In Defence of 'Lost River'

As soon as I heard that Ryan Gosling's debut film would be a surreal fable starring Saoirse Ronan and Matt Smith, I was deeply excited. Other people, I imagine, were excited back then too; but ever since it was almost universally panned at Cannes, the critics have had endless fun portraying Gosling as self-absorbed, imperfectly mimicking the directors he's previously worked with. The Guardian led the way, claiming that Lost River communicated nothing except Gosling's own importance, and rather brilliantly calling it 'a florid essay in hipster gothic'.

This seems a little unfair. I have seen many worse films than Lost River, most of them Hollywood blockbusters. True, the film's not entirely successful: in terms of plot it's fairly scantily clad (but then again, so was Drive) and seems to pass like a hazy, very pretty dream (but I think this is kind of the point). Yes, it is style of substance, but when it looks as good as this, you don't particularly care. The whole time we're immersed in the titular decaying town, from the wasteland which nature is slowly reclaiming to streets with houses in various states of decay. Then there are the many shades of purple (any significance?) which bathe Rat's (Saoirse Ronan) bedroom and the horror porn nightclub run by the oily Dave (Ben Mendlesohn). There are plenty of memorable sequences: Christina Hendricks taking her face off, Rat's grandmother perpetually watching her wedding video and an episode involving Matt Smith, a rat and a pair of scissors. When Billy (Hendricks) is trapped inside a menacing perspex sarcophagus we can feel her claustrophobia, and there's palpable tension when a very un-Doctorish Smith offers Rat a ride in his Bully-mobile (unfortunately, it's never actually referred to as such).

Although it's sometimes difficult to decipher, there is some form of content at the back of the neon gorgeousness. The premise is that Billy and Bones (Iain de Caestecker) live in a stagnated town that's suffered massively from the damning of a river, some would say in a similar state of urban decay to my native Stoke. Billy, a little hard up, unwisely takes up her creepy bank manager's offer of a job, whilst Bones gets into trouble with Bully (Smith) for pillaging copper, and attracts romantic attention from Rat. So far so weird. The central theme is the sometimes unsayable ties which link us to our hometown. Is home a family, or a place? I imagine most of us would opt for the former, but if Billy and Bones left their home to be demolished, it's easy to see how that would feel like sacrificing a large chunk of the past. Yet the damning of the river is a handy metaphor for the unnatural halting of the process of maturing and letting go. Bones has never left his hometown, never been truly independent, and is therefore suitably juvenile. Bully, with his scissors and dubbing his turf

Bullytown, is no more than a horrifically overblown school-ground menace. In a scene which seems to have been cut, he was driven around in the Bully-mobile flexing his biceps whilst shouting 'look at my muscles!' through a loudspeaker. It's not so much that the town is dying, but it's trapped in a perpetual childhood. Bones still refuses to see his mother in anything but black and white, and hence is hugely judgemental of any whiff of a man on the scene. Billy, meanwhile, when forced to take her son to work, is chastised by the creepy Dave, who complains 'that's not very sexy, is it?'. She's lurched from the moral perfection that Bones seems to require from her at home, to a deeply disturbing voyeurism where showgirls pretend to hack each other to bits.

All this is very well and good, but none of these themes are particularly well developed by Gosling. There's so much happening that everything seems a bit slight. Bones only exchanges a few hostile words with his mother, so we're left to guess the rest ourselves. Similarly, Matt Smith is only allowed the briefest of screen time, much of which he spends screaming intimidatingly in the manner of a pantomime villain, and is only granted one (rather brilliant) scene to flesh out his character a bit. Ronan is brilliant is usual, with a character that suits her much better than the irritating American in How I Live Now, but her dialogue either simply advances the plot or is comically clunky (her attempts at flirting with Bones are far from subtle, but initially still seem to go over his head), so she's left to stay brilliant via those sad and expressive eyes of hers. De Caestecker, who does at least have the virtue of being on screen for much of the film, is hopelessly bland compared to the supporting cast, and only makes for a serviceable protagonist.

But ho hum. I think what really matters about Lost River is not the content, but the feeling. It's the oddest kind of fairytale, lit in bright neon and accompanied by a brilliant soundtrack of retro electronica. Like a fairytale, it is slight: the characters often aren't far away from archetypes and despite three or four main plot strands, not a lot ever seems to happen. But there is something haunting about it. Maybe it's just the little details; the walls of the dilapidated school still declaring that 'every child matters'; the kitschy television programmes Bones and Rat watch or that wedding video on repeat forever. There's a little bit of the past that we cling to, despite realising that we really should let go and it probably wasn't worth that much in the first place, and I think that's what Gosling was getting at when he wrote the screenplay to this odd film. Whilst acknowledging that it did disappoint my great expectations just a little, I'm glad I chose to satisfy my curiosity despite the warnings of the critics. It may not be the best film in the world, and Gosling has little chance of ever directing again after this colossal flop (most cinemas are refusing to show it, I had to watch it on Sky). But I'm glad it exists. The world is better for it.

'Girl, Interrupted': A Short Rant

First of all, I quite enjoyed 'Girl, Interrupted'. It's another film about a psychiatric ward, like a more serious version of 'It's Kind of a Funny Story' and a less good version of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'. After pondering deeply for a short while, I discovered the film came to some truly baffling, and slightly offensive, conclusions.

Wiona Ryder as Susanna

For starters, there's the question of whether Susanna actually needs help.One would certainly think she does, the film opens with her having overdosed on aspirin, followed with a bottle of vodka, and her father's friend makes the damning comment 'you're hurting all the people you love'. We're reminded of the (I think much better) 'Prozac Nation', in which we're not only invited to sympathise with the protagonist suffering from depression, but also her friends and boyfriend who find her impossible to deal with. Plus she spends the film's exposition slipping Willy Loman style into the past (which is excellently done), and he definitely could have done with some help. But then, it is fairly strongly implied that Susanna is not 'crazy' (their words), primarily by her hippy taxi driver (don't ask) and one of the more sympathetic doctors (played by Whoopi Goldberg) who tells her she's a selfish and spoilt child. Should we be sympathising with Susanna, or telling her to pull herself together?
Then there's the question of her diagnosis, which we are told is Borderline Personality Disorder. She complains after discovering this that the symptoms are just what it's like 'to be a person'. And with the summary we're given, we're attempted to agree with her: mood swings, self-alienation and 'promiscuity'. A quick look on Google added a few more symptoms which may make us take the disease more seriously: self-harm, delusions and hallucinations. There still seems to be the question of whether it classifies as a condition in itself or is just a handy label for people who don't fit into any other category, but either way, it's definitely not to be scoffed at.
Then there's the issues of Susanna's so called 'promiscuity'. She, quite reasonably, argues to Dr.

