget? Something that gives a reason to make a film after a show has ceased to be? Yeah - it would have been. But instead the Sex and the City film is exactly the same as any Sex and the City episode. Only it’s two and a half hours long.
But here’s why that isn’t a problem. Sex and the City was a good show. Funny, dramatic, pioneering in terms of its strong female leads and graphic scenes, SATC established a huge fan base for a reason. Yes, the characters could sometimes get bloody annoying, occasionally seeming to parody themselves to a point of banality, but its character arcs and relationship-fuelled plots became addictive, and it was one of those shows where you could easily watch two or three episodes at a time.
The film picks up a few years after the show left off, and it’s a testament to the writers and actors that after four years the characters and tone of the series simply carry on, as if there hadn’t been a break at all. Characters face varying degrees of dilemma (some far more than others), there’s lots of weird clothes on show (it strikes me as odd that what many people call “fashion” I call “looking like a twonk… in bad clothes”) and even two, count them, two montages of Carrie trying on different outfits. Two. In the first twenty minutes. Smashing.
It’s frustrating and ridiculous that the majority of the major plot points are blurted out in the film’s overlong trailer, ruining any surprise revelations or potentially devastating turns of events. There is certainly a powerful mid-point, which spirals into a wave of darkness, before levelling off for the last third into a rather non-wow finale. But it still made the audience laugh and cry on more than one occasion. Whether it would have the same effect on someone who didn’t have six series’ worth of back story, I’m not so sure.
Like the Simpsons Movie, there was no real reason to make this (aside from money) and there wasn’t anything special done to the series to reason a voyage from the little screen to the big screen. But by being based on a super show, it automatically becomes a super film, notching above the baseline CF0. But only to a CF1. There are no extra points because, well, there weren’t any extras in the film either. And if I see production notes detailing a new B-Movie with a “Mr Big” and some gophers, I’ll bloody sue.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
25th May 08 - Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Picture the scene: George Lucas is sat in his study, surrounded by star and planet mobiles, rocketship wallpaper on the walls and the futuristic music from the queuing system at Disneyland’s Space Mountain ride playing in the background. On one side of his computer is a note from Steven Spielberg, which says: “Dear George. We have finally decided to make the fourth Indiana Jones, even though the series didn’t need it and Harrison is a gajillion years old so will look a bit weird. All the other big action films have made fourths, and I was starting to feel left out. Who likes any of the other Die Hards anyway? Please write me a script so we can film a new Indy and make loads of money. The fans will watch it regardless, so put whatever you want in there. Cheers. Stevie.”
On the other side of the computer is a shed load of sherbet dip, which George’s mum has told him not to have because last time it took him seven hours to go to sleep, but she’s on holiday so he can do what he likes. George proceeds to eat all the sherbet dip and then write the script for the fourth Indiana Jones.
If I was to describe the plot for Indy 4 right now, you would most likely think it a continuation of this elaborate scene above (which is of course false - George was joined by Jeff Nathanson on plot duties). But I wouldn’t be making it up. I couldn’t make it up. Seriously. Three words: What. The. Fuck.
Indy 4 is essentially a never-ending car chase interspersed with everything and anything that could exist in the real world (or not) and might cause some excitement - killer ants, scorpions, waterfalls, cliffs, booby traps, FBI, Russians, magnets, quicksand, angry tribes people, nuclear explosions, monkeys, Jim Robinson from Neighbours, and frickin’ gophers (what was with the gophers?!) It was like any and all ideas were used, rather than selected for most entertainment / relevance to the plot.
Just to retract the barbs slightly, of course the original Indy’s weren’t brimming with coherent stories or anything other than a series of tombs and fights. And like its predecessors, Indy 4 has a bit of spirit about it - some good fun can be had in some of the sequences, there’s slapstick and wry humour, and a small portion of the Indy / Mutt (Shia LaBeouf- “the new Indy”) banter was entertaining. But on the whole it dragged horribly, feeling twice as long as Iron Man (when Iron Man was actually longer) and matching the witty old-school opening title sequence by being pretty damn dated. We like character development nowadays. Or, you know, plots that aren’t from a sherbet-fuelled insanity trip.
Indy 4 brings nothing new to the table except a lump of crusty bread that we’ve already seen before, only now it looks like it’s picked up every bit of fluff off the floor and some space dust along with it. Didn’t need to be made, entertained for only a quarter of its running time, and yet will probably make a killing at the box office. It was going to get a CF-1, but having written this I’ve angered myself into dropping it further. CF-2 for you, Indy. No more sherbet, Lucas. Your mother knows what she’s talking about.
On the other side of the computer is a shed load of sherbet dip, which George’s mum has told him not to have because last time it took him seven hours to go to sleep, but she’s on holiday so he can do what he likes. George proceeds to eat all the sherbet dip and then write the script for the fourth Indiana Jones.
If I was to describe the plot for Indy 4 right now, you would most likely think it a continuation of this elaborate scene above (which is of course false - George was joined by Jeff Nathanson on plot duties). But I wouldn’t be making it up. I couldn’t make it up. Seriously. Three words: What. The. Fuck.
Indy 4 is essentially a never-ending car chase interspersed with everything and anything that could exist in the real world (or not) and might cause some excitement - killer ants, scorpions, waterfalls, cliffs, booby traps, FBI, Russians, magnets, quicksand, angry tribes people, nuclear explosions, monkeys, Jim Robinson from Neighbours, and frickin’ gophers (what was with the gophers?!) It was like any and all ideas were used, rather than selected for most entertainment / relevance to the plot.
Just to retract the barbs slightly, of course the original Indy’s weren’t brimming with coherent stories or anything other than a series of tombs and fights. And like its predecessors, Indy 4 has a bit of spirit about it - some good fun can be had in some of the sequences, there’s slapstick and wry humour, and a small portion of the Indy / Mutt (Shia LaBeouf- “the new Indy”) banter was entertaining. But on the whole it dragged horribly, feeling twice as long as Iron Man (when Iron Man was actually longer) and matching the witty old-school opening title sequence by being pretty damn dated. We like character development nowadays. Or, you know, plots that aren’t from a sherbet-fuelled insanity trip.
Indy 4 brings nothing new to the table except a lump of crusty bread that we’ve already seen before, only now it looks like it’s picked up every bit of fluff off the floor and some space dust along with it. Didn’t need to be made, entertained for only a quarter of its running time, and yet will probably make a killing at the box office. It was going to get a CF-1, but having written this I’ve angered myself into dropping it further. CF-2 for you, Indy. No more sherbet, Lucas. Your mother knows what she’s talking about.
21st May 08 - Iron Man
All together now: duuuh… duuuuh… duuuh duh duuuh… yes, the opening power chords of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man have been in my head for several days preceding and post-ceding (it should be a word) my recent cinema trip, the first for the month after a spate of non-cinema outings due to vaguely important events.
Coupled with the echoes of an ace riff was a heady mix of excitement and trepidation. Excitement because this was another comic book film (and there have been good ones - Spider-Man, X-Men, Batman Begins) directed by John Favreau (who did the underrated Elf among others) and starring Robert Downey Jr, whose on screen charisma is only overshadowed by the fact he is bloody gorgeous. Trepidation because this was another comic book film (and there have been some average ones - Hulk, Superman Returns - and some pap ones - Daredevil, Fantastic Four) and it features a bloke in an iron suit, which could be a bit naff. What we end up with is a film that doesn’t quite reach the joys of Spidey et al, but transcends pap and average into the “pretty good” zone.
“Pretty good” is replaced by “excellent” when taking in Downey Jr’s performance. Matched perfectly against his character Tony Stark, Downey is at his best when smug, gorgeous, arrogant, successful and gorgeous, juxtaposed with occasional flashes of fear, guilt and, well, being gorgeous (he does that a lot). Matching his turn in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Downey Jr manages to be a believable arse hole but still causes the audience to obtain an emotional attachment.
So with a strong lead in the bag, the film scores further points with a good mix of comedy, origin story and lots of things that go boom. As a comic product it naturally strays into the ludicrous and implausible (who knew that typing “translate” into a computer can make it automatically translate video? How clever!) but we can forgive that because it’s Iron Man, and he looks awesome when he’s all kitted out and hovering around his basement on rocket shoes.
What isn’t as easy to forgive is the dubious use of Afghanistan bad guys, living in caves and wearing t-shirts that say “designed to make Americans feel better”. Tony Stark makes kick-ass American weapons that can be used to wipe out thousands, but when he realises the same weapons have been sold to the Evil Foreigners he gets pretty upset, because then they might be used to kill “us”. And killing lots of foreigners is Ok, but killing Americans? This calls for a superhero!
It’s not quite as black-and-white as that, but when we stray into murkier territory with a traitor selling weapons to the enemy, we end up straying right back out and paint said traitor as a crazy man, rather than a realistic portrait of the weapons industry.
This slightly half-arsed foray into making a point and then making a really rubbish point taints Iron Man, but only a little bit. It is, on the whole, enjoyable, funny, thrilling, with a strong cast and superb effects, although probably didn’t need quite as many suit construction montages. With a whopping clue to a sequel, it’ll be interesting to see where they take this franchise. One thing’s certain - if Downey Jr’s still on board then get me a ticket to the boat.
Iron Man scores an extra point for being a solid comic book film, and an additional one simply for having a lot of Downey Jr in it, climbing up to a CF2. Duuuh… duuuuh… duuuh duh duuuh…
Coupled with the echoes of an ace riff was a heady mix of excitement and trepidation. Excitement because this was another comic book film (and there have been good ones - Spider-Man, X-Men, Batman Begins) directed by John Favreau (who did the underrated Elf among others) and starring Robert Downey Jr, whose on screen charisma is only overshadowed by the fact he is bloody gorgeous. Trepidation because this was another comic book film (and there have been some average ones - Hulk, Superman Returns - and some pap ones - Daredevil, Fantastic Four) and it features a bloke in an iron suit, which could be a bit naff. What we end up with is a film that doesn’t quite reach the joys of Spidey et al, but transcends pap and average into the “pretty good” zone.
“Pretty good” is replaced by “excellent” when taking in Downey Jr’s performance. Matched perfectly against his character Tony Stark, Downey is at his best when smug, gorgeous, arrogant, successful and gorgeous, juxtaposed with occasional flashes of fear, guilt and, well, being gorgeous (he does that a lot). Matching his turn in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Downey Jr manages to be a believable arse hole but still causes the audience to obtain an emotional attachment.
So with a strong lead in the bag, the film scores further points with a good mix of comedy, origin story and lots of things that go boom. As a comic product it naturally strays into the ludicrous and implausible (who knew that typing “translate” into a computer can make it automatically translate video? How clever!) but we can forgive that because it’s Iron Man, and he looks awesome when he’s all kitted out and hovering around his basement on rocket shoes.
What isn’t as easy to forgive is the dubious use of Afghanistan bad guys, living in caves and wearing t-shirts that say “designed to make Americans feel better”. Tony Stark makes kick-ass American weapons that can be used to wipe out thousands, but when he realises the same weapons have been sold to the Evil Foreigners he gets pretty upset, because then they might be used to kill “us”. And killing lots of foreigners is Ok, but killing Americans? This calls for a superhero!
It’s not quite as black-and-white as that, but when we stray into murkier territory with a traitor selling weapons to the enemy, we end up straying right back out and paint said traitor as a crazy man, rather than a realistic portrait of the weapons industry.
