'The Artist' review:

Widely tipped to win big at next year's Oscars, 'The Artist' is a French (mostly) silent movie starring the charismatic Jean Dujardin as George Valentin, a star of silent era Hollywood whose career suffers after the introduction of sound. To a large extent it's a retread of 'Singing in the Rain', with large helpings of 'Sunset Boulevard' and 'A Star is Born', as one star's fall from the limelight coincides with another's meteoric rise. Here it's the energetic young Peppy Miller, played by Bérénice Bejo, who becomes the It girl and darling of the early talkies - sparking conflict and romance with her ageing idol and sometime mentor.

Director Michel Hazanavicius has made a sweet movie which only ever aspires to be charming and, for the most part, succeeds. The humour is gentle to a fault, the stars are elegant, gifted physical comedians and the early Hollywood setting is recreated with no shortage of affection. Adding to the good time feeling are cameos from John Goodman as a brash studio mogul, James Cromwell as a loyal limo driver, Malcolm McDowell as a cantankerous old man and Missi Pyle as a shrill actress. There are dance routines, moments of passion and also an adorable little dog. It's a nostalgic crowd-pleaser and, particularly in the first act, entirely joyful and full of laughs - amusing sight gags and clever misdirection jokes. It's about twenty minutes too long, losing its way in a bloated second act, but it's fun nevertheless.



That the film is so unapologetically winsome and uncynical in its reverence for Hollywood, whilst being so superficially high-brow - not only is it silent, but black and white and shot in 4:3 aspect ratio - will be in its favour come Academy Award time. It'll also be helped by that veteran Oscar campaigning powerhouse Harvey Weinstein whose company is distributing the film. If it combines these qualities with the expected box office success there will simply be no way of stopping its rise. I bring this up because Oscar success will (perhaps unfairly) change the way many critics - myself included - feel about the movie in the long-run. Simply put: the film could go from being a modest and delightful curiosity to an over-praised monster. Think 'The Hurt Locker'.

It could become one of those movies people who actually don't really like film bring up at parties as evidence of their great taste and quiet devotion to cinephilia - just like 'The Shawshank Redemption'. Worse still, the Academy giving the Best Picture award to a film like this would be a self-serving gesture on the part of its members, who can use this silent, black and white, French movie as evidence of their integrity. To the watching world it will look like Oscar has stuck his gold-plated neck out for an obscure, boldly different little art film, in spite of the fact that it's, in content and form and by definition, conservative. Ultimately it's every bit as cosy and middle class as last year's champion: 'The King's Speech'.



Yet for a year the American film industry may be allowed to pretend that the Oscar isn't a celebration of great financial success at all, but a simple celebration of art and, like Roberto Benigni before him, Michel Hazanavicius can stand on stage and endear himself to a vast television audience with his adorable European accent, become a Hollywood darling and then quietly disappear back home.

'The Artist' is, truly, a lovely little film. In its present state, free from the inevitable reassessment brought on by such things as Oscar glory, it's one of the year's most charming and eminently watchable movies. But not one of its best. It isn't technically ground-breaking, thematically challenging or formally experimental enough to be considered one of the year's most significant films and, though its derivative nature is central to its charm, it's still derivative. Yet whatever trajectory its critical fortunes take the film's infectious good nature and lightness of touch won't fail to raise a smile.

'The Artist' opens in the UK on December 30th and has been rated 'PG' by the BBFC.

'Take Shelter' review:

Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you. That's the abiding feeling of 'Take Shelter' in which Curtis LaForche (Michael Shannon) begins to lose his sanity following a series of apocalyptic dreams, as everything in his small Ohio town, from faithful dog to colleagues at the construction site, become portents of doom. Most concerned about his sudden change in temperament and drop in health (mental and physical) is loving wife Samantha (Jessica Chastain), whose two dearly held aspirations - a move to the seaside and surgery for their daughter (Tova Stewart) which will restore her hearing - are put in jeopardy by Curtis' decision to throw all their finances into extending an old storm shelter underneath the backyard.

Written and directed by Jeff Nichols, it's commendable as an exploration of mental illness - with each fresh concern seeming very real to Curtis even as those around him raise eyebrows. As with 'Melancholia', the unsympathetic reaction of others to his mental state is key. But it's his own maniaphobia, the fear of going insane, that is best represented as he heads toward a total breakdown even in spite of his wish not to. He sees a doctor and a councillor, but wants to be given concrete answers and cured - not merely listened to (a position anyone who's been to the doctors with a mental health problem will understand). The fact that his mother was committed when he was a child adds to the sense of dread as he contemplates a future in which he too is separated from his family.



Shannon's portrayal of this fall is the film's strongest suit, with the actor long a specialist in playing unhinged characters ('Revolutionary Road', 'My Son, My Don, What Have Ye Done?') without gimmicks. There is something in his eyes which suggests a man who's both dangerous and pitiable, and there is also a warmth there evident as he interacts with his daughter. Chastain, who has seemed to be in everything over the last six months, is also outstanding, giving her most compelling and complete performance to date. Also worth a mention are the special effects which are totally effective for such a low budget drama, as CGI tornadoes and swarms of black birds blend seamlessly with their environment.

The final twist is, however, misjudged - providing a cheap, head scratching finale over which the audience can pontificate "did that just happen or was that a dream?" or "is she insane now too?" which somewhat undermines the mental health angle of the preceding two hours. It also lacks dramatic power, coming out of nowhere. Pacing is also an issue as the running time drags, whilst the frequent dream sequences are so clearly signposted that they are never themselves frightening (even if they give us a window onto why Curtis is frightened). It's difficult to shake the feeling that, as the stakes are raised and Curtis is plunged deeper into insanity, the film should become quicker and more intense.

'Take Shelter' is out now in the UK and has been rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Weekend' review:

The bitter-sweet story of two men spending as many days together following a one night stand, 'Weekend' is not only a touching and gently funny love story, but a rumination on what it means to be gay. More broadly speaking it's about identity and the conflict between how we see ourselves and how we wish to be seen by others. Here the introverted, determinedly anti-camp Russell (Tom Cullen) finds himself attracted to his opposite: the loud, confrontational and highly politicised artist Glen, played by Chris New.

Russell seeks the path of least resistance where sexuality is concerned - being quiet about his sexual escapades, even in private, and rejecting public displays of affection altogether - whereas Glen is comfortable meeting prejudice with well reasoned debate or juvenile insults as the situation warrants. He bravely seeks to challenge the heteronormative society in which he lives, but he is also pretentious, insensitive and emotionally immature: Russell likens him to a teenager at one stage, even as he regards him with thinly veiled admiration.



Director Andrew Haigh's naturalistic screenplay, along with the fine performances of both leads, brings to life a film of emotional substance and nuance, in which neither character is judged by the filmmaker even as they judge and contradict each other. Glen's cynical take on marriage, as a sort of fay middle class obligation, is every bit as persuasive as Russell's suggestion that the ritual represents a bold public declaration of love. In this way the lengthy, often drug-fuelled, exchanges between them - as they discuss art, sex and gay rights of passage - are always interesting, funny and heartfelt - never sentimental or contrived.

From within a drab block of flats which, as surrounded by security cameras, feels at times like something out of Andrea Arnold's 'Red Road', it is easy to identify with Russell's less overt, less militant homosexuality. Without a single scene of physical violence, Haigh still manages to create an intimidating atmosphere as brainless insults are directed at the protagonists from off-camera. In this way the unseen villain of the piece is not anything as extreme or jarring as a punch in the face, but in the words people use so thoughtlessly - and in the culture itself, as people channel directionless anger into anti-social behaviour. The decision not to show the haters is also arguably a political gesture in of itself: this isn't their movie after all and their place in it, whilst necessary, is marginal. What's far more important is how Russell and Glen react differently to this ever-present oppression as opposed to any specific instance of confrontation.



