Lymelife

You may not have heard of this (I hadn’t), and I’m not sure whether to recommend that it’s worth watching. Certainly the film achieved a lot of awards and critical acclaim, and is rated 63% on Rotten Tomatoes, but it left me feeling largely unmoved. A teenage boy in Long Island in the 70s struggles to come to terms with the tension between his parents, being bullied at school, and his love for his next door neighbour’s daughter. Meanwhile, lyme disease is spreading in the area, and so is the subsequent paranoia. It is supposed to be ‘darkly comic’, although I hardly noticed this. As you can tell, the plot is not exactly revelatory and lyme disease doesn’t really play a prominent or meaningful part of the film. It is merely an incidental aspect of the story. Rory and Kieran Culkin are both very good as the brothers – natural and easy with each other (as you’d expect). Alec Baldwin, despite apparently having the role written for him, really feels a bit flat here (perhaps I’m too used to his character from 30 Rock, though). The film is shot with that certain filter that makes things look older and richer in tone than they really are – otherwise you’d hardly notice this was actually set in the 70s. The father’s ambitions to sell plots of land on a housing estate appears to be meaningful, but ends up revealing nothing, much like the lyme disease. This film, really, is profoundly anti-climactic – perhaps someone’s description of it as ‘darkly comic’ is just another way of saying ‘not really funny or serious’. Culkin’s relationship with the girl is rather predictable (even though she dates an older boy, she likes him really), and the ending of the film doesn’t resolve any of the important issues, but rather starts new ones. Overall, this film misses its marks in several areas and yet it would be a shame to disparage it completely, as there is value here, and the director, Derick Martini, surely has promise.

Before Sunrise

A young American meets a French girl on a train passing through Europe. They strike up a conversation and he convinces her to get off the train with him at Vienna, spending the day together before he leaves the next morning on a flight home. This is a beautiful, poignant film and if you’re not on the verge of tears by the end, you must have a heart of stone. Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are the stars. He is rather irritating, but then that is perhaps what makes this movie work. They very much feel like real people. Delpy herself is brilliant. We spend almost the entire time with them alone – one long first date as they discover this strange city. The conversations they have are rather student-like – philosophising, setting the world to rights – and it seems they disagree in a lot of ways (he is pessimistic, she optimistic). It’s a simple film but brave because of that, and the only obvious directorial statement comes at the end, which I won’t ruin. The back stories are not perhaps greatly convincing, but that doesn’t matter. They have the day together, and that is all. They explore the city and learn about each other, falling helplessly in love as they do so. At times it takes a bit of patience to put up with what is essentially an hour and a half conversation between two strangers, but you’ll be rewarded by the end as you realise how involved you’ve become. I would’ve liked to have seen this film before they made the sequel in 2004 (called Before Sunset), because the ending here is open. Now, however, we know the ending is in some way closed (unless we ignore the sequel, which is possible). As it stands on its own, this film will strike anyone who’s ever been young and in love (which must be most of us), and anyone who’s ever felt the inevitability of something special ending (ditto). I’m not sure if I could bear to watch it again, though.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Written, directed by and starring the artist Miranda July, this is one of the most astonishing films you’ll ever see. To say that it is quirky, quaint or off-beat I think is to demean it. Likewise, to simply describe the plot does not do it justice at all: a woman falls in love with a recently divorced man; a young boy talks to an older woman in an adult online chat-room; a man develops a perverse, but ultimately innocent relationship with two teenage girls on his street. All the characters are connected in one way or another, whether they know it or not. As I said, though, this is hardly a good description of the film. It has a language of its own. The scene with the goldfish on the car roof is extraordinary, and perhaps would better encapsulate the nature of this movie. Likewise the young girl with her hope chest, the man setting fire to his hand, or the tapping of the electricity turning on every morning. It is not impressionist, or predominantly visual, although there are certain tableaus that remain fixed in your mind. The characters speak with a simplicity that is at times shocking. It’s a naivety, however, that belies the complexity of the film. It is like a piece of installation art, except with a plot. The whole thing ends before it feels like it has been tied together, some of the dialogue seems stilted, and the characters’ actions are implausible at times, but then this was never a film that was going to give easy answers or solutions, or offer an accurate picture of real life. It is funny, disturbing, shocking and revelatory. A highly original, breathtaking movie that you won’t forget in a hurry.

Near Dark

Directed by Kathryn Bigelow twenty years before her big success recently with The Hurt Locker, you’d find it very hard to see any similarities. This is a dark, fairly brutal vampire film from the late 80s, rejecting the comedy or light-hearted, mainstream nature of thrillers that had gone before it (like Fright Night or The Lost Boys). In fact, the word ‘vampire’ is never mentioned – hinting almost at an embarrassment, or an attempt to dissociate itself from other movies. A young man in an American Midwest town meets a girl and offers her a ride home. When he leans in for a kiss, she bites his neck.  Both actors are unknown, and you think at first they won’t last much further than the first act, but they are in fact to be our main characters. As the man begins to turn into a vampire, he is picked up by the girl and her sinister gang (including a very creepy kid who has stayed young despite being very old). As with most vampire literature, the vampires here represent the dangerous underside of society – here a biker gang of punks/rebels. This is highlighted when a policeman interrogates the young man about what drugs he’s taken, or by his father’s concern that he’s dropped in with the ‘wrong crowd’. Likewise, as with a lot of vampire movies, time seems to advance very quickly (either during the day so it can be night, or during the night so it can be dawn). This is generally due to poor script-writing, but in a certain sense just can’t be avoided. The scene in the bar is exceptionally brutal, especially the shocking moment where the reason for the spurs becomes evident. It is undoubtedly Bill Paxton who steals the show throughout. There is also great music by Tangerine Dream, which is much emulated. Unlike most other vampire movies, however, there is a cure – although this is never explained or fully justified. As you can guess this film has a huge cult following (and deservedly so), and is worth watching now to catch up on the history of Bigelow (note the cinema showing Aliens in the background of one shot), especially as her next film about Bin Laden seems set to make a lot of headlines.

