On the Last Great Film of the Year with Birdman (or the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

Last day of the year and one of the best films of the year. Birdman is everything film should be across all disciplines: inventive, challenging and experimental. Mexican filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu along with his screenwriters have carved a monumental piece of cinema out of the story of an actor desperate to claw back some of the passion that got him into acting that his superhero trilogy has erased.

Iñárritu creates a fluid style of filming that makes it hard to see the cuts (what few there are and making it one of the most impressive collection of acting performances this year) by roaming his camera around the theatre that comprises the majority of the setting. Characters walk in and out of each other’s scenes as the camera, close and personal, has unlimited access to their lives. Not only is this impressive technically, it mirrors the narrative as Michael Keaton’s actor/director demands honesty in performance of his actors, Iñárritu is demanding the same and is rewarded with performances that feel organic, not scripted. All of this while creating intertextual performances as both Keaton and Edward Norton play on expected media roles of their real selves.

The role of the media, whether in the form of critics or social media plays a large part in Birdman’s questioning of celebrity. Another theme it manages to weave into its complex yet flowing narrative. Keaton craves respect, which as his daughter reminds him, doesn’t exist in the form he remembers. Adapting Raymond Carver means nothing. 80,000 followers on Twitter can revive your career. Keaton struggles to come to terms with this, understandably adding to his paranoia and anxiety. The theatre critic here is venomous.

On top of everything that Birdman manages to achieve, it takes aim at the non-stop Marvel big wheel that refuses to stop turning. This criticism is apt and timely. Birdman is everything these films are not (inventive, challenging and experimental) and as Keaton reels through great actors that have been swallowed by Marvel he quips, “they put him in a cape, too”, knowing the pain all to well himself. An experience Keaton, post Batman, he may have experienced.

That Birdman is so immersive means that we don’t have time to question every issue it prods, we just get taken along for the ride. In a style similar to Anna Karenina (2012), scenes bleed into each other, removing a sense of reality, but allowing the fluidity of the camera to keep moving and mirroring the uncertain reality that exists in the mind of Keaton, a man literally haunted by past roles. This is a film that addresses much without seeming to try. It is consistently impressive and so complete in its aim and so confident in its style and of its form and structure that all we can do is sit back, enjoy and applaud the achievement.

On Exodus Gods and Kings

Last year saw Darren Aronofsky take the biblical story of Noah and turn it into a blockbuster, with loads of awkward CGI and an even more awkward explanation of the existence of god; the film never mentions the name, instead using rainbows, clear sky and raindrops to fill in the blank. This made the rest of Noah, faithful to the story, feel incongruous. It was saved only by an impressive Russell Crowe performance.

Ridley Scott’s second biblical epic, Exodus Gods and Kings, contains many great performances, especially Christian Bale and Joel Edgerton, whose intense and refreshingly modern performances, considering the setting, lifts the film above the material. This is especially necessary in the second half of the film when god, here played by a young boy and referenced as god, unleashes his plagues. While technically impressive, the plagues and the war of attrition that precedes it take attention away from the great script and acting that has developed the characters to that point. Although, some of the spectacles on show here are impressive and indicate that Scott is back on top form (thankfully, after the terrible double of Prometheus (2012) and last year’s The Counselor). The chariots racing through the mountains are incredible, with immersive camerawork and great use of CGI, which can be said of the whole film.

The first half of the film, which builds up to the plagues is gritty and takes this fantastical story and makes it feel organic. This is helped along by real settings and natural performances of, what are, extreme characters. It also isn’t afraid to show the horror that many of these biblical stories contain. Here, a harrowing scene of the death of Egypt’s first born is difficult to watch and emotional. Exodus is a nice combination of Scott’s earlier films Gladiator (2000) and Kingdom of Heaven (2005), both character driven pieces with impressive action sequences. Exodus may drop off in the middle before picking up at the end, but it’s always entertaining and the characters developed in the first hour and the performances of the actors are enough to carry you through the action and care about the consequences. 

