You take that side and I'll take this...

I don't think I hated Across the Universe, but at points I certainly came very close. The easily identifiable problem about this film is that it has no substance. Oh, you can say it's about revolution, as I did when one of my friends (who liked it) asked us "but what was it about?", but the film is no more about revolution than it is about lesbianism or psychedelica, although it certainly spends a lot more time deliberating morosely over the former than the latter two. It checks about every box it can think of but is interested in nothing more than doing so. Instead, director Julie Taymor (of the bloody Shakespeare adaptation Titus, which I haven't seen, and the shruggable Frida, which I have) throws about every bizarre image and technique that pops into her head at you and hopes some of them stick. Very few do.

The problem is not that people suddenly start singing Beatles songs (although they generally do it rather badly), or even that Taymor has the extras around the singers start doing dances/movements, its that the two don't fit together. Why, I asked, as the audience laughed at the preposterousness of it, does T.V. Carpio, a Vietnamese lesbian cheerleader named Prudence (oh yes), sing 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand' with the footballer players doing some kind of slapstick tumbling around her? Well, I think the answer to that is pretty obvious. Taymor thought it would look good. It doesn't. It looks ridiculous. (Incidentally, Carpio is probably the best thing here: not only can she actually sing, but she makes a cliched non-character more than the points the film wants to identify her with, and leaves you longing to see more of her. A wish not granted.)

When the film's imagery trips into the clearly bizarre, such as naked underwater kissing between the two leads (a flat Evan Rachel Wood and an acceptable Jim Sturgess, who sounds more like Oasis than the Beatles) or a canvas lined with bleeding strawberries, it's not so hard to cope with. But then something like an apartment literally becoming the sky (for no reason that I could comprehend) and you have to laugh or you'll cry at the appauling claptrap you're being fed. It pretends to think, to have opinions about things, but it simply presents them to you instead.

"Hey, look, Evan Rachel Wood is joining the revolution, and that's cool, right, because she's a hot young chick but she's actually got something going on upstairs, you know? But, natch, the Liverpudlian she loves will show her what's right by being an unsupportive selfish bastard, and anyway, those revolutionaries are as bad as the government anyway, right, so let's sing a song and stare at Evan's pretty face! 'Cause who cares about politics, right? Look at this cool film stock reversal technique instead!"

You know what? I did kind of hate it after all. D+

A Bunch of Randomness

- Another one bites the dust. My forecasting viewing of Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is now on indefinite hold simply because there is nowhere near me showing it. Now, this isn't quite as bad as the Bug situation since there are actually a couple of cinemas outside of London showing it... but still. They show rubbish like Alien vs. Predator: SludgeFest³ or whatever it's called this time (on that note: what the fuck is Reiko Aylesworth doing in that? She deserves so so much better. Take note, casting agents! I advocate Reiko for future stardom!) but not something with at least a reasonable amount of pedigree like Devil? Of course, the sad fact is that Alien minus Sigourney=No Interest will probably get to number one, but that's just because people, in general, are idiots. But how can they see things if you DON'T SHOW THEM, distributor people? This vitriol is particularly directed towards my favoured cinema in England's second city, which used to be so good at showing more obscure titles but has of late become almost as shit as the rest of the cinemas.

- I am fully convinced that Homecoming by Kanye West and Chris Martin is the greatest song ever, despite the fact that I don't really like either artist that much. However, it's really the awesome piano in the song that I adore. I like to tap it out on my leg.

- In other music news, may I celebrate that fact that despite not being released for far longer than any sense decrees, Rihanna's superb single Don't Stop the Music is ALREADY at #6 in the UK charts despite not being released properly (ie. as a CD) for two more weeks. Could she get to number one? I beg of you, UK public. Send her to number one. Again.

- I'm not going to write a review for The Kite Runner because it was so awful and banal that it doesn't deserve one, but suffice to say the more I reflect on it, the more I detest it's backward simplicity, its cliched arcs, its flat visual sense, and the fact that it treats such a hot-button subject with such blunt tactlessness that it is, actually, quite offensive. About the only part of it I could say I had any halfway good feeling towards was the kite flying competition, which was not only irrelevant but also fake! Fake, I tells ya!

- I will, however, hopefully be reviewing both The Golden Door and No Country for Old Men, the latter of which already has an entry in processing. But the one of more interest, simply because far fewer people have seen it, is Emanuele Crialese's The Golden Door, which surprised me with its warmth, offbeat sensibilities and tactful, insightful handling of immigration at the turn of the last century- and it also showcased one of 2007's best performances, you may be interested to hear. It's not hard to guess who, but you can if you so wish.

Victim's Gold Stars: A Red Cross

I'm halfway through my top ten countdown, and thus it is time to take a little detour into the black pit that is the worst of the year. These are the movies (and the people in them) that are so bad that they don't deserve graphics (no, it's not because I'm lazy)- these are the very nadir of 2006's movie experience. Brace yourselves. (This is strictly for FUN- please don't start berating me.)

