Change Your Image
jburtroald95
Ratings
Most Recently Rated
Reviews
The World's End (2013)
Fuzzy Shaun and Paul's Hot Dead End of the World
The World's End marks the fourth time that Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and Edgar Wright have delivered an endearing comedic story about a handful of flawed but likable characters dealing with mundane problems who are plunged into unexpected, otherworldly, life-threatening situations. Unfortunately, this screwball comedy also marks the first time that most of us are likely to really notice the narrative similarities between the darkly witty Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Hot Fuzz (2007) and the equally exciting but less popular Paul (2011) in which Greg Mottola took on Wright's role as director.
That said, the realistic character complications of Pegg and Frost's script are still distinctive enough and manage a level of poignancy that lies somewhere in between Hot Fuzz and Shaun in terms of sincerity. We begin our story by following the pitiable folly of the irreverent Gary King (Pegg), an adolescent in the body of a middle-aged man who hopes to reunite his old gang of boyhood friends for a second chance at pub-crawl that they tried and failed to complete in their youth. Gary gradually manages to drag his old buddies out of their stable, mature private and occupational lives – under a false pretence created to attract their sympathy – and throws them into his cavalier lifestyle that remains unchanged from the nostalgic revelry of his youth. The stark realities of the swift passage of time, and the people and places that time can leave behind at the mercy of modern progress and cynicism, are displayed bluntly without cloying sentimentality and with pleasingly sharp wit. Pegg is clearly enjoying himself playing the plainly ridiculous Gary who is both easy to loathe and easy to love and pity. We know that the amoral buffoon simply doesn't know any better, and this is something that the other characters soon come to realise as well. Gary's closest friend, Andy (Frost) is continually giving him chances but slowly learns that Gary is unlikely to change in a world that has no qualms at all about changing. Frost, in his turn to play the straight man while Pegg plays the comic goof, is as convincing as Pegg was in Hot Fuzz and it is quite impressive to see how easily the two of them can swap roles within the archetypal clown duo. The other characters who are trying to make it to the last pub, the evocatively title The Word's End, range from the straight-talking, dryly witty Martin Freeman, who more or less plays himself, to shy, gentle, soft-faced Peter (an adorable Eddie Marsan).
After a fairly generous amount of time spent alone with our main characters, our fantastical subplot arrives and tries to wrap itself rather awkwardly around the human story. While, to the movie's credit, the entrance of our otherworldly antagonists is as much a genuine surprise as the introduction of time travel to Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, I didn't find myself getting quite as excited or amazed by these particular creations as Pegg and Frost seemed to be. It is with them that the creative team's wonderful recipe for success starts to feel like a formula, especially since they are a cross between the epidemical, gleefully gored zombies from Shaun and the morally superior, ethically corrupt town council from Hot Fuzz, with a sci-fi element slightly akin to the Paul thrown in as well. Unlike the hooded killers from Hot Fuzz, the ferocious zombies from Shaun or the merciless men (and woman) in black from Paul, these latest bad guys simply aren't scary enough to offset the screwball humour. Without a freshly thrilling sense of danger, the energetic jokes, which also feel somewhat tired this time round, are comic relief with nothing to relieve us from. Many audiences felt that the poignant personal story of middle age was disappointingly underdeveloped and prematurely diverted from. I know the routine by now and so I was never expecting the character's personal lives to be the sole focus of the movie. Personally, I felt that I was instead robbed of a satisfying climax, given the riveting third acts of the team's previous three films. Their latest creation makes its way towards a disorderly anticlimax and a decidedly clichéd conclusion, neither of which the underwritten comedy could justify.
Perhaps it was inevitable that one of these uses of the seemingly infallible recipe would fall slightly flat. Nevertheless, there are quite a few laughs to be had, Pegg and Frost's acting efforts are much more effective than their scripting, and I was somewhat enthused by the unearthly villains of the piece, just not nearly as much as I was expected to be. Other fans of the movie's creators might be similarly disappointed with their latest offering, but new audiences may be perfectly well entertained by it.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (2013)
Plays more to the emotions than to the mind, but what it does, it does well
Suzanne Collins' novel The Hunger Games was both a thrilling and moving survival story and, more importantly, a profound and deeply disturbing comment on the pervasive nature of political corruption and tyranny and the tragic futility of overzealous public revolution. The point of the both the novel and Gary Ross' impressive film adaptation was that mass uprisings achieve very little, but small, subtle, individual pieces of defiance can achieve a great deal. The political explorations were neatly contained within a depiction of the 74th Hunger Games of the film's title, and the open-ended conclusion was pleasingly thought provoking and self-sufficient.
By extending the story into a series of novels, the other two of which I had no desire to read, Collins allowed the astute observations of the first instalment to be overtaken by a radical, impassioned, crowd- pleasing thrust into sudden revolutionary fervour. This is all very rousing and genuinely involving in Francis Lawrence's film adaptation of the sequel Catching Fire, and, from what I hear, the novel successfully taps into the same rebellious zeal, but passively participating in a war between demonic bureaucrats and spunky, underdog insurgents from the lower classes is much less sophisticated and distinctive entertainment than watching a young victim of a dystopian regime balance prudent obedience and caution with stealthy personal defiance. Still, the merciless despotism of the Capitol and the opposing bravery of the insurgents are very convincingly portrayed. Watching this familiar story play out, we fully believe that no one is safe from being beaten, tortured or killed by the oppressive government, with the exception of Katniss, who is the obligatory 'chosen one' in this particular tale of good versus evil. As in the first film, the dangers inside the Hunger Games arena, which here include monstrous, carnivorous monkeys and a terrifying poisonous fog, are palpably menacing. The stakes are convincingly high and the violence of this film is much less sanitised than most Hollywood blockbusters.
Also, despite the radicalised political agenda, the story thankfully retains its focus on fully-fledged individual characters, rather than restricting the characters to a narrative toolbox of simplistic archetypes. Peeta, the sweet, selfless gentle giant, is as endearingly heroic and his portrayal by Josh Hutcherson as poignant as in the first film. Jennifer Lawrence also continues doing what she does best, and what won her an Oscar lost year: exuding engagingly vulnerable angst and cynicism as a calloused victim of circumstance who plays hard to get with the audience's sympathy. Her new struggles as a simple archer, big sister, surrogate mother and small-time rebel who has come to be seen as the figurehead and leader of a revolution are indeed very compelling. I certainly found myself sharing her every thought and feeling in her every scene, which is exactly what you want in a protagonist. Liam Hemsworth is once again effortlessly charming as Gale, who, on the other hand, hankers to be at the forefront of the imminent rebellion. The larger and much more active role that Gale is now starting to play gives us the chance to see a little more than mere charisma from Hemsworth as an actor. We also see much more of the coolly despicable and alarmingly observant President Snow as he begins to step out of the bureaucratic shadows and confront Katniss, and the political threat she poses, more openly and mercilessly and we get to see more of 78-year-old Donald Sutherland's effortlessly evil characterisation. It is also very satisfying to see that Effie Trinket, the aristocratic caricature that actor Elizabeth Banks and costume designer Judianna Makovsky entertainingly overplayed and overdressed in the first film, is given quite a few well-handled serious emotional moments this time around, and that Primrose (fine young actress Willow Shield) is showing signs of inheriting her sister's backbone and stealth.
This multitude of individual characters and interwoven subplots has now became the greatest asset and primary way of distinguishing between other epic tales of good and evil that ultimately converge at the same narrative and thematic point. When the destination is a given from the moment we have our sneering, sly old villain – Snow – and our feisty young chosen one – although Katniss is at least more interesting than an everywoman – the route taken to that irresistible beacon and the detours along the way is what sets these stories apart from one another and what gives us a reason to travel to the same place so many times.
The visual execution of this familiar story is also very commendable and entertaining. Once again, the flamboyant, loud colours and shapes with which the centre of the Capitol is painted brilliantly convey the suffocatingly immense wealth and power of our villains and streets and inhabitants of the impoverished District 12 appear convincingly grim and grisly, but not to the point where our heroes are no longer photogenic. The action scenes inside the arena are very well executed, being very impressively staged, designed and shot this time with omniscient clarity rather than in the chaotic, subjective style of the first film. However, from a narrative point of view, Catching Fire is far more subjective than its predecessor was. We are no longer invited to step back and holistically examine our own society and its history through objective futuristic allegory, but instead we are pulled in intimately close to these particular personal and political conflicts at a level of proximity that snuffs out objectivity as it preys on our emotional impulsivity.
Collins and Lawrence certainly succeed in making us emotionally invested and closely involved in the story, quickly and easily getting us to cheer and feel deeply for our heroes and to fear and despise the totalitarian antagonists. This kind of engagement with an audience might not be nearly as intellectual as the devices used earlier in the series, but the emotional subjectivity that has now taken over the series is undeniably just as entertaining and valid in its own way.
Much Ado About Nothing (2012)
Excellent fusion of the old and the new
Rest assured that he intelligent crowd-pleasing writer/director Joss Whedon's take on one of Shakespeare's most popular comedies certainly isn't just another dispensable member of a long line of barely distinguishable adaptations. There is no doubting that the works of the immortal literary giant are always welcome back home on the stage, as countless productions have unfailingly excited generations of directors, actors and theatregoers, but on the screen, we now feel that they need a reason to be there. The biggest challenge with adapting classics that are so often adapted is finding this reason to look at them again in order to see something new, whilst still "staying true" to the material and presenting an interpretation that an audience will not immediately see as far-fetched and inferior to the original.
Whedon's decision to bring the story into the context of contemporary America, making his own house in Santa Monica the film's location and filling his cast with many of his favourite American actors, is one that has alienated much of his audience, but for many of his fans, myself included, it has not overstretched suspension of disbelief. Initially for me the Early Modern colloquial English dialogue jarred uncomfortably against the clearly modern American accents, gestures and costume of the characters, but I very quickly accepted this stylised oddity for the sake of entertaining escapism, as I did with Baz Lhurmann's similarly anachronistic revisionist adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. The use of such a geographically and chronologically distant dialect of English is always unavoidable as Shakespeares' plays simply cannot be translated without diluting or restricting his authorial intentions. Shakespeare's original audiences had no trouble getting over the fact that his characters often spoke in perfectly rhythmic iambic pentameter and unnaturally fluent, lengthy soliloquies. Whedon's film version is no more heightened, abstracted or improbable than the original stage versions. The Shakespearean poetry of the dialogue and the slick, stylish black and white cinematography reinforce the fact that this is fictional entertainment that uses superficial lies to unveil or reflect a deeper truth.
Whether this truth is that marriage relies on a trust that is so tragically fragile, as seen with the young, romanticised love that so fleetingly flowers between the handsome Claudio (a very charming Fran Kranz) and the sweet, beautiful Hero (Jillian Morgese), or that marriage is a hard-fought struggle arising from questionable intentions and finishing with pure ones, displayed through the love/hate relationship between the boisterously proud Beatrice and Benedick (played the by the sensationally simmering pair of Amy Acker and Alexis Denisof) this quirkily shot, innovatively modern adaptation firstly entertains, and then intrigues. Whedon does not necessarily ask his audience to ponder serious, complex, political truths during the entertainment. The key figures of the narrative are so independently potent that we can enjoy them simply as characters without it being suggested that we should generalise them as social symbols. It is a joy to watch the naïve youthful optimism of Claudio clash with the charming arrogance of the proud bachelor Benedick in the softly masculine interactions between the two friends, who here come across as exceptionally eloquent rom-com characters. The bickering between Benedick and Beatrice is also directed and portrayed in the style of a witty modern comedy, albeit one with a third act doleful complication and cheery conclusion that's a little less schmaltzy. Beatrice is what many might call a "strong" female character, and indeed, she is written as a woman with a will of her own that initially opposes the idea of marrying the man that she is most attracted to, until she realises that being with him is the only road to happiness she could possibly take. However, Acker plays her less as a cantankerous monster who needs to be taught her place in society and more as a woman who has accepted her place but found ways to power and fulfilment that lie within her social limitations. Acker and Whedon have astutely given her the tenacity of Lady Macbeth and the wholesomeness of a tamed shrew.
Alongside these very convincingly and entertainingly portrayed realistic figures and the more than decent ingénue, Hero, Whedon has fun with playing up the ridiculous melodrama of the piece using our irredeemably embittered villain, Don John (an entertaining sour-faced Sean Maher) and the classically comical villain's goons (Spencer Treat Clark and Riki Lindome) and bumbling police adversaries (Nathan Fillion, Tom Lenk, Nick Colcher and Brian McElhaney) to good effect. Whedon has very impressively updated the humorous supporting characters and executes the comedy as finely as you'd expect. What's surprising is the amount of imposing camera angles, devilish compositions and sinister music (from a soundtrack that's impressively composed by the director) that are devoted to characterising a very cartoonish villain in what is otherwise treated as a largely subdued character comedy with a strikingly dark third act twist.
