Director: Woody Allen Screenwriter: Woody Allen Running Time: 108 mins Certificate: 12A Released: 23 May
The final film in Woody Allen’s London trilogy, Cassandra’s Dream is a dramatic piece about two blue-collar brothers looking for a big payday to clean up their financial troubles, but instead find themselves in a catastrophic mess.
Ewan McGregor plays Ian, who reluctantly helps run the struggling family restaurant while dreaming of California and beautiful women. Brother Terry is played by Colin Farrell, who gets greasy in an auto repair shop when he’s not destroying his life through a horrible gambling and pill addiction. After the brothers buy a boat they can’t really afford, manic Terry starts thinking big, and takes girlfriend Kate (Sally Hawkins) out house-hunting. In an effort to make it work, Terry gets in too deep with loan sharks, and with the aid of Ian, the brothers look to their wealthy Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson) for a loan. With problems of his own, Howard hires the boys to whack a high-powered rival.
Cassandra’s Dream is, in its essence, a typical Woody Allen drama. While he may never again reach the dramatic pinnacle of Crimes and Misdemeanors, Allen continues to explore the themes of guilt and morality, as well as Match Point’s ideas about class struggle. The plot, though very similar to Match Point or Sidney Lumet’s Before the Devil Knows you’re Dead, is still engaging and interesting, and succeeds in challenging the audience to ask what they would do in similar circumstances.
It’s a pity that everything else is so creaky. Allen’s quick New Yorker dialogue does not translate so well through the mouths of the British, with some actors seemingly struggling to spit out their lines. Unfortunately, an impatient Woody, notorious for refusing to shoot more than a few takes per scene, decided to keep in a fair share of sloppy deliveries; some characters are nearly referred to by the wrong names at times. Two very different actors, McGregor and Farrell lack the chemistry greatly needed to make the film more powerful, and their supposedly cockney accents are sure to aggravate UK audiences.
A compulsive worker, Woody Allen has averaged making at least one film a year since his directorial career started in 1966. Cassandra’s Dream, Allen’s 38th feature-length film, feels like a film that was more of a burden rather than a joy to make. Whereas Allen’s Oscar-nominated Match Point felt fresh and passionate, he seems to have become quickly bored with London and his cast for this film. Perhaps he was put off by the weather and was looking forward to reuniting with Scarlett Johansson in sunny Spain for his next project Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Woody sure could use a holiday.
Director: Morgan Spurlock Screenwriters: Moran Spurlock & Jeremy Chilnick Running Time: 93 mins Certificate: 12A Released: 9th May
Four years after Super-Sizing himself, documentary filmmaker Morgan Spurlock once again puts himself in harm’s way as the globe-trekking American in search of Public Enemy Number One, Osama Bin Laden. Leaving a pregnant partner at home, Spurlock grows a beard, hops on a camel, and plants himself smack dab in the middle of some very, very sensitive situations.
Within minutes of Morgan Spurlock’s second big-screen documentary, a cartoon cut-out of Osama Bin Laden dances around on the screen to the tune of MC Hammer’s “You Can’t Touch This”. Like an outrageous South Park skit, the animated scene is shockingly tasteless, only unlike South Park it is completely unfunny. There’s also a video game segment, in which a CGI Spurlock battles Osama, ‘Mortal Kombat’ style. This is also not funny. To make such a mockery is one thing, but when Spurlock is on the streets in the danger zone, he acts with the earnestness and curiosity of a young American liberal backpacker. Such a slippery slope is unacceptable, and for a man who surely knows a little something about the US foreign policy in the Middle East, Spurlock occasionally acts as if he has never heard of the War on Terror.
Like Michael Moore, Spurlock plays the everyman, going to everyone and anyone for answers - searching for the Muslim perspective on Americans, and of course trying to find the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden (the ending’s a bummer). While Spurlock’s Super-Size Me was a fresh and revealing take on Fast Food Nation, his new documentary does little to explain further to audiences what Moore has already attempted in the past. WITWIOBL? clumsily tries to show that Muslims aren’t all that bad, but this message of cultural relativism comes nearly seven years too late.
Director: Grant Gee Running Time: 93 mins Certificate: 15 Release Date: 2 May
It’s been 30 years since the first time anyone heard a Joy Division record, and 28 since the death of singer Ian Curtis. Yet those two years, 1978-1980, and the musical sparks coming out of the Manchester scene, have been covered in two very good films in the past few years - Michael Winterbottom’s 24 Hour Party People, and Control, made by Joy Division photographer Anton Corbijn. While Winterbottom told the story of the birth of the scene through the persona of Tony Wilson, Corbijn focused on the scene’s most exciting talent and ultimate tragedy, the enigmatic Ian Curtis, as based on the book by Deborah Curtis. With all of the ground covered in recent years, music video director Grant Gee searches for fresh stories in his new documentary.
What this Joy Division documentary offers is a plethora of live footage not previously seen on the big screen. As one might surmise, most of the footage is raw, crusty, fan-shot VHS recordings. The most prized footage is the original Grenada TV appearance of the band’s infamous breakthrough spot on Tony Wilson’s “So it Goes” programme, which was recreated so beautifully in Control. Interviews with the dearly departed Wilson and legendary producer John Peel will be a genuine treat for music lovers. Along with Anton Corbijn and the remaining members of the band (who are now New Order), the most intriguing interview subject is Annik Honore, the Belgian journalist with whom Curtis had the affair that inspired “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, the band’s biggest hit. What is blaringly absent is the inclusion of Deborah Curtis. Though her book was the source material for Control, seeing her speak directly may have given this documentary the punch that it sorely lacks.
