On Free Fire

This real time action comedy takes one location and several very talented actors and has a great time. It’s fun, incredibly well planned and, if at times a little repetitive, a smart script that makes sure the characters feel like only slightly exaggerated people and not just tropes to be knocked off one by one.

On Manchester by the Sea

In this study of loss and life, humanity is found in the detail and explored intricately through Lonergan’s direction and script. The former is steady when it needs to be and beautiful when the story allows. The shots on the sea are simple but framed wonderfully. The script is expert at finding the relatable in a story of family devastation. This is a film that rings far larger than its small story and echoes long after it finishes.

On The Death of Stalin

2009's In the Loop was a hilarious dissection of UK US relations that felt like a small British film because it was. Iannucci's big screen follow up is much bigger in scale and budget and topic. It is equally as fast paced and an audience have to be on their toes to get the most of it, however, it never quite reaches the hilarity levels of In the Loop.

On Blade Runner 2049

A pinocchio story for a digital age, Blade Runner 2049 moves in directions that are unexpected, takes it times and reaches a point of uncomfortable intensity, before ending with subtle beauty. It explores so much about our relationships with each other and with technology, as well as, and like the first film, about fathers and sons. Yes, there are questions to be asked about its treatment of women, but the feelings K has for his Joi are hard to brush aside as being purely pleasurable. This is also surely the best photographed film of the year.

On Call me by your Name

This is a beautiful film, of such depth that it will likely reach all who see it, on some level. The performances are subtle, intense and utterly captivating. In fact there is so much to admire about this film, but a closing scene between father and son is heartbreaking. Call me by your Name is a film to get lost in.

On Mudbound

It has not taken long for cinema to react to the campaign trail and subsequent presidency of Trump and the rise of white supremacy. Issues of race in America date back to the founding of America and it should be hoped that film continues to explore every inch of this shameful and complicated history. Mudbound takes the early 20th century leading up to the Second World War and focuses on two families, one white, one black, farming the same land. Characters at times disappear for too long, with more focus on those that become less significant in the final acts, but ultimately the message is one that needs to be seen and one that hopefully resonates.

On Thor: Ragnarok

Funny, colourful, escapist, but ultimately subject to the laws of Marvel and their predictable three act structure.

On Wind River

Taylor Sheridan is a mature, responsible, protest voice in an American cinematic landscape that is often more concerned with bombast and CGI. Wind River is a beautifully devastating film, told with a slight, but skilful touch and giving a voice to an issue and a people much in need of one. And he achieves all of this without sacrificing his desire to create mainstream cinema that will reach as many people as possible, for his films, whether he writes or writes and directs, should be seen be as many people as possible.

On Logan Lucky

Welcome back to film Steven Soderbergh. Logan Lucky combines the slightly impossible caper fun of Ocean's Eleven (2001) with the social commentary of white America's response to the financial crisis explored in Magic Mike (2012). It is a good as neither of these, but endlessly entertaining all the same.

On American Made

Fun and frivolous film about a real life event that was likely neither fun nor frivolous.

On Detroit

Documentary style filmmaking from Kathryn Bigelow focusing on the Detroit riots on the 1960s. Incredibly timely, impressive throughout and sadly not shocking in its conclusion that admonishes police brutality and reinforces the deep racism running within America.

On Dunkirk

There are films that use technology as a crutch to support weak stories, or to enhance their box office. Christopher Nolan has always understood that the future of cinematic technology lies in IMAX, but that the narrative must come first. Dunkirk's story is simple, but through narrative and editing trickery, told in a manner that attempts to reflect the confusion of war. Nolan's use of the 70mm feels utterly needed to properly tell the story he wants to. The extra space offered by the format makes Dunkirk immersive. It is as close to flying in a spitfire as almost all will experience.

On War for the Planet of the Apes

Entertaining third part to an impressive trilogy, in which the second film takes the crown. The special effects continue to set a high bar and this may be the first series of film where CGI characters are the most emotionally engaging. An ideal blockbuster.