The enjoyably exaggerated treatment of Don John and the mixture of modern minimalism and quirky farce of the scenes in which Beatrice and Benedick's friends are sneakily setting up a romance between the two of them using word of mouth, are both pertinent examples of Whedon's ability to combine the poetic melodrama of an Elizabethan play with the satirical subtlety of an independently made character-driven American rom-com. Shakespeare's original work benefits from being brought to a more down-to-earth and relatable level of audience connection and the contemporary comedy gets to play with hard-hitting concepts such as murder, virginity and genuine loyalty or betrayal rather than the trivial territory of most low-stakes rom-coms. Also, the claustrophobic, black and white cinematography is a constant, confident reminder that what we are watching is not reality, nor does it ever want to be.
Monsters University (2013)
Enjoyable enough prequel thats' not ruined by it's clichés
Pixar's track record of sequels is undeniably superior to that of DreamWorks, Fox or any of its other competitors. Granted, this may be because Pixar hasn't made nearly as many sequels as other studios have, but that is arguably to its credit. Both of the Toy Story (1999 and 2010) sequels were more popular than their predecessors because they successfully drove the story forward with new characters, new ideas and new settings to justify its continuation. Cars 2 (2011) also presented something new with a big switch of protagonist and genre. However much this might have alienated fans of the original, at least it wasn't a re-hash, and some who were not fans of the first movie (like myself) relished the change. However, the emotional depth, conceptual maturity and memorable characters were undeniably absent.
To some extent, these are present in Monsters University, an expansion of the beloved Monstropolis universe that is very wisely a prequel, showing how some of the key characters in Monsters, Inc. (2001) got to where they were at the beginning of the original, rather than a pointless, contrived continuation of a story that was very conclusively and gratifyingly resolved in the original film (which is the type of sequel that Finding Dory seems destined to be). The only downside to this decision is that it forces the writers to exclude the adorable Boo from the picture, but you can't have everything.
As everyone knows, University shows how Mike and Sulley (who are of course voiced again by Billy Crystal and John Goodman) met at college, where Sulley was a big, confident top-dog and Mike was a small, shy, unpopular punching bag, and how they eventually became friends. However, the setup is not actually as simplistic as it might sound. Sulley is not a jock – there are indeed cookie-cutter, muscle-bound blockheads in this movie but Sulley is not one of them – he is a naturally terrifying scare student who plans to cruise through the course on instinctive ability and the reputation of his father, who we learn was also a top scarer. Mike is picked on and neglected for his size. He is a little kid with big dreams, but he is not just a male, monster version of Madeline. He is an intelligent, diligent, hard-working student who studies tirelessly and knows all the theory behind scaring, but, as he is told by his head professor, the supposedly terrifying Dean Hardscrabble (voiced with variable believability by Helen Mirren), "what you lack simply cannot be taught. You're just not scary." As a senior high school student, hopefully soon to be a university student, I can certainly relate to Mike's frustrations about Sulley's cavalier attitude and with his own unfair physical limitations. This character conflict is as meaningful and memorably mature as the environmental theme in the original movie.
That said, this prequel has no shame in using hackneyed plot points and stereotypes. When both of our main characters are in danger of being cut from the scaring program, Mike for his lack of natural ability and Sulley for his lack of effort, the film devolves into a painfully familiar underdog story in which the two must rally together a team of nerdy, hardly scary social outcasts to somehow win the annual Scare Games and prove to the Dean that they belong in the program. These supporting characters do give us some good laughs, mostly through the loveably stereotypical mother of the youngest nerd, and sometimes even by subverting a few clichés, but even though they are at least more interesting than the jocks, we've come to expect better from a company that is always praised for its ingenious creativity and originality. Fortunately, some of the in-between teams are more inventive, namely a group of light-voiced cheerleaders that can pull out red-hot, sinister, serpentine stares on cue. There are a couple of good challenges, even though they are infused with the well-meaning but ultimately cloying moral messages of individuality and teamwork saving the day. The highlight is probably a game of capture the flag in the library with a truly terrifying and well-designed monstrous, slug-like librarian. Being a mostly physical character who is used sparingly, and voiced without the rather condescending regal refinement that Mirren's voice work brings, and which ultimately makes the character, who is fairly well-written as a discerning figure of authority, much less scary than the dramatic dialogue, camera angles and soundtrack insist that she is.
The librarian scene, and the engaging earlier classroom scenes, are second only to a genuinely thrilling climax, one that actually manages to be the highpoint of the movie, that again sees Mike and Sulley trapped on the other side of a door to the deadly and dangerous human world. The movie's academic theme might not be relatable to the younger audience, but they will certainly enjoy these thrilling action sequences as much as the adults, and, if they've done the right thing and seen the first movie before going into this one, they will appreciate the generous serves of sly references to the original film. There are many of these in the end credits montage and surrounding the returning character of Randall (again voiced by Steve Buscemi, though not quite as enthusiastically as the first time round) the innocent freshman who we see slowly being developed into a vengeful villain.
It goes without saying that the animation is top-notch – Pixar films have received all manner of theme-, character- and narrative-related criticisms, but never visual ones – and there is a low-key chase scene elongated purely for the purpose of showing off the animators' technical and creative skill, but while the rest of the film's strengths are enough to make it reasonably memorable as a prequel, they hardly warrant repeat viewings, and sometimes the references and reused musical themes from the original encourage a comparison to an engrossing animated masterwork that this affable nostalgic trip just can't withstand. Still, I'd recommend it.
The Great Gatsby (2013)
Not as good as we'd hoped, but not as bad as we thought
Everyone acquainted with great, classic American literature knows that F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel The Great Gatsby is an artfully subtle, quietly philosophical character-driven piece that charms readers mostly with its elegance and with its air of mystery and tragedy. Everyone acquainted with popular Australian cinema knows that Baz Lhurmann's films entertain mostly with their novel excesses and their frenetic alternations between comedy and tragedy. However, the results of Lhurmann setting out to adapt this treasured novel along with co- screenwriter Craig Pearce, who penned each film of the Red Curtain trilogy, are surprisingly more successful than one might expect.
On several points, the director's showmanship actually seems very appropriate, mostly as he depicts the colourful, decadent, indulgent world of the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby (played very sensitively by Leonardo DiCaprio) whose penchant for the extravagant is as great as Lhurmann's. The scenes inside his colossal, noisy, lavishly decorated mansion bursting with uninvited partygoers from all walks of life give Lhurmann a plausible excuse to use his characteristic frenetic editing, dress hundreds of extras in bright, sparkly costumes, blast out techno- beat dance music and bedazzle us with explosions of loud colours. In its way, these scenes are equally if not more effective at pulling us into the outrageously vibrant world of the excited, optimistic, childlike title character when compared with the original novel. The anachronistic music might be jarring, but I doubt that a party scene using vintage 1920s jazz certainly would have made me feel as wild and electric and as though I were a part of the late night celebrations myself.
The soundtrack works even better in the first scene of drunken indulgence, where we see Gatsby's normally well-behaved next-door neighbour Nick Carroway (Tobey Maguire) being literally dragged into a smaller-scale but still riotous celebration by his brutish acquaintance Tom Buchanan (a strikingly conceited Joel Edgerton). A very psychedelic shot of Nick, our narrator and technically our protagonist, observing his own ridiculous behaviour high up in an apartment building from the street below is a rare moment where Lhurmann's stylised visuals manage to communicate some of the complexities of Fitzgerald's celebrated prose. When they're not clearly satirising modern society, they might be adding to key narrative points melodrama that is either engaging or sickeningly alienating, or the camera-work might just be taking us on a bit of a roller-coaster. I did get a little tired of the camera's hyperactivity after a while, but fortunately the cinematographic sugar high is done with after half an hour.
The melodrama that comes through afterwards mostly works because the story is, at least on some level, about extremes. If Gatsby and Tom's sweet mistress, Myrtle Wilson (a surprisingly good Isla Fisher) are the lovable fools with an absurd amount of faith in their far-fetched plans – Myrtle desperately hopes that she will be whisked away from her dim, primitive husband (a very poignant Jason Clarke) by a richer dim, primitive husband, Tom –then most of the other characters are either shallow fools or shallow villains. There is no question that the beefy, cocky, controlling, white supremacist Tom is our villain, who in the end becomes truly diabolical. Elizabeth Debicki exudes confident stealth and superficiality as Jordan Baker, seemingly the most streetwise female character but who is ultimately as much of a blunderer as the two hapless romantics, Myrtle and Gatsby. Curiously, though as the beautiful but shallow damsel Daisy Buchanan, the plot-driving object of desire, Lhurmann has cast the captivating Carey Mulligan, who of course endows Daisy with the remarkable emotional depth that she does so well. This fooled me into thinking that Daisy was actually a person of substance, despite her actions, or lack thereof.
The character of Nick Carroway is equally thin. In the novel, he is the everyman who, with the exception of the poignant ending in which he becomes an active presence, only exists to witness or catch wind of all the exciting events and give us a cohesive story,
In translating Nick to the medium of film, Pearce and Lhurmann add very little, if any, depth of character to him. Lhurmann's direction to Maguire seems to have been little more than to act like a wide-eyed grinning puppy dog cheerily excited by all the serious emotional conflicts around him. At this, Maguire does excel, but if they also wanted him to be an engaging narrator, they should have hired someone with a bit more of a range. The film relies heavily on a voice-over from a weary, crazed Nick who recounts the story in flashback, sitting at his typewriter in the office of a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, our little link is not lovable enough to enliven one of the most overused of all cinematic storytelling methods. His deadpan voice-over sucks the life out of Fitzgerald's beautiful prose.
Fortunately, though, the butchered narration is occasionally improved with the very striking visual motif of displaying wispy clumps of ashes that shape the words that Maguire is sleepily reciting. Another of the many visual treats is the design of the dismal coal district which is directly in front of the glitzy, colourful wealthy district that is sustained by the hard, manual labour of the lowlier urban dwellers. A large optometrist's billboard containing a giant eye is situated right in the centre of this district, and is frequently cut to as a symbol of the sense of truth and morality that the largely immoral characters turn to at their convenience.
The 1974 Gatsby film adaptation is widely considered to be a very accurate, but ultimately soulless cinematic retelling of what is superficially a very dull story, so I suppose that going spectacularly against the tone of the novel was a more likely way to get to its heart. I'm not quite sure that all of the experimental theatrics really give us a new appreciation of the original work, but they are certainly offset by the many solid performances from the key players.
Trance (2013)
Great, refreshing entertainment that avoids lots of the traps of the thriller genre
Trance establishes the first half of its psycho-thriller premise by giving us an amusing education on the history of art robbery. A captivating James McAvoy tells us in voice-over that there was a time when a small group of burly thieves could simply storm intimidatingly into an art auction, grab the painting that had just been sold and walk out without encountering any real obstacles. "All it took was a bit of muscle" and some nerve, our as yet undefined protagonist tells us, as the sepia tone footage of these early robberies is played. Now, of course, jobs such as these require much more planning and ingenuity with such exhaustive high-tech security measures being taken to protect these precious paintings, but it still takes muscle and a lot of nerve to see it through.
It's easy to presume, even after having read a plot summary, that this is a complex heist film in which the intricacies of the scheme are meant to dazzle the audience into watching more, but in terms of exposition this opening scene only sets up a rationale for the rest of the story. Thematically, however, it can be argued that this sequence has a great deal of underlying relevance, particularly in the most important instruction that art specialists must follow in a robbery: "Don't be a hero. No piece of art is worth a man's life." This last, lingering, repeated line leads us to expect the painting that Simon (McAvoy) is looking after will be an exception to this rule. Again, it can be argued that this becomes true, but not for its artistic merits, its history or even its monetary worth. To find the reasons for its importance one need look no further than the relationships between the main characters.
Simon mysteriously thwarts the attempts of the coolly merciless gangster Franck (Vincent Cassel, sporting his usual dangerous charms) the leader of the heist, to run off with the painting. His methods and motivations are not revealed until a crucial late point in the film, as is, of course, the place where he hid the artwork before a convincingly traumatic knock to the head wipes his memory of the incident. Franck brutally tortures Simon in the most disturbingly graphic scenes of the film before he is able to believe that his amnesia is genuine, and discreetly enlists the help of a trained hypnotherapist named Elizabeth (Rosario Dawson). Initially she is not privy to any of the details of Simon's case – he tells him that he has lost his car keys – but soon she demonstrates a lot more muscle, nerve and smarts than the gangsters gave her credit for having.
Many films have attempted to create edgy, enigmatic, complex femme fatales that challenge submissive female stereotypes and constantly keep the boys on screen and everyone in the audience guessing. This ironically stems from equally pejorative ancient cultural tendency to demonise and be suspicious of women who might corrupt the men they get close to as Eve corrupted Adam. It also fails to be interesting if the actions of the villainess are obviously not part of her hidden agenda, but of the very obvious agenda of the screenwriters who are in need of a plot twist or complication to get them to make it to the end of the running time.
At first Dawson seemed to be moving arbitrarily between various emotional states – cold and aloof, vulnerable and fearful, soft and sympathetic, calculating and remorseless – but I was very pleased that writers Joe Ahearne and John Hodge (Trainspotting) were clever enough to justify all of these changes in such an exciting and even a fairly convincing way, and allowed us to see how rounded and complex Dawson's performance really was. Even the seemingly cheap plot development of having Simon fall desperately in love with his slick and slender caretaker, and the even more unoriginal sex scene with Elizabeth and Franck, become as surprisingly relevant as the philandering in The Ides of March (2011).
