Films reviewed this year, in reverse order of being seen (so that the new ones appear handily at the top) are:- The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King; Finding Nemo; Kill Bill: Volume One; In the Cut; Bright Young Things; Young Adam; Calendar Girls; Belleville Rendez-Vous; Confidence; Winged Migration; Swimming Pool; Buffalo Soldiers; Pirates of the Caribbean; Cowboy Be-Bop; Kirikou and the Sorceress; Terminator III: Rise of the Machines; Bad Guy; Dark Blue; Whale Rider; Fulltime Killer; The Crime of Father Amoro; Identity; Not in Our Name; Not in Our Name II; Ripley's Game; Secretary; 25th Hour; To Kill a King; The Happiness of the Katakuris; Nowhere in Africa; X2; Russian Ark; Intacto; Phone Booth; Far from Heaven; The Core; Equilibrium; The Magdalene Sisters; Punch Drunk Love; The Pianist; Daredevil; The Hours; The Good Girl; Spider; Cidade de Deus; L.I.E.; Dirty Pretty Things, and Blood Work.
Darker and more confident than its predecessors, this final part of the Tolkein/Jackson trilogy brings out the best in the director and really shows - for good or ill - what the actors can do.
There's something inherently charming about a Disney film which opens with the hero discovering that his beloved wife and four hundred of his children have been brutally murdered. As he goes on to screw up his remaining child with his overprotectiveness, Marlon the clownfish reveals himself as a truly modern protagonist - someone who faces as much of a struggle in dealing with his inner demons as he does in facing the dangers of the great wide ocean to search for his stolen son. Because this is a Disney film, the solutions to both problems will be found together, but along the way we meet all kinds of other psychologically damaged characters - amnesiacs, addicts, stoners and delusionals - who are not so tidily resolved, and the impression this leaves is a rather refreshing one. Little Nemo himself is disabled by a weak fin and an initial lack of confidence. His triumphs have more to do with learning that the world is a messed up place than with the usual power of positive thinking platitudes.
The animation in this film is some of the best yet seen in mainstream western cinema. It's clear that those involved have spent an enormous amount of time observing not only fish movement but fish behaviour, and the realism in many scenes is striking. Yet there's been plenty of room left for deliberate cartoonishness, and often this contributes to the personality of the characters on show.
A pregnant bride shot dead in black and white, heady and emotional, borrowing from surrealist Mexican cinema; lurid credits in 'sixties TV cop show style; an apparently unavoidable showdown between two polite women in a quiet suburban home with children's toys all over the lawn. From the very start, Kill Bill is unmistakably Tarantino, plundering its sources with love, running through the cliches with glee, but willing to veer right off into moments of horror and real emotional intensity: a child witnessing her mother's murder. It's true that Kill Bill is essentially just a string of fight scenes loosely bound by plot, and Tarantino doesn't seem to be aiming for anything deep, yet one is always aware that this is not because he can't; if only more trashy films were made with this display of skill, Hollywood might have a reputation it could properly be proud of.
This violent tale of Charlie's Angels gone horribly wrong is not Tarantino at his best, but it does feature some striking performances, most notably from Uma Thurman as the anonymous Bride. Not since Sarah Connor has cinema presented us with a heroine quite so single-minded or furiously self-sufficient. Thurman seems aware of the silliness of this, but plays it straight, and everything makes a sort of sense. Awakening from a coma, judging that four years have passed, she sets out at once to avenge her attempted murder and the loss of her child. In doing so, she must take out each of the remaining members of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad of which she was once a part, gradually working her way closer to the boss, Bill. Naturally, this is a rambling tale, which is why studios insisted on it being broken into two parts (or 'volumes'). It is very well paced, and hardly ever drags, being broken down into a number of smaller stories, in keeping with the genre. Even the longest fight scenes are intelligently broken down so as to keep audience attention. The choreography is stunning. Although there can be as many as thirty people fighting onscreen at one time, it's always possible to follow what's happening to the heroine.
Probably the most interesting thing about the Bride is just how plainly she is played. Lucy Liu's imposing Tokyo gang queen, who dominates the latter part of the film, is always impeccably dressed and decorated, glamourous and feminine. Daryl Hannah's frustrated assassin sashays around in mini-skirts with elegantly sculpted hair. Thurman, by contrast, wears whatever is available, has no make-up, has trashed hair, and spends much of her time covered in blood - not even flatteringly arranged blood. Her natural beauty is visible, but is never played on. She is always a person and never an object. This is rare for the lead in any film, but especially for such a heroine, and it has the effect of drawing the audience in more closely to identify with her and her plight. Despite her martial prowess and absurdly good connections, she is the perfect everyman character. The absurdity of this in such a heavily stylised film is remarkably appealing.
Tarantino's unconventional treatment of female characters doesn't end there. Liu, of course, has something special to offer, also being a star in Drew Barrymore's recent Charlie's Angels movies, but here she gets to exert a force which is more than the sum of her feminine charms. The board room scene where she stands on a table and yells at the men around her is something entirely new. Women in films have two ways of raising their voices: a high-pitched, hysterical noise which tells the audience they're thwarted or need to be protected; and a more forceful but still high, unemotional style identified with bitches. In this scene, Liu simply yells like anyone might in real life - like a male character might - and the effect is startling. Despite the cartoonish nature of the story, the characters on display here all have moments in which they come across as so real that they remind us of the cartoonish nature of the rest of the industry.
Kill Bill is, ultimately, a throwaway film, a popcorn classic, fun but forgettable - yet it knows this, and goes about its business with a rare energy. The result is thrilling, charming, and hugely enjoyable.
This adaptation of Suzanna Moore's cult novel, scripted by the author herself along with sometime genius director Jane Campion, has been so long awaited and so heavily praised during production that even critics like myself, who try to maintain a healthy distance from such influences, were expecting great things. Sad to say, the film didn't deliver. It's by no means a bad film, but it's frustrating, as many things about it suggest that it might have been a great deal more.
If the font in which the very first words to appear on the screen are written don't give the game away, the opening shot will: we are in routine TV-style serial killer movie territory, and no amount of individual brilliance is going to change that. The choice of Que Sera Sera as introductory music is either an unfortunate mistake ofr the introduction to a paticularly sick Heathers joke too silly to fit with the rest of what goes on. This is a shame, since its cheesy moodiness is accompanied by some beautifully shot stills which effectively capture the refuse of New York and set the tone for what is to come. Throughout the film, Campion's lush visuals sweep the viewer along, creating an atmosphere far more involving than that presented literally. Meg Ryan plays a literature teacher with a distaste for committed relationships and a string of petulant exes who embarks on a relationship with the police detective who comes around investigating after the dismembered body of a young woman is found in her back garden. She distrusts everybody she gets to know, with the exception of her sister, but the sister is played by Jennifer Jason Leigh, so everything that happens to her is pretty predictable. Everybody in the story keeps second-guessing everybody else. As a study of confounded expectations within day to day encounters, this is an astute and charming piece of work. It's where it tries to take on dramatic issues that it falls down. In many ways, this comes across as a good psychological tale with a murder mystery tacked onto it. The devices used to create the crime story - a distinctive tattoo, the heroine learning to use a gun, handcuffing during a sex scene - are crude and tacky, out of place. The rest of the writing is better than that.
The other, already more famous focus of this film is sex. It has been hyped by promises of taboo breaking and the distinctly patronising tagline 'Everything you think you know about desire is wrong.' If you are in that position, you'd do better to watch an Open University sexology programme than to waste your time with this, which scarcely covers anything we haven't seen in tacky 'seventies thrillers. The female focus of the sexual observations may be shocking to some sheltered Americans, and it is well handled, with all involved seeming confident about it. There's also a significant amount of penis on display (quite justified by context), which makes a change, but isn't really very interesting beyond that. Whilst Meg Ryan looks very good for her age, there's little sexual chemistry to excite the viewer. This isn't really a criticism of the film, however, as I don't believe it's what Campion was aiming for. A masturbation sequence focusing on imagination provides us with more insight, making an interesting contrast to other such scenes seen recently in Secretary and Mulholland Drive. All of the characters on display here are primarily self-focused, and lonely because of it, which is what makes them interesting. Or at least, it's what makes Meg Ryan's character interesting, because hers is the only one with any real depth; she plays it very well indeed. She and Campion really seem to understand one another. It's this that lifts the film above the mediocre. The most impressive scene comes when the heroine is walking into an apartment expecting to find something terrible. Most actors would have played this with more abject horror. Ryan's skill shows in the subtlety and complexity of her reactions, letting viewers access the emotional aspects of the experience. For this, In the Cut deserves a wide audience, and it is to be hoped that Ryan can go on to get further roles where she can show she's more than cute and fluffy. Beyond this, however, it's really nothing special.
Stephen Fry's directorial debut is hectic from the start, full of jazz and glitter, flashing cameras and snapping heels; it effectively captures an outsider's perspective on the glamour of pre-Second World War English high society. We begin with an outsider, a young journalist who sees his chance to grab a fallen ticket and goes for it, leaping over walls and fences, abandoning his coat in the process. When things like that happen in films, they always make me nervous. I'm sitting there waiting for the coat to be retrieved, for the heroine of The Hours to remember to feed her friend's dog, for the pizza in Phone Booth to find a home. In this case, the coat is lost, as a daring escape is made; but that's intentional, no oversight; this whole story is built around characters who drop things and forget about them, characters who have too much money to realise what anything's worth; it sets the scene nicely. Of course, the young hero, Adam, charmingly played by Stephen Campbell Moore, has no money, despite his acceptance by the in-crowd, so it is through his eyes that we are able to see what really goes on with some realistic perspective. Adam is besotted with media darling Nina (Emily Mortimer), who is in love with him but is worried about her long-term financial security. His efforts to acquire money and hold onto it form the backbone of the plot, but this isn't really a film about plot; the atmosphere is more important, and it is here that Fry really scores. Doubtless his own jaded familiarity with trying to get on with life amid media intrusions has contributed to his ability to build up a believable portrait of this group of bright young things growing up in public. The parties are lush and fantastic, the costumes spectacular, personal lives suitably miserable and mundane.
The biggest flaw this film suffers from is that Fry is too sympathetic to his glamourous characters. The original story comes, of course, from Evelyn Waugh's novel Vile Bodies, and nobody here is quite vile enough. There's betrayal and heartache, unrequited love, desperation and suicide, but the humour with which the party keeps going is never quite vicious enough. We hear about the alliance between bright young things and old survivors, yet never see enough of what makes that survival possible. The party ends in time, and we are certainly made aware of the damage done; also, of the hostile world in which these young liberals live. Fry's previous performance as Oscar Wilde brings added pathos to the story of Miles (Michael Sheen) who is forced to leave the country after his homosexuality is exposed. Nevertheless, there is little sense of emotional reckoning with what has happened between these people. Adam is portrayed as being capable of it, but he too retains a certain innocence even through the horrors of war. It's one thing to make a film about innocence, another to leave the audience in the same condition.
Bright Young Things will doubtless appeal very strongly to foreign audiences charmed by stereotypical Englishness, even though Dan Aykroyd's wonderful Lord Monomark offers some cutting insights into that; it does create an intense sense of period and it has a fabulous cast. Jim Broadbent is perfect as blatantly surreal deus ex machina the Major, and Peter O'Toole seems to be having immense fun as Nina's retractable father Colonel Blount. Fry himself appears briefly as an embittered right wing taxi driver, and we also see cameos from Simon Callow, Hugh Laurie, Sir John Mills, Imelda Staunton and Richard E Grant. Mortimer is glorious as Nina, with a fierce intelligence behind her Daisy Fay demeanour. These performances make it possible to care even in the absence of character depth. Bright Young Things is definitely worth watching, if not quite as edgy as it should have been.