On The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

Six films, thirteen years and probably over 1000 minutes had given us Tolkien’s middle earth ring story filtered through Peter Jackson and his team. The achievement is astounding and has proved a boost for the genre and groundbreaking in the use of motion capture. The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) and The Two Towers (2002) stand out as the best of the six films, yet there have been successes in them all. That Jackson and the middle earth cast bow out on The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies is a huge disappointment. This is the weakest of the all the films and like the later (but not yet released) Star Wars trilogy (episodes 1, 2 and 3, 1999 - 2005) The Hobbit films always felt too reliant on CGI and Five Armies takes this to new levels. As we watch five computed generated armies, riding computer generated animals and falling off computer generated settings the emotion and the excitement is lost. Impressive, but not eye opening the CGI is monotonous as are the repeated, rammed down your throat themes. The main theme of Five Armies is that gold causes greed and greed is bad. Appropriately, too much money is the likely cause of Five Armies’ lack of creativity and reliance on CGI. To visit middle earth on film is always a thrilling adventure, you just need to travel back over a decade. 

On The Imitation Game

Alan Turing was a fascinating man. Not only was his work a huge part in the breaking of the enigma code, but the omniscient decisions that it led to were strenuous and damaging to the man. His arrest and chemical castration for homosexuality led to suicide and in the years before his death he often reported being followed, suggesting that the secrets he had mean suicide may have been nothing more than a convenient way to die. Dark forces were at play throughout much of Turing’s life and his posthumous recognition (Queen’s pardon, cinema and a road near Stockport Grammar school) are small acknowledgements for his sacrifices.

The Imitation Game, like his after death recognitions, does not do the man justice. This is a ‘please the Americans’ film dealing in hackneyed English accents, pretty rainy streets and quaint upper lip Englishness. Starting out as a thriller, but as it tries to avoid repeating the thrills of Enigma (2001) forgetting to be thrilling and moving into a strange, uncertain biography, The Imitation Game misfires on many fronts. The story here is the man, with the breaking of the Enigma code secondary, yet the film puts this these other way round and the man becomes a thinly drawn figure, filled out by on screen text at the end, telling us what the film really should have dealt with. The disappointment is that there was great potential here, but the positives are that there is still room to tell Turing’s story. 

On Absolute Corruption in Black Gold

A submarine containing Nazi gold is stuck on the bottom of a dangerous seabed and several bitter unemployed men are going down, in an old submarine to retrieve it. The premise for Black Gold is good and promises a decent amount of tension and horror: confined spaces, anxious men and weapons. It has everything a decent horror/thriller needs. While Black Gold is good, it doesn’t make enough of the resources it has. It is thrilling, but never sweaty palms thrilling in the way, say Gravity (2013) was and for some reason, it chooses not to engage with the clearly horrific scenario with conventions of the horror genre. What it does well is provide a study of a desperate man (a fantastic Jude Law), who, recently fired finds the lure of gold an all too tempting and corruptive force. Money corrupts, gold corrupts absolutely. The message of greed is clear, but handled well. The added message of what drives greed, which here is the profit over people mantra of big business (another more costly form of corruption) is timely and paints Law’s captain in interesting shades of good and bad. Black Gold is a decent thriller with a pertinent message. 

On The Drop

The Drop is a nostalgic film, it has low key wintery, Brooklyn locations, simply filmed, but effective for the story. Thematically, it explores small time crime, bordering the organised, but staying closer to those occupying a liminal position. In these ways it brings to mind films such as Clockers (1995), A Bronx Tale (1993) and Donnie Brasco (1997). The oxymoron is that while feeling nostalgic The Drop manages to seem very fresh, contextually. This film is about story and characters and goes to lengths to negate the star power of those involved. Gandolfini seems to be playing to his Sopranos type, before making slight shifts to become something different, while Tom Hardy is remarkable, showing Locke (2013) was no fluke. Here he disappears into the role, communicating all the subtleties of his character (named Bob, mundane and deliberate) with the greatest of skill. No masks, no strange costume, no larger than life back-story, just great writing and directing. Plus, for those who can speak the language of cinema, his character’s conclusion may not be surprising, but it certainly is enjoyable. The Drop is a film to emerge yourself in and enjoy. 

On the Loss of Interstellar

Interstellar is a big film, with a big setting, big emotion and big sound and a small, simple issue; loss. Strip away the bombastic narrative, the magnificent, powerful score and the vast and awesome setting and at the heart of Interstellar is a story of loss and Nolan handles this successfully, which explains why the film carries so much emotion.