The numerous journeys through Simon's subconsciously are attractively designed with colourful special effects, interesting cinematography and engaging sound editing. It's certainly an exciting and glossy cinematic experience, even if certain later seen melodramatic images really stretch believability.
This was certainly never meant to be a well-researched, painstakingly realistic psychological drama. For one thing, I used to see a hypnotherapist on regular basis, and one of the first points she made clear was the distinction between the mystical hypnotists of show business who entertain crowds by removing a person's willpower, and the friendly hypnotherapists whose job it is to empower their patients by giving them helpful relaxation techniques for whenever they're feeling stressed.
This is a much more philosophical and humanistic look at crime and the workings of the mind, in which the supposed unfeeling femme fatale with countless secrets tucked behind her foundation and mascara introduces the intriguing idea of a person keeping a secret from themselves. This is one of those enjoyably mind-boggling movies in which that person just so happens to be our main character and narrator. How fun for us, eh? Although this is a much easier one to figure out than Inception or Shutter Island.
I Give It a Year (2013)
Slightly more than decent light entertainment
Lately, there has been a curious trend developing in American studio comedies as producers have been trying increasingly to achieve a kind of everyman realism, albeit with photogenic celebrity lead actors and only the most marketable of central social themes. I Don't Know How She Does It ironically made audiences question the plausibility of a forty- something-year-old overworked mother could be as attractive as Sarah Jessica Parker, and manage to find a fifty-something businessman as attractive as Pierce Brosnan to be her love interest, more than it made us marvel at the way she copes with a hectic home and work life. This is 40 hardly has anything on display about the realities of middle age that is not already well known.
A film titled I Give it a Year would seemingly be another flick from this same production line about the third world problems experienced by a mostly happily married couple, but its trailer showed it to be a brilliant British ensemble comedy with a hilarious host of supporting characters who are prime participants and comical spectators of the disintegrating marriage between languid husband Josh (Rafe Spall) and plucky but uptight wife Nat (Rose Byrne). It was a premise that also carried a promising cynical appeal with its anti-rom-com focus on a gradual breakup rather than a hook-up.
So does it deliver, or are all the best lines and novel ideas used up by the trailer? Well, it doesn't exactly break the mould of the tired genre. It's true that our two non-compatible romantic leads are bitterly falling out of love with each another, but this is largely because they are falling in love with their respective American-born acquaintances: suave, handsome travelling businessman Guy (Simon Baker) and Josh's sweet ex-girlfriend Chloe (Anna Faris). To this double-date romantic crossover comedy, the two Americans seem to have brought a packed suitcase full of sappy, coy, fairy-tale clichés, but thankfully most of these are offset or spiced up by the inspired, zany, zappy British humour of writer/director Dan Mazer (Borat, Brüno) who conversely has his vulgar extremities healthily moderated by the sterile Hollywood influences.
However, the trademark humour of Sacha Baron Cohen and his other collaborators does come through on several deliciously memorable occasions in pleasingly small doses. Mazer particularly enjoys writing cringe-inducing dialogue for Stephen Merchant, a comedian naturally inclined to unwittingly say wildly inappropriate things at the most unfortunate of times. Merchant delivers every one of his golden, ingeniously awkward lines with terrific repulsive charm. It's true that a lot of these are in the trailer, which gives the misleading impression that Merchant's character of Josh's most insufferable friend, features much more than he actually does, but given more time on screen he may well have become as tiresome as Cohen's obnoxiously repugnant character creations.
Still, every character has at least one gorgeously revolting comedic moment or two to shine, even our contractually generic romantic interests, and while some may complain about the portion sizes of the Merchant magic, we certainly get our fill the other good supporting characters. Minnie Driver and Jason Flemyng are very entertaining as a couple who are bizarrely content with their discontentment with each other. Driver infuses the familiar snide unromantic witticisms she's given with a great, fresh energy, and Flemyng bring his usual charm to the role of the apathetic, good-for-nothing husband. Olivia Colman relishes her role as a cantankerous marriage counsellor who doesn't exactly lead a good example in her own marriage.
However, veteran actors Jane Asher and Nigel Planer are barely given much to relish as Nat's parents, who spend most of the time giving fairly standard and uninteresting reactions to the much more exciting and inventive comedic happenings on the opposite end of the frame. Some audience members will likely be disappointed by this, we can't always watch our favourite actors in the juiciest roles.
We should be grateful that Mazer has mixed together the crude humour of unwatchable shock-fest comedies with the nauseating sentimentality of unwatchable factory-made chick flicks to make something that is very watchable, and enjoyable, even if it has a strange love/hate relationship with the latter type of film. While not quite anti-rom-com, I applaud it for keeping both the jokes and the romance running alongside each other, rather suddenly abandoning all humour at the halfway mark and forcing an indigestible dramatic tone on its farcical narrative. This is actually a true romantic comedy, a fact that smacks of the same irony that much of the dialogue does. It's definitely one of the better pieces of light entertainment out there, even if it's no comedic masterpiece.
Chercher le garçon (2012)
Certainly short, but not terribly sweet or funny
Emilie (Sophie Cattani) is a lonely, bored young single woman struggling to meet an interesting guy, so she joins the popular dating website MeetMe! but the only men she manages to make contact with are a bunch of bizarre, unstable, unsavoury comic caricatures. Presumably after this quick, exaggerated, laugh-a-minute montage she then "meets someone in real life" who she wouldn't ever consider boyfriend material, but keeps encountering, and from there writer/director Dorothée Sebbagh goes into rom-com autopilot until the big kiss at the end that everyone desperately wants to see. Quite surprisingly, and in typically unconventional European style, Emilie's grotesque gallery of suitors aren't flashed by as comic relief; they become the subject of the film.
Meet Me in Real Life, or Chercher Le Garçon (Looking For a Boy) as it is been more generically titled in France, very literally looks at Emilie's search for a boyfriend on the internet, and how each real-life first- date meeting turns out. We briefly get to know the internet personas of some of the men she meets. A couple of posts are shown on the screen for us in big, colourful letters, but that's hardly enough characterisation. When she meets their real-life counterparts, we have no idea what her expectations were, and never get to share her disappointment.
She tells her first catch, Julien (Laurent Lacotte) a ridiculous romantic who constantly quotes his favourite love poems as he courts her, that she liked him as a user, but doesn't like him as a man. We wonder why, since of all her disappointing dates he seemed to misrepresent himself the least on the internet. Her expectations for Julien are a nonsensical mystery, and unfortunately, these are the only expectations of hers that Sebbagh ever informs us of, and contrasting Julien's two barely different personas is hardly an interesting exercise.
We come to the rest of these wacky, disturbing, disjointed encounters with only our own expectations: that the guy will be either an insufferable moron or a volatile creep that Emilie will never want to see again. Nothing is learnt from one meeting to the next. No interesting connections are drawn or comparisons made. Apart from a few unexpected developments with the first couple of guys, nothing much changes except the scenery and the unusual fetish (monkeys, lego, Hugh Grant, dancing or whatever else it happens to be) with each scene. If another cut of this film was released with the middle 50% of scenes in a different order, it's unlikely anyone would notice.
Towards the end of the film, two characters start to show their importance by appearing in more than one scene: a flabby, lonely middle- aged jogger who confides in Emilie quite literally running himself to death in order to get in shape and win back his wife, and another middle-aged man, Amir (Moussa Maaskri) a charming Afghan fisherman who wants to take her on his boat one day. No prizes for guessing who becomes her loyal friend, and who becomes her true blue boyfriend through some not-so-subtle symbolism some the recycled elements of Hollywood rom-coms.
However, the 70 minute running time shows Sebbagh is at least conscious of the banality of her message – that Emilie should stop trying to hook up with boys that she's only fleetingly met on the internet and instead hook up with Amir, who she's fleetingly met in real life – and the cinematically unimaginative way in which she's chosen to tell it. Films are rarely so short these days, but this one would truly have been painful if it was much longer. In a way I'm grateful for that sensible decision, but it also shows that she's admitted defeat, and confirms her low ambitions. If this were a Disney sequel, it would be a despised direct-to-video release, but since it's a fluffy French comedy, albeit with very drab cinematography, it gets a theatrical release and a sizeable adult audience.
For some, though, the line-up of amusing but rather similar grotesque caricatures and the charms of Cattani might be enough to sustain interest without any creative direction, narrative cohesion or thematic insight, but even with the strikingly short running time, I was sadly checking my watch pretty frequently during this mine through a mound of drab clichés for a few good laughs.
L'homme qui rit (2012)
Visually stunning with great characters
It's always a pleasure to see foreign films that show countries adapting their own classic stories with all the drama and spectacle that you could get from a Hollywood adaptation, but with much more style and finesse. L'homme qui rit might not be as lovingly celebrated and widely known as some of Victor Hugo's other works but its influence on fantastical, expressionistic fiction is certainly credible. The stark image of the titular man with thick scars on his cheeks that extend his lips into a permanent devilish smile will be very familiar to all fans of popular culture as the inspiration for the Joker, the most cinematically inspiring villain of the DC Batman comics. The Man Who Laughs also undeniably ranks up there with The Elephant Man and The Phantom of the Opera as one of the most poignant depictions of a shy, displaced circus freak who attracts the morbid curiosity of many, the scorn of even more, and the love of a select few.
Although, there seem to be many more who love the quirky novelty of sweet young Gwynplaine (charming Canadian actor Marc-André Grondin), the star of a small travelling theatre who instantly wins over audiences with his unchanging clownish grin, than those who shun him as a monstrous disgrace. At least in this adaptation, our hero sharply polarises the population and highlights the class distinction between grubby, hearty paupers and pampered, grotesque aristocrats.
Gwynplaine has spent most of his life in humbly cheerful poverty with the kindly Ursus (who else but Gérard Depardieu, who predictably receives top billing) who found and fathered Gwynplaine and his other loving companion, the gentle Déa (a beautiful Christa Theret) when they both came to him as orphans left to freeze to death in the snow. He is introduced to the shallow, cutthroat world of aristocracy when the glamorously selfish Duchess Josiane (a deliciously cruel and heavily made-up Emmanuelle Seigner) pays a visit to the Parisian slums to see the famous Laughing Man. Of course he finds her cold and superficial, but also irresistibly opulent, and starts an unsavoury fraternisation with her that he believes is invisible to the sightless Déa, his beloved surrogate sister but also his adoring romantic soul mate, but she can instantly tell. His encounters with Josiane lead to the deliberately delayed revelation that he is the rightful heir to a high royal position of great power and fortune. He hopes to use his seat in parliament to the benefit of his poorer friends, but Déa and Ursus soon make him see what a sadistic snake pit the monarchy is, and coax him away from his sycophantic retainers and conniving royalist butler Barkilphedro (Serge Merlin, the glass man from Amelie) which he leaves with a poetic, theatrical, flourishing revolutionary speech that's no subtler than the sentimental moralising that comes from Déa and Ursus.
The films messages may not be terribly original in their conception or verbal delivery, but they are conveyed exceptionally through the sumptuous visual design from supervising art director Vincent Dizien, and the pleasingly heightened editing by Philippe Bourgueil and cinematography by Gérard Simon, who also worked with director Jean- Pierre Améris on last year's rousing crowd pleaser Romantics Anonymous. This film is also sure to be a delight, not least with its gorgeous fairy-tale palette in the travelling circus scenes and the dazzlingly colourful, ghostly, expressionistic world of the palace fattened, wrinkly monarchists who each want to get a piece of Gwynplaine's inheritance, but not of his eye-offending face – although they are ironically much more cartoonish and laughable in appearance than the laughing man himself.
The film's thematic simplicity is certainly never an issue, as its visual complexity more than makes up for it, and the characters are all perfectly cast and solidly built for driving this intensely moving and inspiring story. Merlin, Seigner and Theret are particularly good matches for their archetypal characters, with Seigner pleasingly demonstrating the value of casting an actress with a strong, commanding presence as a femme fatale instead of having a pretty, delicate naïf do an awkward reading of some very hefty lines. As much as some of us might be sick of seeing Depardieu turn up in every third or fourth French film we see, it's hard to imagine many more French actors capable of exuding such cynical but loving wisdom in such a well-grounded performance.
Our first sight of Grondin as our endearing young hero conjures little more than disappointment that he is not Conrad Veidt. The thin red lines drawn across his face initially pale in comparison to the bright, broad grin given to the character in Paul Leni's 1928 silent adaptation. However, the more restrained makeup job applied here is an effective break from the film's otherwise wildly non-naturalistic design, and Grondin, while much less shy and innocent, brings his own likable adolescent charm to the role that makes the character no less sympathetic.
On the other hand, Hardquanonne (Arben Bajraktaraj), the sinister architect of Gwynplaine's cruel disfigurement, is characterised entirely by the gloomy art direction, some generic villainous dialogue, and some recycled shots of him as a hooded figure brooding menacingly in the background as he did in Taken (2008) and the fifth and seventh Harry Potter films. His big final meeting with Gwynplaine as the young man he has become since he was abandoned at the docks as Hardquanonne was fleeing from prosecution is a mere rushed anti-climax done away with in the first half of the film, perhaps as Améris, in penning the adaptation, suddenly realised what a small role the character is given in the overall conflict.