Bertha Mason: 'intemperate and unchaste'

Wicke that what is promiscuous for a woman is perfectly normal for a man, but then Wicke reveals the 'damning' news that she committed two sex acts in a day with two different man, therefore she must be a nymphomaniac. This is definitely very silly, and the look on poor Wiona Ryder's face suggests that she now thinks she's a nymphomaniac. Personally, it reminded me of Mr. Rochester calling his 'mad' wife Bertha Mason 'intemperate and unchaste' in 'Jane Eyre'. We're also reminded of the long line of Biblical temptresses (Eve, Delilah, Bathsheba, etc.), and the clear link some people seem to draw between women, madness and uninhibited sexuality.
Next, is the film criticising or celebrating the mental health institutions of the 1960s? It does look suspiciously like they're over-medicating everyone, including sleeping pills and laxatives. And there is the suggestion that you simply have to tell the doctors what they want to hear and confess a dizzying array of character flaws before they let you out. This is confirmed by Lisa and Susannah visiting one of the released inmates when they escape, only to wake up the next morning to her having committed suicide. Susanna begins with a more positive view of her condition, which is quickly shot down as fluffy 1960s hippyism, as the patient who is characterised by embracing her illness (Lisa, played by a fabulous Angelina Jolie) is a raving lunatic. The film ends with Susannah healed by the hospital's fabulous treatment, and let out after a year. Forgive me if I'm a little confused.

Lisa: 'already dead'

Now, Lisa and Susanna are juxtaposed in a number of ways. One of them embraces their condition and ends up in the hospital for life, the other plays the game and is released after a year. Potentially more importantly, Lisa champions openly telling people their flaws in utterly crushing tirades, and the other on the surface appears less judgemental, but in fact just writes down all her snide comments in her journal. Originally, Lisa's technique seems to be very, very wrong: her friend commits suicide because of her honesty and she doesn't seem to care. But then there's a rather unconvincing scene after the inmates have discovered Susanna's journal where Susanna is cornered by Lisa and is saved by telling her that she's 'already dead', at which point Lisa collapses into a teary heap. How is this helpful? Although some of Susanna's comments do at least seem constructive (telling her room-mate that she's living in a fairytale and secretly never wants to get back out into the world), she shockingly tells a patient who's set fire to half of her face that she only adopts a 'sweet' persona so people can bear to look at her. What's more, she's forgiven at the end! I wouldn't forgive her!
It has occurred to me that perhaps the reason that we can't solve these problems is because 'Girl, Interrupted' is a complex film about complex issues, with well rounded characters who we can never fully sympathise with or blame. Maybe we shouldn't be handed easy solutions on a plate. But the unconvincing ending where everyone forgives Susanna and the misogynistic suggestion that she's a nymphomaniac are definitely some of the film's weaknesses. And, is it just me, or do the soaring strings constantly in the soundtrack try and make the film a lot more uplifting than it really is,
Any film about mental health would undoubtedly be a matter of tiptoeing on thin ice, and this should not stop us trying to approach difficult subjects. Rant over.

How Saoirse Ronan Lives Now

One of the eternal truths, that everyone would do well to take heed of, is that Saoirse Ronan is wonderful. Whether it's making an otherwise terrible adaptation of Alice Sebold's Lovely Bones still immensely watchable or being utterly believable as an insular vampire in Byzantium, she rarely disappoints. As the cinematic world (or perhaps just me) waits with bated breath for her to star alongside Matt Smith in Ryan Gosling's directorial debut Lost River, for now we have How I Live Now.

Daisy and Edmund smoulder in a field

I'm not entirely sure what Kevin Macdonald thought he was trying to do. From the start it's crying out to be an average bildungsroman along the lines of It's Kind of a Funny Story, Submarine or The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but not as good as any of them. Troubled teen (in this case Miss Ronan as Daisy) is healed by the awesome power of love. Everyone leaves the cinema beaming ear to ear with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. But then a nuclear bomb goes off and everyone dies.

Even more disturbingly, I wasn't convinced by Saoirse Ronan's performance, despite liking her new hair-do. It was like she was trying really hard not to be Saoirse Ronan, in order to be American and nasty (which is sort of the point of acting, but stick with me). And every so often, when she wasn't being nasty, a familiar Saoirse Ronan expression would creep out, to remind us that she was indeed a loveable Irish girl at heart rather than a scary American teen. She does do a great variety of characters, but she seems better at the sympathetic ones; I wasn't entirely sold with Hanna either at times. But maybe that's just me.

Anyway, as I was saying, it's all very strange. We go from uber-pastoral idyllic farm where people make love  in hay lofts, and Ronan falls for a swain with floppy hair and an eagle (Edmund). But juxtaposed against this Edenic picture of Britain, the capital is blown to smithereens, and some nasty terrorists do nasty things. Ronan becomes a 21st Century Land Girl, and encouraged by odd visions of her and her paramour running naked through a forest, goes hiking in an attempt to get back to the farmhouse, naively believing that by doing so everything can go back to normal.

What is the film trying to say? To start off with it all seems to be about living a little and disregarding

Daisy hopes the soldiers will let her go by pulling a funny face

reservations and rules. "All those voices in your head," opines Edmund mysteriously, as if he too can hear Daisy's badly managed voice over which attempts to convince the audience that she's a bit OCD. But then when the Government makes the (quite reasonable) request that everyone has to do something for the war effort, they all start kicking and screaming. Is this meant to show that we're all feckless and selfish compared to our 1914 or 1939 counterparts, or are we meant to sympathise? Surely a bit of farming is more productive than going on a long walk. And then all the woes that meet Daisy and her cousin as they try and get home are from unpleasant people taking advantage of the chaos and lack of order to do unpleasant things. So surely rules are a good thing. And what's the take home message about Britain? Is it closer to pastoral idyll or the world one step away from disintegration and anarchy? And is all this confusion or ambiguity?

Either way, I quite enjoyed How I Live Now. By the end of it, Ronan had won me over as Daisy and the ending was nowhere near as twee as I imagined it would be. If the intended audience were younger teenagers, I'm not entirely sure how they would have received the images of massacred children or women being dragged off to be raped. But ho hum. It's cleverly directed too and very well shot, and it's got a new song from Natasha Khan (Bat For Lashes) and a remix of a Daughter B-Side so the music's not half bad. Therefore, if like me you are a Saoirse Ronan lover (and how could you not be), then whilst this is not up there with the lofty heights of Atonement, The Lovely Bones and Byzantium, it's definitely better than Hanna.

Boyhood (or 12 Years a Boy)

Nothing is more annoying in life than getting wind of a critically acclaimed film, before discovering that no cinema was showing Boyhood. The film industry's glib response to Richard Linklater's 12 year long project is to prevent anyone from seeing it. But thankfully, last weekend I outwitted the tyranny of traditional Hollywood film-making and discovered Boyhood playing at The Red Carpet in Burton-upon-Trent, quite possibly the smallest cinema in the world.

Mason has a lie down and ponders existence

cinema is willing to show it (apart from possibly war, famine and death). Such is the case with
The fact that anyone has devoted 12 years of their life to create one film is astonishing in itself. Yet Linklater, along with leads Ellar Coltrane, Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke came back every summer for over a decade to produce this gorgeous film. Boyhood communicates the wonder of childhood, the passage of time and the burden of parenthood in a way that could never have been achieved in any other format. Ellar Coltrane (who plays Mason, the eponymous boy) changes from a six year old with his head in the clouds to a philosophical 18 year old photography student. But perhaps just as astonishing is the change in his parents from idealistic twenty-somethings to domesticated adults.

