Back in 2005 Christopher Nolan brought us a much needed de-camped Batman. Gone were the nipple nuts and terrible puns, replaced instead with a formidable Christian Bale and a dark streak that made it serious, exciting and CF top-10 rated. A sequel with the same cast and an iconic bad guy was obviously muchly anticipated. Throw in a highly rated performance by a now tragically deceased star and you couldn’t get much more hype than if you implanted a special device in everyone’s ear that bellowed “watch Batman! It’s great! Watch it right now! Now!” At 3am. Every night. For two months.
Now that’s a marketing idea…
Anyway, The Dark Knight launches in with the superhero sequel bonus of not having to spend any time setting up the back-story. Batman’s trying to take down the mob with the help from his police and lawyer friends, meanwhile a crazy guy in clown make-up is slowly building trouble. Nolan (who co-wrote with his brother) weaves an impressive tale, with plenty of stonking action (the opening bank robbery a fine example), suspenseful lead-ups, dramatic interchanges bristling with danger, and the occasional flash of humour.
To be honest, as a character Batman can sometimes be vaguely dull, bumbling around his underground lair with a mood on, dressing up to beat up guys using no real super powers at all save some smooth moves and Bond-esque gadgets shaped like little bat wings. Nolan’s reinvention made him moodier, broodier, more dangerous. Better. But though he carries the film’s title, all eyes are most definitely on The Joker here. Partly because it’s Heath, and there’s no denying the surprising force of sadness that hit most people back in January. But mainly because The Joker is such a vibrant character, and Heath’s Joker takes the fun and twists it into something truly menacing. A clown that wants to slice your cheeks and ram a pencil in your face. Come on kids, it’s fun! Creating carnage for seemingly no purpose, turning people on each other by stirring fears, the Joker is the boogyman to today’s society, not least when his coat is full of grenades.
The film boasts a sizeable supporting cast – the familiar faces of Freeman and Caine mixed with newbies Maggie Gyllenhaal (taking over from Katie Holmes and doing a much better job of giving her character backbone) and Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, comic fans knowing what’s to come while those out of the loop probably non-the-wiser, thanks to some refreshingly restrained advertising.
Tone-wise this definitely lives up to the ‘dark’ in its title, some events both shocking and bold to include in what’s seen to be a mainstream flick. It is incredibly violent without showing anything on screen, the implications for a 12A film possibly traumatising little kiddies, although they deserve it for spending half their time walking about the cinema. A quibble might be the running-time, perhaps over-shooting it with too much spent on slightly confusing car / motorbike chases. And an unintentional hilarity from Batman’s voice dampens some of the drama (I think his suit might be a little too tight in the larynx department.)
Never-the-less, The Dark Knight lives up to the hype; with superb control from Mr Nolan, solid performance from the Bale, striking from the Ledger (although not Oscar worthy – crazy isn’t that hard to do…) some ace action pieces and good old-fashioned moral conundrums. Dark Knight matches Wall-E with a CF3 and shows its bum to the other superhero flicks of 2008. Keep it up Nolan.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
23rd July 08 - Wall-E
An animated film about a mute robot? What about angular animals voiced by vaguely annoying American stars? Surely that’s what computer animation has been developed for? You might have summarised that from the trailers preceding this film, each one making me more depressed and ready to push over a toddler to cheer myself up. Throw in a Star Wars “film”, closely resembling a Saturday morning kids show, and you’d be ready to shut down all computers just to make the endless crap stop. But then Wall-E starts and everything suddenly feels much, much better.
Mute robots, it seems, can be endearing, funny and utterly charming to watch. With a cockroach for a companion, wandering through a desolate, rubbish-strewn earth, Wall-E is somehow one of the warmest characters to grace cinemas so far this year. A round of applause for Pixar, who took the winning formula from their flagship short way back in 1986 (Luxo Jr – a “baby” lamp, now the logo for the company) and applied it to a feature. Comedy and heart from supposedly inanimate objects, no dialogue required. It’s a brave step by Nemo creator Andrew Stanton, going from cutesy fish to metal garbage-collector, but his gamble pays off big-time.
