On Black Mass

Black Mass is a great title, suggestive of some huge unstoppable evil that cannot be defined. The film itself is, at times, a keen representation of evil. Yet, more than just evil, this is the story of a psychopath, who without much background becomes even more unknowable and terrifying. It is undeniable that James ‘Whiety’ Bulger is, as represented in Black Mass, a psychopath. There are enough examples of that in the film and it is undeniable that Depp brings a scary intensity to the role making this a captivating and thoroughly enjoyable film. Once again Depp is able to disappear into a role with the help of a little make up; he is unrecognisable from role to role and while his Bulger has a force that is impossible to ignore, it is not quite the layered performance of John Dillinger from Public Enemies (2009). There are many well-worn tropes of the gangster film present here and even the location, South Boston, has become synonymous with crime, The Town (2010), The Departed (2006), Mystic River (2003). Whilst the film, due to the familiar genre has a weird sense of déjà-vu, it is handled well and therefore engages throughout. Some judgement, more than observation, would have perhaps raised Black Mass above a good study of gangster life, but it remains a lot of fun.

On Carol

Todd Haynes’ Carol takes pleasure from an attention to detail that rivals Mad Men (2007 – 2015) in its recreation of 1950s America. An immaculate looking piece of work that again, like Mad Men, represents a time where satisfaction in smoking and midday drinking was not taboo. The story of a divorcee (Blanchett) who falls for a young, department store worker (Mara), Carol draws you in with its period detail and enticing performances. It is hard to look away as Haynes’ careful plotting is expertly crafted, moving us in directions we don’t expect and giving us an ending so rare in love stories.

As a study of gender Carol raises many interesting questions. The lesbian relationship is approached with great subtlety with its taboo status only gently mentioned and its passion explored with tenderness, unlike the male fantasy that was Blue is the Warmest Colour (2013). Yet, there is certainly not equality for Carol and her lover. This is 1950s after all and gender inequality still remains today. The men in this story are emasculated in their inability to understand Carol and Therese’s relationship. The former’s husband slips as he attempts to both reconcile and reprimand Carol, while the latter’s oblivious partner rallies in anger against being usurped for attention. The manner in which men falter in the face of lesbianism may suggest a positive feminist reading, yet that Carol’s relationship with Therese is treated so suspiciously and as a means of leverage says otherwise. Although perhaps this is unfair, Carol is a period piece after all.

However one chooses to read its gender representations, Carol is beautiful film with a sublime ending.

On Bridge of Spies

Crafted. In every area, across all the disciplines, Bridge of Spies is exquisitely crafted. It may be a light touch handling of cold war politics, but the script is so tight it doesn’t waste a word and distils the complexity of the situation into an engaging and welcoming narrative. Spielberg’s direction matches the tone of the script by keeping the story moving at a quick pace and never losing his audience in what, in lesser hands, could become a laborious film. Although this should come as no surprise at all. Just three years ago Spielberg took a narrative that was essentially a legal process and created a captivating piece of work in Lincoln (2012). Here, features of Lincoln are combined with his earlier masterpiece, Schindler’s List (1993) and the result is impressive.

Tom Hanks is the film’s everyman, a label often thrown at him and perhaps not always as a positive. But when he does it so well, his everyman becomes something few actors are capable of. Hanks is on excellent form here, perhaps not Captain Philips (2013) form, but he is never less than convincing and his characters repeated reference to every life matters roots the period piece in contemporary politics. Bridge of Spies highlights the jingoism and fear that is stirred up when people are given an easy figure to hate. Hanks’ son in the film is shown preparing for a nuclear attack after a school lesson. Fear and hatred are provoked to create simple enemies, all of which has uncomfortable resonance with how the media communicates contemporary conflict. Whilst not being a consistent feature of the film, Spielberg is keen to not let us entirely forget the comparison as in one of his final shots he repeats images of the violence in Germany in suburban America, perhaps a warning of what can happen.

The cold war remains a powerful subject, perhaps because so much happened behind closed doors, which allows for filmmakers to get creative. Viewed alongside other recent films of cold war paranoia, Thirteen Days (2000) and The Good Shepherd (2006), Bridge of Spies completes a strong triptych.

