This Year's Big Screen Viewing

New films reviewed for this year, in reverse order of being seen, are:- Day Watch; The Kingdom; Death Proof; Rise of the Footsoldier; Atonement; Copying Beethoven; Seraphim Falls; Surf's Up; Bratz: The Movie; The Walker; Shrek the Third; Tell No One; Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End; Black Snake Moan; Zodiac; Jindabyne; Straightheads; The Reaping; Reign Over Me; The Namesake; Sunshine; Fur - An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus; 300; I Want Candy; Inland Empire; Norbit; True North; This is England; The Dying Gaul; Fast Food Nation; S&Man; Pilgrimage from Scattered Points; The Last King of Scotland; Cashback; Hot Fuzz and The Fountain. I'm not able to review everything I see on this page, but if you'd like to read more you can look up my work at Eye For Film.

Day Watch

In the great struggle between light and darkness, sometimes there are shades of grey. Day Watch, sequel to massive Russian hit Night Watch, works with those shades to create something darker than its prequel ever hinted at. It gives us conflict on a grand scale, from an opening sequence with Mongolian warriors through to the destruction of present day Moscow, yet it is the human drama at its core which really gives it its power.

For those who haven't seen Night Watch, it's important to know that Anton, the film's principal protagonist, once hired a witch to cast a spell on his ex wife, jeopardising the life of her unborn child. That child, Yegor, is now a teenager, and Anton has developed a deep love for him, but Yegor knows what his father did and, as a result, has allied himself with darkness. More than that, he has emerged as a Great Other, a potentially deadly weapon in their hands. This film opens with Anton working with a trainee, Svyeta, whom, it gradually transpires, is herself a Great Other, allied with the forces of light. Since the two sides have maintained a fragile truce for centuries, it's essential to keep these two powerful individuals from meeting, lest the peace be shattered. What's more, Anton and Svyeta are falling in love, creating personal tension as Yegor, despite his past anger, realises that he wants his Dad all to himself.

It sounds complicated and it is. Watching the prequel first is highly recommended, but even then you may feel like you've been thrown in at the deep end. Day Watch draws heavily (albeit not explicitly) on Russian folklore, and it's full of little jokes and references which are difficult for outsiders to get. What's more, it plays with language in a way which is utterly delightful to a Russian speaker but practically untranslatable, despite the smart and innovative subtitling, leaving many viewers feeling a bit lost. There's practically nothing incidental in this film - every glimpsed road sign, every background decoration, has something to say. However, even if you miss most of this, you're still likely to find it an exciting ride. Its characters are engaging, its special effects genuinely special (even if it does get a bit overwhelmed by them towards the end), and its classic story has universal appeal.

The other remarkable thing about Day Watch, in the context of contemporary Russian cinema, is how daring it is when it comes to breaking social taboos. Its queer content, much more shocking there than in the west, is beautifully judged and presented with a sense of humour rarely matched in western parallels. There's something fresh about this, something genuinely inventive, and it makes Day Watch seem more human, more emotionally satisfying than its Hollywood counterparts. Because of that, it's more gripping as an action drama - we actually give a damn about what happens to these people. It's overcrowded, sometimes incoherent, and so confident in its own story that it sometimes neglects to let the audience know what's going on, but it is nevertheless a thrilling piece of cinema and well worth going to see.

The Kingdom

Not everybody with an interest in political thrillers also has an interest in politics. Not everybody looking for action in the cinema also keeps up with real life violent events around the world. The Kingdom recognises this and opens with a stunningly animated sequence which explains in a simple and elegant fashion the history of US involvement in Saudi Arabia and the political tensions ensuing therefrom. Remarkably neutral in tone, it sets the stage for a thriller which neither takes sides nor tries to preach their irrelevance. This is a human drama whose diverse characters have simple human motives. It takes complex issues and, without ever trivialising them, succeeds in breaking them down in human terms.

Riyadh is a dangerous place for westerners to live. Acknowledging this, Americans based there whilst they work in the oil industry tend to remain within secure compounds. There they can largely do as they please, dressing and behaving in ways which would be illegal elsewhere. Naturally, these compounds are viewed by many locals as symbols of US exploitation. After one of them is attacked by terrorists, the government, afraid of losing face by admitting its own inability to resolve the situation, quietly allows an FBI team to investigate. However, the Saudis have a very different approach to investigations of this type, and the team find themselves hampered at every turn. Ultimately, they must engage with a very different culture in order to find ways of making progress - and the more they learn, the more they find themselves dangerously out of their depth.

The Kingdom manages a remarkable balancing act in being both a successful thriller and an intelligent, sensitively written culture-clash drama. Central to this is the pairing of Jamie Foxx (as the lead investigator) and Ashraf Barhom as his Saudi counterpart. The script deftly avoids the temptation to portray the Saudis as primitive, showing obvious failings (such as ignorance of forensic procedures) but also demonstrating that there is much the American characters can learn from them. There's also a continual infusion of humour, as with the American characters' reaction to perfectly ordinary Saudi driving speeds. The result of this is that when we eventually learn something about the lives of the terrorists we don't need heavy-handed speech-making to convince us that they're human too - nor how dangerous that is.

Naturally, one of the biggest clashes between US and Saudi culture relates to the role of women. This is acknowledged pragmatically and not too intrusively, though it's unfortunate that Jennifer Garner lacks the charisma to really make something of her role - it's also amusing to see US forms of sexism (such as the familiar cinematic rules about how a woman is allowed to fight) slotted in there without a second thought. Rather peculiar, though, is the complete absence of any allusion to the difficulties which Foxx's race could be expected to present in Saudi society. Perhaps it's true that all Americans are seen as identical, but this nevertheless constitutes an odd omission, especially as Saudi attitudes to race are referenced elsewhere in the script.

Although at times it verges on turning into CSI Riyadh, The Kingdom is ultimately much smarter and better informed than most of its ilk, and it consequently makes for more satisfying viewing. Action sequences are well handled - though they're often necessarily confusing, as our heroes are overwhelmed by what's happening around them, they give us a real sense of the terror which one might feel upon finding oneself in the middle of a hostile country. Local anger at America is acknowledged without being either celebrated or patronised - it simply forms the backdrop to a story which grips in its own right.

Death Proof

I've done what I can to jump start this motor, but you know how it is with big, flashy machines. They look gorgeous, they provide a thrilling ride, but they're damnably expensive to run and many people will inevitably dismiss them as penis substitutes. Sadly, it doesn't look as if Death Proof is going anywhere, which is a shame, because for sheer thrills and spills it's one of the best films of the year.

Death Proof, of course, used to be part of Grindhouse, an art phenomenon of the sort ordinary cinema-goers are not use to being confronted with. Cut up and drawn out, it's not at its best in the form we see it here, but in a curious way that complements the joke. And Death Proof is built on jokes. It's essentially a tribute to the badly made but high spirited B-movies of the 'seventies. As such, it deserves to be seen after midnight with a crowd of drunken strangers on a crumbling picture house, with the smell of chop suey almost concealing the faint odour or urine and the stench of stale tobacco smoke. You should be drunk when you see it, not because there isn't plenty to appreciate when sober, but because that's part of the process of fully engaging with it, of accepting the ride and letting go of you usual inhibitions. Tarantino really knows his stuff and he's recaptured the mood of the period beautifully, producing not a mere imitation or spook but something strong and new, taking those tropes and mixing them seamlessly with modern cultural icons so that past and present fuse.

