To Rome with Love

2012. Dir: Woody Allen. Starring: Woody Allen, Roberto Benigni, Alec Baldwin, Ellen Page and Penelope Cruz. ●●○○○



There's good and bad news to consider when reviewing Woody Allen's latest Eurocentric release. On the positive side it's not an offensively bad film there are a lot of nice moments of subtle amusement and clever tie ins to the history and genre of comedy and in that respect Allen has clearly carefully considered the outline of To Rome with Love. Unfortunately once the spark had been formulated it seems the creativity quickly stopped. Much has been written over the years about how Allen moves quickly from project to project without retrospection, so it's possible he had one eye on his next San Francisco set movie whilst in post, or maybe the pressure of plugging last years delightful Midnight in Paris was too much? Either way that simply isn't good enough, having some good ideas and tossing off some throwaway jokes for the characters won't make the finished project anything more than a pseud on celluloid.



There are a couple of significant milestones that take place in Woody's Italian holiday.  In the first instance it appears to be the last leg of his current European tour, which started with Match Point, with it's London locale in 2005, and has since visited Barcelona, Paris and now Rome, although this was broken by his New York travesty Whatever Works, an obscene piece of misogyny masquerading as free-spirited liberality.  Notably WW followed Vicky Cristina Barcelona which wowed critics and made $23m in the US box office, this allowed Woody to fund a US set film, which flopped and sent him back to his gallic backers cap in hand.  So when last years Midnight in Paris took over $56m, the highest ever box office take for one of Woody's directorial efforts, he once again returned to America.  This also marks the first time Woody has directed in a foreign language, sure there were snippets of Spanish in Barcelona, but the story focussed on American tourists and the language barrier was used to exclude our heroines from the action.  Here half of the film is in Italian, with two of the four storylines featuring no English at all.

The film opens with a traffic policeman talking to camera, introducing the variety of life he sees from the roundabout by the Coliseum in broken, effete english. There's the American student and the Italian socialist and the absurdest clash of cultures when their prospective parents meet, there's the sex farce involving newlyweds a film star and a prostitute, there's an ordinary middle class man who will wake up one morning to find his life overturned in a satire on celebrity culture and there's wordplay and insight as an architect takes a walk down memory lane.   There isn't much that connects the segments, other than mostly taking place in a public and (possibly) geographically suspect version of the eternal city.  They all belong to a heightened reality, but the closest to our normal perception would be the farce, and the timeframes are all over the place ranging from a few hours to over six months.  This lack of connecting tissue hamstrings the movie as a whole, as we jump from scene to scene between each competing plot it feels as unstructured as a ramdom chat with a traffic warden, meandering through four simultaneous jokes, weakening the punchlines of all of them.

The most interesting strand involves Alec Baldwin as a gifted artisan, wasting his talent on designing shopping malls, strolling though the back streets reminiscing about his gap year decades ago, when he stumbles on student Jesse Eisenberg there's a look of recognition and soon Baldwin is sagely offering advice to the lovestruck youth, torn between his live-in girlfriend Greta Gerwig (utterly wasted) and her seductive best pal Ellen Page.  There's a fascinating premise hidden underneath the usual Allen mannerisms and stock characterisations concerning the emotional scripts we live by and how we're the sum of our experiences, supported by sly sarcasm mixed with genuine pathos from Baldwin.  It's a shame that Eisenberg is forced to play the Allen surrogate (he even uses them in films he stars in!) and Page's actress vamp has no ultimately redeeming qualities other than her sex appeal.  Although I confess Allen might be using that to underline the unreliable narrative of memory.

On the other end of the scale, in that the concept seems cliched, is the neurotic adventures of Alessandro Tiberi and Alessandra Mastronardi.  Arriving for the first time in Rome, their Honeymoon also needs to double up as an interview for Tiberi, when he introduces his wife to the disapproving in-laws who run the family business (no, I don't believe it's an Olive Oil import company).  When Mastronardi nips out for a haircut she gets hopelessly lost in the big city and (in a nod to classic Commedia dell'arte stories) local call girl Penelope Cruz gets drafted in to impersonate her.  Hijinks ensue.  As I've said before Allen should be applauded for trying something different here, but his erudite script, even when translated, is too wordy to allow the inevitable bedhopping any momentum, in spite of how hard the cast are working.

Roberto Benigni gets his chance to shine in the segment addressing the sham of celebrity, morphing from incredulous to bitterness to craving his fifteen minutes of fame with ease, but alas the segment messages are hammer home by some needlessly profound speeches from his chauffeur.  Finally the segment involving Allen himself boasts a shrewdly bitchy turn from Judy Davis but the opera in the shower plot and cheap national stereotyping makes it the one to skip through on the DVD.

On the craft side there's nothing of note here, but at least there's nothing negative.

For the ideas alone this might have been a worthwhile entry in Woody Allen's canon but he fails to bring the script up to the necessary standard making this one for the fans only.

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Hope Springs

2012. Dir: David Frankel. Starring: Meryl Streep, Tommy Lee Jones, Steve Carell, Jean Smart and Elisabeth Shue. ●●●○○



Hope Springs is a film about middle aged couples sleeping. Admittedly there's a lot of chat about sex, a few love-making scenes played largely for laughs, and ostensibly the plot hangs on an intensive couples counselling course for frustrated housewife Meryl Streep and her stand-offish hubby Tommy Lee Jones. Yet the most significant change appears to relate to their night-time arrangements with Jones starting the film in the spare bedroom and moving back to the master suite by the closing credits (it's not a spoiler, were you honestly expecting divorce papers?) and the action is punctuated by Jones dropping off either in front of the TV or on the sofa-bed. This is a helpful hint to the viewer. It's OK to fall asleep during this movie. Go on, close your eyes, you won't miss anything...



Note, I am not saying David Frankel's film is boring (even if at 100 minutes it slightly outstays it's welcome) just that the movie is so relaxed, so gentle it doesn't seem to care if you nod off. Indeed it's almost designed that way.

Something is clearly wrong in Kay and Arnold's 31 year marriage.  Meryl, as Kay, is ruffling her hair and adjusting her nightgown to entice Jones to an evening of sexual indulgence.  Alas he's not in the mood - he even has a headache if you can believe it - so Meryl must return frustrated and flustered to her boudoir.  The morning after, with it's lack of eye-contact and air of officious routine highlights the steady decline in their relationship, and seems to be the norm, unrelated to the previous night's snub.  Spontaneity, romance, even those tiny signals of affection have all deserted Tommy Lee Jones in his twilight years.

Realising it's up to her to break the monotony, Meryl books the couple couple into an intensive course of relationship counselling (focusing on sex) under the watchful gaze of subdued Steve Carell.  Over the course of therapy our wedded pair must remind each other of why they originally fell in love, away from the hustle and bustle of their schedules in the Maine town of Great Hope Springs.  In order to reignite that spark Jones will have to face up to his bullying attitude and inability to address his own insecurities and fear of intimacy, whilst Streep will allow her confidence to blossom, opening up avenues in her sexuality.

Except that's not quite what happens.  Like most therapy related movies the denouement is rushed to make the point - the problems in this marriage couldn't be fixed in five days, surely?  So when they do have sex again it's not the fumble on the cinema back row, the champagne and strawberries or even the introspection and analysis that appear to be the catalyst.  Instead it's Jones' fear of loneliness and the overbearing Annie Lennox singing "Why" on the soundtrack which is then dressed up as the answer to all their problems.  Of course Jones still can't admit to his hangups and Streep has developed a shrewish streak, but in the world of Hope Springs they're finally shagging giving us the happy ending we want.

Streep and Jones make an interesting coupling.  They're at their best when the two of them are alone, relying on their physicality more than the dialogue, able to reveal intense and significant shared histories through a glance, the smallest of gestures or the briefest of touches.  Unfortunately when they have to connect with other cast members, especially during the counselling, Jones plays the "I don't want to be there" card so convincingly I thought he meant the film and Streep is working the facial tic for two - there's one scene where I swear she was about to launch into her Shakespeare monologue she was emoting so much.  Thankfully Carell has the balance right, projecting genuine concern with just the right touch of forcefulness when required.

Frankel doesn't make his presence behind the camera known but there are some nice touches vis a vis the staging, with a story being told purely in the positions the lead couple take up at the counselling sessions.  It's a shames the mood is occasionally jarred by the over-insistent soundtrack, painfully on-the-nose it appears to have been selected with i-pod shuffle on a fifty something's easy listening playlist.

