Give Me Moore

Ho ho ho and all that jazz, what a brilliant punster I am.

But seriously. It's Julianne Moore's birthday today (48?! Wow.) and I simply can't let this day pass without comment. The woman's been on my mind a lot lately. What with the Blindness trailer forcing us all to think that the film we've come to see is actually starting just because the trailer MUST be seen in all its digital glory, and those Todd Haynes' films that have been haunting my dreams because I just wrote an essay on them (it's over now). I even had a dream last night- this is now very vague- that she was in the credits of Titanic (oh what crazy dreams I have), and the dream-me didn't seem to question the fact of her being in it. Oh, and there's also me finally seeing Savage Grace (um, whoa) thanks to my university course- good taste prevails! (Unfortunately "we"- that is, not me- chose Pan's Labyrinth to do next term, so that didn't last long.) Does Moore's one-two-three hit of I'm Not There., Savage Grace and Blindness mean she's finally back to being the glorious independent muse of the mid-'90s? You don't need money, Julianne. Our respect is more important.

Oh, how I ramble. Anyway. In the vein of My New Plaid Pants, I'm going to celebrate Julianne's special day by informing you of my five favourite performances from the red-headed goddess. (And no, it's not too soon to include Savage Grace. Oops, spoiled that one.)

Amber Waves in Boogie Nights
"That is a giant cock."

Barbara Baekeland in Savage Grace"Will you still love me when my hair is grey and my tits are sagging?"

Carol White in {Safe}"Where am I?"

Cathy Whitaker in Far From Heaven"We ladies are never what we appear, and every girl has her secrets."

Laura Brown in The Hours"We're baking the cake to show him that we love him."

Those are seriously some brilliant performances. In many cases the best of their respective years. (I wish I'd seen Vanya on 42nd Street, but, alas, it is not to be.) Isn't it just marvellous how she moved from supporting player in rubbish like Body of Evidence (shudder) to being one of the best actresses of her generation- and of all time? She is truly marvellous. And beautiful. I could stare at her freckles all day.

Old News: A Dubious Honour

I don't normally do my film awards until, well, August, but hark! There is an award I feel sure enough in giving out now. Yes, now.

Because, really, who's going to 'better' Thandie Newton's performance as Condoleezza Rice in Oliver Stone's W.?

I like Thandie. I do. I even tried to love her once (sadly not in that way), but she doesn't half make it difficult. She fluctuated so wildly between superness and awfulness in Crash it was like she was acting in two different universes (is it too mean to blame Terrence Howard? No? Okay. Oh, and good work, Matt Dillon). She tries to imitate Audrey Hepburn (?!?!?) in The Truth About Charlie. She starred in Simon Pegg's vacuous 'comedy' Run Fatboy Run (okay, so I haven't seen it, and hate it for ridiculously silly personal reasons that aren't really related to the film at all, but so what?). She insists on taking vapid roles in things like RocknRolla (okay, I haven't seen that either...) and The Pursuit of Happyiness (harpy alert!). But she did at least spirit Noah Wyle away from ER, so it's not all bad.

But she is the definition of the word awful in W.. The friend I saw it with said that no one had told her it wasn't a comedy, but I think the problem was that somehow had told her that it was (which it is, methinks) and the only way she knew to try the funny was to make Condoleezza a grotesque caricature. For the most part of the film this isn't really a problem because the film barely cares about her existence- in one lengthy boardroom meeting she sits silently observing as all the menfolk talk politics. I'm not sure whether her moments were cut or whether this is a conscious decision on Stone's part- there is a jokey allusion to her being-ignored later when Bush finally remembers to add to his "Gentleman..." a "... and Lady...", but perhaps it's better to think her scenes generally ended up on the cutting room floor. In the opening scene I conjectured to myself that she looked constipated, but as she reappeared it was simply more like someone else had relieved themselves right next to her and it stank. She also appeared to have lead piping in her limbs and spine, because she sat like something had been shoved up her rectum and walked like she had to keep her arms at a certain distance from her body to prevent immediate death. And I haven't even mentioned her voice.

So yes. I have no hesitation in now naming Ms. Thandie Newton the Worst Supporting Actress of 2008! *applause*

Well, at least she's not torn up about it.

Scott. Joe Scott.

Here's a question for you. Which self-centered, womanizing, troubled male character was played by Daniel Craig in 2008?

You may think the answer is James Bond. Which would, of course, be true. But this is my blog, and unfortunately that is not the correct answer. No, the answer is actually Joe Scott, Craig's character from the film he made (and made possible) for his friend Baillie Walsh, Flashbacks of a Fool.

Seeing these two films- Flashbacks... and Quantum of Solace- in quick succession makes the Bond film seem more generous towards characters who aren't James Bond than it might otherwise have done. But where Quantum... gives a surprisingly large chunk of itself over to Camille (Olga Kurylenko) and her own quest for revenge, Flashbacks... is all about Joe Scott. Other characters can suffer bereavements, get blown up by mines, get their nose bitten by a dog and it's still all about Joe. Don't believe me? Here is photographic evidence.


