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

Keane: Film Review

The product of a barely known independent filmmaker, funded by a budget of less than million and starring "that guy from Band of Brothers", Keane was barely noticed and latterly ignored. I must admit, I too took far too long discovering this gem.

Lodge Kerrigan's psychological drama focusses entirely on the exploits of a New Yorker, William Keane (Damian Lewis), a former painter who's young daughter was abducted from a bus station almost a year earlier. The now borderline schziophrenic Keane juggles a self destructive life of drinking heavily, snorting coke and trying to solve his child's disappearance, funded by a welfare cheque for his mental disorders and fuelled by a bizzare notion of pattern in tragedy.

The film opens with a harrowing return to the bus station by Keane, showing a newspaper clipping to anyone willing to listen, as he asks if anyone has seen his baby girl. He talks to himself, reasoning out loud potential avenues of investigation that lead him to dead ends. We see a crazed man, as do the passers by.

We gradually learn more of Keane. He lives a chaotic existence, divorced from the mother of his child, booked in a motel but occasionally sleeping rough, gripped by panic attacks and episodes of paranoia. He fuels his quest by cans of beer, shots of vodka and coke if he can find it.

Through his travails, and his bizarre existence, he befriends a single mother (Amy Ryan, of Gone Baby Gone fame) and her daughter, Kira (Abigail Breslin). When he is left to look after Kira for a length of time, he begins to establish a bond, but cannot shake off his instability.

As much as Kerrigan's work deserves praise, and he creates a suberb motion we can all associate with, the real kudos here has to be given to the star of a one man show.

Lewis, an English actor with little exposure, provides an incredible, unforgettable and haunting perfomance as Keane, a man who seems only anchored when given the greatest of responsibilities. He brings a levity to the story which means we don't immediately lose personal interest in his guilt fuelled briefings and missions, but instead see him as a normal guy. You don't see him as the crazy man you walk past, but instead as a friend who has lost it. You want to hug and reassure him, not ignore and pity him.

And kudos to Kerrigan. With a single camera approach, echoing documentary style, we see Keane and his struggles in all too human light, unflinching in it's honesty and uncompromising in it's stance (there's no score to accompany the drama). It's a single man's single minded journey to nowhere, fuelled by a mission without hope.

Keane is truly a disturbing, difficult and challenging film, boasting a brilliant set up and execution and carried by a wonderful, career defining turn by an actor who needs serious recognition. For a one man show to thrive, it needs that one man to thrive. Lewis provides an astonishing turn and catapults an idea into must see through never obvious pathos and nuance. If you see it for anything, see it for Damian Lewis's performance.

9/10

Top 10 Overlooked Acting Performances: Part 2

[MORE SPOILERS]

5. Jim Carrey in The Truman Show

Peter Weir's devlishly charming satire The Truman Show in 1998 came at the peak of rubber faced comedian Jim Carrey's transition from broad comedy into more serious efforts, released between the very black The Cable Guy and the underappreciated biopic Man on the Moon, and is perhaps his best overall performance.

Playing a man who has grown up on a TV set, surrounded by actors his whole life without ever knowing, Truman extolls an old fashioned, wholesome approach to life that comes from the overly sweet, 50's like culture of Sea Haven.

But that all comes crumbling down as he begins to discover the conspiracy of lies, and he starts a fight to escape from all he has ever known.

The result is that Carrey really bears his soul as the tortured, confused and heartbroken yet determined Truman, trying to get through it all with a smile on his face despite being exposed to a different, terrifying world. The empathy he generates is staggering, culminating in the show's creator Ed Harris's desperate gambit to break his escape attempt using the ocean surrounding the fake environment. Deep down you, like the TV audiences in the film, are screaming at him to carry on despite all the risks.

Not only was it proven that Carrey can act, but also that he can lead a film of very high distinction.


4. Angus Macfadyen in Braveheart

Naturally when Braveheart was released to fanfare, there were much criticisms of the film's 'history'.

