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Reviews
Sling Blade (1996)
Stunning work from Billy Bob Thornton and his cast...
Billy Bob Thornton's Sling Blade, adapted from George Hickenlooper's short film Some Folks Call it a Sling Blade (which also starred Thornton), earned a "Best Adapted Screenplay" Oscar win, as well as a "Best Actor" nomination for Thornton, who pulls triple duty in writing, directing and starring in this bitingly effective document of a fish truly, tragically out of water.
Thornton plays Karl, a mentally handicapped man who has spent the last twenty five years of his life in a mental hospital for killing his mother and her lover when he was a child. We meet up with him as he is released from the facility, returning home, where he attempts to, with nowhere to live, no familial contacts, and little cash, reintegrate himself into society. Thus, these initial moments of Karl's freedom in of themselves are a depressing, saddening social commentary on how we treat those we release from incarceration.
Nevertheless, the tone of the picture frequently meanders into acceptably sweet territory Karl finds work with people who take care of him and understand his needs, and more importantly, is befriended by a fatherless child and his mother, who invite him to live with them. It must be said that the manner in which Karl is invited to live with this duo is a tad too neat and dry-cut, but the mother character does at least come across as generally very charitable, understanding, and pleasant.
Karl's interactions with the boy, Frank (played by Lucas Black, who is quite the impressive actor himself), allow for a refreshingly honest discourse, not only between Karl and the boy, but as a viewer observing the film, it is verbal catharsis on screen. The two individuals, in their naivety, hold little back from one another, each revealing a number of home truths to the other, and it is nothing less than thrilling to watch.
Much of Sling Blade's success can be drawn from its memorable performances from a myriad of understated, under-appreciated talents, from the late actors John Ritter (as a homosexual friend of the boy and his mother) and J.T. Walsh (one of Karl's comically disturbing co-detainees), to the stunning Dwight Yoakam as the abusive boyfriend of Frank's mother. In respect to Ritter, his turn is all the more welcome as it is largely a non-comedic role, although his scene with Karl in a diner is inherently funny thanks to their conflicting, entirely opposed trains of thought.
Whilst Thornton quite rightly received much critical acclaim for his portrayal of Karl, perhaps the dark horse of Sling Blade is Dwight Yoakam's turn as Doyle, the bigoted Southerner who lives with Frank and his mother. In one instance, where he causes a party to turn foul, I felt genuinely angry at his character Yoakam manages to play a thoroughly dislikeable individual with such vigour that one may almost turn to despise Yoakam himself. As Frank, in responding to Doyle's angry tirade, begins throwing items at Doyle in rage, I was in awe of the array of astounding acting talent on screen before me in Sling Blade, and by all probability, you will be also. The gravity of the hopelessness of these individuals is amplified by Thornton's frequent use of single take scenes throughout the film, almost lending a play-like format to the project.
Sling Blade is a film of little ambiguity Thornton draws dark, thick lines around his characters, and it is clear that, as the film progresses, Karl is more and more becoming a substitute for Frank's deceased father, although one could guess this simply from reading a synopsis of the film. It is not so much that Thornton is matter-of-fact about such plot arcs, but that he is not concerned with surprising his audience, and rightly so Sling Blade is a simple story of a simple man. If one can draw any deeper symbolism or subtext from the film, perhaps it is that in the south of America, even Karl, in his dim-wittedness, can form tolerant, educated assertions (about homosexuals, for example), yet the "rednecks" such as Doyle cannot.
Sling Blade does ultimately take the expected turn, one which can be guessed a good ninety minutes prior to its actual occurrence. However, this is not important what is important, and more to the point, what is interesting about what occurs in the final ten minutes of the film, is the morality of the situation. It may divide audiences in some respects, yet what is clear is that what it says about society and human beings in general is very disturbing. The film's close, whilst mired in tragedy, is uplifting in its own stomach churning way, and makes an important commentary on the post-incarceration process of not only mental hospitals, but prisons also.
The Director's Cut of Sling Blade, even at a weighty 148 minutes, and despite its slow pace, is gripping film-making. Thornton's tragic tale is an outstanding mixture of memorable performances, a sharp script, and arresting direction, and rather than swerving at the final traffic straight, he takes us on a largely smooth, occasionally bumpy ride that makes note of several of the many things wrong with society. With Thornton writing, directing and starring in this film, each with their own flare and ingenuity, the term "tour de force" is rarely more apt. Sling Blade, whilst perhaps too sedate for some, is a gallant effort that achieves in every manner that a film of this ilk should.
He Was a Quiet Man (2007)
Witty, quirky, dark comedy undone slightly by its visuals...
Frank A. Cappello, writer and director of He Was a Quiet Man, is a man with something to prove, having written the hilariously bad Hulk Hogan vehicle Suburban Commando, and directing the wholly disappointing Constantine. He Was a Quiet Man, whilst not an unqualified success, is one of the underseen gems of 2007.
The film is essentially an amalgam of A History of Violence, Falling Down, and Office Space, with a pile of quirks to boot. Bob Maconel (the hilariously disguised Christian Slater), a despondent office worker, decides that he is going to perform a murderous rampage at his work office, yet before he can do so, a fellow maniac beats him to it. However, Bob, in protecting the one person that he cares about, the beautiful Vanessa (Elisha Cuthbert), guns down the assailant, and inadvertently becomes a hero.
Bob is unashamedly similar to Michael Douglas' "D-Fens" character from Falling Down, kitted out in a shirt and tie, and even further, seeks moments of reflection in the great outdoors, although in this instance, there are no Mexican gangsters attempting to rob him. The similarities do, thankfully, stop there this film is born of something else, with its CGI traffic whizzing by at astronomical speeds as Bob dawdles along, illustrating the drudgery of Bob's life without an ounce of subtlety. Whilst the film as a whole is overly reliant on visual curiosities such as this, the animated, talking fish which eggs Bob on to kill his colleagues is delightfully colourful, and mildly amusing to boot.
As one can gather from the above paragraph, He Was a Quiet Man is very surreal in a hilarious sort of way. Essentially, if you gave David Lynch a funny bone, you'd probably end up with something remarkably similar to this. Despite the aforementioned reliance on visual effects, the film is unquestionably carried by the barely-recognisable Slater who, despite his recent collaboration with tragically awful director Uwe Boll, proves that he is still worth something in Hollywood, with comic timing that is nothing short of spot on.
Bob is essentially revered by everyone around him for his "heroic" actions he is given a new job, his colleagues no longer think of him as a schmuck, and the sexy office bitch wants to have sex with him, yet the film's real point of contention is Cuthbert's character. Vanessa is left paralysed following the shooting, wishing that she was dead, and moreover, she wishes that Bob, who saved her life, would kill her.
A surprisingly understated (until the climatic scenes) conundrum surfaces as an aside to this drama Bob still finds those around him utterly repugnant, and he considers whether or not to carry out what the other gunner started, as well as putting Vanessa out of her misery, of course. The film carries these questions very well it is at times predictable, and occasionally not so, yet it never ceases to lose its sense of intrigue. The film's examination of the way in which humans operate is not intricate, and verges on syrupy at times, yet what is most entertaining about He Was a Quiet Man is its surreal spirit. Furthermore, even in its sweetness, the film explores the lives of disabled persons with a surprising level of insight and honesty . It may be exaggerated, and at times, even humorous, yet its approach is undeniably refreshing, particularly in relation to how the disabled manage to still engage in an active and healthy sex life.
He Was a Quiet Man never remains comfortable, constantly fidgeting and posing new questions for both ourselves and Bob to consider. The film follows through with an insane close, yet it is the most manically reasoned, and therefore, perhaps the most realistic end possible (although term "realism" is a very tenuous one in a film as twisted as this). The ending comes very abruptly, and little is done to satisfy viewer curiosity, yet we are given the vital answers, even if they aren't wholly satisfying, and are a tad questionable. We are left to ponder several things, yet when the preceding ninety minutes are so intentionally devoid of poignance, the film may simply leave your mind as the final frame does.
Christian Slater's latest and greatest effort (at least for a while) is A History of Violence without the graphic violence, Falling Down without the social commentary, and Office Space without the sagacious humour. Yes, it is a blend of all three films, at the cost of diluting each of them. The film's worst crime may be never allowing us to particularly care for Bob (or anyone) as much as we did for D-Fens in Schumacher's film, yet even despite its relative superficiality, He Was a Quiet Man remains a thoroughly entertaining, inventive and quirky film that will have nihilists the world over utterly dumbfounded (myself included). Elisha Cuthbert pulls out a career best (in that she is above tolerable, and even "good"), William H Macy plays the corporate yes-man with glee, and Slater, with great aid from his fabulous make-up department, looks and acts with great hilarity. It is unfortunate that this film, embracing its flaws as it so flagrantly does, has yet to find a large audience, and as such, it instantly becomes one of the indie staples of 2007.
The Bucket List (2007)
A conventional, but heart-warming comedy...
Shaun Munro's Film Reviews (www.shaunmunro.co.uk):
The Bucket List is a quick grab Morgan Freeman, the master of voice-over that he is, soothes us into what is one of the more offbeat, yet curiously enjoyable titles of 2007. The concept alone, of two old coots running around, causing mayhem on their last legs, portrayed by Oscar-winners no less, is a promising one.
Fortunately, Rob Reiner's return to the camera wastes little time in building up its characters it, for fear of sounding cruel, gets them terminal rather quickly, and introduces them to one another so we can zip to the rather zany concept as soon as possible. The lines drawn are ones of stark contrast Edward Cole (Jack Nicholson) is a high-flying, brazen man, whose values differ distinctly from those of the noble, wise family man that is Carter Chambers (Morgan Freeman). People will naturally draw upon the racial aspect of the situation, yet such posturing is very much beside the point here. Both men are diagnosed with terminal illnesses, and share the same hospital room, in which they compose a "bucket list" a list of acts to carry out before they "kick the bucket", and so the adventure begins.
The bonding between the two characters leading up to the creation of the list manages to avoid seeming forced their discourse isn't overly memorable or interesting, but it is certainly effective enough to engage. The film takes its time to get to its core concept, yet once we get there, observing Cole adding his wild ideas to the list (such as skydiving) is a delight to watch. It is, however, a shame that Nicholson and Freeman barely had to get out of bed (literally) for their roles, in that each instance of diving out of planes and racing stunt cars is inexorably smothered in an unhealthy, horrendous-looking measure of CGI. As Cole and Carter race in their stunt cars, Cole utters, "Are you trying to kill us?", to which Carter retorts, "So what if I do?". Thus reflects the mild gallows humour that pervades throughout the film Carter's reply in this instance is slightly disturbing, but the scene, with its pop-rock soundtrack and Dukes of Hazzard-esquire stunt racing, is quite the barrel of fun. It is simply a shame that the scene didn't last longer, and wasn't so diluted by visual effects.
This is, however, not simply a film chronicling the hedonistic delights of two dying old men. As hilarious as some may find that concept within itself to be, a source of conflict is nonetheless introduced Carter's family wish for him to return home, feeling that Cole is taking him away before it is his time to go. However, Carter remains steadfast, and his revealed ambivalence towards his wife adds considerable depth to the conundrum. Underneath the jovial undertaking of two men's transition into death is a mildly layered approach, which, albeit dealt with in piecemeal fashion, at least hints at the strain and anguish endured by the families of these men. To entirely tar the film with a comical brush would be a misstep, one which Reiner narrowly avoids.
Whilst the film is very evidently slanted in favour of the sage, wise Carter, it is slightly more complex than a cut and dry, black and white (literally) duality. Rather, Cole recognises Carter's ideals and philosophies, yet rebukes them with his own stubborn ones. As the picture progresses, an air of mutual understanding is felt between the two, and whilst they both learn a lesson or two, they also both retain their core values, to the (not so) bitter end. As such, there are no convoluted character reversals, and the picture manages to avoid becoming bogged down in contrivances.
Near its close, The Bucket List quite predictably fractures the friendship between these two men, and draws the stark social contrasts that I was hoping that it would not. Nonetheless, by the time the conclusion rears its head, Reiner does not back out on his promise, and whilst the film does bathe in a wealth of sentimentality as the end draws near, it is affecting, and works within the context of the film. It is, however, simply a shame that only in the film's final moments is Nicholson able to truly exhibit his acting credentials, and Freeman is barely able to kick into gear at all.
The Bucket List is a wild film, and whilst its message of "live life to the fullest" is neither new nor refreshingly told, Freeman and Nicholson carry a fairly tenuous concept with their spirited portrayals of two lovable oafs. The fact that Reiner never provides them with material worthy of their acting calibre is a huge waste, yet at this stage, as Nicholson and Freeman themselves endure "accelerated development", the material is relevant, and it is clear that the principal actors, despite coasting through the largely rudimentary script, had a lot of fun with it. With most other actors, this film would likely not have worked, even with the emotional chord it strikes, yet when such an absurd concept for a film is handed over to two of the most critically acclaimed actors alive today, one can at least expect a decent payoff. The Bucket List is certainly not Rob Reiner's best work, but it is far from his worst, and as a feel-good holiday film (even with its dreary undertones), it succeeds.
I Am Legend (2007)
Smith dazzles in an above-average sci-fi romp...
Shaun Munro's Film Reviews (www.shaunmunro.co.uk):
Francis Lawrence's I Am Legend is the latest adaptation of Richard Matheson's 1954 novel (which has already been put onto film twice), starring Will Smith as Dr. Robert Neville, who may well be the last man on Earth. Neville is charged with reversing the effects of a botched cancer cure that killed 90% of the world's population, leaving 1% immune, and turning the other 9% into "dark seekers" mutated beasts that wish to feed on any living humans they can find.
Following a welcome cameo from the wonderful Emma Thompson (as the doctor who started the whole mess), we press on to three years later, where the entire world is seemingly desolate, ravaged by the effects of the "Krippin virus". Is such a post-apocalyptic setting conventional, with its overturned cars, and its litter-filled streets? Absolutely, but the buck stops there, as the film's introduction is anything but rudimentary I Am Legend is not a film filled with dialogue, and the opening fifteen minutes is curiously, adventurously devoid of speech almost entirely. Given how Smith's character is alone in New York City, with nothing but his dog for company, it is commendable that screenwriters Mark Protosevich and Akiva Goldsman chose not to have Smith regurgitate an inner monologue, which would only serve to insult seasoned cinema-goers. Instead, Neville simply has occasional, ever-believable banter with his dog, which serves not to progress the plot, but to telegraph Neville as the sympathetic character that he is.