This slightly half-arsed foray into making a point and then making a really rubbish point taints Iron Man, but only a little bit. It is, on the whole, enjoyable, funny, thrilling, with a strong cast and superb effects, although probably didn’t need quite as many suit construction montages. With a whopping clue to a sequel, it’ll be interesting to see where they take this franchise. One thing’s certain - if Downey Jr’s still on board then get me a ticket to the boat.
Iron Man scores an extra point for being a solid comic book film, and an additional one simply for having a lot of Downey Jr in it, climbing up to a CF2. Duuuh… duuuuh… duuuh duh duuuh…
Sunday, April 27, 2008
26th April 08 - Happy-Go-Lucky
Being happy is the single most significant purpose to anyone’s existence. Fact. I mean, you only have one life which is slowly creeping towards the end every single second, and if you’re not spending it being happy then what on earth are you doing? That’s like going to Alton Towers and not going on any of the rides. Pointless.
Granted, it’s not easy to be happy all of the time, seeing as how adult life (and let’s be fair - teenage life too) is generally rubbish. If all you had to do was be happy then everyone would be fine, but the whole “having to survive - ergo having to eat food - ergo having to buy food - ergo having to earn money” thing can get in the way. But if you’ve made choices that mean there is absolutely no happiness in your life what-so-ever, then really. What are you doing? You’re essentially endlessly watching Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and refusing to change the DVD. You’re being stupid. Change the DVD. Simple.
There. After counselling the whole world, I’ll now get back to business. Happy-Go-Lucky is a film from Mike Leigh, a man whose last work was generally unhappy (Vera Drake - described by Cinemafool in the 2005 review as “well acted, but fairly loose on plot and so, so dreary“). It features Poppy (the superb Sally Hawkins), a 30 year-old who sees everything half full. She embraces life, tries to make everyone else happy, and is generally a nice person. In reality, anyone that happy and lively is most likely tucking away all the niggling unhappiness, saving it for massive unrelenting sessions of grief when she’s completely alone. They didn’t show that - it might have gone against the point. But I’m just saying. It’ll be one of the deleted scenes.
Being more of a character study than a plot-filled romp, HGL struggles at first as Poppy’s endlessly cheery nature begins to grate. We watch her be happy at a series of characters, and the point of it all starts to be in question. But then Poppy enrols on driving lessons and we get Scott (Eddie Marsan), and everything becomes supremely better. The driving lesson scenes are pure genius, a pitbull of anger and insanity versus a balloon of happiness and, err, insanity. Half way through and my opinion had completely reversed. But as the film continues, that same sense of “and we’re watching this because…?” looms in, and though some areas - the Flamenco lesson, the trip to the physio (hurray!), the impossibly gorgeous social worker - are pleasant to watch, others - the wedged-in tramp scene - test your patience, and this two hour film does start to test you, even when you’re full of yummy donuts.
What is refreshing to see, however, is a film with predominantly female characters who aren’t prancing about trying to look gorgeous, pining over blokes, “gossiping” and, well, being like in the Sex & the City trailer. As in, supposedly strong female role models but in fact botoxed Hollywood lovelies designed to continue to make normal women feel like shit. The women in Happy-Go-Lucky are normal women. They like to dress up and have a good time. They have jobs. They slob about at home. They talk about feelings. They take the piss out of each other. There is no learning curve, no revelation. No handsome man to make everything better (pretty much, anyway). Such a thing is rare, and for this I raise my hands in applause.
Siphon off the superfluous scenes around the driving lessons and bare bones of this colourful character, and you’d have a powerful film about making the most of life and, well, being happy. But as it stands, Happy-Go-Lucky is a mixed bag of laugh-out-loud hilarity and seat-shuffle tedium. It notches up a CF1, which is something to be happy about. Just not ecstatic.
Granted, it’s not easy to be happy all of the time, seeing as how adult life (and let’s be fair - teenage life too) is generally rubbish. If all you had to do was be happy then everyone would be fine, but the whole “having to survive - ergo having to eat food - ergo having to buy food - ergo having to earn money” thing can get in the way. But if you’ve made choices that mean there is absolutely no happiness in your life what-so-ever, then really. What are you doing? You’re essentially endlessly watching Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and refusing to change the DVD. You’re being stupid. Change the DVD. Simple.
There. After counselling the whole world, I’ll now get back to business. Happy-Go-Lucky is a film from Mike Leigh, a man whose last work was generally unhappy (Vera Drake - described by Cinemafool in the 2005 review as “well acted, but fairly loose on plot and so, so dreary“). It features Poppy (the superb Sally Hawkins), a 30 year-old who sees everything half full. She embraces life, tries to make everyone else happy, and is generally a nice person. In reality, anyone that happy and lively is most likely tucking away all the niggling unhappiness, saving it for massive unrelenting sessions of grief when she’s completely alone. They didn’t show that - it might have gone against the point. But I’m just saying. It’ll be one of the deleted scenes.
Being more of a character study than a plot-filled romp, HGL struggles at first as Poppy’s endlessly cheery nature begins to grate. We watch her be happy at a series of characters, and the point of it all starts to be in question. But then Poppy enrols on driving lessons and we get Scott (Eddie Marsan), and everything becomes supremely better. The driving lesson scenes are pure genius, a pitbull of anger and insanity versus a balloon of happiness and, err, insanity. Half way through and my opinion had completely reversed. But as the film continues, that same sense of “and we’re watching this because…?” looms in, and though some areas - the Flamenco lesson, the trip to the physio (hurray!), the impossibly gorgeous social worker - are pleasant to watch, others - the wedged-in tramp scene - test your patience, and this two hour film does start to test you, even when you’re full of yummy donuts.
What is refreshing to see, however, is a film with predominantly female characters who aren’t prancing about trying to look gorgeous, pining over blokes, “gossiping” and, well, being like in the Sex & the City trailer. As in, supposedly strong female role models but in fact botoxed Hollywood lovelies designed to continue to make normal women feel like shit. The women in Happy-Go-Lucky are normal women. They like to dress up and have a good time. They have jobs. They slob about at home. They talk about feelings. They take the piss out of each other. There is no learning curve, no revelation. No handsome man to make everything better (pretty much, anyway). Such a thing is rare, and for this I raise my hands in applause.
Siphon off the superfluous scenes around the driving lessons and bare bones of this colourful character, and you’d have a powerful film about making the most of life and, well, being happy. But as it stands, Happy-Go-Lucky is a mixed bag of laugh-out-loud hilarity and seat-shuffle tedium. It notches up a CF1, which is something to be happy about. Just not ecstatic.
23rd April 08 - In Bruges
If there’s just one thing I want to talk about in this review, it is Colin Farrell’s eyebrows. Secondary to my fascination with odd mouths (see: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Meredith off Grey’s Anatomy, Alicia Silverstone, Meg Ryan) is my obsession with big eyebrows. Sandy off the OC was in the lead for size, David Tennant for flexibility, but Farrell has stormed in with eyebrows that are not only dominating in terms of size and colour, but they are also incredibly animated. If anything his eyebrows out-act him, which is a mean feat in itself because the little Irish man does manage to act his chops off in this, albeit in a slightly over-the-top way.
In Bruges is the story of two hit-men being sent to, you’ve guessed it, Bruges, after a botched job. Ken (Brendan Gleeson) is thrilled because he gets to look at lots of old buildings, but Ray (Colin Farrell - or Will Ferrell - or Colin Firth, depending on how you look at it) isn’t too pleased with the trip. Of course, the real reason for their destination is later uncovered in what is a hark back to the good old days of the 90s when we made a massive amount of British gangster type films that were both funny, entertaining, but also ultimately a bit stupid.
Despite being a bit familiar, In Bruges is a minty fresh blast of film, with a cast hamming it up to the nines (Ralph Fienne’s cockney persona keeping up with Farrell’s energetic brows) and some unexpectedly hilarious moments. Though the subject matter of most of the jokes is the stuff of The Sun, you can’t help but chuckle shamelessly as fatties, midgets and foreigners (including Americans) are poked fun at, taunted and punched in the face. Somehow, despite being twitchy killers, Farrell and Gleeson win you over, so the sudden switch in tone as the inevitable shoot-out begins brings with it a genuine tenseness as you care about what happens.
The script is sparky, if not a little film-school Guy Ritchie, but it makes this 90 minute film fly by with smiley fun. Couple it with a solid cast and a beautiful city and you’re on to a winner. In Bruges is in luck, because it made me enjoy it enough to award it a CF2. One point purely for the eyebrows.
In Bruges is the story of two hit-men being sent to, you’ve guessed it, Bruges, after a botched job. Ken (Brendan Gleeson) is thrilled because he gets to look at lots of old buildings, but Ray (Colin Farrell - or Will Ferrell - or Colin Firth, depending on how you look at it) isn’t too pleased with the trip. Of course, the real reason for their destination is later uncovered in what is a hark back to the good old days of the 90s when we made a massive amount of British gangster type films that were both funny, entertaining, but also ultimately a bit stupid.
Despite being a bit familiar, In Bruges is a minty fresh blast of film, with a cast hamming it up to the nines (Ralph Fienne’s cockney persona keeping up with Farrell’s energetic brows) and some unexpectedly hilarious moments. Though the subject matter of most of the jokes is the stuff of The Sun, you can’t help but chuckle shamelessly as fatties, midgets and foreigners (including Americans) are poked fun at, taunted and punched in the face. Somehow, despite being twitchy killers, Farrell and Gleeson win you over, so the sudden switch in tone as the inevitable shoot-out begins brings with it a genuine tenseness as you care about what happens.
The script is sparky, if not a little film-school Guy Ritchie, but it makes this 90 minute film fly by with smiley fun. Couple it with a solid cast and a beautiful city and you’re on to a winner. In Bruges is in luck, because it made me enjoy it enough to award it a CF2. One point purely for the eyebrows.
15th April 08 - Son of Rambow
Kids. Don’t you just love ‘em? Well, if you were to read back over last year's Simpsons review you’d discover the answer. There were some kids in this year’s Rambo, but the things that happened to them weren’t very nice. Was Son of Rambow going to follow the same lines, but with uglier detail? Alas no - it is instead a story of kids in 80s England, forging friendships and making their own film. Look, they even spelt his name wrong in the title. Bless.
Son of Rambow combines aspects seen in many other films. There’s the joy and creativity of making your own film (Gondry’s Bekind Rewind), the growing friendship between quiet loner and bad boy (Stand By Me), the pained relationship between big and little brothers (Kes - albeit this is thankfully cheerier) and the pitfalls of having a French exchange student come to visit (Slap her, she’s French). Ok, maybe not the last one.
We have mouse-boy Will (Bill Milner), a softly spoken, kind-hearted loner who loves to draw and whose imagination runs riot. He meets naughty Lee (Will Poulter), a right cock-er-ny straight out of Oliver-cor-blimey, who is good at heart but still a bit of a shit. Will’s family is pretty loaded, however, and he has himself a camcorder and a love of Rambo. The boys start to make their own version, using a myriad of clever devices and an impressive, if not unbelievable knack of being able to edit together a massive amount of footage, add in quality sound without even using proper sound recording equipment, and create a piece of film that looks like a professional has tried to make something that looks like non-professionals have made it. Or something.
