On The Adjustment Bureau

Philip K Dick has provided film makers with a lot of material. The latest to mine his archive is the romantic thriller with a twist of fantasy, The Adjustment Bureau. The film, written and directed by George Nolfi, is based on Dick’s story Adjustment Team.

The Adjustment Bureau tells the story of an ambitious politician (Matt Damon) whose fate is in the hands of a mysterious group of men who must keep him on track to fulfil his destiny. When a seductive ballet dancer (Emily Blunt) comes into his life, the adjustment bureau finds themselves battling against chance to keep the politician and the dancer apart, in case their destiny’s be ruined by their romantic involvement. Where the adjustment bureau have come from and how they have the powers they do raise similarities with It’s A Wonderful Life (1946).

There are strong fantasy / science-fiction elements here, but the heart of the story is the relationship between Damon and Blunt. This is exemplified by the handling of the respective scenes. The chemistry between Damon and Blunt feels believable and develops realistically; there is banter, awkwardness and flirting. In contrast, the scenes where the adjustment bureau men attempt to explain what is happening see a shift in the film and there is a slight tone of comedy or silliness as if the film doesn't know how to handle the complication of these scenes in a way that say, Inception (2010) does. Yet, due to a lack of subtlety in the expository scenes, the film allows room for the romance to come to the fore and lead the film structurally and emotionally.

The Adjustment Bureau’s material feels dumbed down to appeal to a wide audience and the questions of individuality, fate versus chance and control of our lives (key themes of Dick’s work) are present, but not explored in great detail. Yet The Adjustment Bureau does something that feels original to the romance genre, does it well and the result is an entertaining romantic thriller, with questions of identity for those who want to look for them.

On Seeing the Skyline in Battle: Los Angeles

In November a film called Skyline (2010) (see 18^th November 2010) opened with a shot of Los Angeles being destroyed by extra terrestrials then flashbacks to twenty four hours earlier. From here we meet a small group of civilians who then deal with the invasion as they try and escape an Iraq style war zone, mostly filmed with a hand held camera.

This month Battle: Los Angeles opens with a shot of Los Angeles being destroyed by extra terrestrials then flashbacks to twenty four hours earlier. From here we meet a small group of marines who then deal with the invasion as they try and escape an Iraq style war zone, mostly filmed with a hand held camera.

Take Independence Day (1996), War of the Worlds (2005) and District 9 (2009) and make sure to include all the clichéd speeches, characters, structure and alien autopsies, but remove any writing talent and you get Battle: Los Angeles. The only difference between this and Skyline is slightly better acting and a refreshing lack of surprise at the alien invasion; there have been so many films about it, it was bound to happen!

It looks like it will be up to Spielberg and Abrams to offer us quality in this genre with the upcoming Super 8 (2011). A trailer for Super 8 can be seen here, http://www.empireonline.com/news/story.asp?NID=30394

On Animal Kingdom

In an early voice over Joshua, the young narrator of Animal Kingdom says that criminals are all scared, because each one is aware that sooner or later, they’ll get caught. This is an unspoken assumption, on the part of audiences and characters for many films that focus on career criminals. From Heat (1995) to Point Break (1991) they are looking for a way out or a way to reduce the risk until an out becomes available. The difference with Animal Kingdom is we see a family of criminals who haven’t yet reached the point of realisation that their way of life has a short expiry date and are under pressure from a corrupt and illegally violent crime squad who are ready to put them into forced retirement. The most professional and relatable of the criminals, Barry is soon killed, leaving the rest struggling for leadership and us, as an audience, in the company of some intimidating and unpredictable characters.

Animal Kingdom is at its best when showing the surviving family in close confines; the almost incestuous and definitely overbearing matriarch, the paranoid drug addict, the quieter younger brother and the feared and mentally unstable elder brother, Pope. The metaphor being if you placed animals not at ease with each other in such close confines, there would soon be violence. (Noah’s Ark doesn’t focus on the animal infighting) And violence there is. We see all this through the eyes of Joshua, nephew to the criminals and grandson to the matriarch. Joshua has been thrown into this world after the death of his mother, who had the sense to keep him away from her family. However, Joshua’s reticence makes it difficult to identify with him and this is a major issue of the film. We are never sure what he is thinking or emoting and we leave with little understanding of his motivations, feelings or ambitions after the concluding events of the film.