Mason tries not to covet his sister's hair

Linklater, who both wrote and directed, has captured both the joy and pain of an ordinary suburban childhood in the US. Fleeing the home of a drunken and violent step-dad is counterbalanced by a painfully awkward fatherly education on contraception that had the whole cinema in hysterics. The characters are actual people, generally well meaning but deeply flawed, rather than the simplistic stereotypes all too common in traditional cinema. There is no plot, but life has no plot! Different narratives weave in and out of the epic twelve year span. The traditional milestones of first girlfriends, flirtations with alcohol and drugs and deciding upon one's future are all duly ticked off, but it never feels like a run of the mill check-list for the generic childhood.  Boyhood is both highly specific, about one child at a particular period in history, and universal. It is the story of post-9/11 America and the vast changes that took place in the Noughties, but it's also the story of all of our childhoods. Without being overly nostalgic or seeking to idyllicise childhood, the film acknowledges that six to eighteen is a vastly transformative and important period of our lives, and one cannot help smiling when seeing Mason grope through the confusion of puberty and emerge with a definitive idea of who he wants to be.

The many faces of Ellar Coltrane

It is a tragedy that films such as Guardians of the Galaxy are played in cinemas simply by virtue of the amount of money invested in them, whilst cinematic masterpieces like Boyhood are destined to be seen by a fraction of the audience it deserves. But I have no doubt that Boyhood will become a cult classic. At two hours and forty minutes there is not a moment that does not contain acute observations, mundane tragedy or vibrant humour. In short, definitely in the running for the best film of 2014.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Symbolic Masterpiece or Monkeys Fighting?

It's the return of the franchise with far too many words in its title! Once more, talking simians will reveal to us our own arrogant sense of superiority over the animal kingdom. And the critics think it's wonderful! An amazing technical achievement. A worthy successor to the ground breaking original film. But I disagree.

Caeser and Malcolm share an intimate moment

Initially, the film has much to recommend it. The decision to have the apes use sign language was a good one, and for the first half the atmosphere is suitably tense as a fragile peace exists between the menacing monkeys and the human survivors of 'simian flu'. It all kicks off when Koba decides to be bad. This seems a natural decision, Koba is an ugly ape, and as we all know, ugliness is synonymous with evil. And then there are Explosions! and Fighting! and Monkeys....With Big Guns! And any sense of intelligence dies.
It is very pretty (you would hope so with how much money they've spent on it!). The apes settlement looks magnificent, and in a way their attack on the humans' residence is rather thrilling. But if I wanted visual spectacle and people fighting in an Epic Style, I'd go and watch a Michael Bay film.
I gradually became very upset, and my gentle weeping may have distracted some of my fellow cinema goers. In the original Planet of the Apes, the apes had Deep Conversations about the ethics of keeping humans as second class citizens. Here they just shoot them. And I began to realise that the entire film was bereft of characters. Malcolm is Decent. Dreyfus is Selfish and Narrow Minded. Carver is Violent. Caeser is Wise. And the plot is fairly predictable. Spoiler alert, but Good triumphs over Evil.

Koba does his gangster pose

Are there any redeeming qualities to Matt Reeve's simian shenanigans? Well, perhaps you could say that Caeser is actually a little too much like his Roman namesake, and he has a totalitarian hold over his fellow apes. But we're encouraged to see him as warm and loveable, and not question his demand for absolute obedience. The whole thing is a deeply pessimistic comment about humanity: different cultures will always feel threatened when they live side by side and peace is impossible; fitting when you consider the current Middle East crisis. But this film is squarely aimed at people who want a feast for the eyes, not the mind.
So I emerged from the cinema with a heavy heart. Contrary to general opinion, Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a lot better. That had Ethical Questions about animal testing. None of the apes were brandishing machine guns then. So, my advice: ignore those that say otherwise, avoid at all costs.

American Hustle: Worthy of its Seven Golden Globes?

David O. Russell is a bit of a niche director. All his films are deeply actor and character led, with a hazy plot that never really announces itself other than to provide situations to show off acting ability and character development. It all tends to be about having a social conscience and Doing What's Right for the Community. A faintly useless man has his love for The Right Woman tested, only to end up reaffirming his feelings for her in a wholesome style. I could go on.

This is all being a little harsh on poor Mr Russell. In fact I did really enjoy American Hustle. True, sometimes watching it felt a bit like wading through treacle, but as we all know, treacle is rather tasty. And to continue with this rather odd analogy, American Hustle is saturated with really brilliant moments. Christian Bale's mistress and wife confronting each other in the ladies'. Bradley Cooper's heated exchanges with his long suffering, ice fishing boss. Jennifer Lawrence singing Live or Let Die to her baffled child, who is just thankful that she's not indulging her pyromaniac habits (it seems she hasn't changed much since The Burning Plain).

American Hustle is a lot like Silver Linings Playbook. Both have really stupid names for starters. Both have Bradley Cooper talking at a million miles per hour and with vague anger management issues, and both have Jennifer Lawrence playing stormy women you would not like to meet on a dark night. But whilst whilst Silver Linings Playbook is about mental disorders, American Hustle is about...hair. I have never seen such a variety of over-the-top hairstyles on display. A balding Christian Bale has the most elaborate comb over you will ever see, whilst Bradley Cooper's hair is a nest of tiny little ringlets, we even have the pleasure of seeing him with his curlers in. Jeremy Renner meanwhile has a quiff that simply defies gravity, and for many, all sense of taste. Meanwhile, much of the film is an exercise in How Many Different Angles Can We See Amy Adam's Bare Cleavage From. My only conclusion is that the woman must be allergic to bras.

Despite all this, I seem to be failing to answer the question of whether American Hustle is any good or not. The truth is, I don't really know. David O Russell has developed a unique style that is not to everyone's tastes, I'm not quite sure if it appeals to mine. But rest assured, although on the whole the movie may be a bit of a disappointment, if a film is the sum of its parts, American Hustle is very, very good.

Rating: 8/10

Why the Hunger Games Fails

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire is almost certainly one of the worst films ever made (no hyperbole intended). I patiently explain why, and suggest improvements

The cast of The Hunger Games, embarrassed about their crimes against cinema, listen to my suggestions attentively

A vast American woodland unfolds, bringing tidings of big-budget drama. Jennifer Lawrence is out hunting, and it's not long before she's shooting people with arrows and breaking boy's hearts left, right and centre (well, she is Jennifer Lawrence). As one ponders incredulously how anyone thought it would be a good idea to encourage impressionable young girls to adopt the solipsistic Katniss as a role model, the credits roll on an unconvincing cliff hanger. Hours have been wasted on limp social satire (if one can call it that) and gratuitous violence. I leave the cinema dissatisfied, annoyed that my cinematic companions ever thought it wise to subject me to this.
Bizarrely, my foolish friends had the audacity to believe that The Hunger Games: Catching Fire was a good film. Of course they were gravely mistaken, and so it is my solemn duty to instruct humanity on where this poor excuse for cinema is going wrong, and what can be done to stop the rot.

1) Get a better heroine

Jennifer Lawrence sets fire to a caravan. Nobody likes caravans.