After all, we saw a Battle of Stirling Bridge with no bridge, William Wallace adapted from nobleman and mercenary to peasant and a non existant love affair with a genuine historical figure who was three years old when big Willy died.

But the biggest complaint was the portrayal of another national hero, Robert the Bruce. Certainly, he is not always shown in a sympathetic light, betraying Wallace at Falkirk and seemingly under the thumb of his leper father.

However, this does a disservice to the best performance of the piece. While Mel Gibson does enough to lead, hardly groundbreaking as a clean shaven Wallace but far from disgraceful, MacFadyen delivers in a crucial role with so much emotional content he's practically the fulcrum of somebody else's film.

He is a man caught between idealism and pragmatism, desperate to be a champion to his people but held back by a reluctance to lose his own power and that of his family, in a position to make or break Wallace's Herculean efforts. When he finally sides with the English, along with the other treasonous lords, he is beset by regret and loss, openly weeping at his own mistake.

As a character, he reaches the end of his arc by taking up Wallace's fight and leading the men as he did at Bannockburn and ultimately securing victory. In many ways, despite being a subplot, the Bruce is given a character study in entirety, and Macfadyen brings an intesity and raw edge absolutely essential.


3. Bruce Willis in Twelve Monkeys

Bruce Willis exists in that Hollywood middleground where it's generally accepted not much acting will be required, and as a result plaudits will be reserved but criticisms will not be forthcoming. The action star.

Willis was chosen by Terry Gilliam for the mind mending, time travel thriller Twelve Monkeys, on the strength of his adlibbed bathroom phone confessional in Die Hard. Furthermore, Willis drops all his trademark touches (the smirk, the angled head, etc) and shows no leading man reserve as the always confused, often drugged up and ultimately tragic James Cole, a man left with no childhood when all but 1% of the population are wiped out by a virus.

The result is a highly complex character and superbly fleshed out acting job, with Cole questioning of his environment, occasionally childlike in his curiosity and always out of place. As he flits between dedication to his mission and lack of conviction over what is real, Cole ends up following a destiny he had always witnessed.

Like the best actors, Willis disappears into the role, easily his best, and perhaps due to the understated nature of his character, he lost much of the spotline to the Oscar nominated Brad Pitt, who's own bizzare characterisation is worthy of individual praise.


2. Guy Pearce in LA Confidential

Picking out the best performance in the superlative LA Confidential is a little like asking which is the most important leg on a chair. It's an ensemble piece, not a single misplaced line or nuance, and for the most part nobody upstages anyone else. That only one actor was offically recognised by the Academy, Kim Basinger, is in itself something of a travesty.

The crime thriller strengthened the reputation of Kevin Spacey, reignited that of Basinger, redefined James Cromwell to audiences and ultimately was the big break for Antipodean duo Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce.

And while Crowe, excellent here, went on to Oscar glory, superstardom and controversy, Pearce has slowly built up a solid, respectable and never questionable career mostly out of the spotlight which has made him more of a cult favourite than a bone-fide big name.

This is reflected by the film, where Pearce takes on the subtlety of a highly unsympathetic, cold and ambitious Ed Exley, a cop with more interest in his career than being respected by his peers. However, despite earning glory in a case, he is forced to tear up his own success by the urge to seek the truth.

In a sense, he is the perfect anti-hero antidote to Crowe's more self-righteous, crude and blunt Bud White, creating the most unlikely team which begins with mutual hatred and concludes with grudging respect and natural camaraderie. The likeability comes from Pearce's projection of feeling in a very quiet manner, best demonstrated by his masterclass in reaction to his Captain, upon the mention of the peripheral Rollo Tomassi. On paper, you shouldn't like Exley, but you end up routing for his dangerous quest. It's the same natural approach which won over so many in the brilliant Mememto, another Pearce masterstroke.


1. Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now

It seems odd to choose as the ultimate a performance from a film so highly regarded and celebrated, and in my own humble opinion the best of all time.

