The Secret in their Eyes - Film Review

Toast of the Latin American film business, and profile raising winner of last year's Best Foreign Language Film Oscar, Juan Jose Campanella's taut, thoughtful thriller/drama hybrid spent much of 2010 as everyone's must see alternate cinema experience. An Argentinian story of corruption, camaraderie, revenge, retribution and unbidden love over the course of a number of years, El Secreto de Sus Ojos certainly lives up to it's billing.

We start with retired legal counselor Benjamin Esposito (Ricardo Darin) trying, and ultimately struggling, to get beyond the fifth line of his novel, having decided to use his twilight years, not to mention years of experience, more productively than codgering about. In an attempt to gain some more insight into the subject of his book, he visits his old friend and former boss Irene (Soledad Villamil), for some reminiscing and semi-research. The story of his novel will be that of an unresolved, and ultimately live affirming investigation they once participated in, dubbed the Morales case.

The film flashes back to 1974, where a younger Esposito and his trusty righthand and general eccentric Pablo Sandoval (Guillermo Francella) are introduced to their new superior, Irene, fresh out of a pricy education at Cornell. Their office is assigned the case concerning the rape and murder of a young woman, Liliana Coloto (Carla Quevedo) in her Buenos Aires home. In the course of the investigation, Esposito speaks with her newly wed husband, Ricardo Morales (Pablo Rago), whom he promises swift justice. For reasons he cannot quite fathom, Esposito develops an emotional attachment to the case. After overcoming the attempts of rival counsel Romano (Mariano Argento) to crack their case by ordering the beating induced confession of two lowly builders, Esposito finds a break through in one of Liliana's old photo albums, a childhood friend of the victim who eyes her suspiciously in all of the pictures he features in. The man is named Isidoro Gomez (Javier Godino).

With the police unwilling to take firm action on such wobbly evidence, Esposito is forced to take his own measures to find proof. Their problems are exacerbated by the actions of Morales, who in a peak of emotional trauma, phones Gomez's mother asking for his location, in turn tipping off the suspect who promptly disappears. He reels in Sandoval, who's increasing alcohol problems cause concern, to help him, and together they break into the mother's house, looking for evidence of Gomez's new address. They are ultimately caught out, and are rebuked by their Judge, Ordonez (Rudy Romano), who punishes them by closing the case.

A year later, the case still on Eposito's mind, he runs into Morales by coincidence at a train station. After sitting down to talk, he discovers that Morales has, every day, been coming to the terminal and held surveillance watching the crowds, hopeful that one day he will sight Gomez and gain the justice and redemption he was once promised. Overwhelmed by this encounter, Eposito successfuly convinces Irene to reopen the case, at the risk of being tied up in red tape, and they restart their quest. When Sandoval discovers a clue in one of Gomez's letters they stole, it sparks off a new avenue of investigation, leading them down a disturbing, dangerous and ultimately fatal path that changes the lives of all concerned.

What could so easily have been a routine, unsatisfying thriller is given a densely layered, satisfyingly complex presentation here by Campanella and his fellow writers, in a film that is ironically novel like with it's various subplots, subtexts and agendas. One part procedural drama, with a fine eye for small details and the hardened disheartening nature of wrong turns in the case, it also serves as a personal story, with numerous other themes prominent, giving the piece emotional poignancy. Each of the characters are fleshed out supremely, giving them tells, turns and moments to shine, while the film takes on political edges also. Numerous parts of the plot, in particular the participation of the sleazy Romano, serve as a searing indicment of 1970's Argentina under Videla's dicatorship, and in particular the ramifications of the 'Dirty War' raged against the country's left wing.

The other particularly impressive and ultimately memorable part of the film's mosaic is the platonic love affair between the pent up Esposito and the unavailable Irene, an enduring saga that would be relegated to neglected sub-plot in most Hollywood-type disposable crime stories. Although the story may not be deeply original, it's portrayal here is highly refreshing and is rewarded with a satisfying, if amiguous, conclusion. Much is left unsaid, projected by lingering looks, unfinished sentences and misunderstandings, rather than by monologues and exposition heavy speeches.

The character driven nature of the film also gives it much pathos. Esposito and Irene may be given fully formed arcs, but attention is also paid to the seemingly smaller parts of Sandoval and Morales, both of whom have tragic and heartbreaking stories to tell, each sharing personal moments that bring a tear to the eye. Revelations, particularly in the final third, are both shocking and thought-provoking, a very personal attachment from the viewer to the characters manifesting itself at the sharp end. That such a story is levened by some genuinely amusing humour, such as the background journey of a malfunctioning typewriter, and Sandoval's inspired method of screening his office calls, gives the piece a more human, highly appreciated touch.

Ricardo Darin, bearded Alan Rickman-lookalike extraordinare, gives a highly dignified, deeply layered portrayal as the protagonist Esposito, a lifelike conundrum of a man. Although rash, and taken to following instincts in his work, he refuses to do so in his personal life, the genuine minefield that shrouds his dangerous job into insignificance until the Morales case. As we learn more of his character, we understand more about his story. His novel, seemingly an attempt to stave off boredom, is in fact a reactionary impulse at the dissatisfaction his life has produced in it's later years. Similarly, Soledad Villamil brings a complexity to her role, as well as a genuine charm that makes her attractiveness undoubted, making Irene both realistic and hugely likeable. The two share a palpable chemistry, essential in leading the story.

While a troup of bit part players excel in creating background, the supporting artists really do thrive on their subplots. Guillermo Francella provides a sadness to Sandoval, making him more than a loveable caricature, sympathetic but flawed, funny but ripe for pity. Javier Godino, as the principal villain, is genuinely menacing in some places, detestable in others and downright pathetic at times, a very human angle on, again, a part that could have slipt into cardboard cut out scumbag for hire. And special praise is also deserved for Pablo Rago, rich with pathos in his protrayal of the emotional haywire that is Morales, a man left without his life and desperately seeking a purpose. His arc asks serious moralistic questions over the nature of justice, and how it should be applied. If anyone is to be allowed retribution, it is surely him.

Amazingly, the film also balances it's rich drama with genuine thrills, with a number of standout scenes cementing the director's abilities to harness suspense and action. A stunning single take chase during a football game, taking in aerial shot's of the ground, sifting through the crowd, and the unpredictable pursuit within the belly of the stadium, is both massively ambitious and completly taut, an incredible feat of filmaking. On the other end of the spectrum is the now famed elevator scene, a terrifying and unbearably tense wordless exchange that lasts less than a minute, yet somehow emerges as a classic cinema moment. That such virtuoso moments both serve as adverts for the film, and also prove hugely pivotal to the plot and characters, is nothing short of miraculous.

It's easy to get carried away, and ultimately spoiled, by hype, but for once The Secret in Their Eyes both justifies it's reputation and proves a genuine surprise, a carefuly constructed piece that has an almost harmonic balance of everything you could want from a film, and more so.

9/10

The Fountain - Film Review

One of many a famous filmmaker's back catalogue ignored, even shunned at the time, yet revisted in retrospect once said auteur is a big hit, The Fountain is a film on a Terrence Malick scale of philosophical musing, yet remains one of the most disputed, baffling pieces of all time, without agenda or lean. It is a great shame, or travesty depending on your view, that such a piece is still overlooked, unknown or dismissed by so many as a result.

The plot itself is labyrinth, difficult to establish but fairly simple to summarise in basic form, So I'll keep this brief. We have three co-currently running strands:

In the 2000's, Medical Scientist Tommy (Hugh Jackman) is researching the effects of various earthly cocktails on primates in order to find a cure for his wife Izzi's (Rachel Weisz) brain tumour. While Tommy finds himself neglecting Izzi, choosing to spend his hours immersed in his laboratory with his team (which includes Sean Patrick Thomas, Ethan Suplee and close friend Ellen Burstyn), Izzi works on her book, titularly named The Fountain, which proves to be a catalyst for the film itself. Her continued research into Mayan folklore and biblical legends of living forever leads her on a path towards acceptance, with her fear of death evaporating as the inevitable approaches. Tommy, on the other hand, is infuriated by this, unable to grasp the concept of surrendering to the illness. This anxiety is heightened when a compound found within a tree in Guatemala causes unprescedented synapse expansion in one of the monkeys, a potential promise of hope.

In the 1500's, the Spanish Inquisition is closing it's noose on the country, putting it's Queen, Isabella (Weisz) at great risk from the Grand Inquisitor (Stephen McHattie), due to her supposedly heretical beliefs. In an attempt to save her kingdom, she tasks loyal Conquistador Tomas (Jackman) with the mission of travelling to New Spain to find the tree, aided by his right hand man Ariel (Cliff Curtis) and Vatican Priest Avila (Mark Margolis), who believes he has found evidence of the wonder within a hidden temple. The reward for it's capture is Isabella's love, and the promise that they will live forever, together. The crusade fails to yield results, leading to a mutiny among the exhibition, before Avila finally discovers it's location, in turn pitting Tomas into a deadly confrontation with the High Priest defending the holyist of prizes.

