The Dark House - Film Review

Truth? There is no such thing.

A morally distant and oddball outing from writer/director Wojciech Smarzoswki, The Dark House (Dom Zly) is a story piecing together a strange episode at a rural farmhouse and the disorganised investigation that follows.

Following the sudden death of his wife and the emotional breakdown in it's aftermath, zootechnician and heavy drinker Edek 'Edward' Srodon (Arkadiusz Jakubik) takes up a position at a state owned farm in the countryside, after selling all of his possessions in an effort to restart his life. En route to this new job, Edek winds up at another farm, owned by Zdzislaw (Marian Dziedal) and Bozena (Kinga Preis), and spends the night. Over the following few days, he strikes up a strong bond with them, particularly the troubled Zdizislaw, as he stays on a little longer. After concoting a scheme to brew and sell homemade moonshine, the two are on the cusp of becoming business partners. Until something goes horribly wrong.

Intercut with these scenes is the 'present', some time later. It is midwinter, and the very same farm is a crime scene, manned by a newly arrived team of People's Militia officers, led by Lieutenant Mroz (Gary Oldman lookalike Bartlomiej Topa). Along for the ride are a legal prosecutor, a pregnant wife and colleague husband team (evoking memories of Fargo, much like the snowcapped pastures), and a shady and politically minded superior keeping a close eye on both the case and Mroz, in a murky case of dirt digging and potential conspiracy. Add to that them bringing along a freshly shaven Edek, so he can recount the events that led to an immolated barn and three corpses. Things are far from simple, as the blurb suggests.

While the material itself sounds hard boiled and edgy on paper, one of the pillars of Smarzowski's interpretation is a quirky and occasionally inappropriate edge of dark humour, adding to the previously mentioned Coen Brothers influences. While the sharp bite of subtext allows plenty of jabs at the communist era engulfing 1970's Poland, it is little more than a backdrop and serves up red herrings rather than proving deeply relevant to the winding, chaotic story. If anything, more stock is put into the weakness and stupidity of the characters and, by extension, of people in general. Numerous funny background events give the film an emotion debt, while the constant heavy drinking of almost every player in the plot clues in to a epidemic still relevant.

Although he cleverly plays around with callbacks and Chekhov's Guns, one of the problems that Smarzowski runs into is tone displacement. The film starts at the beginning, with Edek narrating and introducing himself, and the background that led him to the titular farmhouse. It seems to be a personal journey film, one that cuts between time periods in explaining the events of the past and the consequences felt in the present. However, once the later period is established, we find that Edek is no longer the main character. While he may drive the flashbacks, it is Mroz who takes centre stage during the investigation, even allowing the chance to delve into some ultimately spurious subplots which don't match up to the mood of Edek's experiences.

While the farmhouse based plotline, with Edek growing familiar with his surroundings and new housemates, provide a gleeful dysfunction that levens the story, the crime scene segments contain anarchic comedy in a serious context, almost like a travelling circus moving through a warzone. It seems that each of the officers are ill-disciplined drunks, with no real care for their work, and no sense of professionalism. The honesty and authenticity of this is debatable, to put it mildly, but there is a jarring sense of weirdness about watching the overwhelmed Edek trying to retrace his steps through the dark house while trying to ignore the ridiculous behaviour of his captors.

Giving a few laughs and some nice cinematic touches, Smarzowski is indeed an intelligent filmmaker, and knows a good story. But for every step The Dark House takes towards excellence, it muddles the next, and ends up being bogged down by various clashes in approach and style, emerging as a mix between a comedy that's too serious, and a drama that's too comedic. While this makes for entertaining viewing, it doesn't make for engrossing cinema.

Overall, an enjoyable eccentric film, with much to enjoy, but one clearly conflicted and held back by it's inability to decide exactly what it is, and why.


7/10

Californication: Season 5 Review

On Sunday 1st April, Californication's fifth season came to an end on a cliffhanger and amidst fairly mixed messages, both from the show itself and directed at it from fans.

A chapter of the "sexiest show on TV" that rehashed the tiring boy chases girl format, at least for a brief while, saw a new, almost Zen like Hank trapse back into his old life in the Golden State in a new, truly haphazard series of adventures that has left many loyal viewers to question series creator Tom Kapinos's ability to hold his shit together. And with good reason. Let's recap...

From New York, New Hank

Season 5 starts a couple of years after the events of the Season 4 finale, which saw Hank driving into the sunset, having finally it seemed let go of the hold Karen had on his life and path. Now, Henry Moody Jnr. is back in the promised land, NYC, set up with a nice apartment, a fairly crazed significant other and a new bestseller on the shelves, paradoxically named 'Californication' and presenting a fictionalised account of his years on the West Coast.
However, the call comes and Hank makes his return to LA for business, bringing him back into the circle of dysfunctional, downright debaucherous life in the City of Angels.

Charlie, erstwhile agent and best friend, is still agenting it up, and still very much dedicated to his 'bedding 100 women' pledge. In fact, single life has turned him into a rather depraved and sex obssessed figure with creepy connotations. Despite this, he is sharing the responsibility of raising the now born, now troublesome Runkle spawn (Stuart, a boy named for his step father). Marcy is shacked up with now husband Stu Beggs, and seems to have shaken off any kind of responsibility in the process.

Most significantly, Karen and Becca are once again found incased behind the white picket fence of fixed family life, this time literally. Karen is married to Richard Bates (last seen off the wagon in Season 3), an arrangement that seems to be a happy one for all concerned. The Becca is now at college and dating a young man named Tyler, who is described as a "young Hank".

Although he claims to just be dropping by for a visit, motivated by a screenwriting opportunity to pen a movie vehicle for rap superstar Samurai Apocalypse, the return becomes permanent when Hank's unhinged girlfriend burns down to his Big Apple home, leaving him marooned on Runkle's couch, and destined to get caught up in the shenanigans to follow. Amongst the action is a dangerous dalliance with singer Kali on the flight over, a girl who later turns out to be Samurai's sweetness, and the unexpected visit of Carrie, the arsonist ex. Cue the antics.

Fresh Faces, Familiar Stories

Naturally, Season 5 attempts to add some new elements and play with the unseen hiatus between ...And Justice For All and JFK to LAX. As well as the aforementioned new circumstances, a few minor characters have also found themselves dropped for conveniance sake.

Despite appearing to be a positive figure, a love interest for Karen that Hank could actually respect, Michael Ealy's Ben has been put on a bus, along with daughter Pearl. Becca, immersed in a rock band previously, no longer seems to house any musical ambitions. This opens the door for Bates, an interesting character played by Jason Beghe who essentially out-Hanks Hank at every turn. The only previous connection between Karen and Bates, however, was that they slept together while Bates was her college teacher, raising some significant questions about the age gap. Similarly, Karen's logic in finding someone much wilder than Hank to be her new Hank is devoid of sense.

He is one of six major recurring characters during the season, one of two retained from Californication's back catalogue (the other being Stu). While well played and enjoying some great scenes and dynamics with the other players, he is sadly exploited within the story. As soon as he gets put back on the sauce as a prank, and indulges in his 'mangina' bit, it's clear his deployment was to give Hank a quicker route back at Karen.

The others who come back for more suffer from similar problems. Kali starts off as an interesting character, well developed and with a clear voice, but a clear issue develops upon the Samurai interest. Hank's position in the 'don't tell anyone about us' set up, started by an unknowning hook up and with the constant threat of exposure and punishment, is worryingly similar to the Hank-Mia relationship in Season 1. To make matters worse, after 'Love Song', the Season's obligatory flashback episode (one of the most even episodes of the run), she all but disappears from the plot, both in terms of screen time and personality. Her few appearances are designed to create trouble elsewhere, with actions horribly out of character.