The absurdly accelerated depiction of Hardquanonne's departure, and Gwynplaine's fateful encounter with Déa and Ursus in the snow, is one of the few real faults of this gloriously dramatic and stylised adaptation of a piece of literature that France should really be more proud to call their own.
Mobile Home (2012)
A pleasant surprise
"I thought they were going to visit lots of different countries and there would be some interesting stories and stuff, but it was just depressing as hell!"
I heard this irritating comment come from behind me as soon as the end credits started to roll, and now realise that, ironically, the girl who was speaking expressed the same sentiment that the two lovable main characters of Mobile Home felt at the beginning of the film. Exotic locations, colourful cameos and a heart-warming coming-of-age message is what one expects from the sort of comedic road movie that this film was described as being in the brochure of the Melbourne French Film Festival. As our two twenty-something male heroes Simon (Arthur Dupont) and Julien (Guillaume Gouix) buy a caravan and set off for a trip of self-discovery around Europe, they are expecting a fun gap year, and as the girl sitting behind first down in the theatre, she was expecting Around the World in 80 Days or Red Dog. The realities of such a grand, optimistic, complicated escapade hit them both very hard indeed, and while the on screen youths learn their lesson within the tight 95-minute running time, that precocious real-life audience member might take a little longer to wrap her head around such the challenging truth of the difficulties of an independent, fast-moving holiday.
However, this is certainly one of the more enjoyable ways of depicting this reality. Julien and Simon are a wonderfully enigmatic, lively, sympathetic pair of buddies played so brilliantly by the two very fine young actors. Simon is tired of being babied by his typically fawning mother (Claudine Pelletier) and has no interest in being the 1950s family man that his father (Jackie Berroyer) wants him to be, and so sneakily spends the money he gave him to buy a house on a roomy caravan that he urgently wants to share with his friend. Julien, however, seems very content living near his loving father (a very endearing Jean-Paul Bonnaire) who he has had to look after over the past few years as he's suffered a very taxing illness. Julien assures himself that his dear old Pa has indeed recovered and no longer needs such close attention, but the doctor's constant habit of qualifying all of his positive prognoses with diplomatic phrases "most likely" and "if all goes well" makes it difficult for him to let rest his concerns. On top of this, he has grown too attached to his father as his beloved charge to suddenly leave him, much like Simon's mother can barely keep from hemming her son's pants every time she sees him, let alone watch him drive off to another country.
When a hilarious setback leaves them stranded just a few kilometres from their parents' houses and forces them to take a hard, labour-intensive job in the countryside to fund what they pathetically insist on calling "the rest" of their trip, Julien, and even Simon, are quietly relieved to still be so close to their loving protection of the people who raised them.
Cinematic newcomer François Pirot's intelligently entertaining exploration of the relationships these two men share with each other is an exceptional example of austere yet quirky French minimalist realism. The scenes between Julien and his father are beautifully done as well, as is his relationship with the lovely receptionist, Valérie (Catherine Salée) at his new workplace, which sharply veers away from the potential lusty affair to being something of more substance as soon as she reveals that she has a little son. However, the two other young women who pass through these men's lives are much less interesting. Simon shares a painfully banal scene breakup scene with his girlfriend early on that threatens to form the focus of the rest of the film, but fortunately only results in one other exchange of recycled soap opera dialogue, and even leads to another moment that gives us a new insight into the character. The boys also get stuck with an overplayed insufferable teenage girl who is too much of an emotional wreck to be rejected quickly and painlessly, but thankfully, when she's gone, she's gone for good.
It's ultimately our two main characters and Pirot's insightful study of early adulthood that one remembers from this little French gem.
Une Estonienne à Paris (2012)
Compelling and entertaining, but slightly let down by a sickly sweet and creepy ending
Une Estonienne à Paris (An Estonian Woman in Paris) has been released in English-speaking countries under the name A Lady in Paris, partly because it is unlikely that many audiences outside France and Estonia will be as familiar with the history between these two nations during the Soviet takeover of Estonia that caused a sizeable wave of immigration to France. Another reason might have been to keep them from wandering off during the first few dismal, monochromatic, painfully realistic scenes of the film that show our visiting Estonian, Anne (true blue Estonian actress Laine Mägi) slogging through the dispiriting expirations of old age during an especially cold and lonely winter. Her husband has become a pitiful drunk that she must dodge, humour and drag back into the house every night, making her curse herself for marrying him. Her mother (Ita Ever) has dementia, and cannot even remember that she gave birth to Anne, let alone help her deal with her husband. Her father passes away in a remarkably realistic scene that anyone who's witnessed the quiet death of an ageing relative in their care will likely relate to. Her happily successful children are too busy to spend any more time away from their overseas work than that which allows them to be at the funeral and give their mother a hug and a few affectionate words.
So, at her awkwardly stagnant advanced age, Anne takes a job opportunity in Paris to escape the drudgery of her life as a rural housewife who no longer has anyone to care for. Western audiences will likely be just as eager by that point to leave the dreary atmosphere of a heavy foreign drama with such an obscure setting, and dive into the feel-good French female buddy comedy they were promised by the poster.
The position that Anne has been given is the carer of a wealthy, pretentious old Estonian who has long forgotten her native tongue and discarded her cultural background to live the glamorous life of a privileged Parisienne. Frida is still her blatantly Estonian name, but she wears nevertheless with French elegance. She is almost as alone as Anne is, but while Anne's timid, boundlessly benevolent love was rather innocently taken advantage of by her family and friends before they deserted her, Frida has driven them all away with her callous superiority and vehement refusal to acknowledge her mistakes.
The contrast between the two women during their first and most potent scenes together could not be any greater. Frida rests like a hideous siren on her king-size bed after a luxurious night's sleep, in white satin pyjamas that she is ridiculously proud to be wearing, and snarls orders at Anne to leave her alone at once to look after herself in peace, or if she insists on staying to at least get her some good quality croissants for her breakfast and to let her hold the key to her own medicine cabinet, with which she recently attempted suicide. Anne never comes close to matching her charge's senile menace, but nor does she yield to it. Stéphane (Patrick Pineau), the mysterious middle-aged man who is the only other person in Frida's life, has given Anne the job of looking after this endlessly needy woman with strict instructions never to let her have the key to the cabinet again, and she is determined to do her job, no matter how difficult Frida makes it. Although after the first day, she seems determined to quit, until Stéphane earnestly encourages her to persevere. Previously, he was devoting the better part of his daily life to looking after the crabby old woman, and he admits that he has taken this long to hire a carer for her because he was waiting for her to die.
The very engaging first hour or so of new Estonian writer/director Ilmar Raag's first feature set outside his native country beautifully convey the sombre futility of the last few lazy decades cruelly attached to the end of an otherwise spirited, purposeful life, and how they are mostly dictated entirely by the choices made in times of youth and optimism. Once the repulsive frostiness of Frida begins to thaw, and Anne starts quite suddenly to feel a greater affection for her, this sober wisdom is lost to the disappointingly narrow imaginative limitations of Raag and fellow screenwriters Agnès Feuvre and Lise Macheboeuf, who don't seem any way to end the piece other than to have Anne fall in love with Stéphane and become best friends with Frida within the tight pacing restrictions of the running time. The ugly results of a surprise dinner that Anne arranges with Frida and her old Estonian friends are at least a momentary reminder of the intelligent early thematic, plot and character development, but this is soon spoiled by an agonisingly clichéd ending. The grand finale even comes complete with the quick last-minute Hollywood narrative loop of a careless misunderstanding that almost breaks the ties of friendship magically appeared between the three characters – which would have been ending on a thoughtful note – but is soon resolved in time for a final group hug before the credits roll, and we search through them to see who was responsible for such a disappointing conclusion.
Thankfully, the two lead performances are much more consistent. Mägi gives a very fine, restrained sympathetic performance as the downtrodden Anne, and old-time screen goddess Jeanne Moreau delivers a brilliantly grotesque, much less restrained turn as the rasping, troublesome octogenarian who unexpectedly steals the show in a film that deliberately makes scant use of its dazzling location.
Lincoln (2012)
As they say, great cinema, but not great history
Why has Lincoln been a much more critically successful historical portrait than last year's The Iron Lady?
Perhaps this is because its real-life protagonist is shown working tirelessly towards the immense, meaningful goal of universal freedom and racial equality, an ideal that's even bigger than his own towering presidential figure. It could also be because the film doesn't hone in too breathlessly close on this single man, as the title and posters suggest, and spends developing the full picture of those much less reputed – albeit white – freedom fighters whose support for the great cause was also crucial. Most likely, though, it is because the complex political intricacies of the abolishment of slavery are really quite meticulously delved into, and not emotively paraphrased.
The closest Tony Kushner's screenplay comes to wanting to explore "Lincoln, the man" is with a handful of diverting but not terribly inspired scenes with him and his two sons – sweet little Tad (Gulliver McGrath) and the stubborn adolescent Robert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) – and his effectively dramatic interactions with his stalwart wife Mary Todd (a fiercely terrific Sally Field). Other than that, he is explored as a politician – a godlike and all-knowing one, but still a stealthy, reasonably realistic politician.
The film devotes itself almost entirely to depicting many details of the work of him and his fellow republicans in passing the 13th amendment through the cutthroat thorny tangles of the American constitution. This achievement, which was arguably Lincoln's most important and tragically final contribution to American society is certainly portrayed with dramatic flair, but also a fair amount of restraint and maturity. The fact is that at the very powerful topmost levels of government, the resolution of this hideously real social issue came down to a matter of carefully swaying the necessary number of ministers one by one in order to ensure the majority vote needed to pass the amendment. No grand, heartfelt humanitarian speeches were made in the hope of inspiring enough men to look deep into the souls and see the justice of the abolishment of slavery. Lincoln's belief in the possibility of changing the law so suddenly might be idealistic, but he's not mad enough to think that he can change social values anywhere near as abruptly. He is constantly strategizing, admittedly with more poise and eloquence than the average schemer, but still as any politician would. He uses the more readily appealing prospect of putting an end to the horrific civil war as a selling point for the amendment. Most controversially, he agrees to meet with peace delegates from the South, infuriating his Secretary of State, William Seward (David Strathairn) who wasn't consulted. He is paranoid that the correspondence will be found out, resulting in huge losses of votes as it becomes apparent that the amendment won't be needed to stop the war, but Lincoln is sure that word would still have gotten out if he refused to meet with the delegates, which would have been even more fatal to their campaign. His shrewd handling of the matter is as diplomatic as any lawyer or politician balancing press and personal values.
Despite Lincoln constantly exuding wholesome wisdom and total integrity, he still has a game to play, and his democratic opposition, spearheaded and represented by the obnoxious but still quite humanly ambitious Fernando Wood (Lee Pace) more than once attacks Lincoln by calling him a corrupt tyrant for all the times he's taken matters into his own hands. It is curious that Lincoln never sets foot in the constitution. One does wonder how different the chaotic debates would be if he was there to bring them to a steady pace with his lengthy sermon-like anecdotes. Instead, he's the omnipresent but invisible steering force of the amendment. Director Steven Spielberg treats his relationship with his ministers as that between Jesus and his disciples, which, despite much historical evidence that suggests otherwise, does make for a very uplifting film.
Where Lincoln differs from his other great historical dramas is that while we are expected to sit through and contemplate the complex, austere details of the constitution, which, as adults, we're more than happy about, we are sheltered from the grisly, realistic details of the issue that is actually being dealt with. In the occasional shots and snippets of dialogue that are handed to the black African-Americans themselves, they are depicted as mere, meek, wide-eyed naïfs either waiting innocently for liberation, or grateful for being already rescued from slavery. This is purely a portrait of Lincoln's contribution to anti-slavery, but perhaps a fuller representation of the movement as a whole, which includes the many strong-willed (and female no less) black activists, would have been more interesting than something that comes across as a little too biblical at times.
More to its credit, though, the film is very much attuned to the atrocities of the civil war, which, like slavery, is mostly discussed on an intellectual by distanced middle-aged white gentleman, but still more than adequately documented visually. The huge loss of life is talked about in numbers, but it is also shown in very confronting, gruesome scenes. Much of their impact comes from the fact that the opening scene is of a fierce battle and one of the very last shows Lincoln sombrely and respectfully riding on horseback through the trenches piled with bloodied,tragically youthful bodies.
Lincoln tells a perfectly immersive dramatic story, but it is a story, not really history, and it's important to remember that this is largely an opportunity to display Spielberg's dramatic flair (especially with a very affecting portrayal of Lincoln's assassination), and the prowess of countless veteran actors (most especially the remarkably versatile and committed Daniel Day-Lewis as the great president, and also Tommy Lee Jones at his most effectively sour-faced), with some added political reality to strengthen the piece, but not ground it too solidly.
Django Unchained (2012)
Just see it
It was always inevitable that exceptional writer/director (and actor) Quentin Tarantino would do a Western. The gleefully grisly tone; the loveably amoral characters who stay true to an alternative sense of morality. Plot lines that elongate, intertwine, divert and snap short at their leisure. All in a heightened idiosyncratic universe of escapism where charming deal out gruesome deaths to foes, friends and passers-by as casually as swatting flies, and where the bold yet astute filmmaker runs rife with risqué creativity. It's comfortably close to his beloved gangster genre, but with more of the outdoors and a frivolous willingness to embrace its masculine excess. In rekindling a genre that's lain dormant for quite a few years, Tarantino has always embraced the nostalgic time period of the classic Spaghetti Western, adding the old grainy Columbia logo, old-fashioned cartoon custom-made credits and titles and a recurring strumming guitar theme song celebrating the titular hero.