Kurt Russell is Stuntman Mike. He gets his kicks by killing women with his 'death proof' car. And that's about it. Until, inevitably, he picks on the wrong women, and then he's subject to bloody revenge. Russell is perfectly cast as Mike, intriguing without ever being cool, sympathetic without being any less despicable. Real life stuntwoman Zoe Bell, playing herself, is his nemesis, and the camera glories in her ruthless physicality as if she were Tura Satana. Some feminists have protested that this film is anti-woman, but I reckon I rarely see such strong female roles in modern cinema. Bell is stunning, and the final sequence, in which she and Mike go head to head, is all the more thrilling because there's no recourse to CGI or other such trickery - every stunt we see was done for real. This is forceful, truly charismatic movie making, and you'd be an idiot to miss it.

Rise of the Footsoldier

In December 1995, the bodies of Pat Tate, Tony Tucker and Craig Rolfe, all notorious figures in London's gangland, were found in a range rover on a snowy country road. They were riddled with bullets. Though two men were eventually convicted of their murder, the real story behind it has remained the subject of speculation, and it was previously treated in film in the Sean Bean thriller Essex Boys. Rise of the Footsoldier takes a slightly different perspective, basing itself on the memoirs of former thug for hire and sometime gang lieutenant Carlton Leach. As well as providing background to the murders, it supplies a string of anecdotes about the London underworld which comprise a loose account of Leach's own rise to power and his gradual understanding of the horror of the world in which he operated.

Beginning with Leach's experiences as a football hooligan, Rise of the Footsoldier embarks on a visual assault comprising the most consistently violent images you will see on the big screen this year. Forget horror movies - this is real, visceral, eminently imitable violence of the sort which takes place on British streets every drunken weekend but which is, for the most part, blessedly hidden from the eyes of the public. It's an unrepentant attempt to shock the viewer into sitting up and taking notice, though in time it also has a numbing effect - which is, of course, entirely appropriate, because this is how it enables us to get into the mindset of its protagonists. As such, it is much more honest than most urban crime stories. Here even the most charming of villains are shown in full-on nastiness and there's no room for the illusion that they're really nice guys whom we ought to feel sympathy for because they love their dear old mums. When we start to identify with them anyway, this forces us to ask questions about ourselves. It's an uncomfortable film, and rightly so. That said, when we step back from the violence, does Rise of the Footsoldier have anything else to offer?

Ultimately, violence aside, there's not a whole lot to this story, and once viewers have time to catch their breath and realise this they'll find that it starts to drag. Ricci Harnett makes a charismatic narrator and turns in a surprisingly affecting performance as Leach, but when he's absent there's little to hold our attention. Although there's some good solid acting from a cast largely borrowed from Eastenders, they never make us care as much as we should about the murdered men or the mystery relating to them. Director Julian Gilbey can certainly deliver a punch, but he seems to have mistaken shock for real emotional impact. This is an excellent attempt to bring something new to the crime genre. Those who can stomah it will find it genuinely thrilling and disturbing. In the end, though, it never quite delivers on its promise.

Atonement

False accusations are a terrible thing. They can wreck lives: part lovers, send people to prison, destroy families. These stories are familiar to many of us. What makes Atonement interesting is that it looks not just at the sin, but at the sinner. Having done a terrible deed which she cannot undo, how can our heroine live with herself? She created the reality she cannot bear through fiction; can she, in turn, use fiction to bring about a form of redemption for all concerned?

Ian McEwan's Atonement was probably his greatest novel and has enjoyed an appropriate degree of success with both the literary establishment and the public. Fans of the novel will be relieved to hear that this long-awaited film adaptation does it justice. Beautifully realised under the watchful eye of the author, who was an executive producer, it brings together the strong central themes of the book and develops them further with a subtle look at cinema itself and its influence on our understanding of reality. Although some parts (notably Robbie's march across France) had to be scaled back under pressure of time and limited budget, it maintains a powerful emotional impact, and there's a strong sense throughout that we are being given a glimpse into the lives of real people, not the usual two dimensional cinematic characters. Central to this is James McAvoy's splendid performance as Robbie, the young handyman who falls foul of other people's passions and prejudices, confirming the promise he showed in The Last King of Scotland. As Cecilia, the woman with whom he falls passionately in love, Kiera Knightley isn't quite as sharp, but her limited acting powers are more than compensated for by inspired direction which delivers the language of their love through a myriad tiny gestures, astutely observed and brilliantly edited. The trio is completed by Saoirse Ronan as the young Briony, a former television actress who handles her complex role with an assurance which belies her tender years. Though Romola Garai and Vanessa Redgrave do a fine job in extending the role, it's Ronan who really gives Briony presence and who enables us to feel some sympathy for despite the terrible thing she does.

Atonement the film does break away from the book in certain small ways, notably its ending, though not in a manner which transgresses the bounds of the story or compromises its power. There are small details of other characters' relationships which are underexplored, shifting the balance of our sympathies a little, particularly with regard to Briony's cousin Lola; in this way the film fails to achieve quite the moral and emotional depth of the book, but it can't really be faulted for this, because it's still a stand-out piece of cinema. As in all McEwan's work, the locations are as important and as vividly drawn as any human character, and here they come to life in sumptuous detail. At its best, cinema draws the viewer into a complete world every bit as convincing as the real one, and it's fitting that that should happen here. You'll be lucky to see another film this year as absorbing and evocative as Atonement. Don't miss it.

Copying Beethoven

If you've seen one film about a frequently drunken musician with a God-given talent and the social skills of a baboon, you could be forgiven for thinking you've seen them all. Copying Beethoven is really no exception and it plays out its movements in precisely the expected sequence despite the breathtakingly beautiful imagery employed by director Agnieska Holland. If it thinks it can be different by centering its story on a woman, a young would-be composer working as a copyist in the hope of learning something, it's wrong - that just opens it up to a whole new set of clichés. It is left entirely dependent on two things: the strength of the performances, and the music. With the former, it certainly holds its own; with the latter, it could hardly fail.

The subject this time is Beethoven, dear old Ludwig Van, whose grotesque presence towers over the story as it inevitably must. Ed Harris is perfectly cast and having the time of his life as a monstrous genius who admonishes any right to pity by clearly demonstrating that his mind is as sharp as anyone else's; he just doesn't like most people, and he has no time to waste with them; he is a dtiven man, tormented by his awareness that hardly anyone understands what he is doing. Though we meet him in good health, he is nevertheless frantic to let what he considers the breath of God pour out of him as fully as possible before his mortal span comes to an end. It's a performance on a grand scale. Pity, then, poor Diana Kruger who tries and fails to match him. She simply doesn't have the substance, and as a result the film is rather unbalanced. In turn, Matthew Goode, as the rchitect she claims to love, is so bland that it;s hard to imagine what even she sees in him. Joe Anderson does an impressive turn as the Beast's frustrated nephew Karl, but he's underused. The story lurches about, coming to life only when Harris is on screen; but thankfully, that's most of the time.

Fans of Beethoven's music will love the chance to sit and listen to almost half an hour of unadulterated Ninth Symphony slap bang in the middle of the film. This may be a bit much for the casual viewr, but sit back and let yourself be moved, you heathens! If only Kruger didn't keep popping up in the middle of the screen and flapping her arms about, looking more like she's playing charades than keeping time, it would be almost perfect. There's also a good bit of Grosse Fugue thrown in for good effect, and this is where the film is interesting, because it makes no bones about the rough reception Beethoven's most sophisticated work received, even from the copyist. Rather than following in Hollywood tradition and having this willful yet devoted young woman turn out to be the one person who understands, it leaves the maestro quite alone, acknowledging that it takes a differently experienced modern ear to discern the beauty in what he was doing. This kind of honest musical understanding is displayed throughout, and it provides a refreshing undercurrent in what might otherwise be a stiflingly familiar tale. Much like the ending, which finally steps outside the restrictions of the expected melody. Be patient with the predictable bombast; wait for it to find its voice.

