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.

On The Lobster

As unusual cinema goes, The Lobster is reaching the top of the scale. Like Spike Jonze’s Her (2013), The Lobster imagines a future that goes beyond online dating. Here, that future is a point where single life is illegal and should it happen you have two options: go on the run with outlaws who impose the single life, or become resident at a hotel where you have 45 days to find a partner, or get turned into an animal of your choosing. What else explains why there are so many cats and dogs?

The rest is best left to discover, as The Lobster is full of subtle treats and slapstick comedy. The social commentary is at times sharp, reasoning on the future of relationships where we reduce ourselves to hobbies and interests online. This impersonal approach is reflected in the deadpan delivery from all the actors, commenting on how they are nothing more than their shared interests, such as both being short sighted.

The Lobster can be split into two halves: what happens in the hotel and what happens outside. The first half is regularly very funny and works very nicely. The mise en scene is controlled and mirrors the story and the narrative feels like it knows where it is going. The second half is more fragmented, either losing its focus, or purposely choosing more abstract ideas that miss more than they hit. There remain some strong ideas and incisive comedy, but it takes a darker turn without coming up high again, leaving an audience wanting, especially after the levity of the hotel scenes. Sure, the subtext is always dark, but striking a balance is important.

Despite the weaker second half, there is enough ingenuity and humour in The Lobster as well as originality in what is becoming an increasing homogenous multiplex to make it worth paying for.

On Imposing Men in Sicario and Macbeth

Towards the end of Denis Villeneuve’s brilliant cartel drama Sicario, Benicio Del Toro’s assassin tells the no longer blinkered Emily Blunt, “You should move to a small town. You won’t survive here. You’re not a wolf. This is the land of wolves now.” Just as Villeneuve’s earlier Prisoners (2013) debated torture, here the drug wars become figurative of America’s growing greed and selfishness.

This is a quietly threatening film with little dialogue and low grumbling music that at times cuts off highlighting real intensity. At the heart of this intensity is Del Toro, who emerges as the film’s catalyst mid way through. The threat of his character is communicated through the manner in which Del Toro uses his physique. Whether moving lighting and quietly, or imposing his weight in close proximity, Del Toro becomes the white shark, solitary and deadly, in the ocean of fragmented cartels.

Viewed alongside Prisoners and Incendies (2010), Villeneuve has created a triptych of political thrillers and the hope is that being brought into the Bladerunner brand under another director’s ownership doesn’t stymie his individuality. Sicario is a superbly crafter thriller, powerful without shouting about it. Features that its Mexican assassin carries in bounds.

A character that proves equally as dangerous, but far easier to spot is Macbeth in Justin Kurzel’s Shakespeare adaptation. As Macbeth Michael Fassbender’s demise into mental illness, pushed further on by Cotillard’s Lady Macbeth is terrifying. As his paranoia builds, so does the danger. Unlike Del Toro’s subtle threat, Fassbender projects his threat, most clearly seen when he burns Macduff’s family in a scene uncomfortable and pivotal in his unravelling.

Kurzel’s Macbeth is beautiful and brutal and highlights how the unaccustomed Shakespeare ear adjusts to the language. Yet, the language becomes second how Macbeth communicates, as Fassbender’s performance is so full of emotion that the raw passion comes through in how he owns the frame. Whether stood in isolation or swinging a sword in the centre of the frame, Fassbender carries Macbeth from start to finish. Although it helps that he is surrounded by powerful performances that react to and inspire his obsession.

These two performances go beyond stereotypical representations of masculinity. Sicario’s female lead is about 95% gender neutral, suggesting the film would be little different should Emily Blunt’s character be male. A refreshing approach. In both Del Toro’s assassin and Fassbender’s Macbeth there is depth. They are realistically drawn portrayals of loss and rage and where one keeps it locked inside, the other cannot.

On the procedures of space abandonment in The Martian

The Martian may be the first mainstream sci-fi comedy since Mars Attacks (1996). This film, of policies, protocols and procedures takes a light-hearted look at abandonment in space. Sure, there are moments of emotion and tension, but the end is never in doubt.