Wall-E is refreshing, original, beautifully animated and superbly plotted. Simple but oh so effective, it’ll make you smile throughout and even managed to do the impossible and make me shed a slight tear, though this weakness could be down to recent cracks in my usual bitter and angry exterior. It’s a simple love story mixed with cutting remarks on the state of society and the environment. And it features cute robots and a fabulous sense of fun. What more do you want?
Its message is as blunt as a donkey punch, namely switch off your autopilot, get off your fat arse and don’t just blithely follow the path of consumerism and laziness. For what can be seen as a child’s film it makes a stomping great point, but does it without talking down, or shouting at the audience.
Quibbles to stop it reaching the dizzy heights of a CF5? Well, if I must, I’d say it falters on the whole “America is the world” aspect – we never see anywhere, or anyone, apart from the great A’s, and if it is to teach kiddies that destroying the planet is bad, it’d be also good to throw in “there are other places outside your home town” too. It’s also vaguely ironic that a film showing us how humanity is lost when we only communicate through artificial interfaces is a film made by a huge team of animators sitting in front of artificial interfaces for months on end. And for a film that berates consumerism, it’s interesting to note the Apple product placement and wide variety of Wall-E merchandise now available. Don’t think that buying stuff is the key to happiness – but go out and get yourself a Wall-E t-shirt, cap, toy, computer game, mug, pencil case…
Now I’m just being picky, though, because Wall-E is a winner. Any film that makes me grin for a couple of hours is a film worth seeing, and as such this adorable little robot wheels in with a CF3. The best film of the summer so far. I wonder if an adorable little man dressed like a bat will do any better.
Mute robots, it seems, can be endearing, funny and utterly charming to watch. With a cockroach for a companion, wandering through a desolate, rubbish-strewn earth, Wall-E is somehow one of the warmest characters to grace cinemas so far this year. A round of applause for Pixar, who took the winning formula from their flagship short way back in 1986 (Luxo Jr – a “baby” lamp, now the logo for the company) and applied it to a feature. Comedy and heart from supposedly inanimate objects, no dialogue required. It’s a brave step by Nemo creator Andrew Stanton, going from cutesy fish to metal garbage-collector, but his gamble pays off big-time.
Wall-E is refreshing, original, beautifully animated and superbly plotted. Simple but oh so effective, it’ll make you smile throughout and even managed to do the impossible and make me shed a slight tear, though this weakness could be down to recent cracks in my usual bitter and angry exterior. It’s a simple love story mixed with cutting remarks on the state of society and the environment. And it features cute robots and a fabulous sense of fun. What more do you want?
Its message is as blunt as a donkey punch, namely switch off your autopilot, get off your fat arse and don’t just blithely follow the path of consumerism and laziness. For what can be seen as a child’s film it makes a stomping great point, but does it without talking down, or shouting at the audience.
Quibbles to stop it reaching the dizzy heights of a CF5? Well, if I must, I’d say it falters on the whole “America is the world” aspect – we never see anywhere, or anyone, apart from the great A’s, and if it is to teach kiddies that destroying the planet is bad, it’d be also good to throw in “there are other places outside your home town” too. It’s also vaguely ironic that a film showing us how humanity is lost when we only communicate through artificial interfaces is a film made by a huge team of animators sitting in front of artificial interfaces for months on end. And for a film that berates consumerism, it’s interesting to note the Apple product placement and wide variety of Wall-E merchandise now available. Don’t think that buying stuff is the key to happiness – but go out and get yourself a Wall-E t-shirt, cap, toy, computer game, mug, pencil case…
Now I’m just being picky, though, because Wall-E is a winner. Any film that makes me grin for a couple of hours is a film worth seeing, and as such this adorable little robot wheels in with a CF3. The best film of the summer so far. I wonder if an adorable little man dressed like a bat will do any better.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
16th July 08 - The Mist
Zombies, wasps and fire aside, there’s nothing scarier than the unknown. It’s the fear of a darkened corridor, the terror of what’s lurking just beneath your bed. Stephen King revels in such fears (he said so himself at the start of one of his books) so it was no surprise to read a novella of his all about an impenetrable mist with hidden unpleasantries. It was a surprise, however, to see Frank Darabont sign himself up to adapt and direct said novella into a feature length. Frank is a fan of the King, and probably the most accomplished at adapting his work without squeezing out all the humanity. But to see the man behind the awesome behemoths of Shawshank and Green Mile direct a monster flick? Eh?
