Gangster Squad - Review

Gangster Squad

Dir. Ruben Fleicher / Cert 15 / 111 minutes)

How can a film with so many guns, so much blood and such a fine cast fall so flat? I’m a big fan of the genre, so I had high expectations for Gangster Squad, but everything here has been done before and done better. It feels to me as if the filmmakers worked to a shopping list of ingredients, a tick-list of ‘must-include’ tropes thrown together, checked off one-by-one by cautious, smug Hollywood execs, dollar signs for eyes, staring greedily out of empty bloodless sockets.

The result is a workmanlike, shallow and impassionate jigsaw of mismatched pieces, all style and no substance, all pizazz and no plot, with dialogue that sounds like it’s come straight out of ‘How to Write A Gangster Movie for Dummies’. I couldn’t even enjoy it as a piece of pastiche because the characters were so utterly dimensionless Performances are weak across the board – Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone can’t decide whether to go for ham or cheese, and have none of the chemistry (sexual or otherwise) that they brought to Crazy Stupid Love and somebody really needed to take Nick Nolte and Sean Penn aside and tell them that this wasn’t a pantomime. Perhaps I should lighten-up – from what I understand, many people have enjoyed Penn’s over-the-top villain, but I’m sorry, having him snarling lines like ‘Out here, I’m a GOD!!!’ took me completely out of the story and the drama. Admittedly, the shoot ‘em up climax is well-shot and slickly executed, and the closest the film ever comes to having a pulse, but by this point, the damage is done and I couldn’t care less who lives and who dies, who wins and who loses.

If you want super-slick 1940s noir-thriller, look no further than the superb LA Confidential (1997), or do yourself a favour and invest in HBO’s continuing masterwork Boardwalk Empire, a contemporary example of how to do period-set gangster drama intelligently and unpredictably. If you want to waste your time and your money, see this.

The Impossible - Review

THE IMPOSSIBLE

Dir. Juan Bayona / 114 minutes / Cert 12

Juan Bayona follows up his acclaimed 2007 directorial debut The Orphanage with another horror film. Whereas the fear factor of his first feature emanated purely from the otherworldly and the supernatural, The Impossible brings the horror much closer to home, drawing on real-life events, specifically the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami that devastated Indonesia and surrounding areas and claimed over 230,000 innocent lives. I remember watching the television news coverage at the time – my confused fifteen year-old self unable to quite understand what I was seeing, unsure of what it meant and what was going on.

The film creates immediate tension because everybody knows exactly what is going to happen. As an audience, we are powerless, simply awaiting the inevitable; the fatal wave is going to hit and there is nothing we can do to stop it. The fact that our main characters, the Bennett family – father, mother, their three young sons – are blissfully ignorant of the tragedy that is about to befall them (as of course were the quarter of a million unsuspecting victims) only serves to reinforce the sense of dread that hangs over the film’s idyllic opening scenes; scenes depicting the calm before the storm, introducing us to a close-knit, moneyed middle-class family, holidaying for Christmas in a luxury apartment. Lanterns illuminate the sky. Celebration, laughter and love, things we take for granted. They have everything, want for nothing… and then the ground starts to tremble.

The reconstruction of the disaster is painful to watch, beautifully repellent and brutally realised. To call it impressive almost seems crass and insensitive, but considering it was shot using no CGI whatsoever deserves some sort of recognition come Oscars night. Obviously, no film dramatisation can ever even remotely approach the abject horror of the real thing, but there’s no denying the emotional wallop of the film’s extended key sequence. The tsunami itself lasted for almost ten minutes, and Bayona here allows events to play out in real time; the ten minutes stretching out like an unrelenting nightmare, a haunting eternity. Water floods the screen. Never-ending chaos reigns. Broken bodies are swept away like leaves on the wind. Lives become nothing; ripped apart and destroyed forever in the blink of an eye. Hundreds of thousands of untold stories reach horrible, untimely ends. At various points, the cinema winced collectively at the savagery unfolding on screen and for once I was glad of the stench of nearby nachos that filled the air as it reminded me that I was safe, rooted and rigid in my seat.

