'Home for the Weekend' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Another warmly received German competition entrant, 'Was Bleibt' - which translates literally as "what remains", but given the far sappier English title 'Home for the Weekend' - is a quietly effective examination of how one family falls apart during a routine get together. However much they lie to one another and retreat behind false jollity, each person has significant problems - be they financial, medical or of the heart.

Berlin-based writer Marko (Lars Eidinger) is struggling to spend time with his son Zowie (Egon Merten) after separating from his wife - though he makes excuses for her absence, keeping his family in the dark. Jakob (Sebastian Zimmler) puts on a superior attitude, as the responsible, attentive son, yet his dental practice - paid for by his father Gunter (Ernst Stotzner) - is on the verge of bankruptcy. A fact he doesn't even tell his wife Ella (Picco von Groote), who in turn feels disrespected and kept at a distance.

Over the weekend all of these traumas come to the fore after Marko and Jakob's manic depressive mother
Gitte (Corinna Harfouch) discloses that she has not been taking her medication for some time and has no plans to do so. The family is divided over how to proceed, fearing violent mood swings if they talk openly in front of Gitte. This exacerbates her own feelings of isolation and threatens her will to live. When she goes for an early morning drive alone and does not return the family begin to fear the worst, intensifying their internal feud and hastening the airing of grievances.

Director Hans-Christian Schmid handles this potentially sombre story a deceptive lightness of touch, the film being peppered with smile-raising moments which enliven the kitchen sink drama. As it stands it's one of the most purely watchable films of the competition here.

'Sister' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Set in the Swiss alps, 'E'enfant D'en Haut' - which carries the English title 'Sister' - is about a young boy called Simon (Kacey Mottet Klein) who escapes his grim life in a tower block by spending his days in the affluent mountain ski resort above, where he steals expensive ski equipment to sell on to local kids. Director Ursula Meier's film has a strong undercurrent of grim socio-economic reality behind it, however it's also lyrical and occasionally whimsical - as Simon strikes the pose of a flush, big-time hustler to great comic effect.

Going by the name Julian in the world above, he wears sunglasses whilst dining on fries in the restaurant, mingling casually with upper class patrons - who include serial stilted Brit impersonator Gillian Anderson. In the world below he uses money earnt from selling on stolen goods in order to support his frequently absent older sister - as played with great sensitivity by the coma-inducingly beautiful Lea Séydoux.

Beautifully filmed by Claire Denis' regular DP Agnès Godard, 'Sister' is tragic in its depiction of a situation in which a desperate child is ultimately forced to barter with his only relative for even the slightest expression of affection. Simon is a likeable kid whose one means of escape is not only criminal but destined to be short-lived: the ski season does not last forever and nor can his mischievous hijinks.

'Captive' Berlinale (Competition) review:

If this was made ten years ago 'Captive' would have felt like a shrill, pernicious little piece of reactionary Islamophobia. Coming a decade after the events of 9/11, as tempers cool, it seems all the more unnecessary and unwelcome. In it a group of middle class French tourists - headed up French star Isabelle Huppert - are abducted from their luxury Philippine resort by a group of muslim fundamentalists who seek to use them as leverage to make political demands from the government. They are ruthless to a man, bumping off any who are not worth much in ransom, beheading them and then laughing about it, firing their rifles into the air and shouting "praise be to Allah". They are cartoon villains and lack even genuine spiritual conviction.

They preach at their captives constantly, telling them about the laws of the Qur'an even as they make a mockery of them: for instance, it cuts to one man stealing a hostage's watch as the prisoners are told not to take things that don't belong to them. They also force female captives to marry them in order to have sex with virgins without offending religious tradition. The events of the film are set during 2001, so we are even shown them celebrating 9/11 to the horror of the westerners, who instantly understand the event's significance based on few details. In reality the enormity of those events needed time to sink in, even with access to the shocking images on live television.

Kidnappings such as these - as happen frequently in South America, Africa and Asia - are an interesting and frightening prospect, certainly worthy of an interesting and insightful film. Though this feels like white post-colonial panic. You could say these terrorists happen to be muslim because in the Philippines that is the reality, and that the things they do are similarly routed in a horrific truth that doesn't obey the laws of so-called "political correctness". Yet it's not that the film includes (or even highlights) the Islamic specificity of this kidnap that's offensive: it's that it dominates the movie totally, with many of the abductors' rants sounding like deliberate attempts to put Islam on trial, whilst Christian characters are shown to be charitable, respectful and unwavering the face of adversity.

'Jayne Mansfield's Car' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Set in Alabama in 1969, 'Jayne Mansfield's Car' is a blackly comic film about the failure of each successive generation to learn from the mistakes of the previous one. Here two families from different backgrounds, each with their share of war-scarred men, are brought together by a funeral: an event which basically enables an exploration of the way each character romanticises tragedy - a concept embodied by the wrecked car of ill-fated movie star Jayne Mansfield, which is a local sideshow attraction.

Withdrawn, WWI veteran and traditional southern patriarch Jim Caldwell (a note-perfect performance from Robert Duvall) is saddened when his ex-wife - and mother of his now adult children - dies after years of living in England with her second husband (and fellow Great War veteran) Kingsley Bedford (John Hurt). In spite of long-harboured feelings of bitter resentment towards the man who took his love, Jim invites the Bedford family to come and stay in his home with his children and grandchildren. These include three wildly different sons, all of whom served in WWII.

Director and writer Billy Bob Thornton takes on the role of a decorated navy pilot who finds it easier to relate to machines than people. Robert Patrick is a seemingly uptight guy, whose resents never having seen combat - yet he has subsequently been successful and is head of a nuclear family. Kevin Bacon was also decorated in the war, yet now he is a long-haired hippy protesting Vietnam in the hope that his teenage son doesn't have to go through what he did. Kingsley's son accompanies him to the US - a WWII Japanese prisoner of war. Ray Stevenson is compelling, for once not playing a fun tough guy.