A would-be darling of the Edinburgh film festival, Young Adam, based on the cult novel by Alexander Trocchi, has received some surprisingly varied criticism. It is, in many ways, a difficult film to like, full of unlikeable characters doing unlikeable things, and awkwardly paced, but this is part of its secret brilliance. Not since Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanours has such a bold attempt been made to explore compulsive behaviour and guilt after the fact. Young Adam also concerns itself with issues surrounding masculine identity, particularly as two of its central characters, Joe (Ewan McGregor) and Les (Peter Mullan) are contrasted.
The story begins after the apparently rootless Joe has taken a job working with Les on the barge belonging to the latter's wife, Ella (Tilda Swinton). One morning, the two men pull the body of a young woman out of the river. Les is proud to have done his bit and curious about the investigation that follows, but Joe is reluctant, taciturn, unable to admit the way he feels about the discovery. The affair which he embarks upon with Ella seems scarecely to be the product of any conscious thought. Joe has sex automatically, like eating and sleeping, taking no particular precautions, always ready to run away from the consequences. He is afraid of responsibility, afraid of domestication, haunted by a succession of women whose desperate lives must needs be structured around practical things because of the consequences of their biology. Whilst Les is nagged about his gambling, Joe's compulsions prove far more costly, and can do nothing to resolve his sense of loss. Despite its portrait of what might be a happy-go-lucky, successfully promiscuous young man, Young Adam becomes increasingly painful to watch as its hero fails himself.
Strong sexual content is a necessary part of Young Adam's storyline, but the extent of the sexiness of sex scenes is cautiously judged, illuminating certain characters' emotional distance. This will look a little different to Americans, with full-frontal scenes removed, as if the world hasn't seen McGregor's bits a million times before. The nudity is casual and largely unerotic. What's interesting is how much trouble Mackenzie has gone to to make the beautiful Swinton look dour and badly aged. He's unflattering to most of his performers, which is as it should be, spotlighting the narcissism on which Joe's sexuality hinges.
Perfectly cast and superbly acted all round, with a vibrant pivotal performance from Emily Mortimer, Young Adam is a fine piece of art, but it struggles to be an equally fine piece of entertainment. At times director David Mackenzie seems to mistake pauses for tension and landscape for mood, like Harold Pinter on a bad day, though elsewhere the dialogue is beautifully judged. This is a film which needs to be slow in order to convey the grinding inevitability of Joe's emotional struggle and its denoument, but sometimes it is too slow nonetheless, and it certainly demands patience of its audience. Towards the end, the atmosphere grows thicker. The impression it leaves will linger for a long time.
One of the most hyped English films of the year, telling the true story of Knapely Women's Institute members who posed nude for a calendar to raise money for leukaemia research, Calendar Girls is actually a surprisingly solid piece of film-making with much more to offer than sensationalism. With a terse, perceptive script, it ducks most of the expected cliches. In telling a story like this, it's difficult to avoid coming across as sanctimonius, hysterical or twee, but such moments are effectively undercut with dry humour. Following the full length of the story from the illness and death of one member's husband to the women's brief brush with international stardom on the Jay Leno show, the film also expands sideways to take in the experiences of the village menfolk and, in particularly poignant sequences, ringleader Chris' awkward teenaged son. Though it also has a lot to say about bereavement and about self-esteem, this rapidly develops into a story about celebrity, with the women facing predicatable strains but handling them in very personal, distinct ways.
Leading the cast as the glamourous Chris is Helen Mirren, who is really very good, though her presence does take the edge off the concept of middle aged women daring to bare their bodies, as she seems comfortable doing so in every other film. The brash energy of her performance is matched by a much more down-to-Earth turn from Julie Walters as the widowed Annie. Despite the subject matter, Walters' frequent ditziness is almost entirely absent, and instead she turns in something stronger and more sophisticated as her character learns to navigate the minefields of widowhood on her way to becoming an independent person. Her loss is explained in potent but never exploitative terms, doubtless a legacy of the involvement of some of the original Knapely women in this production. It adds to our sense of what the women's collective aging means, not just aesthetically, but also in terms of personal challenges. This helps to draw the film away from any politically correct statements about elder women's physical beauty. The women in the story know that they're imperfect, which adds to the potency of what they choose to do. The irony is that their eventual photographs are far more memorable and charming than those of traditional calendar models, since they are invested with so much personality, idiosyncrasy and sense of occasion.
All in all, there is far more going on in this story than the premise might have suggested. The crackling dialogue and strong sense of place means that it never seems to drag, even though shooting the pictures themselves doesn't happen until halfway through. Brief mention is made of women's liberation, and the final taboo-breaking is suffused with a distinct liberating energy in each instance. As a result of this internal change, several of the women are forced to revaluate their domestic lives and relationships, but this is handled in a mature and diverse manner. Each character is sharply drawn and enabled to develop as an individual. It's rare to see this done so well in ensemble film-making.
Calendar Girls is not an amazing film, but, despite the hype, it doesn't really try to be. It knows what it's capable of and handles that well. Few films manage to be so positive and peculiar and get away with both. However, the direction is uninspired, and from a technical point of view the pace is pedestrian. Not quite the eyeful it might have been.
Witty, affectionate and brashly weird, this international French language co-production is one of the most interesting films of the year, and has so far been a massive hit at the festivals. It follows the adventures of a devoted grandmother struggling to console and inspire her orphaned son. When he shows an interest in bicycles, she sets him on the road to competing in the Tour de France, but there are sinister mafia types out there who wish to use his talents for another purpose. With the aid of unhinged triplets who were once great stars, and of the loyal family dog, the grandmother sets out to take on the mob. Interwoven with this is a rich tapestry of minor events and character developments which draws the viewer into the tale. The characterisation is amazing, as is the depiction of inter-character relationships, complimented by objects and interiors which convey a real sense of being loved and lived in. Several scenes are seen largely from the point of view of the dog, who pursues real doggy urges throughout, yet never fails to engage audience attention. In the absence of any significant amount of dialogue, much infrmation is conveyed by way of facial expression and gesture. It's a little misleading, however, to suggest that the film is non-verbal. An understanding of French is not necessary for one to enjoy it, but it does add a great deal, enabling one to get more of the incidental jokes and to appreciate the lyrics of the songs that run throughout.
Belleville Rendezvous' soundtrack is another plus. Few modern films make such impressive use of orchestras and jazz, and there are some excellent solo musicians featured. The music contributes to the undertone of earthy sexiness and robustness of purpose that keeps the old women passionate about life. Yet Belleville Rendezvous is also willfully grotesque, and certainly not for the faint hearted. With homages to Terry Gilliam and Jacques Tati, it takes sudden unexpected twists and turns which could turn your stomach but which will utterly delight children in the audience. It's one of the most violent films this year, without ever losing its family-centered charm. The final 'car' chase overturns as many expectations as cliches and racks up a startling body count. It is intensely inventive and gloriously good fun.
Some critics have called the animation in this film 'simple', apparently due to the absence of flashy modern CGI; it's difficult to imagine any other way in which the statement could be accurate. Every scene is packed with detail. When everything speeds up for races and chases, that detail work continues apace, never sacrificed simply because a first-time viewer cannot possibly catch it all. The animation of water, explosions, and old back and white films is stunning. Belleville Rendezvous cheerfully juxtaposes images of remarkable beauty with images of disgusting cruelty, boldly depicting life in the raw. The other thing worth noting about it is the sound quality. This extends beyond the music. The sound work is complex, subtly evocative, and technically outstanding. There's really just too much to admire about this film to recount in one review, so be sure not to miss the chance to go and see it for yourself.
Confidence is such an eagerly cliched film that at first it comes across as playful. There's a flimsy justification for its cheesy gumshoe narration, it's got the look down well, and one gets the impression that it just might be able to pull this thing off. Sadly, things don't quite go according to plan. Bouncing around in time, telling the story of a planned multi-million dollar scam and the assorted double-crossing characters involved in its execution, it's all charming smiles and no substance. The dirty deed itself could be covered in twenty minutes. What's left to pad it out is an array of supposedly funny vignettes - which aren't - and character pieces - which are difficult to support when only two of the characters have any depth and none of them undergo any development. Rachel Weisz tries valiantly to make it all mean something. She's at her best for some time, and things are usually interesting while she's around. Dustin Hoffman also works hard to make his character into a real person, though he's been saddled with a schtick that the writers don't really understand, going for cheap laughs when they should be making people edgy, and the combination flounders. He still comes across as more intelligent than anybody else, which is still more problematic, since toward the end he's required to do a really stupid thing which one can't seriously imagine anybody with his experience falling for. This is one of several unlikely pieces of behaviour that the plot hinges on, pretending they were predictable. The lack of chemistry between the leads is similarly unfortunate.
Confidence is overconfident. Following the cliches, it does everything by the book, and it does seem as if it ought to work, but it's just not very interesting. It's hard to care about anyone but Weisz' character, and that's not sufficient to hold one's attention throughout. The direction and technical work are good enough and none of the dialogue is too awful, it just lacks sparkle; we've seen this too many times before. TV-movie style twists don't explain why this project made it to the big screen. "It's all about confidence." they say. Sorry, dears: it's about talent, too. Now run along.
The result of four years' hard work by five separate crews travelling across seven continents, Winged Migration explores the experiences of dozens of different species of birds making the seasonal journeys essential to their survival. The old myths about birds simply seeking somewhere warm to winter are scotched; instead, we see the riches of the polar environments, the ideal habitat for breeding whilst the sun shines, which must needs be forsaken before the long dark night that winter brings. We are also reminded of the harshness of summer in the deserts of Africa and the Americas. Winged Migration isn't just about birds - it also takes viewers on a journey through some of the most stunning landscapes on Earth, and observes some of the people who live there, most of them engaged in some sort of peasant labour. The urban world is glimpsed only fleetingly, demonstrating its lack of relevance to many of the world's inhabitants. In one striking scene, an old woman feeds by hand the cranes who visit her farm twice each year. The flight of the birds links diverse environments and reveals some of the subtle ways in which they interact.
Although a notice at the start of this film declares that it contains no special effects, a small print credit at the end gives thanks for assistance in creating them. Some of the shots do look staged, but this doesn't detract from the overall power of the piece. The editing work here is truly amazing, bringing together what feels like a coherent story from reels and reels of diverse footage. To modern audiences, the notion of sitting still for an hour and a half to watch some birds fly about may not be very appealing, but Winged Migration is surprisingly engaging. It contains very little narration, which is good, as this occasionally strays toward the sentimental. Some of the music is also overly sentimental, a bit too prescriptive and intrusive, provoking laughter from an audience which had previously been absorbed in the birds' story; but there's also some impressive orchastral work, and dryer contributions from Nick Cave. This film does have its nastier moments, which parents taking their children along should be prepared to deal with. Particularly sinister is a scene in which we see a bird with a broken wing being stalked by hungry crabs.
Occasionally, this film strays from its purported mandate to present vignettes about the lives of non-migratory birds. In the Amazon jungles, we are introduced to parrots which prove themselves smarter than monkeys, a reminder that bird abilities are many and various. We also see footage of chick-raising and of courtship displays, though here the film avoids repeating too much that is familiar. Many of the clips are humourous, some poignant, and some stunning simply due to the grace of their subjects. If you are anything less than an expert, Winged Migration will teach you things about birds that you didn't know before. It is a little different from the usual cinema fare, but it's well worth a look.