It's through the protagonist and his personal plight that Django Unchained, like last year's The Artist, brings a defiant, retrospective modern theme to a stylistically old school picture. Yes, the brusquely exuberant filmmaker, who as a man is unexpectedly as mild-mannered and talkative as a geeky YouTube blogger, has controversially delved deep into the issues of black slavery and apartheid, in a film that's no less entertaining for it. This murderous gunslinger hasn't been driven to thoughts of vengeance simply over an old flame. Years of suffering in a world controlled by ignorant, corrupt Caucasians – revealed through rustically shot flashbacks that actually use nostalgia to add realism – has gradually seeded a bursting hatred of the privileged race that's finally unlocked, along with his dreaded shackles, by an unlikely humanitarian vigilante also interested in him as a business partner.
The business is, of course, that old staple of Westerns, bounty hunting, and the eccentric, smooth talking, tenacious German Dr King Shultz (the brilliant Christoph Waltz) has special need of Djan-go (Jamie Foxx adds layer upon layer to his characterisation with every scene) in his next pursuit, as his next juicy targets have gone undercover, and our hero, having had a bloodthirsty encounter with them before they were outlawed, is the only one who can identify them. The tricky doctor is one of those most priceless hedonistic characters whose conscience is muckier than a drainpipe, but whose heart, the audience can see, is in the right place when it matters. His causal killings abhor us no more than James Bond's, and, like Jack Sparrow, there seems to be no situation this invincible rogue can't talk, scheme or shoot his way out of.
He contrasts very sharply with our two other main despicable figures, who really do care for no one but themselves, however much they may pretend otherwise, and regard all people Django's race totally as brain- dead pawns, even though one of them is black himself. The vast middle section of the film is occupied by Fritz's and Django's nail-biting battle of wits with an arrogant, insulated wealthy businessman (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his jarringly sycophantic (an unrecognisably elderly Samuel L. Jackson) Negro right-hand man constantly echoing his master's callous commands to the other black servants, and laughing at his vile jokes made at their expense. It was quite a curious decision to cast these two naturally likable actors as two such realistically repulsive characters, particularly as when we first see the charming DiCaprio as Mr Calvin Candie, we have to immediately remind ourselves not to root for this character like we did with Jack Dawson and Arnie Grape, but he soon proves perfectly able – and quite exceptional in his more menacing scenes – but I had no idea I'd been watching Jackson on screen until I read the credits, and that is the mark of a truly great performance. From that very first, alarmingly potent shot of him looking at the lucky Django riding proudly into town on a horse, like a white fella, with Stephen's face full of chilling, resentful rage, it is a truly stunning portrayal of perhaps the most horrible character of the lot. Although, of course, the pleasing gallery of the heroic duo's small-minded prejudiced victims, moulded from the archetypal Western townspeople, is also effectively detestable.
Like all of the greatest and most popular depictions of serious social issues, Django is both heartily funny and brutally dark in equal measure, and often simultaneously. In casual conversations about Tarantino, he's often associated with extreme, vicious violence, and indeed, a few healthy blood splatters are vital to any Tarantino picture, but none of them are ever about the blood and the gore. As actual films, rather than conversation topics, they always feature good characterisations sharp dialogue and clever writing much more than they do gunshots. Just like in the celebrity head's scene of Inglorious Basterds (2009) or the fateful toilet trips of Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction (1994), the inevitable big, glorious shootout in his latest film is the big crescendo to the mesmerising character interplay, and always has consequences explored in the following scenes. Yes, they are fun, both for us and for him, but they do not define him as a filmmaker any more than Grace Kelly, Janet Leigh and so many other blond actresses should define Alfred Hitchcock. These morsels are just the entrées to the meatier main course.
Unfortunately, though, those gory climaxes make it more difficult for underage viewers to get a ticket, but that certainly doesn't stop adults from getting in on the healthy fun on offer here.
Silver Linings Playbook (2012)
totally engrossing
There is a particular scene in which the combined empathetic artistry of writer director David O. Russel, lead actors Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence and supporting actors Julia Stiles and John Ortiz encapsulate the heart of the message behind Silver Linings Playbook. The tempestuous, brazen Tiffany (who better than Lawrence) and the more subdued and cheerful, but still socially tactless Pat (Cooper) are two people with bipolar disorder who are getting to know each other for the first time. The topic of medication arises, and they both comfortably discuss the effects of lithium and other pills as casually as other people would discuss hayfever tablets and other treatments that are mundane to them. Meanwhile, a quick cut reveals their two neurotypical, or "normal," dinner hosts listening bewilderedly to a conversation they don't have a hope of connecting with. Pat and Tiffany and playing one of the titular silver linings of making conversation about the day-to-day challenges of their condition. These unusual difficulties don't make them any less three-dimensional and human, but on some occasions, these symptoms are especially problematic, and can't be dealt with as easily.
Pat, as we soon learn, had had his peaceful domestic existence shattered by one freakish incident of violent manic depression. After spending eight months in the chaotic mixing pot of a mental institution, he returns to the outside world to find that beautiful wife and all of his work colleagues have all taken out fearful restraining orders against him, and that his entire neighbourhood is still in a state of confused, ignorant shock at this single fatal outburst. His only points of refuge are the home of his unconditionally loving parents, his daily exercise routines, and, in ways less obvious to him, Tiffany's companionship.
Of all the narrow-minded, callous parents of disabled children to have been seen on screen and in the real world, Pat's parents and certainly the most compassionate. Pat Sr. (an enthusiastically erratic Robert De Niro) also has a disorder – Obsessive Compulsive – and often finds that his son exhibits similar behaviour to himself, but tries tirelessly to be the voice of reason in his son's life. He's always asking Pat junior to watch football games together with him and his mother, Dolores (Jacki Weaver), on the couch, insisting that he should have quality family time, when it's always out of his undeniable superstitious wish to see his team score well in the presence of his good luck charm. Dolores is as caring, selfless and well-meaning as only a mother can be, but she is also understandably overwhelmed by the challenge of living with two such dangerously unpredictable men. It's quite a shock to see Weaver playing a much gentler matriarch than in her previous, chilling performance in Animal Kingdom (2010) and impressive to see her be just as controlling, but infinitely sweeter in her second Oscar-nominated dramatic turn.
Pat's other primary relationship, with Tiffany, largely follows the successful formula of Josh Hartnett and Radha Mitchell's characters in Mozart and the Whale (2005) who both had Asperger's Syndrome. Pat's an emotionally insecure man. Tiffany's an unashamedly emotional woman. Pat is quite mild-mannered, but still lacks a social filter. Tiffany is very brazen and puts more conviction behind her inappropriate interjections. She is also much more accepting of the realities of her different psychological profile. Pat, on the other hand, is very uncomfortable with his disorder and desperate to live the life of a neurotypical, and insults by her insisting that he's nowhere near as crazy as she is.
When it comes to depicting mental disorders, two are evidently better than one, especially if they're of different genders. Both ends of the spectrum can be explored, and we can see that two individuals with the same condition will not always be compatible. Pat's hypocrisy, like Donald Morton's in Petter Næss' film, is the main source of conflict between them, as well as the usual relationship hurdles that would be present without the disorder. The romantic destination of the narrative is still fairly obvious, but not really set in motion until the last few scenes. It is mostly the ups and downs of friendship, not partnership, that we see played out between them.
There are a few perhaps innate clichés that seep into the screenplay, such as the default suspenseful plot device of a high-stakes bet between a likable character and a sneaky protagonist, the last-minute dramas before a crucial event that's been pending for most of the film, the usual pep-talk to the uncertain male lead that inspires him to chase the girl of his dreams before it's too late, and some other victimless crimes against originality, but most of these are offset by the intelligent execution of the story, and some are even worked to the film's advantage.
A more than solid enough foundation is built with the brilliantly written and portrayed character – including a very lovable mental patient played by an unrecognisable Chris Tucker – and the very engaging thematic material, which easily holds together a narrative that's occasionally rickety, and makes an enjoyable, captivating film out of a very challenging subject.
Sightseers (2012)
hilarious escapist minimalism
Sightseers, a British black comedy, opens suitably with a sequence in which a sightseeing route is mapped out on an a weathered travelling map using pins, some thread, and pieces of paper with place names marked on them with felt-tipped pens. A setup this grungy can yield only austere drama, or quirky comedy, and the next scene, where we see the very visibly senile old woman whose wailings were playing over the previous scene, and witness a very cold interaction between her and her lethargic 34-year-old daughter and carer, the film seems dead-set to be the former. The domestic setting is very mundane, the actors are very unprepossessing, and the narrative appears just as drab as all the other elements. No attempt has been made to dress any of these things up for the big screen, and while that's admirable, it seems the audience has their work cut out for them if they are going to make it through the long, 88-minute stretch of sombre minimalism before they can tell their friends how impressive it all was.
Pretty soon though, the film's deliciously sardonic tone shows itself as old Carol (played very convincingly by Eileen Davies) expresses her distaste for the mysterious new boyfriend that her daughter, Tina (Alice Lowe), only met a few months ago, and has abruptly decided spend a week caravanning with. Even to audience members not previously informed of the genre, Carol's sinister slanders are shockingly over-the-top, and far too nasty for a restrained drama.
Surprisingly though, her bitter suspicions are soon verified. The seemingly mild-mannered, level-headed Chris (Steve Oram), with whom Tina dearly hopes to build a passionate relationship that's strong both emotionally and physically, is revealed to have certain pressure points, certain pet hates, that, when violated, unleash his bloodthirsty dark side. As these violations pile up, so does the surprising body count of victims that are murdered with increasing wilfulness. Oram very smoothly sheds the initial amiable characterisation of Tina's ginger-haired companion and replaces it with the thoroughly unlikeable, effectively scary and often amusing personality of a true serial killer, although the label seems strangely ill suited to the man that we've watched develop from an everyday run-of-the-mill boyfriend.
Tina fits even more awkwardly into that pointed pigeon-hole. As soon as she leaves the sobering position of her mother's carer, she's quickly shown to be a pathetically neurotic try-hard who's so desperate to connect with Chris that she does her own spot of killing, and so desperate to have her tragically deceased dog returned to her, that she steals the innocent canine of one of Chris' victims and tries to convince herself that "Banjo" is in fact "Poppy". Lowe meticulously mines all comedic value from the role of a hapless madwoman with more in common with her mother than she might admit, and who's impossible to take seriously. No matter how many innocents she slaughters, she remains hilarious because it's a skin that fits her so uncomfortably, one she's put on in a pitiful attempt to please Chris, who we also enjoy laughing at, but only from the safety of the audience.
Due credit should also go to cast member Richard Glover who, in his very first film role, is very endearing as a friendly cyclist who befriends Chris, but makes an enemy of Tina, and whose fate is a very engaging mystery.
The film might perhaps have been a bit more watchable if there were more such mysteries, or a sturdier, more enticing, long-running source of fascination to connect the series of comical and eventually gruesome encounters that the couple has on their way. The collection of walk-on characters are very interesting, and their conflicts with the irritable killers are truly intense, but after the climactic bloody, violent murder scenes and the return to low-key, directionless dialogue, there is a strong impulse to look at your watch. Every killing is energetically milked for full shock value, although never heightened or cheapened. They're all done with indisputable scientific accuracy, and arguable purpose, but director Ben Wheatley lingers over each realistic bit of gritty gore on each occasion. In most art-house films, such extreme violence is only suggested using a mixture of sound effects, camera angles and dialogue, but here even when a victim is thrown off a cliff – the cinema's favourite clean death method – we see her head go splat on the concrete.
Because these scenes are so wonderfully blood-soaked, the sudden lethargy of the next scene, the start of another dramatic cycle, does make one rather fidgety, impatient, and hungry for more carnage. When the punchy dialogue resumes, and the morbid chemistry of the leads is re-ignited, our spirits are soon restored, but in between these intermittent puffs of narrative wind, we are left sitting atop dead, motionless waters, willing to be taken somewhere else, and wondering how a film that runs for not much more than an hour can feel so drearily long.
It is only this pacing issue that lets down this otherwise brilliantly original, laugh-out-loud funny character comedy that's penned by none other than the fantastic leads, who've worked with Wheatley before on his previous feature, Kill List and who he directs again fantastically here. You always know a film is a sure-fire gem when someone asks you, "What is it about?" and you feel that no facile plot description you can give will do it justice. That is most certainly the case here.
Life of Pi (2012)
A must-see for everyone aged 10-101!
Ang Lee, the Taiwanese director of films such as Sense and Sensibility (2000) and Lust Caution (2007), has decided to give his latest maturely themed feature the visual aesthetic of a charming children's adventure tale. As such, all trailers, posters and inattentively viewed clips of the film make it seem like the perfect holiday fodder for little ones. The parents who brought their toddlers to the session of Life of Pi that I went to weren't entirely incorrect in their assumptions. It is a magical movie, it does tell a fanciful story, and the effect on its audience is altogether uplifting, but the fantastical element is laid on top of a hard, heavy realism that pokes through more than one might expect. The real world isn't blocked out of the piece like an escapist kid's film: it is contrasted against the spiritual fantasy as a way of showing, not telling, its audience why people turn to religion even when modern science seems to constantly conflict with it.