On I am not your Negro

James Baldwin maybe one of the America's greatest ever authors. His ability to condense issues of great importance into beautiful prose is a rare one. This documentary, put together by Raoul Peck brings together fragments of Baldwin's last, incomplete writings and juxtaposes them with contemporary footage that highlights, sadly, the continuation of the issues Baldwin was exploring in the 60s and 70s as well as footage of the man himself. There is a lot going on here and because of that the film often feels difficult to settle into. However, the footage of Baldwin is fascinating, revealing the admirable man behind the eloquent words. I am not your Negro may not be the film that Baldwin deserves, but it remains fascinating nonetheless.

On The Disaster Artist

Whatever faults The Room (2003) has, the real life story that has blossomed as a result of reactions to the film is endearing. Strange, but endearing. Therefore it feels appropriate that The Disaster Artist approaches the story of Tommy Wiseau and Greg Sestero with balance and a desire to neither vilify nor blame. James Franco made this with Wiseau's backing and The Disaster Artist refuses to make any attempts at demystifying the myths the real Wiseau has built around himself. There are questions that beg to be answered about Wiseau, but he is entitled to his privacy and speculations are often cruel. The reality may be different than we know and than Franco's film explores and the book The Disaster Artist certainly paints a more unpleasant picture of Sestero (strange as he co-wrote it), but what the film achieves by not pushing too hard into these uncomfortable areas is life affirming cinema. The message is energising for anyone struggling in the creative industries. On top of this and a great irony, is that The Disaster Artist is an impressive film, replete with strong performances in front of and behind the camera. A film that may genuinely win an award about a film that desperately wanted one. 

On Star Wars Episode VIII The Last Jedi

It is undeniable, for people of a certain age, that when the bold yellow lettering and orchestral blare kick in, a tingle shoots up the spine, the back is straightened, the chair gripped with excitement. Star Wars is here. And more than that, it is new Star Wars, unseen Star Wars and it’s going to include light sabres and Luke Skywalker. This alone is worth the price of admission and maybe, just maybe, this can disguise the faults that could lie within a Star Wars film; they can be overlooked because revisiting the galaxy, seeing another chapter in the never ending (now Disney have it) battle between good versus evil, will always be welcome.

Yet, for all of this welcome nostalgia, film theory and criticism and rules of narrative exist outside of the Star Wars universe and continue being relevant, disregarding rose tinted glasses and bearded Jedi Knights. There are many reasons that many people will enjoy The Last Jedi. There are also many, very legitimate reasons why this episode is one of the weakest in the entire saga. Yes, the acting and dialogue are far more accomplished than in the much derided episodes 1, 2 and 3, but the story here is weak, a long, slow car chase where the actions of two of the most significant characters have no bearing on the outcome whatsoever. In fact, if they had stayed in bed and done nothing, the end result would have been the same. In fact, it may have been better as their decisions are full of arrogance, risking lives rather than saving them. They are unlikeable, widely missing the roguish Han Solo charm being aimed for. Unforgiveable.

The tone here is never struck with certainty. It feels desperately like it wants to be the dark middle child, in the same way The Empire Strikes Back (1980) is, but is riddled with uncomfortable humour that removes any sense of danger or threat from characters who are meant to be dangerous and threatening. Grand Moff Tarkin would never have suffered the petty humiliations The Last Jedi puts General Hux through, a character who here lacks any presence. How are we to invest in a danger, consistent for the entire film, when it is centred around a man who fell for a phone prank? The deaths that follow become empty. Think back to the emotional resonance achieved in Rogue One (2016), a film which similarly sought to represent the crushing of the resistance and you quickly realise The Last Jedi never comes close to matching it.

When it comes to Skywalker it is hard to understand why his character has been taken in this direction. There are elements of him which feel organic; his isolation and reluctance to train Rey; his sacrifice at the end when his job is complete. But at the same time, he is also cocky and hesitant in his own convictions; he feels likes hypocrite and when he brushes dust of his shoulder in a final showdown, a whole cinema cringes.