It all becomes clear when you realise the story isn’t really about the monsters outside, and more about the monsters within each of us. The majority of the film takes place inside a supermarket, with a myriad of characters trapped together under the oppressive might of the mist. As one character says, human beings are insane. “Put two in a room and they’ll have to pick sides - that’s what religion and politics were invented for.” Darabont brings to life King’s characters in all their flawed detail, bitching and cowering, turning on one another and turning into god-jollies.
Of course, there are real monsters out there in the mist. Different to your standard gorilla, these babies range in size and shape, be it creepy giant mosquitoes, super creepy giant spider things, or flesh ripping tentacles creeping under the door. Punctuating the human drama, these nasties bring in some fun frights and good old fashioned gore, and there’s a pleasant lack of big but ultimately disappointing money shots (I‘m looking at you Cloverfield). The big mammas are merely ominous shadows, details left to your imagination. In different hands this could have been cheapo monster-shite, with bad actors battling in the vague direction of bad CGI surrounded by smoky mist. Oooo scary. In Darabont’s hands it is richly satisfying, drama meets horror. Oh, and it’s fucking depressing.
Jesus - never have I heard a cinema go quite so quiet than at the end of The Mist. When Darabont was writing the script someone must have been playing The Ting Tings and Hard-Fi at full blast. It would be enough to make anyone despise all of mankind, and certainly seems to be the mood Darabont was in. Gone is the uplifting hope of Shawshank. Come out of The Mist and you’ll probably want to sit in your bedroom and poke yourself in the eye in despair. Do I sound like I’m being negative? I’m not - Darabont mooned the studios (who begged him to change his ending) and pushed his potential cheapo monster-shite cliché into a daring and exhilarating new territory. A film to make you shudder. Jump. Frown. Laugh. And actually applause (first time I’ve heard applause at a death scene).
Though it could have been slimmed down a little, The Mist is a surprisingly fresh film considering it’s based on a book from 1985 about tentacles in fog. With themes relevant to today (fear can make people believe anything… do you hear that, sensationalist media? Stop it now) and fun monster carnage in the mix, The Mist gets an extra point for being a faithful adaptation of a great King story, and another for having the balls to tweak the story in THAT way, winning a mighty CF2. Which King will Darabont pick to dissect next? I haven’t the foggiest.
Yes. I am that funny.
It all becomes clear when you realise the story isn’t really about the monsters outside, and more about the monsters within each of us. The majority of the film takes place inside a supermarket, with a myriad of characters trapped together under the oppressive might of the mist. As one character says, human beings are insane. “Put two in a room and they’ll have to pick sides - that’s what religion and politics were invented for.” Darabont brings to life King’s characters in all their flawed detail, bitching and cowering, turning on one another and turning into god-jollies.
Of course, there are real monsters out there in the mist. Different to your standard gorilla, these babies range in size and shape, be it creepy giant mosquitoes, super creepy giant spider things, or flesh ripping tentacles creeping under the door. Punctuating the human drama, these nasties bring in some fun frights and good old fashioned gore, and there’s a pleasant lack of big but ultimately disappointing money shots (I‘m looking at you Cloverfield). The big mammas are merely ominous shadows, details left to your imagination. In different hands this could have been cheapo monster-shite, with bad actors battling in the vague direction of bad CGI surrounded by smoky mist. Oooo scary. In Darabont’s hands it is richly satisfying, drama meets horror. Oh, and it’s fucking depressing.
Jesus - never have I heard a cinema go quite so quiet than at the end of The Mist. When Darabont was writing the script someone must have been playing The Ting Tings and Hard-Fi at full blast. It would be enough to make anyone despise all of mankind, and certainly seems to be the mood Darabont was in. Gone is the uplifting hope of Shawshank. Come out of The Mist and you’ll probably want to sit in your bedroom and poke yourself in the eye in despair. Do I sound like I’m being negative? I’m not - Darabont mooned the studios (who begged him to change his ending) and pushed his potential cheapo monster-shite cliché into a daring and exhilarating new territory. A film to make you shudder. Jump. Frown. Laugh. And actually applause (first time I’ve heard applause at a death scene).