Shot in a straightforward documentary fashion, with mild stylistic touches by Gee, Joy Division lacks any real cinematic quality. It retraces over the lines drawn by Control and Party People, and little new information or specific insight comes to light after 93 minutes. That being said, there are enough nuggets here - such as finding out how the band came up with such a signature bass sound – to be of interest for Joy Division fans. While it works as a nice companion piece to Control, this documentary seems more like a bonus disc in a nice DVD package of that film than a proper stand-alone doc. Fans only.
Director: Nicholas Stoller Screenwriter: Jason Segal Certificate: 15 Running Time: 112 mins Release Date: 25 April
Putzy score composer Peter (Jason Segal) has been dating TV crime drama star Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell) for over five years. Sarah finally drops the schmuck for international rock star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand), leaving Peter to wallow on his couch eating vats of cereal before taking a trip to Hawaii in hopes of cheering up and working on his Dracula puppet musical. But guess who else is at the same resort? That’s right, Sarah and Aldous just happen to be there to inadvertently torture poor Peter with their canoodling. Lucky for Peter, island beauty Rachel (Mila Kunis) is next in line to realize his (and male audience members) fantasies.
Like with the films of Kevin Smith, the Apatow universe maintains similar themes and characters throughout: average guys constantly dating women way out of their league, breakups, and bro-hood are all here to keep the status quo. Appealing to masculine emotions is what these films do best, and Forgetting Sarah Marshall performs its functions in that respect. How terrifying is it to know that the girl you loved for five years is now having incredible sex with a global superstar? And how incurable is the pain when you realize that he’s actually a pretty cool guy? Russell Brand, in his big American breakthrough role, steals the film by basically satirizing himself. In one of the film’s truly hilarious moments, Brand lends sex advice to Christian newlywed Darald (30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer) while using gigantic chess pieces on a beach as teaching aids.
There are a lot of bit roles given out to the usual suspects - Paul Rudd is wasted as a stoned surf instructor, Bill Hader is an annoying relative giving bad relationship advice, and Jonah Hill is probably just here because someone lost a bet (seriously, why is this guy in movies?!). Kristin Bell’s character is shallowly drawn, but luckily Mila Kunis is given slightly more bite. As an actress possessing both striking beauty and sharp comedic instinct, Kunis is well suited to become one of this generation’s leading ladies of rom-com. The same cannot be said for the likes of the film’s leading man, Jason Segal. Playing the lead role from his own script, Segal is bland and forgettable, a truly average guy. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is at times a very funny picture, and ironically those laughs are delivered by Apatow outsiders Brand and McBrayer, whose characters are based on previous material, leading one to surmise that there’s little creative juices left in Team Apatow’s tank. However, that imported injection of fresh humour is successful in making Forgetting Sarah Marshall a fun romantic comedy, delivering false hope to average guys across the land that someday, somehow, a gorgeous woman will fall for them…and when that woman gets smart enough to leave them, an even more stunning beauty awaits.
Director: Marjane Satrapi, Vincent Paronnaud Screenwriters: Marjane Satrapi, Vincent Paronnaud Certificate: 12A Running Time: 95 mins Release Date: 25 April
An Oscar-nominated Cannes winner, Persepolis finally reaches the UK after oodles of accolades as one of 2007’s best features. This new English-dubbed version of Marjane Satrapi’s animated memoirs includes the voice work of Sean Penn, Gena Rowlands, and Iggy Pop alongside original French-language cast members Chiara Mastroianni (Marjane) and Catherine Denuve (mother), the bilingual real-life mother/daughter team who translate their roles for English-speaking audiences.
Based on the graphic novels of the same name, Persepolis is a coming of age story first, and a history lesson second. Book-ended by colour scenes of Marjane at a Paris airport, she tells, with great humour and heart, her story of growing up from the idealistic late seventies through the depressing nineties. Marjane recalls her parents (voiced by Penn and Denuve), a couple of “caviar leftists” whose politically progressive principles are enthusiastically embraced by Marjane, who grins with hypnotic glee as her Uncle Anouche (Iggy Pop) tells stories about her late communist relatives. The young Marjane, who loves Abba, mimics Bruce Lee, and chants “down with the Shah” while pumping her fist in the air, is a darling of a character, eminently likeable and adorable. From the innocence of youth the story moves up through the teenage punk years (buying black-market Iron Maiden cassettes) and into Marjane’s experiences in the Iran-Iraq War, the revolution, and her subsequent move to Vienna. Sharing her personal account through the changing face of Iran through the years provides a human perspective on a part of the world all too commonly feared and misrepresented in the western world today.
These stories of the past are animated in a stark black & white imagery reminiscent of shadowy German expressionism. This visual approach has a distinct appeal that is as effective for Persepolis as Pixar’s magic is for its gorgeous films. The English-dubbed version of Persepolis suffers a bit, as audiences are meant to believe Sean Penn, Gena Rowlands and Iggy Pop voicing Iranians, which is distracting. Even the some of the hard-line Iranian guards are voiced by Americans with a southern drawl, which is either a coy political statement or just very odd. Still, Persepolis is a little treasure of a film, a vibrantly exhibited story of a likeable, funny character that will reward attentive audiences for years to come. Though it is an animated film, its themes are too mature for younger audiences to appreciate, though it could be a revelation for socially aware teens. See Persepolis regardless of the language, but catch the original French version if you can.
Director: Kimberly Peirce Screenwriters: Kimberly Peirce & Mark Richard Certificate: 15 Running Time: 113 mins Release Date: 25 April
Stop-Loss, another in a seemingly endless string of films about the Iraq War to come out of Hollywood, is an MTV production which tells the story of a war hero who rebels against a fine-print policy that forces him to go back to Iraq shortly after completing his duty.