That it's to some extent broken free of the "Queer cinema" ghetto and achieved modest mainstream box office success - in the UK and US, where it won awards at several festivals - has taken the industry by surprise, with cinemas notably slow on the uptake: forced to carry the film after date in response to audience demand. It might seem odd - and even like evidence of institutionalised homophobia - that it's faced such an uphill battle even in spite of overwhelmingly positive reception in the mainstream press. Yet it's arguably evidence of a fear raised in the film itself, as Glen contemplates the future of his own vaguely defined art project: an installation which will centre on the frank discussion of gay sex in a public forum.

Of that taboo-defying piece he muses that homosexuals won't be interested because it's not at all pornographic, whilst "straights" won't come because it's not about their world. 'Weekend' is challenging these restrictive, intellectually and emotionally stifling lines in the sand in ways even its director couldn't have foreseen, becoming one of the year's stand-out films on its own terms. Whether or not this will have a lasting impact on the exhibition industry, clearing the way for wider distribution of similarly accomplished gay cinema in the future, remains to be seen. But in an industry typically turned on the identification and immediate assimilation of trends (superheroes, J-horror remakes, 3D), I'd be very surprised if distributors weren't at this very moment actively seeking out the next 'Weekend'. The trouble for whichever film inherits that mantle is that Andrew Haigh has set the bar unreasonably high.

'Weekend' is out now in the UK and rated '18' by the BBFC.

'Immortals' review:

From Tarsem Singh Dhandwar, director of 'The Fall', 'Immortals' is as self-consciously artful as it is ultra-violent - a skull-smashing, eye-gouging riff on Greek myth. Its characters are thinly drawn heroic archetypes, lead by Henry Cavill (the next Superman) as Theseus and Luke Evans as the wettest version of Zeus ever committed to film. Mickey Rourke again takes the role of villain, whilst "actress" Freida Pinto is a virgin oracle and an underutilised John Hurt narrates, bringing back fond memories of 'The Storyteller'. There isn't a lot to the characters or the story: Rourke longs to find a holy artefact (the magical Epirus Bow) that will enable him to "unleash the titans" and destroy the gods, whilst our heroes must stop him. And, as with every telling of this story (Disney's 'Hercules', both 'Clash of the Titans' movies), they will by necessity fail to stop him, or else rob us of a gods versus titans spectacular at the end.

Where Tarsem's film does stand up is in the art direction. Yes, it's entirely showy (though not in the ugly way Zack Snyder's '300' was), but to see a blockbuster with such a coherent sense of design and an eye for composition is heartening. There is no place for realism here and whilst this does excuse a few awkward plot holes it does enable some fabulously over the top costumes and elaborate sets. The 3D is also well utilised, reminding me of Wim Wender's arthouse dance flick 'Pina', with increased spacial depth providing the perfect platform for the grim choreography of battle. A few jarring cuts betray the compromise that took some of the more grisly shots from the film in order to grant it a '15' certificate, but it's still spectacularly violent and frequently inventive with it.



Possibly as a lazy piece of character motivation rather than something more insidious, both Rourke as the merciless King Hyperion and Cavill's hero are motivated by a need for personal revenge: the villain blames the gods for the death of his family, whilst Theseus has his own personal cause to want Hyperion dead. Though this blood-lust does undermine his heroic character, as does his shield-beating claptrap about immortality through death in battle, it's entirely consistent with the film's conservative, militarist message. Here the enemy is one who, we are told, kills innocents without remorse because they are motivated by a conviction of belief. Key to the victory of good over evil is Theseus' discovery of deep religious faith.

To compound this message, a slimy politician (Stephen McHattie) seeks to negotiate with Hyperion rather than command his forces in battle, citing logic over superstition and demonstrating that those who seek the peaceful path are weak and godless fools. Here an army of face-covering fundamentalists can only be bested by renewed fundamentalism on the part of the good guys. Throw in the fact that the all-white gods (wearing blonde armour) beat the crap out of the dark-skinned titans and you've got something that's either stringently right-wing or just crass and insensitive.

'Immortals' is out now in the UK and rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Wuthering Heights' review:

If you read certain newspapers you could be forgiven for thinking that things are getting worse by the day: that society is regressing and life on Earth is more miserable now than it was for our grandparents. This truism is, aside from being quite annoying, potentially destructive and alienating. Its effects can be seen in our most culturally conservative films: that of the "heritage" cinema. In the British heritage cinema, with its eyes set on international box office, we see this idea applied to the nineteenth century time and time again, where people are invariably more refined, elegant, witty and polite than ourselves. They live in magnificent houses surrounded by beautiful things and speak the clearest (and often most verbose) form of English.

In this cinema we not only play up to international expectations of what "Britishness" (or really "Englishness") is, but we portray ourselves as we wish to be seen. This it at its most troubling when it comes to representations of race - where black faces are erased from British history in spite of the fact that London has been a multicultural city since before the time of Shakespeare - and, of course, social class. There have certainly been handsome and enjoyable period films over the years but there can be little doubt that the genre is staid and in need of a shake-up. Luckily Andrea Arnold, the director of 'Red Road' and 'Fish Tank', has done just that with a dirty, sweary and determinedly working class adaptation of 'Wuthering Heights'.



In this tale of doomed romance she recasts the central role of Heathcliff, an enigmatic social outsider, as black whilst Cathy and her family speak with thick regional accents. It's the 'Batman Begins' of period movies: a gritty game-changer that injects realism into a genre more commonly resembling fantasy. The dimly lit interiors speak of a time before electricity and our restricted view of the world (the whole thing takes place in one rural community) creates a sense of isolation. Use of anachronistic swear words and racial slurs, along with dynamic handheld cameras, also paints the past in such a way that it feels alive and the people real. The decision to again cast many non-actors (which worked so well in 'Fish Tank') also ensures there is little chance of mistaking this for an episode of 'Downton Abbey'.

These divergences from the standard tropes of period film are not merely cosmetic but help tell the story - and in lieu of any lengthy dialogue, displaying an admirable confidence in the power of images above the spoken word. Admittedly my knowledge of Emily Brontë's nineteenth century novel extends only as far as the Kate Bush song, but the director's vision seems faithful to that of the Gothic novel as far as I can tell. The story is stripped to the bear essentials, but the elemental animal passion of the characters comes across, especially in the first half of the film depicting childhood. Having a black Heathcliff serves to imbue scenes with deeper significance - such as when he is treated as a domestic servant, beaten and locked up - whilst it also strengthens the feeling that he and the white Cathy will never be accepted as lovers.



The tragedy of Cathy and Heathcliff's destructive love-hate relationship and unconsummated love comes across vividly, as does the fecund and windswept setting, marking this as a successful adaptation of the story. But the greatest achievement - and hopefully most lasting influence - of the piece is in Arnold so boldly shaking the British costume drama by the shoulders. There will always be an audience for glossy nineteenth century literary adaptations about gaudy dresses and well-maintained topiary (and they will likely always generate more money than Arnold's film), but this is the clearest evidence since Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon' that this most stagnant of genres can be as gutsy and relevant as any other.

'Wuthering Heights' is out now in the UK where it is rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Paranormal Activity 3' review:

For anybody wondering why a film coming to the end of its theatrical run is at the top of this blog: I'm just catching up on some of the current releases. In lieu of anything else to do/because it was Halloween, I chose to see this. Rest assured this week's biggest new films have been reviewed further down, in the form of 'The Adventures of Tintin' and 'The Ides of March'.



With some major exceptions - like Kubrick's 'The Shining' and Carpenter's 'The Thing' - I'm not a big fan of traditional horror movies. This represents a major gap in my cinema knowledge, leaving me with many seminal movies as yet unseen. As a result I'm often left shamefaced when people assume I've seen, for instance, 'The Exorcist' or 'Night of the Living Dead'. It's a rare event that I even see a horror movie in fact and I suspect fewer than 5 of the around 250 films I've reviewed since beginning this blog have been unambiguously of the genre, even though it's perhaps the most enduring and commercially successful in the business. I am increasingly aware of the need to bridge this cultural gap, but horror was never my passion growing up like it was for many of my peers.