Seraphim Falls

It's the late 1800s. The Ruby Mountains, remote and desolate. The rough landscape is covered with snow. We see a shivering man, wrapped in furs, squat down to build a fire and roast his meagre dinner. Behind him, his horse is stamping at he ground, clearly distressed by something. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bullet hits him in the shoulder. Abandoning his horse and rifle, he runs for his life.

Seraphim Falls opens with a chase sequence which few films can match. For the first half hour we scarcely get a chance to catch our breath as we watch our anonymous hero flee from one hazard to another, ruthlessly hunted by a gang of five equally mysterious strangers. The cruel landscape and the remorselessness of his pursuers test the limits of his endurance, creating that sense of desperation and hardship essential to an effective Western. By the time the pace slows down a little, we are full of questions which the film takes its time to answer. Who is this man? What has he done to inspire such hatred? What is it that drives his incredible will to stay alive?

It's unfortunate that, beyond these questions, not all of which are ever answered satisfactorily, there's not much of a story to Seraphim Falls. Of course, many of the best westerns have only very simply stories, and that shouldn't matter if the performances are strong enough. Pierce Brosnan is certainly more impressive than usual, finally playing someone his own age and getting to use that rugged face effectively. As the leader of his persecutors - the one for whom, it soon becomes apparent, this is a personal obsession - Liam Neeson also manages to break away from type a little. The film balances our sympathies well as it gradually becomes apparent why Neeson's character feels so wronged, and his intelligence makes him appealing even before he lets emotion show. Yet neither actor is as intense as the plot requires, dragging them through seemingly endless physical tests toward a gradual psychological breakdown. As a result, the film is too often just slow when it ought to be lingering, just empty when we ought to be in awe of its wide open spaces.

It's a rare thing to see anyone attempt a film of this sort these days, and Seraphim Falls has to be given credit for trying. It's not just working to a template, either - it certainly has ideas of its own. Its vision of the western frontier is a bleak one, full of grim frontier towns and the dusty bones of unsuccessful settlers, a place where even missionaries cannot be trusted. Its dramatically varied landscapes are beautifully photographed, capturing the lure of the mountains and plains just as it conveys their dangers. This curious journey mirrors the emotional breakdown of the leading characters, to the point where the film becomes very strange indeed, with Anjelica Huston stalking the desert in a velvet gown offering Devilish bargains. At this point it doesn't really matter what's real and what isn't. Most of the conflict is being played out in the men's memories. Unfortunately, these flashback sequences are not strong enough to carry as much weight as they should, as a result of which the story loses some of its potency. It's a shame. Seraphim Falls is still worth watching, but it doesn't have the power which its brilliant opening sequence suggests.

Surf's Up

Reality television is everywhere these days. Even animated characters can't get away from it. Cody Maverick is a surly young penguin stuck in the dead end town of Shiverpool, Antarctica, where he dreams of being a surfing star like his long lost hero, Big Z. The film crew documenting his life get a lucky break when Cody has the opportunity to ride a whale to Hawaii, there to participate in the avian world's most important annual event.

Seduced by the happy go lucky atmosphere and the glamour of appearances on the Sports Penguin Entertainment Network (SPEN), Cody is having the time of his life - until a hopeless contest against reigning champion and inveterate bully Tank Evans makes him realise he was only ever there for people to laugh at. When he obtains the support of a mysterious stranger, it's time for Cody to learn what training really means, to come to terms with the loss of his father, and to figure out just what it is that he's doing it all for.

Surf's Up has a twee, overfamiliar story, but that's not a particular problem, as it's fresh enough to the children who are its primary audience, and it tells its tale fairly well. Man of the moment Shia LaBeouf gives Cody lots of character, making him into a complicated hero who isn't always easy to like but who is both believable and interesting to watch. He's well matched by Jeff Bridges' laconic clam-eating jungle bum. The animation which has gone into these characters is magnificent, giving them lots of subtle facial expressions and body language. Even the background characters, including those who don't get speaking roles, are all distinct individuals.

All this aside, what really impresses in this film is the animated water. Much of the time one really has the impression that one is watching cartoon characters immersed in real water. All the complex swirls and eddies created by waves and surfboards are perfectly calculated, so that nothing ever looks out of place. The shifts in light as one moves downwards through the water, the patterns of sunbeams across its surface, even the humidity in the air - everything looks real. Of course, the genius of this will probably be lost on young viewers, but for adults of a technical bent it's reason enough to watch the film in itself.

Although its hero is a little older than most of its audience will be, Surf's Up has several other characters to appeal to viewers of all ages. The perpetually stoned Chicken Joe who becomes Cody's loyal friend is particularly endearing, whilst Zooey Deschanel makes a bold effort with a underwritten role as Lani, the lifeguard who steals our hero's heart. The little red squid float she carries with her everywhere exemplifies the vein of more sophisticated, sometimes quite dark humour that runs throughout.

Occasionally we are reminded of the presence of the documentary crew when a new character asks who they are or their microphone inadvertently gets into shot. There are also plenty of jokes at the expense of sports television which underscore the film's central point: it's not the winning, it's the taking part that counts. Surf's Up won't win any prizes for best kids' film ever, but it's certainly one of this summer's best, and kids will find it lots of fun whether they're interested in surfing or not.

Bratz: The Movie

We've all seen films based on books. Pirates of the Caribbean introduced us to the concept of a film based on an amusement park ride. Now it's 2007: welcome to the concept of a film based on dolls.

If you're old enough to be as yet uninitiated, let me explain: Bratz, which arrived on the market in 2001, remain one of the must have toys for girls from four to fourteen, very nearly outselling Barbie. Noted for their oversized heads, they are presented as characters who are obsessed with shopping, and their promotion has, accordingly, been highly materialistic. They've already appeared as cartoons in a video, but this is their first adventure on the big screen and their first step into live action. Actresses Nathalia Ramos (as Yasmin), Janel Parrish (as Jade), Logan Browning (as Sasha) and Skyler Shaye (as Cloe) have a lot to live up to, as it's well known that there are no critics fiercer than disappointed children. To their credit they pull off the high energy, intensely emotional characters pretty well, but they're caught in a rather odd situation. This film sees the girls going through high school. Whilst the actresses are convincing as the original Bratz characters, those characters don't really make sense in this environment.

Perhaps the Bratz had to grow up sometime, but the fact is that they remain popular with very young children, and the decision to age them in this way is only going to add to the concerns of parents who fear that their heavily sexualised behaviour has a damaging influence on those children. Their message about the importance of confidence and self-assertion is undoubtedly a good one, but too much of that message seems to be rooted in looking good in a very sexualised way. The film features almost non-stop shopping sprees (something else which parents on limited budgets may be unhappy about their kids getting into) and there's a lot of emphasis on dressing up to get the attention of boys. It's a shame that this often dominates other, more positive messages about the importance of friendship and of believing in oneself.

Most of the Bratz are already the kind of unnaturally popular girls which most kids can only dream of being, so it falls to nervous Yasmin to support the emotional core of the film. She's the only major character who undergoes any sort of development, and most of this is handled rather flippantly, though young viewers will find her struggles easy to empathise with. More impressive is the handling of the minor characters, especially Dylan, Yasmin's shy jock admirer, whose deafness is intrinsic to his experiences yet is never allowed to dominate his part in the story. The presence of the various love interests is managed very well - they're important to the girls but are never essential to their sense of personal value, and, of course, they're never allowed to compete with that all-important central friendship.

