Point Blank (15) 86 minutes 2011
French writer-director Fred Cavaye likes to push ordinary men to their limits. His debut movie – “Anything For Her” (2008) saw a college professor break his wife out of prison. In Cavaye's latest movie, "A Bout Portant", or Point Blank, a male hospital nurse tries to rescue his wife who has been kidnapped by criminals. Hollywood, ever vigilant for well-crafted stories, quickly remade Cavaye’s first movie into The Next Three Days (2010) putting Russell Crowe as the lead. Point Blank, similarly exciting and fast-paced is surely destined for a similar fate.
The movie explodes into life with the anti-hero, Hugo Sartet, (Roschdy Zem of Days of Glory fame), running for his life. Wounded in the chase, he is admitted to hospital in critical condition. Samuel (Gillles Lellouche) is the innocent man, a trainee nurse in the wrong place at the wrong time whose only crime is to witness a second attempt on Sartet's life. Samuel is soon thrust into an unfamiliar world in a desperate attempt to rescue his pregnant wife.
Lellouche is in fine form, beautifully transitioning from tender husband into desperate fugitive who will stop at nothing to get back his life, his daring escape in the metro particularly compelling. With nowhere to go, he turns to the police only to find that door slammed in his face. Zem is equally strong, his rugged, angular features- so memorable in Days of Glory - perfect for this role, his prolonged periods of silence implicit with violence. Lellouche and Zem together form a powerful, if reluctant, alliance, each in their different ways, desperate, resourceful and unwilling to lose. Elena Anaya as Nadia, has a nice cameo as Samuel’s simpering and vulnerable wife as do Gerard Lanvin and Mireille Perrier, rival police commanders on different sides of the law. Despite their limited roles, both performances are stylishly rich, Perrier’s unexpected demise, shockingly brutal.
Cavaye is unrelenting, barley pausing for breath, racing from one scene to the next.
The denouement – a cleverly arranged carnival of crime – unfolds within the claustrophobic confines of the last place Sartet would have chosen, police headquarters, some wonderful camerawork (Alain Duplantier) adding to the tension. The dialogue is crisp and for the most part –the unfolding of the plot somewhat heavy - well handled. At less than 90 minutes PB is refreshingly brief. Hollywood will surely change that but why wait for the re-make when the original is so fresh. 8/10.
DM
June 2011
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Kung Fu Panda (12) 90 minutes 2011
Sequels rarely work the original idea almost always more robust and difficult to repli-cate both artistically and commercially. Thus KFP 2 in which our cuddly but rotund hero Po, fails to generate the same level of intensity In his quest for inner peace as he managed during his mastery of Kung Fu in KPF 1.
It starts off promisingly enough, our carefree hero (voiced by a relatively subdued Jack Black), ready to "kick ass" and "get me a piece of inner peace" as per instructed by his spiritual master, Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman). Together with his friends, Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Monkey. (Jackie Chan) and Viper (Lucy Liu), Po goes in search of an evil peacock ( Gary Oldman) set on the subjugation of China through the use of his new, secret weapon, which fires "metal balls of fire".
Po however becomes distracted, questioning his origins and, to the incredulity of his friends, at last perceiving that, an elderly goose Mr Hong (James Ping), may not in actual fact, be his real father. Given the inherently farcical nature of this scenario, Black is surprisingly effective and at times, remarkably touching.
The script however, penned by the writers of KFP 1, Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Ber-ger, is lazy, lacking punch and originality and, some clever moments aside - particu-larly Po's unexpected re-appearance at the end - the wit, humour and intelligence of its more illustrious and to date, much more successful, predecessor. The sudden introduction of Po’s biological father for example - surely the green light for KPF 3 - is as unsubtle as it is disjointed. The movie - sadly for the backers - remains strictly one dimensional and fails to appeal to the older generation, a technique so wildly successful in the Toy Story trilogy, Finding Nemo and others. That said, my 11 year-old daughter found the movie exciting and in particular, loved the rooftop pursuits and death-defying stunts, which were "wicked". One-dimensional seems to have its moments.
The actors - or should we call them voices - have therefore disappointingly little on which to bite and consequently none of them stands out. The 3D technology helps to pass the time but its use remains limited and some impressive aerial views of the Chinese countryside notwithstanding, strangely lacking in impact. Jennifer Yuh Nelson, the first woman to direct a Hollywood animation, ensures that the pace never drops but the sequel has considerable room for improvement.
One for the children. 6/10. DM
June 2011
Sequels rarely work the original idea almost always more robust and difficult to repli-cate both artistically and commercially. Thus KFP 2 in which our cuddly but rotund hero Po, fails to generate the same level of intensity In his quest for inner peace as he managed during his mastery of Kung Fu in KPF 1.
It starts off promisingly enough, our carefree hero (voiced by a relatively subdued Jack Black), ready to "kick ass" and "get me a piece of inner peace" as per instructed by his spiritual master, Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman). Together with his friends, Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Monkey. (Jackie Chan) and Viper (Lucy Liu), Po goes in search of an evil peacock ( Gary Oldman) set on the subjugation of China through the use of his new, secret weapon, which fires "metal balls of fire".
Po however becomes distracted, questioning his origins and, to the incredulity of his friends, at last perceiving that, an elderly goose Mr Hong (James Ping), may not in actual fact, be his real father. Given the inherently farcical nature of this scenario, Black is surprisingly effective and at times, remarkably touching.
The script however, penned by the writers of KFP 1, Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Ber-ger, is lazy, lacking punch and originality and, some clever moments aside - particu-larly Po's unexpected re-appearance at the end - the wit, humour and intelligence of its more illustrious and to date, much more successful, predecessor. The sudden introduction of Po’s biological father for example - surely the green light for KPF 3 - is as unsubtle as it is disjointed. The movie - sadly for the backers - remains strictly one dimensional and fails to appeal to the older generation, a technique so wildly successful in the Toy Story trilogy, Finding Nemo and others. That said, my 11 year-old daughter found the movie exciting and in particular, loved the rooftop pursuits and death-defying stunts, which were "wicked". One-dimensional seems to have its moments.
The actors - or should we call them voices - have therefore disappointingly little on which to bite and consequently none of them stands out. The 3D technology helps to pass the time but its use remains limited and some impressive aerial views of the Chinese countryside notwithstanding, strangely lacking in impact. Jennifer Yuh Nelson, the first woman to direct a Hollywood animation, ensures that the pace never drops but the sequel has considerable room for improvement.
One for the children. 6/10. DM
June 2011
Senna 12A 2011. 106 minutes
Good docu-movies are like London buses. You wait for a long while and then two come along at the same time. First to arrive was the exceptional West Indian cricketing drama, Fire in Babylon, and now hot on its heels is “Senna”, a tribute to, and explanation of the Brazilian Formula One racing driver's exceptional ability, intriguing character and ultimately tragically short life.
Neither the most successful driver of his generation (his great rival, Alain Prost, won four championships) nor in the history of the sport (Michael Schumacher with 7), it is perhaps difficult to understand why the three-times world champion is held, even today, in an esteem bordering on devotion by both fans and drivers alike. His ability was undoubted - his completion of the 1991 Brazilian Grand Prix with only one gear (6th) at his disposal unparalleled to this day - and his courage second to none - his performance in torrential rain at Monaco in 1991 quite superb. But the continuing reverence in which he is still held in this age of superstardom would suggest something more profound.
The man himself was a contradiction in terms. Devoted to his family, he was a devout Catholic who believed that he was constantly in God's hands –“God gave me the race" he said of his 1991 victory. Equally committed philanthropically, he gave much of his wealth to disadvantaged Brazilian children whose desperate plight often moved him to tears. But on the racetrack he was ruthless, in constant conflict with teammates and rivals alike. “He wants to humiliate the other drivers”, Prost said of him bitterly. But Senna remained deeply loved up until and even beyond his untimely death during the San Marino Grand Prix in 1994, steering column failure later identified as the accident’s cause. The Brazilian government declared three days of mourning with an estimated 3 million people lining the streets of his hometown, Sao Paolo to pay their respects.
Director Asif Kapadia and writer Manish Pardey beautifully weave together literally hundreds of hours of newsreel and to date unseen F1 footage together with material from the Senna family's archive. Their decision to include new voice-over contributions from journalists and racing professionals alike was inspired and makes for an exceptionally intriguing backdrop even for those of you, like me, new to F1. But Senna remains the star, his short life a fury of emotion, his devotion to his sport, as powerful as to his god, the intensity of the movie enhanced by the knowledge of his inevitable fate.
A powerful and compelling analysis if slightly too long. 7/10. DM
June 2011
Good docu-movies are like London buses. You wait for a long while and then two come along at the same time. First to arrive was the exceptional West Indian cricketing drama, Fire in Babylon, and now hot on its heels is “Senna”, a tribute to, and explanation of the Brazilian Formula One racing driver's exceptional ability, intriguing character and ultimately tragically short life.
Neither the most successful driver of his generation (his great rival, Alain Prost, won four championships) nor in the history of the sport (Michael Schumacher with 7), it is perhaps difficult to understand why the three-times world champion is held, even today, in an esteem bordering on devotion by both fans and drivers alike. His ability was undoubted - his completion of the 1991 Brazilian Grand Prix with only one gear (6th) at his disposal unparalleled to this day - and his courage second to none - his performance in torrential rain at Monaco in 1991 quite superb. But the continuing reverence in which he is still held in this age of superstardom would suggest something more profound.
The man himself was a contradiction in terms. Devoted to his family, he was a devout Catholic who believed that he was constantly in God's hands –“God gave me the race" he said of his 1991 victory. Equally committed philanthropically, he gave much of his wealth to disadvantaged Brazilian children whose desperate plight often moved him to tears. But on the racetrack he was ruthless, in constant conflict with teammates and rivals alike. “He wants to humiliate the other drivers”, Prost said of him bitterly. But Senna remained deeply loved up until and even beyond his untimely death during the San Marino Grand Prix in 1994, steering column failure later identified as the accident’s cause. The Brazilian government declared three days of mourning with an estimated 3 million people lining the streets of his hometown, Sao Paolo to pay their respects.
Director Asif Kapadia and writer Manish Pardey beautifully weave together literally hundreds of hours of newsreel and to date unseen F1 footage together with material from the Senna family's archive. Their decision to include new voice-over contributions from journalists and racing professionals alike was inspired and makes for an exceptionally intriguing backdrop even for those of you, like me, new to F1. But Senna remains the star, his short life a fury of emotion, his devotion to his sport, as powerful as to his god, the intensity of the movie enhanced by the knowledge of his inevitable fate.
A powerful and compelling analysis if slightly too long. 7/10. DM
June 2011
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Don GIovanni Glyndebourne 2011
Glyndebourne 2011
Don Giovanni
The Sussex downs, a Summer's day, scones and clotted cream, parasols and gowns of gold. An afternoon at Glyndebourne, archetypally English. The Glyndebourne experience is truly one to cherish from the gorgeous setting and manicured gardens to the immaculate tea rooms (cream teas recommended) and three course dinners served quickly but with style. Little wonder that the waiting list now stretches beyond two decades.
A revolutionary new staging - a revolving, rotating and hydraulically operated grey cube - provides the backdrop for the latest outing of Mozart’s comic opera, Don Giovanni. Comic opera I hear you ask, with rape and murder to the fore? Or tragic tale tinged with comic moments. Jonathan Kent's outstanding new production opts firmly for the former, his touch gentle, tone light, his comedy quite pronounced.
Leporello, (beautifully played by Matthew Rose), firmly leads the way, his repartee with his amoral master, witty, sharp and crisp. Indeed, his rendition of the Madamina aria is one of the highlights of the evening, his performance threatening and even surpassing a strangely subdued Don Giovanni (Lucas Meacham) lacking passion and power, his duet – La ci darem la mano – with Zerlina (Marita Solberg) disappointing and weak. Zerlina, by contrast, rises to her surroundings, giving the performance of the evening. Coquettish and sexually provocative, she displays a purity of tone, moving shamelessly from one lover to the next and leading poor Masetto (David Soar) by the nose. Also disappointing were Donna Elvira (Mia Persson) and particularly Albina Shagimuratova’s soprano, who, despite coasting comfortably through Donna Anna's complex coloratura, failed to entirely engage.
The cube remains throughout, impassive and silent, its huge frame dominating the stage now as maiden’s window, now as townhouse courtyard and to all a talking point. To traditionalists, it courts controversy, its constant transitioning unnecessarily detracting but to modernists it is essential, the resurrection of a decomposing Commandatore from an almost semi vertical stage ultimately enhancing the dramatic effect.