With side-stories of mouse-boy’s struggle against his oddly religious family (with mother played superbly by Jessica Stevenson) and the usual jealousies and misunderstandings that can occur with friendships across social boundaries, Son of Rambow is a bog-standard drama, with whimsical humour and some slightly pointless but amusing sub-plots.
It’s sweet and easy to watch (although does drag in places) but its point is unclear and either clichéd or underdeveloped. Heart-warming, yes. But by only dabbling in its numerous themes we only get a dabble of comedy, a dabble of amateur filmmaking, a dabble of meatier social issues, etc etc. As such, though it was enjoyable, it only had a dabble of an impact. I’m well aware you can’t get a dabble of anything, dabble being a verb, but I’ve got the word in my head now and as it’s akin to dribble, I thought I’d try using it. Sorry - a dabble of digression there. Anyway, nice to watch but nothing more, Son of Rambow gets a dabble of a CF0.
Son of Rambow combines aspects seen in many other films. There’s the joy and creativity of making your own film (Gondry’s Bekind Rewind), the growing friendship between quiet loner and bad boy (Stand By Me), the pained relationship between big and little brothers (Kes - albeit this is thankfully cheerier) and the pitfalls of having a French exchange student come to visit (Slap her, she’s French). Ok, maybe not the last one.
We have mouse-boy Will (Bill Milner), a softly spoken, kind-hearted loner who loves to draw and whose imagination runs riot. He meets naughty Lee (Will Poulter), a right cock-er-ny straight out of Oliver-cor-blimey, who is good at heart but still a bit of a shit. Will’s family is pretty loaded, however, and he has himself a camcorder and a love of Rambo. The boys start to make their own version, using a myriad of clever devices and an impressive, if not unbelievable knack of being able to edit together a massive amount of footage, add in quality sound without even using proper sound recording equipment, and create a piece of film that looks like a professional has tried to make something that looks like non-professionals have made it. Or something.
With side-stories of mouse-boy’s struggle against his oddly religious family (with mother played superbly by Jessica Stevenson) and the usual jealousies and misunderstandings that can occur with friendships across social boundaries, Son of Rambow is a bog-standard drama, with whimsical humour and some slightly pointless but amusing sub-plots.
It’s sweet and easy to watch (although does drag in places) but its point is unclear and either clichéd or underdeveloped. Heart-warming, yes. But by only dabbling in its numerous themes we only get a dabble of comedy, a dabble of amateur filmmaking, a dabble of meatier social issues, etc etc. As such, though it was enjoyable, it only had a dabble of an impact. I’m well aware you can’t get a dabble of anything, dabble being a verb, but I’ve got the word in my head now and as it’s akin to dribble, I thought I’d try using it. Sorry - a dabble of digression there. Anyway, nice to watch but nothing more, Son of Rambow gets a dabble of a CF0.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
9th April 08 - The Orphanage
If I were to make a list of everything that scares me it’d go along the lines of wasps, fire, zombies, Animal from the muppets, and small creepy dead children. If The Orphanage featured any more than the one item from this list, it’d be probably the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. And also the most surreal. Thankfully though it keeps with just small creepy dead children, and leaves the flaming zombie wasps and crazy pink puppet drummers out of it.
So rather than nightmarish terror, it’s simply bloody scary. The plot is a pretty basic ghost story, with a big house full of a grisly history, and therefore grisly ghosties knocking about. Said house used to be an orphanage, and its past inhabitant Laura (Belen Rueda) moves back in as an adult with her doctor husband and adopted son Simon. Little Simon already has some imaginary friends but his new abode offers new playmates, only these ones might not be as imaginary as you’d like. What follows is an ever increasing series of poo-your-pants scares and hide-behind-your-coat set-ups.
What differentiates this film from many other paint-by-numbers fright-fests is the emotional ties you develop with the characters and the more measured approach to the tone. Many horrors feature failed models running around with few clothes on, making stupid decisions (to quote the great Eddie Izzard: “I heard a noise in the woods. I’ll go and investigate - and I’ll take a thimble with me for protection.”) You generally don’t care about the characters and are more interested in watching them get picked off one by one than actually wanting them to survive. But Laura is introduced carefully, letting us see her caring and fun side, the great mother-figure, so that when she starts doing dumb things like checking out the strange noise or heading into the darkened corridor, you know that she’s doing it for a reason. She’s scared but determined, and though you’re scared too, you also want her to succeed.
It’s a good sign when the producer is Guillermo del Toro, the director of CF top 10 Pan’s Labyrinth and The Devil’s Backbone, which The Orphanage has been compared to. But The Orphanage lacks the depth and odd-beauty of the superior Backbone, being tied down to ghost horror clichés and occasional cheap scares. I throw this criticism in the works to explain why it doesn’t gain a higher CF rating. The Orphanage is still a powerful, cleverly crafted piece of film, with some extraordinary directing from Juan Antonio Bayona that makes some scenes like the 1-2-3 game just insanely tense.
It didn’t give me nightmares, but was scary enough to make me turn on every light in my house that evening just to eradicate the chances of a hidden ghostie, and to whimper in misery the following day when my friend appeared with a pillow-case over her head, growling softly. The meanie. So for chills with an emotional core, The Orphanage brightens up spring with a CF2. Don your best pair of brown trousers and go watch.
So rather than nightmarish terror, it’s simply bloody scary. The plot is a pretty basic ghost story, with a big house full of a grisly history, and therefore grisly ghosties knocking about. Said house used to be an orphanage, and its past inhabitant Laura (Belen Rueda) moves back in as an adult with her doctor husband and adopted son Simon. Little Simon already has some imaginary friends but his new abode offers new playmates, only these ones might not be as imaginary as you’d like. What follows is an ever increasing series of poo-your-pants scares and hide-behind-your-coat set-ups.
What differentiates this film from many other paint-by-numbers fright-fests is the emotional ties you develop with the characters and the more measured approach to the tone. Many horrors feature failed models running around with few clothes on, making stupid decisions (to quote the great Eddie Izzard: “I heard a noise in the woods. I’ll go and investigate - and I’ll take a thimble with me for protection.”) You generally don’t care about the characters and are more interested in watching them get picked off one by one than actually wanting them to survive. But Laura is introduced carefully, letting us see her caring and fun side, the great mother-figure, so that when she starts doing dumb things like checking out the strange noise or heading into the darkened corridor, you know that she’s doing it for a reason. She’s scared but determined, and though you’re scared too, you also want her to succeed.
It’s a good sign when the producer is Guillermo del Toro, the director of CF top 10 Pan’s Labyrinth and The Devil’s Backbone, which The Orphanage has been compared to. But The Orphanage lacks the depth and odd-beauty of the superior Backbone, being tied down to ghost horror clichés and occasional cheap scares. I throw this criticism in the works to explain why it doesn’t gain a higher CF rating. The Orphanage is still a powerful, cleverly crafted piece of film, with some extraordinary directing from Juan Antonio Bayona that makes some scenes like the 1-2-3 game just insanely tense.
It didn’t give me nightmares, but was scary enough to make me turn on every light in my house that evening just to eradicate the chances of a hidden ghostie, and to whimper in misery the following day when my friend appeared with a pillow-case over her head, growling softly. The meanie. So for chills with an emotional core, The Orphanage brightens up spring with a CF2. Don your best pair of brown trousers and go watch.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
2nd April 08 - 27 Dresses
Before talking about 27 Dresses, can I just point out that we saw three trailers for rom-coms before this film, and all three were set in New York (we’ll let the Sex & the City one off since that’s its angle anyway, although I now know EVERYTHING that happens. Seriously, it’s supposed to make us want to watch it, not condense the plot into five minutes.) I’m probably heading to that city later in the year, so therefore look forward to some sort of romantic but hilarious misunderstanding. It seems to be the city to have them.
Anyway, back to the film. 27 Dresses takes place in New York (I’m saying nothing…) and follows Jane (Katherine Heigl), a girl who’s ever the bridesmaid, never the bride. It is a by-the-book rom-com, which means Jane’s in love with her dashing boss, who doesn’t really reciprocate, meanwhile annoying but quietly sexy reporter Kevin (James Marsden) is on the side line, who Jane hates but ends up spending lots of time with and, oh - here’s a surprise - they fall in love. Aw.
What did I expect, though? And, to be fair, when done well a rom-com does have a certain charm, like a big pink marshmallow. On the surface substantial, inside a bit airy, quite sweet and satisfying to consume, but too many will make you eject pretty-coloured vomit. My main gripe, which I’ve mentioned many times before, is the unrealistic picture they paint, and the ensuing bitterness they create. Let’s face it, never ever do you get a sexy charmer constantly pester you in a series of extravagant gestures, who you bicker with and despise but eventually love their pants off. Never. You either get a sexy charmer who you hate because he’s an arse hole - and he forever remains an arse hole. Or you get the mentally-skewed obsessive, who carves “I love you” into his forearm, but has enough brains to do it in a mirror-image so he can create a printed Valentines card, which at first looks like its been created with a reddy-brown paint until you realise the horrific truth, and slap a restraining order on him while quivering at home, wondering why it’s only the crazy ones and never the arse holes, who may be arse holes but are at least a lot easier to shout at.
And if you’re a woman reading this and thinking “well, I always get sexy charmers pestering me with gifts” then, well, you’re quite obviously a cow. So there.
27 Dresses is saved from pink-sick zone by its star, the ever likeable Katherine Hiegl who manages to be funny, pretty and yet ordinary enough to be believable. There’s a lot more drama in it than comedy, and it suffers for it under the weight of a hefty running time considering the subject matter. But with enough zest between the leads, some amusing moments and characters you can care about, it just about lifts itself to the recommended CF0. But possibly because it gave me the chance to vent about matters completely unrelated to the film. And anything that gives me the excuse to rant scores points in my book.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
26th March 08 - Lars and the Real Girl
Back in 2006 I reviewed Half Nelson (a CF Top 10) and swooned over its Oscar-nommed star Ryan Gosling who “looks good with a beard”. It seems that even when he’s put on weight, has terrible hair and suffers with monumental social problems, he’s still pretty sweet. I mean, he’s in love with a sex doll. How much sweeter can you get?
Before we sink into smut territory, remember that our Lars is a gentle soul, religious to boot, so there’s no kinky stuff with the doll. He’s just so painfully frightened of forming human relationships that he invents one with an inanimate object. To be fair, he’s seriously mentally handicapped. I did say he was religious, didn’t I… Ho ho.
So Lars and the Real Girl is the story of Lars’ “relationship” and how it is handled by his family and friends. It’s funny - how can it not be, given the subject matter - especially the initial introductions to his new woman and an awkwardly hilarious dinner with his brother and sister-in-law. It’s also sort of sad - how can it not be, given the subject matter… Poor Lars is battling with many demons, and the film deals with themes of loneliness (“sometimes I get so lonely I forget what day it is”) and the importance of human interaction.
Gosling wheels out parts of his Nelson performance with plenty of ticks and twitches added to Lars’ mannerisms, but he also sells the love felt for the doll and makes Lars a sympathetic character, which isn’t an easy task to be fair. Under other hands he could have been a comedic caricature or an unpleasant weirdo, but Gosling makes him fragile, confused and, most importantly, watchable.