As you might expect from a film of this type, the story is very slight and entirely predictable, but it's well played and ought to satisfy its target audience. Chelsea Staub is excellent as the scheming Meredith, the most popular girl in the school until the Bratz came along. The school itself also plays an important role, centered rather charmingly on the figurehead of Carry Nation (with a golden hatchet awarded in its annual talent show) and with notices scattered around the yard proclaiming 'order' and 'obey' in a clear tributs to They Live. Throughout the film there's a vein of humour like this which is clearly aimed at older viewers, perhaps as consolation to those parents forced to go along as supervisors.

Bratz is a surprisingly watchable movie. It could certainly have been a lot worse. A couple of awkward scenes featuring pre-pubescent kids dolled up like its central stars remind us how.

The Walker

"Just what exactly does he do? asks an arresting officer after Carter Page III is brought in for questioning over an acquaintance's death.

"He's a walker," explains his colleague. "He walks rich women from place to place."

Carter Page III is a man who seems to do little else beyond keeping company with rich women and various other glamorous, politically influential Washington friends. Early on in this film, you'd be forgiven for thinking that he is little else. Perhaps his own opinion is not so different. Everything about his life is stylised, ordered, elegantly superficial. His slow Virginia accent belies a quick intellect which, it gradually emerges, gives him the edge over just about everyone else around. This, together with the homosexuality which ensures he'll never seduce one of the women or have a hope of posing a political threat, is the reason why he's survived for so long. But when his acquaintnce Robbie is murdered - and when, on a whim, he decides to help his friend Lynn cover up the fact that she was having an affair with the dead man - Carter embarks on a journey which places his whole world in jeopardy.

The Walker is a mystery story, but ultimately the real mystery is not Robbie's death - it's Carter's life. His gradually developing awareness of this is beautifully played by Woody Harrelson, who is supported by an all star cast including the increasingly interesting Kristin Scott Thomas, the divine Lauren Bacall and the underrated Moritz Bleibtreu. As Carter's photographer boyfriend Emek, Bleibtreu provides raw, uncompromising emotional input in a story which might otherwise be just a bit toosubtle for its own good; at first it's hard to understand what he and Carter and doing together, but that's only because the more complex underlying elements of Carter's personality have yet to be revealed. Hints early on come from the fact that he never tells his own personal stories and never says more than he wants to about anything, for all that he talks all the time. If you're a conspirator looking for a scapegoat, he's not the man to choose.

Many people may take their first look at The Walker and recoil, expecting everything to be as sumptuous and empty as the set dressing. Don't let it fool you. This is a sharp political thriller which also has something pertinent to say about the nature of human experience. It's a real cinematic gem disguised as a rhinestone.

Shrek the Third

"Three times," as Oscar Wilde said, "begins to look like carelessness." Perhaps he didn't mean it quite that way, but it's not at all clear what the producers of this overblown nonsense intended. The original Shrek was an excellent movie, right up there with The Princess Bride as one of the medium's most successful, entertaining fairytales; but all it had to offer by way of a franchise was a group of characters who, whilst they remain likeable, only have so much left to say. It would be easy to like Shrek if we were watching him doing his shopping, but it would hardly be cinema. Whilst the flimsy plot we were offered in the first sequel just about sufficed, this one is really pushing it.

In this plot we return to the land of Far, Far Away to find the old king about to croak (and not in his familiar way) and Shrek threatened with the miserable prospect of becoming a monarch unless he can find the 'one true heir', a kid called Arthur whose relation to everyone else is shrouded in mystery and who lives pretty much as an orphan, an unhappy inmate of a distant high school. Just to complicate things, Princess Fiona has discovered she's pregnant, so our hero must deal with his angst about the prospect of becoming a father whilst reluctantly bonding with the kid, an emo Justin Timberlake so devoid of personality that it's not hard to see how he was initially misplaced. The trouble is that all this is really grown-up stuff, handled much better in serious grown-up films, and it doesn't play well to a young audience. Sure, there are still jokes about farting and belching and Shrek still ulls funny faces, but as far as young fans are concerned there's no real story. Cue the dastardly Prince Charming taking advantage of Shrek's absence to try and seize the throne which was meant to be his. This story could work - the trouble is that even the most naive viewer would find it hard not to feel a little sympathy for the ousted prince (and who's to say he'd make a bad king, anyway?), yet there's to be no justice for him, no relief, and not a bit of narrative sympathy. The result is that one feels as if one has been invited to join the popular kids in laughing mercilessly at the most pitiable boy in the playground. Sure, his desperate antics might be genuinely funny, but it's an uncomfortable position to say the least.

Shrek the Third does have its good moments. It's nice to see the Dragon back, and her half-donkey children are simply adorable. Antonio Banderas is delightful as ever as Puss in Boots, for all that he doesn't get enough to do. The high school politics and cliques at Arthur's school are amusingly presented and the fairytale princesses whom Fiona recruits to help her save the kingdom demonstrate that the writers have not entirely lost their touch. Perhaps there could be hope for a fourth installment, but only if they quit writing it by committee, drop their attempts to imitate Ingmar Bergman and get back to the sort of themes which their core audience really want. Otherwise it seems that Shrek is doomed to living tediously ever after.

Ne le Dis à Personne

A French adaptation of an American book, this subtle and warmhearted film unravels its mysteries with a grace which Hollywood could never have achieved. Its premise is simple: eight years afer his wife's murder, paediatrician Alexandre Beck receives a mysterious email message directing him to a website where he sees footage of her, looking older; the message also instructs him tp tell no-one. Meanwhile, two bodies are found near the location of her disappearance and the police begin to investigate. Increasingly becoming the target of suspicion, yet desperate to find out if the woman he loves is still alive, Beck must use all his resources to uncover the truth.

This is by no means a perfect film. It gives away some of its secrets too early, letting us off the hook when we might be kept more tightly in suspense. In places it is incoherent and it leaves a few awkward loose ends. But its central idea is strong, and it makes good use of it, largely thanks to a superb performance from FranÇois Cluzet as the tormented doctor. Kristin Scott Thomas is also excellent as the sister in law who comes to his aid, and the strong sense of family ties which the film develops gives it an emotive impact rare in this type of thriller as well as making more sense of its conclusion. Beck's love for his lost wife is expressed not through bold statements but through little glances and snapshots of the past. The relationship which these portray is a mature and complex one, so that we can understand the scale of his loss - not just the woman he loved, but the whole pattern of his life, the means by which he related to the world. Though he has got on with his life, he remains very vulnerable to anyone willing to exploit this.

Ne le Dis à Personne is a clever little film which manages to keep some of its secrets till the very end. It's also beautifully shot, enchantingly performed and a great pleasure to watch. A favourite at this year's festivals, it is undoubtedly deserving of a much wider audience.

Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End

Big, unwieldy, desperately incoherent, yet somehow managing to remain entertaining over the course of three hours, Pirates of the Caribbean 3 is made of much the same stuff as its predecessors. It's a good deal of fun and is disappointing only when one considers that, by this time, there's really no excuse for its creators' failure to come up with some more solid ideas. As it is, the plot sweeps us along through a variety of prettily realised locations with more emphasis on costume than story, producing revelations seemingly at random whenever it runs out of momentum. Most unfortunate among these is what it does with Naomie Harris' character, who was much more interesting before the hype - when I said last time that I'd like to see more of her, this wasn't quite what I had in mind.