But in many ways the choice can be reflected perfectly by the billing of the film's stars, evident on any poster, DVD cover or cast listing you come across. Marlon Brando, Robert Duvall....and then Sheen. While Brando created legend with his hugely unorthodox and totally appropriate virtuoso turn as the God like figure of Kurtz, and Duvall bagged an Oscar and a million soundbites as the manic, near insane Kilgore, both roles are basically extended cameos.

The film, and the crazed journey into the Heart of Darkness via fictional river Nung, is both carried and perfectly symbolised by the highly complex, much tortured and morally bankrupt anti-hero Captain Willard. It's his voyage, his tale and should really be seen as Sheen's film.

With Harvey Kietel having been ditched due to an overload of energy in his style, and Francis Ford Coppola ransacking Hollywood searching for his leading man, eventually Badlands star Sheen was chosen on the strength of, yet again, quiet and brooding intensity befitting a man always on his own edge.

Much of his dialogue comes from internal musings as he passes time on the boat reading over Kurtz's file, slowly understanding the man and increasing his personal desire to confront him. These form the moral centre of the story, and Willard's persona as a loner troubled by his own demons is perfectly incapulated by Sheen, who does so much more with a lingering look than a cutting line ever could.

This style, grounding the character, also proves the perfect straight man foil which brings out the best in Brando, Duvall and Frederic Forrest. The singularity of purpose ultimately makes Apocalypse Now what it is, both pragmatically and artistically, and by exploiting the central character as a witness to events we ourselves perfectly obeserve the madness and disparity surrounding Willard and fully understand his own motives and ultimate intention. A genuine masterclass.


Honourable Mentions


Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator

Kelly MacDonald in No Country For Old Men

John Savage in The Deer Hunter

Carrie-Anne Moss in Memento

Al Pacino in Sea of Love

Cillian Murphy in The Wind That Shakes the Barley

Top 10 Overlooked Acting Performances: Part 1

[SPOILERS TO THE HILT]

It's the classic story, really. You get your script, your director, your crew, your big star...and the rest is forgotten in the blink of an eye. Never mind the little people, the sorties, the technicals....and the actors who actually deliver a masterstroke you miss.

Or perhaps the other classic story. Lead actor comes good, but nobody expects or wants it. Either way, a film's nature or build can eclipse the truly wonderful work going on in front of it. I've picked out ten performances that deserve some real due despite being either overshadowed or dismissed by soundbite at the sound of.

10. Sylvester Stallone in Cop Land


In 1996 a little known police crime thriller came out and moderately amused the critics who said they liked the idea. Sure, it had a decent script, good director and excellent premise. Not to mention a supporting cast that included Robert De Niro, Harvey Kietel and Ray Liotta. But it also had Stallone as the lead, so it could never be accepted.

What did Stallone do for this role, after all? He was the figurehead of a half dozen Rocky's and a bunch of Rambo's. What does he know about acting?
Well, in fact he put on weight, dropped his action man stances and played to a tee a half deaf, naive sheriff who is brushed off by being posted to a village lived in by real NYPD cops, who befriend but never respect him.
But, being who he is, he obviously tried hard but failed to carry the picture? After all, he's since stated he regrets doing the film.

No. Stallone demonstrates the skill and passion he showed in the first Rocky (which he wrote) back in 79, throwing himself into a slightly pathetic character with good intentions but easily swayed, until it matters. It sounds like the classic drunk Sheriff in the old Westerns, but he manages to mutate his amiability so you route for Freddy Heflin, not Sly, and end up despising the ovetures of Harvey and his pack.

It's easy to say this is just Stallone acting, nothing more, but he's bloody good at it too. His conversation with Annabella Sciorra about marriage is in itself a demonstration of the Stallion's chops.

More than an action hero? Perhaps not. Capable of more? Absolutely. When Stallone regretted Cop Land, it wasn't because he was bad. It was because he didn't sell. Depressing alot?

