My appraisal of Will Ferrell's Spanish language oddity 'Casa de mi Padre' is now up at What Culture. The comedy, which spoofs Mexican soap operas - or "telenovelas", also co-stars Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna. It's pretty funny and made with obvious love, but most of all it's an interesting one-off: a strange movie with niche appeal.
Far be it from me to criticise Metrodome Distribution. After all they are to be applauded (and loudly) for bringing one of my favourite films from this year's Berlin Film Festival to the UK, in the form of Danish monarchy drama 'A Royal Affair' ('En Kongelig Affære'). Yet their handling of it troubles me, at least in terms of how it's being marketed. I reviewed that film back in February on this blog and could hardly have been more fulsome in my praise, concluding:
Everything about 'A Royal Affair' is stunning. Its ambitious scope in terms of subject matter, its intelligence, its brilliant cast of actors (I'll now happily watch anything with Alicia Vikander in it), and its lavish production values. I cried at the end, with the once vital Caroline separated from her children and living in exile, and I laughed far more and far harder than I have at the last dozen or so comedies. The story of a doctor who gives a king new confidence and inspires him to greater things, it could easily be billed as Denmark's answer to 'The King's Speech'. It's far better than that.
Yet I'm not certain the trailer (above) or theatrical poster (below) would have sold it to me. There's nothing wrong with either from an editing or design point of view, in fact both are stylish and sophisticated. But therein lies part of the problem: they aim to attract the traditional "heritage" cinema or "costume drama" audience. "Utterly seductive... an epic story of forbidden love" runs a quote from Radio Times, whilst the central image plays up the idea that this is the tale of a love triangle in fancy dress. Yes, I see the angry mob in the background, with an ominous fiery orange glow enveloping the stars, but the overwhelming impression this poster gives is that this is the tale of how two men court the same woman. Were that the case I don't think I would have been so moved by it, nor as thoroughly entertained.
What's truly great about 'A Royal Affair' - aside from the stunning performances - is that it doesn't feel at all stuffy and period bound. In fact it feels modern and dynamic. And whilst period films tend to be conservative and usually play up a romanticised view of the past, this one is all about radical political philosophy: the ideals of the enlightenment versus the grip of the ruling class in eighteenth century Europe. This is the story of how a German radical basically exploited his friendship with the insane king of Denmark in order to institute a raft of audacious reforms which quickly (and, as fate would have it, temporarily) transformed one of Europe's most politically backward countries into its most progressive. And all before the French Revolution. If you can't find a way to make that sound exciting to an audience, let alone in the fractured Europe of 2012, you have no business selling movies.
Is the titular "royal affair" important? Well, yes of course; But it isn't what the film is about. In fact even the central love story - not really a "triangle", because the king doesn't really give a damn - is mainly explored in terms of how it compromises the idealism and integrity of Johan Struensee (Mads Mikkelsen). For instance, after the affair becomes a convenient stick for the German's political opponents to beat him with using the newly free press, Struensee is driven to enact new censorship laws in an effort to safeguard his own interests. It's about how power corrupts and how absolute power corrupts absolutely. It's about the canny knack of the media and the aristocracy to mobilise the poor against their own interests - a theme that resonates very strongly today. And it's being mis-sold willfully, because the people who made the poster know and understand all of this.
'A Royal Affair' is a young film being sold as an old one for an easy buck. The market for historical costume epics is tried and trusted, whereas the appeal of eighteenth-century-radicalism-morality-fables is far less certain. I understand completely where Metrodome are coming from and I hope this release proves incredibly lucrative for them, because this film deserves to find an audience (even if it's the wrong one). I suspect many of those coming to see it on the basis that it's a scintillating love story for the ages will still enjoy the less cosy film they see before them, but the sadness is that 'A Royal Affair' could be written off by many who would find great appeal in its musing on ideology and the nature of political power.
Perhaps the image on the poster is not at fault, but rather it's the pull-quotes around it which need changing. "Utterly seductive" should be replaced by "politically incendiary" and the word "revolution" should appear somewhere. And instead of "their love would divide a nation", how about "their friendship would divide Europe"? And the word "love" (which appears twice) should not appear at all. Not because there is not a love story, but because focusing on that relationship and ignoring the ideological debate is ironically the exact same thing the yellow press does within the film. There's no doubt the marketing department played it very safe with this one and I hope it doesn't work against one of the year's best films.
'A Royal Affair' is rated '15' by the BBFC and will be released in the UK on June 15th.
'Men in Black 3' doesn't make any sense. I don't mean the time travel plot which, even if the rules are seemingly being made up as it goes along, is easy enough to follow. But it don't understand in on a much more basic level: it's existence makes no sense at all. And for two reasons. The first and most obvious is that the (largely forgotten) original films came out over a decade ago, meaning that their audience has long since grown up, whilst the kids of today surely have no idea who these characters are. Perhaps that wouldn't be a problem if this were just a brand new adventure featuring our besuited heroes, slap-happy xenophobes Agents J (Will Smith) and K (Tommy Lee Jones), but the story and its intended emotional beats require some vested interest in the relationship between these two characters. In fact Columbia seems to be marketing this sequel mainly on the strength of Josh Brolin's eerily accurate impersonation of Jones as 1960s era K - something a ten year old in 2012 could care less about.
The second reason this movie makes zero sense is thus: Will Smith is the biggest movie star on the planet. He is the only guy left in modern post-star Hollywood capable of guaranteeing a hit movie by the mere fact of his presence. Since 2002's 'Men in Black 2' every movie Smith has starred in has grossed over $160 million. His is a star so popular that even vehicles as messy and bloated as 'Hancock' and 'I Am Legend' were substantial global mega-hits. And, prior to his return to Barry Sonnenfeld's sci-fi comedy franchise, he had been away from movie screens for four years. In other words: he could have named his next project. He could have made anything he wanted. Every major studio must have been hassling him with offer after offer. Quentin Tarantino supposedly approached him to star in his upcoming western. And he chose to make 'Men in Black 3'. Just think about that. For a man who has several times stated a desire to one day run for president, that betrays an astounding lack of ambition.
Anyway, by now it's clear I'm stalling having to write about the film itself and that's because there isn't an awful lot to say. I'll lead with the few positives. 'A Serious Man' star Michael Stuhlbarg is pretty funny as Griffin, an alien who can see the future with a fairly entertaining twist: he can see all possible futures simultaneously. This paves way for some neat visual moments (as he enjoys a future baseball game in an empty stadium), some entertaining comic bits (as he frets about whether various absurd and unlikely events might come to pass) and a few nice character details (such as his multiple layers of clothing, presumably in preparation for every possible future). He is easily the best thing in the movie.
Then there's the fact that the villain, Boris the Animal, is played by 'Flight of the Conchords' funnyman Jermaine Clement. Though Clement is underutilised he does at least read lines in an entertaining way. Another plus is that several of the most irritatingly wacky supporting characters from the two previous movies have been written out, with the talking pug dog and the vaguely Hispanic cockroach guys the most welcome absentees. Unfortunately they've been joined on the casualty list by Rip Torn (whose Agent Z has been killed off between sequels), though the actor's recent legal troubles probably account for that. The problem is that his replacement is Emma Thompson who, though an infinitely superior dramatic actor, doesn't exactly bring the funny. Her character, Agent O, is also embroiled in 1960s shenanigans (played by Alice Eve) and is supposed to have been a long-term friend and love interest of Agent K - something which is undermined by the fact she's never been mentioned at all previously.
It's also to the film's detriment that, as good as Brolin's impersonation is, there is nowhere near enough Tommy Lee Jones. His sly, taciturn delivery is an essential part of what originally made the J and K partnership watchable - whereas Brolin is cast as a younger, less grumpy version of the character who doesn't really have the same appeal alongside Smith's hyper-chatty hero. Barry Sonnenfeld's handling of action and spectacle also leaves much to be desired. For instance, several scenes include shots which establish nothing more than that our hero is "very high up" - quite a mundane form of threat in a film featuring lazer-gun totting aliens and quite a boring one for an audience that's presumably just seen 'The Avengers'. Then there's the stuff we've seen before in the series - as little silver guns make aliens explode - and stuff we've seen done much better dozens of times elsewhere - such as a car chase through the streets of New York (the characters might be riding impractical futuristic motorbikes, but they're still basically just motorbikes).