Centering around a London-based author of detective novels who goes to stay at her agent's French villa when she finds herself unable to write, Swimming Pool integrates visceral and psychological mystery in a manner which is sometimes compelling and, at other times, too clever for its own good. It all hinges on a curious performance from Charlotte Rampling. Seeing an actress of her age permitted to carry such a sensual film is itself interesting, and director François Ozon never shies away from the issues that this raises; but Rampling was always a little stilted, and at times it's difficult to engage with her. Though much of the story revolves around her disinterest in life and the way she has built barriers between herself and the world, she is at times too brusque for one to believe that the actress is interested in the role. As the character's vulnerability is revealed, she finds herself on surer ground. There are some fascinating scenes depicting the author's relationship with food. These are a microcosm of her struggle to repress her sensual reactions to the world as she tries to deal with the consequences of failing to overcome her obsession with her agent. One does feel rather sorry for the agent himself (though Charles Dance doesn't provide him with much depth), as he may never have done anything wrong; but in this film, perception is every bit as relevant as fact. In this way, it examines the author's relationship with characters both real and fictional.
Taking the part of sensuality, as the agent's daughter, is the remarkable Ludivine Sagnier, a young actress who knows how to make use of her physical assests without ever losing her grip on audience emotions. Sporty and promiscuous and, most of the time, utterly at ease with herself, the girl inspires jealousy, maternal protectiveness and implicit lust in the older woman, representing a whole spectrum of issues which she cannot come to terms with about herself. Here is the new obsession which the author must entertain in order to break with the past, just as she must abandon the security of her famous characters in order to create a new book which can really satisfy her. Along the way, the film explores something too rarely approached in crime fiction: the author's real feelings about murder; and there it uncovers something much darker. The strengths of Swimming Pool are as much in what it doesn't say as what it does. For all its flaws, it's a film which many people will fall in love with; it's sexy, and it offers considerably more intellectual stimulation than the average box-office offering.
Recounting the exploits of a group of US soldiers stationed in Germany at the end of the Cold War, Buffalo Soldiers provides a long-awaited starring role for Joaquin Phoenix, though it does little to stretch his abilities. At turns funny, violent, bitter and over the top, it's a curious little fable about boredom, risk-taking, and the frustration experienced by trained fighters in peacetime. Some might see it as a scathing attack on US army management, but in fact it describes little that wasn't already widely known. The ostensible hero, Elwood, is involved in the sort of scams which every military operation has to try and deal with. He cooks drugs, he sells requisitioned items on the black market, he arranges a cover-up when his unit's boisterousness inadvertently results in the death of one of their number. The ugliness of his activities is mitigated by his easy charm; his confidence and willingness to survive on his wits carries him through all sorts of dangerous situations; yet this only increases his compulsion to push things further, and when the opportunity arises for him to make some money out of a major criminal operation, he is unable to resist. Just to complicate things, this happens at the same time that Scott Glenn's bitter Vietnam veteran Sergeant Lee begins investigating his affairs, and Elwood finds himself drawn to the sergeant's edgy daughter (Anna Paquin).
Most of the tension in this film centres on the relationship between Elwood and Lee. Scott Glenn's performance is at first terse and blackly humorous, yet as his character unravels his psychosis makes less and less sense; there isn't much the actor can do to save a poorly developed character. The pathological nature of Elwood's behaviour is much more subtly drawn, inviting the audience dangerously close. There are some interesting performances from the supporting cast, especially Paquin and Elizabeth McGovern as the women in Elwood's life, though the former is treated rather dismissively by the script at the end. Some of the best scenes are between McGovern's character and her husband, the unit's colonel (Ed Harris), but he too is dismissed in a rather twee way when his usefulness to the story is over. An often sharp and entertaining script disintegrates towards the end, suggesting that writer Eric Weiss' confidence with intimate dialogue didn't extend to scripting action sequences. At times the film doesn't quite seem to know where to balance itself between comedy and grim drama. Buffalo Soldiers is by no means a bad film, but it could have been much better.
Pirates of the Caribbean provides pretty much exactly what one would expect from a film based on an amusement park ride, but for the fact that it is amusing - in fact, quite entertaining all round, and definitely a cut above most of this summer's other blockbusters. Orlando Bloom seems to have lost all his charisma, though he can still buckle a swash quite effectively; Keira Knightly is slightly more feisty but still rather bland; but in this pantomimic story they don't need to be interesting, they're only Brad and Janet. Sweet transvestite Johnny Depp's colossal performance, astride some very shallow waters, is more than worth the price of admission. Basing his character largely on Keith Richards and looking like a refugee from Adam Ant's Dog Eat Dog video, he crashes through the film, chewing up scenery and spitting it out with aplomb. He swings about on ropes, he engages in dramatic swordplay, he rips open bodices and he fills up his pockets with treasure... he gets locked up an awful lot, and beaten up, and he seems to be continually inebriated, yet nevertheless he is somehow convincing as a man who can get away with anything. He has the charm of a faded rock star about to embark on still more adventures because he's not sure what else he'd do with his life. His failures, as much as his successes, contribute to his glory. He is the reason why small children dream of being pirates, and they, too, seem to find him tremendous fun.
A film with such a charismatic hero needs an equally striking villain. In comes the cursed zombie ancient mariner Captain Barbossa, creaking and skeletal by moonlight, crazed and creepy and, for all his complaints, clearly delighting in it all. It's refreshing to see such a part properly cast. Geoffrey Rush has the actorly subtance to play someone physically lacking in substance with conviction and a certain vicious glee. Here is the dark side of pirate life, the violence and rapaciousness and greed. Young children may find it terrifying, though this is the sort of scary ride which will leave them feeling just fine if they see it through to the end. There's first class zombie action with the pirate crew manning their ragged ship, raiding coastal settlements, hacking and slashing, looting and burning. So far as action is concerned, this film really delivers.
Where the film falls down, it's mostly due to lack of narrative substance; the flimsy plot is stretched beyond the limits of sense. There are periods when one watches the fighting for ten minutes knowing that there's an obvious solution and waiting until one of the characters - who don't otherwise seem that dim - gets on with it. Furthermore, the film runs into difficulty because it isn't really sure what to do with its amoral characters. Its love triangles are resolved in a manner which is charming, civilised, and utterly devoid of passion. At the end, the audience obviously wants Depp's character to get away, but it makes no sense at all for the good people of the settlement to allow him to do so, knowing that he'll return to plunder their ships and threaten their lives. There is no sense of direction about how this is handled; the film wusses out of dealing with the issues it has raised, and consequently loses its edge.
All in all, Pirates of the Caribbean is a feeble story but a damn good ride.
Set in an immaculately rendered year 2071, this big screen adventure for the popular Manga bounty hunters is nevertheless sharp and contemporary in its choice of topics, its attitude and its humour. It is also truly international in its scope, encompassing a variety of languages and cultures in an unselfconscious way rarely seen in Western film. Ironically, it is a different type of western film which it strives to imitate, employing many of the tropes of the traditional epic cowboy story in a way which interweaves surprisingly well with its confident imaginings of the future. This is a timeless story told in a manner absolutely up to date.
Opening with a drugstore robbery scene which demonstrates animation director Yutaka Nakamuru's brilliance in capturing motion, the plot develops rapidly as our odd band of heroes uncover what looks like an international terrorist plot involving deadly biological weapons - but is it that simple? Corporate cover-ups and mysterious military experiments are revealed as one would expect in this sort of thing, amid the similarly mandatory martial arts fighting, wearing of skimpy clothing, and high-speed flying chases across Mars; but it's all done with an exuberance and a refreshing lack of conscious irony which enable one to enjoy the story in its own right, devoid of social baggage. The characters are earnest and endearing; tragedy unfolds in classic form, personal concerns remaining at the forefront despite the threat posed to the whole world. Insane villain Vincent may be erratic and look like a reject from V for Vendetta, but by and large he holds his own. It's nice to meet at bunch of heroes who are (at first) motivated simply by a desire to do better than living off instant noodles. Even the token hyper-cute character, retarded genius Edo, works within the confines of the story and manages not to be annoying.
There are no great innovations here so far as plot or animation are concerned, but fans of Manga can expect an above-average, solid contribution to the genre. This is in many ways a more accessible Manga film than most, so far as outsiders are concerned, and it should hold some appeal for all fans of action movies. Computer and film geeks will be delighted by the rendering of old games and movies in a fit of timely nostalgia for the twentieth century; yet this is very much a twenty first century film, and, by the looks of it, there's a lot to to look forward to.
Told in a very simple style, using traditional animation techniques, Kirikou and the Sorceress recites a southern African legend about a very small boy whose intelligence, determination and fleet feet carry him forward on a quest to save his village. Though Hollywood children's films may be louder, brighter, and technically more sophisticated, few have such strong, assured stories. This will appeal to children who like to read and who have an interest in mythology. There's also some beautiful artwork. The depiction of the sorceress' fetishes is particularly interesting, their unnatural mechanical movement giving them a real creepiness. These features serve to make the film interesting to an adult audience.
Although the traditional ending of this story has been altered to make it more comfortable and more satisfying for a youthful audience, it does latterly move away from childhood issues, which may disappoint. Parents who feel uncomfortable discussing issues related to growing up may wish to keep their children away, as may those likely to be offended by the bare breasts of the African women, especially as the sorceress' are rather spectacularly displayed. Otherwise, there are elements here which would not have been out of place in an early Disney animation; cute animal friends, a strong sense of adventure, and a brave and charming hero who is still small enough to need a hug and a nap from time to time. Kirikou and the Sorceress is a rare treat.
Whilst attendance figures for this film demonstrate that the Terminator franchise is still a lucrative one, it has always been a difficult one to work with from an artistic point of view. The first film made such a bold statement with such a tight plot that any sequel was going to seem like a dilute copy. Judgement Day got around this to some degree by developing different strands of the story, most notably the psychological effects of her experiences on Sarah Connor. When, many years ago now, Linda Hamilton announced that she did not intend to return for any further sequels, the project seemed doomed. Rise of the Machines does suffer from her absence. None of its new stars has her presence, and it's hard to care as much about them. Her legacy, however, remains, and now, in an impressive opening sequence, we gain a similar insight into what their paranoid lifestyle and terrifying past experiences have done to John Connor. Though he doesn't have the acting abilities of Edward Furlong, Nick Stahl is believable enough in the central role. The problem this creates is that it's easier to relate to his immediate tragedy - constantly moving around, destitute, afraid even to visit a hospital when wounded - than it is to relate to the threat of nuclear holocaust. In developing the details, the film weakens the impact of its world-threatening scenario.
Crashing into this world comes a new killing machine, this time in the shape of Kristanna Loken, whose background as a model is actually an asset here, making her look all the more unnatural and vicious as she freezes to assess a situation. She makes a big impact in her first scenes, sufficient that one never doubts her deadliness nor flinches at the sight of Arnold Schwarzenegger hitting a girl. He, of course, is the familiar old T1 model, sent back in time to save Connor from her. He still has the build for the part, and the signs of aging in his face complement his status as an obsolete model, like the leather clothes and shades which he obtains as per usual but this time in a rather quirkier, pleasingly humourous way. The scenes in which we see the two terminators fight make superb use of established effects, never screwing up by showing off with inappropriate CGI technology. All of the action sequences in this film are gripping, often surprisingly so, as one wouldn't have thought there could still be so much mileage in car chases. The TX has clearly trained by playing Grand Theft Auto, and is smart enough to appreciate that a gun is a poor weapon compared with a great big powerful truck.
