Movie, talkie, readie, listen...ie?

Bronson

2011-03-11T12:01:00.000Z

“My name is Charlie Bronson,” Tom Hardy declares to camera, and so begins an exploration of Britain’s most famous criminal, and, perhaps fittingly, the fact that for most of Bronson’s infamous career, he was not known by that Hollywood moniker lifted from the Death Wish muscle-man, instead going by his birth name of Michael Peterson.

Naming is central to Bronson, as the audience is faced by a man so close to inscrutable mania any simple handles are essential for us to understand what we are dealing with. On the one hand, we see Bronson as the performer, delivering monologues and brief performance pieces to an audience that is largely mute and unreadable. He proclaims to have a set of rules which he always abides, sometimes even unwittingly, as the final scene in the asylum reveals. On the other, Bronson as inmate presents us with brooding frustration and an ever-ready tongue, willing to declare “You fucking cunt” at the first sign of a prison warden.

Peterson’s story is terrifying in its simplicity: a decent enough upbringing, but a penchant for violence, for spectacle, had the young husband sentenced to 7 years in prison. He had, at the time of filming, served 34 years in various penitentiaries, 30 of them in solitary confinement. But the film does not ask why explicitly, and merely tries to delve into the man’s mind and present the facts, as far as we can gather them, from Bronson’s perspective instead. That is what elevates the piece from being just another biopic, or indeed a celebration of violence; we are incarcerated with Charlie Bronson as he rails against everything he cannot comprehend. We are there for the ride.

The film is far from perfect: there are a couple of gaping plot holes (particularly with Alison, the girl Bronson falls for in his 69 day spell on the outside, who simply fades out of the narrative as she pursues engagement with an even-more-unseen Brian) but these can be forgiven by the format: the film purports to be based on a true story, and life is so often stranger than fiction. And the central question of the piece: how much we can in fact understand Charlie Bronson, is left answered, in its own way, by how strange a creature he becomes. His early hulking silences, taken to be scheming, by the close seem much more significant: the blanks of a mind so completely turned upon itself and other humans as to be entirely inaccessible. Tom Hardy’s performance is startling and visceral; it’s hard to look away from him as he transforms from man to something else entirely. That alone leaves the film with a recommendation; but there’s something in the construction, in the pathos evoked and the quasi-stylised violence, again and again, underpinning Bronson’s strange moral code, that elevates Bronson from violent thriller to something much more. Chilling.

~~~

2008

Tom Hardy

dir. Nicolas Winding Refn

The Shop Around the Corner

2010-12-20T12:49:00.001Z

You've Got Mail's most direct, telling influencer, this charming 1940s rom-com tells the story of Matuschek's shop in Budapest, in which two employees unwittingly fall in love.

It remains entirely satisfying to discover that the humour and intrinsic playfulness of The Shop Around the Corner has not dated one bit, even if simultaneously the performances and setting clearly evoke another, distant time and style of acting. Stationary angles and set-piece scenes characterise this wonderful film, but it's really sold on the central protagonists' believable, enjoyable portrayals of Alfred Kralik (Stewart at his drawling best) and Klara Novak (Sullivan, all bite and bright eyes). Kralik is lead salesman in Matuschek's, butting heads in a well-judged father-son conflict with his bumbling boss (Morgan). Meanwhile, Klara arrives on the scene and bullies her way into a position. Kralik and Klara do not see eye-to-eye. More than that, they intensely dislike each other.

Of course, it emerges fairly swiftly that their respective pen-pals, of whom they both speak so highly, are in fact each other. There commences a delicious discrepancy of understanding as Kralik first faces his true feelings for Klara, and then begins to machinate to ensure that when he reveals his true identity, she won't turn him down. It's well paced, engaging and all a bit soppy in the nicest possible way. Laughs come regularly, while the other characters in Matuschek's provide perfect foils for Stewart and Sullivan to spring from. William Tracy as Pepi Katona is particularly enjoyable to watch.

I'm not saying anything new; but they got romantic comedy down to a fine art, and this is a beautiful example of it. Tight writing, excellent execution, and heart-warming and Christmassy to boot.

~~~

1940

Margaret Sullivan, James Stewart, Frank Morgan, William Tracy

dir. Ernst Lubitsch

Boy

2010-12-20T12:32:00.003Z

Boy tells the story of the eponymous 11 year old New Zealander and his younger brother, Rocky. Effectively ophaned by their criminal father, Alamein, and the death of their mother, they live with cousins and their grandmother in extreme poverty. But the return of their dad forces them to reconsider their position, both in regard to each other, and how they have built up legends surrounding their absent father.

It's a fairly standard story of family values and growing up, but packaged so beautifully and thoughtfully (even the website is a dream) and given director Taika Waititi's particular stamp. If you're not sure quite what that is, consider Eagle vs Shark (trailer here) or Taika's episode for the hit HBO series, Flight of the Conchords (little clip from his episode here). It's a certain quirkiness, but more than that, a reconsideration of some of the obvious themes (love for EvS, family for Boy) from a detailed, unexpected perspective. The trailer really doesn't do justice to the range of emotions this film stirs. Boy (Rolleston) and Rocky (Eketone-Whitu) have brilliant fraternal chemistry, while Waititi as Alamein is a delight, pure and simple. But to rave about them is, unfortunately, selling short a sensitive, multi-layered film that uses humour not just to entertain but also to elucidate and quietly poke fun at its protagonists.

Boy lives in his own dream world; but why shouldn't he, if it gets him through the harsh times of caring for his siblings and struggling without guidance? He's a strange one but takes himself entirely seriously, yet not for moment did I feel as though I was mocking him with my laughter, especially after the arrival of his father and the realisation that Alamein has had far more influence on his sons that he ever wanted.

Beautifully shot, carefully put together and interwoven with moments of heartbreak and magic, Boy is an underrated joy definitely worth your time.

~~~
2010
James Rolleston, Te Aho Aho Eketone-Whitu, Taika Waititi
written and dir. Taika Waititi

Update

2010-12-20T11:44:00.000Z

I've been a little off the boil with reviewing. I am not going to sit with a huge backlog and fret about it. My resolutions for the blog are a) to promote a bit more regularly and b) to write more selectively and critically. I think that seems fair.

So, onwards, back into the swing of things we go.

The Best of McSweeney's - Volume 1

2010-10-11T16:04:00.000+01:00

What do eighteen short stories from eighteen different American writers of all sorts have in common? Nothing, it would seem, apart from being published by Dave Eggers' McSweeney's and making it into the first best-of collection. And that's a very good thing.

This collection certainly pays homage what might be considered more conventional short story telling, such as Paul Lafarge's The Observers, in which the story of making an observatory becomes emblemmatic for the more traumatic changes a man might go through, or Rick Moody's The Double Zero, the story of a family failing in the Mid-West. But McSweeney's also ranges into less traditional territory. Gary Greenberg's In the Kingdom of the Unabomber is a non-fiction account of Greenberg's communications with Ted Kaczynski; Zev Borow's Haole Go Home!: Small Gestures from the Hawaiian Secessionist Movement documents some of the different factions and actionists at work in Hawaii in, as the title suggests, the Secession movement there; perhaps the most haunting work in the collection is another non-fiction piece, Sean Wilsey's The Republic of Marfa, recording the weird and wonderful in Far West Texas' outland of Marfa, cattle-rustlers and artists alike.

Egger's own contribution, Up the Mountain Coming Down Slowly, certainly deserves its place there. He tells the story of one Rita, who has decided to climb Kilimanjaro, perhaps to forget some of the pressures her life back in the United States has put upon her. It's an excellent study in letting small details speak for themselves, and as it traces Rita's physical journey, we see the gentle unravelling of her mental processes as the freedom and difficulty of her trek work upon her.

Another story of travel, of a slightly more malevolent bent, is Ted and the Megalodon, by Jim Shepard. Even now, the final scene of that adventure lingers hauntingly with me. It's an excellent piece of suspense writing and well-worth a look. But that's just the point: this collection deserves its best-of title. These stories are weighty in their own right. Even a cursory look at the contents page makes me wonder if I shouldn't mention George Saunders' Four Institutional Monologues, wry, excellent faux-businessman pieces that are terrifying in the very fact they are so square, or William T. Vollman's Three Meditations on Death. But then I'd be missing Zadie Smith's The Girl with Bangs, again, a more conventional story, or John Hodgman's Fire: The Next Sharp Stick?, which is marvellously entertaining, as cavemen start to talk about fire as though it is a business opportunity, and they corporations. Perhaps that's my favourite story. But I just can't tell.

Definitely worth dipping into; a must for any short-story enthusiast.

~~~
2005
Penguin Books
edited by Dave Eggers

Daybreakers

2010-09-29T11:06:00.000+01:00

Daybreakers takes the premise that after the emergence of the vampire strain, all was conquered swiftly in its path. Humans now exist in the minority, hunted for their tasty blood and shying away from cities which now have underground tunnel networks to allow vampires to get around even by day.

Ten years on, by a rather crafty series of news bulletins, mini-scenes and overheard snatches of conversation, we discover human blood may be drying up. Humans may in fact be going extinct. Blood deprived vamps, the poorest of the poor, are mutating into monsters, while blood investors start withdrawing their human capital to save the blood for themselves. And in the centre of the mess stands chief haematologist Edward Dalton (Ethan Hawke), an unwilling vampire at best, and certainly a humanity sympathiser (even if he's embraced the vampire look pretty slickly).

Hawke's performance is perfectly fine. He scowls a lot and looks pasty. He's entirely outdone by the delicious Audrey (Claudia Karvan, who must have been sexed up so that the audience might feel a fraction of Dalton's own longing for her blood) and even more so by a star turn from Defoe, who plays the hicky-gung-ho Lionel 'Elvis' Cormac, leader of the human resistance. (Why wouldn't I use that image again? Look at Defoe's expression!) It's an entertaining, absurd performance and Defoe shines, southern drawl and all. He's a consummate performer who demands attention throughout, and his intensity and slightly crazed leer match his character's perfectly.

Meanwhile, plot and design complement each other comfortably. Despite a lamentably obvious human-capture setpiece, the supporting characters are used to full effect and the story trots along merrily and enjoyably. There are a couple of needlessly gory deaths; but there is also enough blood and madness around for it almost to make sense, especially given the well-told background of riots and vamps losing their nerve. After all, in a world that's running short on blood, any time there is bloodletting, there's that tinge of useless waste underlying my usual gut reaction of 'oh needless gore'. It's a subtle detail, but it pleased me some.

I had expected something along the lines of Blade 3 - action, laser bows, idiocy. Instead I got a rather terser, tighter piece, filled with energy and engaging detail. It wasn't the most sophisticated film ever, but I'd watch it again to catch all the details I missed, and first time through, it was a joy to watch.

~~~

2009

Ethan Hawke, Claudia Karvan, Willem Defoe, Sam Neill

dir. Michael Spierig, Peter Spierig

30 days of night

2010-09-29T10:54:00.000+01:00

So continues a little bit of my vampire interest writing. I’ve done a couple of I Am Legend look-sees (here and here) along with more mainstream jabbering (here for example).

30 Days of Night was hailed as one of the darkest, goriest vampire flicks ever. Updating the blockbuster hyperbolic action of the Blade trilogy, it would usher in a return to the vampire-as-true-horror genre, rather than namby-pamby 'sexy' vampires with diamond skin and such. In the small town of Barrow, northernmost of American outposts in Alaska, a thirty-day night is just beginning, a period of darkness marked by the departure of nearly half the 1,500 inhabitants who flee to warmer, brighter climes. And into this one long night arrives a stranger (Ben Foster), and, of course, a whole bunch of very thirsty vampires.

The strained relationship between town sheriff Eben Oleson (Josh Hartnett) and his estranged wife Stella (Melissa George), who happens to find herself in Barrow just in time to miss the last flight clear, is established nicely enough. Early attempts at meaningful, emotive dialogue are pulled off just about. Night begins to fall. The first killings occur, and a sense of mystery infuses the air.

Unfortunately, that sense of mystery is not particularly engaging. The cinematic beauty of watching the sun set for the last time for an entire month, coupled with some rather nifty opening credits, is not enough to cancel out the fact that the opening drags, and ‘Day 1’ lasts almost half of the film. Once the survivors of the initial onslaught are boarded up in an attic hideout, it already seems inevitable that they will all die. The desperation, the hope and the excitement that might have been worked into fighting off a vampire siege is wholly removed. ‘Day 8’ adds little to the thrill, the next milestone we are given. Where did days 2 - 7 go? An old man, trying to break out, is carried off. Somehow the vampires, who have engineered this conquest, fail to understand that there might be other people hiding in the building. These master monsters, who've been clever enough to think of hitting up an entire town that's dark for a whole month fail really to follow through with their design.

How should one redeem such a piece? Can adding conversations between vampires, a line about how they had tired of hiding in the shadows, enhance the threat they pose? Not really. Instead, it makes the conquest of Barrow, tiny and insignificant as it portrayed to be, into some kind of battleground to protect all of America, and it doesn’t work. Heroism can be found anywhere. Why not make Eben the hero of Barrow, not of America, the world, as a whole? Why try to make this about the entire human race when the audience might want in fact to care about the people of Barrow instead.

Rapidly descending into trite melodrama. Not dark enough to remain true vampire horror, or swiftly paced enough to add proper tension or expectation in the audience. Adding gore to a weakly carried out film doesn't rocket up into must-see lists, I'm afraid.

~~~

2007

Josh Hartnett, Melissa George

dir. David Slade

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen

2010-09-29T10:35:00.001+01:00

Transformers 1: all right, all told. Remarkably. Transformers 2: a minefield of atrocity. The way this film was put together was infuriatingly, insultingly bad. For a piece to lack coherence to such a degree is horrific. It’s borderline racist, sexist, ageist, and everything-ist. Horrible. It doesn’t deserve any more words.

~~~
2009

Shia LeBeouf, Megan Fox

dir. Michael Bay

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

2010-09-29T10:32:00.001+01:00

I've tried to write something insightful and measured about Oliver Stone's resurrection of his 80s Gordon Gekko (Wall Street). But I'd rather let my feelings have a bit of a voice too for once. After all, this is a film deeply interested in emotion versus reason, good sense versus business at all costs.

Eight years in prison, and a further seven and a book deal later sees Gekko (Michael Douglas) return to New York; his book, Is Greed Good?, puts him on the periphery of Wall Street. The collapse of young Streeter Jake's (Shia LaBeouf) firm and the subsequent suicide of his boss Zabel (Frank Langella) sees Jake lose his job and attend a talk by Gekko to fill the time. He's taken with Gekko's no-nonsense approach. Oh and he's dating Gekko's daughter, Winnie (Carey Mulligan), who, despite her father's misdeeds, is still happy enough to shack up with another yuppie. (That decision is never explained. While that irks, it's clearly a sensible choice to get going in medias res and avoid the awkward, unbeliavable wooing scenes we might have been subjected to. The audience is left with a frustrating gap, but one they can blithely try to ignore.)

So Jake and Gordo get to trading info and hatching plots. Jake wants revenge on whoever screwed over his ol' boss; Gordo wants a relationship with Winnie. LeBeouf and Douglas are both watchable; it's certainly Shia's best performance. He squeezes out a tear or two, even if I struggled to understand why we should quite like him. At heart, that's what really left me astray here: in a world in which everyone's either a bastard or dating a bastard or related to a bastard, should we really want to watch or care?

But the show's stolen by the supporting cast anyway. The clueless mother (Sarandon, complete with noo yawk drawl), Zabel (who's a bear, if a woefully underwritten part, and whose choices clearly underpin the entire drama) and Bretton James (Josh Brolin), hulking around screen and truly a little bit evil. The chap pulls of a burgundy suit, for crying out loud. Can one get any more satanic? They're all eminently watchable, and they cover up the flaws of the film marvellously. Meanwhile Mulligan pulls every tear she can out of the bag and we have a wet (read: needy, lovable, cute) love interest to keep Shia's eye.

There are flaws: the effects, the flow of ticker tape numbers across sped up cityscapes and the laughable fusion animation (A weak strand to the story: recession blocks fusion break-through. Really?) are all fairly needless. As are the scene changes that one can animate straight from a desktop: who's used a shrink-to-centre-of-screen-circle since Jimmy Bond? It's glossy but meaningless.

And of course that's a good thing, that's a great thing, if it reflects the message of the film, that all this wealth, and money for money's sake, is empty and worthless compared to love, life and time with those you care about. Jake's story is meaningful as far as one hopes his failures will teach him that Wall Street is a corrupt, greedy and evil system made up of unthinking drones and hateful prospectors, a system he should avoid. For a moment it really, really looks like he might escape. He gets burnt and I prayed he'd learn his lesson.

But damn, Hollywood, even with a strong script and great director and talented cast, you have to go sugarcoat the ending. Gekko gets his happily ever after; Winnie receives her father and son and Jake gets her back. And the yuppies are all there too, sitting around celebrating riches and success, as the financial system writhes in near-death throes. There's no comeuppance, no punishment, no lesson, if not keep kidding yourself you're still human.

Perhaps it is I who remains the fantasist. Wall Street is horribly faithful to real life and recent history in that regard. Crooks did make a pot of dollars out of the 2008 crash and subsequent defaults and debt. They did get away with it and get government bailouts to boot. And there's been no punishment. So then the fault remains my own: Wall Street will always be an unhappy ending, precisely because it's happy for the antiheroes of the film. But does that make it enjoyable viewing, if one is watching something fairly horrid, and it's not provided with any kind of moral condemnation at all? Perhaps this is where Stone and I part company: he's happy to make a film that tells a story, and ends happily for those involved; I'd rather see the bankers strung up from the rafters.