Although, it is no surprise Nolan is so apt at telling tales of loss; his films, despite their size and misdirection, are mostly retelling a similar story. This is not a criticism. It’s a good story to tell and allows him to anchor his more inventive and fantastic ideas in the real and connect with an audience. Much of Interstellar’s dialogue is (possibly) to do with quantum physics and utilising gravity as a means of communication for black hole, deep space travel. This is of course, if accurate, entirely isolating to all but the 0.001% of the audience qualified in such a field (and they probably downloaded it). But it doesn’t matter as none of this remains after the film’s conclusion. Take away the stunning visuals and what remains is the story of a man desperate to reach his children. Universal, emotional and resonant. 

Again, this isn’t to criticise the effort as Nolan has been here before, with better results. The Dark Knight Trilogy (2005 – 2012) dealt with a man unable to deal with the death of his parents; Memento (2000), the death of a spouse. In 2010, the fusing of emotion and ideas came together in perfect harmony with Nolan’s most complete film, Inception. Here, like Interstellar was a big film with big ideas (this time about the nature of sleep and oneirology) that looked incredible and was about a man desperate to bring his wife back from the dead. Unlike Interstellar, Inception’s narratives (the large and the small) hung together all the way through to the end. Interstellar’s dénouement struggles the longer the film goes on, reaching a point beyond its natural finish. This is unfortunate, but doesn’t as is constantly repeated, Nolan is making the most interesting blockbusters out there. 

On Being Seen with Nightcrawler

It is appropriate that a film about seeing looks so good. And Nightcrawler does look good, visual acknowledging Drive (2011), and in turn much of LA noir, including To Live and Die in L.A. (1985) and Heat (1995). Los Angeles at night is a beautiful thing and therefore a perfect contrast to this twisted tale of the American dream.

Jake Gyllenhaal gives an astounding performance of a man hit by a massive unemployment trend caused by the recession and desperate for work. Only, this man is unhinged and in the lonely moments Gyllenhaal’s performance of dangerously unhinged is what makes Nightcrawler so creepy. The performance isn’t simply violent, but disturbed. He is not the crazy loon we all recognise, but the intelligent, methodical and manipulative figure who, when hit by hard circumstances, is unable to hide his true colours and then becomes dangerous. Gyllenhaal is able to convey all this with great subtlety and occasional moments of madness. It is hard to turn away.

In addition to commenting on an America in recession, Nightcrawler explores the paradigm of seeing and being seen. The frame within a frame technique is at work here, but rather than being purely aesthetic, that we only really see the horror and violence through the cameras within the frame and in poorer quality than the film, speaks of our voyeuristic yearning to watch without being involved. This is very much a film of the YouTube age and one that is not exploring its advantages. Nightcrawler squarely takes aim at the relatively contemporary concept of 24 hour rolling news that, in their desperate need to win ratings wars with other channels, show us news coverage that is gradually extending taboos.

Nightcrawler shows us the mediation behind what we see, the ideology of news producers who decide to tell us their story rather than the story. This is a hugely important issue in the Internet age where the news is being told, retold, manipulated and thrown at us from every direction. Who do we believe, if anyone? Nightcrawler tells us we’ll believe what we’re shown by ‘legitimate’ organisations and the sad commentary is that this message isn’t too far from the truth. As Gyllenhaal’s Lou Bloom walks around L.A day or night, in his mirrored sunglasses, he tells us, he’s the one watching, all we can do is watch. 

On the Immersion of Fury

Up to this point, David Ayer’s directing career (five films from 2005 to now) has focused strictly on the world of the police. Whether uniformed partners, undercover agents or tough police crews that mirror the criminals, his investigations of the police have been identifiable by their stylised dialogue and sense of accuracy in representing the closed off world of law enforcement. With Fury the same could be said (or at least, said from what we know from other representations), but of the Second World War.

In one-way Fury is a major departure for Ayer. A period piece set in Europe and about the army, not the police force. Yet, one main auteur like feature remains and this is Ayer’s focus on the world of men and masculine relationships. This is not to say that women do not exist, but as in End of Watch (2012) they are objects of sex (sinners) or marriage (saints) and the latter mourn the aggressive but necessary roles the men must live out.

Whether as a writer or director, or both, Ayer has pigeonholed himself as a man who writes dialogue that explores the close heterosexual relationships of men. At its best, this dialogue brings the films to life and this can be seen in much of Training Day (2001) and End of Watch where the narratives can be confused in their complexity. Unfortunately, Fury is unable to match the dialogue success of these previous films perhaps simply because this is not an examination of two close men, but five. Characters here feel not quite fully fleshed out. The lead, Brad Pitt’s Don Collier, moves between sheer, nasty aggression to moments of sensitivity and these are connected by brief moments of tormented isolation. But this cannot quite do the job of explaining who this man is, despite the effective performance. This is a problem that is present for all five tank operators.