The seeming emptiness of the opening scenes reflects the drudgery and loneliness of Neville's own existence each night he is forced to lock himself away in his home, sleeping in the bathtub with his rifle at his side. All Neville has left is his dog, and at one point early on, he enters into a dark, potentially dangerous building in order to search for her after she runs away. In similar fare (such as Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake), risking one's life to such lengths to rescue a pet seems ridiculous and non-sensical, yet in this paradigm, whereby Neville's mental state cannot be ascertained, and he has no other living contacts, diving into the abyss for a hound doesn't seem so insane.
In a brief series of flashbacks, we learn of Neville's loneliness and personal torture to an even greater extent. Neville has endured unspeakable family atrocities, and such interludes aid in envisioning him as a truly, uncomprisingly sympathetic character. Neville is a tortured soul of the greatest variety, and combined with Smith's moving performance, we are presented with an affecting, highly driven character that the audience can support for reasons other than the usual star power and recognisable face.
Robert Neville is, in many aspects, an unconventional action hero. Neville is a uniformly Hollywood-esquire scientist, in that he is muscular, yet when faced with volatile situations, he breathes heavily, and he shakes he is scared, and more often than not, he will flee in the face of danger rather than stand his ground in rather gung-ho fashion and unleash his rather hefty rifle. Only when faced with even more personal tragedy does Neville turn into rent-a-kill, and even then, it is understandable considering the gravity and emotional impact of his loss, and moreover, his true motives (such as his care for his own wellbeing) are unclear.
To this effect, there are a surprising amount of genuinely affecting, heartfelt moments in I Am Legend. Following a savage, brutal attack, in which Neville is faced with a heartbreaking choice (with an unexpectedly disturbing payoff), Neville is left empty and shell-like he sustains emotional bankruptcy beyond measures he believed possible, and it appears to be this tragedy which drives the climax, rather than the other, ham-fisted way around, to the film's further credit. The sadness of the situation is furthered by Smith's entirely convincing turn, particularly in a rental store scene, where he, in his jaded loneliness, begs the various mannequins scattered around the store - "Please say hello to me!". In the hands of a lesser actor, such a scene would have fallen flat and appeared preposterous and histrionic, yet Smith, the ever-underrated actor that he is, digs down deep and packs his performance with the appropriate emotional wallop that it dictates. Smith claims that preparing for I Am Legend was his most challenging turn since Ali, and given the surprising emotional depth of his character, one need not wonder why.
The film's third act is a tonal departure from the preceding hour Neville's environment is altered drastically, and in doing so, brings with it a wealth of clichés, metamorphosing a minimalist, restrained survival film into an overblown, rudimentary horror endeavour. The scenes in which Neville makes his most important discoveries are also the most conventional, dabbling in a dash of deus ex machina, and transforming plot-driven action into action-driven plot. The final moments, whilst wonderfully lit and a tad inspiring, are typical of such films, and whilst Neville's actions in the film's final moments are unassailably heroic, it failed to convince logically. I Am Legend's final act of violence works more as a reason to cause a lot of explosions rather than to paint a universal picture of heroism, yet when one considers Neville as a character, and what he has been through, it is a considerably more acceptable, yet nevertheless frustrating creative decision.
I Am Legend is a rarity it is a mainstream Hollywood action thriller that packs an authentic emotional punch, and allows Smith, holding the picture solely on his broad shoulders, to demonstrate his acting credentials with flare and zest. The film suffers from some incredibly hokey visual effects, and the film's third act seems to undermine the inventive preceding hour, yet as far as high-concept action fare goes, I Am Legend is a cut above the average.
Gone Baby Gone (2007)
A surprisingly engrossing directorial debut for Affleck...
Shaun Munro's Film Reviews (www.shaunmunro.co.uk):
English readers may recognise Gone Baby Gone only through the controversy surrounding its release in the United Kingdom, whereby, due to the recent disappearance of four year old Madeleine McCann, the film's release has been delayed until April of next year. Life's ability to imitate art aside, Gone Baby Gone, based on Dennis Lehane's novel of the same name, is a gritty, competently acted, and surprisingly well-directed effort from Ben Affleck. Not only does the film present an intriguing, winding plot, but it also asks the viewer several questions, and the moral dilemma of the film's climax is a painful, disturbing one which will keep audiences arguing for years to come.
Affleck serves well to throw the viewer headlong into the kidnapping story from the outset, introducing us to private investigator Patrick Kenzie (Casey Affleck), who is hired by the aunt of the missing young girl. Kenzie's girlfriend, Angie (Michelle Monaghan), is also his investigative partner, and works as a means of opposition to his steely determination to discover the whereabouts of young Amanda. Angie claims that she doesn't wish to find the remains of a child, whether they be dead or alive, if the results may be overly harrowing (such as the child having been heavily abused) such a view is an interesting one that less daring films would ostensibly choose to omit. However, it must be said that Monaghan's character is the film's weak link, and appears to largely be superfluous she does little to drive the narrative, and other than one particularly daring moment, she seems to work as a device for Kenzie to bounce dialogue off of, a sidekick of sorts.
Above most all else, Gone Baby Gone is a film comprised of magnificent acting talent, and truer in no great instances than those of Morgan Freeman and Ed Harris. Freeman portrays Captain Jack Doyle, an officer with a chip on his shoulder, and his involvement in the plot's resolution is greater than most would expect at the outset. Freeman assumes one of the more intriguing characters in the film, although no-one is as thoroughly interesting as the super-charged Detective Remy Bressant (Ed Harris). With his facial hair, Harris' look is a departure from the ordinary, yet it provides Harris with the "badass" look that the part so very much requires. Much like Doyle, he is wary of the baby-faced Affleck, yet in contrast, he is far more acerbic, and far less calm.
The novel aspect of the film lies within the fact that Kenzie, as not only a PI, but as someone who grew up in the underbelly of Boston, is privy to information, and to contacts that the police are not he is able to penetrate the hidey-holes of Boston, something which "stuffed shirts" cannot. In many investigative dramas, such attributes would appear clichéd or tired, yet due to Kenzie not being a cop, this concept remains fresh and not insulting to the viewer.
The manner in which the facts of the case unravel occurs surprisingly quickly various discoveries and interrogations lead to a very promising prospect less than half-way through the film, yet the tension and mystery are nevertheless relentless in their intensity. As Kenzie and the police are faced with more and more convincing leads, and as each one is debunked, it only seeks to both fluster and intrigue the characters, as well as the viewer even more.
By the half-way mark, things are looking very bleak indeed for young Amanda, and it is impressive that the film burns so quickly, given the tendency for procedural criminal investigation pictures to keep the viewer in the dark until the film's final moments. Affleck's various monologues bridge the gap between the segmented narrative, which dilutes the passage of time more than you may expect, and more unexpected (yet very welcome) narrative intrusions allay any restlessness the audience may otherwise feel, in keeping them fed with information, whilst still managing to maintain a level of genuine intrigue.
Whilst Gone Baby Gone's main attraction is the painful moral crux that plagues Kenzie in the film's latter moments, it is not just a film of morality, but of religion, and conflicting ideologies in general. In one show-stealing scene between Harris and Affleck, these beliefs clash Bressant's ideals may not be orthodox, yet he is driven, clear in his ideas, and he garners results. Kenzie, however, is ambivalent in regard to the lengths people should go to in order to protect children, and this ill will is worsened by his Christian upbringing. It makes for fascinating wordplay, particularly in regard to Harris' Oscar-worthy "You've gotta take a side" speech.
The picture's end serves up genuine surprises, and whilst it essentially becomes cat and mouse fare, it is very engaging, masterfully constructed cat and mouse fare. The "big twist" isn't initially convincing, although the explanation and accompanying moral dilemma are utterly compelling. With everyone, including his girlfriend, against him, and warning him of the potential dangers of his actions, Kenzie must make a decision. He stands to lose a lot, and to damage many people (including himself) with what is the "right" choice (at least legally). The turn is one of genuine surprise, and by the film's end, it elicits a disturbing, yet incredibly vital social commentary on how we raise our children.
Ben Affleck has turned many heads with his directorial debut it is doubtful that many expected his first venture behind the camera to succeed to this high a degree, yet with such an impressive level of acting talent on board (no moreso than the brilliant Ed Harris), it would have been difficult for Affleck to fail. Gone Baby Gone is little in way of inventive film-making, but it is an impressive effort from all involved, and it raises a number of valid moral and ethical questions.
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007)
A thrilling, expertly-crafted melodrama...
Shaun Munro's Film Reviews (www.shaunmunro.co.uk):
Sidney Lumet returns to top form in Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - a devilishly tense (pun intended), sprawling, melodramatic puzzle of a film. The film's title comes from a famous Irish blessing, which declares, "And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead", verbiage very much apt for protagonist brothers Andy (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Hank (Ethan Hawke).
In short, Andy and Hank, both short of money for various reasons, are looking to rob a "mom and pop" jewellery store, yet the sting in the tail lies in the fact that this store is owned by their parents. The focal point of the film is this robbery's result, which leaves various individuals dead or near death, and Andy and Hank must attempt a clean getaway as their father, Charles (Albert Finney), seeks to get revenge on the perpetrators. Embroiled in the turmoil is Andy's wife Gina (Marisa Tomei), who is torn between the two brothers in a very twisted love triangle.
Lumet enjoys utilising non-linear narrative to great effect in this film we open on the day of the robbery, and subsequently dart around various days before and after it, which reveals to us a wealth of important and, at times, shocking information. The initial robbery is an intense, gripping scene of intrigue, ending in a violent eruption, yet soon enough, we are sent plunging backwards to three days prior to this. Such flashbacks are often disorientating and ancillary to the plot, yet in this instance, they are satisfying, and moreover, necessary they work quickly in familiarising us with the two brothers and their various motivations (monetary, sexual, and familial) to rob the store.
The wildly slick robbery plan is orchestrated largely by Andy, who plays things extremely cool, whilst Hank initially balks at the idea, yet, with various large and looming debts, he ultimately decides to ride shotgun. In moments such as these, as Andy sits behind his desk, almost pontificating the need to pull this scam off, smoking a cigarette, he himself assumes a rather Faustian, devil's advocate-like persona, and it's wonderful to watch.
These flashback interludes, even in their effectiveness, fortunately do not last for the rest of the picture, and soon enough, we are thrown back into the intense robbery scenario, yet this time, thanks to said flashbacks, we now have context established. Lumet does decide to dip the viewer in and out of Andy and Hank's lives from days before the robbery, yet rather than suffocate the film, the puzzle-esquire format exists to suture together the various plot strands, endowing the viewer with essential information and character development.
Following the botched robbery, Hank states to Andy that "it's all come apart", and this is truer than the brothers know. The fallout of the robbery has greater ramifications than either could have ever expected. With the introduction of their father, the flashbacks begin to encapsulate his life also, introducing a more sinister, foreboding, and dangerous element into the narrative.
Hank in particular seems to become more and more neck-deep in trouble (mostly monetary) as the film progresses, yet Andy is hardly keeping himself above water either. Their own tribulations, combined with the emergence of their disaffected, enraged father, causes the tension to ratchet up to highly unnerving levels, setting up for what is one of the most thrilling, and shocking finales of the year. If anything, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is a film about downfall the death of a very twisted American dream, if you will. There certainly are cathartic moments before the fall, in that these are, to a degree, sympathetic characters, although aside from Finney's tragedy-imbued person, you have to wonder if they're worthy of such sentiment. Andy, in particular, is of dubious moral character, and Hank, driven by a need to stay afloat, is dragged down into the abyss with him.
It is a massive credit to the picture to be endowed with such acting powerhouses as Hoffman and Finney, that one is able to find all of the film's familial issues to be convincing precursors to their present problems, without at all seeming forced. The finale is almost unbearably tense, serving up its fair share of surprises, and whilst one may declare that it "descends" into melodrama, I attest that it shamelessly (and rightly so) does so, with no descent or decline in the film's integrity or quality. The final twenty minutes is so chock full of unpredictability (yet still manages to be tangible), and so masterfully acted, that even if you find the melodrama to be several steps too far, there is nevertheless an assortment of reasons to both watch and revel in this electrifying, dramatic character study.
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is packed with Oscar-worthy material the tragic, spiralling plot is unflinching in its portrayal of man's desperation, thanks to Kelly Masterson's sharp and inventive script. However, what without question raises this film above similar pictures is its acting Albert Finney is perfectly smouldering as a vengeful man thrown into an impossible situation, Philip Seymour Hoffman is spot-on as the unquestionably slimy sibling, and Marisa Tomei does an appropriately ditzy job. One mustn't forget Ethan Hawke either, whose role is not as meaty as Hoffman's, yet he still brings a flare to the role of an unspeakably desperate individual. Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is a winning, daring concoction of skillful writing, deft performances, and schooled direction.
The Kingdom (2007)
A procedural, uninventive, yet visually lush thriller...(MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Film Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Peter Berg's latest directorial outing The Kingdom serves to, at least initially, teach us a history lesson, but it isn't long before Berg's "gritty" endeavour becomes one enmeshed in stagy histrionics and clichés. Whilst The Kingdom is a severely flawed film, its opening credits sequence is impressive, running down a very piecemeal shopping list of important political events of the last century that involved the Middle East (with a gutsy reference to the September 11th attacks).
After Berg briefly introduces us to FBI Special Agent Ronald Fleury (Jamie Foxx), a frankly clichéd character in his own right, the action transports to Saudi Arabia, where the majority of the picture takes place, thanks to a surprisingly brutal terrorist attack that transpires there. One of Fleury's colleagues dies in the attack, and in the fallout of this incident, we meet his all-American team, consisting of Chris Cooper, Jennifer Garner, and Jason Bateman, who are, along with Fleury, soon enough sent to Saudi Arabia to investigate the attack and bring the perpetrators to justice. I must attest that I am easily distracted by minor, yet unassailably silly contrivances in a film's narrative, and whilst the film's initial meeting room scene is likely supposed to be one of marked tension, I simply found myself observing why, in a room of probably fifty FBI agents, only those in the room with a star credit actually said anything, whilst everyone else remained annoyingly silent. It's unrealistic, and moreover, does it really require much cognition to throw a few lines of dialogue to some of the other schmoes sitting around the room?
