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Blinded by the Light (2019)
Chadha's ode to Springsteen isn't quite born to run
Director Gurinder Chadha burst into prominence with her 2002 hit Bend It Like Beckham, a zesty coming of age story that broke the mould for Asian representation in British cinema... and introduced the world to that modern English Rose Keira Knightley, of course. Since then, Chadha has produced a filmography, wide-ranging in both genre and quality. Whilst 2010's It's a Wonderful Afterlife was creaky and her latest period piece Viceroy's House rather uninspiring, Chadha appears to be back on surer ground with Blinded by the Light, an ode to Bruce Springsteen based on the memoir of real-life fanatic of the Boss and journalist Sarfraz Manzoor. Like many of Chadha's films, Blinded deals with themes of race, culture and integration in a brazen manner... but first and foremost, like her 2002 breakout, it's a feel-good coming of age comedy, easily accessible and perhaps somewhat trite as a sacrifice.
The story follows 16-year-old Javed (a fictionalised version of co-writer Manzoor), the bookish and rather awkward son of first-generation Pakistani immigrants (played superbly by Goodness Gracious Me alumnus Kulvinder Ghir and Meera Ganatra). It's the middle of Thatcher era austerity in Luton; jobs are low, far-right skinheads roam the streets and the music of Bruce Springsteen has been relegated unceremoniously to "the sort of thing your dad listens to". Javed's life is on a definite downturn, as his aspirations to be a writer are refuted by his traditional father and his luck with the girls loiters in stupor. As soon as a friend encourages him to plug Springsteen into his Walkman (you can feel Chadha nostalgically grinning with the period detail) it takes but a few lines of Dancing in the Dark for Javed to be smitten. What follows is a coming of age tale that hits familiar beats (not least from Bend It) with shameless confidence. There's much to appreciate in Blinded by the Light; Chadha is brilliant at conjuring likeable characters, ones with whom we can laugh, cry and dream effortlessly. Virtual newcomer Viveik Kalra holds the film up with unbridled charisma as Javed, whilst Ghir plays his father with gusto, most impressive in the more dramatic moments. The film deals (if all too broadly) with some weighty themes; in the midst of the fun, there's lingering political angst and even scenes of shocking racial abuse. Chadha handles history thoughtfully; the comparisons to today's Britain, for example, are present for those who want to see them but don't feel forced. Ultimately, however, the meat of the film lies in the relationship between Javed and his father, one portrayed convincingly by both lead actors. Central to the plot also is Springsteen himself, of course, a constant Messiah in Javed's life; here I was reminded of Danny Boyle's Yesterday, a recent release that blindly expects you to take the Beatle's iconic status for granted without ever exploring what makes them so great. It's pleasing then that here Springsteen's importance is conveyed judiciously; the way his anthems to blue collar America chime very personally with a young Pakistani from Luton is utterly believable.
Despite this, Blinded by the Light is not a film quite worthy of heralding; amidst the cleverer aspects of Chadha's work, there's plenty of poor choices made that leave a strangely jerky end result. Clear-cut narrative is dismissed in favour of messier storytelling; romantic subplots meander in vague directions, characters become important for ten minutes then entirely disappear and the whole affair resolves in a rushed and corny conclusion. Chadha, Manzoor and Paul Mayeda Berges' script is problematic too; padded and cliched, it becomes increasingly lazy as the film progresses, choosing to have characters blindly quote Springsteen lyrics in an attempt at profundity that feels very stilted. The filmmakers' love of the Boss becomes painfully clear too to the point of overindulgence (for instance we are treated to pretty much the entirety of Born to Run in a particularly stretched montage sequence). The incorporation of the music in the story as well becomes increasingly odd, with quasi-musical numbers and distracting graphics of lyrics floating across the screen. It appears to be an unfortunate trend in Gurinder Chadha's films that there is an abundance of flavours all thrown into the pot without enough thought into how well they will taste together. The conjunction of comedy and drama in Blinded by the Light stands starkly obvious; whilst both Goodness Gracious Me-esque humour and political commentary are done well here, the marriage between them feels slightly jarring throughout most of the film.
