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.

Looking Ahead: My Ten Most Anticipated of 2008

My most anticipated from last year didn't exactly turn out so well, but that's the fascinating thing about anticipation: things you have little interest in can turn out to be superb, and things you just can't wait for more often than not let you down. And then of course there's all the things that just aren't on the radar yet. Here's to looking back at the beginning of 2009 (oh, my) and seeing just how odd my anticipations were.

This list does not contain 2007 US releases that UK is still to get; for reasons I now don't understand but am bidden by anal-retentive personality to abide by, my movie year is governed by America and not Britain, which means you can look forward to this year's Gold Stars from mid-March (my month away from uni). So, while I may be whizzing round the room in excitement over Juno and There Will Be Blood, they will not be found within.

Runner-ups: The Changeling, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Dark Knight,Genova, How to Lose Friends & Alienate People, Stop Loss, Sunshine Clearing, The Young Victoria

10. The Brothers Bloom
dir. Rian Johnson
cast: Rachel Weisz, Adrien Brody, Mark Ruffalo, Rinko Kikuchi, Robbie Coltrane, Nora Zehetner
I was the rare non-fan of Johnson's debut Brick, but this con movie just looks cool- and the cast (barring Brody, my nemesis) looks fantastic. I get a sort of screwball vibe from it, and there just isn't enough screwball these days. Johnson's done noir- can he tackle another classic Hollywood genre?

9. Australia
dir. Baz Luhrmann
cast: Nicole Kidman, Hugh Jackman, David Wenham, Essie Davis, Bryan Brown, David Gulpilil
Baz Luhrmann's long-awaited Australian epic (I'm assuming) sounds, looks and feels like a potential masterpiece, some kind of defining movie for both it's country and it's time... if it's done right. It seems to be an epic, a war movie and a western all rolled into one. And how interesting is it to cast Nicole Kidman in an Australian movie called Australia and have her play an Englishwoman?

8. The International
dir. Tom Tykwer
cast: Clive Owen, Naomi Watts, Armin Mueller-Stahl, Ulrich Thomsen
A simple equation: Tom Tykwer + Brothers' Ulrich Thomsen x Naomi Watts = me interested in movie.

7. The Reader
dir. Stephen Daldry
cast: Kate Winslet, Ralph Fiennes, Bruno Ganz, Karoline Herfurth, Linda Bassett
The switcheroo of Nicole Kidman for Kate Winslet made this jump up onto the top ten, and if that doesn't tell you how frequently I kneel at the altar of the Winslet nothing will. I still have reservations about the story and the accent, but I watched A Christmas Carol for Kate so I'm bloody well going to watch this. (Plus, Perfume's silent nose-filler Herfurth is in it!)

6. Blindness
dir. Fernando Meirelles
cast: Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Gael Garcia Bernal, Danny Glover, Sandra Oh
A fascinating plot based on a novel by a Nobel Prize winner, three superb leads and a director who's already proved he knows his way around a camera. This is already being touted as an Oscar contender, and, though it sounds a little off their track, hopefully it will be good enough to break down barriers and become a real hit.

5. The Box
dir. Richard Kelly
cast: James Marsden, Cameron Diaz, Frank Langella
Unusually for Kelly, the basic plot sounds alarmingly simple, but the imdb's idea of "true humanity" may hint at a much more complex and difficult film to deal with. This has the potential to be a complete disaster, both artistically and commercially, or some kind of minor masterpiece (I can't see it going mainstream, somehow). Plus, James Marsden!

4. Body of Lies
dir. Ridley Scott
cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, Carice Van Houten, Michael Gaston
Reasons why I want to see this movie: Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten. William Monahan. Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten. Leonardo DiCaprio. Carice Van Houten. Carice Van Houten.

Does anyone have a problem with that?

3. Synecdoche, New York
dir. Charlie Kaufman
cast: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Michelle Williams, Catherine Keener, Emily Watson, Samantha Morton, Dianne Wiest, Hope Davis
The name Charlie Kaufman should really be enough by itself. But my god, look at all those ladies. I'd see a film by Paul W.S. Anderson if it starred all of them. Delayed from last year, this will assuredly be as original and unpredictable as Kaufman's previous work, and with him behind the camera as well, it should all add up to a truly unique- and hopefully marvellous- experience.

2. WALL-E
dir. Andrew Stanton
cast: WALL-E, a robot
Pixar may have disappointed me with their last couple of movies, but this looks truly wonderful. Still filming, reports seem to suggest that there's going to be very little dialogue- risky, surely, for what is essentially, at least in the marketer's eyes, a kid's movie? Now that Disney have seen sense and are (apparently) letting Pixar alone to do their own thing, this will hopefully be a return to the studio's glory days of Toy Story. It's certainly the big event of the summer as far as I'm concerned.

1. Revolutionary Road
dir. Sam Mendes
cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, Kathy Bates, Michael Shannon
Not only are Jack and Rose reunited, but they brought Molly Brown with them! There are so many questions. Will the chemistry still be there? How will the ten years + have changed the way Kate and Leo interact? How will Kate work with her husband as director? Is the book actually any good? Can this possibly live up to the hype? I have to wait exactly a year from today to find out.

Everyone Wins!

So, it's ten to two in the morning and I've just come through a problematic viewing (DVD + laptop = disaster) of Fatal Attraction (um... oh, my) and I come online to this rather wonderful news:

Winslet expected to replace Kidman in "The Reader"

Now, I know that's Yahoo! but they did cite her publicist so I'm trusting it. And this makes me very excited. For, much as I love Nicole, seeing my dearest Kate in a film I'm really looking forward to (it's in my still-drafting Most Anticipated list) just makes me alight with happiness. Last year was Winslet-free after her rather awful glut of films at the end of 2006 (when the best of your films is The Holiday, you know you're in trouble), so I'm really ready to see her back on-form with both The Reader and the highly anticipated Revolutionary Road. I almost feel like popping in Sense and Sensibility in joyous celebration. But I won't.