There are some features to like about The Last Jedi. At times it is visually stunning and the relationship between Rey and Ben is interesting, although lacks anything that surprising and for some reason refuses to answer important questions about ancestry. Yet, too much here feels lazy and too reliant of the good will of fans of the saga. Light sabres and Skywalker are exciting, but fans are not idiots, blind to flaws because you flash lights at them, they deserve more respect than The Last Jedi gives them. There is work to be done to restore this new trilogy. Fortunately, J. J. Abrams is the man for the job.

On Baby Driver

There is a moment towards the end of Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver when Jon Hamm’s Buddy, removes the music loving Baby’s ear buds and tells him the songs over, but he still has to face the music. Musical puns are dotted through this crime film set to music and like the one above, B movie tongue-in-cheek is the aim, but they fall flat in a film that is, ironically, tone deaf. Think of a film like Sin City (2005) that employs a similar approach to dialogue: self aware and borderline cheesy. Or the recent revival of Twin Peaks: The Return (2017), a show that is at times so slow and bizarre that it can isolate; they both create worlds that are built upon commitment and consistency to their style. So much so that you are drawn in and buy premises and language that elsewhere you would reject. Here, the world of Baby Driver is part cartoon, part ultra violent, part dream-like romanticism and none of them stick.

The opening meeting between the bank robbers and car chase set Baby Driver up as a film that not only has a very prominent soundtrack, but one that actually moves to the music. As Baby strolls down the street his movements and the movements of those around him, plus the ambient city sounds all move in time to the song playing on his iPod. It’s fun and, like the whole film a great achievement in editing, but sets Baby up as arrogant and unlikeable. You can’t know and act like you’re cool. Otherwise the façade drops away. The following car chase is the most exciting in the film and tells us why Baby acts arrogantly; he has the skills to back it up. The remaining one hour forty-five minutes never reach this level of excitement and interest again.

Baby’s early arrogance is later confused by his knight in shining armour approach to being a criminal. Some cringe worthy sign language scenes are designed to tell us how good he is and the threat of violence that hangs over him explains why he stays in the criminal world, but his lack of action towards trying to remedy the situation he exclaims his despises is minimal. Yet, his action behind the wheel, complicit in innocent death and destruction is nothing short of passionate. He’s less of a character and more of a figure designed to look good in any situation. This means that consistency is missing from this film that fails to find what it wants to be. 

Baby’s central dilemma about involvement, having blood on his hands, is never explored in a film that would rather tell us everything in expository dialogue that show us through character development. The most interesting thing about Jon Hamm’s Buddy is never revealed through his character, it is simply told to us in an example of lazy story telling, and like the Tarantino aura is so desperately hangs to, Baby Driver is style over substance. The rule here seems to mirror that of recent Tarantino; if it can be argued to be cool, then it makes the cut. Unfortunately, the dialogue lacks bite and good actors are reigned in by an attempt to homage the B movie and much of what they say fails to convince. The action becomes less and less impressive and in the absence of it, the story is revealed to be simple.

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Edgar Wright is a great British director and his Three Flavours Cornetto trilogy are wonderful insights into masculinity and small town British life, woven with references to the cinema he loves without ever losing their own sense of originality and individuality. Baby Driver lacks all of this.

On Hidden Figures

Hidden Figures is a very well made film that wears its issues on its sleeve. Its period setting may deflect some of the contemporary criticism, but it’s comments on patriarchy and race are perfectly timed.

On Get Out

In Jordan Peele’s excellent Get Out, the clichéd story of southern American racists is given a new twist with a greater depth and level of understanding about race in America. Chris’s experience in his girlfriend’s parents’ home is more than racist, although it is obviously this as well. In fact, the racism here is so deeply rooted its difficult to pin down. It’s better identified as an obsession with the other. Black here is seen as something exotic, something to desire, but secretly, in small communities as if the admission of it is laden with guilt. The white guests at the brilliantly filmed silent bingo play for the rights to win features of the race. Previous winners, it is suggested, seem to have gained athleticism and style – stereotypical and surface only white perceptions of black people.