~~~
2010

Michael Douglas, Shia LaBeouf, Carey Mulligan, Josh Brolin, Susan Sarandon, Frank Langella

dir. Oliver Stone

The Gone-Away World

2010-09-17T13:13:00.001+01:00

Post-apocalyptic adventures across the globe populated by literally every imaginable nasty, kick ass ninjas, some gung-ho super fighters and a wee dose of humour every other word or so doesn't get any better than this, Nick Harkaway's debut novel, The Gone-Away World.

For a start, The Gone-Away World struggles to be put into a genre-specific box. Sure, it's adventure, and there's a large dose of hard sci-fi in the form of the weapons that bring about the destruction of civilisation as we knew it. But the description on the back of the book suggests bleak action (or once one sees the protagonist's name - Gonzo Lubitsch - bleak, over-the-top, hyperbolic, if not comedic, action) and the opening chapters have their fair share of macho posturing and rushing off on missions in a balls-to-walls kind of way. But more than that, we are launched into an autobiography. Well, it's a biography too. Gonzo's closest friend, his childhood playmate and nearly-brother, begins to tell us all about himself, and all about Gonzo too. So we receive far more than standard adventure narrative or harrowing war ganderings; Gonzo and his buddy instead treat us to school days and a first introduction to gong-fu and girls; to university and first jobs (how I giggled at the Spanish archer, of which I'm a proud fellow recipient); and finally to a war in almost precisely the middle of nowhere in which our brilliant, witty and introspective narrator bemoans the hell of not being shot as civilians and sheep duck for cover and wish everyone would just leave their once pleasant land alone.

Finally, finally the bombs begin to drop. The droppings hit the metaphorical fan and everything goes batshit crazy. If you've been smiling and marvelling up to this point at Harkaway's imagination, his skilful storytelling clearly underpinned by a strong sense of timing and poise, his ability to pull the rug out from under you repeatedly takes off on a rather more epic scale and mundane tasks like shopping or cooking get narrated with wit and energy. It's as though simply being in the presence of the narrator means things are a) funny and b) likely to get blown up, knocked down, atomised or otherwise in the turn of a page.

So it's funny. But it's also moving. One can't help but smile that a martial arts fight to the death starts to involve tupperware, but suddenly becomes serious and painful. Or the grin is wiped off one's face with the romance of the story, of which there is a fair dose, which starts off boyish and playful and gets seriously in the blink of a eye and becomes another way in which the humorous is transformed into the emotionally weighty. To try to create a novel and fill it with a whole gamut of emotional bathos and pathos, while also bouncing around merrily with all kinds of irony, understatement and linguistic creativity, is a very bold undertaking indeed.

Is there a weakness to The Gone-Away World? Is it too clever for its own good? No, except in one tiny, dangerous way. It'll be an awfully tough act to follow.

Buy it, read it, read it again, and hope Nick Harkaway has some more gems up his sleeve.

~~~

2009

Nick Harkaway

Windmill Books

Year One

2010-09-14T13:02:00.000+01:00

Year One comes across more as a variety show than a narrative film. Purportedly about the beginnings of humanity’s very existence on the earth, it is in fact a series of cameos and skits strung together loosely by a weak storyline.

Zed (Jack Black) and Oh (Michael Cera) are two cavemen who leave their village, disaffected with hunter-gatherer ways, to search for better times. They wind up on a quest to rescue their former village mates, and travel across the Holy Land meeting Cain, Abel, Abraham, Isaac, some Roman legionnaries and party pagans in Sodom, before finally being reunited in freedom with their respective love interests.

It’s a funny enough film. I’m unashamedly a Jack Black fan, and feel he can (and has) carried films in the past on the weight of his own bombastic performances. But even he could not save this ragtag collection of scenes. Perhaps it was the fact that the narrative is forced, so clearly at odds with the material, onto such a disparate selection, that I was left distinctly dissatisfied. It felt a lot like a narrative had been hastily pasted over the top of what should have been a series of sketches. Perhaps it’s the fact that the performances do nothing particularly special at all. I’ve cooled towards Cera (best displayed in my upcoming Scott Pilgrim vs The World review - apologies for the delay in getting that posted) and this did little to change my mind.

There are some beautiful cameos too. A film built so heavily around bringing together most of the Hollywood comedy elite should be able to pull together some gems. Bill Hader as the village shaman is brilliantly dead-pan, while Hank Azaria’s Abraham was a real show stealer for me. Every time he says the word “God” he spits it out with ever increasing vehemence that starts understated but builds to a near-frenzy. Poor Abraham (click for video!).

A shame, because the film is lively and silly, but it never quite takes off.

~~~

2009

Jack Black, Michael Cera

dir. Harold Ramis

Kindergarten Cop and Back To The Future

2010-09-14T12:33:00.000+01:00

I had the pleasure of rewatching Kindergarten Cop and Back To The Future this week, the latter in a theatrical press preview celebrating its 25th anniversary. I think it's a rewarding exercise to revisit these films, because I remember so little about them from my childhood except that they were good. Were they really any good? And do they stand the test of time?

Confidently I can aver they are, and they do. Schwarzneggar is at his best as Detective John Kimble in Kindergarten Cop. I mean really. It's a mushy film all right, but heartfelt, and streaked with moments of real tension and enough red herrings to keep a casual viewer thoroughly engaged. It also dares to bring in child- and substance-abuse, again quite casually, suggesting a director entirely on top of his material. I boggled to think I'd loved this as a child and not understood at all some of the big issues being bandied around. At its heart, Arnold is both lovable and tough, and it's before the time when he starts to look simply terrifying (He's formidably muscled, as it is). He walks the line between action hero and soulful chap, and the plot elements are all there to make it work. Big tick!

Meanwhile, Zemeckis' '85 classic remains exactly that. The film received cheers and spontaneous applause as Marty McFly (Michael J Fox) and Dr Brown (Christopher Lloyd) get trapped in 1955 and Marty has to bring about his own parents' coupling. There's a big dose of incest awkwardness alongside humour and tension in equal measure, again, something I had entirely no recollection of as a child and now marvelled that I'd ever missed it. McFly's prudish mother turns out to be a real go-getter, much to Marty's own terror. It's great fun; like a joyful wedding, it demands smiles and happiness from its viewers. I couldn't quite believe that I didn't hold the film in even higher esteem, because I hurt my face smiling. Even the device of time travel, a slippery slope to losing an audience entirely, is kept just about simple enough, while being hammered home repeatedly, that one can feel like trying to wrap one's mind around the physics of it all isn't ruining the delight of Fox bouncing about a stage rocking out to bring about his parents' first kiss. Entirely wonderful.

Two classics that in my estimation deservedly remain so. 80s to early 90s blockbusters with punch and feeling.

~~~

1991

Arnold Schwarzneggar

dir. Ivan Reitman

1985

Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd

dir. Robert Zemeckis

Wonder Boys

2010-09-14T12:17:00.000+01:00

I'm a great Michael Chabon fan. I reckon he can't really set a word wrong, all told. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay and Summerland are both books that really deserve glowing write-ups here (I read them both after this blog began). But I'd not come across Wonder Boys, an early outing of his, and I didn't know it had been adapted to the screen. Imagine my surprise to discover not only that there's a film adaptation, but it features Michael Douglas, Robert Downey Jr, Tobey Maguire and Katie Holmes. They're popular names, if nothing else.

Wonder Boys traces a few days in the life of Prof. Grady Trip (Douglas). He's had that first break-through novel, which has earned him an esteemed, if low-key, position in the great American canon. Now he's teaching creative writing, but he's in a rut. Just as his editor, Crabtree (Downey Jr), comes to visit he discovers a gifted student, James Leer (Maguire). So begins a journey of discovery for professor and student, as the tangled webs of their lives are slowly unpicked. Of course, it helps that Leer's creative talent might stem from a compulsive desire to lie. Fabrication seems to have penetrated every aspect of his life.

This is a remarkably well-observed drama. The dialogue is at times too obvious, and tends towards cliche, but never quite grates, and it's skilfully enough put together that the personalities of the film (Douglas, Maguire) are comfortably negated, or at least softened. It's easy with such big players to expect certain tropes or kinds of performance. But the eccentricities of some (Downey Jr) are underplayed, even if other characters (McDormand in particular, as the long-suffering dean and sometime lover of Douglas), are not really given an opportunity to shine.

It is, in the final analysis, a very American film. It's saturated in questions of creation and discovery, and funny and moving at the right times, without quite taking itself above and beyond the ordinary. It has traces of Chabon's excellence, and one can detect echoes of his emotional charged writing in scenes that never quite soar to the heights they should. But it works, all the same, and remains enjoyable.

~~~

2000

Michael Douglas, Robert Downey Jr., Tobey Maguire, Frances McDormand, Katie Holmes

dir. Curtis Hanson

Speed Racer

2010-09-08T12:54:00.000+01:00

Bit of a guilty pleasure here for me. As a proud owner of a Speed Racer red t and a quiet fan of the 60s series, I have to put hand to my heart and declare this is a well put together film. I think I might be the only one.

The film has many of the hallmarks of a Wachowski production. Emphasis is placed heavily on effects and on the power of emotions to overcome any obstacle (Neo's love-gamble anyone?). But it's also marvellously fun.

Speed Racer (Emile Hirsch) has always dreamt of following in his brother Rex's footsteps and being a racer, from his earliest schoolboy daydreams. Ably assisted by the family-run crew of Racer Motors, he becomes a racing car driver, only to discover operating independently is not only dangerous but also extremely difficult when the major corporations want to dominate, and rig (ooh, ahh!), the sport.

It's a bright, vibrant film. Apart from ill-judged comic episodes from the youngest of the Racer progeny, the film sparkles. The Racer parents (Sarandon and Goodman) are both excellent presences, while Hirsch and girlfriend Trixie (Ricci) are both entirely laudable. The tension ratchets up rapidly, and the racing scenes are gloriously over the top and colourful. But beyond any individual performance or the suspense or colours or score, it's essentially a film about going it alone and fighting for something you believe in. And I approve of that.

~~~
2008
Emile Hirsch, Matthew Fox, Christina Ricci, Susan Sarandon, John Goodman
dir. Andy Wachowski, Lana Wachowski

The 13th Warrior

2010-09-08T12:43:00.000+01:00

I hesitated before posting this up, partly because I have so little to say about the film and partly because it's just not very good.

Banderas plays Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, an Arab poet sent as diplomat to the north. He meets some Norsemen, and by a tiresome twist of fate, ends up the thirteenth warrior in a party setting out to rescue a tribe from supernatural enemies.

The film is fairly standard 90s blockbuster fare. So little attention is paid to plot, which creeps predictably onwards, while location and costume are similarly neglected. One imagines that most of the budget must have gone on getting Banderas, and maybe trying to get his English passably accented, that what remained accounted for the poor set and setpieces. It's also a prime case of a Michael Crichton novel being essentially misunderstood. After early commercial successes in adapting the bestselling author to the big screen, there were a spate of poorly made adaptations that fail to capture the essence of his writing and sufficiently translate that into a workable film. So we have a film with poorly imagined characters and dialogue, simply because the makers relies too heavily on a novel. For all novel-film cross-overs, it seems to have been proven that it is not about relying on copying the novel from page to screen, but on finding a film equivalent for many of a given novel's devices. The 13th Warrior expressly fails on that account.

Laughably bad. But not worth one's time for the laughs.

~~~
1999
Antonio Banderas, Vladimir Kulich
dir. John McTiernan

The State Counsellor (Fandorin 6)

2010-09-08T12:20:00.000+01:00

I've already reviewed the first five Fandorin adventures (starting with The Winter Queen) State Counsellor has been regarded by many as the best Fandorin narrative. It was the first book to be made into a film, and maintains popular support.

But I did not feel Akunin managed anything novel or thrilling with this offering. A gruesome murder implicating Fandorin sets the wheels of an investigation in motion. Very soon we see that dangerous nihilist revolutionaries threaten Russia. Different police inspectors and special agents get thrown into the mix; they all have their own reasons for helping or hindering the investigation. And in the middle, Fandorin, trying to piece together the evidence as best he can. The nihilists do not seem to particularly threaten. In fact, it felt almost as though Akunin was in some way attempting to foreshadow early twentieth century history by the actions of these revolutionaries, and that barely added anything to the narrative.

Part of The State Counsellor's weakness surely lies both in style and in villain. For the former, no distinct narrative voice deprives Akunin of one of his successful stylistic tricks (Compare Turkish Gambit or Special Assignments). Meanwhile, the latter, an altogether unimpressive character, Green, leaves much to be desired. There never seems to be a great threat to Fandorin. In fact, he is dispassionately removed from the majority of the drama. When one compares Green with earlier villains, particularly the master schemers of The Winter Queen and Turkish Gambit, or the terribly precise murderer of The Death of Achilles, he does not come off well. There are no major distinguishing features.

Fandorin's love interest for this story at least has a spark to her. Esfir Litvinova, a young society beauty, with revolutionary sympathies, is both unpredictable and fiery, making for a beautiful foil to Fandorin's inscrutable routines. Her very disdain for him, softening to attraction and even love, is a familiar pattern for females to follow with regard to Fandorin, but it's executed excellently here. The humour evoked by Fandorin's double confusion both with his case and the affairs of the heart is also particularly enjoyable.

The writing remains lively and I raced through the drama. But I was not wowed or awed like I have been with earlier Fandorin books. Has Akunin used all his tricks up? Am I missing a beat?

~~~
2008
Boris Akunin translated by Andrew Bromfield
Weidenfeld & Nicolson

Special Assignments (Fandorin 5)

2010-09-08T12:10:00.000+01:00

Erast Petrovich Fandorin returns in two short stories, this time narrated by the young Anisii Tulipov. Akunin remains on form with these two tales of Fandorin's intelligence pitted against devious, dangerous Moscow criminals.

In The Jack of Spades, chance has Tulipov, who feels as though life has always gone against him, assigned to support the Deputy to the Governor of Moscow for Special Assignments (Fandorin of course). In such a position, Tulipov relates the strange habits of the young, grey-templed sleuth. Their quarry, a master of disguise, gives them the run of the city.

Then in The Decorator worlds collide as it seems Jack the Ripper may have made it to Moscow. The second story is a thrilling re-imagining of Ripper mythology, made all the more exciting both by Fandorin's intellect and the filter through which we gain access to it: Tulipov.

Akunin has struck a familiar tone with a third party narrator. While Turkish Gambit was perhaps my favourite of the Fandorin books, Special Assignments, despite this familiarity, does little to rise above the very high bar Akunin has set for himself. But the host of well imagined characters and locations, and the ability to spin a gripping story remains intact and I devoured both tales voraciously. Onwards!

