Kill List - Film Review

The follow up to his 2009 crime family drama Up Terrace, Ben Wheatley here delivers what could tentatively be described as his mangum opus, a dark and disturbing thriller that is one part gritty crime story, other Wicker Man style horror, with plenitful mood whiplashes and foreboding.

Jay (Neil Maskell) is a former soldier and private contractor turned professional assassin, out of action for eight months following a traumatic job in Kiev which left him psychologically and physically damaged. When the money runs out due to his sabbatical, he is put under pressure by his knowing, glamourous wife Shel (MyAnna Buring), and young son Sam (Harry Simpson), to get back into the business, in part because his hot tub needs an expensive fix. Following a dinner party gone wrong, in spectacular style, Jay gives in and saddles up with best mate and fellow hitman Gal (Michael Smiley) on a new, seemingly simple contract; kill three men, none of them armed or particularly dangeous.

But in the tradition of such pitch black noir, things are simply not so straightforward. Alarm bells sound immediately as their client (Struan Rodger) seals the deal in blood, literally. Gal's date to the party Fiona (Emma Fryer) pops up suspiciously, both as a new friend of Jay's family and as a mysterious figure in his dreams. As their mission begins, amidst much banter and bravado from the two anti-heroes, more and more warning signs becoming audible, as Jay goes off-road, undone by curiosity about his marks, leading them both down a garden path of depravity and hideously violent retribution. The swirling madness around the pair grows in intensity, becoming deeply personal, hugely worrying, and ultimately insane.

The reason Kill List has such an impact is because it vehemently refuses to set its stall out from the start, instead just hints at the dark road ahead through lingering musical beats and thoughtful camera angles. We open with a domestic argument over bills and toilet roll, hinting rather than revealing at the unusual lifestyle of the central family. Jay is shown to be a caring father and decent husband, but one frustrated and pent up. Shel is portrayed as a loving mother and loyal wife, one who is simply strained by financial problems and Jay's malaise, driven to emotional phone calls to her mother in Swedish which Jay cannot understand. Small details like this, and honest characterisations that are never forced, make these people genuine from the off.

This authentic, almost mundane trait comes into its own with the introduction of Gal. The pair are great fun, with huge levels of bromance chemistry born from their time in the army and beyond, and they smirk at their dual wisecracks, thrive off their witty exchanges born out of years of familiarity. The naturalistic approach is enhanced by much of the dialogue in these scenes being improvised by Maskell and Smiley. That's not to say it's all just potty talk for minutes at a time, as scenes are levened by spectacular set pieces (such as Jay's growing fury at a Christian support group at a restaraunt), and shocking revelations. The film has two moral cores, that being Jay's family as his anchor, and Gal's friendship as his bond.

So the level of shocking is enhanced when things begin to get dark, and very very dark at that, quite suddenly. After a baffling first hit, in which their victim seems overjoyed and thanks his killers, the second dredges up more questions, and answers best left unseen by them breaking into the man's lockup and making a horrific discovery which sees Jay lead the crusade into psychotic punishment, beyond the call. It's a mistake, one that catches up with him. The violence in the film is in some parts routine, but when emotion is brought in becomes horrific and disturbing, every agony stricken moment of a hammer attack felt by the viewer. Sickening as it is, it's also entirely neccessary. Partly to make a point over the profession, also to give us a harrowing look into Jay's black heart that allows his occupation.

The film's final third, almost incomprehensible at times but never failing to engross, lays bare the film's themes and, perhaps, its purpose. Watched literally, it is a shocking, astonishing and deeply unsettling conclusion to a story which had built up to a nightmarish fever pitch, one which doesn't throw out answers and instead takes a whole new level of crazed horror because of the resolutions it doesn't provide.

However, seen metaphorically, it takes on a searing, infused moral parable, by means using character study and down and dirty Ken Loach style character base to let us connect to the players, and then bringing them into a twisted fairy tale of the depraved. Reminscent of the expression "the road to evil is paved with good intentions", Jay's ultimate fate is at the end of the road he started down when he abandoned professional antipathy and instead became a violent vigilante, and even before then by killing people anonymously in order to provide for his family. Much of the chaos that insues is down to his warped psyche, and his willingness to cave in skulls or destroy kneecaps. In the process of losing his soul truly, he loses everything around him. A phrase resonates, unheard or spoken, throughout: heart of darkness.

It's this kind of discussion which the film provokes, something you would never anticipate from reading the blurbs or DVD case plot summary, and why it lingers in the memory so vividly, and why it demands to be watched. Having pottered in the background as minor charaters in films of varying quality in the past, Neil Maskell delivers as the film's lead, a clenched ball of fury also capable of showing a caring, loving side, a 60/40 of dark and light, complex and at times highly intimidating, exactly as you would imagine a man of his ilk.

Rising star MyAnna Buring also brings depth to wife Shel, a role which in inferior hands would likely have been shrill. She manages to make her character a vivid tapestry of various emotions, many of them untouched but suggested by a withering stare of snarky comment. To most films of this ilk or set up, she is a plot device used to force the protagonist into action. In Kill List, she is a three dimensional character with real motives and feelings, living and breathing through the screen. The arguments between the characters, particularly during the virtuoso dinner party scene, are both great spectacles and dauntingly realistic.

And Northern Irish comedian Michael Smiley (best known for playing Tyres in Spaced) really delivers in a serious role, although his charisma and charm comes from Gal's comic traits, his funny one liners and wry humour. But his amiablity and trustworthiness is palpable, and he is the film's most likeable character, a dissolved voice of reason who happens to murder people for cash. Such is the skewed morality of the film.

If there's only one thing you can say of Kill List, it has to be its impact. It hits hard and low, astonishing and pulversing, shocking you to the core. This is a film that defies expectations and never lets you drop your guard, always ready to twist breakneck one way, then slam back the other. You feel every punch, every shot, every moment of pure horror and suspense. Described by one soundbite as "a cult classic in the making", this is indeed a film that is likely to build up a devoted fanbase, and much adulation in the process. Whether you understand it, or come to terms with its ending, is not so black and white, appropriately so.

9/10

Let The Right One In - Film Review

Swedish media really came into its element during the 2000s, what with the success of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (remake by David Fincher in cinemas now), and the surprise international interest in tv series Wallander (remade in English with Kenneth Branagah). And, the subject of yet another redo (which lost the point), is Tomas Alfredson's peculiar, heavily symbolic 2008 drama/horror hybrid, Let the Right One In.

The story concerns troubled, bullied young boy Oskar (Kade Hedebrant), the product of divorced parents, his father being an alcoholic, who has an unseemly interest in murder. One lonely night, he meets new neighbour Eli (Lina Leandersson), an odd girl with a suspicious lifestyle choices and an aversion to the biting winter cold. Tentatively, the pair become friends, and the strong willed, almost benevolent Eli provides submissive Oskar with a stronger core of courage to stand up to his tormentors, and a brighter outlook on life. However, the closer they become, the clearer her quirks her, to the point it is obvious she is not a normal human girl.

One of the glowing positives about Alfredson's film, penned by the original book's author, John Ajvide Lindqvist, is that I'm able to describe the plot with some clarity without mentioning the fact that the Eli's affliction is being a vampire. While countless dross of recent years has used this phenomenon as it's main selling point in the wave of money making Twilight led creative stagnancy, LTROI uses it as a means, and isn't afraid to display the ugly side of the mythological archetype.

While the subplot revolving around the community's disturbed detective work to find the vampire, following the death of a local (Mikael Rahm) connected to an earlier killing spree by Eli's carer Hakan (Per Ragnar), who was collecting blood for his master, focusses entirely on this plot device, it acts almost as a story compromise, neccessary to avoid the viewer becoming too distracted by the meshing of fantasy with realistic, matter of fact framing. Although even this drives home the piece's themes of stigma and victimisation. But the film's heart is very much a coming of age parable, a character driven emotional love story that needs the unreality of mythical creatures to make it's point.


As such, the friendship between Oskar and Eli is vitally played out in avoidance of cliched child's behaviour, and after a slow, cautious start, they begin to get to grips with each other and develop a humorous interest in their respective habits and quirks, growing to the point that Eli loathes her vampirism for posing a threat to their romance. Young Hedebrant and Leandersson manage to bring strong, subtle energies to their roles as equally unique and unconventional adolescents on the fringes of cultural belonging. Simply, they only have each other, and both of the young actors are able to project this feeling throughout, without having to resort to typical child actor methods of gaining sympathy. There are no temper tantrums, bellowed retorts or emotional unyielding and manipulation, it all feels genuine and special.

Which is why the film works so well, and is so memorable, because it's played perfectly by Alfredson (who has admitted he doesn't care for vampires). The film never loses sight of its purpose and message, refuses to fall into the same crowd pandering horror margins which the 2010 reimagining by Micahel Reeves did. In actual fact, the story is barely horror at all, even though the violence is disturbing and grotesque, a vital cog in displaying Eli's perpetual torture. It's really just a story of empowerment through new friendship, which happens to feature a horror-based creature.

The result may bore some, who cannot abide the slow, patient pace and character centred dynamic when they were led to believe this was some cult classic Scandanavian horror bloodbath extraordinaire, rather than a touching emotional piece about two misfits and how they find the strength to endure through their friendship. A dark fairy tale, in effect, which is mounted as a realistic character piece. It's this honest slant which gives Let the Right One In such power, and makes it a must watch.