Yes, she is Jennifer Lawrence, but unfortunately, Lawrence only shines when she gets proper roles, like in Winter's Bone and The Burning Plain. In The Burning Plain she set fire to some people, and yet still seemed more sympathetic than the cold fish she plays in The Hunger Games. That's mainly because she was allowed a little space to breathe as a character, rather than being flung headlong into unrealistic situations involving killer fog and spinning islands. Maybe I can't expect too much from teenage fiction heroes, Bella Swan and Harry Potter are hardly the most beautifully crafted creations in the world. But if such nauseating franchises are going to occupy so many of our cinema screens, can they at least behave a little like grown up films?
Katniss should be a little more like Tess Durbeyfield or Isabel Archer. Both of these women do unbelievably stupid things, Tess even turns homicidal near the end (not quite to the same extent as Katniss, mercifully). Yet they're likeable; you can empathize with them; they have more than one character trait. Need I continue? Yes, your heroine should make mistakes that may encourage the impassioned reader to want to shout at their paperbacks. But, she must at least feel a little self-doubt over her actions, and develop as a result (i.e. not continuing to shoot people with arrows).Then, perhaps, we may care when Katniss is struck by lightening, instead of hoping for a mortality in order to put an end to the whole sorry affair.

2) A moderately sensible plot wouldn't go amiss

Bernard and Lenina conclude they must sort their wardrobe out before they can save the world

Children killing each other? Really? Why? Aldous Huxley's World Controllers wouldn't even consider such an utter waste of resources, relying on their infinitely more subtle ways of manipulation. Orwell's tyrants recognized that fear, suspicion and constant monitoring is all one needs to keep the people down. With this, there's no need for such irresponsible, reality-TV-show inspired histrionics which, as the film demonstrates, have the opportunity of backfiring spectacularly. And don't you think that the parents would actually become more committed revolutionaries if their children were slain in the name of mass entertainment? The villainous Duke (Ralph Fiennes on top form) could only entrap Keira Knightley's eponymous Duchess with the threat of forbidding her from seeing her children. Once this threat was removed, I imagine she'd be perfectly happy to go skipping off into the sunset with Charles Grey, just as Suzanne Collins's would-be revolutionaries would then have nothing to hold back their efforts to bring down the Government.
Slightly silly plots are often a good thing. Slaughterhouse Five involved time travel and aliens, yet still managed to be a harrowing portrayal of the bombing of Dresden. Virginia Woolf's Orlando is deeply silly; the protagonist changes his/her sex halfway through for no identifiable reason, before living for hundreds of years with no one thinking this the least bit peculiar. How do these two texts get away with it while The -Hunger Games doesn't (apart from by being a lot better)? The difference is Vonnegut, Woolf and Huxley are all to some extent tongue-in-cheek, the reader is well aware that the author is delighting in being ever-so-slightly ridiculous. And yet they all portray a serious message about atrocities, gender and dystopian futures respectively. Orwell does take himself seriously, but then again Nineteen Eighty-Four had the solid grounding of the author's experience of Communist treachery during the Spanish Civil War, making much of the more elaborate aspects of the novel effectively allegorical. Until The Hunger Games stops taking itself so seriously (Harry Potter never seemed to in the earlier days), then perhaps it will have more success in broadcasting its vaguely Marxist message.

3) Get a better soundtrack (better still, turn it into a musical)

The Kaiser Chefs predict a riot

As I grimly braced myself for the ensuing cinematic torture that was The Hunger Games 2, I consoled myself with the fact that at least there'd be some decent songs in it. Coldplay had a solid contribution with the haunting Atlas (although fantastic verses give way to a weak chorus), and Ellie Goulding, Lorde and Of Monsters and Men had all chipped in. Imagine my horror when not one of these songs surfaced in the film itself. Why did these fabulous artists bother writing any of these numbers if no one was going to put them in the film they were singing about? All I got was the opening of Atlas in the credits, and as everybody knows, no one sticks around for the credits.
Baz Luhrman managed to include all of the songs sold as the Gatsby soundtrack into his film, and it clearly benefits from it (again, the point about not taking yourself too seriously stands, something Baz Luhrman can never be accused of). You can see the joyous delight Luhrman takes in cannibalizing pop culture in Moulin Rouge!. Gentlemen in top hats singing Nirvana; Jim Broadbent and Richard Roxburgh's hilarious rendition of Like a Virgin; what's not to love? Indeed, why is The Hunger Games not a musical? Jennifer Lawrence could sing The Winner Takes it All! The evil President Snow could sing "you say you want a revolution, we-ell you know/ We all wanna change the world"! One of the riot police, or whatever they are, could sing "Oooo, watching the people get lairy/ It's not very pretty I tell thee" in an admonishing tone! In fact, lets change the name from the stupidly bland Catching Fire to The Hunger Games: The People Get Lairy.
But if in their wisdom, the makers of The Hunger Games decide not to turn the third installment into an all-singing, all-dancing finale, they should at least take a leaf out of Submarine's and Into the Wild's book and include some atmospheric, but not intrusive, ditties.

Cloud Atlas

August 2012. I found myself in one of the worst places in the world: Houston Airport, Texas, awaiting a 13 hour flight that would take me back to Blighty after a month in the wilds of Ecuador. Alas, my only company for this arduous journey was Robinson Crusoe, and although the novel was great if you happen to get stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, it offers little in the way of entertainment. After a stroll though an incredibly overpriced bookshop, I saw an article in a magazine about the Wachowski siblings (creators of The Matrix) and Tom Tykwer adapting a seemingly unfilmable, but brilliant book for the screen. Intrigued, I found said unfilmable book and decided to see if it was as good as everyone said it was. It may have been the most expensive book I've ever bought, damn you Americans! It was called Cloud Atlas.

October 2012. The Cloud Atlas film performs dreadfully in the USA. There are complaints about Jim Sturgess's "yellow make-up" when playing Hae Jo Chang, and much fun is made of the odd decision for characters to play multiple roles throughout the film. Empire ruminates that part of the reason for the film's failure is its strong message against exceptionalism and individualism, the foundations of "the land of the free". It seemed Cloud Atlas had hit upon an uncomfortable truth, as Sonmi-451 reveals, “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”

February 2013. The British release of Cloud Atlas. After it's poor performance in the US, it had a limited release in the UK. The Newcastle Vue wasn't showing it! After finishing a 5000 word essay on the book (David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas: Power in a Postmodern World, if my parents are to be believed it's practically indecipherable and a great causer of headaches) I headed off to the cinema. I don't think I've ever been as excited to watch a film in my life before. I'd seen the fantastic trailer after I'd finished the extraordinary book, and had been waiting for the movie for months. And so I settled down as the film's ominous opening began, a palpable air of tension reigned over the room. As the six narrative strands were introduced in the space of about 5 minutes, my cinematic companion noted "this is mad!". And he was quite correct.

So what is Cloud Atlas? Essentially, it's a crazy story about reincarnation across history into an imagined future. But I think it's one of the few films that really represents humanity, how we are and how we should be. Audiences may suffer from tonal whiplash: we switch from a hilarious story of a vanity publisher (the fantastic Jim Broadbent) trapped in a care home (including an episode involving a cat which is every male's nightmare ) to the futuristic world of Neo Soul where old clones are butchered, and the cheap protein is used to sustain younger clones (and you thought the horse meat scandal was bad).

