Reviews

Please don't take the title of this review to be hyperbole. This really is the worst film I've ever seen. I watched it for my comedy review podcast, One Good Thing. We try to find redeeming qualities in terrible movies. Battlefield Earth, Lesbian Vampire Killers, Bucky Larson, all seemed terrible. Grown Ups 2 has forced me to re- evaluate my standards of awful.

I came here to try to understand. I read the positive reviews in an attempt to understand why someone would like this. The juvenile humour, the paper-thin characterisation, the painfully awkward editing, how could anyone enjoy this and not feel annoyed for having been sold it.

The whole point of my podcast is to be an antithesis to all the people who watch Nolan movies and high concept thrillers and complain about minor details that apparently "ruined" the movie. It was an attempt to re-frame film criticism in a positive way. This film was our toughest challenge. Tomorrow I need to get on Mic and figure out why it's a good thing that this movie did so well at the box office and why so many people loved it. And for the first time since we started this podcast, ten months ago, I feel that we shall fail.

For the second time this year we have been asked to return to JK Rowling's world of witchcraft and wizardry. However, whereas the stage play was able to fully capitalise on Rowling's strength for story, world and character in "Harry Potter and the Cursed Child", poor direction somewhat comprises this cinematic effort.

The film tells two stories. The first concerns Newt Scamander, a young wizard, and his attempts to reclaim a number of "fantastic beasts" who have escaped his stewardship in the city of New York. He is joined in his attempts to reclaim the beasts by a factory worker, amateur baker and muggle (or no-mag), Jacob Kowalski. The other story concerns a mysterious evil presence rampaging around New York City, despite the best efforts of the Magical Congress of the United States (MACUSA), and unwittingly aided by an anti-witch hate group.

These two stories have just enough of Rowling's talent for intrigue and mystery to be interesting, but they are deserving of two different films (and considering five sequels to this film have already been announced, they certainly can afford to provide the breathing room). The two intersect and inform each other quite clumsily, culminating in a scene in which Porpentina Goldstein, a witch working for MACUSA but assisting Scamander in his search, says to Scamander "We must capture the rest of your beasts so MACUSA can't keep scapegoating them!". You see Scamander is the chief suspect of the crimes perpetrated by the mysterious evil, and so he is drawn into the second story.

This is a contrived connection and ultimately neither is really allowed to flourish. One story line is resolved by the end of the second act, and the other must capitalise on setups that have been diluted amongst the rest of the action. You'd be forgiven for losing track of Percival Graves' motivation as we spent most of the film not knowing who he is or how he pertains to the rest of the story.

However the real problem with the film is the direction and editing. The film awkwardly cuts from one scene to the next. A scene of chaos as Scamander's bag is opened, unleashing some of the beasts within, is very abruptly cut with a mundane scene of a child playing hopscotch. The cut was so abrupt I expected the chaos to extend into her scene. That is the grammar of film, which when interrupted can be very jarring.

This is most noticeable in the action sequences. Large-scale destruction must unwind slowly and deliberately. If you have a great monster storming down a street, knocking cars aside as if they were nothing and charging through solid stone and iron without slowing, then the actions lose all meaning. The images have no weight to them and there is no emotional impact to the destruction. Fantastic Beasts is unfortunately, for such a frequently charming film, all too often lacking any emotional content.

Take for instance the opening sequence. Five wizards are seen walking across a dark field, wands drawn, when they are all suddenly wiped out by a wave of menacing light. This sequence is achieved in less than ten seconds of footage. We have no incentive to empathise with these characters. I don't believe we even see their faces before they meet their fate. What may be an attempt to establish a darker atmosphere and genuine sense of threat is robbed of its effectiveness by the lack of decent pacing. There then follows some very clumsy exposition delivered by a series of newspaper headlines flying at the screen.