One might be able to overlook some of these errors if the film had the same level of charm as Bend It Like Beckham and other similar fare... but despite its unabashed earnestness, Blinded feels a little stuck in the mud and even its better aspects can't trump a progressively perfunctory and scattered delivery. No denying there's enough fun here to put a smile on the face... but no amount of goodwill can distract from one too many misfires.
You Were Never Really Here (2017)
Lynne Ramsay delivers full force in harrowing psychological thriller
Lynne Ramsay has shown herself to be an especially powerful voice in cinema, a filmmaker who prides upon working on her own terms and telling stories she wants to tell. The slight disadvantage of Ramsay's selective methods mean that we see only sporadic offerings from her... yet when we do get to feast our eyes on a Lynne Ramsay project we're not in for disappointment. You Were Never Really Here is the writer-director's fourth film, a favourite at Cannes at 2017 and starring the exceptional Joaquin Phoenix. Based on a novella by Jonathan Ames, this is some of the finest work we have yet seen from Ramsay; harsh, bruising and raw, You Were Never Really Here is the psychological thriller as it's meant to be done.
Phoenix plays Joe, a brutal yet efficient gun for hire who specialises in finding and rescuing missing teens. We first meet Joe in the opening shot as he attempts to asphyxiate himself; it's an uncompromising and harrowing image that sets the path of what is an uncompromising and harrowing film. Joe is ravaged by thoughts of suicide, tormented by memories of childhood abuse and wartime tragedy. He is hired by a Senator whose daughter has been kidnapped by a sex ring; it seems easy work for Joe until everything starts to go awry in a violent tale of mystery and trauma.
It is tough to think of any way to adequately respond to this film other than to applaud it. Lynne Ramsay crafts a measured thriller, reeking with tension and thematic richness. It runs at a brief 90 minutes though doesn't feel rushed; truth is, there's no trimmings here... every shot is painstakingly rendered, every flickering look and every burst of remarkably contained violence reasoned and impactful. It's a film of few words and this is absolutely to its credit- we understand so much more about Joe and his fragile mental state in that cruel silence. On the outset, one expects an action thriller, a Taken revenge story, but Ramsay turns all expectations on their head. You Were Never Really Here is a pure character study of a deeply troubled man. It's a testimony of grief and mental torment and prefers quiet moments of tension over bloody gore. The film rests entirely on Joaquin Phoenix, who like Ramsay is delivering some of the most compelling work of his whole career. Phoenix utterly immerses himself in a character that is tragically believable and bolstered by an understated performance from the Oscar nom. However stupendous Phoenix is, Ramsay is the true maestro here. Her direction in this film is enough to quench any sceptics of her skill, a daring approach that lingers on moments of profundity but equally gives the audience no time to breathe. Though there are moments of alarming violence, this is not the focus of the film; we're distanced from Joe's 'work' (one certain sequence is viewed through the prism of a security camera) yet the fractured flashes of Joe's damaged psyche are as real and horrifying as anything. In this brutality however there's something eerily beautiful about You Were Never Really Here; it's a film full of gorgeous and shocking visual poetry that takes an unnervingly surreal approach and blurs the field of reality- how much of what we are seeing is real and how much of is actually the tormented dreams of our troubled protagonist? It's one of many interesting questions that is raised... but pleasingly never answered. The sparse dialogue here means there is a relieving lack of exposition; Ramsay isn't leading you by the hand but rather allowing you to sink into the world she creates and form your own perspective. It's a world conjured in an illusionary style by Thomas Townend's judicious cinematography and elevated with unsettling vigour by a superbly atonal score by Jonny Greenwood.
There's something remarkable about You Were Never Really Here; lacking in ornamentation, everything on show here has some effect, every seemingly trivial shot meaning something more than it does on the surface. It's a challenging watch but this is part of what makes this and the rest of Ramsay's filmography so enthralling. Some will walk away asking deeper questions, others will walk away simply satisfied by an intense thriller. Either way, you'll appreciate the raw craftsmanship behind it, every aspect perfectly aligned to create an eerie and mesmerising piece of cinema.
