Running times can be a precarious business. The recent release of Disney's 'Winnie the Pooh' left many critics feeling short-changed by a film that, ignoring shorts, was less than an hour in length - a fact which resulted in a string of low to average review scores. At the other end of the spectrum there is the French ensemble comedy-drama 'Little White Lies', which outstays its welcome over 154 minutes of forced jollity and self-indulgent boohooing.
Called 'Les petits mouchoirs' ('The Small Handkerchiefs') at home, the film was a runaway success at the French box-office, with Marion Cotillard starring alongside equally big names in the domestic cinema such as François Cluzet, Benoît Magimel, Gilles Lellouche and Valérie Bonneton. The excitement it generated can perhaps be attributed to its being director Guillaume Canet's follow-up to the 2006 international hit 'Tell No One'. Though far from being another taut thriller, 'Little White Lies' is an airy summer jaunt around pristine beaches in the company of a smug group of affluent thritysomethings.
There is a measure of tension however, as this group of Parisians embark on their annual holiday in the shadow of a road accident which has left one of their number hospitalised and in critical condition. Their decision to take the holiday calls into question the strength of the friendship group and many home truths are aired, with each character forced to confront their self-involved nature. There are tears, fist fights, boating mishaps and smashed crockery, all set to an alt-rock soundtrack which never leaves you in any doubt as to what you are supposed to feel as you weep into your pinot grigio.
The film wears its desire to be poignant on its well-tailored sleeve and ends up being irksome, but in a controlled dose 'Little White Lies' could have been more bearable. The actors, though confined to playing broad comic archetypes (the funny one, the kooky one, the uptight one, the closet homosexual one), are watchable and the whole thing is beautifully photographed by Christophe Offenstein (especially an early tracking shot through the streets of Paris at dawn). Many of the comic incidents - such as the moment one lovesick chap ploughs his speedboat into the harbour whilst struggling to answer his mobile phone - are charming and occasionally raise a chuckle, but there are too many of them and too much nothing in between. Like Peter Jackson before him, Canet has spectacularly abused final cut privilege.
I don't mind that 'Winnie the Pooh' is barely fifty minutes long, because it's a fun fifty minutes and I didn't find myself checking my watch in the cinema (a real rarity). Whilst I wouldn't chop a minute off an epic like 'Seven Samurai' and I'd love to see the rumoured five-hour director's cut of Terrence Malick's 'The Thin Red Line'. But generally films with shorter running times (around or just under the ninety minute mark) are more satisfying examples of the art: tightly paced and disciplined movies which have a clear idea of what they are trying to do and get to the point with pleasing economy.
By contrast 'Little White Lies' is an almost interminably long film and for no obvious reason. Canet could have done with shaving an hour of its running time and, if done skilfully, could have made most of the same points about his characters with greater dynamism.
'Little White Lies' has been rated '15' by the BBFC and is out now in the UK.
"Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave", says the young Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh in one of A.A Milne's original short children's stories about that stuffed bear of little brain. Milne's wit endures, but it is probably Disney who have done to the most to ensure the endearing little chap is never forgotten, along with his friends Eeyore, Rabbit, Piglet, Owl and Tigger.
Three Wolfgang Reitherman directed short films, made by the studio in the mid-sixties, were turned into the celebrated feature 'The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh' in 1977 and Disney haven't stopped milking the "franchise" for all it's worth since - turning Milne's creations into a brand famous around the world among people of all ages. As well as piles of every kind of merchandise, the years since have seen dozens of small-screen series and even a handful of cheaply produced theatrical releases courtesy of the television unit.
Yet the latest commercial outlet for the series is a refreshing return to those early shorts and a loving, respectful homage to everything that is joyful about Milne's characters. Not to mention a faithful successor to the original film, with an opening tracking shot through Christopher Robin's live-action bedroom and with suitably retro styling on the credits. The new film, simply entitled 'Winnie the Pooh', is no half-hearted knock-off. Instead it's a proper part of the Disney animation canon - Disney Animation Studios 51st feature - and boasts some of the best hand-drawn animation talent the company has ever produced, with Renaissance-era veterans like Andreas Deja and Mark Henn reliably providing the nuanced and detailed character work demanded by the source material.
It may seem at odds with the folksy, laid back charm of this resolutely "old-school" piece to talk about the animation work in these terms, but a lot of work went into the film's apparent simplicity. Moments of good natured humour are emphasised by some of the finest character animation in memory, with subtle sighs and changes in facial expression being the principal joy here. The story is slight and the running time relatively short (though only a minute shorter than its 1977 predecessor), but that's what you want from Pooh. The film is a whimsical breath of fresh air that never comes close to outstaying its welcome.
With many of the original voice actors no longer with us, the characters have new voices, though they feel familiar as the new actors pay respectful tribute to those who came before. Pooh is hilarious as voiced by Jim Cummings (also the voice of Tigger), who captures the right level of sweet simplicity, with an edge of impatience for the bear. Scottish comic Craig Ferguson somehow manages to channel the spirit of Hal Smith as the pompous owl and John Cleese even sounds a little like the original film's narrator Sebastian Cabot (best known as the voice of Bagheera in 'The Jungle Book'). Only Tom Kenny as Rabbit is a little less effective than his ancestor, with his voice lacking the impotent rage of Junius Matthews.
There are several songs along the way, which are simple, forgettable and inoffensive and probably represent the film's weakest suit - especially when compared with ditties like "Rumbly in My Tumbly" and "Up, Down Touch the Ground" from the original. But Zooey Deschanel's rendition of the original theme song is suitably winsome and the tunes that misfire are still endearing in an ineffectual, childish way that is so very Winnie the Pooh. In any case, they are always accompanied with imaginatively animated sequences and full of innocent humorous phrases which take the curse off any faltering melody.
As with the 1977 classic, 'Winnie the Pooh' is at its heart a combination of three very simple short stories: a search for Eeyore's missing tail, Pooh's search for honey and the gangs' quest to rescue Christopher Robin from the dreaded (and imaginary) "Backson". But whereas the original feature was divided into three brief episodes, this new film more ambitiously entwines them into one feature-length narrative. Yet despite a slightly more plot-driven approach, the film is still content to meander at a leisurely pace towards its conclusion. Like a sunny stroll through the Hundred Acre Wood, it's much more about the journey than the destination and the amount of fun you have will very much depend on your pre-existing level of fondness for these characters.
As you might expect from a gentle children's tale, this film is very much aimed at youngsters - a fact amplified by the presence of two excessively toddler-friendly shorts beforehand. There are no nods to the adults or in-jokes at all. But it's nice to find a modern animation totally free of any post-modern winking and there is fun to be had here for adults so long as they are prepared to indulge their innermost child. As the credits rolled I found myself identifying with the sentiment of this bittersweet passage from Milne's The House at Pooh Corner: "And by and by Christopher Robin came to an end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop."
With the knowledge of a job well done, maybe Disney should allow these characters to get some rest for a while, safe from some of the more crass exploitations of recent decades. They needn't remind us of their charms quite so incessantly now, because with 'Winnie the Pooh' they've ensured that our old friends, as we remember them, are not soon forgotten - all with a wistful poetry and fondness for childlike wordplay that would make A.A Milne himself proud.
'Winnie the Pooh' is rated 'U' by the BBFC and is on wide release across the UK from today.