Robin Ticciati with his trademark energy and attention to detail, manages to solicit an astonishing performance from The Orchestra of the Enlightenment - thereby surely cementing his candidacy as the Director of Glyndebourne for 2013 – and builds to an outstanding crescendo as Giovanni plunges into eternal damnation, the cube having metamorphosed, one final time, into the gates of hell.
7/10. Richard Smith Morgan
Don Giovanni
The Sussex downs, a Summer's day, scones and clotted cream, parasols and gowns of gold. An afternoon at Glyndebourne, archetypally English. The Glyndebourne experience is truly one to cherish from the gorgeous setting and manicured gardens to the immaculate tea rooms (cream teas recommended) and three course dinners served quickly but with style. Little wonder that the waiting list now stretches beyond two decades.
A revolutionary new staging - a revolving, rotating and hydraulically operated grey cube - provides the backdrop for the latest outing of Mozart’s comic opera, Don Giovanni. Comic opera I hear you ask, with rape and murder to the fore? Or tragic tale tinged with comic moments. Jonathan Kent's outstanding new production opts firmly for the former, his touch gentle, tone light, his comedy quite pronounced.
Leporello, (beautifully played by Matthew Rose), firmly leads the way, his repartee with his amoral master, witty, sharp and crisp. Indeed, his rendition of the Madamina aria is one of the highlights of the evening, his performance threatening and even surpassing a strangely subdued Don Giovanni (Lucas Meacham) lacking passion and power, his duet – La ci darem la mano – with Zerlina (Marita Solberg) disappointing and weak. Zerlina, by contrast, rises to her surroundings, giving the performance of the evening. Coquettish and sexually provocative, she displays a purity of tone, moving shamelessly from one lover to the next and leading poor Masetto (David Soar) by the nose. Also disappointing were Donna Elvira (Mia Persson) and particularly Albina Shagimuratova’s soprano, who, despite coasting comfortably through Donna Anna's complex coloratura, failed to entirely engage.
The cube remains throughout, impassive and silent, its huge frame dominating the stage now as maiden’s window, now as townhouse courtyard and to all a talking point. To traditionalists, it courts controversy, its constant transitioning unnecessarily detracting but to modernists it is essential, the resurrection of a decomposing Commandatore from an almost semi vertical stage ultimately enhancing the dramatic effect.
Robin Ticciati with his trademark energy and attention to detail, manages to solicit an astonishing performance from The Orchestra of the Enlightenment - thereby surely cementing his candidacy as the Director of Glyndebourne for 2013 – and builds to an outstanding crescendo as Giovanni plunges into eternal damnation, the cube having metamorphosed, one final time, into the gates of hell.
7/10. Richard Smith Morgan
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Elkie Brooks Live
Elkie Brooks live in Concert at the Blackheath Concert Halls
June 4 2011
I have always loved Elkie Brooks. Pearl’s a Singer, Gasoline Alley, Warm and Tender Love, I remember them all. So when I heard she was coming to the Blackheath Concert Halls in the heart of South East London, I rushed to buy tickets. A frisson of doubt bothered me. Well into her sixties, how good would she be? But I need not have worried, the power of her voice pushing back the years, her unaccompanied finale quite magnificent.
Success did not come easily to the Salford born, Elaine Bookbinder who left home at 15 to follow her dreams. Seventeen years of support roles (including the Beatles) were to follow until 1977 when finally, she recorded the song that was to make her name, Pearl’s A Singer. The Pearls album that followed, catapulted Elkie to stardom staying 79 weeks in the charts and making Elkie the then biggest selling, UK, female artist of all time. Mega stardom proved elusive, however, with an over-reliance on cover versions and her preference for middle-of-the-road ballads.
Playing to a full house of devotees (400 people), the evening got going with two tracks from her new album, Powerless, and then moved on to her own versions of Chris Rea’s, Fool if You Think It’s Over, and Procul Harum’s, Knights in White Satin. But Elkie is at her best with her own material - her rendition of Warm and Tender Love, one of the highlights of the evening. Comfortable and at ease on stage, she moved seamlessly from one track to another, the velvet-sounding voice as luxuriant as ever, the tones as rich, the rearrangements to suit her range, only minimal.
Apart from the obligatory rendition of Pearl, part two focussed on the new album, with an outstanding delivery of the eponymous single. While her repartee was limited (“the shopping in Blackheath is great”), no-one stays in the business over five decades without being talented and Elkie still has that in abundance. Equally professional is her large, 6 member band with Steve Jones on sax and Melvin Duffy on guitar particularly impressive.
The venue is unique, the location superb, the community supportive. Quite why the concert halls are not full every night of the week is entirely beyond me.
A enjoyable night out. 7/10/DM
June 2011
June 4 2011
I have always loved Elkie Brooks. Pearl’s a Singer, Gasoline Alley, Warm and Tender Love, I remember them all. So when I heard she was coming to the Blackheath Concert Halls in the heart of South East London, I rushed to buy tickets. A frisson of doubt bothered me. Well into her sixties, how good would she be? But I need not have worried, the power of her voice pushing back the years, her unaccompanied finale quite magnificent.
Success did not come easily to the Salford born, Elaine Bookbinder who left home at 15 to follow her dreams. Seventeen years of support roles (including the Beatles) were to follow until 1977 when finally, she recorded the song that was to make her name, Pearl’s A Singer. The Pearls album that followed, catapulted Elkie to stardom staying 79 weeks in the charts and making Elkie the then biggest selling, UK, female artist of all time. Mega stardom proved elusive, however, with an over-reliance on cover versions and her preference for middle-of-the-road ballads.
Playing to a full house of devotees (400 people), the evening got going with two tracks from her new album, Powerless, and then moved on to her own versions of Chris Rea’s, Fool if You Think It’s Over, and Procul Harum’s, Knights in White Satin. But Elkie is at her best with her own material - her rendition of Warm and Tender Love, one of the highlights of the evening. Comfortable and at ease on stage, she moved seamlessly from one track to another, the velvet-sounding voice as luxuriant as ever, the tones as rich, the rearrangements to suit her range, only minimal.
Apart from the obligatory rendition of Pearl, part two focussed on the new album, with an outstanding delivery of the eponymous single. While her repartee was limited (“the shopping in Blackheath is great”), no-one stays in the business over five decades without being talented and Elkie still has that in abundance. Equally professional is her large, 6 member band with Steve Jones on sax and Melvin Duffy on guitar particularly impressive.
The venue is unique, the location superb, the community supportive. Quite why the concert halls are not full every night of the week is entirely beyond me.
A enjoyable night out. 7/10/DM
June 2011
Win Win
Win Win (15) - 2011 - 106 minutes
Wrestling with a moral dilemma
As his hairline has receded, his waistline has advanced. His eyes are full of sadness, his air unprepossessing. Paul Giamatti makes for an unlikely leading man. But from The Truman Show and Saving Private Ryan to the Cinderella Man (Oscar nomination) and Barney’s Version (second Golden Globe Award), his versatility knows no bounds. Giamatti is currently King of the Indies.
In the latest offering from Director, Thomas McCarthy, Giamatti plays Mike Flaherty, a small town, family lawyer whose ailing practice, demanding family and endless list of chores( perennially blocked toilets and broken-down boilers) are beginning to weigh him down. When told he is out running, his daughter innocently asks "from what" but therein lies his dilemma.
Salvation duly arrives initially through a client, retired Alzheimer sufferer, Leo, touchingly played by Burt Young, (Sly Stallone's brother in the Rocky movies) and subsequently through his 16 year old grandson, Kyle (Alex Shaffer), himself in search of refuge from his drug addicted mother. The family take him in, their initial suspicions soon overcome by Kyle's remarkably open and honest persona and soon he is part of the family even joining the high school wrestling team of which Mike is coach.For a while all goes well, but the return of Kyle’s mother spells disaster for Mike.
Alzheimer's, wrestling (with its strange manoeuvres and complex rules) and a mid-life, male crisis would appear to make the strangest of bedfellows and yet somehow, it works. The humour is terrific from Mike's best friend Terry (Bobby Cannavale), an exuberant but embittered divorce who still spies on his wife to the weakling of the wrestling team who simply runs round the ring to Kyle himself whom Mike hits round the head just before each match starts. Giamatti leads the way, simply superb as a man overwhelmed. Anxious and tired, he is worn to a shred but can still find the time to patiently coach the worst team in the state. Shaffer too is excellent, his relationship with Mike's wife Jackie (beautifully played by Amy Ryan) touching and sweet.
McCarthy – who incidentally co-authored the Oscar winning animation Up - directs with minimal fuss allowing the characters full reign. The moral dilemma is interesting portrayed; however noble his intentions, Mike is clearly guilty and yet only through his wife, and then only briefly, is this dilemma explored. Ultimately however, McCarthy redeems himself through his refusal to countenance a Hollywood ending. Life is grey not white nor black. Life is win, lose and very rarely win, win. Charming and well executed. 7/10.DM.
Wrestling with a moral dilemma
As his hairline has receded, his waistline has advanced. His eyes are full of sadness, his air unprepossessing. Paul Giamatti makes for an unlikely leading man. But from The Truman Show and Saving Private Ryan to the Cinderella Man (Oscar nomination) and Barney’s Version (second Golden Globe Award), his versatility knows no bounds. Giamatti is currently King of the Indies.
In the latest offering from Director, Thomas McCarthy, Giamatti plays Mike Flaherty, a small town, family lawyer whose ailing practice, demanding family and endless list of chores( perennially blocked toilets and broken-down boilers) are beginning to weigh him down. When told he is out running, his daughter innocently asks "from what" but therein lies his dilemma.
Salvation duly arrives initially through a client, retired Alzheimer sufferer, Leo, touchingly played by Burt Young, (Sly Stallone's brother in the Rocky movies) and subsequently through his 16 year old grandson, Kyle (Alex Shaffer), himself in search of refuge from his drug addicted mother. The family take him in, their initial suspicions soon overcome by Kyle's remarkably open and honest persona and soon he is part of the family even joining the high school wrestling team of which Mike is coach.For a while all goes well, but the return of Kyle’s mother spells disaster for Mike.
Alzheimer's, wrestling (with its strange manoeuvres and complex rules) and a mid-life, male crisis would appear to make the strangest of bedfellows and yet somehow, it works. The humour is terrific from Mike's best friend Terry (Bobby Cannavale), an exuberant but embittered divorce who still spies on his wife to the weakling of the wrestling team who simply runs round the ring to Kyle himself whom Mike hits round the head just before each match starts. Giamatti leads the way, simply superb as a man overwhelmed. Anxious and tired, he is worn to a shred but can still find the time to patiently coach the worst team in the state. Shaffer too is excellent, his relationship with Mike's wife Jackie (beautifully played by Amy Ryan) touching and sweet.
McCarthy – who incidentally co-authored the Oscar winning animation Up - directs with minimal fuss allowing the characters full reign. The moral dilemma is interesting portrayed; however noble his intentions, Mike is clearly guilty and yet only through his wife, and then only briefly, is this dilemma explored. Ultimately however, McCarthy redeems himself through his refusal to countenance a Hollywood ending. Life is grey not white nor black. Life is win, lose and very rarely win, win. Charming and well executed. 7/10.DM.
Jamie Cullum Live at Cheltenham
Jamie Cullum at The Cheltenham Jazz Festival
Screened live to the Greenwich Picturehouse
May 1 2011
The Prince of Jazz Pop on our digital doorstep
We were anxious and concerned. Would our friends enjoy Jamie Cullum in concert streamed live from the Cheltenham Jazz Festival direct to the Greenwich Picturehouse cinema (not to mention 70 odd other cinemas in 6 different countries across the globe)? What about the atmosphere? How would it all work?
We needn't have worried. This charismatic, energetic, 31 year old crossover (jazz-pop) artist from Essex strode on to the stage with a calm sense of assurance well beyond his years. "This is the second time I've been out since the baby" (Cullum is married to former model Sophie Dahl), "so be gentle with me", he implored us, and so began a quite spellbinding evening.
For all his boyish charm and good looks, Cullum has earned his stripes, signing for Universal back in 2003. He opened with an old favourite, "I want to be a Popstar", a playful rumination on the advantages of being a pop star as opposed to a jazz crooner, the perfect vehicle for highlighting a light-hearted approach that has won over audiences both young and old alike.
A self-deprecating personality and some gentle humour soon had the audience warming to him and he moved on to the more serious "Rayleigh Road", a tribute to his Burmese grandparents who struggled to integrate into the Britain of the 50s. Cullum lost himself in this, oblivious to his audience and almost surprised when he had finished.
Playing solo is never easy but he mixed things up well by using his piano as a beat box to obtain some stunning rhythms, by intensive audience participation including 3 concurrent harmonies in a haunting rendition of his old classic, "All at Sea" and by playing one or two apparently hitherto unheard (but surely soon-to-be -released) songs including one about a close friend who refuses to grow up. He closed with a colossal rendition of "Don't stop the music" only to be virtually forced to return with the song of which he is most proud; Gran Torino which he wrote in close collaboration with Clint and Kyle Eastwood for the movie of that name.