Yesterday (2019)
More misses than hits in Boyle and Curtis' sluggish ode to The Beatles
There's no movie premise more fun than the 'what if' question; void of the wonderings of why and the logistics of a situation we are simply allowed to accept it and enjoy the fantasy that follows. Here, Danny Boyle and Richard Curtis approach a weighty 'what if' question to terrify all music aficionados... what if the Beatles never existed? Or, more suitably, what if only one man (luck would have it a down-on-his-luck singer-songwriter) remembered their classic tunes? In Yesterday, that man is Jack Malik (Himesh Patel in his big-screen debut), who is conveniently hit by a bus simultaneously as a split-second power outage hits the globe. Jack awakens in this all but identical parallel dimension; except no one has heard of John, Paul, George or Ringo. It's not long before our protagonist starts to realise that this isn't a curse but rather a blessing as he starts to gain huge success by painstakingly recreating the band's songs and claiming them as his own to the unknowing world.
The concept of Yesterday is an intriguing one, if a little familiar. What would perhaps be most exciting about the film however is that it sees two tour de forces of British cinema, Boyle and Curtis, working together for the first time. In Yesterday, it feels as if Boyle's contribution seems slightly smothered in the tone and style of the latter; this feels very much like a Richard Curtis affair and unfortunately not an entirely brilliant one. In the first third of the film, the pace breezes nicely along; we are introduced to Jack and his hum-drum life, including his curious relationship with manager Ellie (the endlessly charismatic Lily James). There's some classic Curtis writing here; joshing banter, wry humour and a good level of heart. A notably great scene comes from comedy powerhouses Sanjeev Bhaskar and Meera Sayal as Jack's parents, one of many early moments that makes what is to follow look promising.
It is a huge shame, therefore, that Yesterday slides off the rails, leaving behind its interesting premise to settle as a forgettable and frankly quite dull romcom that feels like lesser work from both Boyle and Curtis. There's one particular sequence where the film makes a horrifically misjudged turn and, from then on, meanders and warbles to a barely conclusive and unsatisfying ending. Himesh Patel leads the cast as Jack and one can't fault his utter commitment to what I'm sure will be a career-boosting role. However, despite this, Jack is a fundamentally unlikeable character; throughout the film he lumbers and sulks his way from screen-to-screen to the point that one wonders why we care about him in the first place. The same is true of the rest of the cast; Kate McKinnon does her best as a one-dimensional corporate music manager whose comedic novelty swiftly wears off and even James, who charmed the roof off in last year's Mamma Mia sequel, is given very little to work with. I hate to say that the real problem here seems to lie in Curtis' writing; whilst there are a few funny moments and characters (Joel Fry is superb as the hapless Rocky echoing Rhys Ifans in a better Curtis outing Notting Hill), largely there's very little to Yesterday that gives in any sort of kick. The 'what if' scenario that actually could be interesting seems always to be playing second place to Patel and James' bland love story, a 120-min will-they-won't-they... despite the fact we know they will. After the first third, there are occasional beads of hilarity and heart but these are largely lost within a sea of banal aimlessness that feels like borderline laziness on behalf of its creators who we know can do so much more. Equally, there are other aspects of Yesterday that don't play in its favour; the jukebox soundtrack is limited and underplayed, the editing choices are bizarre and the graphic effects tragically tacky.
That is not to say that Yesterday doesn't have its moments; Patel's rendition of the titular hit early on is an empathetically portrayed sequence and a scene featuring a leading Beatle is beautifully poignant. Plus there are some brilliant supporting performances from the likes of Bhaskar, Sayal and Fry. In fact, it is these faint glimmers of what Yesterday could have been that make the end result even more disappointing. In the end, the clever premise is left behind in favour of a cliched, muddled and overlong summer romcom that won't go down in history like the Beatles any time soon.
Spider-Man: Far from Home (2019)
Popcorn thrills galore in this frenetic and fun Spiderman adventure
In the wake of the bombastic success of Avengers: Endgame, Marvel Studios return here with a smaller yet still lively summer flick starring everyone's favourite neighbourhood superhero. Turns out audiences are not the only ones who need to recover from the furore of recent events in the MCU (not least Thanos' genocidal antics now christened in-universe as 'The Blip'). Spider-Man: Far From Home sees our titular hero take a well-earned rest as he embarks on a school trip to Europe with his friends. He doesn't even pack his trusty suit... it's time for a bit of normality. Of course, events don't quite turn out as expected and Peter is dragged swiftly back into the world-saving game, this time to battle the multidimensional Elementals and other hidden and perhaps even more dangerous enemies.