Instead, it could be argued that Ayer’s true achievement in his directorial canon is in creating immersive worlds, foreign to most audiences. End of Watch offered a frightening realistic portrait of life in a tough LA area; Ayer’s real locations close up camera work and focus on brutality was an experience hard to forget. And it is this that one takes away from Fury. Ayer shuns the modern warfare aesthetic to create a world that feels like 1945 war torn Germany. The battles are horrifically real and the casualties graphically captured. The mud is sinking and is almost real and this immersion is where Fury’s triumph lies. This is a worthy addition to the Second World War canon. 

On Gone Girl

David Fincher’s feature film CV is impressive and diverse and would be the envy of many filmmakers. From contributing to a major sci-fi collection with Alien 3 (1992) through to Seven (1995) and Fight Club (1999) which will both, in time, be classics of their respective genres and of American cinema in general. Zodiac (2007) was a lesson in creepiness, The Social Network (2010) in biography and the icily cold The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) in remakes and adaptations. To further show off Fincher oversaw House of Cards (2013 -), a TV show that broke the forth wall and was the better for it. That shouldn’t work, but Fincher did it.

All directors have blips on their CVs and maybe some would say that Fincher’s was Panic Room (2002) or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), which was cold when it should have been heart warming. But both of these films displayed excellent technical achievements. Time may well show that Gone Girl, Fincher’s adaptation of the hugely popular novel in his blip and hopefully one he quickly recovers from.

A quality of all of Fincher’s films to date has been his ability to fit complicated characters into realistic environments. In Gone Girl Fincher presents cartoonish, exaggerated characters that have no place in his films. The environment is an unimpressive representation of suburbia that feels straight out of Desperate Housewives (2004 – 2012), which at least knew it was camp and hammy. Gone Girl takes itself seriously, yet belongs on Channel 5. The casting doesn’t fit (why they have Neil Patrick Harris playing a straight version of the same comedic role he plays in How I Met Your Mother (2005 – 2014) is baffling), but simply the characters are all unpleasant. There is no one to root for, no one to enjoy and the narrative is twisting and turning all the time, but failing to do the simple things right.

The best examples of twists are those that are there the whole way through the film, yet cleverly distracted us so the reveal is both surprising and intelligible. The Usual Suspects (1995), Shutter Island (2010) and Fincher's own Fight Club (1999) do this very well. Bad twists, of which Gone Girl is a perfect example, are those that do something so ridiculous and then turn to the audience and say, 'I bet you didn't see that coming.' This isn't smart nor is it appealing. That Gone Girl contains such as twist is one thing, that the message is that marriage is a tale of two sides is patronising. 

It is incomprehensibly poor and like Ridley Scott’s The Counsellor (2013), disappointing because of the talent involved. Like its characters Gone Girl is masquerading as something it isn’t, a piece of quality filmmaking.

On '71

British rule in Ireland and the IRA is a complex subject that occasionally rears its brutal head in film and previous to ’71 most recently in the excellent Shadow Dancer (2012) and Hunger (2008). The former dealt quite directly with the larger issues in a more general manner, while the latter focused on a very specific issue. Both explored the question of Irish devolution and were, in their own ways, unafraid to delve into the brutality of the long-standing war.

Yann Demange’s ’71 is a welcome addition to the canon and, while focusing upon the very specific issue of a soldier trapped on the wrong side of line, makes far larger statements about terrorism, the role of invasion and the political secrecy surrounding war. These statements are all boldly and vividly made. Occasionally this results in less attention being given to character development or satisfying completion of all storylines, but ’71 is an issue film and these should always be celebrated and seen.

Demange draws excellent performances from his cast, especially O’Connell who is commanding in a very taciturn role. The brutality of the film is at times difficult, but organically evolves from the situation and the story being told. This is a solidly crafted piece of suspense cinema.  

On A Walk Amongst the Tombstones

Liam Neeson doing action has become a cinematic tradition and A Walk Amongst the Tombstones appeared to be 2014’s offering. However, Tombstones is more than actor and image suggest. Less action, more slow burning thriller and this is hopefully a sign of things to come. It would be hoped that audiences are now tiring of seeing sole protagonists taking out groups of thugs single-handed. It’s implausible at the best of times, but even more so when the film aims for realism.