In the 2500's, hairless, evolved human 'Tom' (Jackman) is travelling the cosmos within an eco-sphere style bubble, supporting himself and a tree, which it transpires carries the soul of Izzie. His goal is to reach the dying star Xibalba, a nebula which legend decrees as being the location for the rebirth of dead souls. While meditating in mid air, and eating bark from the tree to substain himself, he is plagued by memories of his lost love, while forcing himself into making elaborate tattoos, markers and mementos to maintain the passion of his lonely vigil.

When Izzi's condition begins to worsen, she asks Tommy to finish her book, writing the final chapter that wraps up the story. This proves the catalyst for the climax, as the relevance and intermingling storylines come together as one in a psychedelic, earth shattering display of altered, expanded consciousness and Buddhist-like morality teachings. Only when the trio of searchers have their crusades ended, and the final credits begin to roll, is that much sought peace found.

It is very important to note that anyone going into The Fountain for the first time should not approach it literally, as a plot based film with logical conclusions and an iron-set ethos regarding rules and limitations. Although there are explanations that tie up every moment and event within the film, they are elusive at best. Aronofsky himself has described it as a rubix cube as far as this is concerned. Expecting linear solutions will merely rob you of what the film is actually trying, and succeeding wonderfully, to do.

Although there are various ways to interpret the story, ultimately it is all about love. Although this sentence could be described as soppy and sentimental by cynical film goers, left weary of the subject by countless Hollywood dross and misinformation, it's expression here is one of purity. While Tomas/Tommy/Tom all have missions rooted in their own realities, with various circumstances and problems to overcome, they all are attempting to reach the end of the respective roads for the same reason: to be with Izzi forever. As much as the mythology and fantasy sets down the significance of eternal life, it is played here as a method to display a form of romanticism which has never been better projected on screen. Not focussed on greed or a lust for power such a gift would provided, the trio long for a life of pure happiness, their other half at their sides, without ever having to face the notion of losing her.

In this sense, it is the most romantic film ever made. There are no insults made to the audience's intelligence, far from it. We don't see the relationships build up from the ground up, which displays an understanding of the subjective and variable nature of such a meaningful experience. Instead it is simply made clear that this is true love, and this is then used to dictate the actions of the characters. Such is the force of this message that the film breaks down it's own boundaries, shatters time-old story telling conventions, and dips heavily into fantasy and sci-fi to make it's point. Once again, a form of purity in art rarely transplanted to the world of fiction, despite it's huge potential for telling such a tale.

The final revelation, in fact, is more of a poetic rumination and indictment of the blood letting passion of humanity that sees it fail to grasp, ironically, it's own limitations. The long winded, painful odysseys ultimately reveal that the right course of action was at your doorstep all along, and that the moments spent with the person you have found are always the true gifts. Ultimately, the entire film is an incredible, moving and awestruck visual metaphor for a simple idea hard to express by conventional means.

It helps, of course, when all the core elements fall together perfectly. Aronofsky displays the sort of visual flair, attention to the smallest detail and the passion for his projects which has made him such a sought after director. The film is layered with images, throwaway lines and techniques which create both an aptmosphere of utter uniquiness, a direct series of bridges throughout the thousand year span and make the piece a hybrid of painting, poem and philosophy. The exhillirating, tear enducing finale is handled supremely, a complex puzzle on screen that makes it's relevance clear in front of your eyes. You may not catch all the information presented, but without doubt you'll find the important stuff.

Hugh Jackman, entrusted with three very different sides to the same archetype, gives his greatest performance to date, displaying the same showman charm he has always possessed, but also feeding in a genuine emotional spectrum which never once fails to hit it's mark. His pain, elation, relief, fury and delirium are expressed wonderfully, creating an empathy which borders on dangerously strong emotional attachment.
In tandem, Rachel Weisz is sublime as Izzi, showing subtlety in her performance, with conflicted emotions and a clear, bitten down desire at odds with her lover's. While the hero is running himself into the ground looking for a miracle, one look at Izzi's face can tell you what she really wants, and the pain she feels when he leaves her side to continue his efforts. She knows she's dying, that there is no getting away from it, and all she wants is to spend her final moments with the man she loves equally as much as he loves her. None of this is said, an incredible part of the puzzle and canvas expressed by body language and her eyes. So rare is it for a film to take such a risk with one of it's core emotional elements.

The script, minimalistic when minimalism is required for the greater impact, and reaching levels of operatic crescendo when majestic light and sound elates the audience, achieves so much with what it doesn't do, and then soulfully rewards with what it does. So densely layered and nuanced that it initally appears unfathonable and unbreakable as a cypher, it ultimately is an incredible means to an end, fearing nothing in reaching it's conclusion, the moral of the story.

Visually, the film is a stunning achievement, with unconventional cinematography spellbinding, recurring shots bold and enlightening. And Clint Mansell's score, a stirring hybrid of sombre, captivating ballads and rip roaring orchestra pieces, is a work of art in itself. It's one of, if not the, finest film scores of this century, adding another element to the film rather that serving as window dressing to entertaining when the going's slow.

While The Fountain may confuse, it also proves to be a unique, thickly plotted tale of the purest, most understandable part of the human condition, using the stage pieces as tools to make it's point clear, even to those who may not understand what they have seen. Hard as it may be to fathom, it is one of the most unique films ever made, one of the most spellbinding, and ultimately one of the most unforgetable. For a film to get a pefect score, it must hit every conventional mark without flaw, and then add something else, an indefinable quality that makes it stand out from all others, head and shoulders above the great. In this respect, The Fountain achieves. A masterpiece.


10/10

Source Code - Film Review

The second film from acclaimed director and Bowie's son Duncan Jones, and boasting a script from Ben Ripley that could be seen as a high tech hybrid of 12 Monkeys and Groundhog Day, Source Code was one of this year's blockbuster releases that, for all intensive purposes, refuses to park itself in the money making shed.

Captain Colter Stevens (Jake Gyllenhaal), a helicopter pilot for the US Military, awakens to find himself on a train sat across from a young woman, Cristina (Michelle Monaghan), who appears to know him. He has no idea where is, or how he got there. Worse still, he is is apparently in the skin of someone else, and nobody seems to understand his confusion and panic. Then after eight minutes, the train explodes.

Stevens wakes up in a chopper ejection canopy, encased in some sort of evac capsule, receiving orders via video link from mysterious army officer Goodwin (Vera Farmiga). His huge list of questions are swatted aside, with Goodwin more interested in the details of the blast. Having established that his task is to find the bomb, Stevens is sent in again. The same eight minutes, the same explosion, another reset. Through multiple exhausting attempts, Stevens slowly starts to glean more information about the bombing, discovering the location of the device, developing suspicions and eliminating suspects within the ill-fated carriage. However, his desperation to understand his bizzare, unreal mission grows. The recurring appearances of a suit wearing man (Jeffrey Wright) who would appear to be in charge, heighten his concerns.

Eventually Stevens learns that he is not simply being put through a simulation, he is re-experiencing the final memories of one of the bomb's very real victims through a miraculous piece of technology, and general deus ex machina, known as the source code. The realisation that he cannot prevent the loss of all those on board, in particular Cristina who he is becoming growingly enamoured to, is offset when more home truths lead him to question his own existence in the scheme of things, leading to a better understanding of how the machine can work. Already beset by threats on all sides, there is also an added element of time: the bomber will strike again unless Stevens can work out his identity.

Break neck paced by it's nature, due to the thriller aspect and short running time, Source Code faces down and squashes the potential problem of limited possibilities posed by it's plot design. After all, it's the same train carriage and series of events over and over, each time with only eight minutes in which to get things done. True to it's material, we see a coffee spilt on Stevens' shoe on each attempt, the mid-conversation entrance remains consistent, and the behaviour and travel habits of those around remains. Only Stevens effects these things, adding an oddly exciting element of interruption with every move he takes, like jumping into the film yourself.

And, not suprisingly, one of the greatest thrills throughout the story comes from joining Stevens' investigation, picking out those around him as favourites to be the villain, making theories in your head which will later be dashed. It's not just the story that does this, but the direction of Jones, who once again proves his supreme abilities at characterisation after his sensational debut Moon. In the hands of a lesser, more glitzy, gross chasing director in the Michael Bay or McG mould, a well thought out character piece could have become a mind-numbing big bang, small credibility action fiasco on wheels.

It helps, of course, casting creditable actors in the roles. Skipping action men of the genre, instead picked is Jake Gyllenhaal, building in confidence with every role he takes on. His portrayal of Stevens is both authentic, never once is it questionable he's a military man, but also deeply sympathetic. He is the perfect stranded hero for this, displaying plenty of nous, but able to express a great deal of likeability and vulnerability with little visible effort or attempts at face putty projection. It takes little time for you to root for Stevens both inside and outside of the source code, as he faces very different battles on either sides of his reality. The revelation of his existence on the exterior is devastating, giving the remainder of the film an almost tragic, deeply sombre and emotional significance.