Though it could have been slimmed down a little, The Mist is a surprisingly fresh film considering it’s based on a book from 1985 about tentacles in fog. With themes relevant to today (fear can make people believe anything… do you hear that, sensationalist media? Stop it now) and fun monster carnage in the mix, The Mist gets an extra point for being a faithful adaptation of a great King story, and another for having the balls to tweak the story in THAT way, winning a mighty CF2. Which King will Darabont pick to dissect next? I haven’t the foggiest.
Yes. I am that funny.
Monday, July 14, 2008
9th July 08 - Hancock
Superheroes are so hot right now, with Marvel getting their own studio to create cross-over excitement and Nolan’s second Batman approaching our screens (after an eon of advertising it – to the point where I openly groan when the trailer comes on.) So what better than a film riffing on the genre, echoing My Super Ex-Girlfriend’s turn in 2006 when it followed the likes of Spidey. This time, instead of having hero-turned-crazy-ex, we have tramp-hero, alcoholic-hero and – shock horror! – hero who says “fuck” in a 12A rated film. Excellent.
Big Willy is Hancock, a miserable superhero who can’t save anything without making a big mess, staggering around in drunken haze and feeling up passing women. When he saves PR man Ray (Jason Bateman, who I desperately want to like but doesn’t half play the same character every time) he unwittingly gains himself representation, as Ray tries to repay him by “remaking” him. Although you’d expect a typical montage of someone slowly seeking redemption and then saving the day, Hancock throws a few unexpected curve balls into the plot, twisting into vaguely original corners and proving a different experience to that suggested by the trailers.
I didn’t say it was a better experience, mind.
But let’s be positive for a change. Hancock is sort of funny at times (although the better gags were already splashed over trailers) and Big Willy does a good job as a big, huffy bloke with various issues and super strength. His method of dealing with criminals is refreshingly crass, and the plot turns create a more sombre tone that dilutes chances of it being a jolly Fantastic Four-esque romp. The effects are pretty good too (a few dodgy CGI-Will moments aside). And, err, you see his bum for a short time.
To go back to the negative, where Hancock delivers in the unexpected it falters in doing anything too worthwhile, the carefully built up storyline being crushed against the rock of triviality, eventually landing in the port of “is that all you’re going to do?” Baddies are wedged in hurriedly to give some sort of final battle, which is lost in all the “hang on…”, “why doesn’t he…” and “how did they…” thoughts.
Director Peter Berg (who I’ve just spotted is down to make – and ruin – Dune. Gah! Sorry, just had a mini-rage there. Done now.) Where was I? Oh yes – soon to ruin Dune director Peter Berg smugly pushes aside the normal big-guns style of action flicks and instead goes all indie, with soft focus, super close-ups on off-centre heads (alarming on the big screen – a massive Big Willy head just off to one side…) trying to make all the conversations very deep and thoughtful even though the script doesn’t warrant it. When he throws the same style into the CGI-d fight scenes everything becomes a bit difficult to follow, and generally not that exciting. We’ve seen a million superheroes kicking ass now – what we wanted from Hancock was a bad-boy. We do get it, but the minute we stray into generic hero territory the magic is swiftly lost.
Hancock isn’t the film you’d expect (unless you read this, in which case you’re now going to be expecting something. Did I just spoil it for you? Well, it’s not like it’s particularly deep. There’s not even any subtitles. It’s a film for plebs. You’ll probably forget I’ve even written this anyway, with your short attention span.) Sorry – mini insulting tangent. Anyway, Hancock is potentially really good, but ultimately a bit of a let-down. Not funny enough to be a full comedy, and not rich enough to be a new breed of superhero, especially with the heavy weights of Iron and Hulk still fresh in our minds. I probably wouldn’t recommend it unless there’s nothing else on TV. So Hancock flops in at a CF-1. Sorry Willy.
Big Willy is Hancock, a miserable superhero who can’t save anything without making a big mess, staggering around in drunken haze and feeling up passing women. When he saves PR man Ray (Jason Bateman, who I desperately want to like but doesn’t half play the same character every time) he unwittingly gains himself representation, as Ray tries to repay him by “remaking” him. Although you’d expect a typical montage of someone slowly seeking redemption and then saving the day, Hancock throws a few unexpected curve balls into the plot, twisting into vaguely original corners and proving a different experience to that suggested by the trailers.
I didn’t say it was a better experience, mind.