The very worst thing about 'Men in Black 3' I've saved until last, and that's its basic premise and single joke: that difference is inherently hilarious and that usually the "different" are not human. The film continues the series' proud tradition of revealing how everybody with a funny face or voice or a different ethnicity to the protagonists is in fact in an alien. See that Chinese guy? He's a hideous alien! Hahaha. See that supermodel? Models are all aliens! Hahahaha. Lady Gaga? Tim Burton? Those weirdos are aliens! Hahahaha. Repeat for almost two hours. And these freaky people can be exploded and punched without consequence or guilt because, well, they're not from around here. It's basically a light family comedy about ultra-violent immigration officers.
'Men in Black 3' is out now in the UK, rated 'PG' by the BBFC.
A running theme among the half-dozen trailers that have teased Ridley Scott's 'Prometheus' is that they've tended to be more alluring and spectacular when focused on the numerous eye-catching shots of spaceships and strange alien worlds, whilst offering only fleeting glimpses at the story and characters. It turns out that's because 'Prometheus' has no story or characters. It has a basic sort of "plot", I suppose: astronauts head to a distant planet in order to find answers about the creation of mankind. And it has characters in the sense that there's a reasonably impressive international ensemble cast thanklessly filling the various spacesuits - including Noomi Rapace, Michael Fassbender, Guy Pearce, Idris Elba and Charlize Theron.
Yet there can be little doubt that 'Prometheus' is a triumph of design and special effects rather than human drama. The film looks stunning, with the CGI spaceships and beautifully crafted interior sets having a sort of painted concept art look. But for all its self-important posturing around issues of faith, god and the nature of creation, the film's pretense at being this summer's "thinking person's blockbuster" comes to nothing. During its few cod philosophical exchanges - some of which should make your toes curl - the film's grasp of the deeper issues never seems to want to venture beyond truisms. It's a shame because the set up suggests something much smarter, or at least more interesting.
Rapace, as scientist Elizabeth Shaw, is the ship's blindly faithful Christian, whilst her lover and fellow scientist (played by Logan Marshall-Green) is supposedly the on-board skeptic as they search for humanity's alien creator. Meanwhile, Fassbender is David, a humanoid robot whose behaviour is modeled on his creators, something he seeks to perfect by watching old films in his downtime. A wrinkly old Guy Pearce is his creator and surrogate father, as well as the head of the huge corporation financing the mission. Charlize Theron has her own nascent "creator" issues as the stern and possibly treacherous leader of the expedition. Given that this is nominally a prequel to Scott's seminal 'Alien', it's entirely appropriate that it should explore that franchise's theme of motherhood and the destructive, violent act of creation itself: it's a melting pot of strong character archetypes with competing ideologies, which seems primed to react - only there is no heat.
Potentially interesting characters die left and right with scarcely a decent scene to their name. Supposedly sensible people react in increasingly irrational and oddly inhuman ways as the film goes on, for instance when a group of characters voluntarily give up their lives without any clear indication of why (in fact they don't really even ask for one, but as a united group blindly accept death at the merest asking). The film lurches messily between fussily directed action scenes which lack either the body horror of 'Alien' or the excitement of a crowd-pleasing summer movie, almost as if the filmmakers lacked the courage to devote any screentime to the potentially divisive "let's all talk about religion" thing the movie seemed to kind of want to be about originally. There are nods to various big ideas and questions here and there, but they are extremely tentative.
Then there's the handling of the film's various alien creatures and their multiple messy incarnations which lack credibility even if you suspend a whole universe's supply of disbelief. (Those sensitive to SPOILERS might want to avert their gaze now.) How does this reproductive cycle work?:
1) There are rows of eggs full of black goo.
2) A human man eats the black goo and becomes a sort of crusty monster.
3) The crusty monster man has sex with a human woman and she quickly gives birth to a tentacle monster.
4) Left alone for (presumably) a few hours, said tentacle monster becomes enormous. It then latches onto a huge white alien and eats his face.
5) Once partly-devoured by the tentacle monster, the big white alien's body yields a chest-bursting, quadrupedal alien not dissimilar to the original "xenomorph".
Please explain how that makes any kind of sense. I genuinely want to know why I'm supposed to think anything other than "this sure is a random sequence of events" at this point. Even if you accept that this primordial gloop is simply enabling the rapid evolution of an organism (and that's a leap you have to make yourself), doesn't it sort of imply that the "xenomorph" would then also become something else entirely different the next step along the chain? So then why do all the Aliens in the sequels look the same? Are they supposed to represent the pinnacle of evolution? I'm honestly not trying to be pedantic in the least - I just want to know how this could possibly make sense, even in the limited way a film about sexy future-spacemen warrants.
A friend of mine said that (one of) his problem(s) with 'Prometheus' is that it raised far more questions than it answered, at least pertaining to the way it links into 'Alien' continuity. I disagree. It's not a problem that the film raises more questions than it answers - after all, so does '2001'. The problem is that the questions it raises are invariably very silly, all relating to the who-could-care-less world of the 'Alien' mythos. Whilst it labours to provide trite and convoluted answers to the grander, more universal questions that are perhaps best left enigmatic. It should have been the other way around.
'Prometheus' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.
The story of two young and "mentally disturbed" lovers who run away from home during the summer of 1965, 'Moonrise Kingdom' packs all the wit and whimsy of director Wes Anderson's other work whilst also feeling entirely fresh. Everything is in keeping with his very deliberate and composed signature style, but some of it's been tilted slightly, adjusted just enough to let some air into the room. It's the same elaborate, four-poster bed you've enjoyed sleeping in several times up to now, but he's changed the sheets (or something metaphorical like that). The cinematography here, though still by long-serving Robert Yeoman, has a washed-out, almost instagram look, though each frame still bursts with bright colours and retains that children's book illustration look.
Music also plays a slightly different role here, moving away from chic 60s/70s alt-rock tunes and towards a unifying theme which subtly likens the ensemble cast to sections of an orchestra. Though regular composer Mark Mothersbaugh and music supervisor Randall Poster are still involved, Alexandre Desplat takes on main scoring duties following his work on the animated 'Fantastic Mr. Fox'. It's also perhaps his least dialogue driven of his films to date - the screenplay once again co-written with Roman Coppola still full of memorable lines, but with the storytelling often completely visual. At no point more so than at the film's emotionally charged climax, where the shot choices and movement of the camera are sublime.
The cast too has been shaken up very slightly. Though Bill Murray (in every film since 'Rushmore') and Jason Schwartzman are still on hand in small supporting parts, this is the first Wes Anderson movie not to involve at least one Wilson brother. As a sweet-natured scout master with a note of sadness behind the eyes, Ed Norton ably takes on the role which might otherwise have gone to Anderson's former writing partner Owen Wilson. The best of the new additions to Team Anderson is undoubtedly Bruce Willis, who underplays his role wonderfully, though Bob Balaban is also very funny as a sort of meteorologist-cartographer-narrator. These changes are signposted even before you get passed the credits by the very deliberate change in font from his beloved futura to something yellow, squiggly and italicised.
All the same preoccupations and stylistic flourishes are present though, from that one moment of expertly timed slow-mo to the tale of a dysfunctional family, populated by wounded and disappointed people struggling to connect. At times the young runaways - Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Hayward) - and their armed boy scout pursuers could be mistaken for members of the Max Fischer Players, mounting an ambitious production of 'The African Queen' by way of Lord of the Flies, as the film riffs on a 12 year-old version of pampered rich girl meets man of the earth on romantic wilderness adventure. Like all of Anderson's films to date it's earnestly kind without ever coming close to twee, and nostalgic without seeming kitsch or staid. There are moments of heart-breaking melancholy and times where the humour verges on black, but it's primarily an innocent and joyful experience.