He's not alone in this. Michelle Monaghan, an actress who occasionally seems out of place in her films (Gone Baby Gone immediately springs to mind) brings a genuinely rounded portrayal as Cristina, a slightly lost young woman high on charm, wit and warmth who becomes one of Stevens' main motivations in his efforts to break history. Her actions are never out of character, even in such a high concept, highly active piece. Vera Farmiga, seemingly finding the big roles coming later in her career then they should have been, has an equally level and consistent quality as Goodwin, walking the tight rope between hard nosed professional officer and real human being with distinction. Although she slowly grows to care about Stevens, and feel sorry for his plight, it is not an emotional weakness. It's the view of anybody watching the film. Jeffrey Wright chews the scenery slightly, but it's a pleasingly off-beat performance that is quite neccessary if a little hard to swallow initially.

The two main problems that Source Code suffers, ironically, involve time, albeit in different contexts. At a threadbare hour and a half, it undoubtedly completes it's own objectives, and does enough on the side to make it more than standard sci-fi action fare, but such is the intelligence of the writing, direction and performances that it makes you long for more. Imagining the same film, only padded out with more character moments, avenues of investigation and perhaps even a couple of twists and turns thrown in, is frankly mouth watering. Little does a film cry out for a Director's Cut in quite this way. The second, egg shells springing to mind, comes from the finale. Without wishing to spoil anything for the viewer, the film makes the mistake of carrying on for a few extra minutes and creating a scientific headache once the natural conclusion has been reached, pushing the film down a mark for me and really bringing attention to the frankly unfeasible plot device of it's own surroundings. In other words, it very nearly gets away with it, then speaks in English to the German guard right at the end (Great Escape analogies notwithstanding).

A high octane, thrilling ride with the sort of intelligent presentation that most summer action fodder would die for, Source Code proves a film far better than it should be, a high credit for Duncan Jones and his cast. A few flaws aside, a deeply thoughtful but exciting and for the most part satisfying piece that is about far more than just about a bomb on a train or a magic machine.


8/10

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer - Film Review

Torn from the pages of German novelist Patrick Suskind's genre crossing novel of the same name, Perfume is an uncharacterisable, unforgettable and ultimately disturbing thriller from fellow German and Run Lola Run director Tom Tykwer.

Crossing the boundaries of the supernatural and surreal, and occasionally lulling into mild horror and erotica, the film is led by the least filmed of the five human senses: smell.

In 18th Century France, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw) is sentenced to a brutal execution for multiple murders, the young man now a focus of both deathly retribution at the hands of authority and the baying mobs outside the court house. Narrated by John Hurt, we track back to Grenouille's origins and the path that has led to him being condemned.

Born in the filthy slops of a Paris marketplace, an unwanted illegitimate son to a fishmonger back at her stall within moments of birthing, Grenouille is sent to a local orphanage. Resisiting death from the start, Grenouille survives and discovers he has an incredible talent: an almost supernatural sense of smell, able to identify the contents of unseen ponds by scent alone. An other quirk of his reality is revealed: the tragic consequences of parting company with him for those around. Grenouille is sold to a hide tanner, allowing him to discover more of the poverty ridden, disgusting streets of the largest city in Europe. During his delivery runs for local businesses, Grenouille becomes transfixed by a girl selling plumbs (Karoline Herfuth), following her throughout the back streets and alleys, intoxicated by her scent. Their final encounter proves deadly, Grenouille's desperate enthusiasm accidentally killing the girl.

Heartbroken in the knowledge he will never experience this smell again, Grenouille seeks out ageing, out of touch perfumer Giuseppe Baldini (Dustin Hoffman). Baldini is a shell of his former self, tending a shop never entered, and failing in his efforts to work out the ingredients of a new, highly popular perfume from a rival. Grenouille, delivering hides, works his way into Baldini's shop and earns an improptu trial, successfuly decoding the perfume's contents. He offers the Italian a deal: Grenouille, short on technical know how but boasting the best nose in France, will create new perfumes that will rejuvenate Baldini's business; In exchange, Baldini must teach Grenouille the art of distilling scents. After being blown away by the upstart's sample, Baldini agrees and buys Grenouille off the tanner.

While the pair work together on new products, giving Baldini a new lease of life, the venerable master teaches servant the ways of preserving. With his new found knowledge, Grenouille begins 'experimenting', going to immoral lengths in his efforts to capture scents. Animal lovers in particular will not approve of his methods. Eventually, after recovering from a bout of ill health, Grenouille convinces Baldini to let him visit Grasse, a paradise town in the countryside boasting some of the most wonderful smells in Europe, essentially on a collecting exercise. Baldini agrees, and with papers in hands, Grenouille's mission begins. He now intends to create the greatest perfume the world has ever smelled, one of extreme emotional potency.

Upon his arrival, Grenouille has no interest in chasing for flowers and wildlife, instead seeing women as being the carriers he needs. Unable to acquire their scent willingly, he begins a series of murders in order to meet his goals and fill his twelve beakers. Grasse turns into a state of dissaray as the killings go on, with only the bereaved local Governor Antoine Richis (Alan Rickman) understanding the significance of the deaths. But Richis's fervour for catching the monster is beset by his conviction that his daughter Laura (Rachel Hurd-Wood) will surely be among the chosen. Little can you predict or fully understand the climax of these events.

Approaching Perfume, it is almost impossible to comprehend the spell created by Tykwer's vision and execution. In a wonderfully reconstructed post-renaissance France, the tale is played out like a folk legend, with lapses in logic and realism strangely improving the aptmosphere and gravitas of the story. With the director co-writing and co-composing the wonderful score, he traps the viewers in a demi-world created by beautiful cinematography and perfectly planned pacing, with some scenes lengthy but neccessarily so to impart significance and emotional purpose, while the more Hollywood but ultimately irrelevant murders are almost skimmed over in pursuit of that which matters. It's in a trance like state that you enter the final twenty minutes, and a stupour that sees you exit them as the credits roll.

Ben Whishaw, as the almost silent and fatally obssessed Grenouille, is superb here, bringing a childlike naivety to a monstorous part with his eyes, mumbled words and pensive body language, almost creating sympathy for a truly extraordinary but frankly dangerous man. Dustin Hoffman and Alan Rickman shine in significant and wordy parts, although both have about twenty minutes of screen time each, while alot of stock is put in bit part players portrayed by unknowns. This isn't a character piece, instead putting storytelling ahead of all else and allowing the people within it to become a means to an end.

Tykwer has no qualms about getting his hands dirty in the small details, from the harrowing start to his life that Grenouille endures, all the way through to the uncompromising end results of his mission, a scene that will live long in the memory and is one of the most original, unfathonable sequences put on film. Even the conclusion, almost swimming in symbolism and campfire sensationalist endgames, finds a way to both make sense in the greater sense of things as well as shock, a full circle completing a brief, spectacular life. There's an air of unsettling unreality throughout the piece, with no one scene proving particularly disturbing, but rather the whole film possessing a dreamlike quality which makes it impossible for you to be fully comfortable, yet refuses to let you be anything other than spellbound.

Fascinating and intoxicating, Perfume is perhaps one of the most original films of the 21st Century, and certainly one of the most unforgetable. What Tykwer does here isn't simply bringing a story into your reality, it's forcing it upon you, for better or for worse. A stunning achievement.

9/10

Moon - Film Review

A curious hybrid of film genres, motifs, philosophical pondering and low scale, low budget indie pop, Duncan Jones's debut is a pure Sci-Fi story that evokes memories of Solaris and 2001.

It's the near future, where it's been discovered that clean energy can be harvested from the surface of the moon. Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) is currently approaching the end of his three year contract alone on the site, when things start taking a rather strange turn.

After the briefest of brief prologues explaining the back story of Lunar Industries and their solo touring employees tending to mostly automated resource gatherers, we jump into the tale with little pre-amble.
Sam spends his days at the moon base attempting to keep busy, whether it by working on his meticulous model village, staying fit on the exercise machines or playing one man ping pong games. His only responsibility is monitoring and adjusting the work patterns of computer controlled harvester crafts on the surface, and keeping an ear out for messages from headquarters. His only company is an AI drone bot, Gerty (sublimely voiced by Kevin Spacey), a quirky invention that both operates within the mainframe and displays emoticons to express mood while expressing humourously polite behaviour. His main motivation comes from the occasional video logs he receives from his wife Tess (Dominique McElligott).

Though he is buoyed by his return planetside in two weeks time, Sam starts to encounter glitches in his life, starting with a hallucination of a young woman in his armchair. Distracted, he crashes his buggy into one of the harvesters while on a mission. He awakens in the infirmary being treated by the caring Gerty, without any memory of the accident and a newfound unfamiliarity with his surroundings. While recuperating from his concussion, he becomes suspicious of everything around him. When he overhears Gerty having a live feed conversation with his superiors, despite the communication antenna supposedly making this impossible, he decides to investigate for himself.