I begin this review of 'Paranormal Activity 3' with such a strained admission of ignorance because I'm self-consciously out of my depth and didn't want to give any impression to the contrary. I also thought it might explain why I'm much less interested in the actual business of what went on in the film - the scares and specific additions to the series' growing mythology - than I am of who made it and how. Whilst I saw the original 2007 lo-fi phenomenon 'Paranormal Activity' on DVD, I never sought out its first (by most accounts rubbish) sequel. Yet I went to see this third entry because of two names: Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost, directors of the controversial "documentary" 'Catfish'.



I write the word sceptically because much of the coverage surrounding 'Catfish' - which ostensibly followed a man's online romance to a very creepy conclusion - focussed on whether or not it had been staged. Was it actually just a very cleverly made thriller, rather than a genuine insight into the pitfalls of love in the digital age? I don't know, though it certainly felt real to me to the point where the question seemed redundant. With that debut as their calling card, the duo make an inspired choice to direct a fake "found footage" movie on a low budget. So when I learned they had directed this latest, cash-in sequel (actually a prequel) it elevated my interest all the way from "none whatsoever" to "desperate to see it".

I was very impressed by what I saw. For one thing, as with the previous films in the series, the action is mostly staged within the confines of (despite its 80s setting) one ultra-modern American suburban home and the directors use this space brilliantly. Very quickly we understand the layout of the house, meaning that when a spooky images flickers from one end of a hall to the other we understand where it is headed, and when people react to events happening off-camera, we know exactly where they are looking. The house itself is airy and open plan, which contributes both to the feeling of being watched by an omnipresent entity and of there being nowhere to hide.



Furthermore, the cine-literate directors geek out spectacularly throughout the movie. The man obsessed with taping the events this time around, Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith), is an amateur filmmaker who not only spends his time arguing with a friend about the logic of the title of 'Back to the Future' whilst sitting at an editing suite, but actually discusses the mechanics of shooting the house - and by extension the movie itself. He talks at length about wide-angle lenses and experimenting with different placements to capture as much of the space as possible with one camera.

He creatively uses mirrors to cover multiple angles within each single shot and - in the film's best moment of invention - turns an oscillating fan into a slowly panning camera tripod. Not only is this a neat piece of guerilla filmmaking, but the set-up plays directly into the scares as the camera tracks back and forth from the kitchen to the living room tantalising and frustrating us in equal measure with the promise of the inevitable reveal. Add to this some unsettling in-camera effects and 'Paranormal Activity 3' definitely makes the most of its small production budget (ignoring the hundreds of millions presumably spent on marketing).



Like the original film, the horror here is born directly from the act of filmmaking. The viewer is as ever complicit in enraging the demon, which we know is prone to acting up whenever people try to capture it on film. Our act of voyeurism seems to put us at risk for the duration of our time in the theatre and Dennis can't stop filming for the same reason we don't stop watching: we are psychically compelled to want to see our tormentor even as instinct tells us to turn and run away very quickly. This strange urge to explore the origin of an unexplained noise or to look inside the dark cupboard is what puts us in danger. It's a collective neurosis that's almost biblical in proportion: just as Adam was cast from the garden Eden for sating his intellectual curiosity, so must we pay for sticking our noses where they don't belong.

Also interesting is the fact that the two lead characters spend the first half of the film trying to scare each other, and most of the jumpy moments relate to this rather than anything supernatural. This is a clever twist as it gives you the satisfaction of a quick jump scare, whilst still withholding the lurking monster itself. And your knowledge that a genuine spooky force is present also makes you anxious, as those who play spooky tricks leave themselves open to very real paranormal attack in the process. As they laugh we suspect the worst is on its way. Even I, with my aforementioned lack of horror knowledge, can see many of the clichés at work here - including the dominant presence of two spooky girls - but Schulman and Joost inject much more invention into this theoretically moribund franchise than there was any right to expect.

'Paranormal Activity 3' is on general release in the UK where it is rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Real Steel' review:

It doesn't matter who is promoting 'Real Steel', whether it's charismatic leading man Hugh Jackman, over-enthusiastic director Shawn Levy or an anonymous automaton of the PR machine, the message about the family robot boxing movie is consistent: "it's not about the robots" they say, "it's a father and son story." This is the standard line for almost any special effects led movie, so I didn't take it all that seriously going in. After all, 'Real Steel' is set in an improbable future in which the world's most popular spot is effectively 'Robot Wars', as machines battle it out in the boxing ring in place of flesh and blood humans. But it turns out, for better or worse, they were all telling the truth. Even if the film begins with a giant robot punching an animal in the face for entertainment in front of a family crowd (an act never scrutinised), it is a father and son bonding movie first and an underdog boxing movie (with fighting robots) second.

Jackman plays a former boxer who never got to fulfil his potential because of all the worldwide robo-love. As a result he's now a jaded robot boxing trainer: down on his luck, owing a lot of money to a lot of people and sort of into Evangeline Lilly's gym owner (though this is never explored). Additionally, he's brash, cocky and arrogant. We meet him on the run from his latest humiliating defeat, as he's told that an ex-girlfriend from more than a decade ago has just died, leaving him in custody of his son (Dakota Goyo) - who he has never met and has less than no interest in. So, being an upstanding citizen, he sells the boy to his wealthy aunt for $50, 000 in order to buy a new fighting robot (this actually happens). But there is a snag as said aunt wants to go on holiday abroad (she seemingly isn't too upset about the death of her sister and - to be honest - neither is the boy, who gets stuck into building robots within minutes), leaving Jackman looking after the kid on a temporary basis.



It's nice to see an entry into the Spielbergian "absent father" sub-genre in which the dad is actually allowed to be a total prick, as opposed to committing the sin of having to go to work rather than play pirates all day (as in 'Hook'). Jackman sells this dickishness with commitment, bravely jettisoning a sizable amount of his inherent likeability for the first half of the movie. As the boy, Goyo is also pretty good (though his haircut and propensity to fix robots makes him distractingly similar to a young Anakin Skywalker), whilst Lilly (of 'Lost' fame) makes a good fit as the best friend/love interest/potential surrogate mother figure. It helps that the robots themselves are well designed too: the upshot being that you can always tell them apart during the fights and they seem to suggest an amount of personality - both attributes lacking in the 'Transformers' movies.

It's also colourful and - with the exception of an unnecessary "payback" moment late on - mostly good-natured, which I guess is the least that could be expected from a director whose filmography is comprised of bland comedies (remakes of 'The Pink Pather' and 'Cheaper by the Dozen', as well as 'Big Fat Liar' and the 'Night at the Museum' movies). But as restless young legs knocked the back of my seat it was clear something wasn't working. You see, there isn't much robo-boxing and some of the kids in the showing I attended clearly didn't care about any of the bits in between. One child loudly summed up the general mood at regular intervals, and in doing so became the afternoon's highlight, shouting "dad, this is rubbish", followed later by "I want to go home!" and "yay! it's finished". The atmosphere generated by these discontented youngsters was curiously counter-productive to the movie's family message, as the dads kept their thankless offspring prisoner in the cinema. Ignoring for a moment the fact that the action scenes (two robots hitting each other) are inherently boring anyway, the slowness of the dominant father and son story is truly crushing.



Some of it's laughable too, but not just with the trademark Levy humour (funny accents, lots of falling over) but with some calculated sub-Bieber dance routines, as the kid engages in bouts of "street" body popping with his best buddy robot, and one cheese-loaded sequence in which the boy goes for a run with the machine and makes it give him a big hug (awww!). The tone is uneven, shifting uneasily between gentle, understated moments of the father and son on the road (in the beautiful rural south of the US) and a sort of '8 Mile' attitude at the "underground" robot fights (why on earth would robot boxing have an underground? What is the difference?). It also doesn't help that the film's message is confused: Jackman personally controls his robot by shadow boxing whereas their major league rival is controlled by a less romantic array of men at computers, with the implication being that battle robots/computers/action scenes are souless and no substitute for human characters - a point undermined, not only by the premise of the film, but by a vague suggestion that the scrappy good guy robot (our plucky, low-tech underdog) has something like a soul.

