On The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

A script that has been in development for years The Secret Life of Walter Mitty was saved by Ben Stiller who directs and stars and does an excellent job at both. With CGI it’s now easy to capture the day dreaming’s of a man who falls between hopeless romantic and hopeless. What is far harder is to capture the sense of loss and recognition that these day dreams are both a problem for Walter, yet at the same time the solution and Stiller achieves this through his subtle performance and direction.

Early on in the film the premise of a missing negative that captures the ‘quintessence of life’ and should be the final cover of Life Magazine is set up. Walter’s search for this negative is the film and that the revealing of this photo does not disappoint is one of the more impressing features of this story. As well as one of the more satisfying endings in comedy, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty manages to be almost universally engaging through its live your dream, take a chance mantra. These are platitudes, but the film comes across as charming not preachy. At the same time it manages to make an interesting point about the digital age and the lack of real world experiences that come with it.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty feels like it came from an earlier time of cinema comedy, but looks like it was made today. It’s a nice mix and a funny and charming piece of cinema.  

On Too Much Talking with All is Lost

We take it for granted, that in cinema we’ll be told what is going on and more and more, that we’ll be told what to think; who is good, who is bad, what they are thinking? But these are not the origins of audio visual storytelling. The earliest silent films were accompanied by live orchestral or piano music. Audiences had no problems interpreting these narratives and they have no problem now, they just might not know it. After all, a single photograph tells a story and if it isn’t anchored by a headline, we all bring different readings to it.

All is Lost, while much more involved than a single image and even more than a silent film is as good as silent cinema by today’s standards. One character, less than a page of dialogue and two settings (yacht and raft) ensure All is Lost is sparse cinema. But it is also powerful cinema and its timing is prescient in so much as it is like Gravity (2013) at sea and reinforces the power of beautiful images to tell stories. These films tell us (and All is Lost much more so) that we don’t need the heavy handed exposition dialogue that panders to audiences’ laziness and need to be walked through a narrative with their hand held. The lack of dialogue, yet the clarity of the narrative do make us question how much dialogue is really needed.  

We know nothing of Robert Redford’s man in All is Lost (not even his name), but we can piece it together and find a relatable character through images and music alone.  And what is refreshing is that the lack of anchorage makes All is Lost a far more open piece of cinema as there is much more scope for audiences to reach individual interpretations of the film, a film which may at first appear to lack all meaning.

On Marking the Death of Analogue with The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

With The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001 – 2003) Peter Jackson created a world that juxtaposed realism and fantasy with great skill. This accomplishment waned a little as the films progressed until The Return of the King (2003) was a CGI extravaganza, that relied less on the real world locations of the first film, The Fellowship of the Ring (2001), arguably the best of all the Middle Earth films.

With the increased use of CGI Jackson was able to stage hugely impressive battle scenes. Impressive as they are they lacked the intimate that made Fellowship so successful. This pattern seems to be being repeated in Jackson’s Hobbit trilogy, although in slightly different ways.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012) had the charm and the danger of Fellowship, and while it was aimed at a younger audience, it was engaging and fun cinema. The middle part of the trilogy, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug is far greater in scope than Journey, covering great distances and many, many characters. It is in the latter that the problem lies. We spend little time with the majority of the dwarves, the most of whom are scenery. Other characters are shoehorned in and these are important characters whose significance will come to light in the final part, but here they are so thinly drawn that there is little attachment to them. How can we care that Bard slays the dragon, vanquishing his family’s curse, if Bard has less than twenty minutes screen time?

The Desolation of Smaug becomes like the latter Lord of the Rings film, an experiment in technology. And what Jackson has achieved is groundbreaking, but also highlights the slow death of analogue. The cameras that Jackson has developed for this film result in what can only be described as hyper-realism. The image (even in 3D) is so sharp that it is uncomfortable. It is far closer to what we expect from BBC HD nature documentaries than what we are used to from film. This is unsettling because the actors are presented in such vivid details it feels intrusive. More positively, the CGI blends with the image and is therefore incredibly impressive, especially Smaug who is close to, but not quite as successfully rendered as Gollum.