Director Kimberly Peirce (whose last film was 1999’s exceptional Boys Don’t Cry) decided to make the film based on stories she heard via her teenage brother who has served in Iraq, giving the film an irrefutable personal agenda, which both adds and detracts to the quality of the story being told. Ryan Phillippe plays Brandon King, the strong soldier with a conscience. After arriving home after a particularly bloody battle in Tikrit, he witnesses the Deer Hunter-esque deterioration of his brothers-in-arms. Tommy (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and Steve (Channing Tatum) return to Texas as heroes, but their war-torn mental anguish can’t even afford themselves one night of peace and happiness. While Tommy drinks himself into obliteration, Steve realizes his only place is in the field of combat, gearing up for another tour and leaving behind beautiful fiancée Michelle (Abbie Cornish). The path isn’t so clear for Brandon, who, after being told he is being stop-lossed back to Iraq against his wishes, goes AWOL in search of help from the madness.
What results is a road movie in which Brandon encounters stereotypical baddies in dark and disgusting locations in the American south. Like Kimberly Peirce’s other Brandon – Brandon Teena from Boys Don’t Cry – Brandon King is a character torn apart on the inside and out, and the only option becomes a complete identity change to escape the violence. The dire situation is played out with intensity and a palpable feeling of desperation and anger. Dialogue is blunt and to the point; lines such as “fuck the President” pretty much sum up the agenda of the film, which never really delivers on the policy debate that is hoped for. To drive the point home, Brandon visits an army hospital and we are given extreme close-ups of a grotesquely burned and maimed Latino soldier. It’s a lot tougher than expected for an MTV film, but one may feel pushed a bit too far by that point.
The cast is strong, and primary players like Phillippe, Gordon-Levitt, and Tatum continue to thrive in darker roles, though Phillippe particularly excels in his most physically demanding performance yet. As edutainment, Stop-Loss succeeds in explaining the titular policy whilst keeping the audience engaged in the story. As film on this topic go, Stop-Loss is stronger than most. Yet like most films about the Iraq War, it still lacks a certain depth of quality to make it the film we’ve been waiting for.
Director: Kit Ryan Screenwriters: Derek Boyle, Eamon Friel, Raymond Friel Running Time: 91 mins Certificate: 15 Release Date: Out Now
Ivan the Terrible is on the loose and he's hunting down sad corporate media underlings with the aid of his bible-thumping twin sister in modern day Moscow!Well, it’s more interesting than the “jewel thief having a bad day” synopsis of Botched, a film whose name makes for a convenient one-word review.Stephen Dorff plays said jewel thief Ritchie Donovan, who must retrieve an ancient relic from a corporate Russian penthouse in order to settle his debts with the mob.
Botched starts out as a bad heist film, but with one swift cut, it becomes a wacky blood-spewing B-movie.A faulty lift brings the thieves and bystanders into a concrete labyrinth, which serves as the booby-trapped setting for the action.The unfortunate group of thieves and hostages includes a radio geek, a self-proclaimed “alpha male” security guard, a female corporate VP, and a trio of church ladies.All played by Irish/British actors putting on unbearably awful Russian accents, it’s a relief when the film gets more and more demented and there are less and less lines delivered.
Getting into all of the pacing issues, lack of suspense, absent emotion and terrible acting is useless here.For better or for worse, Botched does not take itself too seriously.It is a proudly absurd film, full of squishy gore and unbearable dialogue.There is a consistently uncomfortable feeling of racism toward Russians here, which is hard to overlook, no matter how many giant rubber rodents are tossed about.Botched does have its gleeful moments of ludicrousness, though this bloody mess of a film is strictly for the B-faithful.
Director: Kevin Lima Screenwriter: Bill Kelly Running Time: 103 mins Certificate: PG DVD Distributor: Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment
Without Pixar or Jerry Bruckheimer to keep the lights on at The Magic Kingdom, the conflicted and controversy-ridden Walt Disney Studios have suffered nearly a generation of stinkers and desperate straight-to-video sequels. It was a long and difficult road, and thirteen years after The Lion King, Disney finally gets its next great family classic in the sublime Enchanted.
After ten minutes of animated Prince-saves-Princess parody, an evil Stepmother (Susan Sarandon) banishes sweet Giselle (Amy Adams) to a place “where there are no happy endings” – New York City. Disoriented in the flesh, Giselle gets an unsympathetic reception from the locals, and seeks refuge in a billboard of a castle before being discovered by a little girl and her father Robert (Patrick Dempsey). A divorcee divorce lawyer, Robert and Giselle are at ideological odds over the issue of love. While Giselle awaits the mythical “true love’s kiss” from the well-intentioned swashbuckling Prince Edward (James Marsden), Robert tries to teach her a lesson about the complications of relationships in the real world.
Enchanted gets it’s magic from its heart, imagination, and humour. Aside from the terrific chemistry between the Giselle and Robert, there are two spellbinding and hilarious musical numbers. Shot entirely on location in New York City, Central Park sparkles as the setting of “That’s How You Know”, and the inclusion of the city’s notorious roach and rodent population for “Happy Working Song” entices cheeky laughs from urban grown-up viewers. Enchanted is also a loving parody, and is not bashful when it comes to taking the mickey out of the more prestigious residents of the House of Mouse. If there is any single film to which Enchanted pays homage, it would be the very first animated feature, Snow White. To put the most pure and innocent of Disney Princesses into New York City via a magical sewer is an inspired risk that pays great dividends to its viewers.
Acting is rarely if ever a strength in family films. Not since the heyday of Julie Andrews has such elegance and charm graced the screen of a Disney production. Amy Adams, who earned a Golden Globe nomination for her performance, is completely immersed in her character, so much so that when it starts to rain, one may be easily convinced that she has never felt cold rain before in her life. Her sweet naïveté is utterly convincing, and her Eve-like innocence is fascinating, not unlike her acting feat which garnered her an Oscar nomination in Junebug. This performance by Amy Adams is exceptional; a star-making turn to be enjoyed for years to come by transfixed children and adults alike.