But let’s be positive for a change. Hancock is sort of funny at times (although the better gags were already splashed over trailers) and Big Willy does a good job as a big, huffy bloke with various issues and super strength. His method of dealing with criminals is refreshingly crass, and the plot turns create a more sombre tone that dilutes chances of it being a jolly Fantastic Four-esque romp. The effects are pretty good too (a few dodgy CGI-Will moments aside). And, err, you see his bum for a short time.
To go back to the negative, where Hancock delivers in the unexpected it falters in doing anything too worthwhile, the carefully built up storyline being crushed against the rock of triviality, eventually landing in the port of “is that all you’re going to do?” Baddies are wedged in hurriedly to give some sort of final battle, which is lost in all the “hang on…”, “why doesn’t he…” and “how did they…” thoughts.
Director Peter Berg (who I’ve just spotted is down to make – and ruin – Dune. Gah! Sorry, just had a mini-rage there. Done now.) Where was I? Oh yes – soon to ruin Dune director Peter Berg smugly pushes aside the normal big-guns style of action flicks and instead goes all indie, with soft focus, super close-ups on off-centre heads (alarming on the big screen – a massive Big Willy head just off to one side…) trying to make all the conversations very deep and thoughtful even though the script doesn’t warrant it. When he throws the same style into the CGI-d fight scenes everything becomes a bit difficult to follow, and generally not that exciting. We’ve seen a million superheroes kicking ass now – what we wanted from Hancock was a bad-boy. We do get it, but the minute we stray into generic hero territory the magic is swiftly lost.
Hancock isn’t the film you’d expect (unless you read this, in which case you’re now going to be expecting something. Did I just spoil it for you? Well, it’s not like it’s particularly deep. There’s not even any subtitles. It’s a film for plebs. You’ll probably forget I’ve even written this anyway, with your short attention span.) Sorry – mini insulting tangent. Anyway, Hancock is potentially really good, but ultimately a bit of a let-down. Not funny enough to be a full comedy, and not rich enough to be a new breed of superhero, especially with the heavy weights of Iron and Hulk still fresh in our minds. I probably wouldn’t recommend it unless there’s nothing else on TV. So Hancock flops in at a CF-1. Sorry Willy.
Friday, July 11, 2008
2nd July 08 - Wanted
Although described by most as “that one with Angelina Jolie and James McAvoy in it”, Wanted’s main draw for me was down to it being “that one directed by the crazy Russian dude.” Timur Bekmambetov wowed with his insane style in vampire flicks Night Watch and Day Watch, not only showing utterly random shit on screen, but showing it in an utterly random way. Watching his films is very much like speeding downhill on a rollercoaster – exhilarating, blurry, and slightly nauseating.
To get the most out of him you really need to unbuckle your seatbelt and just go along with the ride. Trying to find any semblance of sense or reality is like trying to enjoy Pirates of the Caribbean 2. After all, Wanted is based on a graphic novel and features super assassins, bullets that go round corners, magic healing wax and – genius this one – a “loom of fate”, which is up there with “the cube” from Transformers. If you’re expecting Wanted to be a semi-realistic action flick then your expectations should be blown away in the opening scene when a man leaps across two buildings, dodging bullets all the way.
As well as dealing with uber-cool assassins, Wanted looks at the abuse of power and skewed moral motives and actually puts forth the thoughtful question of: “wouldn’t you be much happier if you were an assassin, rather than a boring accountant?” (To be honest I’d rather they didn’t give accountants those sorts of ideas.) With the dollop of cubicle woes Wanted becomes the hyperactive offspring of Dilbert and The Matrix. A storyline that’s sort of familiar, except for that magic loom…
Visually this film is very much in Timur’s chaotic hands, but battling with the limelight is McAvoy and Jolie, the former sporting a weird American accent, the latter really needing to eat some pies. Seriously Jolie – it wouldn’t hurt to have some pastry goods or something. Maybe not every day, but you can treat yourself. Custard tarts are nice, if you fancy something a bit different. Or scones with jam. Maybe a biscuit or two. You get the idea.