Overall, in spite of all my misgivings, I did enjoy this movie.  There are times in every relationship where you aren't getting the sex (either frequency or variation) you want so the central conceit resonates.  However the film is neither a knock out sex farce nor the tragedy of a disillusioned marriage that it could be and going either way on that may have improved the overall experience. I would wait until it's showing on TV, and sit in front of it digesting a hearty meal.  You might take 40 winks in the middle but the film doesn't seem to mind and the effect of being woken up by Streep talking about oral sex can't be underestimated.

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Anna Karenina

2012. Dir: Joe Wright. Starring: Keira Knightley, Jude Law, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Domhnall Gleeson and Alicia Vikander. ●●●●○



We are now approximately 70% of the way through the 2012 and it is inevitable that a number of the Academy Award players have already seen the inside of cinemas. Whether it's the spectacular effects sequences of The Avengers or the surprisingly strong performances of Magic Mike there are some films that get namechecked during the awards season. But over the last few weeks we have seen the passing of the Venice and Telluride festivals whilst Toronto is in full swing so the floodgates can now open. Every movie that opens in the Auntumnal months will be judged as a possible contender and it's safe to say that Joe Wright's Anna Karenina has become the first must-see of the season, and whilst I doubt whether it can win any of the big prizes (the style and setting may put off as many voters as it pulls in) it will certainly be a major part of the conversation.



I won't spend a great deal of time describing the plot of Leo Tolstoy's 150 year old classic, venerated by literary circles and adapted to the screen on dozen's of occasions, except to reiterate Tolstoy's counterpoints two romances. The first passionate, uncontrolled, destructive between the unhappy heroine Anna (Keira Knightley) and dashing cavalry officer Count Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), whilst the second is more sedate, slower to build by made of firm foundations involving Levin (Domhnall Gleeson) and Kitty (Alicia Vikander). These courtships are inexorably linked, both in terms of their shared histories (Kitty holds a candle for Vronsky as the novels start) and thematically.

Tom Stoppard wisely realizes the importance of Levin's story and retains it (many film versions do not, hardly surprising that a 900 page novel needs some cuts to make it to the big screen) so we shift between the two pairs of lovers, and as one affair blossoms the other appears to wither. Stoppard rattles through the early plot developments, aided by Joe Wright audacious move to film almost entirely within a theatre, using the stage, auditorium, wings and fly rails to signify different aspects of Russian society and allowing scenes to flow into each other with sets, props and extras moving in and out of the setting. It's is incredible to behold, one moment Matthew Macfadyen (having a ball as incorrigible womaniser Oblonsky) is marching through his factory of paperwork stamping drones then a flurry and long pan later we're at dinner with Levin, diligently eating the diet of the peasant classes then suddenly we're at the Shcherbatskaya's watching society function.

The staging works to reinforce the artificiality of Imperial Russian aristocracy, the lives of the elite are constantly on display to each other, every gesture and action judged by the gawping onlookers, every reaction magnified grotesquely. Wright uses a number of cinematic and theatrical tricks, including choreography, perspective and Dario Marianelli's sumptuous score to guide the audience's emotional response, the ball scene where Anna and Vronsky first meet is electric, the horse race heart-stopping and Anna's final visit to the train station unexpectedly tense.

The only times we leave the theatre (apart from an ill-judged picnic scene between Anna and Vronky) is to Levin's country estate, far from the view of the baying crowd. It's a more simple world, where chickens grace his dining room not immaculate tableware and the expansive Russian countryside is gorgeously shot by Seamus McGarvey.

Keira Knightly is just the right side of virtuous for Anna, cleverly showing her all-consuming passion and her third act descent is devastating and acute. Jude Law meanwhile retains a dignity as cuckold Karenin, his actions, from the misjudged forgiveness of Anna to him banishing the mother from son seem both cold yet believable actions, it's a testament to Law's performance in that even when you disagree with his actions you understand his motivation. Gleeson and Vikander also make a cute pair, and I look forward to seeing them over the next few years as their careers develop.

It's a shame the production loses steam once Anna leaves Karenin, as the story slows down and Anna's jealousies and suspicions tangle with societies rejection of her lifestyle there is some interesting stylistic work highlighting the production design and portentous use of mirrors, but it simply cannot compete with the innovations of the first half and somewhat sags in comparison.

That said this is a near masterpiece and the first film of the 2012 awards season that must be seen. I highly recommend it to all movie goers.

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Take This Waltz

2012. Dir: Sarah Polley. Starring: Michelle Williams, Seth Rogen, Sarah Silverman, Luke Kirby and Jennifer Podemski. ●●●○○



Years ago, back when I worked in bars, part of my duties included the hiring of staff. It may seem clichéd but first impressions really matter and whilst you may not know if you're going to hire someone within 10 seconds you do know if you're not. Equally, interviewees take note, you cannot have a 10 second period after that where your interviewer doesn't like you. True, we want you to do your best and enjoy the interview and show your true self, but we are looking for reasons to reject you. It's the same with movies. They need to both open well and not lose the audience. Take This Waltz, the second feature from Canadian Sarah Polley, starts beautifully, ends gracefully with real truth in it's resolution and characters. Unfortunately there's one very troubling scene about 30 minutes in that nearly made me walk out, and consequently makes me very reticent about recommending the film.



The film opens in a touristy French Canadian settlement, where enthusiastic performers re-enact typical but caricatured period scenes, called away from an almost delicate marriage ceremony (in a clear foreshadowing of events to come) Michelle Williams' pamphlet writer Margot somehow gets involved in a public whipping of a local miscreant, egged on by mysterious stranger Luke Kirby (Daniel). They meet again on the plane, mild antagonism melting into shared appreciation of silliness. Both characters annoy, Williams is brittle and childish, Kirby blunt and a bit over-attentive, yet their traits are human and believable. These characteristics exaggerate the child like emotional state the individuals are in, they want to dislike each or more accurately to be disliked but inevitable the journey ends with them playing games in a cab, pretending their not falling into lust.

Then the double whammies of the plot. Margot is married (to Seth Rogen chicken obsessed cookery book writer) and the two live virtually opposite each other.

The film then follows the path of a modern Brief Encounter; the would be lovers repeatedly bump into each other, exploring each others mindsets unable to decipher their hormones. We see Margot torn between the dull but loving Rogen - really showing his chops in a dramatic role - and the virile romanticised Kirby. The cinematic trips together between the characters in David Lean's 1945 classic are replaced by semi-planned moments in the local swimming pool (the obvious joke of Williams losing control of her bladder and the balletic underwater dance between the two are superbly framed exposing different aspects of the budding romance) whilst scenes in Daniel's flat are reminiscent of the awkward march towards sexual awakening for Celia Johnson.

Where restraint and sacrifice characterised Brief Encounter we now live in a world where self-gratification is all, ignoring Sarah Silverman's holy fool of an alcoholic sister-in-law ("Life has a gap in it... It just does. You don't go crazy trying to fill it." is the line she wisely espouses in the trailer) Williams runs after Kirby when he moves away (not to Africa but to a suspiciously large loft apartment). But Silverman is right, there is still a gap, by this point we know all the relationship short-cuts between Williams and Rogen, all those silly things couple do between themselves, comfort acts that can't be replicated. Sure the sex is better (and far more explicit) but part of the emotional connection isn't there. Williams still faces a gap, but which gap was worse.

The performances are spot on all round, Rogen's big scene when he finds out about the affair is touching and effective, whilst being cut in a truly unexpected way, Silverman too does a great job, even if it's barely different from her comedic persona. The show belongs to Michelle Williams, though, expressive through her physicality and deep beneath her eyes, even when you disagree with Margot choices (be it the faux irritability at the start or the decision to enact her desires) you fully understand the motivation. There are two scenes on a fairground ride, tipping points for the character, where Michelle does the sort of fantastic jaw-dropping work that justifies her Oscar nominations as her entire situation catches up with her and you know where she must go next.

Sarah Polley is an poetic director, focussed on finding the truth in the characters, and working again with Away from Her DP Luc Montpellier, they bathe Williams in the light of renaissance art, confirming the character is at mercy of her sexual and emotional make-up.