Ned Kelly

I’m not sure when seeing Heath Ledger on screen will stop being moving. His role here is particularly poignant in retrospect: Ned Kelly died when he was about 25, only a few years younger than Ledger. This film is directed by Gregor Jordan, the man who made the very strange Buffalo Soldiers - so don’t expect a ‘straight’ version of the story. There are lingering shots of the Australian landscape and wildlife, along with a dreamy narration by Ledger. Indeed, the film is based on the book ‘Our Sunshine’, which purports to give us the internal monologue of the man. The problem is, there are certain facts about Kelly which can’t be ignored, and which this director seems to play down. If we were to take this film as truth, Kelly was an innocent man, abused and persecuted by the police until he was eventually forced in to becoming an outlaw, reluctant to hurt, kill or rob anyone. A quick Google will tell you this was not true at all. There is so much information about his life, in fact, that Jordan seems to have taken the position of giving us an impression only of the character of Kelly. It certainly does that, although the inclusion of a love interest (played by Naomi Watts), should have been avoided. Ledger, at times, seems too soft for the type of man Kelly was. As with all films based on real life, it is hard for the director to detract from the interest of the story to impress upon us how he’s told the story. I expect if you already know the history of Ned Kelly there are few surprises or points of interest in this film. The accents are variable, especially from Orlando Bloom, and of course the story is told with a modern, humanistic perspective (when the man himself was probably far from it). The ending is something of an anti-climax – there is no great vindication or real showdown, no great speeches. Kelly just seems to give up, and the resignation of his last line is thought-provoking in its way, but deflating. It feels like Jordan was compromised between his attempt to film an impressionistic movie and a historical one. The result is consequently ambiguous.

Father of Invention

What is Kevin Spacey doing? It feels like he’s not making many films, spending all his time at the Old Vic, but actually his work rate is the same as it’s always been (in 1999 he made one film – American Beauty). Perhaps the films he’s making, then, just aren’t as good as his old ones? Or the roles he’s taking in them are minor? In Father of Invention, from 2010, he plays a disgraced inventor, who has spent ten years in a federal prison, trying to restart his life and career. It’s a comedy that’s not really funny. He manages to convince his daughter to let him live with her while he rebuilds his life. Her flatmates, I assume, are supposed to be quirky and funny (they’re not). The film plods along fairly ordinarily, but it is enjoyable enough. Probably the funniest character is the man now sleeping with his wife, played by Craig Robinson, who is secretly his biggest fan. Johnny Knoxville also makes an intriguing distraction, even if not especially funny, as the supermarket manager. The music video at the end is a weird aberration, not really in keeping with the rest of the movie. The world of the film is not as well crafted (people and places come and go randomly) as it could’ve been. You won’t be surprised to learn that Spacey’s character manages to restart his career and rebuild his relationship with his daughter, whilst learning what is truly important in his life, and possibly beginning a romantic affair with one of her flatmates. The context and the characters might be new here, but the premise isn’t, and the writing isn’t good or funny enough to pull it above the rest of the films competing for your attention at the moment.

The Big Lebowski

Every time I see this film I like it more - except for last week. Last week, having enjoyed most of the length of the film, I reached the end somewhat disappointed. Why is this? The film is strange in more ways than is obvious. The narration by Sam Elliott which bookends the movie, and his brief appearance in the middle of it, is one of the more bizarre aspects. The film could easily exist without it. Yet it is a narration which purposefully tells us nothing, and does so from a explicitly biased perspective. We the audience are not supposed to relate in any way with the Texan. Is he voice of authority, morals, the outsider or society? It was something he said that left me disappointed, but I’ll get to that later. The Dude, Jeff Lebowski, played by Jeff Bridges, is assaulted by two men who have confused him with another Jeff Lebowski – a far richer and more important one: ostensibly the ‘big Lebowski’ of the title. From this confusion, The Dude becomes involved in a supposed kidnapping and ransom demand. All he wants, really, is a new rug. He has little to no ambition or intentions. He is just trying to get by, or, as he says: the dude abides. It feels, however, that he is a private detective in a plot from the 1940s (something like Chinatown). The actual private detective that he meets spells this out: he’s playing one side against the other, in bed with everybody, including the beautiful woman. This couldn’t be further from the truth, of course. The Dude has virtually no idea what’s going on. It is a brilliant performance by Jeff Bridges, but we shouldn’t forget John Goodman and Philip Seymour Hoffman (compare him here to his role in Mission Impossible). The music is excellent and the dialogue is a perfect example of the surreal-deadpan style of the Coen brothers. What happens, though, at the end? The Texan’s narration closes the film off, and it was this remark in particular that perturbed me: ‘things seemed to have worked out pretty well for the Dude’. Did they? When you look at it, he is actually worse off than he was at the beginning: one of his closest friends has died, he lost his rug, and didn’t get paid anything by Lebowski. Perhaps the comment is ironic, perhaps the Dude is happy because he can go on bowling, living his life his way with no disturbance. It would feel wrong if he suddenly was given a lot of money, or found love. Something here feels wrong. Can the film be ended satisfactorily? Did the Coen brothers do the best they could with the character and the plot they had created?

The Jacket

A soldier in the Gulf War is shot in the head, but somehow survives. He suffers from amnesia and blackouts, which leads to him being sent to a mental asylum when he can’t remember how he ended up on the side of a road next to a dead policeman. The chief doctor in this asylum has developed a particularly brutal treatment for some of his patients (those whom he believes are criminals): he feeds them drugs, ties them up in a straight jacket, and puts them inside a morgue drawer for several hours. Inside this drawer, the ex-soldier, played by Adrien Brody, suffers from vivid, painful flashbacks. However, he soon realises that as well as flashbacks, he can also have flash-forwards. In fact, these are not so much memories from the future, but actual visitations in that future. He can interact with the people there and change events. As you can tell, the concept makes little or no sense. You either go along with it or you switch off (which, given the film’s rating on Rotten Tomatoes, I think a lot of people did). It is intriguing, but the acting, especially from Keira Knightley, is heavy handed. Brody, usually excellent, is a little vague and uninteresting here. His character is doomed from the start, so it’s hard to get behind him or engage with his character much. What’s more, many of the other characters (played by some well-known actors) do not resolve their stories in any meaningful way – Daniel Craig, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and Kris Kristofferson all seem wasted here. As with any time travel story, the logical flaws are hard to overcome. It reminded me in some ways of Source Code. The coincidences of the story seem to override the logic. He just so happens to visit a point and a place in the future where he meets someone crucial to his life. This would be ok if the dilemma of the main character is at all compelling or interesting, but unfortunately it isn't. Why is he never vindicated for the murder he didn't commit? We leave the film somewhat confused and disappointed.

Pretty Bird

I found myself watching this film late the other night. Unable to stay awake, but intrigued, I recorded it to watch later. It is a strangely alluring film, but one that makes little sense in the end. Billy Crudup is a man with an idea – an idea to build a rocket pack. He ropes in an old friend as investor, and an out-of-work engineer (Paul Giamatti) to do the actual science, whilst he tries to market what they’ve got. This is a comedy, in case you’re wondering, but its humour is subtle and weird. The ‘where would we be if Oppenheimer hadn’t invented the nuclear bomb?’ speech is brilliantly dark. We’re never quite sure if Crudup’s character is a genius, mad, evil or stupid. When they realise they have actually invented something that works, things start to get weird(er). It should be the point where they start to make money, but instead their friend/investor goes bankrupt and Crudup disappears with the rocket pack. This is based on a true story, which makes it even stranger, and perhaps explains its lack of dramatic completion at the end. In real life, the belt can never be found – in drama/film, however, it has to be. We need some sort of completion to the cycle of the action. So the film ends, and we are as puzzled as we’ve ever been about human behaviour. Crudup is exceptional, and the film never tries to be anything that it isn’t. It reminded me of Primer in many ways – quietly brilliant and disturbing.