The Pirates franchise's greatest asset is undoubtedly Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow, so it seems odd that, ffor most of this film, he gets very little to do. His daring Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich scenes (you'll understand when you see them) are most excellent fun, and make proper use of Depp's talents as an actor, whilst his work with Keith Richards (who was plastered at the time of filming) is pure pantomime but no less loveable for it, giving Disney what it deserves. Still, too much of the time he's edged into the background to make way for the drippy and increasingly improbable romance between Elizabeth and Will. Elizabeth has room for a fair bit of character development (not that Keira Knightley has sufficient character to pull it off), but Orlando Bloom's Will is so desperately personality-free that it's impossible to understand what she sees in him. Of course, all her ambitions are squandered at the end, though there's a neat little From Hell reference in the post-credits scene whioh suggests this might be looked at another way. Still, it's a waste of all our time when we could be watching more of the wonderful Geoffrey Rush and Chow Yun Fat instead.

Seen as a whole, the Pirates series was a great idea but terribly badly executed. This last episode has plenty of potential for adventure but could benefit from having about an hour's worth of footage cut out of it. Lose the drawn out incoherent fight scenes (there are quite a few snappier ones which are worth watching), lose the simpering emo gazes, cut down on the endless double crosses. Concentrate on the piratical banter, the meddling with monsters and the dashing derring-do. There's a great film in here; it just hasn't been edited yet.

Black Snake Moan

A peculiar little film which suffers from the delusion that it's something much bigger, Black Snake Moan is the story of an old bluesman determined to redeem the vulnerable and sexually aggressive young woman whom he finds dumped unconscious in the road. It features fine performances from a capable cast, but they struggle to raise it up from under the weight of sweltering Southern cliches, weak scripting and dubious psychology.

The film's main attraction is undoubtedly Christina Ricci. No doubt many viewers' main reason for going along will be the sight of her half naked and chained, and they won't be disappointed. This isn't entirely gratuitous, but it does become rather uncomfortable in the context of the film's self-consciousness about having something profound to say. On the one hand, Rae's feelings of lust are presented as unhealthy and a product of abuse; on the other, the audience is encouraged to lust over her. Furthermore, whilst the story depends on the development of a pseudo-familial relationship in which Jackson's bluesman is a father figure and she a child, it's frustrating that she is neither allowed nor expected to grow up - toward the end, where this might naturally happen, another character steps in to do it instead, and her redemption must come from finding new ways to surrender. Al this leaves rather an unpleasant taste in one's mouth, yet Ricci herself does her best with the role, and she's certainly charismatic, making up for lack of character development with sheer strength of personality. This, of course, is essential for her to hold her own opposite Jackson, and it's refreshing to see him stretch his acting muscles in a subtle role after so many years of playing the two dimensional cool guy. He too manages to bring depth to a clumsily written character, turning internal contradictions into features rather than bugs.

The forceful performances from the two leads make for absorbing viewing and manage to hold this film together mast of the time, yet they still can't quite make sense of the relationship which develops between them. Clearly the film started out with a strong idea, but two many scenes feel like hastily scripted filler and too many of the things the characters do don't seem to make sense for them, being there simply to drive the plot forward. As a result, the film drags in places and in others collapses into unintentional comedy. Brewer's patchy direction just doesn't have what it takes to maintain the level of erotic tension he seems to be aiming for. He's also let down by Justin Timberlake, who is so hopelessly bland as the supposed love of Rae's life that it's hard to see why she'd bother to talk to him, let alone feel the passion which we have to be told about. There are occasional scenes here which stand out and are surprisingly powerful, but for the most part it's a TV movie in old-style Hollywood drag.

Zodiac

This elegant film seems destined to be misunderstood. If you're a fan of tense crime thrillers full of scares and mystery, then it may not be for you - but it's certainly about you.

Though he can be many things to many people, David Fincher's real genius is in using his films to talk about the themes dear to his heart, whatever their ostensible subjects. On the surface, Zodiac is about the eponymous serial killer who terrorised a swathe of Californian society in the Summer of Love and for some years afterwards. In reality, it's a film about obsession and society's response to terrorism. Like Se7en, Fight Club and Panic Room, it focuses on the way that ordinary people react to unassailable causes of stress in a manner which can leave them looking just as unhinged as their inspiration. Like the ciphers which the publicity-conscious killer sends to the press, Zodiac is a puzzle in several parts the key to which is an understanding of character.

The film opens with a brutal attack on a young couple parked by a lake. Edgy music and camera angles which partially obscure the view build up a sense of tension which recurs at intervals as the story progresses, neatly balanced against the elation which various cops and journalists feel each time they think they've got a break - a pattern of heightened emotion which goes some way toward explaining their addiction. One after another, we see them slide into obsession, their personal lives falling apart as they grow determined to solve the mystery with which the killer has presented them. Why should this one case have had so much impact? As one of the cops points out, there were literally hundreds of other murders in the region whilst the Zodiac was at large. But then, any one of us is more likely to die in a road accident than in a terrorist incident, and we know which grab the headlines. Whatever his identity, Zodiac knew how to manipulate the media, creating a public sensation whose legacy still lingers today. In his numerous letters he noted, amongst other things, that he was waiting for a good film to be made about him. This one doesn't flatter him. Somehow, Fincher has managed to keep the perspective which others lost, though his portrait of the investigation is meticulously crafted, rich in detail.

Despite its disturbing subject matter, Zodiac is also an excellent piece of entertainment. It's full of humorous asides and movie in-jokes which the killer himself, with a fondness for film, might well gave appreciated. Clever camerawork borrows shots from the likes of Dirty Harry (which, we are reminded, was a hit at the time) and Peeping Tom. Fincher knows the format of this kind of thing well, and uses cliches to manipulate our expectations. Mark Ruffalo's quirky performance as Inspector Toschi makes delightful reference to Columbo, even down to the trenchcoat and the habit of stealing other people's food. Jake Gyllenhaal makes a charming Eagle Scout hero, also bringing a core of humanity to the story, worried as he (initially) is for the safety of his own kids. Robert Downey Jr. is perfectly cast as the fascinated crime writer slipping into alcoholism, whilst the redoubtable Brian Cox brings dangerous authority to the part of handwriting expert Melvin Belli. By contrast, the role of the Zodiac himself is studiously downplayed, split between at least three different actors, keeping him not only mysterious but also emotionally absent, a deliberate void at the centre of an investigation struggling under its own weight.

It's a long time since anyone has brought us a crime story quite like this, and it's wonderful to see Fincher back on form. This isn't your run of the mill CSI-style thriller and it won't offer you the same simple satisfaction, but it's a fine piece of drama with some smart things to say about the world we live in.

Jindabyne

Jindabyne - a sleepy little Australian town surrounded by mile upon mile of wild country. It's picturesque and spacious. Life is tough and the people have their share of problems, but a strong community spirit enables them to muddle through. Then, one afternoon, four men on a fishing trip find the body of a young Aboriginal woman floating in the river, and everything starts to fall apart.

At the heart of Jindabyne's moral complexity is the failure of the men who find the body to immediately report it to the police. Whether due to shock or cold-heartedness - it's never really clear which - they tether it in the water and continue with their eagerly anticipated fishing weekend, inventing a story about a sprained ankle to justify the delay. Nobody is fooled. Facing social ostracism, they try to deal with the shock of their discovery in isolation, which in turn has a dramatic effect on their personal relationships. Racial tensions develop where there had been seeming unity. Not having known the dead woman, the townspeople struggle to deal with their feelings of grief and their uncertainty as to the appropriateness of those feelings. And all along, though no-one dares to discuss it, there is a creeping terror which comes from the awareness of a murderer nearby.