9. Tom Cruise in Valkyrie


In 2008, the Razzers, aka The Golden Raspberry awards, handed crazy scientologist Tom Cruise a nomination for worst actor for an apparently self riteous film, and we all laughed. At this point, one time Golden Boy was at his most crazy with his religion and stuff!

After all, despite it being over twenty years since his big break, he couldn't act because of his religion, and on top of that he was in a self-riteous film and all was terrible and worthy of scorn...

Once again, I side with the underdog due to evidence. I reserve my personal opinion of Cruise and Scientology, because I judge an actor on his peformance. And if we are to trust the Razzies, just remember they handed a Worst Director nom to Kubrick for The Shining. That's self explanatory.

In a film where an ensemble cast bare their best, Cruise proves that he isn't just the Hollywood leading man. He tops an unfashionable film and delivers a silent intergrity, an unspoken confidence true of a man like Von Stauffenberg, Teutonic by descent and honourable by nature.

Whereas in Magnolia, his best performance, he is loud and arrogant, here his greatest moments are quiet ones, building the legacy on screen of a real life man who deserves massive respect. Over the top off screen he may be, but on it he is still a performer who can hit the mark. And in this case, more so than expected.

8. Gabriel Byrne in End of Days

For all we love the Terminators and Predators, we all secretly acknowledge that Schwarzenegger will be little good. Which sometimes is a shame.

After all, Total Recall raised ambiguity, and James Caan showed up in one of the crappiest nineties actioners. But by far the worst crime is against Gabriel Byrne, best known to audiences as Dean Keaton in The Usual Suspects. A serious, intense, versatile and talented actor, Byrne's main claim is Bryan Singer's spawn of brilliance and some Daniel Day-Lewis filn.

In End of Days, a proper horror flick until Arnie became involved, there's an intriguing story of Satan's urge to procreate and corruption within the church, and the millenium and blah blah blah. Point is, a vaguely intresting premise led by a Hollywood actioner looking old.

The one silver lining is Byrne, who delivers possibly the most authentic devil in film history. He's dark, charming and ruthless and also talkative, seemingly reasoning and very nearly sympathetic.

For an actor to play the part of evil incarnate and somehow encourage routing, victory is insured. Plus he looks the part.

7. Aaron Eckhart in The Dark Knight

When you consider The Dark Knight, you think of Heath Ledger's Joker, and the coughy Christian Bale's performance. But at the heart, serving the whole point is an honest but vulnerable D.A, Harvey Dent.

While Tim Burton's Batman showed the politician, and Batman Forever the recast end results, The Dark Knight charts his downfall from excellent, smart and motivated power man to revenge seeker, injured and with two faces, feeding off his pain, both physical and emotional as a result of his lover's death.

While the accolades and attention went elsewhere, Eckhart delivers a superb transfortmation, going from likeable lawman to angry justice seeker in natural seamlesness.

Even in the end scene, with Harvey placed as the ultimate evil, you still sympathise with his human turned chaotic plight, and the foreshadowed Roman tragedy piece is best represented by his anguish at the failure of his efforts and the corruption of those he took on. It's a truly heartbreaking conclusion.


6. Brad Pitt in Se7en


It's hard to imagine Brad Pitt as anything other than a hearthrob (hence the awful movies) but at one point he was a serious actor, delivering very serious matter in Twelve Monkeys and A River Runs Through It, and comedic stuff in True Romance and An Interview with a Vampire. And he actually got an Oscar nom during this phase (more on that later...).

In 1995 he starred in a distasteful masterpiece named Seven, or Se7en, where he understood an amazing project, to the point where he fought to maintain the vision of Fincher and writer Andrew Kevin Walker, threatening to quit if a happy ending was slapped on.

He plays a cocky, ignorant but also idealistic newcomer detective in the film, willing to challenge the older and long suffering Morgan Freeman. And he hits each mark to the key you want for.
Arrogant? Yes. Ignorant? A little. The transition? Absolutely.
And Pitt played an unsympathetic character right down to the labels, an attempted miltant next generation in control and with empathy by his side, feeding off his emotions and occasionally displaying an immaturity not befitting his skills as a detective.