8/10

We're All Christs - Film Review

After my previous foray into Polish cinema, in the form of Your Name is Justine, bore fruit, naturally it makes sense to go in again. And it's funny what diamonds in the rough you can find when you choose to embrace subtitles.

Wszyscy Jestesmy Chrystusami, or 'We're All Christs', is a bizzare and completely oddball life journey film from Marek Koterski, which looks at alcoholism, religuous symbolism and maintenance man esque guardian angels with never anything less than the mood after seventeen vodkas.

Using a chronologically non-linear format, not to mention numerous digressions into fourth wall breaking narrative trysts, the film tells the story of Adam (Andrzej Chyra as a younger man, Marek Kondrat as an older man) a hopelessly drunken tutor at a Warsaw university, specialising in culture and Christian iconography. An alcoholic, Adam struggles in later years to come to terms with his bizzare life that pretty much alienates him from everyone, in particular his son Sylwek (Michal Koterski). The film is framed by their ongoing conversation, in which they discuss how they remember Sylwek's dysfunctional childhood, utterly defiled by Adam's drinking.

Over the course of his life, Adam figuratively puts all his loved ones on the cross, making them his Jesus by ensuring they pay for his sins, while he makes excuses, misremembers key moments and generally refuses to recognise the reckoning coming, or the efforts made by afore-mentioned angel to steer him down the right path. Instead he ventures down to his local, the bar onboard an anchored barge, and swaps rational explanations with his fellow barflys, who are similarly wary of taking responsibility. Then, the transition, with Adam going from 33 to 55 in the blink of an eye, his son fully grown and struggling through college, acquiring some of his father's more addictive personality traits. Suddenly the whimsy is rather tragic.

Although Koterski clearly has a humourous sensibility, and make no mistake, there are some genuinely hilarious scenes and wonderfully witty dialogue exchanges in We're All Christs (highlights include Adam's botched suicide attempt and his experience of a gypsy rabbit dinner), there's clearly a very serious subject being broached here and it's handled superbly, that being the destructive nature of alcohol on the family, and it's long lasting effects. Rather than going for a cringingly familiar gritty route, Koterski's off-beat and surreal approach means the message is warm but also cutting, amiable but effective.

The aside to Jesus Christ, which provides the source of the film's name and almost all of it's own symbolism, is actually a means to an end and a pretty good metaphor for a socially less divine theme, the punishment of others by the punishing of self. Though never a bad person, Adam is killing his loved ones, so although he may see himself as carrying the cross, they are forced to alongside him. It's a neat analogy, and not as weighty on film as it sounds on paper. If such a thing as religuously charged satire didn't exist before, it does now.

And the two Adams, Chyra and Kondrat, both shine with lovely and soulful performances, both vulnerable, poignant yet comically astute and charming. Chyra in particular, as the younger incarnation, is highly entertaining, and the support don't let anyone down. It's quite an insular piece, with a character limit and many (including Adam's wife and mother) not even having names. The film is sharply and intelligently edited, resulting in plenty of Gilligan Cuts and quick beated cuts, fades, and scene interruptions. It gives the movie a distinctive tone and mood, never trying to make you feel sad, but perhaps sometimes managing it anyway, like a drunken man's funny story.

If unique, truly funny, bizzare and poignant shaggy dog story telling is your thing, the chances are you'll probably find a place in your heart for this wonderful little film, one that has with it's slapstick and ironic wit a pumping, feeling heart. Just don't praise it too loudly, or in too many numbers, of they'll probably remake the bloody thing.

9/10

For Your Consideration: Films You've Never Heard Of

One of my great passtimes is looking for golden nuggets of forgotten film excellence, basically doing some motion picture scouting for those wanting for new viewing material. When it comes to writing my reviews, and picking a film to run my writing hands over, I much prefer something little heard of, whether it be low budget British grime, indie flick or just plain old forgotten about or mis-sold cult property.

There's something very satisfying about finding a movie that you love, but that nobody else seems to be familiar with, and even more satisfying passing on the message. So with that in mind, here's a shortlist of films I recommend that I've dug up from the gaps between the pavement. Not literally, of course. That would be absurd.

I'm hoping to make this a recurring, though not regular, feature, so keep your eyes open for links and your ear to the ground.

London to Brighton

Short on running time and pound signs, Paul Andrew Williams' compact and modest thriller takes a dreary if unremorseful look at the black holes of British soceity, mainly prostitution and the exploitation of children, and picks out a fairly simple story of a girl and an older girl.

Street walker Kelly (Lorraine Stanley) and twelve year old Joanne (Georgie Groome) are in flight from an unseen, traumatic incident, with the former sprouting a monster of a shiner. Their escape is the train journey of the title. While the pair, who it turns out barely know each other, try to get some money together and gather their wits, they are being hunted down by some unscupulous shady guys. Namely, powerful gangster Stuart Allen (Jason Flemying lookalike Sam Spruell), and Kelly's pimp Derek (Eddie Marsan lookalike Johnny Harris). So while we get to see our heroic pair form a close bond, we also learn more about what has them as quarry, through flashback. It's all rather gritty.

It may not be life affirming, but this modest little piece is a decent story well presented with a matter of fact approach that's not original (the British film industry has been churning such chum out by the gallon of late), but is highly effective. Don't expect Guy Ritchie flash in the pan meets Thelma and Louise, this is a tale that is rooted deeply in reality, as drab and pessimistic as it may be. The twists and turns are left until the finale, and here it's a case of shocks rather than swings. A fairly ambitious effort, there is definitely a resonant effect left behind by the homeliness of the film's heart, the relationship between our heroines. It's a nice, sweet notion which has you hoping for a resolution which involves their survival.

Brick

Less of a sleeper and more of a cult classic is Rian Johnson's Brick, which is perhaps one of the most daringly imaginative and original 'gimmick' features of the 2000's, and one of the most enjoyable on a number of levels.

The gimmick is that it's a Dashiel Hammett style noir-mystery-crime-thriller, complete with dialogue and camera focus, which is set in a 21st century American high school, complete with students playing the parts of weary PI's, drug barons and muscle for hire. Brendan (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is the protagonist, a Phillip Marlowe archetype concealing strength and street smart behind a geeky, introvert exterior, who is trying to locate his ex-girlfriend Emily (Emilie De Ravin) after a disturbing phone call, and ends up becoming imbroiled in a narcotics ring run by 'older boy' The Pin (Lukas Haas). Double-crossing and winding, twisting turns commence, filled with an emotional heart.

Because of its vary nature, Brick is never going to appeal to the masses, who will either be confused by its format or baffled by its beautifully written script, full of ironic humour and superlative wordplay. But the real diamond of the flick is just how seamlessly it works, and it very quickly ceasing to entertain by virtue of its hubris, and instead wraps you in by its own virtues. Rian Johnson must have had one hell of a tough ride ever getting such a bizzare creation greenlit by anyone, but he redeems this with something which should not in a million years work, but somehow does. On top of this, we get the joy of seeing Gordon-Levitt graduate from Third Rock child stardom into proper, distinguished film acting. Anyone familiar with Nolanverse will no doubt agree this alone makes Brick worthwhile. The fact it's such a satisfying, stimulating and coveted film is what makes it so damn loved though.

The Wind That
Shakes The Barley

Love him or hate him, Ken Loach is a pillar of British filmmaking, and his filmography from Kes onwards is always a great indicator of its standard in quality. Never one to compromise on his unflinching style, and having absolutely no aspirations towards Hollywood despite its siren calls, his own breed of voyeur style directing will always be the industry, not just a part of it, and its a sign of his ambitions and intent that his most exotic film only takes him across the Irish sea.

Quite a mouthful of a title, The Wind That Shakes the Barley depicts the beginning of the struggles in Ireland, the freedom fighting cause picked up by the little men under the shackles of British occupation, and essentially forming the birth of the IRA and the eventual independence the country gained from the crown. We follow, in far from glamorous rabble rousing and heroic framing, two brothers who play a significant part and provide a rivetting, poignant tale. They are Damien (Cillian Murphy) and Teddy O'Sullivan (Padraic Delaney), the former a young doctor who is scheduled to practice in London, the latter already an established member of a Republican cell. When things kick off, tensions between the British army and the locals boiling over, it starts a slow and palpable march towards full blown battle.

And while we see the rise of the two, along with their fellow fighters (including Liam Cunningham and Laurence Barry), from armed aggressors into figureheads, the film never gets carried away with Braveheart style bravado and hero worship. They are never portrayed as anything other than ordinary folks swayed by principle into a spreading fire of action, and the film never loses touch with it's ultimate sentiment and point, keeping a balanced and neutral moral perspective. That's not to say it isn't moving, but it's the quasi-reality that provides this, not heart string pulling. Murphy and Delaney put on acting masterclasses, with Murphy in particular providing a wonderful arcing character study that is the backbone of the grand story, and an indicator of his extraordinary and underappreciated talents. Gorgeously photgraphed and mounted, showing the genuine beauty of Ireland as a facet for the tale, TWTStB can be described as sweeping but not epic, as stunning but not spectacular, and as emotionally involving but not provocative. The staples of any Ken Loach film, but tied into a far greater vision.

Buffalo Soldiers

Aussie Gregor Jordan's film, which he adapted from Robert O'Connor's book, is one of those films that suffered from it's mishandling, and again is an example of a cult film instead of a generally appreciated one. The reasons were political, namely the film's 'unpatriotic' sentiment and unfavourable attitude towards the US military, quite a clash considering it was initially to be released just after September 11th, 2001. Obscurity beckoned, despite a great cast and intriguing premise.

