Reviews

"All right! The normal is the good smile in a child's eyes. There's also the dead stare in a million adults. It both sustains and kills, like a god. It is the ordinary made beautiful, it is also the average made lethal. Normal is the indispensable murderous god of health and I am his priest."

Richard Burton's last truly great performance came in Sidney Lumet's screen adaption of Paul Shaffer's play; reprising the celebrated role that he himself had already wowed critics with on stage.

When a disturbed young man, Alan Strang (Peter Firth), blinds six horses with a metal spike he is referred by the magistrates to the care of psychiatrist Dr. Martin Dysart (Burton). Determined to unravel the mind of his patient and discover the trigger for this most brutal act, Dysart slowly forges a bond with the youth; unearthing, fragment by fragment, a childhood shaped of sexual repression, religious confusion, maternal overload and, of course, a burning equine obsession. However, as Dysart plunges deeper and deeper into Strangs psyche, he not only begins to question his own professional merit but begins to envy the World of passion and fantasy that the youth has retreated into.

Highly regarded for his character driven films, Equus is up there amongst Sidney Lumets very best. The script is extremely intelligent whilst there are a handful of small but eye-catching supporting roles that help Dysart slot the pieces of his puzzle together; most notably from Colin Blakely and Joan Plowright as Strangs parents and Jenny Agutter as the young girl who introduces Alan to the stables where his madness finally spirals into violence. There are also some evocative flashback sequences throughout that are impressively disturbing and yet, at the same time, succeed in capturing the wonder and beauty of Strangs obsession.

However, the film really stands as a two hander between the brooding Burton and the revelatory Peter Firth; a relationship that is light years more nuanced and evolved than the somewhat soft-centred dynamic between Robin Williams and Matt Damon in the similarly themed Good Will Hunting. Firth turns in a wonderfully sensitive performance as the shy, deeply damaged youth who is overwhelmed by his adolescence, repressed yearnings and befuddled sexuality whilst Burton is absolutely terrific as Dysart; his disillusionment with his own sterile existence and unhappy marriage diffusing slowly through his (sexually muted) conversations with his friend (Eileen Atkins) and spilling out in a string of acidic monologues that both narrate events and serve as vents to the emotional conflicts of a man whose career is devoted to unravelling them.

It's a most eloquent and rewarding performance in an eloquent and rewarding film. Equus is a film that asks no easy questions and offers no easy moral judgements. It is a mature, articulate and bruising character study that demands to be seen.

"What the hell do you think spies are? Moral philosophers measuring everything they do against the word of God or Karl Marx? They're not! They're just a bunch of seedy, squalid bastards like me: drunkards, queers, hen-pecked husbands, civil servants playing cowboys and Indians to brighten their rotten little lives. Do you think they sit like monks in a cell, balancing right against wrong?"

Richard Burton's movie career is something of an enigma. An actor of immense talents, he emerged in the 1950's with rave reviews from his stage work and comparisons to Laurence Olivier ringing in his ear. However, in 1984, his premature death was followed by obituaries bemoaning his alcoholism, dragging up his tumultuous private life (lest we forget he was married to Liz Taylor twice) and picking the bones of his celebrity. Perhaps the biggest accusation of all though was the general agreement that, despite his seven Academy award nominations, he squandered his talent. Certainly this has a ring of truth about it. Sure, he put in some excellent performances (Look Back In Anger, Becket and Equus spring to mind) but, to be brutally honest, he slummed it in a huge amount of dross too.

Fortunately, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold falls firmly into the former category. In fact, it is, in my opinion, both his best film and his greatest performance. Based on a novel from John Le Carré, Burton plays Alec Leamas; an embittered section chief directing espionage operations along the Berlin Wall at the height of the Cold War. After his chief source of intelligence in the East is assassinated on the orders of his Stasi counterpart, Mundt (Peter Van Eyck), the disillusioned Leamas returns to London to his masters where he is given two choices: Come in from the cold to a desk job or engineer his own defection in order to feed Communists false information.