All of this would have worked quite well on its own. Where the film takes a risk is in introducing Connor's future lieutenants, most notably Kate, whom we are told is destined to become his wife. The idea that there is now more than one person who must be kept alive at all costs rather dilutes the original pitch. Though she's not nearly as whiny as some critics have implied (being a wee bit upset seems reasonable upon finding oneself plunged into that sort of scenario), she's not particularly interesting either. However, she does function as a plot device, connecting Connor with the US military for whom her father works, and thus connecting us to the story of the military's involvement with the ultimate enemy, Skynet. These plot strands are drawn together in an efficient and well-paced manner, so that each thing starts to make sense just about when it ought to. About halfway through, the film suddenly darkens, and it becomes apparent that this will be far from a comfortable ride. Much of the audience left looking slightly shellshocked. The earlier films worked beautifully in the context of the 'eighties partly because many of us living then believed that the skies might at any moment bloom with mushroom clouds announcing our doom. This film is timely, appearing just when that type of paranoia is starting to resurface. In many ways, it is a film about paranoia, right down to the schizoid notion of being singled out by a killer robot from the future. But it is also about environmental, physical and emotional survival.
Terminator III really isn't as good as its predecessors. There are some clumsy bits of dialogue, the stars aren't all up to it, and it lacks that atmosphere of obsession. It is, however, a potent, relevent piece of cinema, and a great deal better than most of this summer's other blockbusters. Few action fans will leave disappointed. There's life in the old machine yet.
I approached this film with caution, not because of the various reports of people being shocked by it, but rather because there are a lot films out there about men who meet beautiful women and force them into a degrading existence as a result of their inability to express their love - I wasn't convinced that this one could offer anything more than shock value. Bad Guy, however, is rather than usual. Not only is it braver than usual with the themes it addresses, it is more genuine in its focus on character, and it features intense central performances. The eponymous anti-hero scarcely speaks at all - when he does, his voice is curiously squeaky - yet his feelings and the emotional changes which he undergoes are nevertheless powerfully rendered. Gung-Min Nam, as the girl he entraps in prostitution, is nothing short of heartbreaking.
Where Bad Guy differs from most films which tread the same ground is in its stark portrayal of events. This doesn't mean simply that we get to see that prostitution is a nasty business - that would hardly be a revelation, even in the cinema - but we see it as an ugly business, unglamourised; a business which leaves our heroine with small ugly bruises all over her legs, not one or two flattering bruises across her cheekbones. The sex itself is almost never glamourised. Whilst many of the prostitutes are beautiful, the camera doesn't linger on them in a sexual way, nor does it invite the viewer to admire their bodies as they are working. Early on, we witness a rape; the very plainness of this, accompanied by the heroine's helpless sobs, makes it more powerful, and it clearly unsettled many audience members. After this, the film avoids taking the usual route of providing resolution or revenge. Instead, we see the heroine pick herself up and get on with her life, miserable as it is. This is a much more honest and respectful approach to the existence led by hundreds of thousands of women around the world than those which rely on heroes to save the day. The heroine is never objectified by the story, but continues to have a personality. This is paralleled by the bad guy's experience; the longer he keeps her, trying to break her, the more powerful she becomes simply by not ceasing to be herself, so that it seems he will never be good enough for her. His inability to express his growing passion for her is matched by his inability to express himself in other personal relationships and business relationships. Although he is not portrayed as being powerful enough to look after himself physically in any situation, everyone around him is afraid of his violent temper. He comes across as being every bit as damaged as the heroine.
There is no relief in this film; nobody is saved from the world. Rather, the story follows two people learning to approach the world on their own terms. At the start it is perhaps a little rushed. The way the heroine is tricked is believable, because it happens a lot in real life, but it would work better if more fully substantiated - it's hard to believe she's so naive, or that there's no-one to try and save her. Much of the rest of the film could be accused of being too slow. If one connects with it, it builds, through intelligent use of repetitive scenarios, toward a powerful conclusion. If one fails to connect with it, one will either be offended or bored. From a technical point of view, the film has some superb work to offer, especially at the beginning and end, making use of different types of film and of film speed to great effect. The soundtrack, composed mostly of slightly tacky Korean pop music, also works well, and is never intrusive. Ultimately, this is a character piece, and one must be prepared to get close to some unpleasant and difficult characters in order to experience it fully. In that event, it is surprisingly affecting. Films like this don't actually come along very often at all.
Opening with grainy archive footage of the Rodney King beating, and set on the eve of the L.A. riots, Dark Blue is an ambitious picture aiming to capture the mood of a city (and, through it, a nation) by focusing on the story of one corrupt police department and those drawn into its web. With sloppy editing and mostly pedestrian direction, it's not up to the job, but that doesn't mean it's not worth two hours of your time.
What might have been just another gritty urban cop drama is lifted by a powerful performance from Kurt Russell as the brash, self-centered Eldon, a man who does whatever it takes to get the job done, even if that means fabricating evidence and killing people in cold blood. At his best for years, Russell manages to inspire audience sympathy even when Eldon is at his worst, though we can see from the start that his glory days can't last forever and that his neglected personal life will also be a factor in his destruction. The path which Eldon follows is largely predictable, and there are a few too many dramatic speeches, yet the story, after taking a while to build, maintains its grip. Into Eldon's path stray a rookie cop still wrestling with his conscience and Ving Rhames' ambitious internal investigator. Sadly, Rhames' character is underdeveloped, and we don't really get to see this capable actor do his thing. Other cop roles are played by the book, offering no surprises.
Despite the way it looked from the trailer, Dark Blue is not another stilted courtroom drama; as investigations proceed, the cops are still out on the beat, still up to their necks in action. This creates a varied pace which keeps things interesting. On occasion, there is genuinely shocking violence, as Russell is able to slip easily from cheerful, happy-go-lucky guy to apparent psychopath. There is also a considerable amount of racism on display, but the film does well to avoid preaching and to avoid any easy conclusions about good cops and bad cops. Overall, it is more interested in themes of anger and vengeance. It bites off more than it can chew, but what it manages to do, it does pretty well.
When encountering critical acclaim for a film like this, one always worries that part of it is due to the work being perceived as a worthy cause - not that it's a bad thing to take an interest in minority cultures and traditions, but a good film needs to be able to stand on its own merits. Whale Rider is such a film, and those who go to see it will not be disappointed. Its central coming of age and ostracisation themes extend beyond the personal to reflect issues in Maori society and its relation to the rest of the world. Its studies of character, meanwhile, would be as relevant in any context.
At the centre of this tale is is Paikea (brilliant newcomer Keisha Castle-Hughes) whose very birth was a cause for sorrow, as it coincided with the death of her mother and twin brother. Though she maintains a good relationship with her absent father, she is raised by her grandparents, and it is her grandfather, strong and taciturn and lonely, whom she admires most of all. He, however, wants a boy who can become a new leader for their tribe, and Paikea struggles to understand when her attempts to learn the masculine behaviours he seems to want only cause him to reject her. Alongside this, we see the difficulties in his relationship with his sons, and it's clear that the strength of affection he has developed for his granddaughter itself makes it harder for him to bear the risks associated with letting her take on a male role. Rawiri Paratene gives a powerful performance as the old man whose life has been dominated by duty, and there's impressive support from the rest of the cast. Many characters suffer rejection and broken homes, yet the film never sentimentalises this; it maintains the sense of determination, hope and expectation summed up in Paikea. Dazzled by mythology, the girl aspires to be a prophet, yet it is her perseverence in more mundane matters which inspires those around her.
Whale Rider is a film which grips right from the start and never lets go. Though it features some stunning landscape photography and evocative Maori design work, it is the domestic interiors which create the strongest visual impression, courtesy of Heavenly Creatures' production designer Grant Major. This helps the film to develop a sense of place vital to our understanding of its characters' commitment to their heritage. Deftly avoiding cliches, it interweaves traditional and modern elements so smoothly that one scarcely notices the contrast; it is apparent only in the faces of boys who find it difficult to take their traditional responsibilities seriously. Although the story is often harrowing, it is lightened by humour and a constant awareness of natural beauty. A brave film to present to a modern audience, Whale Rider is something special.
A potent slice of Hong Kong action, superbly choreographed and exceedingly violent, Fulltime Killer has been accused of being too similar to Luc Besson's The Professional, yet in truth it has advantages which are all its own. It references other movies all the way through, as one of the central characters, flashy would be number one killer Tok (Andy Lau) is obsessed with them; most of the references are playful and make fun of other films which did the same thing, such as El Mariachi; others are surprisingly subtle. For a film which spends much of its time whizzing from one gunfight to the next, it's impressive how many subtle details this manages to cram in, and curious that there are layers of plot which depend on viewers being astute enough to pay attention to passing remarks.
Fulltime Killer tells of the love triangle between Tok, established assassin O and video shop assistant Chin, who moonlights as a cleaner for O's uninhabited apartment. Tok's desire to be the best leads him to become increasingly obsessed with O, who is growing increasingly reluctant to continue in the business following a tragic personal encounter. Chin is far more complicated than she seems, easily as strong as the male characters, and perhaps more dangerous than either. Added to this is police chief Lee, who has cast himself as Captain Ahab in pursuit of his famous yet elusive quarry, yet who is beginning to have doubts which may lead him to a strange sort of salvation. Even the psychopathic Tok has hidden depths, his tragic history, only gradually revealed, having doomed him to a classically inescapable path of destruction. Perhaps the least developed of the characters is O himself, though he is the one we meet first, yet Takashi Sorimachi's passionate performance and our growing awareness of the tragedies in his own life make him easy to identify with. What is most curious about all this, however, is the ending, which offers unexpected resolution, complex but believable, rather than taking the conventional option of having everybody die.
Fulltime Killer was nominated for Best Film Editing at the Hong Kong film awards in 2002, and it's easy to see why. There's some terrific camerawork here too, and stunning set pieces. When we see characters survive against overwhelming odds, it's not only thrilling but actually believable. Though this is not the most original of films in terms of its subject matter or the basis of its plot, it is superbly handled, and well worth watching.
A new priest in a remote Mexican parish, Father Amoro starts off out of his depth, despite his easy charm and the apparent friendliness of his colleagues, and things can only get worse in a dark fable which examines many of the dilemmas facing the twenty first century Catholic church. Beginning with a violent incident in which a bus full of travellers are robbed at gunpoint, the film softens with gentle humour and whimsy which would not be out of place in Father Ted, but our young hero's unwillingness to look beyond this marks the beginning of his downfall. Father Amoro is young and handsome and his passions are not directed entirely toward the church. In a complex political climate where the genuinely principled Father Natalio is increasingly ostracised, Father Amoro's good intentions soon give way to his ambition, with what seem like small crimes gradually building into something terrible. Along the way, supporting characters are sacrificed, suffering abuses which are never put right. There is no justice in this story. Rather, it is a portrait of a community destroyed by greed.
Father Amoro's relationship with the teenaged Amelia is one of the most interesting studies of this type in recent film history. It's easy to perceive the girl as competent to consent to sexual activity, even in a politically dangerous situation, but hard to understand how anyone could expect her to deal with the consequences. Father Amoro's awareness of this seems slight, as he is unable to focus on anybody but himself. He never goes out of his way to do harm, but his carelessness makes Amelia increasingly vulnerable and isolated.
The Crime of Father Amoro is a seductive and vivid little film with a powerful sense of place, the Mexican landscape dominating its provincial town where passions of all sorts can get out of control. Its brujas and tribesmen leave a potent impression of alternative civilisation. Some have called this film anti-Catholic, but really it's more of a character piece, and it does leave a potent impression of the beauty which religion can bring in to people's lives.