There are some pretty cool set pieces interspersed with a fair dollop of nonsense, making Wanted thrilling but silly, a barrage of violent carnage with a heavy metal soundtrack and a few wry winks to any Night Watch fans. Like watching the Matrix lobby scene for 90 minutes, Wanted does amaze, but also falters a little with a jumbled middle and some vacuous characterisation. But what were you expecting? Timur’s style is a punch to the face and automatically gets Wanted an extra point, but for a faltering plot it can go no further, scoring a reasonable CF1. Give Timur some more money and see what else he’ll do.
To get the most out of him you really need to unbuckle your seatbelt and just go along with the ride. Trying to find any semblance of sense or reality is like trying to enjoy Pirates of the Caribbean 2. After all, Wanted is based on a graphic novel and features super assassins, bullets that go round corners, magic healing wax and – genius this one – a “loom of fate”, which is up there with “the cube” from Transformers. If you’re expecting Wanted to be a semi-realistic action flick then your expectations should be blown away in the opening scene when a man leaps across two buildings, dodging bullets all the way.
As well as dealing with uber-cool assassins, Wanted looks at the abuse of power and skewed moral motives and actually puts forth the thoughtful question of: “wouldn’t you be much happier if you were an assassin, rather than a boring accountant?” (To be honest I’d rather they didn’t give accountants those sorts of ideas.) With the dollop of cubicle woes Wanted becomes the hyperactive offspring of Dilbert and The Matrix. A storyline that’s sort of familiar, except for that magic loom…
Visually this film is very much in Timur’s chaotic hands, but battling with the limelight is McAvoy and Jolie, the former sporting a weird American accent, the latter really needing to eat some pies. Seriously Jolie – it wouldn’t hurt to have some pastry goods or something. Maybe not every day, but you can treat yourself. Custard tarts are nice, if you fancy something a bit different. Or scones with jam. Maybe a biscuit or two. You get the idea.
There are some pretty cool set pieces interspersed with a fair dollop of nonsense, making Wanted thrilling but silly, a barrage of violent carnage with a heavy metal soundtrack and a few wry winks to any Night Watch fans. Like watching the Matrix lobby scene for 90 minutes, Wanted does amaze, but also falters a little with a jumbled middle and some vacuous characterisation. But what were you expecting? Timur’s style is a punch to the face and automatically gets Wanted an extra point, but for a faltering plot it can go no further, scoring a reasonable CF1. Give Timur some more money and see what else he’ll do.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
25 June 08 - Priceless
When a film starts off with a similar plot to the Jennifer Lopez “hit” Maid in Manhattan, you have to worry. Hilarious misunderstanding involving rich person mistaking servant pleb for hot money totty. Oooo. Will the rich one overcome their love of money and learn to live with dating a pauper? Do bears shit on the pope?
That’s how the saying goes, right?
Anyway, so went my thoughts as Priceless began, with Audrey Tautou’s posh Irene sparking against Gad Elmaleh’s poor Jean. Yawn. But the film quickly takes a turn for the better, Irene simply milking older rich folk for nice gifts and Jean quickly following suit, turning it into a competition to see who can get the best pressies rather than a simple case of I’m not really rich, you lied to me, I’m sad, I’ll love you anyway, here’s a nice dress to wear.
The film bubbles with amusing banter and simmers with sexy sex (it’s very French), the co-stars trying to outdo each other on who can look the sexiest. Tautou slinks around in tiny dresses and pouts, while Elmaleh gradually gains an air of Bond with sharp suits and sultry eyes. At times it’s a little like watching Sex & the City, with tracking shots of Tauto’s dresses and enough brand name-checks to sink a sold-out ship.
But through all its sexy style Priceless lacks a beating heart, Jean’s “love” for Irene seemingly driven only by his pants as she is shown to have no redeeming characteristics whatsoever, save jealousy, greed and the ability to manipulate. It’s easy to see why she could fall for him as he makes thoughtful gestures and the like, but it seems all a woman has to do is put on a great dress and have done with it. Actually, why am I complaining? Seems like we get the better deal.
