Starring: David Corenswet, Rachel Brosnahan, Nicholas Hoult
Superman never really grabbed me, and I would’ve passed on this latest iteration were it not for noises about the film getting up the nose of people who like to use ‘woke’ as an insult. If the price of a movie ticket and a choc top equates to a finger in the eye of that set, sign me up. So up, up and away it was. And what an enjoyable outing it turned out to be. Not a lot of Clark Kent, not much repeating of the lore we know so well, but straight into the diabolical plot of arch villain Lex Luthor to dethrone Superman. All that alien goodness masquerading as human kindness – a big thumbs down from Luthor. It’s family, a few friends (including Nathan Fillion, always fun), and Krypto to the rescue. Gunn, who shares a writing credit, harnessed the hero’s history and spirit with a deft hand. Truth, justice and a few giggles for the win.
It was the combination of Florence Pugh’s performance as Yelena in Black Widow along with this article on ABC that swayed the decision to invest in another Marvel outing. Fortunately, the promise was delivered, in a thoroughly enjoyable addition to the superhero line-up. Yelena is the axis around which her fellow misfit heroes and mercenaries revolve as they are caught up in a plot to fill the overt gap left by the Avengers, with, of course, the generous serve of self-interest. While New York City again lives under a cloud as things go very wrong, the movie manages to keep the stakes at a personal level, forging loners into a team, and managing to strike that ideal balance of drama and humour along the way. While Yelena is the epitome of a dour, pessimistic Russian, her father (aka Red Guardian) sees a chance for resurgence. It was so good to see Hannah John-Kamen (Killjoys) back in action, too. I’d line up for another Thunderbirds.
Stars: Callina Liang, Lucy Liu, Chris Sullivan, Eddy Maday
This haunted house film is fabulous until it gets tripped up by its final reveal, but it’s worth a watch. The point of view is that of an entity inhabiting the unremarkable suburban home, with a penchant for a particular wardrobe. I was quite happy not knowing the entity’s identity and story, and enjoyed the constraint of having pieces of story provided only by what it can hear or see from its vantage points within the home. A family moves in and the dynamics are built through vignettes: tiger mum has a business secret as well as devotion to her son’s swimming career, dad isn’t coping, daughter is suffering from the death of her best friend from an apparent drug overdose (one of two). But at the end, the time paradox referenced by a medium undermines the simple elegance of the set-up, and narrative coherence – already a little frayed by the side plot of dead students – unspools. That wardrobe? Ew.
I thoroughly enjoyed this light comedy, a beautifully crafted nod to an actual event in 1920s England in which poison pen letters raise a scandal. Colman plays devout spinster Edith, around whom the storm develops as she receives foul insults via post. Suspicion falls on neighbour Rose (Buckley), an Irish mum of one who is delightfully non-conformist. The pair have a great deal of fun working off each other, and are ably supported by a cast that includes Timothy Spall at his loathsome best and Anjana Vasan, a ‘woman police officer’ displaying consummate eye rolls as she forges ahead against sexism as she seeks to solve the case. Writer Johnny Sweet balances comedy, character and serious stakes as the case splits the town. The best part of seeing it at the cinema was the cackling of the women behind us as some of the choice curses were displayed as the credits rolled. ‘Foxy arse’ may be due for a revival…
There is a scene in Saltburn that had one cinema patron laughing out loud, but the rest of us were quiet, possibly trying to work out whether this faintly absurdist act was one of deep unrequited love and grief, a literal ‘fuck you’, or maybe both. The film plays with contradictions and misdirections, as a privileged university student takes one less so under his wing, the consequences playing out during a holiday break at the family mansion where the dysfunctional outfit is on full display. It’s a film that speaks to those who believe that wealth is wasted on the rich, wonderfully portrayed by Richard E Grant and Pike as the parents whose echo chamber is devoid of self awareness and moral conscience. The characters generally aren’t likeable, not even our narrator and protagonist, Oliver (Keoghan), so keen to enter this rarefied milieu, and we are left to enjoy the revelations without minding who comes out on top. Wicked fun.
Starring: Sophie Wilde, Alexandra Jensen, Joe Bird, Miranda Otto
Has there been a better Australian horror film since the Babadook? This debut feature from the Philippous is intelligent filmmaking, twisting the notion of a séance or Ouija board into a gripping teen drama that manages to balance gore and suspense with nary a jump scare in sight. Mia is something of a loner, having lost her mother under tragic circumstances and relying on the company of Jade and her younger brother Riley. Enter the party trick of using a supernatural hand to invite spirits to possess bodies while the gang films the excitement on their mobile phones. Of course things get, ahem, out of hand. It’s a wonderfully contained story, ramping up the stakes without going overboard; well filmed, well acted, with enough backstory to help us care for the characters and understand their relationships. It’s worth seeing on the big screen because the sound direction absolutely nails it, whether it’s creaking, moaning or a haunting lullaby. Highly recommended.
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is an astounding movie. From the sets, to the camerawork, to the dialogue, to the acting and wardrobe — simply astounding.
This superb adaptation — the scriptwriters deserve a gong — of the John le Carre Cold War spy classic is directed by Tomas Alfredson (Let the Right One In — the beautifully filmed Swedish original) and the Swede has excelled again. The movie has a period feel — there’s film grain on the screen and a certain gloomy tint that gives the hint of age — and framing and depth of field emphasise the paranoia and claustrophobia of the era.
