Reviews

In the past, Anderson has whirled us from melancholy dreamscapes set deep below the Pacific to tales of inter-generation betrayals in the name of love, from doomed romances in Paris hotels to deliriously bizarre animal revolutions in the English countryside. But for all the retro-stylings his films so proudly wear, Moonrise Kingdom is Anderson's first period piece - a tender love story set in the sepia-soaked sixties of Anderson's youth that have worked their influence into every one of his movies. It is fitting that this film is his most childlike - not in any way any simpler than his other films (as anyone with an accurate memory of childhood will remember all it's complexities; the way each trivial thing became a nest of thorns), but an accurate and deeply heartfelt depiction of childhood. It is not aiming to be as crushingly dramatic as Life Aquatic or as deeply tragic as Hotel Chevalier, because that wouldn't be appropriate for the story it's trying to tell. Instead, while still bearing Anderson's still surprising streak of black humour (some acts of violence really catch you off-guard; then again, children are violent so hats off Wes), it is largely concerned with the dramas and tragedies of youth. Yes, it is less ambitious than say The Life Aquatic but it also has none of the flaws that that film does (and believe me, I am a massive Steve Zissou fan). Instead, it is perfectly executed, wonderfully acted poignant beauty, with fantastic performances across the board (especially from newcomers Gilman and Hayward). This, while not his most ambitious, is certainly Anderson's most perfect work so far. You owe it to yourself to see this movie.

Let me start this review with a set-up of how high my expectations were for this movie. I was 15 when I first saw There Will Be Blood (my first PT Anderson film) and I can safely say it completely sandblasted my brain. It was so big and bold and brilliant, I instantly bought every other PT Anderson film and watched them all. First Hard Eight, which I found a little disappointing, but it was his debut and I saw his distinctive styles bubbling and maturing beneath it's surface. Then Boogie Nights, a beautiful, humane piece, and then Punch-Drunk Love - less ambitious than the others, but so wonderful in it's own little world. By this time, I had begun to understand that PT Anderson was something special - a true trailblazer in modern cinema, and one who always pushed himself and brought something new to the table as oppose to rehashing the same movie again and again. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for Magnolia. It held me like no other film ever had done, digging into my heart and clinging on for a three-hour ride through a world of true pain, of true emotion and, occasionally, such shockingly true and raw beauty it practically opens the gates for what cinema can be. It is unlike anything else I have ever seen, and yet so much like things that everyone has felt. It is a true living breathing work of art, a stunning blend of ballsy absurdism and painfully real human drama that truly knit together into something new, rich and utterly fantastic. An array of fantastic characters and their bizarre, richly tragic lives intertwine and reflect one another in a typically wonderful Anderson script, and his distinctive directorial eye is as graceful, probing and delightfully obsessed with long-takes as always. Please see this film. It is a masterpiece.

There is a strange gap between the perception of Wes Anderson's films and what they are actually like. Pop-culture seems to believe them to be utterly light and quirky pieces, with no emotional core beyond a happy ending and maybe some faux-melancholy. While somebody could potentially see this in one of his less-dark films (say Rushmore) if they tried really hard not to penetrate the surface, there are obviously darker forces at play within his movies - despite all the weightless imitators they have inspired, his works are emotional, often devastating pieces. And with The Life Aquatic, he takes one more step from his cheery chic with dark tones comfort zone into bringing these masterpieces to the true emotional and dramatic level he is capable of. Sure, not all the film works - some elements of it gel awkwardly, and while Bill Murray and Owen Wilson handle it perfectly, not all of the performances benefit from the non-reactionary style of acting that has become Anderson's trademark. However, the bits that work (largely contained within the film's shattering third-act) stand proud as among the most-brilliant pieces of cinema the 21st century has produced. There are many young filmmakers who's cinematic maturations I'm watching with relish, but Wes Anderson's is one of the most fascinating. Much like that other genius-Anderson, he is growing from a precocious boy-genius to one of America's most powerful storytellers. Here's to Moonrise Kingdom!

Forbrydelsen is, simply put, utterly fascinating. From it's engrossing characters, brilliant dialogue (which still crackles, even as subtitles) to it's immersive and wildly unpredictable plot, Forbrydelsen succeeds phenomenally on just about every level. It is only in it's second half, however, that the show truly hits it's potential, going from 'brilliant for a cop show' to 'one of the most shockingly brilliant pieces of television ever'. Episodes 1-10 will leave you breathless; episodes 11-20 will leave you shattered, heartbroken and wondering at the stupidity and cruelty of the world. Seriously. It's that good. And it never loses sight of it's need to function as an engrossing murder mystery even while it plumbs the depths of it's fantastic range of characters. If I had to compare it to one other series, it would be (the first season of) David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Weird, devastating, brilliant serial storytelling at it's finest, while also functioning as a fascinating insight into another culture (in some ways, the gloomy world of Denmark we are presented in Forbrydelsen is as wondrously alien as the town of Twin Peaks). It's brilliant.

Honestly, I was quite shocked by the large amounts of positive praise aimed at The Shadow Line on this website. Perhaps, I was missing something, but I found this show almost completely unbearable. Only in it's final episode did it begin to show any flashes of a genuinely good show. The show just seemed unable to decide what it intended to be. It seemed to be intended as a gritty crime drama (much like the far-superior Forbrydelsen), and yet seemed largely constructed from elements that would normally go towards a self-consciously stylish and silly romp. Any attempts at genuine gritty drama were totally undermined by the daft, dim and almost-sickeningly over-the-top and 'stylised' (the sort of stylised that involves a shot looking pretty, but displaying no competence in the slightest) approach the show took. Similarly, any attempts to be fun were shattered by it's 'oh so serious this is dramatic no seriously it's horrifically dramatic and realistic and clever' attitude. If I wanted campy fun, I would get out my box-set of Adam Adamant Lives. If I wanted gritty crime drama, I would sit for 18 hours weeping in front of my box-set of Forbrydelsen. This incompetent and utterly limp attempt to fuse the two is completely skipable.

Brilliant movie. I have no idea why people are so harsh on this film, and Sam Raimi in general. In my opinion, he is one of the most talented visual storytellers of our generation, even when he's working on less than fantastic films. Pair him with something as immensely enjoyable as this and his (immense) talents show themselves. This movie is the perfect combination of scares and laughs, made all the more effective by a surprising attention to character and human emotion (particularly the fears and insecurities of the central character), though only in a way that compliments the thrills and hysterics. I can't recommend this movie enough.

I went and saw Hugo today with a couple of friends without too high expectations - while I've always appreciated Scorcese as a director, the only one of his films I'd ever felt I properly connected with was Taxi Driver. However, sitting in my chair in the cinema, I found myself completely enchanted by this beautiful, passionate and utterly lovely piece of cinema. I didn't care that I was watching a "childrens'" film; I didn't care that the people behind me seemed to be taking part in some kind of drunken ritual; I didn't even care that my chair was about as comfortable as a sack full of bricks. I just sat there for two hours with a grin on my face that I'm still wearing now. Brilliant acting, wonderful writing, beautiful cinematography and some of Scorcese's most inventive direction are all tied together by a general feeling of enchanting lovelyness and a passion for cinema that should evoke the inner child in anyone (and tickle the fancy of film fanatics especially). The film is funny but not in a spiteful or cruel manner. There are no villains - simply damaged, melancholy people, most of whom are happy by the end. Anyone who doesn't see this film is doing themselves a disservice.