Relatively free of southern clichés, the film pokes affectionate fun at the Caldwell's occasionally tacky manner (as seen by the stuffy Bedfords) without being patronising or mean about the characters. Perhaps it's a little long and unfocused, with some characters (like Frances O'Connor's likeable Camilla) disappearing for long stretches. Yet overall it's warm and fun with moments of effecting tragedy all in service of a laudable anti-war message.

'Metéora' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Folks who have no interest in arthouse cinema or festival films probably assume that they are all humourless, chin-scratching borefests like 'Metéora', a Greek film from director Spiros Stathoulopoulos. Over 82 minutes that feel far longer, it's the story of a Russian nun (Tamila Koulieva) and a Greek monk (Theo Alexander) who are doomed to live lives of quiet despair unless they consummate their forbidden love. Turns out they're in luck because, conveniently enough, "the only sin that cannot be forgiven is despair".

They repeat that word, "despair", over and over (in Greek and Russian), whenever they aren't in mournful solitude, gazing through the windows of their remote, mountaintop monasteries across the abyss that separates them physically and emotionally. A stunning setting for the well-worn theme of sexual repression and self-flagellation within the church, with Nun burning her hand in order to resist the temptation to masturbate. Monk is tempted not only by what's under Nun's garments, but also by the simple rural idyll outside the order. In fact he is so much more at home among the shepherds and such that it's hard to understand why Monk became one in the first place.

As an escapist outlet for repressed fantasies, both experience vivid dreams brought to life via crude, jerky animation and styled to replicate traditional Christian art. These segments, infused with provocative religious imagery, deserve credit for being imaginative and, aesthetically, they represent an improvement on the ultra-low quality cameras used to film the live-action stuff. There are some nice touches here and this device is a clever one.

Yet the part of the film that's destined to live longest in my memory is a scene in which a real mountain goat is cornered, captured, stabbed and skinned - a scene which feels unnecessary and cruel. I'm not a vegetarian and am under no illusions about where food comes from (however much I'd rather not think about it), but filming the grisly death of a screaming animal for the purposes of a movie just doesn't sit well with me.

'Barbara' Berlinale (Competition) review:

German-speaking elements of the crowd went nuts for 'Barbara', Christian Petzold's film about an unsmiling nurse (Nina Hoss) who desperately longs to escape communist East Germany and her no-frills, small town existence. She lives for tomorrow to the extent that she is cold to colleagues and puts very little effort into her current existence, until she meets an interesting doctor (Ronald Zehrfeld) who admires her talents and compassion for their young patients.

Frequent bursts of howling laughter lead me to conclude that the film it's a comedy, though it's apparently the sort of humour that owes much to "how" rather than "what" is said. A lot of the jokes concern the broad juxtaposition of different worlds: east and west, as well as recurring town versus countryside gags - but, again, these might be funnier if could discern German regional accents and peculiar modes of speech or if I had a grasp of the country's internal stereotypes.

I'm plainly not the ideal reviewer for this movie, which I can't see getting much distribution outside its homeland. I couldn't say with any confidence that I fully understood it. All I can safely say is that Hoss is terrific as the sardonic nurse - a complicated character whose sense of duty and compassion (and ultimate selflessness) suggest her disenchantment with the state is not as a result of apathy. I would also add that it's one of the best films in the competition so far in terms of how it's made, with several entries to date lacking the same polish.

'Childish Games' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Amid the tearful, slow-moving dramas that dominate events like these it's nice to get a change of pace, especially a few days in. Spanish horror movie 'Dictado', which translates as "dictation" (though the English language title is 'Childish Games'), is that welcome key change and a diverting addition to a so far so inert competition line-up - providing a very different atmosphere and even (whisper it) some semblance of a plot.

It's by no means perfect, taking its sweet time building up to a decent last twenty minutes, but by the time the protagonist goes predictably insane it has become tense and compelling. Written and directed by Antonio Chavarrias, the film follows primary school teacher Daniel (Juan Diego Botto) - a mild-mannered man with a horrific past. Daniel is haunted by the memory of Clara, a young girl who died tragically during a stupid game he and another boy were playing when they were children. Years later the other boy, Clara's brother, has committed suicide after claiming that he has been haunted by his sister, who has been reborn in the body of his daughter Julia (Magica Perez).

Feeling guilt for past events Daniel goes to his late friend's funeral where he meets - and is considerably freaked out by - Julia. Things get worse for Daniel when his compassionate girlfriend (Barbara Lennie) takes pity on the child and offers to become her guardian until a relative can be found. The upshot of this is that Daniel is now living with a girl he believes to be the potentially vengeful reincarnation of Clara. Is the child Clara or Julia? Is she out to get Daniel or not? After several twists and turns these questions are answered in a way which is nearly as pleasing as it is far-fetched.

'Caesar Must Die' Berlinale (Competition) review:

The first competition film to attract anything like sustained applause from the press at Berlinale Palast this year, Italian entry 'Cesare deve morire' ('Caesar Must Die') follows a group of maximum security inmates - murderers, drug dealers and thieves, many on life sentences - as they put on a prison production of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Directed by brothers Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, it's difficult to define even if the festival catalogue confidently bills it as a straight documentary.

Ostensibly we're given a behind the scenes look at rehearsals (in stylish monochrome) book-ended by footage of the final production (in colour), yet everything is a bit too elegantly staged and composed to make pure documentary a possibility. Use of sophisticated cinematic techniques, such as reverse angle shots, would also be impossible were the film not entirely deliberate. Then there's the inmates themselves who never stray from the frame or go off on conversational tangents that aren't at least of thematic relevance - frequently waxing philosophical about how the text relates powerfully to modern day life.

Are the prisoners at least who they are claimed to be? Bereft of much additional explanation, I honestly don't know - that's one of the problems when faced with reviewing a film in a festival setting. I suspect it's a blend of fact and fiction, purposefully blurring the line between the two. In any case it's a very watchable film which doesn't outstay its welcome over a sensibly short running time.

It's also buoyed by the fact that the various prisoners have entertaining and easily distinguishable personalities, providing equal amounts of laughter and pathos. As the inmates bicker and contemplate their roles, there is also ample time given to the Bard's work itself as we hear Shakespearian language delivered in regional accents - reclaimed from upper class thespians with the effect of revitalising the material. Occasionally the film strains too hard to promote the modern day relevance of the play, but otherwise there is much to recommend it.