This may seem inconsequential, but something important is being missed here. An audience member makes a decision early in a film; the decision to consent. If a film's opening sequence seduces the audience member then they will suspend their disbelief and invest themselves into the film. If the grammar of the film is clumsy, even subtly so, then they will remain firmly planted in their cinema seat, retaining their disbelief. Once the audience member decides that what they're watching is a bad film, they will commit to finding further evidence to support their conclusion. Unfortunately, anyone who makes that decision early in Fantastic Beats will find plenty of this evidence. Which is unfortunate, as something is being missed.

The film has plenty of strengths. Rowling's world of witchcraft and wizardry is as charming as ever, as are the films characters, all ably played by the international cast. The stories, though muddled, are engaging. But be prepared to ignore some very poor transitions and incredibly jarring pacing. A fantastic missed opportunity.

I'm going to write this review as if you had not heard the sensational and tragic story of Christine Chubbuck. If you are unfamiliar with Christine's story then I suggest you do not read into it before seeing this film. I shall reveal very little of it here.

The story concerns the real life story of Christine Chubbuck, a reporter in Florida in the 1970s. As an opportunity opens up at a bigger news station, Christine finds herself attempting to adopt the station manager's sensationalist approach to the news. The film details her struggle with depression and it's impact on her personal life and work.

The depression is seen as both the result and cause of Christine 's difficulty in connecting with others. Many characters throughout the film reach out to her only for her to pull away. The cyclical nature of depression is all too familiar but what's interesting here is that each character who reaches out to Christine is well meaning but insist on viewing her depression in their own way instead of actually speaking with Christine.

At one point Christine screams "why is no one listening to me?!" and it's true. No one listens to Christine. Her mother is certain that she just needs a man. The anchor on her news show is certain she just needs therapy. Her friend at the station is certain that she just needs ice cream. Everyone is so quick to offer possible remedies and solutions that Christine is actually overlooked.

This is exemplified in the "Yes, but" game as seen in the trailer for the film. In the game the speaker tells the listener their problems. The listener then suggests a solution to which the speaker replies "yes, but" and points out the issues with that solution. The idea may be to get to the heart of the speaker's problems or for them to simply run out of problems and start thinking about solutions but the effect is clear. The issues and concerns of the speaker are being dismissed, one by one. Often with just a few words.

This portrayal of the isolating effects of depression is very affecting. We see Christine attempt to bury herself in work, buying a radio scanner to listen in on police frequencies in an attempt to find the gruesome story she needs to gain recognition. As we see her hunched over her notepad listening to two police officers brag about sexual conquests, we can see the cracks starting to appear.

The entire film hinges on Rebecca Hall's ability to play a character who is simultaneously spiralling out of control and deeply sympathetic and fortunately she accomplishes this extremely well. She is magnetic to watch even as she shrinks into the backgrounds of the scenes in which Christine finds herself. Her awkwardness and frustration are told through tiny movements and gestures.

The film takes some liberties with the real life of Christine Chubbuck. Some people on her life have been omitted and some incidents have been made to occur later than they actually did for dramatic effect. However if you walk into this film without knowing how Christine's story ended then I am sure you will be as shocked as the world was back in 1975 and hopefully you will reflect on how you personally react to depression, in yourself and others. If you're anything like me you will emerge from the cinema desperate to know more about this enigmatic and tragic young woman.

The film is a very tense and uncomfortable slow burn with some surprisingly funny moments. Performances are excellent all round but this really is Hall's show and is an excellent showcase for her talents as a screen presence.

Park Chan Wook's adaptation of Sarah Water's historical crime novel is beautiful. This is no surprise as all of Park Chan Wook's films are beautiful. Chung Chung-hoon (Park's cinematographer since Oldboy) has once again delivered one of the more visually stunning films of the year. Vivid colours are used provocatively to invoke a fanciful vision of occupied Korea. What is a relief is that the film contains the compelling characters and deep insight that Park's last film, Stoker, unfortunately lacked.