The Martian becomes a strange mix of realism and fantasy. Like Soderbergh’s Contagion (2011) Scott’s The Martian offers what appears to be a realistic unravelling of the complications (political and scientific) of rescuing a man trapped on Mars. Unlike Contagion, this realism is shattered by frequent moments of comedy. Matt Damon’s stranded astronaut doesn’t suffer the mental torment of being isolated, but instead proves something of a stand up comic, entertaining Nasa and us. The disco soundtrack is a continual reminder that nothing bad will happen, removing any real sense of risk.

The acting is solid and when there is emotion or tension it is down to the cast, not the writing or the broadly drawn scientific stereotypes that painfully explain science using staplers and salt and pepper in what is reminiscent of every sci-fi film ever. The ending feels lifted from the opening of Gravity (2013), but without the stress.

A cynic might say that The Martian is a recruitment film for Nasa and a softener so that the American public don’t complain when plans to colonise Mars are suggested by a not to far away president. Why not go? It seems fun. Whatever it is, The Martian is fun, but forgettable. 

On Legend

Mark Kermode suggested that perhaps the title of Brian Helgeland’s Kray twins’ film was ironic as it plays so fast and loose with the myth that has surrounded the Krays. Whether film has a responsibility to accurately represent reality deserves robust debate, but when the promotional material states ‘true story’ and you’re dealing with biography, the advice should be, tread lightly.

Legend takes the route of glamorising gangsterdom, showing Reggie Kray handing out money to the poor, fulfilling the role of the friendly uncle to his East London neighbourhood. The violence, the fear and the crime takes a back seat in Legend to the point where we leave without any sense of the psychopathic thuggery or criminal entrepreneurship the Kray twins possessed. Instead, what we are left with are disparate and disjointed scenes covering many years resulting in a narrative that is incoherent and fragmented and what Helgeland believes to be the most interesting parts of Ronald and Reggie’s lives. This unusual shift away from narrative and towards a snapshot style of filmmaking may be because Helgeland was aware that his greatest asset lay not in story, but in his lead actor.

As the Kray twins, Tom Hardy is phenomenal, with performances that are distinctly different, yet allow us to see the family connection beyond simply appearance. When the film does, infrequently, convey fear, it is because of Hardy. The root of the problem with Legend is that, more than tipping its hat to Goodfellas (1990) it tries to scoop up its style and replicate it. Goodfellas is a studied account of the gangster life that offers us the highs, draws us in only to make the low so damaging, a skill Scorsese repeated with The Wolf of Wall Street (2013). Legend offers us glamour and style and romance of a life choice that should be treated with intelligence and equanimity. 

On Southpaw

For some reason, critics feel the need, at the release of any boxing film, to immediately rate it as ‘the best boxing film since … (insert either Raging Bull (1980) or Rocky (1976)). No other sub genre is submitted to instant ranking in such the same way and it does whatever new boxing film being rated is, a disservice. No film is an instant classic as such a saying in an oxymoron. A classic should survive at least one generation. The two films mentioned above have achieved this label and it is simply unfair to use them as a default barometer for additions to the canon.

Southpaw, directed by Antoine Fuqua, is another addition to the boxing sub genre and tells the redemptive story of the subtly named Billy Hope. Direction and script are solid, yet Southpaw illustrates the emotional pull of the sport. The collaboration in preparation leading to the isolation in combat very quickly develops excitement, fear and a raw connection with the fighter.

In its narrative Southpaw pulls no unexpected surprises and keeps us closely tied to Hope, making this his film and only his. The coup for Southpaw is in casting, for without the talent this film boasts, it would have been easier to forget. Gyllenhaal (now well established as a daring actor), Forest Whitaker and Rachel McAdams are all remarkable here; they hold this film together, making it hard to look away and impossible to root for any ending, but the one we are given.

Forget attempting to rank boxing films against each other; they are not boxers. Southpaw is enjoyable now. 

On Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation

The dictionary shows synonyms of the word rogue to be: dishonest, unprincipled, aberrant, faulty, unpredictable. Apply these adjectives to a nation and you could be describing the US. The powerhouse that is America is being attacked externally and internally and they know it. Yet, it could be argued, only a few within the states recognise it to be a rogue nation.