But ultimately he is an idealist in a far from ideal world, with views that will be altered by real and offical exchange. But he's the perfect foil for Somerset's cynical outlook.

Three Pronged Rant: Dogville, Scarface, Kill Bill

Three Blind Rants

Now, as it happens my last two film reviews have been pretty glowing, and there are more in a similar veign to arrive shortly, which is pretty much down to me being on a good run of films. But it's important to note that a) I don't like ALL films, b) I'm not unwilling to regard films I don't like and c) some films piss me off by proxy more than quality. I'm talking here about the laziness of the viewer, the lack of individual taste and, frankly, the general pretention of the films in general.

I've managed to find three that annoy me for differing reasons, including two that are insanely popular among film fans who never seem to find reasons to justify it. I will not pull punches. There's a few others I might have included, James Cameron's money making schemes pop into mind, but I'll leave that for another day.


Dogville

Dogville, from Dogme director Lars Von Trier, is the Dane's first foray into Hollywood filmmaking, backs a quality cast, a decent premise and story, and of the course the aforementioned Von Trier at the helm. So far so good.

I'm not reviewing this, so I'm just going to cut to the chase and express my fury at the level of pretention and false artistic enterprise on show here.

That would be because Dogville, a story of a mysterious woman who wanders into a peaceful midwest town, is a play. I mean that literally, as well. It's a play, it takes place on a stage, with few props and markings indicating buildings and such. Now, I know what you're thinking; I'm having a go at the beauty of stage acting, the purest form of performance. But I'm not. Consider that this is also a film, advertised as such, put in cinemas and on DVD, and most importantly never seen anywhere near live performances.

It's not daring, it's lazy. Why in the name of God's appendage would you go to a cinema to see a play? To turn the tables, it would be like going to the Old Vic to see Laurence Olivier play Henry VIII only for the stagehands to wheel out a giant TV and play a recording of an earlier work. Would you not feel cheated? The result is that we lose the best part of the play, being there in the flesh, because performances are even more impressive and magnificent when the actor is performing only a few yards in front of you.

Of course, you could always argue that it's all about the story. Well, it's difficult to really appreciate the story when the film has no sets, props, score, cinematography or anything else that a film really, really should have. On top of that, the story isn't the best. It works well on paper, but doesn't stand up when it's THE ONLY THING on show. Nicole Kidman is at her willowly worst, chanelling Natassja Kinski's annoying sombre performance in the film adapatation of Tess of the D'Ubervilles.

The worst part is that the pretentious, corrupt extravangance is brought to you by a man of undoubted talent as Von Trier, who could have taken us on an original journey but instead chooses this. The fact it's highly regarded despite it's cripplingly misguided idea makes matters worse. Somehow it manages to insult but stage-plays and cinema motion picture in one go. Bring out the fucking Oscars.


Scarface

Once again, there's an element of 'I know what you're thinking' with added 'Oh no, please God, don't!' about this entry. So for the record, I'm not going to tell you I hated this film, and no it's not an utter waste of time. It's a badly flawed but occasionally entertaining film which falls for me somewhere between 5 and 6 out of 10. This rant has more to do with how the film is perceived.

To open with, I'll point out the mentioned flaws. Namely a lack of substance to match the style, a rickety and overlong plot that relies too heavily on it's violence, and one of Al Pacino's weakest performances. This came during a bad stage of his career, namely the eighties. Sandwiched between the ill-judged Cruising and the disastarous Revolution that almost ruined his career.

And it's Pacino's poor turn that perhaps represents the film's biggest problem, being that Tony Montano is one of the most unlikable lead characters in any film. By way of example, Pacino played someone equally morally reprehensible in the form of Michael Corleone, but made him sympathetic through sheer pathos of performance and genuine personality. Montana is a charicature, as over the top as everything else about a film where Brian De Palma loses his sense of control. There's no real personality aside from a psychosis and a perverse determination to reach the top of the drugs trade. We never encounter the loss of soul, because he never had one, and as a result his rise and fall never interest the viewer on a personal level. No character development, it's just 'that Cuban asshole', who starts off as a poor underdog asshole, then becomes an all powerful, self made asshole and finishes up as a dead asshole.