Supporting Actress Blog-a-Thon: Kristen Thomson in Away From Her

This post is for StinkyLulu's Supporting Actress Blog-a-Thon, Class of 2007. I strongly suggest you head over there for other posts from across the blogosphere.

Most of the press surrounding Away From Her has been (deservedly, I hasten to add) focused on Julie Christie, or Sarah Polley, or perhaps if you’re lucky Gordon Pinsent and even Olympia Dukakis. But while all the aforementioned are richly deserving of the praise lavished upon them, there’s an unsung hero within, and after much deliberation, it’s she whom I’ve chosen to write about for this blog-a-thon.

Kristen Thomson plays Kristy, a nurse at the care home where Christie’s Fiona is sent when her Alzheimer’s becomes too advanced for her husband Grant (Pinsent) to deal with. Just as Polley flips general movie convention on its head by making the rare film about the older generation, Thomson is like the wise mentor character from the opposite generation. Sharing a cigarette with Grant outside the hospital, Thomson gets her biggest moment in the film, peeling off a few layers as Kristy talks a little about her daughter, and how she’s just trying to get along.

Thomson is both the warmth and the wit of the movie, providing the lighter moments of the film but always underlining them with the weariness Kristy feels, the simultaneous feeling of fatigue and usefulness she sees in her work. She is an unburdening shoulder to lean on, a real, tangible person for Grant to hook onto as his wife drifts further away from him. She represents the humanity beneath the polished, polite, sterile surface the home’s manager presents to Grant when he first visits, and Thomson is clever enough to put the script’s descriptions of her into her movement too- her walk is never weary and heavy, but neither does it have the false spring of the manager’s glide.

Kristy is simply an average woman working in a difficult, unappreciated job which she gives as much as she can to, trying to live for herself and her daughter. To Grant, Kristy is a source of peace and normality in a system he doesn’t like or understand; to the movie, she acts like a backbone, an essential but unexceptional supporting construction, and Thomson never makes her bigger than she should be- she is, ultimately, the definition of ‘supporting’, and that’s why I picked her for this brief moment in the spotlight.

Chauvinism or misogyny? It's all the same to me...

A new year and new resolutions. The past six months have been so lax on this blog that I've probably driven away any tiny readership I had, but now I'm ready and motivated to actually write things. Later, my contribution to StinkyLulu's Supporting Actress blog-a-thon, but now, some nastily negative words on a couple of films that deserve them.

I never thought I would see the day when I could say I hated a Woody Allen film, but I suppose that everyone’s illusions must be shattered at some point. Anything Else is not, unfortunately, as dismissible as both its title and its plot suggest, but a self-indulgent, useless, hateful piece of work- made all the more deplorable for the fact that it was made by a filmmaker once so insightful and witty. I’ll put aside my accusations of misogyny for a moment and focus on the other thing that’s most horrifying about Anything Else: Woody Allen now thinks so much of himself that he’s not in this film once, he’s in it twice. Oh, yes. Not content with his usual youthful stand-in, this time played flatly by Jason “American Pie” Biggs, Allen also gives himself a part to play, a delusional, wizened comedy writer named Dobel. Allen angles his and Biggs’ characters into a weird kind of friendship, in which Allen gives Biggs lots of quotations, leading, naturally, to Biggs practically begging Allen for advice when his agent is troublesome and his romance goes sour. At one point near the end of the film, Allen actually gives some (unintentionally?) ironic advice to Biggs that, to paraphrase, suggests he listen to the ‘wise words’ of those offering them and then ignore them completely. The distressing fact is that by this time Allen seems so convinced of his own wondrousness, refracted not through his part but Biggs, that you are left with two thoughts: either Allen is foolishly promoting his own ‘superb’ insights, or he’s realized that he is, actually, past it, and is encouraging you to go back to when he could actually play his own central figures and actually had some interesting things to say about relationships. Allen has played the same tune for thirty years now, and, looking at this film, for all its squarely photographed pseudo-chic New York settings, he’s still stuck in the 1970s.

But I’m ignoring the main point of this entry. It could be, perhaps, that I’m going a bit far in accusing this film of outright misogyny, because it never outrightly professes to hate women, simply that they are incomprehensible. It’s probable that, as one of the two conclusions above sees Allen’s foolishness, he doesn’t see that he’s being misogynistic. Perhaps the debacle with Mia Farrow has finally caught up with his pen (or typing fingers). But Anything Else seems to see women as one of two things, handily encapsulated into a familial pairing of mother and daughter: a woman is either a loose nutcase, or a pathetic nutcase. It’s almost shocking to see two such charismatic, dextrous performers as Christina Ricci and Stockard Channing playing these shrewish characters, delivering lines either so flatly they seem braindead or so wildly they look bug-eyed, but that’s what Allen has them do. The other couple of women that make appearances in the film- one an ex of Biggs in flashback, the other someone Ricci angles to set him up with- aren’t harridans like Ricci and Channing, but they’re so bland and unimportant that they’re most likely just harridans-in-waiting.

Reign Over Me, Mike Binder’s 2007 release, could be described slightly more kindly as chauvinistic, if only because women are so sidelined in the film as just to be there when either Don Cheadle or Adam Sandler need someone to show how wonderful they are, despite the fact that they’re played by the fairly respectable performers Liv Tyler, Jada Pinkett Smith and Saffrow Burrows. Unlike Anything Else, Reign Over Me at least shows some variety in its careless depiction of womenfolk- Tyler is a kindly but apparently useless shrink (mostly just a pretty face), Smith is Cheadle’s jigsaw-playing, party-pooper of a wife, while Burrows gets the worst of the lot as a psychotic patient of Cheadle’s (he’s a dentist) who wants to, um, service him for no apparent reason. Reign Over Me doesn’t hate these figures- Tyler especially seems to be a respectable source of help, even if she’s the shrink apparently encouraging Burrows’ pursuit of Cheadle, and the only time we see her with Sandler shows her as strikingly ineffectual- but it clearly believes the male figures are both more interesting and more valuable: Smith is a source of annoyance because she won’t let Cheadle go gallivanting with Sandler on his scooter at three in the morning?