DVD Special Features:
A short but sweet bloopers reel Three informative making-of featurettes about the biggest scenes in the film “Ever Ever After” music video by Carrie Underwood Six deleted scenes of little interest “Pip’s Predicament” five-minute short featuring the chipmunk Pip, for the wee ones
Director: Martin McDonagh Screenwriter: Martin McDonagh Running time: 107 mins Certificate: 18 Released: 18 April
In the past ten years, the 38-year-old Irish playwright Martin McDonagh has racked up four Tony nominations and a Lawrence Olivier award for his work in theatre. In 2005, McDonagh tried his hand at filmmaking, and for his efforts was awarded the Oscar for Best Live Short. Next stop on the road to critical mass – feature film.
Fans of McDonagh’s work won’t be disappointed by his arrival to cinemas. The Irishman doesn’t divert very far from his known tastes – bloodshed, catholic guilt, and quick wit are all on the menu. Ray (Colin Farrell) and Ken (Brendan Gleeson) are a couple of Dublin hit men sent to the majestic Belgian city of Bruges to lay low after a horrifying accident during Ray’s first job. While lion-hearted Ray smiles at the gothic architecture and canals, twitchy Ray yarns in protest of the city and its tourists. Not content with being stuck up in a B&B awaiting instruction from mob boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes), Ray becomes unleashed and hits the misty streets, where he comes across a film shoot starring a dwarf (Jordan Prentice). Soon he’s chatting up the film’s PA, Chloe (Clemence Poesy) a local narcotics merchant with the face of an angel.
From here several storylines are set into motion and McDonagh shows erudite skill at balancing quite a bit of plot while keeping the audience entertained and focused throughout. Every situation, no matter how big or small, gets a Larry David-esque verbal examination, and every peripheral character is exaggerated – a racist coke and whore-loving dwarf and a sensitive skinhead are just a few examples. But the most shocking thing is seeing Ralph Fiennes as an insane cockney mobster – Fiennes is more unhinged than ever before – like a delinquent Lord Voldemort jacked up on meth. Aside from Fiennes over-the-top performance, the primary players give fully spirited turns. Relishing his role as the remorseful Ray, the oft-miscast Colin Farrell is a comedic revelation, and has never been better.
In Bruges triumphs as a darkly comic shooter with smarts, with the vitality of the early films of the Cohen Brothers and Quentin Tarantino. One might rightly scoff at that comparison, since every year there seem to be a dozen more pointless riffs on Pulp Fiction, but McDonagh is far too smart to fall into the usual traps of numb ostentation. In Bruges may trip up at its dizzying, metaphor-heavy finale, but the ride is so scrumptiously entertaining that one can forgive the little gaffes. Martin McDonagh’s debut feature proves that not only can he write, but he can handle the big guns as well.
In this week's confessional, Joseph Wren admits his honest appreciation for the films of slacker doyenne Kevin Smith. Dudes, for real.
Clerks 2 was the last film that I saw at the cinema in the US in 2006 before moving to the UK, and the film was immediately one of my favourites of that year.A few months later, the sequel managed to follow me across the pond, and I attempted to seize the opportunity to share something I loved with my new mates.I imagined us laughing uncontrollably at the absurdist humour and silently shedding a tear at the heartfelt conclusion.I imagined we would then go have a pint and share war stories of our respective customer-service oriented teenage jobs.It was the perfect way to break some of those social barriers that divide our cultures.Until…
Me (enthusiastically):Hey, anybody fancy going to see Clerks 2 this weekend?!
Highly Intelligent New Friend:Why Joseph, but that would actually involve watching Clerks 2.
My smart new friend then directed me to a review of Clerks 2 by film critic Jonathan Ross.I didn’t know who Ross was at the time, but quickly figured out that he’s perhaps the most highly influential film critic in the UK, who doubles as a hugely successful chat-show host; he’s essentially a British mix of Roger Ebert and Jay Leno, who speaks with a very bizarre speech impediment.
Even by the pitiful standards of films such as Mallrats and Dogma, Mr. Smith's latest work is breathtakingly shoddy. It's a real tribute to the man's shrewd use of the internet, to keep his profile alive, that he has managed to sustain a career in the movie industry, as he has no detectable talent as writer, director, editor, or actor. – Jonathan Ross, Film 2006, BBC
What the?Had I moved to a land that doesn’t appreciate the work of Kevin Smith??This was a truly shocking revelation.Not only had he slated one of my favourite films of 2006, but Mallrats and Dogma as well?!Those are my formative years that he’s messing with there; I’ve forged some important friendships on the basis of a mutual appreciation for Kevin Smith’s work.But I did not fight the new reality, and like my new British friends, have learned the fine art of feeling ashamed of myself.
"A depressing mess. "– Derek Adams, Time Out London, on Mallrats
During the research for this article, I was forced to confront my new shame.When I walked into the shop to purchase a copy of Mallrats, I made sure to look around and pick it up when there were very few people around.When I brought it to the check out counter, I refused to make eye contact with the man on the other side, not saying a word, and giving him pre-counted exact change.It was like I was buying porn.Even worse, I didn’t feel comfortable showing the film to my girlfriend, who seems to respect my opinions on film.I knew this would surely dent my credibility.
"Not very funny." – Philip French, The Guardian UK, on Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back
When I spoke to a relatively unpretentious film academic about my dilemma, he tried to be supportive.He said “well, it’s not so bad, a lot of people like Kevin Smith…I mean as long as you didn’t like that Jay and Silent Bob film…”He was referring to Kevin Smith’s most absurd work, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, and just then, old wounds were ripped open.Not being a stoner, moron, or homophobe, my affection for Jay and Silent Bob remains a bit of a mystery, even to myself.And, aside from Jersey Girl, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is the easiest Kevin Smith film to rip on.There’s really no plot, one of the title characters is a mute, and the other one has about a nine-word vocabulary.When I took a girl to see this in 2001, I laughed so hard that I didn’t realize I was the only one in the cinema enjoying the film.Afterwards, there was an uncomfortable period of silence between my close friend and myself.It was like a whole new, socially unacceptable side of me had been revealed, and I didn’t even see it coming.