After the comparatively light-hearted 'Looking For Eric', Ken Loach has returned to grittier fare with 'Route Irish', a drama about the privatisation of the war in Iraq which plays like a murder mystery detective story. Fergus (Mark Womack) learns that his lifelong best friend Frankie (John Bishop) has been killed by roadside bomb on Baghdad's most dangerous road - Route Irish - whilst working for a private military company. Being an ex-soldier himself, Fergus is suspicious of the official account of how his friend was killed and starts contacting former colleagues and making inquiries before inevitably attracting the attention of those at the top.
Aside from the occasional flashback or video recording, 'Route Irish' is set in Liverpool, and Loach does an incredible job of bringing the Iraq war home to the UK. Over the course of Fergus' investigation we witness the use of so-called waterboarding torture, carried out in an abandoned garage by a motorway. We are also shown a gang of private soldiers turned loose on a number of British homes as they try to regain evidence of a war crime - with their brutal methods directed towards a British Muslim aiding Fergus. These moments take now familiar images of the conflict and put them in a new and, for many, more identifiable context where the basic inhumanity of the acts is crystal clear.
Writer Paul Laverty's dialogue can be a little on the nose at times, with the earnest, highly politicised subtext often working in the foreground, yet it is great to see Loach still making such transparently socialist films in the era of 'The King's Speech'. There is never any doubt of Loach's identification with the working class in 'Route Irish', with the real villain being capitalism as fronted by smartly dressed social elites. (So undesirable to Loach are the trappings of well-heeled conformity that he has Fergus break open Frankie's coffin prior to his funeral and remove the necktie he has been fitted with.) As with the criminal gang in 'Looking For Eric', those working class lads who terrorise others do so out of self-interest and, usually, for money - in effect betraying their social class. As always crime and capitalism are portrayed as equally anti-social.
As a former private security soldier, Fergus is also guilty of complicity with these values as he waged war abroad for a £10,000 a month paycheck. The progression of his character is driven by this guilt, compounded by the fact that Fergus persuaded Frankie into taking up the same work in the first place - effectively making him culpable for his friend's death. He begins his criminal investigation motivated only by a thirst for revenge but, but as he comes to realise the full horror of the PMCs, with their legal immunity giving rise to all manner of cowboy antics, his motivation becomes more noble and in the end he seeks redemption for his own crimes.
It's occasionally a heavy-handed affair, but a decade on from the start of the "War on Terror" Loach is taking a unique look at this much-filmed conflict. He does so with a really well paced thriller, which lasts just under two hours but never lags. Fergus is a sort of working class James Bond - ditching dinner jacket glamour and fealty to the crown for hard-edged blue-collar smarts - as he uses gadgets and guile to uncover the central mystery. 'Route Irish' works as a cracking whodunnit as much as a highly political commentary.
'Route Irish' is out now in the UK and rated a '15' by the BBFC.
The weather has taken a turn for the better here in the UK and with the summer months come the summer movies. With crushing predictability, there will be comic book adaptations ('Thor', 'Captain America', 'The Green Lantern'), accountancy-driven sequels ('Scream 4', 'Pirates 4', 'Hangover 2') and, of course, family-oriented 3D animations. The heavy hitters in that field, Pixar and Dreamworks, will likely dominate the coming months with sequels to 'Cars' and 'Kung Fu Panda' respectively, but first out of the gates is an effort from Blue Sky Studios, the Fox-owned animation unit behind the 'Ice Age' series.
'Rio' is the fish out of water story of a domesticated bird, a rare blue macaw, named Blu (Jesse Eisenberg) who is spirited away from his comfortable home in a cold Minnesota town and taken back to his natural habitat in sunny Rio de Janeiro, in order to propagate his endangered species with the feisty, independent Jewell (Anne Hathaway). Directed by Rio native Carlos Saldanha, the film is a celebration of the vibrant musical life of the city, with a sanitised version of its world-famous carnival an ever-present feature as Blu aims to evade a gang of poachers and return to his obsessive owner Linda (Leslie Mann). Also along for the ride are a slobbering bulldog voiced with charm by '30 Rock' star Tracy Morgan, a paternal Toucan portrayed by Mexican American comedian George Lopez and a singing comedy duo courtesy of Will.i.am and Jamie Foxx.
It's bright, colourful and its intentions seem pure, yet 'Rio' is decidedly average from an animation standpoint and uninvolving on a story level. The human characters lack detail and incidental characters seem to come in two generic flavours (fat white man and thin black man), whilst the character animation lacks nuance. Every one of the wacky cast of characters derive their comic sensibilities directly from the Jerry Lewis/Jim Carey school, waving their arms (or wings) about and shouting every single line. Meanwhile Blu's personal journey - in which he must learn to embrace his animal instincts in order to fly - is a bore. To say it's sub-Pixar is to give the film too much credit - the truth is it's sub-Dreamworks.
Jokes fall flat, musical numbers are forgettable and most of the characters are irritating, albeit with two exceptions. Linda is funny due to her pathetic, obsessive devotion to her pet bird. It isn't clear from the start whether the filmmakers are aware of how crazy Linda's attachment to her feathered friend is, which makes it all the more funny. Sadly though, you soon find that this is written into the story and it starts to feel as flavourless as everything else as the film outstays its welcome. A more compelling reason to sit through 'Rio' is presented by the villainous Nigel, voiced by Jermaine Clement, one half of Flight of the Conchords.
Clement's delivery provides the film's only laugh-out-loud moments and his song is the only one which doesn't completely suck (though I'm not exonerating it entirely). He's certainly a lot more fun than the more overt comedy sidekicks played by Foxx and Will.i.am, who are frankly an embarrassment to behold.
Easily pleased children may find 'Rio' more diverting than I did. But with American animated films showing signs of increased maturity in the last two decades, the bar has been raised and 'Rio' is a relic. Little Timmy might find more to laugh at here than I did, but that isn't to say he wouldn't prefer to watch a film of greater quality - one which is less likely to send his parents to sleep, such as 'Up' or 'How To Train Your Dragon'. The best family films effortlessly cross the age divide and assert themselves as plain good films. 'Rio' is inoffensive and far from terrible, but that's about all that can be said for it - and that shouldn't be enough.
'Rio' is rated 'U' in the UK and is on general release from today.
It's increasingly commonplace for mainstream blockbuster films to (often superficially) involve themselves with ideas traditionally thought to be above the station of mere entertainment. The films of Christopher Nolan, including last summer's 'Inception', are a prominent example, as they seek to engage the audience in discussion of the subconscious - from dreams and memories to Freudian concepts like the id and the super-ego - without distracting from the motorcycle chases and cityscape-bending action that audiences crave.
'Source Code', the second feature from 'Moon' director Duncan Jones, is just such a film: a high-concept science-fiction thriller at the centre of which lie a number of metaphysical concerns. On its most basic level though, the title refers to a computer simulation that enables an American soldier, played by Jake Gyllenhaal, to relive the last eight minutes of a man's life over and over again in order to identify his murderer - a terrorist whose bombing of a Chicago-bound passenger train claimed hundreds of lives. In crass marketing speak, it's 'Groundhog Day' meets 'Under Siege 2' with a dash of 'Being John Malkovich' thrown in for good measure.