'Real Steel' isn't a good movie and, to be brutally honest, I've been kinder here than was my first impulse on leaving the screen. But in genuinely trying to give the human story some heft, rather than viewing it as an inconvenience between robot fights, the film deserves some small credit. It might not do angsty drama particularly well, but it's a move in the right direction: in 2011 a family movie with punching robots that isn't full of masturbation jokes, women in hot pants bending over motorcycles and regressive ethnic stereotypes doesn't deserve to be torn to shreds and actually seems strangely quaint.

'Real Steel' has been on general release in the UK and is rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'Contagion' review:

In the 21st century, doomsday scenarios don't come much more frightening than the threat of a sudden worldwide viral outbreak. More than two decades since the end of the Cold War, the atomic bomb ceases to seem like a credible threat to our day to day lives - however frightening the prospect of those weapons might remain. But a deadly and highly contagious epidemic, rapidly spreading around the globe in the age of frequent air travel and increased global trade? That danger resonates stronger than ever with the public, as the sensationalist tabloid reporting on SARS and Avian Flu in the last decade can confirm. It's a fear that helped propel 'Contagion' to the top of the US box office last month, with Steven Soderbergh's latest star-studded ensemble movie exploiting our paranoia with deadly precision as we witness a queasily realistic depiction of a disease which kills tens of millions of people in less than a year.

Opening shots focus on human interaction and with great economy depict the dozens of ways such an outbreak might spread, as people shake hands, hand over money or serve food. These sinister close-ups turn everyday items and normal social behaviour into something out of a horror film. The ominous electronic score composed by Cliff Martinez (whose work was so crucial to the success of 'Drive' earlier this year) helps compound this air of tension as the sickly (and soon-to-be-dead) Gwyneth Paltrow makes her way from Hong Kong to Minnesota, stopping in Illinois along the way for some extra-marital sex, unknowingly providing us with one more example of how such an infection might be passed amongst the population.



In the wake of this first death we are introduced to nearly a dozen scarcely connecting characters who could feel more like experimental lab chimps than people, each existing to show us another face of the tragedy in a film which is primarily concerned with the mechanics of how such an event would take place and how the authorities might seek to contain it. They are for the most part ciphers, but the calibre of actor Soderbergh can attract ensures that performances are strong across the board, with Matt Damon (a grieving husband), Kate Winslet, Marion Cotillard, Jennifer Ehle, Laurence Fishburne and Elliott Gould (as assorted determined scientist types), Bryan Cranston (a military man) and Jude Law (an online conspiracy theorist) helping to add personality to this determinedly sterile, macro account of events. And with one Oscar winner already in a body bag shortly after the credits, it's clear that even A-list status might not be enough to ensure survival.

As the year rolls on and the death toll climbs new problems emerge off the back of the epidemic, including widespread social unrest (looting, arson, violence, murder), political scandal and manipulation of the media - courtesy of misinformation and distrust spread by Law's popular blogger. Meanwhile doctors struggle to provide a cure and supermarkets run out of food. The wide-ranging consequences of the outbreak - presented in a hyper-realistic way - only heighten our fear of such an event, which here turns major cities like Minneapolis and San Francisco into something resembling a third world war zone. Though in spite of the film's pursuit of gritty realism, Scott Z. Burns' dense, medical jargon heavy script is still (I think playfully) peppered with disaster movie clichés ("it's figuring us out quicker than we're figuring it out!"), the best of which sees one city official oppose telling citizens to stay in their homes in the run up to Thanksgiving ("the busiest shopping week of the year!").



If his public declaration that he is retiring from cinema (pending completion of his next two projects: 'Haywire' and 'Magic Mike') is to be believed, 'Contagion' looks set to be one of Soderbergh's final films, which would be a great pity: he's often been as interesting as he is prolific. After all, he's been responsible for works as diverse as 'Sex, Lies and Videotape', 'Traffic', and 'Che', in a career spent alternating between the defiantly commercial likes of 'Ocean's Eleven' and such wilfully obscure titles as 'The Girlfriend Experience' and 'Bubble' (an experiment in simultaneous theatrical, DVD and TV on demand releasing). A few of his films have been near great, whilst others can be chalked up as folly without too much cause for controversy, but Soderbergh - one of a few directors who acts as his own cinematographer - is always worth a watch. And never more so than with 'Contagion'.

It feels slightly too long (I was surprised to find it only lasted 106 minutes) and, in terms of narrative focus, it's every bit as scattershot as its director's filmography - with some characters unceremoniously forgotten, whilst others reappear just as you've forgotten they were in the film to begin with. Yet it's gripping, frightening, filled with haunting images and, I suspect, it will come to be seen as the definitive film about worldwide medical crisis. If the worst should happen and such an event does take place in our lifetimes, you will likely here someone say "it's just like in that movie 'Contagion'" as an army roadblock closes your town. It certainly left me wanting to stockpile supplies and seal the exits, too frightened to touch my own face. And that's the sign of a good film.

'Contagion' is out in the UK now where it is rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'The Ides of March' review:

The story of a wide-eyed idealist's transformation into a dead-eyed cynic, 'The Ides of March' is George Clooney's fourth film behind the camera and, based on the play Farragut North, marks a return to the type of earnest liberal outrage that marked his one unequivocal success to date as a director: 'Good Night, and Good Luck'. It's also the first major movie tangibly stained with the disappointment that has followed the euphoria of Barack Obama's 2008 election victory, with Clooney casting himself as a presidential candidate who similarly promises much but - even during the nomination process - is forced to concede many of his closely held ideals in order to become president.

With its focus on the American electoral process - with terms like "delegates" and "primaries" bandied about - Aaron Sorkin's seminal TV series 'The West Wing' is an obvious point of reference and indeed that show's legacy is felt here in some of the fast-paced banter between the candidate and his staffers, as well as in the breathless walk and talks that see strategy mapped out in corridors. But whereas Sorkin depicted political aides who fought passionately for their ideals in spite of a flawed system, here the fall of Ryan Gosling's campaign strategist paints a more pessimistic picture of American political life, with the relatively young and (we're told) brilliant campaigner coming to disregard his principles through a combination of ambition and betrayal. And whilst 'The West Wing' is, at its core, about a group of highly intelligent and well-meaning Democrats who always have each other's backs, 'The Ides of March' follows a group of highly intelligent and well-meaning Democrats who will sell out the few friends they have the moment their political careers are jeopardised.



The resolute heartlessness of Clooney's film will come as a surprise to many, with an overwhelming mood of hopelessness surrounding the fate of his characters and the suggestion that genuine friendship is impossible in high-end politics. Almost no one appears to have been satisfied ultimately, not Philip Seymour Hoffman's highly strung campaign manager, his underhanded political rival played by Paul Giamatti or Evan Rachel Wood's tragic and sexy young intern. In this world those with the least scruples are those who seem to get ahead - with Marisa Tomei's investigative journalist (portrayed as little more than a gossip merchant) and Jeffery Wright's ambitious, mercenary senator emerging from the thriller's twists and turns unscathed. That all the double-crossing schemers depicted are supporters of the same political party only heightens the sense of despair.

It's not as accomplished as 'Good Night, and Good Luck' or as inventive as 'Confessions of a Dangerous Mind', but with snappy, quotable dialogue ("you can start a war, you can bankrupt a country, but you can't fuck the interns! They get you for that!"), good performances from the uniformly excellent cast and Clooney's assured, unfussy handling of the material, 'The Ides of March' is an entirely decent political thriller. Be warned though, it's not exactly a "feel-good" movie. After all, when one of Hollywood's most outspoken liberals loses all faith in politics, what hope is there for the rest of us?!

'The Ides of March' opens on Friday (28th October) in the UK and is rated '15' by the BBFC.