It’s been clear for some time that this awareness is not in the Marvel or DC studios, as superhero films now seem to serve no purpose other than reinforcing neo-conservative propaganda. They roll out the same narrative a few times a year, so clearly that’s not a concern. In this latest instalment of the Mission: Impossible franchise, entitled Rogue Nation, Ethan Hunt’s IMF team must bring down an anti-IMF intent on causing havoc around the world. The anti-IMF, we learn, are made up by spies that have been left in the cold by their nations after being involved in criminal actions abroad on the orders of their nation (at times the US).

Hunt’s own IMF team find themselves in a similar situation in this film. They are disowned for causing destruction and disorder globally (at last, someone is asking questions about all the death that goes ignored), yet the film never really makes enough of this parallel with the anti-IMF. Hunt is essentially hunting himself, but seems not to realise this. Not unlike the States fighting terrorists without realising they share they same tag. Rogue Nation isn’t quite at the propagandist levels of say, Captain America Winter Solider (aka Snowden was wrong), but with this film, the franchise is moving in that direction; acceptance rather than inquiry.

Like all Mission: Impossible films (apart from the second), this one is full of well-choreographed action and that Cruise is still performing them is impressive. The cold open at the start, with Cruise boarding a plane that is taking off is good, but doesn’t quite reach the excitement levels of the Dubai tower from the forth instalment. The third film from 2006, the last before sub headings were added, remains the strongest in this five-film collection. This is down to the casting of Philip Seymour Hoffman as the film’s villain. It’s not that Hoffman steals the show, but that as the finest actor the franchise has included he forces everyone else, especially Cruise, to raise his acting game. Cruise is a great actor, but has only occasionally shown this. Most Mission: Impossible films bring in solid supporting actors, but Hoffman is no supporting actor and Mission: Impossible III is more than an average action film.

Rogue Nation is entertaining, heading in an uncomfortable direction, but unfortunately forgettable and unnecessarily on an IMAX screen.  

On Chasing the Real Amy

For those who have casually, even cheekily sung along to Amy Whinehouse’s Rehab, be prepared to experience guilt. For the more ardent Whinehouse fan, the art versus life reality of Rehab will be known, but for many, Asif Kapadia’s documentary reveals the torture behind the genius; ‘they tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no’, takes on new, more distressing connotations.   

Following on from Senna (2010), Kapadia has turned his journalistic eye to tell his story of Amy Whinehouse. The footage on offer here not only includes professionally shot performances and home videos, but also video captured by the public and paparazzi as Whinehouse found fame as social networking was on the rise, allowing for greater and more damaging exposure. Kapadia’s narrative is clear and convincing; he sees Whinehouse as a victim of disease and influence and the manner in which he presents his footage (unobtrusive, hidden editing) makes it easy for his audience to agree. Yet, even if we see through the documentary filmmaking tricks and understand this to be his view of a complicated life, what is said, on camera, by those that influenced her life is compromising. Kapadia is skilful enough to present footage that pushes us in this direction or that, while he remainins free from criticism; he simply shows us what is said, make your own mind up. Although in reality, the pacing and the order are helping us along.

Both Mitch Whinehouse and Amy’s husband, Blake Fielder-Civil entangle themselves with words that have proved damaging to their persons and difficult to walk away from. Both father and husband are here guilty by neglect and combined with the savage and mercenary British media Whinehouse is presented as a trapped and scared animal who found some relief in drugs. In this story of abuse, Whinehouse is the victim and the triple threat of father, husband, that the media are the villains. That the tabloid media is still not regulated after the years of incriminating evidence against them is a travesty.

Amy is nothing short of engrossing; she was a magnetic figure and like many truly talented people, a mix of emotions. The film shows her spontaneously breaking into impersonations, showcasing the confidence that would later allow her to stand in front of thousands and perform. There is a sharp humour here, too. Yet, at other times she jitters nervously, clearly affected by the external and internal demons she wrestled with. It is a harrowing sight to see her stand on a stage in front of thousands unable, unwilling or both to perform. The performance becomes all the worse when we learn her own father sent her there against her wishes.

Amy is a sad story that brings greater appreciation of the artist and at the same time, highlights the danger genius can bring. Would you rather have the once in a lifetime piece of work, or the person that created them healthy, but less productive? Surely the latter. 

