Victim's Gold Stars: Acting, Writing, Directing...

Yes, I realize it's the second half of August, and, yes, I realize I promised this about three months ago. But, um... better late than never, right? I had half of this post done three months ago, so apologies for the glaring differences in the writing. I just had to get this out, even if it took me a year. And I'm not the only one, anyway.

My top ten can be found here; I kind of feel as though I've extolled all of their virtues within, so no individual commentaries for them this year. But let it be known: they are all outstanding. And on with the show; no refunds, sorry.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Paul Thomas Anderson, There Will Be Blood
Operatic, powerful and alarmingly ambitious, Anderson's script may edge into self-indulgence but that just makes it all the more magnificent.

Beatrix Christian, Jindabyne
Delicate and low-key work, adapting an American short story to Australian full length with wondrous confidence, crafting engaging characters bound in a truthful setting.

Tracy Letts, Bug
Intimate and direct, Letts makes the stagey atmosphere work for his writing, amping up the claustrophobia in both stage direction and dialogue. Even when what the characters spout is perversely hilarious, it never loses its horrifying edge.

John Orloff, A Mighty Heart
Expands what could have been restricted to Marianne Pearl's story and makes it about the community around her too, which gives a wider, more reflexive angle on the true horror of the real events, unafraid to abandon its big coup of a star for as long as it necessary.

James Vanderbilt, Zodiac
It is by necessity discordant and off-putting in its rhythms, for this real life case is one that cannot prescribe to cinema's usual plotting system, and Vanderbilt makes it tense and compulsive in an unfamiliar way.

Best Original Screenplay

Diablo Cody, Juno
You know all the criticisms. But how many scripts create dialogue this witty, characters this truthful and surprising, and moments this fluidly expressive?

James Gray, We Own the Night
What seems- and has in some quarters been recieved as- a routine undercover cop story proves itself otherwise, mightily impressive in how it weaves complex, fascinating characters into a story that eschews both predictability and explosions.

Todd Haynes & Oren Moverman, I'm Not There.
This may the most abstract way of getting under someone's skin that's ever been attempted, but the kaleidoscopic personality of Bob Dylan deserves nothing less. The fragmentation coheres into a greater emotional connection that a familiar plot would, and it's funny, too.

Kelly Masterson, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead
A hysterical Greek tragedy in a modern setting. Somehow the bigness of the dialogue, the ambitious structuring and the inherent selfishness of Masterson's characters combine to create a film you can't take your eyes off.

Christian Mungiu, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
Stripped down in the best way possible, Mungiu is a great contributor to the film's horrific realism, since what's not said speaks louder than what is. He crafts his characters slowly and confidently through the situations he puts them in.

Best Documentary

Deep Water
This tale of a disastrous 1968 round-the-world yacht race, in which amateur Donald Crowhurst faced isolation and diaster, is grippingly assembled and is even gracious enough to give room to the other entrants of the race, the bigger picture making for a fuller experience.

Lake of Fire
A lengthy and difficult film, but a necessary one that doesn't shy away from being graphic or opinionated about its topic of abortion. And on an aesthetic note, the black and white shooting is both a gorgeous and thoughtful choice.

No End in Sight
Direct and focused, this examination of the Bush administation's conduct in the early months of the Iraq War is superbly comprehensive and well-structured, providing an insightful narrative into a seminal period of modern history.

Best Non-English Language Film

Black Book (Zwartboek)
Lavish, sexy and exciting, Verhoeven combines his trademark vulgarity with a film that winds a personal journey into history, ending up with a surprisingly affecting film.

Dark Horse (Voksne mennesker)
Truly offbeat, this film's odd sensibilities work for it, providing hysterical moments of comic genius and a sweet love story.


4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (4 Luni, 3 Saptamâni si 2 Zile)
Devastating, opinionated without shouting about it, and moving in a strong yet quiet way, this absorbing character study is an unforgettable experience.

Lady Chatterley
More expansive, you feel, than D.H. Lawrence's tale is usually allowed to be (probably because it was adapted from a less famous version of the novel), the film is a slow-burning, earthy and very engaging piece that is period only in the costume.