It's 1989, West Germany, and the Berlin Wall is about to fall. At an American garrison, Ray Elwood (Hollywood enigma Joaquin Phoenix) is bored, morally loose and eager to get his hands on some green. Having used his connections, being that he is adjutant to the base commander Colonel Berman (Ed Harris, playing wonderfully against type), he establishes a drug ring within the GIs, but his life of ill-gotten gains and luxury is put on the wire by the arrival of new enforcer Sergeant Lee (Scott Glenn), and in particular jeoprady is his scheme to sell a shipment of 'lost and found' weapons to local gangsters. But he still finds time to woo his new enemy's daughter, Robyn (Anna Paquin).

Immorality is the name of the game in the seductive Buffalo soldiers, as we have an anti-hero seemingly without a good cause, soldiers more intent on getting high than vigilant, and disciplinarian honchos cast as villains. But that's part of the film's charm, because above all else it's a richly black comedy that mines its humour from subtle character movement and Coen-esque farce. There are no sacred cows here, and clearly Jordan doesn't care a great deal who you root for, which is just as well. While Phoenix revels in a rare charismatic character, Harris has fun as an incompetant officer, and Glenn is menacing and borderline psychotic. It's great to see established names playing with their images, and that alone should sell the film. But there's also a noir-ish double crossing plot and general explosions. It's a highly entertaining and enjoyable flick, if one without moral fibre. Watch out for the stone tankers scene.

Dead Man's Shoes

Although This Is England proved to be a big hitter, and a highly popular effort, the rest of Shane Meadows' modest back catalogue more often than not gets little in the way of widespread interest. Which is a real travesty, because aside from the black mark of the messy and disorganised Once Upon a Time in the Midlands, it provides a selection of top notch, down and dirty excellence.

The pick is this, a sleepy town set rendition of Death Wish. Former squaddie Richard (Paddy Considine, who wrote the script) returns to his deadbeat hometown on a mission. He intends to get even with the local drugdealing thugs, led by Sonny (Gary Stretch), who terrorised his mentally challenged brother Anthony (Toby Kebbell) while he was away. But what starts out as a series of vicious pranks, intending to put the gang on edge, slowly begins to mutate into dark and grisly violence as the unhinged Richard shows his true colours, and in turn we learn the full implications of what happened to incite his blood vengeance.

Starting out as a low key drama, Dead Man's Shoes really earns its points with a disturbing escalation into horror thriller, giving the film's violence a powerful punch as it springs out of almost nowhere. We rarely see Richard when he is going about his mission, rather get to know him through quiet interludes where he reminsces with his brother about better, poignant times. Screen time is shared as we get a very intimate perspective of the bad guys as they fall apart, stricken by fear and very real confusion over the hunt they are now on the brunt of. The climax to this, which includes a brilliantly executed acid trip sequence, is shocking and brutal, but provides the impetus for the film's real conclusion, a far quieter and more foreboding sequence that hammers home the twisted creature that Richard has come. For this, we have Paddy Considine, ever superb but truly magnificent here, intimidating yet unsettling yet sympathetic and very human. Toby Kebbell, in his breakthrough role, and former showman boxer Gary Stretch also impress, as do the non-professionals portraying the gang members. The raw realism, provided by improvisation and subtle reactions, is what gives the film an edge over other, similar films. It's very unoriginal, but its slant really is, and in the long run is a truly memorable film.

Narc

Joe Carnahan's small, taut thriller makes its intent clear from the start, opening with a searing and disturbing drug addled chase which culminates in the killing of a junkie, and in the cross fire the accidental shooting of a pregnant woman. Whatever you might say about the chaotic Smokin Aces, or the blockbuster A-Team adaptation, these few minutes justify the director's status.

The rest of Narc follows the same brutal and unfliching approach, as suspended narcotics detective Nick Tellis (Jason Patric) reluctantly agrees to assist in the cold case investigation of an undercover cop's murder. The only person still determined to keep the case going, bloody mindedly so, is the dead man's partner, rogue ball of fury Henry Oak (Ray Liotta), and the pair form an uneasy partnership as they revisit the case and begin to make breakthroughs that a paint a dark and disturbing picture of what happened one rainy morning.

With claustraphobic camera angles, poorly lit rooms and Cliff Martinez's low rumbling score throughout, Narc builds an ominous atmosphere as it reaches for its rivetting conclusions and horrifying twists. The tempered sense of mutated justice and cruel priorities gives momentum to Oak's tragic quest, one that Tellis is wrapped up in to the point of smothering. The brutality of the world they inhabit is palpable in the walls, with crime scenes sickening places and the Detroit winter blanketing their efforts in a pall of symbolic half-light. Often wasted in inferior roles, Liotta is dynamic as Oak, a virtuosos performance that is his most memorable and worthy since Goodfellas. Patric holds his own, as do the cast of limited screen time supporting characters. While it perhaps goes for a gambit too far in it's sad and ambiguous finale, Narc burns onto your memory it's blistering energy like a dark star. How it is so often ignored is a real mystery.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo - Film Review

Given that David Fincher's big Hollywood remake is pending, and will no doubt receive the attention that his reputation merits, it seems both relevant and fitting to go back and re-examine and evaluate the 2009 Swedish original, a masterclass from Niels Arden Oplev.

Based on the novel by the late Steig Larsson, the film follows two characters, disgraced Millenium reporter Mikael 'Kalle' Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) and introvert, punk hacker Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace) as they form an unlikely duo and attempt to solve a murder that has gone unresolved for forty years.

We meet Blomkvist as he is being sentenced to a prison term for libelous claims made against an industrial tycoon in his newspaper. He is certain he has been set up, a view shared by others, including another wealthmonger, ageing business head Henrik Vanger (Sven Bertil-Taube), who's family live on a secluded snowy island. In 1966, his niece and spiritual daughter Harriet disappeared without a trace, presumed dead. Still restless over the matter, and convinced her death was at the hands of one of his family members, he offers Blomkvist a healthy sum to crack the case.

He is not alone in his investigation for long. Lisbeth, who had previously been hired to collate information on Blomkvist, continues to hack his computer and finds information about his new project. Unable to resist the mystery, she does some case work of her own, solves a long baffling riddle, and joins forces with the plucky journalist. Together, they begin to find links to a series of pseudo religuous killings from many years before, which seemingly tie in with their case, and become endangered as the murderer turns out to be closer than they know.

Although its elaborate mystery thriller aspect is highly enjoyable, albeit one that at times seems like a grittier, darker Agatha Christie romp, it's in the subtext that TGWTDT finds its real hammering thrust and knife edge. Set against a backdrop that includes power infused corruption and degradation, dangerous political slants and the concept of the hurt and the givers of pain, the story takes a deeper, edgier pedestal. It makes an almost casual reference to the pro-Nazi collaboration that took place in the thirties and forties, a taboo in Sweden, and has no qualms about displaying the worst areas humans have to show for themselves. Torture, suffering and rape.

Make no mistake, the film pulls no punches. Many of the characters are presented as sadistic horror shows, particularly when it comes to their treatment of females. Considering that the book's original title is The Men Who Hate Women, that shouldn't come as a great surprise, and it's almost anti-man slant is accenuated in particular by Lisbeth, the victim of abuse as a child and later exploited sexually, and horrifically, by her parole officer. That she is able to get even on that count, and hold her own in others, suggests that the film not only covers the festering nature of being the victim, but also the empowerment of fighting back.

Which is why Lisbeth, the titular character and hero of the story in spirit, is the film's most famous export. She is a singularly minded, aloof young woman beset on all sides by threats of all kinds, who wears her gothic attire and rebellious appearance with spite rather than pride, completely alien to the idea of opening up, or of seeing a man as anything other than an opportunistic pig. In so much media, this archetype fails miserably, coming across as cartoonish. Luckily, Oplev has the revelatory Noomi Rapace to rely on, and its no great surprise that the actress is on her way to big things internationally. Her Lisbeth is searing, incendiary, alluring and fascinating.

Michael Nyqvist plays Blomqvist as a wry old cynic, unconventional and at times eccentric if not world weary and wary. The chemistry between he and Lisbeth is palpable but not overcooked, and they make a great double act, with her often taking the masculine traits of the relationship. There are plenty of examples of role-reversal here, both figurative and literal, with this being one of the more subtle examples. He is interminably the good man, the freedom fighting writer and sneak, his weapons compassion and understanding. But there is also a vulnerability about him, much like Lisbeth, and although she wears hers on her shoulder (or intricate body art), his is conveyed by a hang dog expression and tentative sentimentality.

It's appropriate that the book is named after such a small, narratively insignificant detail, because in many ways the plot of the film only exists as a way to convey its themes. The art is in the details and background, not the emboldened foreground. That's not to say that the main story is not gripping and exciting, because it is. Well structured and intelligent, its engrossing and follows its ultimate point to the tip.

Oplev doesn't only excel here, he also mounts the picture beautifully, with plenty of symbolic imagery and gorgeous cinematography. Snowy, wintertime Sweden looks both unbearably cold and starkly attractive to look at from the warmth of your living room. The script is both fairly faithful and strongly independent, and for all its bleakness there are the occasional well timed placements of warmth and humour. Jacob Groth's dissonant soundtrack fuels the fire of expectation, and the editing keeps a quick pace despite it's long running time. You also have strong performances, including Bjorn Granath as a veteran police officer, Marika Lagercrantz and Peter Haber as more approachable members of the Vanger family, and all of the above. If there is any flaw in this film, it isn't technical.