From a film lover’s point of view this sharpness of image is difficult to accept. The grain of film is missing and that grain and Hollywood shine are what made cinema so magic. Cinema is about suspension of disbelief, but that does not mean that the image has to become hyper-realistic. Advancements in technology are important and necessary, but surely they can be balanced with a more traditional look. 

Side note: The 2D version of the film is a far more authentic cinema experience, aesthetically. Yet the problems in pace and pitch remain.

On Kill Your Darlings

For his first feature John Krokidas has chosen a challenging subject. Trying to capture the feeling that inspired the beat generation. And for all its skill in acting and direction (the look of the film is impressive), Kill Your Darlings suffers from the same problem that Walter Salles’ On the Road (2012) suffers from.

To put the events on screen, whether they be the murder that Ginsberg was embroiled in, or his experiences at Columbia University is one thing and achieves the goal of creating fluid narrative cinema. But what the film cannot achieve (and what must be incredibly hard to achieve) is the ability to capture an artistic movement; the sensation of being a part of something exciting without knowing quite what it will lead to. Literary movements, like the beat generation, are really only open to study years after they’ve passed or begun. Even those inside it as it were happening (for Kill Your Darlings this includes Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs) were probably unsure of what they were doing. But, Krokidas has created a confident piece of cinema and tackled a difficult subject with more accomplishment than more seasoned directors. 

On Documentary and Leviathan

It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Only this time it’s true. Leviathan is an almost wholly pure documentary from ethnographic filmmakers Lucien Castiang-Taylor and Verena Paravel. Through the use of small, easily attachable digital cameras Castaing-Taylor and Paravel have created an immersive experience of a deep sea Atlantic fishing ship, the name of which we never know and the crew of which we barely meet. In many ways Leviathan is pure documentary. There is no non-diegetic music and neither Castaing-Taylor not Paravel are ever heard or seen. Many of the shots are abstract at first as they deny us any form of narrative framing, instead forcing us to work to interpret the images, whether they be an extreme close up of a fish eye or a flock of seagulls seen from under the water. The advantage of their cameras is that they allow the access into the most intimate of spaces.

Of course no documentary can be entirely pure. The images are still selected by the directors (although this is always the case) and end credits reveal this unnamed vessel set sail from the same port that the fictional Pequod from Moby Dick set sail, immediately creating intertextuality. A later scene also shows one of the unnamed crew members slowly falling asleep while watching a reality TV show about deep sea fishermen, creating a sense of comedy. Yet Leviathan remains a fascinating watch and some of the most startling imagery seen in documentary cinema. 

On Looking Back with Nebraska

Thematically, Nebraska is about America looking back and it is therefore fitting that stylistically, it is shot in black and white. Alexander Payne’s film follows OAP Woody Grant a man in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, trying to reach Lincoln Nebraska to claim $1,000,000 from a marketing company. A $1,000,000 everybody but Woody knows is a myth.

To reach Lincoln, Woody embarks on a road trip with his son and is joined by the majority of his close and extended family as he nears his destination. The idea of the American dream being a myth has often been explored, yet its current examination is prescient.

The heart of America is being ripped out by a failing economy and growing inequality and it is in America’s heart that we find ourselves with Nebraska. Payne fills his frames with sparsity. From the crossroads towns with a bank, a couple of bars, a garage and a car rolling through to the vast, unmanned spaces of America’s farmlands; still standing, but no longer being worked. Lincoln is the biggest place we visit and even this feels devoid of life. Only the interiors of Woody’s family homes are full of vivacity as Payne reminds us that the work may have gone, but the heart of the people endures.

Amongst all this looking back (searching for a more secure time?), Woody insists on going forward. From the first scene where a police officer asks him where he’s going and Woody points forward he never defers from this path. At first we may believe Woody’s perpetual motion to be blind trust, but even when he discovers the myth and accepts it in his taciturn manner, Woody still moves forward; he realises the past is gone and the present is difficult. Woody simply wants to leave something for his children. Is Woody the modern middle American, screwed by big business but remaining resilient? Whether Woody is evocative of the current economic problems in America (an issue referred to explicitly once) or whether the whole narrative is suggestive of the greed and unfortunate naivety of different sets of Americans is up for debate. Either way, Nebraska remains a beautiful and touching piece of cinema.

