'Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai' review:

I don't usually do "spoiler warnings" but if you're incredibly sensitive about plot details then don't read this review. I would hate to spoil this outstanding film for anyone, but it's difficult to talk about properly without mentioning certain events.



That Takeshi Miike has already released his follow-up to last year's remarkable '13 Assassins' should come as no surprise to anyone who has followed the Japanese director's career. Prolific would be an understatement for a filmmaker who has made at least two films a year since the mid-90s - indeed, according to the IMDB, he has two films in post production right now. But what is surprising is that his latest film - the first 3D film to play "in competition" in Cannes - is every bit as accomplished as that ultra-violent epic, retaining the feudal Japanese setting but telling a very different type of story. There are thematic similarities between the two, but this is more period melodrama than 'Seven Samurai' styled war film - yet it's no less compelling.

'Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai' begins with a lone rōnin (a lordless and therefore jobless samurai) arriving at a wealthy lord's estate, begging permission to use the courtyard to perform hara-kiri - the highly ritualised form of suicide that involves opening one's stomach with a sword, ideally without showing pain, before having your head cut off by a trusted second. We are told that the higher the status of the premises on which the act is committed, the more honour the act will restore. At a first glance it is this belief in proper social order which brings the sombre Hanshirô Tsugumo, played by veteran Kabuki theatre actor Ebizô Ichikawa, to the estate determined to end his life.



But before granting the request, Kageyu - a sort of head caretaker whilst the lord is away on business, played with trademark intensity by Kôji Yakusho - tells Hanshirô a chilling story in order to test his resolve. In the first of two long backflashes which form the bulk of the film, he tells the warrior about another rōnin, a young man named Motome (Eita), who came by recently with the same request - and whose end was extremely unpleasant (as depicted viscerally). Motome, it is soon revealed, did not truthfully come seeking death, but charity - hoping that the lord's house would sooner give out some food and a few coins than go through the inconvenience of assembling the household staff for such an elaborate ritual. However, he is shocked when the house agrees to meet his request in order to make an example of him and deter future "suicide bluffs".

Hanshirô hears this story and is given the chance to withdraw his request. He declines and, in front of the assembled house, reveals that he has his own story to tell. Of course it barely qualifies as a spoiler to say that Motome and Hanshirô's stories are linked and that the former's death has something to do with the later's arrival on the estate, though I will say that how the two stories link is heartbreaking.



With '13 Assassins' Miike playfully mocked Japanese tradition and criticised the country's historic cultural values. He questioned why honour and death are so often linked and had his heroes kick dirt in their enemies faces - fighting for survival rather than as part of some slickly choreographed pageant. Here these criticisms are foregrounded. Social class, poverty and a culture of obligation are targets, as well as the wisdom of bushido. And just as the child-murdering, woman-deforming lord in '13 Assassins' represented all that's contradictory about a society which saw swordplay as equivalent to penmanship and poetry - outwardly representing all that was considered beautiful - in 'Hara-Kiri' such vanity is attacked again.

Here honourable men refuse to be seen in public after having their topknots cut off, yet are quite happy to watch a boy disembowel himself with a blunt wooden stick. In this society the wealthy would rather see the poor gut themselves than break tradition by asking for help. For the poor (or at least for a poor samurai), trying to live in spite of hardship is seen as a shameful practice. Here the vain pursuit of precise, formal beauty has the effect of destroying that which is genuinely beautiful. That Motome is driven to desperation by a lord's cruelty (he becomes rōnin due to a petty dispute between two nobles) and is destroyed by social convention, expectation and tradition leaves the viewer in no doubt that he is an unlucky pawn in a game played by the ruling class.



When a climactic scene of what could be termed "cool" violence does arrive, Hanshirô is totally non-lethal and his only goal is to force his enemies to commit acts of taboo and break from their preciously held codes. He's shown to be a sane man in an otherwise mad world, ruled by oppressive and ultimately meaningless tradition. Whereas '13 Assassins' arguably contradicts its message by staging such a shamelessly entertaining 45 minute massacre at the climax, here the fight itself is framed as the rejection of violence recalling the sudden brawl in Kurosawa's otherwise sedate 'Red Beard'.