Though I personally loved 'The Life Aquatic' and 'Darjeeling Limited', those films seemed to represent Anderson's movies becoming bigger and, to some extent, less tightly focused. The star-studded ensemble is no less eclectic here but 'Moonrise Kindom' instead feels stripped back somewhere closer to the simplicity and economy of 'Rushmore'. It's a change that's kept the director's formula from wearing thin, coming at the right moment. It's a film that makes Wes Anderson exciting again, as opposed to the master of an increasingly predictable framework (however lovely). I used to say that 'Bottle Rocket' was my favourite but conceded that 'The Royal Tenenbaums' was Anderson's most mature and accomplished film. 'Moonrise Kingdom' calls into question both ends of that statement.
'Moonrise Kingdom' is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
Two kitsch, CGI-filled action films about African American heroes biffing Nazis are hitting UK cinemas today. Receiving a limited release is the Finnish comedy 'Iron Sky' - which sees a black US astronaut battle against the combined forces of Sarah Palin (in all but name) and space Nazis from the dark side of the moon. It's very, very silly indeed and a lot of the jokes fall flat - but there are a lot of jokes, so many of them do find the target. It's best described as Mel Brooks meets Dr. Strangelove... in space! I reviewed that one for What Culture when it played at this year's Berlin Film Festival and you can read about it here.
'Iron Sky' is released today in the UK and is rated '15' by the BBFC.
The second is far more earnest and, as a result, far more boring despite its good intentions: the George Lucas produced WWII flier movie 'Red Tails'. That film receives its UK premiere today before a wide release on June 6th. Based on the true story of the Tuskegee Airmen - a pioneering, ace squadron comprised of black fighter pilots - the action scenes are spectacular but the human drama is simplistic and uninspiring. It's a pity because this story clearly means a lot to Lucas and the real-life events do sound genuinely fascinating. You can read my review on What Culture, as published here.
'Red Tails' is released on June 6th and is rated '12A' by the BBFC.
'Borat' was hilarious. A much weaker follow-up, 'Bruno' still had its moments. But 'The Dictator' - the latest comedy character creation from Sacha Baron Cohen - is just dreadful from start to finish, lacking atmosphere, laughs and heart. The story concerns a North African despot who is forced to go to an emergency UN summit in New York or face war over his pursuit of weapons grade uranium. However, Admiral General Aladeen is betrayed by his scheming uncle (Ben Kingsley more or less reprising his thankless role from 'Prince of Persia') and replaced by a simple goat herder with an uncanny resemblance. He then finds himself lost in the Big Apple, plotting to sneak back into the summit in order to unmask his betrayers and take back the fictional nation of Wadiya - a plan which involves ingratiating himself with Anna Faris, the manager of a small ethical produce store improbably tasked with catering the big event.
Baron Cohen's shtick has long been divisive, since the earliest days of iconic street wigga Ali G on British television critics have been split over whether he's a genius satirist or merely a man without shame, determined to say whatever offensive thing he could in order to get a cheap laugh. I have never been in that latter camp, believing even his most extreme comic bits came from a good place, with a social conscience that enabled him to lampoon bigotry rather than simply being a bigot. For instance, the palpable respect and uncharacteristic solemnity Ali G reserved for legendary Labour MP Tony Benn during one of his comedy interviews seemed to support the belief that Baron Cohen's integrity ran deeper than the pursuit of easy giggles.
Yet the target of the satire in 'The Dictator' is hard to locate and the level of wantonly offensive humour seems unjustified as a result. I feel like an arch and humourless Daily Mail reader writing that, but (and call me a busybody, PC square) I don't get what's funny about Aladeen playing a fictional 1972 Olympics massacre video game on the Nintendo Wii, mimicking the slaying of Israeli athletes. I don't get what's supposed to be funny about a dialogue exchange in which Aladeen talks about his sexual abuse of 14 year-old boys.
I'm not offended, even if (crucially) I don't find moments like these particularly funny, imaginative or inspired - my monocle hasn't fallen into my champagne flute in disgust that he dare joke about such things - but what does trouble me is that there doesn't seem to be any intellect or conscience behind his comedy at this point. He's just a man shouting "AIDs", "look, a black man!", "look, a gay!". He's becoming the unthinking school bully or the boorish workplace loudmouth, only with a budget of millions and a great deal of acting talent. He seems locked in a battle of one-upmanship with himself, in which he now feels the need to top each "shocking" and "taboo-defying" moment with another of increased savageness.
What is the point of 'The Dictator'? Is he perhaps standing up and saying "dictators do/say/think some pretty bad things don't they?!" If this is his point then I'd question whether it's really the work of a brave and near-the-knuckle comedy pioneer to satirise the world's most loathed dictators for the exclusive benefit of pre-existing enemies. Too often Baron Cohen seems content to indulge in broad racial stereotyping, such as when he arrives in America riding a camel. Jokes like these used to be defensible as sending up our expectations and prejudices, but here it just seems to be another throwaway idea and not a particularly original one. There is one moment near the film's climax where, perhaps inspired by Chaplin's similarly earnest speech in 'The Great Dictator', an oddly neutered Baron Cohen attempts to draw parallels between his evil dictator and the government of the United States. It could have been the film's redemptive moment but there's no real venom or force behind it and instead it comes off very weak.
It's also sad that in Admiral General Aladeen we have the least interesting character created by Baron Cohen to-date, the upshot is that we don't really even get to enjoy his Peter Sellers-like chameleon powers at their fullest. Then there's the litany of tired and (already) dated cultural references that jeopardise the film's long-term relevance: a play on the title of a reality TV series here, a dig at the expense of the Kardashians there; a cameo from Megan Fox. Perhaps the one bright spot, aside from a genuinely funny if overplayed sequence on a tourist helicopter, is the presence of low-rent comedy mainstay Faris as the love interest. Like everything else in the film she is characterised broadly and her comic moments are either crass or obvious, but she rises above the material to create an appealing character nonetheless.
'The Dictator' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.
It's not big and it's not clever to reject the latest film from Tim Burton out of hand. Though it's fair to say that he hasn't done anything good in a while (and nothing truly great since the mid-90s) the man who brought us 'Edward Scissorhands' and 'Beetlejuice' always deserves a fair crack of the whip - even when the trailer for his most recent feature looks beyond dire. This was the case with promos for long-gestating passion project 'Dark Shadows': a broad comedy with Gothic horror trappings, loosely based on a cult late-60s soap opera series of the same name, that reunites the director with an increasingly irksome Johnny Depp. And though the film is slightly better than trailers suggest, it's still a baggy, barely cohesive mess of style over substance - a joint vanity project for a distinctive visual artist and his showboating leading man.
Where Depp was once the most exciting and unpredictable actor of his generation he is now, post his Jack Sparrow rise to pop culture ubiquity, restricting himself to the immensely lucrative "lovable oddball" side of the market. His Willy Wonka and Mad Hatter - themselves in two of Burton's most risible movies - are Halloween costumes more than characters. They are funny voices and affectations in brightly coloured hats around which Depp can construct another peculiar, pantomine creation. This time Depp inhabits the gloomy make-up and wardrobe of Barnabas Collins: an eighteenth century fishing magnate-turned-vampire who is dug up after nearly two centuries underground to discover the multi-coloured, drug-infused wackiness of the 1970s. Fish out of water hilarity ensues, ticking every box you might expect given the setting, with Barnabas encountering lava lamps, Alice Cooper and college stoners. Just what will he make of it all?!
Perhaps this is why the Depp/Burton partnership was proven so long-lasting: both men now seem unable to go below the surface of whatever weird character or world they are presenting on screen. If Depp is increasingly drawn to playing broad, wacky cartoon creations in over-designed costumes, then Burton is rapidly jettisoning what little interest he ever had in story in favour of elaborate set design and showy visual flourishes. As Barnabas first re-enters his stately mansion house after his lengthy absence, he immediately begins to describe in detail the pillars, the chandeliers, and the Florentine marble fireplace. It's as if he's breaking the fourth well to compliment the film for its art direction and set design. Which he may as well do because that is all this film is.