'Coming Home' Berlinale (Competition) review:

All films carry the well-worn disclaimer that they are works of fiction and that any similarities the characters may have to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The difference with French kidnap drama 'Coming Home' is that this legal message appears right at the start in big letters, promising the film is entirely the work of its director's unfettered imagination. It's a strange claim to have to make, especially because though the plot bears some similarity to the disturbing case of Austrian Josef Fritzl, there are enough differences to make this opening seem over-cautious - raising the possibility that its makers are actively courting the comparison.

As you may have gathered from the above, Frédéric Videau's 'A Moi Seule' is the story of a social misfit, Vincent (Reda Kateb), who keeps a young girl in a purpose-built basement under his house. Held there for a number of years, Gaelle (a strong central performance from Agathe Bonitzer) grows up in isolation in this subterranean lair with only Vincent for company. Whilst he is at work, or entertaining a colleague, she waits below gagged and bound. Yet unlike the Fritzl case they are not related - Vincent snatched Gaelle in his van after school one day - and Vincent is also initially determined not to take their relationship anywhere physical (in terms of sex or violence). Instead he seems to view Gaelle as someone to talk to, though his motivation is never made explicitly apparent.

The film begins with Vincent releasing Gaelle after years of captivity and, after a moment's hesitation, she runs to the nearest bus stop, seeing an old "missing child" poster of herself on the way home. But, of course, she can't simply go home. Everything has changed. The film is then split between the past and the present, as we see Gaelle's life with Vincent and her fresh incarceration within the grounds of a psychiatric hospital. She visits her (now separated) parents, whose lives have been wrecked by the abduction, but she no longer connects with them. They wish Vincent were dead, but Gaelle is defensive of her captor, with elements of Stockholm syndrome setting in - though, like many of the questions posed by the film, this is never satisfactorily explored.

Much like earlier competition entry 'Today' ('Aujourd'Hui'), 'Coming Home' is a fascinating concept that is frustratingly underserved by the resultant film. It's not brave enough to takes the audience anywhere too unsettling, with even a sexual liaison reduced to insinuation and relegated off-camera, whilst the day-to-day interactions between the duo that dominate never end up anywhere particularly deep or interesting. A film like this needs to either disturb the audience or raise questions about human behaviour. For instance Greek film 'Dogtooth' does both brilliantly, with a stylistic flair and distinctive voice totally missing here.

'Today' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Satche (Saul Williams) is a relatively young man with no obvious health problems, yet he is going to die. He knows it and, seemingly, so does his entire home town. Apparently, in this part of Senegal, people sense the day before their death that they will soon be taken by god - that the next day will be their last on Earth. And it's a celebrated event, observed by whole the community, with even minor local government officials in attendance.

This is never rationalised or explained, probably because "how" and "why" aren't strictly relevant questions to this movie. 'Today', or 'Aujourd'Hui' in its native French, is really a rumination on what a person does knowing they have one day left. It's about taking stock, finding out what's important and contemplating what comes next. Tradition dictates that Satche wake up in his mother's house, but how he spends the rest of this final day is (appropriately enough) up to him. And he spends it the way you might expect: saying goodbye to family and drinking with friends before settling in at home with his wife and young children. He even tries, in vain, to put right the wrongs of a previous romance.

Parisian director Alain Gomis has made a very sleepy, near dreamlike film with Williams acting as if in a limbo state between life and death. Aside from one vibrant sequence, that sees Satche dance down the street, being showered with presents and serenaded by cheering onlookers, the doomed protagonist is a sedate and mostly silent presence. It makes for a meandering (sometimes boring) feature, albeit with some neatly observed scenes (such as when Satche's relatives discuss his life in the past tense with him in the room, pointing out all his faults) and potentially interesting philosophical moments (at one point he takes tea with his soon-to-be mortician).

Towards the end Gomis plays some interesting games with time and reality, notably as Satche's kids suddenly appear to him as young adults. Has he avoided death by choosing to remain with his family or is this a moment of spiritual closure before death: a sign that everything will turn out ok when he leaves our mortal plane? Yet there aren't enough inspired touches like this to liven up the dominant tone of strained silence.

'Farewell My Queen' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Set within the walls of Versailles palace in the first days of the French Revolution, this dimly lit, distractingly handheld camera reliant period drama casts the beautiful Lea Seydoux (recently seen as a ruthless assassin in 'Mission: Impossible') as a lady in waiting whose loyalty to Queen Marie Antoinette (Diane Kruger) is unwavering and - equally - unappreciated.

From the perspective of Seydoux's Sidonie, we observe major events at a distance, often from palace windows, as King Louis XVI and his entourage consider their response to the storming of the Bastille - prancing about theatrically in the forecourt, wearing wigs and striking poses only French aristocracy could get away with. Through Sidonie we witness as hysteria grips the palace, but whilst there is much talk of nobles fleeing to the countryside in panic, there is little suggestion that any suspects they are living out the final days of an established order. As though this is the whim of a mob who will see sense.

For instance, Sidonie and her friends are still harassed to perform their most frivolous duties for indulgent masters. For her part, she's continually being pestered to deliver an embroidered pattern demanded by the queen - though her majesty has other things on her mind, having fallen deeply in love with a lady of the court who treats her with a level of disdain to which she is unaccustomed.

To see the monarch treated so casually is scandalous to Sidonie: a woman who has sacrificed not only her life but also any sense of personal identity in order to remain close to Marie Antoinette. Though whether this affection is sexual is left entirely ambiguous. What's not in doubt is that the spoiled, self-absorbed queen does not hold Sidonie in the same affection, ultimately seeing the girl as another instrument of her will.

This is a very different picture of Marie Antoinette than that we are used to seeing, with context given for why she was so despised by her people, beyond jealousy at her decadence. Here we are given insight into her political dealings as she leads a political faction within the palace who wish to crush the rebellion at the earliest stages, proposing use of a mercenary army against the people of Paris. My knowledge of French history isn't enough to say with any certainly how accurate this is, but it's certainly a more compelling portrait of this divisive figure than is provided by the oft-cited and likely apocryphal "let them eat cake!"