Young Pi Patel (played by Gautam Belur, and then Ayush Tandon as an 11- to-12-year-old) has been fascinated by religion since he tried to vandalise a catholic church in rural India, where he and his family own an extensive zoo, and encountered astonishing Christian forgiveness. Since then he has also become a Muslim, and confounded his strict father (Adil Hussain) and the young author (Rafe Spall) that he relates his tale too, which we see in extended flashbacks, with his apparent juvenile miscomprehension that is actually an insightful observation that Hinduism, Islamism and Christianity all really achieve the same end, and simply imagine God in different forms. The interspersed scenes between the reminiscing adult Pi (played by Irrfan Khan) and the curious writer mostly feel as artificial and unnecessary as such setups always are, with the exception of the protagonist's poignant account of the melancholy end to his relationship with Richard Parker, the fierce but magnificent tiger that everyone has seen on the posters, and his introductory proclamation to the writer that this is a story that will make him believe in God, and I suppose there needs to be someone there for him to say this to, but anyone would do.
It takes a surprisingly long time for the teenage Pi (played extraordinarily well by first-timer Suraj Sharma) to be on the lifeboat alone with Richard out on the open ocean wearing a turban, there being a considerable early portion of the film devoted to his family life, but the introduction of the prevalent theme of spirituality runs throughout and the bloodthirsty beauty of the big cat are crucial elements that come from these scenes. Even the mundane, but still mildly interesting, family exchanges, depictions of his school life – where we discover the amusing origin of his name – and a mercifully brief, obligatory romantic sub-plot, are necessary to again show us, not tell us, of his pain when he loses all of this in a shipwreck at about the halfway-point, and begins a compelling and visually stunning fight for his life against the elements, and the astonishingly realised tiger. All of the animals in the film are totally convincing, but it is especially impressive that all sides of the this incredible predator – his strength, his hunger, his nobility, his desperation, his feline grace – are all captured so beautifully, making the multi-faceted symbiotic relationship between the animal and his keeper so totally engrossing.
Their gruelling search for land is depicted warts, and quite a few of those hideous warts, which may have been even more unrestrainedly gritty in the original novel by Yann Martel, were quickly driving all of those toddlers out of the cinema before any of them could discover how Pi's tale could defrost a person's rigid atheism, and a good thing too. The trick doesn't lie in his miraculous survival – that would have probably lost the other, older half of the underage audience – but in the very grisly, hard-hitting alternative "real" version of events that Pi tells a pair of reporters that don't believe the version we've seen, which is very reminiscent of John Steinbeck's Lifeboat, for which the fantastical tale seems to be an allegory. When Pi asks, "So which story do you prefer?" the hearts of both us and the writer of course unhesitatingly answer "the one with the tiger," before our brains can interfere with shallow logical cynicism.
While not for very little ones, parents should certainly take children past their single-digit years to see this wonderful telling of a robust but wondrous story of biblical beauty.
Les Misérables (2012)
Incredible screen adaptation of one of the greatest of all musicals
The story of Legendary French author Victor Hugo's classic novel Les Misérables is one of those complex, epic timeless tales that instantly inspire and captivate the reader's imagination, even if the text itself is rather impenetrable and dizzyingly dense. A faithful stage or screen adaptation can often introduce a literary masterpiece to a wider audience, which is what Claude-Michel Schönberg's and Alain Boublil's hit musical achieved so well in the 1980s. It was one of those incredibly rare musicals like Chicago and Wicked! in which the songs were actually devoted to telling an interesting story.
Quite riskily, virtually every line of the piece is sung, but only occasionally does it feel excessive and laughable. If its sensitive director, Tom Hooper, had taken the easy way and pre-recorded all of that dialogue, I'm sure this cinematic adaptation would have been horribly jerky and unconvincing. His much-publicised decision to record the singing live takes the film to the other extreme. It is incredibly refreshing to hear raw, real singing coming through the surround sound and to look into the eyes of the cast and believe that its actually coming the characters mouths at that moment.
And what a fine cast it is. Led Australian actor-singers Hugh Jackman and Russel Crowe, who occupy the most screen time and whose characters carry between them the films catalytic conflict, they are an altogether truly impressive assembly of talented luminaries and unknowns. Jackman plays the chief protagonist, Jean Valjean, a convict sentenced to 19 years of hard labour for the petty crime of stealing a loaf of bread in order to save his sick niece. Crowe plays the stalwart Inspector Javert, who sees the law as the only morality, and all its offenders as irredeemable.
Once Valjean is finally released, Javert and the black mark on Valjean's papers constantly prevent the penniless man from finding any work, and legally earning any income. As Jean Valjean is a poor man, a suspicious convict, a filthy gutter rat, one of the many downtrodden misérables that the film centres on. So he defiantly and proactively establishes a new identity with the help of a priest who teaches him kindness and forgiveness through demonstration. As Monsieur le maire, a wealthy businessman, he applies his insider's knowledge of the world of poverty, the priest's lessons, and a newfound trust in god, to help scores of unfortunates for the remainder of his life, even as his obsessed pursuer, Javert, who never shows any signs of learning anything from these demonstrations of mercy, as that would mean acknowledging shades of grey in his safely black-and-white world.
Both actors are surprisingly very convincing in their roles. Jackman has never looked so ragged and earthy, and his singing talents have never been put to better use. Crowe never reverts to his rock background during his many fine musical moments, and delivers a very compelling performance of a more internally tormented and trapped character.
Of the well-known supporting actors, Anne Hathaway, as the good-hearted Fantine, gives perhaps the most affectingly raw performance of the entire film. The more tortured, dishevelled, and wretched she becomes for the sake of her ailing baby daughter, Cosette, the more the often herself misused actress shows us what she's capable of. Her rendition of I Dreamed a Dream, the climax of her involvement in the film, is utterly heartbreaking and completely different to all other versions of the song, as it is acted as much as it is sung, melting our hearts with the words as much as with the notes.
At the other end of the scale, prolific actors Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen recapture their theatrical exuberance from Sweeney Todd as the comedic villains Mr & Mrs Thénardier, a slimy pair of costumed thieves who are, in their own way, as money-grubbing as the aristocrats who are about to meet their end in the French Revolution. It is a welcome pleasure to see these two experts doing what they do best in the moments where a bit of darkly comic relief is needed amidst the sweeping drama.
As the children of the street who fall prey to these two grimy, over- charging innkeepers, a host of young newcomers proudly display their fine acting and singing talents. 10-year-old Isabelle Allen is most endearing and sweet-sounding as the gentle Cosette, as is 22-year-old Samantha Barks as the noble Éponine, who quietly endures being part of a painful love triangle; but most astonishing is the 13-year-old Daniel Huttlestone as the plucky young Gavroche, the paupers' revolution's fiercest and courageous orator who forces the ignorant aristocrats to look upon the real face of the empire that mollycoddles them.
Gavroche proudly stands beside the young freedom-fighters of the revolution that is still incomplete as the film closes, but whose seeds have well and truly been sown. American actor Aaron Tveit is the last of the standouts as the movement's most fervent advocate. Even though Amanda Seyfried and Eddie Redmayne received billing for their respective roles as the adult Cosette and her love interest, the revolution's technical leader. Although Seyfried is a proved singer with a beautiful voice, and Redmayne isn't bad himself, their characterisations are rather bland, aside from his truly touching rendition of Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.
Watching this magnificent epic on screen, one wonders whether it might be even grander live on stage, with the present immediate energy of an in-the-flesh performance. However, cinema brings its own unique qualities to the piece. It enables smothering, intimate close-up, that Hooper makes good use of, and the actors are big enough to withstand. It also allows for a larger chorus, more complete set pieces, cross-cutting quartets and endless repeat viewings and showings to children and grandchildren alike far beyond the lifetimes of the cast and crew of this truly remarkable and almost flawless film.
Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Not exactly a must-see, but the best thing to see with the little ones
Much has been said of the way that Disney's latest and of this decade greatest animated release portrays the inside world of video games as inventively as Pixar first caught our attention by opening up the world of toys. Indeed, the familiar and invented video game characters featured in Wreck it Ralph move and talk in their off-duty periods just as you would imagine, being sure to please avid gamers just as much as Pixar's first feature delight toy-lovers. The joys of being an arcade favourite are highly prized and quite viciously fought over between games, just like the need to be played with in the toy world. Even more so, the threat of suddenly being deemed defective or dull, and consequently "unplugged", hangs ominously over the proceedings. The children in Toy Story were always prone to having fads, novelties, and maturing interests draw them away from formerly beloved toys, but it would still take them a long time to finitely abandon their physically present plastic companions. In the gaming world, it can happen in an instant to any game it seems, apart from classics like Pac-Man.
Both films also have, as a narrative starting point for the main adventures, the visible jealous frustrations of a protagonist who feels unjustly treated. However, while Woody's bitter envy of the effortlessly popular Buzz Lightyear was graspable, but not terribly sympathetic, the plight of the title character of Disney's picture rings immediately with undeniable unfairness and endears us completely to the poor man. Ralph (appropriately voiced by the always endearing John C. Reilly) is the burly villain of the fictional game Fix-It Felix Jr., all day performing the thankless task of smashing a perfectly constructed red brick house floor by floor, so that Felix, the lovable hero, can repair the damage and receive a medal from the ever-so-friendly residents, who then toss poor Ralph off the top floor and into the mud.
In the opening expositional scenes of the film, he shares his misery with his fellow villains at a meeting of Bad Guys Anonymous, and to the audience. He desperately wants the respect and love that the heroes are laden with each day, and becomes convinced that to somehow procure a medal like the ones Felix is always get will see him enjoy these privileges.
To any frequenter of animated children's film the plot point of this superficial quest seems bound for one resolution only: a session of sentimental moralising where Ralph realises that the medal doesn't matter, that it can't buy him friendship that he shouldn't seek to be anything other than what he is. Woody's story went down a similar path, but unlike Woody, Ralph eventually meets an unlikely kindred spirit in his loneliness and torment. Vanellope, a little girl car racer from the aptly named Sugar Rush game, threatens at first to be the writers' self- confessed highly annoying comic sidekick, but is soon shown to be just as much of a sympathetic outcast as Ralph. King Candy, the erratic, word-playing sovereign of this Willy-Wonk-like land of creative confectionery constructions and pricelessly sweet puns has marginalised her as a poisonous glitch in the game, preventing her from racing. A stickler for game conventionalism, he quickly becomes the adversary of the odd couple of heroes, who are also being chased by the stout Felix as well as Calhoun, the fearless, no-nonsense army commander of Hero's Duty.
As lovely as the friendship between the tiny girl and giant man may be, not quite enough time is spent on the entertaining banter and remittent co-operation between the prickly indomitable woman and the smaller, sweeter man at her side. That said, we certainly get a satisfying amount of the wacky King that seems a deviously eccentric cross between Uther Pendragon from the new TV series Merlin and, more obviously the Mad Hatter from Disney's cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland (1951), with the look and voice of that character clearly being an inspiration. Alan Tudyk, who's perhaps best known for playing the naked drugged-up fiancée in Death at a Funeral (2007), in many ways emulates Ed Wynn's zany sing- song tones, exaggerating even more the hilarious lisp. He and Sarah Silverman, who, at 42, miraculously reaches the giddy heights of an 8- year-old's voice as Vanellope, were the two unexpected pieces of perfect casting. As expected, John C. Reilly as the gentle Ralph and Jane Lynch, who plays Sue Sylvester in Glee, as the fierce Calhoun are effortlessly brilliant, and it's also a nice surprise to hear the voice of Ed O'Neil as the owner of the arcade.
On top of the humour, the pathos, the quality animation, the action and the clever characterisations, which you'd expect from a director – Rich Moore – who's worked quite extensively on The Simpsons and Futurama, the visual design of literally several whole universes inside the games world is quite stunning, especially the joyously colourful land of Sugar Rush, but it's really the excitement of the story that makes the biggest impact. It would appear that executive producer John Lasseter has enforced the old Pixar maxim "The story is king!" as the graphics, as impressive as they are, are never expected to carry or even save the movie, that job has rightly been given to the narrative. Now that the new digital Disney studio is finally starting to learn a thing or two from the medium's greatest pioneer, let's hope the pupil hasn't outshone the master after the release of Monsters' University, the third consecutive sequel that Pixar has produced this decade.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012)
Much more than you might expect
This year's undoubtedly greatest and most noteworthy "teen movie", Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is a terrific example of the triumph of pure, uncompromised artistic integrity and fearless exploration of dark, deep, unconventional, and not necessarily marketable themes and characters. It's only resemblance to the typical slothful cash cows that are fed to bored adolescents through the Hollywood production line is the timing and screen time allocation of the usual exposition, positive change in circumstances, complication, and transitional pathos leading to a more upbeat resolution. Here, every single rung of the narrative ladder is laden with solid, challenging, meaningful material that remains sturdy during each tonal shift between comedic and tragic.