On the Tarantino Universe with The Hateful Eight

It was said somewhere, by someone that the universe Tarantino creates for his characters is such a specific one that the characters within his films are the only people who would enjoy his films. This is a loose argument, but has some truth in it, in as much as his films, regardless of time and location, display an interconnectedness most easily found in his creations. You can easily imagine any character from any film showing up across any of Tarantino’s eight-film canon. And this is very much a determined move by Tarantino and one that he takes pleasure from. Madsen’s character from Reservoir Dogs (1992) is cousin to Travolta’s from Pulp Fiction (1994). There is no narrative function for this connection; it is purely a link for the fans, something fun for those that wish to look. For a time this universe was contemporary and reached its zenith with Pulp Fiction, a masterpiece of America cinema, then with Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003) he veered off in a more fantastical direction that has, in his last three films, evolved into historical epics that take place in abstract extensions of the Tarantino universe, where Vincent Vega could stroll into Minnie’s Haberdashery of The Hateful Eight in post civil war Wyoming. Utterly inconceivable, but then so is much of Tarantino’s later work.

A who-done-it western, The Hateful Eight plays out like an Agatha Christie play where we are invited to guess the motives and find the killer. Who done it and why turns out to be not that interesting, although some of the getting there along the way is enjoyable. What The Hateful Eight is trying to say is more of a mystery. The final chapter, titled Black Man, White Hell is suggestive of a commentary on contemporary America and there is certainly some exploration of racial and sexual hierarchy with a black, Mexican and female character amongst those battling for control. Constant references to Lincoln bring a subtext of slavery too, but then all characters are irredeemable if we are to believe their back-stories, making the message hard to find. However, as has been a growing feature, these characters are increasingly cartoonish – no longer full of personality as in his early films, but crudely drawn cartoons. As the characters have become increasingly less interesting, the violence belongs more and more to animation and as in Django Unchained (2012) heads explode as everyone dies in a sea of blood. There are parts of The Hateful Eight, which are fun, but you can’t help leaving wondering what the point was.

The Hateful Eight is a stunning looking film. Tarantino’s decision to shoot in Ultra Panavision 70 is ideally suited to his landscape and interior. The very wide lens provides a real sense of the Wyoming countryside and allows the characters to move around the inside of the Haberdashery as if it were a stage. We see everyone, all the time, like a theatre and this staging is the most impressive feature of this film. The other is the use of light. Whether coming over the snow capped mountains in shades of orange and yellow or breaking through the greasy windows and gaps in the building, it is a thing of beauty. Unfortunately, at close to three hours, it is simply too long to just watch the light.

On the Magic of Star Wars The Force Awakens

The uncertain fate of Luke Skywalker hangs over Star Wars The Force Awakens; we know he is alive, but in a narrative where familial destinies are key, the impact of Darth Vader looms large over the once famed Jedi. Cyclical narratives are at play here as director J J Abrams and writer Lawrence Kasdan weave themes of nature battling nurture into episode seven of the Star Wars saga. New characters appear to take on familiar characteristics, only to be taken in new directions, further evidence of Abrams making his film, whilst remaining respectful to the original trilogy. Mid way through, when Solo and fellow resistance fighters visit Maz Kantana, she tells the aged smuggler "you need to get back in this fight". The "fight", we learn, is the oldest fight ever to take place, that between light and dark and in one of the best creations of the whole saga, Kylo Ren, we witness the struggle between light, dark, nature and nurture. The Force Awakens has genuine humanity behind the battle and Ren's heartbreaking dilemma illustrates the power of Abrams and Kasdan's storytelling ability. 

It was never a risk, passing over the adored Star Wars franchise to J J Abrams, and here he intertwines characters from the original trilogy with new ones so seamlessly it appears effortless. To please all the people all the time is an impossibility, but Abrams may have come as close as possible with The Force Awakens. It surpasses expectations, at once being everything that is loved from episodes four, five and six and still feeling fresh. Yes, it borrows heavily from A New Hope's (1977) narrative, but that fits in with the cyclical nature of good and evil that is being explored here. It feels like there has been developed consideration about how the world we left at the end of Return of the Jedi (1983) would have transformed in the thirty years since we were last there. Therefore, we find an Empire that has come back, as evil so often does, more violent, more brutal and more determined than that of Vader and the Emperor. This is made extremely clear early on when Ren orders the slaughter of innocent villagers. The rebels, calling themselves the resistance (appropriate against the Nazi influenced First Order) are being driven underground and remain plucky despite being outmanned and outgunned. This is a stand alone Star Wars film, but familiarity with the original trilogy allows for a far deeper reading. 