Savages

For the first time in the history of Stranded Cinema, I have an exclusive. Despite it not being released until late September in the UK, I have already seen Savages. In fact, I saw it at a free preview screening several months ago. Although the agreement not to discuss the film at these screenings is hardly enforced, I have held back. However, as it's been released in the USA, I feel that I can now post my thoughts safely. It’s the latest project from Oliver Stone, developed from a novel by Don Winslow. The first thing to say is that this is a terrible film. Two marijuana growers in California, who share a girlfriend called ‘O’, get into trouble with a Mexican cartel who want to take over the market. Their girlfriend is eventually taken hostage and they must struggle to find a way to release her. The plot, as you can tell, sounds like a Tarantino film from the 90s, and that’s exactly what it feels like it is trying to be. The narrative starts, however, with little or no set up. Why do we care about these characters, who are little more than drug dealers with heart? What interest do we have in them? We’re given a narration by ‘O’, but rather than helping it is annoying. It continues far too long. ‘Show, don’t tell’ is the classic imperative of good cinema which Stone has ignored here. The audience isn’t stupid, unless you want them to be. The narration is drifting and vacant, over slow motion or blurred shots, portentous in its content, with pseudo-intellectual insights such as ‘I had orgasms, he had wargasms’.  Salma Hayek plays the Mexican cartel leader – a deeply flawed, unbelievable character, badly acted. Someone can’t be a heartless psychotic businesswoman, and a loving mother. There is an extent to which this can’t be stretched. Travolta is good enough as a slimy federal agent, but the best thing about this film (as in most films he’s in) is Benicio del Toro. He plays the right-hand man of Hayek’s character, and tours California with a gang of Mexican gardeners, turning up at people’s houses and torturing/killing them. He is so good it’s almost funny. Even his character, however, is stretched to breaking point towards the end. The one powerful moment of this film is the revelation of the rape, but what is the point? It means nothing and has no implications to the plotline. Lastly, the double-ending will annoy almost everyone who sees it, and is again pointless. The final conclusion of the film is deeply unsatisfactory. Nothing is resolved. It is escapism as its worst – they leave the country and all of their responsibilities to live happily ever after. It may be that the film was improved with further editing after the preview screenings, but there are fundamental flaws here which I don’t think can be ironed out. Any work of art that at some point resorts to the dictionary definition of its title for any sort of meaning, as this film does, has lost all hope.

The Hunt for Red October

This film has one of the most frequently misspelt titles of all time – there is no ‘the’ before ‘red’. Despite knowing who was in it and what it was generally about, I’d never seen it fully, and thus was unaware it formed part of the Jack Ryan story, the character from Tom Clancy’s novels who also features in Clear and Present Danger and Patriot Games. It is the first in the series (although apparently contains many references to Patriot Games, suggesting it was written later). You don’t need to know this when watching the film, but it does help. Ryan’s character is far more interesting than your usual action hero. Here he discovers that the Russians have launched a new, silent submarine, capable of avoiding sonar and that it’s heading for America. What he soon learns, however, is that the officers are intending to defect. Connery does his best to restrain his strong Scottish accent, but it is not very convincing. There is a strange, very heavily signposted transition between the languages as the camera zooms in on a man speaking Russian and zooms out on him speaking English. I don’t think there is a better way to disturb your audience and disrupt the flow of a film. Connery’s character itself is somewhat unlikeable, and it is only with some extremely improbable plot-turns that Ryan (played by Alec Baldwin) gets to meet him face to face. It is a complex story, although there are some rather obvious devices to help it on its way: ‘I know how he’s going to get them off the submarine’ Ryan says at one point. He then doesn’t tell us, but keeps it a secret until the critical moment. It is ultimately a hollow film – teasing us with a deeper meaning, when there really is none. It is not especially tense, thrilling or dramatic, but good enough – which, most of the time, is all we want.

River of Grass

This film is the debut of writer-director Kelly Reichardt ,who has since gone on to direct Meek’s Cutoff. All of her films so far have created excitement in the film-world, but she has yet to intrude into mainstream consciousness (if that is even her intention). River of Grass is a small-scale, independent film about a bored housewife who gets involved with a younger man in a small town in Florida. Everything is told from the perspective of the woman, and we hear throughout her narration on events in a relaxed, monotone drawl. It feels at times like a homemade movie. The camera is shaky, the picture grainy, and dialogue mumbled (and could be one of the inspirations for mumblecore). Despite this, after watching I was surprised the film was as old as 1994. It feels fresh and modern (in comparison to other films from the same year, like Speed for example). The characters are casual, even after they think they’ve killed someone with a gun they find. We’re uncertain throughout how we’re supposed to judge their actions, and who we are supposed to support, or reprehend (she leaves her children at home alone to go out to a bar; he threatens his grandmother with a gun). The ending is sudden, but not exactly shocking. It’s only surprising perhaps that there is no sexuality involved in the story. They are two bored characters, beyond being desperate and lonely, lacking any purpose or meaning to their lives. There is a raw sound to the movie. It is intoxicating, sometimes painful to watch, and impresses indelibly on the memory. A strange, beguiling film that will alter you imperceptibly, but permanently.

Sorority Row

A film like this has to be judged by its own standards, or those of its genre. Any attempt to compare it to cinema more widely, or art and literature as a whole, would result in calamity. There’s no mistaking who this film was made for and why. Five final year students at a sorority house in an anonymous University in the US accidentally kill their friend. They decide to hide the body, but nine months later, when they are graduating, something starts picking them off, one by one. This may sound very, very familiar, and it is. I Know What You Did Last Summer did this twelve years earlier. However, as I found out after watching the film, Sorority Row is a ‘reimagining’ of an 80s original: The House on Sorority Row. So the claims of which came first are perhaps moot. Nonetheless, Sorority Row cannot be said to be original or innovative in anything that it does. To a certain extent teen horrors aren’t expected to do this, but the best, and most famous, always stretch the boundaries of what’s possible within their limits. As with Lesbian Vampire Killers, it may seem relatively easy to make a film like this. There are, as Randy from Scream might say, certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully make a horror movie. Sorority Row fails on several counts. Who, for instance, is the main character? We’re never really sure. This needs to be defined fairly early, unless you want to constantly tease the audience with who will or won’t survive – but this is a risky step itself. Is the killer frightening enough? Are they supernatural or human? Do they have a certain unique style, or way of killing? It seems some of this has been considered (the tyre iron), but not all of it. When we discover who the killer actually is, the reason for the killer to have acted the way they did becomes meaningless. This ‘reveal’, in fact, is one of the hardest things to pull off in these films. Here it is done poorly (someone spots something in someone’s conveniently open bag), although there is at least some surprise as to who it is. The murders themselves are so obviously flagged that they’re not at all frightening, gruesome, or even funny (as they sometimes are in the Scream franchise). It seems we’ve become so used to films like this, that we need them to be more and more extreme, leading to the torture porn in Hostel and Saw, which even I refuse to watch. The end of the film has multiple, anti-climactic conclusions and we leave it feeling we have experienced very little style, and virtually no substance. Even by the standards of the genre, this film is poor.