Taking total control of an adaptation of his own book as both screenwriter and director, Chbosky very maturely probes both the social dynamics of the Wallflowers, a group of close high school friends whose interests lie across the broad range of areas other than football, supermodels and pop music, and the incredibly painful life of it's incredibly likable, oddball protagonist, Charlie (Logan Lerman). The Indie, eccentric wallflower gang, the real life equivalent of the Hollywood "nerds", who more of us are or have been a part of than one might expected are depicted with a very endearing realism that celebrates their alternative coolness.
The two members who are most featured, Patrick (Ezra Miller) and Sam (Emma Watson), proudly parade into Charlie's initially lonely life as a battered, frightened, intensely introverted, humbly intelligent freshman who expresses himself in letters to a friend who is non-existent and featureless, but feels he ought to have. They touchingly take them under his wing exerting an air of confident weirdness, despite their own deep- seated insecurities that might not be as troubling as Charlie's very unsettling issues with insanity, but present just as many problems. Chbosky and Lerman make Charlie, the sweetest, kindest, most sensitive and convincing shy underdog ever to open a film with snarky complaints about one's high school days, and because of Chbosky's very mature approach to crafting this story, his maddening torment from the many guilt-ridden tragedies of his past are instantly understood, and only endear us more to him. The same goes for Patrick, who is quickly revealed to be a closet homosexual desperately trying to quench his thirst in a half-hearted affair with a two-faced jock (budding heartthrob Johnny Simmons) who fears his father's homophobic rage, but still derives primal pleasure from their secret sessions.
Despite initially seeming incredibly self-confident with his effortless witticisms and relaxed banter with friends and Sam, his new step-sister, Patrick is soon revealed to be as internally unsteady as Charlie is internally intelligent. Charlie purposely quietens his impressive intellect at school in fear of some surprisingly realistic bullies, so his savvy and pleasingly unsentimental English teacher, Mr Anderson (Paul Rudd), discreetly slips him a string of extra novels to satisfy his voracious literary appetite.
This student-teacher relationship and all other potentially cloying aspects of the story are handled with much more subtlety and restraint than I'm sure many audience members will be respecting. Make no mistake, this is a quirky piece, but certainly not cute and "heartwarming" in the usual. It doesn't try to charm you with sickly sweet sentiment that is supposed to "grow on you." Instead, it's strategy is to bombard its audience with themes and events that are crippling harsh and confronting, but must be faced as a fact of life, and then allows us some relief by showing the lighter sides of these characters' lives, as well as the majestic beauty of the darkness residing in them.
I do fear that, perhaps, its publicity will deter an audience that will truly appreciate it. Many of those who seek it out are likely to be after an upbeat Indie teenage comedy like Jason Reitman's Juno (2007) and the surprise of a decidedly downbeat drama may not necessarily be well-received. During an intelligently-crafted scene between Charlie and Sam where the subject of love – that is, love in the real world, not in the minds of Hollywood producers – is delicately discussed as the two of them are currently locked separately in uncomfortable, third-rate romantic relationships, Charlie repeats a piece of resounding wisdom he has learned from Mr Andrews: "sometimes we accept for the love we think we deserve." It is an ingenious quote that relates to the plights of so many characters, yet, near the time it was uttered, the girl sitting next to me in the theatre muttered, "Just f--king kiss already!" I certainly hope those slightly saccharine posters aren't the product of the producers' lack of commercial confidence in this quality film, and that they haven't accepted the shallow of love of immature people like the person who was sitting beside me, instead of the full appreciation of art-house audiences.
I also hope that the previous work of its three stars, whose names have been generously given marquee acknowledgement, will not create too many misgivings or preconceptions, for all of them produce characterisations that are markedly different from those they may have been previously affiliated with. Emma Watson's new haircut, impressive American accent and much more mature manner successfully remove the Sam from Hermione Granger. Ezra Miller is just as intensely engaging here as he was in We Need to Talk About Kevin, but certainly not psychopathic and demonic. Most of all, Logan Lerman is much more raw, affecting and unassuming than his likable but very typical turn as Percy Jackson in 2010. The rest of the cast, most prominently Dylan McDermott and Kate Walsh as Charlie's parents, Nina Dobrev as his sister and Mae Whitman as the sweet but insufferable girlfriend he's too nice to get rid of.
Believe me when I say that this a must-see for anyone Charlie's age (15) or older.
Beasts of the Southern Wild (2012)
This film can teach you so much in such a short time
Beasts of the Southern Wild is perhaps the best of the year's past, present, and even future cinematic releases at truly transporting its audience, not only beyond the movie theatre, but beyond every other aspect of their socio-economic situation entirely. It is a respectably minimalist docudrama that achieves its own sense of spectacle and wonderment whilst being logistically and creatively economical. While many films chase after lasting impact with bombastic overproduction, this one creeps upon its audience silently with its stark simplicity.
Young director Benh Zeitlin's first feature film is a meticulous exploration of a rustic bayou community in the Southern Delta As a society it is far removed from the cosy, pristine capitalist society that we're used to, and yet Zeitlin shows us that it has just as many pros and cons as the Western way of life. Yet, we are led gently into these strange waters, from the perspective of a little girl named Hushpuppy who's only a small step ahead of us in learning the ways of this earnestly animalistic world. She's only six, but already her carefree childhood has almost run its course. Her father, Wink, is the robust head of the clan, who feeds and protects the other inhabitants, but who is now slowly dying of cancer. In such a fragile environment, Hushpuppy tells us, everything has its place and must fit perfectly into the universe. One day, in a fit of rage caused by Wink's harshness towards her after he's received the news, she punches him defiantly in the stomach, inflaming his condition. A few seconds later, a deadly thunderstorm begins coincidentally, but Hushpuppy exclaims "I think I broke something!" The film frequently allows us to believe that this is so, with frequent visually exciting cutaways to the destructive movements of the fearsome aurochs, ancient pig-like beasts, who've now returned to the land. If one can believe that a series of "realistic" events in a drama could believably unfold according to an artistic motif, where everything is as significant and connected as in the world of religion, then one can certainly believe that a little girl's impulsive defiance can break the universe.
Consequently, a handful of unthinkable challenges are thrown at the pair of them. Wink must use his last remaining strength to prepare the village for the coming natural disaster and train Hushpuppy to be his heir. Hushpuppy must set aside her unfortunate gender, her absurdly tender age and her need for the mother who abandoned so that she will be able to survive without adult care and weather the storm also. Life is tough, but that's no news to anyone. The pair of them don't feel sorry for themselves any more, and probably much less, than the hard-working Western high school students wrestling with the academic challenges of graduating. However, this cannot be understood by the peripherally shown Western "flood aid" teams, who lack the close-range insider's perspective that Hushpuppy gives us, and practically force their "aid" upon them. In the bayou religion, our miraculous medical technology is the stuff of a futuristic dystopia. As Hushpuppy observes, "when animals get sick out here, they plug them into the wall," instead of letting their life come to the natural, dignified end that they deserve.
It is quite an experience to view one's own world from the vantage point of another, and it is with this deft perspective that this film teaches its audience irreversibly to understand why members of a flooded community don't simply pack up and go away to our contemporary fairyland.
Skyfall (2012)
Great fun
In this, the 23rd James Bond film, and the third to star the grimy yet regal Daniel Craig as the most truly British bond we've seen, skilfully dramatic director Sam Mendes, who's perhaps best known for the quirkily captivating American Beauty (1999) achieves an impressive balancing act of the old and the new, in various aspects of this refreshingly exciting Bond outing.
Veteran 007 screenwriters Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, as well as newcomer John Logan (Hugo, The Aviator) are fully aware of the contemporary setting of the film. Whilst we're still treated to improbably heightened action sequences, energetic mission briefs, witty, confident one-liners and even a few, but not many, fancy gadgets, the reality that these are fading, old-fashioned ministerial and cinematic methods is well is always at the forefront of every scene. The theatrically psychopathic, but not terribly cartoonish villain merciless attacks the weak spots of Bond's inevitable middle age, M's senility and guilt-ridden blunders, and the unfeeling upheavals of the digital age, with his fierce cunning and his alarming technical abilities. M is here at her most vulnerable, but also her most fiercely determined, in a movie that gives her an uncommonly generous amount of screen time. The magnificent Judi Dench continues to show what a good sport she is, and invests the role with terrific gusto. The spectacularly ruthless actions of the dastardly Silva (an even more invested Javier Bardem, channeling some of the chills of Anton Chigurh from No Country For Old Men) are make viewing that's all the more intense as both the big-budget orchestrations and the characterisations contribute to the excitement.
Two MI agents who are more well-adapted to the digital revolution are also a nice addition: the unapologetically youthful computer whiz now holding the position of Q (Ben Wishaw), and the enigmatic realist, Gareth Mallory (Ralph Feinnes, cheerfully sporting his usual tongue-in- cheek comedic flair).
In most long-running franchises, new characters moulded in the latest cinematic style are not appreciated. The prevailing rule imposed by fans is that all new additions must be modelled on characterisations of the period of the series' beginning. However, three breaches of this rule, also counting Silva, have served the writers very well indeed, and all the adherences are at best forgettable, as with Silva's henchmen, and at worst tiresomely predictable. The latter category consisting of one of those dreadfully boring, but perhaps obligatory, femme fatales. As the wimpy Sévérine, French actress Bérénice Marlohe gives a performance as grindingly overblown as the sickeningly ridiculous costume that Jany Temine has designed for her. The writers sleepily go through the motions of making her snobby, then flirtatious, then cocky, then clumsy, then vulnerable, then broken, then needy, then helpless and finally, perhaps, dead – I honestly paid no attention to her fate. She certainly wasn't missed when she vanished without a word. Miss Eve Moneypenny, played by Naomie Harris is a far better creation, propelled by the efforts of a much more winsome and convincing actress.
It is truly a wonder how Logan and Mendes, usually masters of measured complexity, have coughed up such a pedestrian characterisation right in the middle of this ripper action flick. Only half an hour ago, they made the ingenious placement of an animated credits sequence of the sort that normally closes a film, but here sufficiently gives the impression we need that a long passage of time has swept by our characters, without forcing the audience to share that boredom. The that it is played over by a song that the beautiful Adele wrote and performed especially for the film makes it all the more enjoyable a diversion.
It all amounts to a very enjoyable two hours of entertainment, despite that one little lapse.
Frankenweenie (2012)
Burton does what he does best, and even a little more
The Claymation works of distinctively quirky director Tim Burton are always a ghoulish treat. They are the fullest forms of Burtonesque cinema with the boundless freedoms the medium gives its practitioners, who are able to form their own worlds with completely unique physical rules, colour schemes, styles of movement and grand set pieces that take up only a tiny amount of space in the actual studio. With this latest foray into his universe of pale disproportionate, baggy-eyed characters and creepy monsters that make their way jerkily across the screen, and into our hearts by a totally different route to Walt Disney, Burton not only has a great time in his old home, but finds the perfect outlet for an idea he first developed in 1984 with the live action short Frankenweenie. It had to be short, otherwise his fans would never have warmed to it, because it was basically a sugar-coated family animal- centred movie powered by one original concept – that of a boy re- animating his beloved dead dog in the manner of Victor Frankenstein – that can really only full sustain the first three scenes, but is the overworked of the entire half-hour speedy checklist of clichés. However, as a doggedly cynical kiddie Claymation horror fest, it works exceedingly well, and even manages to produce an organic moral.
The young Victor Frankenstein is introduced to us as an introverted little budding scientist who enjoys making his own B-grade horror films using home-made practical effects (just as in the original short). The only company he needs he gets from his lovable, feisty little dog sparky. His typically narrow-minded dad thinks that he should pursue more conventional interests, and conform to the TV stereotype of a young sport-obsessed boy. Surprisingly, he is the only character in the film opposed to Victor's individuality. There is nothing typical to be found about Victor's schoolmates, a band of amusing macabre caricatures who seem like the classmates Burton wished he had. Two of the boys, Toshiaki and Nasor, with their slitted eyes and twisted foreign accents could easily be cornball villains in any James Bond, Get Smart or Indiana Jones episode. Nasor also resembles a teenage Boris Karloff, and to seal the deal Burton throws us an unmissable Mummy reference. Joining these uniquely evil children as Victor's other rival in the science fair, an event that's pleasingly regarded with prestige, not ridicule, at this school, is the classically creepy Edgar "E" Gore, a mischievous little hunchbacked cretin with an obvious archetypal counterpart. They quickly discover the old lightning experiment that the distraught Victor has conducted on the dog he tore from his resting place, and try to replicate it, giving a spectacular closing act where Burton and his animators transform with relish the most mundane of pets into grisly, nightmarish horror monsters.
Victor's eccentric, but wise science teacher, Mr Rzykruski, wisely counsels him that no science experiment will succeed if it's done without heart, and the scheming jealousy of Victor's classmates are a far cry from the heartbreakingly innocent love for the adorable sparky, the one effective piece of sentimentality that screenwriter Leonard Ripps has allowed into this juicy horror outing. The heart is definitely there, but not in excess. The film stumbles through some inevitable family movie clichés, but doesn't dwell on them. Most of the characters, even the helpless monster movie crowds, go easy on the melodramatic reactions we've come to expect, either because of the jerky stop-motion medium, or because they're accustomed to such events in a Burton universe. While we do get an angry mob by the end of the film, they're ignorant impulsivity becomes representative of people's prevalent slothful attitude towards science. As Mr Rzykruski also says, "people like what science gives them, but not the questions it asks."