Before going to see this film, I had been warned "it's better if you leave fifteen minutes before the end." Of course, being a reviewer, I was not at liberty to do so, but the time came when I thought "Ah, these'll be the awful tacked on fifteen minutes in question then." And I checked the time, and realised I was wrong. And then it happened again, with an even worse ending. It happened four times. That said, none of these possible conclusions resulted from any genuine mystery in the film's overwrought storyline. The loose ends which the final denoument resolved were so obviously loose all along that the only thing remaining in question was whether or not the scriptwriter had noticed. The business with the police officer and his dangerous prisoner was also transparent. Whilst Identity couldn't manage mystery, it was pretty hot on confusion, which meant that it was some time before I could be certain it wasn't doing anything clever; this, it might be said, generated a modicum of suspense, and prevented me from checking the time too often.
Starting off with a rather nicely put together montage of incidents and accidents, much of it appearing in reverse (succeeding where Irreversible failed), Identity introduces a bunch of characters several of whom are potentially likeable and interesting. They're decent thriller material, and certainly above average for a slasher movie, which is what this quickly devolves into. Capable actors work hard to maintain our interest as most of these characters start to come apart, descending into cliche. Amanda Peet does a good job with her Tippi Hedren role, but is let down at the end, when her earlier physical competence seems to be forgotten. The child character is worst of all, desperately predictable and tediously played. Ray Liotta and John Cusack struggle to keep their heads above the water. What ought to be moving or frightening moments are ruined by cliched camerawork, and the film also fails to put out on the horror level, providing only a few limp bodies and loud noises where there ought to have been gore.
Identity's deepest problem is that it's not sure of its own identity. It doesn't know whether it wants to be a slasher movie, a psychological thriller or a supernatural revenge tragedy, and contradicts itself by trying to combine the three. What's left is a muddy mess. Approaching the issue of multiple personality disorder with all the subtlety of 'the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing', Identity succeeds only in butchering itself, like this year's Frailty. It has similarly unpleasant underlying attitudes towards women, however it may try to disguise them. Not one to watch alone on a dark night, when there's probably something more inspiring, like a test card, on instead.
Filmed in 2001, in the immediate aftermath of the war on Afghanistan, Tariq Ali's Not in Our Name is at once a platform from which to protest against the war and, more interestingly, an examination of the changing status of journalists in war, an issue which has become still more pertinent since this documentary was released. Ali has gathered together an impressive list of British journalists including John Pilger, Paul Foot and Jon Snow, with Jeremy Hardy narrating, giving the men who present the news an opportunity to express something of their own views on changing media relations. Rarely seen archive footage is used to present an overview of twentieth century Afghani history and other significant political events in the Middle East. There's also unusual footage of the world trade centre disaster, and the film is not unsympathetic regarding the emotional impact this had on Americans. The film's message is perhaps best summed up by Tony Benn, lamenting that in our British democracy "we have freedom of speech but we don't have the right to be heard." This is a rare opportunity for the intelligent expression of dissenting viewpoints, and well worth checking out.
Subtitled The Human Shields, this documentary follows the journey of a group of people who set out from London in early 2003 in the hope that their presence might shield Iraqi civilian institutions from military action. The group's leader, Ken Nichols O'Keefe, fought in the first US-led Gulf War, and admits he may be carrying some burden of guilt as a result; it is his personal discoveries in Iraq which provide the film's most powerful moments. At his side is lay preacher Godfrey Maynell, who feels it is his Christian duty to defend the people of the book, Iraqi Christians as well as Muslims. These are both articulate, intelligent individuals who put their case well, which is perhaps the film's greatest problem early on. The only opposing point of view comes from a group of neds in a bus depot who yell incoherent abuse. Of course, it's possible that no-one did address the would-be hostages more coherently, but nevertheless this makes the film feel unbalanced, and it's hard for it to make an effective argument in the absence of any real opposition. This evens out, however, later on, when we discover that, from among the dozens of people who left London, only two remained throughout the course of the war. The reasons given are various. Many had the romantic notion that they would defend hospitals, but the doctors don't want them there - they have far too much to occupy them already. Some are uncomfortable about the way in which the Iraqi government is trying to manipulate them, as they are there to defend people and have no sympathy for the ruling regime. Some are simply too frightened once the immediacy of bombardment becomes apparent. Maynell explains that he has discovered he simply can't put his wife through this, and he doesn't have the energy to cope with it. These human stories provide a far more potent insight into the nature of war than any of the bold heroic statements made earlier on. We meet a number of hostages from other countries - Iceland, Japan and South Africa - who do choose to stay, and spend most of their time huddled inside buildings trying to ignore the dreadful clamour of bombs falling. Nelson Mandela asked to join them, but was turned down on the grounds that he was too old for that sort of thing. In the quieter times, we see the human shields interacting with ordinary Iraqis and experiencing something of their way of life; Kevin in the marketplace in his Faith no More t-shirt watching disposable lighters be recycled. The overwhelming presence of children and young people provides an unspoken reminder that the average age of Iraqis, who have lost so many adults to so many years of wars, is now fifteen. It's in these details, rather than in the speeches, that the film has its greatest strength.
Anthony Minghella's The Talented Mr. Ripley was always going to be a hard act to follow, and this later Patricia Highsmith adaptation, though the plot is less complex, is in many ways a more difficult story to get right. In these circumstances, Liliana Cavani has done a superb job. John Malkovich is perfectly cast as the eponymous sociopath, but this is as much Dougray Scott's film; his portrayal of Jonathan, a family man with chronic myeloid leukaemia who is struggling to live in more ways than one, reveals new depths to his talent, yet his freshness and apparent innocence reflect the vulnerability of Ripley's previous obsessions. Ray Winstone rounds out the cast playing the same character he always does, but works well in context. Whilst this is very much a male-centered film, Lena Headey turns in a powerful performance as Jonathan's wife, creating a sense of balance and normality against which other events are contrasted. These other events involve the murder of a Russian gangster in Berlin, with predictable (though never tiresome) complications ensuing.
The interesting thing about this film is the battle it engages with audience sympathies. Jonathan is not the usual pitiful and noble dying man; indeed, at times his complexity and energy can make one forget all about his illness, which serves the audience the same temptation he is facing as a character, inviting us to consider what it is that attracts people to violence. During the first part of the film, the emotional focus hinges almost entirely on his performance. Very early on, we see Ripley offended after he is referred to as a 'vulgar American', but many viewers may miss the significance of this, failing to understand why it hurts that seemingly impassive man so much. Ripley has spent the past two decades building up wealth, collecting antiques, and endeavouring to create for himself the kind of lifestyle which might have impressed those who dismissed him in the past, yet he seems doomed never to be considered good enough. The irony is that, in the end, this would seem to be less to do with his origins and more to do with the very personality he has culticvated in order to acquire that lifestyle. This personality - his distance and apparent failure to engage emotionally - makes him hard to like. The film must tread a very fine line to maintain audience interest in him, and by and large it succeeds. Superb use of sound (including new music by Ennio Morricone) and some striking visuals help us to focus on the world as Ripley sees it, observing how he has substituted beauty for emotion. In this regard, Ripley's Game is everything Hannibal failed to be. But Ripley's tragedy, which gradually becomes apparent during the latter part of the film, is that he is not a man who has been troubled because he doesn't have a conscience, but a man still troubled because he does.
Ripley's Game is a beautifully realised portrait of two men facing different emotional challenges as they endeavour to interact with the world. One of the most moving and intelligent films this year.
Stories of forbidden love have always been popular with film-makers, but it's rare for any film to take on the challenge of depicting a love which a sizeable proportion of its audience might also wish to forbid. Secretary is just that; it has all the elements of traditional movie romance (they meet, they become attached to each other, he can't come to terms with his feelings, she encounters a rival for her affections, etc.), but it's built around a relationship whose foundation is physical pain. It is a great testament to this film that the majority of an initially hostile audience stuck with it and warmed to it as the tale went on; that they went away with some understanding of the strength of the heroine's feelings, if not of her desire itself. It even raised a brief cheer from the formerly disgruntled feminists in the audience when it became clear that it was about the heroine getting what she wanted out of life.
Opening with the wonderful line "I was released from the institution on the day of my sister's wedding", Secretary makes no excuses about the damaged nature of its characters; what's significant is that it doesn't take the easy route and try to blame this on their desire to hit and to be hit - it examines them more intimately as people, and demonstrates how people can find solutions in different ways. It never comes across as touristy, and clearly understands its subject matter well; the self-harm which we see in the early stages of the film is honest and realistic, depicted so that even those to whom it was completely unfamiliar seemed to understand something of the heroine's desire for it as a salve for the problems around her. Maggie Gyllenhaal is remarkable in this central role. She never allows the character to be reduced to the sum of her psychological problems, but plays her, even when deep in depression, as a complex, imaginative, sometimes exuberant young woman. This makes it much easier to understand how the attraction between the central characters develops. James Spader is slightly wooden as always, and occasionally cartoonish, but the structure of his role enables him to get away with this for the most part, and it fits well with the picture of a repressed man disturbed by his own desires who is thus inclined to run from anyone he starts to feel attached to. Some critics have called this a 'battle of the sexes', but it's nothing of the sort. It's an intimate portrayal of two people struggling to reach one another despite his fear and her lack of confidence. It's a testament to the need to leave politics out of the bedroom and just look at things honestly once in a while. In this context, it's pleasing that no effort is made to hide the age difference between the two actors, nor to set aside the matter of their working relationship.
Secretary is strongest while depicting the growing tensions between its central characters and their various forms of release. Where it encounters more difficulty is in dealing with the standard tropes of the romance film. Though the heroine's frustrations with his lack of compatible desire are presented effectively and with humour, it's hard not to feel sorry for Peter, the childhood sweetheart who hopes to marry her. Ultimately, he's used by both central characters, and that fact that this is largely down to the heroine not having analysed her own feelings doesn't make it any prettier. It's interesting to see this happen in a situation where the usual technique would be to make us dislike the rival - to make him smarmy and conceited; Peter's only failing is that he's not terribly smart. Similarly, we briefly see the departure of a previous secretary who clearly had a strong attachment to the hero. These people are casualties along the road to others' happiness. It sits a little awkwardly with the dash down the road in the wedding dress, but this may be intentional - like The Good Girl, this is a story about what happens when the Tinseltown world of Happy Ever After collides with the everyday brutalities of real life.
What's best about this film is that it never panders to its audience, yet it nevertheless makes an effective case for a lifestyle which many viewers will be encountering for the first time. It presents its subject matter on its own terms. Accusations that it is merely pornography can be easily dismissed; there's actually very little flesh on show here compared to the average blockbuster film. The focus is not really sexual, nor even sadomasochistic, but is more about the blossoming of personalities through the exploration of dominant and submissive feelings. Passionate and intelligent, this is a delightful small film deserving of a wider audience.
This latest offering from Spike Lee lacks the intensity of his finest work, but is nevertheless a compelling portrait of the final day of a man about to be incarcerated for seven years. Edward Norton is suitably understated in the central role, believable as somebody who has spent much of his life letting others take the wheel, or at least pretending that's what he's been doing. Lee has fun parading his leading men through a couple of Fight Club scenes far pithier and darker than anything Chuck Palahniuk has written. This is part of his tribute to New York and his comment on the agony with which the injured city struggles to come to terms with itself. No filmmaker since Woody Allen has loved New York like this, but Lee is prepared to show it in all its stark ugliness. Perhaps an uglier city has a better chance of surviving, as our hero hopes that a few facial injuries might make his first day inside a little easier.