Samurai Apocalypse, or Sam for short, starts out as charismatic and interesting, with great chemistry with Hank, but quickly fades as his dialogue and plot path becomes repetitive and predictable, and he too is exploited to cause tension and build up to the endgame. RZA plays the part well, but is sold short by a lack of interest in the writer's room (an increasingly desolate place, as I'll touch upon later).

Meanwhile, there is the matter of Tyler. Hyped as the 'younger, hotter Hank', he is played as a precocious and arrogant youngster who lacks that one key element of Hank that makes him so amiable: charm. While he is constatly referred to be the aforementioned moniker, any actual evidence that he is like our hero in any sense is apparently left to fold out offscreen, and his immoral attributes and deplorable behaviour makes the rose tinted treatment of him by everyone other than Hank (and Bates) painful to watch. He turns out to be a writer, an excellent one with a ferocious screenplay that becomes a major story point, and this turn is seized upon and throttled speedily, to the detriment of the idea, and sees the boy become a major Hollywood screenwriter overnight.

Stu Beggs, played by the accomplished film and TV character actor Stephen Tobolowsky, transforms from eccentric but hardline producer into a preening, shouting caricature this year, taken to bouts of over acting and obssession with sex. The entire Runkle clan, in fact, becomes a hideous mess of psychotic behaviour, perverse sex games and apathetic distress, with the kid ignored for long stretches both on and off screen. Lizzie, a young English nanny, is brought in with aspirations of Hollywood, and sets about bleeding Charlie dry in painful fashion.

Stupidity & The Single Men

The wacky plot developments in the season are offset by a recurring and negative theme, and those that do work are usually mishandled. While Californication previously had crazy moments and ridiculous situations, they worked within the story and had some singularity of purpose as well as high laugher inducement. However, 5 doesn't quite tap this.

Well played incidents, such as Sam, Hank and Charlie hijacking a police ride along, are spoiled by the lack of reprecussion for law breaking in the next episode. This is particularly jarring considering that Hank is possibly still on probation. Other misdemeanours aim for stupid and funny, but wind up being over the top and pointless. Tyler's mother, her book of penises and lesbian life partner served no purpose within the greater scheme of things, and is the whole interaction is disposable in that it never has any significant effect on the characters.

Later on, Hank is suddenly revealed to be a huge fan of a legendary, Werner Herzog inspired German film Director, who turns out to be a stereotypical Deutsch monster who provokes Hank's chivalrous knight schtick and gets punched. This entire light on its feet segment is singularly devoid of point or wit, only bringing a smile but the quick cameo provided by Beatrice Trixy, Hank's occasional soul mate hooker. Drea De Matteo, once of The Sopranos, appears in a one episode role as a stripper so utterly incapable of interacting with normal people that it's mind boggling.

This is one of the biggest problems the season suffers. One of the charms of the show in the past has been the intricate balance in plotting, which has allowed surreal situations to occur within the story's folds, blips of action within the canvas of events. In Season 5, the situations are simply ridiculous, camp and tripe, and have no bearing on anything. It's a symptom of poor and lazy planning in developing of the episodes, and a lack of narrative focus.

In fact, the suspicion emerges that the show's popularity for it's ludicrous encounters has affected the priorities within its production. So these strange comings together are pushed to the forefront, and the ridiculousness is pumped up to 11, resulting in stupid instead of silly.

Also apparent is desperation, with by-products including a meangingless cameo by Rob Lowe's psychotic method actor Eddie Nero, complete with warped dialogue and frantic, awkward mannerisms. One of the most popular new faces in Season 4, here Nero is wheeled out as a basket case.

Familiar Faces, Different Voices

However, the most stark and disappointing failing of the Season is the 'development' of the main characters, our merry band of five who have spent four years moving forwards, backwards and sideways in an understandable, characteristic, if not fucked up, manner.

Much criticism has been aimed at Karen and Becca's portrayal this year, and these arguments have been mostly valid. When the pair need to be stupid to suit the show's needs, they become so. An egregious example of this occurs in the episode 'Here I Go Again', when Hank takes the fall for another character's failing and is verbally demolished by his two ladies. Tyler, the interloper, quickly deduces what is truly going on, and even attempts to step in, while the two women who know Hank better than anyone fail to spot the blindingly obvious. It seems, at this point, that the pair are champing at the bit, waiting for an excuse to tear into him. This whole scene is later rendered meaningless when it is revealed through exposition that Karen found out what really happened, and now is sweet on him again.

But it goes deeper, and gets much worse, than this. For starters, Becca serves no fuction other than occasionally hating Hank and constantly serving as Tyler's one man personal army, despite the shit he puts her through. Her lines lack the spark of young Becca, instead relying on spike and poorly thought out snarkiness.

Crucially, though, Karen no longer sounds or acts like Karen. Lover her or hate her, she was consistent for the previous four seasons, with a clear voice. Her dialogue was distinctive and personal, her motives in keeping with her personality, attitude and experiences. She was a fully coloured, filled out character, after patient and thoughtful development and care. In Season 5, she sways and swings as if bi-polar, the words not matching. At times, it's hard not to see her as a role played by Natasha McElhone, rather than as Karen.

The Runkles are also badly affected. Marcy has mutated from fiesty, loveably crude cougar-smurf into a selfish, vacuous and humourless house troll, and also shows signs of her self in two episodes (one of which is the finale), while Charlie's increasingly over-emotional and over exaggerated nuances bare the hallmarks of cruel impersonation. His sexual escapades and obssession also make him come across as a pervert, something the show has always managed to stay away from. There is also a lack of good camaraderie and banter with Hank, a staple of earlier times.

Ironically, Hank himself is also a changed man, but this time for the better. He is more often than not the responsible one, and much of his pursuits are moral and caring. The self-loathing and self-destructiveness which always landed him in the pits has gone, as has his childish neediness and recklessness. Despite this sounding like a deconstruction of the character, it works very well, a breath of fresh air which suits the tone of moving on. He has grown up. And, interesting to note, he beds comparitively few women this time round. Rather than trying to disrupt Karen's household, he goes to great lengths to protect it.

The Flaws & The Future

One potential explanation for the failings of Season 5 can be found by trawling through credit listings, savouring in details. Namely, the work load taken on by one Tom Kapinos.

Of the run's 12 episodes, half were written solo by Kapinos, including the final four. Among those are At the Movies and Pervents & Whores, two of the most uneven half hours. Each of the other six episodes were also written by the showrunner, albeit along with another scripter.

Though the man devised the entire show, writing the first season as a film originally, it is clear that Hank's creator was running desperately short of inspiration at times. Much of the time spent resembles an artist trying to recreate their best work, and overshooting, instead drawing a lampoon. When even unapologetically daft material becomes boring, it's a sign that there is a lack of heart in the design, and this perhaps best sums up the Season. Too many episodes come off as first draft scripts badly in need of touching up, and while Seasons 1 and 2 were intracite and precise, perfectly balanced and weighed up, Season 5 feels rushed. It even fails to top 3 and 4 in terms of comedy.

Despite having played the character down to a tee for years now, Evan Handler's performances as Charlie this year did not help the show, perhaps down to the direction he was handed. Many lines are delivered with hammy glee and eye bulging energy reminiscent of a crack addict attempting to appear sober, and too much emphasis in one sentence undoubtedly makes anyone sound like a retard. As mentioned before, Stephen Tobolowsky suffers from a similar trait, while Madeleine Martin's handing of Becca seems less adept than it did when she was 13. The fact that each of these acting critiques can be reasonably put down to writing is a horrendous indictment.

The finale, a Season 2 esque wrap up display with Hank doing the good thing and marshalling everything and everyone together, comes off as half good and half bad rather than simply average, due to the displaced realism that has become common (to be clear, one of the show's characters breaks the law in a serious manner twice, both for undoubted crimes that would lead to serious jail time, and walks away without any question of punishment) and the uncharacteristic behaviour of the main protagonists. It does, however, have a punch to the gut in its conclusion, one that deflates the happy ending. A mood whiplash, this moment has significant ties to the Season's opening, and has a bitter logic more inkeeping with the show's early days.