This is where the problems begin, because I can leave the film alone if it weren't for the fact it's so highly regarded. I frequently hear people citing it as their favourite film, and these people are usually all connected by social groups in which personal opinion is rarely cited. I have an inkling that alot of these people haven't actually gotten round to watching it, but that's human nature and the deep seeded desire to fit in. It's as unlikable as big Tony's narcotically fuelled shenanigans orgy. Ultimately, Scarface ends up being a macho fantasy because it involves savage violence, drugs and Al Pacino (as the way in which to gain more credibility within their 'taste').

To hear somebody claim Montana is one of the greatest film characters, or that Pacino's acting is more than disappointing is pretty much disrespectful to great film characters and acting. The film's failings come from a badly written main character and a misguided lead performance. If you want to see a similar but superior film, catch Carlito's Way. De Palma, Pacino, Hispanics, Drugs, 10 years later, and a brilliant film with Pacino at his best and a lead character who feels like your buddy despite his murky origins and way of life.

But then again, you'd have to go against the crowd, so don't bother. Or you could always keep it quiet.


Kill Bill (Part I & II)

I've left the worst till last, because Kill Bill shares all the ingredients of the two previous entries: utterly misguided self-indulgence and insane popularity.

Now, the worst films are usually the ones where the man in charge is not given any restrictions whatsoever, everything gets lost in the temptation and frankly a mess ensues. Prime example here.

Tarantino is a fine, nay, great filmmaker. Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown brought him from video store worker to the hottest thing on the market, a guaranteed box office pull. So naturally, the producers give him a big budget and full control to do whatever the hell he wants because it will sell. The result was Kill Bill.

I have an appreciation of silly, over the top entertainment, and I'm well aware that Tarantino's own personal tastes will occasionally slip into the league of obscure reference by way of converting the film. But he's at his best when he sticks to his cheerfully immoral stories and retains a grip on a common theme.

However, Kill Bill is, aside from perhaps Caligula, one of the most indulgent pieces of tripe I've had the pleasure of seeing. Tarantino weds together his love of classic Western, Far East martial arts, ironic juxtaposition, Hammer style violence and tangent in a rambling plot which also has the annoying trait of displaying deliberately wooden acting to move along. The clash of styles turns into a quagmire of boringly orchestrated katana fights, stand offs and plot twists as Uma Thurman (without the merest hint of charisma, despite her fine talents in this regard) makes her way across deadlands and Asian woodland to track down and kill her boss, the rarely seen Bill (David Carradine).

Give a film buff no limits and he will inevitabley throw in everything. Sure, he'll love watching it himself but the taste is subjective and even Tarantino diehards will double take. Or at least they should. To top it all off, it even comes in two parts with an abrupt ending to the first half, which is an utter luxury since so much time is wasted it could have fitted neatly in one go. The payoff is a bizzarely brief endgame.

Yet once again it is lauded, both critically and by fans, in a way that makes me wonder whether I'm missing the joke or possibly just crazy. For a film to drag during it's marquee action and fight sequences, in particular when Thurman's Bride fends off dozens of sword yielding suited bodyguards, is the sign of bad things being present. So, for me, it wastes time and shows a distinct lack of understanding of what makes a film great (from a man who most definetly has that understanding). And yes, like Scarface, I'm again sharing no sympathy, empathy or care for the lead character. And again, it's an utter travesty since the quality actor is there but the acting isn't.

So, all three succeed because despite being messy, hugely flawed and badly conceived, they escape from the prospect of flop by means that are an utter mystery to me.

Rant over.