On Blue is the Warmest Colour

That there are no good roles for women in Hollywood used to be a far more ubiquitous statement than it is now. In Europe, female actors have probably always faired a little better. That women in film exist purely to be sexualised was a far more common theory than it is now, one most popularly proposed by Laura Mulvey as the Male Gaze. In Blue is the Warmest Colour we are witness to two of the most powerful and engaging performances from two young female actors; newcomer and protagonist Adele Exarchopoulos and the slightly more experienced Lea Seydoux. But does the film, so focused on the lives of women, do anything to advance the idea of women as purely symbols for male objectification? And was it even attempting to?

The ferocity with which these two actors undertake their roles is astonishing and it is the performances that on first viewing make the film such a powerful experience. The director and writer Abdellatif Kechiche frames them in intimate close up and lights them beautifully, so that contrasting ideas of realism and romantic beauty are perfectly juxtaposed.

Blue is the Warmest Colour won the Palme D’Or at Cannes in 2013 and for this reason has received a lot of press. It has also made it on to the lists of many critics’ best films of the year, another reason why it has received a lot of press. It also contains some of the most explicit sex scenes in a film that has gained this level of attention and achievement and sits outside of pornography. And it is within the sex that one may become agitated by the film’s aims.

The narrative follows the romance of Adele and Emma. From the first glance and meeting the parents, through to the honeymoon stage and routine happiness setting in; the fights, the making up, the suspicion, the affair and the break up. The last of which is incredibly emotional cinema. It is therefore natural that sex is a part of this narrative and a film for adults must not feel that it needs to bypass this natural and necessary feature. Yet, the way Kechiche films the sex scenes and their regularity throughout the second act is transgressive. Our observing an intimate romance starts to feel uncomfortable and arousing, the combination of which is jarring.

Kechiche films Adele and Emma’s sexual activities through the eyes of a man wanting to glamorise sex between two women. These scenes stand apart stylistically from the rest of the film. There is no music, far fewer close up shots and in length they go beyond any other scene. We are no longer following Adele’s first real love, we are watching male fantasies in an environment of heightened excitement, for in the cinema, we are not used to seeing this. What Kechiche was attempting to achieve with these scenes is unclear (he would have known the controversy they would create), but it is credit to his two actors that they can keep this love story so involving amongst the explicit sex scenes. 

On Catholicism and Philomena

Catholicism comes under subtle, but harsh criticism in Stephen Frears’ new film, Philomena. Although the larger slice of the credit for bringing Philomena to the screen goes to Steven Coogan as writer, producer and actor. As a biography this is far more interesting than the rock and roll rags-to-riches-to-rags biographies that are usually made and that is because Philomena is real. It is immediately relatable even though the subject matter is horrifically difficult and will be unique to most audiences.

The good guy of the film (although nothing is black and white) is Coogan’s journalist and to some extent Philomena, although she is a little too resigned, understandably, to be a hero. The bad guy is the Catholic Church, here represented by a convent in Ireland. While Philomena refuses to blame the church, the film paints her as a figure of the past, while Coogan’s Sixsmith presents a more contemporary view and his often savage critique of the church and religion rings true. Yet Coogan and Frears recognise the difficulty of their subject matter and allow the audience to judge, without judging themselves. Although they gently push the audience towards a criticism of Catholicism.

Philomena manages to successfully be a balanced criticism of Catholicism, with particular focus on the convent where Philomena was forced to stay. An environment that was occasionally kind, frequently cruel and without doubt an incredibly oppressive religious environment. The cruellest part is that interviews with the actual Philomena Lee reveal the film to take few liberties.

Philomena is a quietly impressive piece of cinema. 

On The Counselor

The Counselor promises much in all departments, but perhaps most exciting amongst its talent is the debut of Cormac McCarthy as a screenwriter. McCarthy is one of America’s most talented working writers and his novels have been adapted fairly frequently with varying levels of success. From All The Pretty Horses (2000) to the excellent No Country For Old Men (2007). McCarthy has a way with language that is superbly symbolic and creates stark, violent worlds of immense beauty. The Counselor is his first work that has bypassed the novel form and gone direct to screenplay.