Lust, Caution (Se, jie)
Ang Lee winds you up in the enigmatic webs of 1940s Shanghai, lacing every part of the film with edgy nervousness, tangled feelings and bare stylization. If the last act takes the film a little off-track, it's compensated for by a fantastic central performance and Rodrigo Prieto's precise camerawork.

Best Supporting Actor

Michael Cera, Juno
I'll love him forever for George Michael Bluth, but Cera almost matches that magestic characterization here, exuding nervous warmth, appealing eccentricity and a certain quality that makes it entirely obvious why Juno got pregnant in the first place.

Hal Holbrook, Into the Wild
It's hard not to well-up at Holbrook's performance here, so soft is he in his timid gruffness and wistful longing after McCandless' free life, while simultaneously projecting a heartwarming need to protect.

Tony Leung, Lust, Caution
Almost a performance from a silent movie, so enigmatic and fascinating is Leung in his smoke-hazed observations and sudden sex-filled rages. As with Tang Wei's lead, you're never quite sure where you are with his character.

James Marsden, Enchanted
A gloriously madcap comic performance; hammy, if you like, in all the best ways, nailing the cartoon spirit of the character and stamping a vivid mark on the movie.

Steve Zahn, Rescue Dawn
Zahn is possibly more subdued than he's ever been, superbly crafting a performance with just a hint of his usual manic personality; the rest is filled out with sorrowful depth, a weighty resignation to his fate.

Best Supporting Actress

Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There.
A freewheeling performance; happily the closest in look and feel to the public perception of Bob Dylan, Blanchett aces the adrogynous comedy of the part, while remaining emotionally resonant and dangerously edgy.

Deborra-Lee Furness, Jindabyne
Fiercely powerful, Furness almost charges through this film, and yet her loud moments never feel gratuitous or selfish; she anchors them in an unsettled and stubborn woman who is just as conflicted as the nervy characters around her.

Jennifer Garner, Juno
Juno reserves its biggest character doozies for Mark and Garner's Vanessa, and Garner lays the foundations for the well of surprises in her initally frosty character from the off. You get the sense Vanessa is so straight-laced because she has to be, because to function otherwise would mean to face the disappointments. Garner is empathic but never sycophantic, a rich but measured performance.

Eva Mendes, We Own the Night
Mendes doesn't play this role in at all the way I expected: the boss' girl is not a gold-digging slut, or an adoring lapdog, but someone who genuinely cares about- nay, loves her man, astutely knows where his decisions might lead, and Mendes' really nails the concerned strength of her character.

Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton
It's difficult to say anything original about Tilda Swinton; she even managed to get Oscar on her side. So only this: Swinton's Karen is perpetually on the edge, a businesswoman who knows right from the off she's headed for disaster, a ball of combustible nerves, and Swinton is magnetic to watch doing all this.

Best Director

Andrew Dominik, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
A bit florid, maybe, but his vision is commendable, crafting a mystical epic and drawing magnetic performances from his actors while ensuring they cohere with the feel of his picture.

David Fincher, Zodiac
Not so overtly stylish as we're used to, and that's a good thing. He still brings his skill in creating nervous tension and subtly powerful moments to the film, the unusual narrative line of the picture accentuated by his focused direction.

William Friedkin, Bug
Almost gloriously theatrical; Friedkin really goes for the intimate, powerful nature of the stage, allowing the insanity of the story to infect the picture as a whole to create an unforgettably frightening experience that etches itself on the psyche.

Todd Haynes, I'm Not There
Again, as ambitious as ever, Haynes slices his six Dylans into almost incomprehensible pieces and yet ultimately makes them cohere to produce a feeling that this abstract approach is the best way to make sense of the man.

Michael Winterbottom, A Mighty Heart
An actor's director, but also highly skilled with giving the film his trademark sidearmed approach; the film rarely proceeds in the expected way, but Winterbottom ensures that it never loses its way.

Best Actor in a Leading Role

Casey Affleck, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Affleck is possibly this film's strongest asset- his reedy, cracked voice, shifty eyes and weak, disturbingly pained smiles work to make you sympathize with Robert Ford, but also to unnerve and unsettle, and, perhaps most brilliantly, to lead you to examine both he and Pitt's Jesse James. It's technically exact work disguized by a tremulous, rich emotional core, and one of this decade's finest performances.