'The Adventures of Tintin' review:

In the popular imagination Steven Spielberg was once a name that stood for high-class family friendly adventure, with the Hollywood powerhouse having helped to redefine the modern spectacle-led blockbuster in the 1980s: directing the iconic likes of 'E.T.' and the 'Indiana Jones' trilogy, whilst producing 'The Goonies', 'Gremlins' and 'Back to the Future'. Yet in 1993 everything seemed to change for the filmmaker who suddenly "went serious". He'd always had a wider ranging filmography than he's given credit (including films as diverse as farcical comedy '1941', TV-made horror 'Duel', David Lean-style epic 'Empire of the Sun' and the romantic drama 'Always'), but snaring the Best Director statuette at the Academy Awards that year - for the black and white and grimly serious 'Schindler's List' - seems to have provoked an almost wholesale abandonment of the superior family fare that was his particular genius.

Aside from two poorly received sequels - 1997's 'Jurassic Park: The Lost World' and 2008's 'Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull' - the years since his austere holocaust epic have yielded well-meaning slavery drama 'Amistad', sentimental WWII drama 'Saving Private Ryan', forgettable Israeli vengeance thriller 'Munich' and the melancholy, Kubrick-devised 'AI: Artificial Intelligence'. Even his returns to comparatively light material have been more adult-focussed than his reputation might once have suggested, with the Tom Hanks comedies 'Catch Me If You Can' and 'The Terminal' and Tom Cruise sci-fi movies 'Minority Report' and 'War of the Worlds'. Even his output as a producer has become more cynical and less winsomely old fashioned, as best displayed by the putrid, morally/creatively bankrupt 'Transformers' movies and the humourless, overblown 'Cowboys and Aliens'.

Yet even as he readies the "worthy" award bait 'War Horse' for release just in time for back-slapping season, this year Spielberg makes a welcome return to his old stomping ground: bidding to entertain children worldwide all over again with an animated adaptation of 'The Adventures of Tintin'. Whilst he's long held an interest in animation - producing the fondly remembered Don Bluth films of the 80s ('An American Tale' and 'The Land Before Time') and several terrific 90s TV series (including 'Tiny Toon Adventures' and 'Animaniacs') - this comic book adaptation marks his debut directorial effort in the medium (as well as in 3D), and has seen him work closely in collaboration with fellow live action specialist Peter Jackson - the planned director of the film's sequel, should it perform as expected at the box office this winter.



'Tintin' finds its director in playful mood, subtly referencing some of his earlier films with neat visual touches, and it's no surprise if the film feels as though it's channelling a younger Spielberg. After all, his adaptation of this material has had a long gestation period, beginning with the acquisition of the film rights as early as 1984 - a year after the death of the books' author Hergé, who named the American as the material's ideal director. Over the years it's been touted as a live action film (the original concept would have seen Jack Nicholson as alcoholic Scott Captain Haddock) before finally winding up a dazzling example of motion capture, courtesy of Jackson's New Zealand effects outfit WETA. Drawing material largely from the books 'The Crab With the Golden Claws', 'The Secret of the Unicorn', 'Red Rackham's Treasure' and - unexpectedly - 'The Castafiore Emerald', the adaptation sees intrepid reporter Tintin (Jamie Bell) and his faithful dog Snowy trying to discover the significance of a small model ship stolen from by the mysterious aristocrat Sakharine (Daniel Craig).

Sakharine (a red herring non-villain in the original) is hoping to uncover some legendary pirate booty, whilst also settling a score with the oblivious, self-pitying drunkard Captain Haddock (mo-cap veteran Andy Serkis), whose ship he has stolen. This inter-generational feud plot-line is in an invention of British screenwriters Steven Moffat, Joe Cornish and Edgar Wright which serves to give a scrapbook array of original elements something of a dramatic through-line and a clear baddie. It's a change that will drive die-hard Tintin fans nuts, but it's a smart move from a narrative point of view. That the grudge match is resolved in a credibility stretching battle between two cargo cranes (staged as a colossal sword fight) is a pity, but the idea itself is compelling.

On the whole the changes are on a smaller scale and relate to the order of events rather than the spirit of Hergé's books. The characters are photo-realistic renderings in the artist's own distinctive style of caricature, which are stylised enough to avoid the ugly, unsettling "uncanny valley" effect felt strongly in the recent Robert Zemeckis animations (such as 'Beowulf') and characters, like the bumbling British detectives Thomson and Thompson (Simon Pegg and Nick Frost), are portrayed faithfully. As the titular hero Bell acquits himself well, portraying him as a capable young adult where so many other adaptations over the years (notably the rubbish French-Canadian animated series) cast him as irritatingly boyish. Snowy is also deployed well - an effective aid to his master and an equally effective excuse for lengthy spoken exposition (in this respect Snowy is the original Chewbacca/R2-D2).



The stand-out bit of action is an extended flashback as Haddock enthusiastically relives an encounter between his 17th century ancestor Sir Francis Haddock and a pirate ship on the high seas. The jaw-dropping and inventive choreography of this sequence is much more high-octane than its source equivalent and - as some would have it - marks a departure from Hergé's more grounded and meticulously researched world. Though coming via Haddock's drunken storytelling and delivered with a great sense of fun, the filmmakers come away credibility intact.

Tintin is apparently virtually unknown in the US, so Spielberg might (with some justification) have sought to Americanise this very European series in the course of adapting it. However fans will be pleased to learn that the story begins in a timeless (non-specific early twentieth century) Europe, with Tommy guns and classic cars (Tintin doesn't have an iPhone 4) and exclusively features actors with quintessentially "old world" accents. The tone of this adventure varies between brightly coloured 'Indiana Jones' style Saturday matinee action, broad pratfalls and the oppressive mood of film noir, with this blend meshing comfortably. It's also the most gutsy children's film in a while and doesn't talk down to its young audience (note the irksome, charmless 'Happy Feet Two' was trailed beforehand as if to highlight the current low standard of kids movies). For instance, Tintin wields a gun - a surprise considering the director infamously replaced guns with walkie-talkies digitally in his "20th Anniversary Edition" of 'E.T.' - and Haddock slurps whiskey like there's no tomorrow.

It's fair to say that there are too many frantic chase sequences and the film feels a tad long, but overall Spielberg and Jackson's take on the material is respectful and makes for suitably exciting viewing. It is easily the most unashamedly fun Spielberg has been since 'Jurassic Park' almost two decades ago and, though I suspect it's going to prove an interesting sidestep rather than a sign of things to come, I'm very glad he's snuck in this elaborate caveat ahead of the inevitably yawnsome 'War Horse'. A film which may well win him another Oscar and confirm my suspicion that - in terms of award recognition - it's better to be a passable dramatist than a world class showman. How different things might have been if he'd received Academy recognition for 'E.T.' At least we have 'The Adventures of Tintin'.

'The Adventures of Tintin' is released in the UK from tomorrow (October 26th) and has been rated 'PG' by the BBFC.

'We Need to Talk About Kevin' review:

If we accept that it exists at all, is evil born or is it made? If a teenager commits mass murder, should we blame the parents or society or the media or some innate badness that lurks inside of the individual? Whilst not addressed explicitly, these questions are at the forefront of Scottish director Lynne Ramsay's long awaited third feature, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin': an adaptation of Lionel Shriver's novel, starring the inimitable Tilda Swinton as Eva, whose sociopathic son Kevin (Ezra Miller) massacres students and teachers at his high school.

Told from the perspective of Eva, Ramsay's film is less concerned with the troubled Kevin and his motivations than it is with the effect the ordeal - and the boy's almost equally traumatic upbringing - has had on his mother. Routinely attacked and insulted on the street - with her house and car vandalised at the film's start - it's only a slight exaggeration to say that Eva's life is a living hell, not least because she lives with the knowledge of what her son has done and seems willing to accept society's judgement of her. Even as a toddler, Kevin prefers his more natural and easygoing father (John C. Reilly) to his reluctant mother, a best selling travel author who is suddenly housebound by an unwanted baby.



Ramsay tastefully avoids depicting the horrific event itself (or indeed many of the preceding horrific events), but even so she manages to make even the most banal instances (a drive through suburbia, a trip to the supermarket) intense and frightening throughout. This has a lot to do with punchy editing, jarring musical choices and a stand out performance from relative unknown Miller.