Whether The Counselor worked on the page or whether it has been edited and McCarthy’s vision has been lost is unknown, but what is known is that on screen it does not work. The characters are enigmatic to the point of frustration as is the narrative. At no point is it clear what is going on. And not in a good way, where we are guessing the fate of the characters, but in a bad way, where boredom sets in. What is worse is that McCarthy’s dialogue comes across as hackneyed and sends us running back and craving the creativity of The Road, published in 2006. This simply feels misjudged in all areas and is better glossed over for the careers of all involved. 

On the Most Contemporary of Commentaries with Don Jon

Don Jon addresses an issue that is hard to address as we are within it and therefore lack a perspective that offers clear judgement. With this in mind, writer, director and actor Joseph Gordon Levitt deserves a huge amount of credit for being able to articulate this modern societal issue and work it into a film that works.

The issue at hand is, bluntly, pornography. If the statistics are to be believed then pornography is the most common use of the Internet and is a bigger industry than Hollywood. It is also a huge societal concern that brings commentary from all parties, including political ones. Therefore a topic worthy of examination.

Within the narrative of Don Jon Gordon-Levitt proffers the idea that pornography (and in more general terms the use of soft core sexuality to advertise) has reached such ubiquity that it is acceptable; he may be right. Yet the film goes onto suggest that this is contributing towards a disintegration of ‘real’ relationships and is instead promoting extremely superficial ones. And again, Don Jon makes a convincing case. 

Added to this, the film provides a subtle criticism of Catholicism as Jon strives to reduce his number of Hail Mary’s by watching less pornography and sleeping with fewer women out of wedlock. His reaction when he sees there is no connection between the church’s punishment and his confession is an enjoyable realisation for us to witness.

Don Jon needs its first act to find its feet and discover its confidence, but when it does and the story settles down it is hugely enjoyable and easily achieves a level of depth that offers an acerbic commentary on where society may be heading. 

On Ambivalence with Thor: The Dark World

And so it rolls on and on. Already achieving the number one box office spot in the UK and America, Thor: The Dark World demonstrates the continued power of Marvel. The story is ridiculously messy and the dialogue does it no favours, despite the actors, especially Chris Hemsworth and Tom Hiddlestone, remaining very watchable. The main problem is that on screen it’s all becoming boring. The almost complete reliance on CGI and the convoluted story means what we have here and for several years to come are computer games on cinema screens. Marvel is undoubtedly a ground breaking company in the comic book medium, but when it comes to film its impact has mixed results. In one corner they are certainly damaging the variety of cinema we are offered on our screens. The summer season that Marvel films (and their like) dominate is slowly growing and now begins late April and runs into October. These films make a massive amount of capital for the studios and can help prop up funding for smaller budget films of a greater quality, which leads to the other corner. The dominance of these films has encouraged (forced) filmmakers to find other outlets as competing is out of the question. Therefore we have new, lower risk methods of distribution, such as iTunes, Netflix and other analogous platforms. Lower risk distribution leads to more experimental film choices which can only be a positive. Whether these films make enough capital to allow the filmmakers to continue is another story, but the issue here is that Marvel's long term impact on the film industry, positive or negative has yet to be felt. 

On a Rare Cinematic Experience with Gravity

Avatar (2009) could never claim to be a fantastic piece of narrative cinema, but it could lay claim to making the best use of 3D. It can no longer claim the latter as Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity is the most beautifully realised use of the technology to date. It may seem something of an oxymoron, but the detailed sparseness of his mise-en-scene benefits the technology. The hectic, filled to the edges Marvel films, which seem to be the most common use of 3D are almost impossible to follow. Their mise-en-scene is confusing enough without adding poorly realised and out of focus 3D. By using space as the setting, Gravity is built for 3D and the technology enhances the film, rather than being an excuse for earning enhanced ticket sales. Additionally, this will be a perfect IMAX experience for the same reasons and therefore satisfy the two growing technologies, competing for cinema’s attentions.

