Reviews

Truly a film for all seasons, Closer is one of those rare films that will satisfy no matter what your particular caveat. What follows are merely a few examples of it's all-encompassing appeal. 1. Are You Trying To End A Relationship Without Feeling Guilty? If so, simply lure the unsuspecting party to see this film. from the cast they will automatically assume it to be a Runaway Bride/Alfie hybrid movie. Just wait until the internet chatroom scene, or the moment where Julia Roberts describes her sexual proclivities in the dirtiest language imaginable. ( This works best with sixteen year old girls with a Lizzy McGuire fixation ) 2. Are You A Big Stinking Pervert ? Then why not spend almost an hour sweating with anticipation at the prospect of seeing Natalie Portman giving the most sensual performance since Scarlett Johansenn in 'Lost in Translation' and then another hour trying to subdue your semi-tumescent member, an inevitable byproduct of the stripping scene. ( This Works best with fifteen year old nerds with Princess Amidala fixations ) 3. Are you a fan of incisive, honed and crafted writing, bought to life by a cast on the absolute top of their game, ( career bests for everyone involved ) and fashioned by a veteran director whose work still brims with wit, imagination and any other superlatives you care to lavish on him? In short. A movie made by grown ups, for grown-ups.

Let's start with this. I have never read the books on which this film is based, and can therefore offer no critique on the quality of the adaptation. I can only pass judgment on how I reacted to the film. There are quite a few things that are gleeful about it. There is, however, a fatal flaw that undoes all the good around it. The good news first: The film looks absolutely stunning. Visions of horrific Gothic architecture stolen from inside Tim Burton's head mix with delightful pastel coloured countryside. The camera always seems slightly off-balance and the computer imagery ( which must be plentiful ) is never intrusive. Also, Jim Carrey is not the bug-eyed, screeching, careening off the walls lunatic I had feared him to be. As much as I admire and respect his more dramatic work, whenever he is given the opportunity to "let go" and be free, to do " a ventura " he tends to irritate. So to find him in such a caricatured yet relaxed mode is reassuring. Billy Connolly is engaging and pleasant, yet somehow a little underwhelming. The best performance in the film come's from Meryl Streep, who despite having very limited screen time manages to come across as comic, sympathetic and just plain pathetic, it's the most realistic section of the film and in the house on the edge of the lake, has the best location too. The highest praise I can afford to the child actor's is that at no point did I wish them dead. It's not that they are bad actors, it's just that when you compare it to work like Haley Joel Osment a few years back, or Freddie Highmore in this year's "Finding Neverland" you realise that even with kid's, you don't have to settle for less. The problem with this film then, is not in the look, or the direction, or the acting. It's in the writing. The dialogue is flat and unimaginative, the story never fuses convincingly, and feels like a series of episodic vignettes instead of a cognitive whole and the climax is weak and uninspiring. These would be viable faults in any film, but to find such glaring narrative problems in a film that has such a wealth of ( reputedly ) excellent source material is a cardinal sin. It's not a bad film, and it really does look spectacular. Hopefully though, the inevitable sequel will devote a little more time to the story and the script, and not just the sights.

Jerry Bruckheimer. The undisputed king of the lavish Hollywood explosion. Chances are, if you find yourself sitting in a darkened room with a stupid smile on your face, having spent the last two hours watching things being blown up, your'e watching a Bruckheimer film ( or in jail. ) With National Treasure, I got the distinct feeling there was a concerted effort to mess with the formula. There are still explosive action scenes, pulsating chase sequences, and there is still a British bad guy, but there is also a semblance of a plot, and of due care taken in validating the historical aspects of the story. It is of course, mainly fantastical hokum, but crucially it never becomes farcical. This is down due to the actors investing a good deal of conviction into screenplay that lesser performers would have exposed as the creaky, unfocused mêlée of slapped together genre staples and cliché it is. Nicolas Cage for example, has proved himself as both a highly talented actor and a capable action hero, and is therefore well suited for this Indiana Jones meets Adam Hart-Davies role. While it seems that both the girl ( Diane Kruger ) and the techno-geek sidekick ( ? ) are both conjured directly from the stereotype store, there is guilty glee to be had in watching Jon Voight and Harvey Keitel slumming it so magnificently. Sean Bean is given far too little to do, and is in danger of reverting to the stock British villain that he spent his career playing until Boromir saved him. Ultimately, it's a formula action picture that tries bravely to restructure the formula and inject a little intelligence into the vein of mainstream cinema. The fact that it ultimately fails due to a weak script and a poor climax is a shame, and hopefully will not deter film-makers from attempting the same in the future.