A complex and potent drama, Jindabyne hinges on powerful performances from Gabriel Byrne and Laura Linney as the couple at the centre of events - though, of course, the real centre ought to be the dead woman and her family, another factor which complicates matters. Linney's stubborn but fragile Claire becomes obsessed with connection and the desire to reconcile her husband with the dead woman's family, who just want to be left alone to deal with their private grief. The awkwardness of her behaviour makes for difficult viewing, yet there is a depth and warmth to all these characters which manages to engage our sympathy. Whilst the fishermen gradually come to understand their responsibility to others, Claire must learn to focus on her own life. Meanwhile, her young son has a journey of his own to undertake, assisted by a withdrawn orphaned girl who has murderous intentions towards the school guinea pig.

Richly atmospheric and often deeply disturbing, Jindabyne is a superb example of well-crafted drama, cinema taking on real issues without ever losing its narrative edge. It illustrates the consequences of murder almost without addressing the subject directly, and its exploration of personhood offers a deeper understanding of that single violent act than any number of crime thrillers. Though there is a timeless quality about it, its examination of the human need for somebody to blame is sharply relevant today. Highly recommended.

Straightheads

The storyline in Straightheads is simple. A young couple driving home from a party are brutally assaulted. The woman is raped. Later, when it becomes clear that the police can do nothing, they become obsessed by the idea of revenge. Having identified their assailants, they make arrangements to spy on them and prepare for a violent showdown.

The storyline in Straightheads is one we've all encountered before. Half of those viewing the film will find the couple's obsession riveting. The other half will find it ludicrous. Which half you fall into really depends on your ability to relate to violent emotions of this type and to the cold single-mindedness which can overcome people who have been subject to trauma. Unfortunately, whilst it's realistic enough, demonstrating this kind of distance severely limits what an actor can do and makes it difficult for them to be engaging on other levels. This is particularly difficult for Gillian Anderson as corporate executive Alice, since she's been so thoroughly typecast by her television work that many viewers find it hard to take her seriously in other roles. A capable actress, she doesn't really get the chance to show it here, though she does what she can to give us an insight into a woman whose life we only glimpse through a very narrow portal of events. Opposite her, Danny Dyer is more flexible as the younger boyfriend at first bullied into going along with her obsession, only gradually discovering his own. What Alice can justify in herself she finds disturbing to watch in someone else, and it is the developing conflict between these two very different people which provides the real meat of the film.

By its nature, Straightheads is a very violent film, and some will find it more disturbing because the violence it portrays is so ordinary, so close to home. By way of this it illustrates the ease with which brutality can emerge from ordinary situations, seeking (if not quite successfully) to establish a general atmosphere of fear. It is at its strongest when focusing on the central couple. Minor characters are poorly drawn, especially the villains, two of whom come across as little more than cartoon thugs. The easily revealed ugliness of these men rather lets the couple (and the audience) off the hook on a moral level, and it's disappointing that no effort is made to develop further the ambiguities surrounding the effect of all this adult violence on the daughter of one of them. This girl is all we really see of the wider world and she's not a strong enough actress to carry such a burden.

Some have criticised Straightheads for its abrupt ending, but this seems to make sense enough - it stops when the driving force behind the narrative has run its course. What will happen next is anyone's guess, but it would seem to be something which the central couple haven't considered at all - any more than their original assailants wondered at the possible consequences of their behaviour. There's an honesty about this which suits the genre well. If revenge movies are you thing, you'll probably find that Straightheads works well - you'll certainly find it suitably unsettling.

The Reaping

In reviewing this movie, I find myself wondering where to begin. But then, so does it. There's a formula to follow, and we do get the obligatory scenes of a standard investigation, Hilary Swank the determined debunker of miracle claims, as prelude to the main story - but shock-wise, it's straight in there with the dark cellars, the gushing red stuff, the frightened locals and the sudden loud noises, so that there's no time for us to find our feet before it's trying to knock us off them. If you start with the volume this high it's really hard to raise it any further. What it offers is no real story, just a lot of noise - and that's how it goes on.

Katherine (Swank) and her colleague Ben (Idris Elba) are college professors invited to the small town of Haven when the river there apparently turns to blood (where this phenomenon begins and ends, what with rivers usually having a tendency to flow, is never investigated, but that's the least of the story's problems). Katherine is persuaded to tak on the job because of the supposed involvement of a twelve year old girl who reminds her of her murdered daughter. Creepy little girls being a staple of the genre, this one is presented no differently, but the real horror of implied child abuse and the sexualisation of characters like this rather dilutes the impact of the supposedly much nastiet Biblical plague style goings-on in the town. These, in their turn, raise disturbing moral questions which are glossed over in a manner insulting to the intelligence of the central characters. Apparently hideous diseases and people getting burned alive are just fine so long as they're brought about by the forces of good rather than evil. Sure, the film never pretends to take itself too seriously, but it's still an uneasy message.

As with its initial scenes, the film wastes no time in ladeling on the genre cliches. Much of this is highly entertaining. We see the old abandoned family crypt, just casually mentioned in passing; the electricity cuts out at a convenient moment; Swank's room just happens to contain a spooky old fireplace; etc., etc. When we are told that a farmer's cows are sick, one of them swans onto the screen and topples over just to make sure we get the point. But there's nothing biologically wrong with it, as examination of a single cell (labelled 'bovine cell', as if they were all the same) apparently proves. Lines like "The pH of the water is off the scale!" (referring to the river we've seen people splash about in to no ill effect) will have anyone with so much as a high school science education in stitches, and they're all delivered in a gloriously bold, urgent manner, reminiscent of 'fifties B-movie classics. At times the film tries to intercut dream scenes with reality as our heroine finds herself disorientated, but there are so many inconsistencies with costumes and props anyway that it's hard to tell which are intentional.

The peculiar thing about The Reaping is that, despite its manifold failures in other areas, it's absolutely beautiful to look at. Peter Levy's sumptuous cinematography exploits the visual potential of the genre in a manner rarely seen, with wonderful use of light giving what might have been overfamiliar scenes real impact. Striking colour contrasts provide truly exotic landscapes which make the premise of the story easier to accept. It's thoroughly absorbing to look at throughout, even when the story is at its silliest.

There is no original story content of any kind in this film. The script is awful, the acting pedestrian and the characters little more than sketches. That said, it's gorgeous to look at, and it gives 300 a run for its money as one of the funniest films this year. If all you want is an evening's light entertainment, you could do lot worse.

Reign Over Me

Don Cheadle as Alan, a quietly frustrated dentist approaching a mid-life crisis; Adam Sandler as Charlie, the college friend who has lost his mind after losing his family in the 9/11 attacks. A story about friendship and healing which carries us through a series of computer gaming sessions, visits to the psychiatrist and journeys around New York by scooter. It might not sound like a recipe for a thrilling movie, but Reign Over Me is something quite out of the ordinary. Building up slowly with a series of character-focused vignettes, it tells the sort of New York story for which we used to depend on Woody Allen, and it tells it with conviction.

The key to this is Adam Sandler's performance. With his fondness for wacky comedies, he has been consistently underrated as an actor, but here he turns in one of the most convincing portraits of a mentally ill person seen on our screens for years. With the same edginess he brought to Punch Drunk Love, he veers between eccentric-but-loveable and out-of-control, smashing things up and pinning his friend to walls. Sandler resists the temptation to overemote and instead delivers all this in a very straightforward, matter-of-fact way which is not only more realistic but makes it easier for us to understand his internal logic and sympathise with the terrible pressure Charlie faces. He is far more than just the wild card helping Alan to rediscover the joys of letting go, and he's more than just an object of pity. He has a narrative of his own, well balanced within the story, and we see the tremendous strength he has required just to survive. The story neither patronises nor sanctifies him, acknowledging the very real problems caused by his illness but presenting him as a character who is interesting in his own right.