It also sets up a cliffhanger for the already announced Season 6, with much in the balance. Where Californication can go next remains to be seen, and if the next run will prove to be the last, its final destination may be predictable, but the final leg of the journey surely won't be.

Lets just hope that the route is planned out in significantly more detail beforehand, since the wave of mediocre storytelling that hit Season 5 does not bode well. It is, though, rather reassuring that a bellow par Californication is still significantly better than most other shows. With clear direction, however, perhaps Hank will get what he always wanted, and in convincing manner. Here's hoping.

Best and Worst of 5

Best Episode: The Ride Along

Worst Episode: At the Movies

Best Performance: David Duchovny (Love Song)

Worst Performance: Stephen Tobolowsky (The Party)

Best Moment: Hank vs Tyler (The Party)

Worst Moment: Lars and the hookers (At the Movies)


Overall Season Rating: 7/10

Snow White & Russian Red - Film Review

Based on the bestselling novel White and Red by Dorota Maslowska, Xawerego Zulawski's fearless outing here is an often confusing, occasionally funny and always surreal ball of furious, ironic energy wrapped in social commentary.

Shaven headed Silny (Borys Szyc) is a deadbeat slacker, unemployed and living out of his mother's empty house and always on the chase for girls and lines of speed with which to embelish his pseudo-political rants. After his equally messed up girlfriend Magda (Roma Gasiorowska) breaks up with him, Silny openly broods and mopes about his situation, aimlessly wandering into a bizzare, reality breaking series of events, all the while with the backdrop of a strange anti-Russian festival and buildings painted with the colours of the Polish flag.

Like Maslowska's novel, Snow White and Russian Red takes some pretty unorthodox steps to reach it's goal, but unlike the source material that point is almost missed completely. Buried deep in the film's near dreamlike state of over the top set pieces and exaggerated actions is a rueful contemplation on Polish culture post-Warsaw Pact, with a generation of younger souls left fretting and wandering without a cause to fight, choosing to indulge their addictive personalities and talk to death about the wrongs of the past. However, in a shorter time frame and sharing space with more conventional story arcs, it is brought up, forgotten, brought back, ignored and then tossed out in the end as a form of metaphor. One of the glaring problems with Zulawski's film, particularly notable for those unfamiliar with the book, is that it seems to lack a point.

Whether this dooms the film to a post mortem assessment, or merely changes the way it can be enjoyed, is entirely up the viewer. Its politics aside, Snow White and Russian Red is still a fairly entertaining and oddball film, and can be seen as a statement on a soulless enivornment as perceived by those without a commitment or a fight to take on. However, this interpretation does fail to address certain amounts of symbolism and sledgehammer subtlety present in the foreground.

Themes aside, Zulawski has a visual flair that really comes to the fore in the film, delivering some memorable sequences and never shooting a shot that isn't interesting in its own right. Cartoony silliness, such as characters being thrown through the air in slapstick or blatantly impossible physical stunts like a goth girl vomiting rocks, are liberally scattered across the film, along with a crazed, drug fuelled filming style that goes some way to being method in approach.

And the story is bizzare but not uncontrolled, as we constantly dodge around continuity and linear time by rocking backwards and forwards, with some scenes scratched by admission of being false moments later. The author Maslowska appears, playing herself as a young woman writing the story that the disenchanted and baffled Silny is trapped in, manipulating events and even confronting him with the fact in one mind bending, ambiguous scene. That Silny reacts by verbally attacking her is perfectly in keeping with the tone.

Carrying the film on his not inconsequential shoulders, Borys Szyc never fails to deliver appropriate energy, but doesn't quite match up to the image of Silny (or Nails, as in English) readers will have conjured up, perhaps too old and too clown-like, though he does succeed in making Silny almost likeable, something the original, written character never achieved. He isn't helped by the writing, however, with Zulawski only making him a political ranter when it's convenient. Roma Gasiorowska shines, while Maria Strzelecka (as Angela) and Sonia Bohosiewicz (as Natasza) underact and overact respictively, in parts that are little more than extended cameos. Maslowska, fourth wall breaking, clearly isn't an actress.

While Snow White & Russian Red strays from the path of it's origins and loses much of it's subtext and indictment as a result, it does perhaps take White & Red and make it a more enjoyable, more fun slice of weird and endearing entertainment, a reality bending exercise in unconventional storytelling, bringing some interest to a plot that, at its bones, is hardly worth telling. Flawed for sure, and oft incoherent, it none the less is daft enough to work, stupid enough to be smart in a contradictory manner. When all is said and done, a watchable, chaotic film.


6/10

The Woman Who Dreamed of a Man - Film Review

Kvinden Der Dromte Om En Mand, aka The Woman Who Dreamed of a Man, is the salacious and risque latest offering from Danish director Per Fly, social drama meets erotic adventure in a cross-European journey of obssession and fantasy.

The story follows Karen (Sonja Richter), a Danish fashion photographer working in Paris, who in a hotel restaraunt happens upon a man who she recognises from a recurring dream. After being caught following him, she finds that he is Maciek (Marcin Dorocinski), a teacher at a local Polish school. Though both are married (she to Michael Nyqvist's Johan) with children, they embark on a sex based affair while sharing the same living space, a part time romance.

Things fall apart when Karen becomes more and more infatuated with Maciek, to the point she begins hurting her work and risking her family, and as she presses further and futher into his life, he finds himself having to fight back against her intrusions, as their lives are threatened by imminent collapse.

Though Fly is better known for more kitchen sink based realism of the Mike Leigh vareity, The Woman Who Dreamed of a Man leans far more towards proto-fantasist self destructiveness, with a long winded and generally unlikely story lacking in content that sets its course and symbolic venture and manages to fall half way, winding up as a winding and quiet drama without the visuals to make it anything more than ponderous. This, perhaps, is my way of saying that it's very dull in a manner a little more kind. Though only an hour and a half in length, it feels much longer for the wrong reasons.

For much of the film, it is unclear what exactly Fly is going for. Though the initial dalliance between Karen and Maciek would appear to be the "adventure to escape mundane reality" scenario, it never really convinces as such. Though Richter and Dorocinski are capable actors, they are given little of substance to work with, and a visible lack of chemistry makes their escapades feel flat and pointless. It is unclear in particular what Karen's motivations are, since for all intensive appearances her homelife is settled and comfortable, with Johan a patient and amiable figure highly supportive of his wife's career while caring alone for their young daughter. If there is supposed to be some unhappiness on Karen's side, it is never shown or discussed, not even hinted towards. In fact, he lack of care towards her child is one various reasons why she can never hope to gain any sympathy.

Similarly, Maciek is far from likeable, though at the same time certainly not the film's villain. In fact, at times he seems to be burdened by the relationship he has undertaken, and later when Karen's actions become more unhinged he is left to pensively walk through a mine field to keep things on the down low. The fact he shows no emotion until the final stages contributes to the image that he is a drip.

There is barely anything else at all to add to this, other than the bewildering 'dream' aspect which explains the couple meeting and takes its place in the film's title. No explanation is ever given for the significance of this other than conveniance, and certaintly the awkward attempt to bookend the conclusion with a role reversal is frankly lazy and in keeping with the idea that it was only ever an excuse in the first place.

It says much for a film as unfocussed and unclear as this one that, in the climax, the leading lady is left to wander aimlessly and hopelessly in a foreign land, alone and vulnerable, all while delivering absolutely no impact as far as the audience is concerned. If we are supposed to feel for Karen at this point, it is a failing because she never garners such empathy or understanding. Instead, we are left to marvel at her irrationality and naiveity, traits which don't come across as tragic so much as stupid and irritating.