When the world ends, and the world council are deciding which films are to be taken into space for preservation, this will surely be one of them. The Coen brothers truly are blessed with a talent so rare- the ability to make film after film, and have everyone be different.Try watching Blood Simple, Raising Arizona and Millers Crossing in a row and try to find any clues that they are made by the same people.This though, is while probably not the best film they have ever made (that accolade falling on either Millers crossing or Fargo) it is surely the funniest and most entertaining.The great characters that the Coens seem to be able to pluck out of thin air are here in abundance, and even characters who have less than ten minutes screen time seem to be wonderfully fleshed out (most notably John Turturro's hilarious Jesus.)Jeff Bridges is The Dude, a man who has never achieved anything (apart from a brief stint as road manager for the Grateful Dead-who are apparently a bunch of assholes) because he's never tried. Happy to drift through life as a nobody, with only two friends in the whole world and a predilection for smoking grass.He is completely harmless, and so when he is suddenly thrown into a chandler-esque tale of kidnapping, carpet p***ing, nihilism, pornography and bowling, it is a mark of the Coens genius that they can stop it from being completely ludicrous and make this the first ever farce where the audience cares deeply about the man, The Dude.Jeff Bridges proves that he is either one of the greatest actors of his time, or a great raving pothead.The sense of confusion that comes from him is so real, he appears to be so helpless, that it is heartbreaking and side-splitting at the same time.He obviously needs help, needs to be guided through this, by a friend who comes in the shape of Walter Sobchek (John Goodman) the most inept, bumbling war veteran ever.Best summed up by The Dude himself (One of these days your'e going to have to accept that your'e a goddamn moron)Walter despite his best intentions ends up hurting the Dude more than he ever helps him, inadvertently dragging his friend deeper into the hole (I could have just been sitting here with p*** stains on my rug).With a plethora of other great oddball characters (Donnie, Maude, the titular Big Lebowski,the wonderful Jesus Quintana)the film merely reinforces the Coen brothers as truly great american film makers, who have made nine films and never a bad one, long may they rule.

Terry Gilliam has made a lot of good films and a couple of great ones(namely Twelve Monkeys and Brazil)this, though could well be his best.

Why ?

For starters there is the cast.Jeff Bridges,officially the most underrated actor of his generation, giving a performance that veers from one end of the spectrum to the other almost imperceptibly.From comedy to tragedy and back again.

Robin Williams- a great comedian and a better actor than he is given credit for.Fair enough he does tend to go through spells of making films primarily for his kids (Mrs.Doubtfire, Hook, Jack) but when he does decide to buckle down and do a serious role he rarely disappoints (Good Will Hunting, Insomnia, Dead Poets Society).It is with this role though that Williams gives what is the best of his career to date,as Parry. He is undoubtedly insane, but it is not yet too late for him, he justs needs someone to take the effort to save him, and if it had not been for Bridges colossal mistake and subsequent search for redemption, no-one would have done it, and he would never have survived, merely another casualty of another one of Gilliams nightmarish cityscapes. Mercedes Ruehl is perfect as Bridges suffering girlfriend.She thinks of herself as hard-bitten a survivor, and yet she continues to stay with Bridges, trying to prove to herself that she has the strength to change him, to redeem him. She wants to be his saviour, and yet he comes in the shape of a homeless madman, prone to dancing naked in Central Park and seeing floating fairies whilst defecating.The Fisher King is a movie about hope, despair and redemption, and all of the human conditions that fit in between.It contains one of the most inspired,beautiful scenes in recent memory,as Grand Central station transforms from a dingy,noisy concrete hole into a luscious, gorgeous ballroom, simply because of Lydia, Parrys love, the one thing that keeps him grounded in any semblance of reality.The chinese restaurant double- date in which Parry connects with her for the first time is both funny and touching, and makes what comes after even more tragic.

It is at times tragic,brutal even but it's heart cannot be doubted,and it remains a wonderful success.