But isn't that what life is? A lot of films are tonally consistent, Winter's Bone and The Road manage the extraordinary task of maintaining a tone of desolation and utter despair throughout the whole miserable affair, but our lives (which are not our own) are neither bloody miserable or ecstatically positive, they're both. Cloud Atlas manages to mix some of the funniest scenes I've seen on the big screen with two of the most heartbreaking deaths you're likely to see this year. This is no mean feat.

This tonal ambiguity (or rather, tonal pendulum swings), is sustained by the fantastic editing. Every scene has some link to the next, despite the differences in time and geography. The fast pace is maintained for nearly three hours, which will probably be the fastest three hours of your life. And what's more, although we have a huge cast of characters across hundreds of years, we still care about all of them, contrary to Charlie Brooker's mocking of the film on Weekly Wipe. We touch on just about every genre, and the romance works lot better on screen than it did in the book (although perhaps power relationships were better developed in the original text). The film's major advantage over the novel is the more explicit causal link between past, present and future (a Korean clone is inspired by a film of Cavendish's Ghastly Ordeal)

The idea of having actors playing multiple is inspired, although this is what a lot of viewers get hung up on and find a distraction (leading to Q Magazine referring to Cloud Atlas as Mr. Benn: The Movie). Characters who were torn apart in one life are granted happiness in another, and the eternal presence of evil in our lives is represented by Hugo Weaving in a variety of menacing roles (including that of an evil nurse!), sometimes he's defeated, and sometimes he is victorious, but only ever in the short term. Meanwhile, Tom Hank's characters make a transition across time from killer to hero, where he is eventually reunited after been blown to smithereens with the major heroine of the piece, Halle Berry. Doona Bae's Somni and Ben Wishaw's Frobisher present us with the conscience of the piece, occasionally wowing with philosophical statements that make you question how you live your life.

Many critics have called this film "a well delivered mess", but I think they are confusing the word mess with complexity. Cloud Atlas is like nothing I've ever seen before in its scope and bravery, which is why although it has a limited screening, it was almost a permanent fixture in any self respecting movie magazine in the weeks leading up to its release. The fact that Charlie Brooker (satirist who makes bold statements against satire?!?) chose to ridicule it is saying something, the week before he was deconstructing Skyfall ("Why couldn't Sam Mendes write an essay on why Bond is still relevant rather than killing lots of people?"). Even if you can't stand it, you have to look at Cloud Atlas with some form of grudging admiration. Despite this it has failed to win any major awards, even pipped to the post for Tykwer's beautiful music (on repeat now in my head) by Life of Pi at the Golden Globes. Do you remember any music in Life of Pi? I don't.

The only minor flaws in the film can be found in relation to the book. Two of the most beautiful passages have been omitted, which means the title now makes no sense whatsoever. But this is a rarity in literary adaptations. Rather than take the Wallflower approach and effectively make a carbon copy of the source text (albeit, a very good copy), the trio of scriptwriters/directors have kept some of Mitchell's best lines, but have also added their own, which are equally good if not better. Whole sections of the plot have been changed, but rather than being annoyed at the cuts and embellishments, it seems to make more sense this way as a film. The Wachowski-Tykwer partnership seems to have yielded something very special, a film that is totally independent from its source text.

Back to the cinema. Among my party there was a general air of confusion, most of which originated from someone (mentioning no names, Oliver Getley) finding much amusement in a dog being shot. Lots of fun was had with the credits, when the elaborate game of dress-up was finally exposed and the actors' different roles were revealed. At 11:30pm,  I felt that I could watch it all again. In fact, the following week I was plagued by a desire to get back on the roller coaster ride that was Cloud Atlas, so the next weekend I took my father to see it. I was afraid I wouldn't enjoy it as much after only a week, but I couldn't haven been more wrong. By the time Zachary disappeared with Meronym under starry skies, I had found my new favourite film, and in my father there was another convert to the Cloud Atlas cause.

Rating: (predictably) 10/10

Battle of the Musicals: Les Mis vs. Sweeney Todd

Admit it, everyone likes the odd sing song. Whether melodiously murmuring Why Does it Always Rain On Me in the shower or prancing round like an idiot bellowing Bohemian Rhapsody, we all occasionally burst into song. But some people exercise their vocal chords a little to often, and indeed in musicals the characters don't know how to converse unless there's throbbing violins accompanying the character's musical introspection. This may seem hugely annoying, and indeed in many musicals it probably is. However, here are two of the best: Les Miserables and Sweeney Todd epic tales of redemption and revenge respectively. But which is better I hear you ask (or rather sing in an odd recitative like fashion). Well dear reader, I will do my best to supply the answer.

The Music
After watching Les Mis I immediately rushed out to buy the soundtrack, nineteen tracks of brilliantly realised musical genius (and one track of some cannons accompanied by strings somewhat bizarrely). Who doesn't recognise I Dreamed A Dream, Castle On A Cloud or Stars? When each appears in the film I felt a pleasant reeling of recognition, glad I now knew where the song fit in the context of the the rest of the story. Recurring musical ideas embody thematic links, a mocking reminder of Javert's moral arrogance in Stars sounds before the stubborn policeman launches himself off a bridge and the Bishop's Song reappears as Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, unlike the vicar's faith in God, faith in revolution leads to a sticky end.
On the other hand Sweeney Todd has some great songs, crafted with humour rather than pain. While Anne Hathaway mourns her dead dream in Les Mis, Helena Bonham Carter sings about her appalling pies (and this is before they have bits of people in them). On the whole, Sondheim is to be applauded for crafting such an odd musical, with some inventive lyrics. But while Les Mis leaves you crying out for more, in Sweeney Todd you just want them to stop singing about bloody Johanna. But the music excels when character's sing duets. On the back of Pretty Women and My Friends, I feel I require the Sweeney soundtrack too.
On the whole, Les Mis aims to be epic and heartbreaking, while Sweeney Todd largely rejects bombast to give us more intimate, funny and less serious songs. But, on the whole....
The Winner: Les Mis

The Singing
Russel Crowe has been much criticised for his vocals as Javert, but in my opinion, he was in fine voice like the rest of the cast. On first viewing of the film I found Hugh Jackman's battered vocals (if vocals can be battered) slightly grating, but on the soundtrack I realised how effective his voice is in this character, especially on new song Suddenly. But the top singers in this epic are Eddie Raymond as Marius and Samantha Barks as Eponine, brilliantly capturing the pain of their characters while still sounding pleasant on the ear. But the main strength of Les Mis is Tom Hooper's choice to have the singing live on set. The music sounds more raw and real, and really adds to the emotional drama.
Meanwhile, Johnny Depp is a revelation. His voice manages easily to portray both elation and a deep hatred for the world at appropriate moments, his singing sounds effortless. Helena Bonham Carter is equally wonderful, her vocals expertly embody the weakness of her character. But the surprise hit is Jamie Campbell Bower, whose turn as Anthony, the only decent character in this whole debarkle, has easily the most powerful voice in the cast. While the vocals for Sweeney Todd are pre-recorded, this strangely seems appropriate as Burton isn't aiming for gritty realism, but his traditional twisted fairytale. But despite this...
The winner: Les Mis