Burton is simply electric. His glowering presence, deep whiskey and cigarette voice and tortuously etched features projecting a malcontent mixture of apathy, cynicism and self loathing that Leamas seemingly seethes from every pore. He's a man left utterly numb by his job and the endless games of espionage and counter-espionage in which he has been immersed. He's belligerent, intelligent and, yes, impenetrably icy. For whilst "the cold" of the title references the act of an agent coming in from operations it also reflects Leamus' mental state.

Directed by the hugely underrated Martin Ritt, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold is a deathly, fatalistic and brilliant antidote to the glamorous super spies and swinging swagger that were swirling around London in the mid-sixties. Excellent support is offered too. Claire Bloom makes a quirky choice of romantic interest ("She offered me free love. At the time, that was all I could afford") whilst the likes of Robert Hardy, Sam Wanamaker, Cyril Cusack and Michael Hordern are all tangled up in the intrigue. There's even a cheeky cameo from Bernard Lee! The pick of the support comes from Oskar Werner as Mundt's Machiavellian second in command though.

Yet all fall into place behind the immense figure of Burton. From the bleak, frigid opening sequence in the shadow of the Berlin Wall to the soul deadening revelations of the final reels he dominates this psychologically gripping political thriller.

Transformers, for me, is a film that veers somewhere between the absolutely spectacular and the cringe-worthy, the predictable and the plain bad.

First of all, the good things. Transformers, in all likelihood, contains the best action sequences that you will see all year. They are as bold and exciting and as crazy as anything in Michael Bay's career. The opening assault on the desert base is fantastic and the final forty five minutes that takes the action from the Hoover dam to the very heart of the city is sustained on pure adrenalin.

Alongside this, if it doesn't pick up awards for its effects come Oscar season it will be a crime. There's a fantastic sequence in which Optimus Prime transforms before our very eyes in near slow-motion and we get to see every piston and bolt and panel twisting into shape. For that alone it's breathtaking. Similarly, the Transformers are as real and believable as King Kong was eighteen months. If Peter Jackson was rightly lauded for breathing such humanity into a giant living breathing ape, then Bay should be afforded even greater credit for the enthusing his giant robots with such lifelike traits and dignity. My only complaint would be the lack of Megatron until the final thirty minutes!

As well as this, there is a performance that stands out as well. Although much attention has been drawn to Shia LeBeof (who I shall reluctantly come to later), the real standout, for me, came from Josh Duhamel. Admittedly he didn't have his limits stretched in the role of Captain Lennox but what he did have to do he did extremely well. Perhaps the biggest compliment that I can pay him is to say that he reminded me of a Terminator/Aliens era Michael Biehn. A piece of casting that Bay no doubt intended but, nonetheless, Duhamel pulled it off charismatic aplomb.

Unfortunately, there is little more positive that I have to say. For whilst I thoroughly enjoyed Tranformers whilst Bay was doing what he does best, the whole film is let down by a lacklustre script, weak two-dimensional characters, cringe-worthy attempts at humour and a crushing level of predictability.

We've simply seen Transformers so many times before. I mentioned Aliens and The Terminator earlier on but this movie stomps on narrative territories that have been de rigeur in modern blockbusters since Independence Day. That is not to say that Bay has ripped anything off but simply that there is very little original here. Multiple narratives that pull together to include geeky boys, attractive and seemingly unattainable objects of affection, computer experts who are ignored, US military overwhelmed by higher civilisations (apart from a single hardcore special ops unit of course) and shady Government organisations kept secret from even the highest ranking politicians. Transformers is a positive melting pot of modern blockbuster clichés.