Jakob Cedergren, Dark Horse
Dark Horse is odd to say the least, but Cedergren is your connecting thread between all the bizarre attempts at refereeing footbal and elephant appearances, a slightly aloof, lazy and irresponsible young graffiti artist who is by no means excluded from all the madness within; but it is Cedergren, ultimately, who keeps you as spellbound as you are, keeps you interested in the characters rather than simply what they're doing, and gives the romantic thread that wins through the pull it gathers.

Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Day-Lewis is so obviously showboating, but so is Daniel Plainview, and while the film is a tad too prone to give itself over entirely to what it recognizes as such an unreachable height, it still gives this infamous performer plenty of chances to carve in deep, textured layers that are still, even far inside, tinged with that rabid narcissism. He's wrenching *in* his showboating, truthful in his macabre tone, and beautiful in his unpredictability.

Joaquin Phoenix, We Own the Night
Phoenix continues to surprise, making this familiar role his own with a layered, distant performance that means you never really figure out what the character thinks or feels all the time, making the moments of raw emotion- whether it be sweaty panic, or delirious grief- all the more powerful when they arrive unexpectedly.

Michael Shannon, Bug
Naked both literally and metaphorically, Shannon is raw and direct, his stage performance seemingly in-tact for the big screen, for this is a daring yet perfectly calebrated performance, Peter's alarming paranoia meaning Shannon has to be magnetic while also giving space to his co-star in the tin-foiled room.

Best Actress

Marina Hands, Lady Chatterley
Hands is surprising in how open and personal she makes her performance, unveiling her repressed, anxious character with gradual steps, and I don't just mean in literally shedding her clothes. It is her silent moments that prove the most memorable, the film proving to be an interior view from her own head, so intimate and close do we feel to her. The film's rhythms ebb and flow with her, Lawrence's story translated into a painful yet fulfilling filmic experience.

Ashley Judd, Bug
Judd is just as bare and effective as her experienced co-star, as the film circles to see her as its centre. Judd makes her character's psychological descent as believable as it is bizarre, her mental journey laid out for us to be horrified witnesses too. When she spouts that ripe dialogue, your laughter is tinged with nervous horror, because Judd seems to believe every word of it.

Laura Linney, Jindabyne
Claire not only becomes an outsider but starts off as one, never looking comfortable around her tight-knit community, and as she becomes increasingly disengaged, her nerviness manifests itself as torrid anger and confused disillusionment. Linney really digs into this character, quiet but powerfully so.

Anamaria Marinca, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
It's been said that one of the most difficult challenges in acting is playing someone inherently honest. While the law of late 1980s Romania probably wouldn't see her that way, both the film and the audience do, but Marinca never plays her as a saint: Otilia is simply a young woman struggling with the problems of those around her, perhaps a bit too timid to stand up to those she loves but never afraid of defending those. Ultimately, her simple, quiet performance will move you deeply.

Tang Wei, Lust, Caution
Simply one of the best debut performances ever given; Wei is an astonishing screen presence, the fascination while generous to her fellow performers, and with such understanding of the role she's playing, the lines between acting and being crossing all over the place. But Wei never loses an inch of her grasp on the character, always committed, brave and balanced.

The Fox and the Child (Jacquet, 2008)

Before The Fox and the Child began, me and the five other people in the theatre were forced to watch several trailers for what looked like more of those crass, celebrity-populated animated movies. Through this, it’s clear at what market they’re trying (and evidently failing, says the size of the audience) to catch with this movie. But while it is indeed true that The Fox and the Child is, at least in its British incarnation, a movie for children, there’s little of the grossness or hollowness of the flagging trend of the aforementioned animations. By no means perfect, The Fox and the Child is a type of kid’s entertainment that doesn‘t seem to exist anymore- it’s gentle without being too naïve, slow without being sluggish, and moral without being patronising. Technically, there are problems to pick out- but for children, this seems almost a necessary entertainment, a fairytale that ends with an important life lesson, and an uncommon connection to the reality of the natural world of today.