It's still to be seen whether Fincher can even do justice to this film, let alone top it, and watching it again begs the question of whether such a remake is required. Do people really have such a problem with subtitles? Do they really find it so hard to empathise with a character who isn't of their race? Regardless, this original holds a certain uniqueness and independence that will always stand it in good stead, and ensure it doesn't fade from memory within the shadow of the re-do. While on the surface The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo hits heights as a murder mystery, its real heart and breathing soul is a white hot epicentre of depraved humanity and retribution, named for a small detail and famed for its shock moment. Appropriate, really.

9/10

Drive - Film Review

Highly anticipated, with a low throbbing buzz of hype around it, Nicolas Winding Refn's dark thriller delves into some rather unexpected territory during a format which is far more predictable, creating a film hybrid of hypnotic calibre.

The film follows the nameless, backstory-less driver (Ryan Gosling), a mechanic and film stuntman who operates as a getaway specialist for extra cash, but otherwise leads a lonely, singular existence, not alive until he is behind the wheel. After meeting single mother neighbour Irene (Carey Mulligan), he begins to feel something more, but then his new found happiness is shattered by the violent arrival in his life of mobsters clamouring for money in a scheme he never understands, but is forced into bringing the sharp end to.

Gosling's driver is a mysterious man, rarely speaking and with low volumes, who comes into his element when escorting bank robbers out of danger, or in restoring old cars for his boss and closest friend Shannon (Bryan Cranston, building a new career after his success in Breaking Bad), one of the few people who seems to understand him. When he meets Irene, an unsatisfied but defiantly upbeat worker and mother, there is suddenly a spark in him, and he seems more human as he grows to know her and her son Benicio (Kaden Leos). Despite this, he has a darkness about him, a scary side that is kindled when Irene's husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) is released from prison, and subsequently falls foul of old prison mates, putting his family in mortal danger. Naturally, the driver steps in, becoming intangled in a web of deceit in his efforts to protect the new livelihood he has discovered, and unleashing his dangerous potential.

Drive is a very curious film, and the crux of this falls on Refn, who's fingerprints are all over it in a way that is less ego directing and more visual stamp. It's clear from reading the plot summary how the film is originally scripted as a run of the mill action thriller, albeit with some mystery elements to it bordering on modern noir. But the conspiring dark force is pushed firmly into the background by Refn, with the elaborate scheme made almost unintelligble to the point that it is clearly not meant to be the focus, and even deliberately inaccessible. The gangsters, represented by Albert Brooks and Ron Perlman, are showcased as pretty flawed people with labyrinth schemes and deadly methods, hardly evil geniuses. Instead, Refn focusses on the characters and the quiet moments, using the violent confrontations within the second half as a show of contrast towards the quiet, dreamlike phase of the first.

In doing this, he takes a creative choice similar to Peter Weir's Witness, in that the relationship between the driver and Irene, the story's fulcrum, is completely deconstructed. Instead of getting sappy dialogue and long winded verbal expression of feelings, there is barely any dialogue between the two, instead reliance is put on Gosling and Mulligan to show their emotions towards each other visually. The result is some quiet beautiful moments, comprising longing looks and staring into one another's eyes, testing each other's intentions and desires.

This is of huge benefit to Gosling especially, who provides a superb performance as the nameless driver. There are incredible depths to the character, who on the surface appears to hold no personality traits aside from his love of cars, and no past aside from hints made by Shannon. But although this does make the audience demand more information, it also provides it in a very subtle sense, with his occasionally child-like demeanour, an odd vulnerability, and propensity for retributive action suggest a powerful trauma from his past, a dark side to his history. Carey Mulligan, already a highly sought after actress after her breakthrough in An Education, acts almost as a totem to the driver's story, but still brings an energy, weary yet hopeful, which is alluring. The other actors, in compact parts, hit the right buttons.

As mentioned, there is a distinct turn for deep foreboding halfway through, when things begin to go downhill, following a botched pawn shop robbery that is shrouded in ambiguity. The music begins to pierce rather than soothe, changing the tone from serene surreality to fierce savagery, while Gosling's increasing choked down rage manifests itself physically, not verbally. When things kick off, the violence is both stylised and extreme, sharply at odds with what came before. That much of it is meated out by the driver indicates just how things have changed, and the unleashing of this animal rage is doubly shocking and depressing. You can tell this is a man who has been supressing such animal instincts for some time, and it is tragic that the neccessity to employ them again will mean he cannot have the happiness he seeks. The bitter irony in that by protecting what he holds dearest, he cannot obtain it, as it gets further and further from his reach with each sacrificial step.

After his efforts in the searing Bronson earned him such acclaim, Refn clearly revels in bringing his own slant to somebody else's script (one adapted from James Sallis's book of the same name), approaching the story with a different angle which makes a tired old story highly refreshing and, dare I say it, original. You're unlikely to have seen something like Drive before, and probably won't again until the Dane's next film. Every angle is thoughtfully chosen, while his control over light and sound is meticulous and affecting, bringing a distinctive atmosphere to the piece. Nothing in Drive is shot by normal standard, it always looks different in some way, while the more action based scenes are enthralling without using cliched methods. There's an undercurrent of dirty, grimy realism here, tempered by eloquent, surreal presentation. It's clear that this is a typical thriller directed by an art house filmmaker.

While Gosling simmers and impresses, and everyone is in uniformly good form, the real star of Drive is it's director, full of confidence and surging passion for his first Hollywood project, and creating a distinctive and memorable film which really shouldn't be as downright effective as it is. If you want to see something different, this is your ticket, never too far from conventional but always, beat for beat, it's own animal.

9/10

Ten Unsung Villains in Film: Part 2

And now, the conclusion...

5. Commudus, Gladiator

"They tell me your son...squealed like a girl when they nailed him to the cross. And your wife... moaned like a whore when they ravaged her again and again... and again"

Often the best bad guys are the ones who, to a highly limited degree, are almost sympathetic. Of course, emotional strife and long standing daddy issues is a pretty good place to start.

In Ridley Scott's Gladiator, Commudus is the subject of Maximus's vengeance. He is the insecure young man who suffocates his father Marcus Aurelius to become Emperor, and orders both the hero's execution and the brutal killing of his family. In principle, he is borderline pantomine, a dog kicking villain with a needlessly cruel touch, pure evil as to give the protagonist sufficient ammunition to make his quest both understandable and supportable.

But on the strength of Joaquin Phoenix's performance, the character becomes much more than standard moustache twirling fare. An unusual piece of casting (and one Scott failed to pull off again with Oscar Isaac in Robin Hood), in that at this point Phoenix was still best known as a former child actor and the strangled voice on the infamous 911 call for River, his brother. But here, he brings something approaching pathos to an undoubtedly bad apple, but one stricken by self doubt, self deprecation and borderline psychosis, unloved by his family and his people, who has spent his life trying, and failing, to please his legendary father. Rather than pathetic, he is pitiful. Rather than loathesome, he is tragic. There is a complex dichonomy to this part, one bordering on Shakespeare, that makes his presence and actions fascinating. Russell Crowe may have won the Oscar, but his was not the best performance in the film.

4. David Kleinfeld, Carlito's Way

"Fuck you and your self-righteous code of the goddamn streets. Did it pull you out of a 30 year stint in only 5 years? No, it didn't, I did. Did it get you acquitted 4 fucking times? No, it didn't, I did, so fuck you, fuck the streets, your whole goddamn world is this big, and there's only one rule, you save your own ass"

Unrecognisable behind a frizzy, red haired 70's tribute band look and rounded spectacles, Sean Penn amazingly went for pure mercenary mode for Brian De Palma's crime thriller Carlito's Way, taking the part of shyster David Kleinfeld purely so he could fund his own film project, The Crossing Guard. Unlike most 'take the money and run' roles, however, Penn doesn't slouch an inch.

He plays completely against type as Al Pacino's titular character's lawyer and confidante, in Carlito's view a crusading young attorney with extraordinary abilities in the courtroom. However, the five years that he's been in the can have seen some big changes, and over the course of the film, he realises that Kleinfeld has mutated into a money grabbing, opportunist coke addict losing his grip on reality. His discovery that the man orchestrating his downfall, and feeding him to the New York D.A, in his best friend is as heartbreaking for the audience as it is for Carlito. And when Kleinfeld, calling in his favour, hooks our anti-hero into a final job to save his skin, we realise just how far the man has fallen into greed and dementia.

It is an extraordinary performance, played low key for the most part, which brings an authentic, human edge to the film's true bad guy, in essence a fallen angel passing Carlito on the way down crime's slippery slope. We only slowly begin to realise his true nature, his new self, by drip and drab, engulfed in addiction and depraved luxury. As much as he deserves his comeuppance, we also hope that he somehow comes round, that his undoubted chemistry with Pacino is rekindled. That we don't brings his character full arc, and makes the film what it is. Keep your friends close...

3. Gaer Grimsrud, Fargo

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll throw you back in the trunk, you know?"

Given that Fargo is something of a darkly comedic farce, and by dark I mean pitch black, it's a surprise that you could pick out a suitably evil villain from the catalogue of veritable idiots in attendance. But, while he takes a while to get going, Peter Stormare's Gaer, one half of the kidnapping duo along with Steve Buscemi's Carl, goes on to provide the film's richly disturbing dark heart, albeit it's hilarious one.