On Ted 2

Not as funny as the first and with a less cohesive, confident narrative that also suggests too much cutting for the cinema. Yet, worth seeing for a hilarious, eye watering scene in a supermarket with Liam Neeson.

On Finding Form with Slow West, Terminator Genisys and True Story

Cinema, as a form, is exploring and testing many disciplines; some of them rooted in history, such as photography, editing and acting; some relatively new such as motion capture or computer generated imagery. In projecting the three dimensional world on to a two dimensional screen, life and character must somehow not get lost in the transition. An emotional response, of some kind, feels necessary in order to render the experience memorable. Success rates are hit and miss, even for the most practised.

Slow West, John Maclean’s feature debut makes a hit early on with his careful composition and steady character study. His script doesn’t rush and his characters unfold nicely, remaining engaging throughout. His mise en scene is uncluttered, like his story, reflecting confidence in his story and location. Maclean makes this western look easy.

Yet, easy is not a word one would associate with Terminator Genisys. An inexplicable misspelling is not a good start for this messy narrative. Director Alan Taylor, who has worked on some of the best American TV of the last decade, does a decent job of bringing this fifth Terminator film to audiences. There’s simply too much going on here. For some reason, Genisys attempts to rewrite the original Terminator narrative from 1984 whilst telling its own story. Time travel is complicated enough at the best of times. Here, it becomes impossible.

Moving from one form to another, Rupert Goold steps over from the theatre to direct True Story, the story of American killer Christian Longo. Longo’s story is fascinating, but the film is not, which leads to a strange situation. Once Longo’s dilemma is established, it is hard to not want to find out the end of his case. True Story is a film of conversations, so how to make that engaging was Goold’s task. Unfortunately, the performances are too understated and noncommittal and the many scenes of talking, too similar and too often without enough revelation to reward our attention.

Hits and misses, experience and first timers, form is found and enjoyed or lacking and disappointing. Slow West is the one here to seek out. 

On Magic and Jurassic World

In 1993, Spielberg created cinematic magic with Jurassic Park. A film that combined relentless action, real characters, groundbreaking CGI and messages ahead of its time (environmental concerns and cloning). The reason it endures is because Spielberg made a film that appealed to thirteen year olds, both when they’re thirteen and thirty years later.

Jurassic World extends the narrative Spielberg started in a natural direction where capitalism has won out (when doesn’t it) and the park that never was has now come to fruition. Isla Nublar is now a combination of Thorpe Park and a Safari Park, where bigger is better and danger is secondary to money. The narrative progression is appealing and there is something perpetually alluring about the John Williams theme playing over the establishing shot of the island that will always raise goose bumps.

As director, Colin Trevorrow has drawn out strong performances (Chris Pratt is the film’s secret weapon) and keeps the action rolling and at times, the tension high. The reveal of the new dinosaur is a particular high point. Yet, the magic is missing and while Jurassic World is good, it perhaps reveals the great skill that Spielberg is able to bring to a film. The reverberating cup of water, the electric fence, the “clever girl”. These are moments of cinema that will last forever and Jurassic World has few of those moments of real fear and wonder. It is an action film of its time, a time when audiences are wowed by bigger rather than better.

Visiting Isla Nublar will always be enjoyable and the success of Jurassic World would imply we’ll be back, but there is nothing quite like the first trip. 

On Tomorrowland

It would seem that Disney are taking steps to move away from the traditional, patriarchal representations that made them one of the most prosperous studios in global cinema. Tomorrowland is a rare thing: a liberal blockbuster. At one stage in the film, Athena (wisdom and war) the violent robot who takes the guise of a twelve year old girl, tells the female protagonist that in Tomorrowland they need the thinkers; the dreamers; those willing to meddle in government property (anarchists) and those who wish to be free of bureaucratic red tape. 

In the film, Tomorrowland is envisaged as a place where the brightest and most creative from all disciplines can work free from political constraints. Yet, when opening up this utopia to the many, a tyrannical Hugh Laurie dressed like an SS commander shuts it down, turning it into a police state. It takes the anarchist and the jaded to come together and rebuild.