Despite the sombre moments, Lars and the Real Girl is predominantly a sweet and, dare I say it, “quirky” indie film, but by keeping it sweet the film loses a bit of oomph and falters under the running time. Yes, it’s gently amusing and moving to see Lars’ relationship with a doll. Yep, it’s still that. Ok, we’re still doing that. Right, we’re losing interest.
In fact, it’s taken me nearly two weeks to write this review, which is never a good sign. I neither disliked it enough to scathe, or loved it enough to swoon. It’s certainly something a bit different, and Gosling is definitely worth watching (although Emily Mortimer as his sister-in-law is also a strong point). But it doesn’t spark any further points above a CF0. Sorry Lars.
Before we sink into smut territory, remember that our Lars is a gentle soul, religious to boot, so there’s no kinky stuff with the doll. He’s just so painfully frightened of forming human relationships that he invents one with an inanimate object. To be fair, he’s seriously mentally handicapped. I did say he was religious, didn’t I… Ho ho.
So Lars and the Real Girl is the story of Lars’ “relationship” and how it is handled by his family and friends. It’s funny - how can it not be, given the subject matter - especially the initial introductions to his new woman and an awkwardly hilarious dinner with his brother and sister-in-law. It’s also sort of sad - how can it not be, given the subject matter… Poor Lars is battling with many demons, and the film deals with themes of loneliness (“sometimes I get so lonely I forget what day it is”) and the importance of human interaction.
Gosling wheels out parts of his Nelson performance with plenty of ticks and twitches added to Lars’ mannerisms, but he also sells the love felt for the doll and makes Lars a sympathetic character, which isn’t an easy task to be fair. Under other hands he could have been a comedic caricature or an unpleasant weirdo, but Gosling makes him fragile, confused and, most importantly, watchable.
Despite the sombre moments, Lars and the Real Girl is predominantly a sweet and, dare I say it, “quirky” indie film, but by keeping it sweet the film loses a bit of oomph and falters under the running time. Yes, it’s gently amusing and moving to see Lars’ relationship with a doll. Yep, it’s still that. Ok, we’re still doing that. Right, we’re losing interest.
In fact, it’s taken me nearly two weeks to write this review, which is never a good sign. I neither disliked it enough to scathe, or loved it enough to swoon. It’s certainly something a bit different, and Gosling is definitely worth watching (although Emily Mortimer as his sister-in-law is also a strong point). But it doesn’t spark any further points above a CF0. Sorry Lars.
Friday, March 21, 2008
19th March 08 - Rambo
Oh dear. What has the world come to? This week I was reduced to a choice between Rambo and The Other Boleyn Girl. Like being stuck between a rock and a smug place. In the end we went for the rock, in the form of Rambo. A big, solid, faceless piece of rock, that could have elements of useful minerals running through it, but could also be one of those things that look like a rock, but is actually a large stale dog turd.
I’ve never seen a Rambo film before, and I’m neither ashamed nor proud to admit that. I just haven’t. So the thought of a new Rambo didn’t particularly excite or offend me, apart from a raised eyebrow at yet another action franchise being reborn (along with Rocky, Die Hard, Indiana et al) with the same haggard star crumbling out of the woodwork to try and relive their glory days, albeit in a slightly slower, more arthritic fashion.
So. Rambo. Here’s the gist: some Christians want to go to Burma to help out a peaceful community caught in a grisly civil war. They enlist Rambo to get them out there (he’s hanging out with snakes and stuff). The Christians get captured by the Evil Foreign soldier types. Rambo goes out to save them with some good guys, and they slaughter all the bad guys. Then they go home.
That’s literally the entire plot. In fact, the plot stops mid-way through and the rest of the film is one long bloody mash of carnage. Initially the violence is shocking and uncomfortable, especially as it’s very likely to be happening out in Burma in real life right now (no one seems to be trying to stop any of it, though. Pity there’s nothing, um, “valuable” in Burma, eh? Otherwise certain folk would be marching in there, ready to “save“ them…)
But once the blood bath begins, reality goes out the window, probably accompanied by a couple of severed limbs. We see legs fly off, blood gush out of massive holes, arrows shoot through faces, heads actually explode. It is reminiscent of certain deaths in Team America: World Police (they were puppets filled with meat splatting on pavements, if you didn’t know). Duh-duh-duh goes Rambo’s magic gun that makes trees implode. Duh-duh-duh goes the naff heavy metal soundtrack. Duh-duh-duh goes, worryingly, the hearts of teenage fools thinking this is great. Ha-ha-ha goes my laugh, genuinely enjoying it but probably not quite as intended.
I think this has been the funniest film of the year so far. Just looking at Stallone is enough to crack me up. It looks like he’s tried to have botox but used porridge by mistake. His heart-warming revelations about himself (he’s not particularly patriotic. He just likes killing people) are mirrored by the beautiful moment when a Christian learns to leave his prejudices against violence aside, and beats someone to death with a rock. Hurray!
Laughter and enjoyment aside, it is slightly disconcerting that your average tabloid reader will watch this and see horrific acts by foreign looking people against whimpering and ultimately faceless foreigners, and then American and Brit soldiers, all with names and vague personalities waltz in, destroy everything, and waltz back out again in an uplifting finale. Way to humanise the plight of the Burmese, Stallone. You’ve just boxed them into the pleb majority’s heads as “those extras that got blitzed by Rambo’s gun.”
Anyway, I can clamber off my soap-box long enough to debate how on earth to rate this film. On the one hand it was a bloody funny way to pass the time and left me with a huge smirk on my face. On the other it was plotless, pointless, horrific and potentially damaging to the apathetic teenage population. On those grounds I can neither award it points, or subtract, and so it sits comfortable at a CF0. And I’ll say this: it’s a million times better than watching Smug Johansson. Ha!
I’ve never seen a Rambo film before, and I’m neither ashamed nor proud to admit that. I just haven’t. So the thought of a new Rambo didn’t particularly excite or offend me, apart from a raised eyebrow at yet another action franchise being reborn (along with Rocky, Die Hard, Indiana et al) with the same haggard star crumbling out of the woodwork to try and relive their glory days, albeit in a slightly slower, more arthritic fashion.
So. Rambo. Here’s the gist: some Christians want to go to Burma to help out a peaceful community caught in a grisly civil war. They enlist Rambo to get them out there (he’s hanging out with snakes and stuff). The Christians get captured by the Evil Foreign soldier types. Rambo goes out to save them with some good guys, and they slaughter all the bad guys. Then they go home.
That’s literally the entire plot. In fact, the plot stops mid-way through and the rest of the film is one long bloody mash of carnage. Initially the violence is shocking and uncomfortable, especially as it’s very likely to be happening out in Burma in real life right now (no one seems to be trying to stop any of it, though. Pity there’s nothing, um, “valuable” in Burma, eh? Otherwise certain folk would be marching in there, ready to “save“ them…)
But once the blood bath begins, reality goes out the window, probably accompanied by a couple of severed limbs. We see legs fly off, blood gush out of massive holes, arrows shoot through faces, heads actually explode. It is reminiscent of certain deaths in Team America: World Police (they were puppets filled with meat splatting on pavements, if you didn’t know). Duh-duh-duh goes Rambo’s magic gun that makes trees implode. Duh-duh-duh goes the naff heavy metal soundtrack. Duh-duh-duh goes, worryingly, the hearts of teenage fools thinking this is great. Ha-ha-ha goes my laugh, genuinely enjoying it but probably not quite as intended.
I think this has been the funniest film of the year so far. Just looking at Stallone is enough to crack me up. It looks like he’s tried to have botox but used porridge by mistake. His heart-warming revelations about himself (he’s not particularly patriotic. He just likes killing people) are mirrored by the beautiful moment when a Christian learns to leave his prejudices against violence aside, and beats someone to death with a rock. Hurray!
Laughter and enjoyment aside, it is slightly disconcerting that your average tabloid reader will watch this and see horrific acts by foreign looking people against whimpering and ultimately faceless foreigners, and then American and Brit soldiers, all with names and vague personalities waltz in, destroy everything, and waltz back out again in an uplifting finale. Way to humanise the plight of the Burmese, Stallone. You’ve just boxed them into the pleb majority’s heads as “those extras that got blitzed by Rambo’s gun.”
Anyway, I can clamber off my soap-box long enough to debate how on earth to rate this film. On the one hand it was a bloody funny way to pass the time and left me with a huge smirk on my face. On the other it was plotless, pointless, horrific and potentially damaging to the apathetic teenage population. On those grounds I can neither award it points, or subtract, and so it sits comfortable at a CF0. And I’ll say this: it’s a million times better than watching Smug Johansson. Ha!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
12th March 08 - Jumper
Disappointment this week. There I was, eagerly anticipating an exciting yarn about a man who knits sweaters with super-speed all over the globe. How misleading can one title be, eh? Instead we get a tale that is, in theory, pretty damn cool. “Jumpers” are teleporters - lucky gits who can transport themselves anywhere they can think of in the blink of a smug special effect. One such “jumper” is David Rice (Hayden Christensen) who lives the life of riley, robbing banks, lounging in Egypt, surfing, visiting a rainy England - and all in one day if he so pleases. The only thorn in his side is the girl next-door he left behind. Oh, and some guys in grey polo-necks who like to track down his kind and obliterate them. Spoil-sports.
Yup, Jumper has the makings of an uber-cool blockbuster with brains. Smashing effects, new super-powers giving rise to original set-pieces and a bit of fun underlying subtext (stuffy old folks don’t like the fact that these young-guns can do whatever the hell they like, and the effect of living life while ignoring consequence). Plus director Doug Liman brought us the overly popular Bourne Identity and eye-candy nonsense of Mr & Mrs Smith. What can go wrong?
Well. Unfortunately the pacing and script tried to match the jumping abilities of the film’s hero, leaving a trail of open-ended, under-developed tosh while skipping on to the Next Fight Scene. Some scenes go as follows:
Good Guy: Hey, who are you?
Bad Guy: I’m the bad guy. I want to kill you because I do.
Good Guy: Really? Damn.
That’s about as deep as they get. Which is a shame, because everywhere you look there are “nearly” moments, when the film comes close to being really good. David’s deepening loneliness, from a broken home and - nearly. A sweet love story with a sparky girl who - nearly. Tragic events that cause a change of - nearly. A twist in the tale that could provide some brilliant tension and - oh, it’s finished.
It’s all quite frustrating. Not least because Jamie Bell, who storms in to take the glory with his twitchy, scruffy version of a jumper turning the tables on his hunters, is paraded in front of us, then miserably ditched in favour of Hayden’s more bland “hero”. Not that Hayden doesn’t do too bad a job. He emotes with his big eyes, and I was reasonably attracted to him, which is always a good starting point. Then there’s Samuel L Jackson as the big bad, who would be scary if it wasn’t for the fact that he has laughably white hair and is named Roland.
It’s all the more frustrating because there are some great moments, be it the teleport fights (teleport a bus at them - that’ll do it) or the fact that our goodie isn’t really that great (blithely ignoring a natural disaster in favour of getting some totty in London). But what could have been a zesty sci-fi tart is in fact a haphazard and deflated flan. Jumper slumps to a CF-1. Stick it on for Saturday night-in entertainment. But don’t jump to see it at the cinema.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
5th March 08 - Be Kind Rewind
Like a Mr Levitt, or any actor whose name can be preceded with “lovely”, you could say I am a might biased towards the work of Michel Gondry. Well, biased isn’t the right term - I just adore his work. Last year’s Science of Sleep easily claimed a spot on the top ten, and his teaming with the genius of Kaufman on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind earned a place on my top ten of all time (a secret, ever changing list that may occasionally include The Transporter Two if I happen to be in a silly mood and recall the “it’s a potato” line).