Much of the creative talent behind 2017's Spider-Man: Homecoming return for this spirited and entertaining sequel that ends up being satisfying both for its character and in its place in the ever-widening MCU. Tom Holland dons the webbed suit yet again as Spider-Man; if he wasn't brilliant before, this time he seems even more comfortable in the role, delivering a charming, vulnerable and seemingly effortless performance. Director Jon Watts also returns proving himself to be a sure hand, his clear vision for the film shining through with distinctive style. There's a notable new addition however in writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers who deliver a smart script, often hilarious and always genuine. Far From Home is certainly a Spider-Man film on a sheer scale we haven't seen before; largely, it's handled quite well, remaining mostly grounded amid globe-trotting and narrative twists and turns. Occasionally, we lose some of the cohesion and it feels a little overstuffed and expository, but honestly this film is so fast-paced and energetic you can't help but enjoy the ride even when everything doesn't quite jell. Equally, there are far too many brilliant aspects to take in; take for instance the seamless action sequences which are neatly interchanged with intimate and believable drama. The temptation with movies of this kind is to fall into mindless action and forget the substance but Far From Home keeps its characters purely at its heart. There's nice references, for example, to Endgame that really inform Peter's arc in the film and provide the film's understated yet decidedly emotional impact. Whilst the overall package might not be as tight as its predecessor, Far From Home makes appropriate attempts to hone in on some characters and narrative vignettes in more detail (for example, Zendaya's MJ is far more fleshed out here and Peter's own sense of identity and responsibility is thoughtfully explored). Again, it's not all plain sailing; Jake Gyllenhaal's Syndrome-esque Mysterio is very hit and miss, his great moments bogged down by some of the lesser writing and obligatorily clunky exposition.
In the end, however, Spider-Man: Far From Home is an impressive film, more than making up for its faults. It's fiercely entertaining, packed full of humour, action thrills and plenty of unexpected twists to keep the audience gripped (speaking of which, stay for two critical post-credits scenes). Equally, there's some fantastic visual effects work that sometimes even echoes of the illusionary sequences in Doctor Strange. Jon Watts and his team deliver a satisfying sequel here full of interesting choices yet still staying true to the style established in Homecoming. Ultimately, regardless of its position in the Marvel canon, Far From Home has all the elements of the perfect summer popcorn movie; action thrills, big laughs, a likeable cast and brilliant visuals really allow it to recover from momentary snags and reach the finish line in splendour. Expertly crafted and with an unabashed sense of fun, Spider-Man: Far From Home is an assured Marvel instalment that hungers for a rewatch.
Toy Story 4 (2019)
Familiar yet fun escapades with Woody and the gang
Some may say the first three Toy Story movies are a prime example of the practically perfect trilogy; heart-warming, intelligent and entertaining, Woody, Buzz and the gang have become pop culture staples that have defined the childhoods of a generation. I approached Toy Story 4 with a healthy level of scepticism; what more could possibly be added to this franchise that had culminated in such a faultless conclusion? Yet here stands a fourth instalment, asked for or not... that in many ways keeps itself comfortably in the formula we know and love.
As we saw by the tear-jerking finale of 3, our favourite bunch of toys now spend their days playing with 'their new kid' Bonnie. Toy Story 4 starts off with a fuzzy familiarity that eases us in... until the introduction of a new character, Forky (a neurotic spork voiced superbly by Tony Hale). Expectedly, Forky becomes lost in a circus in the midst of a family road trip; it's up to Woody to get him back. The adventurous escapades that ensue are undoubtably good fun; for me, it felt like a much more low-key Toy Story film, the grandiose nature of some of its predecessors replaced with something smaller and more character driven. First time Pixar director Josh Cooley and writers Andrew Stanton and Stephany Folsom put together a neat package full of clever humour and all those other qualities that make a Toy Story film tick. Naturally it wouldn't be a Pixar outing if some deeper themes weren't explored; in Toy Story 4 we delve into questions of sentience, loyalty and purpose with all the maturity and compassion you would expect from this studio.