~~~
2007
Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield.
Weidenfeld & Nicolson (UK); Random House (USA)

Predators

2010-08-17T15:42:00.001+01:00

A sequel twenty-one years after the 'original' sequel is no mean feat; Predators claims to be a sequel. It even references the Alien films in its nomenclature, that subtle addition of an 's'. But consequently it's riddled with the same problems most sequels have to face.

For a film as limply plotted as Predators (Selected elite soldiers plus one hapless doctor are ditched on an alien hunting preserve for the predators to practise their skills on... That's literally it.), there were some surprisingly effective moments amongst the dross. Adrien Brody is passable enough in Swarznegger's shoes, remarkable as that might sound; the conversation that directly refers to 1987 (the year of Predator's release) is comicly rendered. But he's not passable enough, and the film never really accepts that it's comic. It's so deadly, dully serious throughout, one can't help but get a little tired of it all.

The film also falls flat on the simplest of moments. The dialogue drags throughout; the landscape changes every five minutes (Continuity people, did you put jungle to evergreen in two minutes down to the planet being 'alien'?); the characters are sketchily drawn at best and killed off in the most meaningless of ways. But I cackled through it. I embraced the idiocy, Hollywood churning out drudge in a style true to form. I'd not go out of my way to see it again. Then again, I probably wouldn't for most films.

~~~

2010

Adrien Brody, Alice Braga

dir. Nimrod Antal

Hot Rod

2010-08-17T15:23:00.000+01:00

Saturday Night Live's party boys team up to deliver a charming gem out of leftfield. This film has all the hallmarks of a conventionally dire comedy, but its quirks and erraticism rescue and elevate it beyond the mundane.

Rod (Samberg) is a down-and-out stay-at-home chap desperate to be a stuntman. Ably assisted by his crew (Taccone, Hader & McBride) he performs insipid stunts. Usually he messes them up. And he fights, literally fights, to earn his stepfather's respect. But in a neat, if predictable plot twist, Rod has to take his stunt work to the next level to save the man he so abhors.

The performances are just shy of absurd, but silly enough to keep the laughs coming. Rico taking on a redneck made me guffaw, while Kevin's dancing and mild manners were similarly enjoyable. Meanwhile, the linear and uncreative thread is spiced up with a host of interjections and wrong turns. Sketch comedy's influence is in evidence throughout. But that adds to the film, rather than detracting from it. I was reminded, remarkably, of Napoleon Dynamite and Little Miss Sunshine, two films that contain fairly standard plots and directions, but are riddled with comic episodes and wrong turns.

There's a rock soundtrack too, that's again just short of all out parody, and plenty of quotable, if idiotic lines. When Rod has to take himself to his "happy place" and the next scene we are provided with is him punchdancing his way to happiness, I had to stop the DVD and rewatch. It's delightfully stupid. I wanted to own this film, for repeat views. That's a great way to feel when watching a movie.

~~~

2007

Andy Samberg, Jorma Taccone, Bill Hader, Danny McBridge, Isla Fisher

dir. Akiva Schaffer

Curse of the Golden Flower

2010-08-13T16:08:00.000+01:00

Spectacle and simplicity combine in this Tang dynasty drama depicting the destruction of the emperor's family. The emperor rules with an iron fist, while his second wife, the empress, and three sons machinate busily behind the scenes to seize power.

It's a beautiful film. In fact, I was saddened that this film has been compared to Yimou Zhang's earlier work, because that set up expectations of high-flying action and martial arts drama, and while there is some, it is no way central to what this film really concerns. Instead, the poise and routine of imperial life takes centre stage. That's fitting too; beneath the calm surface things bubble away vigorously, players scheme or cheat. The juxtaposition works very well, between rhythmic order on the surface and mad plotting beneath. A casual viewer would not comprehend the gravity of a solitary stroll through one of the many identical corridors the film depicts. It is only through snippets of dialogue or exchanged looks that we begin to see what is coming together, much like the players themselves. And of course, there are people, servants, everywhere. One starts to doubt how much secrecy there can be with so many people around all the time. It's another neat juxtaposition.

The performances are touching, especially the emperor (Yun-Fat Chow) and empress (Li Gong). Their roles demand a certain soullessness underpinned by broiling emotions. It's admirably pulled off. There's a magnetism they portray that demands an audience's attention. Even when they are at their most jealous and hateful, one can't help but watch.

Overall, I thought this a very emotive, immersive film. It builds like a wave, slowly but surely, before cresting inevitably with devastating effect. The final act is worth watching the whole film for.

~~~

2007

Yun-Fat Chow, Li Gong, Jay Chou, Ye Liu

dir. Yimou Zhang

Zombieland

2010-08-13T15:58:00.000+01:00

The dead just ain't that funny. That was my overriding feeling by the end of Zombieland. A rather kitsch attempt at what amounted to little more than rendering a video game on-screen left me neither giggling nor really very impressed at all.

There are some lovely ideas behind Zombieland. After the zombie apocalypse, survivors battle to find sustenance against increasingly dangerous odds. Into this wilderness appears Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg), a neurotic boy who goes by the name of his hometown and stays alive by adhereing to a strict series of rules. The rules themselves are fairly amusing, if predictable, and suggest an early awareness of the parody that Zombieland is offering. Even the way in which the rules are presented starts out as seemingly inventive, but quickly becomes tedious, a repeated joke that doesn't gain momentum throughout the film.

Then Columbus meets Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson) and the film lurches sadly towards more plain fare. Sisters (Breslin and Stone) show up; wanton violence abounds, wanton, unimaginative violence; we start to witness a rather insipid love story unfold, and family values start getting pasted all over the place. Then there's the cameo by Bill Murray. Less said about that the better; it was entirely disappointing, and clearly out of place with the tone and style of the film. But perhaps that can be forgiven, because it seems the film struggles to decide what tone it is going for. A slick, over-stylised opening descends into a Hollywood producer's wet dream with romance and redemption as the eventual message. It's sickly sweet.

A great shame. Some clever tricks and a neat concept fail to lift the film above mediocrity. It has the stamp of Hollywood over-production, and it suffers for it.

~~~~

2010

Jesse Eisenberg, Woody Harrelson, Emma Stone, Abigail Breslin

dir. Ruben Fleischer

Inception

2010-08-13T14:51:00.000+01:00

Christopher Nolan's sci-fi thrill-ride offers in equal measure suspense, drama, mind-bending plot- and physical twists and a healthy dose of good cinematic fun. It cements his position as a potent blockbuster creator, and reminds viewers of his ability to tell a cracking, complex story.

The basic premise is far from complicated. In a world much like our own, people are able to share dreams together. First developed by the US military for training soldiers (In a dream, while one can feel pain, one normally cannot die: dying simply awakens the dreamer), the compact technology is now exploited for corporate espionage by thieves who kidnap or hijack people's dreams to extract information, trade secrets or gain blackmail leverage.

Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is one such thief, and an excellent one at that, despite his troubled past. But when Seito (Ken Watanabe), a previous target, approaches Cobb with the chance to get charges waiting for him in America dropped, Cobb is forced to embark on a job far more difficult than any before: inception, the planting of an idea inside a mind. Cobb's closest friends try to dissuade him; inception cannot be done.

So Mr Cobb assembles a team about him to undertake the mission. Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), Ariadne (Ellen Page), Yusuf (Dileep Rao - pictured left) and Eames (Tom Hardy) all have very particular, very cool roles to play in the coming job. The first act is very much an explosive exposition of some of the film's key principles. But the second act, where Cobb plans and plots, is when Inception really starts to sparkle. The dialogue is crisp and to the point; the characters are witty and engaging. After any given scene with a character, particularly Arthur or Eames, I was left wanting more, gently in awe of highly competent performances.

A lot has already been written about some of the special effects in this film. But more than that, Hans Zimmer needs to be praised for the major role his score plays in establishing more than just pure effect but a fully formed mood, an all-encompassing ambience. This is what makes Inception stand out from other standard weak sci-fi fare. It is more than any one detail but the chilling mood of the entire piece that leaves one both thrilled and mentally wearied, in the best possible way.

Special note has to made once more of the performances. DiCaprio is on top form, even if this is not a far cry from his emotionally raw characterisation for Shutter Island. But Gordon-Levitt is super slick, while Cillian Murphy, playing Robert Fischer, is sensational. Murphy is no stranger to emotionally charged performances, but this one crackles. There appears to be so much bubbling beneath the surface in his portrayal that I'm tempted to suggest he's a show stealer here. Meanwhile, Cotillard and Watanabe have depth and detail to their performances that made them thoroughly enjoyable to watch.

Conspiracy theorists and pedants will love the many questions and holes this film throws up, but I believe that only adds to the film's validity as a great blockbuster. I don't know how watertight the concept really is, but I think there's an easy answer: it doesn't need to be. We're dealing with dreams. We're dealing with uncertainty and the kind of material, as Cobb himself notes, that only seems strange once it's ended. One's mind may ache by the final act, but that is surely better than mindless fun. Great re-watching potential, and a great step for Nolan.

~~~

2010

Leonardo DiCaprio, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ellen Page, Tom Hardy, Ken Watanabe, Dileep Rao, Marion Cotillard, Cillian Murphy

Written and dir. Christopher Nolan

In Other Rooms, Other Wonders

2010-08-03T14:17:00.003+01:00

Is it enough to take a literary style already heartily employed elsewhere and transplant it to a new country and culture to create a great literary movement? I would argue it is not, and further, that much of the praise heaped upon Daniyal Mueenuddin's collection of short stories indicates wonder at what he has done, rather than true literary merit.

In Other Rooms, Other Wonders is a series of short stories that all feature in some way or other the Harouni family. Sometimes it is K. K. Harouni, a rich businessman, who appears, but as often the stories detail the lives of various of his servants and retainers in and around Lahore. In other stories, like Our Lady of Paris or A Spoiled Man, we deal with relatives of the powerful K. K., lesser Harounis as it were. But such a style, of repeating characters and stories that seem to orbit a central theme or hint at a fully fleshed-out imagined world, is one that America has been familiar with from at least Salinger, while one might argue that as early as Vergil were writers playing with hinting at presences beyond the text, as Vergil himself does in the Eclogues. That is to say, Mueenuddin is not innovating in giving us a series of Pakistani stories all featuring the same interwoven characters, present and absent.

Nor is he innovating in setting those stories primarily in Pakistan. Again, much of the hype surrounding the book comes from readers' excitement in recognising a foreign place or way of life succinctly expressed in literature. But Mueenuddin is not the first to write about Pakistan, nor should he be praised only because his theme is Pakistan. In fact, if the only literary merit of a piece is that it describes a place rarely described, we are considering a travel guide over a work of literary merit.

These two problems in early comments on In Other Rooms, Other Wonders would not trouble me so much if the writing itself stood up to close scrutiny. Unfortunately it does not. After a rather insipid opening story, in which I believe we are meant to be shocked, while I hardly stirred, Mueenuddin draws us at a laborious pace through a host of self-obsessed, self-serving characters who can barely see beyond themselves, yet alone their own horizons. Perhaps there is truth in such a depiction, in the way in which a more feudal society can impose stronger restrictions on its occupants' dreams and aspirations. Yet Mueenuddin labours the point, just like he labours his characters. Nothing is left to the imagination; nothing is intimated or expressed without it being made explicit. Time and again the delicately expressed moments in an individual story that might have charmed me were then brusquely explained and pored over, leaving nothing left for me to ponder myself. Even Lily, my favourite story of the collection, is brought to an appallingly tedious conclusion by the unwavering pace of the writing.

I fear I am falling into the same trap; Mueenuddin's ideas are there, and many of them are engaging. But the writing cries out for an editor, internal or otherwise, to prune back some of the verbosity that dogs and overwhelms what could be handled beautifully and delicately.

~~~

2009

Daniyal Mueenuddin

Random House, India

Toy Story 3

2010-08-03T12:49:00.007+01:00

If one reckoned Pixar has surpassed themselves with the genre-defying adventure of Up, Toy Story 3 only takes the expectation they had created and deftly destroys it once more. Pixar had announced repeatedly they would not complete the trilogy until they had a story worth telling. Here they tell a story and a half.

Fifteen years have passed since the first films. In that time Andy has grown up and now he's off to college. Will he take Woody and Buzz with him? What will happen to the trusted toys once Andy is gone? So begins an adventure that tests their courage and loyalty while also providing approximately two laughs a minute. Maybe more. And a dash of tears.

The fact is, it's a great story. It's a great story that's not afraid to get you crying, to get you caring about its protagonists, and rather than shying away from the emotional deathtrap that leaving for college no doubt is for many people, it embraces it. The film demands we engage with what the characters are no doubt feeling.

At no point does it feel like we're moving gag to gag. Rather, every laugh I had I could barely believe, so exciting and compelling was the action. If one compares this sequel with another in cinemas currently, Shrek Forever After, the fourth instalment of the Shrek series, Pixar's excellence and grasp of humour is even more obvious. In the Shrek film (which I almost certainly will not review), the old stories are rehashed, and the jokes are not only predictable but repeated from previous films. Furthermore, our hero, Shrek, is about as ogrely as a wet blanket. He is a drip. Compare him to Woody, the resourceful hero of Toy Story 3, who never stops believing in Andy or his comrades. Woody makes mistakes, and can be stubborn, but these qualities only go to highlight how well imagined a character he is. He's no weed. Or Lotso, the bear at the kindergarten. His turn as villain is almost chilling: who wants to imagine cuddly bears or dolls as evil?

Well-signalled plot points didn't stand out, but left me with that happy satisfaction in thinking "oh, I knew that meant something!". At no point does Toy Story 3 descend into a pedestrian exercise of box ticking. The story is all, and it's a wonder to behold. Truly a demonstration of Pixar's mastery of what they do, the kings of modern animated storytelling.

~~~

2010
Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Joan Cusack
dir. Lee Unkrich

Eclipse

2010-07-23T16:21:00.000+01:00

If one ever is inclined to question how important a change in director really can be on a film franchise, compare New Moon and Eclipse. The former film managed to get almost everything wrong and sorely misjudged the original charm of Twilight, while also doggedly and tediously rendering details of the text in such a way as to deprive them of any significance or charm.. The latter showed an impressive return to form and left me firmly in the belief that Twilight was in fact a great teen love story which happened to have a silly background of vampires and that that, most importantly, didn't really detract from a great movie.

For a start, despite continuing to rely on rather outrageous effects (and who wants to thank Stephanie Meyer for diamond-skinned vamps?), Eclipse manages to bumble through a hit-and-miss script that at least gives the protagonists a chance to speak their minds. Werewolf Jacob (Taylor Lautner) gives his most convincing arguments for Bella's heart, or is at least his most insistent, while she explains herself a little better than she's yet managed. Meanwhile Edward (Robert Pattinson), remarkably, pulls off a heretowith unmanaged feat and appears almost entirely sympathetic (and thankfully less sparkly). His reasons for being with Bella (Kristen Stewart), his old-fashioned values and concern for her soul, are offered in far more detail than we have seen before. He's not, for once, moany about it. He's clear and almost admirable. It's nice.

The plot flounders, but when were the Twilight films concerned with plot? There's less of the dire Volturi, and that's grand. The script, as noted, is patchy, but that means there's alternating hilariously bad, and hilariously sincere, dialogue, and why not? Since when were teens all about slick lines and pregnant pauses? The show must go on, at the end of the day, and Eclipse foreshadows a little more pregnancy to come: the bedroom scene between Bella and Edward is perhaps the most amusing scene in the film. Yet behind it lurks menace. Whoever takes up the Twilight mantle for the last book, which will be split into two films, better prepare to get as serious as Eclipse. And serious not with effects or emotional sincerity, but in giving the story a chance to flourish, and not taking itself too seriously. What teen movie does?