While Cullum's musical talent has never been in doubt, his decision to mix jazz standards, American songbook classics and contemporary pop culture was a courageous and bold step that could easily have backfired. His vocal range, innovative arrangements and near-perfect execution somehow ties them all together. Cullum is surely a one-off.
Finally, a word of commendation for the Picturehouse chain whose courage and vision have helped open up a world hitherto closed. Plays, opera and now music have suddenly become accessible and affordable to audiences around the globe. A stunning evening. Roll on the next show. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
May 2011
Screened live to the Greenwich Picturehouse
May 1 2011
The Prince of Jazz Pop on our digital doorstep
We were anxious and concerned. Would our friends enjoy Jamie Cullum in concert streamed live from the Cheltenham Jazz Festival direct to the Greenwich Picturehouse cinema (not to mention 70 odd other cinemas in 6 different countries across the globe)? What about the atmosphere? How would it all work?
We needn't have worried. This charismatic, energetic, 31 year old crossover (jazz-pop) artist from Essex strode on to the stage with a calm sense of assurance well beyond his years. "This is the second time I've been out since the baby" (Cullum is married to former model Sophie Dahl), "so be gentle with me", he implored us, and so began a quite spellbinding evening.
For all his boyish charm and good looks, Cullum has earned his stripes, signing for Universal back in 2003. He opened with an old favourite, "I want to be a Popstar", a playful rumination on the advantages of being a pop star as opposed to a jazz crooner, the perfect vehicle for highlighting a light-hearted approach that has won over audiences both young and old alike.
A self-deprecating personality and some gentle humour soon had the audience warming to him and he moved on to the more serious "Rayleigh Road", a tribute to his Burmese grandparents who struggled to integrate into the Britain of the 50s. Cullum lost himself in this, oblivious to his audience and almost surprised when he had finished.
Playing solo is never easy but he mixed things up well by using his piano as a beat box to obtain some stunning rhythms, by intensive audience participation including 3 concurrent harmonies in a haunting rendition of his old classic, "All at Sea" and by playing one or two apparently hitherto unheard (but surely soon-to-be -released) songs including one about a close friend who refuses to grow up. He closed with a colossal rendition of "Don't stop the music" only to be virtually forced to return with the song of which he is most proud; Gran Torino which he wrote in close collaboration with Clint and Kyle Eastwood for the movie of that name.
While Cullum's musical talent has never been in doubt, his decision to mix jazz standards, American songbook classics and contemporary pop culture was a courageous and bold step that could easily have backfired. His vocal range, innovative arrangements and near-perfect execution somehow ties them all together. Cullum is surely a one-off.
Finally, a word of commendation for the Picturehouse chain whose courage and vision have helped open up a world hitherto closed. Plays, opera and now music have suddenly become accessible and affordable to audiences around the globe. A stunning evening. Roll on the next show. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
May 2011
Fire in Babylon
Fire in Babylon (15) 82 minutes
The West Indian cricket team of 1980- 1995 was undoubtedly the finest of its generation and arguably the greatest in the history of the sport. Ruthless and relentless they batted with power, bowled with venom and fielded with élan. Who can ever forget Gordon Greenidge's undefeated, match-winning double century at Lords or Michael (Whispering Death) Holding's 14 for 149 on a flat wicket at the Oval in 1976?
Fire in Babylon, a rare movie about cricket is the latest in a series of events - including opera, plays and, more recently, concerts- to be screened live, by satellite, directly to the Greenwich Picturehouse. Directed by Stevan Riley and produced by Charles Street and John Battsek, the movie cleverly weaves together interviews with former players, ground staff and local people with archive footage of test matches to relate the tale of the resurgence of West Indian cricket from the late 1970s onwards.
The rebirth of the team has traditionally been attributed to some rather ill- judged, ill-timed and frankly insensitive comments by Tony Greig , the then England captain who, when asked how they might react under pressure, told the interviewer, I” intend to make them grovel". Never can an attempt to get under the opposition's skin have backfired so spectacularly. West Indies won the series 3-0, setting them on a road of almost two decades of cricketing supremacy largely due to a quartet of lightning quick fast bowlers – the four horseman of the apocalypse – (Andy Roberts, Colin Croft, Michael Holding and Joel Garner) and their re-introduction of hostile, short-pitched bowling aimed at the body, not seen since the famous bodyline (England in Australia) series of 1932/1933.
But while Greig's comments undoubtedly played their part, interviews with the players revealed a deeper, darker and more sinister racial motivation. Opener Gordon Greenidge freely admitted to taking his anger at rejection out on the ball hitting with a ferocity hitherto unequalled; Vivien Richards, whose later refusal to tour South Africa (at a personal cost of over USD 1million) earned the personal gratitude of Nelson Mandela himself; and Clive Lloyd, the unassuming captain and natural leader of the group whose quiet demeanour belied a ferocious appetite to win and prove a point. More than thirty years later, their pain is still fresh, their wounds yet to heal, Richards still surprisingly emotional.
Director Riley weaves together his source material with no little skill against a background of music from, perhaps inevitably, Bob Marley and the Wailers and Gregory Issacs and in the process creates a stunning story of true sporting greatness. 9/10. DM
May 2011
The West Indian cricket team of 1980- 1995 was undoubtedly the finest of its generation and arguably the greatest in the history of the sport. Ruthless and relentless they batted with power, bowled with venom and fielded with élan. Who can ever forget Gordon Greenidge's undefeated, match-winning double century at Lords or Michael (Whispering Death) Holding's 14 for 149 on a flat wicket at the Oval in 1976?
Fire in Babylon, a rare movie about cricket is the latest in a series of events - including opera, plays and, more recently, concerts- to be screened live, by satellite, directly to the Greenwich Picturehouse. Directed by Stevan Riley and produced by Charles Street and John Battsek, the movie cleverly weaves together interviews with former players, ground staff and local people with archive footage of test matches to relate the tale of the resurgence of West Indian cricket from the late 1970s onwards.
The rebirth of the team has traditionally been attributed to some rather ill- judged, ill-timed and frankly insensitive comments by Tony Greig , the then England captain who, when asked how they might react under pressure, told the interviewer, I” intend to make them grovel". Never can an attempt to get under the opposition's skin have backfired so spectacularly. West Indies won the series 3-0, setting them on a road of almost two decades of cricketing supremacy largely due to a quartet of lightning quick fast bowlers – the four horseman of the apocalypse – (Andy Roberts, Colin Croft, Michael Holding and Joel Garner) and their re-introduction of hostile, short-pitched bowling aimed at the body, not seen since the famous bodyline (England in Australia) series of 1932/1933.
But while Greig's comments undoubtedly played their part, interviews with the players revealed a deeper, darker and more sinister racial motivation. Opener Gordon Greenidge freely admitted to taking his anger at rejection out on the ball hitting with a ferocity hitherto unequalled; Vivien Richards, whose later refusal to tour South Africa (at a personal cost of over USD 1million) earned the personal gratitude of Nelson Mandela himself; and Clive Lloyd, the unassuming captain and natural leader of the group whose quiet demeanour belied a ferocious appetite to win and prove a point. More than thirty years later, their pain is still fresh, their wounds yet to heal, Richards still surprisingly emotional.
Director Riley weaves together his source material with no little skill against a background of music from, perhaps inevitably, Bob Marley and the Wailers and Gregory Issacs and in the process creates a stunning story of true sporting greatness. 9/10. DM
May 2011
13 Assassins
13 Assassins (15) 126 minutes 2011
The return of the samurai
13 highly trained Samurai warriors against an army of 200. Unacceptable odds? Arrogant folly? Or feudal Japan in 1844 where "to value one’s life was to die like a dog". The latest offering from prolific (80 films in two decades) Japanese Director, Takashi Miike, is a notable addition to the Samurai movie library while also a homage to Akira Kurosawa's memorable masterpiece, Seven Samurai, (1954).
Mid 19th century Japan and a time of extended peace. The Samurai have grown lazy, their hegemony at an end. But one final task awaits them - the destruction of the ignoble, disrespectful and psychotic Lord Naritsugu (Goro Inagaki) the Shogun's younger brother, whose taste for slaughter know no bounds.
The ageing but relentlessly-driven Shinzaemon (Koji Yakusjo) begins to gather together and meticulously train a small band of warriors including his dissolute nephew Shinrouko (Takayuki Yamada), the veteran spear thrower, Sahara who demands payment upfront ("to bury my wife and buy luxuries I've never had") and a manic, forest dwelling creature (Yusuke Iseya) with seemingly supernatural powers. Together, they will restore the glory of the Shogun, do their duty to the people and, only if successful, honour themselves and their families.
The film is of two halves; the first, preparation of the deed and attention to detail. “ My logic was shallow”, Shinzaemon elegantly admits to his friend, having overlooked a minor flaw in their plan. The second is the battle, fast furious and technologically spectacular, the bridge blowing scene oddly reminiscent of Sam Peckinpah’s, The Wild Bunch (1969). The balance of the movie veers dramatically from moments of extreme violence – now cattle deliberately set on fire running amok in the town, now a virgin- white kimono splattered pink with fresh, new blood - to scenes of immense beauty and calm - forest cliffs wreathed in early morning mist, the soldiers’ shimmering shiny helmets bobbing endlessly up and down.
The battle scenes - arguably the longest in cinematic history - are an orgy of violence, although surprisingly lacking in gore. The images are memorable – from enormous street-closing traps woven out of trees to the detonation and collapse of an entire house. Underlying the whole is an unparalleled sense of honour; Naritsugu's samurai will support his master to the end whatever his personal beliefs about his latter's horrific lifestyle; Shinzaemon revels in the opportunity of dying a true warrior's death. Miike weaves these complex and disparate threads carefully together towards a stunning and spectacular climax. A truly worthy addition to the genre. 8/10.
Dick Morgan
May 2011
Dick Morgan
The return of the samurai
13 highly trained Samurai warriors against an army of 200. Unacceptable odds? Arrogant folly? Or feudal Japan in 1844 where "to value one’s life was to die like a dog". The latest offering from prolific (80 films in two decades) Japanese Director, Takashi Miike, is a notable addition to the Samurai movie library while also a homage to Akira Kurosawa's memorable masterpiece, Seven Samurai, (1954).
Mid 19th century Japan and a time of extended peace. The Samurai have grown lazy, their hegemony at an end. But one final task awaits them - the destruction of the ignoble, disrespectful and psychotic Lord Naritsugu (Goro Inagaki) the Shogun's younger brother, whose taste for slaughter know no bounds.
The ageing but relentlessly-driven Shinzaemon (Koji Yakusjo) begins to gather together and meticulously train a small band of warriors including his dissolute nephew Shinrouko (Takayuki Yamada), the veteran spear thrower, Sahara who demands payment upfront ("to bury my wife and buy luxuries I've never had") and a manic, forest dwelling creature (Yusuke Iseya) with seemingly supernatural powers. Together, they will restore the glory of the Shogun, do their duty to the people and, only if successful, honour themselves and their families.
The film is of two halves; the first, preparation of the deed and attention to detail. “ My logic was shallow”, Shinzaemon elegantly admits to his friend, having overlooked a minor flaw in their plan. The second is the battle, fast furious and technologically spectacular, the bridge blowing scene oddly reminiscent of Sam Peckinpah’s, The Wild Bunch (1969). The balance of the movie veers dramatically from moments of extreme violence – now cattle deliberately set on fire running amok in the town, now a virgin- white kimono splattered pink with fresh, new blood - to scenes of immense beauty and calm - forest cliffs wreathed in early morning mist, the soldiers’ shimmering shiny helmets bobbing endlessly up and down.
The battle scenes - arguably the longest in cinematic history - are an orgy of violence, although surprisingly lacking in gore. The images are memorable – from enormous street-closing traps woven out of trees to the detonation and collapse of an entire house. Underlying the whole is an unparalleled sense of honour; Naritsugu's samurai will support his master to the end whatever his personal beliefs about his latter's horrific lifestyle; Shinzaemon revels in the opportunity of dying a true warrior's death. Miike weaves these complex and disparate threads carefully together towards a stunning and spectacular climax. A truly worthy addition to the genre. 8/10.
Dick Morgan
May 2011
Dick Morgan
Rio
Rio (U) 95 minutes 2011 3D
The latest animated offering from the makers of Ice Age - Blue Sky Studios and Director Carlos Saldanha - is Rio, in colourful 3D. Saldanha transports us from the glacial snowdrifts of Ice Age to the humid jungles of our present; from the destruction of our planet to the conservation of a species; and from a sloth named Sid to a bird named Blu.