If Christopher Nolan ever wanted to bring back the Joker in his Batman films, Miller with his contemptuous eyes and debauched grin would be the perfect candidate to replace the late Heath Ledger. He still looks intelligent and sinister even when he is called upon to look void of emotion. For much of the film Kevin is something of an emotional black hole, showing neither joy nor sorrow and incapable of empathy or compassion. Near the end, whilst he awaits transfer to an adult prison, we witness his only show of emotion by virtue of the fear in his eyes. Until that point it's tempting to conclude he isn't human but some sort of demonic force - a divine punishment for Eva's seeming lack of a maternal instinct.



'We Need to Talk About Kevin' is a masterclass in terms of the creation of anxiety, but for me at least the question of what the film is really about remains. The product of a collaboration between three distinctive and highly celebrated female artists (Swinton, Ramsay and Shriver), I'd hesitate to say the film is about what can happen if a career woman forsakes a traditional motherly role - surely that's not the intention here? I'd certainly hope not. But if Eva is not being held responsible by the film, which draws frequent parallels between her behaviour and Kevin's, then are we left with this uncomfortable - and I think dishonest - idea of innate "evil"?

If looked at as an exploration of Kevin's motivations the film is weak and the conclusions trite: he plays violent video games and is inspired to violence by the lure of being on television. Instead it works best as a look at how society reacts to a mother in this situation - you need only look at how the media is especially vitriolic against female murderers as opposed to their male counterparts - and how she comes to see herself. The backflashes which scour Eva's past, from the opening (pre-Kevin) scene of blissful content at the Tomatina festival in Spain to the height of her disconnect with Kevin as a teenager, are perhaps examples of this mother's own futile search for answers.

'We Need to Talk About Kevin' is out now in the UK and it is rated '15' by the BBFC.

'The Three Musketeers 3D' review:

Few will be surprised to learn that 'The Three Musketeers 3D', directed by Paul W.S. Anderson (the force behind the 'Resident Evil' movies and 'Alien vs. Predator'), is terrible. So terrible in fact that Orlando Bloom is by far the best thing in it, stealing the show as the villainous Duke of Buckingham. There are far too many set pieces in this artless affair, which are as uninvolving as they are silly, whilst almost no time is spent developing any of the (many) characters in a vaguely steampunk re-imagining of the Alexandre Dumas novel.

Somewhat counter-intuitively, we spend very little time in the company of titular trio Athos (Matthew Macfadyen), Porthos (Ray Stevenson) and Aramis (Luke Evans), with Anderson apparently not interested in them at all outside of the fights. Instead he forever cuts between the camp courtly antics of King Louis XIII (Freddie Fox) struggling to woo his demure Queen (Juno Temple), interminable scenes of exposition between Cardinal Richelieu (Christoph Waltz) and Milady (the director's wife, Milla Jovovich) and an excruciatingly wearisome romantic sub-plot that finds D'Artagnan (Logan Lerman) attempt to earn the affections of the world's most non-descript and joyless woman (Gabriella Wilde) whilst fostering a deep, juvenile resentment for Comte de Rochefort (Mads Mikkelsen) after an insult to his horse. Oh, and "funnyman" James Corden is in there too as comedy relief character Planchet, just to make things seventeen times less charming.



Introduced via freeze-frame in the style of early Guy Ritchie, the Musketeers come over as pathetic brawlers who murder lots of jobbing town guards for sport and without the slightest consequence, somehow earning the witless gratitude of their child king. Their personalities are boiled down to: the bitter one, the ladies man and the hungry one. The only thing they have going for them is that they aren't anywhere near grating as the film's cocky, American-accented version of D'Artagnan, who is reminiscent of Christian Slater as Will Scarlett in 1991's 'Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves'. The deliberateness of his colonial accent is made apparent by the fact that his father is also American, despite being played by the English Dexter Fletcher. I only mention this because it stands out in a movie where everyone else is resolutely old world, with the thinking probably being that US audiences won't care unless there is an American character to cheer for (an assumption I believe doesn't give American audiences enough credit or respect).

Some of Bloom's bitchy dialogue and Waltz's deliciously sarcastic delivery raises a smile, but not enough of one to make nearly two hours of anodyne action and sloppy storytelling an attractive prospect. To give Anderson some lukewarm credit, he showed with 'Resident Evil: Afterlife' that he is at least one of the few directors out there who is trying to give 3D a go (shooting on actual 3D cameras rather than relying on the dreaded post-conversion process and framing his shots with stereoscopy in mind) and he resumes that effort here, with 'Musketeers' a resolutely 3D affair from beginning to end. That said, for all his enthusiasm he doesn't bring much imagination to the process, having swords point "out of" the screen a lot and staging much of the action place down long corridors to give the audience an ostentatious and meaningless sense of depth.



'The Three Musketeers 3D' is up there with the very worst of cinema experiences, if only because it's flavourless, calculatedly inoffensive and instantly forgettable - likely the sort of thing I'll pick up a DVD box for in a few years time and wonder "have I seen this?". It's a total mess in terms of narrative, the good guys are blank non-entities and it has nothing whatsoever to offer in terms of spectacle. It also has one of the most optimistic and cumbersome sequel hooks since Roland Emmerich cut to a hatching egg at the end of his god-awful 'Godzilla' remake. It'll doubtlessly turn a tidy profit with its European funding, embarrassing CGI work and TV actor-lead cast implying it didn't cost that much to make, but I expect a lack of public enthusiasm will keep Buckingham's airship armada from ever reaching Calais.

'The Three Musketeers 3D' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and is released in the UK from Wednesday 12th.

'Tyrannosaur' review:

Olivia Colman is lovely isn't she? I don't know her personally, but what I mean is she seems lovely on the telly. Turning up in TV sitcoms, as Sophie in 'Peep Show' or the vicar's wife in 'Rev', I am never in any doubt that her characters are basically good and beyond harmless, probably in part thanks to her big, friendly eyes. She certainly isn't someone you want to see beaten, raped and literally pissed on by Eddie Marsan in a grim, socially real, British movie about social isolation and domestic violence. But here we are.

I'm fairly sure, unless you're some sort of psychopath, there aren't any people you wish to see in that situation, but for me that goes doubly for lovely, smiling Olivia Colman. Which is one of the many reasons Paddy Considine's debut film as a writer and director, 'Tyrannosaur', can be pretty hard to take. Terrifically acted and deeply moving, but a tough watch indeed.



In it Colman is Hannah, a devout Christian woman who leaves her middle class house every day to work in a drab charity shop on the rough side of town - probably just to get away from her vicious husband James, played by an especially scary Marsan. James is possessive and spiteful and some of the things he does to Hannah defy belief, existing outside the realms of even your cruelest imagination. The violence in 'Tyrannosaur' may be less explicit and frequent than scenes in the similarly grim 'Kill List' (also from Warp Films), or even the recent thriller 'Drive', but it's far more hard-hitting because it's based in a deeply upsetting reality. And it somehow keeps getting worse, with the level of abuse suffered by Hannah still being revealed right up to the very end.

It is working at the charity shop that Hannah meets Joseph played by Peter Mullan, who is the sort of unpredictable, violent and all too recognisable old drunk that spends his days drinking in the corner of his local boozer, babbling incomprehensibly to himself. He is the opposite of harmless and when we first see Joseph he is kicking his dog to death in the street. After a chance encounter he befriends Hannah and we get to glimpse the underlying tragedy of this disturbing individual you'd be wise to cross the street to avoid. Both characters - and even the sickening James to an extent - are depicted with considerable compassion and deeply affecting empathy, with neither straying into caricature.



Mullan is for all intents and purposes the star of the film, which mostly takes his point of view - and he is excellent in it, with the sometime director (of 'The Magdalene Sisters' and recently 'Neds') able to portray this dog-kicking racist as rounded and human without undergoing some unlikely third act u-turn. With that in mind it seems unfair to single out Colman in this review, but there is nothing to be done about that because, for me at least, she is the heart of the movie and the key ingredient. It is really something that she can play this doe-eyed Christian victim without making her infuriating or wet in the least, and the more we care about Hannah the more wretched much of what you see will likely make you feel.