Outmaneuvering Gerty, Sam is able to reach the crashed buggy and discovers a man inside: himself. After carrying his apparent exact double back to the base, he is tossed into a surreal existence in the same environment of a second version of himself, apparently the original. While the injured Sam displays an outward enthusiasm for company, as unworldly as the set up is, Sam 2 is less bright at the prospect, showing an aggressive attitude and desperation to work out the cause of the anomoly, as the two bicker and theorise. Sam 2 is convinced his companion is a clone of himself, an apparently paranoid delusion, but more evidence piles up to back up his claims. When a message is received from HQ announcing the imminent arrival of a rescue team to fix the damage caused by the accident, the two Sams finally begin working together to both decode the puzzle and ensure their survival.

Considering the unconventional setting of this mindbedding, challenging drama thriller, it is easy to begin piling up possible explanations while watching, ranging from the increasingly outlandish to the simplistic. Throughout the story, you will find yourself pondering insanity, non-reality, human cloning, doppelgangers and alternate universes in an attempt to rationalise the impossibility of two Sams. That the film resists modern Holywood trends for shock twists and juxtaposition makes it both more respectable and ultimately improves the emotional appreciation and pathos of it's hubris.

In this sense, it's no wonder Duncan Jones is already on the fast track for big things, his second picture being the bigger budget, critically acclaimed 'better than it should be' Source Code. He shows extraordinary confidence in his vision (though the script is not his, the idea is), with a healthy focus on character, making clear this is a human story, and some almost subliminal hints towards the plot's destination that mean you're never certain despite the story refusing to toss around red herrings or rely on MacGuffins to power itself. In that vain, the subtle, nicely understated script brings an edge of modest realism to an extraordinary occurence, choosing to have more interest in the isolation and mental strain, giving Sam Rockwell plenty of material to get stuck into for his duel role.

And Rockwell, for so long a highly underappreciated chameleonlike supporting character actor, thrives on his new found focus, displaying versatility as the two Sams, seemingly on the opposite ends of an emotional cycle. He also brings a much needed charm and sympathy to their characters, anchoring us emotionally into their plight and struggle, both at the unforgiveable surroundings and also at the stomach wrenchingly unreal conundrum they face.

Backed by some mind boggilingly good effects (considering a highly modest $8m budget), great set design and cinematography, and a memorable and effective score from Clint Mansell, Moon is a film that draws you in gently and keeps you there, making you feel like a bystander to events, almost addicted to the isolated setting, the unseen third human character in proceedings. The odyssey passes in an almost dreamlike passage, troublingly personal and strangely optimisitic in places, despite it's apparent hopelessness. As explanations are provided, and the elephant in the room is addressed, there is also a philosophical issue raised in Blade Runner fashion.

A great slice of original, enchanting, hypnotising yet modest storytelling that relies on the sci of the sci-fi purely to make the story work on it's own merits, Moon is both a statement of intent from Jones and an incredibly high calibre piece that will doubtlessly be looked back upon as a classic of it's time. With Rockwell on this form, with the next level of his career havingly seemingly been reached, it is also totally unmissable.


9/10

Bronson: Film Review

A unconventional, art house semi-biopic of a genuine, bizzare and twisted human being, Nicolas Winding Refn takes an almost stream of conciousness approach towards the true story of Britain's most notorious prisoner Michael Petersen, aka Charlie Bronson.

Using some bizzare cinematic techniques, namely not so much breaking the fourth wall as much as obliterating it while refusing to show any dependence on chronology, Refn attempts to get us into the head of Bronson, in an almost misguided effort to allow the viewer to understand the man.

Tom Hardy is the titular character, and carries the film on incredibly musculed shoulders, going for long stretches with no other character on screen and the traditional inner dialogue replaced by pantomine pieces to camera, in which Bronson is performing a one man stage show and recounting his life.

Michael Peterson, born and raised in Luton, quickly develops a thirst for fame as unquenchable as his penchance for violence. But, after scrapping for much of his life, he deduces that he lacks the traditional talents for such a walk of life: namely acting or singing. Instead he robs a post office with a sawn off shotgun, bags £26.18 for his trouble, and is promptly jailed for four years.

As the film takes a free flowing, uncertain narrative, Peterson indulges in his main love, getting naked and then fighting. His constant attacks on prison guards and hostage taking situations simultaneously makes him a cult hero with his fellow inmates and a permanent thorn in the side of his jailers. While his reputation behind bars grows, so does his prison sentence. With much of his time spent in solitary confinement, the sentence dissolves into an indefinite lock in. Not that Peterson much minds, seeing his cell as a hotel room and prison as his home and a stepping stone to something much greater, yet unspecificied.

Over the years, Peterson finds himself in the faces of different wardens, staring at the walls of increasingly smaller stone rooms, enduring a stretch in a creepy psychiatric ward, where he kills a fellow patient, and even making the news by leading a prisoner's vigil atop the roof at Broadmoor. Eventually, almost by way of resignation, the judiciary system sees fit to release him back into soceity. Almost sarcastic in his attempts to re-adapt into the real world, Peterson finds an opportunity for the fame he seeks in the form of flamboyant talent seeker Paul Daniels (Matt King). As the subject of some bizzare art-fighting, Peterson adopts the professional name of Charles Bronson (after the actor), which he later decides upon as his identity. After a hopelessly doomed love affair sees him steal an engagement ring from a jewellers, he is sent back to the slammer.

This second spell on the inside, as it turns out, lasts decades and the real man is still behind bars. Despite efforts by his warders to find sedation, and a few more chances presented for Bronson to make more of himself, particularly in the form of art teacher Phil (James Lance), he constantly falls back into old routines, taking hostages in his cell, stripping naked and fighting gangs of baton wielding guards in an increasingly meaningless ritual. By ironic turn of fate, or by twisted design, the film itself perversely justifies Bronson's approach towards finding fame; he's better known now than ever, even without the stage show.

Looking back at a such a blistering feast, there are two factors which stand out and ultimately demand each other to make the film work. The first is the direction. Refn, the Danish Director behind the Pusher trilogy and soon to be released Ryan Gosling vehicle Drive, makes no apologies and attempts no coercion in his approach, allowing Bronson to tell his story on his own terms, so to speak. While the piece is for the most part set in prison, there are no constraints on the style, and minimal attention played to plotting and gritty realism, with creative license and artistic metaphor prominent. The non-linear scope gives the film the feel of somebody telling you a story.

And this is where the second factor comes in: Tom Hardy. Let's not beat around the bush, this a one man show and for such a showcase a truly talented actor must step forward. And step forward he does.
Delivering one of the most memorable performances of the decade, a physically transformed Hardy sheds any previous conceptions to disappear into the part. As the poster states, "Tom Hardy IS Bronson". He takes on the man myth with a certain humanity never too far from the surface, but is frank enough to know that Bronson's self made image and projection are the keys to the legend. At various turns hilarious, frightening, amiable, loathsome and tragic, he brings a quirky and honest face to a frankly dishonest aura and framing. From his twitchily unpredictable and pent up stage outings, to his silent and deadly reading of other characters, right down to the film's final shot, he brings a wide range of thought, energy and occasionally emotion, although almost all are at one end of the spectrum. Make no mistake, Bronson is, first and foremost, a maniac.

Throwing in some Kubrick references and old fashioned filming style and 70's/80's design, Bronson has the look of retro-grade cult film, completely defying it's release date of 2008 and throwing you into a surreal, occasionally disturbing sub-genre. Comparisons to A Clockwork Orange may be simplistic and potentially damaging to viewer expectations, but are ultimately in the right ball park. Both films enjoy a similarly amoral aptmosphere that skirts the small details of morality and pumps up the gallows humour at the expense of unneccesary pathos. The use of classical music presents the tale as operatic, which in many ways it almost is. One man vs the world in the Klaus Kinski mould.

One of the most fascinating side effects of watching the film, however, is the almost desperate pursuit of answers at the final curtain. The viewer desperately attempts to work out Bronson, asking themself why he went through nearly forty years of incarceration and isolation, what could possibly justify such an extreme anti-social mentality and constant self destruction. Seeing him as some sort of one man army, a vigilante type figure and some sort of little man hero, is deluded, as is the notion he ever went to such lengths for anyone other than himself. A megalomaniac psychopath, devoid of a path and consoled by delusions of grandeur and the belief in his own importance? Probably. This is as definitive as things get, which bizzarely makes the piece far more satisfying.

Overall, a stunning character piece of one of the 20th Century's most bizzare figures, reaching operatic levels of storytelling and led by a sensational turn by one of cinema's brightest up and coming talents. While no attempt to justify the man's life is made, it is a life worth watching.


9/10

Red Riding (1983): Film Review

The conclusion to an epic trilogy, based on an even more epic quartet of novels, arrives with the reigns in the hand of Anand Tucker and with it a mountain of information, explanation, revelation and some shocks to bring to an end the nine year tale of corruption, murder and greed in West Yorkshire.

Foregoing the previous plot method of making inroads into the mythology of the story by way of a single, unknowing protagonist, this time we are treated to three major character arcs of varying significance, size and literal method.

The three men in question are the long silent, conflicted and guilty Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), series survivor and escapist BJ (Robert Sheehan) and rotund, good hearted solicitor John Piggott (Mark Addy).