Judging by the reaction in the (almost full) cinema, I wasn’t alone in finding this film deeply upsetting. Towards the end, the tension was palpable, the silence broken only by the sound of many a sniffling nose. The fact that the film affected its audience is a testament to the strength of the central performances from Naomi Watts and Ewan McGregor who were both outstanding. Anybody who has seen Mulholland Drive (2001) or 21 Grams (2003) won’t need any convincing of Watts’s acting credentials, but McGregor’s unexpectedly heartbreaking performance as a father in search of his missing wife and son came out of the blue and rather knocked me for six. Recently McGregor has been taking it easy, playing the tweedy leads in romantic comedies such as the enjoyable Beginners (2010) and the endurable Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011), so for him to turn in such a standout performance was a real surprise for me. Likewise, I can’t not mention newcomer Tom Holland, who plays eldest son Lucas. At the beginning of the film, Lucas is your typical angst-ridden teenager, but the tsunami strips away all of his cockiness and reduces him to a terrified lost little boy looking for his mother. It’s always a good sign when you find yourself immediately browsing the Internet to find an actor’s other credits as I found myself doing last night. I was pleased to see that he’s already picking up a few awards for his performance.

I think the measure of a good film can be judged on how it leaves you feeling afterwards. A good film stays with you. By the time the credits rolled on The Impossible, I was slumped in my seat, utterly drained. Had I enjoyed the film? Did I approve of the narrative need to find closure in such senseless tragedy? Did the happy ending trivialise a disaster that destroyed so many lives? I suppose I left the cinema pondering humanity – shown here at its most weak, vulnerable and defenceless, but also at its most brave, resourceful and noble. The camaraderie, the community spirit, the coming together of broken souls in dire times (many of the survivors in fact played by real-life survivors), in my opinion, validates the existence and relevance of this film. Yesterday was New Year’s Day, a chance for new beginnings, so perhaps I was feeling more self-reflective than usual, but I came away from The Impossible with one thing going round and round in my head: life is precious.

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) - Review

THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN
(Dir. Marc Webb / 136 minutes / 12)

WARNING: The following review contains zealous and (some would say) delusional fanboy ramblings and controversial Christopher Nolan criticisms.

The Amazing Spider-Man features a handsome boy in skin-tight lycra, the President from The West Wing and a giant lizard. Seriously, what’s not to love?

End of review.

 

Oh, you’re still not sold? Really, you need more convincing of the movie’s merits? Hmph. Fine. Have it your way… though you could have gone out and bought it by now.

This year saw three major releases to emerge under the superhero banner. Joss Whedon’s wild and witty caper Avengers Assemble, Christopher Nolan’s hotly anticipated and ambitious Batman swansong in the form of The Dark Knight Rises and Marc Webb’s unexpectedly emotional and (comparatively) overlooked Spidey reboot (such an ugly word), the latter of which I hope you are now in the process of ordering on Blu-Ray. You may as well get the 3D version while you’re at it. And buy a few copies for your friends too, just to be on the safe side.

Despite socialising awkwardly in the circles of the same sub-genre, these three films couldn’t be more different. They nod politely towards each other, but that’s it (a good thing, if you ask me, as I found something to enjoy in all of them). Both Avengers and Batman smashed the magic $1 billion mark at the box office, whereas Spider-Man trailed behind in their wake, only able to muster a lowly $750 million. It pains me to acknowledge (I’d love to ignore the financial evidence, and still might yet), but it’s probably fair to say that Spidey wasn’t quite the runaway success of its cape-clad competitors. Indeed, dear reader, you are probably looking at this review, your temples pulsating Hulk style, thinking how in the name of holy Gotham City can you prefer this – THIS! - to Batman, you heathen! Well, how is Justin Bieber famous – sometimes strange, terrible, inexplicable things just happen.