Animal Kingdom doesn’t go for the action set pieces of other films about characters like these. It instead focuses on the relationships and the family dynamic, which is pushed to breaking point as the police close in. There are some clichés here, but they are delicately handled and importantly well acted. Animal Kingdom is far from ground breaking, even for Australian cinema (little of which makes it here), but it is never boring often makes for tense viewing.

On Feeling Cold with the Coen Brothers and True Grit

The Coen brothers decided a long time ago that they weren’t going to make a bad film. From Blood Simple (1984) to their newest film True Grit (2010), everything has been instantly watchable and full of memorable characters and dialogue. In these 26 years they’ve even managed to create some future classics; Miller’s Crossing (1990) and Fargo (1996) being the two that recurrently stand out.

Often their films look at those areas of society slightly left of normal. Their characters are the same, all with unique idiosyncrasies that the Coen’s subtlety highlights so well. No one creates realistic and at the same time abstract worlds populated with such unique characters as well as the Coen brothers. The above statement illustrates an oxymoron, yet so many of their characters are similarly incongruous. Fargo’s Marge Gunderson, a pregnant police office hunting serial killers or Burn After Reading’s bumbling, sex craved Harry Pfarrer.

The nature of their films, their worlds and their characters has resulted in an inimitable directorial style. The Coen’s observe the worlds they create. They penetrate the under and upper classes of these worlds and develop several layers, but they never let us become part of that world; we are never asked to put ourselves in the place of the characters. We can watch and visit, but are not allowed or invited to stay. Like the Coen brothers, we are voyeurs, visitors only to the theatre on show. As memorable as their characters are, their style results in emotional detachment. This is usually not an issue as their worlds are best visited only. However, in True Grit we have the most straightforward of Coen films. There are no double crosses or mistaken identities, just a simple, linear narrative with their usual deft handling of character. Unlike other films though the lead character, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is a character worth investing more of our emotion in; her father, recently killed, weighs on her mind as she hunts his killer while unknowingly seeking a surrogate father in the shape of a soon to be extinct cowboy. Like all Coen films, True Grit does not ask us to connect on a deep level with the characters and can leave us feeling cold. It is a shame because here, the characters of Ross and Jeff Bridges’ Rooster Cogburn take great steps together throughout the film.

True Grit is a wonderfully acted and directed story full of recognisable Coen traits. It is a western full of the genre’s conventions and fits into and compliments the Coen canon. If it leaves us feeling cold at the end, this is only because the Coen’s are letting us visit and not inviting us to stay.

On Adaptations with Never Let Me Go

It is widely stated and widely agreed upon that cinematic adaptations from novels are never as good as the book. This is not a controversial statement. Novels are personal and implicit. Cinema, while being able to affect audiences on a personal level is experienced collectively. Cinema also tends to be explicit owing to its time constraints.

Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go was published in 2005 and shortlisted for the Man Booker prize. Six years later, Ishiguro’s novel has been adapted by director Mark Romanek and writer Alex Garland, also a celebrated author (The Beach published in 1996). Never Let Me Go tells the story of Hailsham School, located in the English countryside and home to some very unique children. Students of Hailsham are clones with the purpose of becoming donors in their adult life. They stay at Hailsham until age 18 when they are sent into the world for a brief opportunity at a ‘normal’ life before being called upon for their first donation. By their third or fourth donation, they complete; a euphemistic term for dying.

This is a topic which raises many moral and ethical questions, which do not need to be expanded upon here. What is remarkable about Ishiguro’s novel is the subtlety with which this subject is handled. The obliqueness of the future for these children is dealt with so straightforwardly that it is difficult, at first, to comprehend the esteem in which this novel is held. It is only later when the novel has really been absorbed that questions of your own mortality start to emerge and the emotion of the story, at first hidden behind a frank and uncomplicated first person narrative, is felt. The greatest achievement of this adaptation is in transferring this same experience to the screen.