More than just a beautiful film (Cuaron knows enough to linger on the stunning shots of Earth’s orbit) Gravity is a cinematic experience that goes beyond all the superlatives that are thrown its way. Yet, terrifying and heartbreaking seem appropriate and Gravity often achieves them at the same time. The characters may be thinly drawn, but the weight brought those characters by Sandra Bullock and George Clooney makes them believable and engaging. Additionally, the script worked on by Cuaron and his son Jonas adds to the feeling of authenticity, as does the detail in the setting, costumes and the entire mise-en-scene. Cuaron said that after the film’s release, he wanted NASA to call up and enquire as to how a camera was placed on their space station. Cuaron has the advantage that few in his audience will have been to space, but from a layman perspective the level of detail is astonishing.

Despite the incredible visuals and cathartic experience, Gravity has depth in its narrative. Whether you see it is allegorical of loss and rebirth or a commentary on a reliance on technology, there is depth beneath the glossy surface. The acting, the script, the detail and the special effects all contribute towards this piece of stunning entertainment. Gravity is impossible to look away from and in this way it is a rare cinematic experience. 

On Captain Phillips

From his first feature in 2002, Bloody Sunday, Paul Greengrass has been a director willing to challenge dominant political ideologies, especially in his adopted USA. His two contributions to the continuing Jason Bourne narrative, The Bourne Supremacy (2004) and The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) are critical of America’s foreign and domestic approach to terrorism, as is Green Zone (2010). All three of those films were unafraid to ask questions of how America has gone about protecting itself against terrorism and defending their interests abroad. Bloody Sunday, perhaps Greengrass’ most challenging film, deals with the Irish Civil rights movement and the violence that surrounded it. Again, an explicitly political film. Without going into much detail on these films, this is simply to say that Greengrass, building on his journalistic routes, is unafraid to create critical, demanding pieces of cinema.

United 93 (2006) and the recently released Captain Phillips see changes to this trend. Captain Phillips, like United 93 focuses on an act of terrorism against America. The former addressed such a powerfully emotive event that Greengrass chose, wisely, to tell a very intimate story surrounding 9/11. United 93 doesn’t directly address the issue of the terrorists and instead tells a story of bravery. In this way it is an understandably patriotic film. Five years was not long enough to criticise or question events surrounding 9/11 and it took a few more years for films like Zero Dark Thirty (2012) to explicitly question America’s tactics surrounding 9/11.

More than being patriotic, Captain Phillips is jingoistic and Greengrass’ most one-sided film. This is less understandable than in his treatment of 9/11. Many audiences outside of America will be unfamiliar with the story. Unusually, we are shown the Somali pirates as more than just one-dimensional terrorists, but their representation is untidy; uncertain, unorganised and fractured as oppose to the determined, professional and tactically astute Americans. The message is not subtle (an incredibly blunt and embarrassing piece of dialogue early on supports this); America is a dominant world power and any provocation toward them will be impassively dealt with. While these may be accurate representations when dealing with Somali piracy, it does not hide the fact that this is Greengrass’ least provocative film.

Yet, the filmmaking on display here is impressive. The direction is confident and technically astounding. There are shots of immense claustrophobia and some of real beauty. The tracking shot that follows the Navy SEALS from the air to the sea is stirring. Tom Hanks, surrounded largely by a cast new to acting is remarkable; his performance throughout is flawless and the final scene, whether you find the jingoism grating or not, is emotionally draining and shows the power that Hanks possesses as an actor. Greengrass’ talents as a director are only getting sharper, but Captain Phillips perhaps displays a dulling in his political energy. 

On Filth

A film that breaks the fourth wall, deals with cross dressing and racism, extreme sexual acts and excessive drug taking all carried out by a bi-polar protagonist needs to be audacious. And Filth is exactly that. The links to Trainspotting (1996) a film adapted by the same author that wrote the source text to Filth, Irvine Welsh, are clear. Both deal in the underbelly of Scotland, examining its drug scene in explicit detail. Filth is a difficult film; its narrative hangs by a thread that loosens as it progresses, struggling to balance the numerous directions in which a bi-polar character will take an audience. Yet challenging cinema should be difficult and the audience should be made to work and here they are, with a conclusion that is as emotionally taxing as the rest of the film is cocky. This is all held together by a performance by James McAvoy that, despite the unpredictability, is impossible to ignore; he owns every scene he is in, and that is most of them. Filth may not have the self-assurance in its ability as a film that Trainspotting had and the earlier film is a more successful adaptation, but it’s never less than fun. 