Total Recall

Total Recall has been remade and will be released next week. It is perhaps an obvious choice for a remake – contemporary CGI, modern taste for realism and irony, and better actors (Colin Farrell, Jessica Biel and Kate Beckinsale), have the potential to make it a huge, rollercoaster of a blockbuster. I wonder, however, how much of the sinister play with reality and memory the new version will retain. The strap-line on its posters says ‘What is Real?’, suggesting that this will be a major theme in the film. In the original, we remain uncertain until quite late in the movie as to whether anything we see is actually happening or not. There is a scene in which the people trying to capture Quaid/Hauser (played by Schwarzenegger) attempt to persuade him that he is dreaming, that he is not really a spy on Mars, but an ordinary construction worker on Earth. He sees through this lie and manages to escape, but the dilemma is crucial to the film and how it manipulates its audience. We are the real construction workers on Earth, fantasising that we might be spies on Mars. We are placing ourselves in the shoes of Quaid/Hauser, and this scene in which he is told he is dreaming is ultimately directed at us. It speaks directly to us, and the lie is actually the truth. The film as a whole rather than encouraging us to believe we can be more than construction workers, in fact reinforces our position as such. It gives us this fantasy, allows us to play with it for two hours, so that we might accept reality more happily. I’m also fascinated by the many questions that Quaid/Hauser’s identity raises for us. For Quaid, Hauser is a different person, someone he cannot be, and this is in fact how all of us treat our past and future selves. They are distinct from us, yet we recognise whilst repressing the inevitable links. There’s an metafictive play with the names, too: Quaid is Irish-American and Hauser is German-Dutch. The film was directed by Verhoeven (a Ducthman) with American money. Significant? I don’t know. I await with both excitement and concern this new version. It will have lost the quirks of Verhoeven’s direction – the fast changes of situation, the panning camera, zooming in from a distance on its target – but what will it have gained?

Shalako

Despite the successes of some Westerns in recent years, cinema audiences still seem ambivalent about the genre. In the late 80s and early 90s there was quite a resurgence with Young Guns, Dances with Wolves, Unforgiven, Open Range, and Tombstone. More recently we’ve had There Will Be Blood, True Grit, Appaloosa, 3:10 to Yuma and Cowboys & Aliens. The genre has expanded to include revisionist, noir, sci-fi, fantasy, horror, futuristic, contemporary and comic book westerns. Despite this, you will still occasionally meet people who’ll say ‘I don’t like Westerns’. For a genre to be discounted entirely seems rather dramatic, and may stem from a European distance to these movies (despite the efforts of Sergio Leone). It is perhaps down to films like Shalako, made in 1968, that the reputation of Westerns still sometimes suffers. Starring Sean Connery and Brigitte Bardot, it purports to be a more sympathetic Western – the Indians are not unreasonable savages, they just want their land. However, they are still men in wigs, their faces painted brown, screaming as they attack, simple-minded in their intentions. The film reminded me a lot of Zulu, made four years earlier, but with much more success. The title, Shalako, probably put a lot of people off. The entirely miscast Connery as the main character doesn’t help, nor does Bardot in a strange, uncharacteristic role (one of the few American films she’s in). It feels very much like, and probably was, a cast put together before a script. The film is in fact far smaller in scale than it purports to be. There are sweeping landscapes, but the plot follows only a few characters for little more than two days. They are attacked and surrounded by Indians and try to escape. Eventually they are caught again by the Indians and a final showdown is expected. What we receive at the end, however, is highly disappointing. There is no substantial conclusion or resolution. The real enemy, of course, as in all these movies, is the in-fighting between the white men. Shalako is as tremendously flawed as a film can be. We never have sympathy for any of the characters, despite Connery’s natural charisma, or Bardot’s beauty. It is in all a weird movie, probably better forgotten.

Lesbian Vampire Killers

I’m ashamed to say I saw this film, although in my defence it was on the television while I was waiting for someone. That person didn’t arrive and I ended up seeing the whole movie. The title is self-explanatory. There’s no subterfuge around what the creators were trying to do (when a vampire is killed, white gunk spurts out of them – I probably don’t need to spell out what it’s supposed to be). In fact, my one complaint would be not that they went too far, but that they didn’t go far enough. It could’ve been far scarier/sexier, if they’d been willing to be daring. Unfortunately what we have is a rather tame B-movie that only half-delivers on its promises. The set up is fairly abysmal – why does the vampire queen have to wait until the last in the family line? Why is the main character the last in the line? Likewise, towards the end, why do the vampires leave the two lovers alone for a few minutes – just so the script writers can fit a bit of dialogue in? These may seem like trivial details, but I believe it is exactly on details like these that B-movies need to be perfect. They need a compelling, believable set up and strong character motives – that, in fact, is almost all they need. See the films of John Carpenter for how to do this properly. The film also needs a good ending – here it is poor to the point of boredom and distraction. There are multiple climaxes with no point or impetus – people running backwards and forwards in the woods mindlessly. It’s obvious that this film owes a lot to Shaun of the Dead, but its creators can’t deliver half of the wit, irony, music, pacing and fast camera movement that Edgar Wright can. There is, however, one great line. It’s a line that you secretly wish every character in a horror film would say: ‘I know there’s some really strange stuff going on, but can’t we just pretend like it’s not happening?’.