The film is self-evidently not British, although with the gentle (and, dare I admit it, occasionally irritatingly precious) narration of Kate Winslet as the grown version of the girl (Bertille Noel-Bruneau) who is the only human on-screen for the entirety of the film, you could be forgiven for thinking so. But I don’t believe we have many bears in this country; and there’s also the rather terrible dubbing of the girl herself, who clearly isn’t saying what we’re being told she is. These are minor nitpicks, though, as are the occasional editing missteps (the most prominent being the sudden growth of a ladder, and then the difference between the night and morning the girl spends in the forest), and to dwell on them would be churlish. What is perhaps more problematic is the question of how the filmmakers achieved some of the footage we’re shown. One particular scene of the fox being chased by what I think was a bobcat is shown in such close, intimate detail that you have to assume it was constructed, and I suppose, if we don’t doubt any ethics here (which would surely be unfair), that the fact that I’m questioning it at all is testament to the superb assembly of such a moment. Undoubtedly the camerawork, at least when dealing with the animals, is outstanding- we get not only beautiful, varied shots of the fox(es), but of all sorts of animals from badgers to wolves to hedgehogs. Maybe preaching that wild animals cannot, and should not, be tamed, while using tamed animals to portray this is hypocritical, but I’m not an ethics committee and I can only assume that some of the French words that rose before me at the end told me that no animals had been harmed in the making.

Luc Jacquet, the director of 2005’s favourite documentary March of the Penguins, reportedly took the inspiration from a real-life story, and sometimes the story structure does feel appropriately rugged in its construction. That said, Jacquet seems to be doing everything he can do set it all up as a fairytale, since the girl seems, for most of the film, to be the only one in existence, and even though there are occasional flirtations with the grim reality of the wild world (poachers), for the most part it’s a bizarre love story between the girl and the fox- apt enough, given the title. And as such, it works. As I said, it’s not naïve about what happens to the girl who unwisely becomes obsessed with a wild animal, but nor is it entirely unromantic. Wildlife is beautiful, Jacquet is saying, but to be approached with caution. B-

Oh, Sigourney...

I don't remember when I first became aware of Sigourney Weaver. You might expect it had something to do with the Alien series but somehow I don't think that's right- by the time I saw Alien I was already febrile about the prospect of seeing Sigourney kick the ass of that silvery metal monster. I believe I'd already witnessed her extraordinary work in Death and the Maiden (seriously- it'd probably be in my top ten performances by a lead actress, if I ever made that list) and fallen in love with her passionate movements, her bushy hair and her strange grimace of a smile. Feel for me when I say that the first thing I have a conscious memory of seeing Sigourney in is the mother-daughter (with, of all people, Jennifer Love Hewitt) con movie Heartbreakers- oh, I know I'd seen Holes before that, but I doubt I knew who Sigourney was and probably wasn't particularly enticed by her hard-ass Warden in that strange, Shia LaBoeuf platform of a movie. Oddly, I think Heartbreakers was what made me fall for her in the first place- it may not be much of a movie but it did give Sigourney the chance to play probably the most glamourous part she's ever been offered, and it's not hard to believe why Gene Hackman is so ready to swallow every false word she feeds him.

Anyway. Not only is Sigourney still sex-on-legs at the grand old age of 58, she's also proven herself to be a great actress. So shame be it that her three Oscar nominations- all three back in the 1980s, for shame- were for movies that don't take anywhere near full advantage of her considerable talents. Dare I say it, but Aliens is perhaps the movie in the series that demands the least of the woman- except maybe Alien³- given that James Cameron is more concerned with setting things on fire than actually creating tension. She's still strong, though, and it's the double-whammy of nominations from 1988 that concerns me most here. Her bitch of a boss in Working Girl, while looking super next to Melanie Griffith, is straightforwardly played and decidedly unadventurous (much like the whole movie).

But the only reason I can think that Sigourney was nominated for Gorillas in the Mist (oh, sorry: The Story of Dian Fossey) is that it's an early case of what's now the alarming 'biopic' trend. The film hardly does her any favours- what could be an interesting story is pushed to one side to make way for a pointless love story that's dwelled on far too much, not to mention the vague politics of the thing and some- understandably, given the time- terrible animatronics- but sadly, Sigourney never works to carve a character outside of the script, instead going with all the flat characterising moments. Dian is either a passionate, loving studier of gorillas, or a complete nutjob, the moments exemplifying the latter even more perplexing when you discover they're completely fictional. (I could go into a long tirade about why biographical portraits of people feel the need to fictionalize events when surely reality is just as interesting, but I won't- here it's just grating because it completely changes the character of Dian into something else.) Weaver plays it completely as you would expect- sudden, angry jolts of movement as she discovers a new horror, mad rolling of the eyes when she goes completely over the edge with some captured poachers, histrionic crying when her adopted baby of a gorilla is taken away from her. It's not terrible work, just mediocre.