Such minor faults I can begrudge and move forward from, but The Kingdom's true disappointment is in its restriction of actors who are, without doubt, certainly above material such as this. For example, Jason Bateman (who wowed us in the woefully-defunct Arrested Development) is never really given a chance to prove his acting chops, yet he serves as the comic relief. I had high hopes for Bateman in this film, but as can be said for most of the characters herein, the banter they are forced to partake in is redundant and as bland as some of the performances (see: Jennifer Garner), wholly unaided by the bubblegum script. The film is not without its gems, such as Six Feet Under's excellent Richard Jenkins, yet his screen time is tragically limited.
Even Entourage's Jeremy Piven, who looks very much the part in this film, with his frosted hair and spectacles, was barely able to remain afloat. Piven, with his tenacious energy and cracking wit, would no doubt have served better as a crazed reporter (as opposed to a delegate for the U.S. Embassy), reminiscent of Dennis Hopper's idiosyncratic turn in Apocalypse Now.
The investigative element of The Kingdom failed to ever engage me from Cooper's character sifting through a muddy sludge for evidence, to Foxx exhibiting a strange culture clash with his Saudi counterpart. Moreover, the film's action is incredibly sparse, only ever kicking into fifth gear in the final twenty minutes. The manner in which these scenes kick off is hardly inventive, and the film's marketing largely spoiled the surprise, but the action is appropriately frenzied, as the remaining members of Fleury's team race to rescue the one who has been kidnapped.
The set pieces are by no means intelligent, but Berg has a keen eye for sharp imagery, and the carnage is indisputably well shot, even if Berg is insistent on showing us each explosion from at least three angles, and firing more bullets than would be expended in a first-person-shooter computer game.
Even whilst I was unable to ignore the sheer absurdity of Garner's fawn-like character (and she was almost certainly dropped into the film for tokenism purposes), what bothered me the most about The Kingdom is how it all ends. The film never attempts to be edgy or innovative Berg appears very contented with his straight-forward rescue premise, and delivers with exactly, simply that. A semi-prime player is dead by the end of the film, but it was a predictable choice, and even while the film's attempt at sentimentality in this respect is marginally successful, saccharine moments are also in high abundance. For instance, I literally dare you not to cringe as Garner's character hands a lollipop to a Muslim girl.
As much as the terrorists typically obscure their faces and shout "Allah" at near-enough every opportunity, the film does, in an albeit fairly foul-tasting manner, attempt to provide a positive representation of the Middle Eastern populace. What The Kingdom does is to remind us that, yes, even in this dingy, dust-bowl of a locale, Islam is not the enemy, and the final lines remind us of the insight that both sides believe their cause is the most benevolent, regardless of their methods. The real problem with the film's message is that it isn't subversive or refreshing in any fashion at all, and moreover, most educated people recognise these truths anyway.
In crafting an aesthetically accomplished, yet soulless ordeal, Berg succeeds. The film has two largely effective moments, but otherwise, The Kingdom simply takes a spate of A-list actors, drops them into a lush, exotic locale with a high budget, and blows a lot of real estate up in sandbox-like fashion. The camera-work will divide audiences, either deeper immersing you in the story, or frustrating you with its jolts and shakes, but the film's real facet of division lies in viewers who are willing to simply enjoy the fairly brainless drama, and those who are not. For the purposes of a by-the-numbers, tropical shoot-'em-up, this film succeeds, but to infer any greater degree of intelligence unto the picture, as Berg appears to attempt to, the effort stumbles.
9 Songs (2004)
Brave attempt, but ultimately soulless...(MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Michael Winterbottom's 9 Songs is a sexual experience from near enough its first frame. The film's premise is incredibly straightforward Matt (Kieran O'Brien) and Lisa (Margo Stilley) meet at a concert, and 9 Songs is essentially an expression of their love story, which just so happens to rather loosely revolve around music.
From the outset, we must consider where the line between glamourised pornography and artistic sexual expression is drawn, and furthermore, whether Winterbottom's film is able to transcend this line. A number of the film's sex scenes are unsimulated, which has been a high point of contention for the filmmakers actually attempting to tender a release for the film. Genitals, both male and female, are in full display, and while it is in a sense refreshing, the film is sure to alienate and embarrass the more body-conscious viewers among us.
Initially, 9 Songs appears to follow the format of a presentation of seemingly sage information about Matt's expedition to Antarctica, followed by a scene of intense intimacy, followed again by a musical interlude. Given the repetition and questionable narrative structure of the film, one can understand the criticism leveled against it almost immediately.
The film at points appears to settle down, yet just as an interesting or thoughtful strand of dialogue appears to emerge, it transpires into a sex session. It is difficult to know what the director is trying to say, that is, if he is trying to say anything at all.
Despite my outward criticisms, I must defend the film largely against accusations of it being extremely pornographic it rarely shows direct penetration and is mostly inferred. As such, the film may be a loosely strung together concertina of sex scenes, but porn it is not.
In lieu of all of this sex and debauchery, the film at least posits the idea of safe sexual interaction, and whilst a pack of Durex are hard to come by in 9 Songs, in one instance, a condom is clearly, visibly in use.
By the time the fourth song booms out and we're dropped back into the Brixton Academy once again, I was beginning to wonder is this a music festival? Are they going to a concert every night? Are the 9 songs metaphors for something? Unfortunately, the explanation is nowhere near as interesting as the latter question, but it did make me wonder are these people loaded? A very curious lesbian-esquire conflict is introduced in the latter stages of the film it appears to be an attempt to inject emotion into our hedonistic characters. However, considering we feel little-to-nothing for these individuals due to their distinct lack of characterisation (in that all we ever see is them having sex), this attempt ultimately fails.
The gravity of the conflict between Matt and Lisa is expressed through the symbolic meaning of the songs, or rather, the act of going to the concert. Matt, in his next visit to the Academy, attends alone he is on a whole over wavelength, listening to an completely different song, if you will, and whether this is reflective of a culture clash or something else entirely different, is anyone's guess. We are also quickly shown a bottle of pills, but its significance is up for debate we learn who they belong to, but nothing else. There are subtle hints as to who may be suffering from what, but they are exactly that very subtle, and nothing more than hints.
There is one portion of 9 Songs that I find incredibly difficult to defend Lisa administers oral sex to Matt in rather unflattering close-up, which I didn't personally object to, but, in what is the most critically reviled and shocking portion of the film, Matt is shown ejaculating. It just feels unnecessary the slurping noises are vile in particular, yet no more disturbing than the fact that we can hear children playing outside, presumably mere feet away.
Only in the final sex scene is the viewer able to extricate any definitive, emotive meaning, yet once again, we are barely familiarised enough with these characters beyond their acts of chemical exchange, and so an attempt at causing us to feel anything simply appears forced. The manner in which the film ends, whilst certainly not particularly unique or interesting, was a smart move, considering the temptation that must have lingered to pile on sentiment and clichés. In this respect, in the only manner in which it can be asserted, 9 Songs is a restrained picture.
The ambiguity of the fate of Matt and Lisa's relationship is an interesting point on which the film ends the director chooses not to romanticise or force-feed his creation or his audience with even a hint of a slant in either direction, deftly reflecting the fickleness of relationships and the meticulousness with which they must be preened.
9 Songs, as an experimental film, is an interesting exercise, yet it is difficult to consider it a success when everything outside of the sex scenes is either dull, pointless, emotionally corrupt or all of the above. The film should be commended for its daring attempt at capturing raw, gritty, penetrative sex onto celluloid, yet we are overexposed to these moments at the detriment of the film's effectiveness. Winterbottom shows us more than is necessary to convey the love and affection felt between these characters, and accompanies these moments with musical interludes that appear to have little significance symbolically, thematically, or otherwise. I cannot bring myself to condemn Winterbottom, because the film is not without its meritorious moments, yet at the same time, one cannot consider 9 Songs to effectively traverse the line of glorified pornography, so much as it narrowly scrapes past it.
Rise (2007)
Generic horror shlock with a few nice ideas...(MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Rise: Blood Hunter opens in a way that does not inspire much interest at all. Utilising the classic gimmick of showing scenes later in the film for virtually no reason, we witness some pseudo torture-porn shtick that did nothing but dredge up memories of the pretty passable Hostel: Part 2. As we witness Lucy Liu saving a hooker from certain death, sending her on her way and uttering "find a real job", one really has to laugh.
Following a "6 months ago" title card, we meet Sadie Blake (Liu), a reporter for some semi-trashy magazine. Soon enough, she gets talking to a computer hacker friend of hers, who, following some largely ridiculous and falsified computer jargon, finds a curious address embedded in a web page. Sadie naturally refuses to investigate at first, but that doesn't last long.
The scene then shifts to a rather dilapidated-looking house, where two teenage girls enter and are subsequently beset upon by some monstrous vampires. We have false scares, we have the ever-popular "hide in the closet and have the antagonist look like he's found you, but then turn away at the last second" spiel, and frankly, I was just happy to see one of the girls eaten.
Soon enough, Clyde Rawlins (Chiklis) shows up, the father of one of the girls. Seeing his daughter's friend eaten, he assumes his daughter has met a similar fate. He shows a real emotion, and being infinitely impressed with his performance on the superb FX show The Shield, I was somewhat disheartened when we were promptly taken back to the meat of the apathy-inspiring plot (something which happened to Chiklis far too much in the first hour of this film).
From here, Sadie investigates the address, and is promptly kidnapped, raped, and murdered. Soon enough, she awakens in a morgue, and it appears that she is now a member of the undead, finding it instinctively incumbent to murder and feast upon a member of the living as soon as she's awake. Following a rather gutsy attempt at finishing herself off, Sadie is nursed back to health by an absurdly pigeon-holed mentor-esquire character. Whilst this relationship is essentially just a means of driving the plot and is otherwise throwaway, the mentor does have some interesting morals - "no one is innocent", he proclaims. I'm not sure that I agree.
The transition of Liu's character from a helpless, victimised journalist to an ass-kicking, one-liner quipping heroine was literally blink-and-you'll miss it. It wasn't convincing at all, considering one minute she's very solemn, and moments later, she harpoons a vampire through a window, gets some vital information from him, and gives him another harpoon through the chest for good luck. There's absolutely no progression or character development, and her bravura temperament was too much too soon. So, we return to the opening scene, letting us know for sure that there was absolutely no need for it to be shown twice (it wasn't misrepresented as it was in, say, Mission: Impossible 3), and that it was just a gimmick.
The most interesting scene in Rise comes when Sadie is in need of new blood to feed on, and sees a hitchhiker she could feast on. At this point, there's an intriguing moral dilemma (the only one in the film, unfortunately) - does she kill this innocent man and feast on him, or was her mentor correct, in that there are no innocent people?
Naturally, the morality of this scene is pretty much ruined by the fact that when she initially doesn't pick him up, he yells profanities, then when she does pick him up, he smokes cannabis. I still saw him as an innocent person, and it seemed to me like there was some sort of moralistic value being espoused there that really didn't sit comfortably with me at all. Had this hitchhiker simply been wanting to get from A-to-B and she killed him, without him exhibiting any "negative" traits, then the scene would have been infinitely more effective. It's worth noting that the Sadie character didn't seem to care about his weed, although that could be because she wanted to feast on him, and moreover, it was more the views of writer and director Gutierrez that I was referring to.
Following on from this, we encounter the rather forgettable antagonist's butler, played by Mako of all people. He claims to be unafraid of death, yet this doesn't stop him from surrendering a few important tidbits before popping his clogs. It's not long before Bishop, the only villain left for Sadie to slaughter, becomes aware of her return to the land of the living, and in a phone call utters to her the wonderful cliché - "you're not so different, you and I". Michael Chiklis is finally given the screen time he deserves in the final third of the film, essentially becoming something of an obstacle for Sadie. Whilst they both have the same goal in sight, their methods vary wildly, teetering on different sides of the law. Predictably, an uncomfortable partnership forms, and there's even a hint of sexual tension, but fortunately, it doesn't transpire into anything else.
Sadie and Rawlins head into the final showdown, Sadie allowing Rawlins to follow her on the condition that he carries out one final act once Bishop is dead. A predictable surprise follows, and a not-so-predictable one after that, after which the situation gets very messy for our protagonist. Whilst the showdown ends ultimately as you'd expect, the film doesn't chicken out on its macabre little pact between Sadie and Rawlins, and so the ending happens to be quite satisfying.
Rise is a rudimentary little vampire horror film that will entertain its target audience, but others may find it simply nothing new in frankly already overcrowded canon. A lot of limited releases are simply under-seen masterpieces, whilst others are limited for a reason. Go figure.
Away from Her (2006)
An affecting, sympathetic portrayal of Alzheimer's...(MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Away From Her is the writing and directorial debut of Sarah Polley, a surprising turn considering her previous body of work (acting in Go, and Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake). Perhaps more surprisingly, Polley has, in her first attempt at an endeavour such as this, crafted a mature, unrelenting effort at exploring the difficulties of dealing with Alzheimer's.
When we first meet the couple concerned - Frank (Gordon Pinsent), and Fiona (Julie Christie), unless you've read a synopsis of the film, you may be somewhat unsure as to which one of them is actually afflicted with Alzheimer's. The exposition to this effect consists of a number of social interactions which make it clear to us (it's Christie's character), and to this point, it's quite a refreshing way of introducing this tragic illness to the viewer, rather than forcefully imprinting it on us with over-the-top melodrama.
The film, much the same way as the illness itself begins to affect those it ultimately consumes, slowly flows in and out of the narrative, surrounded by intellectual banter, and just when everything seems fine, Fiona will go to fetch another bottle of wine and become very confused. This dynamic ensures that the viewer isn't bombarded with either too much or too little exposure to this illness too soon. Furthermore, there are occasional injections of humour, but in a manner which doesn't make fun of Alzheimer's. All of Fiona's irreverence is beside-the-point in relation to her illness, and given how she interacts with Grant, one can assume that she was this facetious before she became ill.
Grant, meanwhile, is clearly suffering through this also. He is comforted by the fact that, his wife, in her illness, has found affections for another man, although whether she believes this "other man" to actually be her husband is a point of contention. Grant feels guilt for ultimately deciding to send Fiona to a nursing home, but she assures Grant that it's her decision. In this sense, atypical of many similar productions, Fiona is a strong female lead despite her illness - she sympathises for Grant, but remains firm - she will be going away from him, and perhaps it's easier for her because of her illness. It's not as such an "ignorance is bliss" message or anything so heavy-handed (in relation to the rather sensitive subject matter), but Grant has no means of getting away from this - he is ever-cogent, and as such always conscious that Fiona is quickly going to spiral downwards.