The Prestige: Film Review

9/10

Following his caped crusader reboot with the previous year's Batman Begins, and his patchy Insomnia, Christopher Nolan goes back to the mind bending, non-linear routes with a dazzling and gripping tale of two leading magicians in turn of the century London who's rivalry becomes increasingly sinister as they fight to top each other's feats.

Told in flashback, we see how friends working as understudies to a reknowned but fading showman, cockney commoner Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) and wealthy American Robert Angiers (Hugh Jackman), become direct rivals after Angiers' young wife (Piper Perabo) dies during on an onstage accident which results from Borden's mistake. Initially, Angiers pursues a vendetta by rigging Borden's displays, even going as far as to shoot off two of Borden's fingers in a 'catch the bullet' trick. Enlisting the help of expert Cutter (Michael Caine), Angiers looks for innovative methods of raising his profile, but is hampered as Borden indulges in unexpected revenge attempts. While Borden marries and has a child (Rebecca Hall plays Sarah Borden), Angiers brings on board glamourous assistant Olivia Wenscombe (Scarlet Johansson) and the two duel for top status in London. However, their pursuits are turned on their head when Borden introduces his impossible new trick, the Transporting Man, in which he appears to literally teleport. Angiers is so enthralled that he works to solve, and match, this effort. At this point their obssessions begin, leading to wrecked personal lives, ventures into the unknown and ultimately moral event horizons being reached.

As you would expect from Nolan and his screenwriting brother Jonathan, The Prestige can best be described as mind bending both in terms of it's format and it's unfolding story, slight of hands a plenty coupled with red herrings, MacGuffins and geniusly layed clues to a truly astonishing climax where the real magic is laid bare. In many ways, the film itself is like a magic show, constantly dazzling and shocking while always teasing and holding back answers.

Bale and Jackman are stellar, if not superb in their leading roles, with Jackman's showman like qualities clearly on display as the charismatic entertainer Angiers, while Bale's unpredicatable, dual-persona is excellently and subtly handled. There's also fine supporting work from Michael Caine as the veteran Cutter, often acting as Jackman's moral centre and constantly reigning in his prodege. Scarlet Johansson has real charm and complexity as the mysterious Olivia, while Rebecca Hall is wistfully enthusiastic yet over time left beaten by Borden's on-off love. There's even room for a small, but hugely important, performance by David Bowie as Nikola Tesla, who is brought into the unfolding plot by Angiers' increasingly dangerous actions.

An excellent and aptmospheric score from David Julyan, composer for Nolan's earlier masterpiece Memento, staples the film and sets a dark but enthralling tone, while London is beautifully rendered by underplayed design work and attention to detail. There's even room for some much needed humour, much of it down to the showmen's habit of small tricks to lighten the mood.

Something you can always say about a Nolan film is that it demands a rewatch, and The Prestige follows in the wake of Memento in truly offering something so densely layered that you have to admire the sheer thought into the overall story. This isn't shock value cinema, because everything is there to suggest the destination, with little touches that are quickly forgotten adding to a mosaic which only a detective could piece together on the first round. As the film's tagline itself says, 'Are you watching closely?'. This pretty much sums the film up, it's all in the detail.

Some may have criticised occasional leaps, particularly personified by Tesla's role in proceedings, but it never jumps the shark in so much as it doesn't feel out of place, is never over the top, and is never too convenient for the sake of plot. The idea of escalation in film is brilliantly displayed here, as things get more and more out of hand, pushing the boundaries into near darkly disturbing fantasy.

If there is only one criticism I can level at the film, and it perhaps robs itself of a pefect ten as a result, it's that there's little room left over for emotional investment in the characters. Neither Borden nor Angiers are particularly sympathetic, but the pace of the story and the enthralling plot means you simply must know what will happen, whether you care about Bale or Jackman aside.

Overall, a truly brilliant feat equal in amazing visualisation of story to Inception, if not quite on the same emotional level. A magic show about magic. Nine out of ten, watch it.

Burn After Reading: Film Review

8/10

The Coen Brothers get back to their darkly comic, farcical routes here after the serious and symbolic No Country For Old Men, with this off beat and surreal comedy of errors.