And it's completely bizarre when you see that the Academy has ignored Sigourney ever since- not only for her outstanding performance in Death and the Maiden, but for her melting ice-queen in The Ice Storm, and her strong work as an autistic woman in Snow Cake. Most exciting on the horizon is her reunion with Aliens-director James Cameron in Avatar (also a return to space), but Oscar might loom with a role as gay-rights crusader Mary Griffith in Prayers for Bobby. Both are due next year, and hopefully Sigourney with re-take her place alongside Meryl Streep, fellow queen of 80's cinema (all they need is Kathleen Turner and they'll be all set!).

Amazing / Not Amazing: Film Edition

Amazing: Reprise (Joachim Trier, 2006/8)
You read the synopsis of this Norwegian film as you extricate it from its envelope and it all sounds a bit pat: "Two competitive friends, fueled by literary aspirations and youthful exuberance, endure the pangs of love, depression and burgeoning careers." But maybe the best films have the vaguest descriptions, for Reprise is every bit as good as you may have heard. The first half, at least, seemed like it was taking its structural cues from my heart, for everything I loved seemed to happen: Jules et Jim-style narration (I realized the connection far too late, tsk tsk), dialogue from one scene played over the following wordless scenes, and, best of all, flights of "what if" fancy (distinguished by black-and-white). The characters are beautifully crafted without relying on any kind of tics or outlandish features- the (mostly non-professional) actors simply let their performances build into rounded, believable, sympathetic people. The second half did start to let in a few too many silly cliches and the like, but you can let it go when a film is this inventive, relatable and fresh.

Not Amazing: Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (Michael Cimino, 1974)
It immediately seems promising: simultaneously subverting and upholding expectation, Cimino (in his directorial debut) opens on Clint Eastwood ('Thunderbolt') giving a sermon in full priest garb (!), only to be rudely interrupted by some guy trying to kill him (oh). From then on, Eastwood is quickly returned to a character we recognise: gruff, aloof, yet strangely charming. And his pairing with a beautifully fresh-faced Jeff Bridges (deservingly given an Oscar nom) works better than you might expect: indeed, the first half an hour or so of the film, when it is almost exclusively those two on-screen, is funny, enjoyable and seems to set up for a fun two hours or so. But it's not to be. Eastwood's would be-killers turn out to be ex-associates in a robbing gang, and after an oddball car chase and some gun-toting confrontations, the two pairings decide to team up and the film turns into a heist film of sorts. It goes for a detour in kook land before ending up in tragedy-ville, ultimately returning to the titular duo but failing to recapture their inital spark.

My Own Cinema For The Week

Since I intentionally yet inadvertantly (work that one out) hurt J.D.'s feelings, I thought I'd make it up to him by actually doing the meme he tagged me for (whether this is good enough as an apology, only he can judge...). By the by, each night's subtitles are inspired by the continually hilarious use of the word "fracking" in Battlestar Galactica (which is very very good, although I suppose that shouldn't surprise me), which, while a canny way of escaping television censorship, wouldn't get around my mother.

1) Choose 12 Films to be featured. They could be random selections or part of a greater theme. Whatever you want.

2) Explain why you chose the films.

3) Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre so I can have hundreds of links and I can take those links and spread them all out on the bed and then roll around in them.

4) The people selected then have to turn around and select 5 more people.

Night #1: Flicking FunThe More the Merrier (George Stevens, 1943)
Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (Pedro Almodovar, 1990)

I went through a whole raft of Classic Hollywood 'screwball' comedies (possibly my favourite genre) before settling on the little-seen The More the Merrier... Jean Arthur and Joel McCrea are two of the wittiest and charismatic stars, and it's disheartening to see how they're so overlooked. The film is about house-sharing during the Second World War... naturally, such close proximity of strangers makes for hilariously awkward consequences. But romantic, too, and cleverly constructed... it's a gem. And then, for the second film of the night, I've picked Almodovar's screwball-inspired Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (or simply Atame! in its original form), which is sick, twisted, and an overlooked (see a theme here?) stroke of genius. Victoria Abril is on cracking form, as a porn star kidnapped (and tied up) by ex-lover Antonio Banderas. You'll never forget it, I swear. And just imagine what the sex scenes look like on a big screen...