~~~
2010
Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner
dir. David Slade

Rambo: First Blood Part 2

2010-07-23T16:06:00.000+01:00

There's really little to say to a franchise spinning itself out needlessly. Then again, Predators opened in cinemas last week and I'm about to review that so maybe something needs to be said about this lukewarm sophomore effort of Stallone's Rambo tetralogy.

The grand shame in this film is its promising start. John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone), hardcore Vietnam veteran, is brought out of retirement and a hard labour penal sentence to return to 'Nam on a reconnaissance mission to locate POWs. Not only does the mission go drastically wrong, but the film starts to appear like it might have something to say about the vilification of the veterans back home in the United States.... until Sly decides he's done with orders, he's done with kit, he's done with clothes. All hell breaks loose.

Sadly it's not very well-choreographed hell. Nor is it underpinned by any kind of feeling or indeed even a semblance of reason. Rambo becomes superhuman just at the moment we hope to break through his untouchable army-hardman facade. The cast around him do little to emphasise his own emotional detachment; no robot stands out amongst robots. A love interest is meaninglessly tossed aside; the rogue general who's orchestrating the whole thing, or even the arrival of Russians (gasp!), does little to lift the madness above the mediocre. Even Trautman (Richard Crenna), Rambo's immediate superior, who played the trickster role in the first film, is barely one-dimensional here.

I can't say I expected better. But I was surprisingly disappointed by how woefully off-track this second Rambo managed to get in 90 minutes.

~~~

1985

Sylvester Stallone, Richard Crenna

dir. George P. Cosmatos

Up

2010-07-23T15:49:00.000+01:00

Let's make a film for children. Let's make it funny and colourful and exciting, with the right dose of 'nasty villain' that we can fear and 'lovable idiot' that we can laugh at. Maybe throw in a dash of 'moving sub-plot' to push for a bit more emotional engagement. This film we've just made is definitely not Up.

The fact is, Up has all those elements. It has those elements in exceptionally well-drawn and engaging ways. But it goes so very far beyond that simple recipe that I was left wondering why children's films had ever assumed that that kind of formula worked. Pixar have been bold with Up. The opening sequence, so thoroughly lauded and praised, is something of an eye-opener; in only five minutes of footage, the film tells a whole life story, with the kind of deft brush strokes of plot and character that only master storytellers can aspire to. That's the real secret behind Pixar's genius, that the developers are indeed master fablers who settle for nothing less than a brilliant, gripping story from start to finish.

That opening can also be seen as symptomatic of the entire film; no punches pulled when going for all out emotional drama, no fear of letting emotions other than laughter lead the way in the plot. It's really a miracle that the film is funny at all, so concerned is it with darker emotion. But that means that the humour in the film, which is liberally sprinkled throughout, is all the more poignant. I found myself wondering whether we could really consider this film a comedy by its close. But that in itself is no problem: Pixar have been bold enough not to offer a standard comedy. In doing so, they have given us so much more.

Beautifully plotted, illustrated, scored and voiced, Up is in equal measure charming and moving. A must-see.

~~~
2009
Edward Asner, Christopher Plummer, Jordan Nagai, Bob Peterson
dir. Pete Docter & Bob Peterson

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

2010-06-13T12:58:00.000+01:00

Raymond Carver, the 'American Chekhov' as he so regularly gets dubbed, is a recent discovery for me. Perhaps because I'm just battling with my own attempts at short stories, it's particularly meaningful for me to find such a master. But more than likely, it's the fact that Carver manages something rather spectacular without even appearing to try to.

His stories, all set in the American mid-west, focus on ordinary lives of ordinary people. Or so it first appears. But scratch beneath the surface of any given story, and one sees that these people are extraordinary, that the events of their lives, even if they are described in the simplest, most unadorned prose, are tragic or epic. This is the real mind-blowing strength to Carver's work: his style, so unaffected and straightforward, only heightens the implicit drama of the scenes he describes.

Take 'Why Don't You Dance?', in which a man has moved all his furniture out onto his drive and gets a young couple drunk, or 'Gazebo', which opens with the line

That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

In both instances, one rushes to try to come to terms with the fact that these people aren't all right, that their simple lives, so simply told, are shot through with a hidden suffering. Or even the suffering need not be hidden. In 'Sacks' or 'The Bath', we read of the painful reunion of a son with his estranged father and of a road accident on the eve of a young boy's birthday. Both times I was struck by how it seemed somehow unfair that regular folk were suffering like this. It's a masterful, terrifying observation. It's Carver at his best.

There's the macabre too. 'Tell the Women We're Going' leads the reader along a familiar path, until one realises that one character's reticence is not that he's just a quiet man, but that he hides a horrific secret. Or 'The Third Thing That Killed My Father Off', a record of the decline of a good man before his son's eyes. But 'Popular Mechanics' bests them both for its intensity and agony. In the briefest of moments Carver has captured domestic struggle at its most violent and destructive. But he has not sensationalised it; he never does. He's packaged it up in a mere two pages of dialogue and action that seem so concise and factual but only emphasise the enormous tragedy of the scene. There's skill even in the titling, with 'Popular' hinting that we are reading something that happens regularly, that we should understand to be happening around the world. That's scary. That's great writing, to pose a question so succinctly.

I'll read these again. Carver gets it right again and again.

~~~
1981
Raymond Carver

The End Of The Affair

2010-06-06T12:36:00.000+01:00

I picked up Graham Greene's The End Of The Affair while I worked at Vintage briefly; it's a Vintage Classic, and rightly so, as I found myself reading a book that demanded I keep a pencil close at hand to mark up sections of the text. It was written in such an eminently quotable and essential concise and brilliant manner that I was left feeling over-awed by reading it. In fact, I asked myself "Why had I not read this already?"

The story follows Maurice Bendrix, a writer, during the Second World War as he reflects on his affair with Sarah Miles. Through a series of chance meetings with Sarah's husband Henry, Bendrix embarks on a journey to find out what Sarah is up to now.

The book is one that charts the depths of human emotion at its most intimate; the feelings of love and loss, of pain and hatred are ever present in Bendrix's language. His ability to ruminate over thoughts of jealousy and revenge without becoming tedious is impressive and this is the central strength of the novel, to go over much of the same ground repeatedly while managing to find new things to say, new ways to say the same thing.

There is also the timelessness of what is said; part of that feeling of awe, that frustration with not having read the book earlier, surely ties in to the fact that Greene managed to say something important, something that has stood the test of time, about love and the end of a relationship. He has written in a way that strikes a chord with the reader, that encourages them to identity with the feelings he has described, to believe that Greene is writing about the reader rather than himself. Yet it remains intensely personal for Bendrix too; it's too easily to believe this is entirely autobiographical, but that effect remains prevalent.

Heartily recommend this book; wherever you're at in a relationship, it's worth thinking about the depth of feeling that love can bring about.

~~~
1951
Graham Greene

Rumo And His Miraculous Adventures

2010-04-12T18:36:00.002+01:00

Walter Moers' books have been described as 'children's stories for adults'. Certainly they represent a fusion of childlike fantasy with fairly sophisticated wit that might more often be associated with the older reader. As such, they are a total pleasure to read. Rumo is no exception.

Set in the world of Zamonia, like the other Moers' novels, a place inhabited by anthropomorphised dinosaurs and beasts, the novel tells the story of its eponymous hero, from his birth, through to his many, as indicated in the title, miraculous adventures. Rumo is a Wolperting, half-deer, half-wolf, possessed with exceptional senses and combat abilities, razor sharp teeth and horns. From his initial capture and imprisonment, through to finding some sense of belonging in the city of Wolperting (suitably named, no?), to his quest to Netherworld, at every turn we see Rumo confronted by fearsome villains and no small dose of humour. Part of what makes the story so compelling is that while there is no lack of cynicism from the narrator, and from various sub-narrators who tell length stories explaining myths and history of Zamonia, essentially we are led both to support and care for Rumo. While the setting may be anti-heroic, while we may laugh at the absurdity of it all, yet I still found myself rooting for Rumo and hoping all would be all right in the end.

There's a host of characters to laugh at, besides. Smyke, the grandiloquent shark-grub who teaches Rumo much about fighting, along with everything else; Professor Nightingale, nocturnomath, essential both for plot development and a bit of a giggle at the 'academic' stereotype; Urshan deLucca, fencing master who's totally obsessed with the weather, and finds Netherworld, horrific as it is, an absolute delight, because it's free of atmospheric pressure and the like; the Copper Killers, alchemical robots that can't be stopped. As a work of imagination, Rumo is simply bewildering, but not at the price of engagement. Indeed, it's all consuming rather than off-putting, and one is drawn into the web of stories. As the threads come together in the denouement, I found myself nearly slapping a thigh in satisfaction; when I tried to explain to a friend what was so satisfying, I realised there were too many details to explain to make it worthwhile. I plonked the completed book in his lap instead.

A joy to read, and mirthfully illustrated to boot.

~~~
2004
Walter Moers, translated by John Brownjohn

Dai-Nihonjin

2010-03-30T17:46:00.000+01:00

I sat down to watch Dai-Nihonjin (Big Man Japan) without being allowed to see the DVD box. Furthermore, my co-watcher made me look away even as he scrolled through the DVD menu. When I asked if I could have a hint as to the film plot, he scowled at me. He wanted to keep as much as possible left as a surprise for me.

A surprise it was. Daisato (Matsumoto) is a 40-something year old in Japan, who appears to be almost a tramp. As the camera follows him around, documenting his every day activities, we learn his wife has left him, that he only sees his daughter periodically, and that the work he does pays nowhere near enough for him to live comfortably. We also learn that he is a sad and confused man, who likes umbrellas and dried seaweed because of their ability to go from small to large.

But then the film takes two turns to the surreal: first we discover Daisato's employment. Next, as we think he might be finally learning to excel at it, we see him strangely miss out on any kind of achievement. Vague? Well, I'm glad I wasn't warned, because the surprise factor in watching this made me cry with laughter. It's totally strange and otherworldly and yet also totally mundane and hilarious, especially as most of the footage is faux-documentary and what we see of Daisato and then what he says clash so obviously that it's hard not to giggle.

It's also moving; it raises that question as to whether we should be amused by someone so washed up. Does Daisato cross the line from pathetic to hilarious or not quite? Even as we watch and laugh at the larger plot revelations, we discover more about his own life, his relationship with his father and grandfather and the choices he has made that have led him to this deplorable state. It's touching, and the documentary filming technique makes the questions ever so soulless, which in itself adds to the emotion.

Watch it, but don't read anything about it first.

~~~
2007
Hitoshi Matsumoto
Written and directed by Histoshi Matsumoto

Shutter Island

2010-03-30T17:26:00.000+01:00

The more I watch and review, the more my ignorance of all things cinematic becomes apparent. But I can't say I'm not enjoying learning that I know so little; I like the challenge of trying to learn more.

So, how to review a film that was both a joy to watch and yet also depends entirely on mystery for audience engagement? How much can I say? Well, this: Teddy Daniels (DiCaprio), a US Marshall, together with his partner Chuck (Ruffalo), sets out to Shutter Island from Boston, to investigate the case of a missing girl. The island houses the criminally insane, three wards for cases declared ultimately incurable, where Dr. Cawley (Kingsley) uses radical methods to attempt to rehabilitate and 'cure' his patients. So Daniels and Chuck begin to investigate the island, and see if they can turn up any clues as to this girl's disappearance.

The pacing is beautiful from the offing: we know something's up and Teddy is clearly concerned, but the tension is left to simmer, as we, like Teddy, try to piece together the hints and signs. Point-of-view from Teddy as well gives us a sense of the place, and quickly even the most mundane of acts, like sweeping leaves, seems loaded; the guards and patients are intimidating just to look at.

The camera-work is nothing short of scintillating either; throughout the film there are sequences of 'mess', where flames or rain or hail or leaves or dust or ash fly across the shot, framing the action with their own activity. It's obvious enough to be arresting, but not to be invasive. I was fully aware of the intensity of such shots, but they did not seem too clichéd. They seemed to evoke me a rather knowing nod that I was watching something particularly masterful.

And on mastery, the performances are also something to be marvelled at. I'm tempted to say this was Leo's greatest performance (though some might want to posit What's Eating Gilbert Grape? or The Departed or even Blood Diamond if you can ignore bad accents); Kingsley and Ruffalo are spot on throughout, and the shifts in Kingsley from benign to threatening are so subtly performed as to be thoroughly chilling. It's their performances that leave one feeling like this wasn't simply a DiCaprio showcase but something far more coherent and controlled; that Scorsese knows how to get sound and light and colour and action all pulling together to take the audience by the throat and drag them bodily into his story.

The conclusion of the film: phenomenal. A reveal that was both painfully obvious and yet adroitly handled. A truth that bordered on the pat but deftly swung away from it. A final denouement, as well, that left me and my fellow audience members divided as to its outcome. And my conclusion: I'd recommend this to anyone.

~~~
2010
Leonardo DiCaprio, Ben Kingsley, Mark Ruffalo
Written by Laeta Kalogridis
Dir. Martin Scorsese

Moon

2010-03-14T12:22:00.000Z

Duncan Jones's Moon, which rightly earned him a Brit for best newcomer this year, sees Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) as astronaut working for Lunar Industries on the dark side of the moon. He is reaching the end of a three year contract mining for energy deposits in the moon rock, and longs to return home to his wife and young child. But an unfortunate accident causes Bell's situation to take a turn for the worse, and suddenly the comfort of his moon-base is transformed into a hall of riddles.

I don't want to spoil a plot that unfolds fairly linearly but is a delight nonetheless with a couple of great revelations. Instead, it has to be noted that Rockwell's performance is nothing short of consummate. He shows off a diversity and depth that is demanded by what is practically a one man film, and rises to the challenges of isolation impressively. Jones also captures that mood of isolation very effectively, with scenes of silence as Bell wanders the station, filling his time as best he can as he counts down the final two weeks.

As for the style of the film, it was something reminiscent of Danny Boyle's 2007 Sunshine, a modern sci-fi thriller that re-explores what our future beyond Earth might be like. But while Sunshine went out of its way to invert expectations as to what space travel or space-suits might be like (remember these?), Moon sits more closely to traditional expectations. Food is boil-in-the-bag; Bell plays ping-pong and does woodcarving. There's a simplicity and a lack of sci-fi shockers that heightens the sense of tension and isolation that Jones has strived for, and attained.

And all this complemented by a lovely, repetitive score, which, of course, mirrors something of Bell's own situation, and gives that sense of loneliness, and is only broken by three moments in the film: twice his alarm clock blares out a garish song, and once when he insists on dancing rather maniacally for thirty seconds or so. All told, the elements of this film pull together towards a mood, a sensation, an intensity, that is rarely seen. It was a shame it didn't receive a broader release.

~~~
2009
Sam Rockwell
dir. Duncan Jones

In The Loop

2010-03-14T12:12:00.000Z

Swearing is often not to everyone's taste. Indeed, excessive swearing can go so far as to detract from an otherwise good script or plot. Yet In The Loop, the film that carries some of the characters from the British political satire The Thick of It into their first feature, not only hits that 'excessive swearing' barrier, but careens through it with such vigour, it comes out the other side still running.

Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi), Head of Communications to the PM, sends the Secretary of State for International Development, Simon Foster (Tom Hollander), on a fact finding mission to the US after a series of disastrous interviews have placed the latter in a rather precarious position with regard to the inevitability of war. Meanwhile, Tucker himself also heads to Washington to pull strings and oil the political machine. A series of twists and turns make war seem not only inevitable but imminent, and Foster is forced to the sidelines as he watches things fall apart before his eyes, ineffectually assisted by his own Coms officer, Judy Molloy, and the new bug, Toby Wright (Gina McKee & Chris Addison).