Director Benoit Jacquot emphasis the size of the palace through shots of Sidonie running (and frequently tripping over herself) down seemingly endless corridors. Despite living on the grounds, she is always late for work (where she acts as a reader for the Queen) - again suggesting the palace as its own vast world, detached from the reality of life in nearby Paris. It's a house of whispered rumours in which the impending terror appears closer to a scandal than an epoch-defining moment in history. That we know differently amplifies the absurdity of much of what goes on, though the film seldom plays this disconnect as satire - a contributing factor in why this sporadically interesting melodrama struggles to hold your attention and fades quickly from memory.

62nd Berlin Film Festival

I'm heading off to Berlin for this year's film festival in the early hours of tomorrow morning, where I'll be watching 20-30 films and writing pieces for the Daily Telegraph. Whilst there I'll also record a podcast or two with Jon and Craig, who are going as part of the "industry" (basically they are seeing all the films but don't have to write anything about them).

Though the festival doesn't start officially until the 9th, tomorrow night there is a preview screening of Werner Herzog's second death row documentary - entitled 'Death Row' - which I'm very much looking forward to. There's also a lot of interesting films in the competition, including 'Shadow Dancer' from James Marsh and an interesting French-Philippine drama called 'Captured', about some holiday makers who get taken hostage. I also like the sound of Billy Bob Thornton's ensemble family drama 'Jane Mansfield's Car'. There's also a European premiere for Oscar nominee 'Extreme Loud and Incredibly Close'.

But as with all festivals the best movies will probably emerge from unlikely places and be directed by people I've never heard of.

I'll do my level best to keep this blog updated whilst I'm away, though these things can be chaotic and I'll already likely have a lot of work to do. If you don't hear from me for two weeks then you can expect a huge backlog of reviews to start trickling in from when I return on the 20th.

'The Muppets' review:

They haven't been in a major film or television series since the mid-90s, but arguably Jim Henson's best-loved creations haven't been culturally relevant for much longer. Yet in 'The Muppets', the characters' glorious comeback movie, this passing of time that might have been a concern (at least for marketing folks at Disney) has proven to be an asset. The Muppets have always broken the fourth wall to poke fun at themselves and comment on the artifice of whatever they're doing, but here Kermit, Miss Piggy and co show an awareness of that faded glory that's the driving force behind the story and much pathos.

In this James Bobin directed musical comedy, co-writer Jason Segel stars as Gary, whose younger brother Walter is a Muppet in all but name. When Gary decides to take his girlfriend Mary (the graceful and effervescent Amy Adams) out of Smalltown and on a romantic holiday to Los Angeles, he brings Walter, a lifelong Muppet fan, in order to give him the chance to visit the famous Muppet theatre. Upon visiting the derelict theatre, Walter is horrified to learn that the evil Tex Richman (Chris Cooper) is planning to buy up the property in order to drill for oil. Walter and Gary then decide to round up the Muppets in order to perform the comeback show that could save their legacy.

Rather than straining to sell the relevance of our heroes to today's kids, this new film rolls with the idea that the Muppets (who include a 70s-style rock act, an Evel Knievel wannabe and a Catskills comic) are indelibly wedded to a bygone era. When Rashida Jones' sharp-suited television executive tells Kermit he needs a celebrity host in order to get the gang a new TV special, the frog delves into his contact book and calls the White House, only to be informed that Jimmy Carter has changed address. In his mansion Kermit is served New Coke by his butler: 80s Robot - very much yesterday's vision of tomorrow. He also struggles to recognise any current celebrities, instead making moribund references to former Muppet Show guests stars like Dom DeLuise. During a cleaning montage the Muppets play a cassette of Starship's "We Built This City" for inspiration.

There is something poignant about all this, especially as Kermit spends much of the film full of regret that he has (like the rest of us) spent the last few years losing touch with his fellow Muppets. This foregrounding of the Muppets as fallen icons is more than just a neat post-modern joke, it also serves to imbue the characters with a kind of purity. As Kermit sings his 1979 classic "Rainbow Connection" we're given a powerful reminder of a less jaded time, yet they are never twee no matter how earnest the sentiment. This straight-faced niceness is exactly why the Muppets seem ideally placed to provide infectious optimism lacking in today's entertainment. Their sworn enemy is cynicism - as embodied in the film by a crass, "edgy" tribute act, "The Moopets" (who Richman champions as "a hard, cynical act for a hard, cynical world").

The film isn't content to trade solely on nostalgia and old-time good feeling though, even if it could probably just about get away with that. There are loads of inspired sight gags, clever one-liners and, best of all, a few infectious song and dance numbers written by Bret McKenzie of 'Flight of the Conchords'. Of these my favourites are the upbeat loneliness empowerment anthem "Me Party", sung with gusto by Adams and Miss Piggy, and the Oscar-nominated ballad "Man or Muppet" - a duet between Gary and Walter.

There are long stretches where it's difficult to imagine how the film might appeal to young children - along with the anachronistic pop culture references are celebrity cameos from the likes of Sarah Silverman and Alan Arkin. Kids aren't the primary audience and - with the script brimming with nods to minor characters and scenes from the first movies, it's probably a more rewarding experience for fans. But even if you don't quite fit that category I still reckon it'd be nearly impossible to watch 'The Muppets' without a smile on your face the majority of the time. Life is indeed a happy song.

'The Muppets' is released in the UK on February 10th and has been rated 'U' by the BBFC.

'The Grey' review:

'The Grey' reunites 'A-Team' director Joe Carnahan with unlikely action hero Liam Neeson, who plays another rugged, no-nonsense, softly-spoken Irish badass with a grudge against mankind. This time he's Ottway - an ace sniper stationed in the harsh Alaskan wilderness, with only the bitter-sweet memory of his departed wife for company. Employed by an oil company with the unlikely job of protecting drill teams from regular grey wolf attacks, Ottway has taken to a life of isolation, bereft of hope for humanity. He sees those he lives with at the end of the world as being "men unfit for mankind" - you sense he has more affinity for the wolves he is paid to slay.