While The Woman Who Dreamed of a Man may have been an attempt at psychologically refined character study by way of sexual games and Last Tango in Paris style pseudo-romance, it falls desperately flat and instead becomes a meaningless story about two unlikeable people with no connection who have an affair for no clear reason then go feral because the script says so. Not so much loathsome cinema as distinctly forgetable and disposable.

4/10

Tyrannosaur - Film Review

Having cautiously tested the waters of directing with his impressive short film Dog Altogether, actor turned auteur Paddy Considine here adapts the brief but memorable slice into an even more distinctive, rivetting and haunting full film.

Bringing back Peter Mullan and Olivia Colman to reprise their roles, Considine expands on the story of self destructive rage and loneliness, tapping into a very dark, very despairing but ultimately authentic glimpse at those lost in the mire of their lives.

Mullan is Joseph, an angry and alcoholic widower who lives alone and picks up benefit cheques, his only companionship represented by his loyal dog Bluey and his friends, the bed ridden, dying James (Robin Butler), and the dispirate, manky Irishman Tommy (Ned Dennehy). After one of his borderline psychotic episodes, Joseph kicks Bluey to death, an uncontrolled attack that depresses him further. After a further moment of madness, where he sets upon a group of young men in a pub, he runs off and hides in a clothes shop owned and run by a kind and patient, God fearing woman named Hannah (Colman), who houses him and even prays for him.

With his existence otherwise aimless, Joseph begins visiting Hannah for company, despite his reservations about her good nature. However, while he begins to see her as respresenting a form of good in the world, her life is just as miserable. Her husband James (Eddie Marsan) abuses her, culminating in beatings and worse, feeding off and exploiting her patience and inability to defend herself, and soon it is she who is seeking comfort from Joseph, far from a stable pillar to lean upon, as she tries to find escape and he tries to control and quell the anger that is destroying him, just when he seemingly needs it the most.

Given that Tyrannosaur represents Considine's first foray into directing (though he is no stranger to scipting, having written Dead Man's Shoes), it makes sense to start by taking a look at his chops behind the camera. And, by God, he has some and a half. A masterful actor, Considine displays just how much he was paying attention during filming by delivering one of the most impressive and confident debut efforts in recent memory. Aside from the poignant, powerful and convincing screenplay, what Considine brings to Tyrannosaur is an astute focus on small details, significant and almost subconscious touches, as well as excellent pacing and some superb filmmaking choices. Such care is put into every scene, of establishing facts before revelation through subtle reaction shots, use of sound and framing of shots.

And of course, his work brings out the best in some truly gifted actors, with the two leads dominating proceedings. Already an undoubtedly brilliant actor, particularly in roles suited towards aggression and unpredictability, Peter Mullan is sizzling on screen here, a menacing ball of fury who evokes fear in the audience, but also summons a puzzling, paradoxical sympathy from the same viewer. As convincing and downright terrifying each psychological break is, more troubling and emotive is the comedown afterwards, the sight of his face slowly dropping as he realises what he has just done. Any kind of positive energy stems from the actor, and each and every drop of regret and heartbreak from his aggression is a construct of the finesses, careful performance.

While Mullan is wonderful, the real revelation of the film is Olivia Colman, an actress previously known primarily for comedic roles. As the good natured but emotionally crumbling Hannah, she is simply unforgetable, provoking protective instincts in any right minded soul who watches her suffering, and longs for her victory, to get away from the horror of her home and the soul destroying work by her worse half. One pivotal scene in particular, the climax of her story, is earth shattering in it's primal, desperate and horrifically tempered honesty.

While the story may sound like a perfect remedy for undue optimism, there is an inexplicable sense of hope within it, with the focus more on how we can find a degree of happiness in the most unlikely of places, and how things can work out for the better in a manner far from obvious at first glance. A subplot about the film, involving Joseph's semi-friendship with neighbourhood kid Samuel (Sam Bottomley) and the reign of terror of Sam's mother's boyfriend's vicious attack dog has a full arc, with a disturbing and stark conclusion that, for all it's questionable ethics, has a satisfaction about it. Though at times we yearn to see Joseph turn the full force of his rage against certain people, at the same time we hope he doesn't because of the self-destructive force such action would have on him. All his instincts are stemmed and tempered by his friendship with Hannah, and we want to see him become a better person through her.

Like most efforts of this kind, there is a hint of semi-autobiography about Tyrannosaur, and the soulfulness of Considine's work is clear to see. But for all the clear endeavour and heart he pours into every frame of film, there is a technical mastery and genius understanding of the process that is sure to put him in very good stead for the future. Since he has stated his desire to go the long haul behind the camera, and begin packing in the acting altogether, this opinion will be sternly tested and, in my opinion, validated. If his first effort is anything to go by, we have potential beyond measure on our hands.

Brought to the screen in gritty but beautiful manner, realistic yet optimistic at the same time, Tyrannosaur is a world class effort and a triumph for a first time director, an established screen master and a novice dramatic actress who has similarly found a new, hugely impressive talent. For all the murky depression and despair, it is a moving and inspiring film, one that will linger on the mind for a long time, and not unwelcome at that.

However, be warned, there are no dinosaurs to be seen.


9/10

The Skin I Live In - Film Review

Bold, daring, brave and maverick, there's very little that reknowned Director Pedro Almodovar is afraid to touch, and as things go there's very little his fingers brush that doesn't turn to gold. Case in point, The Skin I Live In, very loosely based on Thierry Jonquet's novelella 'Tarantula'.

Plaudited as one of the films of last year, and winner of the Best Foreign Language Film Bafta, Almodovar's tale of revenge, conflicted souls, surreal normality and instability is quiet possibly one of the most shocking and powerfully thought provoking of the new decade.

Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) is a highly successful, hugely rich plastic surgeon inhabiting a rolling estate outside of Toledo, one part his home and one part the clinic where he conducts his experiments into transgenesis (manipulating human tissue). Also sharing the house are a team of servants, led by old family friend and confidante Marilia (Marisa Paredes), who tend to the needs of the other inhabitant, a mysterious and beautiful young woman, Vera (Elena Anaya), who lives a strange life as a semi-prisoner, part captive and part treasured guinea pig of Robert.

A pall of ugly secrets and unspoken truths surround the house, and around Robert himself, especially after his most recent, ethically suspect ventures are shot down by his superiors. A widower, Robert's feelings towards Vera become complicated after his work on her is complete, at which point she is supposedly 'perfect'. It seems she cannot be allowed to leave, and faces life in a state of limbo in her master's possession.

This entanglement of emotion is thrown into chaos upon the arrival of Marilia's long lost son, Zeca 'The Tiger' (Robert Alamo), who forces his way into the home demanding treatment from the doctor, and becomes instantly enraptured by Vera, who he is convinced is somebody else...somebody that everybody concerned knows except Vera herself. After things come to a violent climax, Vera finds solace in Robert's arms, and as they share a bed, they think back to the chain of events which led them to that point, and the astonishing, devastating truth is revealed about just who the pristine girl truly is, and was.

It's best to note as early as possible that, although it's not a gimmicky twists and turns film, and certainly isn't presented as such, the plot revelation, which is a total game changer (and head spinner) that occurs over halfway through is what The Skin I Live In is fated to be best known for, and the implications of the shock moment are such that it's very difficult to fuly describe the film without revealing it, intentionally or otherwise. But, rest assured, the story this twist is tied into thrives because of it, rather than it being a boost of attention.

The plot itself, which deviates heavily from Joquet's source material but retains its basic traits, is a slow winding and human story, a dual character study for Robert and Vera, both of whom are fleshed out heavily but with subtlety. There is little judgement from Almodovar, despite the moral complexities and philosophical rigmarole, who like Mallick in Badlands instead chooses to employ a detached, objective focus on the two people at the centre of a windy, dreamlike tale.