One genuine bright spot is a scene-stealing performance from Eva Green as the villain - the witch who turned Barnabas into a vampire for rejecting her advances and who now dominates the fishing industry of his small town (that's the story by the way). Otherwise it's populated by decent actors in thankless parts, with key characters going unaccounted for during the entire second act (Michelle Pfeifffer's matriarch and supposed central love interest Bella Heathcote) and the young Chloe Moretz overtly sexualised to no real end. Johnny Lee Miller plays an absent father to similarly little payoff, whilst Helena Bonham Carter continues her unbroken 7-film Burton streak as a live-in therapist whose every scene could be excised from the plot in a way which would only impact on the bloated running time. There are perhaps a half-dozen different versions of this film on a hard drive in an edit suite somewhere and perhaps one of them makes for a coherent movie.
I didn't hate or even strongly dislike 'Dark Shadows' (slap that on the DVD cover) and, if I've given that impression, it's only because - despite the low quality of his last decade's worth of work - Tim Burton still apparently has the capacity to disappoint. But this is certainly no worse than 'Planet of the Apes', 'Alice in Wonderland' or 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory'. It probably belongs in the next category up, alongside the instantly forgettable 'Corpse Bride' - more "Burtonesque" than Burton. Like that drab animation, 'Dark Shadows' feels less like the genuine article and more like the work of an art school student excessively influenced by the most showy aspects of his visual style.
However, there are a few nice visual touches and neat ideas, most of which benefit from the clear affection the film has for traditional vampiric tropes, as it refreshingly eschews all revisionism of monster lore prevalent since the hip and post-modern 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'. It must also be said that among the obvious gags about disco balls, automobiles and television sets, there are also a few very funny moments involving the time-displaced bloodsucker - such as when he first encounters tarmac.
'Dark Shadows' is out now and rated '12A' by the BBFC.
"It felt longer than it was" said one cinema patron, checking the time on his way out of a showing of 'Damsels in Distress'. Never a good sign. But even worse when you consider Whit Stillman's hyper-stylised indie comedy - his first film in over a decade - lasts scarcely 99 minutes. Yet it really does outstay its welcome despite a beguiling first half and another fantastic performance from mumblecore queen Greta Gerwig, as the defacto leader of a gang of female students selflessly seeking to improve those deemed below their station. It's not that 'Damsels' is without charm, wit or laughs, indeed it's easy enough to see why many cite Stillman as an influence on the likes of Wes Anderson, but it's so resolutely deadpan that it can't sustain beyond the first hour.
It's also at times difficult to locate the target of Stillman's American college satire, with many of his characters so broad and extreme that they seem to lack a clear real-world analogue. There's, for example, the American girl who has affected a British accent after a brief period of study in London and the rich fraternity boy who never learned the difference between colours. Sometimes the film seems a wholly ironic putdown leveled at the vapidity and pretension of youth, yet it could also be seen as entirely earnest and sympathetic towards its off-beat gang of co-eds: the suicidally depressed, the confused, and the tragically dim. It might be that there's something really rewarding and ingenious at the centre of 'Damsels' for those prepared to weed it out. I remain at a loss.
'Damsels in Distress' is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
Regular readers of this blog will know that I've long been a shameless, rambling cheerleader for this summer's first major comic book movie, Marvel's ambitious 'The Avengers': a film which brings geek-friendly comic book-style continuity to the big screen in a way never previously considered possible. It's a bold move from the company, recently acquired by Disney, which - had it failed - might easily have sent the entire house of cards tumbling down, risking tentpole solo properties 'Iron Man', 'The Incredible Hulk', 'Captain America' and 'Thor' in the process. In fact combining these heroes in one movie should have been an almighty mess and perhaps one for fanboys rather than the diverse cinema audience required to enjoy global mega-success.
Yet 'Buffy the Vampire' creator Joss Whedon has, as director and co-writer, delivered not only the best Marvel movie to date (not a bad accolade in itself), but also the very best (or at least the most enjoyable) superhero movie ever. It's a relentlessly thrilling and frequently laugh-out-loud funny affair which manages to provide each of its characters just enough to do to avoid feeling like a clumsy bag of cameos. It's a rare beast that exceeds the two hour mark and yet leaves you craving more and, as has been noted by almost all who have seen it thus far, it manages to pull off the feat of making the Hulk interesting. Mark Ruffalo is cast as the irradiated Dr. Bruce Banner/lumbering green rage beast and does an exceptional job both in the flesh, as an anxious and introverted genius, and in CGI mo-cap as the show-stealing titan.
The other Avengers combine well, in terms of their disparate skill sets and distinct personalities. Pleasingly each even finds time to grow and complete their own small arch. Captain America (Chris Evans) is still the guileless embodiment of goodness that struck such a pleasant note in last year's solo vehicle, though now he's learning to assert himself as the natural born leader familiar to readers of the comics. Thor (Chris Hemsworth) remains that slightly haughty man from another world with a penchant for grand, almost Shakespearean turns of phrase, now faced with the embarrassment of having his brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston) at the head of an alien invasion of Earth. And Robert Downey Jr is still a terrific force of nature as cocky billionaire, playboy philanthropist Tony Stark (AKA Iron Man), here learning a thing or two about subjugating himself for the greater good whilst chiding his more obviously noble teammates.
Even Black Widow and Hawkeye (Scarlett Johansson and Jeremy Renner), who have yet to benefit from their own solo features, are given ample time to demonstrate their prowess and (though not as developed as the others) both feel like interesting and valuable parts of the ensemble. This time we even get to see a little more of Samuel L. Jackson as eye-patch sporting S.H.E.I.L.D director Nick Fury, getting involved in the action and playing a genuine part in events as opposed to being a bombastic guest star in another person's adventure. Alongside Fury are the returning fan favourite Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg) and new supporting character Maria Hill (Cobie Smulders) - who doesn't get a lot to do but whose inclusion presents an interesting option for writers of the probable sequels, for those that know her from the books.
'The Avengers' succeeds on every level it's trying to and gets everything right when it comes to making the ideal comic book movie. The various superpowers are used (and combined) imaginatively, the balance between action and dialogue is perfect, and Hiddleston's villain is deliciously charismatic, every bit as entertaining as the heroes. The gags work and even moments of pathos find the target when they arrive. It's a very different beast to Christopher Nolan's 'The Dark Knight' - commonly acknowledged as the holder of the "best comic book movie" crown - being unabashed, escapist fun rather than a rumination on The Patriot Act or an exploration of how a costumed vigilante might really be viewed by the world as we know it. But in being so proud of its pulpy routes, giving us daring deeds painted broadly and in bright colours - as Norse gods battle men in Star-Spangled spandex - it's arguably a far braver and much tougher movie to get right. And Whedon gets it completely right, painting this epic battle on a suitably large canvas.
It helps that Whedon, a past writer of Marvel comics (notably an acclaimed run on Astonishing X-Men) knows and loves this world. From a fan point of view, he ensures that Captain America takes the lead rather than the more commercially popular Iron Man and that S.H.E.I.L.D's motives are uncertain, with the organisation not truly trusted by the gang. He knows that fans want to see Thor smash his hammer upon Cap's shield and see Iron Man hold his own against the Asgardian prince and promptly delivers this spectacle without it seeming like the most cynical act of fan service, probably because he wants to see all this just as much.
'Marvel Avengers Assemble', known internationally as 'The Avengers', is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
I'm off on holiday to Rome for a week so I don't have time to write up full reviews for the last few films I've seen - which is a pity because a couple of them were fantastic and all of them were enjoyable. With that in mind, here is a short round-up of some recent releases:
'Cabin in the Woods', cert '15'
Completed in 2009 but not released until this month due to the bankruptcy of MGM, 'Cabin in the Woods' is an incredibly funny and whip-smart take on the horror genre from producer/co-writer Joss Whedon and writer/director Drew Goddard. It's got the splatter horror humour of 'Evil Dead' and is similar to 'Scream' in that it deconstructs the slasher genre and subverts its tropes. But unlike 'Scream' it does this without ultimately becoming just another slasher movie: it goes much further than that, delving into what makes such movies work and questioning why they satisfy audiences in the first place. It grapples with such concepts as audience complicity in movie violence and the way young people are portrayed in American movies, as well as being hilariously funny, incredibly gory and full of imagination. When it all kicks off in the final third, I can promise you there is nothing quite like it.