With Chris it is something different; it is his eyesight. Chris is a photographer, a feature of his character that the film could have explored in greater detail. This generic feature allows his bingo sponsor to claim it has nothing to do with race and he believes it. This is a telling feature of this wealthy white character; he doesn’t see what he is doing as racist. It is so embedded within parts of white America that even they can’t see it. He’s also blind. Get Out isn’t always subtle, but neither should it be.

Get Out leaves its biggest and most damning criticism of racism in America to the end. Chris has survived the tortures, both psychological and physical. In fact he has bettered his white captors only to find himself bloodied and exhausted on the road. The red and blue of police lights flash across the road. Surely Chris will now be shot and killed by a white police office. Why would we expect any other outcome?

Get Out is important and immediate in its relevance. It is also thoroughly entertaining, funny and creepy and a well crafted film. This combination of film and message will see Get Out grow in stature.  

On Moonlight

A most beguiling and seductive Oscar winner is Moonlight. A fragmented tripartite, beautifully shot and wonderfully acted and it is these latter skills that made this an enticing watch. We are presented with only one point of view here. That of Chiron as a boy, an adolescent and a young man. What happens in-between these ages and what happens to figures from his life is left to our imagination. This very limited point of view is what makes Moonlight so unusual. There is nothing wrong with unusual and there is nothing wrong with strange and there is an ethereal feel to Moonlight, which is anchored in reality by some hard-hitting doses of struggle; the homophobia, the drug abuse, the loss, the yearning and the potential, ever so slightly, of hope. This balance of beauty and pain is the outstanding feature of director and writer Barry Jenkins’ film.

On Kong: Skull Island

What could go wrong? A film about King Kong set during the Vietnam War. It’s a match made in heaven and amazing that no one has tried this before. And, Kong: Skull Island is replete with Vietnam and 70s iconography, from the tape deck to the slow-mo shots of helicopters dropping bombs. It is hard to dislike. Yet, Skull Island is a film you should dislike, for despite the attention to detail, someone forgot to create characters or direct the actors. Aside from John C Reilly, the characters here are paper-thin: the crazy one, the photographer, the quiet tough guy, the young kid. All plucked from countless war films. All instantly forgettable. In an interview, the director said he considered opening with a little mockery at Peter Jackson’s King Kong (2005) remake and could never understand why it took so long for them to reveal Kong. That remake may have been flawed, but this is a failed piece of work. A great idea, wasted and a bad sign of things to come if it is meant to signal the birth of a monster movie franchise. 

Kong looks great though.

On Jackie

Tales of the Kennedy family are infectious. That much is clear. America has been unable to move beyond the conspiracies surrounding the doomed family name for decades. JFK’s tale is one so well told that people born years later know his fate and can describe the infamous Dallas images as if they were there. In short, the man and his death are iconic. Sewn into and defining aspects of American culture. What could the country have been had the man they imagined he was been allowed to have lived and preside? It is hard to ignore or forget a man who holds such power posthumously, who continues to invite comparison and investigation over 50 years later.

It is hard too, for the filmmaker to take the Kennedy story and tell it again so that we see it with fresh eyes. Yet, Jackie achieves this and becomes an intoxicating tale of the family. It is stunningly layered and captivating performance from Natalie Portman, one deserving of all the recognition, but one perhaps too difficult to really love. Here, Jackie is more than a grieving widow, she is a woman obsessed with legacy, aware of infidelities, but unable to let her husband as anything other than great. This really is one of the more fascinating explorations of grief on screen. Pablo Larraín’s camera lingers closely, allowing us intimate access to the parts of Kennedy’s death that are not familiar, although it should be mentioned that this representation of the assassination is as realistic, intimate and artistic as any seen before. Portman sheds any signs of vanity and produces a performance of similar intensity to Black Swan (2010).