Reign Over Me purports to be a film dealing with the personal aftermath of the war on terror- Sandler’s wife, children and dog were all killed on 9/11- but as it develops, it’s really just another film where Sandler can do his shtick, only protected from criticism by the veil of seriousness. It’s salvaged from disaster by Cheadle’s good work, managing his character’s wavering reactions to Sandler’s outbursts with earnest good-heartedness, and playing well off the rest of the cast. He anchors the movie in the realm of the real, balancing Binder’s sentimental and predictable impulses (such as flickers of Sandler’s memory visualised as his children running through the same hall he now looks down) against a sturdy characterization of a successful man trying to bridge the gap between his youth and his present. Even so, though, the film sways dangerously off course almost immediately, and by the time it’s dived headlong into a courtcase, I was already lost to the calls of Punch-Drunk Love and Spanglish.

Anything Else: F; Reign Over Me: C-

Offending Sensibilities

From IMDb's page for Gone Baby Gone:

The film's UK release, scheduled for 28 December 2007, has been postponed indefinitely because of the film’s similarity to the real-life case of four-year-old Madeleine McCann who disappeared from the holiday apartment where she and her family were staying in Praia da Luz, Portugual, on 3 May 2007.

Now, I don't want to get shot at by people saying I'm being insensitive. I feel for Madeleine's family, I really do, it's a horrible thing to happen to a child. But how is releasing an American film with a similar story that probably won't even be shown in more than three cinemas going to make any difference? If people don't want to see it then they don't have to. It's not as though Ben Affleck was searching to exploit this case, is it? If the media hadn't blown this case up so much in the first place there'd be no problem. (Because no other children were kidnapped this year. Just this one.) These people seem to think that everyone'll blow up at the slightest thing... do they give us no credit at all? I think we can separate life from the cinema screen. It's probably more about the fact that they think no one'll go and see it if they release it now. Newsflash: people who care now will still care in a year. So unless you're never going to release it at all...

In other Casey Affleck-related news, I finally saw The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford today and thought both he and it were excellent, though it's still settling in my head as to any coherent thoughts. But I was glad to see that the film had actually moved up a place on the UK box office charts... until I looked closer and saw that it had still gone down 33%. Still, that's twice better than most on the chart... except Fred Claus, for some horrifying reason. Thankfully, most people were off seeing The Golden Compass. That's a rare family outing scheduled for next week for me... before then, I'll be checking out We Own the Night and either Beowulf or Enchanted (still hoping for a family viewing of the latter, too, but the jury's currently out on that). As for blog activities, I'll be bringing you my review of the year's music very soon...

Into the Wild (Sean Penn, 2007)

I think that you have to recognize the blindspot Sean Penn surely had while making this movie- indeed, the film would probably not exist without it, for had Penn not been so enamoured by this story, he would not have worked so hard to get it made, and it probably would have dropped out of sight. So, with the film's reason for being also comes its inherent weakness, and one that, surely, can only be laid at Penn's door. He is too enamoured of the story. He is too in love with the idea of what Christopher McCandless did to really get across the deep ironies ingrained in the story. Read reviews or comments on this film and you seem to get an unsurprising thick line drawn between two parties: those who see Chris as some kind of a hero, and those who think he was a selfish, foolish idiot. The book, although I haven't read it, on which Penn bases his script, apparently have a more balanced version of things, seeing Chris as both a hero and a fool, and this is how, despite the way Penn tries to skewer things, I saw him: what Chris (played by Emile Hirsch in a terrific performance) did was brave, commendable and free-spirited, but at the same time he was undeniably rather foolish, clearly not prepared for what he wilfully treks into. Jena Malone, who spends more time narrating than appearing as Chris's sister Carine, at one point speaks of how Carine feels a bit hurt, a bit betrayed, that Chris didn't try to contact her, even if his reasons for abandoning his parents (played by Marcia Gay Harden and William Hurt in roles that are remarkably small and really don't deserve them) are made clear- Chris's reasons are obvious, understandable, and even sympathetic, but in his desire to cut himself off from human relationships he fails to realize that family is something that you can't ever cut yourself off from- tellingly, and in one of Penn's best moments of actual insight, the film opens with Harden waking in the night and distressingly announcing that Chris is dead.

Penn can't keep the balance, but many of his other decisions are interesting: though this structure may come from the book, I found it fascinating how Penn interweaves Chris's journey (accompanied by four chapter titles, rather unsubtly representing stages of life) with what is, essentially, his death- several months on the "Magic Bus" where he was eventually found. Commendably, too, Penn doesn't just glory in the wide, open, gorgeous landscapes, all showing us an America that we've really never seen before in the movies, but in the minute details of nature, too- insects and plants photographed in close-up, as if they're as massive as the imposing mountains. Penn's blindspot as a human is made up for by his growing skill as a filmmaker (this is a long way from the stolidity of The Pledge), and, if nothing else (I hasten to add it is more than this), Into the Wild is a beauty as a visual spectacle. Grade: B

2007 Capsules

It's the return of the capsule reviews! They're just so handy. Here are some thoughts on the last five 2007 releases I've seen.

It's been a few weeks now, but the last 2007 release I saw, on DVD, was Bridge to Terabithia. Point number one. Gabor Csupo, the director, is also the man behind the Rugrats. This makes him a very important person in my childhood. Point number two. I had never heard of- and therefore never read- Katherine Paterson's book on which the film is based. These points have no connection and no real bearing on anything, but I just thought I'd mention them. As for the film itself: I really liked it. It's not a film of particular technical finesse (the special effects are awful, but they're also unimportant, unless of course you're the marketing people...) or great revelation, and some of the scripting seems rather simplistic and trite (particularly the school scenes), but it's remarkably affecting and the central relationship, which is the entire basis of the entire film, is so well acted by Josh Hutcherson and AnnaSophia Robb (whose smile will probably literally kill men when she's older) and so charmingly done (and heartbreakingly broken) that it just makes the heart beam. This might be overly generous, but it's a B+.