Now I read back at that review and it feels like a rave, but I have to return to my earlier comments. A film mustn't lose the audience, even for 10 seconds. And this film lost me. There is a discussion between Williams and Kirby that uses homophobic language. I understand why, it's Williams teasing Kirby to admit he likes her, but it is protracted and I was offended. It seemed to me an unnecessary way to make the point and as a gay man I felt there wasn't a good enough reason, or a scene later that balanced out the homophobic attitudes. That one scene, which many people probably don't even notice cost this film a blob, and whilst I would like to recommend the film for the performances, the film-making and every other scene, that one exchange seriously undermines the movie and therefore I feel I have to caution potential cinema goers.

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The Bourne Legacy

2012. Dir: Tony Gilroy. Starring: Jeremy Renner, Rachel Weisz, Edward Norton, Stacy Keach and Oscar Isaac. ●●●○○



Perspective depends very much on how you look at things. Well, duh! No, I mean that seriously. So as a child when I experienced new movies I was instantly astounded, prepared to proclaim them as cinematic masterpieces. Disney's The Fox and The Hound was the best film ever, Clue a work of comic genius, even the first 18 film I ever saw (Arnie's The Running Man) was claimed as a milestone in on-screen entertainment. For the record only one of those statements would I still describe as true. But what has this to do with my review of The Bourne Legacy? Well, friends, I have never seen a Bourne movie. I have never watched Matt Damon kill someone with a Sunday supplement, nor imagined the moral dilemmas of waking up a programmed Government assassin. So, unlike nearly every other reviewer on the web, I cannot judge Tony Gilroy's franchise extension against the previous trilogy, a comparison that doesn't favour the new film by all accounts, all I can do is compare it to thirty something years of watching action films.

And it's a perfectly acceptable slice of cinema, neither great nor bad, but diverting and fun to watch but utterly disposable.



Given my ignorance of the original movies I'm almost certainly not the target audience, the entire movie concerns a parallel story of The Bourne Supremacy bookended between Paddy Considine's journalist assassination and the trial of David Strathairn's shady CIA controller (brought back in the form of a pointless cameo with Joan Allen and Albert Finney, all of them no doubt enjoying substantial fees for one day's filming). Meanwhile numerous references to secretive projects and Government agencies make very little sense to the casual viewer. The crux being, as the advertising handily suggests, there was never just one. Never just one unaware killer and never just one corrupt agency building an army of unquestioning assassins.

As the news of Bourne's re-integration into society buzzes around the intelligence community, Jeremy Renner's supersoldier Aaron Cross is on exercises in the forests of North America, working his way across mountain and river to Oscar Isaac's isolated cabin. He's an impressive specimen, fighting off wolves bare handed, leaping across vast chasms and breaking records for reaching the shelter. Whilst he and Isaac's sulking number 3 get better acquainted Ed Norton is in damage control mode, pulling strings and closing programmes with cold efficient calculation, and soon Cross has to be taken out of the picture. Cue the start of a long game of cat and mouse where Norton and his cronies scream into telephones whilst Renner trots around the globe, always one step ahead, picking up Rachel Weisz's imperilled scientist and searching for the blue and green pills that stabilize his enhanced capabilities.

The drugs are nothing more than an international McGuffin, explained away with all the pharmacological veracity of primary science project. As the moral implications of taking an injured Iraq vet, with questionably too low an IQ to make an informed decision about his future (yes, this really is a modern Charley) turned into a fit, intelligent junkie able to volunteer for the most complex and dangerous spy missions, not to mention the extraordinary capacity to kill or maim highly trained combatants, are swept aside so Renner and Weisz can have a motorcycle chase on the bustling streets of Manila.

Renner does good action hero, suitably buff yet perennially tortured he has the perfect physicality for this sort of work. Not that he's given much chance to act, there's a nice exchange or two with Isaac, but alas much less chemistry with Weisz, possibly because here character is so underwritten and panicky. Don't get me wrong, no-one does emotional collapse quite like Rachel, but the arc is both predictable and forced.

Where the film sings is the set-pieces. A massacre in a lab is played out in real time with cold, patient camera-work and the extras acquitting themselves well as their plead or bleed through their last moments. Then a major plot twist in Weisz's house is played exceptionally well, switching from an uncomfortable interview to a chaotic gun battle in a blink of an eye. Even the final bike chase, whilst a little too long, showed some great stunt work and some excellent marksmanship.

On directorial and scripting duties Tony Gilroy brings the same high-quality, unimposing style we saw on Duplicity and Michael Clayton but alas he doesn't give his creations the zingy dialogue or intellectual sparring he brought to previous work, leaving us partly detached from the proceedings.

As I said at the beginning The Bourne Legacy isn't a bad film, but it's no great one either. Probably worth renting but not the trip to the cinema. Although personally I'm going to have to fork out on the original trilogy before watching it again.

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360

2011. Dir: Fernando Meirelles. Starring: Anthony Hopkins, Rachel Weisz, Jude Law, Maria Flor and Ben Foster. ●●○○○



Do you remember when Peter Morgan used to write structurally tradition biographical screenplays that read like simplistic portrayals of The Queen or Brian Clough but revealed inner depths that challenged the viewers perception of the central characters and ultimately displaying hidden their humanity. That time is gone, Morgan has clearly seen the success of multiple character dramas like Amores Perros and Crash and wishes to emulate them whilst ensuring we understand the deeper meaning. Last year his heartfelt humanist parable of death, Hereafter, showed how the emotional thematic elements eventually over-shadowed the interest we developed in the characters and the final act shoved all the storylines together to forcibly underline their individual arcs and yet rang false. In 360 he returns to the hyperlink drama charting the sexual and emotional connections of a diverse group of strangers across globe, and unsurprisingly the point feels just as tacked on and a good half of the plotlines feel so insignificant they could be cut out completely.



The film starts (and, without really spoilering, ends) with a young lady shooting a topless advert for a hooker internet profile, it's a nod to Arthur Schnitzler's turn of the century scandalous play La Ronde, bookmarked by a Viennese hooker, on which the concept of 360 is based. But where Schnitzler intended to shock his audience into the realisation that sex was both natural and dangerous (the play essentially follows a strain of Syphilis as it journeys between class and national borders before returning to the whore who kicked it off) Morgan wants to comfort us, there's a streak of misplaced romanticism that forces characters to get into cars with each other or to not have the affair they were planning. The theme of connection, the 360° we go through, is merely the means by which we make many story, rather than the end in itself.

So sexy Slovakian Lucia Siposová is about to offer herself to cuckolded husband Jude Law. He wimps out and goes back to his wife, Rachel Weisz, not so subtly having an affair with Juliano Cazarré (frankly who wouldn't). But before you can say plot device Rachel is back with Jude watching their daughter forget her lines in the school play and Juliano's live in girlfriend, Maria Flor, has also run off having caught the whole thing on tape. She gets on a plane with chatterbox Anthony Hopkins and they both get caught in a snowed in Denver with paroled sex offender Ben Foster. Hopkins then runs into Dinara Drukarova at an AA meeting before she goes back to Paris to tell her husband Vladimir Vdovichenkov it's over before expressing her love for her dentist boss Jamel Debbouze. Vladimir, feeling vaguely rejected but clearly not that put off, drives to Vienna with his obnoxious boss Mark Ivanir before a meet cute with Gabriela Marcinkova, the sister of Luica Siposová.

That's the plot in a nutshell and apart from the relentless coincidences that take us round full circle, the only real spoiler in there is the always watchable Jamel Debbouze playing a conflicted dentist, the sort of career choice that often gets marginalised on screen but here really informs their romantic stirrings.

The film started badly, with neither Law nor Weisz making interesting enough character choices to make me care if their marriage floundered or not. If it wasn't for Cazarre cavorting around in nothing but a towel, tattoo's and Clark Kent glasses I'd have walked out.

Luckily the second act, focussed around Flor, Hopkins and Foster kicks in. The three of them are all at the top of their game, Maria slipping between sisterly affection and drunken flirting and Ben tightly wound and electrifying with potentially every extra in the airport a victim if he can't control his urges. Meanwhile Hopkins gives a superb performance that reminds us of how potent a film star he can be - his speech at the AA meeting, drawing as much from his own experience as from the script is as heart-warming as it is heart-breaking. In those three characters, all of whom must turn over a chapter in their lives, director Fernando Meirelles finds a chord, allowing the comedy to flow organically, the tension to build (there's one scene I nearly had to cover my eyes for) and the pay-offs for the characters were rewarding for them and for the audience in a way the rest of the film failed to deliver. Yes, from there it quickly descended into Russian gangster and tart with a heart clichés.