Grant's visit to the home is like a metaphor for Dante's Inferno. The first floor is seemingly quite peaceful and serene - patients play chess and relax on chairs, eating dinner with relatives at Christmas. However, the second floor is like one of the latter circles of Hell, where patient's conditions range from barely cogent to near lunacy. It's quite the bleak picture of foreshadowing that Polley paints here, when you realise that by the film's end, this is likely where Fiona will be ending up, despite Grant's insistence that she will not be needing a transfer to the second floor.
Thematically, Away From Her is all about loneliness - the sufferers of Alzheimer's are isolated, victims of their own minds, and their families are similarly afflicted, but their solitude comes in their grief, and in some cases, their failure to come to terms with what is coming. Grant has no children, which only exacerbates his negative schema.
Following the 30-day period of no contact with Fiona (which the home insists upon), Grant endures a rather gut-wrenching encounter with Fiona, and whilst it's not like we couldn't see it coming, the performances make you feel for these characters. Make no mistake, Away From Her is a sympathetic film, but is also unpatronising, and we never get away from the truth of the matter. Fiona begins to feel that she needs a man of her sort, declaring "he doesn't confuse me" in reference to another sufferer of Alzheimer's she has become friendly with at the home. Grant's reaction to this is to, out of love for his wife, still come to see her every day, effectively torturing himself. The other man is an Alzheimer's patient himself - how can you get angry at him? Grant has no outlet for his feelings (not yet, at least), and so simply attempts to remind Fiona of who he is, in vain.
A curious idea is postulated (but thankfully not expanded on, or in what could have been disastrous, made a "twist"), in that perhaps Fiona is punishing Grant for the times in his life in which he wasn't a good husband. Fiona's comment prior to going to the home, that "we expect too much" would seem to refute that. Anything her husband has done has been accepted, and moreover, forgiven, it seems.
Grant eventually finds comfort in the wife of the man whom Fiona is currently involved with, although this is slow-going and awkward to begin with, and it takes a rather poignant, brief encounter with a teenage girl visiting the home to truly pull himself out of the doldrums. This point marks something of a transformation for a number of the characters - these emotionally drained individuals attempt to make the best of a terribly tragic situation, finding someone, anyone with similar problems, and clinging to them as tightly as possible.
Ultimately, Away From Her hits the expected peaks and troughs, but this isn't a film about surprises and stultifying plot twists - it is a sympathetic, affecting, uncompromising look at Alzheimer's, and how it affects the sufferers and their families (who are consequently also suffering a great deal). The pace comes close to fleeting at times, but the performances are grand, and for Sarah Polley's screen writing and directing debut, it's a very solid start.
Hitman (2007)
Not terribly faithful, but it could be worse...(MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Hit-man, the adaptation of the excellent computer game franchise of the same name, will undoubtedly have fans flocking in their droves to witness slick assassin, Agent 47, on the big screen. The horde of fans bring with them the minute glimmer of hope that it will join the few game-to-film adaptations that, frankly, haven't been derivative, uninspired messes.
What is apparent very quickly is how preposterously miscast Timothy Olyphant is as the protagonist he lacks the deep, suave voice of David Bateson, and I'm left wondering why Bateson himself wasn't just cast. Of course, Olyphant, who, I have nothing against, is becoming quite the household name, whilst Bateson's score sheet is distinctly empty.
The basic premise of Hit-man involves Inspector Mike Whittier (Dougray Scott) on the hunt for Agent 47 (Timothy Olyphant), who is purported to have assassinated over one hundred people. 47, however, is a phantom, rarely leaving a trace, and even more rarely being outsmarted.
Hit-man, like the games on which it is based, travels all over Europe, docking for a while in St. Petersburg, a central location of the second game in the series. As a militant fan of the games, this pleased me, but as soon 47 begins taking shots at the bar and interacts with a cute Russian woman, who professes to him the importance of drinking etiquette, I began to lose faith. This is a film which, like this year's horrendous Redline, people will love to label as "Eurotrash", and whilst I dislike the term, it is rather apt from the outset.
Fortunately, at least to an extent, Hit-man attempts to remain in the vein of the games Hit-man is frequently as cold and callous as ever. His assassinations are swift, but mostly lend themselves to the brutality of the games. With its generous squibs of blood, and fair instances of breasts on display, this isn't a PG13 endeavour, although the screen is hardly showered in blood either. As hard as everyone on board tries, I will never, for the life of me understand why screenwriter Skip Woods felt the need to have 47 partake in the ever-clichéd emotional shower scene.
Fairly early on in the film, the central storyline from the games is suggested (involving clones), yet, as with 47's past, it is never expanded upon in any satisfying detail beyond a brief spell of grainy, blink-and-you'll-miss-it flashbacks. Ergo, if you've never played the games, then I imagine that parts of this film will leave you utterly clueless through and through, this is for gamers above all else.
Behind all of the tussles for jurisdiction and bad Russian accents, this could be a far worse adaptation as a SWAT team descend upon 47, it is incredibly reminiscent of parts of the second and third games, even if it employs far more theatrics, and, to be precise, many more preposterous explosions. That said, the game counterpart of 47 was a clear-cut anti-hero, and here I'm not so sure. He effortlessly kills SWAT team members, yet these men were not party to some sort of maleficent conspiracy they were merely men doing their jobs. In the games, near enough everyone 47 killed deserved it.
Moral values of assassins aside, in investigating the supposed re-emergence of a man he killed just hours earlier, 47 comes into contact with the man's girlfriend, Nika (Olga Kurylenko) who, as you can quite rightly guess, is the love interest of our story.
The contrivances just pile on from here, with insanely lucky escapes and ridiculously slick disguises. One can tolerate such mechanics in a game, yet for the filmic adaptation, I hoped that the helmers would possess the smarts to tone down the madness a tad, but alas, no dice.
Hit-man comfortably transcends into the laughable when 47 manages to corner and best an assassin sent to kill him, yet rather than interrogate him (even if the chances of getting answers are slim), he simply riddles him with bullets, and then spouts a horrific one-liner. The manner in which he ends the assassin will cause many a cinemagoer to cringe.
47 soon enough finds himself aboard a train, embroiled in a truly strange swordfight against a band of seeming clones. For good, politically correct measure, the filmmakers are even sure to throw a black "clone" into the mix, despite the fact that these agents are all meant to look like 47, if any consideration is to be taken in regard to source material continuity.
Agent 47 is an inconsistent character to say the least he, without hesitation, blows up an entire SWAT team, yet hesitates when faced with Inspector Whittier, someone who is a considerable threat to 47's freedom. Moreover, Nika appears to slowly melt his heart, and the accompanying scenes of levity just feel like an affront; a slap in the face to fans of the games.
There is a shootout of considerable firepower about an hour into the film it's hyperactive, it's loud, and it just doesn't feel very Hit-man at all. To top it all off, 47 even spouts another choice phrase before dropping the last goon in the room. The film's sort-of saving grace is its finale, where I had little idea quite what was going to happen. It's all appropriately tense, with the occasional wink and nod to the games, even if the action is far, far too frenzied.
Even fans of the games will be left scratching their heads at the sheer absurdity of the film's ending there is the high possibility of a sequel, although I hope this is not the case. Hit-man is a generic action thriller with a tiresome, clichéd plot and Russian accents that are even worse. Olyphant was completely miscast, and the only tolerable performance in this film was by Dougray Scott, who, frankly, shouldn't be appearing in films such as this anyway.
Paranoid Park (2007)
Impressive artistically, but pretentious and self-indulgent...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
It's old school, it's retrograde, it's Paranoid Park the latest outing from Gus Van Sant. Accompanied by an array of grainy hand-held shots of various young persons skateboarding, we learn that Paranoid Park is essentially the skateboarding Mecca, and that "nobody was ever ready for it", least of all troubled teenager Alex (Gabe Nevins).
I am always sure to be highly sceptical of films that seem to be trying far too hard to retain a "hip" quality, and from the moment we were introduced to a teacher who sounded very much like the skateboarders he was attempting to educate, my confidence began to wane.
As Alex is called into the principal's office to speak to a police officer, it becomes evident very quickly that something isn't right Alex has clearly done something wrong, but what? A cool, trendy film is suddenly given a macabre jolt Paranoid Park is, in fact, a film polarised by the suspicious death of a security guard, with our hoodie-clad protagonist at the cusp of the finger-pointing.
Paranoid Park is an oddly structured film indeed Van Sant frequently cuts to poetically shot, yet nevertheless disorientating interludes, ranging from slow-motion sweeps of faceless individuals skateboarding, to Alex simply ordering some fast food, for seemingly no reason at all. You could argue that such fancies seek to bridge the narrative, and whilst they do, it's in the most banal, sigh-inducing manner possible. Running in at a slim 85 minutes, this is a minimalist film by all means, yet there is still the insistence to grind its gears to a halt at all the wrong moments, only for Van Sant to say "Look what I can do with slow-motion".
Eventually, some information is nonchalantly tossed our way, but I wondered very early on was this going to link by the end of the film? Are these reverie-esquire moments going to provide a deeper meaning in an hour's time? Moreover, is sitting through more uses of the word "like" than I can physically stomach going to be worth it? Sadly, the answer to most of these questions is a resounding "no".
After half an hour of what I would loosely call "meditative" scenes, with plenty of prancing around on screen by all involved, the murder mystery aspect of the film's narrative finally rears its underexposed head. This film is at its best when the cheerfully-slick detective is sniffing around the skater groups, free of slow-motion shots and ambient sound effects, yet sadly, these moments are lacking in abundance.
Regrettably, most scenes of interest are framed by these unrestrained, flagrant moments of self-indulgence from Van Sant, never allowing us to fully engage with the film's characters and their rather unfortunate sets of circumstances. At first, I was able to forgive such extravagance, but by the half-way point, this technique was well and truly redundant.
Bravely, however, Van Sant reveals the devilishly simple circumstances of the security guard's death fairly early on in the picture. A lesser film would have saved this for a "shocking" turn at the end, yet the decision to throw it in at little over half way knocked me for six, and caused me to wonder where exactly it was going to go from here. Now that the facts are known, will it focus less on enigma, and more on character? Again, the answer is no. Any identification we attempt to confer between ourselves and the protagonist in particular is drowned by these ridiculous breaks in the narrative, which simply act as overlong window-dressing to an already flailing production. Paranoid Park is a portrait without context we witness Alex taking his girlfriend's virginity, yet we never learn its importance why show this to us other than to pad out an already diluted script? There is only one slight hint at the need for this scene, and whilst one could argue that it's all about Alex's underlying machinations (in his apathy and disinterestedness towards this pretty girl), I will scoff, as I think it's giving the film far too much credit.
The final moments of Paranoid Park are a sort of dark, restrained catharsis. Are they satisfying? Not entirely, although given the options the characters had left, and how it could have gone, it wasn't entirely the wrong way to end things.
Paranoid Park feels like an audacious effort on the part of an acclaimed director, and I find myself asking why. When you strip this film down to its bare bones, remove the slow-motion and actually look for some steak among all that sizzle, you're going to likely be grossly disappointed. Paranoid Park is simply the remains of the day, with about an hour's worth of scenes which are moderate in quality, yet where its consistency lies is in squandering the halfway-intriguing murder investigation. This film could have redeemed itself had it dealt with Alex more as a character and less as a fairly dislikeable stereotype, yet it seems comfortable in simply arousing our senses with more than its fair share of impressive cinematography.
As I recently commented of Werner Herzog's Rescue Dawn, one must always respect the pursuits of artisans, yet when a picture is shamelessly, flagrantly empty, so devoid of substance, no amount of wondrous cinematography can compensate. Paranoid Park will certainly find its audience with those who don't require a well-crafted narrative to enjoy a film, but for anyone else, this is a disappointing, near-pointless, and dare I say, pretentious film. Perhaps what this film does best is illustrate to us what happens when you take the pen out of an auteur's hand, and replace it with a paint brush the results can be spectacular, but as with this film, they can also leave a foul taste. Paranoid Park is no better than a clichéd action film, or a thriller with a silly, unnecessary twist, and further still, is infinitely more irritating.
P2 (2007)
A flat attempt at originality... (MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
P2 is the latest entry into the canon of Christmas-time horror films, seemingly kick-started by last year's hilariously bad Black Christmas. P2 is by no means a terrible film, but seems to be a case of director Franck Khalfoun attempting to instil a sense of complexity and worth into his project, when, for all means and purposes, it really isn't necessary, especially when it seems this awkward and confused.
The film's premise harks back as far as horror films go our protagonist, Angela (Rachel Nichols), is a happy-go-lucky, hard-working businesswoman, and as Khalfoun goes through the motions of establishing her as a fairly affable human being, I have to ask would it kill him to just cut to the chase (no pun intended)? Angela essentially becomes locked inside a parking garage on Christmas Eve, entirely separated from humanity, as a sadistic stalker toys with her (Wes Bentley).
P2 has its effective moments as Angela saunters around the parking garage in her initial moments of despair, the garage becomes shrouded in darkness, and a very authentic sense of dread pervades through this. What I admired most about the opening portion of the film was the decision not to constantly shroud Bentley's character in darkness, instead presenting him to us from the outset, and very quickly establishing him as a psychopath, without letting us know quite what his intentions are.
We learn little of the antagonist's past, but we do learn that he is not a cut and dry, garden variety lunatic there is a dichotomy about this man, in that he accommodates the captive heroine, tending to her illnesses (although he did cause them through his use of chloroform). For a decent portion of P2, we are left unsure as to whether Tom is simply a lonely, confused man we never learn of any parental issues or jilting ex-girlfriends, and whilst P2 is at times a cheesy film, this removes a layer in that respect.
Where P2 begins to irk is as Angela and her captor engage in their first discourse, and we realise that Tom is too intelligent to the point of implausibility his acts begin to show an air of deliberation, in that he knows all about Angela and her family. One would feel far more terrified of this character had he chosen his victim at random, yet the depth of planning Tom exhibits verges on unrealistic to the point of annoyance.