Giving away where this scene takes place (both spacially and chronologically) might annoy you (although check out the visual clues if you wish), but still: you aren't even looking at Joe Scott and he still takes up half the frame. Claire Forlani can (not) cry all she wants, but this film doesn't give a damn about her and her tragedies. No. The world revolves around Joe Scott, failing druggy filmstar, who is cared for by housekeeper Ophelia (the rather fantastic Eve) for no good reason as he snorts Emilia Fox's coke and has lesbian orgies. In the past he was played by Harry Eden and has no sexual willpower whatsoever. The only moment where the film actually gives over to another character utilizes the rather superb Roxy Music track I mentioned previously: Joe is forced to take a back seat as love interest Ruth (Felicity Jones, pictured) 'shakes her head with her ponytail' in slow-motion. It is a silver lining in a film that wants- ney demands you admire the craggy lines of Daniel Craig's face and the perfectly-coiffured Harry Eden.

And you wouldn't think you'd ever call James Bond generous, what with all the punching and bedding-of-women and martini-drinking, but maybe sobering up has done good things for the man: when he finally tries to plant one on central Bond girl Camille, it's barely sexual at all; it's just sad, almost pathetic. The man-woman relationship has, as in but differently from predecessor Casino Royale, been built on something other than sex: with Vesper it was love, and here it's the common cause of revenge. Her backstory may be a tad trite but at least they gave her one: when did a Bond girl ever have such suffering of her own, have as much, if not more impetus than Bond himself? The script may not get everything right, but this is, as perhaps Bourne made a requirement, Bond made human. And this can only, surely, be appreciated.

Sure, Marc Forster takes his action cues from Bourne, but there's still humour to be found here: it's just tarter and bitterer than before, the prime example being the oily end to one character than instantly recalls one of the Bond series' most famous images. Sure, the plot is rather vague, but it fills in with well-etched characterizations and excellent casting: Mathieu Amalric suits the slightly reedy magnate to a tee, and Judi Dench is as delicious as ever as M ("I don't give a shit about the CIA or their trumped-up evidence!"). I'm not saying it's perfect by any means- there's too much fuss over things that never come to anything, for one thing- but at the end of the day I'd take this exciting shot to the adrenaline than the preening vainness of Flashbacks of a Fool.

Quantum of Solace: B; Flashbacks of a Fool: D+

Something Good

Let us not focus on the negatives. I may, indeed, come to post something about the abomination that is Flashbacks of a Fool (because, really, the alignment of Craig. Daniel Craig. is just too perfect to pass up), but there is a silver lining: it introduced me to Roxy Music's AMAZING song If There Is Something. And here it is for you to enjoy too.

Blatant False Advertising

How to Lose Friends & Alienate People is utterly useless. It doesn't contain any sort of instruction on how to lose friends OR alienate people.

Alright, so I'm joking. But Simon Pegg isn't alienating in the way Toby Young (the basis for Pegg's character, who was actually banned from the set for being so alienating) probably was, and that's the problem. Pegg is just alienating in a kooky, offbeat, lovable-loser kind of way- you know, the way Simon Pegg is in every movie. And the inherent reason given for Pegg's Sidney Young being alienating is that he's British. Because we Brits are, of course, all the same slobbish, aloof, unsubtle idiots. And all New Yorkers (we can separate off areas of America, sure, but you won't get away from those generalizations!) are bastards if they're male, or vacuous if they're female. Kirsten Dunst is alright, though, because she's from some Port or something.

This film fails almost immediately by breaking the cardinal rule of noughties filmmaking: never cast Danny Huston. Indeed, the only cast member apart from Pegg it actually knows how to use effectively is Megan Fox, and since she's basically there to look pretty, that job is hardly taxing. But they have Jeff Bridges! And Gillian Anderson! - Both wasted. (Huston, of course, would be used most effectively by being thrown out of a window.) And Kirsten Dunst! - A dull love interest. This woman has comic timing. Try letting her have some jokes. This is supposed to be a comedy, right?

That's harsh. I did laugh at How to Lose Friends and Alienate People on several occasions. But they're easy, personable laughs, not the sharp, vicious laughs I'd expect of Toby Young. Add to that the fact that the film barely goes anywhere and the short journey it does make is as predictable as a pig wrecking a hotel room, and you have an enjoyable but utterly pointless film that's nowhere near as good as it should be. (And it produces a review that reflects how thin it really is. Or I just can't be bothered. You choose.) C

Live! from Victim's Bedroom

This review will probably make more sense if you've seen Live!, which, as we'll discuss (EDIT: briefly. Very briefly), is a highly unlikely possibility, so you'll just have to make do.

If I had better graphical skills (or indeed, a better graphics program), this would be in a circle like the "contestants" on the tv show within a film stand in (although honestly I don't know how anyone'd manage that). But I don't, so it isn't. A list will have to do.

Contestant #1... Eva Mendes!
It feels, oddly, that Eva Mendes has been around for years, and yet I'd be hard pressed to name more than about three films she's starred in (well, I would have been before looking at IMDb). But I have a lot of goodwill towards her after being so impressed by her turn in We Own the Night, the very underrated James Gray film from last year. So seeing she was not only the star but the executive producer (money=faith) of Live! induced me to go and see it despite having heard very little about it. We'll get to semantics later, but here's the basic premise: Eva is an ambitious tv exec who comes up with a reality show based on the "classic game" (yes, they actually say that) of Russian Roulette. Yes, six people stand in a circle and one of them is going to kill themself. As you can imagine, it all turns out very well indeed. You might question why Eva would put her money behind such a thing, but as a role you can't question her decision: she's tart, magnetic and astutely attuned to the differing facets of a role that, as written, could easily just be the bitch-extrodinaire. (So, no, the bullet in her chamber is a blank. Well done, Eva. You live to fight another day.)