We are introduced to both through Vera's dysfunctional existence, cut off from all but Robert in an isolated wing of the house, receiving food and clothes through a dumb waiter, while the questionable surgeon is giving talks about the power of reconstructive surgery. Her suicide attempts are not seen as out of the ordinary, and nor is her strangely loyal behaviour and utter dependance, the lack of resistance or fighting back. We learn small amounts through these dribs and drabs, though never quite as much as we'd like.

It's not until the flashbacks occur that we begin to understand the background of the pair, grasping the substance of their relationship and the origins, that clarity begins to make sense. It's here that the is a shocking, shuddering halt, a mind boggling event passed off as matter of factly as all that has preceded it, which completely changes the complexion of the film, drastically alters our perceptions and opinions, and adds nightmare fuel to the final stages when resolution comes a'knockin.

The way in which this is handled by Almodovar is extraordinary, with such natural storytelling poise that is lacking in modern day Directors. What would be pushed as the M.Night moment, or the Crying Game moment, by some is just treated as par to the course for the veteran with a sense of logical bluntness, as if he is saying to the viewer "What? You didn't know this already?".
Similarly, the scripting leading up to this event is so well paced and set that the whole transition is seamless, pressuring the audience to confront their own morality.

As the centre pieces, Banderas and Anaya are extraordinary, emoting such wide ranging thoughts and feelings, wildly differentiating states of mind with mastery, painting pictures of human beings that are physically sound but are fractured souls. It doesn't take long to establish that Banderas is something of an anti-villain, yet he is no preening megalomaniacal scalpel wielding monster, everything he does seems to make sense, simply because he is so assured and convinced. His true motives are buried deep, and the tears in his mind and heart are well concealed. He seems in total control, even when his actions suggest he is insane. Meanwhile Anaya, an actress sure to be talent spotted for big, big things in the near future, inbues deep, uncertain vulnerabilty, seemingly submissive but harbouring both doubts and agendas, holding back questions and hiding notions.

There's further support from Marisa Paredes as Marila, a character who's significance is unclear at first, but bears heavy burdens of her own, and certainly is part of the swirling, sinister emotion and ideals. Robert Alamo is highly effective and menacing in his brief but memorable and important role, while there is also excellent story building work from Blanca Suarez and Jan Cornet in the flashbacks. Alberto Iglesias's soundtrack veers from soothing and melacholy to dark and brooding at perfectly placed moments, in tandem with the story, while the cinematography is flawless, beautiful in places. There isn't a technical flaw to be found within the piece.

Ultimately, The Skin I Live In is one of those rare films that raise many questions that don't concern the plot. The unthinkable subtext the film brings up forces the audience to look within themselves further, as well as stunning them to the core. A perfectly plotted and placed psychological character study of two messed up people with one hell of a dark, sordid past, The Skin I Live In serves as a thoughtful, benign yet chilling and haunting horror film without the scares. Thundering in impact, yet quiet and musing in execution. And featuring one of the most loaded final scenes ever. Truly questionable, intoxicating, unmissable viewing.


9/10

Rant - [REC], Unseen Cameramen and the Fall of Horror Films

RANT TIME!

Huge balls. Yes, that is the preface for this article, but not in the literal terms you may well have imagined. Not genuine big balls. An expression of frustration and a indicment of something generally shit.

It's been a while since I've gone into rant mode, something which should really be a regular occurence considering the way this blog is titled. And, since I'm pretty much permanently logged into 'film-mode', it would make sense to make a start there. My medication has been thrown at the wall from Yonkers, the blocks have been removed, time to spit-wax lyircum.

The subject of my ire this time has been brought up by my weekly movie night being ruined by a hugely disappointing, infuriating 'critically acclaimed' slice of timewasting, teasing mediocrity and crowd pandering money making. Namely the Spanish horror film '[REC]', yet another 'found footage' type thrill ride, this time with a difference.
The 'difference' is that there isn't a difference, and frankly it's as thrilling as a prostate exam sans rubber glove and lube.

And It Sucks Because...?

In order to make the point a little clearer, and also help alleviate my condition (supposedly a civilian version of PTSD), I shall briefly review said film just now.

The 2007 film by Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza is the story of a bunch of people stuck in a building with zombies and stuff. Except fast zombies. And some kind of disease and quarantine and all that. This TV reporter (a young woman who strips down to her undervest at the earliest opportunity, you know....because of sex) and her cameraman are making a documentary about firefighters in the unnamed Spanish city, and tag along when two of the guys are sent to an apartment building because an old woman is screaming. Here, they find all of the building's inhabitants hanging around in the lobby because....um...because an old woman is screaming. Oh, and she's weird and lives with her cats. As if that matters (or is fresh or something...clear red herring territory...you can almost smell the salmonella).

Anyway, despite pissing off everyone and generally getting away, the reporter and the cameraman are allowed to go upstairs as they break into the flat and find the old woman covered in blood and gibbering inanely. As soon as one of the present cops turns round (a veteran police officer leaving himself exposed to a potentially dangerous and unstable member of the public ALREADY covered in somebody else's blood), crazy old hag lunges in and cranks up the gore factor to parody levels to bite out his throat. Everyone panics, shouting and all that jazz. Then they rush near dead officer downstairs, leaving the second police officer to arrest the woman, handcuff her and bring her down....

Oh wait, no they don't. The other cop helps take dying guy away, leaving the youngest and most inexperienced fireman alone to guard the unrestrained woman who has just tried to kill an agent of the law. Hmm...guess what happens to him.
Then it turns out that the law has sealed up the building, citing that it's a quarantine against a potential contagion, trapping everyone inside. Pretty bad right? So the colourful characters who live in this nice looking building all start shouting and freaking out, the cop pulls his gun on everyone, and then the second fireman (who was left conspicously unarmed and unprepared to guard an attempted murderer on his lonesome, in an unsecured and unsearched darkened apartment) shows up by screaming and taking a plunge down the stairwell. Ok, credit where it's due, I almost shat myself when this happened.

Right, I'm veering dangerously close to simply describing the film's plot here, which will more or less waste word space, so I'll summarise the situation and then dissect the bullshit with the aid of appropriate SPOILER tags as surgical bay curtains. Alrighty?

So, everything is set up and established nicely. There's plenty of mystery, some in-film rules have been established, everything is boiling nicely (aside from the flaws in logic, but these things can be passed off...possibly). They can't leave the building, because they're stuck inside. They can't go back upstairs, because that's where the crazy is. You have two dying men who need to go to hospital, strange noises and real potential for creepiness and scares. So what goes wrong? I'll tell you.

[SPOILERS]

The film messes it up by basically following tropes and cliches present in every other similar film. It chooses frights over genuine horror, screams over tension, and monsters over fear. For every good step it takes, such as building up animosity and conflict between the characters, it takes a wrong one by going down the B-Movie route of trailer fodder thrills over plot based substance.

Where it could have been original, it rehashes. The monsters are basically the infected from 28 Days Later, following the same ground rules and breaking parameters. These 'undead' style victims are stronger than regular humans, as well as extremely aggressive. They only bite the necks of potential victims....for some reason. When they could easily rip into somebody's hand or leg, they instead try to go for the jugular. Like vampires. Hmm...yup, vampire-zombie-infected...s.

But it's not just in these stakes that it gets fucked. The main character, the reporter Angela, becomes an action girl from the moment stuff gets weird, yet has a bi-polar personality. One moment she's cynical and selfish, determined to get footage and to scream blue murder at the cop for being as equally screwed as the rest of them, the next she's overly compassionate and empathetic, the moral core. Of course, she's more proactive than anyone else. The cop, incidentally, goes from Blue Screen of Death moment to general wannabe leader and then into some rapidly changing amalgam of heroism and terrified out of his depth amateur. The fireman, Manu, equally flickers between cowardly to heroic. There's a preening, racist apartment dweller, and Asian family, a conveniently placed interm who is overqualified, a creepy little girl...yup.

