'My Week With Marilyn' review:

It begins with a sizzle: Michelle Williams is introduced as Marilyn Monroe during a sultry song and dance routine, watched by our besotted, film-obsessed protagonist Colin (Eddie Redmayne) on a cinema screen, in the company of a dozen or so other lecherous men. It's no exaggeration to say Williams makes love to the camera and the sensitive, indie movie actress convinces totally, becoming the hyper-sexual 1950s bombshell before our eyes. Here Colin's leering does something to suggest not only the appeal of Monroe, the movie star, but also the terms upon which she was judged and the slightly sinister way in which audiences implicitly came to own her. Sadly Simon Curtis' movie goes rapidly, dramatically downhill from there.

'My Week With Marilyn' feels like an overwrought Biography Channel drama operating on an unusually high production budget. The presence of Williams - not to mention Kenneth Branagh, Judi Dench, Dominic Cooper, Toby Jones, Derek Jacobi, Emma Watson and Dougray Scott - is all there is to remind us that this is in fact a piece of Weinstein-produced Oscar bait and not a straight-to-DVD knock-off. The film follows Monroe during the time she spent in England in the summer of 1956, starring opposite Sir Lawrence Olivier (Branagh) in light comedy romp 'The Prince and the Showgirl' - the production of which was apparently run like a Gulag under the stage legend's Stalin-like gaze and (in one bewilderingly pointless scene) the tyranny of a unionised workforce.



Based on the memoirs of the young Colin Clark, the fraught production's lowly third assistant director, the film sees Redmayne's Colin very much as the centre of attention: instantly loved by Monroe and soon indispensable to Olivier. A key mediator in the ensuing war between the two actors, he's the reason the film is completed. It is even implied he prevented the troubled, pill-guzzling sex symbol from committing suicide - six years before her eventual overdose. By the end of this alternately zany and maudlin adventure he's improbably become trusted confident and bestest friend in the world to both stars. Along the way he also finds time to casually reject the affections of Emma Watson's doe-eyed wardrobe assistant and becomes accustomed to receiving knitwear from an appreciative Dame Sybil Thorndike (Dench), for some apparent off-screen kindness that's best left unimagined.

The film is so obsessed with our old Etonian everyman hero Colin that the more interesting figures who surround him are only painted as wafer thin archetypes. Olivier, who Branagh parodies with 'Wild Wild West' levels of restraint, is glimpsed several times in dramatic, slow-zooming close-up reciting Shakespearian verse - just like Olivier must have frequently done in real life. You know... because he was famous for doing Shakespeare.

Meanwhile Williams is a more troubling proposition as Monroe, playing her emotionally withdrawn moments as though she were a fay, mentally deficient cousin of Mickey Mouse. She may have been troubled, depressed and paranoid but Marilyn Monroe was, by most accounts, a very witty woman and not likely a ditzy airhead. Yet here Monroe is shown as barely able to recall who Leonardo Da Vinci is, let alone correctly identify his picture of "the smiling woman". Fair enough if you're going to be casual with historical figures, but this doesn't make sense within the context of a movie in which an early press conference scene has Monroe wowing British journos with her quick-witted charms and clever turn of phrase.



In isolated moments Williams nails the quiet vulnerability of the character, just as she turns the vivacious sexpot persona on and off, yet these feel like separate extreme caricatures rather than parts of a fully formed, if conflicted, whole. As with 'The Life and Death of Peter Sellers' or Andy Kaufman biopic 'Man on the Moon', 'My Week With Marilyn' is content to paint a reductive (and only superficially deep) picture of its complicated subject. Yet the performances, though campy turns rather than real human beings, are at least watchable. What really kills the film is Adrian Hodges' literal-minded screenplay.

A good 'My Week With Marilyn' drinking came would involve taking a shot 1) whenever someone tells you exactly what they're thinking or feeling; 2) whenever a character explains who somebody is or reminds you what has just happened; or 3) when something is said to underline a point already made through the characters' on-screen actions. The writing is needlessly descriptive, always telling rather than showing (or showing and then telling just in case). Dialogue often sounds like scene-setting narration rather than speech, whilst Olivier and Monroe routinely self-analyse in embarrassing cod psychology.