Elsewhere Meirelles doesn't seem to have the confidence in the material, the occasional camera flourishes and cutting techniques only hammer home the themes rather than hint at them, like Clint Eastwood before him, he seems unable to make a solid enough film from the good script sections to allow to forgive the weaker parts, and the variable script is what really lets 360 down.

Overall I can't recommend the film, but if anyone every offers you the chance to watch a 30 minutes short about Maria Flor, Anthony Hopkins and Ben Foster stuck in an airport I urge you to watch that masterclass in screen acting.

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Magic Mike

2012. Dir: Steven Soderbergh. Starring: Channing Tatum, Alex Pettyfer, Olivia Munn, Cody Horn and Matthew McConaughey. ●●●●○



I've been terribly lazy over recent weeks. That's not quite true, after a long period of unemployment I managed to find work, whilst at the some time performing in a fringe show so I haven't really had the time to write up reviews. That's a shame as I've seen two films that definitely deserve talking about. First up is Steven Soderbergh's Magic Mike a film that should be utterly disposable and vicariously pleasurable, and yet behind the façade of male stripping excess there's a curious and vital film about Western attitudes to money and the relentless pursuit of it.



Channing Tatum stars as a thinly veiled version of himself - as the press notes were proud to exhort Tatum spent 8 months as a stripper before hitting it big in acting - the eponymous Mike, the star attraction at Matthew McConaughey's revue show. Not only is Tatum a dedicated performer, out in the town prior to his gigs drumming up interest with the hen parties and birthday girls, but he also has a interesting work ethic, taking day jobs as a roofer and making custom furniture (his major ambition). Whilst roofing he bumps into a confused kid, Alex Pettyfer, desperate for cash but without Tatum's obvious ambition. Mike see's something in his demeanour and takes him along to the club and before you know it "The Kid" is making his stage debut, awkward, ungainly and with all the presence of a brick he still manages to produce the screaming from the excited crowd that forces McConaughey's Dallas to let him into the troupe.

From here the plot could only go one of two ways, "Star is Born" or "All About Eve" and without giving too much away whichever story it is Tatum's future in the stripping business does not look good. Luckily he does have The Kid's sister, bland blonde Cody Horn as the friend/love interest that might just become his saviour.

Tatum does a great job as himself, the more films I see him in the more I enjoy his lunky presence, and here he is able to mix the confidence in his ability and sexuality with a hint of fragility when dealing Horn. There's one stand out scene later in the film where Tatum is trying to explain how he feels, seemingly improvised he stutters and meanders through the dialogue and all at once the audience want to reahc out to him in a far less sexual way than previous reactions.

McConaughey steals every scene he's in, Machiavellian and mischievous his Texan drawl seductively addresses the throngs of women, as he warns the punters of the house rules, you can almost feel him dare us to break them. His silver tongued compere is a modern update of Joel Grey's Cabaret performance, complete with his own streak of ruthless intent. Pettyfer is fine in an underwritten role, his arc merely existing to push forward Tatum's. Unfortunately the cast is let down by Horn who gives one of the least expressive performances of the year.

Whilst the show scenes are surprisingly unexplicit - perhaps partly down to the nature of male revues with their aim to titillate rather than turn-on the audience - there is a pleasing structure and narrative to the dances. Tatum for instance is centre stage, his obvious ability on the podium is exploited both by Soderbergh's camera and Dallas's staging, but as you move further back through the pack of strippers, Matt Bomer, Adam Rodriguez, Joe Manganiello and Kevin Nash there's a clear depredation of choreography and talent. Whilst Tatum bodypop in the foregound it's hilarious to watch pro-wrestler Nash as the bulky Tarzan barely able to move his arms in time to camp classic "It's Raining Men".

Aside from the dance numbers it's the attitudes to money that stick in the mind, Tatum works hard and considers every choice he's making and how that will affect his future business plans, Pettyfer is more about today, blowing his earnings on a drug-happy party lifestyle and McConaughey is slyly working the margins, ensuring he always ends up on top. There's a pre-occupation with cash that drives these guys to do what they do, which gives them the feeling their masters of their own destinies rather than exploited slabs of meat that will one day find the income has dried up. There's a fascinating beach scene which sums up the dancers ambitions, nicely reflected in the third act where Tatum must finally choose his destiny.

Soderbergh brings a unique sensibility to this movie, once again proving he can balance an exploitative genre with a art-house feel and whilst this doesn't quite hit the devastating highs of his previous sex industry expose, The Girlfriend Experience, it makes a fine counterpoint and I very highly recommend the picture.

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Killer Joe

2011. Dir: William Friedkin. Starring: Matthew McConaughey, Emile Hirsch, Juno Temple, Gina Gershon and Thomas Haden Church. ●●●●○



I think I'm beginning to see my problem. I get actively turned off by well-adjusted characters, mild middle class dysfunction simply doesn't excite me, I need barely concealed breakdowns and trailer trash histrionics before my pulse is even slightly raised. Needless to say Killer Joe delivers in buckets, from the opening shots we are treated to the desperate machinations of our central family unit, only too aware of the potential complications of inviting in the eponymous devil. From then on I was hooked by the grand guignol - extreme violence, simulated fellatio and all.



Emile Hirsch arrives at a trailer in North Texas, close to the Oklahoma border, drenched he screams into the unit for his sister (Juno Temple) to open the door. Alas his younger sibling, cocooned in her Disney Princess fantasy at the end of the trailer, doesn't budge but Step-mom Gina Gershon, suspiciously underdressed, does so. Unimpressed Hirsch calls his father (Thomas Haden Church) and, after a quick visit to the local strip club, he outlines his plan to hire "Killer Joe", a local detective with a sideline in contract murder, to execute the missing matriarch and claim the insurance money to pay off hi drug debts. It's a lurid and fast-paced opener, that effectively introduces our family unit and establishes their types - desperate Hirsch, pathetic Church, slutty Gershon and (faux?) innocent Temple.

Into this clan of screw-ups and victims walks Matthew McConaughay, and immediately we know this is not the laid back rom-com hero we know and love. Tightly wound yet outwardly laconic, he portrays a suffocating blend of southern gent and malicious snake. It's the kind of tour de force performance that will completely sideswipe his previous fans and certainly makes me even more excited for his upcoming turns in Magic Mike and The Paperboy.

Unable to pay the necessary advance Hirsch offers his sister as a retainer, perhaps a colossal error for the confused waster as he appears to harbour complex psychosexual desires for her - something barely hinted at in the screenplay but clearly present in Hirsch's performance. Joe's first sexual encounter with his temporary possession is appropriately un-nerving, and whilst it may not be the rape some critics are suggesting it's certainly indicative of Joe's power fixation and Temple's apparent desire to be thought of as more innocent than she may be. Temple alternates between accusing and breathily seductive, her line reading of "Your eyes hurt" alone reminds us she's one of the most exciting young British actresses on the screen.

Before long the deed is done, but the aftermath is suitably grotesque as double cross and duplicity is revealed and each character must make a moral choice, and there's certainly nowhere to hide in the final act. A fried chicken take away meal becoming the basis for sexual humiliation, repeated beatings and swift justice.

William Friedkin has adapted from Tracy Letts' play, and where sometimes the staginess of the source material shows, this only seems to exemplify the sleaziness of the situation and necessary claustrophobia. With this and Bug you have to say the duo have created a fantastic working partnership and I can't help but wonder what else in Lett's back-catalogue they could have a go at.

Killer Joe is an uncomfortable watch, but necessarily so, like many familial tragedies before it the audience shudder at the nastiness of the set-up whilst chuckling at the blackest of comedic moments. Superbly involving this is one of my top recommendations of the year so far.

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Lay the Favourite

2012. Dir: Stephen Frears. Starring: Rebecca Hall, Bruce Willis, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Vince Vaughn and Joshua Jackson. ●○○○○



We've had a couple of bad movies this year, there was the coy and cowardly J. Edgar and the babbling and barmy Dark Shadows, but both of those had some redeemable factors, sure they were failures but you could see the intention of the film-making and in both cases there was a stand-out performance or design element. Lay the Favourite has nothing, limp and irrelevant it has all the dramatic tension and artistry of a made for TV piece about a stripper made good. Except we see supporting character tits and there are a couple of actors who should know better.