Duhamel aside, the casting doesn't particularly help either. Megan Fox simply seems to be included to satisfy the audiences objectification needs, the heavyweight Jon Voight simply coasts his way to another paycheck and Bay shoehorns in every single African-American stereotype into the roles occupied by Tyrese Gibson, Anthony Anderson and Bernie Mac. Whilst it is always a pleasure to see John Turturro on screen, you could practically see his tongue protruding from his cheek in almost every single scene! As for Shia LeBeof, I am mystified how his star is rising so quickly in Hollywood. I'm all for studio's moving away from the bland leading clones of the early 00's but he's like the terrifying result of genetic experiments of Corey Feldman's pickled liver. An irritating smart-ass who here appears to be regurgitating his performance in Constantine.

Which leads nicely to the films biggest problems. The script. Oh dear. Right from the offset the script hums with a mixture of cheese and sleaze. If I were a cynical man, I'd argue that half of the reason that the action is so effective is simply because we have been aching for Bay to show some mercy and shut the characters up! LeBeouf and Anderson are prominent offenders but the characters of Ron and Judy Witwicky are by far the most grating. Intended as comic relief no doubt but ultimately an embarrassing instrument of torture. Like the Levensteins dumbed down and living under the Witness Protection Scheme. One can only presume that any sequel will have Alyson Hannigan returning from band camp to win Sam back from Mikaela!

Indeed, it's the moments in which Bay is trying to be self-consciously funny that really grate. There are some humorous exchanges that genuinely do work ("I'm gonna count to five"... "I'm gonna count to three") but when Bay steps out of his comfort zone the results often induce uncomfortable seat-squirming. The extended sequence in which the Autobots "hide out" in the Witwicky's back garden is the case in point. Heavy-handed, laboured and below even cartoonish. Transformers is, unfortunately, riven with such moments.

I left the cinema last night with the same mixture of satisfaction and disappointment that I felt when I watched King Kong. There is a lot to enjoy about Transformers and if you are looking for big, dumb fun then this film ticks all the boxes. However, be warned, there is a lot of dumb, not-so-fun, small talk to wade through too.

"Well, then. Now. I'll begin at the beginnin'. A fine soft day in the spring, it was, when the train pulled into Castletown, three hours late as usual, and himself got off. He didn't have the look of an American tourist at all about him. Not a camera on him; what was worse, not even a fishin' rod."

So begins "The Quiet Man", John Fords labour of love that turned a twee tale of Irish blarney into one of cinema's most passionate romances.

When the Irish-American boxer Sean Thornton (John Wayne) kills an opponent in the ring, he returns home to the small rural village of his birth where he immediately purchases his old family cottage... An act that leads to him incurring the wrath of local squire Red Danaher (Victor McLagen). Their feud is escalated when Sean meets Danahers feisty, beautiful sister Mary-Kate (Maureen O'Hara) and they quickly embark upon a tempestuous romance. The assorted locals conspire in this courtship but the stubborn Danaher continues to block the road to happiness.

With such flamboyant stock character actors as Ward Bond, Barry Fitzgerald and Mildred Natwick on typically barnstorming form, what Ford presents here is a loving, charming depiction of the whimsical rural Ireland of his imagination. An idealised homeland full of larger than life characters, strong women, hard-drinking men and innocent parochial religion and a place where and all disputes can be happily resolved with a fistfight. And boy what a fistfight!

Words such as "lyrical" and "mythic" are often applied to the directors work and this was probably never more apparent than here. From the first sighting of Mary-Kate in the tree encircled glade through to the final secretive whisper between man and wife, there can be few films as brimming with undiluted joie de vivre as "The Quiet Man".

The first feature in Fords majestic cavalry trilogy.

Colonel Thursday (Henry Fonda) is the martinet officer who begrudgingly takes command of the remote western cavalry outpost of the title. Resenting this move sideways, Thursday slowly begins to alienate his men with his strict pedantic adherence to discipline, class prejudice and dangerous lack of understanding of Indian warfare. This particularly brings him into conflict with Captain York (a steadfast John Wayne), a veteran officer who realises that Thursdays desire for honour and glory will inevitably end in folly. Sure enough, Thursday decides that his route back east lies with the duplicitous capture of Cochise and his band of Apaches who have been forced off their reservations by an unscrupulous agent.