In 'My Week With Marilyn', the film star's life is presented as one long tragedy, hidden from public view behind moments of immense, if superficial, glamour. This, it turns out, is a very effective metaphor for the film itself, which only attains any sort of life when Williams is called upon to perform as a woman giving a performance.

'My Week With Marilyn' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

My Top 30 Films of 2011: 30-21

End of year list season is well and truly upon us. 2011 has long felt like a weak year for the movies, with a few notable exceptions. So much so that I was originally thinking of abandoning last year's "top 30" template for a more conventional, not to mention streamline, "top 10". Yet looking back over the last twelve months I was delighted to discover there were at least 30 films I liked, probably about 20 of which are unambiguously terrific. Maybe the year hasn't been so bad after all.

I was going to wait until I'd seen the much talked about 'Margaret', Nanni Moretti's 'We Have a Pope' and Fincher's take on 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' before compiling this list, but for a range of reasons I'm going to kick off now. For one thing, 'Dragon Tattoo' is based on source material I have a serious problem with - already adapted into three Swedish films that I despised - whilst there is no guarantee I'll get the opportunity to see the other two before the month is out.

It's worth noting before I begin that this list is comprised of films I've seen this year, including festival movies - some of which aren't on general release in the UK until next year. If you're wondering why some of this year's most stunning releases aren't included, such as 'Black Swan' and '13 Assassins' (both seen in Venice last year), that's because they were in 2010's list. So here are my choices, my favourite films of 2011 numbers 30-21:

30) The Green Hornet, dir Michel Gondry, USA

What I said: "Rogen's hero isn't charming and erudite - he is an obnoxious oaf and by and large stays that way right the way through the film. Rogen's delivery - of dialogue he penned with writing partner Evan Goldberg - is superb too, in all its underplayed, mock-macho brainlessness and the relationship between him and Jay Chou, who plays sidekick Kato, is fun to watch."



By no means perfect, it's fair to say that Michel Gondry's 'The Green Hornet' benefited from extremely low expectations when I saw it back in January. A poor trailer, troubled production history and use of much-derided post-converted 3D suggested this would be a creative misstep for all involved - and a potential career-wrecker for writer/star Seth Rogen. Yet - at the box office - the film outperformed the studio's own modest expectations owing to the fact that it's a lot better than we had any right to expect. This comes down to a combination of the brilliant Christoph Waltz as the villain, Rogen's incredulous, hyper-enthusiastic style of delivery which injects humour into every line and, most of all, the director's knack for innovation and imagination.

There are a lot of pretty cool in-camera effects in 'The Green Hornet' and, though Gondry's more personal documentary 'The Thorn in the Heart' (released around the same time) would be the more respectable choice for this list, here is a film very much in the same spirit as 'Be Kind Rewind' and 'The Science of Sleep', if not his superior Charlie Kaufman-penned work. That the action scenes are also quite effective - in what's basically a quirky comedy about a rich douchebag learning to become a marginally smaller rich douchebag - only adds to the pleasantness of the surprise.

29) Winnie the Pooh, dir Stephen J. Anderson & Don Hall, USA

What I said: "As you might expect from a gentle children's tale, this film is very much aimed at youngsters... there are no nods to the adults or in-jokes at all. But it's nice to find a modern animation totally free of any post-modern winking and there is fun to be had here for adults so long as they are prepared to indulge their innermost child. As the credits rolled I found myself identifying with the sentiment of this bittersweet passage from [A.A] Milne's The House at Pooh Corner: "And by and by Christopher Robin came to an end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop.""



Let down only by a bafflingly short running length (is 63 minutes technically even a feature film?), Disney's "51st Animated Classic" is as charming as it is beautifully animated. The best of the studio's 90s animating talent returned to work on the picture and a lot of love has gone into the detailed and fluid hand-drawn animation, as well as the faithful voice-acting and delightfully hummable ditties. There isn't much of a story as Pooh, Piglet and company bumble their way through the Hundred Acre Wood, but it hardly matters if you approach it in the intended spirit of open-hearted whimsy. This is potentially only a film for toddlers and animation enthusiasts, but I found it to be one of the year's unqualified pleasures.