While I’m more likely to discuss the brilliance of Bergman, Woody, Truffaut, or Tarkovsky, I still am very aware of my roots.As a product of a hugely dysfunctional Staten Island family who has had to endure countless hours of Steven Segal and Chuck Norris films for the sake of father-son bonding, seeing Clerks for the first time let out an incessant roar of laugher from my belly that had been yearning forever to be released.There was something about Smith’s cynical observational humour that connected with me more than anything else ever had at the time.It was like he was saying all the stuff that I had suppressed; all of that petulant man-child sentiment that one feels too ashamed to release – the feelings of insecurity about your partner’s sexual history; the incredibly irresponsible yearnings for the sexy girl over the practical girl; the urge to insult the customer; a contempt for authority; rage against religion, etc.Themes not entirely absent from the work of the cinematic giants, but that are more accessible to the under-class.
In the mid-90s a couple of friends and I skipped school and made a pilgrimage to New Jersey to visit the Quick Stop in Leonardo.We were told we could not use the bathroom.They were out of Gatorade.The video shop next door was closed for no good reason.We also headed over to Red Bank, home of Kevin Smith and his comic book store Jay and Silent Bob’s Secret Stash.Walt Flanagan was the man behind the counter, and from what I remember, he was rather rude and slightly bitter toward us.But then again, we were the customers, so we probably deserved it.
Director: Craig Gillespie Screenwriter: Nancy Oliver Running Time: 106 mins Certificate: 12A Release Date: Out now
Lars and the Real Girl is not a comedy. Sure, Lars is played by former “Young Hercules” pin-up boy Ryan Gosling, and it’s about his relationship with a life-sized sex doll. Primed for hilarity, right? Wrong.
Lars Lindstrom lives in the garage apartment next door to his childhood home, a relatively large Midwestern house which is occupied by his brother Gus (Paul Schneider) and expectant wife Karin (Emily Mortimer). Lars works in an office, the bland kind, full of people in there late twenties who have given up on their dreams and have lazily embraced mediocrity. The winters are bleak, and Lars, with his nervous ticks, sandy moustache and sad eyes, has the feeling of a melancholy lumberjack teetering on the edge.
Harbouring an immeasurably deep sadness, Lars, unable to cope with human relationships, falls into a seriously delusional relationship with a mail-order love doll named Bianca. Proudly bringing Bianca to dinner next door, he explains her back story – she’s Brazilian and Danish, wheelchair bound, and lost both parents when she was just a baby. After consulting a doctor (Patricia Clarkson), Gus and Karin are encouraged to go support Lars’ relationship with Bianca, and soon the entire community joins in on the support – bringing Bianca out to get a makeover, go to church, and “read” to children. Emily Mortimer is in top form, her American accent convincing and her appeal genuine. The barely recognizable Ryan Gosling follows up his Oscar nominated turn in Half Nelson with a sparkling performance of a mentally ill man. The young Canadian’s ability to cross over from mainstream to indie is something special, and one can hope that he continues to engage with challenging screenplays and explore his darker depths.
As for the story itself, it’s all hugely implausible, but Nancy Oliver’s Oscar-nominated screenplay exhibits respect and optimism for love, family, and community cooperation. Having been a writer and co-producer on the critically acclaimed TV series Six Feet Under, Oliver is exceptionally strong in examining such complexities as loss and grieving, which ultimately are the larger issues at stake in Lars and the Real Girl. Like Six Feet Under, Lars asks the audience to accept this peculiar reality as a vehicle to delve into serious territory. It is a fresh approach, and you’re just as likely to laugh as you are to choke up with emotion, should you choose to go along for the ride.
Director: Juan Antonio Bayona Screewriter: Sergio G. Sanchez Running Time: 105 mins. Certificate: 15 Released: 21 March
There’s an interesting trend emerging with contemporary horror films. The ones made for adults feature children, and the ones made for teens predominately feature other teens and 20-somethings. I couldn’t give a toss about the Hostel gobbledygook, but a ghastly brood in a big spooky house? I’m hooked. Is there anything more terrifying than the twins in The Shining? Heck, is there anything more terrifying than kids full stop? Since American filmmakers today are too concerned with delivering the teen-exploiting cash-cow gore franchises, the Spanish have proven to be the new masters of horror, using the spectre of dead children to spook Mom, Dad and the rest of us.
Having herself been adopted at a young age, Laura (Belen Rueda) is the foster parent to a cherubic, HIV-infected orphan, Simon (Roger Princep). Along with doctor-husband Carlos (Fernando Cayo), the saintly family reside in Laura’s old orphanage, an enormous gothic estate in the middle of nowhere near the sea. While Laura prepares to turn the poorly lit home into a residence for disabled children, a resentful Simon goes missing. A young, burlap sack-headed boy starts haunting the joint, but the eerie sounds in the dark are more than just spooks, and grieving Laura picks up on clues from beyond in search of her boy. Her suspicions invite a cartoonish Hitchcock-esque cadre of characters into the mix, including a bug-eyed old coot hiding in the shed, an absurdly plump paranormal psychologist, and perhaps most randomly of all, Geraldine Chaplain, whose turn as a medium provides a petrifying centrepiece.
Long-fused tension fuels the scares, and the imagery of ghostly children should be adequate nightmare fodder for the audience. But The Orphanage is much more than a horror movie. While its scare tactics are nothing new, there is freshness and merit in its examination of faith and deterioration. The acting between Rueda and Princep is rich and convincing, putting muscle and heart behind the driving force of the story. With the recent news of the horrific abuses in the children’s home in Jersey, along with the highly publicized cases of missing children, The Orphanage is unexpectedly topical, adding a new perspective to a truly horrible reality.