What the film does right in regard to Bentley's character is to confront him as an individual rather than hide him from us at every instance often he encounters Angela in well-lit rooms, and whilst he traverses the darkness later on, it doesn't feel like a cheap thrill for the most part.
Regrettably, the film's second half takes a distinct turn for the worse, even employing what appears to be a shameless pilfering of Saw-esquire themes, as Tom unveils a few surprises locked away within the garage, such as an individual who recently violated Angela, and offers her the choice to exact her pound of flesh from him.
Up until this point, P2 is surprisingly restrained with its blood and guts, not showering the screen with intestines and crushed skulls until over the half-way mark, and even then, the gore is fairly infrequent, although rather graphic when it does occur. With this comes another problem the violence is ridiculously over-the-top, and not in a fun Kill Bill-esquire fashion, either. This film intends to be serious, yet when a man's insides quite literally fall out of him and blood splats onto car windshields with the velocity of a bullet train, one must ask where the lines between horror and parody converge.
Despite the veritable overkills, Bentley's stalking rarely, if ever appears unrealistic we see coverage of him on security cameras getting from A to B, and he never emerges out of nowhere all of it is reasoned and moderately practical.
One inevitably has to ask how long a film set only in a parking garage can last, and moreover, how long it can maintain consistent. It becomes clear in the film's second half that this isn't very long, as our protagonist, the buxom Nichols, plods around various lifts and offices, soaking wet and frolicking in a rather revealing nightdress.
Gorehounds will be disappointed by P2's infrequent gore, and similarly, anyone searching for an intelligent plot should look elsewhere. After a fairly dull introduction, P2 begins to show a degree of promise, particular with Wes Bentley's effectively chilling performance, yet it is mired by an inconsistent, and frankly, rather boring second half. This fatal game of cat-and-mouse grasps at straws tightly, and by the hour mark, even those none too fond of gratuitous violence may be calling for blood, if only to liven up this plodding, tiresome picture.
For a film that has attempted to sidestep the endless number of clichés inundating the majority of modern Hollywood horror, the manner in which the film ends is devastatingly unoriginal, with our protagonist becoming fed up of running and instead metamorphosing into a certifiable badass, turning the tables on her aggressor. It's none too satisfying, and in fact, quite preposterous.
P2 distinguishes itself from other horror films very slightly it reveals the threat to us from the outset, and isn't mired by a wealth of terrible acting. Nichols' performance is by no means impressive, but she isn't terrible, and Wes Bentley, for the most part (other than when he starts screaming incomprehensibly, which almost inspires laughter) is a convincing psychopath. Had P2 endured a rewrite in its third act, then this would be an above-average horror thriller, instead of a marginally mediocre one.
Hatchet (2006)
Decent, vaguely postmodern horror...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
From the opening moments of Adam Green's self-proclaimed "old school" horror venture "Hatchet", it would appear that the film wastes little time in getting the ball rolling, as well as the body count soaring, and with the film running in at barely eighty minutes, one is inclined to presume rightly so. Unfortunately, following the opening slaughter of a man and his son, the gore-lubricated gears of Hatchet slow down to an almighty, frustrating halt for a good while, in place of developing a tiresome, unnecessary story. Had I actually been pining for character development and a rich, deep plot, I would ostensibly have looked elsewhere.
However, it is clear from this opening scene (featuring the first of many crowd-pleasing horror-legend cameos throughout), as increasingly-voluminous buckets of blood splatter in every direction, that Hatchet is a B-movie throwback in every respect, and I use the term "throwback" with as much endearment as one can lend to an outing such as this. The characters are nothing but stock - the moronic porn stars, the socially inept nerd, the sweet middle-aged couple, and, just for kicks, even a "token black guy". That said, there is an Asian redneck-wannabe pottering around with our heroes for a decent portion of the film.
Any hint of slight promise that the film had going for it, at least for a while, is quickly squandered following the opening credits - we meet a rabble of youngsters participating in the Mardi Gras celebrations and no, before you ask, our nasty villain doesn't go around hacking up drunk, half-naked college girls for his own entertainment. Rather, and in somewhat less entertaining fashion than that premise, our boneheaded protagonists (Richmond and Moore) decide to embark upon a ghost tour, encountering a host of mysterious and shady characters (many of whom fall into the aforementioned "stock" category), and as many other clichés as can be stuffed into the film within the running time.
Criticisms aside, Hatchet isn't without its amusing moments (most of which are spouted with gusto from Richmond), it just happens that many of them are cemented within the establishing scenes which, considering the film barely runs 75 minutes without credits, are frustratingly superfluous. In fact, it is well over half-way through Hatchet before the bodies begin to mount up, although once they start, they pretty much don't stop until the final frame, literally.
Following a ridiculous escape sequence from a crocodile, and left stranded without a boat, the gravity of the hapless victim's situation is revealed, curiously explaining everything about the antagonist before his spree begins, and moreover, prior to him showing his face on-screen. It's a nice change of direction for horror films, but the accompanying story just isn't engaging enough to nail this point home - it essentially comprises of nothing more than an extremely disfigured man seeking revenge on society for how he was treated as a child.
After what seems to be an eternity, the mayhem finally begins, and it is so far beyond foul that it circles around and almost becomes clean again. Gore hounds will revel as victim after helpless victim is killed, in a multitude of violent, although largely unoriginal ways, be it simply being hacked up, impaled, de-limbed, or even, most impressively of all, having their head torn in half from the jaw upwards. The effects are by and large quite primitive, but it's just as well in adhering to the advertised tagline of "old school American horror". There appears to be little-to-no CGI in sight, and be it due to budgetary constraints, or Green truly wishing to capture the 80s feel, it works.
Whilst Hatchet descends into a gore-fest pastiche once the bodies start to hit the floor, it isn't without moments of grace - the acting, for instance, is surprisingly palatable, particularly from Tamara Feldman, convincingly portraying the determined, feisty female lead, whilst her male counterpart (Moore) is the appropriately wimpy nerd with no social (more the point, romantic) skills. Meanwhile, the true treat of the film is Deon Richmond as the wise-cracking, down-on-his-luck party animal, and dare I say "token black guy" - some of his lines are highly amusing, and you can tell that Richmond had great fun with his role (and funnily enough, he has been given such tokenism in both Scream 3 and, more outrageously, the criminally underrated Not Another Teen Movie). Even the two actresses portraying porn actresses in this film display a modicum of credibility in their delightfully moronic characters, although I will never be able to look at Mercedes McNab the same way I did when all I knew her for was The Addams Family Values. Green, who also wrote Hatchet, exhibits some occasional wit in his writing, and the majority of the sketchy dialogue is quite obviously intentional, namely espoused by the aforementioned pornographic actresses.
The film's ending is in a sense quite refreshing, refusing to descend into a cliché love story, but it is nonetheless irritating in its brevity, Green cutting us off right in the midst of the action. Nevertheless, Hatchet is in a sense post-modern horror fare - it's absolutely overflowing with clichés left and right, but Green knows this, and has great fun in exploiting this fact. Moreover, whilst it is certainly true that obscuring the antagonist in shadow and keeping him off-screen is certainly easier than dealing with him as an individual, I get the feeling that Green realises his monster is a fairly arbitrary beast, and so keeping him out of the way when he's not called upon to kill and maim is largely to the film's betterment. Hatchet doesn't teach the old dog any new tricks, but it doesn't endeavour to, and in respect to producing a fun, mindless bloodbath that will, above all else, satisfy its core audience, the film is a success.
Hell Comes to Frogtown (1988)
A wildly goofy B-movie homage...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
If this film's title wasn't enough of an indication for you - yes, Hell Comes to Frogtown is a cheese piece, a staple of the "so-bad-it's-good" genre of action adventure films, and more to the point, it's a 1980s film, and in all aspects, it is both a considerably under-seen, and dare I say, underrated little gem of a film.
By classical film standards, this film may be considered nothing but a resounding smudge on the sleeve of the cinema of yesteryear, yet the opening moments of the film alone should cause you to realise that this was made with the tongue very firmly planted in the cheek - I have an inkling that everyone involved with Hell Comes to Frogtown knew that it would be both an extremely fun film to make, and moreover, be ravaged by critics upon release.
The film's plot, which cannot be described as anything less than "offbeat", involves the preposterously-named, hilariously virile Sam Hell (Roddy Piper) standing among the few men left with their reproductive organs in tact following World War 3. Soon enough, Sam is captured by a band of scientists and informed that he must aid them in kidnapping a group of virgins, and subsequently inseminating them. Yes, the plot sounds as though it was torn directly from a pornographic film, but it works, as long as you're not expecting high art, and if you are - what on Earth did you expect with a title like "Hell Comes to Frogtown"? Furthermore, the female scientists escorting Sam on this mission are naturally quite fetching once free of their glasses and army get-ups, and their unequivocally ridiculous mission objectives include keeping Sam "excited" throughout his mission, in order to promote potency, a feat apparently best achieved by stripping off, at times of class, into lingerie, and at all other times, to nothing. Additionally, near enough any female that Sam comes into contact with (even the frog-like females of Frogtown) pounces on him, turning the ever-trite stereotype of "the lecherous male" on its head, one female even asking Sam, "I guess you have to be in love first?" in response to not wanting to be used "like a machine". It's a refreshing turn, and funny to boot, thanks largely to Piper's ever-present charm as the dumbstruck last hope of mankind.
Of course, what would any bite of 80s cheese be without the forced, shamelessly telegraphed sexual tension, which quite naturally pans out as you would expect. Of course, this tension is somewhat stunted by the fact that, to every male's cross-legged cringe, the love interest herself, the lead scientist (Sandahl Bergman), is wearing earrings which control an electronic codpiece that Sam wears, and even worse, if the earrings get too far away from her, the codpiece will explode, a plot thread which is of course explored exhaustively.
Almost half of the film passes before we finally meet the stars of the show - the inhabitants of Frogtown, by-products of man's nuclear war, melding the DNA of humans and frogs together to create a bestial entity that assumes the form of a human, whilst the skin and facial features resemble that of a frog. Considering the all-encompassing B-movie aura surrounding this film, the effects are surprisingly impressive looking, and any flaws, such as the often out-of-synch mouth movements, only add to the fun, as if guffaw-inducing frog-men themselves weren't levity enough. Moments from Sam and his cohorts entering Frogtown, they hear of the town's anger that they were all herded into Frogtown by the government, and moreso, disallowed from handling weaponry (not that this stops them). This in itself is interesting food-for-thought in relation to the place of deformed individuals in today's society, and whilst it's never dwelled on in any great detail, it doesn't have to be either.
Once our heroes settle rather comfortably into Frogtown, the film becomes something of a caper, and quite predictably, Sam and company become embroiled in a scrimmage with the inhabitants of the town, attempting to both rescue the helpless virgins, and escape Frogtown themselves. However, even as the gunfights ensue, Hell Comes to Frogtown never surrenders its whimsical tone, never endeavouring to take itself too seriously. This is to the film's credit - it aids us in not focusing on its misgivings, but simply sitting back and absorbing this truly harebrained work of cinema.
The film's solution relies on an outrageous measure of coincidence, making no attempt whatsoever to emancipate or otherwise inspire, but it's so flagrant and deliberate in its delivery that one has no other choice than to laugh. Nevertheless, once the smoke clears, everything is tied up a little too nicely, and we are left with little time to ponder anything (as if there was anything to ponder) before the credits roll - we are simply invited to observe our protagonists riding away into the sunset.
It is quite sincerely a cinematic truth that few films can hold claim to being able to "out-cheese" Hell Comes to Frogtown, but this film, above all else, is a huge ball of fun. If made today, moreover, without the imposing "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, it likely wouldn't be half as fun, but on the sheer "strength" of its premise alone, would enter into the cult film lexicon. Hell Comes to Frogtown is one of the many films of decades past that no doubt influenced such post-modern cheese-fests as Crank, Snakes on a Plane, and more recently, Shoot 'Em Up, and so Hell Comes to Frogtown is at least something more than forgettable guys-in-costumes fare with, of all people, a professional wrestler as the protagonist. Just ensure to steer well clear from the purportedly dire spate of sequels.
Sicko (2007)
Moore's latest biting, witty, heartfelt polemic...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Love or hate Michael Moore, it's difficult to deny that he knows how to make a persuasive and entertaining documentary. Moore's latest film, Sicko, a scathing commentary on the American health-care system, seeks to return Moore's acerbic wit and relent in pushing the political trundle-wheel.
Moore's jovial tone is very much abundant mere moments into Sicko, highlighting the absurdity of the American health care system with his customary whimsical flair the fact that a man had to, through financial constraints, choose to re-attach only one of his two severed fingers, is both disgusting and preposterous. Thus, Sicko is a darkly comic pastiche, a sprawling portrait of a number of deeply unfortunate individuals dealt a foul hand by the health-care system, voiced by Moore's usual sarcasm and inquisitive sentiment.
The film also seeks to infiltrate those within the insurance and health-care industry. Do all of these persons advocate the unfair conditions of the system itself? No, and Moore is smart enough to reflect this balance we meet the seedy, dirt-slinging bureaucrats, as well as the sympathetic individuals who are themselves disgusted with the current system.
Moore is masterful in his exposition of the down-right disturbing those in positions of power in this system are gambling with people's lives the stories we are told are truly heartbreaking, and one must question the morality of those high up in the industry. As the few individuals with consciences step forward to atone for their acts, Moore asks us what is the price of a life? Perhaps Sicko's only faux pas is its insistence to approach the rather disinteresting conspiracy angle. Fortunately, Moore doesn't dwell on it long enough to become trite and tiresome, promptly returning to the real meat of the documentary the very intimate, personal, and touching stories.
Whilst it serves Moore well to consider the health-services of other nations, such as Canada, the United Kingdom and France, Moore's visits to these locales are fleeting and serve as little more than supporting statements to his original argument. Moore fails to point out any inherent flaws in these systems, but he can be forgiven considering that, even with their flaws, these systems clearly put the American one to shame. As Moore points out the French, even with their penchant for fatty foods and wine, live longer (on average) than Americans. Their health care system, compared even to the British and Canadian systems, is delightful, second to none.
Furthermore, I have to commend Moore's attempt to usurp the antagonistic relationship between the French and Americans, even positing that "perhaps we're told to hate the French because we might like what we see". It's a wonderful concept, and considering the diametric opposition of their respective health-care systems, the precept holds a surprising amount of weight.