For me, Spider-Man felt smaller, simpler, smarter, and often, less is more. I can’t fault Christopher Nolan’s ambition – The Dark Knight Rises was huge and cinematically spectacular, but I was left exhausted and with the impression that Nolan, the Hollywood equivalent of Manchester United, was going-for-broke. The film was so desperate to be taken seriously, so hell-bent was it to out-epic its (superior) predecessors, that it tipped into the realm of pretension, sacrificing emotion and heart and humour in the process, forgetting that, at its core, crucially, it is essentially a light-hearted, fun fantasy story about a mask-wearing cape-swishing Defender. I’m bracing myself for the inevitable deluge of negative feedback! Sharpen those pitchforks. Aim for the heart. Likewise, I had a similar problem with Avengers Assemble, though to a lesser extent – in that it felt a bit superficially enjoyable. True, we have Whedon’s usual quick-fire sharp dialogue, lots of explosions and relentless action, an almost overwhelming exhibition of special effects, a veritable visual toyshop, Scarlett Johansson as Wonder Woman, all of which combined disguise the fact that beyond all the bells and whistles, there’s really not all that much in terms of character and plot. Where’s the humanity?

It all boils down to what you want from a superhero film, I suppose. I guess there will be many people out there who don’t want humanity, who couldn’t think of anything worse, just as long as there’s an abundance of fighting and action sequences galore, right? Three dimensional relationships and character development and emotion just get in the way of the carnage. Why have your hero fall in love when he could fall off a burning building instead? Ideally I’d have both but it’s all subjective, though I fear those turning to the new Spidey looking for all-out action, for a film that faithfully follows generic convention, may be disappointed. Granted, you do get a big mutant CGI lizard for your money, though arguably this is the one misfire the film shoots; a pre-transformation Rhys Ifans makes for a far more sinister villain in human form) and it seems to me that the narrative is actually at its weakest when it falls into the trap of fulfilling the prerequisites of its genre and becomes ‘just another superhero picture’. The Amazing Spider-Man’s real strength lies in how it depicts the burgeoning relationship between Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) and Gwen Stacey (Emma Stone). Director Marc Webb’s first feature was the excellent and structurally unconventional (500) Days of Summer and here his rom-com credentials lend themselves effectively as the film packs a real emotional punch, more so than any superhero film I can immediately recall. This approach won’t satisfy everybody, but I thought it added an extra layer of depth and imbued the film with a soul.

But, when all’s said and done, the success of a film such as this rests almost solely on the shoulders of its leading actor. Your CGI lizard can be the best computer animated reptile in the business, but If your main man doesn’t convince, doesn’t fit the bill, then you’re in big trouble. I liked Tobey Maguire just fine, but I never quite accepted him in the role. Maguire has now undergone a pleasing upgrade and regenerated into up-and-coming British actor Andrew Garfield (who currently occupies the number one spot of my Crush List), who, without wishing to hyperbolise too dramatically, inhabits the role perfectly. He simply *is* Peter Parker. His acting chops are of the highest standard - plus he looks incredible in spandex, which always helps.

Garfield made his name starring in edgy, often gritty British dramas, such as Channel 4’s Boy A and The Red Riding Trilogy, but didn’t come to worldwide prominence until he co-starred in David Fincher’s much-lauded The Social Network. It’s been an interesting career to follow because in every single role, his performance has been completely different. For every character he’s played, he somehow manages to reinvent himself entirely, find a different part of himself to convey, and this film is therefore no different and yet again demonstrates his versatility (check out some of his lesser known TV credits and you’ll see what I mean). I was totally able to accept him as a high-school student despite Garfield’s 29 years. I predict big things for him. He brings vulnerability and awkwardness to his incarnation of Peter, a shyness that is both adorable and funny, but also a determined sense of principle. There’s teenage angst too; brought about by the demons of his past (his parents mysteriously disappeared when he was a child) and by the stirrings and awakenings of first love and heartbreak. Then, when he becomes his alter-ego, everything changes before our eyes; the way he moves, the way he carries himself. There’s a confidence and cockiness. He’s lighter on his feet, literally moving like a spider. There’s an energy to him, a quickness both literally and figuratively. Watching his transformation is arguably far more impressive than Rhys Ifans becoming a lizard.