Non-talkative Swede Grimsrud spends much of his time with a vacant look on his face, cigarette drooping from his mouth, and regards his partner in crime Showater with nothing less than utter contempt. When the hapless duo are paid to kidnap William H Macy's wife, by Macy himself no less, they go about their business in a borderline slapstick manner, eventually prevailing through dumb luck. But the plan quickly goes to shit when Grimsrud decides to start taking overly judicuous action to protect himself and, of course, his money. From gunning down a young couple who witness his murder of a police officer, to his eventual killing of their hostage out of irritation, he turns out to be an utter psychopath, and suddenly his cold, dead eyes and lifeless facial expressions become terrifying.

This culminates in the film's famous finale, which includes Gaer, Frances McDormand's quirky copper Marge, and a woodchipper with a leg sticking out of it. Horribly funny and yet wholy disgusting at the same time, it sums up the character perfectly, episodes of extreme violence that never come without traces of gallows humour and knockabout daftness. From this film, Stormare carved out a career in Hollywood as a foreign crazy for hire, and it's no wonder. He's chilling here, albeit also ridiculous. It makes Marge's final indictment, her utter inability to understand why he would go so far for some money, all the more cutting.

2. Kit Carruthers, Badlands

"I shot him in the stomach"
"Was he mad?"
"He didn't say nothing to me about it..."

Here we have something of a rarity, a villain in a Terrence Malick film. But, going by the rules of creative compromise, he isn't really a villain anyway, instead actually the protagonist. And retrospectively, a demon.

Badlands is a strangely hypnotic and poetic film, seductive in its visuals and free flowing narrative, but also hugely original in it's completely ambivalent tone. We follow the journey of young, dispirited dreamers Kit and Holly, who ditch their hopeless home lives for a cross country homicidal road trip. And while Kit, played by Martin Sheen in his breakthrough role, is presented as an anti-hero archetype, he is clearly just a psychopath to Holly's happy witness sociopath, perversely the perfect couple.

As he kills police officers, rangers, old friends and his lover's strict father, he never seems to be anything other than a mysterious, charming and alluring presence, a free bird without purpose, a rebel without a cause. He never displays malice, blood thirst or enjoyment for his crimes, but commits them anyway, never truly able to express his motive or reasons, other than a pent up urge he has felt after years of dissatisfaction. Personality childlike, and strutting hip, he stares at the world around him in wonderment even as he destroys a small part of it, gaining unintended fame.

The most effective part of all this is that it comes in retrospect. Sheen, mesmeric and charismatic, never plays Kit as a villain, and Malick never builds him up to be one. It's this neutral tone which means you don't really appreciate the horror of his killing spree until after the end credits roll, when he is happily on his way to the electic chair. It is an image, and an ideal, that stays with you for some time after viewing.

1. Jimmy Conway, Goodfellas

" I'm not mad, I'm proud of you. You took your first pinch like a man and you learn two great things in your life. Never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut"

Let's not beat around the bush here, Goodfellas is pretty much objectively a brilliant film. Subjectively, it's one of the best. And as much as it's seductive and glamorous presentation of the mafia is its key strength, it also benefits from some genius storytelling and what could cynically be described as tropes.

One of these inspired moves is hard to frame because of the film's fairly authentic take on a true story, but is sublimely pulled off. The issue of a villain in Goodfellas is hard to tackle, because the villains are the good guys, the protagonists, and the big bad of the story is the law. Going beyond that, you naturally deviate towards Joe Pesci's menacing and terrifying Tommy DeVito as being the biggest of the do-baders, and rightfully so. But this is a great mode of decoy.

The film's real villain is the subtle one, Robert De Niro's ultimate nice guy James 'Jimmy' Conway (based on real life Irish mobster Jimmy Burke). While Tommy chews scenery and scares the shit out of all manner of player, Conway surveys his field, watches closely his friends, fed by his paranoia over being found out. Introduced as a charismatic wise guy, handing out hundred dollar bills to waiters and doormen, a friendly arm on the shoulders of young Henry Hill, his true nature is much darker, far more insidious.

He has his own crew wiped out because he fears they will rat him out, as portrayed in the Layla Piano Exit montage, following the Lufthansa heist, is happy to help out Tommy's rage induced murder of Billy Batts, and partakes in most of the film's genuinely evil actions. And he does so behind a veneer of cold calm, precise and deadly, motivated by overkill motives. While Tommy is a nutter, Jimmy isn't, he doesn't have the temperament to use as an excuse. He is fully aware of the implications of every one of his murders, and carries them out anyway, and has forgotten about it five minutes later.

It's almost invisible, and takes more than one viewing to fully appreciate, and even then is only really made clear by De Niro's wonderful performance, one of the most subtle and underplayed of his long and distinguished career. His decision to wack the loud mouthed Morrie, played entirely visually to the tune of Cream's Sunshine of Your Love, only lasts about twenty seconds, but is the greatest example of non-verbal acting ever put on screen. That you can see exactly what he's thinking, cigarette as prop, with barely any giveaways in his facial expressions, is simply mesmeric. Again, this one clip is a summation of the rotten core of the character, but also the crystalisation of De Niro's behemoth acting prowess.

Also, it proves to be pivottal within the film's plot. It is Jimmy's irrational fear of snitches, and feelings of neccessity towards violent clearing of house, that proves to be his downfall, driving Henry towards the feds and witness protection. And it's fully deserved. Conway is not so much the dark horse, as much as he is the snake to Pesci's dragon, the real devilish menace. That you are barely able to recognise just how evil he truly is, unable to comprehend him as the real villain, is a compliment to a layered performance and a perfectly played cinematic long con.

Honourable Mentions

D-Fens, Falling Down

Holly, Badlands

Jame Gumb, Silence of the Lambs

L'il Ze, City of God

Arthur Burns, The Proposition

Ten Unsung Villains in Film: Part 1

Another top ten list for pondering here, a long lost relative of the top ten underrated acting performances I came up with several centuries ago. Yes, surprise surprise, I'm talking about films again. Sue me.
Anyway, in the vain of that previous article, this time I've decided to go for another honourable mention style roll call.

More often than not, the most memorable thing about a film is it's villain, usually because they do shit we can't, as opposed to the hero who has to be good to be...well, a hero. Unless he's an anti-hero, but that's a story for a different time. We all know the famous ones, from Hannibal Lecter to The Joker to Jack Torrance to...dozens of others. But in between, some great perfomances and some brilliantly written shades of evil have come and gone. Here are ten that escape standard compliations, but are worth a mention.

A pre warning that there are spoilers.

10. Rizza, The Escapist

- "Sorry about your brother"
-"Why? You didn't kill him, did you? He was a junkie, and a cunt. No one liked him..."

One of the hugely underappreciated gems of more recent British film making, The Escapist is prison set story of escape and hope, using a slightly surreal backdrop and significant, though secretive, characters.

And the one who stands out most is the main anatagonist, Damian Lewis's Rizza, who serves almost as a human plot point, at least on paper. He is the big bad, the lord of the manor within the cells, and is untouchable. A challenge for the protaganists to work around, and adding more tension.

But the beauty of Lewis's performance is that he takes something rather indistinctive on paper and turns it into a bizarre, eccentric characterisation. Usually the hero, he delights in fleshing out Rizza as a somewhat camp, effortlessly intimidating cockney crime lord.

There is no back story to set him up as evil and scary, no long monologues or random acts of violence. He establishes himself from the start as the top dog with a straight backed posture, and contemptuous body language towards his fellow inmates. He doesn't threaten with words, he does so with his eyes, which glare with almost unnatural fire. When confrontation does arise, you fear for whoever is in his path, although he has done little. Aside from convince a prisoner to cut off his own thumb, of course.

9. Captain Dudley Smith, L.A Confidential

"What's your valediction, boyo?"

In such a complex, layered story, it makes sense that the bad guy behind the corruption conspiracy is the police chief. Smith's villain benefits from two strokes of genius which make him both highly effective, and the revelation of his true nature a deep shock.

The first is that, while each of the other characters is ambiguous and murky, with their own selfish agendas and dark secrets, Smith is the paternal influence, the charming and respectable senior master who seems to be the film's moral anchor, the one truly good guy. Then it's revealed that he's actually the worst of the lot.

The second is the casting of James Cromwell, fresh off the back of his Oscar nominated role in Babe, a picture of loveable and sympathetic acting. He brings the same amiability to the role of Smith, a smiling, experienced face for the cameras, which quickly becomes deeply sinister and disturbing when you discover he has been hijacking drug networks and murdering innocent civilians to cover his tracks, using the under srutiny LAPD as his own, unknowing, private army.

Although he is significantly tamer than his alter-ego in the original novel by James Ellroy, the film's Smith is a monster, fed by greed and personal ambition, just like the three protagonists. But rather than sneering and taunting his way through, he goes about his business calmly and coldly, never once coming off as anything other than how he presents himself. The good guy.

8. Jack Lint, Brazil

"Information Transit got the wrong man. I got the right man. The wrong one was delivered to me as the right man, I accepted him on good faith as the right man. Was I wrong?"

Speaking of genius casting...

The making of Brazil makes for almost as fascinating a story as that presented in the film, in which Jonathan Pryce's mousy bureaucrat is driven to fantasy in the surreal, anachronistic hell he lives, one part Orwellian nightmare, one part Monty Python horrific overdrive. From studio trouble to legal warfare with executives, it went through it's fair share of controversy and intrigue.