And, oh wow, we never see the cameraman (What a wonderful plot device! Because this way, we are the cameraman. We're Pablo!...um, except not all of us are called Pablo, and most of us probably don't have his voice...). No, nothing gimmicky about that. This leads us to one of the film's biggest flaws.

[END SPOILERS]

Where similar fare, notably The Blair Witch Project, get it absolutely right is this: when the film is atmospheric and taut, you are so caught up in events and the action that you actively forget the format you're watching. Is it handheld? Are the characters filming? I was too distracted by the dementia causing tension to notice. Add to that an in-universe explanation (in BWP, Heather films because it makes it easier for her to distance herself from the terrifying situation).

But [REC], like the equally inferior Paranormal Activity, makes you painfully and acutely aware of the fact that some autistic asshole is still swinging the camera around, causing more harm than good. You wonder why he doesn't ditch the heavy, incumbersome piece of machinery so he can run away faster. Even when it is useful as a torch, it is not used in this manner.

Even when the camera itself can prove itself useful, this opportunity is ditched. In one scene, some of the characters need information they cannot remember, and are faced with having to put themselves in harm's way in order to obtain it. This is despite the fact that the number they need is in the footage, they can recover it by simply playing back the video. You could argue that they would be too scared to think of this...and I would agree if they hadn't done it earlier, at a no less traumatic moment. This inconsistency, setting up and foreshadowing but then forgetting, is simply lazy plotting, unfocussed writing.

But this is just a symptom of a bigger problem.

Bad Horror isn't Horrifying

The issue here is the loss of discipline in making horror films, supposedly scary movies that are meant to prove a visceral, shocking and terrifying experience for the viewer. Ridley Scott recently commented, as part of his promotion of Prometheus, that it is harder to scare people now. This isn't exactly true.

The problem is that it in tried and tested fashion, it has been found that selling cinema tickets is far easier when you focus on scares, on those moments that make people jump. However, the horrific mutated offspring of this fact is that modern day horror films are simply a series of these events stapled together with a half baked plot (and that's putting it mildly). Yes, it may frighten people, make their heart race, but it's unsatisying and has minimal repeat value. And of course, 'found footage' format is perfect for these tactics, because you can have monsters jumping out at the camera and other such cliches. Do they work? Yes. Are they predicatable? Absa-fucking-exactly.

This isn't true to the genre. Films such as Blair Witch, The Excorcist, Alien, The Shining and The Haunting (more on this later) are damn effective and memorable because of the tone and mood, the palpable sense of dread that they build up, so claustraphobic. Where does this stem from? It comes from discipline, from patience, and from good storytelling, good characterisation and excellent subtext. In each of these films, there's an underlying theme, something which drives the plot and makes for great anaylsis. Dross such as [REC] and Paranormal Activity lack any kind of depth, or intelligence, so have no substance, only style.

With this in mind, here are a list of rules for making excellent horror:

1. STORY: Come up with a great story first, from start to finish, make sure it all makes sense and works in it's own confines. The film must make sense, and just because it's horror doesn't mean it can ignore basic storytelling principles.
2. CHARACTERS: Introduce us to the people, get to known them, FORCE the audience to like them and understand them, to empathise and relate to them. When shit goes down, it's more scary if we care about what happens to them.
3. LESS IS MORE: Not showing the evil is oh so much better. Remember, the imagination of the audience is infinitely more effective than whatever CGI or make up designs you can come up with. An apocalyptic log entry is creepier than a special effect zombie, and goes much further in terms of tension. The aftermath is scarier than spoonfeeding.
4. PURPOSE: No matter how messed up the film, it must have purpose, and follow its own strand of logic. If a nympho vampire wolf hybrid jumps out of a cupboard, there has to be a reason. Why was he in the cupboard? Why is he attacking? How did he become this way?
5. STORY!!!: I can't stress this enough. You must have the outline, the blueprint first, not the scares. Act One, Act Two, Act Three, Act Four, Act Five. They must ALL be there, corresponding perfectly.

A great example of the significance of these cornerstones is, how such a horror film ends. Again going back to a Mr Moneybags scenario, more recent fare are more interested in a twist ending, or a Hollywood killer shot. This is when the final image is supposed to be a shocker, something which sends you out on a freaky, terrifying note. Basically a scary equivalent of a cumshot.

But these usually fail because they ignore everything that came before (no pun intended). So, in Paranormal Activity, the girl lunges at the stationary unmanned camera with her bloodied teeth. Why? Why does she do that? Does she intend to eat it? Somehow I doubt a demon possessing a young woman would have the foresight to leave a 'fuck you' for whoever had to watch the footage back to find out what the hell happened. On a different note, [REC] ceases the main character being dragged into the darkness, out of sight. Why? Um...because it's...chilling? Not really, it's no worse than anything we've already seen. It doesn't add to what we've found out.

And before the 'final shot', both films pile on half arsed exposition in an attempt to provide an explanation. In Paranormal Activity, the guy (annoying, inappropriate cameraman) randomly finds information on an identical demonic haunting which ended up killing some woman. How is this useful? It doesn't provide any explanation as to why this is happening, why it is happening to them, or what the source of this demon thing is.

In [REC], it's the revelation that the uninhabited penthouse is actually some crazy shit lab for finding a cure for a supposedly possessed girl, that went awry. But there isn't enough facts to suggest how the chain of events came about. So the infection started with the girl? How did she give it to the dog?

The door was locked shut, nobody else has been in the apartment for ages. How did the dog come into contact with the possessed girl?

Because....Just Because

Answer: No answer.

Alternate Answer: Laziness (see right).

Simple. Why bother going to all that effort to make sure it makes sense? Because, who cares after all? The people that line up to shit their pants "aren't there to think about it, they want to be scared". But what if it's not scary? "Well, the box office says it is..."

Hence the problem, and once again we're back on to the subject of human stupidity, of general ignorance and borderline attention-defecit disorder. It's so easy to be provided these days, because of the internet and because of technology. Everything's so simple and easy, and people don't care about going the whole haul. Why spend two hours getting ingrossed in an evil story when you can just have fright and fright for an hour and a half? Building up a strong plot and good character development, working up tension and atmosphere, is boring.

Compare the original 1963 The Haunting, with Claire Bloom, to the 1999 remake. The first is subtle and tense, unebearably taut, and underplayed to the max. We barely see a thing, and get wrapped in the dread and the atmosphere, to the point a vase being knocked over is the most terrifying thing that could possibly happen.

The second is worse than runny dog shit, an utter disservice to the classic original and a disgrace it of itself. It can best be summed up with one sentence: "Owen Wilson gets his head bitten off by a fireplace".

So what does this mean? Has there just been a massive slide in quality over the course of the years since Robert Wise's master class? Well, CGI got better, which hurts the genre since it's inability to show convincing visuals forced it to be subversive for so long. They couldn't show a convincing ghost before, and now they can. Imagine how much Jaws would lose if we saw the shark more often.

But the cause is ultimately the masses, and everything feeds from that. It's much easier to make a rollercoaster ride movie than a film, and more profitable to be stupid and predictable than original and thoughtful. Overkill and gorn (gore porn) is easier to sell than tension, violence is more popular when it loses its impact and is just thrown into the mix for the sake of making an adolscent scream. Time would be wasted writing a good story, because these people don't care about the story. They care about somebody jumping out from behind a door, or something throwing itself at an underwritten character.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is the why. For worse or for worse, the horror genre is going down the shitter faster than my latest Chicken Korma. And that makes me sad.

And mad, and angry, and furious, and murderous...

RANT OVER

Katyn - Film Review

Surely Polish cinema's finest and most distinguished filmmaker, trailblazing and Oscar winning director Andrzej Wajda here turns his attention rather close to home with a historical piece regarding the Katyn Massacre of 1940.