It's also a B+ for Black Snake Moan, which is so deliriously absurd it all its off-kilter shots at convention that it's hard not to admire it. Every time I thought the film was heading into cliched, obvious territory, it seemed to take a sudden swerve in a direction I didn't know existed. Its addressing of issues of race and sexuality are at first so blatantly transparent that it seems the film is going nowhere; but it subverts everything, finds new depths in old cliches, and does so with such panache and vibrancy that I just found it rather bewitching. And its good to see Christina Ricci in a strong, challenging role again.

Cate Blanchett, though, finds herself in more familiar territory with Elizabeth: The Golden Age, for which Nick Davis has written such a hilarious, deliciously-constructed putdown that it hardly seems worth chucking in my own piece. But suffice to say, Elizabeth has the gloss, but it is, literally, all surface- poke it, and it shatters. So Elizabeth wore an enormous gardenia for a hat: so what? Director Shekhar Kapur presents all the requisite events of Elizabeth's 'golden age' (as you might expect), but there's nothing in them- no life, no impact, no emotion, no purpose. It's just a story. No one seems to care about it, except to dress it up in pretty clothes and either yell, giggle or whisper at you. It's a C- from me, and most of that grade was earned by the stone walls. Oh, and Samantha Morton.

Once was too a disappointment, though in a markedly different way. I by no means hated the film; I was charmed by the music and the central relationship, but after hearing such great things about the film, I couldn't help expecting a little more. It's one of those films where the two characters don't have names- they're simply 'guy' and 'girl'. And it's not like we don't find out anything about their lives- we go to their homes, meet their families, see their jobs. I don't know what it lacked for me. But there was something missing. I'll get back to you if I figure out what it was, but, for now, it's a (still) tentative B.

And, furthest back in time, we have the rather terrific documentary Deep Water, which screened on tv over here, and concerns the tragic events of one of the entrants of the 1968 round-the-world yacht race. What was great about the film, I feel, was how it kept a superb balance between the central figure of the film and the other entrants- they weren't ignored, forgotten about, simply because they survived. Deep Water, less than focusing on just the one man who died, is concerned with the effect of the 'deep water' on all the entrants, how it affected them all differently. The film is also beautifully narrated by Tilda Swinton, superbly scored, and mixes in some more artistic effects rather well. B+.

That's all for now, folks. Come back soon when uni is done and I'll actually have time to go to the cinema.

Something's Bugging Me...

That's right, Ashley. Gouge that ugly Chuck film out of your neglected arm...

I was once told that my being a British non-professional reviewer personage (I gave that statement extra qualification after remembering Mainly Movies) gives me uniqueness in this particular solar system of the blogosphere, and so it is with that backing me that I go into major rant mode.

Months ago, I instructed all you Americans to go and see what is still the best film of the year, Bug. I saw it over a year ago now at the 2006 London Film Festival (2007's Fest has just finished- I didn't go this year). In the just-linked post I mentioned that it, at that point, still had no release date for Britain. This was still true until about a week ago. And then, a few days ago, I discover that it is being released. Today.

All very well, you say. Reviews have popped up- not particularly jubilant ones, but I never expected everyone to like it. (Mark Kermode is a fellow championer, the Good Doctor that he is. He flatly refused to give another film of the week despite... well, I'll get to that.) The thing is, it seems to be being "released", as far as I can see, in about two cinemas. Both in London. There has been, as you might expect having only been shoved into the release schedule a week ago, no publicity. It's like they don't want anyone to see it.

Well, I do. I WANT TO SEE IT. But you don't care about me, do you, you stupid LionsGate people? No, you can give the entire country crap like Good Luck Chuck (and yes, it IS, by astonishing non-coincidence, also distributed by LionsGate), but only twenty people who live in London can see a masterpiece like Bug.

Stupid. F**king. Idiots.

Control (Anton Corbijn, 2007)

I must open this review by disclosing this little tidbit to reveal just how much I knew about Joy Division when I went into this film: at one point, I was enjoying the music and noted, from pure coincidence, how much like New Order it sounded. Well- says the I having read up on the group- duh.

I went into Control having heard warm recomme- ndations, though, in the interest of retaining some sense of freshness for myself, I listening to them with deliberate vagueness. Imagine how surprised, how disappointed I was, though, to discover that Control becomes remarkably stolid and repetative, that it reaches a kind of unnerving plateau as it unfolds, and reduces its internal conflicts- Ian Curtis's internal conflicts- into a cliched, simplistic choice between two women... two women, I may add, who, for all their screentime, barely register, and so, even if it hadn't been a rather dull choice to turn his artistic life into a romantic tragedy, the audience can't invest in it because we can't comprehend what either of these women bring to his life.

The film quickly eschews the trappings that the most prominent musical biopics of recent times- Ray and Walk the Line- set up by opening on Ian Curtis (Sam Riley) as an adolescent, the story rapidly, and scattershotly, seaguing into meeting his future wife Debbie (Samantha Morton) and experimenting with some pills he and his friend find in an elderly woman's house: both, as you might expect, are important later. Martin Ruhe's monochrome photography hangs over these scenes like the impending doom that will arrive: even this happiness is nothing more than empty, useless. The irony of Joy Division's name is that it derives, as is explained, from the prostitution wing of a Nazi Concentration Camp- hollow joy coming from the worst place imaginable. For its first half, Control seems to understand this irony; then it falls prey to it.