Dead Poets Society

Of the many gaps in my movie knowledge, Dead Poets Society was perhaps a significant one, but not because it is considered a great movie (it received no votes in the Sight and Sound poll). It’s a film instead that had and still has a profound impact on my generation. It came out just as I was starting in secondary school myself, and there are a few parallels to my own experiences (albeit this film is in fact set in 1959). I had seen parts of it, and knew a great deal more about it from the many secondary references that exist in other films, TV shows etc. It was, as they say, not a movie but an experience, seeming to summarise the feelings of a generation. The performance of Robin Williams and the appearance of several teenage stars (Ethan Hawke and Robert Sean Leonard) no doubt helped to make it popular. Undoubtedly it is deeply moving, and you’d have a heart of stone not to feel some emotion at the ending – even if it’s fairly manipulative. The film as a whole, though, speeds rapidly along, and only gives us a glimpse of the story that we are watching. It is, after all, adapted from a novel. We seem to skip much that is of importance – his audition and rehearsals, for one. The society of the title actually plays only a small part in the film. There is also little real motivation for the action of the ending. We get the sense of something richer, but don’t experience it. The direction of Peter Weir is good, as always, but the philosophy that Williams promotes is fairly simplistic, as is the attitude to poetry – dominated by American and in particular Beat generation poets. We feel such a strong connection to the 1950s because the issue of over-protective, traditional parents and a repressive society that an individual struggles against is something that, whilst prominent then, stays with us always. It is this, despite everything else that the film provides, that is the main pull and message of the movie.

Horse Feathers

I can’t remember when I first saw the Marx brothers. This is odd. I imagine most people can or will remember (if they haven’t seen them yet). There is nothing in the world like them anymore, although there may have been at the time they made their movies. Nonetheless, where to rank their films as cinema is still an issue – are they just good comedies, or something more? It could be argued the sheer force and relentless nature of the jokes makes them great – even if, as films, they are simple and somewhat inane. They take the physical comedy of Chaplin to a new level, adding not just the verbal wit, but songs, dance and music. Horse Feathers, however, isn’t the title with which to introduce someone to the Marx brothers. The films starts almost immediately with a bizarre, nonsensical monologue by Groucho, followed by a song and dance routine. It includes great lines such as ‘Well, I thought my razor was dull until I heard his speech’ and ‘I came into this college to get my son out of it’, but there is a lot there which I didn’t, or couldn’t, understand. As an introduction it’s baffling, but it at least makes it clear to the audience what the Marx brothers are trying to do here: tell jokes, regardless of any plot. The humour is strange in places (this film was made 80 years ago after all), the jokes sometimes either seem not funny at all or offensive, and the plot is flimsy and strained, but there are equally moments when you’ll laugh so hard you’ll cry. ‘I married your mother because I wanted children. Imagine my disappointment when you arrived’. Their best films are more than just a collection of sketches like this, but still in Horse Feathers you will find the relentless verbal and physical humour and some great songs, including the classic ‘everyone says I love you’ – with different verses depending on the perspectives of the different characters.

Edge of Darkness

One of the strangest remakes of recent years has been this film, derived from a 1980s British television series. Unfortunately I think I only ever saw the first episode of the series, and so I can’t offer much of a comparison between the two. However, it’s relatively obvious from watching the film that there is a great plot and script behind it all that must have come from the series. Indeed, the director Martin Campbell was the director of the original series (he has since directed Casino Royale, but also The Legend of Zorro). This, unfortunately, is where the comparisons end. Perhaps the greatest disaster of this remake was the casting of Mel Gibson. He is quintessentially wrong for this role, and not just because his attempt at a Boston accent is jarring. Production started just after The Departed won several Oscars, and you can’t help but hear the studio saying ‘let’s do another thriller set in Boston, only this time let’s get Mel Gibson!’. The plot is long, the characters are complex, and it all feels too much for this film. What’s more, the idea of a nuclear threat is not so strong today as it was in the 1980s, and the feel of a secretive, oppressive government (based on Thatcher at the time) isn’t as compelling anymore. Having not seen the original, there is still intrigue here, but the whole thing falls awkwardly together. The saccharine ending in particular I can’t help but feel was designed by Hollywood, and the two anonymous men in suits who follow Gibson around, like Men in Black, are one of the most ridiculous aspects of the remake. It is perhaps a television series that could be adapted well to the cinema, but this film isn’t it.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

David Fincher’s career as a director has been a strange one so far, and I still can’t decide if I like his movies or not. Audiences seem equally uncertain. Perhaps it’s because although Fincher’s films all have a certain style and economy, his stamp is not as obvious or noticeable as, say, the Coen brothers or Spielberg. A lot of people might have seen The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, or The Social Network, and not known they were watching the work of the same director as Se7en and Alien 3. He’s one of only a few directors, however, that I can say I’ve seen every one of his films, for one reason or another. The last one was Benjamin Button, which I’d never been as greatly interested to watch as some of his others. I have to say it’s marred by the cliché of an old woman narrating a story from her deathbed. Indeed, aside from the one unique aspect of Button’s existence (which you will probably know about even if you haven’t seen the film), there is nothing surprising about this movie. We follow his life story from beginning to end – it’s ups and downs, romantic or otherwise. He does not discover something revolutionary about the meaning of life, imparts no great wisdom, nor does he receive any. I kept expecting a twist, or a deeper meaning, but none came. There is no reason for what happens to him. The film is developed from a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and that is what it felt like – short. It should, ultimately perhaps, have been a short film. There is not enough here to be a full-length feature, despite it containing the whole life of a man. It does not have the depth or richness that a novel, or film, should have. There is also something very creepy about Brad Pitt as an old/young man, especially in his relationship with the girl. Perhaps this is what Fincher was going for - it’s sometimes very hard to tell what his intentions are. Despite displaying that same style and economy, the same careful attention to detail, the film feels empty, and I think you'd find it hard to find someone who ranks it among Fincher's best.

True Grit

I try wherever possible to read the book of a movie before seeing it and watch an original before viewing the remake. On this occasion, however, I failed on both counts. In fact, I made the decision to watch this regardless of the original. I trusted that the Coen brothers had made a film that was their own, and did not need reference to an original (someone who’s seen it can tell me if I’m right). This dilemma, however, is occurring more and more. Can we have seen and read every book or original that a film is based on? Sometimes there are several versions, at least (see the recent Spider-man reboot). It is perhaps a question for another time to ask why it is we’re making so many remakes. In the theatre this is an assumed practice, with only a small proportion of London’s stages taken up with original works. Film exists somewhere in-between theatre and the novel, which is what makes it so compelling. Each new production is far more permanent than the single performance it purports to be. This version of True Grit, for example, may outlive its predecessors. The Coen brothers decided to return to the book and be more faithful to it than John Wayne’s version was. It is arguably the first straight genre movie that they’ve ever done, and it’s interesting for that alone. Jeff Bridges plays a wayward U.S Marshall hired by a young girl to find her father’s killer. The action is short, brutal and occasionally gruesome, as we can expect from the Coen brothers. There is also a dark humour, Carter Burwell’s score, and that bleak, unforgiving outlook, lacking sympathy for any of their characters, that is typical of their films. This movie sits somewhere in-between the somewhat comic nature of films like O Brother, Where art Thou? and the more serious tone of No Country for Old Men, but it can still be clearly seen as directed by the same hands. I wouldn’t class it as one of their best, but it is certainly head and shoulders above a lot of other films you might be choosing between on a Friday night. Despite being nominated for ten Oscars, it won none.