On Prisoners

In 2011 the Denis Villeneuve directed Incendies was released (see June 29^th 2011) and was essential viewing. Two years later he has followed this overtly political film with something more covertly political, but equally as essential.

Prisoners is the story of child abduction in a small American town and the consequences this reaps on the families, the suspects and the police involved. Writer Aaron Guzikowski deserves huge credit for weaving this multi strand narrative together without dropping a beat; it’s never less than gripping. The acting from the two leads (Hugh Jackman and Jake Gyllenhaal) is impeccable and they seem made for these roles, which seem they could have been written for anyone.

On the surface, Prisoners is a thriller of high quality, yet like Gyllenhaal’s earlier film, Zodiac (2007) there are shades of horror throughout and the eeriness of the film lingers long after the credits. Under the surface, Prisoners is a commentary on a Post 9/11 America; an America in a war on terror and an America under Republican rule, where ordinary citizens are taking up arms against their own individual wars. Extreme measures are taken by Jackman’s desperate father that draws direct links with questions of torture that have dogged American presidents for years. Guilt and accountability are qualities we should not easily assign, and Prisoners has the intelligence to comment on this without losing its mass audience appeal. 

On Blue Jasmine

There is something decidedly dark about Woody Allen’s latest film, Blue Jasmine much more than one usually associates with the anxious ridden, often whimsical Allen. In relation to his latest pieces of cinema, Blue Jasmine is more Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008) than Midnight in Paris (2011). And this is no criticism; it simply speaks of the director’s mercuriality and knowledge of film.

Blue Jasmine is more than a film about insecurities in adult relationships (for which Allen has perfected the formula); it is a film that traces the breakdown of its protagonist, Jasmine. A breakdown as complete as that of Curtis in Take Shelter (2011) although not as reliant on horror conventions. Like Take Shelter, Blue Jasmine’s brilliance has at its visual centre an actor in a performance that could define their career. As Jasmine, Cate Blanchett is faultless. For an actor of such recognition to disappear entirely into a role is rare. And this is not an easy role. Jasmine is a mess; she switches from charming defensive to socialite to insecure with layers of psychological collapse. Jasmine’s desperate attempt to cling to a life that was never even real manages to be both pathetic and heart breaking. Blue Jasmine is arresting cinema.  

Of course the success of this film is more than one person. Allen’s direction and writing, as always is secure and distinctive. The supporting cast do exactly as needed and despite a few moments of questionable serendipity, Blue Jasmine is Allen at his best.  

On Rush

Rush is a period piece surrounding the on the track rivalry between Formula 1 drivers Niki Lauda and James Hunt. This is a formulaic film that offers no narrative surprises. The dialogue, especially that of the upper class characters, is hackneyed and the voice over’s of Lauda and Hunt are a misstep, attempting to develop the characters instead of letting the narrative do so. The acting however, especially that of Daniel Bruhl and Chris Hemsworth is excellent. The greatest achievement of Rush is in its representation of the sport, from the tactics of the car and the race, to the lifestyle and mostly the danger on the track. Ron Howard’s camera captures the power and speed of these cars and the crashes and Rush only really comes to life when the cars are racing. 

On Ain't Them Bodies Saints

Mostly working in shorts, David Lowery has moved into features with a beautiful, flowing western. The title, Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, is evocative of poetry and the film has a sense of being powerfully symbolic, but incomplete. The images and how Lowery uses light are reminiscent of Malick and Lowery is working in similar locations, moving his camera into intimate situations. Yet by the end, there is remains a feeling that Ain’t Them Bodies Saints is lighter than it should be, almost translucent. The beauty of the film is evident and the acting is notable, but the details are lacking and we leave Ain’t Them Bodies Saints not moved by a powerful love story, but impressed and excited by the director and what is to come. 