It’s a male tale, as the super spies of British intelligence are caught up in a hunt for a mole, real or imagined, amongst their number. Tasked with flushing out the bad apple is the outcast George Smiley, played brilliantly by Gary Oldman, heading a cast (including Tom Hardy, John Hurt, Colin Firth, Rome‘s screen-chewing Ciaran Hinds) who rise to the challenge. Such restrained performances. How refreshing to see a script that uses such minimal dialogue and telling subtext, to see a film that allows the actors to convey so much through body language and expression, that trusts the audience and its own ability to reach them. For instance: a scene in the rain, one man with an umbrella, one without. Nothing needs to be said: their expressions and interaction within that frame tell us all we need to know.
I loved the Carre spy books when I was a teenager, and enjoyed the BBC TV mini-series they spawned in the 1970s with the perfectly cast Alec Guinness in the Smiley role. This movie has reminded me why: the gloom, the amorality and the understanding of it, the feeling of this being a believable glimpse of the spy game amid the fun and thunder of Adam Hall and Ian Fleming, the use of intelligence and observation rather than muscle and firepower, the damaged characters who know that not all is well that ends well.
There’s a clever piece of graffiti in the movie, too; while the Circus largely runs on the secretarial power of women officers, and one analyst gets some screen time and there’s one female agent who has a role to play, this is very much a boys club film, as the context dictates. But there, more than once on that wall, is a painted slogan, The future is female.
Nice, and about as overt as this film gets.
Smiley’s wife, the sexual relationships of the men, the volume of the silence and stillness, the absence of car chases and biffo: so much cleverness without it being obvious, without it breaking the narrative or the mood.
The pace is, as with the books, not so much slow as inexorable, and the two hours were over before I knew it. No surprise it has garnered 11 BAFTA nominations. It might only be January, but I can’t help but feel this has to be one of the best movies of 2012.
It’s a shame Amazon.UK has ended its free shipping deal to Australia (boo!) or I’d be sorely tempted to snaffle the pre-order for the DVD — it’s due for release at the end of the month!
First, the good news: Australian horror movie The Loved Ones looks very good. Nice effects, effective acting — I really enjoyed Lauren McLeavey’s psycho killer Lola — and some wicked camera work (there’s a gorgeous shot, coming out of a cellar, with mirror ball highlights moving across the ceiling). Special effects were on the money.
It’s a high school horror drama, set in regional Victoria, in which, as you will gather from the trailer, a side-lined girlfriend gets even with the help of her good ol’ dad (best line: this one’s for the Kingswood!), while the victim’s girlfriend is left to pine and his best buddy gets it on with the self-destructive goth girl (sigh).
Note that the core plot ie boy being tortured, and the secondary plot ie sex with goth girl, have little to do with each other.
And therein lies the rub. The connection between the characters and even the scenes in this flick just don’t add up. Just what kind of movie are we watching here — high school drama, family grief drama, edgy comedy, sicko horror? I’m sure I was laughing at the wrong times for all the wrong reasons, here.
There is so little development of character — here is the guilt-ridden hero, feel sorry for him; here is the patient girlfriend, cheer for her; here is light relief in good-hearted side-kick and here is the total outsider who, in some strange act of self-humiliation, deigns to date the class loser for the night of the formal (I think the reason that she’s goth, or maybe emo, I can’t tell after a certain age these days without hearing the music, is because she HAS SUFFERED LOSS: hence the fashionable black, the drugs, the booze, the screwing). (Nice girl Holly gives blow jobs, but they’re for the good of others.)
Lola the psycho could’ve been fascinating, but sadly she’s psycho from the moment the light goes green and has nowhere else to go. I really wanted to know her, her and her dad, and how it had come to this, but nup, it was all power drills and emotional power plays. Oh, and there’s a quasi-zombie moment.
The movie could’ve been fascinating: a history of disappearances, guilt-addled and grief-stricken dysfunctional families, and some really cool defensive driving lessons were all on the cards here, but alas, style held all the aces.
Anyway, it’s a solid little slice and dice if you’re up for seeing some people suffer, even if it is short on logic and lacking in give-a-damn, and the actors do a great job with what they’ve got. And it really does look very good.
Another day, another list … this one of the Ten Best Screen Vampires at the Guardian was winning me hands down until the very end, where once again the confusion about popular equating to good kicked in. Honestly, if you want a vampire struggling with their nature and trying to practise restraint, wouldn’t you go for one that actually makes you feel the true weight of that struggle rather than just mooching about – at best a cad, at worst a dirty old man? Like, say, Louis in Interview, or eponymous Angel, or even Nick Knight (probably more the TV show than the movie)? Still, nine out of 10 ain’t bad (even if I’d probably have plumbed for Kirsten Dunst’s Claudia in Interview as my child representative).
Kathryn Bigelow, the director who gave us splendid vampire movie Near Dark (one of my favourites) and equally enjoyable SF flick Strange Days, really hits the mark with The Hurt Locker.
I finally caught the Oscar-winning movie last night, and wow.
The title is certainly apt, with the film following the events that befall a team of bomb-disposal experts in Baghdad with the arrival of a new leader, Will James (Jeremy Renner).
James is an adrendalin junkie, much to the concern of his new team-mates: after all, when you’re defusing bombs, you’d like a steady hand on the wire-cutters.
This is no Good Morning Vietnam or Blackhawk Down or, thank God, The Green Berets. There is no singular enemy for the team to overcome, no overarching narrative of right vs wrong, no great moralising: it’s a very personal story about men reacting under the most dire of pressure, and the relationship that forms between them.
Bigelow has shot this brilliantly in a semi-documentary style that gives it emphasis without playing too many emotional violin strings (and in fact, music is used scarcely and brilliantly).
The acting is superb (with notable roles for Ralph Fiennes and Guy Pearce, the tension palpable at times, the story unpredictable in its events if not its conclusion. And, like most good war movies, it leaves you asking, why.