Stacked around Norton's performance are a host of charismatic cameos, with Brian Cox stealing the show as a man who has already suffered the loss of his wife and would do anything to save his son. Rosario Dawson does a good job with the difficult role of the girlfriend getting ready to be left behind, with very limited room to express herself. Anna Paquin, once again enjoying the sort of meaty role scarcely ever written for girls her age, is excellent as the overconfident and vulnerable teenager getting out of her depth in the confused adult world; her vivacious innocence provides a vital contrast to the unseen brutality around her as our hero and his friends wrestle with their fears and assorted gangsters try to find out who grassed on him in the first place. There is some potent violence in this film, but it's never allowed to overwhelm the psychological drama. Lee's politics are visible as always, but this is a surprisingly gentle, mature film. The open ending illustrates that, more than anything else, this is a film about possibility; about keeping possibilities open, and not squandering the good things we have. If the worst happens, there's nothing we can do. It has to be the meantime that matters.
By no means the action-packed revelationary drama suggested by some of its trailers, 25th Hour is richer and cleverer and packed full of humour which makes it all the more moving. It is a film about trust, intimacy, and facing up to responsibility for one's own actions. An eclectic soundtrack and bold camerawork make this as pleasing to the senses as to the intellect. Lee never seems like a tourist, but can successfully penetrate a range of subcultures and different social circles, describing each in an involving and sympathetic way. There's plenty here to enjoy and to learn from on a variety of levels, making for a very satisfying film.
To Kill a King is an unusually bold and blunt attempt to recount events during a critical period in English history. That it takes a few liberties with the truth is only to be expected; these happen mostly in order to compact important matters into a shorter timeframe, and we encounter no infuriating historical deviations. Other recent historical movies have sought to sell themselves as comedies or glamorous romances. This is a film about friendship and assorted forms of love, but it avoids being overly simplistic. It is also unabashedly political, and shows politics as a complex business, making good cases for several different positions. This hinges on a career-best performance by Rupert Everett as King Charles I. His speeches about the necessity of deferring to the rule of law and about the dangers of democracy are deeply unfashionable in today's political climate as they were in the 1600s, yet he lends them a pathos and quiet authority which really make the audience stop and think. His Charles is a saddened and sometimes frightened man doing his best to hold on in desperate times; this helps to make modern audiences aware of the enormity, in that age, of the crime of regicide.
Despite all this, To Kill a King is far from perfect. Though well-paced in the first half, it does begin to drag later on; it's difficult to maintain tension when covering a series of events with no simple climax or conclusion. Dougray Scott is passable but bland as General Thomas Fairfax; and whilst Olivia Williams turns in a forceful performance as his wife Anne, it's hard to imagine that Emily Watson, first choice for the role, could not have been more evocative and subtle. It was a great stroke of luck, however, that Ewan McGregor declined the part of Cromwell, as this is the sort of part which Tim Roth was born to play. Though we see Cromwell mostly in his early days, when he was passionate and visionary, committed to doing good, Roth also gives us glimpses of the monster which this man was to become. His is perhaps the most sympathetic screen Cromwell yet, but he's no less brutal for it, and his decline is piteous to watch. This story centres on the (largely imagined) relationship between Cromwell and Fairfax, telling a tale of a friendship destroyed by war and shifting ideologies. The position of Anne in all this is unclear, but there's a potent homosexual subtext focusing on Cromwell's jealousy and his awareness that Fairfax's handsome face is also the one the people want for their leader.
Though its ugly battle scenes and fabulous costumes are really nothing new, To Kill a King does have a strong sense of place (and period), especially as we see increasing numbers of puritans exerting their influence politically and socially. It's not hugely exciting or revelationary, but it's a good, solid little film aware of its own limits, and it deserves respect for that.
This vibrant, high energy Japanese film has been described as 'a cross between The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Sound of Music', and it does, indeed, contain elements of both. It has its zombie moments, its crazy musical romance scenes, hideous accidents and happy family times; and, somehow, it manages to bring all this together into a coherent whole. Central to this is the child narrator, who is aware of her family's eccentricity but takes the many demented happenings in her stride. First appearing as she buries a beloved pet fish, her subsequent observations of adult behaviour help her to understand death as a part of life. Much of the subtext of this film is very dark, but events are continually lightened by the squabbling family members' great love for each other, resulting in Pangloss-style optimism. There are slapstick moments and much quirky, sometimes obscene humour. Small children would delight in this film, but most adults would be horrified by the thought of them seeing it.
The Happiness of the Katakuris tells the story of four generations of the same family trying to run a guest house in a remote location which only desperate people ever seem inclined to visit. Troublesome incidents and accidents compound one another - were this made in Britain, it would demand the presence of John Cleese. In actual fact, it's a remake of a Korean movie, The Quiet Family, though only in the loosest sense; it has a character all of its own. Some of this is doubtless due to the influence of director Takashi Miike, best known in the west for the terrifying Audition. Happiness opens with an absurd and grotesque animated sequence which may make one doubt one's courage with regard to the rest of the film, but it'll soon have you hooked. During the scenes which follow, characters occasionally slip back into plasticine form, especially at moments of stress. This and the bursts of spontaneous song are used to terrific effect in the tradition of the old Surrealists. Though drawing on rich Japanese filmmaking traditions, this movie is a true one-off; bizarre, silly, disturbing, and vastly entertaining. Don't miss it.
The release of this film was much delayed, so it's arrived in cinemas with little advanced publicity, and is consequently struggling to pull in audiences - this in addition to the fact that it's filmed in a mixture of German and Swahili, and often badly translated, reducing its general accessibility. I'd like to say that it's worth the effort, since a lot of it is very good, but it has several flaws. The first of these is that it's far too long - two and a half hours, with a great deal of repetition therein; it could easily have been cut down. Repetition is part of the point of the plot, as we watch a German refugee couple living in Kenya during the Second World War squabble and make up repeatedly, but it doesn't take as much repetition as this to get the point across. This is the film's second major flaw: ultimately, it's hard to care about whether or not the couple do stay together. Each seems much happier when they are apart. They get on each other's nerves and don't seem to have much underlying affection for one another; they just have really good sex every once in a while and assume this means they're in love. At the start of the film they're staying together for the sake of their young child; at the end of it, they've found another young child to force them into what the audience can only expect will be another decade or two of suffering.
What saves this film is its own relationship with Kenya, the performances of the African supporting cast and also those of the two young girls playing (at different ages) the couple's child. Most of the usual cliches about going native are avoided, and the film is refreshingly matter-of-fact about the girl's experiences in crossing the cultural divide. The Kenyan tribespeople are neither patronised nor revered. There are no ferocious animals nor overplayed grotesqueries to force the pace of the story; the only monsters are those which the couple bring with them. What remains is a rich and lively picture of a successfully multicultural and multiethnic society, which not only contrasts dramatically with the film's brief portrait of Nazi Germany but has plenty of valuable suggestions for the modern international age.
This difficult second movie doesn't quite live up to the promise of the first, but holds out the hope of a still better sequel. Initially it takes on too many different story strands for its own good, jumping between characters with no real focus, but as time goes on the plot becomes sharper and more satisfying. In some ways, its disorganisation is an appealing quality, as it avoids playing out exactly the same way as every other action blockbuster, with neat patterns of plot and subplot. However, my suspicion is that it would be difficult for a newcomer to follow. There's a lot in there which (for a change) is aimed directly at those familiar with the comics, and a lot more which relies on audience members having seen the first movie.
Continuing to explore themes of mutant identity, discrimination, and prejudice based on fear, X2 is centred on a predictable political conspiracy which it just about gets away with because it is played refreshingly straight. Its reluctance to take a dogmatic moral stance is definitely an asset here. Disappointing, then, that Magneto's final act is both extremist and at odds with his own previously expressed concerns. A subtler variant might have been believable, but this just jars. Fortunately, it's the only significant character inconsistency, though there are several other character actions which seem wayward because they are underdeveloped. Again - with Mystique's interest in Wolverine, the manipulation of Deathstrike, and Rogue's conflicting adolescent emotions - it seems that X2 has bitten off more than it can chew. Surviving through this confusion, mostly thanks to strong performances, is the Wolverine / Jean Grey / Cyclops love triangle, which provides the story with much needed energy when it pauses between action sequences. It's easier to care about these people than the perpetually calm Professor Xavier or the stock poor little children in danger.
The best thing about X2, however, is Nightcrawler. After a frightening initial action scene which recreates almost perfectly the style of the comics, we are introduced to a character who is gentle, intelligent, passionate, and deeply weird in a way which the other X-men just can't compete with. Nightcrawler reminds us what it is to be a mutant, to be an outsider with no chance of hiding it - to be vulnerable because of the colour of one's skin. This is the powerful political element which the first film handled so well; here, it is Nightcrawler who restores it. It's also brave, in this day and age, for a blockbuster film to include a devoutly Christian character. It is Nightcrawler's faith, not romantic love or nonsense about the deaths of millions, which gives this film its emotional core. Alan Cumming was an inspired choice for the role; his is a performance which should not be missed.
This film casts its net a lot more widely than the first, letting us see little bits of action from a range of different characters, not focusing so strongly on Wolverine. Some US critics have praised it for the strong roles it offers for women. These are, however, nothing remarkable by the standards of the genre. Mystique gets to demonstrate her intelligence and non-mutant skills, and has a lot more room to develop as a character, which is important to the balance of the story since Magneto's aloofness makes him emotionally less accessible. Mystique must carry the passion required to justify their aims. Storm gets more to do this time, probably because of Halle Berry's increased box office clout, yet we don't delve any deeper into her background or motivation. Jean Grey's role promises to expand in the next installment, so she finally has the chance to flex her acting muscles in the latter part of the film; however, up until then, she's offered little material but angst. Still, it's interesting to compare her handling of emotionally complex situations with that of the teenaged characters, who are pleasingly convincing, acting their age, with no sudden bursts of adult confidence and no inappropriate heroics. Pyro's rebelliousness and the romance between Rogue and Bobby will probably please younger audiences; they're well judged so as to do so without irritating everybody else.
What concerns some viewers most about a film like this is, inevitable, the quality of the special effects. X2 is very good in this regard. It doesn't overreach itself, often preferring tried and tested technologies to cutting edge flashiness, and this does it a great service, as almost everything looks believable. The Nightcrawler effects are visually the most impressive, and are certainly exciting. There are lots of dramatic explosions, especially where we see a plane ripped apart in mid air. Magneto's escape is beautifully realised, and intelligently plotted, too, not relying on any bullshit about him simply being smarter than his captors. If only he had continued in that manner throughout the film, he might have been a truly terrifying adversary.
X2 feels very much like a step on the way to something else; but if you can forgive it that, and its occasional hastiness, it's well worth going to see.
It's fashionable to praise this audacious film simply for its audacity, setting aside ordinary critical standards; would that I had been able to do so emotionally, and enjoy it to the degree which others clearly have. Alas, though I was impressed by the challenge it took on (travelling through three hundred years of Russian history in a single take), and I thought it handled it well overall, it was very far from perfect. Superb choreography and timing all round did not make up for intermittent loss of focus and cinematographic cohesion. Whilst these things might be forgivable in the circumstances, they still made the film difficult to watch.
Russian Ark was also handicapped by an irritating central performance - The Stranger, who echoed Pushkin, Peter the Great and the Devil, annoyed more than he intrigued, and never revealed quite enough to make himself interesting. When he interacted with a blind woman in the gallery, for instance, it was difficult to tell whether there was an intended joke at his expense (a hall so full of echoes is easy to navigate without sight), or whether the filmmakers were simply naive. The poor subtitling would make it difficult for a non Russian speaker to follow a lot of of the layered dialogue, and even with a basic understanding of the language too much of it was impossible to catch. Weighing against this are some charming cameo performances and truly stunning visuals. The costumerie and make-up are brilliantly done, and good use is made of St. Petersberg's marvellous architectural heritage. The visual narrative grows stronger as the tale progresses, leading to a superbly orchestrated closing shot which explains the film's title whilst drawing together many of the poetic references earlier encountered. For all this, though, Russian Ark is too often a slow and frustrating film, akin to the experience of being dragged through a beautiful museum by an eccentric and unpleasantly scented uncle who will never hang around long enough in one place to let one get a look at the really interesting exhibits.