WORST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Hayden Christensen, Factory Girl

The Star Wars-alumni suddenly swoops in and tears the film's clever self-conscious emptiness into a dull emptiness with a annoyingly mugging performance as someone who ISN'T Bob Dylan, I tells ya!

Aaron Eckhart, The Black Dahlia

I'm not sure who told Mr. Eckhart to contort his face so wildly whenever the camera looks at him, but I sure as hell wish they hadn't.

Noah Emmerich, Little Children

Emmerich is the sole member of the cast who actually fits into the skewed universe in which Little Children takes place: alienating, grotesque, hyper and disturbing.

Freddy Rodriguez, Lady in the Water

I like Freddy when he isn't forced into an admittedly thankless role and made to perform like a circus monkey. Nice arm.

Mickey Rourke, Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker
There aren't 300 rows in the cinema, Mickey. We can hear you just fine. And see you, unfortunately for us.

WORST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Shohreh Aghdashloo, The Nativity Story
Stop smirking, Shohreh. Just because you're miraculously pregnant doesn't mean you have to start being sickly sweet two months early.

Jennifer Hudson, Dreamgirls
She can sing, sure. But she can't act, even when she's singing.

Laura Linney, Driving Lessons
I think she's supposed to be Welsh. But, like Sir Anthony Hopkins, she seems to be even less clued in than the audience about where she's from. And she's so upset that she starts shrieking! Stop it, Laura! Please, for the love of god!

Idina Menzel, Ask the Dust
Who are you and why are you living next to a fairground?

Hilary Swank, The Black Dahlia
What is she wearing? Is that real hair? She doesn't look like Mia Kirschner, does she? What is she doing? What is she saying? Why is she here?


A little respite... here are five diamonds in the rough. (I'm not sure how they all ended up being women, but there you go.)

BEST PERFORMANCE IN A BAD MOVIE
Amy Adams, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
The Junebug star is barely in this atrocity and yet still manages to be luminescent, suddenly swooping in for a gorgeous monologue before, sadly, subjecting herself to Will Ferrell's hungry lips.

Jennifer Connelly, Little Children
Superbly attuned to the childish and suspicious nature of her sidelined character, Connelly pierces her scenes with a stunning precision, eyes watching her husband and his new 'friend' like a hawk.

Jodelle Ferland, Tideland
To be fair Tideland isn't awful- it's just extremely alienating. Ferland, as the central character, proves a terrific find, no traces of Dakota Fanning-esque precociousness in her unbalanced character's oddities, throwing herself totally into Gilliam's strange world.

Diane Lane, Hollywoodland
Lane is an unexpected warmth in the corner of this extraordinarily dull movie, bringing pathos and emotion to an underwritten part and giving her scenes the necessary nervous edge.

Amy Smart, Crank
Miss Smart is subjected to rather nasty things in the course of Crank's hyper-active running time, yet remains charismatic, knowing and exciting.


And now back to...

WORST ACTOR

Adrien Brody, Hollywoodland
Whenever he reappeared on-screen, my already deadened heart sank several metres. Go. Away.

Tom Hanks, The Da Vinci Code
Nice hair. Are there no showers near the Louvre?

Kevin Kline, A Prairie Home Companion
This is a film about radio, right? So remind me: why the private dick? And more importantly, why is Kevin trying to look like he's come straight from The Maltese Falcon?

Sean Penn, All the King's Men
Mr. Penn is so loud and bombastic that I'm pretty sure even the penguins dancing around the North Pole got what he said. Well, they heard it- god knows if they understood it, because I didn't.

Alex Pettyfer, Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker
I'm thankfully no longer a young teenage boy, but even so, I just wanted to punch this smug pretty boy into the Thames.

WORST ACTRESS

Cate Blanchett, Little Fish
Wake up, Cate! They're filming! It's time to act now. Oh, you are?

Kate Bosworth, Superman Returns
Lois Lane is supposed to be a fiery cracker of a woman. Kate Bosworth acts like someone poured one hundred pints of water over her heard and slapped her after each one.

Keisha Castle Hughes, The Nativity Story
If she's Mary, I'm the Archangel Gabriel. Oh, sorry Mr. Siddig. I forgot they already hired you.

Julie Walters, Driving Lessons
I'm recoiling and she's not even touching me.

Renee Zellweger, Miss Potter
She's blotchy, garish and alarmingly bonkers. Run, children, run!

WORST PICTURE

5. Ask the Dust
It's entirely hollow: not even the sets look realistic, they're reminiscent of a Pleasantville-style enclosed set, and the director is even stupid enough to film at the edges. When you manage to make the naked frolicking of Colin Farrell and Salma Hayek boring, you're in major trouble.

4. Driving Lessons
Julie Walters smiles and yells, Laura Linney shrieks and pops her eyes, and Rupert Grint cowers in fear. If you think its bad while you're watching it, just wait for the end. It's ten times as horrifying.

3. Just My Luck
The jokes are just too easy with that title. What universe does this take place in? I hate it. I hate it I hate it I hate it.