On this first showing, it would seem Considine is a very comfortable director of actors and an intelligent writer of characters. If he has displayed any similarity with his friend and frequent collaborator Shane Meadows, then it is in the fact that he has used his debut feature to take the side of elements of society most would not willingly gravitate toward, and he has done so with confidence and a keen eye for social detail.

'Tyrannosaur' is rated '18' by the BBFC and is on general release in the UK.

'Midnight in Paris' released today!

For the best part of the last two decades almost every Woody Allen movie - with a few exceptions - has been hailed as a "return to form", so much that the claim rings a little hollow. However, 'Midnight in Paris' merits that claim. It's his freshest and funniest film in a long time, raising some genuine big laughs as opposed to knowing titters, and Paris is photographed as beautiful as you'd expect from the man who for long idealised New York for the popular imagination. It's been rewarded for its quality too, grossing over $100 million in the US - making it Allen's most commercially successful film since the 70s.

I reviewed it after seeing it upon its French release earlier this year (appropriately enough in a Pathé multiplex in Montmartre, Paris), but today sees it finally released in the UK. I urge even the most casual Woody Allen fans to go and see it.

The film has been rated '12A' by the BBFC and you can catch it at Brighton's Duke of York's Picturehouse from next Friday.

'Melancholia' review:

"Life is only on Earth and not for long" says Justine (Kirtsen Dunst) somewhere near the apocalyptic conclusion of Lars Von Trier's 'Melancholia'. Though much has been made of the film's superficial similarity to Terrence Malick's 'Tree of Life' - which also premièred at Cannes earlier this year and to more unanimous acclaim - this pessimistic musing on life, the universe and everything is as close as the films come to sharing theme. Malick conveys a reverence for life, whilst the Dane sees the stars as no more magical than the act of going to the toilet. Both may feature awe-inspiring CGI renderings of immense planetary bodies, but Von Trier's film is not about the grand religious concerns that defined Malick's; the director has long spoken of his struggle with depression and this, like 2009's 'Antichrist', is the cinematic product of that suffering.

An arch-provocateur with a, shall we say, dark sense of humour, Von Trier's claim to mental illness has been reported sceptically, with critics wary not to end up the butt of some obtuse, private joke. However, as someone who has long struggled with depression, I found 'Melancholia' to be a deeply affecting and well observed portrait of the condition - and as such it must rank as the filmmaker's most sincere work to date. Whilst 'Antichrist' was arguably a nihilistic, despairing outburst, 'Melancholia' is not merely depressing but about the experience of depression. With it Von Trier not only captures the feeling of being depressed but, crucially, captures the responses of others to a mental disorder that, like many others, is still not easily understood.



It'll no doubt test the patience of those unfamiliar with depression or lacking in empathy for someone with the condition. As Justine, Dunst is selfish, sulky, irrational, irresponsible and unfaithful - and all within the course her opulent wedding reception which takes up the opening chapter. Many will find her behaviour too frustrating to bear, though it's peerlessly well observed. As are the various reactions to it.

As her free-spirited, partying father, John Hurt avoids potentially depressing conversations with his daughter so as not to spoil his own mood, running away from his daughter at every turn. As the mother, Charlotte Rampling seemingly has her own problems with the illness: she has embraced a sort of hyper-rationalism that has robbed everything of joy and meaning, which is similar to Justine's own (literally) world-weary position later in the film. As her sister Claire, Charlotte Gainsbourg is condescending, unhelpfully terming Justine's lowest points as evidence of "causing a scene" and even expressing contempt for her. Meanwhile Claire's husband John, played by Kiefer Sutherland, thinks Justine is just a nuisance and potentially a destructive influence upon their young son Leo (Cameron Spurr).



Several characters seem to mistake Justine's mental state for an expression of want. Her well-meaning new husband (Alexander Skarsgård) buys her a plot of land where he claims the environment will make her happy. Claire and John believe the expensive wedding reception they have thrown her should raise more of a smile (John mentions more than once that his land hosts an 18 hole golf course). Her boss (Stellan Skarsgård) gifts her with a promotion during the occasion, but again this is not much of a boon. Here Von Trier's sharp sense of humour is in evidence as he satirises trite aspirations and our desperate attempts to give events meaning. Later Justine ridicules Claire's need for some sort of ceremony as the apocalypse nears, sarcastically suggesting they light candles and listen to classical music.

All of these interactions highlight popular, tragically Victorian misconceptions about mental illness: that it isn't illness at all but a failing of character or a sign of weakness. Justine's response is usually to find solitude, though she also takes comfort in the young Leo - presumably because he is not sitting in judgement of her. Justine's attempt at marriage doesn't survive the reception and, six months later, we find her no longer willing to fight this chronic sombreness and the film refocusses on Claire - now herself distraught by the threat posed by an oncoming planet.



It is not a spoiler to mention that the Earth is destroyed in 'Melancholia': it's an event that takes place (and quite majestically) at the very start of the film, with the human drama on the planet's surface played out as an extended flashback. The conceit here is that a hitherto unseen planet has come into view from its position behind our sun and is on a collision course with the Earth, though really this apocalypse forms part of an extended metaphor, emphasising the gloomy mental state of Justine and Claire. The planet serves as a great, oppressive weight pushing down on them throughout. The world outside Claire and John's impressive grounds is never seen and both attempts to leave (by horse and later by golf car) are halted by some unseen power, which I would suggest is representative of a depressive's tendency to sink into themselves and shun the outside world.

Von Trier has long been able to dazzle critics with his technique and 'Melancholia' is an immensely beautiful film, comprised of haunting and truly spectacular images from start to finish. Taken at face value the impending apocalypse plot is also dramatic and terrifying. But more significantly, what we have here is his most candid and revealing film. It's thought-provoking, personal, earnest and far less oblique than some of his previous work. It's a shame this movie has been overshadowed by those ill-advised and misjudged attempts at humour during that infamous press conference earlier this year that saw Cannes declare him "persona non grata". The Danish director occasionally seems to be his own worst enemy and 'Melancholia' leaves me in no doubt at all why that is. I haven't been able to get the film out of my head in the days since I saw it, making it easily the most powerful film of the year so far.

'Melancholia' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is out now in the UK.

'Melancholia': End of the World feature - Telegraph Online

Ahead of the UK release of Lars Von Trier's apocalyptic 'Melancholia' tomorrow, a feature I wrote about end of the world movies has been published on the Daily Telegraph website. It's about films where the world is actually destroyed - or else seems to be on an irreversible decline - so it's pretty spoiler heavy. Also, whilst the title on the site says "top 10", the majority of these are imperfect movies united by this loose theme and don't form any kind of list of recommendations (though all are worth seeing).

The link for that piece is here.

'Melancholia' is rated '15' by the BBFC and is released in the UK from tomorrow.

'Drive' review:

It's been called an arthouse version of 'The Transporter', though Nicolas Winding Refn's thriller 'Drive' has much more in common with the cool Californian car chases of 'Bullitt' and the professional criminal tropes of Michael Mann (in particular 'Thief'). Despite a seemingly contemporary setting, the car stereo music, the shocking pink opening titles and star Ryan Gosling's racing jacket all give it a very strong 80s vibe. Though despite all this loving homage, it's very much a film from the Danish director of 'Bronson' and 'Valhalla Rising', with Refn favouring long takes, limited dialogue and short bursts of intense violence centred around one enigmatic male lead.

'Drive' is the story of Gosling's LA stuntman and part-time mechanic known in the script as Driver. Driver is a man of few words (Gosling's dialogue through the entire film wouldn't comfortably fill half a page), never racing to fill silences or even answer direct questions as he chews on a toothpick. His motivations aren't altogether clear, beyond wanting to protect/possess his attractive neighbour (Carey Mulligan) and her young son as they come under threat from a criminal gang, and neither are his origins. By the end of the film you may even wonder whether he is a person at all as opposed to some mythical force of nature. Whatever he is, he isn't a conventional good guy.