The story is pleasant enough and concerns the trials and tribulations of a domesticated macaw, Blu, voiced by Jesse "The Social Network" Eisenberg. Blu, the last male of his species, is reluctantly taken to Rio, in order to mate with Jewel, the last of her kind, (Anne Hathaway). However, exotic bird traffickers lurk around every corner and Blu and Jewel must find a way to freedom past Nigel (Jermaine Clement), a hideous cockatoo and an army of marmosets armed only with the help of a red crested cardinal (Will i am), a yellow canary (Jamie Foxx) and a constantly drooling bulldog, Luiz (Tracy Morgan).
While undoubtedly appealing to younger children, the film fails to satisfy on a number of levels. Firstly, it lacks the depth of its some of its more illustrious, animated predecessors and is thus less accessible to adults; where is the toy constantly ruminating over his future, potential obsolescence (Toy Story); the single father desperately trying (and failing) to cope with his child's disability (Finding Nemo); the monster' existential dilemma, questioning his right to frighten young children (Monster's Inc). Moreover, where is the humour and wit? Subtlety and ambiguity have been almost entirely replaced by slapstick and farce, the whole hidden under a plethora of superfluous characters.
But most importantly, just where are the voices. Perhaps only in animated movies are voices so critical; Tom Hanks simply was Woody the Cowboy (Toy Story); David Schwimmer wonderfully well cast as the hypochondriac giraffe (Madagascar); Billy Crystal born to play a neurotic monster (Monster's Inc). Professional as Eisenberg is - cautious neurosis his trademark - he simply does not do birds, a flaw which frankly undermines the entire movie. Hathaway is better but her role is less demanding in a script that is woefully thin. Director Saldanha oversees an explosion of colour and stream of good songs but given a bar set almost impossibly high by the likes of Toy Story and Nemo, Rio simply fails to meet adult expectations.
Good Easter fare but definitely for the youngsters. 6/10.
Dick Morgan
April 2011
The latest animated offering from the makers of Ice Age - Blue Sky Studios and Director Carlos Saldanha - is Rio, in colourful 3D. Saldanha transports us from the glacial snowdrifts of Ice Age to the humid jungles of our present; from the destruction of our planet to the conservation of a species; and from a sloth named Sid to a bird named Blu.
The story is pleasant enough and concerns the trials and tribulations of a domesticated macaw, Blu, voiced by Jesse "The Social Network" Eisenberg. Blu, the last male of his species, is reluctantly taken to Rio, in order to mate with Jewel, the last of her kind, (Anne Hathaway). However, exotic bird traffickers lurk around every corner and Blu and Jewel must find a way to freedom past Nigel (Jermaine Clement), a hideous cockatoo and an army of marmosets armed only with the help of a red crested cardinal (Will i am), a yellow canary (Jamie Foxx) and a constantly drooling bulldog, Luiz (Tracy Morgan).
While undoubtedly appealing to younger children, the film fails to satisfy on a number of levels. Firstly, it lacks the depth of its some of its more illustrious, animated predecessors and is thus less accessible to adults; where is the toy constantly ruminating over his future, potential obsolescence (Toy Story); the single father desperately trying (and failing) to cope with his child's disability (Finding Nemo); the monster' existential dilemma, questioning his right to frighten young children (Monster's Inc). Moreover, where is the humour and wit? Subtlety and ambiguity have been almost entirely replaced by slapstick and farce, the whole hidden under a plethora of superfluous characters.
But most importantly, just where are the voices. Perhaps only in animated movies are voices so critical; Tom Hanks simply was Woody the Cowboy (Toy Story); David Schwimmer wonderfully well cast as the hypochondriac giraffe (Madagascar); Billy Crystal born to play a neurotic monster (Monster's Inc). Professional as Eisenberg is - cautious neurosis his trademark - he simply does not do birds, a flaw which frankly undermines the entire movie. Hathaway is better but her role is less demanding in a script that is woefully thin. Director Saldanha oversees an explosion of colour and stream of good songs but given a bar set almost impossibly high by the likes of Toy Story and Nemo, Rio simply fails to meet adult expectations.
Good Easter fare but definitely for the youngsters. 6/10.
Dick Morgan
April 2011
Oranges and Sunshine
Oranges and Sunshine (12A) 104 minutes 2011
Corruption and lies under a scorching sun
Someone is responsible; someone must take the blame; somewhere there must be answers.
The brightly named Oranges and Sunshine is the powerful but sombre account of an appalling and yet generally little-known, social injustice. In 1986, a young social worker from Nottingham, Margaret Humphreys (Emily Watson), accidentally stumbled across a generation of lost children. Shortly after the Second World War, almost 130,000 infants were torn away from their families, told that their parents were dead and systematically deported to Australia. Expecting a life of sunshine and oranges, they were for the most part, physically and emotionally abused by their carers. Humphreys, overwhelmed by the sheer hopeless isolation began the herculean task of trying to re-unite lost families.
Humphreys and her impossibly understanding and sympathetic husband Merv (Richard Dillane) find themselves inexorably dragged deeper and deeper into an bottomless emotional quagmire at the increasing cost of their personal and family life; "I've given you my mother", Margaret's young son laments to one of the victims at an emotionally charged Christmas party. Tired from the travel, emotionally drained by their suffering and blocked at every turn by faceless bureaucrats, Margaret cracks and suffers a breakdown.
Watson is her usual competent self; undemonstrative, restrained and lacking fuss, trying desperately to remain restrained and professional but failing miserably. The scenes with her own family whom she increasingly neglects, particularly poignant. Yet somehow, she fails to engage, lacking emotional depth and not entirely convincing. The victims are more persuasive; Hugo Weaving is sensitive and fragile radiating emptiness and emotionally lost. David Wenham is equally strong; where Weaver is open, Wenham is closed, overly calm and ready to explode; both appalled by yet addicted to the seminary where he was raised.
Jim Loach plays it safe on his directorial debut choosing to duck the movie’s more controversial moments such as responsibility and blame; the bureaucrats escaping with “we did what we thought right”; the seminary brothers responding with silence and frowns. In 2010, some 23 years after Margaret’s initial encounter, the governments of Great Britain and Australia finally acknowledged their respective roles and issued an official apology. Yet to date, no individuals have been identified, questioned or charged and now almost certainly, never will. A generation of children remain lost, isolated and without justice.
A challenging but worthwhile night out. 7/10
Dick Morgan
April 2011
Corruption and lies under a scorching sun
Someone is responsible; someone must take the blame; somewhere there must be answers.
The brightly named Oranges and Sunshine is the powerful but sombre account of an appalling and yet generally little-known, social injustice. In 1986, a young social worker from Nottingham, Margaret Humphreys (Emily Watson), accidentally stumbled across a generation of lost children. Shortly after the Second World War, almost 130,000 infants were torn away from their families, told that their parents were dead and systematically deported to Australia. Expecting a life of sunshine and oranges, they were for the most part, physically and emotionally abused by their carers. Humphreys, overwhelmed by the sheer hopeless isolation began the herculean task of trying to re-unite lost families.
Humphreys and her impossibly understanding and sympathetic husband Merv (Richard Dillane) find themselves inexorably dragged deeper and deeper into an bottomless emotional quagmire at the increasing cost of their personal and family life; "I've given you my mother", Margaret's young son laments to one of the victims at an emotionally charged Christmas party. Tired from the travel, emotionally drained by their suffering and blocked at every turn by faceless bureaucrats, Margaret cracks and suffers a breakdown.
Watson is her usual competent self; undemonstrative, restrained and lacking fuss, trying desperately to remain restrained and professional but failing miserably. The scenes with her own family whom she increasingly neglects, particularly poignant. Yet somehow, she fails to engage, lacking emotional depth and not entirely convincing. The victims are more persuasive; Hugo Weaving is sensitive and fragile radiating emptiness and emotionally lost. David Wenham is equally strong; where Weaver is open, Wenham is closed, overly calm and ready to explode; both appalled by yet addicted to the seminary where he was raised.
Jim Loach plays it safe on his directorial debut choosing to duck the movie’s more controversial moments such as responsibility and blame; the bureaucrats escaping with “we did what we thought right”; the seminary brothers responding with silence and frowns. In 2010, some 23 years after Margaret’s initial encounter, the governments of Great Britain and Australia finally acknowledged their respective roles and issued an official apology. Yet to date, no individuals have been identified, questioned or charged and now almost certainly, never will. A generation of children remain lost, isolated and without justice.
A challenging but worthwhile night out. 7/10
Dick Morgan
April 2011
Oranges and sunshinme
Oranges and Sunshine (12A) 104 minutes 2011
Corruption and lies under a scorching sun
Someone is responsible; someone must take the blame; somewhere there must be answers.
The brightly named Oranges and Sunshine is the powerful but sombre account of an appalling and yet generally little-known, social injustice. In 1986, a young social worker from Nottingham, Margaret Humphreys (Emily Watson), accidentally stumbled across a generation of lost children. Shortly after the Second World War, almost 130,000 infants were torn away from their families, told that their parents were dead and systematically deported to Australia. Expecting a life of sunshine and oranges, they were for the most part, physically and emotionally abused by their carers. Humphreys, overwhelmed by the sheer hopeless isolation began the herculean task of trying to re-unite lost families.
Humphreys and her impossibly understanding and sympathetic husband Merv (Richard Dillane) find themselves inexorably dragged deeper and deeper into an bottomless emotional quagmire at the increasing cost of their personal and family life; "I've given you my mother", Margaret's young son laments to one of the victims at an emotionally charged Christmas party. Tired from the travel, emotionally drained by their suffering and blocked at every turn by faceless bureaucrats, Margaret cracks and suffers a breakdown.
Watson is her usual competent self; undemonstrative, restrained and lacking fuss, trying desperately to remain restrained and professional but failing miserably. The scenes with her own family whom she increasingly neglects, particularly poignant. Yet somehow, she fails to engage, lacking emotional depth and not entirely convincing. The victims are more persuasive; Hugo Weaving is sensitive and fragile radiating emptiness and emotionally lost. David Wenham is equally strong; where Weaver is open, Wenham is closed, overly calm and ready to explode; both appalled by yet addicted to the seminary where he was raised.
Jim Loach plays it safe on his directorial debut choosing to duck the movie’s more controversial moments such as responsibility and blame; the bureaucrats escaping with “we did what we thought right”; the seminary brothers responding with silence and frowns. In 2010, some 23 years after Margaret’s initial encounter, the governments of Great Britain and Australia finally acknowledged their respective roles and issued an official apology. Yet to date, no individuals have been identified, questioned or charged and now almost certainly, never will. A generation of children remain lost, isolated and without justice.
A challenging but worthwhile night out. 7/10
Dick Morgan
April 2011
Corruption and lies under a scorching sun
Someone is responsible; someone must take the blame; somewhere there must be answers.
The brightly named Oranges and Sunshine is the powerful but sombre account of an appalling and yet generally little-known, social injustice. In 1986, a young social worker from Nottingham, Margaret Humphreys (Emily Watson), accidentally stumbled across a generation of lost children. Shortly after the Second World War, almost 130,000 infants were torn away from their families, told that their parents were dead and systematically deported to Australia. Expecting a life of sunshine and oranges, they were for the most part, physically and emotionally abused by their carers. Humphreys, overwhelmed by the sheer hopeless isolation began the herculean task of trying to re-unite lost families.
Humphreys and her impossibly understanding and sympathetic husband Merv (Richard Dillane) find themselves inexorably dragged deeper and deeper into an bottomless emotional quagmire at the increasing cost of their personal and family life; "I've given you my mother", Margaret's young son laments to one of the victims at an emotionally charged Christmas party. Tired from the travel, emotionally drained by their suffering and blocked at every turn by faceless bureaucrats, Margaret cracks and suffers a breakdown.
Watson is her usual competent self; undemonstrative, restrained and lacking fuss, trying desperately to remain restrained and professional but failing miserably. The scenes with her own family whom she increasingly neglects, particularly poignant. Yet somehow, she fails to engage, lacking emotional depth and not entirely convincing. The victims are more persuasive; Hugo Weaving is sensitive and fragile radiating emptiness and emotionally lost. David Wenham is equally strong; where Weaver is open, Wenham is closed, overly calm and ready to explode; both appalled by yet addicted to the seminary where he was raised.
Jim Loach plays it safe on his directorial debut choosing to duck the movie’s more controversial moments such as responsibility and blame; the bureaucrats escaping with “we did what we thought right”; the seminary brothers responding with silence and frowns. In 2010, some 23 years after Margaret’s initial encounter, the governments of Great Britain and Australia finally acknowledged their respective roles and issued an official apology. Yet to date, no individuals have been identified, questioned or charged and now almost certainly, never will. A generation of children remain lost, isolated and without justice.