Back to Tombstone and the film, with its dark subject matter and grey mise-en-scene feels heavily indebted to True Detective (2014), perhaps the best thing to appear on TV since The Sopranos (1999 – 2007). It’s a pessimistic film, with very brief glimpses of humour, much like the TV show. Thematically, the film covers child killings and perversion, again much like the TV show. Yet Tombstone’s source material, the Lawrence Block book from the Matt Scudder series, predates True Detective being first published in 1993. Despite this it is hard to believe that director Scott Frank has not attempted to mirror the bleak style of True Detective that reflects the uncomfortable subject matter. Even elements of the casting, especially the ‘bad’ guys feel like a nod in the direction of the actors from the HBO success.

Tombstone is a restrained film that could do with a little more aggression. It threatens at several times to kick to life, but never quite does, leaving the film feeling anticlimactic. However, it does enough to make a sequel for the private detective not wholly unwelcome. 

On the Blueprint with A Most Wanted Man

In 2004 the Swedish director Tomas Alfredson directed Tinker Tailor Solider Spy based on the novel by John le Carre. This had a raft of famous faces and did not shy away from le Carre’s multi stranded complex narrative. This film not only went on to be a huge critical success (nominated for many awards), but also a commercial success. A smart box office hit.

This year, Dutch filmmaker Anton Corbijn directed A Most Wanted Man based on the novel by John le Carre. This has one major American star of incomparable talent and does not shy away from le Carre’s multi stranded complex narrative. This film has to date been a moderate critical success and time will tell if it reaches the same levels of commercial success that Tinker Tailor did. But it doesn’t look good.

Film history is full of examples of studios and producers trying to recreate the success of other films by replicating what they see as a blueprint for success. Some would suggest there is no blueprint, that films are products of their specific context more than how much they remind audiences of something previous. Although Marvel would prove this theory wrong.

A Most Wanted Man is not Tinker Tailor, although it has many themes in common: paranoia, fear, anxiety. While the latter dealt with more institutional concerns, the former looks at larger, more relatable fears of terrorism. And it is perhaps this ordinariness or seen-it-before mentality that makes A Most Wanted Man less of an impressive film that Tinker Tailor. 60s style becomes 2000s realism and despite the superb performance of Philip Seymour Hoffman the film just feels light weight, which is unusual for a film dealing with international terrorism.

However Le Carre’s narratives continue to offer gripping stories and serious, adult thrillers are always welcome. 

On Redefining Terrorism with Night Moves

Terrorism is defined as the use of violence and intimidation in the pursuit of political aims. This is a hazy definition, but one that cinema usually decides includes running, shouting, explosions and a ticking clock. Even the emotionally and politically intelligent Zero Dark Thirty (2012) ends with a night vision home invasion in the style of point of view computer games. However, much like in 2010 when Kelly Reichardt altered audience perceptions of what they though a Western was with Meek’s Cutoff, here she does the same with Night Moves and the terrorist genre.

Reichardt replaces running with cars crawling through quiet forests; shouting becomes the stifled talk of awkward but determined terrorists; explosions become singular and heard, but not seen and the ticking clock moves at a snail’s pace. Yet Night Moves is tense and intelligent and this reduction in what are expected genre conventions makes the film feel sharp in its representation of environmental terrorism. In fact all films depicting terrorists, whether the bombastic attention seeking style or, like here, the quiet more politically sympathetic kind would benefit from Reichardt’s careful, studied hand.

Unfortunately, like Meek’s Cutoff, Night Moves will not draw in audiences like The Kingdom (2007) or Zero Dark Thirty. This is not only down to its restrained, modest style, but speaks of the importance with which audiences view environmental issues compared to more news worthy wars abroad. Many people see the issue as someone else’s problem and the same could be said of the horrendous conflicts they take place, but unlike them, trees being cut down or ice melting isn’t cinematic enough. The East (2013) is another recent attempt at showing domestic (American) terrorism with ecological leanings without the box office.

Yet Reichardt finds a way to make it cinematic and keep us gripped. Some of the shots are beautifully framed and the western state landscapes provide a stunning backdrop. The performances of the central three are laced with anxiety and a paranoia that hangs off the screen and seeps into the viewer. The juxtaposition of the two makes Night Moves a beautifully tense slow burning thriller. 

On Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For

Nine years ago Sin City (2005) gave us something that felt fresh and managed to, as accurately as possible, put a graphic novel on screen (the most faithful comic book adaptation?) The hardboiled noir like style and dialogue was carried off with skill, offering a pastiche of 40s and 50s noir cinema, which in turn paid tribute to the hard talking pulp characters of Chandler and Hammett.

What has happened in those nine years that has led to Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For is hard to say, but the results are disappointing. A Dame to Kill For, again directed and written by Rodriguez and Miller comes off as a poor attempt to parody Sin City. Much like 2008’s The Spirit. The dialogue of A Dame to Kill For is hackneyed, the direction clumsy and confused in its narrative. Only Joseph Gordon-Levitt, new to the series, seems aware of all this and embodies his character with subtle awareness that seems to prevent him from becoming a lazy caricature.

Unlike many recent comic book/graphic novel adaptations, the first Sin City is not marketed to death, so seek it out and watch it again rather than suffering A Dame to Kill For. 

On Less is Less with The Rover

The Rover (or Dude, Where’s My Car?) is a stripped back, visual and primitive film experience. The direction is stark, as is the landscape and the acting is designed to feel instinctive rather than active. Little is said and what is said is rarely explorative of the characters, simply reflecting a need to speak, rather than a desire to. In fact much of The Rover is about needs and not desires. The characters (of whom there are few) need something from each other and reach for it directly. There is no double talk or hidden agendas here. In this way it reflects the ideologies of the straight talking western hero, much like the intertextual reference Mad Max (1979) a clear point of inspiration. Both films are future dystopian westerns where life is easy to loose.

All of this makes for appealing advertising. The Rover looks good and in small bites can be made to sound good. The actors are talented and Guy Pearce carries the film by making it seem like he is doing very little when in fact he is displaying great talent. He is a lost wanderer, like the title suggests and, as with the direction, Pearce understands that with The Rover less is more. But unfortunately with the narrative less is less. The script reveals little throughout and offers nothing at the end, making its sparse narrative exasperating not intelligent. In fact, the end reveal could render much of what came before frustrating if you let it. Instead, there is a lot to enjoy in The Rover as a visual piece, just not as a narrative one. 

On Guardians of the Galaxy

It says something about the Marvel canon of films that moving into space is considered an experimental and risky move. But it’s not surprising for fans of the Marvel films; they have become so stale and repetitive that seeing Guardians of the Galaxy must be akin to regular cinema viewers seeing 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) for the first time.

Yet this is unfair to Guardians. Compared to its little brothers and sisters of the studio it is a leap forward into a more enjoyable, sharper type of cinema. Compared to the wider genre, it is still fun, calling to mind 2005’s Serenity, but without the darkness that film had. The detail in the setting creates a ‘believable’ other world and does not feel too far from Star Wars - A New Hope (1977). This all makes for a fun film, but perhaps Guardians biggest skill is in its easy nostalgia.

For young children the film offers much, but from its opening scene of a young boy listening to a Sony Walkman in 1988, the film taps into a sense of adventure that its audience (that will be mostly male) will enjoy. It’s hard to be critical about something that calls to mind such fond memories of playing the hero. The film is very well cast and the direction is solid, moving between comedy and pathos with ease. Guardians of the Galaxy in its own way is a form of pastiche. Imitating the Marvel films, but with a greater sense of self-awareness, leading to genuine humour. 

On Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes builds of the characters created in the 2011 reboot, Rise of the Planet of the Apes (forgetting the Tim Burton film from 2001 and presumably leading up to where Franklin J. Schaffner’s 1968 film begins). What is different about both these films, Rise and Dawn, is that despite the excellent actors, both films have the apes as the central character, Dawn even more so. And this leads to Andy Serkis and his motion capture performance as Caesar.

In Rise the special effects are impressive, but Dawn takes them to a new level and Serkis, as Caesar is incredible; he is the lead character and this is his movie, which could be a first for motion capture in a real world setting. In just a few years the technology has evolved to a point where Gollum or Kong (again, both Serkis) could soon start to look shaky. This focus on the apes is interesting for those of us who know where the films are heading. Sympathy with the apes is well established throughout Rise and Dawn, which will mean if the franchise continues to a remake of the 1968 Planet of the Apes, movement will have to be made away from the bombastic patriarchy.