A veiled, lyrical take on the demise of Custer, Ford ensures that the austere machinations of Colonel Thursday are tempered by the warmth and wit of day-to-day cavalry community life whilst a charming romance between Thursdays daughter and a young lieutenant (Shirley temple and John Agar) allows not only a glimpse into Thursdays class prejudice but also gives further evidence of his paternalistic sensibilities.

Co-starring Ford regulars such as Victor McLagen, Ward Bond and George O'Brien, Fort Apache is an absolute delight. Shot in a stark black and white, it works both as an intelligent contemplation upon what constitutes leadership and honour and glory as well as a wonderfully paced character study. Either way, there is little doubt that Fonda dominates. For all of his buttoned up resentment and misplaced pomposity, his strangely charismatic Thursday is certainly not a character for whom one can feel no sympathy or even dislike. Whether sparring with Wayne or leading his men into the jaws of death, he paradoxically remains a man to admire and man to pity.

A grieving American couple (Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett) are holidaying in Morocco when their coach is hit by a stray bullet fired from a rifle belonging to the teenage son (Boubker Ait El Caid) of a local farmer. Meanwhile an immigrant nanny (Adriana Barraza) makes a return to Mexico for her sons wedding with her two young charges illegally in tow. And in Japan, a disturbed deaf-mute adolescent girl (Rinko Kikuchi) trawls the streets and clubs of Tokyo awkwardly seeking a fervent sexual awakening.

Alejandro González Inárritu's Oscar contender Babel is a strange work. A multi-stranded contemplation on language barriers and cultural prejudices set audaciously across three continents. Four far-reaching tales spun (somewhat haphazardly) around a single gunshot.

Mechanics-wise, Babel is almost flawless; a better edited film has not been seen all year and the photography is stunning. From the unforgiving plains of Morocco through the tawdry, tequila fuelled wedding party in Guadalupe to the neon emblazoned city-scape of Tokyo, cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto captures both mankind and nature at its most beautiful and its most desolate. Similarly, the use of sound is almost as pristine.

On top of this, the acting is exemplary from a wide ranging ensemble cast. Pitt, in the grips of despair, displays a gravitas that has only been hinted at in the past. El Caid shows a maturity way beyond his years. Barraza cuts a tragic figure as the nanny whose conflicted maternal instincts (and a bitingly loco Gael Garcia Bernal) drive her towards her fate. As the isolated teen grasping for male attention through increasingly self-degrading acts of exposure, Kikuchi is nothing short of a revelation.

So where does it all go wrong?

Lacking the startling vibrancy of Amores Perros and the gut-wrenching emotional body-blows of 21 Grams, Babel is modern cinema of biblical pretensions rendered partially impotent by an infuriatingly detached script that piles contrivance upon ludicrous contrivance until it buckles under its own self-important weight. As the stories continue to run parallel, the tenuous point of contact between the stories lends a jarringly absurd tone to the weighty proceedings. An unnecessary and slightly burdensome link.

Inárittu's determination to illicit a dramatic kick in the last third also backfires. Irrationality and melodrama threaten to overwhelm as the director attempts to slot his pieces into place for their final revelations. The previously restrained, character motivated film lurches in an unwelcome tangent as if all before it were a charade. A sense of desperation enters proceedings and, although somewhat rescued by the touching closing scene, the damage is unfortunately done.

What is left is a jigsaw that doesn't quite fit. Or rather three jigsaws that simply do not go together. Each strand engages on their own specific terms yet the cohesion between them is simply lacking and feels forced and ultimately diminishes from the whole. Which is a shame as Babel clearly had a lot to say both on international barriers/relations and upon our isolation and lack of understanding in a World of technology and, ironically, communication. If only Inárittu had just kept his own message simple!