Moore does wield an emotional meat-hook in the latter parts of the film, introducing us to a number of maltreated September 11th voluntary rescue workers, yet the nature of their work is ancillary to the point Moore is making, and the point he makes (that not even rescue workers can receive adequate health-care) is highly relevant, and moreover, highly disturbing. Moore possesses the intellect not to dwell on the actual events of September 11th, and even when he does so, it is contrasted with a considerably more substantial loss the tens of thousands of Allied soldiers lost in World War 2. Never does Sicko become a sickeningly-patriotic or jingoistic attempt to validate the American tradition, nor douse itself in political values Moore, for the most part, tells it how it is, with little bias and genuine sympathy.
Moore is no stranger to making bombastic, overblown statements, and Sicko is no different he illustrates the irony of the American system by visiting Guantanamo Bay, whereby suspected terrorists receive greater health-care than the aforementioned rescue workers. Moore takes his point to its most ironic, hilarious and extreme, yet once again, he raises a valid point, doing so in a way that is both memorable and easy to digest.
In less cartoon-esquire fashion, Moore and his cohorts visit Cuba, where a considerably more worrying and taxing question is raised in a country with only a fraction of the resources of America, how is it that everyone can receive adequate, affordable health-care, whilst Americans still struggle? It raises questions about the bureaucracy of the American system, and for a fleeting moment, causes Moore's conspiracy theories to seem slightly less futile. Moore's visit to Cuba, through its shocking slap to the American face, disgusts, and frankly leads one to enjoy residing outside of America.
By its end, Sicko does delve into sentimentality, rather dramatically displaying a stagy meeting between the Cuban fire service and the American voluntary rescue workers. Yes, it borders on saccharine, and diverges almost entirely from the purpose of Moore's documentary, yet as with the French instance, it seeks to bridge the cultural gap and say "we're all human beings, and we're all in the same boat". It's a nice idea, and whilst Moore needn't break out the violins like he almost does, it doesn't leave too sour a taste in the mouth, and certainly doesn't last for too long.
Michael Moore's Sicko is a very inverse, inward criticism of America's health-care system. As with even Bowling For Columbine, it's not perfect Moore omits certain facts in lieu of fast-paced, memorable sound-bytes, but his various set pieces are more often than not amusingly unforgettable, as well as entirely relevant. Sicko delivers a crushing blow to the current system, and very clearly illustrates that this system is in much need of an overhaul. Moore's finest moments are the personal ones, speaking to those well and truly devastated by the existing precedent, and they certainly provide the most weight to his cause. Moore is a true voice of our time, and his latest polemic is a welcome installment.
They Live (1988)
A witty, enjoyable ride with scathing social commentary...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
John Carpenter's "They Live" could easily have gone either way - an overstuffed failure, or a witty commentary on modern society. Fortunately, with Carpenter's steady hand, this film assumes the latter - it makes remarks about social inequality which are relevant even near-twenty years on, taking the viewer on an extremely fun ride.
Needless to say, the film wastes not a second in establishing its social context - our protagonist (Roddy Piper) is a down-on-his luck drifter, unable to find work, seemingly kept down by "the man". As he walks past someone, their glazed-over eyes staring into a window full of televisions, one must consider that the considerations this film makes are about as subtle as a brick being hurled through that very window, but nevertheless, Carpenter raises important issues effectively.
Eventually scoring a job on a work-site, Nada becomes fast friends with Frank (Keith David), a hard-done-by individual himself, yet Nada initially sees him as simply being too impatient with society and expecting too much from life. Conversely, Nada is of the belief that the everyman can succeed in American society, but alas, his stance is about to change drastically.
In his travels, Nada also comes across a series of strange television transmissions, spouting what is dismissed by most as the verbiage of madmen, urging the everyman to rise up and revolt against their controlling oppressors, who are supposedly preventing racial diversity, allowing an underclass to grow, and exerting their hegemonic powers (primarily money) to these ends. Furthermore, Nada also encounters a shady group of individuals posing as a choir group, whilst something far more sinister is quite abundantly afoot.
Things very quickly turn to chaos as a fleet of police officers arrive, riot shields and all, and at this stage, it's all quite the exciting mystery. The real treat of the film comes when Nada discovers a box of sunglasses, and upon trying on a pair, discovers that hidden messages are placed all about our world, instructing us to "obey", "watch TV" and have "no independent thought", among other things. It's a fantastic concept, and everything about its execution is extremely pleasing to the eye - the monochrome representation of the world through these glasses, and also the alteration of everyday objects such as magazines to appear as blank slates with instructions written on them.
Further still, those already assimilated by this force assume a ghoulish facial appearance when the glasses are worn, as evidenced by Nada's encounter with an aloof businessman. As with The Thing, Carpenter and his team are to once again be praised for their stellar effects work - the skeletal guise of those already "infected" is both terrifying and authentic looking, having stood the test of time fantastically.
Piper's reaction to these ghouls is gold - his natural defenses invite him to make jokes at the hideousness of them, naturally offending those around him observing, who have not seen the world through Nada's magical glasses. It isn't long before Nada's actions earn him the attention of a great number of these things, and he is ultimately forced to resort to violence in order to survive, quite an interesting commentary in itself when considered within the context of freedom fighting and revolutions.
Nada's transformation into a certified baddass is a little too fast, but it's so much fun and so enjoyable to watch that we don't care. Nada, shotgun in hand, now goes about dispatching as many of these beasts as possible, and if that wasn't task enough, he becomes a wanted man as a result, with both the monsters and the police (who believe him to be a communist freedom fighter) on his tail.
Nada naturally has a difficult time convincing people of what's going on, resulting in him both being knocked out of a window and down a hill by a woman, and engaging in a refreshingly gritty five-minute slug-fest with Keith David's character whilst trying to convince him to try the sunglasses on. Much of the difficulty also seems to stem from the fact that most people are likely to simply humour a seeming madman wielding a gun rather than actually try the glasses on and see if he's telling the truth.
The film's final set piece is a wildly overblown (in the best sense possible) war between those awakened to the truth, and those not, with bullets and explosions hurtling in every direction. It has a degree of inherent cheese to it, but again, this is in the best way possible - two warring sides alternatively hiding behind bins for cover and then firing at their enemy has never, and probably never will be, so much fun. As Piper and David sweep through a building, destroying waves of soldiers in hails of bullets, what could have been a conventional and tiresome shooting exercise is kept vibrant due to Carpenter's original use of imagery and superb soundtrack. By the time They Live reaches its end, there are genuinely surprising turns and unexpected departures, reaching a climax which, through his actions, solidifies Piper's Nada as an action hero and role model for the everyman tucked away in most of us.
They Live never endeavours to take itself too seriously - sure, it has a message to it, that we must remember to take a breather from buying things we don't need and working 40-hour weeks every so often, but even in the final moments of the film, we're left belly laughing at what is an all-around extremely entertaining film. Piper, surprisingly enough, is a believable protagonist, bringing both the presence and macho charisma that his other vocation requires, and Keith David is a likewise entertaining disgruntled sidekick. John Carpenter is something of an unrecognised auteur, frequently writing, directing and scoring his films, each with a unique flair that deserves praise, and as far as his modernised Invasion-of-the-Body-Snatchers-with-bells-on goes, I say "Kudos!".
Things We Lost in the Fire (2007)
Halle Berry's stunning return to form...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Halle Berry is a great actress when she wants to be, yet has encountered a distinct poverty of meaty roles in recent years, instead opting for high-budget, high-concept studio pictures. Alas, "Things We Lost in the Fire" is something of a salvation for the actress who performed so memorably in Monsters Ball. Alongside the ever-brilliant Benicio Del Toro, Berry reminds us here that she can add dimension to a character, herein conveying an unrestrained sense of heartbreak with maturity and fiery zest.
The central theme of the film is coping, and moreover, surmounting one's problems, as Audrey Burke (Berry) experiences the irredeemable loss of her husband, Steven (Duchovny). Audrey is struggling to deal with her loss, even neglecting to let people know of the tragedy. The picture Bier paints is a highly authentic depiction of the fallout surrounding catastrophic loss, and amazingly, she also succeeds in engaging the viewer.
Jerry Sunborne (Del Toro), a long-time friend of Steven's, is a picture of depravity himself - a Heroin addict, yet, particularly in his interactions with Steven and Audrey's children, is a rather likable fellow. Del Toro narrowly manages to sidestep the clichéd "addict with a heart of gold" routine, remaining just distant enough to rouse a little unease.
At Steven's wake, and through a series of flashbacks, we gather the impression, at least at first, that he was nothing short of a Saint, and enjoyed a flawlessly happy family life. Fortunately, Bier employs the good sense to add layers to this dynamic, introducing a conflicting force, who happens to be Jerry himself. Steven was relentless in helping Jerry quit drugs, even visiting him at the sacrifice of his own family's happiness. In his life, Steven was wedged firmly between his decades-long friendship, and his family - it's a conundrum which spins the web that the rest of the film clings to.
Naturally, the death of Steven, the only stabilising force in his life, hits Jerry hard, violently knocking him off of the wagon. Furthermore, this occurs at a time at which Audrey, who seems to have few, if any friends, needs an emotional crutch - her family life is extremely strained, and she needs Jerry as an outlet, yet he is himself battling the uphill struggle of recovery.
In what is a materially strange spin, Audrey asks Jerry to move into the house, and in an even more bizarre spin, Audrey isn't offering it as charity - she is in fact taking charity from Jerry, who offers his company to help rebuild her life, and vicariously, rebuild his own.
As such, Bier, with all the subtlety of a mortar strike, postulates the possibility of Jerry becoming a surrogate patriarch to this now-fractured family unit. Thus, there is the standoff - two down-and-outters attempting to rebuild their lives, whilst one battles a drug addiction and the other the constrictions of raising a family.
The relationship between Jerry and Audrey is an incredibly curious one - she almost seems to use him at times, at one point quite literally utilising him as a substitute for her husband. Does Jerry feel as though he's betraying his deceased friend? Even though there's little-to-no sexual tension, the situation is unabatedly awkward, and it's clear what is ticking over in Jerry's mind. Curiously, though, Audrey brings Jerry his clothes, as well as breakfast every morning, and perhaps she feels the need to fill the void left by her widowdom.
The idea of Jerry serving as a surrogate is posited in very clear terms - Bier fortunately hazards no attempt to shy away from or disguise this fact, and the viewer feels less insulted as a result. Naturally, this angle forms the film's central, and ultimate conflict - Jerry simultaneously fights his habit and tries his hardest with Audrey's children, even accidentally upstaging his departed friend in one instance.
This dynamic is a test of the cohesiveness of this new, synthesised unit - Audrey is grief-stricken and angry, and this battles against Jerry's genuine attempts to help her cope with the transition of her new life, and as such aid himself. Together they stand, and divided they fall - Audrey's growing ambivalence causes Jerry to lose his own grip, and this co-dependence is almost systematic in its prevalence - one falters and the other does so almost immediately.
As cinematically accomplished as Things We Lost in the Fire Is, as the situation becomes more depraved, Bier manages to retain a certain grittiness, with our characters briefly foraying into the seedy, drug-addled underbelly of their town. Del Toro's performance is equally gritty and authentic as he attempts to once-and-for-all conquer his demons - his Jerry is as heartbreaking as he is well-acted.
The film does begin to lose its steam in the final scenes, namely with an overly-sentimental dinner scene, yet steamrolls this with one of marked intensity, showcasing Berry's acting chops at their most mature and schooled, thus allowing much-needed catharsis for her character.
By its end, Things We Lost in the Fire does become too bogged down in predictable sentimentality, but in the overall scheme of the narrative, it never takes a melodramatic, or predictable sexualised approach to the friendship between Jerry and Audrey. This is a story of friendship, overcoming demons, and coping with loss - nothing more sensationalised than that.
An Oscar contender this film should not be considered, yet it still retains a noted authenticity, as well as allowing Berry in particular to deliver one of the finest acting roles of her career. This film is compelling thanks to its avoidance of contrivances that lesser films would have exploited, and should be commended for that.
Michael Clayton (2007)
Intelligently-plotted, well-acted, moralistic thriller...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
In recent years, Tony Gilroy has become something of a virtuoso in writing slick, intense, and foremost, smart thrillers. The advertising for his latest outing, "Michael Clayton", tells us "the truth can be adjusted", and the dichotomy of right and wrong, pitted against what is true and false, is an ever-recurrent theme of the majority of Gilroy's other works (including The Devil's Advocate and the Bourne series).
Whilst Jason Bourne veers on the edge of veracity, Clooney's considerably more complex Clayton lands firmly between what he purports to be justifiably distorting the truth (or "fixing", as he calls it), and as becomes his test, exposing the truly wicked, dirt sheet cover-ups of his superiors.
Michael Clayton opens with what one could easily dismiss as an overly-wordy, mightily confusing, dare I say pretentious monologue, and whilst it initially left a sour taste in my mouth, you'll be laughing at yourself twenty-five minutes later as things begin to unravel. This opening scene very much embodies the essence of the film - it mystifies, and might even disgust you briefly (as it unapologetically references sequences later in the film), but once Gilroy's smoke subsides, the film satisfies in every way a film of this ilk should.
From the very outset, Clooney is sure to play his role as calmly and sedately as possible - he even appears to be lacking affect at times, but like the narrative itself, Clooney's titular character is a slow-burner, but when he kicks, he kicks with all the might of a football striker. We learn very quickly that Clayton is a "fixer", deftly cleaning up the messes of his law firm's clients, and in this respect you'd think Clayton might be a bit of a scumbag, but Clooney resists cracking the cocksure smile, and enjoys a seemingly loving relationship with his son, so it's hard to dislike the guy, especially once the credits roll. Furthermore, when you compare Clayton with near enough anyone else in this film, he's a veritable angel.
Clayton is, like many of us, a slave to the wage - he has his own monetary problems, as well as being divorced, but employs a stiff upper lip that doesn't quite put Gary Cooper to shame, but it's not far off. Furthermore, the fact that Clooney is able to pull this off without appearing emotionally shallow is commendable to say the least - Clayton smoulders under the surface, never quite snapping or exploding, but we're made aware that the sour broth is well and truly simmering.