Night #2: Flick DownToy Story (Jon Lasseter, 1995)
Babe (Chris Noonan, 1995)

A night from my childhood- both are from 1995, when I turned 7, and both are absolute staples of my young film viewing. Toy Story is still Pixar's best (these Wall-E people are crazy), and I still remember the story about my younger sister (who would have been almost 4) sleeping through the entire thing. Babe, though, feels like it's always been there- I had the video, the toy, even the hot water-bottle cover, I read the Dick King Smith book it was based on. Whenever I watch it, it warms my heart. And hopefully, this double bill will do the same for its imaginary audience.

Night #3: Brit FlickThe Way to the Stars (Anthony Asquith, 1945)
A Fish Called Wanda (Charles Crichton, 1988)

Being a rare British voice in this circle of the blogosphere, I feel it my duty to have at least one night that offers up the best this country has to offer. The Way to the Stars is easily one of the best films produced both during and about the Second World War- genuine, funny, realistic, and beautifully performed by a stellar cast (particularly Rosamund Johns). And then, for some light relief, its John Cleese's classic A Fish Called Wanda (from 1988, the year of my birth), which is one of the funniest films ever made anywhere.

Night #4: Flick LoveBachelor Mother (Garson Kanin, 1939)
Paris, Texas (Wim Wenders, 1984)

When I go in for love (figuratively speaking), I don't really go for the traditional, straightforward romantic comedy (not that there's anything wrong with that, and I enjoy a great deal of them. But anyway.). No, I go for tragedy, perversity, oddball and single mothers (well, not really with the last one). And this is exemplified by this double bill. Bachelor Mother is terrific vehicle for the comedienne in Ginger Rogers, who here plays a store clerk who is mistakenly believed to be the mother of a foundling by boss' son David Niven (incidentally, boss is Charles Coburn, popping up again after being seen earlier this week in The More the Merrier). Hijinks and a predictable end ensue, but it's a fantastic watch. And Paris, Texas is Wim Wenders' masterpiece (sorry, Wings of Desire), the painful story of a man rediscovering his identity and the family he left behind. No happy endings here, just beautiful filmmaking.

Night #5: Inspect-a-FlicksLa double vie de Veronique (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1991)
Vivre sa vie (Jean-Luc Godard, 1962)

It's pure chance that both of my more 'existential' picks are both foreign- and, indeed, both French. Krzysztof Kieslowski may be best known for his towering Three Colours trilogy but it's this precursor in his catalogue that I love most deeply- Irene Jacob is bewitching as both Veronique and Weronika, two women whose lives prove inscrutable mirrors of each other. And in Vivre sa vie, one of Jean-Luc Godard's earliest pictures, his wife Anna Karina is just as fascinating as Nana, whose life is told in twelve unconventional chapters. I think this penultimate night is a time to engage your brain fully before it revolts at the final night...

Night #6: Flick OffSpeed (Jan De Bont, 1994)
Bug (William Friedkin, 2006)

I get my movie thrills in different ways, and this final pairing shows just how differently I try and achieve this. Speed is pure adrenaline, one of the first 'adult' movies I remember seeing- I recently bought the DVD because my VHS had finally given out from me watching it so much. It is, perhaps, the only film I can take Keanu Reeves in, and is also to be credited/blamed with starting my love affair with Sandra Bullock (she's not giving me enough to work with anyone, dammit!). And for our final film, we have one of the finest films of recent times, the pyschological and physical freakout that is Bug. DVD isn't enough for this masterclass from William Friedkin- I need the massive cinema screen late at night that was my first viewing. Both films pack a walloping punch- I'll be shaking, whether it be from excitement or pure unadulterated fear.

I know I'm supposed to tag people, but I'm not exactly the most sociable of bloggers and I think most people I know will already have been tagged. But feel free to take the baton if no one else has passed it to you.