The film opens with a flashback, one of many to appear throughout the film, and takes place at the wedding of a high ranking officer's daughter, where a group of officers including Jobson, and led by head honcho Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke), thrash out the building blocks of their scheme, putting themselves into the pocket of ambitious developer John Dawson (Sean Bean) in exchange for the dividents of a hugely prosperous retail park on their land, one which will be the largest in Europe and make all of those involved hugely rich.

Back in the present, Jobson is placed in a bind when yet another young girl disappears, in identical fashion to Dawson's victims back in 1974. Given responsibility for clearing up the matter quietely and conveniently, Jobson is partenered by dirty copper Dick Alderman (Shaun Dooley), and his enquiries lead him from a psychic medium (Saskia Reeves), to jailed fall guy Michael Myshkin (Daniel Mays) and constantly back to his own illegal practices.

Meanwhile local lawyer Piggott finds himself morally bankrupted by Myshkin's mother (Beatrice Kelley) into launching an appeal against her mentally challenged son's incarceration, since the latest disappearance seemingly puts him in the clear. Although hugely reluctant to become involved in a case of such magnitude, and attempt to free a man who had confessed to the crimes, he finds himself drawn further in by curiosity at the inconsistencies in the initial trial and also at the constant involvement of a dodgy lawyer he knows personally.
Amidst all this, BJ makes his way back to his old haunt of Fitzwilliam, a garage for a home and a sawn off shotgun for company, with his poetic voiceovers outlying his own revenge mission against the source of his long term suffering.

Jobson, always the reluctant participant in the schemes concocted by G-man Harold Angus (Jim Carter) and Molloy, continues to crumble morally and emotionally in the face of yet more brutality and illegality in his line of work, brought to a head when Myshkin's old friend Leonard Cole (Gerard Kearns) is tortured into a confession in a police interrogation room. While Jobson embarks on an ill-advised romance with the medium, Mandy Wymer, he also spends much time thinking back on the original case, during which we learn of the involvement posed by Reverend Laws (Peter Mullan) and the other officers. His protests at the time, much like those now, are shouted down by stronger men.

Piggott's continuing efforts see him run into Leonard Cole himself, whom he intends to represent, but an endeavour cut short when Cole 'kills himself' in his cell, seemingly putting a nice convenient end to matters. More and more suspicious and cynical, Piggott hastens his efforts, taking him down the trail left by Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield) and ultimately leading towards men in the community such as his high standing father. As the truth is finally revealed, a shocking web of cruelty and perversion that spawned murder and subterfuge as a method of enforced silence in the pursuit of money, the three protagonist's stories come to a brutal, clarifying end, redemption and retribution mixed with limited closure.

As the final chapter in the story, much of 1983's responsibilities are explanation and, in an unfortunate neccessity, exposition. Therefore it is easy to get lost in the thick plotlines that occasionally lapse into flashback and chronological free flow without a great deal of warning, with certain scenes requiring some time to decode and some hints and answers being almost lost in the tale. Despite that, the scripting is able to both carry off this series of answered questions while retaining a strong part three story that pits three hopeless men into a war that is almost over, one final effort to bring to the surface years of despair, greed and shocking secrecy.

And what better way to reach this endgame than with men sidelined in previous installments. David Morrissey and Robert Sheehan take centre stage with gusto, bearing the heavy weight of significance on their shoulders with ease and delivering pained, tragic performances at different ends of the spectrum. While Morrissey's Jobson is a man destroyed by regret, little more than a shell before finally reaching his own event horizon, Sheehan's BJ is a long term sufferer who's life has been left so empty that his only goal is a bloody payback against a man who was once his shepherd. Both are terrific performances, and they are backed by a great turn by Mark Addy, as his character develops from chirpy and ignorant to angered and crusading by events he is caught up in.

In the flashbacks, we see a great deal of old faces, with Warren Clarke showing a different side to the ultimate corruption incarnate Bill Molloy, and Sean Bean returning to shed more light on the mysterious and depraved Dawson. Both past and present, Peter Mullan enjoys greater and greater significance until he is ultimately revealed to be one of the series's most vital characters, in essence the wolf of the Red Riding Hood parable. There is further good support from Saskia Reeves and particularly Daniel Mays, in a warts and all perfomance as tragic and disheartening as any other seen before.

As well as finally learning the truth beyond the riddle, we see a number of minor plot questions answered in well scripted fashion, such as the revelation that Jobson tipped off Dunford to the burning of the gypsy camp in 1974, and the explanation for 1980 character John Nolan's betrayal. Other hints and tips ("under the beautiful carpets") are finally addressed and, although some details are left open to speculation, the bulk of the story is brought to a close. There are however, some frustrating elements to this. On the whole, Peter Hunter is ignored despite his leading status in 1980, while other characters are never heard from again.

With the progressing use of camera, 1983 has a distinctively different look to it's predecesors, and the set design and general production is excellent and in keeping with the times. Music is again top notch, as is the editing. Tucker's direction, though, does on occasion leave something to be desired. When it veers into creative license, it causes confusion more than anything else. One particular flashback sequence which is experienced by Piggott is almost infuriatingly hard to work out.

Despite this, 1983 is able to avoid becoming too convuluted by it's labyrinth story and turns, giving some degree of finality and bringing to light the truths of the series in an episode packed with raw intensity and emotional power. It ultimately becomes a tale of redemption, and the victory over a long standing culture of closed doors and unwilling ears. An appropriate and satisfying finale to a deeply unsettling, highly memorable and superbly constructed trilogy.

8/10

Red Riding (1980): Film Review

Part two of the trilogy, 1980 sees a host of old faces return, a few new ones introduced and a mythology hidden behind the genuine cultural occurences in West Yorkshire expanded. In this case, the bridge back into the tale of corruption and foul play in the North is the Yorkshire ripper, as Man on Wire director James Marsh takes up the reigns of the huge story from Julian Jarrold.

With the aforementioned 'Jack from Hell' continuing his terrible deeds, his body tally stretching to thirteen, the Home Office responds by drafting a new 'super squad' into the investigation. This comes in the form of Mancunian detective Peter Hunter (Paddy Considine), and his subordinates Helen Marshall (Maxine Peake) and John Nolan (Tony Pitts).

Hardly popular with the beat cops, with whom he is referred to as PC C word, Hunter's trials are made difficult with head honcho Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke) being taken off the case following a bizzare televised appeal to the killer, and a general feeling that the local force have taken the killings far too personally, leaving command of the man hunt to his right hand man Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey).

Hunter immediately plows into the background of the killings, pouring through the details of the previous killings in the build up to Christmas, 'helped' by a liason in the form of now detective Bob Craven (Sean Harris), one of the two heavies who sideswiped Eddie Dunford in 1974. The other man, Tommy Douglas (Tony Mooney), is now off the force following these events, bitter at the police force and potentially useful as an informant. Indeed, it is revealed that Hunter had initially worked on the investigation of the Karachi Club shoot out, which served as the end of the previous film and has seemingly been covered up with talks of an impossible gunfight taking place.

The team quickly find a potential discrecepancy in the files, regarding one of the victims, Claire Strachan. Formerly pimped out by a now dead police officers, the woman's death does not match those of the other ripper killings, and Hunter's suspicions are confirmed by a visit from BJ (Robert Sheehan), a survivor of the first film, and Reverend Martin Laws (Peter Mullan), the community support worker. Working on this information, Hunter begins to find evidence of a cover up within the case that suggests yet more corruption, stretching all the way back to Karachi and John Dawson. No sooner does he begin making progress, however, is Hunter reprimanded by superiors for mistreating the investigating officers, while he is concerned by his subordinate Helen's new found intimacy with Laws, compromising the enquiry.

With his superiors seemingly content to cut loose the case, and with his supposed colleagues hindering his efforts with every step, Hunter faces an unwinable battle amid a hail of blackmail, false allegations, journalistic pressing and intimidation from the rank and file as the body toll rises and witnesses are gotten rid of, culminating in an attempt to force a staged success story when the killer Peter Suttcliffe is finally caught.

1980 adds more weight to the second of the trilogy school of thinking. While 1974 stood up on it's own feet, not entirely independent, but easily acceptable as a solo effort, it's successor at times feels far too much like filler, a lack of the plot which the made the first packed with story instead leaving gaps and leading to an abrupt ending one step beyond a cliffhanger.

James Marsh employs workmanlike direction, never quite grabbing the visual flair and distinct appearance of Julian Jarrold's work but still managing to maintain the bubble of the era, albeit losing some of the more internal musings conveyed in part one. The scripting once again is excellent, with good character points scored and opportunity for some great internal rifts and sniping heading up towards the restrained and composed, but ultimately impotent Hunter.