A challenging but worthwhile night out. 7/10
Dick Morgan
April 2011
Little White Lies
Little White Lies (15) – Les Petits Mouchoirs 154 minutes 2011
A blazing hot sun over a cobalt blue sea; good food and fine wine; the company of old friends on an extended vacation. Archetypally French? Undoubtedly. The subject of good cinema? Absolutely. In a complete change of pace from his previous outing - the tense thriller, Tell No One - Director Guillaume Canet brings us Little While Lies, a comedy-drama about a group of middle-aged friends on holiday in France.
We soon realise that all is not well with the lives and loves of these affluent, middle class, Parisien professionals. Max (Francois Cluzet), the restaurant owning host, is impossibly uptight pursuing weasels with an axe at all hours of the night overwhelmed with his best friend Vincent's (Benoit Magimel) sudden declaration of more than just friendship. But even Max looks normal next to the chain smoking, promiscuous, unable-to-commit Marie (Marion Cotillard) emotionally empty, B list movie actor, Eric, (Gilles Lellouche) and carefree hedonist, Ludo (Jean Dujardin), whose accident throws the entire holiday into doubt. What partners there are, look on with a mixture of resigned acceptance (Valerie Bonneton as Max's wife) or stunned shock (Vincent's partner, Pascale Arbillot). And in the midst of this mayhem, the children somehow try to get on with their summer vacation.
As their lives slowly unravel, the lies become more frequent. “We’re off to a nightclub” Eric stammers while in fact driving 600 km to Paris to reclaim his girlfriend. We wince at their increasingly unconvincing attempts to protect their eroding self-esteem - Eric's "she's catching the next flight" less and less believable with each passing day. Finally, the explosion. “Ask your father, he’ll know”, Max erupts to the question of “what’s a homosexual”, innocently asked by Vincent’s young son. But the damage has been done. In showing us their faults, in showing us their flaws, Canet shows us ourselves and it’s not always pretty.
The dialogue is slick, the humour first rate - "This is the owner", Max spits at the weasles, axe in hand, having broken through his own wall in the small hours of the night. "Not so noisy now are we?" The acting is outstanding; Cluzet, tense, taut and ready to snap; Magimel, sensitive, touching and yet aggressive and masculine; Cotillard, sensual, troubled but refusing to judge; Lellouche, recklessly self-destructive and yet unable to change.
Director Canet manages the ensemble with quiet aplomb, his choice of music successfully aggressive, his editing, less ambitious (154 minutes 30 minutes too long). But the end is worth the wait. Friendship, warts and all.
9/10. Dick Morgan.
A blazing hot sun over a cobalt blue sea; good food and fine wine; the company of old friends on an extended vacation. Archetypally French? Undoubtedly. The subject of good cinema? Absolutely. In a complete change of pace from his previous outing - the tense thriller, Tell No One - Director Guillaume Canet brings us Little While Lies, a comedy-drama about a group of middle-aged friends on holiday in France.
We soon realise that all is not well with the lives and loves of these affluent, middle class, Parisien professionals. Max (Francois Cluzet), the restaurant owning host, is impossibly uptight pursuing weasels with an axe at all hours of the night overwhelmed with his best friend Vincent's (Benoit Magimel) sudden declaration of more than just friendship. But even Max looks normal next to the chain smoking, promiscuous, unable-to-commit Marie (Marion Cotillard) emotionally empty, B list movie actor, Eric, (Gilles Lellouche) and carefree hedonist, Ludo (Jean Dujardin), whose accident throws the entire holiday into doubt. What partners there are, look on with a mixture of resigned acceptance (Valerie Bonneton as Max's wife) or stunned shock (Vincent's partner, Pascale Arbillot). And in the midst of this mayhem, the children somehow try to get on with their summer vacation.
As their lives slowly unravel, the lies become more frequent. “We’re off to a nightclub” Eric stammers while in fact driving 600 km to Paris to reclaim his girlfriend. We wince at their increasingly unconvincing attempts to protect their eroding self-esteem - Eric's "she's catching the next flight" less and less believable with each passing day. Finally, the explosion. “Ask your father, he’ll know”, Max erupts to the question of “what’s a homosexual”, innocently asked by Vincent’s young son. But the damage has been done. In showing us their faults, in showing us their flaws, Canet shows us ourselves and it’s not always pretty.
The dialogue is slick, the humour first rate - "This is the owner", Max spits at the weasles, axe in hand, having broken through his own wall in the small hours of the night. "Not so noisy now are we?" The acting is outstanding; Cluzet, tense, taut and ready to snap; Magimel, sensitive, touching and yet aggressive and masculine; Cotillard, sensual, troubled but refusing to judge; Lellouche, recklessly self-destructive and yet unable to change.
Director Canet manages the ensemble with quiet aplomb, his choice of music successfully aggressive, his editing, less ambitious (154 minutes 30 minutes too long). But the end is worth the wait. Friendship, warts and all.
9/10. Dick Morgan.
The Eagle
The Eagle (12A) 114 minutes 2011
The Eagle has landed at the Greenwich Picturehouse...
It stands for elegance, power and freedom. It is the defining emblem of the United States of America and it has inspired countless generations of soldiers. The Eagle is the latest offering from Director Kevin (The Last King of Scotland), Macdonald, a fictional account of the true story of the disappearance of a Roman Legion in Britain in the second century AD.
In 120AD, 5,000 Roman soldiers, intent on extending their conquest of Britain further north, marched into a misty Caledonian glen and were never seen again. The loss of the Legion's 5,000 men, but more importantly its standard, a golden eagle, brought shame on Rome, the Legion's Commander and his family. Twenty years later, his son Marcus Aquila (Channing Tatum) takes a posting in Britain to retrieve the lost eagle and with it, his father's honour.
Interestingly, Macdonald resists the temptation to turn the movie into a battle or slaughter-fest preferring instead to focus on the relationship between Marcus and Esca (Jamie "Billy Elliot" Bell), a young slave whose life Marcus saves. Initially born out of obligation, their relationship grudgingly blossoms from respect to admiration and ultimately friendship. Macdonald manages this relationship with sensitivity avoiding the pitfalls of Hollywood sentimentality - Esca's silence often as powerful as his words. With virtually no women to distract them, the relationship quickly deepens and transitions when the master-slave relationship reverses.
Bell and Tatum take time to get going, their chemistry laboured and forced, both less than comfortable in their respective roles. Both are miscast - too young for their roles - and yet both do their best; Tatum's softly spoken and yet firm, command somehow appropriate and Bell's (forever Billy Elliot and yet now rugged and mature) relentless but quiet sense of honour, powerful and compelling. The rest of the cast play second fiddle with Donald Sutherland's pleasant little cameo as Tatum's uncle unfortunately offset by Mark Strong's soldier-gone-native's bizarre American accent.
The scenery is magnificent - mist spattered forests to cloud enshrouded mountains- and the photography (Oscar winner Anthony Dod Mantle) even better - the Scottish highlands bleak and desolate as never before. The film's fascination is clearly the clash of cultures although surprisingly little is made of the inability of technologically superior invading forces to overwhelm notionally inferior but patriotic, local resistance. Sound familiar? Sadly, remarkably little appears to have changed in 2,000 years. 6/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
The Eagle has landed at the Greenwich Picturehouse...
It stands for elegance, power and freedom. It is the defining emblem of the United States of America and it has inspired countless generations of soldiers. The Eagle is the latest offering from Director Kevin (The Last King of Scotland), Macdonald, a fictional account of the true story of the disappearance of a Roman Legion in Britain in the second century AD.
In 120AD, 5,000 Roman soldiers, intent on extending their conquest of Britain further north, marched into a misty Caledonian glen and were never seen again. The loss of the Legion's 5,000 men, but more importantly its standard, a golden eagle, brought shame on Rome, the Legion's Commander and his family. Twenty years later, his son Marcus Aquila (Channing Tatum) takes a posting in Britain to retrieve the lost eagle and with it, his father's honour.
Interestingly, Macdonald resists the temptation to turn the movie into a battle or slaughter-fest preferring instead to focus on the relationship between Marcus and Esca (Jamie "Billy Elliot" Bell), a young slave whose life Marcus saves. Initially born out of obligation, their relationship grudgingly blossoms from respect to admiration and ultimately friendship. Macdonald manages this relationship with sensitivity avoiding the pitfalls of Hollywood sentimentality - Esca's silence often as powerful as his words. With virtually no women to distract them, the relationship quickly deepens and transitions when the master-slave relationship reverses.
Bell and Tatum take time to get going, their chemistry laboured and forced, both less than comfortable in their respective roles. Both are miscast - too young for their roles - and yet both do their best; Tatum's softly spoken and yet firm, command somehow appropriate and Bell's (forever Billy Elliot and yet now rugged and mature) relentless but quiet sense of honour, powerful and compelling. The rest of the cast play second fiddle with Donald Sutherland's pleasant little cameo as Tatum's uncle unfortunately offset by Mark Strong's soldier-gone-native's bizarre American accent.
The scenery is magnificent - mist spattered forests to cloud enshrouded mountains- and the photography (Oscar winner Anthony Dod Mantle) even better - the Scottish highlands bleak and desolate as never before. The film's fascination is clearly the clash of cultures although surprisingly little is made of the inability of technologically superior invading forces to overwhelm notionally inferior but patriotic, local resistance. Sound familiar? Sadly, remarkably little appears to have changed in 2,000 years. 6/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
Frankenstein at the National
Frankenstein; NT Live / Greenwich Picture House 120 minutes
The monster is reborn
My mother sounded puzzled when I told her that we were going to the cinema to see a play. The production of Frankenstein, a new play by Nick Dear, loosely based on the nineteenth century novel by Mary Shelley, is the latest in a series of collaborations - which has already included Phedre (Helen Mirren) and King Lear (Derek Jacobi) - whereby theatres, here The National, broadcast live productions simultaneously to cinemas around the globe. It is a marvellous idea bringing hitherto inaccessible productions to our doorstep.
Danny Boyle, returning to theatre after cinematic success with Slumdog and 127 Hours, injects fresh new blood into a tried and tested old tale with imaginative staging, thoughtful use of lighting and most significantly a new perspective. Rather than Dr Frankenstein, we are shown the world through the eyes of the monster. We look on as he bursts into life breaking through a translucent membrane, bloody and naked, groaning and writhing like a fish out of water. We follow his education, from a kindly, intelligent, but significantly, blind, old man (beautifully played by Karl Johnson) who teaches the creature to talk, read and think for himself. Finally, we see the creature struggling with his conscience, knowing what is right but desperate for revenge.
Boyle pushes his actors as hard as he stretches the story. Benedict Cumberbatch (best known for his recent TV portrayal of Sherlock Holmes) and Jonny Lee Miller alternate nightly between monster and creator. While demanding for the actors and intriguing for the audience, this novel idea gives each a better understanding of the other’s perspective and both seem to benefit. Cumberbatch (as the monster) is exceptional; empathetic and touching and yet simmering with power. This tall, elegant and confident young man is surely destined for greater things. Miller is also good, persuasively suggesting a man obsessed with the desire to play God. Their chemistry together and strong on stage presence more than compensate for a disappointing support cast - Naomi Harris as Victor’s fiancée and George Harris as his father, surprisingly wooden and forced.
Finally, Boyle makes full use of his location; from the circular, revolving stage, to imaginative lighting and other unexpected coups de theatre (including railway locomotives). But one constant remains – a dark and sinister violence is never far from the surface, now implied by the scientist, now explicit from the monster, the bedroom scene with the doctor’s new bride, particularly graphic.
Verdict
Despite one or two laboured moments and a production that is overall, 15 minutes too long, Boyle oversees an intense, inspired and innovative adaption of a timeless classic. 8/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
The monster is reborn
My mother sounded puzzled when I told her that we were going to the cinema to see a play. The production of Frankenstein, a new play by Nick Dear, loosely based on the nineteenth century novel by Mary Shelley, is the latest in a series of collaborations - which has already included Phedre (Helen Mirren) and King Lear (Derek Jacobi) - whereby theatres, here The National, broadcast live productions simultaneously to cinemas around the globe. It is a marvellous idea bringing hitherto inaccessible productions to our doorstep.
Danny Boyle, returning to theatre after cinematic success with Slumdog and 127 Hours, injects fresh new blood into a tried and tested old tale with imaginative staging, thoughtful use of lighting and most significantly a new perspective. Rather than Dr Frankenstein, we are shown the world through the eyes of the monster. We look on as he bursts into life breaking through a translucent membrane, bloody and naked, groaning and writhing like a fish out of water. We follow his education, from a kindly, intelligent, but significantly, blind, old man (beautifully played by Karl Johnson) who teaches the creature to talk, read and think for himself. Finally, we see the creature struggling with his conscience, knowing what is right but desperate for revenge.