Judy is dour and worn-down by Tucker's verbal gymnastics. Foster gamely tries to make a stand, and indeed once remarks "I'm on the verge of taking a stand", to the scorn of those around him. Meanwhile, Toby is utterly dislikeable: he's callous and bumbling, and it seems as though the only reason he's got the job he has is through a horrid combination of backstabbing and brown-nosing. Certainly that is what he spends most of his time doing while working for Foster.

But of course, the show is stolen by Capaldi. His Tucker is now gaining a strong reputation in Britain and further afield, not just for the coarseness of his language, but his sheer inventiveness when it comes to insults. He seems never caught off his guard, and to the four writers' credit, they've created a beast of a man who becomes both anti-hero and anti-Christ as he drags the UK towards agreeing to go to war. And yet, for all that, the character is somehow likeable. If not likeable, then admirable. There's a certain poetry to how much Tucker doles out. Even coming head to head with David Rasche or James Gandolfini (big hitters in the US political scene, we are meant to understand), he stands his ground, just about. Then as he tangles with smaller fry, like Anna Chlumsky or Paul Higgins, it's deliciously shocking how rude he can be on first meeting.

A perfectly solid effort, funny throughout, darkly so, and with an undercurrent of chill when one considers our own recent history. It's a noble effort to suggest that governments may be riddled to the highest level with incompetence and personality clashes and yet still draw out a smile. Or is that just a warning that we're laughing at the wrong things?

~~~
2009
Peter Capaldi, Tom Hollander, Gina McKee, Chris Addison, James Gandolfini
dir. Armando Iannucci

The Magnificent Seven

2010-03-13T19:43:00.000Z

Over the last ten years, 'remake' has become a bit of a buzzword for cashing in on a franchise for a quick blockbuster buck. Consider Rambo as an example: it widely missed the mark of what made the first film excellent; it misjudged what it was to revive an idea and a character. Not so with The Magnificent Seven. In fact a film like this one is probably a contributing factor as to why remakes are even palatable at all: it essentially understands its subject matter and story (Kurosawa's 1954 Shichinin no samurai - Seven Samurai) but in transporting it to a new setting and reviving the characters it adds and develops plot, flavour and meaning in a vibrant and effective manner.

The plot is straightforward enough. A small village is plagued by bandits, led by the vicious yet charismatic Calvera (Wallach who went on to star in The Good, The Bad and the Ugly); in desperation the villagers set out to buy guns to defend themselves and instead stumble upon Chris and Vin (Brynner and McQueen respectively) who take on their case, despite the lack of money. Between the two of them they convince other acquaintances, either through pressing their honour or with the lure of some secret wealth, to join them.

Upon arrival in the village, they are not given quite the heroes' reception they hoped for. After a series of skirmishes with Calvera's men they are ambushed and forced out of the village. But, with nothing more than honour at stake, the seven return to rescue the village in a final, last-ditch attempt.

The performances are sensational. Each of the seven are well-drawn enough that even with brief screen appearances a sense of character emerges that engages instantly. Particularly likeable are O'Reilly (Bronson) and Britt (Coburn), both taciturn characters clearly admired for their abilities. O'Reilly's first scene is machismo incarnate, while Britt's cool reserve perfectly matches his counterpart from Seven Samurai, and similarly masks a deadly killing potential. Chico (Horst Buchholz), the young, impetuous seventh, also shines. He's headstrong and moody, but pulls it off and gives us just enough of a chance to see the fear behind his posturing that he's an eminently likeable, if childish, hero.

Couple that with a lively score, a great sense of dramatic pacing (no lengthy meaningful pauses here) and enough plot elements to keep things sharp, and it's easy to see why The Magnificent Seven holds a position of such gravitas in the cannon not only of westerns, but of remakes. Justly so. It's the sort of film that makes one want to look up every other Bronson or Coburn film, just to marvel at their abilities.

~~~
1960
Val Brynner, Steve McQueen, Eli Wallach, Charles Bronson, Robert Vaughn, Brad Dexter, James Coburn and introducing Horst Buchholz
dir. John Sturges

National Lampoon's Animal House

2010-03-13T19:15:00.000Z

I was struck with a sense of awareness finally dawning as I tuned in and watched Animal House. I knew the hype about National Lampoon, about their films and how they were cult comedy to be admired; I just hadn't really watched any of their stuff. But thinking I knew a bit about comedy and such (just a bit, not much) I thought it was about time I rolled back the clock and checked it out. I was eminently pleased I did.

Animal House tells the story of two college freshmen picking their frat house. Rather than wind up at one of the exclusive, preppy fraternities they wind up in the Animal House, filled with beer-swilling, party-loving miscreants who believe that the pursuit of happiness should outweigh all else. Well, that or just that they don't care about much at all. Threatened with closure, the boys set out to wreak as much havoc as possible. They lose girlfriends and respect along the way; they lose all sense of what they should be achieving at college. And yet they find each other and a common purpose binds them.

It seems so obvious how much National Lampoon obviously influenced so many comedies of the 90s and 00s; many come to mind that must be in their debt. But there's a subtlety to some of Animal House's humour, some lines that slip by nearly unnoticed, that I savoured above all else. The slapstick element is clearly present, but it's underpinned by some cleverer antics, some delicious twists of expectation that keep the movie a delight from beginning to end. It is anything but predictable.

So, on to the next few I suppose.

~~~
1978
John Belushi, Tom Hulce, Stephen Furst
dir. John Landis

Rambo

2010-03-13T15:46:00.000Z

Sylvester Stallone wrote the first Rambo: First Blood screenplay; much like he would do when wrote Rocky, it was another moment when Sly took his career into his own hands and created a character for himself to shine. Shine being the operative word. Then in the late Noughties he decided to reinvent both Rocky and John Rambo by revisiting the franchises. He seems to have misunderstood his own creation with the latest Rambo film entirely.

Rambo appears to be an almost complete parody of itself. John Rambo now lives outside of Burma, catching snakes for a living and boating around in his skiff. He is extremely gruff and about double the size he was in the first film some twenty years ago. He is almost entirely characterless. Compared to the drifter of First Blood, trying his utmost to avoid difficulties and clearly scarred after trauma in conflict in Vietnam, this new Rambo is an empty husk without enough interest for an audience even for the brief hour and a bit the film runs for.

Then there's the violence. Rambo is mercilessly violent, but so are the military Burmese as they slaughter Christians in villages. From the news-broadcast style opening to the close of shooting the film is pockmarked by over-the-top violence that is neither necessary nor really offers anything to the film. It's horrific, but also seemingly didactic, as if to suggest that violence is a way of life that can be opted for. Rambo claims killing is in his blood. But there's no alternative really offered by the film, no chance for any kind of redemption.

Perhaps that's the strength of the picture: Stallone has taken his violent creation and let the monster run rampant in a balls-to-the-walls high-voltage explosion fest. Maybe. Or maybe Stallone was dizzied by how much it is possible to simulate with modern CGI techniques and let the excitement of a super-shoot take over actually writing a script or plot with any kind of credibility at all.

~~~
2008
Sylvester Stallone
Written and dir. Sylvester Stallone

Franklyn

2010-03-11T16:27:00.000Z

Can one trade in substance for style? Franklyn certainly makes a fair enough bid to achieve it. Unfortunately, despite moments of excellence, it doesn't quite make it. At least not to my satisfaction.

McMorrow's Franklyn, his only outing after Thespian X, a sci-fi short, is not short of interesting ideas. Jonathan Priest (Phillippe) lives in a world in which while everyone has religion, he does not. He is hunted mercilessly by religious fanatics as he himself tries to piece together something of a murder mystery. Emilia (Green) is a troubled artist who films herself attempting suicide as her latest art project, to her mother's disgust. Milo (Riley) has been dumped, yet again, and goes on the trail of a childhood friend to try to work out what left him jilted once more. The latter two inhabit what seems to be real-world London. Then there's Esser (Bernard Hill - sorry, I couldn't find a good Franklyn image) who's looking for his missing son.

Individually the storylines are interesting enough, and McMorrow's ideas are all there. However, as bedfellows, they seem uncomfortable. The denouement as worlds collide didn't quite work in my mind, and while it was entertaining enough to try to piece together how characters overlapped between worlds, how much we were being guided to see things through certain viewpoints, it failed to live up to the emotional weight that the script tried to demand. Sadly that was the greatest weakness here: a script that verged on melodrama left the actors delivering fairly empty performances and not quite managing to lift the drama beyond the mediocre. But that remained a shame to me, a disappointment that could have been avoided with a closer edit of the material. Some of Priest's film noir style observations where in themselves amusing and a fitting homage to that genre, but why did McMorrow then choose to situate his hero in this futuristic dystopia rather than in black and white New York or Chicago? It is almost as though there are too many elements at play jarring with each other.

The dystopia is pretty enough, but maddeningly so, overladen with an intensity of detail that offers little to the plot or characters. On the one hand, reason is given as to what we are really seeing (and I'm avoiding spoilers here). But on the other, it does not inform the story to any level that is meaningful. Again, a judicious edit or rethink might have helped here. So it was a shame to watch as competent enough actors struggled through a tepid script and failed to give wings to potentially emotionally moving drama that really never got off its feet.

Am I glad I watched it? Not really. I can't go using the name Franklin much now. Boo.

~~~

2008

Ryan Phillippe, Eva Green, Sam Riley

Written and directed by Gerald McMorrow

Tyrant: Storm of Arrows

2010-03-11T13:21:00.000Z

I have yet to write a review of Christian Cameron's first ancient Hellenic adventure story, Tyrant. I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Cameron merges an obvious obsession with Alexandros and the ancient world of the 4th Century BC with confident storytelling and some rather epic battle sequences. But sadly, the second novel in the series falls woefully short of the mark.

Tyrant: Storm of Arrows sees our hero, Kineas, an Athenian gentleman-mercenary, where we left him in the the Chersonese. He has defended Olbia against the Macedonian army led by Phocion and fallen for the Sakje warrior princess Srayanka. He has lost comrades too, heroes from the first book. But Niceas, his trusty squire, and the Spartan Philokles remain erstwhile companions. But now trouble is brewing in the East, and the Sakje vote to send troops to assist the Sauromatae who came to their aid against the Macedonians; this time, the threat is Alexandros as he cuts an unstoppable path through the East towards Baktria.

Kineas starts to dream once more. His dreams are prophetic and he is considered a shaman by some of the Sakje. He is offered a choice: to rule Olbia as a just tyrant (if such a thing is possible, as Kineas himself doubts), or death in the East, fighting side-by-side with his love, Srayanka. He chooses the latter.

But it all goes wrong both in tone and detail. The dream sequences are barely mysterious, barely beyond step-by-step description of 'this happened, then this, then this' that are tedious enough. Alongside this, the descriptions of preparation, of travel, of conversation, also remain mundane. A secondary love interest is introduced with all the tact of a two phalanxes clashing shields; Kineas' doubts are boring, particularly given we already know the choice he has made and indeed the outcome it will offer.

It's not that Storm of Arrows claims to be a thriller and fails. It makes no such claim. But where the first book used the historical detail as a background, a further lashing of authenticity, to the action, this one is far too bogged down in it. The historical detail becomes the rambling of a pedant rather than a hook into a realistic and engaging world reimagined. It's dry and peacocked, certainly to my taste. A shame, as there are three more books due in the series.

~~~
2009
Christian Cameron
Orion Books

Philadelphia

2010-02-20T18:08:00.000Z

Why oh why, I tweeted, have I not heard about or thought about or considered Philadelphia before now? Surely this is one of the most moving and meaningful films about homosexuality, about aids, about justice and humanity of the 90s, if not ever? That's certainly a touch of what I thought as I brushed away my tears. Maybe I am just a sucker for a schmalzy flick, and maybe I was tired and touched by a clearly moving story, but I was just a little bit hit in the chest by this one (See also Transamerica, for instance).

Andrew Beckett (Tom Hanks) is a high flying lawyer until his position is unexpectedly terminated, nominally over a lost file, but in actuality because he is beginning to show signs of suffering from aids. He hires Joe Miller (Denzel Washington), a public prosecutor, to fight his case, and so the two lawyers go up against one of the most powerful companies in Philadelphia in the hope that they might win compensation for Beckett's unfair dismissal. Add into the mix that Miller is a closet homophobe, and Beckett's health is deteriorating at a shocking rate, and you have the right elements of drama to make a straight courtroom film a thrill to watch.

Beckett's physical transformation is startling. He goes from a full head of hair to shaven scalp, from slim to unhealthily skinny. His eyes begin to sink into his skull and his hair loses all its colour. During his time on the witness stand he nearly chokes and when asked to show the lesions on his chest, all one can do is bite one's knuckles in distress. So as victory in the case seems to march ever closer, the bittersweet taste becomes ever more evident. Miller's clinical legality shifts to personal involvement as he realises that his client cares for justice more than financial success. He moves from grudging respect to all-out concern for Beckett and his family. But all of this subtly, softly, in the smoothest of strokes, and accompanied by a beautiful score and soundtrack and great footage of Philly.

Recommended so highly. This film speaks volumes about the suffering of aids victims, of injustice and the meaning of the word disability, while also being gripping and ever so moving.

~~~
1993
Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington, Jason Robbards, Antonio Banderas
dir. Jonathan Demme

A Single Man

2010-02-20T17:57:00.000Z

A return to more reasonable, rewarding cinema, after the japery of the last few films. Tom Ford's A Single Man charts a long day in the life of George (Colin Firth), an English professor at a Californian university coping with the death of his partner of sixteen years, Jim (Matthew Goode). Over the course of that single day, we watch as George moves between the present and the past as the smallest of details cause him to reflect on the variety his life has seen.

Reviews have swooped upon Ford's experience as a fashion designer as instrumental in the style and colour of this film; certainly there is something to be said of the picturesque nature of the footage throughout. But that any frame could be used as a still is not in itself a valid criticism. Indeed, one of the precepts of French cinema throughout the twentieth century has been to consider each shot as a work of art in itself. Ford treats his material the same, to dazzling effect. His use of colour and angle is a marvel to behold, and how that ties to the central drama of the story, amplified by a delightful score, is rather special. But I couldn't help feeling like perhaps it was a touch too much, a touch too obvious. At times the colouration of scenes was so vivid as to be strangely unnerving and perhaps unwarranted.

For a story in which very little, and yet everything, happens, the outstanding remains in the performances of Colin Firth and Julianne Moore. Her Charley, George's one-time flame, was at all times beautiful, but touched by such a large splash of tragedy as to be a truly involving character. The most scintillating and amusing moments of the film rested in their interactions, where tender feeling would segue into horsey British laughter seamlessly. The film took off at these points.

What of the homosexuality and the beauty in small things? Well, what of it? There was the suggestion that Ford might use Kenny (Nicholas Hoult) as a beautiful, youthful substitute for Jim. I feared that might be the central message of the piece: Don't fret, you can find a replacement for lost love. So the ending was all the more fitting and kept the film just clear of nauseating commentary on what really needs a far more nuanced touch. Perhaps that was the most enduring feeling for me throughout: while the performances sparkled, while there was so much manipulation in colour and tone, the emotional weight resting behind the film was negligible. A good ending saved the film from cliche, but it was perhaps a heavy hand that tried to disguise itself with beauty as a light touch...

Not a failure, and a joy to watch, and moving and wry. As a directorial debut, one might hope for even greater things from Ford in the future.

~~~
2010
Colin Firth, Julianne Moore, Matthew Goode, Nicholas Hoult
dir. Tom Ford
Based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood

Sherlock Holmes

2010-02-17T18:42:00.000Z

One needs to be a touch careful with films that delay their release date by a few months. Certainly it's possible that things get delayed post-production or mid-production, and one can't always plan for every hazard Fate might throw up. But having the posters and trailers advertise a date in October, only to push the film back two months smacks of some kind of serious mess-up. It was with this apprehension in mind that I trundled off to see Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes on the big screen.