Burn After Reading follows a chain of events that occur after CIA Analyzer and all round windbag Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich) is fired for his "drinking problem". His sudden urge to write a memoir, despite having no real stories to tell, sees the leak of potentially important intelligence, which is picked up by two idiotic gym workers, Linda (Coen regular Frances McDormand) and Chad (Brad Pitt) who see the potential for profit, mainly to pay for Linda's urge for plastic surgery. In a knock around way that involves divorce, stalking, internet dating and DIY sex devices, their blackmail attempts also drag in Cox's straight-laced wife (Tilda Swinton) and her lover, former bodyguard and sex addict Harry (George Clooney). Confusion and misunderstanding reign supreme as a dance of destruction is led.

The film really is reminescent of earlier Coen brother efforts such as Fargo and The Big Lebowski, with it's oddball humour, bizarre yet fascinating characterisations and inspired use of a quality cast. Coincidence and bad luck are keypoints to the farce unfolding, and this is ostensibly what this is, a farce. Of course, there's still the sprinkling of unexpected violence which somehow fits the almost surreal aptmosphere of the piece.

In as much as the script is superb, with some realistic yet hilarious dialogue, it leaves a lot for the imput for the actors, and they have a great time with the material. McDormand plays things out as an almost obliviously pessimistic optimist, citing her irritation at negative attitudes while pitying her own physical shortcomings. In an oddly innocent way, she uses those around her and uses her mantra of moving forward as a means of avoiding the burden of the damage she causes.

Brad Pitt, bizzare to watch with skin tight cycling shorts and a hair dye malfunction, is a childlike buffoon with a bizzare habit of repeating himself and dancing at inappropriate moments, almost has a charm about him reminscent of Father Dougal McGuire. In one scene his reaction to being punched in the face is that of a heartbroken and confused infant, more baffled than worried.

Tilda Swinton and John Malkovich get to enjoy interesting spins on their images, with Malkovich all pomp and bluster but invariably loathed by those around him and with no real source for his high self opinion, while Swinton's ice queen seems unaware of what goes on around her despite clear intelligence and a commanding presence, relying mostly on put downs when she doesn't understand or care to understand the behaviour of those around her.

For me, the film is dominated by George Clooney's hysterical performance as the borderline ADHD, love rat Harry Pfarrer. When not speaking at length about his various allergies, with a breakneck pace of speech reminscent of Michael Keaton on the white powder, he is bedding various women despite very much loving his wife. His character is similar in ways to Pitt's, in that there's a boylike quality in which he often misses the mark while trying to please, while also holding back paranoia which is solidified by a mystery car following him as he goes for his post-nuptials run.

There's also sterling work from eternal 'that guy' character actors Richard Jenkins, the only sympathetic character in the story as Linda's boss and unrequited admirer, and J.K Simmons, as a baffled CIA director being appraised of the unravelling disaster.

Beefed up by an oddly melancholy score and excellent slow burn editing, there's a laid back pace about the story despite it's content, while a couple of shocks register but are always a source of laughs rather than game changers.

Overall, Burn After Reading is a great gem of a black comedy, filled with enough plot, hidden touches and subtly played laughs to ensure a high rewatch value. Very much recommended.

A strong 8 out of 10.

Starting at the Beginning

Well, after a failed attempt to maintain a blog here, I have come around for a second shot at things and hopefully this will be the sequel I have dreamed of. With any luck.

I've decided to maintain some focus. As the name suggests, most of what I write will either be rage ruelled rants or just random chatter. I plan to write observations, criticisms and scouts. I will not just be talking about my boring life, nor should anyone.

As such, I look forward to plenty of top ten lists regarding films, opinions on the latest news and sports stories, notions on writing and perhaps even a few short stories or mantras. This will be stapled as always by a series of rants I decide to embark on, possibly influenced by alcohol or sometimes even about it.

I hope you enjoy.