Write Noah Oppenheim smartly cushions this narrative within the one-week timeframe, from the death to the burial, with flashbacks to flesh out certain aspects. This means we never feel lost in the maze that is Kennedy conspiracy, nor do we ever feel unsure about where this story is going. A fate that can befall many a biography. The Kennedy family has been showing up in film, in one form or another, for decades. Jackie is one of the better insights into this beguiling family.

On the Maturity of Marvel with Logan

The Marvel behemoth produces many pieces of work that follow a familiar template in narrative, look and content. They are all family friendly and never too challenging. In the last month or so this model has been challenged itself by two texts that have separated themselves from the cinematic universe Marvel are creating while remaining under the Marvel umbrella, enjoying the budget freedoms that offers.

Legion on TV was eight episodes of pure joy. Created by Noah Hawley of Fargo (always the best thing on TV when it’s on), Legion was stylish and baffling and always enjoyable. The second is Logan, Hugh Jackman’s last time playing the X-Men hero Wolverine and the completion of the stand-alone Wolverine trilogy that has, unusually improved each time. Logan is a film bathed in a golden yellow, appropriate as it finds Wolverine in his autumn years; old, broken and tired of living.

Gone are the huge green screen action set pieces, replaced by America’s west. More than an action film, Logan borrows heavily from Western and road movie genre conventions, with Shane (1953) becoming an intertextual reference of Logan’s fate. It is a beautiful film to look at with the special effects it does use, being employed with subtlety rather than the usual overkill to disguise the lack of character. Instead, Logan is a character study and Jackman here pulls up the same kind of dilemmas we saw him capable of in Prisoners (2013).

The violence is questionable. Yes, this is the most accurate representation of the hurt that would be unleashed by a man with indestructible metal claws, but in certain moments it feels too much. Just because they have been allowed to be violent, does it mean they should push it as far as they can? It’s uncertain and the approach to violence walks a fine line. Either way, it makes this the most adult superhero film, or at least parallel with Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008). And honestly, it makes it refreshing too. Too often Marvel films placate adult audiences in favour of box office.

In a moment that must be a first for a superhero film death is handled with incredible gentleness and is both saddening and joyful as we feel Logan’s wish to be released from it all. As he whispers, “so this is what it feels like”, decades of pain disappear. There is a slightly more conventional final third, but by the time his death comes around, we are so invested in his character that we can forgive the more clichéd aspects, such as the mutant kids combining their powers, or the young Logan appearing. Fortunately, both are used sparingly.

Logan is a dark and adult film. One that is even perhaps too adult for its 15 rating. It does after all deal with the abuse and death of children and the redemption of a man who has committed questionable acts for many years. Despite stepping away from the Marvel connectivity, Logan is still held back by the name and one feels that were this a film that had appeared from nowhere, with a character we did not know, it could have been an even more special piece of cinema.

On Silence

Scorsese has enough credit in the bank to make whatever film he wishes and according to his BFI interview, making Silence has been a long and difficult road. And you can see why. There are countless Scorsese films where, if you were flicking TV channels and came upon them 30 minutes in, you'd stay and watch. Silence does not fall into that category. It is a film that demands the correct state of mind. A state that is prepared for an explicit ecclesiastical journey through 17th century Japan, where, despite the title, there is much dialogue often dealing with layered ethical questions. The silence refers only to that of god, of who the priests wish for a response.

It is a beautifully shot film rife with confidence that must come from knowing your craft as well as Scorsese does. His knowledge of how long to hold a shot is absolute and Silence really is a masterly example of camera work. The way into the story is confident also, making a film about a topic that for many is foreign, accessible. Scorsese said that Shutter Island (2010) would be his most successful film because people will have to see it twice. He was right. It would be incredibly surprising if Silence came close to such box office. Although this is not its intention. It is a film for film lovers. It also just lacks something to it stand out in an impressive winter season of cinema. Perhaps if seen at the right time, in the right frame of mind Silence could be special. It is, after all, made by a living master of film.