Park has returned to the theme of female sexuality that he previously explored in Stoker and Thirst, this time focusing on a burgeoning relationship between a young heiress and her handmaiden. However as you'd expect from a work adapted from a crime story, there are a great many twists in the story. What sets this apart from other erotic crime fiction (aside from the technical prowess) is our emotional engagement with the story. This can be attributed to the excellent performances, especially Kim Tae-ri as Sook-Hee who is at times subtly hilarious and deeply heart-breaking. Ha Jung-woo is wonderful as the conman who attempts to manipulate both women.

There is the same potential problem with this film as Blue is the Warmest Colour, namely that this is a film about female sexuality as written and directed by a man (admittedly in both cases adapted from works by female authors). Just as with that film I feel there is more going on here. The film concerns itself with the excitement of new love and its ability to liberate us from seemingly inescapable circumstances. However with this film, I believe that Park may have anticipated this issue.

One of the more interesting themes of the film is sexual exploration. At the screening of the film I attended Park Chan-wook mentioned that his fans in Tokyo have nicknamed him the "intellectual pervert". As we explore the household of The Handmaiden we realise that some very niche sexual practices are being explored, tantalisingly hinted at by a pair of brass balls found in a drawer early in the film. Around the midpoint of the film we are presented with a room full of men watching a woman tell an erotic story. We see her tell multiple stories involving tentacle beasts, asphyxiation and object sexuality. The men are entranced by this erotic display, whilst the film presents it as a lurid and rather cold affair. The woman is being exploited.

This is contrasted by the incredibly warm and intimate filming of the love scene between Sook-Hee and Hideko. The scene is actually visited twice during the film from different perspectives. The scene is very erotic and exciting, not least because we know these characters and understand what this experience means to them. I believe we are to contrast these scenes. One is titillation derived from imagined scenarios, the other is the genuine eroticism of seeing two characters we care about connect physically. Yet perhaps we can allow this opportunity to contemplate our voyeurism. Even though we understand their situation better, are the character still being exploited for our benefit?

Relocating the film from Victorian Britain to 1930s Japan has an interesting effect on the story. Whereas the recent film "When Marnie Was There" (a studio Ghibli production of an Irish novel) moves the action to Japan with only some aesthetic nods to its original setting, Park uses this as an opportunity to comment on the period and place. The film is set during the Japanese occupation of Korea. Early in the film it is mentioned that Kouzuki, the man who built the house, combined eastern and western traditions. This contrast of designs is evident throughout and creates a dynamic impression of a country transforming.

Ultimately this is Park Chan-Wook's most engaging and entertaining film since Thirst. His trademark dark humour, startling violence and kinky eroticism are all in full effect. If some of those elements put off certain people, then that's just all the more reason to cherish the film. I look forward to seeing it again when the film is generally released next year, as I'm sure there is much more to see.

Pyromaniac follows a young man as he quietly wreaks havoc in his small Norwegian town. We spend the entire film with Ingemann, observing his life and his destructive habits. However, Ingemann's motivations are enigmatic. We are left to reach our own conclusions as to why Ingemann enjoys his incendiary hobby.

We are given an insight into the character's frustration. He is the fireman's son but receives very little attention in the community. His school friends no longer engage with him and most of the adults struggle to remember his name. Few opportunities to interact are presented in the sparsely populated setting. But when a fire breaks out the community is drawn together. A crowd quickly gathers and everyone participates in extinguishing the fire and rescuing as much of the victims property as possible. Crucially Ingremann himself transforms. He becomes competent and confident as undertakes his duties. Ingremann seems to show genuine compassion for the victims of his predilection.

Actor Per Frisch delivers a wonderfully magnetic performance as Ingremann, managing to embody the awkwardness of the character as well as the menace. As his fires grow in scope he becomes more bold and frightening to behold, all the while maintaining pathos.

The fires in the film are alternately terrifying and incidental. Director Erik Skjoldbjærg films ignition like an action movie utilising slow motion and rich sound design to make the audience feel the destructive power. Yet often the resulting fire is framed in the background of scenes, recalling Tarkovsky's set piece barn fire in The Sacrifice. There is of course one notable exception in which an elderly couple escape the house, a scene that is as tense as it is impressive.