Control follows in those aforementioned Hollywood biopics footsteps by having the actors actually performing Joy Division's songs- and its in its musical scenes when Control is at its best. There's a rawness to the music, and to Sam Riley's voice, that seems to connect in a way the rest of the film can't; and these parts are also, somehow, when Riley is at the top of his game, capturing Curtis's oddly un-punkish movements as well as his weird charm. When Curtis later on at first refuses, then attempts and fails, to perform, its possibly the moment the hits us worst, for Riley has shown Curtis in the arena he functioned in, and now that its failed, so has he. But the film never shows us any kind of musical development- where did this music come from? Why does Ian want to live this life (he loves David Bowie, is about the only crumb we're offered)? How does these people function as a unit? Control is interested in Curtis, not the band, which would be fine if Curtis's life weren't ultimately reduced to such simplistic opposements. As it is, the actors playing the rest of Joy Division are interested, well-played but unimportant side-shows, living in Curtis's shadow.

I'm not sure where all the excitable plaudits for Miss Morton have come from, meanwhile- she's fine, as she always is, but for the majority of the film she's simply playing the traditional, cliched downtrodden wife role, and the film ignores her almost as much as Curtis does, which seems rather odd when you consider that the film is based on Debbie's own book about her husband. There's a terrific scene, though, at what I must now assume was about Control's halfway point, where Debbie finally confronts her husband, having spoken to his Belgian mistress Annik (Alexandra Maria Lara)- and its terrific because Morton is finally given the chance to actually do something. Kudos to her, though, for, sidelined and underwritten as her character had been, she doesn't abandon what she'd been doing with her- instead she feeds off it, for even as Debbie is demanding of Ian whether he loves Annik, Morton's body seems to be recoiling as much as it is trying to intimidate- Debbie is simply not made to be angry, to be forceful, at least not towards her husband. It almost seems as though Debbie is simply acting out of the motions of what someone should be doing in this kind of situation- its not that she doesn't feel betrayed, or heartbroken, but the way she would express this doesn't seem acceptable, and so she pushes herself into a feeling she doesn't fit. As Debbie yells at Ian, tries to make him respond, Morton has her hands and shoulders crunched up, somehow making Debbie's words even more powerful- she loves this man so much she has to force herself to shout at him.

But, ultimately, as Debbie emerges stricken from her house, I couldn't escape the feeling that none of this was the truth: wasn't it, always, Debbie's impressions of what her husband was and how she thought he felt, and really, isn't that why Annik is such a cipher, and why Debbie is so innocent and pitied? Debbie never really understood her husband, and that's the point of the film- and that's why it fails. Grade: C

Say it again...

Tilda Swinton's narration was hardly the most important aspect of the rather terrific Deep Water, but... can someone please sign her up to read books-on-tape or something? Her voice is perfect: smooth, enrapturing, and kinda unnerving. Which is just what I want in my narrators.

More later, including a full review (gasp!) of Control.

The B Phenomenon

Hello there. Long time no see. That's what having no internet where I live and being rather apathetic about film does to me. But, now both situations have been rectified, and I am happy to say I'm back! How happy that makes you is a different matter. Anyway. I was studying my sidebar (as you do) and noticed a strange thing: almost every grade I've given out recently, with the exception of yet another viewing of David Lean's Brief Encounter- which, despite seeming hilarious when I think about it (oh, those children; no, dear, there aren't any pantomimes in June), is really rather affecting when you experience it, and there's no doubting it's stylistically masterful- was either a B-, a B, or a B+. Of course, this doesn't really mean anything, except that I've managed to avoid watching crap recently, but it makes a nice segway into some short little reviews to get this blog rolling again.

Michael Clayton (Gilroy, 2007): Highly polished, adult and compulsive, Michael Clayton seems better than it is while you're watching it; reflection points out the cracks, and time makes you wonder what the film actually does at all. Excellent performances from George Clooney, Tom Wilkinson and particularly a panicked Tilda Swinton (kudos for casting her in a major Hollywood flick) are really the only things that mark the film out in my memory; the plot, complex and rabbity as it was, seems largely ineffectual, and the ending is either unnervingly fitting or a damb squid. B-

A Mighty Heart (Winterbottom, 2007): A Mighty Heart perhaps had the exact opposite effect to Michael Clayton; on reflection, it seems more cleverly constructed, more powerful, than it did while I was watching it. Seeing Angelina Jolie- by the way superbly believable and quietly powerful throughout- as Mariane Pearl, literally screaming her guts out when she discovers her husband's fate, is of course galling, but all the crafty little narrative threads and quiet moments last too; and ultimately this is a low-key but important, and finally hopeful, piece of superb work. B+

It's A Free World (Loach, 2007): Loach's film, made for the UK's Channel 4, is as timely and shattering as ever; the subject of immigration is particularly hot here right now, and Loach, along with screenwriter Paul Laverty, play this very coolly: central character Angie (newcomer Kierston Wareing in a superb performance) is both the villain and the heroine. The trouble is, the construction of the plot around her is rather familiar: she needs to do what she does because she was fired and needs to support her son, who lives with his grandparents- and so her sympathetic side seems so lame and done that the entire film would fall in on itself without Wareing holding it up. Loach's sense of realism (most of the cast are non-actors) is ever present but he can't help but succumb to formuliac structures. B-

Rendition (Hood, 2007): I think it's easy to overlook this film's strong points in favour of damning it for the admittedly simplistic arguments it sometimes puts across. As I watched this, conscious beforehand of the criticisms the film had been attacked with, I tried to work it out: is this ever justified? How would you feel if this man really was guilty? Would the fact that he was mean the way this information is achieved any less horrific? To its credit, and yet also to its detriment, Rendition covers all bases- and, as that comment implies, this means Rendition can never win. Surely, if the film had squarely taken one side, it would have been catcalled for doing so; and yet, objective as it tries to remain, it cannot escape criticism for exactly that. Yes, the entire thing is almost cheapened by a last act, audience-pandering twist that really doesn't matter- but the film is well crafted enough, thought provoking enough, and powerful enough (Reese Witherspoon is particularly strong) that I would still recommend it. B-

Atonement: The Film

It's been almost an entire month since I last made an entry here... but I finally saw Atonement and I felt it necessary to add my two cents. Look for more frequent entries once I get back yo uni and get the internet connected there (about three weeks, I'm guessing).