Yet if the premise promises to raise philosophical questions, Gyllenhaal's repeated trips into what is described by exposition as the "afterglow" of a deceased man's mind take a dispiritingly familiar route. He starts off disoriented in alien surroundings, before he learns the routines of the various characters around him on the train. This enables him to act incredibly cool in that one scene that is practically pre-written into every time travel concept, as he predicts a string of incidental details as if by precognition in order to impress the girl who has taken his fancy (Michelle Monaghan): a coffee spill prevented, a ringing phone anticipated, and so on. The self-satisfied smugness inherent in this feat feels out of place here when you consider it's taking place on a train full of those recently slain, though Gyllenhaal pulls it off with considerable charm and is generally likable even if he remains unconvincing as an action hero.
Eventually, a couple of plot twists later, he begins to set about the task at hand with more purpose, less internal conflict and less knowing humour, with his mission galvanised by the revelation that failure to track down the bomber will result in the deaths of millions in a second terrorist attack on Chicago. This is the action third of the film as Gyllenhaal jumps out of moving vehicles and runs around with a handgun. In the backdrop to all this, there is a romance, along with a number of revelations about his own "real-world" back-story - including a father-son reconciliation sub-plot.
The Academy Award nominated Vera Farmiga co-stars as an officer at a secretive US military installation, who briefs our hero on his mission and has soul-searching of her own to do as the film reaches its climax and those metaphysical concerns come to the fore. Meanwhile, Jeffrey Wright makes for an unsettling (and slightly hammy) presence as the cynical, career-driven scientist behind it all.
In contrast to the tight, restrained simplicity of 'Moon', Jones sets about juggling multiple balls at once with 'Source Code' and he mostly succeeds at keeping up our interest in each of them without compromising the film's forward momentum (a pre-requisite of any film set on a train). As a thriller it's energetic, intriguing and reliably entertaining, though it lacks originality in both the way it utilises its uber-silly pseudoscientific premise and in terms of its direction. Jones keeps things very safe and functional, and it lacks a certain stylistic joie de vivre - a disappointment considering how complete 'Moon' felt as it riffed on its various seventies sci-fi influences. Moments of action also lack a visceral quality, with the exploding train never having the shocking impact it perhaps ought to.
As with 'Inception', it's hard to shake the feeling that the film is overly enamoured with its cleverness, which becomes a problem as the concept is undermined by a laboured last fifteen minutes and a twist you'll have seen coming - and which Jones would have done better to avoid. There is a point where you are practically screaming for Jones to cut to the credits. Yet the film limps on and what would have been eery hanging questions quickly become unsatisfactory answers, with an ending that betrays the preceding hour in terms of tone. As with the final shots of 'Moon', Jones is apparently reluctant to have anyone leave the cinema feeling too bummed out, and in the end the film screams compromise.
'Source Code' is a lot of fun and the concept is an interesting one. It is never dull, yet it lacks boldness in its execution and ends up as something fairly generic. With it Jones has shown that he is a competent director of a high-profile Hollywood studio film on a medium budget, and confirms that he knows what he's doing on a fundamental level with a well-paced and exciting film. The only disappointment is that 'Moon' suggested something more. 'Source Code', with its play on the increasingly trite question "what is real?" and its half-hearted ruminations on the existence of the soul, might suggest ideas above its station, but like many recent psychological blockbusters of this kind - it is ultimately content to paddle in the shallow end rather than risk alienating a mass audience.
'Source Code' is out now in the UK and has been rated '12A' by the BBFC.
Woody Allen has written, directed and, in many cases, starred in a film every year since the late sixties. On top of that he has written stage plays, short stories and newspaper columns, as well as occasionally touring with his jazz band. As a nineteen year old he wrote jokes for Ed Sullivan and his own stand-up comedy would go on to inspire generations of fellow comics, who voted Allen the third best comedian of all-time in a 2004 poll for Channel Four. These are overused terms, but the man is undoubtedly a genius and a legend.
I preface this review of You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger, released in the UK last Friday, with this biography because these are facts I feel compelled to remind myself when contemplating his most recent films. It has become a truism that every Woody Allen film of the last twenty years has been perceived as a "return to form", but with hindsight he never really lost form in the nineties, with that decade yielding works as varied and inspired as 'Everyone Says I Love You', 'Deconstructing Harry', 'Bullets Over Broadway', 'Manhattan Murder Mystery' and 'Sweet and Lowdown'.
The last decade, however, has been far less rewarding with 'Vicky Christina Barcelona' probably the commonly acknowledged high point and - at the risk of sounding like the sort of pseudo-intellectual parodied in his best movies - that film is by no means vintage Allen.
Meanwhile the likes of 'Curse of the Jade Scorpion' and 'Anything Else' have been forgettable, even average. Yet in those cases you suspect that Allen is a victim of both his own success, with genre-defining classics like 'Annie Hall', and his tireless work rate. If those movies weren't Woody Allen films they might just be judged as smart comedies, still well above the average, whilst the fact that he releases at least one film every year means that critics and audiences are never left to anticipate a new Woody Allen film the way they must with Polanski, for instance. However, this logic fails to account for his recent series of movies shot in the UK, of which 'Tall Dark Stranger' is the fourth.
The first of these, 'Match Point', he considers his best work and is among his most commercially successful films. Yet this thriller almost takes a perverse pride in being so very un-Woody Allen. With it he goes for drama rather than comedy, whereas his best films have always combined both, and its interesting central premise is lifted from his superior 'Crimes and Misdemeanors' almost wholesale. 'Scoop' has its moments, but likewise these feel recycled, with Allen's lower-class magician character reminiscent of his agent in the brilliant 'Broadway Danny Rose'. But at least that one is fun. On the other hand 'Cassandra's Dream' is a humourless and trite family crime drama and the worst film he has ever made - totally without redeeming quality.
With these past failures in mind, things didn't look hopeful for 'You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger' - and it's a wonder that he made it at all given his relatively fruitful return to New York with 'Whatever Works'. An ensemble comedy with a typically impressive cast, which includes Anthony Hopkins, Naomi Watts, Freida Pinto, Antonio Banderas and Josh Brolin, 'Tall Dark Stranger' follows half a dozen interconnecting relationships as it explores familiar themes such as mortality and the endless search for meaning in an ultimately meaningless universe.
The story is bookended by a Shakespeare quote which tells us that "life is all sound and fury signifying nothing", but whereas Allen's other films derive an optimistic "whatever makes you happy" philosophy from this state of affairs, 'Tall Dark Stranger' is a bitter and tragic picture of the human condition. The characters are perpetually unfulfilled and unhappy, with the title deriving from the advice an elderly lady (Gemma Jones) seeks from a fortune teller in order to make her remaining time on Earth more palatable.
Of note is the fact that, in his 75th year, Allen also confronts the insecurity brought on from ageing - so long brushed off with witty comments - through Anthony Hopkins' character, who uses fake tan and goes to trendy clubs in order to delude himself into feeling vital. The catalyst for the film's game of relationship musical chairs is his decision to leave his wife (Jones) for a younger woman (a reformed prostitute played by Lucy Punch) and it is this pairing of Hopkins with a younger woman that is the most interesting relationship in the film.
Over the years, even as far back as 'Manhattan' in 1979, it has not escaped notice that Allen frequently pairs old men with much younger women, but the difference in 'Tall Dark Stranger' is that this desire to have a younger woman and forsake his marriage is played as pathetic - partly thanks to Hopkins' tender performance, but it is undoubtedly also down to Allen's writing. In true Allen style, Punch's character is uneducated and lacking in sophistication, with Hopkins struggling to educate her in culture, but here we get a slightly different take on this relationship that has been so much at the centre of what is quintessentially Woody Allen.