Aside from Chris Hemsworth, who has since become the star of 'Thor', the cast is mainly comprised of familiar faces from Whedon's TV work, the best of whom is 'Dollhouse' supporting cast member Fran Kranz. Kranz steals the show absolutely and owns most of the script's most inspired lines of dialogue. Bradley Whitford and Richard Jenkins are also excellent, though to explain their roles in any depth would constitute a spoiler. I don't usually care about those (being a "journey not the destination" type of guy) but 'Cabin in the Woods' is most certainly a film you don't want spoiled. One of the year's best so far, which is unusual for a film that's been on a shelf for three years.
'Once Upon a Time in Anatolia', cert '15'
An honest-to-gods masterpiece, this Turkish drama from Nuri Bilge Ceylan has a lot in common with the almost equally excellent 2009 Romanian film 'Police, Adjective'. Both share the same fascination with the banal side of police work not usually explored in cinema, as ordinary cops perform quite boring duties. Both films have patience in common, allowing us to observe these men at work without any embellishment. But whilst the Romanian movie explored whether the semantic definition of law should hold more weight than our own understanding of morality, this feature ponders how such men can maintain their humanity when forced so often to encounter acts of barbarism.
Most of the film takes place over one night as regional police escort a murder suspect around the countryside in the hope that he will reveal the location of his victim's body. That's about it as far as the plot is concerned. There is an increasingly frustrated local police captain who loses his temper with the uncooperative prisoner, a doctor brought along to identify the cause of death and a prosecutor who is charged with gathering all the evidence and shaping the official report of the night's events. The men trade stories and exchange views on humanity, marriage and culture, but there is little "action" in the traditional sense. Yet it never comes close to being boring, thanks to well observed dialogue, interesting characters and some of the most scintillating photography I've ever seen: both of the Turkish countryside and of the human face in extreme close-up. A miraculous movie and spellbinding experience.
'Headhunters', cert '15'
From the production company behind the 'Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' adaptations, this Norwegian screen version of the Jo Nesbo thriller is more glossy than its Swedish counterparts and better paced. It's also as mad as a bag of hammers, with a plot that turns on the hero's decision not to recommend a Dutch former CEO for a top corporate job in Oslo. The Dutchman, as luck would have it a former commando specialising in tracking elusive targets, takes this very badly indeed and decides to pursue Roger Brown (Aksel Hennie) across the country with the aim of killing him. He kills lots of other people along the way too. Oh, and Roger Brown in an international art thief in addition to Norway's most respected corporate headhunter, though this never really comes to anything.
It's completely implausible from start to finish and possibly one of the most violent films I've seen this year, though it moves at a fair clip and seems to understand its place in the world. I can't honestly say I liked it, but I enjoyed watching it far more than I did the Swedish 'Dragon Tattoo' movies and it certainly feels more cinematic than that trilogy.
'Le Havre', cert 'PG'
Incredibly slight, this affable French comedy from Finnish aueteur Aki Kaurismäki concerns an ageing bohemian (André Wilms) who lives a simple life in the port town, tending to his sickly wife and owing money to the local shopkeepers. The community depicted here are reminiscent of the sort of oddballs who populate Jeunet comedies, though the sense of humour is less wacky and more deadpan. It feels old fashioned and contrived, in a very sweet way, though the film's politics are far from conservative. Instead the film deals with the issue of France's refugee internment camps and revolves around the decision of the local community to shelter a young African boy who is on the run from immigration.
Considering how big an issue immigration is in French politics currently, 'Le Havre' is a bold film which posits sympathy for immigrants as a very French way to behave - as the community band together against forces who would see the boy imprisoned and prevented from reaching his mother in London. That it treats this divisive subject matter with such a deceptive simplicity and lightness of touch, within a heart-warming and congenial comedy, is worthy of applause. A compassionate and humanitarian film without bad guys.
Some crazy, wayward geniuses have finally done it. They've adapted a board game into a summer tentpole movie. I'm not suggesting this is a contribution to culture the universe was crying out for, but you've got to admire the sheer gumption of writers Jon and Erich Hoeber for somehow, just about, crowbarring enough of the narrative-light children's game into what otherwise amounts to a generic sci-fi invasion movie. The film carries the most hideous strapline I've ever seen, with posters proudly proclaiming the film is from "Hasbro, the company that brought you Transformers", and the very concept of adapting a board game into a movie is worthy of derision (as things stand we're probably just a few months from the announcement of a rom-com called Connect Four), yet somehow these inspired scribes get away with it careers intact.
'Battleship', directed by Peter Berg, stars Taylor "he's so hot right now" Kitsch as a taller, blonder version of Maverick from 'Top Gun' - a "the most talented soldier I've ever seen" type who wastes his potential sleeping in with the admiral's daughter (Brooklyn "all models are actresses now" Decker) and stealing chicken burritos from closed convenience stores - in what amounts to the most bizarre screen depiction of self-destructive, directionless youth yet committed to film. His long-suffering brother (the appealing Alexander Skarsgård), a dedicated Navy careerist, makes him enlist as a seaman to turn his life around, yet he can't quite curb his brother's impulsive nature and as a result Kitsch is one screw-up away from being kicked out of the military by Admiral Liam "paycheck" Neeson.
Whilst on a huge naval exercise off the coast of Hawaii, and after costing his volleyball soccer team victory in the final of an inter-naval world cup soccer tournament (yes, seriously), Kitsch's problems quickly escalate as an alien invasion sees the fleet decimated and the young buck placed in acting command of the remaining vessel. It's then that our bronzed hero has to thwart the alien invasion combining, you guessed it, his lone-wolf unpredictability with a new found respect for the uniform. The alien ships are some of the best CGI I've ever seen, the action sequences and city destruction stuff is suitably loud, and pint-sized pop sensation Rihanna is improbably present as a trash-talking heavy weapons specialist. It's that kind of movie.
Where 'Battleship' wins out over Bay's 'Transformers' movies is in Berg's less frantic, more competent direction, and also in the fact that it's sometimes genuinely funny on account of how absolutely knowingly stark raving mad it is. There are so many strange happenings and oddball character moments that I couldn't possibly remember them all, but indie heartthrob Hamish "The Future" Linklater stands out in his role as the token infuriating science nerd. However 'Battleship' is even more militaristic than 'Transformers', with the whole thing playing like a glossy Navy recruitment commercial. Our hero has to learn to respect the hallowed institution of which he is a reluctant servant, with his troublemaker side exposed by such subversive traits as asking "why?" when given an order. Don't question the rules: follow them, says the film.
If the military is entirely awesome and humanity's best friend in 'Battleship' - which basically bends over backwards to satisfy retired seaman (if you're into that kind of thing) - then science is very, very bad indeed. The aliens only invade because of bloody science, with its blasted curiosity about the universe. Whilst, fittingly for a film shot on 35mm, digital technology - both alien and our own - is found to be no substitute for the romanticised tech of the past (such as the titular obsolete warship). There's also a slightly insidious "yellow peril" undercurrent to this Pearl Harbor-set movie, as every new alien development is first assumed to be either Chinese or North Korean in origin. I suppose this is why Kitsch quickly finds himself with a half-Japanese crew, as the filmmakers attempt to say "some of our best friends are Asian".
So that's 'Battleship'. A big-screen celebration of American military might, loosely inspired by a Hasbro board game, which just about gets away with how awful that is based on solid direction and a self-deprecating sense of humour. People say silly things whilst even sillier things happen all around them, but it's all very big and exciting and the reason we went to the movies when we were 12.
'Battleship' is rated '12A' and is out now in the UK which, if this film is anything to go by, does not rule the waves.
Innocent and family-friendly without ever being too cutesy, 'The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists' is Aarman's latest stop-frame animated feature film, loaded with the usual inspired sight gags, quickfire puns and unalloyed charm. Here, in a loose adaptation of a book series of the same name, we follow The Pirate Captain (as voiced by Hugh Grant) - a rubbish but well-meaning scourge of the high seas whose single greatest wish is to win the coveted Pirate of the Year prize.