Contestant #2... Robert de Vico!
The production design on this is actually quite stellar. As in, the studio where the tv show takes place- which is about the final third of the film- looks authentically 'American reality tv show'. That is, shiny metal, overdramatically dark lighting, geometric shapes. Minus points for Eva's ludicrously labyrithine house. (Robert de Vico is the production designer in case that wasn't clear. He also survives. Hurray!)

Contestant #3... Jay Hernandez!
Sometimes I happen upon an actor who's never been in anything particularly amazing, and has never truly convinced me of their amazing skill, and yet they worm their way into my head and sit there, chirruping at me to champion their cause. Jay Hernandez is one of those. Every time I see him in the cast list of a film, my heart does a little somersault. (Don't get too excited, this is a disturbingly regular occurance... many people occupy the little swinging ledge in the birdcage of my mind.) Anyway. Here Jay is one of the contestants, and he does a perfectly competent job, but I just don't get why he has to slum it in things like this. I guess he'll just have to keep chirruping. (And not get shot in the head.)

Contestant #4... Stephen Kazmierski!
I'm sure you're all saying "who the f**k is that?". Well, let me tell you, good people. Stephen Kazmierski is the cinematographer. Why is this important? Because the photography draws great attention itself by the story being a film within a film- not an unfamiliar concept, of course. But, although this is all done as a documentary (David Krumholtz plays the filmmaker who has 'randomly' decided to follow Eva around), it's not done in the grainy, shaky-cam style we've all come to associate with documentary (or faux-documentary, or 'realist') films. And therein lies the problem. It's all too glossy. Even this probably wouldn't be a problem if we didn't then run into the tv show itself... which looks exactly the same. Shiny and glossy. And when your supposed 'reality' is as fake as the reality show it's criticizing, you lose the force of your moral lesson. (Also there's some very shoddy editing. Pull your socks up people! If even I notice it you know you're in trouble. Kazmierski survives, but for a moment you thought it was all over.)

Contestant #5... Bill Guttentag!
I'm afraid it's all this man's fault. It's hard to avoid blaming him, really, since he wrote and directed it. Fair enough, who could make such a ridiculous premise believable... but why bother making a film of this in the first place if you're going to try and make a moral lesson out of something that seems ludicrous from the off? In the end what you get is a film that obviously thinks it's got it's audience squared- you do sweat and bite your nails as the contestants hold that gun to their head. But is that because you actually care or just because the idea of a shot ringing out is an always horrible one? Your moral lesson, Bill, doesn't work, because I would never watch this tv show. And (here is where I put too much faith in humanity) I doubt many others would either. But it doesn't matter anyway because no one would ever show it, and your entire film is pointless before it's even begun.

And you really did yourself in when you chickened out of showing us what could possibly have been the most interesting moral dilemma of the entire film. (So, yes, it's Bill that crumples to the floor, as the final contesant(s) weep(s) with relief...)

Contestant #6... Harvey/Bob Weinstein!
After Guttentag shot himself in the foot, it's no wonder the Weinsteins went running for the hills and left this film behind. C-

Cue Childish Sniggering

"Would you like to come to my house and see my silver-tipped spruce?"

Victim's Useless Guide To The London Film Festival

Now, as your resident favourite Brit-of-the-blogosphere (because I am, aren't I?!), I'd love to be your guide to this country's biggest film festival, which starts today and runs until October 30th all over London. Unfortunately, contrary to the old American maxim that every Brit lives in London, I live about 200 miles from the capital and it takes me two hours (by train) to get there. Add this to my waning bank balance and a university that unfortunately insists I show up for things, and you get me unhappily only taking one trip down to the West End. (That's this Sunday, folks, for Arnaud Desplechin's A Christmas Tale, which I am very excited about.) But I can't fail you completely, and, so, instead of the detailed diaries I'm sure those who get paid for this sort of thing will be doing, I'm going to get this out of the way now and tell you what I would be seeing if I were a rich layabout cinefile who lived in a mansion in Kent. (I've restricted myself to one per day because otherwise we'll be here all night and you're probably bored already. Hurrah.)

Wednesday, 15th: Frost/Nixon
The opening gala. Can't say the film itself holds a great deal of interest personally (though naturally I'll see it on release), but it's a gala and I've always wanted to go to one of those. I'd probably actually scrub myself in preparation.

Thursday, 16th: La Belle personne
I actually thought about going to this because there ARE STILL TICKETS (a rare thing to come by) but monetary and time issues made me sigh in defeat. This is from Christophe Honore, whose delightful Les chansons d'amour was released this year on both sides of the Atlantic. La Belle personne is similarly musical, similarly Louis Garrel-starring (always a good thing), and strangely enough based on La princesse de Cleves.