Noami Watts and Antonio Banderas are also really enjoyable, especially in the scenes they share together. One moment in a jewellers sees Watts radiate charm and natural comic timing as she reluctantly returns to the shop assistant a pair of diamond earrings she has been trying on, whilst a concluding scene between their two characters is the most quietly effective emotionally, as Banderas underplays everything masterfully. However Brolin's character, a struggling novelist, lacks charm and Freida Pinto is given very little to do as the film's tantalising "woman in red". British duo Punch and Jones turn their characters into caricatures.
'Tall Dark Stranger', with its impressive cast and with its author in reflective mood, could have been really special. However, it is spoiled by an almost complete lack of humour. There are jokes in there but they mostly misfire, or at least his New York Jewish wit doesn't effectively translate when delivered with a British accent.
Worse still the film features a horrendous narration similar to that which (for me at least) spoiled 'Vicky Christina Barcelona'. Through the narration we are told rather than shown what our characters are thinking and feeling, and there is just no excuse for it. The film's musings on life, love and the impermanence of all things also come across as a little obvious and the whole thing feels like a poor facsimile of Woody Allen's earnest 1980s output, but without the strict formal style brought about by his frequent homages to Bergman and Fellini in that period.
'You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger' isn't a complete write-off. The sardonic final scene and Allen's observation that all people are involved in a permanent state of anxiety over their mortality - informing their decisions in work, love and everything else - is compelling. It's just not very funny. But, Allen being Allen, another film isn't far off. Let's hope 'Midnight in Paris' marks a real return to form.
'You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger' is out in the UK now and is rated '12A' by the BBFC.
I'm back writing about film now from my internship at video games industry news site GamesIndustry.Biz, where I wrote a number of news items and a couple of features last week. It didn't end up snaring me a job, but it was great experience.
Anyhow, here are a couple of Blu-ray reviews I did in the last week for the guys at Obsessed with Film:
My attention is now back on all things film, so I'm sure to have a plethora of reviews up here in April after an uncharacteristically quiet March - two theatrical film reviews being an all-time-low since the blog started at the start of 2010.
I've been back from a ridiculously nice holiday in Tuscany for the past few days, but I've just started an internship that I'm hoping could become a full-time writing gig (AKA the Holy Grail). I'm still writing day and night but not about film, so I haven't the time to update here in the usual way.
However, before I left for Italy I did write a review of Disney's animated 'Alice in Wonderland' for the folks at Obsessed with Film, which you can read here.
I've already agreed to write reviews for a few more upcoming Blu-rays coming out on Monday, so there will be some more film stuff up here next week for sure. 'Tamara Drewe', 'Charlie Wilson's War' and an anime the name of which escapes me right now (but which is very good indeed) should be among them, so check back for that soon.
Hey all. I have been very busy off late and haven't been able to give my full attention to the (very important) pass time that is blogging. Here is my review of 'Norwegian Wood', which was released on Friday in the UK. I wrote that back in Venice last year. It was one of the first reviews I wrote at that festival and I wasn't as good on the Blackberry back then. Also, I think I'm a bit better at writing now than I was then. Anyway, enough excuses.
My girlfriend and I are on holiday for the next week and then I'm starting a journalisty internship at a video games website, which I hope might lead to something more. I've also got tons of review copies of Blu-rays on my desk which need to be reviewed between now and the end of the month, plus I have some outstanding articles to write for a book on American independant cinema. So expect this blog to be a little low on meaningful content over the next month. But check back anyway in case that proves inaccurate.
There has been a glut of movies about the financial crisis since 2008. Oliver Stone made his sequel to 'Wall Street', whilst Michael Moore took the opportunity to make a typically polemical documentary about the more general subject of American capitalism. Later this year another star-studded and glossy Hollywood movie about bankers and the collapse of the stock market will be released in the form of 'Margin Call'. But so far the only one of these resolutely topical movies to meet with widespread critical acclaim has been the earnest and indignant documentary 'Inside Job', a film directed by Charles Ferguson and narrated by Matt Damon and winner of the Oscar for Best Documentary Feature last month.
A 'must-see' for graph fetishists, 'Inside Job' comes packed with facts and figures - each new revelation about greed and corruption designed to enrage its audience. Unlike the work of that great propagandist Michael Moore, Ferguson's film doesn't try especially hard to energise viewers into positive political action, rather it serves to confirm what 99% of its probable audience either knew or suspected going in: that the American government is controlled by Wall Street and that everyone from President Obama to the IMF to the board at AIG want to keep it that way. In other words it tells us that reform of the banking system is impossible as things stand - even when a reform candidate with a strong mandate takes office at a time when the system's failures are at their most apparent. It's a numbing feeling watching it for that very reason. Damon's sober narration leaves us with a half-hearted rallying cry just before the credits pop up, inciting us to fight for change, but you will in all likelihood have lost hope in civilisation long beforehand in the face of overwhelming evidence of deep-rooted systemic corruption.
Perhaps I'm missing the point, but I have a slight problem with documentaries like 'Inside Job' and it isn't a case of apathy or world-weary nihilism on my part at all. I have the same problem with (or indifference towards) the work of Richard Dawkins, in that I just can't see the point in preaching to the converted in this way. One thing the film makes abundantly clear is that the financial institutions involved in causing the crisis, and with it mass unemployment and bankruptcy around the world, have committed large-scale criminal acts - either consciously (which seems probable) or as a result of gross negligence. And yet we also see time and time again through all the interviews (with economists, academics, government officials etc) that the perpetrators are not only still running the world, with no realistic end to that situation in sight, but that they are also wholly unrepentant (presumably because many of the individuals involved became richer as a result of the crisis). Change can only be effected by those at the top and those at the top don't have it in their best interests to effect change.
This dispiriting truth, which I'm assuming a healthy percentage of the audience already knew before buying their ticket, makes it difficult to take anything away from 'Inside Job' other than rage or depression, either that or possibly a sense of overbearing smugness. You can criticise Michael Moore for being brash and manipulative, but at least he has something to say - his films are essays or editorial columns which have a political point to drive home. They want to inspire the audience into action, whether that involves forming some sort of worker's cooperative or voting a certain way in the next election. He also highlights things members of his audience might not know about, such as the history of American socialism. In short: whether you like them or not, Moore's films have a reason to exist. I can see the function they have and I can understand why they are interesting. 'Inside Job' is, by contrast, two hours of someone saying "the banking system corrupt and wreckless." Yes. I agree. What else have you got?
'Capitalism: A Love Story' also went an interesting route in talking about the financial crisis in that Moore used it as a way to discuss the fundamental problems with the ideology behind the system rather than simply providing an annotated guide to the crisis itself. To me that is where the interesting discussion is at and only when we question fundamental things about the way we organise out society/economy can we hope to break this cycle.
Though if a detailed account of the crisis with interviews and graphs is what you're after then there is no better film than 'Inside Job'. It is detailed and well researched, and the interviews are very well done, especially as Ferguson has no difficulty telling truth to power and does so confidently whilst always remaining polite. Unlike Moore you could accuse him of being hectoring of self-important. The best interviews see the likes of economist Glenn Hubbard squirm uncomfortably, struggling to answer questions so obviously aware of their guilt. These are the best scenes but also the saddest, as we see powerful, influential men - who are blatantly aware of their guilt - lying to us brazenly. The section that highlights the conflict of interests within the academic profession is especially good. It is certainly a smartly made movie and unquestionably on the side of right.