This lack of depth makes their relationship purely cosmetic, a vacuous excuse to feature nice dresses in nice hotels, the question of whether they’ll be together in the end giving an answer that is both obvious and unbelievable (no real jobs, no money – and you’re going to do what?) Rather than an aw bless rom-com with a snappy edge, Priceless falls into a saxophone-sound-tracked farce that passes the time fair enough, but only in a similar way to eating a French Fancy, which wouldn’t take up as much time. Unless you eat really slowly, or happen to have found a giant version of the cake, which would be pretty cool to be honest. The film only just scrapes a CF0, and only really because I quite fancied Gad Elmaleh, and because it gave me chance to think about a massive cake. I’m that easily pleased.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
18th June 08 - The Incredible Hulk
It was with a raised eyebrow that I heard the news they were making a new Hulk film. Ang Lee’s green monster didn’t go down well at all with the masses, his sloth-paced approach clashing with the wham bam marketing campaign that went along with it. People went in expecting lots of smashing action, and instead got a measured drama, which is pretty good but does take about twenty days to get going.
So what makes this film different to the first? Well, Old Hulk was directed by the Sense and Sensibility guy. The new Incredible Hulk is directed by the Transporter Two guy. You literally couldn’t get any more different - from vast dramatic silences to fighting with half a melon on your fists. Granted, Louis Leterrier managed to inadvertently create one of the funniest films of all time, but it was a little concerning that he’d be taking over the franchise. Thankfully, despite wedging in a “hot Brazilian in overalls slow-mo” shot in the first ten minutes, Leterrier captures what everyone wants to see in a Hulk film. Yes, some brooding drama. But mostly, major carnage by a big green dude.
The ever brilliant Edward Norton takes on Banner’s shoes, crestfallen and skinny, capturing the essence of Banner as much as Downy Jr captured the essence of Stark. Tim Roth growls his way through the bad guy role. He’s British - ergo bad guy - but was “born in Russia” so he’s pretty damn hard too (you can’t be hard if you’re only from Britain, unless you're called Winstone) and has a laughably drawn-on six pack. And Liv Tyler floats around in the background with her massive lips, doing not much except looking forlorn.
And as for the man himself. Well, he’s oddly CGI’d, but almost perfectly so, tossing cars around like they’re toys and pouting like a big angry green toddler who’s just been told off for hitting his brother with a spade. Hulk definitely bashes, and there’s not a whole lot else you can do with the character. What Leterrier does do is throw sly winks to the audience that are certain to crack smiles, whether it’s ace cameos or wry plays on the old favourites - “you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry” quotes Banner in poor Portuguese (though to me hunger and anger are pretty much the same thing.)
Let’s be honest - I really thought this was going to be shit. Like the crazy hulk dogs scene from the first one, but for two hours interspersed with shots of women in bikinis and Linkin Park playing in the background. So it was nice to see a film that, yes, isn’t a masterpiece by any means, but is good fun, sticks to its roots and entertains for its whole running time without resorting to aliens or gophers. Hulk gets a CF1 for being a bashing good time. Plus it showed just how insanely fantastic the new Marvel studio is, with juicy cross-overs and hints at a future where Marvel characters dip in and out of a steady stream of super comic book films and oh my god I am a massive massive nerd aren’t I…
But only in an ironic way.
Monday, June 16, 2008
11th June 08 - Gone Baby Gone
There was a show in America, which I believe has just come out in the UK, featuring paedophile entrapment and a yelling silver-haired man, followed by FBI arrest (it seems that Brass Eye predicted the media’s next move perfectly with their mock trailer for “the Paedo-files”). There’s no doubt that horrible things happening to kids is very very bad, but like hoodies and terrorists the media seems to enjoy latching on to it as a trigger-point and making it into a massive threatening cloud that they can exploit for all its worth.
Gone Baby Gone would have been released last year, but its timing wasn’t great as it features the abduction of a little girl, and it wouldn’t have been too appropriate to release a film so close to a real-life event. Plus there wouldn’t have been room for it, what with the 24/7 news coverage, web site, blog, documentary and wrist bands.
And so it is only now released, with Ben Affleck behind the directing and writing chair, and his brother Casey in the spotlight as a private detective hired to help find a missing girl. It’s a cross between Without a Trace, CSI, The Shield and any other show with detectives, cops and a hyperactive director. Benji has taken everything he’s learnt about direction and thrown it all in, so we have mega shaky-cam for dramatic bits, odd close-ups of random shit when people have Important Conversations, and even weird snap-shot editing to emphasise something really shocking. It does have the feel of a TV show rather than a film, especially with a soundtrack and voice-overs to lazily tell us what the character’s feeling.