Friday, 17th: Love Live Long
The latest experimental thingamabob from Mike Figgis, who's always worth giving a chance to impress, disgust or bore you completely. It's about the Gumball 3000 Rally, whatever that is. More importantly, it's digital, it sounds unnervingly raw and it appears to be in black-and-white, which the pretentious snob in me always loves.

Saturday, 18th: Virtue + Shopworn
Now I would have gone to this but 'twas already sold out. Bastards. Anyway, this is a double-bill of rare Pre-Code films, the first with Carole Lombard (love) and the second with Barbara Stanwyck (love more). But I guess I'll never see them, then. Oh well.

Sunday, 19th: Hunger
This comes out soon anyway, but I can't wait to be stunned and horrified (apparently I'm a masochist then) by this tale of Bobby Sands, the IRA prisoner who led a hunger strike in the 1980s.

Monday, 20th: Rachel Getting Married
You know this one. I can't wait for it. It doesn't have a release date. Boo. Let's move on.

Tuesday, 21st: Of Time and the City
Terence Davies' very personal documentary about his childhood and hometown of Liverpool. Described as a 'visual poem', it's narrated by Davies' himself, whose voice is bound to switch as many people off as it does on.

Wednesday, 22nd: Genova
Michael Winterbottom is often amazing. And this story of a grieving father taking his daughters to Venice and hanging around with Catherine Keener becomes even more exciting when you remember which previous British art-director went to Venice with psychological traumas. Got there? Oh yes... (Again, this was sold out already. Grr.)

Thursday, 23rd: Of Parents and Children
Every fantasy film festival diary needs a Czech film in it (that's what they tell me, anyway). So this is mine. A grandfather meets his 40-year-old son at a zoo every week and they walk around Prague reflecting on how shit their lives are. Probably. For film buffs there's the pleasure of knowing the grandfather is played by the lead of Czech-classic Closely Observed Trains (which I didn't like but oh well).

Friday, 24th: Benicio del Toro
Not a film, but a talk! How thrilling. But seriously, I'm sure the man would be fascinating. Of course he's around these parts because of Che (a simultaneously exciting and exhausting prospect), but a look back into his filmography demonstrates he has a lot of interesting stuff to be asked. (Of course, you can book for this, but it's on far too late and I'd be stranded in London for the night. Scary.)

Saturday, 25th: Hansel and Gretel
This South Korean flick sounds deliciously creepy. What's more disturbing than children? (Apologies to any children who may be reading.) Happy children, that's what. Hopefully I'll get a chance to this one at some point.

Sunday, 26th: Surprise Film
They have one every year. You don't know what it is until you turn up. This year, according to festival director Sandra Hebron, it's a return to the usual situation where they still aren't sure what they're going to be showing. How thrilling. Or it would be if I was going.

Monday, 27th: The Brothers Bloom
BecauseomgithasRachelWeiszbeingprettyandRinkoKikuchibeingsilentanddeadlyandtheawes-omenessfactorcouldbethroughtheroofmanamazingamazingamazing.

I don't like Adrien Brody though.

Tuesday, 28th: The Beaches of Agnes
Cleo from 5 to 7 is superb. And this "auto-documentary" is a self-portrait of its director Agnes Varda. Apparently her last film, too, and you can bet your bottom dollar such a film will be fascinating and completely vanity-free.

Wednesday, 29th: Easy Virtue
I'm sorry. But whenever anyone mentions Jessica Biel in the same breath as her namesakes Alba and Simpson, my blood boils ever so slightly. What did she do to deserve such an indignity? She looks smashing in this period comedy alongside Colin Firth (boring) and Kristin Scott Thomas (amazing). The trailer instantly reminded me of Stephen Fry's Evelyn Waugh adaptation Bright Young Things, and as anyone who has seen that can attest, this is only a good thing. (Thankfully this is released very soon. Hurrah!)

Thursday, 30th: The Sky, The Earth and the Rain
And so we reach the end. You could go and see the closing gala Slumdog Millionaire, but I'm not big on Danny Boyle and so instead in my fantasy world I'll be seeing this "ravishing" Chilean peek at two solitary souls where the landscape stands for the characters' inner moods. Susan Sontag would storm out in disgust.

And that, good people, is two weeks that I WON'T be enjoying. Good night.

Um... Did You Save The Receipt?

It's A Gift is possibly the most unamusing comedy I ever did see. Moreover, it's completely uninteresting.

It's not even as if it's particularly offensive (although it is deeply misogynistic, but in a way that doesn't rile you up but more puts you into a coma; if such a thing seems impossible to you, you evidently haven't seen this). It's just dead. W.C. Fields, while not held up as a Chaplin or a Keaton, is still fairly well respected today, but on the basis of this I have no idea why. I know the film is simply built around comic setpieces for Fields to show off in, but for me to laugh at something that is riffing off a realistic situation, I need to believe the validity of the situation we're given. And since Fields is generally not depicted as a complete idiot (he generally seems to be ahead of the game, but just a victim of other's stupidity), I find it hard to believe he'd be so stubborn as to risk cutting his throat just because his daughter was using the bathroom mirror. Either WAIT, or ask the girl to MOVE. Don't position yourself on the back of a chair so that you almost fall on top of your blade.

And don't even get me started on the coconut that is actually a cannon ball.