2. Lady in the Water
The setting of M. Night Shyamalan's latest indulgency is an apartment block that seems to be the little swampy brother of Narnia. Is it strange that this, too, doesn't seem to take place in any recognisable universe, even though it protests to? I mean, I know it's full of strange creatures, but the people are supposed to be from Earth, right? Right? Oh, sorry, Night, you can't hear me- your head is lodged firmly up your own ass.

1. Apocalypto
Speaking of asses... Apocalypto isn't just immoral and despicable and horrifying and useless and devoid of any purpose whatsoever, but it's just bad filmmaking. The camera doesn't know where it's going, the script seems to have been written by a three-year-old, and- a-ha!- someone gave the editor Milos's crazy scissors! Step away from the camera, Mel, and no-one'll get hurt.

Victim's Gold Stars will resume normal service very soon. And no, I'm not going to mention Spider-Man 3.

Catching Up With The Duds: The Covenant, The Nativity Story and Driving Lessons

[The Covenant (Renny Harlin, 2006): It seems rather pointless to even bother reviewing a movie as minor, overlooked and derided as The Covenant, but, neverthless, I shall attempt it. For me, The Covenant was a gap-filler, a movie to see when I could find nothing else but didn't feel like going home yet. (Never mind that it actually turned out to be better, if only slightly, than the film that preceded it, the anaemic Nativity Story.) I had, indeed, read all the damning reviews and callings of awfulness, and it perhaps because of that that The Covenant didn't turn out to be quite as dreadful as I feared: make no mistake, this is dreadful, cliched filmmaking and a horrendous script, but it falls into the 'so-bad-it's-entertaining' category. Self-conscious, unintentionally hilarious lines like "Harry Potter can kiss my ass!" and "Dreamcacther is the shit!" make it clear that for some reason The Covenant wants to think itself amongst illustrious company, but with a cast full of fashion-catalogue actors whose chests do more acting than they do (you could do worse as far as teenage eye-candy is concerned) it was never going to come close. Nevertheless, the sheer awfulness of it all actually makes it quite entertaining, teasing its audience with strange, unexplained references that clearly want their own sequel (not gonna happen) and ending on such a damp squib of a note that you leave chortling. I suppose it says something about the lack of good comedy in the cinemas today that The Covenant is one of the funniest movies I've seen all year. Grade: D+]

[The Nativity Story (Catherine Hardwicke, 2006): You'd think, wouldn't you, that by employing such an offbeat director as Catherine Hardwicke, famous for her striking portraits of disaffected youths in both thirteen and Lords of Dogtown, that the people behind The Nativity Story would have been aiming for much of the same in her tackling of the infamous story of Jesus' birth. After all, it does seem rife for re-examination- the film does mention, however briefly, the stoning Mary might recieve being pregnant not by her husband, even as she claims that her womb is swollen with the child of God. But, inexplicably, Hardwicke seems happy to tell this well-worn story straight, without any sign of her usual edgy techniques or insights, and this makes The Nativity Story an incredible bore. Why bother telling this story when every school does it every year- with a much smaller budget, yes, but at least they put their hearts into it. For not only is The Nativity Story an anaemic drag of a film, it's also totally empty, lacking any passion for anything at all, let alone a God. The settings are well re-created, but never does the film escape the feeling that just off the edge of the camera the real world is lying, so transparent is the acting and the photography. Keisha Castle-Hughes, in only her second role since her stunning debut in Whale Rider, is a pretty face but nothing more as Mary, while Oscar Isaac as Joseph is stolid and dull. Worst in show, as she increasingly seems to be, is Shohreh Aghdashloo, playing Mary's cousin Elizabeth who is also miraculously pregnant- but Aghdashloo's grotesque facial contortions and overbearing mannerisms may make you want to kick her straight into hell.Hardwicke, or her script (by Mike Rich), are convinced of the tale's spirituality, employing visions of the angel Gabriel (Alexander Siddig) and a glowingly vast beam of light over the stable where Jesus is born. Never before have I believed so little in the tale of the nativity, and I'm an atheist. Grade: D]

[Driving Lessons (Jeremy Brock, 2006): The more I think about Driving Lessons the more I hate it, so I suppose it's a good thing that the entire thing is so slim that it doesn't come to mind too often. Harry Potter's Rupert Grint- the red-haired one- is a pale imitation of an actor in the role of Ben Marshall, a socially inept young adult with a domineering mother (a garish Laura Linney), who comes out of his shell when he goes to work for a fading grand dame actress Evie Walton (Julie Walters). Not only is Driving Lessons almost entirely predictable (though you'll never predict the height of the horrors in its finale), but it is a dreadful drive, filled with squealing overacting by Julie Walters, so maximised that Rupert Grint is barely noticeable at all. Never once does Driving Lessons approach anything like reality, from the dampness of Grint's father figure (a vicar, no less) to Linney's wildly played performance, complete with unrecognisable accent, and from Grint's loss of virginity to an older Scottish girl to Walters's failure at a rare public appearance due to Grint's disappearance. Whether Driving Lessons wants to be a reticent version of Harold and Maude (no, they don't have sex) or something entirely different, it's certainly not worth your time, or, indeed, anyone else's. Stay far, far away, and let's hope Grint gets himself a different instructor. Grade: D-]