So here comes Gondry with his second solo director/writer project, and where Science focussed on his dream obsession, Be Kind Rewind picks out his love for all things homemade. As anyone who has ever attempted it will know, home filmmaking is a monstrously fun mission. My own forays include “Dagger Woman”, an ambitious piece attempted during childhood, set at sea, and filmed in my living room (with a tub of water next to the camera for sound effects) and more recently the formation of DogEgg Productions, which has already spawned two classics with some up and coming stars.
Gondry knows the creativity that flows in even the simplest of pieces, and the joy it can bring to its makers. It’s this simple concept, and that of community, that binds Be Kind, but its premise is slightly more obscure. Mike (Mos Def) runs a video store whose tapes are wiped in a freak accident by his freak friend Jerry (Jack Black). To save the store they’ve got to remake the videos, fast. Cue superb re-hashes of the likes of Ghostbusters, Rush Hour Two, Robocop and Driving Miss Daisy. The film is peppered with Gondryisms, in the ingenious use of household items for props, to the mind boggling effects created from the simplest of ideas, to the rolling shot with switching perspectives, seen in some of his earlier adverts and music videos.
But tramping over Gondry’s charm is a Jack Black shaped nuisance. Stamping his name over every piece of promo for this film clouded many people’s minds into believing this was a “Jack Black comedy”. God forbid. It’s actually almost entirely under Gondry’s control, meaning it’s subtle, gentle, obscure, charming, bizarre. French. But with Jack Black attempting every now and then to do a funny crazy guy rant, the tone is skewed into an unfunny Jack Black moment. It’s almost like they have to stop the film for a minute, let Jack pretend to do his funny bit, then carry on, wincing slightly but knowing that if you didn’t let him do it then he’d never shut up. Example: Black’s endless “I’m wacky” routine pauses and a flash of Gondry appears - an inspired idea for camouflage. Film improves by a million percent. Jack strains to have his moment back again. Film dips.
It’s not that I despise Jack Black. He’s reasonably funny for an unfunny person. I just didn’t think he fit the rest of the film. Mos Def quietly gets on with a cracking yet understated performance. The rest of the neighbourhood are a cornucopia of loveable (if not partially clichéd) misfits. The film doesn’t need a lead comedian because it’s lead isn’t comedy. It’s heart-warming odd-ball type stuff. And though my heart was warmed every time I spotted some Gondry (Christ I don’t half sound obsessed, do I) it was chilled when the tone tried to be something different.
A simple, creative and original piece of film, with discreet comedy and an unfortunate clash in leading styles, Be Kind Rewind didn’t delight as much as I’d hoped, but is still a minty blast of refreshing air, especially after having to sit through a “Meet the Spartans” trailer. It rewinds to a CF2.
So here comes Gondry with his second solo director/writer project, and where Science focussed on his dream obsession, Be Kind Rewind picks out his love for all things homemade. As anyone who has ever attempted it will know, home filmmaking is a monstrously fun mission. My own forays include “Dagger Woman”, an ambitious piece attempted during childhood, set at sea, and filmed in my living room (with a tub of water next to the camera for sound effects) and more recently the formation of DogEgg Productions, which has already spawned two classics with some up and coming stars.
Gondry knows the creativity that flows in even the simplest of pieces, and the joy it can bring to its makers. It’s this simple concept, and that of community, that binds Be Kind, but its premise is slightly more obscure. Mike (Mos Def) runs a video store whose tapes are wiped in a freak accident by his freak friend Jerry (Jack Black). To save the store they’ve got to remake the videos, fast. Cue superb re-hashes of the likes of Ghostbusters, Rush Hour Two, Robocop and Driving Miss Daisy. The film is peppered with Gondryisms, in the ingenious use of household items for props, to the mind boggling effects created from the simplest of ideas, to the rolling shot with switching perspectives, seen in some of his earlier adverts and music videos.
But tramping over Gondry’s charm is a Jack Black shaped nuisance. Stamping his name over every piece of promo for this film clouded many people’s minds into believing this was a “Jack Black comedy”. God forbid. It’s actually almost entirely under Gondry’s control, meaning it’s subtle, gentle, obscure, charming, bizarre. French. But with Jack Black attempting every now and then to do a funny crazy guy rant, the tone is skewed into an unfunny Jack Black moment. It’s almost like they have to stop the film for a minute, let Jack pretend to do his funny bit, then carry on, wincing slightly but knowing that if you didn’t let him do it then he’d never shut up. Example: Black’s endless “I’m wacky” routine pauses and a flash of Gondry appears - an inspired idea for camouflage. Film improves by a million percent. Jack strains to have his moment back again. Film dips.
It’s not that I despise Jack Black. He’s reasonably funny for an unfunny person. I just didn’t think he fit the rest of the film. Mos Def quietly gets on with a cracking yet understated performance. The rest of the neighbourhood are a cornucopia of loveable (if not partially clichéd) misfits. The film doesn’t need a lead comedian because it’s lead isn’t comedy. It’s heart-warming odd-ball type stuff. And though my heart was warmed every time I spotted some Gondry (Christ I don’t half sound obsessed, do I) it was chilled when the tone tried to be something different.
A simple, creative and original piece of film, with discreet comedy and an unfortunate clash in leading styles, Be Kind Rewind didn’t delight as much as I’d hoped, but is still a minty blast of refreshing air, especially after having to sit through a “Meet the Spartans” trailer. It rewinds to a CF2.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
23rd Feb 08 - There Will Be Blood
We squeezed this one in just before the Oscars to ensure I see the majority of nominated films and can therefore have a well-informed opinion. Not that a lack of information would stop me from having an opinion of course. And not that I go out and watch a film just because it’s been nominated for an Oscar. Atonement has scored plenty of prizes but you don’t see me clamouring to watch that. Period drama featuring smug skeletor Knightley? No thank you.
There Will Be Blood would have been on my cinema menu awards-laden or not, being from P.T. Anderson, the director of Magnolia (a languid beast of a film) and staring Daniel Day-Lewis, whose accents are so delicious to listen to (see: Gangs of New York) that I’d even stoop to watching him in a period drama with Knightley, as long as he spent the majority of the film talking in a thick accent about how rubbish she is.
Anderson’s newest piece is another languid beast, only one that wakes up every now and then and delivers a punishing bite. It tells the tale of Daniel Plainview, an “oil-man” who’s fantastic at what he does, but also develops unfortunate personality traits such as wanting to be better than everyone. Nothing wrong with that, I say, but Daniel takes it to the extreme during the course of his life, perhaps further than I ever would. You’ll see what I mean if you watch it. In fact, I won’t go further into the plot as it’ll ruin the ebb and flow of the story, and also because it’s three hours long and would take me forever to explain.
Instead, I’ll say that it’s good. Want more detail than that? Ok. It’s both a fascinating character study and an epic tale of greed, striking chords with folk who strive relentlessly for success despite its ensuing isolation, or who, you know, like oil a lot. Day-Lewis is of course excellent, although the crazier side to Daniel is perhaps reminiscent of his turn in Gangs. What’s more interesting is when he shows us the cracks, be it tender moments with his son or the bitter stubbornness that’s the fuse to his dynamite. But it’s Paul Dano (the silent teen in Little Miss Sunshine) who really impresses as a preacher-type, his demeanour being calm, suspicious, manipulative - well, he does claim to channel his lord. His creepy religious obsessives (“congregation” I believe they’re called) are offset against Daniel’s lust for control. Both as crazy as each other was my take, and thankfully there was a lack of “money bad, religion good” philosophy, with questionable actions on both parts.
An impressive score by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood keeps your attention snapped to the screen and builds a tone that is ominous and unexpected. You can easily get lost in the depths of this film, with its substantial running time, measured pace and unknown plot directions. But lost in a good way - it’s not easy for a three hour film to hold you, and much as I likened the Coen’s No Country for Old Men to a walk out in a vast wilderness, There Will Be Blood is not a film experience to be undertaken lightly, but will be rewarding to those who attempt it. I’ve been highly impressed by the films of 2008 so far (unbaked Dylan aside) and There Will Be Blood keeps up the standard with yet another CF3. Let’s see what the Oscars say. Or - as I predict - let’s disagree…
There Will Be Blood would have been on my cinema menu awards-laden or not, being from P.T. Anderson, the director of Magnolia (a languid beast of a film) and staring Daniel Day-Lewis, whose accents are so delicious to listen to (see: Gangs of New York) that I’d even stoop to watching him in a period drama with Knightley, as long as he spent the majority of the film talking in a thick accent about how rubbish she is.
Anderson’s newest piece is another languid beast, only one that wakes up every now and then and delivers a punishing bite. It tells the tale of Daniel Plainview, an “oil-man” who’s fantastic at what he does, but also develops unfortunate personality traits such as wanting to be better than everyone. Nothing wrong with that, I say, but Daniel takes it to the extreme during the course of his life, perhaps further than I ever would. You’ll see what I mean if you watch it. In fact, I won’t go further into the plot as it’ll ruin the ebb and flow of the story, and also because it’s three hours long and would take me forever to explain.
Instead, I’ll say that it’s good. Want more detail than that? Ok. It’s both a fascinating character study and an epic tale of greed, striking chords with folk who strive relentlessly for success despite its ensuing isolation, or who, you know, like oil a lot. Day-Lewis is of course excellent, although the crazier side to Daniel is perhaps reminiscent of his turn in Gangs. What’s more interesting is when he shows us the cracks, be it tender moments with his son or the bitter stubbornness that’s the fuse to his dynamite. But it’s Paul Dano (the silent teen in Little Miss Sunshine) who really impresses as a preacher-type, his demeanour being calm, suspicious, manipulative - well, he does claim to channel his lord. His creepy religious obsessives (“congregation” I believe they’re called) are offset against Daniel’s lust for control. Both as crazy as each other was my take, and thankfully there was a lack of “money bad, religion good” philosophy, with questionable actions on both parts.
An impressive score by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood keeps your attention snapped to the screen and builds a tone that is ominous and unexpected. You can easily get lost in the depths of this film, with its substantial running time, measured pace and unknown plot directions. But lost in a good way - it’s not easy for a three hour film to hold you, and much as I likened the Coen’s No Country for Old Men to a walk out in a vast wilderness, There Will Be Blood is not a film experience to be undertaken lightly, but will be rewarding to those who attempt it. I’ve been highly impressed by the films of 2008 so far (unbaked Dylan aside) and There Will Be Blood keeps up the standard with yet another CF3. Let’s see what the Oscars say. Or - as I predict - let’s disagree…
20th Feb 08 - The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
I’ve just bought myself a coffee percolator. It makes noises like Darth Vader underwater and has made me a tad hyper, both from the excitement of having a new toy to play with and also from drinking an extortionate amount of Columbian coffee. I’ve wanted to get one of these things for ages but never really got round to it. But this week I realised that I might have a massive, unexplained cerebral accident tomorrow and lose the ability to use any of my body save for one eyelid. So I decided that if I wanted a coffee percolator then I’d better bloody get one now before it’s too late.