I am not against old comedies. On the contrary, I find Chaplin and Keaton and the Marx Brothers and especially '30s screwball to be an utter delight and a welcome respite from what the Hollywood mainstream of today generally serves up for our delectation. (And now I sound like a snob. Hurrah.) But W.C. Fields- at least as far as It's A Gift demonstrates- is NOT funny. He's just a boorish fool who somehow ended up married to the 1930s American incarnation of Hyacinth Bucket (that's prounced Boo-Kay).

The thing is, really, that I see none of the virtuosity in Fields that his contemporaries- those aforementioned- demonstrate, either verbally or physically. (Supposedly he was a fantastic juggler. But he didn't juggle in this film. Not even with the coconut.) But compare to the Chaplin film I saw last week- The Rink- and we see Chaplin charm us with his (silent) chuckling and his rising hat effect, and wow us with his skating virtuosity. (I haven't even mentioned the way he walks. Like a penguin. I love it.) Buster Keaton takes my breath away with his dangerous stunts on the train track in The General. Groucho Marx (and sometimes Chico and Harpo too) has me on the floor with laughter with his wisecracking, clever gags. And Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn run around with a leopard and walk on the side of imaginary hills and I doubt anything can ever make me laugh as much as I am at that moment.

But all I got from Fields was him yelling at a blind man, trying to kill himself as he shaved, trying (and failing) to sleep at 5:00 in the morning (in the only neighbourhood that has a girl who is sent out to the shops at that time of day), and waving a pillow vaguely at a dog. (See? He can't even do that properly.)

And, after all that, he ends up a rich bugger relaxing on the sunny veranda of his orange grove. Life just isn't fair.

Why You Can't Take It With You Sums Up Everything That Was Good About 1930s Hollywood While Also Managing To Be Distinctly Mediocre

I think the title hints what this post is about.

Alright. I'll fess up. I only put You Can't Take It With You at the top of my rental queue because it's one half of the next episode of the holy trifecta's Best Picture thingamawhatsit. (For what it's worth, Titanic is as bewitching as it ever was.) The inhumanly perfect pairing of Jean Arthur and Jimmy Stewart should have been enough to drive me to rob a DVD shop at gunpoint for a chance to watch it, and yet somehow, by perverse logic, the fact of it's being a winner of Oscar's top prize tainted it's appeal. (Like: if they like it, it can't be good enough. And yet I must see it because I am under their foolish thumb.)

Turns out, naturally, that I was quite correct. You Can't Take It With You, apart from having an irritatingly long and un-shortenable title, is basically the manic screwball comedies that I adore so much, but diluted with the infamous corn of Capra. If making films was a culinary art (and you know you wish it were), then here we have at the helm a chef who got noticed for his originality but has landed a boss who is terrified of bad press. 'Play it safe, lad,' he says, and so our precocious young cook looks down at his delicious concution and sadly pours in Capra's Creamed CornTM into his pot. Stir, and voila! You have crazy that Oscar can adore without having to laugh too much. God forbid people think the golden man's got a funny bone.

You can't contain the crazy. But you can put a sign that says 'Home Sweet Home' on it's front door and pet it gently. They may end up in a jail (like all the best and worst screwballs do), but this is a jail with 'ladies of the night' and scruffy homeless people, who certainly aren't there to be laughed at (you'll find no leopards here). You can mute the absurdity by throwing such disparate elements as dancer Ann Miller and wizened straight-face Lionel Barrymore into the same melting pot, but they doesn't mean they make a family. You can't present the ultimate kooky family as if it's normal and teach us moral lessons about the world at the same time: it's our world, or yours. Choose.

In the end, it's the cast that defines this film, in terms of how good they are at salvaging its worst moments, but also in how their disparate personaes represent the confusing mess that this film emerges as. Jimmy Stewart was to become the poster-boy for Capra's social concerns. Jean Arthur is the wiseacre of 40s social comedies. Lionel Barrymore is like a relic of the stage, gentle and loveable, sitting in the corner as a marker of prestige. Ann Miller is like a moth (a musical moth) that sneaked into a house and is fluttering to get out before someone squashes her for flying into their face. Spring Byington is the fluff that tickles Oscar's ear and makes him melt inside. Mischa Auer is the marker for xenophobic hilarity. And Edward Arnold... well, he's the cream of Capra's corn. You Can't Take It With You is that most frustrating of films: the film that isn't quite sure what it wants to be, and so tries to be them all. (Much like this highly schizophrenic post.) B-

Paul Newman (1925- 2008)

We all knew it was coming... but now it's actually happened. Movie legend Paul Newman had died aged 83. I'm hardly the one you'd come to for a eulogy, so I'll keep it brief. I almost feel as if I'd only just started getting to know Mr Newman... I only saw his classics Hud and The Hustler a few months ago, and I have still to catch up on Cool Hand Luke... I feel as if I'm only just coming to terms with how superb he really was, and now he's gone. Condolences to his family and everyone who was close to him: he will, truly, be missed.

See? Casey Affleck can be fun!

I was going to do a bigger post on Gone Baby Gone (which, yes, they actually allowed us to watch), but it's all been said so instead I will simply offer this amusing facial expression from Casey Affleck.

Smashing.