As I said before, the novel Atonement (which, let's be honest, I only read because they were making a film out of it) was so beautiful and heartbreaking I wasn't even sure if I could sit through seeing it on-screen. But what the film left on me was a rather dull feeling of indifference: sure, it was moving, well-made, superbly acted- but it didn't make me feel as much as it should have. When it got to the portion of the film where Robbie (James McAvoy) is trudging his way across a war-strewn France, I kept thinking 'I hope they've cut it down, I hope they've cut it down'- which they had, and that didn't fit with me- it's not that I hated that part, it's that it was SO difficult to read and deal with that I didn't want to have to deal with it again. But, the problem is, Atonement NEEDS that, and it NEEDS the difficulty of Briony's (Romola Garai at this point) work as a nurse dealing with horrifically injured soldiers, because that's what makes the shattering ending work all the more. But Atonement, at this point, feels truncated, and I just felt my emotions drifting away, wishing this was the book instead, and wishing I could cry again when the ending came.

I can't be harsh on the film- all the acting (besides, surprisingly, Vanessa Redgrave- her coda doesn't work at all) is superb, particularly McAvoy and Garai. The costume and make-up work is exemplary (I loved how Redgrave looked almost exactly like Saoirse Ronan and Garai, with the same hair-cut and a dress that looked too big- as if she'd never moved past her childhood crime, which, of course, she hadn't), the direction is strong and the music beautiful. But it's not the masterpiece I so desperately wanted it to be, and that's why my words are more negative that my grade of B+ implies.

Atonement

I have just finished reading Atonement.

It almost broke my heart it two.

I cried.

I am choking up simply imagining what it will look like on film.

I am in the strange position of not being able to wait to see, and not ever wanting to see, the film.

I can't really say much more than that right now. Later. I will, later.

Following Nolan Backwards

If Christopher Nolan takes his inspiration from his own life, he must surely live an extremely confusing life, for it takes no genius to see that the now-famous director greatly favours a fragmented narrative- though of course, now forced into the studio system with remake Insomnia and then blockbuster Batman Begins and its follow-up The Dark Knight, he's had to abandon his baffling, looping structures. But with Following, his little known debut feature, he uses the bitty narrative lines he perfected so well for his superb Memento- but the difference with Following is that the style seems to provide no discernible reason for being (if you saw Memento, you'll know it conversely did). Instead, Following's flashy script seems to deflect from the inherent weaknesses in the story- a familiar narrative jazzed up by a narrative that jumps forward, doubles back, and frames itself with the oft-used device of recounting to an authority figure (in this case the police).

In fact, Following's unwieldy narrative style is perhaps the only thing in the film that maintains much interest through the unusually short running time- 69 minutes- not only because, as I said, is the narrative distressingly simple- a naive man drawn into a criminal set-up by betraying acquaintances, not to mention the sigh-inducing "surprise" ending- but because the film is so distancingly cold. Filmed in monochromatic black-and-white, Nolan- who shot, wrote and directed the film- uses the deadening of sound to divide each scene like he's brought a guillotine down between them- despite the recurrance of moments, first a mystery then explained in context, the film seems to have no connective tissue, no interior centre. And, most crucially, the characters themselves are cold, unlikeable figures- and, while unlikeable can be fine, surely a main character has to be, in his unlikeability, an enigmatic force? But Bill, played by the distinctly weasellish actor Jeremy Theobald, is a cowardly, baffling figure, seemingly both naive and clever at once, contradicting himself too often, a pale hollow at Following's centre. Even the supposedly interesting character of Cobb (Alex Haw)- it is following him that leads Bill into the dark story- is undermined by Nolan's weak, overworked script. It is perhaps not surprising that Nolan shows a better talent with the camera- strong camerawork is apparent, and explains why, when paired with his writer brother Jonathan for Memento, a much (much) stronger film emerged. Grade: C-

Poster Time!

Yes, it's poster time. Here are some fantastic new posters that have appeared recently.

First up, it's the poster for Tim Burton's big musical extravaganza, Sweeney Todd. I love the lighting effects here, gives it the right edge of creepiness.


The poster for the remake of 3:10 to Yuma (which I discussed many moons ago) is also quite something. It's a little too busy, but when there's one of those old steam trains with a cattleguard, you've got me. (The lowliness of Vinessa Shaw's name- see my previous discussion- is worrisome, though.)


And, finally, I'm going to end a second post in a row with something pertaining to J.J. Abrams' mysterious "Cloverfield" project: it's a poster, with only the date on it. According to Empire Movies, Cloverfield is the name of a street in L.A. where Abrams has an office... shame, I quite liked it as a title. "Cloverfield" is also, apparently, a monster movie, but said monster is NOT a parasite or a giant Japanese robot (who thought that it was?). But anyway. An intriguing, stylish poster, methinks.

(Click on all the posters for bigger versions. Oh, and Running with Scissors? Really good. I just don't understand why everyone hates it so much.)

Mired Six Feet In Adoration

That's it. It's official. Six Feet Under is the greatest tv show ever. I suppose I should say "that I've ever watched", but, really, it'll take something pretty spectacular to connect with me as much as this show has. Despite my anxious twitterings that the final scene- which is probably the greatest ten minutes I've ever experienced, of anything in any way- wouldn't stand up on a second viewing, but, almost blissfully, I was absolutely wracked with sobs. I've never cried at anything as much as I do at that scene. I'm not a big crier- I often get teary-eyed, but it takes something big to actually make those tears fall- and yet there I was, hugging my knees, tears streaming down my face and experiencing actual physical pain. And I wasn't even sad, because that it is not what it does. It gives hope, it gives release, it gives life. It sounds absurd, but that is what Six Feet Under does to me.