However he has been thwarted in this quest for the last two decades by a combination of his own ineptitude and the fact that his rivals are supremely impressive shownman - as voiced by Salma Hayek, Jeremy Piven and Lenny Henry. It is a pity we don't see them beyond two brief fleeting appearances, as each quickly establishes an entertaining character, but I'm sure they'll be back; This whimsically entertaining yarn, though it provokes broad smiles rather than hearty belly-laughs, has the makings of a successful franchise.
In his quest to usurp his more decorated colleagues in the running for this year's prize, the open-hearted and guileless Pirate Captain stumbles into Charles Darwin (David Tennant) who correctly identifies the pirates' "parrot" Polly as the last remaining dodo. Darwin promises the discovery will make Captain rich beyond his wildest dreams - making him a sure winner of the coveted accolade. But the lovelorn scientist has his own agenda (and a trained chimp for a henchman) and leads the band of misfits through chases and various mishaps over the city of London, bringing the plunderers into confrontation with the pirate communities arch-nemesis, Queen Victoria (Imelda Staunton). Cue the big action finale, which takes place on board a magnificently realised Victorian warship.
Some of the humour is winsomely subversive - with the scientists of London inventing an airship simply so they can look down women's tops, and with Hayek's Cutlass Liz oozing a peculiar Plasticine sex appeal. At one point, whilst Martin Freeman's first mate is trying to restore his wounded pride, Pirate Captain reminisces about the simple joys of running people through with a sword. It's not explicit but it isn't strictly sanitised either. Yet even so it is somehow entirely gentle and lacking in cynicism - with these being less "jokes for the adults" than a key component of Aarman's long established anarchic, Pythonesque sensibility.
Imaginative, with plenty of quality gags and a heart of gold that won't tickle your gag reflex, 'The Pirates!' is good fun, rife with the sort of subtle parochial details that defined 'Wallace & Gromit' and 'Creature Comforts' (Blue Peter badges, custard creams and the homely charms of "ham night"). It's not quite as laugh-out-loud funny as the studio's recent computer generated 'Arthur Christmas', but it is certainly more refined and will probably better stand the test of time. That it remains quaint and understated in stereoscope is an achievement in itself.
'The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists' is out now in the UK, rated 'U' by the BBFC.
Perhaps I need to see a doctor because, the day after showering the universally acclaimed 'The Kid With A Bike' with disdain, I've gone and enjoyed what is (on paper) one of the year's most derisory blockbuster offerings: 'Wrath of the Titans'. The sum of its parts don't make for an appealing read: a post-converted 3D sequel to one of the most forgettable and bland flicks in recent memory (2010's re-make 'Clash of the Titans'), directed by Jonathan Liebesman - the guy responsible for the roundly condemned 'Battle: Los Angeles' - and starring Sam Worthington, the Aussie who has quickly become Hollywood's blandest action star. Yet, in the wake of the 'Transformers' movies, I now find myself impressed by any mainstream, effects-laden picture that is coherently made and sticks to a sensible running time (in this case a cool 99 minutes).
Under Liebesman's direction the "franchise" has adopted the ubiquitous shakey-cam approach designed to trick the viewer into feeling as though they are watching live news footage rather than the stuff of fantasy. And though I'm usually frustrated by this messy and disorienting technique, here - in a sword and sandal story of ancient Greek legend - it adds a refreshing immediacy and grit to a genre more commonly associated with glistening bronze pectorals. As Perseus, Worthington always has dirt under his fingernails and caked all over his body. He acquires fresh, gaping wounds from each new encounter with the mystical creatures he beats and, though we all know he will triumph, there is a genuine sense of jeopardy throughout: though the demigod son of Zeus he seems to be a fragile, mortal man in the company of much more powerful creatures.
A sequence near the start, that sees Perseus chase a winged and two headed beast through the streets of his small fishing village, feels far more kinetic and frantic than any other I've seen in a film of this kind. It may seem a bizarre and counter-productive choice to frame broad fantasy as realism but in doing so 'Wrath' is much more interesting than its prequel. Additionally you have Liam Neeson reprising the role of Zeus and Ralph Fiennes appearing again as Hades - with both lending the intended considerable gravitas (that's probably how the payments appear on their balance sheets) to moments of otherwise jaw-dropping sillyness. For his part Worthington isn't bad either: for the first time in a major American movie (at least that I'm aware of) he has been allowed to retain his Australian accent - breaking continuity with the original (but who really cares?) but allowing him to be a much more natural presence than usual.
The post-converted 3D isn't even terrible. The first film was rightly cited as an example of the practice at its worst, but here it's unobtrusive but ever-present and, in certain grand battle scenes, the sense of depth created gives the film's ultimate villain Kronos the necessary scale. In fact, the CGI rendering of Kronos is something of a triumph, with some really fantastic images created, with an early dream sequence being the overall highlight (as we see the gargantuan molten lava hands of the deity scooping up handfuls of soldiers and dropping them from a great height). Some of the other effects (notably the cyclops) fare less well, but overall the effects in 'Wrath' range from decent to spectacular.
Of course, I've chosen to accentuate the positive elements above. All said 'Wrath of the Titans' is still not a particularly good film. The dialogue doesn't venture beyond speaking important plot points aloud, with characters immediately greeted by name each time they appear and moments of action explained (like a rubbish radio play). As in the previous entry, the supporting characters are ill-defined and boring, and even an improved Worthington is not the most charismatic of leading men. Among the worst offenders is Bill Nighy who turns up as a former god and indulges in the worst kind of campy over-acting (which undermines the film's determinedly serious tone), whilst Rosamund Pike can't help but be an empty vessel as the film's perfunctory love interest.
When it comes to the love interest subplot (or tangible lack thereof) the film is at its very weakest, because Perseus falling for Pike's Andromeda seems to be based on nothing more than the fact she is the film's available female (FAF). As the FAF, Andromeda is never really shown to be particularly close to Perseus and they engage in few tender moments over the course of the running time. Only when the fighting is over is there that tokenistic kiss that condescends to say "and now here's some romance for the ladies". But it's insincere romance of the highest order. I've written before about the way major franchise action films have a serious problem with relationships. Or more to the point, writers have a hard time knowing what to do with them. Case in point: Gemma Arterton's FAF from the first movie is established to have died in the interim, allowing Perseus to go off and be a bloke without having the old ball and chain around.
Women exist in films like 'Wrath of the Titans' to be attained or conquered by the (male) protagonist and no more than that. Once conquered they no longer serve a purpose and are either killed off or arbitrarily separated from the hero (often to be attained all over again). The filmmakers may well point to the fact that, in 'Wrath', Andromeda is cast as a warrior queen who leads her troops into battle with a sword, rather than as some bashful damsel. Yet she is a passenger; She accompanies Perseus on his journey but never advances the plot herself. The one piece of knowledge she provides is awareness of the location of a more important male character... and even then it's because he's practically in the next room.
That 'Wrath of the Titans' is better than I expected, exceeding my sub-zero expectations, is not necessarily cause for celebration. But I'd be lying if I denied being entertained: impressed by the effects and immersed in much of the action thanks to the immediacy of Liebesman's camera. That said, it's got to rank as a second or third tier sort of blockbuster in a summer that's packed with genuine titans, such as 'The Avengers', 'The Dark Knight Rises', 'The Amazing Spider-Man', 'MIB: III' and the heavily-promoted 'Battleship'. But, as recent summers have shown, you could do far, far worse than see this particular bit of disposable pap. And - though saying so is sure to torpedo any slim credibility I might have accrued as a critic - I'd sooner sit through this again than watch a Belgian 11 year-old ride a bike.
'Wrath of the Titans' is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
I'm fast falling out of love with slow, mostly eventless cinema and though this is not the fault of the Dardenne Brothers' overpraised 'The Kid With A Bike', it is that film which will suffer from the backlash for now - being the straw that broke this proverbial camel's back. What used to feel refreshing and in no small way revelatory now seems overly slight and uninspiring. I'm talking about the banal scenes in which we are cast as curtain-twitching voyeurs as people chat about what to have for lunch, or the sustained tracking shots that say "we're doing this because we can" and increasingly little else. The things I used to admire which now feel every bit as tired and cliche as the Hollywood tropes they once stood in bold opposition to.