An exploration of the phenomenon of luck which dabbles with the supernatural but finds its deepest mysteries in human nature, Intacto is an accomplished and unusual film thoroughly deserving of the acclaim which it has won thus far. Following a series of stories which gradually interweave, it centres on a young man, Tomas, the sole survivor of a plane crash, who is approached by a mysterious stranger who indoctrinates him into a society where people gamble for absurdly high stakes. Innumerable references are woven into this, from the stories of Roald Dahl to ancient Chinese myths, but all so briefly and delicately that they never present a distraction, simply adding their share to the rich texture of the tale. Whether it's real or whether it's not, of central importance to this story is the belief shared by many of its characters that they can steal other people's luck, and can thereby gamble with other people's fates. This notion becomes so pervasive, so addictive that it draws in even those at first horrified by the risk-taking they see. The film explores gambling compulsions, psychosis, and the way in which obsessed people can gradually lose their awareness of others' humanity.
Pulling the strings behind much of this, though at first we glimpse him only distantly, is The Jew, played by the redoubtable Max von Sydow, who is possibly the luckiest man in the world. Inhabiting a surreally remote desert casino, he plays frequent games of Russian roulette as if in an attempt to expunge his own survivor's guilt, having once been the only one of a large group of children to escape from a concentration camp. The irony here, of course, is that his luck does not make him happy, merely imprisoning him in a state where he continually witnesses the suffering of others. So he waits for a luckier person to liberate him. Intacto concerns itself not only with the physical survival which most people would call lucky, but also with the importance of being psychologically intact. It does so through layers of subtle metaphor, yet also with vivid action sequences and intense emotional encounters. You won't see another film like it this year. Don't miss it.
Long-awaited and woefully rewritten, this would-be Hitchcockian thriller wastes the ample talents of Colin Farrell and Forrest Whittaker in a tale which simply fails to engage. The pitch is a strong one - a man answers a ringing phone and learns that the caller is aiming a sniper rifle at him, so he'll be shot if he hangs up and must do what he is told in the meantime. The caller, however, is from the Hannibal Lecter school of character development, so even though he pretends to sharp intelligence and some kind of moral superiority, we don't see much evidence of it - he's as dull as the average usenet troll. His advantages are based entirely on forward planning, the stupidity of his adversaries, and the fact that American cinemagoers have been trained to assume that emotionless voices equal scary intellect. It seems he has selected his victim because he wants to teach him a lesson about the despicable crimes of fancying women other than his wife (not fucking them, just fancying them - like ninety five percent of the population...) and being self-centered (this is set in New York!) To do this, he runs through a routine of psychological intimidation which he might have perfected in kindergarten. Facing this, Colin Farrell must downplay his own intelligence to create a character who is at once insubstantial and unreasonably sympathetic. The audience's sympathy is pushed so strongly toward the captive from the outset that it never really fails him, even when he confesses to imperfection, so there's no emotional journey for the audience to make and no room for the character to develop. Meanwhile, Forrest Whittaker does his level best to make something of the recently divorced, slightly depressed police officer who suspects something is wrong, but the script gives him so little to work with that all he can do is be a Nice Guy. The only character who gets the opportunity to go through real changes is the captive's wife, but she's underused and given scant opportunity to express herself.
Add to this an utter failure to understand physics (bullets behave incorrectly, laser pointers work from too far away, injuries fail to produce their logical effects), which matters in a tale of this type; a bunch of distastefully cliched comedy whores (who do, however, show off clothing by some of New York and Los Angeles' best alternative designers); and a police team so incredibly inept that they fail to spot possibilities most audience members had worked out just five minutes after the film started - and what remains is a shadow of what it should have been. I'd have loved to see someone like Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey in that phone booth - an actor who could really play despicable and therefore keep shifting the sympathies of the audience. The ending is weak, ridiculous and patronising. This isn't generally a despicable film, and it does have its moments, but it's all played strictly by the book. You won't want to bother redialling.
Though it might seem a strangely uncontroversial story for this uncompromising director, Far from Heaven is every inch a Todd Haynes movie, and one of his best. On the surface a conventional study of a failing marriage and forbidden love in 'fifties America, it reaches much deeper to explore controversies past and so examine the very roots of prejudice. Central to this is a brilliant performance by Julianne Moore. So often wooden in other people's films, she really seems to come alive with Haynes; although her character is desperately repressed, her desperation is skillfully wrought. The remarkable pace of Cathy's existencee, brought to life through a clever script and precise, almost nervous direction, means she has little time for her marriage even before she becomes aware that things are going wrong; the same is true of her husband (Dennis Quaid's best role for a long time); so that they seem almost predestined to suffer, because they are living an American Dream. Nobody can achieve such a delightful image of perfection and retain the time and energy to actually enjoy it.
The first thing which strikes one about Far from Heaven is Haynes' wonderful use of colour, with reds and golds radiating everywhere, complimenting the heroine's clothes and hair and rendering her a part of the magnificent garden where she is to rediscover her capacity to feel. This colour, of course, varies with the season, and the seasons are used unabashedly as a metaphor for what is happening in her marriage. Her reaction upon discovering her husband's attraction to other men is one of utter horror, yet the script is so delicately judged as to avoid alienating a modern audience; likewise, it does an impressive job of explaining the level and nature of prejudice aimed at the black man with whom she develops a passionate friendship. The eponymous lost paradise is not only the ideal of marriage, but the ideal of civilisation, the apparently charming neighbourhood and society in which these characters dwell. Yet this is a mature film, not one struggling insistently to fight the power. Each character has to weigh up different priorities, which sometimes necessitates allowing prejudice to win. The only real victories come in the form of personal awareness.
Far from Heaven looks ravishing, and is surprisingly moving, for all it deals with familiar issues. It's a fine example of intelligent film-making, and deserves to be more widely seen.
It is often the case that an otherwise entertaining science fiction action film will be marred by one or two glaring errors which continue to irritate the educated viewer for some time afterwards. This is certainly not the case with The Core. On the contrary, The Core is almost entirely comprised of glaring errors, with very little substance in between, so that it's difficult to know where to begin with a critique. In fact, calling this science fiction feels almost as inappropriate as calling a Keanu Reeves film 'deep'. Its deep underground burrowing owes itself, naturally, to Jules Verne, but its heroic all-American action is sub-Armageddon and has more in common with the apocalyptic fantasies of George Bush, who might as well have written the script as well, for all the depth that achieves. Like a Bush speech, however, this contains some unwittingly marvellous lines:-
"The Earth's core has stopped rotating!"
"How was that allowed to happen?"
...etc. Early on, we get a demonstration of the hippy college professor hero's brilliance when he takes "less than a minute!" to work out something which took the average audience member less than five seconds. Hip with the kids he may be, but it's difficult to see how his fellow terranauts put up with him for the duration of their journey, especially considering how his appearance implies he must smell. We're supposed to sympathise with him, of course, and instead hate the English-accented scientist whose overwrought smugness makes one more irritated with the writers than with him personally; he may be full of himself, but he's the only one there who seems capable of thinking, so it's all the more annoying to see a comedy moment centred around him getting punched; brawn overcoming brains; wishful thinking on the part of this big-budget production's investors. Rounding out the crew are an engineer with no personality (at all!), an obscure Frenchman who never gets the chance to develop; an utterly forgettable space shuttle commander; and a young NASA major ("There's only one girl in this movie, and it's Hilary Swank!" lamented a friend of mine), who, according to what we are told, ought to be smarter, more skilled and generally more useful than all the other characters put together, but who, being a girl, ends up playing out the Uhura role and simply repeating what the computer says. She also flaps her arms a lot, pouts, and gets terribly tearful for a supposed recipient of military training, bawling every time somebody gets wasted, which just doesn't happen often enough. At least she has sufficient brains not to snog the surviving hero, who's probably a bad bet for that sort of thing, considering what he's recently been dragging around next to his genitals.
Add to this predictably motley bunch a youthful computer nerd whose very nose is a cliche (who has War Games style 133t 5ki115, bizarrely, despite using shitty software and not knowing how to use apostrophes), and you've got just about all the average film can bear. The audience holds out, of course, because everybody has come to see this film for the lava, the big machines, the individual suffering and (most importantly) the big famous things getting blown up. An early sequence with dead birds dropping out of the sky holds some promise, though no-one ever explains how a million extra pigeons fitted into the hotly contested territory of Trafalgar Square (which we are told is historic and in London, in case we didn't know) in the first place. The Colosseum in Rome blows up pretty impressively, albeit inexplicably, but the scene is cut too soon, depriving viewers of any truly satisfying carnage. There's some good grim death stuff on the Golden Gate Bridge, which comes to a sticky end, but we've all seen that particular monument get it twenty times before. And that's about it. The biggest mistake this film makes is to announce halfway through that if the dubious scientists' dubious special weapon is used (the only other way to save the world), "every volcano on Earth will explode"; after which, of course, one longs for our heroes to fail. There's a lot of appealing teasing here, but ultimately, as a disaster movie, The Core just doesn't put out.
So is it worth going to see at all? It's quite funny in places (all accidentally); it's not as slow-paced as I'd feared, and there's something dumb enough to make one's jaw drop roughly every ten minutes. Erith, who accompanied me, liked the swirly magma at the centre of the Earth, though I thought it looked like old Star Trek monsters with the blue and purple filters switched to orange and yellow ones. Of course, there's something delightfully silly about the notion of going to the centre of the Earth anyway, especially in such a crassly phallic machine, ribbed for her pleasure. Despite the five thousand degree heat, we do get to see our heroes get out and wander around, and there are giant crystals and other such foolishness. So it might be worth a mindless popcorn night out. Just don't expect to care, or to remember any of it a week later.
Equilibrium has been a favourite project of mine for years now, while it simmered away in pre-production Hell and endured numerous re-writes; every time, rumour had it, the spiky plot was made a little smoother, the politics central to the plot eased away. The title, of course, should have been Librium, though I think perhaps the subtler post-threatened-lawsuit version will be better at getting across the message to the masses. I had worried that too much else would have been lost by now. I went to see this out of lingering loyalty, expecting to hate it. I was quite, quite wrong.
Equilibrium is that rarest of cinematic entities, a film which succeeds both as intelligent science fiction and as action drama. The rewrites haven't done it any harm at all; there are too many elegant literary, cinematic and historical references intact for me to believe that anyone was involved, at any point, who didn't get it. What's interesting about a lot of these is the way in which they're used; they're not just there as tokens, but as active symbols, sometimes red herrings; a number are turned on their heads in clever ways, yet without being twee. Their contribution to our understanding of the post-world-war-III society with which we are confronted is all the more potent because this is a society obsessed with destroying art. In Libria, everybody can live safely, freed from the threat of unlawful violence and war by the pharmaceutical suppression of emotion. What's startling here is not the heavy handedness which some critics have claimed to see, but rather the number of fictional details which have become reality since this film was first proposed.
Perhaps more important than all this is that the makers of Equilibrium have understood something which most science fiction blockbuster producers do not, and that is that a story of this type is worth nothing unless one can care about the characters involved. It all hinges on a superb performance by Christian Bale, and it's difficult to think of another actor who could've pulled off the role. John Preston is a man who has spent years hunting down those who illegally experience emotion; when he misses a dose of drugs himself, we see him transform through sequences which take careful account of his withdrawal distress and of his inexperience in observing the world sensually. But that's far from the end of it; what happens to him thereafter is much more complex, and darker, and bravely handled. This is far from being a black and white story of evil pharmcorp versus outlawed romantics, as many viewers will realise the moment they hear Beethoven's Ninth.