Alongside this, Cheadle's performance is necessarily understated but nevertheless solid. Alan's journey might appear to follow the conventional route of a middle-aged man itching for freedom, but it's really much more about him learning to enjoy what he's already got. There are also surprisingly impressive turns from Liv Tyler as his psychiatrist friend and from Saffron Burrows as a destructively unhinged young woman who, rather than becoming a focus for anger as might be more usual in such a tale, is allowed to find her own form of redemption. The accomplished supporting cast are all on great form and the whole has a richness and believability which is missing from far too many dramas of this sort. It's also shot through with sly observational humour which makes it surprisingly good fun to watch, despite its often grim subject matter. Overall, it's gently positive and humane, intelligent and witty, and a great piece of film-making.

The Namesake

1974; a crowded train in India. Ashoke is on his way to visit his father. He is bothered for conversation by an older man who tries to persuade him of the importance of travel, of seing the world. Ashoke, wanting to get back to his Gogol, recounts his father's advice that books provide the opportunity to see the world without moving an inch. Then the train crashes, and Ashoke's world is changed in ways he never expected.

Three years later and Ashoke is living in New York City with his young wife. The doctors, confused by their cultural traditions, tell them they can't take their new son home from the hospital until he has a name, so they decide to call him Gogol for the meantime. Mira Nair's vibrant drama follows the family over the next twenty five years as Gogol grows up and comes to terms with the legacy attached to this name. It also explores themes of names and identity in general, and what that means for the adults coming to terms with life in a foreign country and the children coming to terms with the foreigness of their parents.

Like all Nair's work, The Namesake is beautifully shot against richly detailed backgrounds. The American landscapes are every bit as evocative as the Indian ones, but are initially approached in a distanced way which helps us to identify with the sense of alientation and loneliness experienced by Ashoke's wife Ashima. It's a refreshingly bold approach to a familiar culture clash, and though the latter part of the film focuses on the younger generation and their pursuit of American lifestyles which conflict with Bengali traditions, it neatly sidesteps most of the usual cliches, always putting characters first and letting issues take a back seat. This gives it a sense of realism and warmth too often lacking from similar dramas. There is real chemistry between the actors involved, creating a strong sense that this is a family whose members care about each other and whom it is therefore worthwhile for the audience to care about. Despite Ashima's depression and Ashoke's shyness, despite the bluntly portrayed youthful awkwardness experienced by Gogol, they are all likeable and engaging, drawing the viewer in through a series of tragedies intercut with gentle comedy, making an intensely positive statement about family and the possibilities inherent in merging traditional and modern life. This is a film which will have particular appeal to those from similar backgrounds but which has something to offer for everyone.

Sunshine

The sun is dying. We are not told why. If you worry about that sort of detail, don't go to see this film. A spacecraft carrying a nuclear bomb which might restart the failing star is launched, but disappears. Some years later, a crew of eight, Earth's last best hope, set the controls for the heart of the sun and follow in its wake - but will they succeed?

Sunshine ought to have been amazing. Sure, it's a silly idea, but it's an idea with a great deal of potential, not least visually. Sadly, Danny Boyle, good enough when he's doing his own thing, spends too much time here trying to be Stanley Kubrick, treating us to long drawn-out shots of rotating spacecraft which he just can't pull off with the same magnetic power - where we should be gazing in awe, we find ourselves tapping our feet and waiting for something to happen. There are plenty of shots of blazing balls of fire and Boyle has made some effort to experiment with different filming techniques to find innovative ways of impressing us with light, but this just doesn't have the impact it should - it's all been done better before and, stranely, more confidently. What should be a big, dramatic, punch-in-the-face piece of art comes across as awkward and self-conscious - until the story all goes jorrobly wrong, at which point Boyle is back on familiar teritory, but then, well, that has its own problems.

So, yes, the story. Eight astronauts and scientists stuck together for several years, millions of miles from home. Encountering their lost predecessor, of course, and then investigating, of course, because such are the demands of the narrative. The early part of this is handled really well. Though they don't all get very much room for development, most of the characters are well played, and Alex Garland's script is refreshing in that it doesn't require any of them to be stupid in order to generate narrative tension. The problem is that, once one has taken in the rest of the way the film is being set up, the pattern of the conflicts and of focus on different characters, it becomes all too clear what they're being set up for. Boyle was initially unsure about casting Cillian Murphy in this film because he thought he was "too good looking to be a scientist", but as it is he totally exploits those looks (Murphy's character seems to achieve more by making big eyes than by actually being useful; his big important job could be performed by a trained poodle) and pretty soon it's obvious that he's playing Final Girl. Yes, folks, forget about the promises of hard science fiction or character driven psychological drama - this is a horror movie. It's intelligent and genuinely nerve-wracking until about halfway through, then it suddenly comes over all Event Horizon and that's the end of that. Potentially interesting moral dilemmas are sidestepped in favour of a nasty man (we can tell he's nasty because he's physically deformed) hunting down our heroes on a flimsy pretext which most amateur slasher film makers would be embarrassed by. Capable actors are thereafter ignored in favour of Murphy (working hard, but without the script to support him) and a flightly teenager named Cassie (Rose Byrne) whose only apparent value to the mission is as its little fluffy windscreen mascot. Cue experimental visuals which create as much unwieldy confusion as genuine atmosphere, and add an ending which makes no logical sense at all. An attempt is made to excuse the latter by claiming that time and space distort as one approaches the sun (Garland has apparently confused it with a black hole and has left out the inconvenient addendum that people distort too, that close, rather like jelly), but it's plot holes, not black holes, which suck this film down until it ultimately collapses under its own weight.

All these things said, Sunshine is still worth a look. Why? Because, simply put, attempts to film science fiction on this scale are few and far between and Boyle almost makes it work in so many ways that it's still fascinating to watch. He's bitten off more than he can chew, but at least he dared to bite, and the result is a film which will make you feel as if you've really experienced something out of the ordinary. One can only hope that he'll learn from his mistakes and that next time he'll take us all the way there.

Fur - An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus

Born in 1923, Diane Arbus came to photography late in life. She started out as her husband's assistant, learning the craft from him but never employing it until the two of them began to drift apart, after which she would become one of America's most famous photographic artists, particularly noted for her pictures of marginalised individuals - self-styled freaks. This film depicts her at that critical stage in her life. Highly fictitious, containing several characters who never actually existed, it makes no secret of its approach, aiming to use its invented storylines to investigate something of the inner journey which Arbus experienced at that time.

In the central role of the repressed housewife frightened by her own uncertain differentness, Nicole Kidman turns in another sterling performance, conveying as much by the way she walks as by the lines she speaks, artfully putting across both Arbus' fragility and her strength. She is more than matched by Robert Downey Jr., who reminds us just what he is capable of as her mysterious new neighbour Lionel. Lionel has hypertrichosis, a genetic condition which means that he is covered all over in hair, so Downey Jr., often seen in close-up, must act mostly with his eyes, yet he presents us with a complex character who is much more than the combined consequences of his estrangement from mainstream society. Arbus find this estrangement fascinating and soon allows herself to be drawn into a world populated by outsiders, no longer feeling like a freak herself. The film centres on her personal experience of change, which is necessarily self-centered despite her apparent focus on others. This is effectively underscored with references to Alice in Wonderland, more subtly handled and altogether more appropriate than is usually the case in film. She is cruel like Alice, and the film is not unsympathetic to the family enduring a gradual process of abandonment as she discovers herself. Only Lionel is really a match for her, and that's because he has a much more dramatic secret of his own, something which will have an unexpected impact on Arbus' relation to the world.