The Acting
Hugh Jackman holds the whole thing together as Jean Valjean, and his transformation throughout the film is a sight to behold. Russell Crowe generally scowls a lot, but I suppose that's what Javert does, his suicide is still affecting. Meanwhile, Eddie Raymond's heartbreak hits you like a brick wall in Empty Chairs. And Sacha Baron Cohen is surprisingly humorous as Thenandier, creating the only light-hearted moments in the whole miserable affair. But, as her BAFTA shows, Anne Hathaway is the real star of the show. Her downfall come fairly early on in the film, and sets the tone for everything that follows.
In fact both films have some top quality British actors in them (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter are in both). But Sweeney Todd has the upper hand. Helena Bonham Carter is promoted from bit-part to leading lady, and her talents allow sympathy for the frankly horrible Miss Lovett, whose desperation for happiness makes it all the more sad that Todd doesn't care for her at all. Speaking of Todd, after Johnny Depp's performance I can't imagine anyone else playing him. His brooding is top notch, as is his casual slitting of various people's throats. Meanwhile, Alan Rickmen is stone cold and evil, although not quite as bad as his nemesis Todd. Therefore...
The Winner: Sweeney Todd

The Director
Tom Hooper directed British hit The King's Speech, so clearly knows how to grab his audience's attention. The drama is hammed up as much as it will go, but it feels epic rather than melodramatic. Sweeping shots of France and intimate soliloquies are handled with equal ease, although sometimes the same shot lingers a little too long during the songs.
While Tom Hooper can step back and let the iconic musical do its work, Tim Burton has a much harder task. Sweeney Todd is hardly Les Mis, which leaves a little more oppertunity for the director's input. Although it can be argued that most of Burton's film share a similar style, the broad umbrella term of dark fairytale has many nuances. Rest assured, this isn't Alice in Wonderland (although Carter and Depp are in both). This is luxuriously stylised, the viewer is likely to feel that they are in a storybook land when rushing through the streets of London and the costumes for Depp and Carter are hugely appropriate and memorable. The highlight for me in terms of style was By The Sea, where Depp and Carter are transplanted into various idyllic setting, with Depp looking utterly miserable in all of them. So, I think you'll agree with me that....
The Winner: Sweeney Todd

And so I am left with a difficult choice. While Les Mis is musically superior, subtle stylishness is harder to achieve than epic bombast. But then again Les Mis is definitely more emotional (I'll admit it, I did cry a little). Therefore...

The Ratings
Les Miserables: 8/10
Sweeney Todd: 8/10

Sweeney Todd clip

Franklyn

Gerald McMorrow's first film (he both writes and directs) is something of an oddity. At first it feels like you're watching two different movies. On the one hand, stormy masked hero Jonathon Preest (Ryan Philippe), who could have been plucked straight out of a graphic novel, prowls the streets of Meanwhile City, where the all-powerful ministry seeks to use religion to control the masses. Preest's voice over growls well worn attacks on faith as he faces hordes of bizarrely dressed law enforces. Seems a little like a less good version of V For Vendetta.

Then suddenly we jump to modern day London, where three lost souls stumble around feeling sorry for themselves. In the first half I can guarantee you will feel nothing but confusion, and the four parallel storylines mean that they're not as well developed as you would like. But suddenly it all starts making sense, delusions are unearthed, and the four narrative strands suddenly start to connect. The finale involves all of our four protagonists' lives being put in danger as the assassination attempt Preest has spent the film grumbling about finally comes to fruition.

You'll still desperately be trying to make links after the closing credits, and be left with the impression that you've just experienced a very clever film. Yes, it is an attack on faith, but the overall impression is much more subtle than Jonathon Preest's preaching. "Life's too much of an adventure as it is without making anything else up" smiles Emilia (Eva Green), the childhood sweetheart of Milo (Sam Riley) who is not what she seems. This line sums up the entire film, as the character's delusions and departures from reality are exposed as the cause of their pain.

It's very cleverly shot, each narrative strand is filmed in a subtly different style to reflect the individual characters. The clockwork like music perfectly compliments the stunning visuals of Meanwhile City. The acting is top rate, Eva Green (the witch in Dark Shadows) plays both an emotionally fragile, self-destructive artist and a friendly and airy long lost love to perfection. Sam Riley (who was a fantastic villain as Pinky in Brighton Rock) is innocent and vulnerable as Milo.

Gerald McMorrow's hand gestures communicate hidden depths to Milo and Sally.

With an intricate plot to rival the work of Christopher Nolan coupled with the emotional intensity and philosophical ponderings of Richard Kelly, Gerald McMorrow has certainly delivered a promising debut, and offers a significant contribution to the film industry.

Rating: 8/10

Pitch Perfect vs. Let Me In

Loneliness is a common staple for many in their childhood and adolescence, and as these films show there are different ways of dealing with it. You could be like Beca (Anna Kendrick), a college student vying to be indie and cool, who (strangely) finds solace in some occasionally cringeworthy a Capella group performances. Or you could be like Owen (Kodi Smit-McPhee), a 12 year old who has no friends and is bullied at school, and befriend your local vampire. The choice is yours! But, as ever, the important question is: which one's better?

Lets start with Pitch Perfect. I had low expectations of this film, the premise has been done so many times that cinema goers already know exactly how the plot will unfold before they take their seats. The fairly dreadful vocal group will be boosted by the arrival of one person who is vaguely talented and who will allow the other members  to discover their own strengths. The vocal group will eventually win a competition, and the talented individual will 'find themselves' in the music, and will be able to open their heart to an attractive but frustrated love interest. Pitch Perfect doesn't venture away from this rigid plot structure. Thankfully though it's all tongue-in-cheek, the put-upon boy in charge of the auditions gives an amusing monologue about how singing will not help you cope with confused sexuality.

For an American comedy, it's actually quite funny. There are a variety of eccentric characters that are bound to win over you heart, boosted by good performances all round. There's the Star Wars geek, who is also a magician and has wonderful sideburns. There's the misogynistic radio presenter and his poor female colleague, formerly from unfortunately named a Cappella group The Minstrel Cycle. There's the controlling group leader who occasionally projectile vomits like the girl from The Exorcist. There's a wide eyed creepy girl who always talks in a whisper about death and destruction. And Beca's unfortunate roommate who refuses to speak to her throughout the film.

So yes, the plot is nothing new, but the characters maintain interest. The music is nothing special, possibly a little out of date but it was always going to be with a feature film. I particularly enjoyed the shout out to flame-haired quiff-sporting British songstress La Roux, and her incredibly cut-throat Bulletproof seemed fitting for Beca's favourite song.

Anna Kendrick gives a decent performance is Beca, taking that traditional comedy role as the only sane one amidst an ensemble cast of total nutters (think The Vicar of Dibley). She doesn't overplay the fact that she has no friends, keeping this a light-hearted affair. Although how she can cry at The Breakfast Club is beyond me. In fact referenced that particular film wasn't the wisest idea as that gave a more eye-opening account of adolescence than this movie.