Boyle pushes his actors as hard as he stretches the story. Benedict Cumberbatch (best known for his recent TV portrayal of Sherlock Holmes) and Jonny Lee Miller alternate nightly between monster and creator. While demanding for the actors and intriguing for the audience, this novel idea gives each a better understanding of the other’s perspective and both seem to benefit. Cumberbatch (as the monster) is exceptional; empathetic and touching and yet simmering with power. This tall, elegant and confident young man is surely destined for greater things. Miller is also good, persuasively suggesting a man obsessed with the desire to play God. Their chemistry together and strong on stage presence more than compensate for a disappointing support cast - Naomi Harris as Victor’s fiancée and George Harris as his father, surprisingly wooden and forced.
Finally, Boyle makes full use of his location; from the circular, revolving stage, to imaginative lighting and other unexpected coups de theatre (including railway locomotives). But one constant remains – a dark and sinister violence is never far from the surface, now implied by the scientist, now explicit from the monster, the bedroom scene with the doctor’s new bride, particularly graphic.
Verdict
Despite one or two laboured moments and a production that is overall, 15 minutes too long, Boyle oversees an intense, inspired and innovative adaption of a timeless classic. 8/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
Just Go With It
Just Go With It 12A 104 minutes
She has a beautiful smile and a wonderful figure. She is charming and funny and her timing is excellent. She is diligent, committed and works hard, averaging two films a year since 2005. But how long can she go on playing the same roles? What roles is she capable of playing next? Will Jennifer Anniston ever star in a truly memorable movie?
In her latest attempt to define herself as the queen of RomCom, the forgettably named “Just Go With It”, Anniston plays Katherine, a dowdy, bespectacled, but loyal sidekick of successful, playboy, plastic surgeon, Danny (Adam Sandler). Via a thoroughly convoluted and totally unbelievable storyline, Anniston finds herself not only pretending to be Sandler's soon-to-be ex-wife but also lending him her children, all in the name of his latest sexual conquest, a 23 year old maths teacher, Palmer (Brooklyn Decker) with a figure to die for. The group set off for Hawaii to swim with dolphins and bond as a group… and it is only a matter of time before Anniston's grace, beauty and charm, well you can probably guess the rest.
Anniston is impressive. Time (or minor surgery) has been incredibly kind and she remains quite stunning with a figure to match. While her range might be limited, she has become the most successful (and most prolific) of the Friends' sextet not just because she is committed but also because she recognises those limitations and plays to her strengths. Sandler is more complex. More talented perhaps – who can forget his portrayal of an innocent victim whose life is totally shattered by the events of 9/11 in Reign Over Me – he appears to prefer the comfort and safety of infantile humour. Here he reverts to type with almost two hours of goofy gags and slapstick.
Surprisingly, it works – the gags are often (very) funny and the chemistry with Anniston is good. Katherine's kids Maggie (Bailee Madison) and Michael ( Griffin Gluck) contribute to the fun - although Maggie's English accent, funny at first is irritating by the end - but Sandler's pal, Eddie (Nick Swardson) is over the top particularly in the scene with the dying sheep in Hawaii (don't ask). Decker is sweet (and sexy) enough as the object of Sandler's affections but Nicole Kidman steals the show with a short cameo as Katherine's obnoxious former school friend.
Director Dennis Dugan, who worked so successfully with Sandler on Happy Gilmore, tries to keep some sort of order out of this mayhem and while the movie is unlikely to linger too long in the memory, it's a surprisingly enjoyable night out.
Verdict
Light, breezy and fun. 6/10
She has a beautiful smile and a wonderful figure. She is charming and funny and her timing is excellent. She is diligent, committed and works hard, averaging two films a year since 2005. But how long can she go on playing the same roles? What roles is she capable of playing next? Will Jennifer Anniston ever star in a truly memorable movie?
In her latest attempt to define herself as the queen of RomCom, the forgettably named “Just Go With It”, Anniston plays Katherine, a dowdy, bespectacled, but loyal sidekick of successful, playboy, plastic surgeon, Danny (Adam Sandler). Via a thoroughly convoluted and totally unbelievable storyline, Anniston finds herself not only pretending to be Sandler's soon-to-be ex-wife but also lending him her children, all in the name of his latest sexual conquest, a 23 year old maths teacher, Palmer (Brooklyn Decker) with a figure to die for. The group set off for Hawaii to swim with dolphins and bond as a group… and it is only a matter of time before Anniston's grace, beauty and charm, well you can probably guess the rest.
Anniston is impressive. Time (or minor surgery) has been incredibly kind and she remains quite stunning with a figure to match. While her range might be limited, she has become the most successful (and most prolific) of the Friends' sextet not just because she is committed but also because she recognises those limitations and plays to her strengths. Sandler is more complex. More talented perhaps – who can forget his portrayal of an innocent victim whose life is totally shattered by the events of 9/11 in Reign Over Me – he appears to prefer the comfort and safety of infantile humour. Here he reverts to type with almost two hours of goofy gags and slapstick.
Surprisingly, it works – the gags are often (very) funny and the chemistry with Anniston is good. Katherine's kids Maggie (Bailee Madison) and Michael ( Griffin Gluck) contribute to the fun - although Maggie's English accent, funny at first is irritating by the end - but Sandler's pal, Eddie (Nick Swardson) is over the top particularly in the scene with the dying sheep in Hawaii (don't ask). Decker is sweet (and sexy) enough as the object of Sandler's affections but Nicole Kidman steals the show with a short cameo as Katherine's obnoxious former school friend.
Director Dennis Dugan, who worked so successfully with Sandler on Happy Gilmore, tries to keep some sort of order out of this mayhem and while the movie is unlikely to linger too long in the memory, it's a surprisingly enjoyable night out.
Verdict
Light, breezy and fun. 6/10
Battle LA
Battle:Los Angeles 12(A) 116 minutes 2011
Watching Battle for LA is like playing a computer game only without the controls. You can't turn the sound down or slow down the speed; you can't stop it or even press pause. You simply have to go with the flow whether you like it or not and frankly, there is not much to like; a tenuous plot, a tortuous dialogue and trivial characterisation.
The storyline - aliens colonising earth in search of its water - is barely credible but what really undermines the plot is the speed with which these initially invincible invaders assume the frailties of humanoids - a weakness, it must be said, common to all disaster movies (War of the Worlds and Independence Day to name but two).Chaos then ensues as city after city is systematically obliterated by a combination of their technically superior air and land forces. Nothing can, seemingly, stop their relentless advance.
Cue the Los Angeles branch of the US Marine Corps somewhat worryingly led by a washed-up and battle-weary Staff Sergeant, Michael Nantz (Aaron Eckhart, fresh from his portrayal of a grief stricken parent in Rabbit Hole). With the aliens on the verge of world domination, Nantz is bewilderingly tasked with rescuing a small group of civilians inadvertently caught up behind alien lines. However, one mission is not enough for a US marine; against all odds (literally in this case), Nantz and his small patrol stumble over the aliens’ command and control centre. Poetic licence is stretched to the limit when Nantz calls in for a missile attack from a military base that had been inexplicably but conveniently, overlooked by the aliens in their initial assault.
The dialogue is sufficiently bad to lead us to question whether the world is, in fact, worth saving. "Retreat? Hell, no!" is bad enough but "your father was the bravest man I ever knew" about a man he literally just met is frankly too much to bear. Eckhart is competent in a limited role, ably assisted by Michelle Rodrigues as Intelligence Sergeant, Elena Santos but characterisation is deeply submerged in an orgy of action most of which consists of continuous, large calibre gunfire - although even Eckhart's handgun is successfully used towards the end so weak have the aliens apparently become. Explosions, narrow escapes and endless death and destruction complete the picture such that by the end, my eardrums were literally aching and my senses all overwhelmed. However, my 16 year old son, a self-confessed games expert, reckoned it was "pretty good".
Verdict
Director Jonathan Liebesman is in charge of the chaos but frankly, it lacks originality and depth. Horses for courses; great for computer gamers, dreadful for the rest. 2/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
Watching Battle for LA is like playing a computer game only without the controls. You can't turn the sound down or slow down the speed; you can't stop it or even press pause. You simply have to go with the flow whether you like it or not and frankly, there is not much to like; a tenuous plot, a tortuous dialogue and trivial characterisation.
The storyline - aliens colonising earth in search of its water - is barely credible but what really undermines the plot is the speed with which these initially invincible invaders assume the frailties of humanoids - a weakness, it must be said, common to all disaster movies (War of the Worlds and Independence Day to name but two).Chaos then ensues as city after city is systematically obliterated by a combination of their technically superior air and land forces. Nothing can, seemingly, stop their relentless advance.
Cue the Los Angeles branch of the US Marine Corps somewhat worryingly led by a washed-up and battle-weary Staff Sergeant, Michael Nantz (Aaron Eckhart, fresh from his portrayal of a grief stricken parent in Rabbit Hole). With the aliens on the verge of world domination, Nantz is bewilderingly tasked with rescuing a small group of civilians inadvertently caught up behind alien lines. However, one mission is not enough for a US marine; against all odds (literally in this case), Nantz and his small patrol stumble over the aliens’ command and control centre. Poetic licence is stretched to the limit when Nantz calls in for a missile attack from a military base that had been inexplicably but conveniently, overlooked by the aliens in their initial assault.
The dialogue is sufficiently bad to lead us to question whether the world is, in fact, worth saving. "Retreat? Hell, no!" is bad enough but "your father was the bravest man I ever knew" about a man he literally just met is frankly too much to bear. Eckhart is competent in a limited role, ably assisted by Michelle Rodrigues as Intelligence Sergeant, Elena Santos but characterisation is deeply submerged in an orgy of action most of which consists of continuous, large calibre gunfire - although even Eckhart's handgun is successfully used towards the end so weak have the aliens apparently become. Explosions, narrow escapes and endless death and destruction complete the picture such that by the end, my eardrums were literally aching and my senses all overwhelmed. However, my 16 year old son, a self-confessed games expert, reckoned it was "pretty good".
Verdict
Director Jonathan Liebesman is in charge of the chaos but frankly, it lacks originality and depth. Horses for courses; great for computer gamers, dreadful for the rest. 2/10
Dick Morgan
March 2011
Rabbit Hole (12A) 91 minutes 2011
No parent should ever have to bury their child. It's against nature. It's too hard, too traumatic, too much. But, that is exactly what Rabbit Hole, based on David Lindsay-Abaire's 2005 play of the same name, asks of parents, Becca (Nicole Kidman) and Howie (Aaron Eckhart) Corbett after the heart-breaking loss of their 4 year old son.
Becca and Howie deal with their core-shaking grief in contrasting ways. Becca, unable to cope, simply closes up and shuts down; refusing to believe, refusing to accept, refusing to move on. At therapy, her anger bubbles over; "If God needed another angel, then why didn't he just make one", she explodes to another grief-stricken parent.
Howie struggles with demons; of his own; broken nights watching videos on his phone, cherishing his memories to somehow keep them alive while at the same time desperately trying to inch forward with his life. Becca's mother Nat (Dianne Wiest) and pregnant sister, Izzy, (Tammy Blanchard) look impotently on, their advice ignored, their help thrown back in their faces. As Becca and Howie's crumbling relationship nears its point of collapse, fate once again intervenes in a chance meeting with the innocent killer, a young, cartoon-drawing scientist whom Becca somehow takes to her heart.
The characterisation is marvellous, the powerful interplay of the key protagonists giving the movie its sense of power and direction. Kidman is back to her brilliant best, taut tense and brittle as cut glass. Inwardly imploding, she loses control; at her mother, at her husband at anything in her way. Eckhart is her match, his heart on his sleeve but he too is desperate and lost seeking comfort in therapy, in smoking pot, finally breaking down with the dog. “I can’t do this anymore”; he sobs to his wife. Both Wiest and Blanchard impress; the one, carrying her own emotional burden, resilient and supportive, the other, long suffering and resentful as the disappointing, under achieving sister. Most impressive of all is a simply breath-taking cameo from Jason (Miles Teller) the story-writing student.
Director, John Cameron Mitchell oversees a well-constructed, thoughtful and challenging script; Jason, riddled with guilt, admits he was driving over the limit but his response - “I was probably doing 31 or 32" - is not what we expect. Kidman's mother asked whether the pain ever goes replies; "No," "you carry it around like a brick". Despite its dark subject, Rabbit Hole avoids the dual pitfalls; neither overly dark nor gushingly sentimental, it is tasteful and balanced.