Go Back in Time

Go is a total nostalgia trip. Do YOU remember the time when:

• Sarah Polley could headline a film?
• Sarah Polley starred in films instead of directing them?
• Sarah Polley could act? (See evidence against.)
• Sarah Polley looked uncannily like Sarah Cracknell?
• Sarah Polley was important enough to be mentioned this many times in one post?
• Jay Mohr was in every other film? (I love Jay Mohr. I don't know why. Don't you miss him? I know he's still alive.)
• Katie Holmes looked human?
• Katie Holmes could act? (See evi... oh, you know.)
• Katie Holmes had a haircut that didn't suggest she becoming her husband? (Seriously, what is going on there? If I didn't know it was for a tv show I'd be seriously worried. (This point sponsored by a current tv advert mentioning the Tom Cruise haircut.))
• Katie Holmes didn't have to stand in a ditch to be shorter than the men around her?
• A film could have a sense of morality about drugs while still being fun and not being a lecture in the vaguest sense?
• A film could have a gay couple as central characters without it being their defining characteristic, or even important in the slightest?
• Scott Wolf got to star in a movie? (Why did Katie Holmes become the famous one again?)
• William Fichtner was creepy? (Oh... wait.)
• Taye Diggs! was funny? (He deserves the exclamation, because when he appeared I exclaimed exactly that in my head.)
• Doug Liman made good films? (This brief period ended in 2005.)
• I was just eleven years old? (Isn't that alarming.)
  

Watching Go is so nostalgic that when I thought about it again this morning I felt like I'd actually seen it years ago and my viewing last night was a joyful revisit. It was in fact the first time I'd ever seen it. B+

A Bond With Tess

Looking at the upcoming release schedule, I came across a rather strangely titled film, so I decided to investigate. I couldn't find much on this Quantum of Solace, only really this picture:


Now, I don't know who he is (some indie-film actor, I think), but I do know who she is. Gemma Arterton (for it is she) first came to public attention when she starred in the by-all-accounts-heinous revamped St. Trinian's film towards the end of last year, but it's 2008 that is already proving her breakout year. She was in another film I've avoided- the latest Guy Ritchie opus- and showed her superior status by playing the famed Elizabeth Bennett for the millisecond she was needed in ITV's hilariously entertaining series Lost in Austen (worth checking out for another young Brit, Jemima Rooper, as the modern reader of Austen who switches places with Lizzie- oh yes, you read that right). Casting news for the future also came with a big part in video game adaptation Prince of Persia (with Jake Gyllenhaal)- let's all hope that's not as shit as it looks (me, judgmental? Never.).

But I think that the role that will define Arterton's year- this Quantum thing doesn't look up to much, quite frankly- is her titular role in the BBC's latest period novel adaptation (the only thing the BBC are much good at these days, excepting celebrity dancing). As Thomas Hardy's most famous heroine, Arterton is almost perfect as Tess- likeable but not infallible (she is often infuriatingly reticent, although I think much of that is what makes me identify so much with her), beautiful but not untouchable, sympathetic but not pathetic. The script may have- apparently (I am ashamed to report I've not read the book- I'm sure it is better, derisive visitors)- made Alec D'Urberville a more straightforward villain that he was written as, but it's an impeccable production that digs deep into the personal turmoil of Tess. Of course any moment of happiness for Tess is hung over by the impending sense of doom that we all know accompanies any Hardy work- and that's what makes it so heartbreaking, and so compulsive.

Waiter, my pie has too much Keira Knightley in it...

[This is a review disguised as a mathematical dissection. It may also contain some spoilers.]

I was lying in bed last night wondering: if Keira Knightley's new film The Duchess were a pie, what would it's main ingredients be? So I decided to figure it out.

(click to enbiggen)

40%... Keira Knightley. Despite what the (hilarious) title of this entry may suggest, Miss Knightley is actually very good in this film. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's her best performance yet. It has more weight than her (still lovely) turn in Pride and Prejudice, and there's none of that stilted British accent shit from Atonement. This is- since she is the titular character- "her" film, so to speak, especially since director Saul Dibb seems remarkably insistent on sticking the camera square-on to her face. She handles it very well. She makes a believable transition from naive new bride to increasingly disillusioned woman, as the Duchess (of Devonshire) hides her private turmoils behind her fashions and her sprightly public persona. She's charming, but not aggressively so, putting as much emphasis on her character's foibles as her strengths and letting the situations we see her in speak for themselves.

15%... Children. Alright. So the children themselves aren't physically in this film a great deal. But in the end the film shows itself to be all about them. The Duchess' mother has clearly put all her efforts into getting her daughter into the best position possible, but the Duchess' own generation is also all about sacrificing themselves for their children. The movie even overplays this a bit, as Lady "Bess" Elizabeth (Hayley Atwell) spells this out for both us and the Duchess as she tries to explain her dalliance with the Duchess' husband. And the Duchess, ultimately, does the same (again, the script overplays this, and sacrifices another aspect of the film for it, sadly, but we'll get to that). What the film, thankfully, doesn't spell out is how this is, obviously, destined to be a never-ending chain- children sacrifice themselves for their children, who sacrifice themselves for their children, creating a never-ending legacy of unhappiness. It makes me never want to have children, because I'd probably be a horrible parent.