Before the film was released, the naysayers were up in arms claiming it was a travesty to kick-start the franchise, far too soon to revisit the ‘origins’ story. I suppose these people have to keep busy somehow. I know many a person who deemed this film a load of rubbish without having seen a single second of it and many more who have vowed to not see it out of a sense of bogus, misguided principle. After all, Tobey Maguire’s debut swing was only a decade ago and Spider-Man 3 (which doesn’t exist, remember) is still fresh in its grave. These people won’t be swayed - a shame really, because they don’t know what they’re missing and sadly probably never will. Sure, there are elements of repetition here, but the execution is different enough and fresh enough to allow The Amazing Spider-Man to stand on its own eight legs, not just as a worthwhile film, but as a superbly entertaining one in its own right.

This reviewer is unashamedly out and proud in his love for this film and happy to admit that he saw it 4 times at the cinema. In terms of the sheer enjoyment factor, The Amazing Spider-Man is my movie of 2012.

 

The Master (2012) - Review

THE MASTER

(dir Paul Thomas Anderson/143 mins)

Rarely does a film arrive so wet with critical saliva, though like marmite, Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master is dark, distinctive and divisive. Some will hail it as genius, some will leave the cinema wishing they'd stayed home and watched Boogie Nights on DVD. Either way it is sure to provoke a reaction, guaranteed to warrant a response. Personally, I loved everything about it (although the same sadly cannot be said for marmite).

Yet, I can't recommend it. I simply can't. I could never confidently look a friend in the eye and assure them that this is worth seeing. I couldn't even tell them what it was about, let alone its genre. There's no `Well, if you liked this film, you'll be sure to like The Master' analogy to be made here because it simply defies comparison, eludes classification and is like no other film I've ever seen because Anderson makes no attempt to befriend his audience. Such a rebellious approach can be alienating, but it also proves exciting and rewarding as a viewer, because seldom do directors dare to make origami out of the rulebook in such a thrilling way. His narrative is fractured and drifting, as aimless as Freddie Quell (a career best performance from a superbly contorted Joaquin Phoenix). The ever excellent Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Lancaster Dodd, the eponymous and charismatic Master; whose subtle, seamless seduction of Quell and the other members he recruits to his Cause mirrors Anderson's relationship with us as an audience. Arguably, it is he who is the true Master here. 

I stumbled out of the cinema feeling much the same way as I do whenever I see a David Lynch picture - almost dizzy, almost drunk, as if I have just woken from a troubled sleep, nursing an intense, incurable hangover, unable to quite come to terms with or make sense of what I've just witnessed, still haunted and fascinated by my nightmare. The outside world takes time to come back into focus, slowly bleeding back in as I gradually recover. I'd forgotten all about the existence of human life, forgotten about roads and pavement and traffic. This is very much the sign of a good film, if you ask me. I look forward to revisiting this particular nightmare again on DVD.

Whether or not you'll feel the same is impossible to say...

THE RED HOUSE (2012)

Mark Haddon / 272 pages / Jonathan Cape)

We all know what a brilliant, original novel Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is, and although I read that on initial publication way back in 2003, when I was an innocent, fresh-faced fourteen year old, it has stayed with me (the same sadly cannot be said of the innocence or the fresh-face). For some reason I skirted Haddon’s 2006 follow up A Spot of Bother, but was drawn to The Red House after hearing it discussed on BBC2’s The Review Show. Although the panel were heatedly divided (and let’s be honest, most of the reviewers on there are impossible to please), the ambitious premise really appealed; a family holiday in Wales reuniting a brother and sister (along with their partners and kids) who have not seen each other in years recounted from the brilliantly contradictory points-of-view of all eight family members.