I must say I was quietly impressed. Holmes (Downie Jr) and Watson (Law) cut a fine pair, and the writers had clearly plugged into some of Dr. Watson's back story as evinced in so many of Conan Doyle's stories to ensure he wasn't another moustachioed bumbling sidekick. His powers of detection and deduction were nearly on a par with Sherlock's. Nearly.

The deductive and observatory were in evidence throughout. From slow-motion cut-aways where Holmes explains to the audience his plan of attack in a given fight scene (and I can't resist dropping in a shot from one such fight here), to his pacing and deliberation, at every stage we are led to believe that Holmes' mind is ticking away non-stop. This is only heightened by the plot, in which it seems a devil-worshipping psycho really has the power of magic or spirits or some such on his side, and he's employing it to vicious effect across London. It's only in the final denouement that we get to hear Sherlock's alternative reasoning. Perfectly timed to crush any expectations we might have created throughout the film.

Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams) makes an appearance too, as the only woman to hold Holmes' attention for any length of time. She's a sneak-thief, and matches Holmes' deduction and lust with deception and connivery. It's a great on-screen relationship, playful and thrilling, and McAdams does herself justice, and stumbles through her accent just about.

This film just about ticked the right boxes. There was never a dull moment, and Holmes and Watson were a playful and engaging pair. The story ticked along at a rate of knots, and even the over-blown effects and tomfoolery didn't dent my enjoyment. All in all, fun. No great picture, no masterpiece. But no offence to Arthur Conan Doyle's greatest creation either.

~~~

2009

Robert Downie Jr, Jude Law, Rachel McAdams

dir. Guy Ritchie

Apocalypto

2010-02-17T17:18:00.001Z

Praise be iPlayer; I caught up with Apocalypto a couple of days after what I believe was its terrestrial premiere in the UK. I'd been meaning to see it for a while. It's not every film that claims to use the original dialect of its characters. Here it's a form of Mayan spoken by all the characters. Perhaps this was last seen to any affect in The Passion of the Christ, where dialogue was conducting exclusively in Latin and Aramaic. Of course, both films were directed by Mel Gibson too.

The collapse of a Southern American civilisation is portended not only by exterior threat, but by disease and infighting tearing it apart from within. Jaguar Paw (Rudy Youngblood), a young hunter who lives a peaceful existence with family and friends in a remote village, is kidnapped and taken to a city to be sacrificed. A solar eclipse saves him sacrifice and then a lucky escape sees him flee back into the jungle. Yet his captors decide his escape is not permissable. He is hunted mercilessly until it becomes a battle between prey and predator to decide his fate.

Youngblood's performance seem to me to be emblematic of the greater faults and successes of Apocalypto. While Jaguar Paw remains innocent and fearful, he was all wide-eyed and slow to comprehend his circumstances. The drama seemed to stretch out interminably ahead of me. Even the moments when I expected some cinematic relief, such as the cliffside drama of the captives or their arrival into the Mayan city, were strangely stripped down and limited. Where Gibson had the opportunity to do some panoramic shots of the city, for instance, we instead were left with all the footage entirely from the point of view of the captives. It was all close-ups and restricted views. We weren't given a chance to have a sense of the scale of the place, to feel the awe that we were meant to see mirrored in the captives' faces.

Yet when Jaguar Paw finally began to take his circumstances into his own hands, doing away with fear as his father advised and fighting for his freedom and safety, the film itself seemed to pick up too. Where hunt scenes at the start of the film had been tedious and un-engaging, now Jaguar Paw caught my attention and the story seemed to jolt from first to fifth gear in a few mere moments. On the clock, where before I had worried I'd not make it through the second half, now were only a brief chunk of minutes left. The end was in sight!

The other disappointing detail was that Blunted (Jonathan Brewer), another villager regularly mocked by the rest, was in many ways a more interesting and entertaining character than the rather straight hero, Jaguar Paw. Blunted, despite being physically imposing, has trouble getting his wife pregnant. As such he is the laughing stock of the village. Yet his bravery and compassion are just as moving, if not more so, than Jaguar Paw. He represents a harder line than Jaguar Paw, more quick to judge the ills of others and more aware of the realism of a tough existence. It was a shame he was not afforded a larger role in the drama, as throughout I found his character to be more watchable.

It's also a shame that this film really just sits as standard historical blockbuster fare. So much more could have been done with scope and range, with a storyline that engaged more or characterisations that gave the viewer more to care about. But it rests as a rather insipid affair, all told. At least, it does not quite take off in the way that it could, despite great costuming and attention to detail, and, of course, the excellent choice of using native language to offer that extra chance for audience immersion.

~~~
2006
Rudy Youngblood, Jonathan Brewer
dir. Mel Gibson

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

2010-02-17T16:47:00.002Z

Gosh. This'll be short and anything but sweet. It's making me grin just thinking about this train-wreck of a film, that I had even mentioned to a couple of people about how I only seemed to review things that I thought had some aspect that was absolutely excellent, and asked whether I should watch more dross to compensate, to get a bit of variety in my reviewing. And I have to repeat gosh because I probably have more to say about what I didn't like about this than anything else.

It just seemed so very wrong. So repeatedly wrong. Every attempt to make some kind of gesture to the fans, as with the inclusion of Remy LeBeau (Taylor Kitsch) or the young Cyclops, just seemed to falter. Storyline barely existed, while dialogue and performances were stilted at best. Wolverine himself (Hugh Jackman) looked at though he might have dosed up mightily on painkillers just to get through his own performance. Flat and dead behind the eyes is probably being a bit kind. I cared nothing for these folks. I didn't want to care. I just wanted them to go away.

I suppose the tragedy of all of this is that I am a long time X-Men fan. More than just a comic book fan, I also thought Bryan Singer's offerings were passable, if not fairly excellent, as attempts at the early stage of comic book adaptation for the 21st century. X-Men 3 was woefully bad, but still seems to hang together all right in my memory in comparison to this turgid piece of... can I call it cinema? Who would this film even appeal to? It was thoroughly lifeless.

~~~
2009
Hugh Jackman, Taylor Kitsch, Liev Schreiber, Danny Huston
dir. Gavin Hood

Role Models

2010-02-17T16:36:00.000Z

'All the right ideas; all the wrong execution'. That's the feeling I was left with at the end of Role Models, a rather standard attempt at the American Comedy model that seems to have been so prevalent throughout 2008 and 2009. It's a shame because, after all, the ingredients seemed to be there: two fairly accomplished funny men (Rudd and Scott) take on two wild children (Mintz-Plasse and Thompson) as part of their community service, just as Danny (Paul Rudd) realises his life is falling apart and his girlfriend (the charmingly straight Elizabeth Banks) breaks up with him. So there's romantic potential there, but only as a bit of spice to the otherwise obvious comedy main serving. Paul Rudd even has a writing credit to his name. Surely the chap best known for his improvisation in making Anchorman will have comedy pouring out of his ears here.

But it falls flat. That's not to say it's not a funny film; it is. But it's funny at times when I didn't expect it to be funny. Similarly, at the times when the dialogue is at its quickest, it's not really funny at all. Quick banter can either thrill or chill, and sadly this was far more chilling than anything else. What should have been rapid fire amusement simply didn't work. Or was it well-written and badly delivered? I couldn't tell. I thought the idea was there; it just wasn't coming out. Some of the lines in themselves seemed like they could be funny if they just weren't so darn flat. But maybe Rudd and Scott were going for flat delivery, as they were meant to be hardened jokesters who no longer found themselves amusing. I don't know. The confusion didn't add to my enjoyment.

But there was humour in the strangest of places too. Augie's (Mintz-Plasse) final showdown was particularly memorable. The set-up for the final Kiss joke was also highly amusing. In that respect Role Models managed something nearly reminiscent of Hot Fuzz, that most excellent foreshadowing of a later comic twist. But regrettably even live action roleplay and plastic sword battles, all in Kiss gear, couldn't really redeem a film in which I'd ceased to care much about the characters, beyond wondering when they'd start to be truly funny and not just try at being so. A shame, all in all.

~~~
2008

Paul Rudd, Seann William Scott, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Bobb'e J. Thompson

dir. David Wain

Yellow Blue Tibia

2010-02-17T13:45:00.000Z

Adam Robert's Yellow Blue Tibia is the record of the attempted alien invasion of the Soviet Union in 1986, told by science fiction writer Konstantin Skvorecky as he pieces together the disparate elements that make up the story. It's a good enough device, to write as a writer who is prone to flights of imagination and prides himself on his command of language. It's also a good plan to set the novel in the USSR and play some games with language and translation. Fortuitously enough, our hero can speak English so communication with American scientologists provides no problems.

But unfortunately, despite the obvious attention paid to narrative devices and structure, the novel falls flat for two main reasons:

It struck me as rather pat, rather trite, how elements combined to bring about the hero's death, the failed invasion. What felt as though it was building to a massive climax ended instead in a feeling of disappointment. If that was the intention of the author, as I hope it might have been, sadly he failed to pull it off in any meaningful or rewarding way. Instead, I was left deflated, and not because I felt that was the intended response of a reader, but because the finale had missed the point.
The setting and characters are by and large Russian. But Robert's experience of Russia, if he has any, is not in evidence in the writing. That in itself is not essential; what is, however, is that we aren't provided with mere caricatures of what a Soviet man might be like in the 80s. Yet there is something horribly garish about the jesting with 'yellow blue tibia', an attempt at rendering in English ya lublyu tibya, the Russian for 'I love you'. There's something garish about the pastiche of omnipresent KGB officers, about how everyone is an alcoholic bar Skvorecky. There's even something a little disappointing that the book's jacket has to include that silly attempt at mock-Russian styling in using letters from Cyrillic as though they made sense in English. They don't. It just looks ill-considered.

The premise is good enough, and Roberts' clearly knows how to manipulate elements of a novel to great effect. But there needs to be some kind of passion behind such a manipulation. Otherwise, we are reading an exercise in novel writing, not a novel itself.

~~~

2009

Adam Roberts

Orion Books

The Last Man On Earth

2010-02-10T23:10:00.000Z

I've gone about all this wrong, I thought, as I tuned in to watch the first adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend after both The Omega Man (reviewed here) and I Am Legend (with Will Smith). But, in actual fact, I think I might have gone about things the right way.

For starters, The Last Man On Earth stays faithful to a far greater degree to Matheson's novella than either of the later adaptations. Gone is the slick stylisation of The Omega Man or the transplantation to New York of Lawrence's 2007 hit. Instead, we have the same run-down home described in the book, and the same kind of man: a family man, with remembered friends and memories, with science as his gospel, and with a curious immunity to the virus that plagues the rest of the world. Here too we have some of the greatest accuracy to the book's plot: a new breed of 'vampire' that is organising society anew; spies sent to draw out Robert (who strangely is Morgan, not Neville, in The Last Man, a strange, unnecessary deviation in my view); Robert's own interest in science and introspection. The film even ends in the same way as the book.

So this was very much the climax of the trilogy for me, even though I came to it last, and should perhaps have reached it first. Price's Robert is brooding and pained at all turns (check out those eyebrows and the lines on his head), and very much aware of his own sickening isolation. This is brought about in part by his voice-overs, so succinct and curious, yet echoing in silence, and in part by a score that, like any good black and white film, mirrors the action on screen. It certainly seemed dated now, but worked very well with the material offered up.

That was, to my eye, the one weakness of the film: for a paltry 86 minutes it felt a lot longer, and it struggled to keep my attention very effectively. But that surely says more about me as a film watcher than about the film, or at least a little about both of us. The adaptation was as close as I'd want it to be to the novel, and yet that wasn't enough for it to be truly engaging for me.

Definitely worth a look in for any fans of I Am Legend or The Omega Man, but not quite the cinema gem it could be. I wish I could put my finger on why not...

~~~
1964

Vincent Price, Franca Bettoia, Emma Danieli

dir. Ubaldo Ragona & Sidney Salkow (depending on whether one watches the Italian prints)

Six Degrees of Separation

2010-02-10T22:38:00.000Z

A chance pair of free matinee tickets saw me and a friend skipping our way to the Old Vic for front row seats to Six Degrees of Separation. John Guare's play charts the appearance of one Paul Poitier, a charming young black man who insinuates himself into the company of rich Upper East Siders in New York, pretending to know their children at Harvard. Winning over various families, he stays with them without actually stealing from them or behaving in any kind of dubious manner... unless one considers having gay sex in their homes dubious.

On discovering this bad behaviour, one couple, Ouisa and Flan Kittredge, are outraged. What if Paul had stabbed them in the night? What if he had robbed them? How dare he trick them? But of course, by then he's fled. So we embark on the journey of the Kittredges to track down this imposter in their midst, who turns out not to be Sidney Poitier's son at all. All the while, Paul slowly begins to weave counter-factual stories about his place in their lives. Their friends and children and children's friends are brought into the equation. Has Paul actually really done anything wrong, in aspiring to share in the lives and successes of people he does not know? If the title holds true, and he is only separated from everyone else on earth by only six degrees, why shouldn't he attempt to better himself?

A good script goes a long way; here was no exception, and the delivery was, to my ears, spot on. There was that polished confidence to the players that left me a half-second behind, in awe, enjoying every twist and turn of the dialogue. When Paul (Obi Abili) starts to monologue on his thesis, a piece on Catcher in the Rye, I couldn't help but feel a little bit, well, emotional. After all, Salinger only passed away less than a week before I saw the show, which made the speech even more poignant, but it's also concerning not just the text itself, but how that book was taken as a symbol for violent rebellion by so many dysfunctional young men. After we learn that Paul is not in fact what he's claimed to be, the parallel between Holden and his 'phonies' and Paul could not really be clearer. Is Paul what he pretends to be? Or is just another person playing at a role? He accuses Ouisa of not being truly happy, and we see how his thesis, his challenge, rings true for many of the characters in the drama. We cannot be sure to what extent we've been watching real lives and not just the poses that people strike for each other.

The Kittredges, so much the centre of the drama, were played by the ever-at-ease Anthony Head and Lesley Manville. They share an excellent chemistry on stage that was heightened both by their overlapping dialogue and by the later realisation provided as to how little they might in fact know each other. Despite that, they rely entirely on one another. Swift, fluid costume changes and a beautiful hemispherical set also enhanced their poise and style. The set worked particularly well as a means for intensifying the drama while also not distracting from the action on stage. As it peeled open, just as more and more characters joined the play, the action seemed to blossom. As the focus returned at the close to Paul, Flan and Ouisa, so too the set closed up. It was a simple, yet very intense, effect to employ, and one that worked in my view.

I suppose it wouldn't be a review without at least the shortest of mentions of the gay sex. After all, you get to see two fully naked men romping on a sofa. That in itself didn't bother me - it's theatre, isn't it? But just to add a bit of spice to the drama, the audience members directly behind me happened to express their shock in rather loud terms. When Paul says "That's enough for now", we heard loudly "Thank God" from over our shoulders. I couldn't help but grin. Perhaps the matinee crowd weren't quite ready for Guare. Let's hope they don't stumble upon some Kane any time soon. For their own sakes.

~~~
2010
Obi Abili, Anthony Head, Lesley Manville
by John Guare
dir. David Grindley, design Jonathan Fensom

Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios

2010-02-07T21:45:00.000Z

Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown), Pedro Almodovar's 1989 offering, showcases a director enjoying his work intensely. Not only does the film clearly signpost a direction that many of his films were to take from then on (Not least Volver or Talk to her), but it stands alone as a fantastic piece of cinema.

One of the strengths of the piece, as so often remarked about other Almodovar's films, is the way in which he uses his camera work to give the audience a close-up of a life. It's regularly a woman, or a group of women, and there's a sensitivity to the portrayal that is a joy to watch. Here, it's Pepa (Carmen Maura; perhaps better known for her performance in Volver or Law of Desire), a voice-actress whose stormy relationship with Ivan (Fernando Guillen; he returns to Almodovar in '98 for All About My Mother, too) is finally coming to an end. He's a serial philanderer, it seems, and she clearly can do a lot better, but has let herself fall far too deeply in love with him. So she sets out both to attempt to win him back and also to get over him. A host of other people flit in and out of her life, and there's even a sort of step-son who makes an appearance (Banderas, no less). But really, it's Maura that rightly has pride of place in the film: she's beautiful to watch and her character just on the quirky side of charming and mad. The relationship between Maura and the camera is enchanting, and she's a witty character too, which makes it all the more pleasurable to watch.

The script is another strength here. I was watching with subtitles, but could make out enough of the spanish to follow that too: it's quick, light and with a plot that any writer would love to write. A good blend of pitfalls and developments that leave the audience grinning spice up what could potentially be a story that becomes bogged down in self-pity or man-hating. Instead, Pepa rushes about manically enough for it to be funny, but with awareness of her own madness enough for it to be touching and emotional. And, fortunately enough, the Hollywood-style schmaltzy ending is avoided here too. Instead, there's closure of sorts, alongside a splash of revenge, but there's also moving on, which must be worth more than that.

I'll watch some more Almodovar and start writing proper reviews.