The incident, the mass execution of roughly 20,000 Polish army officers in the titular forest, is covered with a rather unexpected angle, shrouding the actual atrocity in mystery and focussing on its ramifications over the course of the following five years, in particular the burden of unknowing carried by two families.

It starts in 1939, with Poland attacked from both sides by German and Russian armies exploiting their mutual non-aggression pact. After being forced into surrender, the military's officer corps is rounded up by Soviet forces, taken as POWs ready to be transitted to Eastern gulags. Anna (Maja Ostaszewska) is the wife of one of said men, Andrzej (Artur Zmijewski), and after a desperare farewell, has to watch him being taken by train out of the country. In the same shipment of prisoners is his friend Jerzy (Andrzej Chyra) and a senior General (Jan Englert) with his own worried family left behind.

With the Soviets and Germans now in control of the country, Anna and her daughter (Wiktoria Gasiewska) face an uncertain fate, endangered by Anna's status as an Officer's wife, and attempt to dodge the attention of the occupation while awaiting news of Andrzej. All hope is lost following the revelation that a mass grave filled with Polish POWs has been discovered in the Katyn forest, and the released Jerzy bringing news that Andrzej is seemingly one of the dead. As the years pass, and the nature of the occupation mutating, the blame for the crime is pinned on the Germans, despite the apparently blatant part played by the Soviets, and efforts are made by the survivors to establish just what happened in the woods that fateful morning.

One of the things that makes Katyn stand out from similar efforts, aside from it shedding light on an oddly unheard of incident, is that it takes a different view of the matter. Wajda, who's own father was killed in the massacre, instead pays heed to the uncertainty over the victims (the unreliable Katyn list), to the loved ones of those killed, and to the cover up instigated by the Soviet Union's secret police. The maddening nature of the Russian occupation's unaccountability for the deaths is a keystone of the story, and the effects of the denial on the population are undeniable.

As such, the film's big moment, the actual mass murder itself, is only shown and illuminated in gut wrenching, flesh crawling style at the very end, the final revelation as proof seemingly emerges and the prospect of justice seems far closer than ever before. That closure is granted to Anna, who has spent five years simply not knowing what to believe, provides a human conclusion to the story.

While Katyn is a noble and occasionally powerful film, enfused with a strong sense of purpose and moral equity, its main flaw is that for much of the running time, it tries to do too much in too little time, nearly tarnishing the impact of the conclusion, and the dichtonomy of the piece. While Wajda's directing is excellent, music clinical and acting (particularly from We're All Christs star Andrzej Chyra, and Maja Ostaszewska) first rate, the film's uneven pacing becomes a problem during the bumpy middle, and the introduction of new characters is an awkwardly handled process, with the likes of Magdalena Cielecka's Agnieszka stepping into the plot with no real introduction or apparent reason, and then moving out again in baffling circumstances. The small, poignant role of Anna's nephew Tadeusz (Antoni Pawlicki), an eager young student torn between family honour and his education within the occupation, is a brief but highly effective exception.

With this, Wajda is clearly striving to go beyond the norms of such war horror fare and open the door on the equally insidious house of cards upon which the dishonest Soviet occupation mounted their lies about the incident, and also by bringing into play the other side of the tragedy, the loss felt by those left behind by the appaling act. While at times he succeeds, and certainly raises awareness of the darkest of dark moments within the 20th Century, an occasional lack of focus means that Katyn falls short of its targets, and doesn't quite reach the heights it really should.

Certainly effective filmmaking, it doesn't quite live up to its own billing, and such can be viewed as flawed rather than ill-judged, good instead of great.


8/10

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - Film Review

Taking John Le Carre's classic spy mystery thriller and turning it into a cogent feature film was always going to be a troublesome task, especially considering the cult status of the preceding Alec Guinness mini-series. But Swedish director Tomas Alfredson approaches the material with a combination of reverence and fullhearted determination.

Following a disastarous operation in Budapest which results in the death of one of their operatives, the British Intelligence Service (The Circus as they are known) react by firing their head honcho 'Control' (John Hurt) and his right hand man George Smiley (Gary Oldman), who both promptly retire. Not long after, information emerges that there is a mole working for the Russians within the Circus, and Smiley is asked to identify the double agent.

Setting up his covert assignment, Smiley inlists the help of junior spy Peter Guillam (Benedict Cumberbatch) , and sets about monitoring and investigating his former colleagues. He narrows his search down to the codenamed, titular heads of the organisation: Bill Hadley - 'Tinker' (Colin Firth), Percy Alleline - 'Tailor' (Toby Jones), Roy Bland - 'Soldier' (Ciaran Hinds) and Toby Hesterhase - 'Poor Man' (David Dencik). Along the way he encounters double crossing, double bluffs and shock revelations as the suspicions fluctuate and the finger of accusation criss crosses.

Considering the esteem in which the source material is held, it's no great surprise to see just how much quality the ensemble possesses here. In terms of talent, it is a star studded line up for quite an understated piece. And Alfredson, never bowed by the material, does wonderfuly well to harness everything and keep it together. Attention is payed to the right people at the right time, with the film's use of flashbacks never jarring enough to distract you from events. Everybody gets their moment in the sun, and nobody is set out as a sacred cow or a dead cert at any point, with every strong reaction framed as a potential sign of guilt.

While the labyrinthe plot, which not only involves the main 'hunt for the Ruskie lover' focus but also international diplomacy and deliberately convuluted background schemes involving Russian activity in the red sea, is complex, the film doesn't simply dive into dry, talky expositional investigation. Scenes that come to pass are unbearably tense, and some of the story's most effective moments are emotional ones, as we get glimmers (in Smiley's case) or personal strife as well some moving, tragic, deeply personal tales.

The best of these go to Mark Strong's Jim Prideaux, a loyal agent who is dumped on the scrap heap, teaching at a boy's school and living in a miserable caravan, and also to Tom Hardy's Ricki Tarr, a frontline operative who loses sight of professional discretion when he falls for the wife of the Russian diplomat he's tracking, with potentially fatal results. These segments, ultimately vital to the plot in a manner perhaps unclear for long stretches, are played beautifuly and written lovingly, while also serving as a well placed indictment of the shadow men that the film portrays.

Of what is seen of the home lives of the characters, the word 'shambolic' springs to mind. Smiley, immaculate professionally, is troubled by his straying wife and forces his feelings and self below the surface, hidden behind a veneer of calm and composure behind the large spectacles. A maze of deep bonds and hidden secrets pass from agent to agent, suggestions of more than meets the eye, but scant confirmation. The exception is Tarr, a young and cocky, but tough and knowing, figure who has no qualms about baring his soul even as he scampers from hiding hole to darkened room, a hunted man.

It's the depth that exists so viscerally in Tinker Tailor that makes it so compelling. On paper, little is revealed about any of the players in the game, even the protagonist. Yet in practice, brought to life by a set of actors at the top of their game, each have their own story and their own personality, even when it isn't in written form. From top to bottom, the film is stuffed with top drawer performers, from Firth and Toby Jones to Hardy, Cumberbatch and even Kathy Burke and Stephen Graham in smaller roles. Special credit must be given to Mark Strong, who is given the chance to display prominent vulnerability and tragic conflict as Jim Prideaux. His menial, depressing existence is steeped in loneliness, only moved by his bond with a outcast young boy he teaches, another Bill. It is touching yet, in its conclusion, ultimately sad.

But of course, the master of the show is Gary Oldman, an actor of incredible talent rarely given the centre of focus. There isn't a better actor in the industry for chameleon-like performance, and here he is at the top of his game. As soon as he appears, he promptly disappears into Smiley, inhabiting him seemlessly, with every telling adjustment of his jacket or thoughtful, dubious stare. It is as far as you can get from a 'big performance', and all the better for it. This is a three dimensional character, brought wonderfuly to life, subtle and understated, quiet and reserved. Though almost twenty minutes elapse before he speaks, you can almost hear his voice already, such is the projection. His long overdue Oscar nod is justified on the basis of his turn here.