In addition to this, Bale's dance background and years of post-American Psycho body training enable him to carry off action sequences really impressively, without any of the stilted we-learned-this-in-ten-minutes look of wannabe kung-fu fighter trash like The Matrix. People who enjoyed that film can expect to enjoy this one; it's beautifully choreographed, and explained with bold simplicity. The fight scenes never seem extraneous. Indeed, their emotional impact, or lack thereof, is vital to our interpretation of character throughout.
The visuals in this film are generally very well handled,
eschewing flashiness yet managing also to avoid the grim blue-lit cliches
which choke most such tales. The other thing which I have to mention here
is Emily Watson's performance; she is one of the most interesting
actresses working in Hollywood today, and watching her is sometimes like
watching James Dean - whilst other speak their lines, she can just smoke a
fucking cigarette. Her ability to convey a lifetime's passion with just
one movement of her eyebrows provides a vital core of intensity in what is
sometimes a very cold, dark story. Some critics have protested at her
performance, and at other displays of sentimentalism within the film - to
them I can say only that they might as well already be living in Libria.
If fashionable cynicism is more interesting to you than human complexity,
stay at home and take your prozac. As a good friend of mine once said,
everyone's so afraid of pretension, but some things do rise
above. Take a risk today. Miss a dose. Watch Equilibrium.
This year's Rabbit Proof Fence, The Magdalene Sisters is the grim tale of young women taken from their families to be institutionalised; and, in some cases, separated from their own babies. It also saves its fiercest punch for the very end, supplying the background to its true story. It features strong, impressive performances from several new actresses (and from the redoubtable Geraldine McEwan), though its greatest strength is as an ensemble piece. There are other significant characters besides the three girls whose stories we follow from beginning to end.
The Sisters of the title were an order of nuns devoted to the care and redemption of wayward girls - or, looking at it another way, an order which exploited the unpaid labour of its charges for its own financial gain. If the film has a weakness, it's that it concentrates too strongly on the latter interpretation, leaving little room for exploration of the moral perspective of those who believed in what the Sisters were doing, including (presumably) some of the parents who sent their daughters there. Whilst one can sympathise with this omission, considering the horrific experiences of some of the girls, it does create a curious imbalance in the face of the accusations being made. The actual story, however, is well told, and well balanced between horror and the brief moments of humour which kept the girls going. One particularly disturbing scene, which some of the audience found shocking, involves the psychological sexual abuse of several of the girls; it's rare to see any film brave enough to depict this so starkly, and it comes across as much more genuine because of it. A proper explanation of the bullying tactics used to break down the girls' will is essential to explaining why they don't make more drastic attempts to run away.
No doubt this film will be of great importance to those thousands of women who had similar experiences in their youth. It does its job well, and makes interesting viewing for anyone, even if it is necessarily limited in scope. People who read newspapers will not find many revelations here, but it's worth seeing nonetheless.
Before encountering this peculiar little gem, I had never expected that I would ever go to see an Adam Sandler film and like it. It's a rare thing also to encounter a romantic comedy which is both romantic and comic, though it is scarcely so in the ways which audiences have been trained to expect; as a result, Punch Drunk Love has become a sleeper hit, offending and scaring away its initial audience; then gradually, though word of mouth, attracting a new one. Much of what happens in this film is deeply unpleasant, and not funny in the least, despite the veneer of slapstick; but that appears to be exactly what the film-makers intended. Humour is present on a different level. This is a deeply affectionate, life-affirming story, and it has the strange effect of making all sorts of other mildly unpleasant things seem funny afterwards.
As a romantic tale, Punch Drunk Love pulls out all the stops: this is the story of a man with very limited self-control, a man of wild passions - a man who will cross oceans on a whim to be with the woman he adores, and a man who will give vent to intense violent rages following apparently minor provocation. This man is psychotic, and the film is about how he learns to interact with the world despite that. It comes as something of a relief, after so much Hollywood tripe about mental illness, that he is never cured, nor made to seem fluffy. His different take on the world is established from the outset with stunning use of lighting and cinematography. Sometimes the structure of the film breaks down altogether and is replaced by vistas of swirling colour and star-spangled skies borrowed from old Hollywood romances. There are similarities to the work of David Lynch and Jocelyn Moorhouse, but this is something entirely fresh.
Punch Drunk Love doesn't always work. The story is necessarily wayward, like its central characters, and there's limited cohesion between different plot strands. The small scale world in which events take place does, however, create a good strong contrast with the glory of our hero's newly discovered love. There's real chemistry between the leads; Emily Watson turns in a superb performance as a woman whose madness can be glimpsed only when she forgets to control it. It's nice to see such expressive actors in roles of this type. Nobody is pretending to be twenty, so we get personalities and faces with real character. This fits in well with the sub-plot in which our hero is blackmailed by a telephone sex line company, whose workers also come across as real people, neither glamourised nor ridiculed.
Not at all what it says on the box, Punch Drunk Love is a genuine original. Don't miss it.
Recounting the experiences of a Polish Jew who becomes a refugee in Nazi-occupied Warsaw, this film has been accused of stealing all the prizes purely for political reasons, which is quite unfair. The first thing one notices about it - beyond the intricate, astutely observed set dressing and the assured ensemble performances - is its starkness, its very unwillingness to indulge in emotive cliches. There is horrendous violence here, as there must be for such a tale to be told honestly, but it's presented in a plain, spare manner, with little time allowed for characters' reactions. This, indeed, is one of the story's central tropes - an observation of the way people cease to react even to the most hideous things, whether they be perpetrators or victims; and how this, together with a continued appreciation for beauty, facilitates their survival
A superbly structured film, The Pianist first seems like a rambling, loosely constructed tale (forgiveable, given that it's based on a true story), but gradually reveals itself to be following the patterns of the music played by its hero in one amazing final scene, a straight recital whose energy and attention to detail showcases Polanski at his very best. His own love of music, like his love of light, fills the film with passion, transforming what might otherwise have been unbearably grim, and making the cruelty of the occupying forces all the uglier by contrast. Despite its historical setting, this is an intensely modern film. Its politics are by no means straightforward, and it is a timely reminder of the way that bigotry and racism can quickly escalate out of control.
Being an account of the amazing adventures of this decade's dullest on-screen superhero, Daredevil is a fascinating piece of cinema but an awful film. Part of this is down to the fact that it opens with an account, rather than a true demonstration, of the character's origins - now, it's understandable that not every superhero film will want to be an origins story (especially if it has little chance of attracting funding for a sequel), but Daredevil goes on to meander partway along that road anyway, so there's really no excuse for the shambles of the first half hour. The script is so clunky as to rival Ben Affleck's wooden performance. The costumes, far from being sleek and sexy or naturally dangerous, look as if they were found in a thrift store after some impoverished 'seventies starlet had a clear-out; as a result, we have to be told when to find them alluring. Starting out low (Daredevil does his thing like Rorschach, but without the latter's innocence and charm), the plot strains for moral depth, yet comes across like a poorly lit episode of Sunset Beach. Affleck simply doesn't have the acting muscles to pull off his character's supposed transformation. A potentially interesting performance of Bullseye is let down by the shoddy writing, and Elektra, the only vaguely complex character on display, never gets the chance to develop. The villainous Kingpin is too bland to be intimidating. The soundtrack is the most embarrassing example of intrusive rock marketing I've encountered in twenty years.
So what is it that makes Daredevil interesting? It's a curiosity piece. It makes use of cliches which no-one else has dared to touch since the Zucker brothers had their way with them. It shows us what the 'eighties generation of feeble comic-inspired movies might have been if they'd only had more expensive effects to waste. In places, the effects work very nicely - there's some impressive art design work early on, and some effectively shot action sequences. The battle in the church has its moments, though in other places its egotistical breaking of taboos is so tacky that one finds oneself praying for the Kurgen to arrive and show these boys how it's done. Ultimately, Daredevil is a bit of a pishy superhero, not very hard and not very smart. He owes his successes mostly to other people's incompetence. His alter ego, blind lawyer Matt Murdock, slimes at women in a way which would get him a night in the cells, not a girlfriend, in the real world. His blindness is poorly handled, especially in the context of his ordinary life; one thinks of the dazzling work of Jocelyn Moorhouse in Proof, and all that Daredevil has to offer are wasted opportunities. This film's success must now depend on fashion and the traditional US love of vigilantes; it'd better hope that cinema audiences miss the lessons it's trying to teach.
Ostensibly the tale of three women and how their lives intertwine despite the decades which separate them, The Hours is actually something much cleverer, drawing its strongest parallels between the lives of the suicidally depressed Virginia Woolf and a man who spends his whole life afraid of her. This man is first introduced as an age patient, the audience encouraged to define him by his illness as in so many other films, but as the story unravels it becomes apparent that it is his psychological problems which have been the strongest factor in determining the course of his life and the lives of those around him. Ed Harris provides a stunning performance in this role, but is ably matched by Nicole Kidman as Woolf - aside from conjuring up a remarkable physical resemblance, she puts across superbly the inner toughness of a woman whom everybody thought of as fragile. This aspect of the film represents an impassioned plea for the right to self determination of the mentally ill; yet the narrative never loses sympathy with their carers; two men and two women devote their lives to providing for their loved ones, and have to take the decision as to whether to abandon them or to go on until the bitter end. The story examines the weight of social expectation upon these people, and it all comes down to a matter which was close to Woolf's heart - the observation that people's actions are often determined by what they are or are not able to bear.
If this sounds like compelling cinema, it is. It is supported by a number of superb performances. Meryl Streep hasn't been this good in years. Toni Colette's cameo highlights her underrated ability as a character actress. The child's performance, especially in terms of his physical acting, is impressively strong, which is important, because so much depends on it. Furthermore, the set decoration is amazing, very well tuned to each set of characters and their environment, complicated and believable; and there are some really impressive make-up effects, though mostly in places where the general viewer is unlikely to consciously appreciate them. However, despite all this, The Hours is a deeply flawed film. It suffers early on from problems with pacing, and the script, though it has its moments of brilliance, isn't really tight enough to grip the audience when it matters. There is too much redundant material here. Because of its concern with the slowness and mundanity of life, it is necessary for the story to drag at certain times, to convey the weight of time and repetitive living; certainly this could've been handled much more badly; but it doesn't quite pull through when it needs to. Especially in the first half, it lacks the tension of Woolf's own prose. For this reason, the viewer should be prepared to be patient; it would be a great shame to give up on this secretive film before realising what wonders it has in store.
An odd little film which persistently defies audience expectations, The Good Girl combines the basic tropes of a chick flick romance with realism and intelligence, producing something much darker but more genuinely emotionally affecting. Key to making this work is the parallel transformation of Jennifer Aniston from all-American giggly airhead comedy star to a bored, moody, secretly passionate retail clerk; there is not a hint of the former, as she gives the performance of her career. The story at first seems simple - a lonely housewife working in a tedious job meets an intense young man who makes promises of undying love and wants to run away with her - a romantic road movie beckons. But Justine, despite her complaints about her life, has a lingering affection for husband and home, and is determined to make practical choices. She is full of doubts about her own moral choices, and she comes to doubt the maturity and sanity of her admirer. Surrounded by people who think only of themselves, she is tempted to do the same, but, while others fantasise about being different and powerful, there is something within her which is genuinely so. Contrary to chick flick logic, it is precisely because of this that her dreams won't come true.
This is a film about the nature of escapist fantasy and the routes which people take to achieve it. There is very little cinema which pays so much attention to the mundane life of the working classes, especially unfashionable small town Texans; The Good Girl addresses its characters' concerns clearly and h