The Charlton Heston film is undeniably misogynistic. Heston’s protagonist looks on at the gorgeous sleeping crew member and then dismisses her when she dies; later when he’s locked up by the apes he sensually strokes the hair of the woman he is to mate with, again dismissing her when escape beckons. This Vietnam era film feels outdated now, despite the punchy ending, whereas Dawn feels fresh while still offering a clear message against animal testing as well as the segregation metaphor. This is a character driven film, emotional and engaging and one of the more interesting summer franchises. 

On New Cinema in Boyhood

The hyperbole around some films is pure marketing, but in the case of Boyhood, the claim it makes – being unlike other pieces of cinema – may in fact be true. Although, avoiding the C work is always good practice (classic). That takes time.

However, Boyhood is a remarkable achievement. Filmed over twelve years, around a week a year, with the same cast is unlike anything attempted before. For the actors to be able to come in and out of their characters for such a long period astonishes, for director and writer Richard Linklater to piece together a coherent narrative, while at the same time making other features such as School of Rock (2003), Bernie (2011) and Before Midnight (2013) speaks of inimitability as a director. For what must have been 100s of hours of footage, editor Sandra Adair has pieced together a story of growing up that never feels rushed.

It is this sense of completeness that has surely led to the almost perfect reviews. Regardless of age, gender or status (parent, child, teenager) there is an element of Boyhood that is relatable and leads to an inescapable smile, permanently fixed to your face as you watch Mason’s life unfold. This is a life played out in as realistic a manner as possible. Big life moments or self-realisations are brushed aside as we move to the next moment, highlighting the ephemeral nature of life, especially when viewed through the eyes of a child or teenager. Mason’s mother, as he is leaving for college, laments that this is the penultimate great moment of her life. The next is her funeral. In typical teenager style Mason cannot respond and Linklater cuts to Mason at college; his mother’s issues left disregarded. In this way, Boyhood shares commonalities with Margaret (2011), also told through the self-centred perspective of a teenager. 

Linklater employs the unobtrusive camera work that makes his Before trilogy so believable. The camera remains still, always watching, allowing the actors the room to ‘be’, in a very thespian sense, but in a film like Boyhood and the Before films, essential. And here, Linklater’s adult actors, Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke, shine. The child actors are harder to assess. It may in fact be that they are fantastic, as they are, especially when young, not acting. There are some fantastic moments of pure joy where the young Mason is teased or is teasing his sister. Boyhood is new cinema, but there is no trend here to catch on. Linklater’s achievement here is exceptional, perhaps not one of a kind, but don’t expect another twelve-year commitment to come along for a while. 

On Discovering the Opera in American Cinema with Margaret

“This is not an opera”, screams Jeannie Berlin’s Emily to Anna Paquin’s Lisa as the latter turns the death of the former’s close friend into a moment of personal transcendence. Only, Margaret is an opera and Lisa is the self appointed star, to whom all else are players in this egocentric tragic tale unfolding on the grandest of America stages, New York City.

Operatic music swells from the opening slow motion shot of New Yorkers going about their daily lives. Writer, director Kenneth Lonergan stating from the start, this is a film about observing the lives of ordinary people. And, with the exception of the horrific accident that forms the spine of Margaret, the film (especially the first half of this three hour opera) pays close attention to the mundanity of Lisa’s teenage life; the boyfriends, the drugs, the holiday plans, the crushes, the arguments, the class debates, the familial and so on. Lonergan draws all this from Paquin in a remarkable performance that is delicately complex, bringing forth her sexually, naivety and selfishness.

Margaret is an original screenplay by Lonergan, yet feels literary, or perhaps that should be theatrical. This is a film of talking, too much talking, with great impact. Characters all have a distinctive voice and are not afraid to share it, often over the top of others, adding a great sense of naturalism to Margaret. Much of the camera framing is still or slow moving, with careful framing emphasising the actors more than the setting (the exception to this being Lonergan’s slow cinematic sweeping shots of the cityscape). This feels less like contemporary American cinema that pays much attention to affected cinematography. This is not a criticism, just a sign of changing fashions, but seeing Lonergan’s film now, with his focus on cinematography and direction on character, provides the effect of watching a American classic.