I Have Finally Climbed My Movie Everest

I never intended for A Woman Under the Influence to become my filmic equivalent of Mount Everest. When LOVEFiLM sent it out on the 15th of April, 2008, it was just another film, just another title to cross off the list, just another Best Actress nominee to add to my totals. But things conspired. I became overwhelmed with university work, and then exams. I left it at home when I was at uni, or at uni when I was at home. I simply lost interest in watching movies. So, this disc, in its little plastic sleeve, sat in its envelope, unknowingly becoming an anomoly in my life, as the knowledge of its reputation and the aura of its difficult attitude came to scare me off even more. When it got to two months, it started to become ludicrous, that I had kept this disc for so long, when my maximum turnaround time had before been probably a week. And yet still it sat there, untouched, unwatched.

And then, yesterday, one day after the three month mark had passed, I said to myself: 'self, you WILL watch this film tomorrow, come what may. You will turn on the machine, put the disc inside, and sit down in front of the television.' Today came. Events conspired so that it was half past twelve before I finally slotted the disc onto the tray and it disappeared inside. But it was there. Four times- twice for packages, twice for useless phone calls- I had to pause it, my body shifting around on the sofa between sitting and lying. But I watched it. I reached the summit of my movie Everest. And then, I took out the disc, put in back in its case, slid it inside the envelope along with Battlestar Galactica, and took them off to the postbox. And now, my movie Everest is amongst millions of letters, and tomorrow, I'll get another disc, another title to cross off, another molehill of a movie. Coming down off the summit is not as exciting, or exhilirating, but I guess it never is.

But was the summit itself glorious. I'd never seen a John Cassavetes film before, and I knew this was said to be one of his best. His style is very intense: observent, almost documentarian, and at a few of the most heated points, the camera seems to become hyper-real, the people moving around the frame as though on a stage- I'm not sure how exactly to describe what I'm getting at, but those moments were perhaps the most special to me, where I felt that the camera was most connected with the characters.

Was it a bit too long? Maybe. The last section ('Six Months Later') is a bit overextended and pales slightly with the preceding events but the performances are so superb it barely matters. Peter Falk is terrific, a perfect mirror to the dark and unpredictable Gena Rowlands, who is simply stunning. While you're initially unsure as to whether Mabel actually is mentally ill- as Falk's Nick keeps asking her to 'be herself'- it becomes increasingly clear that she (as well as Nick, make no mistake) is highly disturbed, and Rowlands is acutely tuned to portraying a woman who internally recognises her demons but cannot bare to admit them, is constantly playing a fierce battle with herself and those around her. It's an extraordinarily physical performance- the way that she moves, from her feet all the way to her eyes, is key to unlocking this woman, and it's exhausting just watching how Rowlands extends the writing into her movement. In the year where Ellen Burstyn's Alice and Faye Dunaway's Evelyn Mulwray ran alongside her, saying there's no doubt in my mind that Rowlands deserved the golden statuette says a great deal about just how good Rowlands is.

I Wanted To Go To The Cinema...

Oh my god, I finally went to the cinema again! It's been weeks since I last watched a film, cinema or no (I've had A Woman Under the Influence on rental for two and a half MONTHS now. Tell me that isn't ridiculous. And, yes, I'm sure it's great, but it sounds like a downer and it's so long and it's Wimbledon fortnight now and... ugh. Excuses abound. I'll watch it eventually.).

Wanted is the kind of film I shouldn't like, really. Comparisons have been made- they're obviously there- with The Matrix, and I hate that film, so it's almost like I'm being hypocritical here. But James McAvoy is no Keanu Reeves, Angelina Jolie is no Carrie-Anne Moss and Morgan Freeman is no Laurence Fishburne (well, it doesn't entirely work like that, but...). Basically, Wanted is frisky, fun and genuinely exciting, and, unlike The Matrix, it almost seems to see its central "philosophy" as a joke. It's certainly much more an interior philosophy than the Wachowskis, by which I mean that it is the characters' choice to believe it, as opposed to being the foundation of a universe. In simpler terms, The Matrix had its head up its arse, and Wanted doesn't.