Oh, sure, I'm going to watch The Sopranos and The Wire and Deadwood and whatever else is hosanna'ed as the greatest tv show ever, but I don't think- and I don't think I want to think- that those shows will come to mean as much to me. Six Feet Under caught me at a time in my life where it could become a part of me- what I have learnt through it, what I have discovered about myself, and what art- for it is art- can really do. It is beautiful. I love it, I miss it, but it is one of the few perfect things that exist.

Hyperbolic much? I am deadly serious. If you haven't watched it, go right now and don't come back until you have.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Yates, 2007)

Spoilers ahead.

Perhaps it was inevitable what with the new book and all- Pottermania infesting my brain- but to these eyes, this latest screen adaptation of J.K. Rowling's big-selling series was easily the best yet. My deranged brain naturally acredits this astonishing realization- after all, Order of the Phoenix was the longest book, and this is the shortest film so far- to the change in screenwriter: regular Potter hack scribe Steven Kloves has taken a film off and into his place stepped Michael Goldenberg, who, unlike Kloves, pulls off the paring-down of plot superbly- sure, there are things missing, but I couldn't think of anything major that had been lost (besides a few egregious errors late on, but we'll get to that later) and I was happy to see very little of Kloves' trick of ending scenes as though he'd left his computer in the middle of a scene and simply abandoned it for the next one on his return.

Goldenberg, however, isn't the only newcomer onboard, and, indeed, it seems to be the raft of new faces, both on and off screen, that make Order of the Phoenix so surprisingly strong. Surprise choice for director was David Yates, a tv director thus far most notable for crime series State of Play, the notorious C4 drama Sex Traffic, and political romance The Girl in the Cafe. On that basis, the choice of Yates (now signed up for Potter 6, The Half-Blood Prince, due at the end of 2008) seems strange for a blockbuster series about a wizard, but, perhaps more than ever this time around, J.K. Rowling's work proves itself deeper and more globally in-tune than onlookers might think. Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), having witnessed the return of nemesis Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) at the end of the last film, is plagued both day and night- his dreams are a fragmented mess, torturous remembrances of the death of Cedric Diggory (Robert Pattinson) and mysterious pictures of the Ministry of Magic leading him somewhere dangerous; and, harassed by his cousin's gang of yobs, the relatives are attacked by Dementors, leading to Harry needing to save the day by use of magic and leading to him being sent to trial before the Minister (Robert Hardy) himself.

The Ministry is where the stellar work of production designer Stuart Craig comes into full, walloping force. Situated beneath the "Muggle" London, the entrance is a familiar circular tunnel (that'll be why the underground was closed off, then), the central space lorded over by intimidating gold statues, and an enormous, Hitler-ish banner of the Minister from ceiling to floor. The Ministry is not, as any citizen would wish, a pleasant place to be: instead, it's an all-too-fitting shining black, eerily accented by white edges, making the walls gleam disturbingly. The Ministry, see, doesn't believe Harry's story, refusing Hogwarts' headmaster Albus Dumbledore's (Michael Gambon) pleas to act. Dumbledore's trickery gets Harry cleared, but, not only will Dumbledore not listen to Harry's questions, Hogwarts is subject to a new teacher: Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), Ministry official, takes that ever-open post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and slowly takes over the school.

Order of the Phoenix is aloft with political currents, from Harry, Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione's (Emma Watson) secret rebellion in the form of secret student organization Dumbledore's Army, to the alarming sight of Voldemort in a slick corporate suit (no mere robes for him). I don't mean to credit the film with aspirations it does not have- this is, after all, entertainment- but Yates and Goldenberg cleverly adapt Rowling's work into a tight, witty blockbuster, not overselling the ideas or trying to expell them. And, will wonders never cease, but finally we seem to have a harmonious union between magic and modern teen culture- never is magic hammered into our heads, as Chris Columbus felt the need to do, but neither do the students constantly run around in their own clothes. This is Hogwarts as I imagined it, a meeting place between old-fashioned private school and the influx of modern existance.

The film, as I've yet to mention, is sadly not perfect: it takes a while to get going, rather too flashly in the opening Dementor sequence and too speedy as it moves to Grimmaud Place (Order headquarters, a dirty and dark terrace that's nevertheless cosy, and, again superbly imagined by Stuart Craig- give the man an Oscar, says I) and barely pauses to introduce Kingsley Shacklebolt (George Harris), Tonks (Natalia Tena, sparkling) and the rest of the Order. There are also a few too many missteps in the explosive final act: getting straight to the heart of the prophecy-hunt I can forgive, but, not only is "the veil" not explained, the fatal mistake occurs in the death: not yet has it actually been confirmed that Sirius (Gary Oldman) actually died, given the mysterious circumstances of his "death", but Goldenberg makes it all too explicit. I can only hope they consulted J.K. there, though given the newsbite on the near-exclusion of Kreacher, I do not hope in vain.

But back to the positives. The ever-expanding cast is good as ever, from the awe-inducing elders- Maggie Smith and Emma Thompson are superb in their brief dalliance with the Umbridge-plot, Jason Isaacs is the picture of silky sleaze as Lucius Malfoy, Gary Oldman is warm and protective as Sirius, and Alan Rickman is a delight as he reels off his lines with a kind of bemused weariness- to the improved youngsters- Rupert Grint is solid background, Emma Watson settles in nicely after a worrying first scene, Bonnie Wright (as Ginny) gears up well for her big part next film, and Daniel Radcliffe proves disarmingly adept at portraying Harry's angry angst, although he's most impressive when taking passionate charge of his new "army".