But one of the smaller nuggets of trivia is that director Terry Gilliam denied Robert De Niro the role of Jack Lint...because he had promised it to fellow Python Michael Palin, comedic actor and writer with no serious film roles to his name. It's a brilliant move. Lint is an old friend of Pryce's Sam Lowry, and is a family man working within the Ministry of Information, a cheerful careerist who wears a smile to all occasions...even moments after torturing a civilian for information.

Although he originally seems like a nice, harmless man, Lint is in fact a torturer and the most ruthless of villains because he is not a psychopath with evil plans, but as said, a husband and father so committed to his job that he is willing to sell his soul and commit horrific acts in the interest of promotion. He proves to be both a perfect crystalisation of one of the film's main themes, and also a blood chilling example of the ultimate villain: a good man who does terrible things. Palin brings something another actor would have missed, the contrast which makes it work, because he is so downright polite.

7. Noah Cross, Chinatown

"Course I'm respectable. I'm old. Politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all get respectable if they last long enough"

One of the most highly respected films of all time, and potentially the best written noir of all time, Chinatown is not really a bad guy vs good guy type film, but rather a twisting journey into a rotten apple. But at it's core is philanthropist and corrupt businessman Noah Cross, father of Evelyn, who is another great villain archetype: the succesful kind.

The elaborate conspiracy behind Chinatown's story is the creation of Cross, a mega-rich statesman who decides he wants, nay needs, to be even richer. His motive is pure greed, greed fed by greed. Like all the richest of men, he earns his millions by always wanting more than he needs, and having the power to get it. Such is that power that he can speak eloquently, respectfully and with undeniable seniority, down to the screen presence of John Huston, even in the face of facts that would see a poor man destroyed, namely his tendency towards rape and incest.

In the scenes in which he appears, he seems to be a slightly dottery old man, keen on enjoying lunch in the sun and winding down from a long life, albeit with a dark edge that suggests, rather than dictates, his activities. Off-screen, he is a dark shadow that hangs ominously over the plot and the fate of the characters, and in retrospect, he is a horrific figure. And, in lieu with the film's tone, he escapes without justice. Underplayed by screen legend Huston, and played out in such a matter of fact way to make him seem normal, it's only after the credits begin to roll that you realise an evil man has just been allowed to continue his debauchery. Bummer.

6. Cutler Beckett, Pirates of the Caribbean

"It's just good business"

Venturing into the guilty pleasures section here, POTC is hardly in keeping with the previous film entries, yet the three films do occasionally produce creditable output between the choreographed sword fights, cheesy one liners and wooden acting of sex idols. One of the trilogy's best features are the villains, from the outrageous but hugely entertaining Davy Jones to the sinister lackie Mr Mercer.

But the most threatening, due to his constraint and control, is Lord Cutler Beckett. He is the antagonist in every sense of the term, with intentions as pure as rotting flesh and methods as devious as they are inspired. Rather than indulging in duels and sea battles, Beckett conducts his schemes with carefully placed words and the power of suggestion, manipulating key characters for his own benefits, unfathomable actions met with ruthless and effective results. He wins the second film, robbing the heroes and cheating the main villain, from the comfort of his own office, hundreds of miles from undead sea zombies clashing with perilous brigands.

It helps having Tom Hollander, a classically trained actor, taking such a delicious interest in the part, every word dripping with meaning and ambiguity, attitude confident and arrogant to the point of laziness, but always suggesting something deeper. Zero emotion, zero transparency, conducting his actions in the knowledge that everyone, even the morally upstanding protagonists, have a price. He's a joy to watch, the puppet master behind the curtain, utterly at odds with everyone else in the series, hence a much greater threat. He also enjoys a fairly epic exit from proceedings.


Continued in Part 2...

Rendition - Film Review

Visiting key themes of the war on terror, whether it be the genuine methods exploited by the CIA depicted, or the view taken on torture or the morality of 'intelligence gathering', Gavin Hood's drama-thriller takes a slice of real life, adds a ficticious twist, to deliver a film that is one part 'What if?' the other intelluctual pondering.

Egyptian national Anwar El-Ibrahimi (Omar Wetwally) has been an American citizen for almost twenty years, is a succesful businessman, and has a young family, married to educated Isabella (Reese Witherspoon) and with one son and another child on the way.

But following a suicide bombing in an unnamed North African country, El-Ibrahimi's phone number is found in the correspondence of the main suspect, and as a result he is dragged off his flight home, under the terms of 'Extraordinary Rendition', a CIA project enabling the abduction and interrogation of citizens after they are transported to other nations. As he is being tortured into providing answers, his wife fights to discover what has happened to him, with the help of old friend Alan Smith (Peter Sarsgard), who is now advisor to Senator Hawkins (Alan Arkin).

Meanwhile in the aftermath of the bombing, rookie operative Douglas Freeman (Jake Gyllenhall) is assigned to lead up the American contribution to the investigation, at the behest of intelligence top dog Corrine Whitman (Meryl Streep). In doing so he takes a passive role to local heavy Abasi Fawal (Yigar Naor), who conducts the brutal and unforgiving affair. Fawal is distracted however, as his young daughter Fatima (Zineb Oukach) has flaunted his plans of arranged marriage in favour of a romance with classmate and possible terrorist Khalid (Moa Khouas).

Taking on a series of intertwining, continent spanning stories all coming back to El-Ibrahimi, a political yarn in the style of Babel or Syriana develops, albeit one with a slighly less rigid, matter of fact tone. The characters begin to intermingle, each giving a different perspective on a situation both enduringly hard and painfully believable. Like so many recent Hollywood fare movies focussing on the middle east, and in particular the US's foreign involvement, it refuses to take much of a stance beyond pitting the two sides firmly where they fall, perhaps wisely.

But while the film may flow reasonably enough, with great care taken to balance out the various strands of story, it loses impact in various key scenes due to it's generally ambivalent tone, while its modest running time (considering its format) perhaps takes most from the arc of the characters, who more often than not feel as if they needed more time to make a suitable impact, in turn making the high calibre cast a little distracting to a degree.

As much as Reese Witherspoon may shine in a mould breaking serious role that she excels in, and Israeli actor Yigar Naor catches the eye as an ambiguous high ranker, you have other actors at the top of their game given insufficient time or material to really make the most of their talents, such as Meryl Streep (who postures and snarks, but rarely connects) and in particular Alan Arkin, who plays second fiddle to Peter Sarsgard and who inhabits a character who seems more like a means to an end. Veteran character actors JK Simmons and Bob Gunton are wasted in disposable roles.

Its compact plot, though branching, also means many events are forced and perhaps not as natural as they could be. In one scene, Witherspoon's character turns away in disgust from Sarsgard's decision to end his enquries, despite him having taken enormous career risks in helping her, which feels like a bum deal for the character and a mishandled move to remove him from proceedings. The motives of Jake Gyllenhall's Freeman are questionable at times, and a little convenient, though for what its worth he carries the part well, smoothing over the cracks so to speak.

But the biggest flaw is the Fatima and Khalid subplot, which feels like it's from a different film and lacks enough depth to give it the impact it deserves and is capable of. This feels particularly true at its conclusion, the film's only break from it's conventional style. Well acted? Sure. Poignant? Nearly. Fitting? Not at all. Its arguable that with a differing approach to the piece, it could have worked better, but as it stands it contrasts so sharply with the other two main plotlines that it becomes jarring and a flat note. Whether Kelley Sane's screenplay originally catered more to this isn't clear.

Had Rendtion been less dry and less formulaic in its approach, it could well have stood out more from the crowd and made its points more pertinent, such as the unreliable nature of torture or the general hypocrisy that operations such as Extraordinary Rendition pose. As it stands, its painfully in the grounds of mimicking better received and more successful films of a similar nature. I mentioned Syriana before because of it's highly complex and international multi-plot storytelling, which told an occasionally headache enducing tale and for the sake of plausability lost any character. Rendition seems to be torn between the two, going for an emotional punch in a linear, proto-realistic framework. While entertaining, it means it loses points from both sides and slips hopelessly into the realms of forgetable, despite its undeniable merits.

While Rendition is a film 'worth a watch', and does shed some life on a very real and very stomach turning piece of truth, it also fails to make its mind up regarding motive and intention, and is often made to suffer by its own limitations, meaning an uneven and flawed viewing experience that aims for thought provoking and comes out as distracting. Far from excellence, it still avoids any kind of harsh judgement.

6/10

Limitless - Film Review

A what-if pseudo science based exploration in the grounds of a personal drama combined with thriller connotations is what drives Limitless, the new outing from The Illusionist director Neil Burger, a story based loosely on Alan Glynn's The Dark Fields, and asking vaguely philosophical questions in order to find a practical fantasy escapism style caper.

It's a classic idea. Struggling (and I mean deadbeat struggling) writer Eddie Mora (Bradley Cooper) can't even write the first words of the book he's contracted to, has just been ditched by unsatisfied girlfriend Lindy (Abbie Cornish), and lives in squalour. By chance he runs into an old acquinatance, who generously offers gives him a test of a new, unreleased clear pill that increases brain activity. And within a few seconds, Eddie's a genius and more.