The Rum Diary

My eagerness to like this film might have overridden its actual worth. Since as a student I saw Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I’ve had a fondness for Hunter S. Thompson, particularly as he’s portrayed by Johnny Depp. Although The Rum Diary is ostensibly fictitious, it’s obvious that the main character is supposed to be, or was, Thompson. It goes without saying that this is a strange film, but perhaps not in the way you’re thinking. Ignoring the details, the basic plot is that of a romantic comedy. This is what is stressed by the storyline despite the actual underlying drive of the film being towards exposing corrupt capitalism, which is somewhat sidelined. It would’ve been a much better movie, perhaps, if this message was put to the fore, and the romantic element sublimated or even avoided. Nonetheless, the light-hearted story that we have is still enjoyable, quirky, and mildly funny. Depp is once again good at impersonating his late friend Thompson, although he does not go to such extremes as he did in the earlier movie. We never really get to like any of the characters, however, which leaves us without much interest in what happens to them. Giovanni Ribisi’s character in particular is very disturbing, and not in a good way. The main issue with the film is that people unfamiliar with Thompson would probably find it odd, and fans of his would be disappointed that it wasn’t odd enough. It sits unfortunately somewhere in-between, trying to please both sets of people, but doing neither. Fans of Thompson may enjoy it slightly more, however, but this mainly comes from the ending which gives us an interesting premonition, or even justification, of the man he is to become.

Vertigo

After having recently overtaken Citizen Kane as Sight and Sound's greatest film of all time, I thought I should re-watch Vertigo. Luckily, ITV obliged by putting it on one of their channels last week. I'd seen the film a while ago, and clips of it since, but never been as excited as I felt I should be. We’re always told that the greatest works of art take maturity to appreciate. Why this should be is debatable – surely if they were great, we would like them at once? It depends on our definition of ‘great’. I think most people’s would be something like: does it reward repeated viewing? Enough has been written about this film, I’m sure, but one thing it does do is reward repeated viewing. Watching it again I began to unpick the many layers there are to this movie. It is slow, careful and subtle in the way it carries its audience along. At its centre is the impossibility of desire – what he wants is a woman who never existed. This of course appeals to modern critics greatly. We should also point to the voyeurism of Stewart’s character – this is essentially our own. We too, like him, want to stand in the shadows (the cinema) and watch what she is doing. We read her actions as a language that we must translate (she is silent until he rescues her from the river). There were still moments that frustrated me – such as the famous ‘plot hole’ when she seemingly disappears from the hotel, and the ending itself. The brutality of Stewart’s character is hard to watch. It is justified anger, but there is also something beyond this, an anger almost at his own creation. Then there is her fall – why is she afraid of the nun? Is it an accident, or does she throw herself? Lastly, what happens to Midge’s character? There is an alternate ending that shows her together with Stewart’s character, and this we assume is what will eventually happen: he’ll return to her, albeit unhappily. I return, though, to the list itself. I’ve hinted that Vertigo’s new position at the top could be down to the taste of modern critics. Philip French wrote an interesting article about the changes in cinematic fashion which is worth reading, and he backs up my conclusion. Does ranking films really mean anything? Isn’t a better system Halliwell’s star rating? The top ten doesn't include a film beyond 1968, which makes it quite meaningless to the majority of filmgoers. The appeal of ranking is strong, and induces fruitful discussion, but it is enough for me to note that Veritgo is one of the greatest films of all time. I don’t need to rank them.

Crazy, Stupid, Love

You’d be forgiven for not having any inclination to watch this film at all. Steve Carell has been struggling to make a good movie since The 40 Year-Old Virgin, and Ryan Gosling could just have been dragged in to raise the box office figures. You’ll be surprised by this film, however (although not once you’ve read this review). Carell’s character separates from his wife. He starts going to a bar to drink and complain to whomever might listen. Gosling, who uses the bar to pick up women (which he is very successful at), notices him and the two strike up a strange friendship. It’s their interaction, like a weird buddy-cop movie, that is at the heart of the film. However, just when you think the movie might be following familiar lines, it reaches a climax that is surprising, hilarious and moving all at the same time. I’m not saying this is a great film which will be ranked alongside Vertigo and Citizen Kane, but it is far better than your usual romantic comedy. It’s directed by two men, which is rare: Glenn Ficarra and John Requa, whose debut was I Love You Philip Morris. It picks carefully upon the conflict that arises due to multiple perspectives on the world – male, female, young, old, married, single. It feels like it has so much in it, and the dialogue and plot is so well worked, that I began to suspect it was adapted from a novel (it’s not). Admittedly there are moments of humour which jar uncomfortably with the subject’s seriousness, but overall this is a very enjoyable two hours – sweet, funny, and disturbing in turns.

The Fighter

Some films slip anonymously away after having been Oscar contenders, and even winners. The Fighter seems like it might belong to this category. Even though it won best supporting actor (Christian Bale) and best supporting actress (Melissa Leo), it’s hard to find anyone who has either heard of or seen this movie. Although in many ways it follows conventional sports-movie lines, Wahlberg is a boxer trying to step out of the shadow of his older brother’s success, it is not at all straightforward. Note first that it’s directed by David O. Russell, the creator of I Heart Huckabees and Three Kings. The film feels like a Clint Eastwood production aimed at Oscar success, yet it has the curious comedy of Russell’s other films as well (notably Wahlberg’s pack of weird sisters). Wahlberg, not  a great actor, is overshadowed by Bale, playing his older brother, who follows a much more interesting character development throughout the film. The problem for me with Bale’s performance is that is was so ‘method’ it was almost painful to watch at times. Instead of creating a character, he is copying a real person, which is perhaps what makes it awkward. There are poignant and moving moments in this film, but it ultimately can’t escape its fairly pedestrian sports-movie plot. It doesn’t break new ground, and rarely surprises us. It is a strange film, worth watching for some of the performances and the quirks of Russell’s style, but otherwise understandably now anonymous.