On Split

It is not untrue to say that Split is the best M. Night Shyamalan since The Sixth Sense (1999), although his vineyard is not full of rich pickings. Despite this, Split is a thoroughly entertaining and oddly thought provoking film. The idea is good and McAvoy is gripping in the lead roles. The scenes between him and Betty Buckley as his therapist are always fascinating. But, the issue with Split and the issue with all of Shyamalan's films is a complete lack of challenge to his audience. A film about a man with multiple and dangerous personalities that involves kidnapped girls should be creepy, scary and challenging. This is not. In Shyamalan's hands it is reduced to its basic oppositions. Sane versus insane; he lays it all out clearly, with well written metaphors to explain complex psychological problems. It is as if Disney made thrillers. We are given everything. No need to think and when the final scene is revealed (mistakingly referred to as a twist) we realise why. This is a fantastical world, a superhero world and superhero worlds take scary, complex real world issues and make them palatable for mainstream audiences.

On The Darkness of Hollywood in La La Land

It is easy to wonder why La La Land has been quite as hailed as it has been. The film starts hesitantly and slips easily into well-worn clichés. Apart from the musical numbers its narrative isn’t that different from the 200 romantic comedy The Break Up. Its leading lady is good, but a recognisable character and in short, apart from all the singing and dancing, many people would not separate it from many of the fun but forgettable rom-coms that litter cinema screens every year.

Yet, underneath the shimmering seediness of LA, La La Land prods at deeper themes, those of careerism versus familial, or masculinity in the 21^st century. And it is here that we find the reality in Damien Chazelle’s fantastical picture. Emma Stone’s want-to-be-actress-waitress appears to be a romantic; she gets lost in film sets and soliloquises about her childhood dreams of being an actor. Ryan Gosling’s jazz pianist, the more interesting character of the two, also has dreams, but roots them far more in reality; he knows life knocks you down and fighting back is not worth it and after overhearing Stone tell her mother he doesn’t work full time, he sets his dream aside in favour of regular, yet unfulfilling work.

When the film moves us forward five years, we find that our initial reading of these characters may have been misplaced. Stone’s conversation with her mother about job security, one we read as the mother’s beliefs are revealed as Stone’s. She is now the famous actor with the husband and child, but Chazelle’s framing of her family exposes it is she that is the careerist as her husband, shirt untucked, shoeless, playing with the child, endlessly passive, has no defining characteristic to speak of. It is to be assumed he has given way to whatever life he had to be her other half. A role the complicated, vibrant and creative Gosling never could have become.

As for Gosling, five years later he has opened the jazz club he always wanted, yet his life, unlike Stone’s carries reminders of their year together. The logo for his club is her design, initially dismissed by him. And, when she stumbles in there with her husband for a nightcap, he comes off worse, leaving the stage alone with a mournful smile. While she accepts this as acceptance of their separate lives and leaves with her husband.

Their romance was destined to fail from the start, as the film’s continuous state of reverie suggests. Gosling even offers the biggest clue of their fate when passionately describing jazz, a musical genre he makes her love through his own passion. It is, he decries, complicated, conflicting, confusing and improvised as it develops; it is hard work and everyone has to be individual and together at the same time. This it turns out, is their own relationship and in the end, the pull of being an individual was too great; they both needed someone to offer no conflict, no confusion and Stone found it in the passive, anonymous husband and Gosling doesn’t find it. La La Land, the title referring to the dream like world of Hollywood also refers to the attitudes of people who live there. Attitudes which are selfish and careerist and reveal this to be a far more interesting and darker film that initially imagined.

On the Top Ten of 2016

10. Everybody Wants Some! dir. Richard Linklater
9. The Revenant dir. Alejandro G. Iñárritu
8. Son of Saul dir. László Nemes
7. American Honey dir. Andrea Arnold
6. Nocturnal Animals dir. Tom Ford
5. Before the Flood dir. Fisher Stevens
4. I, Daniel Blake dir. Ken Loach
3. Arrival dir. Denis Villeneuve
2. Spotlight dir. Tom McCarthy
1. 13th dir. Ava DuVernay