The drug that 'pharmaceutical consultant' and former brother in law Vernon (Johnny Whitworth) gives Eddie is named NZT, and it's boast is enabling the body to access 100% of the brain. Soon, Eddie is able to finally make a start on his book, bed his landlord's young wife and generally see the world from far brighter eyes. His attempt to gain more of the pills sees him thrust into a crime scene when Vernon is murdered, presumably for the drug, which Eddie is then able to obtain for himself. With a healthy supply, Eddie changes his life, finishing the novel in four days, making powerful friends and large amounts of money in no time, and even changing his career path to become a hugely prolific stockbrocker, making millions over night and coming to the attention of corportate giant Carl Van Loon (Robert De Niro).

But it's not all clear sailing and speeding in fast cars. Concern mounts as a mysterious man (Tomas Arana) tracks his every move, he experiences blackouts and memory lapses, and gets mixed up with Russian loan shark Gennady (Andrew Howard). Then the biggest blow, the discovery that NZT is far from being a safely sampled medicine, leaving behind it a long list of damaged lives and ailing health, including that of Eddie's ex-wife Melissa (Anna Friel). With shadowy figures battling to get their hands on the little clear pills and Eddie's long term health a concern, it's going to be a hell of a struggle before the conclusion to the fable is reached.

Except it isn't, which I'll come to later. First, the positives. Neil Burger's visual flair here really accentuates the film, from the opening, dizzying zoom style tracking through New York's bustling city streets, to the transition into NZT's bright, high focus. It makes a good effort to establish the change in consciousness, as well as using a style which provides a pacy and dazzling mood. And although he may not be the most charismatic of actors, reminscent of a young Sean Penn, Bradley Cooper is solid enough to carry the film, and pulls off the sudden IQ growth fairly well, with his dizzy and slurring old self a million miles away from the slick suit and sharp words of the rich and rising Eddie. Abbie Cornish too is decent, and Andrew Howard clearly enjoys his role as the scenery chewing Gennady, the film's blunt threat. Robert De Niro is, well, Robert De Niro, so you can't fault his perfomance, in a disappontingly underwritten role. And 'underwritten' is a word that represents a recurring theme here.

Because the biggest problem, as far as I can tell, comes in the form of it's underdeveloped script, and I have to be careful to maintain my 'no spoilers' policy here in ruminating on the film's crux. In retrospect the screenplay has the feel of a fairly good first draft, an ambitious story and intriguing idea, but with an arc that badly needs work and suffers a rudderless feel. And frankly, Leslie Dixon goes far too easy on Eddie, perhaps trapped by the film's voiceover narrative into getting too close to the protagnist, and finding it too tempting to allow him an easier ride than the story demands. Solutions are too simple, the outlook is far too basic, and more unforgiveably plot points are dropped, neglected and hastily cleared up, symptoms of a lack of planning and doctoring. The dialogue may work, but the logic mostly doesn't. The words "too easy" spring to mind far too often. The ending, hasty and abrupt, concludes the film with what, in it's own universe, is an old joke, and with a concluding epilogue which indicates that if you take NZT and stay on it, everything will work out just fine without consequences, which is a cheap cop out and renders the film into little more than enjoyable distraction. Imagine Flowers for Algernon if Charlie just kept getting smarter.

Anyway, this more or less ruins the film's promise (ironically), causing the second half to simply be a minefield of convenience and plot hole sweeping that takes a tantalising idea and relegates it into a 100 minute moderately entertaining fairly tale which ultimately has no point. It's a huge shame, because as I've already touched upon the potential is undeniable, but the film's danger elements turn out to be contrived plot twists, and hints at impending danger turn out to be just as hollow as the piece's message. Scratch hollow, make that non-existant. It's arrogant to try and force the idea of deeper meaning on every storytelling medium, but you at least need something more than swish editing and fashion catalogue posturing. It's narration and chronologically displaced prologue suggest a rise and fall, except there's no fall and the scene in question doesn't turn out to be all that important.

So, as much as I'd love to be gushing right now, I'm actually disappointed, and even the day after watching it I'm still thinking of flaws and missing links. This isn't a film limited by it's own hubris, it's one that wasn't fully cooked when it went into post. With more work on the script, it could have been enthralling. As it stands, it's enough to not make you bored for a small portion of your day. All the more frustrating when it could, in better hands, have been a real gem.

5/10

Hanna - Film Review

Quiet easy to mislabel with deceptive press and blurbs, Joe Wright's high octane thriller is not the simple gimmick action flick you may have been lead to believe. It is, however, highly uncoventional.

Wunderkid Saorise Ronan is the Hanna of the title, a sixteen year old German girl living with her ex-CIA operative father, Erik Heller (Eric Bana) in isolation at their Finnish woodland cabin. She has never seen electricity, internet, or another person's face. Instead, her years have been spent going through intensive survival, combat and linguistic training, all with one specific mission in mind. To kill her father's former boss, Marissa Viegler (Cate Blanchett).

After concoting a plan that will see Hanna surrender herself to a search team when they locate their hideaway, in order to get inside the system, and then meet her father in Berlin after her mission is done, she is thrust into a strange military base in the desert, it's iron doors and multiple cameras completely alien to her. Despite the culture shock, she completes her objective, before making a daring escape, fleeing into the harsh terrain of a mystery location.
Little does she know, however, that the woman she killed was a double, and it is ever more clear to Viegler that Hanna has to die. Concerned also at the fugitive status of Heller, she takes off after her old colleague, dispatching flamboyant homosexual assassin Isaacs (Tom Hollander) and his skinhead lackies after the girl.

Using her fluency in multiple languages and immense fitness to mount a continent scaling roadtrip, Hanna encounters and befriends a British holidaying family, comprising daughter Sophie (Jessica Barden), son Miles (Aldo Maland), and mother and father (Olivia Williams and Jason Flemying), and subsequently befriends Sophie, and uses that newly found friendship for hijacking purposes as she heads for Europe. Along the way, she discovers shocking facts about her existence and origins, while stuck in a world she does not know.

It's fairly clear from the offset, with the film's title flashing up as a bizzare, childlike rendering, that Hanna will not follow the tropes and rules of similar movies, although at it's heart it is a good old fashioned romp. While the script is quirky, it is in the direction and presentation that the film develops a uniqueness which mainstream helmers strive for. While the jump cuts and sharp editing may be standard, the use of angles, stylish slow motion and unusual camera focus give it a strange world vibe, completely in tune with the story, and also dollops out the eccentricity for each of the characters (the only straight archetypes are pretty disposable). The pounding, piercing soundtrack from the Chemical Brothers (another odd choice) adds both pace and beat, as well as injecting a sense of stress of strife.

The film also provides a very diffirent challenging proposition for the prodiguous Saorise Ronan, a young actress who fits the role like a glove and brings a fractured humanity and emotional, naive vulnerability to the near super human teenager. Much of the film, particularly in the climax and with the revelations about her background, hinges on her holding the audience's sympathy, and as dysfuntional as she is, you want her to see it through. Maternal and paternal instincts don't always apply to films we watch, so this is a crux. Also of note in the young actors department is Jessica Barden who, based on her humurous and authentic showing here, is destined for a big future.

The grown ups also fair well, with Eric Bana sympathetic and charismatic as the mysterious father who clearly has not divulged all facts to give, and Tom Hollander both funny and creepy as the psychotic, ridiculous Isaacs. His introduction is the most bizzare that will ever be given to a hired killer for years. Cate Blanchett, though steely and conflicted as the dark agent Marissa, does occasionally struggle with her probably unneccessary Southern drawl, but makes up for it in more significant departments. Olivia Williams and Jason Flemying are solid, as you would expect.

But the film has a character of it's own, a highly unconventional approach to a fairly ludicrous story, which is perhaps the most appropriate way to approach the picture. Played straight, it would be too daft. Played for laughs, it would be too camp, too corny and frankly out of place. Instead it goes for a mix, creating a bizzare hybrid in mood reminscent of Ravenous, which always pushes itself into different areas. It's a little like watching a gung-ho adventure directed by an arthouse auteur, which in many ways is what's happened here.

A little confusing for the sensibilites, and on occasion rupturing plausability, Hanna has the double bonus of being both entertaining and intoxicating, creating it's own identity and dealing with a spectrum of themes and recurring notions. Somehow a thoughtful, challenging conspiracy thriller married to a high octane chase action blockbuster. Mindless, it ain't.

7/10

Advertising Fraud & Idiot Sales - Rant

RANT TIME!


Maybe it's because I've been immersing myself in films and writing lately, and I've become cut off from bullshit reality, or maybe it's just because of a certain mood overcoming me. Maybe it's because I've stopped taking my diazepam for reasons I can't seem to remember. Actually, I can't seem to remember anything about what's...

But whatever the cause, I have something in my sights for the first rant in a while, and the chance to, you know, live up to half of my blog's title.
So, yeah. Advertising.

I've had a lot of feelings about this subject for a while, but it really got my goat lately when I saw an advert on TV for the new Battlefield game. Battlefield, in case you're wondering is a series of mostly mutiplayer shoot-em-ups using real world weapons and shit, like grenades and medical people, and is mostly played by pinheads who have invented their own language of bizzare, obnoxious shorthand and general rape of the English language. Lol, wut a nooob, pwned...They sound a little like The Clangers. God, that was a weird show. What the fuck were pigs doing on the moon...

Anyway, this advert was very shiny and nice, and I would have enjoyed it hugely if I had the mute button on. I usually do. I find not having to listen sometimes helps TV seem less like drivel than it really is. But sadly, for whatever reason, I was using my ears (probably so I could hear the sex line numbers), and the music comes on, as tends to happen in adverts. I was a little confused when Jay-Z's song 99 Problems was used as it's soundtrack. I thought I'd dropped acid by mistake again.