Prometheus

Before seeing this film, you should forget or ignore that it might have anything to do with Alien. I spent most of the time waiting for clues or hints as to the origin of that film's storyline, and really would’ve been better off without this distraction. Aside from perhaps the last thirty seconds, this movie stands on its own. It is an entirely new plot only tangentially connected with the Alien franchise. However, this does not mean there aren’t parallels. The structure of the film essentially imitates that of Alien, and this could be said to be its main weakness: a ship lands on a hostile planet, something bad happens, an android works at cross purposes to the crew. What Prometheus could have learnt from Alien, however, was the context in which it was set. Alien succeeds because it portrays an insignificant crew of an insignificant ship discovering a creature that wants to kill them. In Prometheus, the crew are trying to discover the meaning of our existence. There is a portentousness there, a sense of its own self-importance, which is hard to shake off. The film raises questions about life and death, but only from a certain perspective. It’s very slow in giving us any information to work with, and refuses at all to give us certain facts. The beginning, for example, is never explained. It is only with careful thought, and several leaps of logic, that one comes to realise it could be an explanation for the creation of life on earth. The film is vast and impressive, and Noomi Rapace is brilliant, but there is something perfunctory about its procedure. Nothing really excites or thrills. I would argue that this is because nothing is explained. We need some bits of information, and receive virtually none. There are too many ‘why did that happen?’ or ‘why was that there?’ questions that arise after the film. Yes, the film deliberately raises some questions which are meant to be unanswered, and this is intriguing, but there are many more which I believe should be answered. There are some other, obvious complaints too: the technology that’s more advanced than that in Alien (this was asked of the Star Wars prequels also); the underdevelopment of Charlize Theron’s character (the advertisement of her as the main character doesn’t help); the ease of finding the valley which the aliens used; and the very clichéd character of the captain. The film sticks to a reasonable two hour length, but it could easily have gone on for three hours – there’s so much material here, and perhaps this is the problem. The creators suffered from having too many ideas which when edited down leaves the audience asking too many questions. Whether this is true or not, what we ultimately have to ask ourselves is whether we’d watch it again. The answer for me is not a definitive yes, but it is a yes.

The Artist

A question I thought watching this movie might answer, has still not been answered: why is the film silent? The story is about a silent cinema actor, but that doesn’t logically mean the film itself has to be in black and white, and silent. Perhaps the intent was to put us into the world in which they existed and thought, but - eighty years later - this can only be done with an obvious, artificial pretence. You have to buy into the concept, without question, or this film won’t work for you. Jean Dujardin is brilliant, but you could call him one dimensional, and he essentially repeats his performance from OSS 117. He’s a modern silent cinema actor himself, and as such we don’t believe the more serious concerns that afflict him later on. When we focus on the story itself, we find little that really surprises or excites us – much of it has been done before: think of Tim Burton’s Ed Wood, and of course Sunset Boulevard (or even Citizen Kane to a certain extent). The novelty is in the silence (and perhaps the cute dog), but it would be unfair to say that without it the film would be nothing special. There is a great charm to this movie – something quite direct and unpretentious. The dream sequence is frightening (I initially thought it wasn’t a dream, and the movie would continue along those lines), but it brings me to my final point of irritation with the film: the ending. There can’t have been many people who were surprised or shocked at what happens, but why does it happen? Like the dream, it breaks the fourth wall (the rules we have tacitly accepted for the length of the film), and for no real reason. As I said, you have to buy into the concept of this film wholeheartedly for it to work for you. I was unable to do this.

John Carter

His name does not inspire greatness, like Indiana Jones or Sherlock Holmes do, and this lack of inspiration is something that seeps throughout the film. It is entertaining, but it’s John Carter not Luke Skywalker. Perhaps the original title: John Carter of Mars, might have been more appealing, but apparently Disney were scared of using the word ‘Mars’, a word that has always signalled box office failure in the past. That change of title, however, didn’t save the film. The movie is noted for being one of the biggest flops in cinema history, which I think is a little unfair. The more money you spend the more you have to lose, so the economics of these statistics don’t quite square up. Moreover, the film isn’t that bad, or at least not any worse than a lot of other blockbusters that have had a lot more success than it (the Transformers, Matrix, Spider-man, and X-Men sequels, for instance). John Carter, a former captain in the Confederate army during the American Civil War, is accidentally transported to Mars. If this sounds rather arbitrary and pointless, that’s because it is. There is never a reason or a purpose (unlike Luke Skywalker he does not discover that he possesses the force and is the only chance of saving the universe). Due to the lower gravitational pull on Mars, Carter is exceptionally strong and powerful on that planet, but aside from this there is nothing special about him. We do not feel any great attachment to the character, or in fact to any of the others, except perhaps a weird, dog-like creature that follows him around. Carter reluctantly gets involved in another civil war, and surprisingly takes the side which has the prettiest girl on it (a girl who is supposed to be a professor, or at least an advanced engineer, geographer, astronomer, and linguist). We then follow him through several twists and turns of fate, and I have to admit a fairly complex plot-line. The feeling of arbitrariness never leaves us, however, and this is confirmed by Carter’s enemies whose ultimate aim, it seems, is just to be evil. We have to blame the writing here, both of the original book and the screenplay. The effects, the design etc, are fantastic, but there is nothing new or inspiring in this movie. The beginning is an unnecessary mess which involves jumping between five different periods and places, before we have been able to fully understand any of them. Taylor Kitsch, who plays Carter, is fairly insipid – there are no great lines, no great looks or movements. You may enjoy the ride, as vacuous as it is, but you’ll soon find yourself thirsting after something a little more satisfying.

Chronicle

Whilst this film was initially received with excitement and enthusiasm, and still has a high ‘fresh’ rating on Rotten Tomatoes, I would argue that its only innovation is a new combination of now tired, well-used narratives. Some might say that there is very rarely anything new in a lot of the movies we praise – it is all a combination of what has gone before – but for me success depends upon how well it is handled or manipulated. Chronicle is essentially a film about social exclusion, the typical teenage outsider movie. However, it combines this with both science-fiction (not original in itself – see Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or The Faculty) and the found-footage technique. This last element is now becoming a loose genre. The Blair Witch Project, Cloverfield, and Paranormal Activity have been its main successes. But there always comes a point in such movies when we ask: why are you still filming? Why haven’t you put the camera down? Along with this other questions occur to us – who has edited this together?  Who is watching this film? Ultimately, these concerns do urge us to ask serious questions about the nature of all film – who is viewing in any movie we watch? What position does the camera take on the action it is filming? – but we are capable of doing this without being prompted by found-footage. Where Chronicle does exceed slightly beyond other social exclusion films is that the main character is never fully included. Whilst in other movies of this type he/she eventually becomes popular and accepted, here he moves beyond a transient, superficial acceptance and into a deeper, darker exclusion. This is perhaps the inevitable outcome of any social outsider – they can never be included, can never resolve their issues – and gives the film, as I said, it’s only point of originality. However, the film ends rather weakly and unsatisfactorily. Nothing is resolved or understood. A sequel, however, is apparently on the way.