As I said at the top, 'Bike' isn't the worst offender in these regards (or even close for that matter). On another day I might have lauded 'The Kid With A Bike' as patient, well-observed and sensitively acted. The Dardenne's don't judge their characters and the film is redemptive and life-affirming without being sickly. Young Thomas Doret is superb as the titular kid, wounded and out of control 11 year-old Cyril, whilst Cecil de France is winsome as his foster mother. The Belgian Jeremy Renner (Jeremie Renier) - the ubiquitous Euro star who first found fame with the Dardennes in such films as 'The Promise' and 'The Child' - is ever-reliable as the deadbeat father who abandons his son. It's not even that the film outstays its welcome: it's only 87 minutes long. Perfect running length in a world in which movies seem to feel obliged to exceed two hours.
Yet with its very slender plot (a boy is left frustrated and angry after being abandoned by his father and takes this out on his foster carers, stropping around and being a nuisance) there is nothing here to suggest 'Bike' wouldn't have been equally effective over a half hour. In fact, even given that the film's two or three moments of action are stretched out, the boy's last act change of character seems contrived - the resolution, for all the filmmakers cumbersome attempts at last-minute jeopardy, feels all too tidy. And in having Cyril succumb to the lure of a gang of PlayStation 3 and Fanta obsessed local criminals (the suburban Belgian mafia, as I like to call them), is the film suggesting a boy will turn to armed robbery if bereft of a strong father figure? Take that single mothers!
I am more than aware that I'm being a little unfair on the gentle and well intentioned 'The Kid With A Bike', but I guess how you feel heading into a film - about life or cinema - has an effect you can't possibly hope to separate from the experience itself. It probably didn't help that I saw it right off the back of another, longer and even more tiresome movie, which left me resentful of the time I'd spent sitting in the dark on what was a beautiful, sunny day. On another day, who knows? But right now I feel inclined to blow petulant raspberries in its direction.
'The Kid With A Bike' is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
Only in the perpetually sunny, 70s "Album-Oriented Rock" infused world of Cameron Crowe - where momentary lapses in confidence are on par with cancer - does a man respond to unemployment and the loss of a loved one with the impulse purchase of a large zoo. Though Matt Damon stars as Benjamin Mee, the real-life figure upon whose memoir the film is apparently based, there can be little doubt that an audience is being invited into Crowe's world rather than the one we see out the window; A world as always built around grand gestures, cute motivational turns of phrase, and populated by uniformly winsome, oddball characters.
Earnestly sentimental and overflowing with whimsy, Crowe's films are easy to dismiss, though such an act can feel as mean spirited as heckling a eulogy, or writing graffiti on a Mr. Men book. His films are intended as celebrations of life and the innate goodness of the human spirit and, when they hit the spot, their sweet nature can overpower all but the most reactionary cynicism. For instance the deeply personal 'Almost Famous', another loose autobiography (this time of Crowe's youth as a music journalist), is one of the defining films of the last two decades. Yet when they fail, his films leave themselves so open to assault, with the writer/director's heart so plainly on his sleeve, that criticism feels like a form of bullying. As with the much-derided 'Elizabethtown'.
With its saccharine zoo-buying premise, it's no surprise that 'We Bought A Zoo' does not reach the dramatic heights of 'Almost Famous' or 'Jerry Maguire', the formal ambition of the badly received 'Vanilla Sky' remake, nor the zeitgeist appeal of 'Singles'. In tone and spirit it feels like the inbred cousin of 'Elizabethtown' and proof-positive that the filmmaker has leaped into self-parody, becoming sappier and more bombastic than ever. 'We Bought A Zoo' is far more damaging an anti-Crowe missile than any of his most ardent critics could ever have hoped to launch. It's a film in which an aggressively adorable girl complains that she can't sleep because next door's "happy is too loud".
It's a film in which Thomas Haden Church (ever an uncomfortable marriage between the body of Hercules and the demeanor of a terminally ill family pet) can throw his arms into the air and, apropos of nothing, say "joy" without it seemingly either ironic or incongruous. It's a film in which Damon's financial recklessness is enabled by his late wife's secret leaving of $84, 000 "circus money", in apparent anticipation that he would do something this grand and stupid (and who can't identify with that in a time of recession?). It's a film in which someone genuinely utters the line "I like the animals... but I love the people", and in which the musical choices are so painfully on the nose that a downpour is accompanied by Bob Dylan's "Buckets of Rain". Pathetic fallacy indeed.
In this world a teenage boys "dark" artwork (charcoal etchings of decapitated bodies and the like) is seen as evidence of a cry for help - a glimpse at how superficially gloomy you have to get before Crowe would sit you down for a pep talk, and preach about the life-changing impact of "twenty seconds of insane courage", like a man who is part director, part music critic and part walking self-help cack fountain. And if 'Elizabethtown' copied the plot of 'Jerry Maguire' almost wholesale (allowing for a shift from athlete management to high-end sports shoe design), 'We Bought A Zoo' effectively imports whole lines from that previous movie, with Scarlett Johansson breathlessly complaining about how her life as head zookeeper means she doesn't get to go out with her friends and meet guys. Likewise, Damon reenacts the scene in which a near-defeated Tom Cruise confronts and wins over his doubters.
I haven't even mentioned that Damon's character refers to his spur of the moment zoo acquisition as being part of a plan to give his children "an authentic American experience"... whatever that means (an image of George Washington running an owl sanctuary springs immediately to mind). Of course, this tendency towards emotional tourettes and romanticised public meltdowns hasn't been an automatic black mark against previous Cameron Crowe movies, and perhaps wouldn't be here if the film ever ventured beyond trite ideas of "letting go" and "moving on", as Damon attempts to reconcile the loss of his sadly departed wife. The tale of a middle-aged man struggling to relate to his eldest child in the wake of losing his partner, 'We Bought A Zoo' is basically what 'The Descendants' would have been if George Clooney, with smiling insanity, resolved his problems by relocating his family to a theme park.
'We Bought A Zoo' is out now in the UK, rated 'PG' by the BBFC.
The screams of young girls in the audience leave no doubt as to who the film's target audience is, yet 'The Hunger Games' - and its impossibly hunky onscreen love triangle - exist in a far more compelling world than that of the similarly pitched 'Twilight': trading in high school vampires for post-apocalyptic hardship and child-on-child warfare. Both films are based on pieces of teen fiction which mix action with angsty romance, yet this one's sulky heroine, Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), at least has cause to be sulky.
As the story begins, Katniss is established as a capable and fiercely pragmatic young woman who provides for her poverty-stricken family, hunting game in the forbidden woods alongside her handsome chum Gale (Liam Hemsworth). With her father dead and mother drifting in and out of a manic depressive coma, Katniss is the only thing standing between her sweet young sister, Prim, and certain death by starvation. You see, the Everdeens live in District 12: the poorest of the outlying communities of Panem - a futuristic nation built on the ruins of North America - and they spend their days toiling thanklessly in service of the central ruling Capitol: a city of superficial, fashion-obsessed gluttons.
Shit really hits the fan when Prim is chosen at random to be her district's tribute in the year's annual Hunger Games, prompting Katniss to volunteer in her place. As fate would have it, the male tribute is Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) - an equally dreamy and faultlessly good-natured baker's son who's harboured a life-long crush on Katniss and to whom, for a past kindness, Katniss owes her life. Thus complicating the titular game which only one of them can hope to survive. Happily the question of whether Katniss prefers drippy Peeta or outdoorsy Gale is not the film's main preoccupation, however much it might be the chief selling point for a large chunk of the audience.