Not only are there thematic influences, The Force Awakens also looks like the original trilogy. The Lucas screen swipes are present and rather than the unreal worlds and polished to perfection chrome of episodes one, two and three, Abrams has kept to actual, tangible locations as much as possible. We never felt that the environment of Revenge of the Sith (2005) was anything but a computer creation, yet Jakku has the dust in the nostrils feel of Tatooine and we can almost feel the sea air of Skywalker's retreat. Where the film departs from the look of the originals, it does so only as an advantage. With advances in technology, we are able to get more out of the battles as the camera follows x-wings in their fight, sweeping through explosions or skimming across the water. It is a smooth and subtle integration of technology. 

It isn't just the aesthetics of episodes one, two and three are ignored here, gone are the senate trade agreements, the choreographed battles and the convoluted plot lines. Abrams takes us back to a simple light versus dark story with an intelligent subtext. For fans of the original trilogy The Force Awakens is the film they have been waiting for and for new audiences, Abrams is likely to have created the same magic. More than just relief at this not being more of episodes one, two or three, The Force Awakens is great cinema. That it happens to expand the Star Wars universe is even better. 

On the Success of Bond with Spectre

Like many James Bond films, Spectre is fantastical and this one feels very much rooted in the tradition of those considered to be camp. The implausibly well dressed Bond and his latest female sidekick/victim emerge from a near death experience, still in perfect attire only to decide that having sex is the best next step. For reasons like this, and many others, Spectre is entirely unbelievable, which inevitably leads to a complete lack of threat.

What is more frustrating about Spectre is that like all the Daniel Craig Bond films it has ambitions of being weighty and is seemingly unaware of its own nonsense. Skyfall (2012) was the same, but at least it looked fantastic, being photographed by Roger Deakins. Spectre has no such luck and returns to the old Bond tradition of looking flat. Spectre has allusions of being a commentary on a post-Snowden landscape, which it achieves through horribly obvious dialogue, ‘democracy is dead!’, ‘we can see everyone.’ What Snowden revealed and sacrificed deserves more respect that being whittled down to one-liners.

Yet this reveals something interesting about recent Bond films. Skyfall used the narrative trickery of The Dark Knight (2008) to provide its key threat and Spectre looks to another simplification of the surveillance state in Captain America: The Winter Solider (2014) to ground its barely hung together narrative. Going back to Casino Royale (2006) we saw Bond respond to the threat of the Bourne films by being more aggressive and quicker in editing. Now, they are responding to the superhero juggernaut. Not only borrowing narrative techniques, but also essentially turning Bond into a Captain America figure. A man with preter-human abilities, incapable of injury. 

It can in fact be argued that the success of Bond is nothing more than an excellent marketing strategy and clever casting. The acting, as much as the dialogue allows in Spectre, is good. The marketing behind this, and every Bond film, is superb. They become events that transcend the cinema, invading advertising across all genre of product and generating innumerable print articles and TV adverts. We are tricked into believing that Bond matters because of the propaganda that surrounds it. In reality these are average films. Average for the genre and less than average for what British cinema is producing on a fairly regular basis. If only Bond had fought all his natural instincts and killed his arch enemy at the end we could all be spared more of this utter nonsense.

On The Program

In 2013, Stephen Frears directed Philomena, the story of a journalist telling the story of a unique individual. Philomena was superb in all areas. Two years later, Frears has a film about a unique individual whose story a journalist is telling. Yet, The Program is not superb, it is clumsy and uncertain about the story it wants to tell.

Perhaps the story of Lance Armstrong’s huge deception is too fresh and too well known for a film to really offer any insight. Whereas the story offered in Philomena was more intimate as well as being relevant to a larger number of people. In Armstrong there is an unapologetic millionaire banned from racing his bike. The threat is simply not that high and Armstrong not that interesting on his own. That is why Frears’s choice to limit the journalist’s role is a strange one it is in these investigative scenes where The Program comes to life a little.

There is great deal of actual footage in this 100-minute film that tries to cover Armstrong’s entire professional career, making the task even harder and ultimately one that is not achieved. The found footage, presumably included to make us believe this version of events, is a waste – Armstrong admitted the deception and what the film depicts is what he admits to having occurred. This isn’t JFK (1991). Found footage is further wasted as what we want from a Lance Armstrong film is what we haven’t seen.

Ben Foster as Lance Armstrong has most of the screen time and it is a strong performance that deserves a better film in which to shine. Unfortunately, here, he doesn’t have it. The Program is a weak film from a usually reliable director.