28) Contagion, dir Steven Soderbergh, USA

What I said: "It feels slightly too long 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... 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."



I love a good doomsday scenario movie and they don't come more frighteningly credible than Soderbergh's 'Contagion', which shows how a new virus could significantly reduce the global population within months of killing Gwyneth Paltrow. After Mrs. Coldplay bites it in the opening moments, we know that nobody in the film's stellar ensemble (Kate Winslet, Jude Law, Matt Damon, Marion Cotillard and more) is safe, increasing the sense of dread. It's a bit jargon-heavy, filled with clumsy exposition and a little unfocussed, but it's also one of the most memorable and visceral movie-going experiences of the year.

27) Limitless, dir Neil Burger, USA

What I said: "Limitless is a well executed and intelligent thriller which suggests, when the cinema going public finally succumb to that long-overdue Zach Galifianakis overdose, Bradley Cooper will be the Hangover actor left standing. It’s also evident that Burger is a capable hand for exciting, character-based movies. It’s patient, cerebral and unpretentious pulp science fiction fare on a sensible scale."



In 'Limitless' Bradley Cooper's serial underachiever - a deadbeat wannabe writer - gets a taste of the high-life after taking an experimental drug (NZT) that unlocks the full potential of the human brain. Within days he's wealthy, sexy and extremely arrogant, taking on organised criminals and Robert De Niro's morally dubious business tycoon. Released around the same time as Duncan Jones' dispiritingly conventional 'Moon' follow-up 'Source Code', the unsung 'Limitless' quietly went about being the superior film - both in terms of the interesting sci-fi morality questions it posed and the style in which it was made.

For the most part a male-empowerment wish-fulfilment fantasy gone wrong, 'Limitless' goes to some incredibly dark places, with it even suggested via news reports that Cooper has murdered a woman whilst on NZT (a fact which is chillingly never resolved). This is made all the more sinister by an ending which reminded me of Hal Ashby's 'Being There', as Cooper's protagonist contemplates his potential future as President of the United States, implying that hubris and over-confidence - as well as smarts - are key to success in capitalism.

26) Tales of the Night, dir Michel Ocelot, FRA

What I said: "There is a deep-rooted love of basic human kindness here which reminds me of Miyazaki, and yet Ocelot’s films are never cute or sentimental and you get the impression he is resolutely sincere. And though his art style looks simple and even a bit cheap, the fluidity of his animation – particularly when it involves running and dancing – is at the peak of the art form. Added to that, in terms of imagination 'Tales of the Night' is filled to the brim with ideas."



In a year which saw Pixar release a 'Cars' sequel and Studio Ghibli give us the nice but forgettable 'Arrietty', Michel Ocelot's 3D 'Tales of the Night' is indisputably the best animated film I've seen. Ocelot's embrace of multiculturalism and earnest humanism, as seen previously in 'Kirikou and the Sorceress' and 'Azur & Asmar', is heartening, as is his ability to tell simple children's tales with incredibly sophisticated morality. Animated in silhouette, the use of 3D gives this the look of a pop-up book and complements nicely the film's conceit: that the series of short stories we are told are being performed by a secret, nocturnal theatre company with a surplus of imagination.

25) Coriolanus, dir Ralph Fiennes, UK

What I said: "Making the story relatable and relevant isn’t something [director Ralph Fiennes] does merely by enforcing [a] change of setting... This is also made possible by the actor’s Paul Greengrass-style direction: handheld cameras stripping the film of the formalised, sanitised sheen prevalent in many more traditional adaptations. In fact the scenes of urban warfare in 'Coriolanus' are bloody and visceral like those in a straight-up war movie. The other major contributing factor to the film’s success – and probably the most important – is that the dialogue is delivered incredibly naturalistically which makes it immediately understandable."



Resolutely avoiding the pitfalls of stagy, mannered Shakespeare adaptations, Ralph Fiennes directorial debut delivers one of the Bard's lesser known works with a visceral punch in the jaw. Fiennes himself stars, creating a menacing, towering presence as the titular military general whose abilities as a public speaker do not match his aptitude for conflict. Transported from ancient Rome to what looks like a modern day urban war zone, Fiennes uses riots, camera phones and 24 hour news coverage (brilliantly deploying real Channel 4 news reader Jon Snow as a herald) to explore the play's still-relevant themes. He retains all the original dialogue - much like the 1996 'Romeo & Juliet' - having his actors (including Gerard Butler, Vanessa Redgrave, Brian Cox and Jessica Chastain) deliver their lines in such a way that they are always understood in spite of the arcane verse.