With a set-up that's instantly familiar to those who've seen the hyper-violent Japanese thriller 'Battle Royale', the Hunger Games themselves see 24 children (a boy and a girl between the ages of 12 and 18 from each district) fighting to the death with the survivor crowned the winner - henceforth entitled to a life of luxury. The twist here is that the tournament takes the form of a gaudy reality TV show, complete with much pageantry and all the contrivances of that genre. Director Gary Ross' adaptation deviates slightly from the book by using the Truman Show-esque device of depicting those in control of the games, manipulating the arena to generate the most exciting spectacle for public consumption, which works well. But otherwise it's a highly faithful, if abridged, version of the tale - only really omitting the book's minor characters and interminable scenes of hunting, eating, and dress making.
As in the books, the games themselves fall short of the more fascinating build-up, a fact not helped by the UK 12A certificate version cutting some of the more violent footage. Making child v child death matches more palatable for increased consumption is morally questionable to say the least, though I understand that the film's box office hopes are pinned chiefly on the world's tweens. Even still, the film does seem overall more squeamish than the book, eschewing the frank nudity, Katniss' frequent (remorseless and detailed) animal slaying, and being coy with the arena violence. Katniss spends much of the book bruised and bloody, but not here where the entire games feels as though they take place over a couple of days.
Lawrence is a perfect choice as Katniss, convincing as strong, and being the embodiment of the character's winsome beautiful-whilst-non-girlish shtick - even if the film's version is rather more prone to bouts of weeping - though its doubtful whether the book's heroine, who so totally internalises every emotion that isn't contemptuous fury, would work on screen. I suppose, robbed of access to her thought process we need to see that she is upset, lest we think she is uncaring or wooden. Likewise, Hutcherson - who seemed so mopey as a sulky teen in 'The Kids Are All Right' - does live up to the book's vision of Peeta as vulnerable, noble, and charismatic.
In many respects this version improves upon the original. For instance, Suzanne Collins' books are so light on physical description of people and places that the look of the film feels like it's breathing life into her world rather than struggling to live up to the reader's imagination. Though the books don't specify the race of any of the characters, it's great so see some of the most crucial and beloved characters cast with black actors (chiefly Lenny Kravitz as Cinna and Amandla Stenberg as Rue), even if the lead parts have all been read as Caucasian.
It's also true that here the villainous kids are more problematic enemies than those of the book, with the ultimate baddie portrayed as far more human. They are still cast as bullying jocks for the most part, though in a way that reads as a Lord of the Flies style look at child behaviour (albeit a shallow one), rather than simply a way to render their deaths more palatable. The film also does well to weave in some of the second book's themes, of wider civil disobedience and the repercussions of Katniss' actions, showing the impact of the games on the people of Panem, giving events a sense of weight.
By breaking from the consistent first person narrative of the text it's also able to show us the games as televised. To this end, Toby Jones and the ever-watchable Stanley Tucci form an entertaining commentary team, who guide us through stranger elements of the world's lore and provide some neat (if gentle) satire of reality TV, reflecting back some of our culture's fondness for exploitative voyeurism and love of glossy, gossipy pap. In fact everything outside of the arena is handled better in the film than the book, with a note-perfect Woody Harrelson particularly funny as Katniss and Peeta's mentor Haymitch.
The teen girl mob, who during the show I attended literally screamed the house down whenever Gale or Peeta (or a cat or a child) appeared on screen, seem to have found a new set of idols and, with Lawrence's robust central showing, a feminine hero for the ages. Perhaps there's little surprise in their showing of affection for this material, in many ways so cynically tailored to meet their interests, but what's striking is that 'The Hunger Games' is actually to some extent worthy of their adulation.
'The Hunger Games' is released today in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.
"We're reviving a cancelled undercover program from the 80's" says a police captain near the start of '21 Jump Street' - a self-aware comic re-imagining of the 1980s cop show that most famously launched Johnny Depp as a heartthrob. In this version it's left to a mismatched buddy pairing - of a sporty airhead (Channing Tatum) and a brainy dweeb (Jonah Hill) - to track down teenage drug dealers, as hapless rookie cops sent to infiltrate a high school posing as students. Yet they both have unfinished business left over from their own school days which ensures they are soon more focused on making a second go of high school life, with Hill unexpectedly befriending the cool set, whilst Tatum becomes the unlikely champion of the science nerds.
As former high school antagonists turned best friends it's inevitable when they begin to turn on each other during the second act, yet - in a refreshing twist on a tired formula - it's Hill who comes to marginalise the strapping jock, rather than simply seeing the two revert into their old roles. Sometimes the comedy leans too far towards knowingly shocking excess, whilst the plot and "bad-ass" aspirations of our heroes threaten to veer uncomfortably towards a right-wing fantasy, yet its heart seems to be in the right place thanks to the film's tendency to make everything as broad and lovably ridiculous as possible.
Hill and Tatum make for a funny and charismatic double-act, whilst the film's many in-jokes at the expense of formula cop series (like the original) and tropes of the high school comedy allow for a disarming bluntness about the stupidity of its own premise.There are perhaps too many action scenes, with car chases and gun battles now a staple of the Hollywood "dude comedy", and these do drag the film down for long spells. But when it's funny it's funny enough that you more or less forget all the bits you didn't like... and it's funny about 50% of the time.
Especially winning are the drug taking scenes, which seem fresh despite the fact drug trip humour has been done to death over the years: staged imaginatively and going to some fairly bizarre places. This married to the terrific interplay between the leads, deft physical comedy, and some unexpectedly great meta-humour, ensured I laughed long into the credits - possibly for the first time since the last film from directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller (2009's criminally overlooked Sony animation 'Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs'). There's also a very clever cameo that's almost of 'Zombieland' proportions - and which you certainly won't want spoiled.
'21 Jump Street' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.
Stark, austere and stripped of sentiment or the vaguest promise of redemption, Markus Schleinzer's directorial debut 'Michael' is a grim tale told (for the most part) from the perspective of Michael Fuith's titular pedophile: a middle-aged Austrian insurance salesman. Michael's otherwise banal existence is only of note because he has abducted a young boy, who he keeps in a specially designed room below his unremarkable suburban home.
It's a synopsis that's not only uncomfortably similar to several cases in recent Austrian history, but which also seems currently in vogue with European filmmakers - with the in some ways identical French film 'Coming Home' debuting at this year's Berlin Film Festival. Yet whereas that less compelling effort made a vain attempt to analyse both kidnapper and victim, 'Michael' focuses on the former and boldly presents this character in a way which is endlessly humane without compromising the horror of his distressing crimes.
Michael is a loner and, whilst nothing in Schleinzer's subtle film waves his backstory in your face, you can just about glimpse his unhappy childhood and unfulfilled adulthood among the details. He is antisocial, though a palpable self-hatred sees him repeatedly attempt to overcome inadequacy (going on a ski holiday with friends and throwing an office party). He seems unable to relate to adults and much more comfortable in the company of young boys - who I suppose represent the only subset of the population he feels able to hold any semblance of control over or has anything remotely in common with (with his fondness for Christmas and racing cars).
He is not a monster, yet nor is he a victim, with the film resisting any easy classification of his behaviour or character. It is testament to the great skill of Fruith's restrained performance (pathetic but tinged with just enough threat) that the film can remain so mannered and almost neutral even when it comes to depicting the protagonist's molestation of a child.
Though we're never explicitly shown any of the acts themselves, it is strongly implied that Michael is having sex with the 10 year-old Wolfgang (David Rauchenberger), the miserable and angry blonde-haired child imprisoned beneath his home. Whereas 'Coming Home' sought to make its kidnapper marginally less hateful by having him express a lack of sexual interest in his young prey - eventually forming a consensual sexual relationship with his victim (a teenage girl) - 'Michael' does not cop out so spectacularly.
If you're going to address the perverse and uncomfortable side of humanity, and suggest that this chaotic and debauched assault on social values can lurk just behind the curtain of any seemingly normal family home (as is the case), then in order to do that effectively you must be frank about what that sinister face of humanity looks like. It makes for mercilessly uncomfortable viewing, but 'Michael' is not trying to make its protagonist or his actions palatable, even as it avoids the classic knee-jerk response of the lynch mob.
'Michael' is out now in the UK, rated '18' by the BBFC.
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.
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