If there is such a thing as objectivity then I would have to say that 'Inside Job' is a very handsome film, clearly made by people passionately engaged with the subject at hand and backed up by lots of solid evidence. It must also be said that the pre-credits sequence about the impact of deregulation and privatisation in Iceland is fascinating. I'm not telling you to pass on watching it, not at all. I'm simply saying that you will likely leave the film with the same opinion of financial institutions as you had going in (whatever that may be) - and I personally don't see the point in that. Maybe people crave reassurance that they are right more than they want to be challenged or provoked? I couldn't say. I just know that Michael Moore can move me and inspire me whilst this left me feeling cold and unwilling to engage with an unfair world.
'Inside Job' is out on a limited release in the UK and is rated '12A' by the BBFC.
The last few years, since the Oscar-winning 'No Country for Old Men', have seen the Coen brothers rebound spectacularly from the dispiriting mediocrity of 'Intolerable Cruelty' and 'The Ladykillers'. In fact, having come out from the other side of that period of creative stagnation, they are arguably now held in higher esteem than ever before, with the duo releasing films with unprecedented regularity and virtually guaranteed a Best Picture nomination every year. Their latest is no different with 'True Grit' - an adaptation of the Charles Portis novel famously made into a 1969 film starring John Wayne - nominated in ten categories at the recent Academy Awards. Although if failed to secure a single statuette on the night, 'True Grit' is an accomplished film and by far their biggest box office success, so far earning over $200 million worldwide.
In it Jeff Bridges renews his relationship with the Coens, for whom he famously played 'The Dude' in 'The Big Lebowski', starring as alcoholic, wayward US Marshal Rooster Cogburn - the role that earned Wayne his Oscar. He is ably supported by Matt Damon and Josh Brolin as well as the impressive (Oscar nominated) newcomer Hailee Steinfeld, who plays the film's narrator Mattie Ross. Ross is a shrewd, quick-witted and idealistic fourteen year old who reacts to the murder of her father - at the hands of an outlaw named Tom Chaney (Brolin) - by enlisting the help of Cogburn after hearing that he is a ruthless man of "grit". With him she fearlessly sets off into the wilderness where they are joined in their mission by a vain and self-satisfied Texas Ranger (Damon).
The language of Portis' novel is a perfect fit for the Coens, with their fondness for colloquialisms and absurdity. For instance, the fast-talking Miss. Ross would not be out of place in many of their previous movies, especially in a scene where her persistence and intellect see her out-haggle a perplexed stable owner. It reminded me of all the other great scenes of customer-salesperson confrontation in their work - in 'Fargo', 'Raising Arizona', 'O Brother Where Art Thou' and, of course, 'No Country' - with clever word play and small-town sensibilities as ever at the forefront. And as with every feature since they penned the screenplay for Sam Raimi's 1985 effort 'Crimewave', much of the dialogue is dryly, sometimes blackly, comic.
Another early scene sees a silver-tongued lawyer interrogating Cogburn in court, with a sly command of language similar to Tony Shaloub's Freddy Riedenschneider in 'The Man Who Wasn't There' or to Clooney's character in 'Intolerable Cruelty'. Again and again as with 'No Country' - even though we are watching a faithful adaptation of a novel - familiar Coen-esque character archetypes emerge unmistakably, discovered in the source material rather than invented. Though if these are perhaps merely superficial comparisons made by a lifelong fan, more vital continuity can be found in Roger Deakins' peerless work as the film's cinematographer and Carter Burwell's restrained and effective handling of the score. "Restrained" is really the key adjective when talking about 'True Grit', which is about as straightforward a story as the Coens have told. It is economical, seemingly effortless filmmaking that verges on the poetic.
Jeff Bridges offers a less sanitised version of Cogburn than the one made famous by Wayne: his alcoholism has clearly taken its toll on his health and his speech is slurred. Though he benefits from inheriting the role in a version of the novel which is willing to explore its darker elements. The Henry Hathaway directed adaptation of '69 (which I do enjoy) retains some of the dark edge - especially in Kim Darby's performance as Ross - but this feels more by accident than design, as key plot elements and dialogue lifted from the novel tease at a moral complexity at the story's heart. The Coen's version understands its source text better and goes to those ambiguous places, though this isn't 'Kill Bill Goes West' either. The Coens haven't made a cold-blooded revenge flick, but a story about the way revenge and blood-lust deform a person's soul.
By fulfilling her desire to see Chaney dead, Ross descends into the metaphorical hell represented by a snake pit and we find, from a bitter-sweet closing monologue, that her life afterwards has come to be defined by this chapter of her life. Like the one-eyed Cogburn, she is forever physically deformed, whilst she is also a spinster. The ultimate tragedy of 'True Grit' is that it's the story of a young, bright and precocious girl damaged more by the violence she has perpetrated and witnessed in her grief than by the catalytic sinful act: death of her father. It is this aspect of the tale that the Coens hone in on, albeit subtly, which makes 'True Grit' the opposite of a John Wayne film in many ways: at its core it is a humanist, wholly non-preachy anti-death penalty film.
I've oft heard it said that the Coens are heartless storytellers: that they don't like their characters and that they are cynical about people. I don't buy into that view at all and if I did I wouldn't be a fan. The Coen brothers, for me anyway, are defined by their willingness to look at all the cruelty of the human experience through the lens of absurdity and stupidity - a bit like the satire Chris Morris or Armando Iannucci. People aren't evil or good in Coen brothers movies, they usually just don't know any better. Bad things are done by people in a state of panic (most murders in Coen brothers movies occur this way) and pre-planned acts of inhumanity always find their way back to the often hapless perpetrator (think of Macy's Jerry Lundegaard in 'Fargo'). Even if, in this case, she is a little girl avenging her father's murder - a goal many filmmakers would find unproblematic.
The Coen brother's films are not only among the best made, most sharply written of the modern age, but they are actually also among the most moral, the most honest and least blithely pessimistic films about our species. 'True Grit' is just such a film and a damn fine one. A one-eyed drunk should be able to see that.
If you think of all the great American crime films centred around a family - actual or metaphorical - you will almost certainly be thinking of films surrounding charismatic and honourable men. Violent men, sure. Frightening men, certainly. But the characters of 'The Godfather', or 'Goodfellas' or of 'Miller's Crossing', not to mention any Cagney film, are ultimately anti-heroes operating corruptly but within a corrupt world.
At their most heroic (or satirical) they come to embody the entrepreneurial spirit and even the American Dream as in 'Scarface'. And, as devoutly religious men, they always have some sort of arbitrary moral code - a line they will not cross. Either they won't sell drugs or they won't whack a guy in Church or whatever. American gangsters socialise themselves into a world of rules and meaning: one where their murderous, destructive actions are re-defined and sanitised.
As an audience we are always compelled to empathise with a film's protagonists, even if they take the form of an exhausted and delusional Adolf Hitler in 'Downfall' or the racist and paranoid fantasist Travis Bickle in 'Taxi Driver'. In this same way the bank-robbing Cody family of Oscar nominated Australian crime drama 'Animal Kingdom' are still relatable as human characters, yet writer and director David Michôd refuses to glamorise them and is cynical about trite ideas of 'family loyalty'.
Operating under the gaze of 'Smurf', a vaguely incestuous, ever-smiling matriarch played by Jacki Weaver (whose performance earned her an Academy Award nomination), the Cody clan - with the exception of the sheepish Darren (Luke Ford) and the conflicted young 'J' (James Frecheville) - are shown to be ruthless and we see that they would sooner turn on each other than go to prison. 'Smurf' doesn't even shed a tear when she learns that her estranged daughter, J's mother, has died from a drug overdose.