Even if you look past the fact he moonlights as a getaway driver for criminals, a day job that gets him into a whole lot of trouble with Ron Perlman's petulant Mafia boss, this is a guy who thinks nothing of threatening a woman with violence when his back is against the wall. And his shy, quiet demeanour is undeniably disturbing given his capacity for sudden ultra violence, with the character seeming more than a little unhinged - particularly as he caves a man's skull in with his boots whilst a horrified Mulligan looks on. Perhaps the character has been looking for a fight all along as he usually has a hammer handy and - under Refn's unflinching gaze - you never have any doubt that we will see him use it.

Ultimately though 'Drive' for all its charms feels like a triumph of style over substance. Gosling's blank slate protagonist offers nothing emotionally and equally thinly drawn supporting characters are archetypes elevated only by the calibre of actor asked to portray them: Albert Brooks, Christina Hendricks and Bryan Cranston are all excellent but have little to do, whilst Mulligan is just a bit wet throughout. However, there is no denying everything looks great, especially during the thrillingly choreographed car chase sequences, and the retro feel combined with the synthesizer heavy soundtrack is compelling. It isn't difficult to see why Refn won the best director prize at this year's Cannes Film Festival, as some of the individual shot choices are truly inspired, whilst his direction somehow manages to seem both nimble and meticulously composed.

'Drive' is rated '18' by the BBFC and is out now across the UK.

'Colombiana' review:

Before I start the review some blog housekeeping: I'm on holiday for the next week in Barcelona and so I won't be updating anything (here, twitter etc). I have lots of reviews and what-not up at What Culture in the coming days (wisely prepared in advance) so you won't miss me too much if you know where to look. In the meantime, if you're too lazy to look, here is a fawning feature I published today about my love of 'Jurassic Park'.



Our heroine is sexy. She is so sexy in fact that this is her defining character trait and sole redeeming quality. As a result she must be naked in every scene, or at least clad in some kind of skimpy catsuit. Within one barely five minute section of the movie you can see her do a sexy dance as she undresses in her apartment, before we cut to her naked in the shower, then cut to a shot of her polishing the barrel of a gun suggestively whilst sucking on a lollipop. The very next shot is of her aggressively dry-humping a man in his apartment in her lingerie.

This is a typical sequence from 'Colombiana', the hitman movie starring Zoe Saldana, directed by Olivier Megaton ('Transporter 3') and produced/co-written by Luc Besson. Saldana is a Colombian woman who lives to get revenge for the death of her parents at the hands of a stock evil Latino drug lord figure. We see her parents die in an overlong, extremely cumbersome sequence at the start of the film, which takes place in some very clean, colourful favelas and features the parkour stunts now associated with every Besson production since 'Taxi 2' and the 'District-13' films.



Anyway, as a girl Colombiana escapes the fate of her parents, running to America, where she vows revenge and trains as a killer for hire. We then cut to sometime in the future: she is a grown up hitman now and, as luck would have it, the drug mogul is living in the US, being sheltered by the CIA (for some reason). We're told that the lithe assassin has gone on a killing spree of late, killing 23 people to gain the attention of her nemesis, though as this figure increases baddie henchman are never included - because, you know, they're not people apparently, but cattle to be mown down.

Even if you ignore the terrible supporting actors (for whom English is surely not a first language), the bland cinematography (that basks everything in a sickly golden light) and the seen-it-before-done-better actions sequences: it's just a pretty nasty film and not very fun with it, compared to, say, the Besson-produced 'Transporter' series. Our hero is certainly not very nice and neither are the people she works with and purports to love. Yet the kills aren't particularly imaginative or cleverly staged either, borrowing liberally from the language of video games. Even when one villain - who we know is evil because he's fat, decadent and sleeping with big-booed models - is fed to some rubbish CGI sharks, the action fails to register even a raised eyebrow amongst the mediocrity. Even with sharks.



To make matters worse, Megaton (great name by the way) unwisely focusses a lot of time on a romance sub-plot, which whilst crucial for Colombiana's "character" (the tragic, isolated victim of her own revenge obsession) isn't very interesting and slows everything down. The film's misogyny is a similarly big mood killer. If you read physically strong women as strong female characters, then Colombiana is as powerful a female role model as they come. However, her male director/writers/producers have her firmly within their exploitative gaze.

I don't want to be misogynistic myself by implying overt female sexuality is always aimed at men: women enjoy sex and seeing sexy female characters, who can be wish fulfilment figures in the same way many men enjoy Bond. But this is unquestionably one for the lads, with other female characters (like the girl's mother) overshadowed in a film of earnest, inherently wise patriarchs. This is even more of a shame when you consider Besson has written some genuinely strong female characters across his career, from young Natalie Portman's breakout role in 'Leon', to his recent and winsome female Indiana Jones adventure story 'The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec'.

I'll say this for it though: 'Colombiana' has the strength of its convictions, with the film getting the down note finale its self-destructive character deserves.

'Colombiana' is out now and rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Warrior' and 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' interviews

Way back in June I was invited to see the Gavin O'Connor directed mixed martial arts drama 'Warrior' and interview the film's stars Tom Hardy and Joel Edgerton. Both that interview and my review can be read over at What Culture.

More recently (Monday), I had the pleasure of interviewing Oscar winner Colin Firth about his role in upcoming Cold War ensemble 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy'. You can also read this interview, as well as another with the film's director Tomas Alfredson and screenwriter Peter Straughan, over at What Culture now.

I reviewed that film earlier in the week for this blog.

'Warrior'is released on September 23rd in the UK and is rated '12A' by the BBFC. 'Tinker Tailor Solider Spy' has a '15' certificate and is out from Friday.

'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' review:

After years spent playing campy villains in Luc Besson movies and focus-stealing support characters in blockbusters, the great Gary Oldman stars in one of this year's most interesting and entertaining films: the 70s set Cold War thriller 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy'. Here the animated and charismatic actor is cast as an older man, giving a restrained and nuanced performance as retired British senior intelligence officer George Smiley - a man charged with investigating his former colleagues to find a Soviet mole at the top of "the circus" (the film's name for MI6). An impressive ensemble cast also includes John Hurt, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hardy, Mark Strong, Kathy Burke, Ciarán Hinds, Toby Jones as well as recent Academy Award winner Colin Firth.

Based on a best-selling novel by John le Carré, which was also subject to a fondly remembered 1979 BBC TV series staring Alec Guinness as Smiley, this adaptation has been helmed by the Swedish Tomas Alfredson, feted director of 2008 horror hit 'Let the Right One In'. Both films share Dutch cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema and along with him an austere, cold colour palette as well as the director's uncanny eye for period detail. On the way to uncovering the enemy informant, Smiley is shown sucking on Trebor mints and dining at a decidedly retro branch of Wimpy. But aside from being charming reminders of a time and place, these banal, slightly drab references also highlight one of this film's primary delights.



This is not a glossy, establishment picture of Britain we're being sold. It's a world very alien from that James Bond inhabits, as our spies juggle with mundane concerns and petty office politics as well as the very real risk of death at the hands of enemy agents. It's a film where our heroes spend most of the movie secretly investigating their friends and, in effect, battling their own government whilst (ironically) trying to catch out one charged with doing the same. Seldom have the words "we're not so very different you and I" seemed less like hollow cliche as they do here, as Smiley - not an idealist or ardent anti-communist by any standard - ponders on the moral equivalence of it all.

As with 'Let the Right One In', 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' has brief, brutal moments of bloody, visceral violence, but it's more concerned with characters and mood than it is about revelling in the pleasures of its given genre. Spy thrillers tend to place plot above all else, but this one is less about the Cold War, and the search for the traitor within the ranks of the circus, as it is about personal feelings of betrayal and isolation. Homosexuals forced to love in secret, shambolic marriages and private regrets are the real focus of this contemplative and moody slice of espionage intrigue.

'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy' is out in the UK from Friday (16th September)and is rated '15' by the BBFC.