There's also an opportunity for overlapping character arcs, with Craven and Laws enjoying expanded coverage, while there are room for brief cameos by the likes of Eddie Marsan, which plays well into a sense of the trilogy being one whole rather than the sum of it's parts. However, the flip side of this is that virtually everyone involved aside from Hunter and his detectives know exactly what's going on, and that includes the viewer. It's maddening watching the likes of Craven, Molloy and Jobson walking free of any punishment, and the new mystery created which drives the plot is rather bungled in it's elaboration near the end, with exposition from one character filling in too many gaps and making much of the already seen police work irrelevant. The conclusion is disheartening on too many levels.

Despite this, the ensemble steps up to the plate once more, with the always excellent Considine delivering another conflicted, torn performance as the straw man Hunter, and he's ably backed up by those around him, particularly Maxine Peake and Peter Mullan, who oozes mystery having previously only been seen in a single scene. The one weak link is the undoubtedly talented Sean Harris, who strains to keep up a Yorkshire accent during longer stretches of dialogue than before, at times distracting when compared to the genuine speach patterns of his fellow actors.

Music choice and cinematography are once again excellent, and a good use of locations certainly adds the feel of the piece, particularly the Hades like gloom of Fitzwilliam. The opening sequence of the film, using archive news footage covering the reign of terror inflicted by the Ripper is both highly evocative and educational in detailing the impact the murders had in the area, as well as setting the tone brilliantly and allowing the story to naturally flow into the quasi-reality. 1980 lacks the cultural significance of 1974, but keeps up the brooding mood.

Suffering from being a relay messenger of sorts, keeping the story running for the concluding 1983 at the expense of it's own standing, 1980 is still doubtlessly watchable and enjoyable, albeit on a disappointing note when contrasted with the trapesty weaved by it's predecessor.

7/10

The Debt Collector: Film Review

A relic of the Channel 4 Films era, The Debt Collector is writer/director Anthony Neilson's first, and sadly, only film, and tells a rather cynical, bitter and gritty story inspired by everything from Jimmy Boyle to Macbeth, and focussing on the concept of nemesis, forgiveness and redemption.

In the 1970's, with Thin Lizzie playing quietly in the background, rookie undercover copper Gary Keltie (Ken Stott) finally manages to bring down Glaswegian enforcer Nicky Dryden (Billy Connolly) in the gangster's own Edinburgh haunt, earning himself hero status with a big future ahead.

Fast forward two decades. Dryden, rehabilitated and released, has developed a new career as a sculptour and artist, having discovered the trade while in prison. He is married to journalist Val (Francesca Annis), lives in a large house by the sea and is presenting art exhibitions at museums around the city as the festival prepares to start.

It's during one of his exhibitions chaired by Edinburgh's artistic royalty that Dryden's night is ruined by an unexpected guest: Keltie. Taking a switch knife to one of Dryden's sculptures and bluntly stating that his one time haul doesn't have everyone's forgiveness, the manic cop sparks off a personal battle between the two.

While Dryden has become stronger, richer and happier after incarceration, Keltie's life has stalled depressingly since the arrest. He lives with his elderly mother (Annette Crosbie) in a miserable council house, fights with his superior officers and cuts a lonely, angry figure in a police force that once saw him as a legend but now treat him as a laughing stock.

On top of the harrasment he suffers at the hands of Keltie, Dryden also is forced to deal with his past misdemeanours and career, as well as the overtures of a psychotic young hood, Flipper (Iain Robertson), who has become enamoured with him. But while initially being irritated and distracted by those trapsing into his life, Dryden's life is turned upside down when Keltie ruins a wedding within his newly adopted family by bringing a van full of the former hard man's victim's to the service. As each swing of revenge becomes more feral and desperate, the pair move from battling to warring, threatening those around them in a pained, hopeless fight that loses it's meaning in violence and savagery.

Played out almost like a stage play, Neilson's story establishes a firm battle between the ferocious, vengeful and seedy Keltie and the regretful, baffled and restrained Dryden. Each turn of the screw ups the ante, culminating in personal loss and blurred lines in both Keltie's mission and Dryden's attempts at self defence. It moves and feels like a classic tragedy, with two deeply flawed men caught in a mostly needless and unwinable scrap caused more by bitterness than righteousness, more jealous hurt than moral crusading. This leaves the stage free for Connolly, fresh off the back of his superlative performance in Mrs Brown, and Stott to channel all manner of ugly energies and honest human traits in a film that constantly threatens to be a psychological thriller.

The two do not disappoint. Connolly's hard checked personality and approach perfectly portrays a man desperate to remain composed, years in prison and the promise of a second chance at life stalling his violent tendencies and mortal resolutions in a wonderfuly subdued, subtle performance. Stott goes down the other road, a hard boiled ebbing and flowing man pushed on by bitter hatred of the world, of the unfairness of his existence and the indignity he feels at Dryden's new found happiness. Only his dottery mother (superbly played by Annette Crosbie, often ignored as a dramatic actress since One Foot in the Grave) is spared the walking, burnt out fury. Stott throws his all in, giving his finest performance and delivering virtuoso turns. Both men's world weariness is encapsulated, making the final confrontation almost despairingly pointless.

The script really works wonders, Neilson's best contribution. Using minimalistic means to control the plot, with a sparse use of action and unlikely set pieces, the movement of the story feels natural and entirely plausible, while giving almost every character some form of moral conundrum or internal splits. A very grim mood fills the tale, even beyond the duel taking place in it's centre, creating a melancholy which makes the blood hatred perversely apt.

A quiet but high calibre character piece which forgoes extravagant leaps in an attempt at false thrills, The Debt Collector is a human drama of very good quality which supplies material in full to two leads on top of their game, creating a memorable but dark performance art.

8/10

Half Pint Reviews: Ravenous & Face

A new feature today, one I'll probably start to utilise a little more often, is Half Pint reviews. The idea behind this is that I pick out a couple of films to give a quick going over and a rating, rather than delving into the detail I usually do.

To start us off, a pair of contrasting but obscure little gems from Antonia Bird, both featuring Robert Carlyle.


Ravenous


A bizzare little slice of horror and blacker than black comedy, Ravenous charts a somewhat disturbing and borderline supernatural tale of cannibalism in 19th Century frontier California. A box office lead balloon, following development hell that saw original director Milcho Manchevski fired, the film has slipped into obscurity despite it's uniqueness.

John Boyd (Guy Pearce), a veteran of the American-Mexican war, is promoted to Captain after single handedly capturing an enemy command post. However, it soon emerges that he is a coward who only managed to infiltrate the enemy lines by playing dead as his men were killed around him. Found out by his commanding officer, General Slauson (the late John Spencer), Boyd is dished out an unofficial punishment by being sent to the sleepy, dysfunctional Sierra Nevada outpost Fort Spencer.

Here, he is third in command of a skeleton eight man detachment, consisting of the neurotic Colonel Hart (Jeffrey Jones), simpleton Private Cleaves (David Arquette), stuttering Chaplain Toffler (Jeremy Davies), drunkard Major Knox (Stephen Spinella), borderline psychotic Private Reich (Neal McDonough) and Native American brother and sister George (Joseph Running Fox) and Martha (Sheila Tousey).

Their sitcom-esque boredom is struck off when a freezing, starving traveller, Calqhoun (Robert Carlyle) arrives at the camp. He recounts how his wagon convoy ran into foul weather and terrain, became stuck in a mountain cave, and how he has escaped the cannibalism that gripped them in order to survive. The garrison saddle up for a rescue mission, which quickly turns pear shaped, and upon his return to Fort Spencer, Boyd is shocked to find that nobody believes his story. Already despised and distrusted, things get worse with the arrival of the camp's new commanding officer, the seemingly impossible arrival of a very much known character. A battle of wills follows, as Boyd is stuck between any moral fortitude he possesses and the need for surival as the twists and shocks pile up.

Ravenous takes enormous risks as a film, some of which pay off handsomely, others which take some getting used to. First off, our protaganist Boyd is a coward. He shys away from conflict, painfully so at times, and his being found out on a number of occasions is difficult to watch. His fellows are not much better, with only Reich providing any real threat. Guy Pearce takes introverted, thoughtful steps towards the role, a quiet figure who, despite being the leading man, doesn't utter a full sentence for the first twenty minutes of the film.

The approach, however, is the big deciding point on whether you can enjoy the piece. Rather than take a serious approach to a fairly absurd story, Antonia Bird goes for a surreal, unsettling plan of attack in which pitch black moments are presented as bizzare knock about farce. Music choice sees a potentially tense chase being overlayed by slapstick, upbeat western campfire tunes. The characters, with a couple of exceptions, string together oddball dialogue, whether by failing to put any point into the words or by contradicting themselves constantly.

By refusing to take itself seriously, Ravenous in a roundabout way becomes more unsettling than it would had it gone for standard, campy horror in the mountains, defusing the impossibility of the plot and the stretches it takes for the benefit of our entertainment. Pearce is typically reliable, a surprisingly subtle perfomance, and Robert Carlyle displays chameleon abilities to channel characters within his character, and suitably menacing and superior when needs be. Jeffrey Jones is a lot of fun in his role too.

So, a hugely unpredictable horror thriller/dark comedy hybrid with plenty of laughs and thrills, as one would hope for, but one that leaves you wondering what would have resulted had the film gone down the conventional route.