~~~
1989

Carmen Maura, Antonio Banderas, Fernando Guillen

Written and directed by Pedro Almodovar

Oldboy

2010-01-28T15:00:00.013Z

Perhaps the most widely known of Chan-wook Park's Vengeance trilogy, Oldboy tells the story of the imprisonment and subsequent vengeance-quest of Dae-su Oh (Min-sik Choi). Dae-su is something of a middle-class nobody until he awakens one day to find himself trapped in a single room; little does he know he'll be held there for fifteen years. We watch as he first experiences fear and desperation until finally he resolves to train himself and escape, turning almost full circle within the confines of his cell.

On regaining his freedom he embarks upon an investigation for the truth...or is it for revenge? Indeed, that question is kept at the forefront of the viewer's mind as with every step Dae-su draws closer, he must reconcile his own unquenchable lust for violence with his need for answers. Even the relationship he strikes up with Mido (Hye-jeong Kang) serves only to temper briefly his single-minded passion for the truth. As he draws closer to facing his punisher, the sartorially slick Woo-jin Lee (Ji-tae Yu), the blood begins to flow more freely, and with it, our own concerns that Dae-su Oh might not want the truth once he gets it.

The overtones of classical Greek tragedy are unmistakeable. Oldboy comfortably sits in a great tradition of drama in which a desire for vengeance might drive the protagonist out of his mind; so too, the final punishment that Dae-su Oh must inflict upon himself seems on first viewing disapproportionately harsh for the crime for which he discovers he earned imprisonment. Yet, a more considered viewing suggests that there are no winners or losers in Oldboy, as each and every character suffers in one way or another. Dae-su Oh is the perfect tragic hero, both for his hubris and for the sympathetic humanity he still evidences throughout the film; but the sufferings of Mido and Lee are no less compelling, even if the latter comes off as a poor shadow of a foil to Dae-su.
Cinematically the film is engrossing, too. Chan-wook Park's ability to weave innovative camera angles and techniques with a thrilling and moving score and characters that are eye-catchingly watchable is a heady mix. There's an all-encompassing colour wash and style to the film that drew me in from the start and left me fixated. Indeed, it's essential that the viewer is made to watch, and forced to behave as Dae-su Oh once did in watching things he shouldn't, so that we are witness to various crimes and misbehaviours throughout the course of the film. The infamous live octopus scene, for one, demands that we keep our eyes open, even though it's thoroughly repellent; when Lee offers his final coup de grace when facing down Dae-su, we have been a party to Dae-su Oh's crimes. It's that forced involvement, brought about by so subtle yet complete an immersion in the action, that's utterly chilling.
A masterpiece of involvement and questioning; I was left shocked, distressed and stunned by an apparent 'fairness' in the final tip of the scales, even though I did not want to feel that way. Fantastic.

~~~
2003

Min-sik Choi, Ji-tae Yu, Hye-jeong Kang

dir. Chan-wook Park

Noble Beast - Andrew Bird

2010-01-10T13:27:00.003Z

There's something mesmeric about Andrew Bird's 2009 offering, Noble Beast. Trained as a classical violinist, and self-confessed pro-whistler, Bird began to record more popular and mainstream records as a means to capture the diverse sounds he was capable of producing.

Noble Beast offers a subtle combination of folk, indie and easy-listening. But subtle needs to be, if anything, overstated here. There's a gentleness behind Bird's skilled guitar- and violin-playing that draws in the listener and conjures up visions of plains and woods, of nature and science. Over the top rests his silky soft vocals. The comparison with Sufjan Stevens is apt. They even look similar (Stevens vs Bird... ish), but it's the careful layering of their music that really provoked the similarity.

There's also a diverse range of subject material in Bird's lyrics. There's a poeticism behind 'Tenuousness' and 'Anonanimal', coupled with verbal play; the symmetry behind album opener 'Oh No' and closer 'On Ho' requires more study, but there's a careful planning behind his work that deserves attention. My favourites perhaps remain 'Souverian' and 'The Privateers', the latter for its accessibility, urgency and sparkling chorus, the former for its dreaminess. But the stand-out lyric is almost certainly:

Fake conversations on a non-existent telephone
Like the words of a man who's spent too much
Time alone

There is, certainly, my own penchant for an exploration of loneliness at play here. But that observation of the inability of one alone to articulate effectively is brought about in such a fluid and melodious way in 'Effigy' that the contrast couldn't be starker. Beautiful and thrilling to the ear.

~~~

2009

The Death of Achilles (Fandorin 4)

2010-01-10T13:25:00.003Z

Erast Petrovich Fandorin returns, after six years in Japan at the Russian Embassy there, to Moscow, to his duties with the Third Section. But on the morning of his arrival he's met by a shock; his old acquaintance, General Mikhail Sobolev, is staying in the same hotel as Fandorin. What's more, Sobolev is found dead that very morning. Fandorin, of course, takes on the case immediately, out of duty and a sense of loyalty to his old friend.

What's changed then, to stop this being just same-old same-old? Well, for a start, Fandorin hasn't wasted his time while in Japan. In fact, he's immersed himself as much as he can in Japanese culture, particularly in focusing his mind and body to perfection as a detective and man of action. Furthermore, he now has in tow the lovable rogue of a retainer, Masa, who's bloodthirsty and lustful nature lead to all kinds of difficulties, not least because Masa doesn't speak a word of Russian.

Structurally Boris Akunin has also, once more, tried something a little different. He's returned to describing his hero from the third person, as in Azazel, rather than through the impressions or reports of other characters. But instead of a linear narrative, the tale is divided firmly into two; firstly Fandorin travels about town following up leads and tracking down the culprit behind what clearly could not have been a natural death; then we are transported to the Caucasus and the childhood and early life of a boy with strange pale eyes. This boy later becomes an assassin, and from there establishes a reputation as not only a killer-for-hire, but a man who never misses his mark. He is given the name Achimas, and leads a life of crime under barely any suspicion at all, so consummate are his abilities. It is only as the narration of his life story catches up to his most recent task that it becomes clear that Fandorin may have met his match in Sobolev's killer.

Akunin remains a master at spinning out a story with poise and charm; there's plenty of wit in this narrative, especially in the exchanges between Fandorin and Masa, and there's a fair share of mystery and thrills to keep the reader engaged. There's also a sensitivity to Achimas here, a sensitivity elsewhere not seen in Akunin. Could this be a stepping stone towards a more ambivalent view of Fandorin's enemies? Perhaps not, but I look forward to seeing where the series gets to next.

~~~

2005

Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield

Murder on the Leviathan (Fandorin 3)

2010-01-10T12:43:00.004Z

As noted in my review of Turkish Gambit, I in fact read Murder on the Leviathan, or Leviathan as it is called in Russian, out of sequence. Fortunately, the events and setting of Leviathan are such that this did not mar my enjoyment of Turkish Gambit or The Death of Achilles.

At the close of Turkish Gambit, Erast Petrovich Fandorin, still recovering from the tragedy that befell him after his first major case (Azazel), takes a leave of absence once more, to travel to Japan and work in the embassy there. He seeks an escape from all that has happened, and only distance and time can heal the emotional wounds he has suffered. He books passage on the steamship Leviathan, on its maiden voyage from Southampton to Calcutta, but there is met by the strangest of circumstances.

Monsieur Gauche, police inspector of the Paris police, is on the trail of a ruthless murderer. He has narrowed down the suspects to nine travellers on the Leviathan, and by means of an arrangement with the ship's captain ensured that these passengers always have their meals with him in the Windsor dining room. So begins a criminal investigation, during which Gauche tries to ascertain the killer's identity from interviews with his fellow passengers. Fandorin, as Russian diplomat, falls under suspicion more due to Gauche's boredom with one of the other travellers, and he is moved into the Windsor suite. Of course he privately puts his not-inconsiderable talents to solving the mystery as well.

In yet another twist of narrative style, Akunin tells this story from various points of view. We have chapters given from different characters as they remark on their own take on events as they unfold aboard the Leviathan. There is the pregnant Madame Kleber, desperate for attention from all the men in the room, and spinster Clarissa Stamp, who takes quite a shine to the dashing Fandorin with his immaculate appearance and grey temples. Then in a brilliant piece of stylised publishing we are given access to excerpts from the diary of Gintaro Aono, Japanese samurai, on his way home. These are presented in such a way as to require the reader to tilt the book through ninety degrees as the type runs from bottom to top, rather than left to right. It's a simple trick but pleasurable none the less.

From these varying perspectives, we are left very much in the dark as to the culprit. Various narrators seem to have secrets they need to hide, but as the tension increases, so too does the confusion as Gauche chases down leads that end in nothing. Meanwhile, Fandorin sits ever so still, observing, considering and only getting involved when Gauche's suggestions may lead to wrongful accusation. It's an excellent touch, to see Fandorin played off against another detective and the comparison between the two only adds to gentle frisson of excitement underlying the whole book.

But the book is also very much a break for Erast Petrovich. The case is not his, nor is there any pressure on him to be more than a highly observant bystander. As such, the drama is somewhat diminished. It is, after all, a journey of escape for Fandorin, and Akunin succeeds in providing only mild danger throughout; this isn't a thriller in the same vein of the trials of Turkish Gambit or the hectic sprints around Moscow of The Death of Achilles. But it's a humorous, enjoyable portrait of the wonderful character of Fandorin.

~~~

1998/2004 - Russian / English editions

Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield

Where The Wild Things Are

2010-01-05T13:39:00.004Z

Spike Jonze's spirited screen interpretation of Maurice Sendak's childhood masterpiece Where The Wild Things Are pulls no punches in taking the essential message of the book and transferring that successfully to the silver screen.

The challenge with Sendak's story is that its short, only some twenty pages, and filled with imagination and adventure. The latter actually lends it to screen adaptation, where Jonze decided to flesh out the 'wild rumpus' between Max and the Wild Things with all sorts of sequences of frivolity and violence. In addition, the whole idea of all collapsing in a heap together to sleep is beautifully handled, as the Wild Things do just that.

But it's not all book-to-screen transposition in the film. Firstly, Jonze had to flesh out some of the characters. Max is obviously given a much deeper portrayal (wonderfully played by Max Records), with a rather touching back story of familial strife and loneliness, explaining his bad behaviour. Meanwhile, the Wild Things are given names and voiced by an impressively diverse cast (James Gandolfini, Paul Dano, Forest Whitaker, Catherine O'Hara, Lauren Ambrose, Chris Cooper and Michael Berry Jr.; Gandolfini is particularly impressive as the passionate Carol). I had never before wondered what the voices of the Wild Things would be like, but was completely taken in by this choice of Jonze's, making them seem ever so americana and ordinary, as figments of adults as Max might imagine them, completely down to mundane names and normal voices.

Secondly, the score and cinematography both deserve note; the film is so colourful and epic in scope, with rapidly changing scenery and music that both compliments and enhances the drama that it's easy to feel swept away into the thrill of the events and feel as though one is escaping into this other world imaginary realm. And like the book, there's never a moment where it's stated "and this was all a dream". Indeed, that's another of the film's strengths: it added and expanded on the story, while never needing to contradict or explain away other details. The child-voiced choir directed by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs is a beautiful touch and does not challenge anything we already knew from the novel.

Finally, the expansion work Jonze has undertaken is shown in the themes of the story. We have a story about a boy fleeing to an imaginary world in which he can get away with anything and is ruler of the roost. In doing so, he begins to miss his family and appreciates the challenges of being a grown-up or the one in control. This is perfectly captured by the film, but also nuanced; there's a broken home that Max escapes, and the challenges of leading the Wild Things are far from straightforward, with a real threat of danger that comes across and adds a chill to much of the drama that occurs between the Wild Things and Max. He's an imperfect hero, and he begins to appreciate those imperfections as the story unfolds, to his benefit.

Utterly engaging and enjoyable.

~~~

2009

Max Record, Catherine Keener, James Gandolfini, Paul Dano, Lauren Ambrose, Catherine O'Hara, Forest Whitaker, Michael Berry Jr, Chris Cooper

dir. Spike Jonze

Phrazes for the Young - Julian Casablancas

2010-01-05T12:07:00.003Z

A real grower this one; on a first listen, it sounds as though Casablancas has taken his favourite elements of The Strokes and poured them into his first solo offering. But it becomes clear that the influence offered by Bright Eye's Mike Mogis and Nate Walcott has drawn Casablancas in slightly new directions too.

Out of the Blue and Left and Right in the Dark catapult the listener into a world in which Casablancas both laments his own growing up and the changing times in which he lives in. But it's best expressed with this lyric:

All that I can do is sing a song of faded glory

And all you got to do is sit there, look great, and make 'em horny.

It's not so much a diatribe or eulogy to growing up as it is his own small observations of how things have moved on. And when he blasts into 11th Dimension and drops more encouragement for his audience as to stripping away attempts at being, for want of a better word, cool, one starts to perceive where the album title might have come from. A personal favourite exhortation is

And don't be shy, oh no, at least deliberately
'Cause no one really cares or wanders why anymore
Oh I've got music coming out of my hands and feet and kisses...

But there's plenty of good stuff in there.

The first really dip of the record, only eight tracks long as it is, is with the two more ballad-esque centrepiece tracks, 4 Chords of the Apocalypse and Ludlow St. Here it seems Julian was looking for something more lyrical, but the change of pace doesn't fit entirely satisfactorily with the rest of the album, and Ludlow St in particular sounds too croonery and doesn't show Julian at his best.

But then we launch into the final triad of the record, and what a triad indeed. Rivers of Brakelights is my personal favourite of the album, and the word play with the two repeated refrains is cerebrally enchanting:

Getting the hang of it, getting the hang of it
Timing is everything, timing is everything
Getting the hang of it, timing is everything
Getting the hang of it, timing is everything
Timing the hang of it, getting is everything
Getting the time of it, everything hangs on this
Hanging the getting of, timing the getting of.

(Not best shown there, but check out the track!) Meanwhile Glass and Tourist, perhaps the tracks with the biggest Bright Eyes influence, provide a fitting close to a rip-roaring album. One of the things that's most enjoyable about this album is that even with only eight songs, Casablancas has taken the time to flesh them out, and they do sound fully formed and fully imagined. That's why repeated listens pay dividends, as it takes some time to pick through some of the more layered work that's been laid down.

An excellent year closer and an uplifting, exhortatory effort from The Strokes' frontman.

~~~

released November 2009

The Turkish Gambit (Fandorin 2)

2010-01-05T11:37:00.003Z

In Britain, The Turkish Gambit was published as Turkish Gambit, and appeared third in the Fandorin series issued by Weidenfeld & Nicolson and translated by Andrew Bromfield. It becomes apparent with reading that the action of The Turkish Gambit follows closely from the close of The Winter Queen (reviewed here); I'm even inclined to start using the Russian title for that novel, too, as it informs as to the major criminal organisation Fandorin finds himself pitted against once more: Azazel.