Haddon certainly sets himself quite the challenge here but, on the whole, I think he just about pulls it off. Each voice is clearly distinguishable and he devotes equal care and detail to bringing all his characters vividly to life. I am often drawn to stories about dysfunctional families (I can relate), and here the author delivers in spades. The constant shifting of the focal character perspective presents the reader with an almost panoramic warts-and-all view of the two families; and over the eight days that the novel captures (each chapter covers a specific day of the holiday) we learn more and more about them. The preliminary attempted niceties soon fall by the wayside and give way to secrets, deceptions, resentments and traumas. The novel is at its best when exposing the underlying frictions that bubble beneath the surface, and before long you realise (in my case with a certain degree of gleeful relish) that there’s a reason these two families previously had nothing to do with each other!

With eight characters to choose from, it is likely that you’ll be able to personally align yourself with at least one of them. For me, I could relate to both the confused and fragile Daisy and the directionless and detached Melissa, the two (seemingly completely opposite) teenage girls. In fact, I would argue that Haddon’s portrayal of the younger characters is where the book’s strength lies as he realises all of them convincingly and realistically; a rarity in contemporary fiction. Admittedly, I found the stream-of-consciousness style originally rather daunting; at times I wasn’t totally sure whose thoughts were being related, but I quickly got the hand of it and the device quickly became engaging and effective. It is reminiscent of Virginia Woolf – you could almost call The Red House the modern equivalent of Woolf’s To the Lighthouse; but with Nintendos, mobile phones and masturbation. The book has been criticised for a lack of plot, but this was never an issue for me – as far as I’m concerned, plenty happened and I just enjoyed spending a week inside the heads of these people. The short sentences and fast-forward punchy prose abets the jumpy, constantly altering thought processes of the mind. And everybody has had a bad holiday experience like this, surely? The misery, the desperation to go home, the ‘shop of crap’, the Scrabble… Haddon’s observations are spot on.

Eight ink blots out of ten; and if anybody out there can tell me whether or not A Spot of Bother is worth a read, any comments in the section below would be much appreciated.

THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955)
Dir. Charles Laughton / 93 minutes / Cert 12

Fifty-seven years on and this classic early noir thriller stands the test of time. Contemporary directors such as David Lynch, the Coen Brothers and Martin Scorsese have all acknowledged its influence on their work and it is clear to see why; to this day, it remains hauntingly unsettling (everybody knows that things are automatically more terrifying in black and white) and features one of the all-time great screen psychopaths in the form of Robert Mittchum’s corrupt preacher Harry Powell.

Powell gets his kicks by fleecing vulnerable widowers for every penny they’ve got and after sharing a cell with Ben Harper, a convict about to be hanged, he moves in for the kill on Willa, the easily-susceptible wife Harper leaves behind, intent on taking the money he has bequeathed her. All in the name of God, of course. Fooled by his religious credentials, Willa trusts Powell implicitly and they are swiftly married. However, Powell doesn’t reckon upon Willa’s two young children – John and Pearl. Fiercely protective of his sister, John is smart, plucky and instantly sees through Powell’s holy disguise and conceals the money in Pearl’s favourite doll. What follows is a taut, tense, chilling chase, as the children flee upstream with their mother’s killer in hot pursuit.

I’m quite surprised that this film only carries a ‘12’ certificate, as certain scenes are genuinely scary. This is due largely to Mitchum’s mesmerizingly sinister central performance; his presence is felt even when he’s not on screen; there’s a pervading, palpable sense of dread, an unshakeable anxiety that he’s somewhere close-by, lurking in the shadows, which makes the entire viewing experience nail-bitingly uncomfortable. Mitchum’s voice – phlegmatic, deep and commanding – further reinforces this (his delivery of ‘children’ is just gruesome), as to do the infamous and often parodied ‘L-O-V-E’ and ‘H-A-T-E’ tattoos on his knuckles. Watching him interact with the children is particularly disturbing – veering erratically from jovial and good-humoured (though there’s still something inherently creepy watching him fussing young Pearl on his knee) to murderous and crazed (I’m thinking the scene in the cellar with the knife…)

With the text containing all the ingredients required to make a nightmare, it seems appropriate that the film feels quite dreamlike – Harry Powell is the monster under your bed, the big bad wolf in the forest, the fairy-tale figure lurking in the shadows that all little children fear. The use of eerie, mournful, hymn-like songs (sung by Mitchum himself; who has a soft, oddly soothing voice) adds nicely to the fairy-tale atmosphere, as to do the long, lingering shots of nature in bloom - rabbits, owls, frogs, birds, gargling streams – which serve to remind us that darkness dwells beneath even the most misleading of surfaces (surely a metaphor for Powell himself).