The effect is that the fire loses its dramatic allure once it has been lit and any civilians have safely evacuated. The sense of urgency and danger gives way to one of melancholia. The fire becomes a passive devourer that roars in the distance and seems unaffected by the communities attempts to extinguish it.

One of the more striking engaging aspects of the film is Ingremann's relationship with his mother. Quiet scenes of domesticity establish the gentle fondness between the two characters which becomes heart-breaking as Ingremann's actions strike closer and closer to home. Some of the most emotional scenes of the film come from this relationship.

Not everyone will be engaged by Pyromaniac. The pace is slow, the characters are understated and the sense of peril is deliberately undercut with dark humour. However for those able to appreciate such things, the film is a frightening and arresting experience.

A man awakens adrift in the middle of the ocean. He is able to swim to a nearby remote island which is only inhabited by crabs, birds and a mysterious red turtle. This is the premise to the Michaël Dudok de Wit's first feature length film, a collaboration between French production studio The Wild Bunch and Japanese animation powerhouse Studio Ghibli. The result of this collaboration is a visually stunning and emotionally complex film.

De Wit explained after the screening that he loved the desert island stories he heard as a child but wanted to tell a different story than Robinson Crusoe. He was less interested in the mechanics of how a man can live on (or escape from) a desert island and more interested in how that man would feel. The practicalities of how the man would survive on this island are dealt with early on and in little detail. The island has fruit bearing trees and a pool of drinkable water at its centre. A very tense sequence early in the film sees the man fall into a crevice and swim the length of a claustrophobic underwater tunnel to escape. These sequences of peril are few. The majority of the film concerns the real interest of the director; what would keep a man on his island? What would he need to be happy there? De Wit explained his process as being very natural. He arrived at the premise and then wrote the story without a plan. He wanted something to keep the man on the island, something natural. He then settled on a giant turtle saying it just felt right. Not too cute, nor too animalistic. The effect of this writing style is that the film has a very dream like quality.

The animation is stunning. The island is rendered in lush colours. The realistic approach to character movements and environments makes the fantastical elements all the more spellbinding.

The director also mentioned symbolism in his discussion, hoping that it was clear. I must admit that if the film is a direct allegory then it's a little elusive. Perhaps it's a story about surrendering the instinct to escape one's circumstances and learning to embrace them. Or perhaps it's about not yearning to return to home but to make one for oneself. The man initially dreams of bridges leaving the island and string quartets appearing on the beach. As the man explores the wonders of the island he stops dreaming, discovering that the island has its own fantasies to offer. The deceptively simple story demands some thought but more significantly insists on being felt.

Other interesting details from the discussion with the director included the sudden contact from Studio Ghibli. Someone from the studio contacted him having seen some of his animated shorts. He was offered the chance to make whatever film he wanted. This, surely, is the impossible dream of all animators. He described the experience of working with the animation giant as incredibly rewarding, with their input and guidance allowing him to make a better film.

It is interesting to see the Ghibli elements within the film. Most noticeably, I think, the studio has influenced the wildlife seen on screen. Aside from the eponymous reptile, the man is joined on his island by a group of crabs. These crabs are drawn realistically but act anthropomorphically, functioning as comic relief. It's difficult not to recall the Soot Sprites from Spirited Away. However despite the whimsy of these crabs, they are still depicted as part of nature. They drag live fish away to be consumed and are themselves eaten by birds. The juxtaposition of the charms of nature with its horrors recalls the woodland scenes from The Tale of Princess Kaguya.

This is a very unique film. It has far less in common with stories like Castaway than its premise may suggest. Instead this is a fantastical exploration of what makes a person content with their surroundings. Fans of Michaël Dudok de Wit will appreciate the flawless transition he has made to feature film and fans of Studio Ghibli will find plenty of the magic and wonder they may be missing since When Marnie Was There.