Azazel have been recruiting charismatic orphans and preening them for nefarious, high-flying positions. After the disastrous conclusion of Fandorin's first adventure, he seeks oblivion by leaving the Third Section (Russia's detective bureau) and journeying to join the Russian front where the troops are engaged in the Russo-Turkish war.

But Akunin is more wily than to describe this to us in such a straightforward manner. Instead, we meet Varvara Andreevna Suvorova, a self-proclaimed 'modern woman' who is travelling to find her betrothed, Pyotr, who is also fighting at the front. In being so bold, and undertaking such a journey, Varya is sure she will prove both her devotion to Petya and her status as a thoroughly in-control feminist. But disaster strikes and she is left stranded in a Muslim tavern that's allegiance to Russia, given its proximity to Turkey, is dubious. Enter a mysterious young man with a stammer, a brusque manner, and hair that is black apart from white temples: Fandorin. Varya is rescued by him, but immediately takes offence at his prickliness. There's a delicious discrepancy between our own knowledge of the terrible tragedy Fandorin has suffered and Varya's own frustration with this taciturn gentleman, enhanced, of course, by our own sympathy for the young man, so clearly marked by his past experiences.

If Varya is upset by Fandorin, she's quickly offered diversions: cavalry commander Mikhail Sobolev, along with a host of journalists, meet Fandorin and Varya on the road to the Russian camp in the nick of time, carrying out a daring rescue against a band of bashi-bazouks. From there, the plot speeds up significantly; it's clear there's some sort of mole in the Russian camp, and Fandorin is tasked with worming him out. Furthermore, a certain Anwar Effendi has surfaced in the Turkish forces, a man already identified as one of the key members of Azazel. Fandorin, while refusing to return to the Third Section proper, must struggle between outwitting his wily enemy while also finding the mole.

The real charm of the whole tale comes from Varya; most of the narrative is told from her perspective, and again there's delightful humour in how she curses herself for being so attracted to some of the gentleman in the camp, each of them dashing and brave. Her betrothed, Petya, proves himself to be an utter wimp, and one can't help but feel pleased that Varya has other options on her plate. But most pleasing of all is her gradual warming towards Fandorin, whom she discovers is not only younger than her, but has dealt with more than she could imagine. As she notes how she has realised, with horror, that she's been missing him, the sense of triumph for Fandorin is wonderful. He's not sought her affection one bit, nor is he interested, but he's also acted with constancy and bravery throughout, without ever attempting to emphasise it. The bittersweet finale of the book, where Fandorin may be about to solve the case but never get the girl, is a joy to read.

Akunin's done something remarkable; he's taken that excellent character first fleshed out in Azazel and forced him through a terrible mishap, adding yet another layer of depth and engagement to an already charming individual. Fandorin's impressive powers of deduction are now tempered by patience and silence, making him all the more resolute and inspiring. A brilliant read.

~~~

1998

Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield

Der Baader Meinhof Komplex

2009-12-20T12:51:00.006Z

Uli Edel's in-depth depiction of the rise and fall of the RAF (Red Army Faction) in West Germany is both gripping and ultimately wearing. One cannot expect a broadly sympathetic portrayal of a terrorist cell at its most dangerous to be easy-watching. Where Edel's film has its greatest strength is in encouraging the viewer to analyse the action in terms of the individual players alongside the greater socio-political upheaval both in Germany and in the wider world.

We are first introduced to Ulrike Meinhof (Martina Gedeck), as she visits a nudist beach with her husband and two children. She's a journalist writing broadly left-wing pieces encouraging the political engagement of all. Meanwhile, Andreas Baader (Moritz Bleibtreu) and his girlfriend Gudrun Ensslin (Johanna Wokalek), radicalised students, pursue simplistic terrorist activities against department stores. Things come to head when the Shah of Iran visits West Germany, and peaceful anti-Iranian protests are met with violence by pro-regency Iranians in Germany and violent police forces. Meinhof is challenged to stop merely writing about the need for a change in the state, but to act upon her words; an interview with Ensslin finally pushes her over the edge, from commentator to participant.

We watch as the RAF develops from a small group of students into a highly organised, highly active terrorist cell. The core members travel to Jordan and attend a training camp (with mixed results), and return to wage war upon Germany. Their attacks escalate to bombing of American military bases in protest towards American imperialism in Vietnam and the rise of pro-right, fascist groups in Germany. They state, through their mouthpiece Meinhof, how they all have a duty after the Second World War to fight against imperialist tendencies in their country. From there, capture, trial, and suicide, while second- and third-generation cells of the RAF continue their attacks with increasing violence and recklessness.

Perhaps that is a simplified timeline, but the film itself does not shirk from offering the drama in detail. The relationships that develop between the core members, both before and during captivity, are performed with such verve that it is entirely engaging action. It's hard to explain how awkward one feels in sympathising with people whose motives may be laudable but whose actions are not. Perhaps most tellingly is the change we see wrought in both Baader and Meinhof. Baader is bombastic, passionate and aggressive through the first two thirds of the film, and it is only in captivity that we see his spirit tempered by a more measured, considered approach. If before he was terrifying, now he becomes a totally sympathetic presence. Meinhof, meanwhile, the person who sacrificed the most to the cause (her daughters are seized from hiding by an anonymous informant), begins to discover the futility of her words, and imprisonment merely highlights for her that any message she wishes to express will become warped and abused, even by other members of the RAF.

The film raises questions as to suicide; Brigitte (Nadja Uhl), leader of the free RAF members after only seven months in prison, has to silence her comrades who claim that Baader, Meinhof and Ensslin have died from police brutality. To her, their deaths show their ultimate control over their own actions and serve as an example to others; to the younger RAF members, they can only see those actions in terms of the oppression of the state.

One of the greatest strengths of this piece is that characters on both sides come across sympathetically. Certainly the anonymous police presence is intimidating, but the man charged with eliminating the RAF states time and again that without political change, radicalised students will turn again and again to violence. Part of the success of the film is how we are encouraged to see that many different people from different spheres were all pushing towards the same goal, even if the methods differed so broadly. This is brought about by the patience with which the story is told, each episode adding further information towards this picture of a state in turmoil beneath the surface, and the actions of a few affecting the many.

It wasn't the easiest film to watch, but perhaps that was because the pace, so deliberately focused and intense, left for tiring viewing. But the result was worth it; that strange sense of being so strong moved the plight of those many years ago, in a world far different than my own.

~~~~~

2008

Martina Gedeck, Moritz Bleibtreu, Johanna Wokalek, Nadja Uhl, Stipe Erceg, Vinzenz Kiefer

dir. Uli Edel

Birdeatsbaby LIVE

2009-11-30T12:21:00.002Z

I kept telling myself I'd see these guys. I mean, come on, I know the rocker front-lady and pianist/vocalist Mishkin Mullaly from way back and always said "Sure, sure, I'll be there." So when I heard that they were planning in London-town, in Islington no less, I bought my ticket and jumped at the opportunity.

Upstairs at the Garage is a smallish venue, with room for perhaps 100 or so, but that may be generous. Despite ants-in-the-pants of the next act's lead vocalist, Birdeatsbaby's performance was nothing shy of brilliant. The wanderer from Maleficent and some issues with levels didn't really detract at all from what was an energetic and vibrant show, in which the performers seemed to lose themselves (just a little) in their music.

Let's face it: I'd listened to some Birdeatsbaby tracks before I saw them. Not right before, but in the recent past. I'd enjoyed them, but it was dark cabaret (think punky/folky/rocky/gothy sorta thing...think piano-led dark gypsy stylings) and that might not be my musical cup of tea. But live, the sound was catapulted onto a different plane. The fact was that even with shonky levels and some bad behaviour from the next act, the music was engaging and lost little. It's truly a tribute to a band if one can enjoy listening to the bass line (Garry) or tight, exciting drumming (Philippa) even if that's not what you're meant to be hearing loudest. Three part-harmonies and involved cello and violin parts (Ella and Keely respectively) built a kind of musical tableau that I was happy to let wash over me. Over the top of that, the stylistic range from Mishkin's vocals provided a fitting icing to the rather enjoyable, if dark, cake. As a live show, I loved it; I was enthralled by how together this group were, how explosive their songs seemed and how even with technical glitches I wasn't really concerned or distracted. Definitely recommended!

For images and more info, how about here?

~~~

26 November 2009, with Maleficent & Belladonna, Upstairs at the Garage, Relentless Garage, Highbury & Islington

The Omega Man

2009-11-29T13:03:00.003Z

I read I Am Legend a little late; it has been reckoned by some as the single most important vampire novel after Bram Stoker's Dracula. Richard Matheson's novella is chilling in its portrait of the conflict a lone man faces after the world is swept by a plague; not only do the blood-sucking humans now wish to kill him, but every day is a battle with his own conscience as he searches for a cure to the virus and tries to overcome the desire to end it all.

Francis Lawrence's I Am Legend (2007) drew upon that aspect of loneliness, of a single man alone against the world. But in my view some of the charm of the book was lost as he transferred the setting from the West Coast to urban New York and turned the vampires into little more than mindless creatures. Will Smith's performance as Robert Neville was admirable, but not remarkable.

The Omega Man is the attempt of a different decade to put I Am Legend on the screen. Charlton Heston stars as Robert Neville, but here Boris Sagal has stayed more closely to the plot of the novel, in some aspects; we get a glimpse of the organisation and intention of the vampires (even if bloodsucking is not really mentioned at all; perhaps that's for the best, avoiding the standard vampire tropes that seem to abound); Neville's isolation is similarly emphasised, and more than once we see his inability to relate to others after his long silence has left him talking to himself and playing games with himself. The drinking is there too and the empty rage at his impotence.

The plot does differ from the novella; in exactly the same way as the later film, the film-makers have decided a love interest is necessary. Certainly, there is an interest in the book; but that interest is central to the plot and continues a strong message about the risk of love. In both films, the love interest only serves to further the bravery of Neville but also tie him down. There's no risk involved to himself except by the sacrifices he chooses to make for a woman.

Cinematographically, The Omega Man is beautifully realised. The desolation and ruinous husks of buildings that surround Heston as he runs around hunting the vampires are striking and intensify that sense of loneliness. The score is also a highlight, as it sets the tone perfectly. A key shift as Neville enters a darkened building and the hairs stood up on the back of neck in anticipation for discovering one of the 'Family'. Heston's performance is strong as well.

But it's badly structured plot and poor performances from the rest of the cast that let the film down. The dialogue between Heston and the love interest Lisa (Rosalind Cash) is stilted and the children he finds are wooden at best. It's entirely frustrating because the dynamism and anticipation that has been built earlier in the film falls flat. There is no sense of a climax. In fact, because the plot has been transposed somewhat, what should be a final set-piece occurs half-way through the film, entirely robbing the ending of anything with as near as brutal as the original's final moments. It's not that this is a poor adaptation of a book; it's not. It's that in making an adaptation some choices and some performances let the side down too much for it to be entirely enjoyable.

***

1971

Charlton Heston, Rosalind Cash, Anthony Zerbe

dir. Boris Sagal

Scenes From Communal Living

2009-11-26T10:39:00.002Z

Sketch improvised comedy. I think that's the best way of considering this hybrid. If you're not familiar with the concept, it works thusly: it's standard improvised comedy, drawing upon the audience to get a scene started with an idea for a location / happening / event / conflict / other thing. But the twist comes from the stage; every scene is supposed to be set in a flat share, so we are to witness, in actuality, a scene from communal living. Do you see what they did they?

It's a great breed of improvised comedy, setting up only two parameters (flatshare & idea from audience). The cast rotates, both between Sunday night gigs, and during the show between who comes in to do a scene. They even take turns compering between scenes, encouraging the audience to be inventive and challenge their scenes.

From the first scene (a call-centre worker telling her flatmate about her promotion - with a deliciously softly-spoken American artist played by Partridge) I realised the idea had subtle depth to it, beyond other standard improvised shows. Because the actors aren't exactly playing a game, they're not rushing to score points over each other, each scene was longer than what one might expect from an improv show, and given far more time to develop some sort of plot. That was where I marvelled at the technique of the night. Time after time, a scene might be slowing fading away, but a character could revitalise it in a moment with a sudden announcement, disagreement or even just a sigh and a shrug. Rather than a scene of one part, charging in at the start and building and rushing to some sort of final punch, instead I watched as a comic tapestry was weaved before my eyes, with ups and downs, a veritable pulse, that to me was even more enjoyable than the humour contained.

Partridge's artist was fantastic, but so was his World of Warcraft playing hardman; Parris dazzled, confidently moving between accents and seeming to do no wrong on stage. Meanwhile Broderick, Smallman and Fostekew (and I do so hope I've got the names right) all were on top form too. A Polish woman terrified of racism and a touching scene about growing little goats between Carly and Jess both stick in the memory. Parris and Broderick's final scene, the show closer, about discussing an unexpected event at a party the night before (this time, morris dancing, of all things), was both tender and hilarious. I suppose one could argue morris dancing is itself comedy gold. I'd be tempted to say it was the actors' technique that brought that about.

McCure's master plan is to make something branded, a show that can be packaged up and put on anywhere. He's already had a successful run in Sidney alongside the London run that closes on 20th December, but he aims next year to put together Melbourne and Toronto Scenes From Communal Living. It's a bold ambition, but when it works, as it did last Sunday, it's hilarious to watch.

***

22 November 2009, The Etcetera Theatre, Camden

performed byRachel Parris, Charlie Partridge, Rob Broderick, Carly Smallman, Jessica Fostekew

dir. & conceived by Stewart McCure

The Winter Queen (Fandorin 1)

2009-11-25T17:09:00.003Z

Can a work in translation retain the charm and style of the original while also being accessible to the foreign reader? Boris Akunin's Fandorin series, or at least this first outing, proves conclusively it can. You may recall my reviews of his Pelagia books (1 and 2); there I suggested that while Akunin might be better known for his Fandorin tales, Pelagia still stood alone as a wonderful series in its own right.

But here I learnt why Erast Fandorin, young detective of the Third Bureau of the Moscow Criminal department, had won over the hearts of fans the world over. This novel, which follows Fandorin's first major case, at the tender age of 21, is thrilling from start to finish. The transformation our erstwhile hero undergoes as he is offered promotion and social betterment alongside danger and deception is marvellous to behold. The story ends with him as fresh-faced as it started, but he's learnt so much one can't help but feel the reader was also dragged along the maelstrom that picked up Erast and took him across Europe to Berlin, Vienna, Paris and London. He nearly loses his life countless times, only to be saved by luck or courage or desperation, or indeed a breathing technique he has been practising for the last few months.

That is part of the charm of the tale. Akunin has deliberately avoided imbuing his hero with a host of skills and abilities. Instead, he has this one breathing technique he works on, and then intuition and bravery, plus a mastery of English and German, and that's it. No super strength or cunning wit or airs or money or anything like that. Not even too much confidence, but a big dose of passion. It's what makes him a thoroughly human character and ultimately likeable. It's also what propels the entire story.

Plot-wise, having read some of the Sister Pelagia novels, I was well aware that Akunin was the master of a twisting tale. Here he excels as well; one can easily understand why this outing won him support and acclaim. In true form to a proper detective novel, the nemesis (or nemeses) hide in plain sight and the clues are available for all to see, should we so choose. There's a delightful discrepancy of awareness between characters internally, and between Fandorin and the reader that maintains suspense without becoming frustrating. That's part of the mastery here - a fresh, exciting plot that doesn't get revealed in plodding increments, but with a varying and engaging pace. Suddenly Fandorin will surge ahead with his realisations; at other times it is slower going as he searches for one clue that will suddenly illuminate a whole new area of investigation.

There's humour here too, and pathos. It got me thinking that I should recommence my Russian studies just to be able to read the rest of the series in the original. I'm also looking forward to the film of The State Counsellor, one of the later Fandorin titles. I chomped through this at such a rate that I know it must have been good, to not even notice turning the pages. Thoroughly recommended. Quick, light, fun and moving. All you want from a good detective novel.

***

1998

Boris Akunin, translated by Andrew Bromfield