It is this death which sees J move in with his grandmother and uncles and become caught up in the world of crime his mother tried to keep him away from. Only he has been taken in by a criminal organisation well past its prime and soon realises he might have been safer staying his own, as an increasingly gung-ho police force closes in, threatening to wipe out the family. Pressure on the Cody family only increases when, in a revenge attack for the murder of a criminal associate, three of the brothers - lead by the dead-eyed and psychopathic 'Pope' (Ben Mendelsohn) - murder two young policemen in a cowardly, seedy act under cover of darkness and devoid of all honour or glamour.
Soon J, who was not directly involved in the attack, is targeted as a key witness to this double murder by the well-meaning Detective Leckie played by Guy Pearce. The central drama revolves around whether J will lie to protect his family or whether he will be persuaded by Leckie into testifying against them in court. It's all about where J fits into the food chain in a Darwinian world. As Leckie tells him "you may think you're one of the strong creatures. But you're not: you're one of the weak ones." Like Tahar Rahim's Malik in the similarly gritty and uncompromising 'A Prophet', J must adapt to his environment fast if he is to survive.
'Animal Kingdom' plays out as a battle between two charismatic competing opposite forces, who also happen to be embodied by the film's two most compelling actors: Guy Pearce and Jacki Weaver. Neither of whom dominate in terms of screen-time. Weaver has been earning the plaudits for a performance which manages to convey menace under the surface whilst her character is all smiles and sweetness. Weaver doesn't simply make 'Smurf' so nice that it becomes unsettling in itself, which wouldn't work as we have to believe 'J' really buys into her persona, but instead she seems sincerely nice, loving and sympathetic with the stage actress somehow conveying an inner complexity somewhere behind her eyes.
Guy Pearce is by now a Hollywood veteran of sorts and so he has understandably been overlooked in favour of Weaver, a relative unknown, in terms of critical acclaim. Yet he is equally if not more impressive as Leckie, another impactful supporting role in a career which has recently come to be defined by impactful supporting roles, following 'The Road', 'The Hurt Locker' and 'The King's Speech'. He is understated and commands your attention the way only a really gifted, natural-born screen actor can. In fact his presence raises the class of the whole film and makes his few scenes among the most memorable.
The whole thing has a moody and oppressive atmosphere which builds into something quite tense and 'Animal Kingdom' is a handsomely made film. Although one pivotal tragic scene involving J's girlfriend (Laura Wheelwright) is mishandled and far-fetched, meaning that it fails to have the desired impact. That scene also seems completely needless - in terms of the character's actions rather than the story - which could be intended to increase the tragedy, but just left me frustrated. However, the fact that the film so rarely strays into cliché is to be applauded, whilst the final shot is ingenious and immensely satisfying.
'Animal Kingdom' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is out in the UK now.
I've also written a full, detailed round-up of the competition for the Picturehouse Blog.
I'll post some more in-depth reflective stuff over the week, as well as my review of 'True Grit', which opened the festival but which I didn't need to review for OWF.
Homo-erotic muscular toplessness? Manly scenes of unnecessary car maintenance? Evil South American drug lords? Homophobic, racist and sexist sub-text (and in many cases text)? A plot revolving around the theme of revenge? A lack of all humanity and compassion? A cruel sense of humour? Insanely violent and yet wonderfully creative martial artistry? It must be this month's Jason Statham actioner, this time 'Con Air' director Simon West's 'The Mechanic' - a remake of a 1972 Michael Winner movie starring Charles Bronson, which I have never heard of and will probably never see.
Like much of The Stath's output, 'The Mechanic' alternates between the intentionally and accidentally hilarious as its functionary plot serves to get its functionary leading man from set-piece to set-piece within a tidy 93 minute running time. The story is as follows: when the shady international assassination company he works for requires him to kill his friend and mentor (Donald Sutherland), "Mechanic" Arthur Bishop (Statham) attempts to soothe his crisis of conscience by adopting his mentor's bereaved son Steve (Ben Foster) and teaching him - in what seems like a couple of days - to become a world class contract killer. But will Steve find out who really killed his father? Will he be forced to kill his new found mentor and friend? Will the killing ever stop?!
Like everything from 'The Transporter' to 'Crank', 'The Mechanic' is at once brilliantly brainless and utterly repugnant. Our oddly charismatic meat-puppet of a hero gruffly whispers what lines he is given and uses his full acting range, going from quite pensive to extremely pensive - often within the same scene. There is one amazing bit of shared screen time for Statham and Sutherland in which the former looks thoroughly confused and slightly disorientated by what amounts to standard fatherly chatter. But it's hard, nay impossible, not to like Statham. To quote Randy Newman, "he may be a fool but he's our fool" after all and I really enjoy watching this slightly naff, extremely ordinary looking British guy in American movies. He's like the Beverly Hills version of a Mitchell Brother, with his designer sunglasses and leather jacket.
The world of 'The Mechanic' is the stuff of reactionary right-wing tabloid fantasy. At one point Steve decides he wants to kill a car-jacker (don't ask) so he parks his car in a poor neighborhood for a few hours and waits until a black guy duly turns up and puts a gun to his head. One target is a super-hard rival hitman, but he has one weakness: he is a total gay. This means that all Steve needs to do is sit near him in a cafe and wait to be hit on. That is seriously the plan... and, in this twisted, paranoid reality, it works. Then there is the film's opening murder (sorry, I mean "job") which takes place in "Colombia, South America", as with last summer's 'The Expendables' and 'The A-Team' South Americans mean bad news. The cavalcade of stereotypes and thinly veiled bigotries doesn't end there. Every woman seen in the film immediately propositions our heroes and beds them within about ten seconds, usually for pay. (Yes, it really is shocking that those Sky Sports presenters were so backwardly sexist in this day and age - because most of our mainstream entertainment is so enlightened and mature, no?)
Arthur is (of course) a cultured killer though. We know this because he listens to classical music and has a swanky modern house. He has his own code and method of doing things (like every other hitman in the last hundred years of cinema before him) that stops him from being just a nasty murderer. Only, doesn't such cold methodology make him a psychopath? Not if you get paid for it, apparently: then it's just business. Maybe that's intended as a satirical comment on the inherent madness of an economic system that forsakes the spiritual and metaphysical for cold market forces... though probably not. It's probably just rubbish, hackneyed nonsense. But it's got tits in it and guns and explosions and The Stath. Got to love The Stath.
'The Mechanic' proves how sodding hard it is to get an '18' certificate from the BBFC these days. Statham threatens to put a young girl's arm in a food processor whilst interrogating her father - in a scene that was genuinely pretty frightening - and the film generally shows you the moments of violent impact most movies forgo in the name of sanitised palatability. We see a man get his head smashed in by an oncoming car. We see a man hit the ground after a fall. We see loads of blood coming out of each gunshot wound. Only it's strangely not particularly visceral or gory because it's all so silly and so clearly CGI. Maybe that's why they get away with the '15'.
For all my flipplantness, 'The Mechanic' is as solidly made - from a production value and direction point of view - a Jason Statham vehicle as there has ever been this side of 'Snatch'. Ben Foster and Donald Sutherland are both good to watch, although the latter isn't in the film for more than five minutes, and (as I've already said) the fight choreography is often impressive, even thrilling. I laughed a lot as I watched it, even if often for the wrong reasons and I was never bored. If you don't care whether a film's heart is in the right place and if you don't mind if the lead actor can't act on even the most basic level, then you might just end up loving the sheer lunacy of this latest explosive, stunt-filled Statham-fest.