Of course, such a revelation is weirdly specific (most people going with “I might get hit by a bus”) because of this week’s film, The Diving Bell & the Butterfly, which is based on the book written by Jean-Dominique Bauby, the French Elle magazine editor who suffered a stroke at the age of 43 and fell into what is known as “locked in syndrome”. His brain was still very much intact but his body was a bit rubbish, and he could only communicate via blinking his right eye. It was in this state that he dictated his book, and it gives a fascinating and unsettling insight into his world.
The film is from Bauby’s point of view, often literally. In fact the first half is almost entirely viewed through his one useful eye (the other one is sewn up in a “eeeeeeeeewwwww” moment where we see needle and thread action from the inside of the eyelid) with his internal dialogue guiding us through his emotional journey and flashbacks to his old life adding to the bitterness of his resulting incapacities. It sounds depressing as hell, but there is a comedic line throughout, Bauby retaining his sense of humour as he watches the world from his “diving bell”. Thank god for comedy, as it lifts the sometimes overwhelming sadness into an emotionally powerful but still enjoyable piece of film.
Oscar nominated director Julian Schnabel has a field day (often with the “out of focus button”) but to captivating effect, the blurred, dream-like P.O.V shots merge into Bauby’s imagination, with swirling colours and sweeping images like mini artworks strung together. But rather than stray off into arty-farty zone, Schnabel ties it down in the real world, and the film is sometimes harshly edited between then and now, jarring those emotions again. There was a point where the P.O.V camera blurred up from Bauby’s tears, matching my own blurred vision and that of almost the entire cinema.
Mathieu Amalric masters the difficult lead role, the majority of his performance sieved through a single eyeball. His helpers are a gang of remarkably beautiful ladies (this is the Frenchest of French films). Their performances all superb, especially as one plays a physio - and as we know, all physios are highly intelligent, beautiful and fantastic.
Though it sounds like another foray into depressing foreign film territory, don’t let the subject matter or subtitles turn you away. This film is both uplifting and upsetting, beautifully shot and acted, altogether emotionally gratifying, and will possibly make you go out and buy a coffee percolator. A wholesome film for the soul, it glides in with a CF3. Now then… I might just go make some more coffee.
Of course, such a revelation is weirdly specific (most people going with “I might get hit by a bus”) because of this week’s film, The Diving Bell & the Butterfly, which is based on the book written by Jean-Dominique Bauby, the French Elle magazine editor who suffered a stroke at the age of 43 and fell into what is known as “locked in syndrome”. His brain was still very much intact but his body was a bit rubbish, and he could only communicate via blinking his right eye. It was in this state that he dictated his book, and it gives a fascinating and unsettling insight into his world.
The film is from Bauby’s point of view, often literally. In fact the first half is almost entirely viewed through his one useful eye (the other one is sewn up in a “eeeeeeeeewwwww” moment where we see needle and thread action from the inside of the eyelid) with his internal dialogue guiding us through his emotional journey and flashbacks to his old life adding to the bitterness of his resulting incapacities. It sounds depressing as hell, but there is a comedic line throughout, Bauby retaining his sense of humour as he watches the world from his “diving bell”. Thank god for comedy, as it lifts the sometimes overwhelming sadness into an emotionally powerful but still enjoyable piece of film.
Oscar nominated director Julian Schnabel has a field day (often with the “out of focus button”) but to captivating effect, the blurred, dream-like P.O.V shots merge into Bauby’s imagination, with swirling colours and sweeping images like mini artworks strung together. But rather than stray off into arty-farty zone, Schnabel ties it down in the real world, and the film is sometimes harshly edited between then and now, jarring those emotions again. There was a point where the P.O.V camera blurred up from Bauby’s tears, matching my own blurred vision and that of almost the entire cinema.
Mathieu Amalric masters the difficult lead role, the majority of his performance sieved through a single eyeball. His helpers are a gang of remarkably beautiful ladies (this is the Frenchest of French films). Their performances all superb, especially as one plays a physio - and as we know, all physios are highly intelligent, beautiful and fantastic.
Though it sounds like another foray into depressing foreign film territory, don’t let the subject matter or subtitles turn you away. This film is both uplifting and upsetting, beautifully shot and acted, altogether emotionally gratifying, and will possibly make you go out and buy a coffee percolator. A wholesome film for the soul, it glides in with a CF3. Now then… I might just go make some more coffee.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
15th Feb 08 - Cloverfield
Monster! There’s a fricking great monster! And oh look. It’s in New York. The current hotspot for all monsters, disasters and sassy rom-coms. Location included, Cloverfield delivers every monster invasion cliché you could imagine, from the screaming army commanders in their billowing plastic tents, to unnecessary missions to rescue damsels in distress, to ludicrous romance in the face of chaos, to slowly building visuals of the scary foe until the final reveal that’s always a little disappointing. Cloverfield’s setting is just another crappo monster film. But it’s done something a bit clever. It’s taken your basic crappo monster film, honed in on one of the running, screaming extras you always see in the background, and given them a camera.
Ah the genius of a simple idea. Suddenly the world of crappo monster films is turned upside down, approached from a fresh angle with staggering effect. The army are still doing their shouty thing, but we’re running past them, wincing at the super loud rockets they’re firing, hoping they know what the hell they’re doing and ducking behind cars to avoid getting caught in the cross-fire or squished by a massive foot. It’s chaotic, dazzling and down-right frightening, sucking away all the roll-your-eyes, here it comes blandness of a typical monster-yawn and replacing it with in-your-face excitement.
Even the cast of characters are rent-a-victim cut-outs, with the heroic lead, his beautiful romantic interest, the nerdy one who makes witty asides, the sardonic girl, and the token minority. But as they carry their camcorder about, either running for their lives or cowering in a corner, they lose the chance to have powerful speeches over the national anthem, or do something heroic in slow motion to the power chords of Aerosmith. They’re just people running about. And you’re right there with them, the audience watching everything through the camera lens. You run when they run. You roll across the ground when they drop the camera. It’s shake-tastic camera work, not surprising considering JJ Abrams is in the producing chair (his philosophy on Lost: if the scene is supposed to be dramatic, then shake that camera goddamnit! Shake it so the audience knows! You can picture the cameraman saying “but surely the music and the plot will make it dramatic?” and Abrams whacks the camera out of his hands in annoyance and berates him with “no, you fool! They won’t know it’s dramatic unless you shake that camera like it’s a can of whipped cream. Now shake it! SHAKE IT!!”)
Sorry, off on a tangent there. Where was I? Ah - shaky-cam. Yes, droves of people have been complaining of motion sickness, and though it can be difficult to watch at times, I’d say you could only get motion sickness if you felt queasy with simple things like rollercoasters, banana flavoured beer, or just generally moving around.
Anyway, Cloverfield is a smart piece of film in terms of concept, and will have your heart beating and your fingers twitching to cover your eyes, especially when some fool suggests turning on the camera’s night vision. It’s good fun, though doesn’t justify the enormous internet hype and “mystery” built up around it over the last six months or so. And though the look and feel is pleasingly fresh, it is ultimately stuck in the confines of the monster-movie clichés. The lean running time is an indicator that though the idea is great, you can’t do a whole lot with it. So, an exciting B-movie done in an entirely new angle, Cloverfield racks up a CF2. And remember: if a giant monster attacks your city, make sure you keep your camera on at all times. At least that way we might get to see a disaster film that isn’t set in New York.
Ah the genius of a simple idea. Suddenly the world of crappo monster films is turned upside down, approached from a fresh angle with staggering effect. The army are still doing their shouty thing, but we’re running past them, wincing at the super loud rockets they’re firing, hoping they know what the hell they’re doing and ducking behind cars to avoid getting caught in the cross-fire or squished by a massive foot. It’s chaotic, dazzling and down-right frightening, sucking away all the roll-your-eyes, here it comes blandness of a typical monster-yawn and replacing it with in-your-face excitement.
Even the cast of characters are rent-a-victim cut-outs, with the heroic lead, his beautiful romantic interest, the nerdy one who makes witty asides, the sardonic girl, and the token minority. But as they carry their camcorder about, either running for their lives or cowering in a corner, they lose the chance to have powerful speeches over the national anthem, or do something heroic in slow motion to the power chords of Aerosmith. They’re just people running about. And you’re right there with them, the audience watching everything through the camera lens. You run when they run. You roll across the ground when they drop the camera. It’s shake-tastic camera work, not surprising considering JJ Abrams is in the producing chair (his philosophy on Lost: if the scene is supposed to be dramatic, then shake that camera goddamnit! Shake it so the audience knows! You can picture the cameraman saying “but surely the music and the plot will make it dramatic?” and Abrams whacks the camera out of his hands in annoyance and berates him with “no, you fool! They won’t know it’s dramatic unless you shake that camera like it’s a can of whipped cream. Now shake it! SHAKE IT!!”)
Sorry, off on a tangent there. Where was I? Ah - shaky-cam. Yes, droves of people have been complaining of motion sickness, and though it can be difficult to watch at times, I’d say you could only get motion sickness if you felt queasy with simple things like rollercoasters, banana flavoured beer, or just generally moving around.
Anyway, Cloverfield is a smart piece of film in terms of concept, and will have your heart beating and your fingers twitching to cover your eyes, especially when some fool suggests turning on the camera’s night vision. It’s good fun, though doesn’t justify the enormous internet hype and “mystery” built up around it over the last six months or so. And though the look and feel is pleasingly fresh, it is ultimately stuck in the confines of the monster-movie clichés. The lean running time is an indicator that though the idea is great, you can’t do a whole lot with it. So, an exciting B-movie done in an entirely new angle, Cloverfield racks up a CF2. And remember: if a giant monster attacks your city, make sure you keep your camera on at all times. At least that way we might get to see a disaster film that isn’t set in New York.
13th Feb 08 - Juno
It’s half term, so the cinema was full of horrible teenagers, gaggling around with their young faces, doing what horrible teenagers do best - chatting on their phones, putting their hoods up, mugging old people and getting pregnant. Even on screen, there they were. Teenagers. Pregnant teenagers all younger than me and horrible.
Ok, maybe on screen it was just the one pregnant teen. And that was, of course, Juno. This year’s token “non-weighty/epic” Oscar fodder. To be honest I wasn’t expecting to like this all that much. The TV adverts featured a voiceover man gaily proclaiming that “everyone’s falling for Juno!” Posters were plastered on every other bus, with comments from magazines like Heat, New Woman, Vapid Lifestyles, and Blindly Following Celebrities Instead of Focussing on Real Issues weekly. The film itself features cutesy animated titles and a soundtrack full of two chord tinkles with sugary vocals. It was all pushing my “reject with a miserable sneer” button, often engaged when “everyone falls” for a film I decide isn’t good enough but probably wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t have the hype. See, I can admit flaws like that because I’m a better person. Better than everyone else - have you seen the intro to this site?
Anyway, thankfully some of the clever papers gave this good reviews too, so it was ok for me to like it. And like it I did, to a large extent. The story is Orlando-simple. Sixteen year-old Juno gets preggars by mistake and decides to give her baby up for adoption to a desperate couple. Take the tone one way and you could end up with issues-a-plenty, but Juno heads into the wry comedy zone and nails it. Ellen Page (who did the snipping in Hard Candy) sassess it up as the title character, taking Diablo Cody’s script (also Oscar-nommed) and jabbing sardonic quip after sardonic quip at the lens, but not without a few moments of genuine emotion - check out the quivering mouth-corner during one crying episode. Now that’s what you call control.