But, as you knew we'd come back to, it's the newcomers that truly delight. Helena Bonham Carter is perhaps the most spot-on casting yet as the unhinged Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, Tim Burton's influence in full wild flourish as she mercilessly taunts and attacks our heros, laughing with frightening mania. Meanwhile, Imelda Staunton plays a distinctly different but perhaps even scarier type of villain, a terrier dressed in a fuschia sweater and angelically interrupting Dumbledore with a delightful fake cough. She potters around the school with a deadly smile, a poisonous vindictiveness behind her meowing decorative dishes. She'd most likely waltz off with the entire film if it weren't for our freshest new face. I always loved Luna Lovegood in the books, and feared for her appearance on-screen, but never fear: Evanna Lynch is superb, capturing all Luna's eery weirdness and mysterious, lulling voice, ably managing to put across the undercurrent of untortured tragedy within Luna, and it's a pleasure to see just how much she's actually allowed on-screen.

So, in the end, what is Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix? It's not as good as the book; but then, were you really expecting it to be? It's the best of the summer blockbusters thus far; so go and see it. It's the best of the Harry Potter series so far; it's probably back down from here. It's better than I thought it would be; so that's good, isn't it?

The Performance That Changed My Life

This is for Emma's blog-a-thon, if you didn't know, and you should get on over there and read all the other posts, after you've read this one.

I thought long and hard about who to write about here, the major problem being that I couldn't think of anyone- sure, there are a ton of performances that I love, but could I really honestly say that any of them changed me? (I take things very seriously as you see.) I didn't think I could. Until my brain finally looped round to a performance that it always went to, a seminal moment in my film-watching canon. It's a distinctly unconventional and even obscure choice, but be sure it's one that surprised even me in the way it affected me and stuck in my head. And here it is...

Jodhi May as Alice Munro
in
The Last of the Mohicans (Michael Mann, 1992)

Let's get one thing clear first. I don't like The Last of the Mohicans. I think it's boring and long and visually dull (although that may be the video copy we own, for some unknown reason). And, for most of the film, I barely even noticed that Alice Munro even existed, sidelined as she is as the sister of lead character Hawkeye's (Daniel Day-Lewis) love interest Cora (Madeleine Stowe). Various native American parties are assisting on either side of the colonial French-British battle in colonial America (why, I'm not sure), and Hawkeye is an independant man reared as a Mohawk who ends up, with two friends, guiding these sisters through various difficult and dangerous situations (including one sequence involving a canoe chase which is about the only excitement I got out of the vast part of the film). Naturally, Hawkeye falls for Cora, but what interests us here is what's going on in the background.

This is never exactly made clear, and it took reading after seeing the film to clear up what had actually been going on. As the film nears the end, the group progresses up a precarious waterfall, one of Hawkeye's friends, Uncas (Eric Schweig) is killed by the men tracking them, and he falls off the edge of the waterfall. Suddenly, surprisingly, Alice gives a look to her sister and jumps off after him.

Basic description does not do this moment justice. Perhaps what I'm going to say is hyperbolic, but it is also the truth. Have you ever experienced a moment you can't explain, where something affects you in a way you never expected, in a way it will probably never affect someone else, in a way it may not ever affect you yourself again? This is what happened to me here. The look that Jodhi May gave to the camera in that tiny second of film startled me, made my heart stop, made me weep- and I didn't understand why. There had been no build up, no groundwork- it was simply a sudden, unexpected moment. It was overwhelming in its despair, its sorrow, its harrowing hopelessness. I've never had a moment like it since. I've never watched the film again for fear that I would lose the remnants of the feeling. I doubt that you, if you watched it, would feel the same, for I can only feel that it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. It is MY moment. Is there anyone else in the world who felt so strongly, from feeling so disinterested, in that piece of film? I doubt it, and, more importantly, I hope not.

Jodhi May's performance changed my life because it made me realize that performances don't always need deep groundwork to function, that someone can swoop in for barely a second and be as affecting as three hours of a performance. Jodhi May's performance is emotion in a captured frame, and, in a rare moment of foresight for me, I captured it in a photo. (From my tv, isn't it good!) (Oh, and search google for "Jodhi May Mohicans" and this image, my image, is the first to come up, on my Rotten Tomatoes page. Wicked.)

The link, here, behind the image, by the way, is to a youtube clip that includes the moment, which I haven't watched but managed to check for it's veracity. Watch it. I don't expect you to feel the same, and perhaps you won't have a clue what I'm talking about. But this moment is one that I can honestly say changed me: changed the way I look at film, change the way I understand it, change the way I see emotions. It is one of the few moments of my life that I can't understand, can't explain, can't put down to any earthly description.

Things I Learned Watching Enduring Pirates 3

There are spoilers in this, I suppose.

- It's not okay to start a family film with a prolonged public hanging just because you suddenly turn it into a musical number.

- Stay away from Naomie Harris, she gives people crabs. Like, big time.

- Tom Hollander likes to drink tea. Lots of tea. (Two sugars.)

- Keira Knightley doesn't have the army-leading shouting skills of Mel Gibson. But she is thankfully much nicer to look at, so that's okay.

- Davy Jones' locker is in fact an extremely clean, white and rather lovely expanse of a large sound stage next to a beach.

- I totally want a bandana.

- A simple truth: the more Johnny Depps on-screen, the more annoying he becomes.

- Geoffrey Rush really should entrust special false eyes to someone who won't frequently lose them to a monkey.

- Tom Hollander will forever be typecast as an absolute bastard, because all you can think when watching him as that someone needs to punch him in the face.

- Pirates are not to be trusted. Ever. Even if they're not really pirates.

- If you are small / female / goofy-looking / foreign / animal, Gore Verbinski will exploit this as much as he can.

- When it's cold, no one sees fit to go inside. Are they all idiots? Wait, don't answer that.

- The pirate fortress looks uncannily like a Christmas tree.

- Monkeys are better actors than Orlando Bloom.

- Tom Hollander has devilishly good skills at dramatic demises.

- Orlando Bloom was so pissed at Keira for getting a bigger part than him that he evilly leaves her on a desert island with his heart in a box. The bastard.

- It would so have worked between Elizabeth and Jack.

- Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End is extremely boring and I give it a D+. This was in fact learned just after I watched it, but it still counts.