For all that Tinker Tailor is a compelling, not to mention at times rivetting, thriller whodunnit, it takes a step up from what could have been simply entertaining but showing ferocious intelligence, not just in terms of plot but also in terms of people. With a full house of class act performances, led at the top by an acting collussus at his own peak, and one of the finer adaptations of recent times, the film really is stand out. And, it seems, much extra value comes in when he realise its repeat value. John Le Carre must surely be very satisfied.


9/10

The Guard - Film Review

A novel slant on the 'fish out of water cop' story, one that focusses on the bumpkin defacto partner and plays out as a bantering, rambling dialogue laden black comedy amidst a back story of drug trafficking and duress, The Guard is a fresh, surprising slice of fun from John Michael McDonagh.

On the sleepy, largely Gaellic speaking West coast of Ireland, local Garda (Policeman) Gerry Boyle (Brendan Gleeson) goes about his dull, dysfunctional days like a Bad Lieutenant played for laughs, more interested in procuring some drink and drug for lonely nights and fancy dress hookers for his day off than he is locking down crime scenes. His mother (Fionnula Flanagan) has just been put in a home, and a new recruit (Rory Keenan) is getting on his nerves. And then the narcotics ring shows up.

Boyle, the laconic fool it seems, is thrust upon FBI Agent Wendell Everett (Don Cheadle) as the Fed attempts to track down the gang, and the cringe worthy clashing of cultures commences. Meanwhile, the bad guys themselves (played by Liam Cunningham, Mark Strong and David Wilmot) go about bribing of killing any of the local law enforcement who threaten their operation, bringing them to Boyle's door. Inconvenient for him, since he just wants to be left alone.

As you may well expect from McDonagh (brother of In Bruges' maker Martin), though the plot sounds plenty heavy and crime thriller based, The Guard rarely ventures into serious territory, and even then the exposure to the audience is minimal. This is a comedy, ultimately, though one based on an only slightly altered realm of reality where everyone has hysterical conversations and musings. Drug dealers rack their brains for philosophical quotes, local kids are experts on federal agencies, it's all par to the course.

With a couple of notable, and merited exceptions, the hilarity of the film comes from it's dialogue, full of recurring jokes, double take bafflement and inappropriate casualness, not to mention misconstrued racial slurs and ignorant assumptions. Though Boyle is seen by many as the idiot of the piece, his disdainful approach to life puts him in better stead than the men with guns who seem themselves as better. When it comes to plotting, the film takes an approach which is somewhere between western and noir only for long enough to satirise both, and then get back to
its eccentric heart.

Continuing his long overdue ascension from Hollywood supporting character actor supremo into unconventional leading man, Brendan Gleeson is wonderful here as Boyle, a bizarre and unruly, yet somehow amiable, protagonist who drives the film's shambling story. Though he is on paper unpleasant and morally bankrupt, in practice he is a genial oddball who constantly surprises by being highly effective in his job, at least in the long run.

Gleeson is given great comic foil by Don Cheadle, Hollywood A-picture actor who deliberately stands out like a sore thumb, sent to a comparative back water where the view on Americans is dim, and casual racism is prevelant though not especially malicious. Though Cheadle has to spend much of the film's duration in a perpetual state of bemusement, he still manages to bring a rounded character to Everett, a humanity which could easily have been done without. Iniatially dumbfounded by Boyle from the start, he slowly grows to appreciate his unlikely partner's outlook and enjoy his company. As a double act, unlikely though it is, they are perfect.

The villainous trio of Cunningham, Strong and Wilmot enjoy themselves as the drug traffickers, humourously self aware and often pretentious about their role in proceedings. There's also some nice supporting work from Flanagan, Katarina Cas and Dominique McElligot in hugely varying roles.

But the real joy of The Guard is its attitude, taking a traditional crime story and treating it with very wry, very Irish, humour and giving it real heart in the process, sweary and drink filled though it may be, happy to play into stereotypes and occasionally trapsing into the realms of Coen-esque farce. As a comedy, it succeeds wonderfuly, boasting an intricate and intelligently funny script, but it has more charm and brains than a laugh inducing vehicle. Tongue may firmly be in cheek, but eyebrow is crooked ironically.

As Gerry Boyle says, "That's for me to know, and you to find out".


9/10

Suicide Room - Film Review

For his first foray into cinema, writer-director Jan Komasa taps into adolescent plight with everything from social networking obsession to sexual confusion and self harm, right on to virtual escapism and macabre ritual bonding.

In Suicide Room (Sala Samobojcow) we follow young Dominik (Jakub Gierszal), a relatively popular rich kid on the verge of finishing high school, life priveleged and care free. That is, until a traumatic and angst ridden incident with a fellow male student leaves him a social pariah and laughing stock. Experiencing a mini-breakdown, he runs the full gambit of emotions and exiles himself to solitary confinement in his bedroom.

During one of his episodes of despair, he by chance meets a mysterious girl online, an internet addict named Sylwia (Roma Gasiorowska-Zurawska) who introduces him to an avatar based role playing game called the Suicide Room, frequented by disillusioned and dangerously grim minded souls. Through this forum, and via web cam conversations, Dominik forms a strong emotional tie with Sylwia, and also begins to alter his perception of life, becoming more insular and yet more anarchic too, self destruction fuelled by perverse kinship. Meanwhile, Dominik's parents (Agata Kuleszka and Krzysztof Pieczynski) find themselves dealing with the crisis neither is prepared for, as they fail to comprehend their son's downfall.

Komosa, showing audacious confidence for a filmmaker previously only known for TV movies and shorts, here reigns in what sounds like a bleak, modest tale and instead blows it up into a multi-spectral tragedy that in places borders on modern sattire. Not only is Dominik's meltdown extremely visceral, but the seductive power of the suicide room is played out with attentive care, putting us into the mind of the teenage protagonist. The ideals are suitably contradictory, yet played straight, never highlighted as key marks of the confusion and alienation.

While Dominik's harsh, pain ridden journey is of course the film's focus, a healthy amount of attention is paid to the parents subplot. Rather than being cliched, overwrought do gooders, they are self obssessed business first types who cannot get their head around their son's behaviour, so sure that throwing money at him during his whole life is emotionally sufficient. When he falls apart, they don't know how to handle the situation, either by action or words, and act as enablers to their son's rebellion while protecting their own image. Ego and social ladder climbing plays a part in much of the film's characters.

Pretty searing in its delving look into the affluent subcultures of the well off young and older alike, Suicide Room treats the patrons of the titular community with sensitivity and empathy, indulging their attitudes and viewpoints. This is particularly true of Sylwia, an enigmatic and alluring, yet tragic figure hidden in darkness or behind a 3D character, and is played down to a tee by Gasiorowska, a stand out.

Though Dominik is far from a sympathetic lead, who is frankly an asshole before his inward fall, the source of the good will towards him from the audience is purely down to a powerful, utterly commited turn from Jakub Gierszal. He winds his way through the spectrum of emotions, from smug and arrogant smarm to dishevelled, screaming wreck, never once hamming it. Much of his angst and desperation is truly hard to sit through, for all the right reasons.

The spry pacing and momentum Komosa brings is both exciting and engaging, and his story bars no holds. Yet, for all it's downer beats and painful sentiment, Suicide Room doesn't simply tug at heart strings and play it's own visual violin. It's a sad story, undoubtedly, but not a depressing film, which is quite something. And for all it's bordering, it's a pretty simple one too, about growing pains and identity crisis. Something anyone who was once young (which should probably be everyone) should no doubt appreciate.

8/10