Verdict
Beautifully crafted, wonderfully well-acted and poignantly told. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
February 2011
No parent should ever have to bury their child. It's against nature. It's too hard, too traumatic, too much. But, that is exactly what Rabbit Hole, based on David Lindsay-Abaire's 2005 play of the same name, asks of parents, Becca (Nicole Kidman) and Howie (Aaron Eckhart) Corbett after the heart-breaking loss of their 4 year old son.
Becca and Howie deal with their core-shaking grief in contrasting ways. Becca, unable to cope, simply closes up and shuts down; refusing to believe, refusing to accept, refusing to move on. At therapy, her anger bubbles over; "If God needed another angel, then why didn't he just make one", she explodes to another grief-stricken parent.
Howie struggles with demons; of his own; broken nights watching videos on his phone, cherishing his memories to somehow keep them alive while at the same time desperately trying to inch forward with his life. Becca's mother Nat (Dianne Wiest) and pregnant sister, Izzy, (Tammy Blanchard) look impotently on, their advice ignored, their help thrown back in their faces. As Becca and Howie's crumbling relationship nears its point of collapse, fate once again intervenes in a chance meeting with the innocent killer, a young, cartoon-drawing scientist whom Becca somehow takes to her heart.
The characterisation is marvellous, the powerful interplay of the key protagonists giving the movie its sense of power and direction. Kidman is back to her brilliant best, taut tense and brittle as cut glass. Inwardly imploding, she loses control; at her mother, at her husband at anything in her way. Eckhart is her match, his heart on his sleeve but he too is desperate and lost seeking comfort in therapy, in smoking pot, finally breaking down with the dog. “I can’t do this anymore”; he sobs to his wife. Both Wiest and Blanchard impress; the one, carrying her own emotional burden, resilient and supportive, the other, long suffering and resentful as the disappointing, under achieving sister. Most impressive of all is a simply breath-taking cameo from Jason (Miles Teller) the story-writing student.
Director, John Cameron Mitchell oversees a well-constructed, thoughtful and challenging script; Jason, riddled with guilt, admits he was driving over the limit but his response - “I was probably doing 31 or 32" - is not what we expect. Kidman's mother asked whether the pain ever goes replies; "No," "you carry it around like a brick". Despite its dark subject, Rabbit Hole avoids the dual pitfalls; neither overly dark nor gushingly sentimental, it is tasteful and balanced.
Verdict
Beautifully crafted, wonderfully well-acted and poignantly told. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
February 2011
True Grit
True Grit 2011 (15) 110 minutes
Spielberg keeps the Coens in check
Cinematic visionaries or pseudo-intellectual fraudsters? Truly free spirits or enslaved to the studios? Wherever they roam, whatever they produce, the Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, court controversy like no others before them. Quirky and off-centre, shocking and unexpected; from the violence of
No Country for Old Men to the irreverence of The Big Lebowski; the darkness that is Fargo to the black humour of O Brother, Where Art Thou, straight story tellers they are not. Until now.
Their most recent project - not a remake but an adaptation of the 1969 classic of the same name (starring John Wayne) - itself based on the novel by Charles Portis- is strangely subdued. Conventions are left unchallenged; audiences left unruffled, actors left simply to act.
It helps, of course, when you have at your disposal an army of academy award winning actors. Jeff Bridges, rapidly turning into the grand old man of Hollywood, as the almost permanently inebriated but ultimately good-hearted, lawman, Rooster Cogburn, this time played with a darkness that escaped the range of John Wayne; Matt Damon as a dandified Texas Ranger, LeBoeuf, full of pompous pride and self-importance but he too kind and well-intentioned; Josh Brolin as the heartless but dull-witted, murderer, Tom Cheney; not to mention a dazzling performance from newcomer, Hailee Steinfeld, as a relentlessly determined and fiercely intelligent, fatherless, 14 year old, Mattie Ross.
Bridges is his usual formidable self, his performance effortless, the consummate professional. He now needs to cement his newly acquired iconic status with a more serious, non-inebriated role. Damon frankly disappoints; more dandy than cowboy, more caricature than character, ultimately descending into a figure of fun. For all their banter, the relationship between Damon and Bridges fails to get going and they are left like teenagers squabbling over Mattie's affections. The surprise package is Mattie herself; ( innocent and charming yet with a powerful screen presence not unlike the young(er) Charlotte Johansson.
But allowing actors freedom is one thing; abandoning them altogether is quite impossible for the Coen brothers. Some wonderful photography enhances the modest plot in what is a dark, cold and snowy setting, far removed from the Californian sunshine of its predecessor. At times the brothers risk losing control; here some severed fingers, there a decaying corpse hanging mysteriously from a tree. But somehow, the film stays true to the story, true to its predecessor and true to itself. As the credits rolled, it became clear why; Executive Producer, Steven Spielberg.
Verdict
A good, well-acted yarn. 6/10
Dick Morgan
February 2011
Spielberg keeps the Coens in check
Cinematic visionaries or pseudo-intellectual fraudsters? Truly free spirits or enslaved to the studios? Wherever they roam, whatever they produce, the Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, court controversy like no others before them. Quirky and off-centre, shocking and unexpected; from the violence of
No Country for Old Men to the irreverence of The Big Lebowski; the darkness that is Fargo to the black humour of O Brother, Where Art Thou, straight story tellers they are not. Until now.
Their most recent project - not a remake but an adaptation of the 1969 classic of the same name (starring John Wayne) - itself based on the novel by Charles Portis- is strangely subdued. Conventions are left unchallenged; audiences left unruffled, actors left simply to act.
It helps, of course, when you have at your disposal an army of academy award winning actors. Jeff Bridges, rapidly turning into the grand old man of Hollywood, as the almost permanently inebriated but ultimately good-hearted, lawman, Rooster Cogburn, this time played with a darkness that escaped the range of John Wayne; Matt Damon as a dandified Texas Ranger, LeBoeuf, full of pompous pride and self-importance but he too kind and well-intentioned; Josh Brolin as the heartless but dull-witted, murderer, Tom Cheney; not to mention a dazzling performance from newcomer, Hailee Steinfeld, as a relentlessly determined and fiercely intelligent, fatherless, 14 year old, Mattie Ross.
Bridges is his usual formidable self, his performance effortless, the consummate professional. He now needs to cement his newly acquired iconic status with a more serious, non-inebriated role. Damon frankly disappoints; more dandy than cowboy, more caricature than character, ultimately descending into a figure of fun. For all their banter, the relationship between Damon and Bridges fails to get going and they are left like teenagers squabbling over Mattie's affections. The surprise package is Mattie herself; ( innocent and charming yet with a powerful screen presence not unlike the young(er) Charlotte Johansson.
But allowing actors freedom is one thing; abandoning them altogether is quite impossible for the Coen brothers. Some wonderful photography enhances the modest plot in what is a dark, cold and snowy setting, far removed from the Californian sunshine of its predecessor. At times the brothers risk losing control; here some severed fingers, there a decaying corpse hanging mysteriously from a tree. But somehow, the film stays true to the story, true to its predecessor and true to itself. As the credits rolled, it became clear why; Executive Producer, Steven Spielberg.
Verdict
A good, well-acted yarn. 6/10
Dick Morgan
February 2011
Barney's Version
Barney’s Version (15) 132 minutes 2011
Is it a comedy or is it a tragedy? Or is it simply depressing? Barney’s Version is based on the book of the same name by Canadian author, Mordecai Richler. The film tells the complex emotional story of Barney Panowski, a Jewish TV producer. Now old, desperately lonely and increasingly forgetful, he reflects on his life from its bohemian beginnings to its ignominious end.
Initially, it’s a life full of hope, full of family and friends. But the mood quickly darkens with the death of a baby and the suicide of his wife. A second marriage follows – an entertaining and surprisingly robust cameo from Minnie Driver – but, betrayed by his best friend Boogie (Scott Speedman), this too is doomed. With the subsequent disappearance of Boogie in rather baffling circumstances, the tone darkens further.
The arrival of Miriam Grant (Rosamund Pike) provides some much needed light relief. She is, without doubt, the love of Barney’s life and at last, he is happy. But Director Richard Lewis dwells only briefly on their idyllic family life choosing instead to focus on Barney’s selfish existence; his sulking at dinner parties, endless hours spent in bars and unforgivably, his failure to support her return to work and attend her inaugural radio show. His sexual betrayal while she visits their son – “it meant nothing to me” he wails in self-pity - is more than she can bear and she moves out and into the arms of her producer of whom Barney is already insanely jealous. Barney is lost; like a child, he is terrified of being alone and calls her number at all hours of the night. With the death of his father and closest friend, Izzy (Dustin Hoffman) and the terrifying onset of Alzheimer’s, the foundations of Barney’s life are truly shaken to the core. Despite Director Lewis’s attempts to lighten the mood - this time with moments of humour - Hoffman for example expires in a brothel, it is too little, too late.
Pike is surprisingly good. In her first meaty role since Die Another Day, she is tender and caring, elegant and self- assured. Hoffman is her equal but less comfortable with humour. Giamatti is the surprise casting; not naturally empathetic, he fails to convince either as friend or as lover.
Verdict
Stay indoors for a nice cheerful evening with Eastenders. 3/10
Is it a comedy or is it a tragedy? Or is it simply depressing? Barney’s Version is based on the book of the same name by Canadian author, Mordecai Richler. The film tells the complex emotional story of Barney Panowski, a Jewish TV producer. Now old, desperately lonely and increasingly forgetful, he reflects on his life from its bohemian beginnings to its ignominious end.
Initially, it’s a life full of hope, full of family and friends. But the mood quickly darkens with the death of a baby and the suicide of his wife. A second marriage follows – an entertaining and surprisingly robust cameo from Minnie Driver – but, betrayed by his best friend Boogie (Scott Speedman), this too is doomed. With the subsequent disappearance of Boogie in rather baffling circumstances, the tone darkens further.
The arrival of Miriam Grant (Rosamund Pike) provides some much needed light relief. She is, without doubt, the love of Barney’s life and at last, he is happy. But Director Richard Lewis dwells only briefly on their idyllic family life choosing instead to focus on Barney’s selfish existence; his sulking at dinner parties, endless hours spent in bars and unforgivably, his failure to support her return to work and attend her inaugural radio show. His sexual betrayal while she visits their son – “it meant nothing to me” he wails in self-pity - is more than she can bear and she moves out and into the arms of her producer of whom Barney is already insanely jealous. Barney is lost; like a child, he is terrified of being alone and calls her number at all hours of the night. With the death of his father and closest friend, Izzy (Dustin Hoffman) and the terrifying onset of Alzheimer’s, the foundations of Barney’s life are truly shaken to the core. Despite Director Lewis’s attempts to lighten the mood - this time with moments of humour - Hoffman for example expires in a brothel, it is too little, too late.
Pike is surprisingly good. In her first meaty role since Die Another Day, she is tender and caring, elegant and self- assured. Hoffman is her equal but less comfortable with humour. Giamatti is the surprise casting; not naturally empathetic, he fails to convince either as friend or as lover.
Verdict
Stay indoors for a nice cheerful evening with Eastenders. 3/10
The Way Back
The Way Back 2010 12 A 132 minutes
Film Director Peter Weir (Picnic at Hanging Rock and Gallipoli) doesn’t do things by halves. Seven years after bringing Patrick O’ Brian’s seafaring epic - Master and Commander - to the big screens, he has completed yet another mammoth task; the controversial story of Slavomir Rawicz’s 4000 mile walk to freedom.
Based on Rawicz’s 1956 book, The Long Walk, The Way Back tells the story of a group of 6 innocent political prisoners and one convict (Colin Farrell), who, following the conquest of Poland in 1939 were sentenced to effective life imprisonment in the Soviet labour camps. With little or no food and temperatures constantly below freezing, they stood little chance of surviving hard daily labour. Seven men made a choice; one way or another, to die free men. They could not possibly have imagined what lay before them; a 4000 mile trek south across the frozen wastes of Siberia, into the dry, arid plains of Mongolia, down into China, on into Tibet and then finally, across the Himalayas into India.
The characters beautifully capture the indomitable nature of the human spirit but they remain strangely independent, united only by their common goal of freedom. Janusz, (Jim Sturgess) leads the motley group, quietly asserting his authority, always inclusive but desperate to return to his wife; Ed Harris, is marvellous, here an American, Mr Smith, manipulating an emotional burden to drive his aging body ever onwards; Colin Farrell is the dark, knife-wielding gangster, Valka, who comes to question his freedom and his own place in society. Into this cynical, sceptical and single minded band of men, falls Saoirse Ronan, a young lost Polish girl, lost and alone. Despite the protestations of the American – “kindness will kill us all”, she is soon accepted and recognised for her efforts at helping them rediscover their humanity. But they only briefly show emotion – Ed Harris in particular – a combination of exhaustion and their all-encompassing sense of purpose allows no quarter for sentimentality.