Rebecca Hall is Beth Raymer, the stripper-cum-bookie-cum-Columbia graduated writer, on whose autobiography this is based. After a pre-credits encounter with a gun-toting client she's hot-footing it to Las Vegas to get into a safer line, cocktail waitressing in a casino. Not that the audience care - there was no threat in the gun scene and no ambition in the move. Oh well, maybe it will pick up when after a couple of unrelated conversations she walks into the office of Dink, Inc looking for a job. Bruce Willis is Dink, the professional gambler with an opening for a um, well a er, no I don't know why he hired her. To carry money and remember messages apparently. Essentially Dink works the margins in spread betting, employing the algorithms that will pay out regardless of the result. Only that's not interesting so mainly we see large bets on winners and basketball games outcomes because they're easier for an audience to comprehend.

Beth quickly shows Dink she is gifted in understanding the odds by repeating him exactly and being able to sort letters alphabetically in her head. Amazingly we're supposed to believe she's bright too, but we never see any sign of it, especially given the screeching and ditzy performance that suggests you'd tip her as a Waitress but only to get her to leave you alone. After half the movie spent in Vegas where Willis gets in a good mood than loses his temper, rinse and repeat, because of bad results. Not that there's any feeling of risk. Nothing changes; a run of good luck is followed by a run of bad luck and back again. If Dink wins he goes back to his lovely house and demanding wife (Catherine Zeta-Jones in a thankless role) and if he loses he goes back to his lovely house and demanding wife.

Even the romantic elements have no depth to them. Beth and Dink nearly have an affair, but there's no chemistry there. Dink returns to his wife because he really loves her. I guess he does because that's what he says. Not sure why, mind. Maybe because she needs him more than he needs her, or some such rubbish. Beth runs to New York with Pacey from Dawson's Creek. They find happiness. We know this because when she arrives Pacey kisses her on the stairs saying we'll have a wonderful time, and next time they're on screen she's about to go to the Caribbean (to work for a bit with Vince Vaughn) and Pacey asks why she's going when they've had such a wonderful time. Must be the kissing on stairs that's so wonderful.

Talking about Pacey (I know Joshua Jackson wasn't playing Pacey but for all anyone seemed to care about the character he may as well have been) he's filled out a bit and is looking exceptionally cute. So at least I have a new crush as a result of seeing this dire piece of crud.

Where was I? Oh yes, the plot... If you've lost track of what's going on it doesn't matter, there's nothing to miss because there are no stakes. There's a suggestion of the FBI and people going to gaol but nobody was taking it seriously apart from Pacey so it clearly didn't really matter. Finally they all watch a high-stakes basketball game and dance in a New Jersey bar. And it ends.

The performances are either forgettable or irritating, when Vince Vaughn as a loud mouth bookie is best in show you know you have problems. Furthermore there are no technical achievements worth a second glance, maybe a nice line in cheap clothes from Christopher Peterson and Laura Prepon had a striking handbag but that's not enough.

It's dreadful, badly paced, slow-witted and dull. Stephen Frears has hit a new career low and everyone involved should be ashamed of themselves. Avoid avoid avoid.

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Cosmopolis

2012. Dir: David Cronenberg. Starring: Robert Pattinson, Sarah Gadon, Kevin Durand, Emily Hampshire and Paul Giamatti. ●●●●○



In interviews David Cronenberg has repeatedly admitted that Robert Pattinson (or R.Pattz if you're down with the YA lingo) was not his first choice for the role of Eric Packer, investment banking billionaire and master of the universe. If memory serves me correctly Colin Farrell was originally linked to the role before the Twilight alumni got the role. It's an unlikely casting choice Cronenberg passes off as being for the investment Pattinson brings or for the right age and yet the baggage that he brings, the undead persona serve him well reminding us that Pattinson has significant promise as an actor as well as a star. Perhaps I'm being unfair starting a review of Cosmopolis adapted from Don DeLillo's 2003 novel on the merits of casting Pattinson, but on the other hand the 108 minute film comprises of duologue's with Pattinson usually in the confined space of the back of his stretch limousine so if the central casting had failed the whole film would have failed with it.



Normally I would now make a stab at summarising the plot, but this opaque curiosity barely has one, the limo crawls across New York to where Packer wants to have a haircut and as this odyssey progresses acquaintances, employees and lovers all provide prospective to the journey and what the future holds for our mysterious hero. All the while the Yuan is collapsing, Packer's marriage is disintegrating and society itself seems to be imploding. We see few of the supporting players arrive in Packer's bubble and none of them leave and only a tiny minority even consider the existence of each other, yet they all have a unique perspective on Packer's future and his character.

So if Cosmopolis (universal city Greek fans) isn't about the plot what is driving it? It's about mood, a foreboding atmospheric intensity that clings to Pattinson and it's about intellectual ideas some characters talk but many more pronounce - Samantha Morton especially spews out a collection of statements rather - and it's about the cult of money, the nameless celebrities who criss-cross Manhattan and London in their Prousted vehicles - isolating themselves from the populace around them, but when invited into their gleaming cars we see individuals as emotionless and vapid as the imposing exteriors.

Packer has lost the ability to feel. His vast portfolio, incomprehensible to the audience, has eaten away at his soul so sex, art, politics, family and even violence no longer elicit a response. And so Pattinson is perfect for the role, there's an emptiness in the eyes, so exploited in his casting as Edward Cullen, that invites us to believe this playboy desperate for any high. Finally his alt-Twilight career is paying off and I very much hope to see him stretch himself, working for other auteurs that play with his image.

The rest of the cast do a great job, however many of them are simple ciphers, they appear for single conversations and almost represent emotional states. Morton is detached, Juliet Binoche slutty, Jay Baruchel nervy, Paul Giamatti angry. Only Emily Hampshire as his assistant, called in on her day off and clearly in awe of his talents and sexuality (even during a prostate exam), gets the chance to show any range, something she grabs with both hands becoming a beacon of characterisation in the centre of the movie.

Cronenberg does a fantastic job of boiling down DeLillo's novel and capturing the relevance of the anti-capitalist sentiment. Whilst this is another film that fits in his later canon of movies that shoot for the audience's intellectual reactions rather than their physical ones - there's a gunshot wound at one point that stays remarkably un-Cronenbergian - there is a glimmer of his earlier work in the otherworldliness of it's leading character and the acceptance that society is balanced on a knife-edge and one slight tilt either way will inevitable lead to anarchy.

Overall Cosmopolis is divisive and dense, but although many viewers will want to escape from it's bleak ramblings a few will find it's black heart is worth the ticket price.

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Prometheus

2012. Dir: Ridley Scott. Starring: Noomi Rapace, Charlize Theron, Michael Fassbender, Idris Elba and Logan Marshall-Green. ●●●○○



The levels of anticipation for Ridley Scott's Prometheus have been extraordinary, which does make it very difficult to review. I suppose I should start by saying that if want to see Ridley returning the "Alien" universe, albeit with a film that isn't a sequel or a direct prequel, then you should do so without reading any reviews and without - if at all possible - watching the trailers. That is not to say you should be wary of spoilers (I'm always wary of people who over concern themselves with spoilers, it's an Alien movie people will go to space and most of them will die is the basic plot). I say it because I feel you as an audience member need to have the opportunity to make your own mind up about the film and about the points it's trying to make.



Prometheus itself, named after the mythological anti-hero who stole fire from the Gods, is the exploratory space ship looking for life forms on planet LV-223. Headed by archaeology professors Noomi Rapace and Logan Marshall-Green their aim is to identify whether a collection of cave drawings and hieroglyphs that indicate ancient civilisations worshipping at the feet of intergalactic beings point to the creators, the engineers who created mankind. Meanwhile corporate bigwig Charlize Theron is there to keep the expedition under control on behalf of the Weyland Corporation with the able yet sinister support of android Michael Fassbender and oddly laid back ships captain Idris Alba. There's even an extended cameo from Weyland himself, a holographic Guy Pearce with shit on his face (apparently the 80+ actors like Kirk Douglas or Max von Sydow we'd have love to see in this weren't available) pulling strings from the other side of the universe.