This will not leave you with any lasting thoughts of "the pain of puberty" (Graham Greene quoted in Donnie Darko if anyone's interested), it's an amusing way to pass a couple of hours. As I've already noted, the humour is surprisingly good. My favourite scene involved making snow angels in vomit. You have to see it to believe it.

Moving on from this optimistic affair, we head towards the utter bleakness of Let Me In. While Beca's problems were underplayed, Owen's certainly aren't. He is bullied, or rather terrorised, by his sadistic classmates. His father has left home, and his mother doesn't much care for him. He's prone to moonlight wandering, where he comes across introverted Abby (Chloe Grace Mortez). The two are soon drawn together, and things finally start looking up for Owen. But Abby has a dark secret, and a thirst that can never be satisfied and threatens to destroy them both.

This would almost certainly have made it on to my brief examination of vampire films (15/12/12), and would probably have topped the lot of them. It's marketed as a horror film, but it's so much more than that. The two sides of Abby's personality seem irreconcilable, you can't help but like her as Owen's salvation but are utterly terrified of her when she's around anyone else. The central question is "how far can you forgive the ones you love when they do terrible things?". Should what a person is to you or what the person is really like take precedence when judging them. A running theme is burning, both by fire and acid, and this reminded me of the theme of burning away pretence in The Crucible to discover who we really are.

Once the film is over, I think it's impossible to be quite sure if Owen's resolution is a condemnation to a life of misery and evil or a triumphant stand for the ones we love against arbitrary barriers of morality (images of religion abound, which to me suggest that we're meant to think religion is just a method of fear to encourage us to act in socially acceptable ways. Owen himself asks "is there such a thing as evil?"). Morality is called into question all the way, personally I found the attacks on Owen at school more gruesome than Abby's guardians killings to satisfy his beloved's appetite, as at least there is a dimension of love to the latter. Although there's always a part of you that wishes to see Abby meet a grisly end as punishment for the lives she's torn apart, you can never fully condemn her as evil because of Owen's adoration of her. Bizarrely enough, if Abby wasn't a vampire this would be an uplifting tale of the power of friendship.

The acting is truly outstanding considering the ages of the two leads, and by the end you're rooting for both of their characters despite the terrible things they've both done. Matt Reeves (director) does a fantastic job of maintaining the dark and eerie tone throughout (he did a good job with Cloverfield too, which was sadly let down by weak characterisation), giving a twisted fairytale quality to certain aspects of the story but carefully balancing this with moments of pure despair and suspense. The choral music adds to the dreamlike feel of proceedings.

There are only a couple of things I didn't like. Firstly, the opening flashforward to the middle of the story seemed clumsy and was unnecessary, giving the film a weak opening. Secondly, one of the attacks was actually made to be quite humorous, a man is assaulted in his car while his friends are obliviously nattering away outside. But I suppose dark humour offered a little light relief.

Personally, I adored this film and it will haunt me for quite some time. However, not everyone will agree. For starters. many prefer the movie this is based on: Let The Right One In, a subtitled Swedish version. But as I'm lazy and personally can't appreciate the acting properly if you have to keep looking at subtitles, I think this one will do for me.

So, to conclude you have the option of a cheery musical with some decent laughs or a touching and heartbreaking parable of lonliness, friendship and forgiveness. I think most readers will know which I would favour. Let Me In is victorious.

And now for the ratings....
Pitch Perfect: 6/10
Let Me In: 9/10

Hollow Man

If you have been anywhere near a cinema recently, you will have been reliably informed that Kevin Bacon is the centre of the universe. But did you also know that Kevin Bacon is a psychotic, invisible murderer. I thought not!

From the director of the original Total Recall and Basic Instinct Paul Verhoeve, it's fair to say that you wouldn't expect this offering from 2000 to be particularly intelligent. And you'd be right, although there are a few deeper undertones.

Kevin Bacon plays Sebastien Caine, an egocentric, arrogant and narcissistic scientist. His life goal is...to make people invisible. Obviously. And when he decides to secretly perform human testing, guess who he chooses as the ideal test subject? Himself.

But, as demonstrated by Plato when he referred to the fable of the Ring of Gyges, being invisible tends to have disastrous consequences. Once attempts to render Sebastien uninvisible fail, the power gets to head. After deciding that he might as well rape, pillage and murder as no one will catch him, he goes on to perform many despicable deeds. What finally tips him over the edge is when he finds out his colleague is sleeping with his ex. In a childish strop, Bacon decides to kill everyone in the lab and then go on to terrorise the world. Mwahahaha!

As you may have already realised, the set-up is a little bit immature. Verhoeve hopes to keep his audience gripped by impressive visuals. But even these don't quite hit the spot, you initially feel repulsed by the slightly nauseating transition between visible and invisible and vise versa, but after the second time boredom prevails. In desperation for a resonant ending, Verhoeve goes down predictable lines and causes the lab to explode. But, to his credit, they are multicoloured explosions.

Tragically, Bacon is by far the best actor in this melodramatic mess, but as he spends the majority of the film invisible, he only has the power of his voice to convey his developing insanity. He manages to make the well worn role of the eccentric, slightly unhinged professor seem fresh, and is a sumptuous villain, charming and charismatic but wonderfully evil. And, as you come to realise by the end of the film, he is practically immortal. The rest of the cast aren't called upon to do much other than look worried and die dramatically.

In the film's favour there are some great lines, which are more or less monopolised by Sebastien. "It's amazing what you can do when you don't have to look at yourself in the mirror any more" nicely sums up Plato's ideas about their being no morality if there was no consequences. Also, the central concept of an invisible psychopath that could pounce at any moment is a good one, although it has been exploited many times.

But sadly, apart from the horrible image of a naked Kevin Bacon flashing his innards at you being burnt on to your retinas, the movie leaves no lasting impact. It has fleeting moments of cleverness, but you are left with the feeling that Sebastien's fall from grace could have been managed better, turning it in to a tragedy rather than just another horror flick.

Rating: 3/10

Life of Pi: Hollow Visual Feast or Philosophical Wonder?

As usual, on an uneventful day the call of the cinema was almost irresistible (I sometimes wonder if I am single-handedly supporting the film industry). But what to watch? Life of Pi seemed the obvious choice, supposedly a literary classic turned in to a phenomenal feat of film-making. But from the trailer it seemed to be a repetitive series of attacks by a tiger on a bedraggled boy in a boat. The visuals looked impressive, but this preview suggested the main enjoyment would be derived from animal based visions of wonderment. This however was not the case.

What the film turned out to be was intelligent and philosophical. It begins in a subdued manner, where the main themes of water (the main character is named after a French swimming pool), animals and God are introduced (an interesting mix to say the least). But the action really begins when Pi and his family are caught in a storm. Pi is the only survivor, whisked off into the tempestuous seas as the ship plummets into the icy depths. After this there's little discrepancy between the real and the imaginary.

In inexperienced hands the large section of the movie where Pi is lost at sea could become extremely tedious. But instead his impossible situation is made riveting. He's a vegetarian (he bursts into tears when he kills a fish) and has to survive against all the odds and care for a Bengal Tiger called Richard Parker (loaded with significance if you have a detailed knowledge of shipwrecks and cannibals) or risk been eaten. At this stage, the visuals are truly beautiful, probably the most spectacular I have seen in a film (it helped that I saw it in 3D). The ocean was made to appear truly spectacular, often illuminated by an eerie greenish glow to expose the many creatures swimming in the perfectly clear waters.