It is possible that Margaret will become an American classic. That it has even seen the screen is a testament to its fighting spirit. Filmed in 2005 and released in 2011 the delay was legal and only now on DVD can Lonergan’s 180 minute final cut be appreciated. Although reviews of the 160 minute cut were mostly fantastic. The title is taken from a Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, Spring and Fall To a Young Child, a poem about being unable to express oneself as a child and age altering innocence. Lisa speaks and acts with the air of a genuine teenager who cannot believe a world outside of what little she can imagine exists. This is cinematic opera and appropriately ends with Lisa and her mother finding each other, while at the opera.  

On a Curious Sensation with Cold in July

It is simplistic to say that film is about sensation, but what when that sensation leaves you confused? Then the sensation becomes more interesting. Cold in July, a documentary style title for the UK, but more evocative in America, creates such sensation.

This is a contemporary film. It stars Michael C. Hall of Dexter (2006 – 2013) fame and makes Tarantino like references with its casting (Don Johnson) and use of violence, even offering a blood red drenched scene in the style of Scorsese or Powell & Pressburger, depending on how far you want to go back. Yet the film itself is set in the 1980s and the mise en scene is complete, offering an encompassing sense of the decade. The genres and sub genres are multiple: action, thriller, gothic, horror, revenge and so on (depending on your leaning towards genre theorists).

An 80s action film, complete with the dialogue that became synonymous with the style mixed with horror conventions shouldn’t work. Even while watching Cold in July, as Johnson and Shepard exchange quips and walk in slow motion, there is a very definite sense that what we’re watching shouldn’t work. But it does and director/writer Jim Mickle and writer Nick Damici keep Cold in July firmly away from pastiche and instead create a tense narrative that moves its characters in unexpected ways. Most recently Cold in July is, at the start, reminiscent of Blue Ruin as its everyman is thrown into a murderous revenge thriller. Yet, it transforms into more involved sensation, less cinematic than Blue Ruin, but more entertaining. As Johnson said, “If the material is inspiring and motivates you, then it doesn’t really matter what it is”. 

On Fighting Back with Fruitvale Station

Cinema is at its best when entertaining, demanding and explorative. If a film can do this, and force an audience to question their ideology then, whether they agree or not the film has found a place and served a purpose. If it can do this on a grand scale, then all the better. After all, cinema is perceived to be a medium that, when on a large scale is purely dedicated to entertainment. Michael Moore was often criticised for his entirely one sided documentaries and aggressive ‘all about me’ style of reporting, but he got mass American audiences into cinemas and if some left questioning an issue they previously hadn’t, then a benefit is gained.

Fruitvale Station, written and directed by Ryan Coogler and produced by Forest Whitaker is a dramatisation of the death of Oscar Grant in January 2009 by police officers. The police officer was sentenced to two years and served eleven months. This is only one example of many around the world where police officers escape punishment relative to the crimes they have committed. It is a closed organisation and historically has a reputation of protecting its own, even when its own are guilty. In the UK during the G20 protests, Ian Tomlinson was pushed to the ground by a police officer and later died. The police officer was found not guilty. When first accused the police closed ranks and claimed Tomlinson had fallen and died of natural causes, yet a contemporary phenomenon changed this and Fruitvale Station makes clear this profound shift in public power. Social networking. Here social networking is being used as an umbrella term for all the technology that comes with smart phones. As in the case of Ian Tomlinson, bystanders recorded the death of Oscar Grant and deprived the police force the opportunity of covering up. Fruitvale Station uses some of this mobile phone footage, which shocks and legitimises the films, which was surely Coogler’s intention. None of this prevents the criminality, conspiracy and corruption that exist, but what Coogler does is give Grant and his family (the powerless) an opportunity to fight back against the police and legal system (the powerful). And, with amateur footage, fight back against the media (the larger power) that is mostly owned by the powerful.

The film refuses to paint anyone as a stereotypical thug or aggressor. Grant’s relationship with his daughter is the heart of the film and what remains the most lasting image of him is Coogler’s representation of two of them, especially when he employs the tools of filmmaking to enhance the shot. This is a touching piece of storytelling from Coogler considering the circumstances; he makes it clear that Grant was no saint, but is attempting balance with a slant towards the thoughtful. The film also refuses to be a grim portrait of a young man tragically killed. Here we have shots of real beauty and genuine humour and this brings more life to the film.

As in many cases involving police corruption (you could replace police with financial or political) there is no social justice here, but Coogler and Whitaker find the emotion and find a voice. The hope is that more filmmakers are drawn to such issues and raise the inequality and more audiences are drawn to seek them out.