12%... The ambiguous morality of Ralph Fiennes. I hope y'all pronounced his name correctly. One of the cleverest aspects of the script is how it lets Fiennes' character unfold in the same way for us as he does for the Duchess- character identification, you see? He's initially a cold, unreachable figure, who becomes a dangerous, volatile, selfish one, and it's only in the latter part that he gets the chance to speak his part, and you feel he only does so because, at least as far as he's concerned, the Duchess has finally become adult enough to understand what he's trying to tell her. What he does is inexcusable, but the film leaves you unsettled about how hateable the man can really be.

10%... Extra-marital sex. What would an eighteenth-century historical biopic be without some juicy affairs? Nothing, that's what. And here, you almost get three for the price of one! The openly accepted one (naturally, since he's a rich man) between the Duke and Bess is all played out between them and the Duchess at the dinner table, their sexual dalliances left to the Duchess' POV as she stumbles on servants listening to their first encounter. But this menage-a-trois isn't just between the two- I was surprised when their was a brief female moment, which I didn't think would happen even as it did- simply because I'd heard nothing about it! Which is a good thing, really, because it shouldn't be anything to get excited about (and it is quite brief).

But what's best here is the affair between the Duchess and eventual Prime Minister Charles Grey (Dominic Cooper, hooray). This may be me at my most basic level, but the lengthy lead-up to them even kissing really did it for me. It probably helps that they're both so attractive. And unlike the other affairs, there is considerable action that goes on here. Can I say yum?

Okay. I'm done being shallow now.

8%... Politics. A film consisting of even this much politics may scare some people off, but it just wasn't enough. I knew that the Duchess of Devonshire was a big political campaigner, and we just didn't get enough of it. I suppose I could credit the film with treating its audience with intelligence by not explaining the political positions of the Whig Party, but I fear it's more a case of that being construed as "boring". I wanted to understand what the Duchess was standing for, what she was (briefly) standing up in support of, but the film only seems to go there to further the relationship between her and Grey. And this is what I referred to earlier- in the Duchess' decision between Grey and the Duke, it's only and always her children, never the threat of what it would do to Grey's political career- which could, I assume, have been greatly important in furthering the country's development.

7%... Feet. I think Saul Dibb is a foot fetishist. He certainly goes for the classic 'stepping out of a carriage' shot. I think the only part of the body we saw as much of as people's feet was the back of Keira's head (identification, you see?). Indeed, Dibb does show his limits as a director here- the other classic period shot you may find yourself rolling your eyes at is the wide angle of the dinner table, as the Duke and Duchess sit about a mile away from each other. Wonder what that signifies?

5%... Big hats. The Duchess- as she herself spells out early on- expresses herself through her fashion. And she certainly does have some extraordinary headgear in this film. Sadly, I can't find a picture of my favourite one (it's the one with the enormous feather), so you'll have to settle for this one instead.
2%... Charlotte Rampling. I did really like The Duchess, but doesn't every movie's awesomeness factor go up by about 40% every time Charlotte Rampling turns up? Here, she's scarce but very brilliant as the Duchess' concerned but critical mother.

1%... Burning hair. Yes. The most hilarious moment of the film comes in a tritely-filmed sequence where a drunk Duchess stumbles backwards into a candelabra and ends up having her wig put out by a servant pouring wine on it. Sadly- or perhaps even more brilliantly- it has actually been removed from her head at this point. Revealing how little hair she really has. (Still, it's better than the greasy hair that Ralph keeps under his wig.)

And that, good people, is what ingredients go into making a competent, enjoyable if flawed historical biopic. I give it a B, and I wouldn't mind eating it again.

Zack and Miri Lose Some Weight

[src]

A nice slice of vengeful brilliance:


Seriously, though, the whole MPAA fuss over the first poster is so absurd (how is any worse than this? At least Zack and Miri are: A, fully clothed, and B, devoid of creepy smugness) that I bow down to Kevin Smith/the studio bigwigs/the poster designer (i.e. whomever is responsible) for reacting with such knowing creativity. Actually, this is much better than the first poster- in which I can't for the life of me figure out what's making Elizabeth Banks react in that particular fashion- so, ultimately, we must applaud the MPAA for enforcing one of the year's best posters upon us.

Liv-ing It Up

Liv Tyler is a strange one, isn't she? She's beautiful, likable, a fairly good actress... and yet I can't imagine anyone becoming as devoted a fan to her as people are to the likes of Winslet (guilty as charged) or Streep or Moore or... you get the picture. Liv Tyler just seems to... exist. She's kind of always there, but has never really made much of an impact, despite being in big (budget) films like Armageddon and The Incredible Hulk. I doubt anyone really dislikes her, either... she gives perfectly proficient performances but there's just nothing to get excited about.