Garland (a close friend of Ishiguro’s and chosen by the author to adapt his novel) makes many changes, yet keeps the novel’s three part structure. The first act at Hailsham does feel rushed and whereas in the book we are given time ourselves to discover and uncover clues as to the reason for Hailsham, the film chooses to deal with this in one brief expository scene. Yet, the changes are mostly appropriate for the switch in medium; tightening the story without losing much of what is necessary. Importantly, Romanek has cast perfectly. Carey Mulligan as the lead and narrator, Kathy, carries the weight and emotion of the story with a quiet elegance. Keira Knightley as her manipulative friend, Ruth, strikes the perfect balance between bitchiness and regret. (In the fact, the only real misstep in the adaptation is the removal of the origins behind Kathy and Ruth’s friendship at Hailsham and the calculating way in which Ruth controls Kathy and their friendship group. Including this in the early scenes would help inform the characters’ issues that arise later). Andrew Garfield (the best thing about The Social Network, 2010) is Tommy and brings so much to this character that he adds to the depiction in the novel.

Romanek and Garland’s second most significant achievement is in implicitly stating the delicate and contentious subject matter. The science-fiction element of Never Let Me Go is treated as such a commonplace matter that it never threatens to overshadow the characters and the tragic love story that slowly develops. The donations, the completions, even their purpose in being is handled with so little melodrama that when the film ends the same underwhelming feeling is experienced. The question of how much feeling do these characters really have for each other would not be out of place, but there is a deep and real emotion here. One that is unspoken, and that exists between the lines. It takes time to really appreciate the subtlety at work here. As with the novel, the weight that this story carries is in the question we ask ourselves of the value of life. Never Let Me Go is a unique and powerful love story that says far more than it appears to.

On Seeing Brighton Rock for the First Time

Published in 1938, Brighton Rock became the novel that Graham Greene would be remembered best for. By 1947 the book had been adapted into a feature film staring Richard Attenborough in the lead role as Pinkie Brown and directed by John Boulting. An adaptation of the book, not a remake of the film is how Rowan Joffe (writer and director) describes his Brighton Rock. With Joffe’s adaptation as first exposure to Greene’s story, it is unlikely to earn it any more fans. Brighton Rock is not an enjoyable film and the fault appears to lie with the script and direction.

This is Joffe’s first feature film as a director, yet his work on other films as a writer suggests he should understand narrative and character development better than he displays here. (Joffe adapted The American. See 2^nd December 2010). Our main characters are Pinkie and Rose. We meet Pinkie (Sam Riley) as the lower rung of a gang. With three other gang members ahead of him, Pinkie is used as a pick pocket. In the first instance we witness him attempt to intimidate, he is easily emasculated and obviously scared. It is therefore confusing when we next meet Pinkie and he has decided to become the gang leader and has somewhere found a confidence and level of violence that usually take years to acquire. Even stranger is the previously hardened gang leader’s willingness to acquiesce his leadership and be bullied by Pinkie. The other two gang members also inexplicably fall in line behind the now unpleasant Pinkie.

Rose (Andrea Riseborough) is the hapless, unknowing target of Pinkie’s, whom he decides to keep close rather than kill. Again, this goes unexplained; he kills at other times. Rose, who we meet as a shy waitress, is immediately taken by Pinkie despite his clear lack of interest in her. In fact, the direction that Riley is given (to permanently look angry) makes it utterly incomprehensible that Rose would continually refuse to see Pinkie’s true motives, despite his clear hatred of her; she even marries him. Essentially, the relationship between Pinkie and Rose, the key characters of the story, is completely unbelievable and the lack of and seemingly illogical character development is frustrating. Unfortunately this lack of attention to character and narrative defines every character and most scenes. It appears that Joffe has taken his favourite aspects of the book and put them on screen without any consideration for those new to the story. It does not help that Joffe is a heavy handed director without any awareness of subtlety. Thunder crashes and lights go out as bad news is delivered; the religious aspects are not so much embedded into the story as thrown on screen as cheap symbolism.

There is clearly a strong narrative here. Greene’s book would not have endured so long if there weren’t. The cast is also strong. However, any elements of suspense, danger or believability are drowned out by incoherent film making.