That is until he is one of a half-dozen survivors of a plane crash thousands of miles away from civilisation. Stranded with a handful of others he is forced to reconnect with humanity in the harshest of circumstances, battling the elements and fending off an aggressive pack of wolves in a bid for survival. At times as the men argue their Alpha behaviour seems to run parallel with that of the wolf pack - one of many interesting ideas in a surprisingly theme rich film that also finds time to give God the finger. It hardly qualifies as a spoiler to say the supporting cast (which includes Frank Grillo, Dermot Mulroney and James Badge Dale) exist primarily to be picked apart by ravenous wolves, and to provide Ottway with people to wax philosophical with.

You might find yourself drawn to 'The Grey' by the undeniable appeal of seeing Liam Neeson punch an angry CGI wolf in the face - and there is some of that to enjoy - but amidst the bone-crunching carnage and suspenseful survival action there is time for just as much pathos. As the men discuss their children and Ottway recites some of his taciturn father's poetry: "Once more into the fray/Until the last fight I'll ever know/Live and die on this day/Live and die on this day". From that oft-repeated mantra you can probably work out how it all ends.

Carnahan shoots the film in a restrained and gritty style, with heavy use of grain. By avoiding showing too much of the wolves he ensures that sections of the film play like an impressive monster movie. But it's his handling of the survival stuff that's the film's best asset, particularly in the disorienting, noisy plane crash sequence and in a scene of nerve-jangling terror as the surviving men attempt to cross a ravine using a hastily conceived makeshift rope. In its depiction of men battling the elements, it's also far more visceral and engaging than last year's similarly themed 'The Way Back'. Ottway's strange (presumably made up) vocation and the presence of exaggerated, man-eating wolves sets up a sillier film than 'The Grey' actually ever wants to be. In fact it's more often a brutal and painfully realistic depiction of death and loss.

'The Grey' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Carnage' review:

A sharp and bitterly funny attack on middle class social mores and attitudes, Roman Polanski's 'Carnage' is the kind of movie I'm easily smitten by: a tight little film which primarily takes place on one location (in real-time, no less), peddles deft social satire and zips by in a welcome 79 minutes. It's to the veteran director's credit that it never feels paired down or non-cinematic, despite being based on a stage play: French playwright Yasmina Reza's God of Carnage. Tight close-ups develop a sense of claustrophobia and Polanski's camera seems to relish the few occasions where the characters nearly escape their setting, eagerly rushing out into the hall and returning to the apartment with an air of resignation.

The film hinges around an event briefly glimpsed (from a distance) during the opening credits as one young boy hits another with a stick in a New York park. Then, in one intense, unbroken scene that ultimately seems to find equivalence in the actions of adults and children, the rest of the film takes place in the apartment of the assaulted boy's parents - Penelope and Michael Longstreet (Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly) - who have invited the other boy's parents - Nancy and Alan Cowan (Kate Winslet and Christoph Waltz) - over to discuss about what happened between their kids. It doesn't take long before the mood shifts from one of reconciliation to recrimination (and back again) as the couples turn on each other and feud amongst themselves.

Michael's overbearing attempts to play the good host and considerate husband conceal deep resentment and nihilism that are soon exposed (memorably with the bitter revelation that his wife dresses him as a liberal). Penelope is far less concerned with acting "civilised" and resolving differences than she is with asserting her moral and parenting supremacy over the Cowans. Alan is hyper-rational (or, depending on your point of view, cynical) to the point of seeming cold, aloof and more than a little rude - taking work calls throughout their meeting to the annoyance of everybody. Nancy seems to be the only one entering the situation in genuine good faith - something that's tested by extreme feelings of nausea as a result of the slightest confrontation and, later, by some potent Scotch.

The whole thing is as much about the futility of trying to bring order to chaos as it is about peering voyeuristically underneath the veneer of the characters sense of well-bred respectability. Whilst all of them interact in interesting and ever-shifting ways, the central confrontation is really between Alan, who believes in the inevitability of animalistic, amoral behaviour, and Penelope, who believes with absolute certainty that those in need should be saved and those who do wrong must be punished (according to her own uncompromising standards). Yet these extreme points of view are as easily compromised as anything else: when his phone is broken Alan is less indifferent about human cruelty and suffering, whilst Penelope is more concerned with cleaning up her coffee table books than Nancy's well-being after she suffers a fit of vomiting.

Each of the four actors are superb and wring the most from the script's faultlessly well-observed, caustic humour, though Waltz is again the stand-out performer. Several times in the last year the Academy Award-winning Austrian has been the bright spot in sub-standard films, but here he steals the show in more exalted company. His Alan is deliciously cruel and somehow intensely likable with it. You certainly want to see him get the better of Foster's shrill and conceited Penelope. Winslet gives a very subtle and believable performance, in spite of being given some of the more extreme stuff to do (throwing up and playing drunk). Reilly's innate likability and sensitivity - as the perennially put-upon schlub - are also well deployed and cleverly subverted, providing some of the funniest moments.

'Carnage' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Chronicle' review:

When high schooler Peter Parker is bitten by a radioactive spider it doesn't take long for him to use his newly developed super powers to recover the purses of old ladies and foil bank robberies. "With great power comes great responsibility" is the famous mantra. Well somebody should have told the kids in 'Chronicle', a film in which three teenagers develop telekinetic abilities after being exposed to a nosebleed-inducing, glowing rock in a mysterious cave.

But if Spider-Man was born into the idealistic 60s, these kids are definitely from our more cynical present - in that they just piss around aimlessly, content to serve no grand purpose. In the fun first half of the movie, they pull immature pranks on passersby, win a high school talent show and play American football in the troposphere. It's the first super powers movie I've seen in which the kids on-screen do what real kids would actually do: they film themselves doing the sort of stuff the 'Jackass' crew could only dream of and laughing constantly. If 'Kick Ass' was the story of a guy whose vigilante fantasy was limited by his lack of special abilities, then 'Chronicle' is the reverse.