The Night of the Hunter may have appalled critics and audiences upon initial release, but as with many great films, it often takes time to appreciate their greatness.

Nine and a half kernels of popcorn out of ten.

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS (2012)

Dir. Drew Goddard / 95 minutes / Cert 15

If you go down to the woods today, you’ll be sure of a big surprise… no, really, you will, because this clever little film isn’t quite your usual horror fodder.

Okay, I’ll hold my hands up and confess that I’m not really your typical consumer of scary movies. I’m ashamed to say that I’m a big blubbery wuss at heart and absolutely require all the lights to be on and generally need somebody to grip my hand tight, tell me when it’s safe to open my eyes again and politely point out that I should probably consider changing my pants. But I wanted to see The Cabin in the Woods solely based on the pedigree of Joss Whedon (who, as we all know, created Buffy and Firefly) and who co-wrote the script along with writer/director Drew Goddard.

The premise of the film is almost painfully familiar – a bunch of bland, one-dimensional impossibly good-looking, impossibly articulate, impossibly witty teenage students (in this case, “the whore”, “the athlete”, “the scholar”, “the fool” and that old horror chestnut “the virgin”) plunge gorgeously into the depths of a deep, dark wood, hoping for a wild weekend of indulgence, but end up stalked, hunted and really not having all that much of a good time at all. But, due to their being so impossibly good-looking, articulate and witty, that’s just swell and we can’t wait to see their heads start rolling and the smug smiles wiped off their beautiful young faces.

As it turns out, we’re not the only ones that feel this way, which is where the film shatters its generic conventions and serves up something a little different – which yields mixed results. It is revealed early on that others also get a kick out of seeing sexy youngsters getting ripped to shreds; in this case The West Wing’s Bradley Whitford and Six Feet Under’s Richard Jenkins (both wonderful but arguably miscast here) who play two embittered ageing technicians who initially provide much comedy (though I do wonder in hindsight if the comedy slightly undercut the scares slightly). I don’t think it would be giving too much away to say that these technicians are involved in the gruesome ordeal that befalls our stunning kids, which proves to be a clever, effective well-executed idea, but sadly comes at the expense of much of the tension. The ‘fear of the unknown’ is partially dismantled and for the first half an hour or so, I was unable to view the perils seriously; imagining that the film was building up to a cheesy reveal where all the characters had been set-up and ended up alive and well. I was half right, but I should have had more faith in Whedon, because it dawned on me eventually that, you know what, this is actually rather sick and unpleasant.

Therefore, there is a good deal to enjoy here. Fran Kranz (who played loveable geek Topher in Joss Whedon’s short-lived and much missed Dollhouse) was standout as a wise-cracking pothead. The comedy is funny, the satire is thought-provokingly disturbing and the horror at times can produce a few shivers (it also features lots of obligatory ‘jumpy moments). I’m just not sure, even with its twists and turns, the genre combination was completely successful. At times, it felt jarring. That said, it rips up the rulebook, which I’m all in favour of, and anybody expecting a formulaic narratively conventional film may end up disappointed. Ultimately, I’m afraid I did, but for completely different reasons. The ending is a real disappointment. The film loses it way around about what I shall cryptically refer to as ‘the elevator scene’ and the final act descends into some kind of fantastical farce; we’re talking prophecies, rituals and destruction on a global scale that feel desperate, ridiculous and like they belong in an entirely different film.

If it weren’t for the conclusion, I would recommend this film. As it is, despite having its frightening moments (watching one of the girl’s ‘make out’ with a stuffed wolf is pretty terrifying), I’m afraid this film is more of a thumbs-down than a thumbs-up from me.

Five kernels of popcorn out of ten.