Hanshirô is challenging his attackers to slaughter him in cold blood and, in showing that they can do this without threat to personal honour, underlines the futility and madness of the entire social structure - and even of his own public suicide. It's a brilliantly esoteric triumph but one that is every bit as futile as the social structure he abhors. That Kageyu and his underlings are more frightened and moved by Hanshirô's iconoclastic scattering of a elaborate suit of armour than his sad story - or his doomed appeal to reason - is Miike's final sick joke in another thoughtful and resolutely anti-traditional film.

'Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai' is not yet rated by the BBFC (though it'll be nothing less than a '15'). I saw it at the Brighton's CineCity Film Festival at the Duke of York's Picturehouse, though a limited release should be expected in 2012.

'The Deep Blue Sea' review:

London, a few years after the war, and a desperate woman (Rachel Weisz) is committing suicide, filling her flat with gas after necking a bottle of pills. She is unsuccessful, saved by concerned members of the local community, but in a contrivance of the plot her lover (Tom Hiddleston) soon learns of her attempt and leaves her in a rage. The rest of Terence Davies', by all accounts faithful, adaptation of the Terence Rattigan stage-play is defined by Weisz's pained expression and melodramatic warbling as she regrets that her lover doesn't view her with reciprocal levels of passion. He loves her but, alas, not enough and she just can't take it any more. "Weren't things better during the war?" is the unspoken refrain of the piece.

It is, to put it mildly, a dated story which trivialises suicide and follows a heroine whose problems are very hard to sympathise with - not least of all because Hiddleston's drunken former RAF pilot alternates between being a tedious, war-obsessed bore when ecstatically happy and a volatile, shouty child when upset. It's very difficult to understand why she has "no power to resist him", as she tells her estranged husband - a well meaning but extremely wet judge played by Simon Russell Beale. It also suffers under the weight of its staid fifties-penned script and theatrical origins with Weisz and Hiddleston (actors I'm usually very fond of) going right over the top at every opportunity, often forced to talk in heavy handed metaphor.



Davies, the feted director of 'Of Time and the City', compounds the play's inherent problems by directing the film in an equally lugubrious style, allowing enormous pauses between lines of dialogue amid insufferably long takes. Weisz is driven to kill herself by an intense passion - perhaps too big for the time she is born into - and yet the direction is dispassionate and isolating. The film only truly works during a backflash in which we see Weisz, still with Beale's judge, visiting her bitter old mother-in-law (Barbara Jefford). Perfectly observed, immaculately paced and fizzing with a caustic sense of humour, it only serves as an infuriating reminder of the talents involved.

The biggest problem though is that, whilst 'Brief Encounter' is a brilliant film routed in a specific time and place, doing that sort of old fashioned melodrama in 2011 can't help but read as an unintentional parody - and the film often reads as funny rather than tragic or poignant. It's also hard to shake the feeling that an odd nostalgia for the war era permeates the whole thing, with frequent interludes of perfectly groomed and immaculately dressed people singing gaily together. It's as much a celebration of "the blitz spirit" as anything else, which is jarring given that it's about a suicidal woman. That she mourns the war years to this extent (it's the same grief that's turned her lover to alcoholism - "he's not been happy since the war") is even faintly offensive.

'The Deep Blue Sea' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and is out in the UK now.

'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.

Charlie Brooker interview!

I've conducted an interview with one of my heroes - the satirist Charlie Brooker - whose new TV show 'Black Mirror' begins on Sunday. The whole thing is up to read at WhatCulture!.

My review of the first episode, "The National Anthem", is also up now.

'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.

'Three Colours Trilogy' review:

I watched Krzysztof Kieslowski's 'Three Colours Blue/White/Red' over the weekend and really enjoyed them, which was a surprise as I thought they'd be the sort of strained arthouse fare that's far easier to merely "appreciate". 'White' was especially good - a darkly funny Polish chapter - though the virtuosity of 'Blue' and Irene Jacob's radiance in 'Red' also left a strong impression.

My review of the Blu-ray box set, released today, is up now at What Culture!.

I've also had DVD reviews in the last two Saturday editions of the Daily Telegraph which I hadn't bothered plug here for some reason.

Gross-out gals comedy 'Bridesmaids' - which I enjoyed far more on a second viewing than I did upon theatrical - and the repugnant, mean-spirited, black-hearted 'Horrible Bosses', a more typical dude comedy which will never get the chance of a second viewing.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to have time to review the brilliant 'Weekend', which totally justifies the recent hype and box office success.