That's already a sound premise but the really inspired part is the decision to frame the film as "found-footage" - with most of it captured through handheld video cameras. A closer cousin to 'Cloverfield' than 'The Blair Witch Project' or 'Paranormal Activity', 'Chronicle' isn't using the style as a neat way to make a movie on the cheap: the special effects are better than average, not least because by the time things really kick off (alas, the childish hijinks can't last forever) we've been grounded in a very tangible, recognisable world.

The film is, for the most part, framed as the video diary of Andrew (Dane DeHaan), a meek guy who decides to film his day to day life, ostensibly to deter his abusive, drunken father. Director Josh Trank, working from a Max Landis (son of John) script, uses the conceit imaginatively, having Andrew levitate his camera, allowing for a greater range of shots than you'd usually expect, a trick which helps to keep the gimmick from becoming irritating or hindering the action (characters bound to video cameras can't exactly fight).

Over its brisk 83 minutes, 'Chronicle' is also buoyed by its deeper-than-expected central character study, as Andrew's home life (his mum is dying from cancer) and his miserable time at school, as a bullied social outcast, combine to give him exactly the sought of pent-up rage you don't want in a teenager suddenly given unprecedented power over his environment. This is another way in which the style of filmmaking ehances the story: as the obsession with filming events deepens, Andrew's feeling of detachment from the world seems to become greater, diminishing his already fragile sense of empathy with grave consequences for the people of Seattle.

'Chronicle' is out now in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.

FilmQuest 2012 (9/30): 'Goodfellas':

Until this morning I hadn't seen Martin Scorsese's 'Goodfellas': a fact many of my friends regard as some kind of crime against cinema. But, happily, filling gaps like this is exactly the reason I began my "FilmQuest 2012" column last month. My first reaction to this seminal, oft-quoted gangster film is that I'm surprised how fresh it felt. I worried it could only be a disappointment considering its legacy and pervasiveness in popular culture (the mob oeuvre in particular). I worried that I wouldn't be able to see it as something original but as one of a million 'Goodfellas' tribute acts, a bit like when I saw 'Indiana Jones' for the first time a few years ago, having seen all the best bits parodied a thousand times on 'The Simpsons'.

Yet whilst a lot of movies have affected the accents, phraseology and look of the mobsters from 'Goodfellas' - with Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci and, to some extent, Robert De Niro living in the shadow of these roles - its imitators have consistently fallen short when it comes to matching the film's historical and sociological heft. 'Goodfellas' is many things: it's a true crime story (closely based on real events), a look at the immigrant experience (Scorsese's own Sicilian routes come through in the 50s section and in the casting of both his parents in minor roles), and a plotted history of the American gangster (from small-time protection rackets to heavy-duty drug dealing). But best of all it examines the appeal of becoming a mobster (the movie star aura, the mythos, the idea of being somebody) to Liotta's impressionable, true-believer Henry, whilst also critiquing the romanticised view of who these people are (as best embodied by Coppola's 'The Godfather') through showing their ruthless disregard for human life and frail sense of loyalty.

This dichotomy is best demonstrated by the ending: as Henry (now in witness protection) bemoans his safe, average, white picket fence existence ("I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.") Here Scorsese cuts briefly to an idealised shot of Pesci's fallen mob enforcer Tommy DeVito who looks smart, stylish and handsome standing against a redbrick wall and shooting his handgun at the camera. This is the character as Henry remembers him, as a perfect movie star, as James Cagney: a charismatic anti-hero who didn't take shit from nobody. It's an image that sits in stark opposition to the angry, sadistic murderer whose violent unpredictability hangs over much of the film.

It's a theme which is brought into focus right away by the seeming contradiction between the opening shots of barbaric murder (a dying man being stabbed to death with a kitchen knife in the boot of a car) and the cheerfully optimistic first line of Liotta's voiceover which follows: "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster." Scorsese sets up the horror and the reality and then goes about explaining its appeal, but without ever confusing his message and making the violence itself appealing. Whereas 'The Godfather' is sometimes poetic in its depiction of death, 'Goodfellas' never shows murder as anything other than senseless and brutal.

One strange quirk did stand out for me though: why do we get small sections of voiceover from a second narrator, Henry's wife Karen (played by Lorraine Bracco, one of many cast members subsequently seen in 'The Sopranos')? These moments are great in that they provide a female point of view in a genre where women are traditionally marginalised (as demonstrated with singular beauty by the final shot of 'The Godfather'), but wouldn't the film be a little tighter without them? Without these moments the whole thing would be consistently presented from the point of view of Henry, which makes sense because he's in almost every scene and because he ultimately breaks the fourth wall in the court room, presenting the whole film as a story he's telling (raising questions as to its reliability). I just don't think Karen's voiceover is used enough to justify its use at all.

That's a minor grievance though - and I'm not even that sure I'm right about it because, as I say, I like that there's a female voice what would otherwise be another exclusively macho film about the fraternity of violent men. It certainly doesn't detract from the film's stunning period detail and some of the finest steadicam work you'll ever see. These single-take sequences, as we're taken through nightclubs and around restaurants, stand testament to Scorsese's virtuosity and imagination.

FilmQuest 2012 (8/30): 'Con Air':

"Beautiful? Sunsets are beautiful, newborn babies are beautiful. This... this is fucking spectacular!" If I hadn't seen Michael Bay's 'The Rock' the day before there's a good chance producer Jerry Bruckheimer's next film - 1997's Simon West directed 'Con Air' - would have seemed like the epitome of hi-octane. However, seen in the shadow of Bay's quote-a-second action flick it seemed comparatively sedate.

But this is odd because 'Con Air', the latest entry in my rapidly expanding "FilmQuest 2012" series, is arguably more extreme than Bay's film in terms of raw ingredients: this time Nicolas Cage has daft hair and a thick Cajun accent, he gets to run (and jump) away from explosions with far greater frequency, and the cartoonishly over the top villains are brilliantly cast (including Steve Buscemi, Ving Rhames, Danny Trejo and Dave Chappelle) with the scenery-chewing John Malkovich in top form. It also has a suitably BIG premise: the world's most loathsome scumbags (notorious rapists, drug lords and mass murderers) hijack a prison transport plane, making it hell in the air. There is, of course, one good man aboard. Meanwhile the authorities on the ground (led by John Cusack) bicker over whether to shoot the plane out of the sky or trust the one good man to restore order.