As a piece of art in itself, Fur is appropriately restrained - like Arbus, it's more interested in looking at character than superficial appearances. Nevertheless, it has an intensity which some viewers will find too much, especially during its erotic scenes (even though they are not really explicit). Others will find it funny, which the script allows plenty of room for. Lionel is aware of his own sometime pompousness and his humour provides an effective counterpoint to Arbus' enervating self-consciousness. The exotic people whom Arbus comes to meet all have their own contributions to make in this regard, though they are effectively presented as more than mere titillation. The settings in which they interact are fabulously designed, adding a great deal to the overall richness of the film, and the whole thing is shot in an abrupt yet intimate manner as if we were ourselves intruders in the building where Diane's discoveries begin.

Although it won't appeal to everyone, Fur is an intriguing and genuinely inventive piece of cinema of the sort which doesn't come along very often. It's a must for Kidman fans and will appeal to all those with a tendency to focus on the oddities which the rest of the world overlooks.

300

A few months ago, UK supermarkets started stocking a new form of Emmenthal which didn't have any holes in. I guess customers were supposed to think they were getting more for their money, but any cheese lover will tell you that the holes add to the flavour. Some things just don't work when they're flawless and neat. 300 is another of those things. It's not at all clear that Zack Snyder understood this, and Frank Miller certainly didn't, but it works all the same - a great big slice of cheese, full of holes and extremely appetising.

To say that 300 is a bad film would be to miss the point. It's a surprisingly faithful adaptation of a bad comic; but, like the comic, it's beautiful to look at and remarkably good at holding the attention. For what is essentially a string of fight scenes linked together by ridiculous narration and stretched over two hours, it does amazingly well, scarcely ever seeming to drag - which is, in the end, most of what one wants from an action movie. Historical accuracy is thrown to the wolves, but that was only to be expected. And it's not a war movie, no matter what its creators may claim. Manly they my be, but its clumsy Spartans would get ripped to pieces in a real fight. They don't carry supplies (except for one mysterious apple); they don't rest or refresh their front line; they break formation, undermining the whole point of a phalanx (which, amusingly, they pronounce like 'failings'); they don't use their shields properly, and they could take a lesson from The Incredibles about cloaks. Fortunately for them, they're up against Persian infantry with a habit of rushing forward and then aiting politely for the guys in front of them to get killed before stepping into the fray, waving their swords arbitrarily off to one side. There are some beautifully choreographed set pieces within the fight scenes but the overall effect is morer humorous than horrifying. That said, there's plenty of blood and gore for those who like that sort of thing, even if neat decapitations suggest that some of the soldiers must have been suffering badly from anaemia to begin with.

If one doesn't like that sort of thing, one must accept that one is simply not man enough for this movie - because this is a man's movie, for men, so come on then if you think you're hard enough. Haw Xerxes - yer Maw! Team Sparta, fuck yeah! The narrator reminds us how hard the Spartans are every five minutes. It's a tragedy that this film has been given a 15 certificate because it's really ideal for twelve year old boys experiencing that first rush of testosterone and anxious to prove themseles to all and sundry by way of lots of shouting and running about. As it's Miller's work, it also manages to include lascivious whores, and its remaining female characters are all scantily clad and desperately vulnerable to male predation. This serves to remind us that these fictionalised Spartans are of course entirely heterosexual - not like those Athenian boy lovers - just in case we might get the wrong idea about a film which features lots of muscular men wandering around semi-naked (one can only imagine where they kept that apple) and discussing how manly they are. The Persians, meanwhile, are presented as decadent and depraved, but they get all the best clothes.

300's politics are on a level with the rest. Never mind that the average citizen - or, indeed, slave - was much better off living under the Persians than the Spartans; we know whose side we're on, and that's okay; it's just a pity that the scriptwriters didn't have the balls to stick to it as Miller did. Instead of fighting because it's the law, these men fight for truth, justice, and freedom, whatever those might have meant to a Spartan, even going so far as to use the phrase 'freedom isn't free'. But then, none of them are very bright. Back in King Leonidas' palace, we watch a stupid councillor set up a stupid queen who then attempts to win back our respect with a speech which George Lucas might have written on a bad day. Cornfields ripple in the background in search of Russell Crowe. It's not a very sophisticated cheese, but it's a strong one.

So, in the end, why consume it? Because it's amazing fun, that's why. Never mind the crappy CGI animals and pointless cave troll end of level boss. Never mind Emperor Palpatine and his clones in their fully operational battle temple. Set aside the embarrassing moment when the captain becomes a New Man. This is, from start to finish, a damn fine mindless action romp. Visually stunning, scored with hilariously OTT stomping music, gritty and macho and passionate throughout, it's quite disarmingly dumb, quite charmingly earnest. As a memorial to the men who really died defending that pass all those years ago, it's a bit like erecting neon signs, a bar and a casino, but who knows, the original Spartans might have appreciated that. If they were men enough.

I Want Candy

Film students Joe and Baggy have been working for three years on their first feature, The Love Storm. When their tutor (played with deliberate awkwardness by Mackenzie Crook and a dead ringer for one of The Modern Parents from Viz) tells them that their diplomas will instead depend on a two minute short, they're heartbroken. Best friend Lila encourages them to go it alone. "London's a twenty minute drive away and it's crammed full of film companies desperate for ideas," she says. They must be desperate indeed, or nobody would have touched I Want Candy even with somebody else's barge pole.

What follows is a mishmash of all the usual poor wannabe film-maker clichés: encounters with ruthless money men, alterations to the story, the addition of more sex, producers lying to the cast, making do with people's homes for locations and somehow finding time for improbable romance. We are advised that pornography is different from other films because it sticks to a rigid formula, yet one could set one's watch by the plot 'twists' in this film, and it doesn't take cum in the face to leave those involved looking embarrassed at the end. The only cast member who acquits herself with any dignity is Carmen Electra (as much sought-after porn star Candy Fiveways) and that's because she clearly never deigns to take it seriously, having been in worse. To say that it's not supposed to be taken seriously is to miss the point. Comedy can be charming when we're laughing with the characters; it can also, like it or not, be quite satisfying when we're laughing at the characters; but when we're laughing at ourselves for having been foolish enough to attend in the first place, that's not good.

The basic idea of building a wannabe film-maker story around the adult entertainment industry is not a bad one. The writers have done at least a little bit of research and it's nice to see those involved in the industry treated with respect. Hints at a backstory involving a dispute between Candy and sleazy executive producer Doug suggest that there's a grown-up story there waiting to be told, but that only makes it more frustrating that we have to sit through this drivel. Even those who go to see it hoping for a bit of nudity will be disappointed. In the end it doesn't matter how big the producer's ideas are because the film just won't stand up.

Inland Empire

Look at this film and tell me if you've known it before.

Digital video has revolutionised the work of David Lynch. No longer limited to producing one film every four or five years, he's now putting soething out on YouTube every other week. When he makes movies, he can do as many takes as he likes, costs being dramatically reduced, and this has only encouraged his habit of writing the actual scripts immediately before or even during filming, continually changing his mind, playing around with themes and adding multitudinous in-jokes. Inland Empire