On Exploring the Darkness in a Summer Film with The Way Way Back

The Way Way Back has been promoted as the perfect summer movie, heart warming and impossible to dislike. These are accurate labels. The film does capture a sense of summer in a very positive way and the affirming message and quirky but relatable characters are hard to dislike. However, The Way Way Back is also unchallenging to audiences and to its own characters. It lives in the sun and avoids the darkness of the characters that is only addressed in a surface way. Steve Carrell’s stepfather is an unpleasant man, but the darkness in his personality – the cheating, the bullying, and the insecurity – is never explored in much detail. The alcoholism of the adults and the depression that is clearly present is brushed over. This is of course all done on purpose. The aim of writers/directors Nat Faxon and Jim Rash was not to create a difficult, challenging film, but a feel good piece of cinema. Yet, The Way Way Back may have been more memorable if they had explored the darkness. 

On 2 Guns

2 Guns is a by-the-numbers action film with a nod to the buddy cop genre of the 1980s including Lethal Weapon (1987) and 48 Hours (1982). This genre, as well as the action, relied on a strong comedic relationship between the two principle actors and the success or failure of such films relies on that. 2 Guns highlights the importance of casting working. Denzel Washington and Mark Wahlberg make 2 Guns work and the film is less entertaining when they are not on screen.  

On Twenty Years of Summer Entertainment with Jurassic Park

In 1993 Spielberg’s Jurassic Park first arrived at the cinema. It was an atypical summer blockbuster, lauded for its set pieces and special effects. Twenty years later, as Jurassic Park arrives in cinemas for a second time round (adding IMAX and 3D) it highlights the disintegrating quality of the summer tent-pole film.

The majority of the summer cinema offerings of recent years (or since the Marvel invasion) have been closer to theme park rides than films. They are loud, flashy, long, fun while they last but ultimately forgettable and short lived. Stories and character seem secondary to special effects and merchandise opportunities. And, while Jurassic Park offered huge merchandising opportunities and broke barriers with its groundbreaking special effects, its stories and characters are rounded, intelligent and relatable. The special effects serve the story, not the other way round and the action evolves organically, unafraid to focus on character.

Yet even more significant and rare amongst recent summer films is Jurassic Park’s ability to shock and move audiences. After repeated viewings, it is still spine tingling when the T-Rex emerges in the dark and rain from the shredded broken electric fence or when Lex and Tim crouch, terrified in the reflective aluminium kitchen, hiding from the predatory Velociraptor. And, just as he can today, Spielberg effortlessly switches from perfectly judged excitement to move the audience, such as when John Hammond reminisces about his early flea circus, or Alan Grant is moved to tears at the sight of the ill Triceratops.

Is it a change in the industry that prevents the majority of summer films offering what Jurassic Park does? Is it a lack of opportunities for new exciting directors or those experienced ones, like Spielberg? (Spielberg himself wrote that Lincoln (2013) was almost made for TV due to lack of investment). Or is it simply that audiences now prefer the shallow excitement of Fast and the Furious 6 or the repetitiveness of Iron Man 3? Perhaps it is a combination of all three, or maybe it is simply rose tinted nostalgia. 

On Elysium

On the back of 2009’s District 9, Neill Blomkamp has been given more money to tell a similar story. District 9 was an allegorical science fiction film exploring themes similar to apartheid. It was lauded on its release and is certainly a fresh addition to the sci-fi genre, incorporating a documentary style approach via the inclusion of a talking heads segment. District 9 does suffer a little from repeat viewings, losing some of its subtleties and suffering from the performances of a largely unprofessional cast.

Elysium does not suffer from the latter, in fact it is Matt Damon that drags us through this heavy-handed film, proving once again he is one of the most versatile American actors. In its story of an apocalyptic Earth where the rich are encased in a Green Zone like space station, Elysium lacks any subtlety in telling this simple parable. The characters are thinly drawn and wear their personalities on their sleeve, as if the audience are too uncivilised to muddle through the complexities of good versus bad, rich versus poor. The dialogue feels forced in the mouths of most of the characters and the Hollywood shine added to the opening and closing sequences negates the impressive, dirty mise en scene of Earth. Blomkamp’s two features are further proof that more money negates creativity. 