As a piece of cinema, Tomorrowland is a thrilling story, full of imagination, humour and creativity. The pace never lets up and the knowing references to other futuristic, time travelling films are fun. This could easily become the favourite film of a child raised on 80s/90s cinema. However many of those exist.

To entertain and be a spectacle is its first port of call, but Tomorrowland seems also to want to say something about blockbuster cinema. It wants to tell up to question and cause trouble rather than just accept the work of those that govern, simply because they do so. Rarely are children told to go and think differently, break the mould and be subversive (the education system is designed to knock this out of them), but here is a mainstream piece of cinema telling them just that. And it is all the better for it. 

On Mad Max: Fury Road

George Miller is often referred to as a visionary director. It could be argued that many directors are by the true definition of the word, but what this means is that Miller is creating cinema unlike what mainstream audiences are used to seeing. Happy Feet (2006) is certainly an unusual animated film. Babe: Pig in the City (1998), less so. Yet, what are referred to when this adjective is used are his Mad Max films. This now quartet of dystopian, Australian road movies, beginning in 1979 and with a thirty year gap between the last and this latest instalment.

Miller’s vision of the future certainly is imaginative. Larger than life figures populate his dirt red world where water is the most valuable commodity. Savage road crews fight for dominance of oil to keep their savage vehicles running. Amongst all of this is the truculent, terse anti-hero, Max Rockatansky, played here with intensity (the kind that hopefully doesn’t lead to racist enthusiasm) by Tom Hardy.

Visually, Mad Max: Fury Road is stunning. The detail in the action is The Hurt Locker (2008) like, although more fantastical as the world is far more detached from reality than The Hurt Locker. The heat and dirt is ubiquitous and the world all the more tangible for it. You almost feel you need to wash after the film.

The first film’s story about a policeman seeking revenge for the death of his family is briefly mentioned to tie the three-decade gap together, but this is more a redemption story for Max. Through saving the women he is saving the future.

As summer blockbusters go, Fury Road ticks the boxes you’d expect and then adds a load more and ticks them too. And this is why it’s far more fun to follow Max than anyone with a cape. 

On Monsters: Dark Continent

In 2010 Gareth Edwards wrote and directed Monsters. A road movie with an alien invasion twist. It is a beautiful and haunting film that has a quiet intelligence running through it. Edwards proposes that the monsters that had found a new home on Earth were benign, yet ends with a terrifying unseen American military intervention.

Four years later, Tom Green has written and directed Monsters: Dark Continent. Continent organically evolves from where Edwards left off. The monsters have made Earth their home and have become a part of life. A part that military organisations cannot let exist. Green takes us into the Middle East where American intervention in Middle Eastern conflicts is complicated by the monsters, offering them two fronts to fight on.  

The film presents us with four young Detroit men, unskilled and untrained, volunteering to go to the Middle East, presumably suggesting that the army is so stretched it will take the uninitiated. In these early stages the dialogue lacks subtlety and the characters are hard to like, but the photography has an air of authenticity to it that makes for some impressive desert scenarios.

Where Green’s skill lies in moving Edwards’s narrative forward is his ability to very quickly undercut audience expectation. What we think is a buddy war movie (with the alien addition) turns in one of the film’s best sequences into a psychological survival story. It is in this second half where the film is at its best, becoming a welcome addition to the American war genre.

Continent is not the quiet beauty of Monsters, but it has its own aggressive charm that when it kicks it becomes a solid piece of storytelling and a smart development on Edwards’s film. 

On Losing Ourselves with Citizenfour and Blackhat

At one point in Citizenfour, Edward Snowden, while sat, dressed casually in a hotel room he is uncomfortable leaving, sums up global issues in one sweeping term: That the US and UK government paradigm is one where the balance of power between the citizenry and the government is becoming that of the ruling and the ruled as opposed to the elected and the electorate.​The statement, coming from the unassuming, but potentially martyr like figure is a  swiftly damning account of an issue many of us feel at our core, but may be unable to articulate or really comprehend. 