These cops argue over whose jurisdiction the whole incident is whilst, over the next hour and a bit, pretty much everything explodes and people are battered, shot, stabbed, crushed, impaled and burned with regularity. There is a pitched gun battle between the cons and soldiers in a plane scrapyard, an attack helicopter chase through the Grand Canyon, a crash landing on the Las Vegas Strip (with landmarks destroyed), and a high-speed chase between police motorcycles (commandeered by the Cage and Cusack dream-team, no less) and a rampaging convict-carrying fire truck - complete with climactic good versus evil fistfight on the roof of the moving vehicle. This is a film where a plane tows a sports car into the air for chrissakes, prompting the line "on any other day that might seem strange". But the best line? "Sorry boss, but there's only two men I trust. One of them's me. The other's not you."

As with 'The Rock' every aspect of the story is heightened to its greatest, most ludicrous possible level to ratchet up the drama and punctuate the stakes for all involved. For instance, Nicolas Cage's Cameron Poe isn't just a mild-mannered convict due to leave prison after an 8 year stretch, on the wrong plane at the wrong time (on a story level this might have been enough). No, he's a decorated former soldier who returned home from serving his country to find his pregnant wife (Monica Potter) being pestered by a despicable drunk, who he accidentally kills after being attacked.

He's then assured by a lawyer that he'll only serve a year if he pleads guilty, but the judge gives Poe no less than 7 years because he's a soldier - engendering a sense that he's a victim of rough justice. Yet he's never the slightest bit angry or twisted: a benevolent convict who shares his sweeties with the kindly diabetic man in his bunk (Mykelti Williamson) and writes regular letters home to his young daughter. Oh, and the hijacking of his flight home doesn't merely jeopardise his freedom - it also means he might miss his daughter's birthday party.

The ingredients are there but I think it's held by the fact that West, unlike Bay, is not any sort of visual stylist. Whilst 'The Rock' is rendered even more lovably ridiculous by all the American flags and fast-cutting of its uber-trashy auteur, 'Con Air' just isn't quite as intense. And if 'The Rock' was an inspired once in a lifetime mess of various jobbing writers (including Tarantino and Sorkin) then 'Con Air' is a much more coherent but infinitely less romantic piece from a single screenwriter: Scott Rosenberg. There are some quotable lines ("Put... the bunny... back... in the box"), but nothing on the level of 'The Rock'. Though I accept that this is an unfair and arbitrary standard of measure. Like I said, I saw both more or less back-to-back.

One aspect of 'Con Air' that genuinely elevates it above most of the action competition (puns definitely intended) are the interactions between Cusack's US Marshal Vince Larkin and Colm Meaney's DEA Agent Duncan Malloy. Whereas most movies would be comfortable with the idea that these convicts are an evil blight on society, Larkin makes constant references to the idea that they've been, to some extent, institutionalised by the prison system. Malloy angrily disagrees and often calls the prisoners "animals", but he is consistently shown as pig-headed and governed by reactionary anger rather than thought (see the sequence in which Cusack tries and fails to convince him that he's chasing the wrong plane). Conversely Larkin is shown as intelligent and rational. Perhaps their relationship is best defined by the following exchange:

Vince Larkin: "The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by observing its prisoners." Dostevsky said that... after doin' a little time.
Duncan Malloy: "Fuck you!" Cyrus Grissom said that after putting a bullet in my agent's head, okay?

Malloy is motivated by revenge which is opposite of justice. This philosophical feud is complicated by the scene in which Malloy wants to shoot the plane down over the desert, only for Larkin to ensure that he doesn't - directly leading to the crash landing in Las Vegas, potentially killing hundreds of people in a densely populated area. Is Malloy's pragmatism vindicated here? Maybe that's a valid way of seeing it, though it's probably not the view taken by the film: after all, we want Cage to survive to see his wife and daughter to the strains of "How Can I Live".

FilmQuest 2012 (7/30): 'The Rock':

"What is wrong with these people, huh? Mason? Don't you think there's a lot of, uh, a lot of anger flowing around this island? Kind of a pubescent volatility? Don't you think? A lotta angst, a lot of "I'm sixteen, I'm angry at my father" syndrome? I mean grow up! We're stuck on an island with a bunch of violence-for-pleasure-seeking psychopathic marines, SHAME-ON-THEM!"

I was surprised to hear the above rant voiced by the hero of a 1996 Michael Bay action movie. Welcome to 'The Rock' - the latest entry for "FilmQuest 2012" - where it is spoken (or shouted) by Nicolas Cage's FBI chemical weapons specialist Stanley Goodspeed. It seems to be criticising the violent machismo of every Bay movie (even the ones that hadn't been made yet). And it's not an isolated case: elsewhere Sean Connery's ace escape artist and former SAS operative Captain Mason cites Oscar Wilde in declaring patriotism "the virtue of the vicious".

Both quotes seemingly run in direct opposition to much of what we see throughout Bay's movie, which fetishises American military men, might is right pragmatism and the star spangled banner as much as ever. There are sombre speeches about the importance of respecting the armed forces and about the honour involved in "serving", just like all of Bay's other glossy feature length army recruitment videos (and with the same frenetic cutting). 'The Rock' is in many ways the definitive "get the President on the phone" movie: full of ultra-macho one-liners, strangely charming vulgarities and fist-pumping moments of explosive violence. It's a film in which, without irony, people say things like:

• "Your best? Losers always go on about doing their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen."
• "This is the toughest call I've ever had to make... airstike approved!"
• "This man knows our most intimate secrets from the last half-century: the alien landing at Roswell, the truth about the JFK assassination. Mason's angry, he's lethal, he's a trained killer... and HE is the only hope that we have got!"
• "General, we've shed the same blood in the same mud - you know god damn well I can't give that order!"
• "Make no mistake, gentlemen. We are in the fight of our lives against maybe the greatest battalion commander of the Vietnam war, I shit you not!"
• "The whole world is being Fed-exed to hell in a handcart!"
• "You're between the rock and a hard case."