There are other crew members - the on-screen exposition tells us of a crew of 17 - but only 6 others have names and not all of those have any sort of character depth. It's like over half of the crew have been plucked from the Star Trek list of doomed minor characters. Not that cannon fodder is a bad thing but it's indicative of the change of tone between Scott initial explorations into space and the much larger canvas he utilises here. In 1979 the major topic of conversation - even after the star beast started to chew on the crew - was the rate of pay and the improvised devices used to stop it. In spite of the occasional nods to it's origins here we have more concern over the bigger picture, and the number of philosophical questions thrown at us is astounding:

If we were created by aliens can there be a God?
Who, then, created them?
What is it to be human?
Do genetics or shared ideas matter more to creating family?
Why do we die?

et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

I like a good philosophical point to a film as much as anyone, long term readers will know how I like to think deeply about certain mattters, but here the reeling off of questions dulled the senses, preventing me from choosing one to fix on and actually engage with. (For the record if anyone wants to discuss those points in the comments I would be delighted to do so)

The intrepid scientists head off to a possible settlement to search for further clues and stumble upon the chamber with the giant head and collection of egg like cylinders as seen in the poster above. In exposing the chamber to the atmosphere a chain reaction is set off and one by one our crew begin to meet their makers either singularly or in larger numbers where expedient for the plot. We get a glimpse of Alien like creatures, parasitic worms and sapphic organisms as well as discovering the identity of the macguffin space jockey from the initial movie.

Noomi Rapace does an excellent job in the lead role, proving there's more to her than a dragon tattoo, with her character's faith and emotional well-being tested through ecstatic pleasure, grief, betrayal and panic. There is one scene in particular where where has to deal with the death of another character then perform an medical procedure on herself to prevent her own death which is both grotesque and a surprisingly well performed set-piece.

Elsewhere the performances are fine, if a little one note, Theron is a bitch with daddy issues, Elba is salty and pragmatic. Many reviewers have praised Fassbender's performance as the android David and whilst technically virtuoso with it's influences of Peter O'Toole as T.E. Lawrence, elements of fey valets and a keen physicality, but personally I was shocked by his emotion which felt inappropriate. There are moments where other characters discuss whether David is more than machine and you can tell he is taking on board what they think and responding to it - taking it on board to use it later. Unlike Ian Holm's malevolent programming Fassbender appears to be choosing his own destiny - he is capable of decision making in a way none of his android counterparts in the franchise were able to do.

Ridley is in his element here, planet building on a massive scale. It was filmed predominantly in Iceland and sound-stages but you buy LV-226's geographical set-up and the organic superstructures that house the chambers. He does a fine job of wringing the tension out of the screenplay, deftly allowing the grand themes to carry us along, although it's worth noting this has none of the sense of impending doom we felt in the original Alien movie. Although I would point out my theory that Scott is only as good a director as the script he's given is not challenged here.

Damon Lindehof is probably responsible for the weakest element with much of the dialogue feeling false and unnecessarily expositionary, far from the naturalism of Dan O'Bannon.

The design of Premtheus is fascinating, more sleek and apparently hi-tech than the Nostromo it shows the importance Weyland industries places on the mission's success.

I really don't trust the biology of the film. I struggle with understanding how certain creatures can grow at such incredible rates without taking in any food (this always struck me as the weak link in the Alien life cycle) and if we are created from the DNA of alien lifeforms how come our DNA strands is so similar to other creatures on Earth, evolution is given a brief mention but batted aside by the faithful. There are also many more questions than answers in this episode, what is the effect of the infection on the brain, how does the space jockey breath, what is David motivation and whilst I agree a good film leaves you with questions there seem to be too many here. I am also reminded of the old joke about a man ran over by a train who was asked why he didn't run up the embankment to escape and replied "If I couldn't outrun it on the flat how could I outrun it going uphill?" You will have to watch until the end to get that.

Overall I can recommend the spectacle of Prometheus and would even go as far as saying it should be seen in cinemas, but I won't pretend it's a great film and I expect they're be much better sci-fi's and blockbusters in the coming months.

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Dark Shadows

2012. Dir: Tim Burton. Starring: Johnny Depp, Michelle Pfeiffer, Helena Bonham Carter, Eva Green and Bella Heathcote. ●●○○○



Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the film-making process and I don't begrudge others for enjoying it, but just because there's lots of fun being had on screen doesn't mean the audience will have fun, in fact it's often the case that the more fun the cast and crew appear to be having the less fun the audience have. And there's a lot of fun being had on screen in Dark Shadows.



The film opens with a pointless scene setting flashback narrated by Johnny Depp's Barnabas Collins detailing the history of his relationship with witchcraft practising Angelique Bouchard, played by Eva Green. There's opulent architecture, triple murder and Collins transformed into a multi-knuckled blood-sucking vampire. Tedious and irrelevant the passage only seems to exist to attempt to cover over the gaping plot holes yet to come.

Fast forward 200 years to the mid 1970's and a mysterious stranger is heading to Collinsport, Maine, a young girl answering an newspaper notice for a Governess in the
dilapidated manor, a young girl with a surprising similarity to the ghostly ex-fiancee drifting around the cobwebbed corridors. Not least because both are played by Bella Heathcote. She meets the stern matriarch, Michelle Pfeiffer who remains far more dignified than this trash deserves, and is soon assisting alcoholic psychologist Helen Bonham Carter in the education of the youngest heir to the Collins dynasty.

But wait, where is the unsubtle presence of arch over-actor Depp? Never fear, he is soon to be released from his subterranean prison by an unwitting assortment of building engineers - although quite why they're digging the foundations for a MacDonalds so late at night isn't really answered - and before long he has returned to the family home and vows to restore the fortunes and dignity of the Collins estate.

What follows is approximately 90 minutes of repetitive fish out of water jokes - many of which were in the trailer - oodles of sexual chemistry between Depp and Green (although oddly none between Depp and Heathcote) and a final showdown between witches, vampires, ghosts and most preposterously werewolves. Note I am not saying werewolves are more preposterous than the other assorted monstrous characters however when a character comes on just to admit their Lycanthropic tendencies minutes before the end of the film when there's been no hint of it before smacks of writerly indulgence.

Depp adds another oddball character to his repertoire, neither good nor bad in the scheme of his past work, it is most definitely not in any way original. Whilst the supporting cast relish the opportunity to go for one-dimensional turns reflective of the soapy source material, wasting such diverse talents as Chloe Grace Moretz and Jackie Earle Haley. Only Green, displaying the sultry, slutty, animalism of the slighted femme fatale gives anything close to a performance worth remembering.

Regular Burton collaborators Rick Heinrichs (returning as Production designer after a 11 year absence) and Colleen Atwood (costuming for Tim for the 9th time) have done excellent work hear, mercilessly revealing the 1970's as the most garish an unappealing design decade of the 20th century, whilst staying true to the gothic roots you would expect for this haunted house melee. The design motifs are the stars here with the intricate Collinsport Mansion with it's nooks, crannies and secret passages as much a character as most of the performers. Unfortunately I can't help but wonder whether they've missed a trick here - if the aim of the movie was to replicate the cheap shonkiness of the original series which would explain the drab characterisations and left-field plotting - then why not play around with deliberately crass production design, the sort of wobbly walls and rubber effects that made Ed Wood so memorable.

It's hard to see what Burton is really trying to achieve with this homage to TV mediocrity. Is he celebrating it's joyous unprofessionalism or slyly satirising horror tropes? Either way this film fails to achieve those aims and I really can't recommend it for anyone.

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The Lucky One

2012. Dir: Scott Hicks. Starring: Zac Efron, Taylor Schilling, Blythe Danner, Riley Thomas Stewart and Jay R. Ferguson. ●●●○○



I imagine that most people who chose to see The Lucky One know exactly what they're getting into. The sun setting behind the lovers, the ripped rugged guy with airbrushed muscles, the delicate woman and most importantly the previous adaptations of the authors work in the top of the poster. Nicolas Sparks doesn't get a mention on the poster, but his stamp is all over it, in fact the phenomenal success of his previous movies that do get a plug (both Dear John and The Notebook took $80m in the States) guarantees the audience instantly recognise the genre and story beats set ahead of us.



For those of you who can't guess the plot Zac Efron is Iraq war veteran Logan who picked up a photo whilst on his first tour that saved his life. Without knowing the girl on it he carries it around like a good luck charm, and somehow it works, whilst many of his brothers-in-arms make the ultimate sacrifice. Following his return to civvy street he resolves to find her and before you know he's working part-time in Taylor Schilling's doggie hotel. Too shy to tell her the truth but far too hunky to rule out the inevitable romantic entanglements he soon becomes part of her extended family, losing at chess with her son Riley Thomas Stewart and learning sage advice from her earthy Grandmother Blythe Danner.