Tom Hanks once again delivers a heartfelt vocal performance as Woody, giving more raw humanity to a cowboy doll than should be allowed. Though this is suitably Woody's story, he is flanked by a colourful cast of supporting characters; notably, Annie Potts gives gusto to an old face and Key and Peele lend their talent to some delightfully fluffy comic relief. I would have liked to have seen a bigger role for some veteran Toy Story alumni (what are Jessie and the Potato Heads doing these days?), but the newer players are a lovable lot... and the level of fun you can tell Keanu Reeves is having as Duke Caboom is enviable. Every character and the world around them is fully realised in simply breath-taking animation, hyper-realistic yet still with a slick sense of style.
The question can still be raised, however, of the necessity of this film's existence. The truth is, apart from brief moments, we're retreading old ground here, exploring familiar themes and ideas. Whilst this typical Toy Story fare is successful in pushing the nostalgia buttons and entrapping us in escapism, there's very little new that is being brought to the table. From the storyline to Randy Newman's jubilant score, it's a caper we've seen before that loses just a bit of its charm. Despite this, however, Toy Story 4 is still a sure hit for Pixar and knocks most franchise four-quels out of the water in pretty much every way. For some, its conclusion will prove to be another tug at the heart strings... and even if (like me) you don't quite buy it, the whole thing is sure to leave you with a warm, pleasant feeling inside. All in all, Toy Story 4 may not be a revelation but it's a kind-hearted, amusing and entertaining film that harks back to everything you loved about the other movies. If only for that, it's certainly worth your time.
The Kindergarten Teacher (2018)
Gyllenhaal is superb in unsettling psychodrama
"Anna is beautiful, beautiful enough for me. The sun hits her yellow house, it's almost like a sign from God". This is the poem uttered eerily instinctively by five-year old Jimmy (Parker Sevak) in Sara Colangelo's The Kindergarten Teacher, a tantalising remake of the Israeli film of the same name. Jimmy's poetic compositions seem only to catch the curiosity of his kindergarten teacher, Lisa Spinelli (Maggie Gyllenhaal), who we see is quietly disillusioned with the mundanity of her everyday life and distanced from her family. Her only passion appears to be poetry; she attends late night classes with an attractive professor (Gael Garcia Bernal), but he thinks her poems are "derivative" and lack originality. But something snaps when she hears Jimmy's poem; her intrigue in the child's 'gift' ("We're dealing with a young Mozart") steadily begins to slide into obsession, making for a delightfully unsettling psychodrama where Gyllenhaal is the true star.
The Kindergarten Teacher is a thoroughly interesting film, teeming with nuance and subtleties. It's a definite slow burn, a film that creeps up the tension, walking that knife edge between believable and otherwise just as its character does. Initially when we meet Lisa, her loneliness is palpable. Much of the film, however, focuses on her relationship with this young boy, as her actions become all the more disconcerting; nap times are replaced with exchanges of phone numbers, Jimmy's babysitter is fired so Lisa can spend more time with him and so on. It's a masterfully crafted piece, conjuring a distinctly sinister tone that still manages to cement itself in reality and blossoms with ambiguity. Whilst Colangelo is an assured directing talent and the young Parker Sevak is remarkable, the real force behind The Kindergarten Teacher is Maggie Gyllenhaal, who delivers one of the most understated yet powerful performances of her career. Often the camera will settle woozily just on her face; even with no words, Gyllenhaal's expressions seep with isolation, loneliness and, upon 'discovering' Jimmy's talent, a creepily ecstatic sense of hope. It is Gyllenhaal who manages to keep the film grounded; even as Lisa's actions become all the more unnerving, the performance allows us to totally buy her motives and keep us strangely sympathetic.