With a script ten years in the making, The Orphanage is “presented” (re: produced) by Guillermo Del Toro, literal poster boy of the new wave of Spanish horror films. While Del Toro’s name is used to promote the The Orphanage, which bears some similarities to his work, nothing should be taken from Catalonian director Juan Antonio Bayona, whose debut feature takes cues from Hitchcock, Kubrick, Speilberg and JM Barrie to make The Orphanage an emotionally chilling success.
Director: Krisztina Goda Screenwriters: Joe Eszterhas, Eva Gardos, Geza Beremenyi, Reka Divinyi Certificate: 15 Running Time: 123 mins Released: Out Now
I had a hard time getting a date for Children of Glory. Surprisingly, nobody was responsive to my offer of a free ticket to see a Hungarian film about water polo and communism. Perhaps I would have had more responses if I knew more about the film – which turns out to be about more than just the oppressed aquatic Olympians. It’s a film about love, revolution and the water sports that inspired a nation.
Children of Glory puts us in the heart of the bloody 1956 Hungarian uprising. It leads us up to the historic Melbourne Olympic match between Hungary and the Soviet Union, but primarily focuses on the unlikely romance of Hungarian water polo star Karsci Szabo (Ivan Fenyo) and sexy revolutionary Viki Falk (Kata Dobo). Szabo and the Hungarian Olympic team provide inspiration and historical perspective, but Viki Falk is completely fictitious, making the central relationship of the film an especially tough sell in spite of actress Kata Dobo’s terrific performance. Eastern European revolutions are exciting enough, but Children of Glory looks and feels more like a Hollywood film than the product of the brilliant new wave movement currently coming out of that part of the world (producer Andrew Vajna has three Rambos and two Terminators to his credit). I’m honestly surprised that they didn’t just make this an English-language film starring Matt Damon and Charlize Theron. Aside from the silly plot devices and slick production, the actual historical topic at hand is interesting enough to make Children of Glory good enough to root for.
Originally penned by Joe Eszerthas, the brain behind such schlock as Sliver, Showgirls, and Basic Instinct, the original script was reworked several times by a larger writing team, and the confusion shows. Featuring graphic images of maimed and disfigured limbs, and startling aerial shots of Budapest getting the bejesus bombed out of it, it is curious that the sex scenes are so soft-core and subdued, highlighting the main dilemma with Children of Glory – the romance just muddles the whole thing up. With its revolution romance tied to a hugely symbolic sporting event, Children of Glory lies somewhere in the “boo to commies” camp between The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Miracle. It’s a big-budget, Hollywood-style film meshing war, love, and sport – what better way to stick it to the reds?
Director: Brian De Palma Screenwriter: Brian De Palma Running Time: 90 mins Certificate: 18 Release Date: 14 March
In March 2006, a 14-year-old Iraqi girl was gang-raped and murdered in her home. The U.S. soldiers responsible for this act also killed the rest of her family that night. The Mahmudiyah killings are re-created in Redacted, with little mercy spared on the viewer. Aside from rape and murder, there are exploding humans, a beheading, and a long montage of real-life carnage. Any interest in seeing this? Really?
Presented as a collection of home videos from a member of the squadron, Redacted looks at the Iraq War from a ‘fresh’ perspective; making it more snuff film than action film. The film school hopeful’s cohorts include an “All-American” stand-up guy, an intellectual who looks like Moby, a strong black leader, and a pair of Confederate flag-waving, misogynist rednecks. These actors, a group of men who are literally extras from the TV show Law and Order, are miscast in such heavy fare. I suppose the unknown actors are required for such a YouTube-style film, a la Cloverfield, but these guys, particularly the villains, are not good actors, and it’s a problem. Having once directed great distressed performances in Carrie, Casualties of War, and of course Scarface, Redacted is another puzzling disappointment for De Palma.
The voters at last year’s Venice Film Festival obviously disagree, and awarded Redacted the Silver Lion, another sign that European film elites are really impressed by anti-Bush Americans, regardless of whether or not their film’s any good. And Redacted may be a lot of things; a good film is not one of them. It is certainly an interesting film, the only thing of interest that De Palma has done in a good long while. To his credit, the narrative structure is intriguing, the imagery is searing, and the experience is visceral. But it is far too blunt, and De Palma shows that he is completely out of touch with reality in assuming that we have no idea about the extent of the horror in Iraq. De Palma appears to think Redacted is blowing the lid off of some huge, ground-breaking secret. Obviously, it’s not.
I know that the Iraq War is important, and I know that there’s a lot of absolutely reprehensible goings on there. I know this because I read the news and watch the televised reports. I’d know it even if filmmakers like Michael Moore, Robert Redford and Brian De Palma didn’t tell me through their movies. And that’s the problem here – the films about the Iraq War are telling these horrible stories that I already know about, which is one thing, but the fashion in which they’re going about it is insulting my intelligence. I don’t need Redacted to show me that there’s a lot of shocking videos on the internet about what’s going on in Iraq, and that some soldiers are depraved lunatics while others are heroes. Perhaps Brian De Palma isn’t trying to get through to me, but to the tens of millions of Americans who voted for George W. Bush and have supported the war; but if that’s the case, than why would he make such a vile, polarising film that lacks any discernable appeal? With its sympathetic, complex characters, Paul Haggis’s film In the Valley of Elah was more effective in examining the issue of American troops gone homicidal. While a similar situation is explored in Redacted, the film comes off as a tactless, rage-filled “I told you so” rant about the failure of the Iraq War.