24) Innocent Saturday, dir Aleksandr Mindadze, RUS/UKR

What I said: "Alexander Mindadze’s oppressive style of direction puts the viewer in the same uncomfortable position as his protagonist. You feel unable to escape and paranoid at the threat you can not see. There are very few occasions where the camerawork affords you an establishing shot or even a medium shot, and even fewer times when it is held still. This isn’t a conventional disaster movie and we don’t ever get to glimpse the full horror of the disaster or the eventual mass exodus from the town. This is rather the intimate story of one person struggling with his fears and desires as he grapples with the knowledge that the cheery oblivious, innocents around him – who are busy getting married, playing football and taking walks – are all likely doomed."



This extremely queasy and claustrophobic drama follows one man's doomed bid to escape the Soviet town of Prypiat, modern day Ukraine, in the hours following the 1986 meltdown at the neighbouring Chernobyl nuclear power plant. Valerij (Anton Shagin) works at the plant and, by chance, learns of the disaster before it is belatedly revealed to the public. And yet he can't bring himself to flee town: whether it's morality or fate something compels him to stay and drink the night away with his friends. The almost constant use of close-ups brilliantly gives the sense that something dangerous is in the air they breath, whilst also serving to frustrate the viewer by withholding information. This last action is perhaps the most overt critique of the Moscow government's handling of the disaster in a film which otherwise avoids polemics.

23) True Grit, dir Joel & Ethan Coen, USA

What I said: "I've oft heard it said that the Coens are heartless storytellers: that they don't like their characters and that they are cynical about people. I don't buy into that view at all and if I did I wouldn't be a fan. The Coen brothers, for me anyway, are defined by their willingness to look at all the cruelty of the human experience through the lens of absurdity and stupidity. People aren't evil or good in Coen brothers movies, they usually just don't know any better. Bad things are done by people in a state of panic (most murders in Coen brothers movies occur this way) and pre-planned acts of inhumanity always find their way back to the often hapless perpetrator (think of Jerry Lundegaard in 'Fargo'). Even if, in this case, [Mattie Ross] is a little girl avenging her father's murder - a goal many filmmakers would find unproblematic."



Perhaps this one would factor higher up my list if it was fresher in the memory. But, released last year in the US and a contender at February's Academy Awards, it feels like a 2010 movie. In any case 'True Grit' is a superb western and - by all accounts - a more faithful adaptation of the Charles Portis novel than the fondly remembered John Wayne film of 1969. One reason it stands apart as the stronger film is that Jeff Bridges' cantankerous drunken Marshal Rooster Cogburn is a more effective anti-hero under directors comfortable with moral ambiguity.

The Coens don't imagine that the audience has to like their characters, which isn't the same thing as making them unlikable. They just don't feel the need to flag Cogburn up as any species of hero. Any warmth you feel for him comes because of his flawed, grizzled humanity, and Bridges portrayal, rather than because of his effectiveness with a firearm and penchant for frontier justice. Likewise Oscar-nominated newcomer Hailee Steinfeld, who plays young, revenge-obsessed protagonist Mattie Ross, is scrutinised and ultimately scarred by her adventures - something which wouldn't have been palatable in '69 but is actually essential to the telling of this story. The cold, elegiac tone of the piece - so common to Coen brothers movies from 'Blood Simple' onwards - also fits the western myth so perfectly it's a wonder they haven't done this sooner.

22) Beginners, dir Mike Mills, USA

What I said: "'Beginners' is a tearjerker without feeling manipulative and it's life-affirming without being sickly. A large part of its success rests with Christopher Plummer, whose performance as Hal is especially heartbreaking, with the old man facing death when he is at his most vital. His insatiable appetite for new experiences is particularly bittersweet and Mills' reflection on his own father's life as a closet homosexual in the 1950s shows great insight and empathy. All of the characters are well drawn and sympathetic - with each of them coming to terms with misfortune and tragedy without self-pity. As romantic leads, McGregor and Laurent enjoy great chemistry and their scenes together are a charming."