This one of those "kids" movies that older audience members will enjoy even more than the wide-eyed youngsters, and boasts a highly impressive voice cast. Catherine O'Hara and Martin Short enthusiastically take three characters each, the acting personalities of Burton Winona Ryder and Martin Landau shine through beautifully in their parts, and due credit should also be given to talented young actors Atticus Shaffer and Charlie Tahan, who give standout performances as Edgar and Victor.
Argo (2012)
Seems to good to be true, but it is very true indeed
All children of the 70s and earlier will recollect, to some degree, the alarming news story of the brutal attack and capture of the Iranian American Embassy towards the end of the decade, by the enraged victims of the despotic Shah whose illegitimate seizure of power the American Government had fully supported. The horrors faced by the American staff who were brutally held as hostages in an attempt to force the government to allow the hated exiled Shah, who America was protecting, to be brought to justice, were the stuff of one's worst nightmares, and almost impossible to fully imagine. It was a truly gripping saga that occupied the news both in and outside of America for months, but an even more twisted turn of events that received deliberately less coverage was that of six diplomats who managed to escape the hostile protesters and mercifully found refuge in the Canadian Embassy. As the Iranian political climate became even more violently anti-American, to the point of extremity, it seemed ever more impossible to extricate these six survivors, until skilled agent Tony Mendez brought an ingeniously unorthodox rescue plan to the table. He planned to have them fly back to America disguised as Canadian filmmakers on a location scout in the Orient for a B-Grade science fiction Hollywood production entitled Argo.
From a simultaneously oddball yet chilling declassified story from the archives of the American Central Intelligence Agency, rookie filmmakers Ben Affleck and Chris Terrio have managed to serve up a perfectly thrilling heist film with the added touch of many clever comedic scenes, and all on the solid foundation of arrestingly real political conflicts.
The opening scene of the terrifying riot outside the embassy is captivatingly intense, yet tragic, as those on and off the screen are both fearfully preparing for an unstoppable invasion by burning and shredding as many confidential documents as they can, but also anticipating it with a melancholic sense of inevitable, impending doom. Despite the drama, this opening retains a sense of documentary-style realism, strengthened by several intercut shots of a room full of world- weary Iranian citizens waiting for their liberating American Visas. The mundane tedium of their long exercise in patience grounds the scene in a historical integrity.
Few of the other major sequences are so committed realistic, but we don't need them to be. We enjoy the observant black comedy of the deliberations between imbecilic government officials who seem less capable of saving the diplomats' lives than their cleaning staff, and even more entertainingly, the astute dissection of the Hollywood sci- fi/fantasy production line. The CIA board's understanding of the country they are attempting to infiltrate is as shamelessly stereotypical as the movies that have been worked on by special effects designer John Chambers (John Goodman) and big-time director Lester Seigel (Alan Arkin), who use their Hollywood know-how to create an authentic fake movie. Watching these two acting veterans making Terrio's dialogue ring with such welcome comic relief is a delicious treat on top of the riveting humanist heist story.
Although the heightened intensity of their depicted ordeal carries some of the sadism of a squirmy thriller, where the character's pain becomes the audience's pleasure, we never forget that these events did actually take place thirty years ago, in more or less the same fashion. The characters that find themselves cornered by the horrific dangers of the streets outside, the Iranian government's rapid progress towards finding their hideout and the unbelievable craziness of Tony's scheme, are very relatable, fleshed-out and very true to life, as is their situation. A comparison against images from the film of these key figures, and the horrors of the environment they were trapped in, reveal just how meticulously they were recreated. As Robert Anders, Mark and Cora Lijek, Lee Schatz and Joseph and Cathleen Stafford, Tate Donovan, Christopher Denham, Clea Duvall, Rory Cochrane, Scoot McNairy and Kathy Stafford are modestly believable, and are even made to look very much like the actual six from the "Canadian Caper." Even Arkin and Goodman, who still wear their grand personalities over their naturalistic characterisations, bear an impressive resemblance to the real movie-making gurus behind the elaborate plan. However, the creative license taken in pursuit of chuckles and chills, most notably with the contrivances of the nail- biting climax, are effective, forgivable, and offset by the stark realism of scenes as such as those showing teams of thousands Iranians hurriedly piecing together the shredded documents and photographs from the embassy for political ammunition.
It isn't hardened psychopathic mercenaries who are racing towards the knowledge of the six escapees with their razor-sharp perception. Instead, it is the jigsaw puzzle skills of innocent children inside whom their parents have started to breed a simplistic hatred of Americans, and the support of a tyrannical movement to kill and oppress them all in the name of justice because they installed a tyrannical leader who killed and oppressed them. Even though the film rarely returns to these political issues after the very helpful prologue, the hypocrisy of both nations is interesting to contemplate.
The Sapphires (2012)
My mum and I adored this film!
Injecting a dose of humour into a slice of deadly serious subject matter is a precarious business. The Western mistreatment of the indigenous Australians whose careful, balanced, harmonious way of living produced the agricultural and geographical utopia that the settlers were so proud to have stumbled upon by chance has always been carefully depicted with the utmost sincerity and solemnity. As respectable as this may be, it's starting to give Australia a painfully morose cinematic identity, so we should be grateful that exuberant directors Rachel Perkins and Wayne Blair have put more of a lively, entertaining spin on the subject, Perkins with the memorable but uneven musical Bran Nue Dae (2009) and now Blair with the much more grounded character dramedy The Sapphires. While toe-tapping tunes have been a major element of both, with the exquisite pop diva Jessica Mauboy leading the melodic charge in each of them, Perkins' effort dove wholeheartedly into the cheesy, episodic musical genre and drenched its plot in campiness, whereas Wayne's feature debut tames the songs and puts them at the service of a much more solid story.
The film depicts the formation of a real-life female Aboriginal singing group that are hired in Vietnam to entertain the American troops embroiled in the savage, pointless war against the natives. However, the nature of the war itself is mostly assumed knowledge for the viewer, and the terror of the conflict is conveying sparingly but powerfully in handful of intense high-energy danger sequences. The Vietcong are just one of the many features of the lives of these four feisty black belters and their eccentric Irish manager. The eldest, Gale (the always compelling Deborah Mailman) is head of the pack, and very much a motherly figure whose wilder, softer youthful side has been repressed by her responsibilities as her and her two sisters, sassy Cynthia (Miranda Tapsell making a confident cinema debut) and the younger but still feisty Julie (Jessica). The fourth girl, their half-caste cousin Kay (other newcomer Shari Sebbens) is plucked from her self-deceiving upper- class Melbournian lifestyle and eventually convinced to stand beside her true family.
Thrown into this colourful female mix, their manager, named Dave, is as familiarly ambitious and self-assured, with troublesome collection of hidden defects and secrets, is as commonplace to the A Star is Born genre as Gale's outwardly robust but internally delicate is a staple of family dramas, but the Irish comic and captivating dramatic actress truly perfect these potential clichés, as do the writers, Tony Briggs and Keith Thompson. Tapsill and Sebbens are impressively controlled during their first frolics on the silver screen, and even the notoriously stilted Jessica excels in moments of snarky humour, and manages to stay out of the way during more demanding scenes with pathos. Yet the oft-mentioned Aussie singer clearly wasn't cast for her acting abilities. She deserves great recognition for her scintillating vocals and commitment to the project. Few 20-year-olds can make so many smooth key-changes and belt out a groovy melody like her, and the soundtrack offers her many opportunities to display her magical talent in everything poignant, soulful blues harmonies to catchy pop numbers. She nearly achieves the same perfection in her department as Mailman and O'Dowd do in theirs – it's only a few awkwardly weak screams that let her down. While much of the farm of this wiry Aboriginal family would have been hampered by having all four of them played by singers, it's good to have at least the lead singer doing her own vocals (the rest is done mostly by Juanita Tippens, Jade McRae, and a handful of contestants from The Voice Australia), although I've never disapproved of lipsynching in movies any more than I do of stuntmen.
Australia needs a good crowd-pleaser that isn't too nutty, like Bran Nue Dae, and doesn't divide audiences as much as Baz Lhurmann's films do. The Sapphires doesn't really have anything new to say about Indigenous issues, much less the Vietnam war, it is earnest, easy-going entertainment that's quite well-executed, especially in the beautiful relationship between the madcap Dave and the indomitable Gale. It's a must-see as such, but it's a fine choice if you happen to be going to the movies anytime soon.
The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Something for everyone
One has to applaud the way the bold, ambitious Christopher Nolan so deftly answers the cries of both his discerning cinematically well- educated critics, who can praise his work as knowledgeable peers, and his eager layman audience that show him their innocent pleasures, and, more practically, provide him with funds. His films to date are surprisingly few, but undeniably memorable, and mostly large-scale, big- budget thrilling blockbusters boasting hefty themes and impressive star- studded line-ups, often including smooth screen favourite Michael Caine. All of them, from the frenetic Memento to the awe-inspiring Inception have been dramatically complex and thematically intriguing, whilst also containing enough thrills and excitement to hold the attention of masses of casual moviegoers and finance its grand production. He undoubtedly deserves to be one of the small handful of directors in the marquee.
Batman has proved such perfect fit for him because he is also incredibly versatile. With the playfully eerie interpretation from Tim Burton in the 80s, and now Nolan's impressively believable and powerfully gritty take on the famous character, both drawing on the dark complexity of the mysterious caped crusader, this DC Comics character has proved to be the superhero for people who don't normally like superheroes.
Batman Begins (2005) was emotionally arresting in its depiction of Bruce Wayne's slow transformation into the dark vigilante after his parents were destroyed in a struggle against Gotham's filthily corrupt engine of organised crime, and the even uglier League of Shadows built him up into a formidable fighter before he learned its true nature and turned against it. Bruce's malformed but solid grief-stricken heroic spirit, carried off so believably by Christian Bale, and the supernatural wonderment of Batman's powers were among the film's greatest strengths.
However, in its sequel, The Dark Knight (2008), Batman's mystique had faded miserably, and Bale wandered dispassionately between playing a self-righteous entrepreneur and an expressionless, hoarse robotic boxer. That film was unquestionably dominated by Heath Ledger's entertainingly creepy and philosophically fascinating Joker, a characterisation that was so far ahead of the rest of the film that everything was thrown out of kilter.
None of the characters in The Dark Knight Rises are on par with the Joker, but they're all splendid nonetheless, and the trilogy's closer is certainly more even-handed than its muddled middle instalment. It is a carefully constructed film that largely centres on despair and desperation, with Batman's self-imposed exile resulting in Bruce's as well, as we see just how reliant he is on his alter ego to give him purpose. His body, mind, social life and business have all become decrepit after eight years of neglect.
This is, until a feisty, cunning jewel thief, the here unstated but unmistakable Catwoman (a surprisingly fierce Anne Hathaway) spurs him back into action once he discovers that she is stealing from him. The latest of her never-ending, socially irredeemable crimes are noticeably linked to that of the formidable Bane (an unrecognisable Tom Hardy) the brutal, muscle-bound terrorist we meet in the prologue in a similar fashion to our introduction to the Joker, although he is much less subtle and unpredictable. Somehow linked to the League of Shadows, Bane is not an independent anarchist, but a self-righteous dictator who believes the only way to be rid of corruption is to be rid of everything else in existence. He is a solid, intimidating tyrant who's razor-ship observations are articulated in and unnervingly evil voice distorted electronically to sound as otherworldly as the psychedelic tones of the Scarecrow (with whom Cillian Murphy makes another memorable appearance) and thankfully not too comically deep-sounding. He is convincingly indomitable, even if he is still scientifically as destructible as his foes, so much so that our beloved bat and cat are frequently made to seem powerless and insignificant, and their mortifying naivety is revealed.
After the still tormented Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) is put out of action after a frightening encounter with him and his cronies in the sewer tunnels that no other policeman will be convinced of, plucky new Officer Blake (the charming Joseph Gordon-Levitt) appeals to Bruce to re-emerge and save the city, speaking to him as a fellow orphan. His loyal butler Alfred (Caine) fears that Bruce might morbidly relish the crisis as an opportunity to plunge himself into a danger that, on this occasion, seems greater than ever before, and it seems as though he might soon lose even his valued companionship.
Amidst this richly textured realism, however, there are still the playful elements of its comic book origins. However long the complications might be shrouded in hopelessness, there are still ways for our heroes to prevail in the end. As seriously as we might take Bane, despite his cartoonish mask, he still gets to say "impossible!" like so many villains before him when the good guys make a miraculous comeback. There's still a bomb that must be disarmed with barely a few seconds to go, and orphans, albeit less gratuitous ones, to save if this fails. At an extreme low point in the film, an unwelcome sudden divergence is made in the motives of an enigmatic, but ultimately uninteresting spare femme fatale with whom fine French actress Marion Cotillard tries to imbue the same eerie mystique possessed by her character in Inception (2010) but is constantly let down by the Nolan brothers' otherwise astutely written screenplay.
Thank goodness that the rest of this 164-minute escapist masterpiece is so entrancing, and also buoyed by the exhilarating scoring from the great Hans Zimmer.