The Movies I Don't Review

Why is it that I watch many more movies than I post reviews of here? In an average week, I see about 3 or 4 films, but I might only review one of them. For example, in the last week I’ve watched Orphan, Small Time Crooks, Tower Heist, and Running Scared. I haven’t reviewed any of them yet. Why? Often this is because I might be re-watching films I’ve seen before, or because I’m too busy to write a review. Sometimes, I don’t feel the film is recent enough or relevant enough to modern cinema (classics are a different matter). Most of the time, however, it’s because the film hasn’t made enough of an impact on me. Sometimes I can’t even remember what films I’ve seen in a week, they’ve passed by so incoherently. It’s only if during the film, or considering it afterwards, I find something in particular which impresses or concerns me, that I’ll decide to write a review. This normally has something to do with the director, or the connections of the writer and other creators of the film. It could be something as simple as the style and the ambitiousness, or otherwise, of the director. There are many drafts of reviews languishing on my computer. These are films that seemed to interest me, but I didn’t have enough to write about (despite such short reviews as I do post). With more than 500 reviews in over five years on Stranded Cinema, the number of movies I must’ve seen but not talked about is mind-boggling. So even if my review might be negative, the very fact that I’m writing one must say something about the film itself.

Jennifer's Body

You may be forgiven for thinking that Jennifer’s Body was just another teen horror film. In many ways it is, of course, and I’m sure some people saw it as such, but there must have been a seed of doubt in their minds. The dialogue is smart and the plot is ironic and deviant. If you were in a cinema, you wouldn’t realise the reason for this until the end credits (there are no credits at the beginning): Jennifer’s Body was written by Diablo Cody. You may know her from her acclaimed debut Juno. This film is not unlike that one, except that it is firmly situated in the very gory teen horror genre. We’ve become used to writers and directors playing with genre in recent years, and some of these experiments are more successful than others. It has to be said that this is one of the least successful, primarily because the intelligent dialogue gets lost under the plot. You don’t really care what the actors are saying when someone is about to rip their chest open. Nonetheless, the film does stand out for its intention to subvert some standard narratives. The instigation of the action, for instance, is down to an insignificant indie rock band that practices satanic rituals in the hope of becoming successful. This film is enjoyably dark and twisted, but a lot of it was all done over ten years ago in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Moneyball

I think it is almost impossible for me to review this film. I read and loved the book. When I heard it was being made into a film, and who was making it (script by Aaron Sorkin, acting by Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, and Philip Seymour Hoffman), I was excited but cautious. The book is about a concept, rather than a story, and it is about one man, rather than a plot. Billy Beane, the general manager of the Oakland A’s and a former failed player himself, fed up with losing to teams with far higher budgets, decides to implement a new way of thinking about baseball. This is a hard thing to put into cinema, but the makers of Moneyball give it a cohesive structure, following the team through the 2002 season, with flashbacks to Beane’s attempt at a career as a player. The pacing is slightly flawed as it so often is in films adapted from real life (a close comparison would be The Social Network). The successes and failures don’t follow a natural pattern until the end of the film. Here, though, they do reach a satisfying and compelling climax. There is good music and intriguing camera movement – for example, long tracking shots – but they do feel slightly out of place. Beane’s relationship with his daughter is a curious addition and there is no mention, for some reason, of an important player and figure in the book: Nick Swisher. Besides this, the focus on Beane’s obsession with winning is compelling, especially towards the end of the film. Ultimately, Pitt perhaps wasn’t the best choice for this role. There is a great tragedy to Beane’s character which is touched on here but not as fully explored as it could’ve been. He didn’t win the World Series; he didn’t go on to manage a better team; and his methods have not been fully embraced by the baseball community. Nonetheless, as soon as it ended I wanted to watch it again, and again. This may, however, say more about my attachment to the book than the quality of the film.

A Single Man

Colin Firth missed out on an Oscar in 2010 for this film. He won instead the next year with The King’s Speech. Arguably, it should’ve been the other way around. This is by far the better film, with a powerful, poignant performance by Firth in the lead role. The film ostensibly takes place over a single day, although we are given flashbacks to previous events. Firth stars as an English academic at an American university in the early 1960s whose partner has been killed in a car crash. He is not allowed to go to the funeral, due to the family’s reservations about homosexuality. The day of the film’s duration is intended to be his last day alive – he wants to commit suicide. Yet there is nothing overly morbid or pathological in this film. His principal relationships are with Julianne Moore’s character, one of his oldest friends with whom he has a confused but tender companionship, and one of his students, played by Nicholas Hoult, who becomes intrigued by his teacher and starts following him. It is a tragic, deeply affecting movie, with a profound desolation at its core. You may find it precocious, and little is done or said, but if you have the patience and the sensibility, you will find it hard not to be moved.

The Social Network

I was expecting to like this film. I felt both internal and external pressure to do so. Directed by David Fincher, written by Aaron Sorkin, starring Jesse Eisenberg, and having received extremely positive reviews, I was excited. Yet, as so often with such great anticipation, a certain amount of disappointment was inevitable. The film goes nowhere. It doesn’t follow the history of the company exactly (we are supposed to know a certain amount of it, which I didn’t - I don’t use Facebook), nor the history of a person, or a relationship. We are given snapshots that portend importance, but do not achieve it. It is fast-talking and fast-flowing, some of the dialogue is sparkling, but a lot of this is mumbled, incoherent or uninteresting to someone who doesn’t know anything about Facebook. In ten years, will this film be at all intriguing to anyone? I hesitate to dismiss it outright, because of the talent involved and the accolades it has received. The most fascinating aspect of the movie is the final effect on Zuckerberg himself, but this isn’t the whole film, and the whole film doesn’t lead inextricably to this point. It is almost an after-thought. The problem with a good ending is that it seduces us into thinking the whole film was good.

Drive

With last night’s Oscar success for The Artist (which I’ve yet to see), we’ve been given evident corroboration that you don’t need a lot of dialogue (or any) to make a good picture. One of 2011’s less successful films during the award season, Drive, also backs up this statement. Ryan Gosling says little to nothing throughout most of this movie (his character doesn’t even have a name), yet that won’t detract from your enjoyment of it. The film is deeply alluring –  due largely to Ryan Gosling’s good looks, the cinematography and the soundtrack. There is a somewhat deliberate attempt to give it a 1980s feel – the music, the slick look, the helicopter shots of L.A., and the Dirty Dancing-like typeface of the credits. Overall, it is a slight film which while impressive, doesn’t have a lot to say. At worse, some of you may finish watching it feeling empty, or nihilistic. The violence when it happens is short and brutal. I was reminded particularly of recent Korean cinema, especially Old Boy. It’s a film that has been perhaps understandably overlooked by the awarding bodies, and yet finds itself in the top ten of most critics’ lists of movies from 2011. It is definitely in mine.