Citizenfour is an exploration of a collection of brave people (their bravery will be assumed until evidence pointing to the contrary is revealed) and their rare, selfless act of humanity. Snowden, as the whistleblower, identifies a feature of global national security agencies he feels is so disproportionally incorrect that he risks isolation, entrapment and his life to bring it to public knowledge. Guardian journalists Glenn Greenwald and Ewen MacAskill risk censure, slander, libel and their careers to bring this story to the attention of the public while director Laura Poitras completes a triptych of American domestic and foreign policy documentary films by recording, in true documentary style, the events that unfold. All three journalists have reported being followed and experiencing trouble when crossing borders. Snowden remains in Russia, not knowing when his front door 'might be kicked in', to use a phrase he repeats in Citizenfour. 

Citizenfour is unlike other documentaries in that the event is happening as the film is being made, not retrospectively. This allows for unique reportage. People are not remembering, they are responding and often to life changing events. These are made all the more powerful by their reactions, which are not as Hollywood may have us believe, loud and emotional, but quiet and introspective. Snowden stands as a nice point of contrast to Julian Assange, who has performed similar public duties, but done so very much with himself as the star. As Snowden repeatedly makes clear, he is not the story. 

The idea of tech thrillers is nothing new. Filmmakers have been using the material since the dangers of the web became clear (The Net, 1995, Disconnect, 2012, Untraceable, 2008), yet Citizenfour is rooted far more in authenticity by the spread it experienced across other media platforms and by Snowden's self-effacing manner; he doesn't want to be the hero. This may be an act of true generosity that he has not greatly benefited from, other than maintaining his integrity. Adding to the tech thriller canon and perhaps as authentic as fiction has been on the subject is Michael Mann's Blackhat. 

It's been almost six years since Mann's last film, Public Enemies (2009) and Blackhat returns to many of the themes and motifs that litter his work: professionalism, prison, high style in image and dialogue, violence, masculinity. Citizenfour was thrilling due to its authenticity. Blackhat is  thrilling as it feels rooted in authenticity and shows us what damage can be caused in the form of online terrorism. Mann achieves this as he always has, by creating characters that somehow manage to walk the fine line of being cooler than anyone you know, yet belonging in a the very realistic environments that he creates. 

Blackhat is an impressive thriller that was always going to be a hard sell to audiences. Citizenfour may be looked back on as one of the most important documentaries of the Internet generation, yet unfortunately, the impact it is having on actual policy is sadly underwhelming. The documentary caused massive uproar, both journalistic and in the form of protests. Yet, yesterday American senators voted in favour of the NSA keeping their illegally obtained data, presumably setting a precedent for them to continue to do so. This is sad, but not surprising, both US and UK governments are corrupt. What is perhaps more depressing is that when people are told their privacy is being sold, they simply shrug their shoulders. Social media has made it seem so acceptable to give away our privacy that being told it is being stolen from us has little impact. 

Citizenfour is hugely important and Snowden's sacrifice should be rewarded, but the odds are not on his side.  

On Just Calling it Avenging with Avengers Assemble

The verb avenge is to inflict harm in return for an injury to oneself or another. America, as self appointed world police, would see themselves as avenging the wrongs done to others by invading middle eastern countries and imposing more favourable governments. This is of course all done with what would be considered strong neo conservatives ideologies such as that to control the flow of oil. This is not avenging. This is politically motivated aggression.

Mainstream American cinema has found a way to reinforce neo conservatism in a manner that disguises this harmful message in subtle and damaging ways (American Sniper was damaging without the subtlety). Slavoj Zizek discuss similar ideas in length regarding the Nolan Dark Knight trilogy, specifically the middle and latter instalments. Marvel is equally guilty.

Avengers Assemble follows self appointed world police officers, using their superior technology and strength to muscle the rest of the world into giving them what they want. They are incredibly damaging, causing mayhem and casualties on a mass scale both at home and abroad. When a foreign ‘bad guy’ gets hold of a powerful material that can be used to destroy the world (let’s call it nuclear, just for the sake of it), the Avengers swoop in to reclaim it, despite having no claim on it to begin with.

When other individuals show up with similar powers, they are given two options: join us or die. An offer the everyday, ‘normal’ residents that are innocently caught up and killed, were never given. Being a part of a world police is for a select few only. A wealthy, white few.

Cinema, being an art form, is typically left, yet there is a right wing cinematic movement that wears a cape and reinforces an ideology that is ruinous to a socialist, inclusive society. But, it makes lot of noise and has fancy CGI, so who cares...