7/10




Face


A perhaps unfairly overlooked, virtually unheard of London gangster thriller, Face takes a low key, almost relaxed approach towards the ramifications of a job gone wrong and the treachery that follows.

Ray (Robert Carlyle, bearing a flawlessly toned down Cockney accent) is a firmly established professional criminal, a former socialist protestor turned armed robber.

Along with his close friend Dave (Ray Winstone), simple sidekick Stevie (Steven Waddington), fixer Julian (Phillip Davis) and newboy Jason (Damon Albarn), he orchestrates a robbery of a security depot intended to earn the gang £2 million to split between them.

However, despite carefully planned routine and precision, they in fact only scalp £300k, resulting in some tension within the crew. Ray attempts to pass this off, settling on his cut and happy to share the night with girlfriend Connie (Lena Headey). But when the next morning comes, each of the men have had their money stolen, with trusted friends killed in the process. Realising his precarious predicament, with nobody to trust and the police taking a keen interest, Ray leads the group's efforts to find the loot before he walks into the sunset.

Rather than going for sensationalised gangster lifestyles, or Guy Ritchie style high thrills and beat thumping style, Antonia Bird instead takes a straight forward approach to the story, with Ken Loach style honest camera angles and techniques, lettling a shadowed but fairly simple plot provide the entertainment and interest rather than jazzing it up. Even gunfights and action sequences, not to mention the violence, occur almost naturally, making them more piercing without build up.

This, in turn, gives a great opportunity for a character study of Ray to occur, highlighting his contradictory views and confused lifestyle, a million miles away from the old life that still presents itself to him on a daily basis. It's a subtle, honest perfomance by Carlyle, almost the hero of the story, bringing a realistic degree of pathos and complexity to his character and expressing more through mannerisms than lines of dialogue.

Ray Winstone plays against type as a more pent up, straight collared type, no sign of the wolfy voice and demeanour. He isn't even the hardest man of the group, let alone the East End. The rest of the cast play their roles well, bringing various, neccesary energies to the story, while a laid back choice of music brings an odd relaxed aptmosphere to a fairly frantic and stressful story.

A very watchable crime flick without pretensions or the need to steal Scorscese style tub thumping or British gangster snarls, Face is a film that perhaps would benefit from a little more energy, a little less detachment.

7/10

Red Riding (1974): Film Review

The opener of the ambitious and fairly epic trilogy of adaptations based on David Pearce's labyrinth, apocryphal novels, this perhaps does not constitute as a film for review since it was aired on Channel 4. But given it's cinematic structure, production values and approach, I deem it worthy of scrutiny based on it's own merits. So, here we go.

In 1974 Yorkshire, a young local girl has gone missing, sparking the interest of the downbeat and insular community. Local boy Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield) returns home and walks into a job at the town paper after a stretch studying journalism in London, and quickly develops an interest in the case, despite the reservations of his editor Bill Hadley (John Henshaw) and close friend Barry (Anthony Flanagan).

His instincts prove correct as he notices a recurring theme of disappearing local youngsters, all of whom have seemingly vanished without a trace. Despite his findings, he is treated with general contempt by the local police, represented by the intimidating and coarse Bill Molloy (Warren Clarke), and the silent Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), who have no qualms with showing their dissatisfaction at his 'interference'.

The effort seems to have been in vain anyway, as the missing girl is found dead on a building site owned by a local industrialist, swan's wings stitched into her back after being severely abused and murdered. Put onto a different story, Eddie cannot resist the lure of the mystery, leading him into a neo-noir world of shadowy secrets. Along the way, he meets and falls for one of the bereaved parents, Paula (Rebecca Hall), and finds an illegal plot to clear land by the police and orchestrated by the powerful John Dawson (Sean Bean), a scheme intertwined with the murders.

Eddie is repeatedly punished (he is turned black and blue by the black and blue numerous times) for his trespassing, but the personal significance really reaches a head with the suspicious death of a friend, and the overpowering silence of those in the know. Despite everything, Eddie's crusade gathers pace and cost as he seeks to expose and bring down Dawson and the local mafia type organisation.

Red Riding 1974 is best summed up, in terms of plot, aptmosphere and mood by one line spoken by a minor character in the final act, which becomes a recurring phrase throughout the trilogy: "This is the North, where we do what we want".
Director Julian Jarrold paints a bleak, overwhelmingly grey picture of 70's small town and poverty stricken Yorkshire, a blunt and near feral world where the smart talking Eddie is shot down for his extrovert approach, surrounded as he is by no-nonsense, harsh men brought up at the coal face and dedicated to a working man mentality bereft of any change. The cinematography evokes memories of Seven's dauntingly colourless landscapes, a constant smoky haze coating council houses, gypsy settlements and pub basements. This in turn lends itself to a dour, hopeless mood of cruelty and despair, where an idealist like Eddie and his conspiracy-obssessed friend Barry are not permitted to grow. The people of this world are not allowed to think outside of the box they live in.

Andrew Garfield, barely before his career exploded into life with The Social Network, leads a dynamite cast with a genuine charm and confidence, a very likely fish out of water without the dark thinking to ever consider himself out of his depth. Eddie's struggles start out through a desire for truth and a loathing of the fat cats, an idealism which is blunted when the personal toll of mission makes things a matter of vengeance and redemption, ironically bringing him down to the level of his enemies.

He is assisted ably, with the film's general second billing and villain status being thrust upon the usually heroic Sean Bean. He oozes charisma and experience as the darkly dissembling Dawson, a local likely lad who's hit the big time, his smart suits and fancy cars (not to mention a bizzare manor house) at odds with the rough local accent and his small town views and attitudes. Likeable at turns, he is also terrifying at others, a clear indicator that Eddie is not fighting his battle on level terms.

Rebecca Hall, still flitting between big star mainstream and character actress, brings complexity and depth to the emotionally damaged and morally tortured Paula in a superb, subtle performance that is probably the pick of the bunch. Hugely attractive yet unquestionably untrustworthy and potentially dangerous, she provides the conundrum to intoxicate Eddie for better or for worse, and provides all the motivation the hero needs to make things personal. In one particularly stand out scene, an argument between her and Eddie sees Paula once again tap into the open source of cynicism in their life, effectively shooting down Eddie's moralistic crusade, and immediately crumbles when she sees the heartbreak in his eyes. It's a deeply human, conflicted moment.

There is further good work among the others, with Anthony Flanagan unpredictable and paranoid as Barry, Hemsworth typically laconic and pragmatic as the editor, and David Morrissey sinister and myserious in a near wordless role. Warren Clarke enjoys a memorable scene with Eddie, where his foul mouthed bile provides both gallows humour and genuine terror. There is further sterling support in small roles from Peter Mullan, Mary Joe Randle, Eddie Marsan, Robert Sheehan (as the film's most bizzare character), Gerard Kearns and Cathryn Bradshaw as Dawson's near insane wife, a woman who holds many pieces in the complex jigsaw.

With a towering script which perfectly balances plot and dialogue, action and pondering, and a well judged backing soundtrack, 1974 rises out of it's status as a TV Movie and looks and sounds for all the world like a conventional cinema crime thriller, a neo-noir with an unorthodox setting. The background of the misery suffered by the 1970's working class, and the reign of terror caused by the Yorkshire ripper, provide perfect placement which gives the piece a vital sense of authenticity. In that regard, costume and make up work is also spot on, leaving us in no doubt of the era. In many ways Red Riding isn't so much about missing children and corruption as it is about inclosed community and cultural divides, of how the North and Yorkshire sit almost on their own plain of existence.

The only criticism is that one of the key points of the film, a vital plot point, is finally addressed almost off hand in the closing stages.

A dark, grimy and cynical story both in terms of tale and look, 1974 draws you in with it's complex mystery and keeps that attention at a vice like grip with emotional connection and intensity, delivering a desperately bitter sweet conclusion that both draws to a close a wonderful story and also leaves you salivating at the prospect of two more to come. A flagship effort.

"This is the North, where we do what we want"

9/10

Heartless: Film Review

In line with my reviews of little noted, but certainly worthy releases from recent years, Heartless is yet another genre splitting gem that had eluded me frustratingly.

Phillip Ridley's first film for 14 years, the all ranging artist writes and directs this horror/psychological thriller/drama amalgamation that's heavy on symbolism and metaphor as well as genuine shocks, thrills and emotional poignancy.

Jamie (rising star Jim Sturgess) is a young photographer, left cripplingly shy by a series of oversized 'port wine stain' birthmarks, the most prominent of them a heart shaped mark over his left eye. Hidden behind his hood and left to live a lonely existence in London with his religuous mother (Ruth Sheen), Jamie wanders the city streets at night, set in a belief that he will never be granted a happy ending, or the beautiful family he craves.