Anyone who's seen it will know there are a million more zingers like those, most punctuated by the cocking of a gun or the twang of an electric guitar. 'The Rock' invented hi-octane... then shot it into space on the back of a radioactive unicorn on crack where it exploded with the heat of a billion suns. You get the point: it's a film that waves its big dick in your face to the sound of the American national anthem. It's a film so over the top that it sometimes feels less like Bay's 'Armageddon' and more like Wes Anderson's MTV Awards parody of 'Armageddon'. Yet remember those two quotes from before? They feel like they're from a different movie universe.

Perhaps it's not surprising that 'The Rock' should exhibit signs of multiple personality disorder: it is the fruit of at least eight different writers - most of whom are uncredited for reasons only those within the nebulous and highly litigious world of Hollywood writing credits could explain. Among the uncredited are voices as disparate and distinctive as Aaron Sorkin and Quentin Tarantino (highly speculative, but perhaps some of that liberal-minded critique came from Sorkin).

But wherever the lines came from and however much they contradict each other (undermining whatever the point of 'The Rock' is in the process) there is little sense in denying that it's in the same bracket as 'Casablanca', 'Withnail & I' or 'The Big Lebowski' in terms of how endlessly quotable it is. Personally I love all the lines which lay out the stakes in really direct fashion, such as this doozy: "Look, I'm just a biochemist. Most of the time, I work in a little glass jar and lead a very uneventful life. I drive a Volvo, a beige one. But what I'm dealing with here is one of the most deadly substances the earth has ever known, so what say you cut me some FRIGGIN' SLACK?" What more do we need to know about the disparity between the life of Cage's character and the gravity of the situation he finds himself in? 'The Rock' is the sworn enemy of subtlety and I wouldn't have it any other way.

After foiling Ed Harris' apparently noble terrorist plot (it's easy to forget that pre-9/11 a lot of movie terrorism was domestic), Cage ends up in possession of the MacGuffin microfilm, holding information that got Connery's character locked up in Alcatraz for life without trial. Goodspeed's never previously expressed any interest in possessing this information, so why does his attainment of it count as a win? The answer: it just does. Especially because it facilitates one of the best (and most irreverent) final lines ever: "Honey, you wanna know who really killed JFK?"

'The Descendants' review:

Seldom do movies live up to that most hackneyed of Hollywood promises: "you'll laugh... you'll cry". But this is one - a film that finds space for some brilliant comic performances and funny dialogue alongside scenes of some poignancy. Alexander Payne's 'The Descendants' is a film with nuance to match its boundless empathy. For instance the Hawaii-set drama begins with George Clooney's Matt King attempting to debunk myths about the Pacific island chain in a voiceover, denying its popular image as some kind of paradise untroubled by worldly concerns such as cancer and heartache. Yet in the same film Payne shows us crystal clear seas and idyllic green vistas, populated by smiling people wearing garish floral shirts, set to sunny local music.

The writer-director isn't interested in replacing one tired cliché with another. Instead he creates an honest and recognisable world characterised by darkness and light: of unbearable sadness and life-affirming tenderness in tandem, with neither ever maudlin or cloying in the least.

Though less acerbic than the director's previous films, 'The Descendants' still follows a suitably Payneian protagonist. His emotionally deficient men (from Matthew Brodrick's beleaguered high school teacher in 'Election' to the two lifelong losers of 'Sideways') always seem to be in the throes of mid-life crisis, and King is no different even if Clooney ensures he isn't so dishevelled (no matter how ill-fitting the flip flops). He may be a wealthy lawyer with a nice big house, yet his wife, Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie), lies in a coma from which she will likely never awaken following a boating accident - leaving him to take sole care of two troubled daughters, Alex and Scottie (Shailene Woodley and Amara Miller), for the first time in nearly a decade.

Furthermore, King soon learns that Elizabeth was having a passionate affair and on the verge of suing him for divorce, a detail known by some of their closest friends - heightening his sense of betrayal and shame. He is also in the middle of brokering a huge land sale which will make his disparate extended family - distantly descended from Hawaiian royalty - insanely rich, but for which he is ultimately responsible. There is pressure from his cousins is to sell, turning acres of pristine wilderness into a another soulless luxury holiday resort, and equally pressure from citizens not to.

Hawaii is not an incidental, colourful backdrop to this story, but a principle catalyst for events. Its pastimes claim King's wife, its islands isolate him from family members and its very soil has the power to divide or unite his family. It's in relation to this real estate dilemma, which seems peripheral for much the film, that it (like Kaui Hart Hemmings' original novel) takes its title. It's not enough that everybody in the state seems personally invested in his decision - King is also haunted by history: by black and white reminders of those who came before, forging his connection to the land in the 1860s.

The film hinges on a fine performance from Clooney whose presence in every scene gives the film a degree of subjectivity. For instance, this explains why we don't see or hear much evidence of the supposed state-wide interest in whether or not King will sell his land - it's not really something he's engaging with given the circumstances, though we feel its effect as one of many pressures bearing down on him. Clooney plays King as a man whose mind is always somewhere else, his face often implying a man haunted by dark thoughts.

Several dozen times we hear King being assured by well meaning friends and strangers that "Elizabeth is a fighter and that she'll pull through" - the emptiness of the platitude is being satirised as we soon understand the reverse, and yet there is no bitterness here: what else can you say? A late scene featuring the always-excellent Judy Greer provides perhaps the best example of how compassionately the film looks at human frailty and how our best intentions can be outstripped by the impulses of the heart.

It's as much about quirks of fate as it is coming to terms with loss or taking responsibility. Why should Clooney have inherited all this land through no work of his own and why should he decide what happens to it? Why did Elizabeth decide to jet ski on that day rather than drive the boat as planned? Why should Alex have stumbled upon her mother's indiscretion by chance? When Clooney finally confronts his wife's lover he is told that the affair "just happened". "Nothing just happens" is King's response, giving rise to perhaps the film's definitive line: "Everything just happens."

'The Descendants' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.