Their common struggle is set against some truly breath-taking landscapes. Wonderfully photographed by Russel Boyd in locations across Bulgaria, India and Morocco, the terrain is beautiful but deadly with starvation and dehydration, exhaustion and fatigue, their constant companions.
Despite some awkward moments such as the return of an elderly Janusz to Poland and the somewhat repetitive nature of their fight for survival whatever the terrain, the film generally impresses with its gravitas and sense of intensity. This is film making at its most serious and mankind at its finest.
Verdict
Utterly convincing but full of festive spirit, this is not! 8/10
Dick Morgan
January 2011
Film Director Peter Weir (Picnic at Hanging Rock and Gallipoli) doesn’t do things by halves. Seven years after bringing Patrick O’ Brian’s seafaring epic - Master and Commander - to the big screens, he has completed yet another mammoth task; the controversial story of Slavomir Rawicz’s 4000 mile walk to freedom.
Based on Rawicz’s 1956 book, The Long Walk, The Way Back tells the story of a group of 6 innocent political prisoners and one convict (Colin Farrell), who, following the conquest of Poland in 1939 were sentenced to effective life imprisonment in the Soviet labour camps. With little or no food and temperatures constantly below freezing, they stood little chance of surviving hard daily labour. Seven men made a choice; one way or another, to die free men. They could not possibly have imagined what lay before them; a 4000 mile trek south across the frozen wastes of Siberia, into the dry, arid plains of Mongolia, down into China, on into Tibet and then finally, across the Himalayas into India.
The characters beautifully capture the indomitable nature of the human spirit but they remain strangely independent, united only by their common goal of freedom. Janusz, (Jim Sturgess) leads the motley group, quietly asserting his authority, always inclusive but desperate to return to his wife; Ed Harris, is marvellous, here an American, Mr Smith, manipulating an emotional burden to drive his aging body ever onwards; Colin Farrell is the dark, knife-wielding gangster, Valka, who comes to question his freedom and his own place in society. Into this cynical, sceptical and single minded band of men, falls Saoirse Ronan, a young lost Polish girl, lost and alone. Despite the protestations of the American – “kindness will kill us all”, she is soon accepted and recognised for her efforts at helping them rediscover their humanity. But they only briefly show emotion – Ed Harris in particular – a combination of exhaustion and their all-encompassing sense of purpose allows no quarter for sentimentality.
Their common struggle is set against some truly breath-taking landscapes. Wonderfully photographed by Russel Boyd in locations across Bulgaria, India and Morocco, the terrain is beautiful but deadly with starvation and dehydration, exhaustion and fatigue, their constant companions.
Despite some awkward moments such as the return of an elderly Janusz to Poland and the somewhat repetitive nature of their fight for survival whatever the terrain, the film generally impresses with its gravitas and sense of intensity. This is film making at its most serious and mankind at its finest.
Verdict
Utterly convincing but full of festive spirit, this is not! 8/10
Dick Morgan
January 2011
The King's Speech
The Kings Speech 2011
F..f..Firth's f..f..finest hour
Do not allow this film to pass you by. Do whatever you have to do - beg, steal or preferably buy a ticket - but do not miss The King's Speech, the latest offering from director Tom Hooper, starring Colin Firth as King George VI, Helen Bonham Carter as his wife, Elisabeth, the Queen Mother and Geoffrey Rush as Lionel Logue, a little-known, Australian, speech therapist. Despite too much gushing, the critics were right; it is stunning, and for once it is a "must see movie".
The movie works on a number of levels. At its most simple, it tells the story of Logue's unorthodox attempts to cure a royal patient of his stammer. Initially reluctant, Bertie, as he was known to his family, gradually warms to this seemingly knowledgeable, progressive and confident Australian and the buds of an unlikely friendship slowly develop.
But Logue is careless and crosses the threshold between commoner and King, invading his privacy and forgetting his place. Bertie, for his part, has his mind elsewhere. Not only does he lament his brother David's (Guy Pearce) increasingly indiscrete philandering with Wallis Simpson (Eve Best) but he resents David's total lack of focus on state affairs. Abdication for love is one thing, dereliction of duty quite another.
In 1936 therefore, when Edward VIII finally crossed the constitutional rubicon, Bertie was prepared albeit neither ready nor willing - "I'm a naval officer not a King", he bemoans to his wife. With Hitler in the West and Stalin in the East and an unstable domestic political environment (successive prime ministerial resignations - including a brief but powerful cameo from Anthony Andrews as Stanley Baldwin) - Bertie was convinced; Britain needed its monarchy like never before.
Firth is, quite simply, magnificent growing before our eyes from an insecure wretch to the supreme monarch George VI was ultimately to become. But the insecurity remains, deep in his eyes, ever ready to surface. Director Hooper marshals his illustrious troops with no little skill. Bonham Carter and Rush are equally impressive - the former, her finest role in years and what chemistry with Firth - the latter, one of 4 co-producers - a curious but powerful combination of confident therapist and impudent commoner. Derek Jacobi turns in his usual competent performance as a powerful and meddling Archbishop of Canterbury unctuously ingratiating himself into the royal household but with little success. Michael Gambon is similarly striking as Bertie's father, George V. But make no mistake, this is Firth's film from beginning to end. It is both interesting and heartening to note that Logue was at Bertie's side throughout all of his wartime speeches and the two remained friends even after the war.
Verdict
Outstanding period drama. 10/10.
Dick Morgan
January 2011
F..f..Firth's f..f..finest hour
Do not allow this film to pass you by. Do whatever you have to do - beg, steal or preferably buy a ticket - but do not miss The King's Speech, the latest offering from director Tom Hooper, starring Colin Firth as King George VI, Helen Bonham Carter as his wife, Elisabeth, the Queen Mother and Geoffrey Rush as Lionel Logue, a little-known, Australian, speech therapist. Despite too much gushing, the critics were right; it is stunning, and for once it is a "must see movie".
The movie works on a number of levels. At its most simple, it tells the story of Logue's unorthodox attempts to cure a royal patient of his stammer. Initially reluctant, Bertie, as he was known to his family, gradually warms to this seemingly knowledgeable, progressive and confident Australian and the buds of an unlikely friendship slowly develop.
But Logue is careless and crosses the threshold between commoner and King, invading his privacy and forgetting his place. Bertie, for his part, has his mind elsewhere. Not only does he lament his brother David's (Guy Pearce) increasingly indiscrete philandering with Wallis Simpson (Eve Best) but he resents David's total lack of focus on state affairs. Abdication for love is one thing, dereliction of duty quite another.
In 1936 therefore, when Edward VIII finally crossed the constitutional rubicon, Bertie was prepared albeit neither ready nor willing - "I'm a naval officer not a King", he bemoans to his wife. With Hitler in the West and Stalin in the East and an unstable domestic political environment (successive prime ministerial resignations - including a brief but powerful cameo from Anthony Andrews as Stanley Baldwin) - Bertie was convinced; Britain needed its monarchy like never before.
Firth is, quite simply, magnificent growing before our eyes from an insecure wretch to the supreme monarch George VI was ultimately to become. But the insecurity remains, deep in his eyes, ever ready to surface. Director Hooper marshals his illustrious troops with no little skill. Bonham Carter and Rush are equally impressive - the former, her finest role in years and what chemistry with Firth - the latter, one of 4 co-producers - a curious but powerful combination of confident therapist and impudent commoner. Derek Jacobi turns in his usual competent performance as a powerful and meddling Archbishop of Canterbury unctuously ingratiating himself into the royal household but with little success. Michael Gambon is similarly striking as Bertie's father, George V. But make no mistake, this is Firth's film from beginning to end. It is both interesting and heartening to note that Logue was at Bertie's side throughout all of his wartime speeches and the two remained friends even after the war.
Verdict
Outstanding period drama. 10/10.
Dick Morgan
January 2011
127 Hours
127 Hours; 95 minutes 2011 (15)
"Between a rock and a hard place"
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The relief in the cinema was palpable. On a wet, January evening, we had all just been privy to what is surely destined to become one of the truly unforgettable experiences in cinematic history.
Director and co-writer Danny Boyle, still flush with success from his Oscar winning and critically acclaimed Slumdog Millionaire gives us 127 Hours, the true story of Aron Ralston, whose inexhaustible thirst for life truly beggars belief.
In 2003, this free spirited outdoorsman recklessly abandoned his job as a mechanical engineer and moved to Aspen, Colorado in order to continue his attempt to climb all 59 of Colorado's mountain peaks over 14,000 feet high. Never in his wildest nightmares can he have envisaged how completely this modest career change would revolutionise his life.
The story is simple, stark and unforgiveable. Ralston goes canyon climbing for the day in Robbers Roost, Utah, home to Butch Cassidy and the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang. Through a freak accident, he manages to get his lower right forearm trapped by an 800lb boulder. Alone in the wilderness, with little water and almost no food, the outlook is terrifyingly bleak. Unforgiveable? He told no-one of his whereabouts. Not a soul.
But Ralston refuses to panic and tries to think his way out of his problem. Over the following 6 days and 5 nights, he tries everything he knows to work himself free using ropes, pulleys and even blunt penknives. But, increasingly dehydrated, his mind begins to wander and he thinks back to family and friends, turning the camera on himself to record his final thoughts. As the lines between his increasingly frequent daydreams and the reality of his situation begin to merge, we sense his reluctant acceptance of an inevitable fate. But in a final epiphany, Ralston refuses to become a victim and, taking control of his destiny, conducts the most gruesome self-amputation in the history of cinema.
James Franco navigates the complexities of Ralston wonderfully well, seamlessly transitioning from arrogant canyoneer to the vulnerable, frightened and yet ultimately resilient survivor he ultimately becomes. Given the minimalist storyline, Boyle is unusually interventionist, utilising a vibrant sound track (ironically, rock music), micro cameras (particularly effective in the base of Ralston’s water bottle) and frequent split screens to compliment Franco’s powerful central performance. The film's essential power however comes not from gimmicks but rather derives from both the veracity of the storyline and from Ralston's simple but profound refusal to indulge in any form of regret or self-pity, other than an ironic "oops" at his ultimately devastating sin of omission.
Verdict
Truly astonishing act of self preservation. Unmissable. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
January 2011
"Between a rock and a hard place"
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The relief in the cinema was palpable. On a wet, January evening, we had all just been privy to what is surely destined to become one of the truly unforgettable experiences in cinematic history.
Director and co-writer Danny Boyle, still flush with success from his Oscar winning and critically acclaimed Slumdog Millionaire gives us 127 Hours, the true story of Aron Ralston, whose inexhaustible thirst for life truly beggars belief.
In 2003, this free spirited outdoorsman recklessly abandoned his job as a mechanical engineer and moved to Aspen, Colorado in order to continue his attempt to climb all 59 of Colorado's mountain peaks over 14,000 feet high. Never in his wildest nightmares can he have envisaged how completely this modest career change would revolutionise his life.
The story is simple, stark and unforgiveable. Ralston goes canyon climbing for the day in Robbers Roost, Utah, home to Butch Cassidy and the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang. Through a freak accident, he manages to get his lower right forearm trapped by an 800lb boulder. Alone in the wilderness, with little water and almost no food, the outlook is terrifyingly bleak. Unforgiveable? He told no-one of his whereabouts. Not a soul.
But Ralston refuses to panic and tries to think his way out of his problem. Over the following 6 days and 5 nights, he tries everything he knows to work himself free using ropes, pulleys and even blunt penknives. But, increasingly dehydrated, his mind begins to wander and he thinks back to family and friends, turning the camera on himself to record his final thoughts. As the lines between his increasingly frequent daydreams and the reality of his situation begin to merge, we sense his reluctant acceptance of an inevitable fate. But in a final epiphany, Ralston refuses to become a victim and, taking control of his destiny, conducts the most gruesome self-amputation in the history of cinema.
James Franco navigates the complexities of Ralston wonderfully well, seamlessly transitioning from arrogant canyoneer to the vulnerable, frightened and yet ultimately resilient survivor he ultimately becomes. Given the minimalist storyline, Boyle is unusually interventionist, utilising a vibrant sound track (ironically, rock music), micro cameras (particularly effective in the base of Ralston’s water bottle) and frequent split screens to compliment Franco’s powerful central performance. The film's essential power however comes not from gimmicks but rather derives from both the veracity of the storyline and from Ralston's simple but profound refusal to indulge in any form of regret or self-pity, other than an ironic "oops" at his ultimately devastating sin of omission.
Verdict
Truly astonishing act of self preservation. Unmissable. 9/10.
Dick Morgan
January 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