'The Mechanic' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is out in the UK now.
It is easy to dismiss David O. Russell's boxing biopic 'The Fighter' as riddled with sports movie clichés. It's the story of an ageing boxer working towards his last shot after years of wasting his potential. Sounds more than a little like 'Rocky'. In fact, based on the original trailer, it seemed that the film was more than a little similar to Darren Aronofsky's 2008 film 'The Wrestler' too, with a similar grainy, documentary aesthetic and with Amy Adams replacing Marisa Tomei as the sexy "white trash" confidant of the fighter pushing himself to the physical limit. Seeing Aronofsky's name attached to the film as an executive producer did little to allay this fear that 'The Fighter' would be nothing more than a derivative (and probably inferior) version of a story we've all seen a thousand times before.
Happily this prejudice, whilst not completely unfounded, only tells part of the story: 'The Fighter', it turns out, is a terrifically good film. It can't escape the trappings of the genre narratively or formally (as felt keenest in the obligatory training montage), but the acting is of such a high standard that you overlook its minor trespasses and enjoy what is an entirely entertaining yarn. The film follows the true story of welterweight boxer "Irish" Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg) and we witness the highs and lows of his relationship with his older half-brother Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale), a drug-addicted former pro and Micky's trainer. It is the web of relationships between Micky, his brother, his mother (Melissa Leo) and his girlfriend (Adams) that is the focus of this drama, which spends comparatively little time in the boxing ring.
This is probably a wise decision as it is outside of the ring that the interest lies as we see Ward pulled between the different forces in his life who all project their hopes and aspirations on the meek and sensitive brawler. Wahlberg is superb in the main role, playing a character so painfully reluctant to express himself or fight his own corner, but the more obvious show-stopper is Bale. Christian Bale not only took himself to the physical limit to embody the part, again losing a lot of weight as he had for roles in 'Rescue Dawn' and 'The Machinist', but he completely loses himself in the character. At times he could seem close to going too far, but he never does and the film's most tragic, poignant moments of emotional honesty fall to him - none more effecting than his realisation that he no longer his brother's idol.
Melissa Leo is also impressive as a terrifying matriarch who holds an uncomfortable sway over her nine adult children and who transparently favours her eldest son - the town hero due to his former glory. The film doesn't judge its characters, all of whom are varying degrees of messed up, but if anything it gives Leo's character an easy ride. She assaults her husband in an act of domestic abuse that is played as slightly comic - in a way that would be unthinkable were roles reversed - and there is more than a suggestion that she is willing to put Micky in harms way if she can make money from it (it appears that Micky's bouts pay for his mother's upkeep) though she is never held to account for that, or even shown to be especially apologetic. Yet Leo imbues the role with flashes of vulnerability - or at least self-delusion - to ensure that she is much more than just a monster.
Amy Adams, as Micky's girlfriend, is equally brilliant in the opposite regard. Her character Charlene is for most of the film a positive counterpoint to Micky's possessive family: she helps him to break away from them and act in his own interests. Yet there is more than a hint in Adams' performance - and in the film's screenplay - that she is potentially just as damaging and manipulative a force in his life. The relationship drama at the heart of this movie isn't about good and bad or right and wrong, but about reconciliation between both sides. Micky, in eventually asserting himself, tries to bring everybody together rather than abandon his family for Charlene or go it alone - a more emotionally mature and complex resolution than we are used to seeing, though it may spring more from the fact that the film is based on real life events than the ingenuity of the writers.
The writers do deserve a lot of credit though, as there are some smart and funny lines in the film. Such as when Eklund tries to con a family of Cambodians with a pyramid scheme and is defended against the charge of racism by a friend who says, assures them that "white people do over white people all the time". There is a really nice and subtle exchange between Micky and Charlene too after he picks up on her talking about a former roommate by saying "the army?" before she corrects him with "college" - the idea that someone from his poor neighborhood could go to college being so unexpected. It's a piece of social commentary in a film that makes a feature of America's oft-derided white poor whilst never becoming mawkish or condescending.
'The Fighter' warrants its Oscar nominations, though it justly only stands a chance at winning in the supporting actor categories, where Bale and Leo are surely favourites to win. It is a fairly generic film enlivened by its committed cast, but in some ways that is its principle joy: it is a straightforward, comforting underdog story during which you'll want to punch your fist into the air and cheer on the hero.
'The Fighter' is out now in the UK and has been certified '12A' by the BBFC.
'Rabbit Hole', starring Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart as a married couple going through the motions eight months after the tragic death of their four year old son, is a surprising and deeply effecting experience. Kidman has earned a Best Actress Oscar nomination for her performance - and deservedly so - but Eckhart should not be overlooked as he is equally superb in a rare relationship drama which mostly manages to avoid being cloying and calculated despite revolving around such an emotive event. The film pulls this off by virtue of the subtlety of the two lead performances, made all the more remarkable by the fact that the dialogue is often not of the same abundant class.
David Lindsay-Abaire's screenplay, adapted from his own award-winning 2006 stage play of the same name, is mostly decent but weighed down by some cliché lines, such as "what do you want from me?" and "I can't do this any more!" Yet Kidman and Eckhart invest each moment with such raw intensity and emotional honesty that the film is never less than captivating, never more so than when the two share screen time. Likewise John Cameron Mitchell's direction is unpretentious and respects the ability of the actors to hold our attention without distracting camera tricks and rapid cutting (take note Danny Boyle). The director and his stars are helped by the fact that 'Rabbit Hole' as a dramatic piece refuses to take the same well-beaten path of other relationship dramas. They are also beneficiaries of a writer who has crafted well-rounded characters, both of whom we are able to empathise with even though they try to overcome grief and maintain their marriage in completely different ways - something which reminded me of 'Blue Valentine' even though that film is about a very different and more commonplace emotional turmoil.
'Rabbit Hole' differs from 'Blue Valentine' however when it comes to the film's resolution, which is as melancholic as one would expect, but far less despairing. There is a light at the end of the tunnel in shared grief, but the suggestion is not that there is any quick fix to the emotional damage we have witnessed. The characters don't do anything silly either; they don't get involved in any irritating misunderstandings - any "baby, it's not what it looks like" moments. The film also differs from a lot of American tales about grief in that it doesn't bend over backwards to placate the religious in the audience. Kidman's character is critical of those in a child death support group who insist that the death of their child is "part of God's plan". She laughs at the suggestion openly and it turns her against taking part. When she has an argument with her mother (Dianne Wiest) about disliking the use of religion as a coping mechanism, her mother comes back with all the familiar platitudes yet she isn't forced to back down and change her mind as the film takes an intriguing turn.
The thing I liked best about 'Rabbit Hole' was the fact that Kidman's character doesn't have to go on a journey to "make peace with God" and find that "faith" is the answer to all life's trials and tribulations. The opposite is instead true: possibly for the first time in any film I've seen, science is mooted as a cause for optimism and as a means of comfort, specifically the quantum physics idea of parallel universes. You could argue that this is just another belief system and one requiring the same leap of faith as religious belief. Yet parallel universes are a widely accepted scientific possibility (based on measurable, testable data) and the fact is that this character pointedly finds hope in science rather than superstition. Eckhart's arc is similarly refreshing and pleasing if for entirely different, trend-bucking reasons. He is a rare mature, emotionally sensitive male character in American cinema who is not governed by his libido - even if his desire for sex is a contributing factor in the worsening of relations with his wife.