On The Lone Ranger

From the team that bought you the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise (2003 – 2011) comes The Lone Ranger, which is equally as big, loud and expensive as the first Pirates instalment, although not as fun. When it works, such as in its final set piece, The Lone Ranger is a fun film, but it is much too long and there are narrative strands which mean the overall effect is a little messy. The film continues to offer American audiences the comforting feeling that superhero films offer and could be placed into the Marvel canon quite easily. Neither Tonto nor The Lone Ranger is as interesting as Jack Sparrow, Depp’s character from Pirates and rather than engage, we simply get pulled along. Sequels are certain. 

On Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa

Steve Coogan’s comic creation Alan Partridge first appeared on spoof British news network The Day Today in 1994. Nearly twenty years later Partridge makes the move to feature film (after a series of TV appearances and a memoir) in Alpha Papa.

The film, a standard, but very funny three act piece that plays with the action genre well is enjoyable for its 90 minutes. But the real skill on screen here is in the durability and consistency of Coogan’s Partridge. Coogan has never compromised on the personality of Partridge and has carefully chosen those who write his dialogue. The result is a film that feels like an organic development from the TV and this is surely its greatest coup. They’ve not attempted to enlarge the story in line with the screen; the narrative is one that Alan fits into very well and we never question the progression, even when Alan becomes a pier end hostage negotiator.  

Alpha Papa does not once drop the comedy ball and is very funny throughout. There isn’t much more you could ask for from a comedy. 

On Dissection in Only God Forgives

It turns out that there is a fine line between a mercurial personality/film and a boring one. In Drive, the 2011 film that director and star of Only God Forgives first worked on prior to this, they achieved the former to great effect, pleasing audiences and critics. The follow up to Drive was always going be a tough prospect, but Only God Forgives disappoints in the vital areas.

The acting surpasses being staged to become frustrating. The narrative is beyond weak, attempting depth by encompassing and transcending the Oedipal complex, which like some post modern advertising campaigns makes the audience feel ignorant, when really the fault lies with ostentatious filmmaking. If there is an opposite of unquotable, the dialogue is that.

If it were not for the technical beauty of Only God Forgives, one would be forgiven for walking out. Every shot is stunningly framed; essentially the mise-en-scene (lighting, composition) is faultless and incredibly evocative. In the end, Only God Forgives is nothing more than the cruel (and untrue) collection of blonde stereotypes: pretty but dumb. 

On the 20s with Frances Ha

A few years ago The New York Times published an article about how the decade of the 20s has become the decade for self discover. Now it is the 30s where young men and women start to think about marriage, jobs etc. A decade later than their parents.

Frances Ha is a film very much about this phenomenon. The film joins Frances at the age of 27 as she tangles with her career, her relationships, her friendships and even her accommodation. Everything is uncertain and Frances, like her other 20 something friends, like it this way. They are picking careers like pick ‘n mix, increasing their circle of friends exponentially, moving around the city, experiencing the neighbourhoods and making impulsive decisions. This is what, according to The Times the 20s is now, a time to experiment so that in the 30s, decisions are made with experience.

Although it deals with a very real occurrence that many of its audience will relate to, the film itself, like those of the French nouvelle vauge it references is very self aware, almost fantastical. It is shot beautifully in black and white (are there two cities better suited to film than New York City and Paris?) and the script paints these characters with a fluid intellectualism made commercial by Dawson’s Creek (1998 – 2003).

The film succeeds in evoking that period of uncertainty, both scary and exciting, before settled life begins and is charming and genuinely funny. For those of the generation, it will be hard to fault, as it is perceptive without being aggressive with its message.  

On The Wolverine

This is the sixth film that Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine has appeared in and this is no surprise as he is the most interesting of the X-Men characters and one of the more interesting superheroes from any canon.

This latest film eponymously titled The Wolverine sends the mutant to Tokyo, partly out of deference to one of the early Wolverine graphic novels and partly to satisfy the increasing Asian market. Whatever the reason it makes for a more interesting film by offering a change of scenery and a new culture for Wolverine to immerse himself in. The idea of samurai and ronin seems one built for such a character and the script appreciates this and builds a story around it.

For two thirds of the film, The Wolverine feels like a pared back, character based superhero film and benefits for it. The last third unfortunately defaults to familiar territory spending two much money and inventing implausible situations. There is brief redemption in the final shot, but the end does disappoint in an otherwise entertaining film.