Page is supported by an equally strong cast, with Michael Cera (Superbad) playing his now trade-mark quiet but sweet role, his Arrested Development co-star Jason Bateman as the slightly iffy adoptive daddy to be, and equine skeleton Jennifer Garner gets landed with the straight part, but does a darn good job as the non-mother who just wants a baby.
But Juno is a way off a perfect CF5, and that’s because it doesn’t really deliver anything new or try to say anything too profound. Not that every film has to, and not that a film can’t just entertain on its own merits, which this certainly does. But without a steady influx of big belly-laughs, Juno can’t just hang its hat on the comedy peg (one-liners to make you chuckle being its standpoint). The script crackles with wit and off-beat humour, but displaces the cast into Dawson’s Creek / The OC territory, meaning you never really believe these characters could be real. So what’s left is a reasonable drama with some gestures towards themes like love, parenthood and the obvious teenage pregnancy stigma. Such lacking in full-on comedy or drama means Juno stops its climb up the CF ranks at a CF1. I’m not miserably sneering at it, but I’ve certainly not fallen for Juno. She is a teenager after all.
Ok, maybe on screen it was just the one pregnant teen. And that was, of course, Juno. This year’s token “non-weighty/epic” Oscar fodder. To be honest I wasn’t expecting to like this all that much. The TV adverts featured a voiceover man gaily proclaiming that “everyone’s falling for Juno!” Posters were plastered on every other bus, with comments from magazines like Heat, New Woman, Vapid Lifestyles, and Blindly Following Celebrities Instead of Focussing on Real Issues weekly. The film itself features cutesy animated titles and a soundtrack full of two chord tinkles with sugary vocals. It was all pushing my “reject with a miserable sneer” button, often engaged when “everyone falls” for a film I decide isn’t good enough but probably wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t have the hype. See, I can admit flaws like that because I’m a better person. Better than everyone else - have you seen the intro to this site?
Anyway, thankfully some of the clever papers gave this good reviews too, so it was ok for me to like it. And like it I did, to a large extent. The story is Orlando-simple. Sixteen year-old Juno gets preggars by mistake and decides to give her baby up for adoption to a desperate couple. Take the tone one way and you could end up with issues-a-plenty, but Juno heads into the wry comedy zone and nails it. Ellen Page (who did the snipping in Hard Candy) sassess it up as the title character, taking Diablo Cody’s script (also Oscar-nommed) and jabbing sardonic quip after sardonic quip at the lens, but not without a few moments of genuine emotion - check out the quivering mouth-corner during one crying episode. Now that’s what you call control.
Page is supported by an equally strong cast, with Michael Cera (Superbad) playing his now trade-mark quiet but sweet role, his Arrested Development co-star Jason Bateman as the slightly iffy adoptive daddy to be, and equine skeleton Jennifer Garner gets landed with the straight part, but does a darn good job as the non-mother who just wants a baby.
But Juno is a way off a perfect CF5, and that’s because it doesn’t really deliver anything new or try to say anything too profound. Not that every film has to, and not that a film can’t just entertain on its own merits, which this certainly does. But without a steady influx of big belly-laughs, Juno can’t just hang its hat on the comedy peg (one-liners to make you chuckle being its standpoint). The script crackles with wit and off-beat humour, but displaces the cast into Dawson’s Creek / The OC territory, meaning you never really believe these characters could be real. So what’s left is a reasonable drama with some gestures towards themes like love, parenthood and the obvious teenage pregnancy stigma. Such lacking in full-on comedy or drama means Juno stops its climb up the CF ranks at a CF1. I’m not miserably sneering at it, but I’ve certainly not fallen for Juno. She is a teenager after all.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
6th Feb 08 - No Country for Old Men
A welcome return to the cinema after a mini break sees also a welcome return by the Coen brothers with their awards-laden No Country for Old Men. Rather than the standard avenues or predictable high streets of many film efforts, the Coens’ films are like sprawling landscapes, with an unclear route through, overlapping hills on the horizon, unexpected dips, and the occasional hillock jutting up here and there. Their films often need to be seen more than once to absorb them entirely and hoover up every subtle detail (eg. Fargo, O Brother Where Art Tho, The Big Lebowski.) They’re no walk in the park, but nine times out of ten it’s worth the extra effort to break through the crust and gain the meaty film centre.
I’ve just mixed a landscape analogy with a pie analogy, but I’m sure you understand what I mean (or you can pretend to, so people think you’re dead clever like what I am). Anyway, No Country is another very Coen-like piece, its collection of weird, wonderful and down-right scary characters are inter-linked by a big bag of money (mirrored in the likes of Fargo, Lebowski et al). Quietly cool hunter Llewelyn (Josh Brolin - nailing the resourceful hero routine perfectly) stumbles across a pot of cash. Unfortunately for him, an equally quietly cool hunter Anton (Javier Bardem, like a warped toy lion with his mane patted down) would like to get the cash back, only this hunter is morally devoid and a tad insane. He also carries round a big air-gun type thing, useful for blowing locks off doors, and brains out of heads. Following the trail of bodies is wizened sheriff Ed (Tommy Lee Jones, echoing his turn in 2006’s Three Burials and sporting massive ear lobes). It could be a straight forward cat n’ mouse (and giant ear-lobed dog) escapade, but the Coens chuck in curve ball after curve ball to keep the plot fresh, and with an expanse of set pieces so large that you probably really do need to watch it all over again just to recall everything that happens.
The stand-out character is immediately Anton Chigurh. He is violence personified; unstoppable, destructive, without mercy. All the while sporting a gas canister and a bizarre hair-do. The violence is brutal without being too showy. It’s the aftermath that the Coens prefer to hone in on, and the close-up view of a shot gun wound being cleaned out is enough to make you wincingly shuffle in your seat. That’s not the only time you’ll be doing the old seat-shuffle, though. No Country is peppered with terrific scenes, with tense “waiting for the pounce” moments, gripping duels set over a myriad of corners and cars to hide behind, and a dog-v-man swimming race that’s both hilarious and also downright terrifying. Tommy Lee’s sheriff brings an aspect of calm to the proceedings, as well as some of the comedy punches that are littered throughout.
Despite the comedy, this is a dark film overall, with sombre closing thoughts (humans have always been, and will always be, violent shits to each other. Hurray!) and a running time and scope that will take some time to digest. A bit like eating a really big pie. After taking a walk through a vast landscape somewhere. You can’t do these activities off the cuff, or in your lunch hour, and they’ll most likely have an effect on you for a fair while after. But sometimes a brief stroll round the block and a quick pasty just doesn’t really satisfy.
So, to conclude: No Country has steadily risen up the CF ranks the more I’ve considered it. Powerful, thrilling and chock full of memorable performances, it has finally climbed up to a CF3. Save up the energy for a big walk / pie and go see it. Like one of those relatives you like spending time with but… oh I’ll stop with the analogies. Sorry.
I’ve just mixed a landscape analogy with a pie analogy, but I’m sure you understand what I mean (or you can pretend to, so people think you’re dead clever like what I am). Anyway, No Country is another very Coen-like piece, its collection of weird, wonderful and down-right scary characters are inter-linked by a big bag of money (mirrored in the likes of Fargo, Lebowski et al). Quietly cool hunter Llewelyn (Josh Brolin - nailing the resourceful hero routine perfectly) stumbles across a pot of cash. Unfortunately for him, an equally quietly cool hunter Anton (Javier Bardem, like a warped toy lion with his mane patted down) would like to get the cash back, only this hunter is morally devoid and a tad insane. He also carries round a big air-gun type thing, useful for blowing locks off doors, and brains out of heads. Following the trail of bodies is wizened sheriff Ed (Tommy Lee Jones, echoing his turn in 2006’s Three Burials and sporting massive ear lobes). It could be a straight forward cat n’ mouse (and giant ear-lobed dog) escapade, but the Coens chuck in curve ball after curve ball to keep the plot fresh, and with an expanse of set pieces so large that you probably really do need to watch it all over again just to recall everything that happens.
The stand-out character is immediately Anton Chigurh. He is violence personified; unstoppable, destructive, without mercy. All the while sporting a gas canister and a bizarre hair-do. The violence is brutal without being too showy. It’s the aftermath that the Coens prefer to hone in on, and the close-up view of a shot gun wound being cleaned out is enough to make you wincingly shuffle in your seat. That’s not the only time you’ll be doing the old seat-shuffle, though. No Country is peppered with terrific scenes, with tense “waiting for the pounce” moments, gripping duels set over a myriad of corners and cars to hide behind, and a dog-v-man swimming race that’s both hilarious and also downright terrifying. Tommy Lee’s sheriff brings an aspect of calm to the proceedings, as well as some of the comedy punches that are littered throughout.
Despite the comedy, this is a dark film overall, with sombre closing thoughts (humans have always been, and will always be, violent shits to each other. Hurray!) and a running time and scope that will take some time to digest. A bit like eating a really big pie. After taking a walk through a vast landscape somewhere. You can’t do these activities off the cuff, or in your lunch hour, and they’ll most likely have an effect on you for a fair while after. But sometimes a brief stroll round the block and a quick pasty just doesn’t really satisfy.
So, to conclude: No Country has steadily risen up the CF ranks the more I’ve considered it. Powerful, thrilling and chock full of memorable performances, it has finally climbed up to a CF3. Save up the energy for a big walk / pie and go see it. Like one of those relatives you like spending time with but… oh I’ll stop with the analogies. Sorry.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
17th Jan 08 - 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days
Crikey. What a cinema experience. Traumatic isn’t the word. Ok, so what do you expect when you decide to watch a Romanian film about abortion? Certainly not a laugh-a-minute rom-com, with hilarious misunderstandings and a slap-stick interlude where people slip up on some mess and everyone has a good giggle. No, we knew this was going to be a tough-one, but with critics praising (although as the shitey Dylon biog proved, that isn’t always a good sign) and awards folk prowling (Golden Globe nominated, and potentially Oscar, although we’ll find out more this week) this was a film that had to be checked out. Plus, how smart do I look watching a Romanian film eh? Go on, say it. I’m well clever me. I can read words on the screen and everything.
4-3-2 (as all the cool kids dub it) is justly praised in most respects, tackling an uncomfortable subject and setting it in 80’s Romania where such things are illegal and could land you a jail sentence. But meek student Gabriela is desperate, and enlists best friend Otilia to help her in her plight. The film is set over just one day, and follows the girls from their initial preparations, through to the event itself and subsequent aftermath. But just when you thought things couldn’t be bleak enough, their enlisted medical “helper” Bebe, a quiet middle-aged bloke in a nice jumper, throws a few extra unpleasant conditions their way. Vera Drake he ain’t, let’s just put it that way.