A film like this lives and dies by its casting. If I don't like the performers, I'm not going to like the characters because what character there is boils down to a couple of talky scenes (and a fair amount of McAvoy voice-over, which for some reason doesn't quite work). But do you really need to know the background of Angelina Jolie's foxy assassin Fox (huh)- which we get in a sombre little interlude- when we see her lying backwards on and firing bullets from the bonnet of a sports car that McAvoy is driving from the passenger seat, or listening to McAvoy's girlfriend whine at him and deciding to help him out (in the nicest way possible)? Wanted is low on character but it applies it in the right places, building to a finale that pales only because it's been preceded by a stunning set-piece involving a high-speed train and a bridge. Director Timur Bekmambetov has honed the high-voltage visual techniques that fell flat in the Russian blockbuster Night Watch and cleverly uses them to increase identification with McAvoy's Wesley Gibson. McAvoy's charisma remains intact in the new Hollywood environment and Jolie is on sizzling form too, taking a blockbuster-break between projects that are cementing her status as a respected performer. I could have lived without repeatedly being told what average losers we all are, but the only lies Wanted is telling its audience is that a bullet trajectory can be curved. B

Reasons Why I Didn't Like In Bruges As Much As The Rest of the Theatre Did

1. A lot of its humour was roundly predictable. I think the moment that most exemplifies this is when Ralph Fiennes, in his first scene about half way (or perhaps even further in than that) through, angrily calls his wife an "inanimate object". But then, of course, the foul-mouthed hard-ass gangster lord (I assume) is going to softly apologise in the baldest terms possible. It just falls flat, and it does it too often- jokes like the American tourists rev up but suddenly conk out.

2. It went all weepy and emotional in so strong a way I'm surprised it didn't turn around and start calling itself gay, as seemed to be the prediliction of the film's central characters.

3. The well-built tension in the developing relationship between Ray (Colin Farrell) and Chloë (Clémence Poésy) came to a complete halt and she just became the crying girlfriend. The pregnant hotel owner was better characterized (and, let's be honest, more fun).

4. The dwarf (Peter Dinklage) cliche being upturned was done in such an obvious and boringly predictable way- particularly the way he was 'defeated'. Not good enough. Same goes for that debacle in the park with the guns.

5. The theatre was packed. Now, this wasn't in any way In Bruges fault, because, god knows, I'd never have thought so many elderly people would want to see a movie about Irish gangsters who swear incessantly going on a trip to Belgium. But being squeezed and forced to watch with about a fifth of the screen impaired greatly reducing my viewing pleasure, and if the film hadn't been so damned attractive to so many people- who were all where, exactly, when I went to see Dark Horse, or Away From Her?- then it wouldn't have happened and I'd have been able to watch in comfort. Which would, possibly, have helped me enjoy it more.

That said, I did like the narrative point on which the ending turned (no spoilers, people), and Farrell and especially Brendan Gleeson were very good. And the pregnant hotel owner was superb. C+

Men Always Win, Even When Women Beat Them

Diverse opinions on how the new Sex and the City film fits into today's culture are causing a furore, but I've got a different bone to pick here, and it has to do with the British media and their response to the British box office. As in America, the fourth Indiana Jones film opened here on May 22nd, and the Sex and the City film followed a week later. But while reports of the box-office results in the U.S. are all 'surprise: women do go to the cinema!', the UK media seem to be playing a very odd trick. What do headlines like 'Sex fails to match Indiana in the UK' and 'Sex and the City? We'd rather take a trip with Indiana Jones' suggest to you? Because when I first read them, I assumed that Indiana had held onto the top spot and the New Yorkers had taken second place. But no. If you can work around the bizarre narrative of the articles, you'll discover that this week's box-office champ was actually Sex and the City, which grossed about £8.7 million to Indiana's £5.5 million (figures here).

So why are these articles so focused on the fact that Sex and the City's opening weekend doesn't match Indiana Jones' opening £12 million? Why does it matter so much? Quite frankly I think it's quite amazing that a film based on an American television show that surely can't have had that large an audience (Channel 4 is less widely watched than other channels, and American imports, much as I love them, aren't generally watched by too many people) has made so much money. Seriously, £8.7 million is a huge haul, and I hardly think it's fair to compare it to a big action-adventure family franchise comeback. The two films are completely different, appealing to completely different audiences- and aren't some of Sex's audience going to be the ones dragged along by partner/children to see Indiana as opposed to the other way around?- and such a comparison is, quite frankly, ludicrous. Both have been hugely successful- so why slam one's success?

p.s. Apologies for the horrifically rudimentary graphic. I only have Paint, but isn't it more exciting than just the posters?