However, as straight-laced as Clooney plays it, he is undoubtedly outfoxed by the brilliant Tom Wilkinson, who plays Clayton's mentally ill colleague with such relentless intensity, such a schooled-tenacity that Clooney's restrained turn-in simply pales in comparison. Wilkinson takes a character that could very well have, given the nature of his crimes, dragged the film down into sheer parody, but he makes the character his own, and quite simply outdoes everyone occupying the screen with him. The fact enough that I have yet to mention Tilda Swinton or Sydney Pollack's roles in this film is a testament to the fact that they are (with no disrespect intended to them), in the greatest sense, entirely ancillary when compared to Wilkinson's attempt.
It is at Wilkinson's arrival that the film gains the traction it was so desperately crying out for, as Clayton is charged with keeping his ill colleague in check, and subsequently uncovering his law firm's macabre attempt to win a class-action lawsuit. The film encounters a tonal shift in its second half, transforming from what was simply a smart legal drama to an invariably more intense outing, as Clayton becomes embroiled in a life-and-death battle of wits, his "way of the pen" pragmatism being pitted against a rather hefty blade. Clayton faces off against the world, against persons more resourceful and more combative than himself, forcing Clayton to wear his thinking cap and do what he does best - use it to rectify a highly volatile situation.
For all of its nail-biting tautness, perhaps the tie-off is a little too neat, and relies on a level of staginess that some viewers will simply scoff at, yet I sympathised with and understood Clayton's motivation so much that I found it largely inconsequent. Coincidence is just one of the many elements abound in the film's closing minutes, yet it isn't so unbelievable as to doom the film entirely, if at all. The final moments end with all the declivity of a Scooby Doo episode, but the rest of this piece is so intelligent and tightly-plotted that one is willing to forgive Gilroy.
Michael Clayton won't provide you with the fantastical imagery of The Devil's Advocate, nor serve up the wildly exaggerated thrills-and-spills of the Bourne series, but as far as Gilroy's writing goes, it could be far, far worse. Indeed, it could be Proof of Life, or it could even dare to be Armageddon. What pushes Clayton steps ahead of its potentially rudimentary material is the performances - Clooney is as steely and enjoyable to watch as always, and Wilkinson is simply unforgettable. The written material may not be Oscar-calibre, but Wilkinson's performance just may well be. If you seek an intelligent tale of morality and intrigue, look no further than Michael Clayton.
Hot Rod (2007)
Dumb fun with rousing performances...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Hot Rod, quite simply, is one of the strangest, most offbeat comedies to come our way since Napoleon Dynamite (a film which, I hasten to add, I wasn't terribly fond of upon first viewing). Filled with irreverent gags, and so-called "random" interludes of "humour", Hot Rod is a curiosity of a comedy.
It becomes clear early on that much of the laughs to be sought in Hot Rod are physical, beginning with an impressive, and surprisingly funny (considering how often it was shown in trailers) instance where our protagonist fails a stunt and pays for it in rather brutal spades.
Whilst I did end up ultimately enjoying Hot Rod somewhat, I must admit that I was incredibly apprehensive that this would just end up as another offbeat screwball comedy that, were you to show even a pinch of contempt for it, you would be lambasted for "not getting it" (see: Napoleon Dynamite). Hot Rod didn't grip me right away - whilst the humour was notably different from most of the romps you'll see this year, it really didn't seem to work to begin with. It was almost as though they were trying too hard to deliver a different, edgy brand of laughs. Perhaps this was just the warming up stage for me, as there were parts of this film later on that had me laughing heartily.
The basic premise of Hot Rod is that Rod Kimble (Samberg) is an amateur stuntman, and is suddenly informed that his abusive step-father Frank (McShane) is in dire need of an extortionately expensive heart-transplant. Whilst Kimble and Frank have contempt for one another, Kimble is determined to beat Frank in a fight some day (so as to finally be deemed "a man"), and so wants to ensure that Frank doesn't die (although surely fighting a man who's had a heart-transplant can't be too healthy either). As such, Kimble hatches a plan to perform a jump over 15 buses in an attempt to raise money for the heart transplant.
Continuing from that point, we have Ian McShane, who by far brings the strongest performance to the table as the bitter, acerbic and down right thoroughly dislikeable step-dad. His first line - "never sneak up on a man who's been in a chemical fire" pretty much says all you need to know about him - he's an aggressive madman of the highest order. This character really wouldn't work if it wasn't for the great chemistry between McShane and Samberg - McShane plays a great tease whilst Samberg, conversely, makes a convincing frustrated chump.
From here, we also meet the predictable love interest, in Denise (Fisher). As with McShane, Samberg gels quite well with her, and it makes the emotional cripple that Samberg plays all the more convincing. One notable instance of this is when he tells Denise that she looks pretty, and when she says "What?", he nervously returns "You look shitty!", much to my laughter. This was a man I could sympathise with.
Soon enough, Will Arnett shows up as Denise's rich, egotistical boyfriend. His character is one giant cliché, but Arnett has fun with the role, and next to McShane, provides the most enjoyable performance of the film. His character is one you can love to hate, and they gave Arnett some of the best lines of the film, such as, after running over a raccoon, proclaiming "the raccoon wouldn't have stopped for us", before laughing heartily. This isn't his best work (that honour would be bestowed to Mitch Hurwitz' brilliant Arrested Development), but it's still a good turn.
The rest of Hot Rod is essentially a dense collection of wild set pieces, from impromptu dance numbers and money-making montages, to faux poignant interludes, to a curious Asian man appearing virtually out of nowhere. More often than not, they all end with our protagonist being injured in some way, be it falling down an extremely long hill, flying through some sort of building, or being hit by a car. I felt that the dance number came a little too early in the film to really inspire much of anything, but the ridiculously violent ending to this and other skits were surprisingly funny. I still attest that physical humour (particularly that which is in this film) is a lower form of wit, but with a film like Hot Rod, I took my victories where I could find them, and these just happened to be the continual violent torture of our protagonist. It is worth noting, though, that these moments get very, very close to becoming tiresome by the film's end, and by the time the "cool beans" montage comes around (by which the characters utter these two words over and over until they lose all meaning), I was close to holding my head in my hands. Furthermore, gag-wise, an entire exchange regarding the pronunciation of "wh" seemed to have been poached from a Family Guy episode, much to my dismay.
There is the occasional injection of superficial emotion into the film, where our protagonist experiences a number of ups and downs, and ultimately begins to doubt himself. This almost appears to be a turning point in the film, and just as the viewer may be able to feel something for this character, he's hit by a van. I'm not complaining about it, mind, just noting that the instances of emotion are generally just padding for the comedy.
Everything eventually sets up nicely for the finale, and we have further ups and downs, and ultimately the film ends exactly as you'd expect. Yes, Hot Rod is very predictable, but that didn't stop it being an entertaining ride, with some great performances from Arnett and McShane, and some hit and miss humour, but when it hit, it hit hard. It won't be the best comedy you'll see this year, but it's dumb fun and I'm sure that's what the creators were going for.
The King of Kong (2007)
Wonderfully spirited, heartfelt documentary...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Seth Gordon's "The King of Kong" assumes a stance rarely adopted by the mass media in relation to computer games - one that, rather than vilify it, attempts to glorify the activity and the persons who partake in it. A gamer myself, I find it to be a refreshing turn, and as an exploratory piece into the world of old-school, coin-op gaming, as well as what can be characterised as "Rocky for geeks", this is an immensely enjoyable documentary.
From the opening moments of this glorious documentary, gaming is discussed as though it's a sport, and it may seem to veer on the plain of facetiousness, but I assure you, there's nothing tongue-in-cheek about the people we meet in this film, as endearing and amusing as they are. Whilst, as they attest themselves, their attempts to break the Donkey Kong world record are in no way comparable to, for example, a Triathlon, the participants are equally as dedicated, probably spending as much time perfecting their craft as these athletes, and get just as frustrated when they don't achieve their goals.
Whilst I cannot deny that The King of Kong in many ways reinforces the archetypal "geek" stereotype, it at least serves as a reminder that they aren't all socially inept individuals who live in their parent's basements, repelled by women. Steve Wiebe in particular (one of the forerunners in the battle for the Donkey Kong world record) is something of an everyman, a family man who usurps the stigmatic connotations associated with gamers - he was both an athlete and musician in his younger days, and now enjoys the (more than) occasional pop at Donkey Kong on his home arcade machine, as his wife and child look on.
The King of Kong avoids the pitfalls that beset many specialist documentaries, in that they assume that the viewer has knowledge of the particular field. Kong, however, still manages to keep you in the loop, and quite frankly, if you've never heard of Donkey Kong, gamer or not, you're likely so far from the loop that it's the least of your problems. Nevertheless, the actual concept of the game is explained in clear and concise detail, and further still, the concept is quite basic in itself.
The glue of this documentary, and by far the most entertaining and engrossing aspect, is the rivalry between the two front-runners for the Donkey Kong world record. The battle between Steve Wiebe and Billy Mitchell, the two men in question, is compared by those in this documentary to the spectacular rivalries of the mainstream sports of America, and the passion with which they make this claim, whether you agree with them or not, is admirable. This feud, which begins as something of a friendly competition, builds and builds and builds, with accusations of hacked arcade motherboards and doctored video tapes, well and truly drawing you into what is essentially nothing but a contest of "can you top this?", a war about nothing more than prestige and reputation. The technicalities and considerations postulated in attempting to oust suspected cheaters are quite remarkable, and to this effect, it wouldn't surprise me if the world record regulatory committee (a company named "Twin Galaxies) were to implement mandatory drug testing next, for shame.
Gordon draws an extremely clear line, perhaps too clear, in relation to who we should root for and who we should revile in this competition - we see glimpses of Wiebe's family frequently, and he is driven to tears by his frustration in attempting to break this record. Billy Mitchell, however, is only ever shown to be a smouldering, perhaps calculating individual, with his wife only shown in brief, and as the head of a burgeoning hot sauce business, there are obvious acerbic connotations with "bigwigs" such as that. If you read interviews on discussion boards and articles on the Twin Galaxies website, you are likely to think very differently of Mitchell than this documentary attests, but the dichotomy of a villain and a hero made this film all the more enthralling, and it's not as though Gordon was manipulating a social or political issue, so I'll let him off.
Through all of the passive-aggressive attacks on one another, with all of the supposedly modified devices and doctored videos aside, the superbly telegraphed build-up leads to what is quite literally the war to settle the score. By the competition's end, I felt a wide variety of emotions - sympathy and happiness being the most prevalent two. Some of the film's greatest moments are the contemplative, thoughtful ones, such as where we're treated to quick glimpses of Wiebe playing the piano, and when Gordon examines the personal torments of these competitors, these individuals who are so driven to win. Furthermore, Joe Esposito's classic "You're The Best" pumping along with these gamers exhibiting an inhuman level of dexterity is truly emotionally engaging, and oddly enough, quite inspiring to watch.
Clocking in at under 80 minutes, The King of Kong doesn't keep you for a second too long, and in this short running time, manages to explain why games aren't "just games" to these people, and whether or not you find them caricatures of the stereotypes that some of them attempt to avoid, their determination and heart for this activity is truly inspiring. This is their Olympics, and they'll be damned if anyone's going to take it away from them. The conclusion to this tale caused me to smile, but the documentary is unfortunately already dated by a competition that took place recently. Still, this is hardly the fault of the filmmakers, and not only as a gamer, but as a film lover, I hold this documentary in high regard, as not merely a documentary, but a wonderfully inspiring piece that stands among the great documentaries of our time.
Mad Max (1979)
Fantastically gritty, brutal cult classic... (MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Mad Max wastes no time in establishing a post-apocalyptic, nihilistic world, a barren wasteland where the morally bankrupt stalk the streets, preying on the innocent and defying the rather tenuous legal system. The opening scenes involve the police chasing a cop killer, yet the line between the law and the unlawful is blurred - the police wear black leather clothing, and as victims of their society, are often violent and blood-thirsty themselves.
When one goes back to watch the film now, the car chases not only hold up to today's standards, but furthermore, they are refreshingly physical, organic set pieces, sending metal flying in all directions rather than littering the street with over-the-top explosions. They are shot with a kinetic energy that is impressive considering the low budget, and many filmmakers today could learn a lesson or two from watching this film.
It's not long before we meet our titular hero - Max - an officer of the law, who is something of a vigilante, yet in a world such as this, his (and his colleagues') extreme methods are the only tangible form of justice. Outside of this world, Max is a family man, with a wife and a young son, and we get the impression that Max isn't some sort of sadist that enjoys killing law-breakers, but that when pitted against people who are this vicious and morally apathetic, his violent method is the only method.
Whilst there is certainly no peaceful utopia in this post-nuclear world, what resembles a time of peace is usurped as a band of villainous bikers arrive in town. These bikers are quite the distinguished looking antagonists, dressed in some rather questionable-looking attire, and donning some equally curious haircuts. Whether you like their style or not, it's undeniable that the villains are visually arresting and rather original-looking. Furthermore, they are absolutely abhorrent - they have no outlet for redemption whatsoever, brutalising the town shortly after arriving.
As an action hero, Max is considerably more complex than you may expect - he is an emotionally developed character, his dreams haunted by the vile mutilation of one of his colleagues. This scares Max, and provides him with a little humanity, allowing him to realise the danger of both his job, and the world around him. Not only is he scared of the evils that he encounters every day, but he is also afraid of what he is turning into - by removing savages from the streets, he is forced to, at least in part, become one himself, and worse still, he worries that he is starting to enjoy it.
Needless to say, his worry overpowers him and he confines to leaving his job for the sake of his family. Ditching his chrome leather for some smart-casual attire, the viewer must beg the question - is this the "real" Max? Naturally, Max is now a repressed shell, but ultimately happier (and certainly safer), as he is able to enjoy his family, and he sees this sacrifice as necessary for his family.
However, it isn't too long before Max's family are preyed upon by the foul bikers terrorising the town, and whilst initially able to elude them, they return with guns, and all other manner of crude weaponry, blazing. This see-saw action is a masterful reflection of Todorov's theory of equilibrium and disequilibrium, repeatedly crunching this equation, giving us moments of terror followed by moments of respite.
Max and his family suffer a home invasion, a tense standoff in which Max attempts to diffuse the situation, but when you're battling foes that are this morally devoid, such attempts are largely fruitless. After the attack is over, and Max is left in the wake of an extremely tragic series of events, Gibson brings such a raw, gritty emotion to his character, quickly ploughing through a range of emotions, from simmering anger to ultimately unbridled, vengeance-driven rage. Max is past caring for his own safety - there's no sidekick or ancillary character to tell us this, but Gibson, by his speechless demeanour, lets us know it.