As for the plot. Well, there are points where it feels like Benji has watched something like the Paedo-files and thought “damn-right! Where’s my pitchfork!” But there are also points where he may have taken a different approach, showing the pitch-fork wavers to be less than perfect themselves. He has managed to make a lengthy story with lots of “ooo” plot twists, but his characters are a little cardboardy, with shallow histories if shown at all.
Casey (whose strained voice sounds like he’s constantly hanging his head upside down) is undeniably good at what he does, wowing in the Assassination of Jesse James, but this character comes with an untold history that could have been explored much further and given him an edge (how did he get to be a detective so young? Why does he know all these shady characters and have such a tough streak when he ultimately seems a bit wet?) Morgan Freeman pops up as a detective (nice change for you there, Morgan) and the most striking thing has to be his freckles, which seem to be parodying themselves nowadays. And the ever reliable Ed Harris rocks up as a cop, but spends most of his time SHOUTING lots and lots.
But Amy Ryan impresses as the mother of the missing child, and though I’ve ripped into it a little already, I have to say that Affleck has made a film that does give you chance to consider some moral conundrums. To avoid spoilers I can’t say much more, but it was nice to have some thoughtful depth to the proceedings. The film was also tensely exciting at times, and with an ever-changing whodunnit line that hooks you until the end.
With a formidable Casey in the front seat, I was wanting more of a character study than a typical detective film with a slightly more risqué subject matter. It’s one of those films you could watch on a Saturday night and probably pay attention to the whole way through, but it’s a long way off being something great. Therefore it just hits a CF0. That’s ok though, Benji. You can settle with having an OK film. You did star in Daredevil after all, so the only way is up.
Gone Baby Gone would have been released last year, but its timing wasn’t great as it features the abduction of a little girl, and it wouldn’t have been too appropriate to release a film so close to a real-life event. Plus there wouldn’t have been room for it, what with the 24/7 news coverage, web site, blog, documentary and wrist bands.
And so it is only now released, with Ben Affleck behind the directing and writing chair, and his brother Casey in the spotlight as a private detective hired to help find a missing girl. It’s a cross between Without a Trace, CSI, The Shield and any other show with detectives, cops and a hyperactive director. Benji has taken everything he’s learnt about direction and thrown it all in, so we have mega shaky-cam for dramatic bits, odd close-ups of random shit when people have Important Conversations, and even weird snap-shot editing to emphasise something really shocking. It does have the feel of a TV show rather than a film, especially with a soundtrack and voice-overs to lazily tell us what the character’s feeling.
As for the plot. Well, there are points where it feels like Benji has watched something like the Paedo-files and thought “damn-right! Where’s my pitchfork!” But there are also points where he may have taken a different approach, showing the pitch-fork wavers to be less than perfect themselves. He has managed to make a lengthy story with lots of “ooo” plot twists, but his characters are a little cardboardy, with shallow histories if shown at all.
Casey (whose strained voice sounds like he’s constantly hanging his head upside down) is undeniably good at what he does, wowing in the Assassination of Jesse James, but this character comes with an untold history that could have been explored much further and given him an edge (how did he get to be a detective so young? Why does he know all these shady characters and have such a tough streak when he ultimately seems a bit wet?) Morgan Freeman pops up as a detective (nice change for you there, Morgan) and the most striking thing has to be his freckles, which seem to be parodying themselves nowadays. And the ever reliable Ed Harris rocks up as a cop, but spends most of his time SHOUTING lots and lots.
But Amy Ryan impresses as the mother of the missing child, and though I’ve ripped into it a little already, I have to say that Affleck has made a film that does give you chance to consider some moral conundrums. To avoid spoilers I can’t say much more, but it was nice to have some thoughtful depth to the proceedings. The film was also tensely exciting at times, and with an ever-changing whodunnit line that hooks you until the end.
With a formidable Casey in the front seat, I was wanting more of a character study than a typical detective film with a slightly more risqué subject matter. It’s one of those films you could watch on a Saturday night and probably pay attention to the whole way through, but it’s a long way off being something great. Therefore it just hits a CF0. That’s ok though, Benji. You can settle with having an OK film. You did star in Daredevil after all, so the only way is up.
Friday, May 30, 2008
30th May 08 - Sex and the City
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)