Using an unusual method of mostly static shots and lengthy scenes makes it feel in parts like you’re watching a play, and adds to the uncomfortable realism of it all. It works perfectly in places, especially during the price negotiation scene between Bebe and the girls, as the slow realisation of the real cost dawns on both girls. As each scene advances towards the inevitable, your growing tension matches that of Gabriela and it all makes for a very powerful experience. As I sat there watching Bebe unpack a variety of implements, I knew very much what was to come, and was pretty certain that actually I didn’t want to see it. But I was trapped, powerless to stop watching. It reminded me of a time I went on the Viper rollercoaster - the tallest looping coaster in the world - and suddenly realised as the train began to advance up the hill that actually I didn’t really want to go on it, and that getting into that seat was a really bad idea. But the restraints meant I couldn’t get off, and so I miserably watched as the train got higher and higher towards the unavoidable conclusion. I nearly blacked out on that first drop, but the rest was quite fun.
Speaking of blacking out, the main component of my traumatic cinema experience wasn’t the aborted foetus staring at me from the screen, but the petrifying antics of one of my companions, who is under strict instructions never to do that ever again. Ever. Thankfully all became well, but such activities meant I missed a small chunk of the middle of this film, and means that I’m not completely able to assess the film in full. Frankly, though, I don’t think I missed too much, and the general gist of the film - that of friendship, hardship and unrelenting awful occurrences - still came across strong. Amazing performances, bold direction and an undeniably powerful effect, 4-3-2 is certainly a remarkable piece of film. But not one that left me with any new thoughts, that I’d clamour to watch again, or that I’d particularly recommend to anyone else, unless I wanted them to think I was dead clever. Or a bit sick. So, bit of a struggle this one. I’ll settle for a CF0 rating, I think. Go on the Viper rollercoaster instead, though. It’s a lot quicker.
4-3-2 (as all the cool kids dub it) is justly praised in most respects, tackling an uncomfortable subject and setting it in 80’s Romania where such things are illegal and could land you a jail sentence. But meek student Gabriela is desperate, and enlists best friend Otilia to help her in her plight. The film is set over just one day, and follows the girls from their initial preparations, through to the event itself and subsequent aftermath. But just when you thought things couldn’t be bleak enough, their enlisted medical “helper” Bebe, a quiet middle-aged bloke in a nice jumper, throws a few extra unpleasant conditions their way. Vera Drake he ain’t, let’s just put it that way.
Using an unusual method of mostly static shots and lengthy scenes makes it feel in parts like you’re watching a play, and adds to the uncomfortable realism of it all. It works perfectly in places, especially during the price negotiation scene between Bebe and the girls, as the slow realisation of the real cost dawns on both girls. As each scene advances towards the inevitable, your growing tension matches that of Gabriela and it all makes for a very powerful experience. As I sat there watching Bebe unpack a variety of implements, I knew very much what was to come, and was pretty certain that actually I didn’t want to see it. But I was trapped, powerless to stop watching. It reminded me of a time I went on the Viper rollercoaster - the tallest looping coaster in the world - and suddenly realised as the train began to advance up the hill that actually I didn’t really want to go on it, and that getting into that seat was a really bad idea. But the restraints meant I couldn’t get off, and so I miserably watched as the train got higher and higher towards the unavoidable conclusion. I nearly blacked out on that first drop, but the rest was quite fun.
Speaking of blacking out, the main component of my traumatic cinema experience wasn’t the aborted foetus staring at me from the screen, but the petrifying antics of one of my companions, who is under strict instructions never to do that ever again. Ever. Thankfully all became well, but such activities meant I missed a small chunk of the middle of this film, and means that I’m not completely able to assess the film in full. Frankly, though, I don’t think I missed too much, and the general gist of the film - that of friendship, hardship and unrelenting awful occurrences - still came across strong. Amazing performances, bold direction and an undeniably powerful effect, 4-3-2 is certainly a remarkable piece of film. But not one that left me with any new thoughts, that I’d clamour to watch again, or that I’d particularly recommend to anyone else, unless I wanted them to think I was dead clever. Or a bit sick. So, bit of a struggle this one. I’ll settle for a CF0 rating, I think. Go on the Viper rollercoaster instead, though. It’s a lot quicker.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
12th Jan 08 - Lust, Caution
I couldn’t help but notice the audience for this film was made up of an interesting number of boys in their late teens / early twenties. They could have been there because of Ang Lee, fascinated to see what the director has in store for us next since his career has veered from period drama (Sense & Sensibility) to pretentious martial arts (Crouching Tiger) to men in love (Brokeback Mountain) to a big green bloke who you should keep away from when he’s a bit miffed (Hulk). They could have been there because they were absolutely fascinated with Chinese history during the end of the second world war, and were keen on watching a 157 minute film, largely in Mandarin, to find out more. Or, and forgive me for being a little bit cynical, they could well have picked this film because it features several scenes that are so graphic they have been dubbed by some as verging on porn.
But hey - even if the lads were after cheap thrills, they ended up subjecting themselves to a piece of richly satisfying and absorbing film. Perhaps the only chance they’ll get for such enrichment before stumbling back home to play on Champ Manager for seven hours. Anyhoo, back to Lust, Caution; two words explored in depth by Lee in this tale of a young girl enlisted to bring down a powerful but corrupt man by becoming his mistress. There’s a lot more going on in terms of plot, but rather than waste time explaining details, why don’t I just say it’s good, so go and see it.
Granted, the chunky running time and subtitles might put some off, and this isn’t the enjoyable time-waster that I Am Legend was. Lust, Caution will intrigue and repulse, lift and depress. For every lust portion, there’s certainly a caution. Long, sizzling stares between yearning characters; violent sexual assault. A softening heart and crumbling emotional barriers in the hardest of men; a distressing, drawn-out murder scene that had even the likes of me wincing. It sounds like hard work but surprisingly isn’t, with moments of comedy and a solid undercover plot behind it all that’s comfortingly familiar but adds extra elements of tension.
As for those scenes. Well, they certainly leave nothing to the imagination, acting in parts as a practical guide to the karma sutra. They are, however, used for a purpose, charting the relationship progression in ways no amount of frolicking in a field of flowers could manage. Plus you can play the “are they / aren’t they?” game - quite frankly some shots make it very difficult to tell what’s real. And if it’s not real, then you certainly have to marvel at the precise, err, I suppose you could use the term “tucking” that must have been involved.
Tucking aside, the film’s key players, Wei Tang and Tony Leung Chiu Wai, are superb, the look and feel is remarkably fresh considering it’s set in the stuffy past, and on a girly note there are some really pretty dresses. Brokeback was a powerful film, but too close to tragic love-story for me to fully enjoy (I’m not a fan of those). Lust, Caution has similar elements, but with a gripping plot, scintillating character interaction and an unusual blend of, well, lust and caution. It even stood up to the sleepy/slightly hung-over test, and therefore soars in with a CF3. Well done Ang!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
9th Jan 08 - I Am Legend
Scientists. Without them the world would be a much safer place. Granted, we wouldn’t have life saving advancements and all that. But do you know what else we wouldn’t have? Zombies. That’s right. Scientists causes zombies. It’s a well known fact, one that people seem to forget when a scientist starts talking about “mutating” things. What you should do is stop the scientist in their tracks. “Mutate?” you should interject, “Say, doesn’t that tend to produce hoards of zombies?” “Oh yeah,” the scientist will say. “I forgot.”
Just think of the millions of lives you’d save if you listened to me.
But alas, the folk in I Am Legend world didn’t pay any attention to me and now they’ve all buggered off, leaving a lone Will Smith with an empty New York and some scary mutated folk, who aren’t partial to sunlight but are pretty nippy and have sore tempers. Cue a tight zombie-esque film with spatterings of vampire inspired stay-in-the-sun-fun, sprinkled with your basic apocalypse survivor bleakness. And you don’t even need to know the back catalogue and full life history of the Fresh Prince in order to understand what’s going on. This is easily beating last week’s film already.
This isn’t a new concept, but its ace is the premise that Will Smith’s Robert Neville is the last man standing, left to face - and attempt to resolve - terrifying science mistakes. A tip of the hat to Big Willie, then, for managing to carry the film almost entirely on his own. When considering that his only real interaction is with an Alsatian or scary things that roar, it’s impressive that Will is entirely watchable throughout, never losing the audience’s attention or his own credibility, even when singing Bob Marley to a dog.
Legend also wins when it side-steps the clichés, shoving in some dark plot points and tackling our hero’s crumbling sanity (he likes mannequins… and Shrek). But in avoiding some clichés, it manages to blunder straight into others, and if you’ve seen one or more of the recent zombie efforts from the 28 Days/Weeks and Resident Evil franchise, to the likes of Romero and Shaun, then you’ll be able to guess many of the film’s next steps. Not all of them, mind. But most.
Still, considering this is from Francis Lawrence, the director of Constantine (the equivalent of excitable chatter from an imaginative but slightly stupid teenage boy) I Am Legend is a pretty good effort. Nicely paced, action gently handled instead of shaky quick-edit “excitement”, and some scenes that were scary enough to make the guy behind us actually shout out in fear. The enormous wimp. It’s also nice to see a film that can create tension, fear and shock without relying on buckets of gore, although it perhaps relied a little too heavily on average CGI (someone spent all their budget clearing New York, me thinks…)
A good solid Saturday night thriller, I am Legend racks up the recommended CF0, but to a zombie expert like myself it lacked enough originality to score any higher. Just watch out for those scientists, though. That’s all I can say.
Just think of the millions of lives you’d save if you listened to me.
But alas, the folk in I Am Legend world didn’t pay any attention to me and now they’ve all buggered off, leaving a lone Will Smith with an empty New York and some scary mutated folk, who aren’t partial to sunlight but are pretty nippy and have sore tempers. Cue a tight zombie-esque film with spatterings of vampire inspired stay-in-the-sun-fun, sprinkled with your basic apocalypse survivor bleakness. And you don’t even need to know the back catalogue and full life history of the Fresh Prince in order to understand what’s going on. This is easily beating last week’s film already.
This isn’t a new concept, but its ace is the premise that Will Smith’s Robert Neville is the last man standing, left to face - and attempt to resolve - terrifying science mistakes. A tip of the hat to Big Willie, then, for managing to carry the film almost entirely on his own. When considering that his only real interaction is with an Alsatian or scary things that roar, it’s impressive that Will is entirely watchable throughout, never losing the audience’s attention or his own credibility, even when singing Bob Marley to a dog.
Legend also wins when it side-steps the clichés, shoving in some dark plot points and tackling our hero’s crumbling sanity (he likes mannequins… and Shrek). But in avoiding some clichés, it manages to blunder straight into others, and if you’ve seen one or more of the recent zombie efforts from the 28 Days/Weeks and Resident Evil franchise, to the likes of Romero and Shaun, then you’ll be able to guess many of the film’s next steps. Not all of them, mind. But most.
Still, considering this is from Francis Lawrence, the director of Constantine (the equivalent of excitable chatter from an imaginative but slightly stupid teenage boy) I Am Legend is a pretty good effort. Nicely paced, action gently handled instead of shaky quick-edit “excitement”, and some scenes that were scary enough to make the guy behind us actually shout out in fear. The enormous wimp. It’s also nice to see a film that can create tension, fear and shock without relying on buckets of gore, although it perhaps relied a little too heavily on average CGI (someone spent all their budget clearing New York, me thinks…)
A good solid Saturday night thriller, I am Legend racks up the recommended CF0, but to a zombie expert like myself it lacked enough originality to score any higher. Just watch out for those scientists, though. That’s all I can say.
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