There is danger lurking though, Schilling's dangerously obsessive ex-husband Jay R. Ferguson, the town sheriff no less, is constantly threatening a custody case to prevent Schilling from getting on with her life. Also we're in a Nicolas Sparks film so you just know that some cast members won't make it to the final credits - and no I'm not spoiling it.

Now I absolutely hated Dear John so I did go into this Sparks follow-up with a sense of deep trepidation, but I was pleasantly surprised with the script this time round. Will Fetters, who's only other screenwriting credit is for Remember Me, keeps the cloying romanticism at bay. At the start Schilling is flinty and patronising whilst Efron is emotionally closed off and slightly creepy, the relationship that develops is built on shared experiences and sexual desire and not just some wishy washy concept of true love.

That's not to say it isn't still relentlessly bleak, the stench of death pervades every frame from the charged early battle scenes to the final reel shock loss (still no spoilers) even the multiple bereavements Schilling has suffered - both her parents and US Marine brother (now there's a clue) have passed away before we even meet her. There are moments when this works, the film hints at Efron's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in his relationship with his nephews and his long walk across America, and Schilling's breakdown in the garden (whilst appallingly filmed) is effective in showing her inability to deal with the grief. Potentially this could be hinting at the State's inability to deal with the emotional trauma of war, almost a teen friendly The Messenger, but the momentum is lost around half way through when the plot takes over from the characterisations.

Efron proves himself once again as a competent and rising actor, always magnetic yet never showy and whilst he doesn't have enough to do here my appetite has certainly been whetted for The Paperboy. I was also impressed by Stewart who stays just the right side of precocity and Danner's sardonic asides make her the MVP.

Less successful is Ferguson's Sheriff who's rollercoaster attachment to his ex is inconsistent serves only to create false tension - there's an utterly laughable scene with a gun. I think the film, the third act histrionics, the macguffin of the unmentioned photo would have had a much bigger impact if he was just a normal guy, suspicious of this stranger rather than an obvious villain.

Scott Hicks is the last director anyone would claim is an auteur yet the signatures of backlit by the sun heroes and lush vegetation that appear in The Boys are Back and Hearts in Atlantis have returned. And at least this is a much better film than those previous efforts.

In conclusion I wouldn't bother going to a cinema to see The Lucky One but I wouldn't turn the telly over either. Nice enough and the target audience, the Sparks fans, should go in droves.

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Albert Nobbs

2011. Dir: Rodrigo Garcia. Starring: Glenn Close, Mia Wasikowska, Aaron Johnson, Janet McTeer and Pauline Collins. ●●●●○



It's fairly common for me to disagree with the majority of critical and commercial response to movies, in fact on a regular basis I watch films hailed as the second coming only to walk away with a "huh?" and a shrug. Sometimes I just don't understand the fuss being made. Oddly though this usually only happens in one direction, I may detest a film everyone else loves but when a film is getting a mauling the best I can usually say is "it's not a complete disaster." However on watching Albert Nobbs I was shocked by the critical derision it have received on both sides of the Atlantic, what's more I don't really understand why, although I suspect it is in part due to the high expectations surrounding Glenn Close's very own passion project. Glenn first played the central role of a male impersonator off Broadway in 1982 and has been working on adapting George Moore's short story for over 20 years, and the sad truth is no matter how good you think the performance and the film is it wasn't worth a 20 year delay.



It's essentially the story of the emotional awakening of a repressed button upped butler who happens to be a woman. In 19th century Dublin with poor social mobility for men, let alone women, Nobbs has spent 20 years masquerading as a man in order to manage a dignified existence and save up to purchase a tobacconist. Her painful but safe life is disturbed when house painter Hubert Page (Janet McTeer) has to share Albert's room for the night and discovers Albert's secret. After a few hours of panic Hubert admits that she too is a woman, opening up a whole new world of emotional connection to Nobbs. Indeed the plan for the shop changes from being a one man show to a partnership as Alberts woo the impressionable young maid Helen (Mia Wasikowska).

Most of the characters are largely unlikeable, Nobbs is penny-pinching and emotionally insensitive, Helen is greedy and cheeky even Brendan Gleeson's Doctor is obsequious and a drunkard. Yet it is to the credit of everyone's performances that in spite of all that we care about the future of the characters.

Glenn in particular completely gets under the skin of Albert Nobbs, although frankly you'd expect that given the amount of time she's worked on the character, it's a totally committed performance as furtive and damaged as she is hopeful for the future, every moment of her history etched on her face, every decision the character makes reflected in her eyes. Janet McTeer is also masterful, less so for the emotionality her relative freeness and frankness leaves less to project from behind a mask, but physically she's perfect. There's a great scene where Close and McTeer put on dresses and take a walk along the beach, and they look like men in dresses, layers of performance which are incredible.

Wasikowska is less successful, her modern mannerisms difficult to get past, but she's the only cast member who seems out of place.

The script does a good job of highlighting the hypocrisies in Victorian society both in terms of class and gender, albeit mainly through the gossipy monologues from Pauline Collins' Hotelier. Where Jonathan Rhys Meyers aristocratic cameo is given free range to sleep with whomever he wants and Brendan Gleeson is conducting an illicit affair with one of the waitresses the merest suggestion of a scandal with Nobbs or Helen causes the eventual doom of their characters.

There are plenty of areas where the film gets things terribly wrong too. The pace is deadly slow - believe me I understand why many viewers consider the film to be dull and it is purely an actors love in - which has the doubled effect of confusing the timeline, about 18 months passes through the film, based on the seasons and certain plot points developing , but there's no depth to the time passing. The moments where Nobbs imagines the future of the shop cheapen both the idea and the film with the sub-standard graphics and finally the relentless gloom works against the viewer. Whilst I have no doubt that things were tough in the 1800's a glimmer of hope would have been nice (hopefully that's not too much of a spoiler).

I also loved Brian Byrne and Glenn Close's main theme Lay Your Head Down, both as performed by Sinead O'Connor in the end credits and as used in the narrative, it's a beautiful piece of music that deserved more attention at the end of last year.

This ranks low on the four blob films but I do believe it fully deserves that fourth blob and I would definitely recommend the movie to anyone.

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Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

2011. Dir: Lasse Hallstrom. Starring: Ewan MacGregor, Emily Blunt, Kristin Scott Thomas, Amr Waked and Conleth Hill. ●●●○○



I hope you don't mind if I waffle a little at the start of this review, can you believe it's been five weeks since I last saw the inside of a cinema, let alone had the opportunity to discuss my findings with you here. I also have the added advantage of having read Paul Torday's novel, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, dramatised by Slumdog Millionaire's Simon Beaufoy and directed by Swedish helmer Lasse Hallstrom. The novel itself takes an epistolic format with a series of e-mails, interviews, diary entries and Hansard extracts which allow the audience to piece together the events that led to the suggested desert set fly casting. Cinema naturally struggles with translating the myriad of styles into a single movie, although the film nods to social networking and modern communication systems, however the smoothing out of the narrative had the unfortunate side effect of downplaying some of the key themes of the novel.



If the central conceit of establishing the sport of salmon fishing in the mountainous areas of Southern Yemen seems far fetched then you will probably sympathise with Ewan MacGregor the middle ranking civil servant in DEFRA with an expertise in Caddis fly larvae seconded into the project much to his personal chagrin. Perhaps you will just have the confidence that money can buy you anything, including the apparently impossible, like business consultant Emily Blunt. Or maybe there's a third way, maybe all you really need in life is faith - possibly a faith in an greater force, God, if you will - or just faith in the power of idea. It's this third way that is personified by Amr Waked Yemeni Sheikh in the novel, a man who's mere presence changes the way people look at the world, who's softly spoken wisdom nicely counterpoints the stressed actions of our main protagonists and most especially the wheeler-dealer Prime Minister's press secretary Kristin Scott Thomas, in a slightly less sweary version of The Thick of It's Malcolm Tucker.

It's perhaps a shame that the film stirs away from the practical difficulties of the project, summarising them in a few ill-tempered rants from MacGregor and an extended section looking at the procurement of the fish, as this reduction of focus (along with other decisions) undermines how important faith is to Waked and to the project as a whole, and as a result lessening the impact. Instead the unlikely romance between MacGregor and Blunt takes centre stage with all the complexities of their personal lives laid bare.