I say all this because, by pure coincidence, I saw Liv in a film for two days in a row: Lonesome Jim, a 2005 American indie film that was finally released on these shores this year, which I snagged on DVD from the library, and then, the following day, I checked out The Strangers in the cinema (mainly because The Duchess started a bit too early for me to get into that). I had high hopes for Lonesome Jim- mainly because it stars Casey Affleck, who's become a favourite of mine- but it ended up being a bit of a damp squib. It trots along just as expected, not really making much of impression. All the kernels of observation have been made before, the quirky plot twists are unsurprising, the technical work unexciting. I did like the initially unusual line it took between Tyler and Affleck's characters- it didn't put on a flirtatious premise as they met, simply going straight from their awkward meeting to uncomfortably quick sex in the hospital where Tyler works, not having this central pairing dance around each other. Things peter out after that, and, while good work from Mary Kay Place and a scene-stealing Jack Rovello (as Tyler's son) keep interest afloat, I ejected the DVD afterwards with an impassive sense of disappointment. C

The Strangers is an entirely different kettle of fish, but strangely enough I found myself to it reacting in much the same way- initial interest and promise slowly coming to nothing. I always find myself questioning, when I go and see this type of movie (i.e. scary horror thriller types), why I'm putting myself through the ordeal, so I spent the first half of the movie or so fearful of what the film was going to do to me later, as I expected the scare quotient to up itself considerably (I was very jittery during the early shocks, but then I jump at a knock at the door in reality so I'm surprised I didn't actually leap out my seat when the same happened in the cinema...) in the latter half. Instead, I just got quite bored as Liv scrambled around on the grass trying to avoid stepping on her twisted ankle (you can observe this above). This is hardly the type of film that really demands anything particularly spectacular from its cast, so to say Liv was quite good here is actually quite a compliment. She has to hold up much of the film on her own and she really does the paranoid despair thing very well. And I must say, I can't remember being so convinced (and therefore panicked) by a scream as I was when she let out her belter of one (and thankfully kept it there, unlike Jamie Lee). But as it went on the scares just kept repeating themselves ('OMG they're there! Oh, wait, no, they're not. *bang bang* Oh, crap.') and the ending(s) was completely bizarre. However- I thought the sound was super (LOVE vinyls jarring) and I was probably more frightened that I'd admit to anyone's face. So, after much deliberation, it's a B-.

My favourite Liv film, by the way, is probably Inventing the Abbotts, which more people should watch. It also has Joaquin Phoenix in it!

Stupid Screen International...

I got a little excited when the BBC put up their usual story about this past weekend at the UK/Ireland box office... mainly because they were reporting that Step Brothers, that dreadful-looking Will Ferrell-John C. Reilly (what happened to you, Mr. Cellophane?) "comedy" had come in at the superb flop positioning of number 7. 'Really?', I thought. 'Have people finally had enough? Is the epidemic coming to an end?' Sure, Mamma Mia!, which is hardly quality itself, had apparently returned to the number 1 spot, but I'd rather people see a celebration of ABBA (who, in case you didn't know, are completely and utterly brilliant) and embrace the tradition of the musical rather than encourage subpar frat brother juvenile humour (I expect- you don't really expect me to subject myself to that, do you?). And even better is the fact that The Strangers- which, well, yes, could be rubbish, but I am actually going to discover that for myself- was second and had made almost as much as Mamma Mia! despite being in about half the number of cinemas.

But then I see that they've updated their article and Step Brothers was the winner after all. So that was the end of that.

We Americans? Why? Nazis are bad; we're good.

Barbara Novak: Another ruse, Catcher? You know I have no interest in seeing you.
Catcher Block: But you know you have to, and you know I know you have to. I'm sure you know how things are at KNOW ever since your new NOW.
Barbara Novak: I have no way of knowing how things are now at KNOW. I knew how things were at KNOW before NOW.
Catcher Block: Then you should know now at KNOW things are a lot like they are at NOW, we have to interview every applicant for every job, and so do you or you'd be going against NOW's definition of discrimination and you wouldn't want the readers of NOW or KNOW to know that, now would you?

There are so many moments in Down with Love to... well, love. It was on the television last night and I didn't really intend on watching it (my sidebar shows you just how many other things I have waiting), but it pulled me in anyway. It's not even a guilty pleasure... it's a pleasure I want to shout out to the world and tell them what they're missing. It's so deliciously knowing, and so so funny. I haven't seen any of the Doris-Rock comedies it's so obviously based on, but I imagine that they can't be as much fun because they surely wouldn't have been allowed to be so hilariously blatant about the sexual connotations...

And isn't Renee Zellweger's unbroken expositionary monologue just the best?

They Can't Take Their Eyes Off Each Other... Yuck

I've had a veiled interest in Nights in Rodanthe, which reunites Unfaithful co-stars Diane Lane (yay) and Richard Gere (ugh), ever since I predicted Lane in The Film Experience's Best Actress contest. That said, I clearly haven't been paying that much attention, because, after spotting the film's title on IMDb's homepage (although they replace "in" with "at"), I discover that it has a trailer and is released in just about a month across the pond (the UK has to wait until November, tragically). It looks completely conventional and the trailer gives away pretty much everything that's going to happen (seriously. Can you not even try and keep any mystery?), but it also has VIOLA DAVIS (as the no-nonsense best friend no less) and she's always reason enough to see a film. (It also has James Franco, Ann Veal (OMG) and the egg-headed presence of Christopher Meloni.)

But what the title of this post refers to is the fact that in almost every picture we have so far, Diane and Richard won't stop STARING at each other. Seriously.

Staring:

Staring:

They're even at it in the poster:

Diane lets the side down here, though:
My theory is it's because the cameraman is doing an impression of Richard dancing. At least he can laugh about it, eh?