The film's one grating, uncomfortable moment falls to Dianne Wiest who has to deliver a monologue to her daughter about her own journey in dealing with the loss of a son. When asked if the hurt ever goes away, Wiest says that it becomes bearable but that it turns into something you "carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you... you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and - there it is." This moment is just a little florid and stagy when compared with the rest of the film and it doesn't strike me as being very true to the way people actually talk: does anyone really ever come up with overwrought, bafflingly counterintuitive metaphors like that in real life? Who puts a brick in their pocket anyway? Can you even fit a brick in a pocket? Why can't you just take the brick out of the pocket? It's just a rubbish way of explaining and simplifying grief.
But the script only finds itself lacking in a few isolated moments. Most of the film is solidly crafted and the performances are gripping. I shed more than one tear - and at little moments too, such as when Kidman throws her son's clothes in a charity bin, pausing for a moment afterwards as if to contemplate the fact that she can't get them back out again. The film is at it's most emotional when it isn't trying to hard. In the latter case it can feel manipulative. It is true that the supporting characters are thinly drawn props only there to provide added emotional complication to our leads, such as Kidman's irresponsible younger sister (Tammy Blanchard) who falls pregnant and the couples's best friends who have failed to keep in contact out of awkwardness, but these characters do the job and provide a necessary foil for our protagonists. It's all about Kidman and Eckhart and they elevate an interesting, diverting drama into an outside Oscar hopeful.
'Rabbit Hole' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and is out on Friday the 4th of February.
It can be a thankless task adapting a beloved novel to the screen. It is then a doubly thankless task when you choose to adapt a beloved novel which has already spawned an equally beloved film. Though first time director and several-time writer Rowan Joffe - whose previous screenwriting credits include '28 Weeks Later' and 'The American' - has undertaken this very task with his updated version of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock. 'Brighton Rock' is the story of a criminal named Pinkie who murders a rival gang member and is forced to cover his tracks in order to avoid a grim death by hanging. The only witness to his crime is a young innocent named Rose, who Pinkie decides to romance in order to ensure her silence.
When I say "updated" I simply mean that Joffe has moved the story from its 1930s setting to the mid-1960s and has set the action amongst the "mods and rockers riots" of the era, made famous on the silver screen by the 1979 film 'Quadrophenia' - a cinematic reference the film alludes to with its relocation of the climax from Peacehaven (or the Palace Pier in John Boulting's 1947 version) to Beachy Head. Sam Riley, best known for playing Ian Curtis in 'Control', stars as Pinkie, a role made famous by Richard Attenborough. Andrea Riseborough plays the naive waitress Rose, whilst the supporting cast is more impressive, boasting Helen Mirren, John Hurt and Andy Serkis as the debonair crime boss Mr. Colleoni. A thankless task re-makes may be, but there were signs that this stellar cast, coupled with the film's vibrant new context, could make this new adaptation something unique and edgy.
Sadly, Joffe's film suffers not only in comparison with the film of old, but also with just about any film currently in cinemas. It is poor. Very poor in fact. Bearing the brunt of this cinematic train wreck is Sam Riley, whose performance is embarrassingly one-note. His Pinkie seems to be in the mould of Phil Mitchell, as he speaks in a gravelly half-whisper for the entire film. The representation of his relationship with Rose is even worse. The history of cinema is littered with female characters who fall in love with gangsters and psychopaths; it is a well-worn idea and one that has been handled far better in a hundred different movies. Usually the guy is shown to have a lighter side, for example in the films of James Cagney: he is often smooth, funny and charismatic, only showing his darker side when pushed or challenged. Indeed Attenborough's Pinkie had an undercurrent of vulnerability to him and even sweetness if you knew where to look.
Riley's Pinkie, by contrast, has no light to complement the shade. He is unremittingly horrid from the first time he meets Rose until the last. As a result you care nothing for him, not even as a brooding anti-hero, and you wonder why Rose would ever be drawn to him in the first place. I saw an old interview with the great Peter Ustinov the other day in which he said that “it’s never worth playing a hero without a weakness or a villain without a heart, a character must have three dimensions and some sort of inner contradiction to make it interesting”. This is, in my opinion, true and it is the greatest failing of Joffe's 'Brighton Rock' that all of the characters are thinly drawn, though Mirren, Serkis and Hurt gamely try their best with the material (albeit with an air of deliberate camp). Riseborough succeeds at injecting her character with a warmth found nowhere else in the film, yet the script is so lacking in nuance and the central relationship so lacking in credibility that it is another thankless task.
'Brighton Rock' 2011 has few redeeming qualities other than the score by Martin Phipps and the fact that it gives people from Brighton and Eastbourne (where much of it was shot) the chance to see their town on a cinema screen. The film's clifftop climax is so badly done it's almost comical, whilst Joffe's direction verges on the amateurish and his evocation of overused mod imagery (such as Pinkie on a scooter) feels contrived and cynical. I'm not blithely dismissive of re-makes and adaptations by nature. They can be cracking fun and sometimes even brilliant cinema (all of Kubrick's films are literary adaptations, for instance). However, if you have nothing to add to the original besides a slight change of setting - and if you can't even adequately get across the core dynamic of that earlier work - then you have no business making that film.
'Brighton Rock' is out in the UK from Friday 4th February and can be seen at Brighton's Duke of York's Picturehouse. The film is rated '15' by the BBFC.
Yesterday was the first birthday of this film blog, which I began a year and one day ago in order to have somewhere other than Facebook to shout my opinions at people over the internet. I just wanted to post a quick "thank you" to everyone who has read - or better still reads - my ramblings on cinema and hope that you stick with me over the next year, which I hope will include even more reviews and several visits to film festivals.
Here is some self-congratulatory stuff about how it's all been going.
2010 was quite eventful for me and saw me interview some big name Hollywood types (including Ricky Gervais, Darren Aronofsky and Oliver Stone) and write well over one hundred reviews, as well as lots of other stuff here and there - including one piece for the Sunday Telegraph. I have also become a regular contributor on one of the UK's best read daily film blogs Obsessed with Film and even once appeared as an "expert" on BBC Radio Sussex.
I did a lot more stuff than I ever expect to do in that first twelve months, but I can't yet rest on my laurels and I need to work to ensure that 2011 will be as big if not bigger for me (and by extension this blog). In mid-February I will be writing from the Berlin Film Festival, whilst I also hope to visit many others including a second trip to Venice later in the year (who knows, maybe even Cannes).
It's been fun, but also a lot of hard work - most of it (99.9% of it) unpaid. Thanks for supporting and encouraging me on my ramshackle journey to become a full-time film journalist. There aren't many comments left on the site, but Google Analytics ensures me you're out there. So sincerely: thank you. This coming year could prove make or break, so fingers crossed. I hope you are all still reading come January 2012!
To "sex up" this post a little with something tangentially relevant, here is my favourite scene about writing from one of my all-time favourite movies:
A former freelance film journalist based in Brighton, I have written contributions to The Daily Telegraph and several websites, provided occasional analysis for BBC Radio Sussex and Radio Reverb, and recently I've been involved with several volumes published by Intellect Books.
I've also written about video games for GamesIndustry.biz.
I can be "followed" on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/BeamesOnFilm