You can't fault the two leads, mind. MacGregor does fusty reasonable well, even if he's fundamentally miscast in a role clearly written for someone much older, struggling at the outset within a failing marriage (and well done to the studio for not writing out that tricky story element). Blunt is as delightful as she always is although the romantic decisions she makes in the final third of the film are hard to keep up with.

Of course both of these performances are blasted out of the movie by Scott Thomas who sets the screen alight every time she gets a chance, her Press Secretary is ballsy and insightful, whizzing from flirtatious to bitchiness and back again often within a sentence. As ever she's the main reason to watch a film, although without resorting to spoilers, her final act is squeezed unforgiveably into a - admittedly quite humourous - punchline.

Once again I find myself drawn back to comparisons with the novel. The central romance is pushed forward whilst the issue of faith is downgraded, the ending is softened to make a joke about ineffective politicians funnier. And I don't want to seem like a like literary snob arguing against the very concept of adapting novels but this is a rare case where I feel Simon Beaufoy his missed the mark, taking an insightful satirical novel and turning into a standard romantic comedy that merely hints at the bigger themes.

Overall I can thoroughly recommend this diverting and pleasant movie, even if I can't honesty say I was stunned by it.

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The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

2011. Dir: John Madden. Starring: Judi Dench, Bill Nighy, Dev Patel, Tom Wilkinson and Maggie Smith. ●●●○○



I can highly recommend watching the trailer for John Madden's The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, it's a delightful piece of advertising with a distinctive palette, easily definable characters and the odd laugh out loud line delivery. Unfortunately I cannot recommend the movie as a whole which somehow drags that trailer over two hours without further developing the characters, providing tension or even giving the audience many more laughs.



In the pre-credits sequences we are introduced to the great and good of British acting talent through a series of short vignettes designed to develop an understanding of back-story and hint at the personalities. There's everything from Judi Dench as the resilient widow to Tom Wilkinson's down-to-earth judge stopping off at Bill Nighy and Penelope Wilton as a bickering pair of retirees choosing how to spend their later years with reduced incomes. One by one they are seduced by the tempting offer of the best exotic marigold hotel, a palce converted into a residential home for senior citizens looking for adventure and not quite requiring care.

As our dysfunctional septet make their journey to Jaipur, mixing for the first time on the plane out you rather hope their stories will intertwine, however oddly right until the end it feels like separate tales. Even as one pair find a common cause whilst another share the beginnings of an illicit romance there's never a feeling of cohesion within the group. Each day the characters go off alone to face or hide away from the world, each night they return to the culinary challenges placed on them by the hotel's love starved owner Dev Patel.

This literary convention of presenting a collection of characters all of whom must have an arc in which to travel probably works very well in Deborah Moggach's novel but I find it irritating beyond belief. In two hours it's simply too much to ask from an audience to make them care about so many personalities, so their storylines either feel irrelevant or hopelessly shortened. It's not helped by most of cast who seem content to take the money and run. Judi Dench reprises her "As Time Goes By" performance only with less one liners, whilst Tom Wilkinson reveals a secret he's kept hidden, tearing away at his soul for over 30 years, with all the gravitas of someone admitting to eating marmite with a spoon.

Maggie Smith does the best she can with an underwritten role, effectively playing a threatened working class racist bigot at the beginning and a entrepreneur with purpose at the end; it's not her fault that the scene where she undergo's her transformation makes no sense. Does she really embrace Indian culture just because an untouchable lets her rant about her life in service? By the way how old is she?

Only Celia Imrie as a glamorous granny looking for husband number 4 and Dev's over the tops pride inject any life into the film, and the scene they share just past the halfway mark is a moment of delightful farce. And no, I'm not going to tell you what happens, other than it involves a chain of misunderstanding starting with the wrong people getting in bed together.

I suppose one of the reasons that scene shines is because there were laughs to be had that hadn't already been shown in the trailer. Make no mistakes this isn't a comedy, it's a series of life lessons with comedic elements, and I rather believe that amping up the comedy may have helped the film. There were moments in the trailer that made me chortle out loud, but stretched out across the running time it felt awfully thin, just the odd joke at the expense of the more extreme characters surrounded by the self-satisfied blog posts of Judi's silver surfer. When she tapped out "With so many old people together it was inevitable one of us would die..." I nearly screamed at the screen in disgust. The average age of the 7 actors is barely 65 and none of them - bar Maggie Smith and her plot developing broken hip - look remotely like age is slowing them down, even the character that does die simply slips away during an afternoon slumber once their storyline has been resolved. It's nothing like the pain and torment and inherent boredom most of us will experience in old age.

There's not even much given to the Indian actors either. Sure Patel along with his girlfriend and mother, played by Tena Desae and Lillete Dubey respectively, have a soap opera level storyline along the lines of following your heart over tradition and family expectations, but aside from them no other Indian gets a look in. There's even two moments when Dench and Wilkinson refer to long conversations they have had independently with a husband and wife whose connection to the group has rocked their relationship to it's core, yet all we hear is a precis from the mouths of our middle class heroes.

All this sounds like I'm ragging on the film, but to be honest I did like it when I was watching. It was nice, the location work was fabulous, as Wilkinson says in the trailer "[I see the] light, colours, smiles. All life is here.", and he's right India is stunning, if nothing else this is a brilliant tourist video for the sub-continent.

I can't say I recommend it. But if you're seeing it for free don't say no. And do try out the trailer.

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Rampart

2011. Dir: Oren Moverman. Starring: Woody Harrelson, Ned Beatty, Ben Foster, Sigourney Weaver and Robin Wright. ●●●●○



It's been a surprisingly long time since I last saw a film that was visually as stunning and arresting as Oren Moverman's Rampart. There are many positive elements to this movie, many aspects of sublime filmmaking that will stick in the memory for a long time, but above all there is the cinematography. Moverman has collaborated again with his The Messenger
DoP Bobby Bukowski and together they have thrown away the rule book, and made a piece of visual art for the screen.



In essence the story can be boiled down to the slow disintegration of corrupt cop Dave Brown, Woody Harrelson giving a career best performance, a violent racist bigot in a LA Rampart division uniform, the scandal (a widely reported culture of cops acting like vigilante gangs and committing violent and profit orientated acts) distilled into one individual. Not that Brown can be remotely described as an archetype, he's barely holding himself together at the beginning, father of two girls who mothers happen to be sisters living next door to each other, he functions purely on alcohol and cigarettes, routinely bullying his female partner and picking up one night stands in seedy bars. Known as "Date-Rape Dave", a moniker based on the alleged murder of a serial rapist Brown has avoided being charged for for years, an example of the vicious animal lurking within.

Yet even this thin veneer of normality is torn apart when he brutally retaliates against a motorist who crashes into the side of his patrol car. It is a cold and hard beating, captured on film by a passer-by, instantly going viral. Brown is taken off front line duty, temporarily, in the whirlwind of appalling press and daily campaigning the department, headed by Sigourney Weaver, attempt to oust him. It's when he decides to fight, when he faces the mounting defence bills that events spiral out of control.

Harrelson is perfect in roles like this, even as his most dislikeable there's a shimmer of magnetic insouciance, like the string of sexual conquests (former wives Anne Heche and Cynthia Nixon, lovers Audra McDonald and Robin Wright) we find ourselves drawn to Dave. We want to be part of his world. It's testament to Harrelson's performance that even during the depths of depravity he can still draw us in, the cracks of mental defeat, the threats and pleading with his family and friends are never far behind his crumpling facade.

The rest of the performances are also high class. Robin Wright gives a brittle and wounded performance as a lawyer flickering around Brown, like a moth round a flame, a flame that will ultimately burn her. Ned Beatty also reminds us of his electric presence, as a retired cop still in tune with everything going on in the department, Machivellian and reptilian he toys with Brown, playing him off against the department.

The screenplay by Moverman and novelist James Ellroy contains the later's trademark staccato dialogue in a way that no adaptation of his work has managed, indeed the downbeat sprawling open feel towards the end is more Ellroy that anyone could have imagined.

But all this is a sideshow to Bukowski's work behind the camera. He uses Brown's breakdown as an opportunity to showcase new ideas with design, from a dizzying dance of pans during a tribunal to the nightmarish vision of a swingers club each scene dazzles with invention. We get conversations filmed from behind people's heads, repeated uses of reflected light, even the city skyline looks ominous and unusual in Bokowski's lens.

I must recommend Rampart to everyone who gets the opportunity to see it, a fantastic powerhouse of a film that beguiles and overcomes the audience. A must see.

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