In the end we're presented with a touching portrait of a cruel world, but one that can somehow take us to God (and the film is open to most Gods, Pi follows three religions). Pi's relationship with the tiger is both touching and intriguing, and could be taken to represent coming to know and love a seemingly cruel God or (more disturbingly) doing battle with and eventually giving in to our inner animal instinct. Life is shown to both give and take (through the bizarre metaphor of a carnivorous island in the shape of a Hindu God which supports life during the day and devours everything at night) but in the end "all of life is an act of letting go, but what hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye". It all could be incredibly bleak, Pi loses everything, but we're encouraged to accept the transient nature of our lives.

The ending is one that rivals the likes of The Sixth Sense and The Life Before Her Eyes. It changes your perception of everything that came before, and is a brilliant way to round of a hugely enjoyable piece of cinema.

Ang Lee must be congratulated for making such a breathtaking film. His previous work is a strange mix of Jane Austin, hulking green superheroes and gay cowboys. He has succeeded in making a truly wonderful film out of a supposedly unfilmable novel. And in saying that we must give credit to Yann Martel's deeply intelligent book that it's all based on, which I admit I am yet to read.

Suraj Sharma gives a decent performance as Pi, skillfully managing to keep the film interesting when there's just him and a tiger. Irrfan Khan narrates wisely as the adult Pi, and Rafe Spall puts in a nice cameo as a writer who hopes to be inspired by Pi's story. They all manage to portray credible characters without fireworks or bizarre over the top character traits. Essentially, they make their characterisations subtle to allow the visuals and deeper meaning of it all to grab our attention.

Life of Pi is almost certainly one of the best films I've seen this year, and I believe it is a triumph of modern cinema that intelligent and though-provoking films such as this should be marketed towards a mainstream audience.

Rating: 9/10

The Box: Richard Kelly's Latest Materpiece?

The audience for the premier of Donnie Darko

In 2001, a film with a budget of $4.5 million but with soaring ambitions was unleashed on the world. Cinema would never be the same again. Philosophy, time-travel, bildungsroman, horror, mental health issues, romance and politics were all blended together to create a surreal and unforgettable world. The characters would linger on well after the credits rolled, and the haunting conclusion along with Gary Jules's Mad World would shatter even a heart of stone. The film was Donnie Darko and the director was Richard Kelly.


He's got soul, but he's not a soldier

Naturally, expectations were high for the next movie that Kelly was to helm after cult success Donnie Darko. And to many Southland Tales was a huge disappointment. It's essentially Kelly's ode to pop culture, but his ideas have got so big that a huge percentage of the film doesn't make a lot of sense. While Donnie Darko felt like something important and meaningful, Southland Tales seemed to be deliberately shallow. It was a convoluted mess. However, it had a great soundtrack including Muse and Radiohead. In the end, the most memorable moment is the musical number where strangeness occurs to the backing of All These Things That I've Done by The Killers. It seemed Kelly was finished. Nothing he could do would live up to Donnie Darko. The success of that film would seem to be a shadow over the rest of his career, and the critics would endlessly point out the failure of his new films to meet the Darko standard.


Arlington Steward (Frank Lagella) drops in on the Lewis family for some carol singing.

Then in 2009, Kelly returned. Rather than going bigger (nothing could really be bigger than Southland Tales) he's deliberately toned things down a bit. Gone are the large ensemble casts of weird and wonderful characters. Gone are the tangled time-travel related messiness. Gone are the endless references to pop culture that Kelly seemed to take so much pleasure out of (it started with Patrick Swayze and ended with Justin Timberlake and The Rock). All the signs seemed to suggest that Richard Kelly was growing up (he's only 37 now, bless him!). He'd even replaced the silly Arabic style font from Donnie Darko with titles for The Box that scream "I'm a serious film about serious people doing serious things, take me seriously!".

However, The Box is still a little bit silly, but that's what we loved about Donnie Darko. And The Box still hasn't escaped the Darko shadow. Norma Lewis (Cameron Diaz) is essentially a nastier version of Miss Pomeroy, the screaming teacher from DD. There's also a creepy book, which seems to have been illustrated by the same person as The Philosophy of Time Travel, the diagrams are almost identical. There's even a creepy teenager. And people laugh at inappropriate things, which I couldn't help but compare to Donnie getting the giggles before he was obliterated by a jet engine.

But I'm missing the point, The Box is a fantastic film. Near the beginning, the film seems a little simplistic. It's based on a short story, so I feared that much of the of the two hours would have to be padding. The premise is frightfully simplistic, push the button and you get 1 million pounds, but someone you don't know will die. A simple moral decision, but one which the grubby characters inevitably get wrong. But they don't quite realise what they're going in for. Some shady body, headed by the charming but sinister Arlington Steward (Frank Langella) is using the box as an altruism test to judge whether it's worth allowing the human race to continue living. He has the incredibly scary power of possessing anyone he chooses to spy on our misguided heroes.

Things start getting more and more convoluted, until the Lewis family are faced with a final moral decision that will involve the ultimate sacrifice. Along the way, we arrive at an idea of God being an extension of science that we don't quite understand and the somewhat Iranean idea of Earth being some form of purgatory. Human ethics are revealed to be based on Darwinian selfishness. Images of deformity abound, both physical and that ugliness of character that we try to keep hidden from our loved ones. Satre gets name-dropped. Oh, and Martian water has got something to do with it. So yes, Richard Kelly is still odd.

Cameron Diaz doesn't do a bad job as the selfish, yet fairly ordinary woman who inadvertently condemns her family to misery, although some scenes seem overplayed. Although you know she has to face punishment for essentially killing someone, you do feel a little sympathy for her. Her husband (James Marsden) makes a much better hero than Boxer Santaros in Southland Tales (who, like the viewer, was utterly confused by proceedings), showing the appropriate determination to make things right. But Frank Lagella steals the show as Arlington Steward, a villain who is both terrifying and heartbreaking.

The screenplay is occasionally clumsy ("What does it mean to know some one?", while being an interesting philosophical question, has no relation to the conversation the Lewis family are meant to be having) and the plot appears a little contrived at times (Arlington Steward sees it fit to describe his plans in great depth to an inquisitive subordinate, not the subtlest way for Kelly to convey his ideas). There are a lot of questions that are left unanswered, but ambiguity and mystery have always been key to Kelly's work. And [SPOILER START] after the death of Donnie and Boxer Santaros, it seems a little repetitive to kill off Norma Lewis as well, but I suppose Kelly is trying to conform to formal tragic structure [SPOILER END].

But I'm being pedantic. I really loved this film. It's nowhere as near as polished as you can expect from equally intelligent directors like Christopher Nolan, but it's infinitely more raw and philosophical, making it more interesting. This is a must-see for fans of Donnie Darko and Southland Tales (if there are such things as Southland Tales fans). It passes the test of any good film, it lingers in the memory long after viewing.

Richard Kelly's Ratings
Donnie Darko: 10/10
Southland Tales: 3/10
The Box: 7/10