This is further highlighted by the alarming fact that De Palma omits a vital piece of information – the soldiers involved in the Mahmudiyah killings were in fact tried and found guilty of their crimes. How ironic then, given the film’s title refers to the omission of information, that had I not spent a few minutes doing research the film would have me believe that the crimes committed in Redacted go unpunished, while in fact the men have been sentenced to spend the rest of their lives in prison. Good thing I know how to read.
Director:David Oelhoeffen Screenwriters:David Oelhoeffen & Antoine Lacomblez Certificate:18 Running Time:99 mins
French Film Festival Screening Times:
Cardiff Cineworld:9 March – 1, 3, & 7pm Birmingham Cineworld:12 March – 1, 3, & 7pm Aberdeen The Belmont: 16 March – 3:45 & 8:45pm Glasgow GFT:18 March – 3:15 & 8:15pm
For his first feature-length film, writer/director David Oelhoeffen lends another story to the massive collection of French films about family.Being personal yet universal, family seems to be a safe theme on which a new filmmaker can cut his teeth.Got a story about absent parents?Great!In Your Wake is one of those, about a blue-collar father and son reunited after an undetermined period of time.
Twenty-year-old dishwasher Marco (Nicolas Giraud), is a decent young man, the kind of ordinary guy who likes sports, cars, and women, and doesn’t have a whole lot to say, but knows the difference between right and wrong.He’s happy to be reunited with his father, Gabriel (Jaques Gamblin), whose slick appearance and smooth talking slightly reek of manipulation.The two hang out at clubs and get reacquainted, when Gabriel proposes the great idea of opening a bar with his son.But first, there’s a dubious matter of money that Gabriel is “owed”, and before you know it, Marco finds himself an accomplice to a crime in a desolate warehouse block.The tense and predictable story explains very little about the family, and the mother appears very briefly, offering the viewer few reasons to invest emotionally in these mostly unpleasant characters.It’s a real shame, because the absent parent motif offers so much in the way of emotional discovery, but Oelhoeffen’s ideas of this do not translate successfully.
David Oelhoeffen’s debut feature is tough viewing - an intense, humourless, bleak episode, In Your Wake is held aloft by particularly strong performances by Gamblin and Giraud, who do as much as they can with a weak script.When it comes to films such as this, the opinions tend to go two ways, so take your pick - “gritty social realism” or “hopelessly boring”.
Director:Justin Edgar Screenwriter:Justin Edgar Running Time:78 mins
Going into a film called Special People, about a trio of wheelchair-bound teenagers in London trying to make a film, one might get the impression that they’re in for a weep-tastic tale of the triumph of the will over monumental adversity.Luckily, that’s not the case, and the film’s title proves more apt as sarcasm than sentiment.
A failed yet pretentious “director” named Jasper has apparently come to terms with his lack of talent, but once inspired by one of his wheelchair-bound students testimonials about the “everyday uphill struggle” of being disabled, Jasper sees opportunity to co-opt her tale into an inspirational film in a desperate effort to finally make his cinematic masterpiece.What follows are a collection of awkwardly hilarious episodes reminiscent of the comedy of Ricky Gervais or Larry David.When the student film’s crippled star sustains a leg injury, Jasper replies “well to be honest, she doesn’t really use it much anyway”.It’s the bad taste that gets the laughs, and Justin Edgar has a definite flair for writing such sarcastic dialogue.However, his attempts at serious human drama are poorly presented, and the characters one-dimensional.While certainly funny, the film lacks cinematic quality, and its specific brand of humour is best suited for the small screen.
Director:Cristian Nemescu Screenwriters:Cristian Nemescu, Catherine Linstrum, Tudor Voican Running Time:155 mins Certificate:TBD UK Release Date: 11 April
The (Endless) in the title doesn’t exactly refer to the film’s particularly long running time, but the fact that this film is being released without having been properly finished.Prior to completing post-production of California Dreamin’, the film’s talented young director, Cristian Nemescu, lost his life in an auto accident, and the film as we see it is the way that Nemescu left it, which was nearly finished, which makes for a particularly unique cinematic experience.
Taken from a true story, a group of American Marines transporting NATO cargo have their train stopped in a small Romanian town en route to Kosovo during the war in 1999.While stuck waiting for paperwork to arrive, the town’s mayor takes advantage of the new visitors, convincing the townspeople to celebrate and embrace the Americans in hopes of boosting the town’s profile and economy.The results are hilarious, as the Marines are invited to a celebration in which they are entertained by an Elvis impersonator, performing atop a stage decorated by paintings of American icons such as Bill Clinton and The Terminator.Romanian schoolgirls look for excitement, and the film’s main character is a sexy teenager named Monica, a quiet but explosive soul who falls for one of the Marines in hopes of getting a ticket out of town.Operating on a multi-strand narrative, which includes flashbacks to another character’s experience during a WWII bombing, as well as the tensions between the hot-headed Commanding Officer and everyone else in his way to Kosovo, the film covers a lot of ground before its ambiguous conclusion.
Nemescu and his co-writers have shown a tremendous knack for dialogue, including the English speaking parts, which flow with a natural rhythm adding to the film’s realism.The film, though overlong and unfinished, is always interesting, relevant, and often exceptionally funny.California Dreamin’ ranks among the very best in recent Romanian cinema, further exhibiting that the national sensibilities of black humor and humanity are something very special.
Director: Jon Poll Screenwriter: Gustin Nash Running Time: 97 mins Certificate: 15
On paper, there’s not all that much to like about Charlie Bartlett.He’s a ludicrously rich teenager who runs out of private schools to get kicked out of and lands in public high school - full of stoners, punks, jocks and every other kid expressing their God-given right as a teenager to be awkward, self-involved, and irrational.In order to win over the moody masses, attentive entrepreneur Charlie holds shrink sessions with his classmates in the loo and feeds them all drugs – the legal kind, like Xanax and Ritalin.Do I really want to care about a rich kid who sells drugs in order to boost his popularity with the gritty blue collar lot?Not so much, but actor Anton Yelchin’s performance in the role is bursting with so much charisma that he actually makes it work.Hope Davis is brilliant as Charlie’s cheerily depressed mum, and Robert Downey Jr. works his raging alcoholic magic as Charlie’s authoritative nemesis.