Donning his old leather, and now truly the vigilante he near enough was whilst a cop, Max pursues full-speed ahead - Max is vengeance at 100mph, viciously stalking and slaughtering those who have wronged him. In this land where criminals walk free, Max and his special brand of justice are King. There is also a sense of irony in the fact that his job did indeed turn him into a savage, but by the film's end, Max will need that savagery to stay alive.
Mad Max's ending, whilst leaving little for the viewer to ponder, is wonderfully macabre and unforgettable. The film's climax is as short and sweet as the entire film itself, wrapping things up with extreme pace, but given the nature of the film, little explanation is required once the final body hits the floor. In summary, Mad Max is an effective, impressive science-fiction actioner, all the more so considering the miniscule budget the crew had to work with. Gibson, whilst at this stage largely unknown and inexperienced, turned in an appropriately brutal and driven performance as the tortured protagonist, and if the term "cult classic" was ever apt anywhere, it would be here.
Mad Max 2 (1981)
An enjoyable action caper sequel...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
The original Mad Max was both a critical and commercial success in 1979, pulling in over $100,000,000, a fantastic feat considering the $400,000 budget, even managing to maintain the highest cost-to-profit ratio of any motion picture for 20 years (ultimately being ousted by The Blair Witch Project). Given the film's astronomical success, it wasn't long before a sequel came along Mad Max 2 wastes no time whatsoever, introducing us to another ragtag band of murderous psychopaths mere moments into the film. Meanwhile, Max has since abandoned his family dwelling (his family having been mercilessly slaughtered in the first film) and is something of a drifter, living on dog food and always in search of gasoline for his trusty, and now iconic vehicle - the V8 Interceptor. Max eventually stumbles across a small community with a rather copious gasoline supply, the only problem being that the town is under siege by a villainous gang.
This sequel takes a little more time to get going than its predecessor - rather than throwing us headlong into the action as the original film did, this takes a more stoic approach to things, with Max observing the carnage from afar before deciding to get involved. It might just be that his personal tragedies have taught him to exhibit an air of tact, in assessing a situation before running in all guns blazing.
Viewers will quickly realise that this is as unforgiving and morally devoid as the original film - led by the imposing, monstrous Lord Humungous, the evil gang viciously murder inhabitants of the town in an attempt to pilfer its gasoline supply. The fact that they ultimately give the townspeople 24 hours to peacefully hand over the town (and moreover, its gasoline reserves) would suggest that they are slightly more humane than the antagonists of the first film, but rest assured that this group are as brutal as anything seen in the first film.
As you can expect, Max becomes caught in the middle of the squabbling inhabitants, and ultimately acts as a directional force, a leader in their fight, although Max doesn't take this as a charity case - he's getting as much gasoline as he can carry out of it. In this sense, it's great to see that the character of Max never lets up in looking out for his best interests first, and as such, he is something of an anti-hero.
The first half of Mad Max 2 may be a little restrained for some - the action is few and far between, but is essentially build-up for the action-packed second half, beginning with Max engaging the gang in a high-speed automobile demolition derby. The smashmouth style of car-chase direction from the first film quickly returns in full, violent force, as well as the rather homoerotic attire of the villains.
From this point, the narrative follows a similar structure to the first film - both Max's side and the opposing gang incur losses in a string of violent exchanges, each time regrouping and then returning to fight soon after. Max, the unlucky soul that he is, merely wishes to get out of dodge with his gasoline and his car (frankly he doesn't see this as his battle), yet as it turns out, in another ironic twist, Max may well have been safer in the town, as he is waylaid and left for dead moments after leaving. Furthermore, the enemies crawling around the desert wasteland are now more dangerous than ever, using nitrous oxide to drive even faster (and as such, more dangerously) than before (and you thought The Fast and the Furious used that gimmick first?).
Max ostensibly ends up right back where he started, thanks to what is near-enough Max's only foible in the series up to this point. Max, driven only by his own need to escape these heinous monsters, agrees to aid the town in their escape, resulting in a full-throttle, white-knuckle thrill ride, taking place both on the lush desert terrain and even in the sky to a degree. The exciting finale is explosion-laden and every bit as unforgivingly brutal as the original film's, and no matter how many times a body is hurled under a car in this film (and no matter how many times I watch it), it is still shocking.
Max Rockatansky, now black and bruised, with enemies literally coming from all angles and directions, is solidified as an action-hero by Gibson's steely performance, portraying a character who never lets up, and will not be stopped with such gusto and enthusiasm that it's near-impossible not to take a shine to both Max as a character and Gibson as a performer.
After an exciting and bombastically violent finale, as with the first film, the desert sand has little time to settle before the credits hit. Miller clearly has no interest in providing any padding or gentle decline for the audience, and frankly, this film is all the better for it.
As a sequel, Mad Max 2 is seemingly unnecessarily but ultimately well-executed. It takes a little while to get to the meat of the matter, but once it does, it delivers as many adrenaline-fuelled thrills as the original, with as much directorial craftsmanship also. I found Max's personal struggle to be more interesting and relatable in the first film, yet his taking it upon himself to lead a band of otherwise hopeless soldiers to the cusp of destruction with all bells tooting is enjoyable to say the least.
Enchanted (2007)
A fun, postmodernist ride (MILD spoilers)
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
Enchanted's opening moments serve as a wonderful hark back to the classic animation of yesteryear, and even as someone not terribly fond of grand musical interludes, I was frankly taken aback and very much, dare I say, enchanted by this film.
The premise is such - Giselle (Amy Adams), soon to be Princess, is on the lookout for love in Prince Edward (James Marsden), whilst the evil Queen Narissa (Susan Sarandon) wishes to foil this plan to retain her prestige. The setup for Enchanted is unoriginal, but it has been so long since we have seen this dynamic in any sort of animated form that it is an instant win for director Kevin Lima.
Whilst the opening animated sequence borrows from Snow White (among other Disney classics) in many ways, the meat of the film is unlike anything else that Disney have cooked up over the years. Through the Queen's meticulous scheme, Giselle becomes banished to a world where there are no happy endings the "real world".
As the film transforms from animation to live action, enter the gloriously dolled-up Amy Adams, traipsing around New York City in a gigantic white dress, entirely oblivious to what is going on around her. Enchanted is a classic "out of towner in the big city" story with a fantastical twist the real world is a colossal culture shock to Giselle, as she learns upon being mugged (in hilarious fashion) by a homeless man.
Soon enough, she meets Robert, played by Patrick Dempsey, who, along with the majority of the cast of the horrendous Grey's Anatomy, I had near enough written off. Nonetheless, Giselle, who is simply looking to find her way home, becomes embroiled in Robert's life, and frankly, with her high-pitched voice and snazzy dress sense, who could blame Robert for thinking that she had escaped from the local asylum? In perhaps one of the film's few weak points of development, Robert allows Giselle to sleep at his place despite his previous trepidation, although this is very much his character all over he buckles to her charms, and says more about Robert as a character than any sort of weak scriptwriting.
From this point, Prince Edward and his trusty chipmunk sidekick arrive on the scene to rescue Giselle. It becomes evident from James Marsden's first live-action scene in this film that he had great fun with this role, hurling himself into it completely with a rare energy seen nowadays. As with his memorable turn in this year's Hairspray, Marsden shows his knack for these melodramatic, charismatic roles, and moreover, who could resist that smile? Enchanted is not without its curiosities, such as how Giselle knows quite what a vacuum cleaner is as she sings about it, but that's probably one of the less ridiculous things about this film, considering it has vermin scrubbing a toilet with toothbrushes. The film is full of such divergences, but they are forgivable, and more to the point, acceptable ones.
As can be quite predictably expected, all of this chaos causes an upheaval in Robert's personal and professional life. Robert is given a number of opportunities to get rid of Giselle, and under normal circumstances, I would become irritated when he doesn't, but given how this is a live-action fairytale, and an ironic one at that, juxtaposing the real life and the transcendental, I can show some mercy. Also, let's face it Amy Adams is just that charming she adds a bravery to her role by adding a face to the would-be animated voice.
The film generally does well to steer clear from irritation, although it is not without its instances of unadulterated cheese, such as an impromptu dance number in the middle of Central Park. In its defense, it isn't anything more over-the-top than you would see in a normal Disney film, and it is just as well telegraphed.
The course of the film envisions a dichotomous change for our characters Giselle becomes humanised, employing an air of rational thought (even at one point, quite hilariously, feeling anger), whilst Robert begins to exhibit a fresher, more romanticised outlook on life. Giselle's influence on not only Robert but the world around her is profound, her magic aura touching many lives, whilst all the positives of the corporeal world rub off on Giselle and her Prince.
Aside from the evil Queen arriving on Earth to take care of Giselle herself, the film posits a veiled question of morality, love and relationships. Regrettably, the answer didn't really seem within the ironic vein of the rest of the picture, instead leaning towards a clean, fairytale solution rather than an authentic one. I'm not sure if it sends the right message to the youngsters of 2007, but again, it hasn't done anything that Disney hasn't already been doing for the last seventy years, and like classics such as Mulan, Enchanted, by its end, presents us with an exceedingly strong female protagonist. Heck, the film even puts in a good word for stepmothers everywhere! All in all, I didn't expect, but merely hope for a more complex solution to the issues that Enchanted raises, rather than the syrupy ending we're treated to. Still, this is a solid urban fairytale with electrifying performances, namely from the wonderful Amy Adams, but also from James Marsden, and the surprisingly tolerable Patrick Dempsey. The film serves well to remain tongue-in-cheek right up until its final moments, and even despite the problematic third act, it is difficult to hold a grudge against a film where the term "feel good" has rarely been more apt.
Bee Movie (2007)
Interesting, if slightly awkward animated romp...
Shaun Munro's Reviews (ShaunMunro.co.uk):
The idea of anthropomorphism is certainly nothing new in animated cinema, but in Bee Movie, written by comedy giant Jerry Seinfeld, one is driven to ask is this one step too far? Bee Movie is essentially an allegory of human existence. Our protagonist, Barry Benson (Jerry Seinfeld), a bee, has recently graduated and become disenfranchised with the idea of making honey for the rest of his life. Through a series of events, Benson comes to learn that humans eat honey, and as such, endeavours to sue the human race. How such subject matter meanders into a children's film is a curiosity, and I find myself thinking that adults may better identify with the film's themes than the ankle-biting target audience.
Bee Movie also employs a rather strange means of character modelling the bee characters resemble human beings more than in any other film such as this, with even their skin tones closely resembling the white cross-section of society. When you combine this with the fact that the bees drive cars to work, it would at times become easy to forget that this is even a film about insects.
As questionable as the film's content can be, the visual effects are undeniably impressive, although will be starkly overshadowed by the visual feast that is Beowulf. There are numerous scenes of distinct chaos, all of which are appropriately bombastic and colourful, and as such are easy to simply sit back and absorb.
Whilst one doesn't expect moral complexity from a film such as this, the characters are incredibly black and white the human who interacts with Benson, Vanessa (Renée Zellweger), is an exponent of animal rights, rather preposterously attesting that the life of a bee is as important as that of a human. Meanwhile, her boyfriend, Ken (voiced by Family Guy's excellent Patrick Warburton) is very much the opposite, and quite rightly, I found myself agreeing with his sentiments.
Some of the inherent mechanics of Bee Movie's premise are materially strange the fact that a bee alone can talk to a human is preposterous enough, but the fact that she can hear the minute sound that a bee is able to project is insane. Still, I see this not as an overt complaint as a mechanic it is slightly clumsy and awkward-looking, but one soon gets used to it, and for whom this film ultimately concerns, they're unlikely to be bothered by it. However, there is one sigh-inducing instance, in which Benson is able to overpower a human in a mock "sword fight" whilst I don't necessarily expect a scientifically plausible film, this came close to destroying the barrier entirely. That said, without most of these divergences, we wouldn't have much of a film, would we now? As strange a choice as the premise is for a children's film, there are also a number of adult jibes that will undoubtedly zoom far over the heads of the target audience. There was a rather surprising blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to sexually transmitted diseases (which left me unsure whether to laugh or fold my arms), and numerous cinematic references in Ray Liotta's brief appearance.
The real gems of Bee Movie are the numerous cameo appearances, including Chris Rock (as a blood-hungry mosquito), John Goodman (a slimy, morbidly obese and melodramatic lawyer), as well as the aforementioned Ray Liotta, and Sting as themselves. There's even a bee version of Larry King, inventively named "Bee Larry King", an overly anthropomorphic character (in that he almost entirely resembles King to a tee), but Seinfeld makes light of this fact and its deliberation, so it hardly irritates.
The idea of a bee taking legal action against the human race is about as preposterous a premise as one could excavate, and I largely expect that had Jerry Seinfeld or a similarly talented individual not appeared at the helm, then this project would have been thrown headlong into development Hell, or been given the red light from the outset. More to the point, the film's finale barely befits the tone of the proceeding hour, with a high-octane finale placing human lives at stake. Naturally, we know that there's never any real danger, and nobody will die in this film, yet it still feels like a cheesy, inane throwback to films such as Turbulence or about fifty direct-to-video action films, and worse still, the laws of physics are torn up, shredded, and shredded once more.
As one can expect, everything returns to the status quo, the equilibrium is re-introduced, everyone gets their just desserts and the credits roll rather swiftly. Bee Movie is a feel good film by its end, but there's a decent amount of adult content so very tactfully slotted in between the bright colours and pretty rendered faces. Given the film's tone at times, with jokes about suicide pacts, I was half expecting the film to end with our sympathetic human protagonist turning out to be insane, having invented her conversations with the bee in her head, but alas, it wasn't so, which is a shame, as it would have made for a considerably more entertaining film.
Bee Movie is one of the more intriguing animated films to surface in a long time it's not that the film is outstanding in any aspect, but Seinfeld's brand of humour transposed onto and disguised as a children's film is either quite disconcerting, or incredibly smart on his part. The film is full of awkward action scenes, but each instance it falls down, it still manages to dazzle with slick, frenetic animation. Zellweger is appropriately irritating as the overexcited human protagonist, and the supporting cast, cameos and all, form most of what is enjoyable about Bee Movie. Seinfeld may need to reconsider who his target audience is, but this is an interesting and daring attempt at something a little different in the animated world.