Until this year, with one possible exception, Ewen McGregor hadn't been in a good film since 1996 - the year of 'Brassed Off' and 'Trainspotting'. My perverse love of 'The Phantom Menace' aside, the closest he'd come to being in a halfway decent movie over the last fifteen years had been in Tim Burton's 'Big Fish'. But in 2011 McGregor starred in Mike Mills' 'Beginners', which is much more than a halfway decent movie. In fact it's a beautiful and incredibly moving portrayal of loss in which McGregor is the emotional centre.

Like the aforementioned 'Big Fish', 'Beginners' is about a son coming to terms with the loss of his father. But whereas Albert Finney's Edward Bloom was a dominating figure with a life of extraordinary (if exaggerated) adventures behind him, the father here - played by Christopher Plummer - succumbs to cancer months after beginning to live anything like a fulfilled life, having only recently embraced his long-repressed homosexuality. McGregor and co-star Melanie Laurent have a good chemistry together and the film is life-affirming without being saccharine.

21) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two, dir David Yates, UK/USA

What I said: "Everything seems to fit so well together now that I am even beginning to credit Warner Brothers with some sort of unlikely overall plan behind the series' game of directorial musical chairs. Unlike 'Star Wars' or 'Indiana Jones', the films have grown with their audience and, for those the same approximate age as the heroes, it seems entirely appropriate in retrospect that the brightly coloured, John Williams-scored whimsy of the opening Christopher Columbus episodes has developed into this more macabre and downbeat conclusion. As the stakes have been raised, and the supporting characters have started dying at an exponential rate, so the films have become more complex and interesting."



With the possible exception of Alfonso Cuaron's early entry, the Harry Potter series has never interested me until the last few episodes as directed by David Yates - a UK TV director. In fairness, he's been helped immeasurably by a number of factors outside of his control - the child actors have become better in their decade in front of the camera, whilst the later books seem to be darker and richer - but he still deserves a lot of credit for the way he has handled the end of JK Rowling's ubiquitous child wizard saga. In Yates' Potter films there is a clearer sense of threat, with some quite nasty goings on in this entry in particular (as when a major character has his throat slit before being savagely attacked by a snake whilst lying helpless). And once pantomime characters, like Alan Rickman's Professor Snape, are fleshed out in ways both pleasing and surprising.

But my favourite thing about Yates' take on the series has been the increased banality in the presentation of the non-magical (or "muggle") world in which Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and his friends must live. Yates seems to understand what Christopher Columbus, Mike Newell and even Cuaron missed: the magic is only wondrous and exciting if it takes place in a recognisable world to our own. The Roald Dahl inspired evil step-family of the earlier installments were larger than life caricatures, meaning that Harry's life was already out of the ordinary and bizarre before he went to Hogwarts school and got all wizardy on their asses. But here magic seems to have a visceral impact on a recognisable world.

In the concluding chapters another pleasing fact has become clear, which I had previously dismissed and for which Rowling presumably deserves credit (I've never read a Harry Potter book). In the past I've bemoaned Harry as this pathetic, passive protagonist - always helped by some deus ex machina or by his more capable friends/members of faculty. But it's now obvious that Harry's special talent is that he is extraordinarily nice to people. All people. He is, however bland it might sound, good. It is this which allows him to succeed because this is why people help him when he's in trouble. It's the same logic that sees the previously bullied, but-of-all-jokes Neville Longbottom (Matt Lewis, above) steal the film's most bombast instances of heroism. Harry Potter isn't about being the smartest or the strongest and an understanding of this allows this megabucks franchise to attain a sort of innocent nobility.

Come back later in the week for numbers 20-11.

'Another Earth' review:

Midway through ‘Another Earth’, feature debut of director Mike Cahill, the camera pulls back to reveal a huge piece of graffiti daubed on the road of a perpetually overcast middle-American city. It reads “spare us” – with the people of this strained, determinedly “indie” drama fearing revelations of the unknown as an exact double of our planet comes into close orbit. I know the feeling: watching this dimly lit affair I was tempted to scribble the same thing on the cinema walls.

