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.