In the school of teen comedies, the smart but cliché-ridden Charlie Bartlett isn’t quite in the same class as Ferris Bueller, Rushmore, or Juno, but Jon Poll’s debut feature has enough charm to merit a passing mark.
Director: Jason Reitman Screenwriter: Diablo Cody Running time: 96 minutes Certificate: 12A Released: 8 February
Juno is the unlikeliest of American blockbusters. Written by former stripper Diablo Cody and proudly featuring a soundtrack by indie luminaries The Moldy Peaches, Cat Power and Belle & Sebastian, Juno was the little film that, after months of film festivals and art-house-only runs, exploded into a $100+ million-grossing, Oscar-nominated juggernaut. And no film is more deserving of such success.
A petite 16 year-old Minnesotan with uncanny wit, Juno (Ellen Page) gets knocked up after her first fling with nerdy pal Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera). She can’t go through with an abortion after being told by a pro-life protester that her baby “has fingernails”, so she quickly resolves to be a “martyr” and arrange an adoption. Through the “desperately seeking spawn” section of the free weekly, Juno meets an ideal couple in Mark (Jason Bateman) and Vanessa (Jennifer Garner). Mark and Juno quickly bond over shared affinity for punk rock and slasher flicks, while Vanessa’s baby fever threatens her yuppie husband’s arrested development. While Juno copes with things “way beyond” her maturity level, she still is a teenage girl with a crush on her unborn child’s father.
Michael Cera, with his weak chin, myopic stare and good intentions, shines in his best screen performance yet. Ellen Page, the young Buddhist-educated Canadian and star of the film, plays Juno as a tomboy with a heart of gold, masking the pain of her predicament with deadpan humour and idealism. Pages’ performance is unexpectedly touching, with the understated power of a real person who is inherently good. The story examines the process and complications of a situation that many viewers may be unaware of, and is a beguilingly fresh take on unwanted pregnancy. When deciding between the two local women’s health clinics, Juno decides on Women Now, since, as she so nonchalantly states “Because they help women now.” Oh, and did I mention that the dialogue is entirely quotable? Juno, often unfairly compared to the lesser Little Miss Sunshine, is the latest and greatest addition to a group of recent films who are known for a particular indie aesthetic. If you have strong aversions to indie quirk, you might want to skip the first five minutes – it’s safe after Rainn Wilson gets off the screen or maybe after the boggling teen-talk on the burger phone. But Juno quickly finds its footing after this initial stumble. The sardonic teen girl banter eclipses that of Ghost World, and the sweet indie-folk/pop soundtrack is superior to that of the hugely successful Shins-breaker Garden State. It should be said that music is as important to the film as it is to any teenage girl who would wear a Slinky shirt over her baby bump, and though the sweet songs of Kimya Dawson and friends throughout the film have me smiling ear to ear, I suppose some might find it a bit twee.
Juno stands commandingly tall amongst the best American indie comedies of the decade, with an authentic nature that makes it more of a distant cousin rather than close relative to the work of Wes Anderson (that intro, with the Kinks song, really threatens to go the way of Anderson). Sure, the characters have their quirks – Paulie with his orange tic-tacks, Juno with her lawn furniture fetish, Step-Mom Bren (a sharp Allison Janney) with her canine obsession, and so on. But unlike in the films of its contemporaries, Juno’s characters refuse to be defined by their traits; instead Diablo Cody’s characters are respectfully and lovingly crafted, acted with great compassion by a stellar cast.
Director: Jon Turtletaub Screenwriters: Marianne Wibberley, Cormac Wibberley Running Time: 124 mins Certificate: PG Released: 8 February
National Treasure, Disney’s shameless attempt to cash in on the conspiracy-mania born out of The DaVinci code, was a huge box office success, leaving critics scratching their heads as they often do when such silly movies win over the masses. Well, here we are again, with the inevitable sequel in what now can be considered one of the biggest franchises from the House of Mouse.
Directed once again by Jon “Cool Runnings” Turtletaub, Book of Secrets welcomes back Nicolas Cage as edgy academic Ben Gates. This time Gates faces his biggest challenge yet when sinister southerner Mitch Wilkinson (Ed Harris) links Gates’ great-great-great grandfather with the assassination of President Lincoln. So, in order to clear his family’s name – stay with me here – Gates must travel to Paris, invade Buckingham Palace, kidnap the US President, crack codes and puzzles, often whilst being hunted by baddies and feds. Did I mention all this in order to clear his long-dead ancestor’s only recently-shamed name? And than there’s the matter of Helen Mirren showing up as Ben’s mum – shame on you Dame Helen! It’s all wildly implausible and hugely unnecessary, with characters that are not remotely likeable. Nicholas Cage shouts too much for no good reason, and the southern accent coming out of the mouth of Ed Harris is preposterous. Though Harris was a brilliant baddie in A History of Violence, he is a particularly appalling piece of this dreadful film.
It’s family-friendly fare that is of inferior quality to its ancestors – it lacks the thrill of Indiana Jones or the magic of The Goonies. Heck, it’s not even as interesting as The DaVinci code or as glossy as Tomb Raider. Thirty minutes too long, full of plot holes, dreadful acting, and unfunny jokes, the only crowd I might venture to recommend this to would be pre-teen archaeologists who are hooked on conspiracy theories. Of course I’m wrong, and in another few years we’ll have National Treasure: That Page Missing from The Book of Secrets. Spare me the horror.
Director: Woody Allen
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