Things change, however, when he begins seeing demons ransacking back alleys and abandoned buildings, drawn to molotov cocktails and screeching unintelligible cries, seemingly unnoticed by anyone else. Disturbed by these sightings, Jim is left with little outlet to express his concerns, even when the demons themselves begin attacking citizens in seemingly random, horrific killings, which are attributed to a local gang leader. Despite making friends with new neighbour AJ (Noel Clarke), an amiable and openly friendly but ambiguous figure, and having the complete trust of his brother and fellow snapper Ray (Justin Sallinger), Jamie becomes more insular and tortured.

The turning point is reached when a personal tragedy at the hands of the monsters leaves Jamie emotionally destroyed and ultimately vengeful. After escaping the attack relatively unscathed, he buys a gun from local shopkeeper Vinnie (Fraser Ayres), and seeks mortal retribution, overcoming suicidal urges and haunted by the memory of his deceased, loving father George (Timothy Spall). Any plans he has are turned upside down when he is approached by the source of the chaotic goings on, 'Papa B' (Joseph Mawle), a Satanic figure living inside a burnt out tenement flat. He is offered a faustian bargain: Papa B will remove the birthmarks that have ruined Jamie's life, and in exchange Jamie will be required to perform a small service on occasion (in this case, blasphemous vandalism). The offer is accepted, and Jamie is transformed by self immolation.

With a new lease of life, Jamie is able to find a new confidence in himself, and even romance and fall in love with a beautiful model, Tia (Clemence Poesy). His happiness is brought to an end, however, by the arrival of Papa B's consigliere, Weapons Man (Eddie Marsan), where it becomes clear that Jamie has naively stumbled into a trap, and now owes his dark master a human heart.

In a dream like haze, Jamie is torn from one side to the other as he ponders his long awaited happiness and contentment against the sin of murder and the loss of his soul. As the darkness and violence escalates, he is brought further towards the truth and final realisations which draw a question mark over everything that has occured.

The most distinctive thing about Heartless is it's setting and the aptmosphere it builds, creating well defined parables and turning London into a miserable, hopeless hell threatening to eat up Jamie and his loved ones. Mainly seen at night, and lit in unearthly fashion by street lights and free flames, there is a double faced edge which becomes oppresive and perfectly representative of the young hero's environment.

The hints towards the dark and sinister underbelly are made clear from the start. The film opens with the random shout of "You're gonna fucking die!", a line of some significance by the film's stunning and brain freezing climax. Characters speak of the hell in which they live, with a hard ingrained weariness at the freak violence around them, youth crime boiling over the edge of the pan. This is backed by a morose, tingling soundtrack from the deeply underrated David Julyan (Memento, The Prestige), and some wonderful cinematography.

Jim Sturgess, accelerated towards the big time by his superb performance in Peter Weir's The Way Back, delivers a perfect turn as the tortured hero, tapping into dark areas which trigger both empathy and sympathy before his nearly understandable bloodlust is roused and perfectly represented. He is ably supported by the supporting cast, Noel Clarke and Timothy Spall particularly impressive in small but significant roles. The real grabber of attention and praise, though, is veteran character actor Eddie Marsan's single scene, a dynamic display as the terrifying yet hilarious Weapon's Man, an inspired series of monologues and verbal wordplay.

The story twists and turns, and the rivetting and upsetting conclusion leaves much ambiguity over horrendous events, and takes on an almost Buddhist end to a riddle we were barely aware of. In that vain, there are many visual and spoken metaphors to be decoded with some ease, a form of self justification in explaining away seemingly inexplicable acts of violence with actions of the realm of Hell, all part of a plan to create a balance when harmony threatens. The final scene may bring a tear to your eye, without you even being sure why.

Overall, Heartless is an emotionally draining, intellectually challenging film heavy with subtext that ultimately revolves around suffering within rather than without, and is backed by a superb set up and great performances sure to stay with you for some time. The real mystery for me, once more, is how such a well made and assembled piece was allowed to slip under the radar.

8/10

The Escapist: Film Review

Seeing as how Rupert Wyatt's new take on The Planet of the Apes saga is imminent, it seems a good time to look back and reflect on his debut from 2008, his only other film, and a cracking and challenging little piece without it's deserved appreciation.

Lifer Frank Perry's (Brian Cox) hopeless existence inside a maximum security and slightly surreal prison block is turned upside down when he learns his young daughter, who he hasn't seen since she was a little girl, is on her death bed as a result of drugs. Desperate to see her one last time and make things right, he concocts a mad scheme to escape the four walls that dominate his life, roping in a group of his fellow cons. But as the day quickly approaches, a battle of intrigue with fellow inmates puts the whole plan at risk.

As the story pans out, we are treated to a split narrative, with scenes of the actual escape in baffling circumstances mixed with the build up and ulitmate explanations.

After receiving the key letter, Frank immediately starts scouting his surroundings, finding weak spots which could be exploited. Convinced that hope isn't misplaced, he approaches long term fixer and half friend Brodie (Liam Cunningham) with his ideas. Hugely reluctant to take the risk, knowing just how badly things can go wrong, Brodie is finally swayed by Frank's passion and determination to make things work. To aid in the impossible task, the pair draft in thief and strongman Lenny Drake (Joseph Fiennes), who's own hopes of approaching parole have been destroyed by Frank's former cellmate.

However, their best laid plans are threatened by the intervention of the two villians of the wing. Sadistic drug addict Tony (Steven Mackintosh) gets wind of the escape, blackmailing Frank into providing a large cache of his tipple in exchange for his silence. Tony's status and own safety are secured by his brother, the wing's psychotic and widely feared capo Rizza (Damian Lewis). So then there was four, as Rizza's own chemical wizz Batista (singer Seu Jorge) is brought in. To add to the mix, Frank's new cellmate, the young and naive Lacey (Dominic Cooper) becomes entangled in the operation and finds himself both the object of Tony's sociopathic tendencies and the beneficiary of Frank's unexpected protection. All the while, the dangerous descent and then ascent out of the nightmare prison is seen in almost fantasy tinted scenes. The film veers from twist to shock that leaves you wondering how things could possibly end up as they do. A stunning reveal at the end, one Christopher Nolan would be proud of, both provides the film a sudden poignancy and gives the title a completely different meaning.

Using a group of underappreciated but hugely talented character actors, mixed with unconventional casting choices, Wyatt (who co-wrote the script) creates an aptmosphere of stoic silence among the protaganist, building instead on unspoken and subtle reactions to give as a gauge of the characters, with the exception of two.

The first thing to reflect on are the skills of debutant Wyatt, who shows himself to be a ferocious and highly confident director who clearly has brought a lot of influences into his pacing and storytelling. The initially jarring split narrative gives the film a balance and of course, as things turn out, is hugely vital in plotting a tale that would otherwise have been a rather disposable escape yarn. He creates a wonderfully oppressive and creepy aptmosphere in the unnamed prison block, marrying old fashioned settings and practices with modern appliances and background in Gilliam esque mood setting.

This works in tandem with an understated script, allowing the actors to feed off character traits and more realistic turns, which massively aids in preventing sentamentalism creeping in. It brings the best out of a group of superb actors. Brian Cox, so often wasted in cheap villain roles, is in career defining form as the quiet, hard bitten Frank, conveying emotional pain and desperation with a single facial expression. His journey is reflected not by exposition and overlong verbal ruminations and internal dialogue, but by his slumped shoulders and unapologetic acceptance of his dire surroundings.

He's backed by an ensemble cast, with the ever reliable Liam Cunningham injecting amiability and solidity into his role as the blank canvas Brodie, while Joseph Fiennes plays against type as the aggressive and bitter, but highly resourceful Drake, a million miles away from his leading heart throb roles of the nineties. Seu Jorge acquits himself well as a drug dealer, and Dominic Cooper (pre-big break) shows a nicely subtle side as a young man with good intentions thrust out of his depth.

The two standouts are the brothers, two surprise casting choices in Steven Mackintosh and Damian Lewis. As the creepy, sinister and loathsome Tony, Mackintosh nails the jittery personality and provides a real fearful nature around the druggie, an irrationality and unpredictability which provides a very genuine risk to our heroes' hopes and dreams.

And as Rizza, Lewis's presence dominates the story, although his screentime is limited. He transforms himself from amiability to become a complex and fascinating but terrifying character who could easily carry a whole film. Ruthless and unnerving, Lewis's cockney accent and clipped speech pattern, coupled with dead eyed stares and an odd campness, teases questions and answers that go unprovided. Seemingly a plot device on legs with a feminine stut, he soon because the antithesis of Frank, a man reliant on the bars and cells for his power. He is easily one of the best villains I've seen on screen for some time.

On reflection, it is incredible to think that this film struggled to find a distributor, hence why it went so unnoticed, and also that Wyatt was able to weave such a tapestry and hugely impressive tale on such a tight budget and time constraints. A small independent film with all the appearances of a barn storming British film industry flagship.

Like so many films of it's type, The Escapist could well have been improved with an extra half an hour of screen time, as morish as it and also because of the tantalising prospect of developing the characters further and adding more variables. As it stands though, The Escapist is a surprisingly thought provoking piece that goes beyond the run of the mill it seems to be, and deserves both a watch and a place in your DVD collection.

8/10