The film stars co-writer Brit Marling as a young woman who gets admitted to MIT only to spend four years in jail instead, having killed several members of a family after careening into their car whilst driving under the influence. Just prior to this life changing event, Marling spies a brand new star in the sky. It's, of course, our planet's aforementioned doppelgänger, and it's soon discovered that it's home to exact doubles of every person on our planet. After leaving prison she comes to see the planet as offering potential redemption, entering a competition to win a seat on the first voyage to "Earth 2". She hopes to find a new life in the unknown dominated by one thought: are the people she killed still alive up there?



This is a good idea in theory - potentially a cerebral blending of science fiction and lo-fi American indie drama. Yet, beyond some budget defying special effects, the film lacks ambition and is content to wallow in a rather more conventional, Earth-bound story about guilt and remorse. Even so, these are interesting themes. Yet here they are explored almost without feeling and in an oppressively banal setting. It's a cold, sterile experience set in a gloomy world and filled with people who don't read as convincingly human. Instead they are merely players in what feels like a trumped-up student film, high on its own imagined profundity.

Indeed the single worst thing about 'Another Earth' is a narration from an unseen character who asks all the most searching questions about the ramifications of this new planet - just in case we're too simple to ask them ourselves. It's a clumsy device which plays like a bad Werner Herzog impression rather than an exploration of grand meta-physical themes. Much like the film itself.

'Another Earth' is rated '12A' by the BBFC and is on UK release now.

'Romantics Anonymous' review:

A very slight and shamelessly frothy romantic comedy from French writer-director Jean-Pierre Améris, 'Romantics Anonymous' is a genuinely heart-warming proposition. It sees two highly strung, middle-aged chocolatiers, who use confectionery as a substitute for relationships, meet after Angélique (Isabelle Carré) goes to work at the near-bankrupt company of Jean-René (Benoît Poelvoorde).

Both have extreme social anxiety issues and live lives of quiet regret instead of facing up to their fears. Angélique can't bear to the focus of any attention - and gets tongue tied in conversation - which leads her to hide her superior chocolate making skills from her employer, acting instead as an incredibly meek sales rep. Meanwhile, Jean-René comes across as mean when he is really just deathly afraid of human contact and has no idea how to talk to women.



The title comes from the fact that Angélique belongs to a sort of Alcoholic Anonymous style support group for those with emotional problems, whilst Jean-René is often seen consulting his therapist. These scenes, whilst funny, provide insight into the characters, showing that (though the word is never used) they are autistic rather than just a couple of quirky oddballs. Both lead characters are expertly observed.

It runs for a satisfying 80 minutes and consistently generates gentle, affectionate laughs. Free of cynicism, it's set in a profoundly humane world where people aren't afraid to burst into spontaneous song and where the audience is encouraged to laugh along with the characters rather than at them. The third act isn't encumbered by the usual misunderstanding or childish argument and, as a result, it never outstays its welcome. It won't take a particularly shrewd viewer to predict exactly where this is all headed, but you won't begrudge these two outsiders their deliriously happy ending.

'Romantics Anonymous' is out now in the UK and rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'Hugo' review:

'Hugo' is a rare sort of film that warrants all the trite pull-quotes you read on so many posters. It's a triumph. It's spellbinding. You could even sincerely call it magical. A kids' movie that is full of sincere, cynicism-free wonder about the world and, most interestingly, the value of cinema. Here cinema takes a reverent position with one of its pioneers even afforded a central role in the plot.

As a colourful family film - and a first foray into 3D - it could be considered a departure for director Martin Scorsese, yet conversely this is perhaps the most personal film he has ever made - more closely related to documentaries like 'A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Movies' than the hard-edged likes of 'Taxi Driver' or 'Goodfellas'.

Hugo, as played by the wide-eyed Asa Butterfield, is the director's surrogate here. He may be a young orphan living within the workings of a vast Parisian clock in the 1930s, but he sees cinema the way Scorsese does and it's through him that we bear witness to its power. To him films stir up powerful memories, recalling trips to the cinema with his late father (Jude Law) who describes cinema as a place you can see dreams in the day.