Again, in case you're like me in the sense that you're a human backwater, Jay-Z is some kind of hugely rich rapper (not the kind you open to eat your ginsters disposables) with a similarly rich Latino baby momma who has a similar problem with spelling her name.
The song, from what I gather, is about how Jay Zhee (making an assumption here) is far better at women than most people, how he has lots of problems but not in the trouser department (not bowel related), and how he pities us. No, that is not a Mr T reference.

I have to bite the bull by the horns here, because my metaphors are rubbish and I'm worried about a word limit on Blogger. There's always a word limit. Everywhere. You even lose your voice after a while of just talking and talking and talking and talk...
WHY IS THIS SONG RELEVANT?

I'm no stickler for this sort of thing, I promise. Music and killing virtual people go hand in hand, I understand this...By the way, killing virtual people is fine, virtually killing people is not. It's attempted murder.

And I also understand that the lyrics don't neccesarily matter if the music itself goes well with the action on screen. Most people don't even listen to lyrics anyway. A song could be about grounding limestones and people would still listen, if it sounds good...Mind you rap is basically just talking in rythm...sometimes not even in rythm...50 Cent.
Point is, the music doesn't fit either!

There's no beat that suggests hard conflict and shitting out your lungs in the midst of a mustard gas attack, and the tone is not of shooting an Arabic man in his sternum. Three times.
You get fan made videos on this little website I sometimes frequent called YouTube, which tend to mash up footage of their killing frenzies (again, fine, because it's technically not real, although the other soldiers are actually virtual avatars for real people with similar aggressional and educational problems...philosophy, anyone?).
These videos are invariably terrible, less fun to watch then my childhood home videos. Most childhood home videos don't include Fred West masks, but that's not the point. They're terrible.

Which is fine, because they're harmless. You don't have to watch, and probably never will. When you see a link to a Saving Private Ryan video with Linkin Park songs, common sense prevails. How could that be good? Even if you are disturbed. I'm not. I don't know why you said that. I suppose all that shrapnel around would save on buying straight razors...
BUT THESE AREN'T ON TV!

This isn't the first time either. I remember a whiles back when another action game came out, called Assassin's Creed 2. It's about medieval guys and Templars and sneaking around, and basically being Solid Snake back in dem days when you took a shit out the window and died at the age of 30 from sneezing too hard.
A little like the 1960's...
Anyway, the trailer for this game I saw on the box had some kind of Urban Techno track, which again DIDN'T FIT THE TONE but also didn't SUIT THE TRAILER!

So why is this happening?
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
Did they forget to make the real advert and remember while they were getting munchies an hour before the deadline? Then throw together some shit quickly and decided it sounded great because they were FUCKING HIGH?! I know I would have done something that stupid when I was munted, although I wasn't being paid. Oh green dragon, what yearnful times we shared...

Anyway, there is a cause for this, two in fact. One of them is called precedent (not the black guy who runs America), the other is called laziness.

Anybody ever hear that song Mad World? It's a pretty blue piece of music by Tears for Fears, then redone by Gary Jules. It got famous again when it showed up at the end of Donnie Darko. Speaking of weed...that film didn't know whether it was New Year or New York...

Butt chances are that ALL OF YOU have heard it, and the reason is that it was used in the trailer for another game, a shoot em up in the future with bad guy heroes and weird alien creatures and the world ending and all that noise. It was called Beers of War, I think. For some freak reason I can't figure out, it worked really well, despite the song being not of the sort. The game sold really well, not because of the trailer purely, but it helped.

Ever since then, this has become a template to the advertising dudes who are supposed to be pretty creative. Supposedly. Apparently. Maybe. Ok, not at all.
You see, when something works, the option on how to follow it up is either to emulate it, or allow it to inspire you to think out of the box. And it's pretty clear which option was followed up. Lets just say they're still in that box, thinking away like crickets. Wait, do crickets think? Because I'm sure I once saw...

But this rationale goes deeeeeeeeeeeper. Deeper than I did the other night, when I...
Anyway, there's more to it than that. You have to remember that those in TV advertising, and often just TV in general, think that YOU are an idiot.

They have no respect for your intelligence, and no faith in your taste. They don't think you can stand watching a drama unless the people in it are are immaculate and gorgeous, and they don't think you can appreciate an advert unless it has one of your favourite songs in it. And these songs I mentioned are popular. Then again, so was Noel Edmonds, and look what happened to him. Twice. Buy bigger trousers, Noel. And shave. And die.

So by putting an inappropriate Jay-Z song into a trailer, it's actually a marker to get your attention. It's a way of letting you know that this is for you, this is YouTrailer. 'Buy this game if you like this song'.
A lack of taste means Good thing+Good thing=Reeeally awesome thing, man!

A third reason is that it works. It's uglier than a fight between a lion and a combine harvester, but it still works. Alot like the combine.
Copies are sold, and the advertisers make money.



LETS BUY A MONEY TREE!


The irony is that it costs more to buy the rights to a popular song, because of something called demand. They could have saved money by making an advert dat makes da sense! In fact, they already had one. I've seen some proper trailers on YouTube for the same game that uses its own music and they work. Unlike my liver, if my new skin colour is anything to go by...

But it doesn't end there. Keep digging, follow the money. No, the fact I'm called Deep Throat isn't of a sexual nature or suspicious at all...

The other problem with advertising is that it's misleading on purpose. This is really obvious when it comes to films, something I know a little about as a result of knowing little about anything else.

There's this film that I love called In Bruges. It's got a great witty script, sad story and some tearjerking and some general jerking and some Irishmen in Belgium and it's violent and it's a pretty dark drama with a little black comedy in the dialogue and it's got a midget and it's great.

But I wouldn't have guessed I'd appreciate it as much, if I'd gone just by the trailer. Or for that matter, or the cover art on the DVD for that matter (see right). It suddenly looks like the Guy Ritchie film that was never released because he was too busy with his crazy wife making movies about some guy and some girl and it's not real, and Ray Liotta shows up and he cries. Again. It doesn't look like the film I saw. Maybe I was on valium...

There are others too. I saw another little film, once. It was called The Girl Next Door, and I watched it entirely by accident. It's possible I had paralyzed myself when it came up on TV. Anyway, I remembered it's marketing making out that it was an American Pie style gross out wacky comedy with teenagers and drinking spunk and fucking baked goods.

But the reality was that it was just a nice, easy to digest (unlike the spunk...I'm told) slice of escapism with some humourous touches. It's not very deep, but it's definitely more respectable than Sean William Scott playing a human. Or is it William Sean Scott? Or Scott Sean William? Or maybe it's Sean Scott William. Or Wiliam Scott Sean...

Anyway, as I was saying the film didn't do too well, which isn't a surprise, even though it was released around the time those types of films were doing well. I was going to say 'those types of comedy', but I'd be stretching language to Val Kilmer's face proportions. Seriously, what happened to that guy's face? It looks like a balloon with Val Kilmer's features painted on it...
I digress.

This is where there's an odd paradox in the idea. Advertisers want to sell the film, and in the case of films its harder to bring viewers to the film than it is to bring the film to the viewers. So they edit it together with wacky music and suddenly it looks different. Throw in blurbs like "Hilarious - The Sun" or "I was left speechless - Roger Ebert" and it has gravitas, you HAVE to believe this is the kind of film you like. So they make huge bucks on cinema tickets by convincing movier goers that they're paying to see something else.
Or Scott William Sean...

But there's a flip side here! FLIP SIDE!!

The moment the audience realises they're watching a film about moral servitude, or fantasy escapism, or being stuck in sadness and in Japan with an increasingly melted Bill Murray, they'll get pissed off. They bitch to the their friends, to their work colleagues, to their families, to their customers, to their pets. What? Nobody else discusses movies with their dog? Bunch of fucking nutjobs!

Point is, word of mouth spreads faster than the clap in an Essex nighclub and the illusion is suddenly shattered. It's a totally flawed policy. It's like me telling my kids we're going to Disneyland, and they get excited because kids love merchandise, and so we get in the car but actually we go to the Western General Hospital and they watch me get a colonoscopy.

One of two things will happen: A) The film gets some credibility back, and gets the right audience. B) The film's reputation is destroyed, it sinks in the gross markets, and is ultimately forgotten about and mislabelled for years. Sadly, B is more common. The marketers end up causing the film to lose money because they chose a strategy due to fearing it would lose money. There's an expression that covers this. I think it's "Asshole! You fuck up my shit!". Is that Oscar Wilde? Because it sounds like Oscar Wilde...

I'd start having a go at TV adverts about products, but I'm tired and that wall over there talking with a Yonkers accent is getting on my nerves, I have to go bash his freaking skull.
But I'll just compare one of the most original and memorable adverts of all time, yes, the Guinness tick followed tock horses and surfers advert to the current 'memorable' commercials we have on the idiot box. Go Compare and Compare the Markets, borderline offensive charicatures. Because nothing says "buy my product" like "fuck you, immigrant!"

I suppose my point is that people in advertisement aren't trying any more, aren't bothered about having new ideas or getting creative in selling stuff, and frankly don't know what the fuck they're doing. If something works once, it must be milked. If something works for idiots, everyone's an idiot. If I don't stop typing, I'll black out and wake up in Aberdeen again. And I don't even fucking like Aberdeen!

This was a waste of everybody's time.


RANT OVER