Other memories Hugo views as though part of his life's own movie, with Scorsese staging a moment of teary recollection as if his young hero were seated in a cinema, with the blue light of a projector filtering overhead. To Hugo films are not merely dreams and memories but also feats of magic. The cinema itself provides a place of comfort and a distraction from his sense of loss and loneliness. The script may call for Hugo to take the final bow, but make no mistake the cinema itself is the hero of this adventure.

After his watchmaker father is killed in a freak accident, Hugo is adopted by an alcoholic uncle (Ray Winstone) and put to work maintaining the clocks of a Paris train station, secretly living within the walls of the building. This isn't a bad fit as the boy has a gift for fixing things, taking comfort in the way machines work - though he's primarily focussed on restoring an old anthropomorphic automaton which was discovered abandoned in a museum by his father.

Years later his uncle is gone and he's an outsider, living vicariously through the station's disparate oddball inhabitants as he eagerly watches them through a network of peepholes - perhaps touching on cinema's appeal to voyeurism. The players here include Richard Griffiths, Emily Mortimer, Christopher Lee and Sacha Baron Cohen, as an overzealous station inspector determined to send him to the local orphanage, and each has their own satisfying and sweet narrative arc.



Hugo's only tangible link to the past, fixing the automaton is an obsession which leads him to steal odd parts (springs, cogs, motors) from an old toy seller on the platform (Ben Kingsley). After falling foul of this bad tempered and sorrowful old man the boy befriends his adopted daughter, Isabelle played by the again outstanding Chloë Grace Moretz, and the two of them set about unravelling the mystery of the robot. This quest proves to be something of a red herring, solved within the first half as the film heads in a very different direction, with the children becoming increasingly fascinated by cinema - for the literary-inclined Isabelle a forbidden pleasure.

They visit a library and read from early books on celluloid history, telling the film's young audience all about the earliest days of the medium. They chat with early film historian René Tabard (Michael Stuhlbarg) and learn about how silent movies were made. And Scorsese duly backs these lessons up with no small amount of footage from the films themselves, introducing his prospective young audience to the Lumière brothers' 'Sortie des Usines Lumière à Lyon' and oft-referenced 'L'Arrivée d'un train en gare de La Ciotat', before showing clips of Chaplin, Keaton and many, many others.

This second half of the film is about the medium of cinema far more than the adventures of Hugo and Isabelle, yet it's hard to find fault with that when the result is this passionate and affirmative. The cinema history lesson here is not relegated to subtext: it is the principle text. This is equally true of the subject of film preservation (Scorsese's other great passion) which goes some way toward becoming the ultimate moral of the story.



But this is also the story of 3D - which Scorsese uses majestically throughout, transporting us into the miniature world of the children as adults loom large and oppressive in an impossibly vast world. By the end he's shown us genuine colour, 3D footage of World War I and even a new stereoscopic version of Georges Méliès' seminal 1902 spectacle 'Le Voyage dans la lune' - which, incidentally, looks magnificent.

By drawing the parallel between cinema, dreams, magic tricks and machines, he makes a powerful case for gimmick as a fundamental and exciting part of cinema from the time of its inception onwards. It's the most persuasive pro-3D argument to date and - even if Scorsese never makes another movie in the format - it's clear that this technology excites and fascinates him as much as the medium itself.

'Hugo' is not the most exciting, consistent or perfectly structured children's film you'll ever see. In fact it often seems like a slick piece of educational programming rather than a fun family movie - with the slapstick chases around the station the least effective sequences. It's almost as if Scorsese has engineered a self-indulgent piece of fan fiction as a clandestine way to educate children about the art form he loves and give some of his favourite film clips a fresh airing for a new audience. But as a fellow lover of cinema I find this entirely admirable. It's heartening to see such an unabashed celebration of art.

'Hugo' is rated 'U' by the BBFC and is playing in the UK now.

'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.

'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.

'The Future' review:

I reviewed Miranda July's 'The Future' from Berlin earlier this year, but today sees its release in the UK. It's a real love it or hate it movie, which I suspect many will think is far too quirksome for its own good, though I really enjoyed it.

Read my review here.

'The Future' is released in UK today and rated '12A' 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.