It is safe to say that The Kindergarten Teacher is not a film for everyone. The pace is deliberately unhurried, allowing the story to unfold with gripping if sometimes frustrating slowness. Equally, it's a film of unanswered questions; are Lisa's actions simply out of nurture? Is Jimmy being groomed? How far should one go in the pursuit of art? Is Lisa the only one who truly recognises Jimmy's talent? Most cynical of all... is Jimmy even as good as Lisa insists he is? These themes and questions are explored yet blissfully never explained in the film; in the end, the answers are left purely to our perception. The subject matter is never covered too overtly or with any gratuity; for example, there is no suggestion of a sexual element to Lisa and Jimmy's relationship. The Kindergarten Teacher is far cleverer than that; though Lisa's actions are never shown positively, neither are they shown negatively either. Is she actually the only one helping Jimmy? Colangelo proves nothing here is black and white.
In terms of the general craftsmanship, there is impressive work here too. Asher Goldschmidt's score is jagged and tense and Pepe Avila del Pino's camera sweeps with versatility from wide landscapes to intimate close-ups. All in all, The Kindergarten Teacher is an expert piece of filmmaking, subtle and complex. It's the sort of movie that will leave you thinking about it for days after, pondering its riddles and marvelling at that gorgeous central performance.
Rocketman (2019)
Egerton shines in electric take on the biopic genre
Last year's Oscar-winning Queen medley Bohemian Rhapsody certainly proved that the tried and tested musical biopic is still a favoured subgenre among audiences, blending the highs and lows of artist's lives with all their greatest hits. Rhapsody's quasi-director, Dexter Fletcher takes on another charismatic and troubled figure in Rocketman, an ode to the song-writing legend that is Elton John. Fletcher's film is a fervid breath of fresh air on the biopic scene, a moving and undeniably feel-good flick that takes a look at the height of Elton's turbulent career. Rocketman is not your straight biopic by any means; first and foremost, it's an unashamed musical that dismisses the chronology of Elton's music for a smartly crafted jukebox soundtrack of some of the singer's most memorable tunes. The form of Rocketman is a stroke of genius from Dexter Fletcher; gone are the limits of factuality and linear storytelling, in favour of time-jumping and metaphors... all complete with the Elton-esque pizazz of a modern musical. From the beginning, Rocketman sets itself out from the crowd and the ride that follows is a gripping tale of love, talent and the tempestuous nature of fame.
Perhaps the greatest asset lies in a brilliant central performance from Taron Egerton. Where Rami Malek's Freddie Mercury was a remarkable turn in impressionism, Egerton's portrayal of Elton is an altogether meatier performance full of unbridled charisma and nuance. It is said that the film's subject himself requested that Egerton refrain from an impersonation and instead play "his own version" of Elton John; this certainly comes through in Egerton's role, less of an impression but still a masterful turn from the actor, who simply engulfs the part. The supporting cast here is strong too; Jamie Bell's Bernie Taupin is a heartfelt performance and Bryce Dallas Howard is unrecognisably nasty as Elton's distant mother. Richard Madden's portrayal of the star's manager and lover John Reid is a little predictably 'boo-hiss', but this is masked by some other delightful appearances (Stephen Graham briefly steals the show by practically chewing the scenery in the first third).
Dexter Fletcher casts a smooth hand over the production, proving himself to be a sure maestro of the musical genre. Though perhaps some songs could have been more suitably placed, there are some gorgeous moments that really make use of both the energy and heart of Elton's music; a rendition of 'Your Song' sung solo by Egerton at the piano is slow and goose bump-worthy whereas the 'Saturday Night's Alright' sequence early on in the film is a joyous burst of colour and choreography. It is of course well known that much of John's career wasn't all blissful song and dance; Rocketman takes its time to reflect on the issues of substance abuse and sexuality, often in a thoughtful and compassionate way. The film certainly doesn't hide away from the flaws of its subject... and it is in Elton's many faults that the most impactful moments appear. While most of it is expertly paced, the final third suffers a little from a meandering focus, becoming a slightly repetitive chorus of psychedelic escapades and impassioned arguments that certainly takes the scenic route towards what ends up being a pleasing, if slightly cheesy conclusion.
In the end, however, there is so much that is excellent about Rocketman that makes up for its problems. It is not necessarily revolutionary (certainly not in its story) yet still manages to give its own flavour to the often placid biopic, using the music of its star not just as a plot aspect but as a structural device that really makes everything tick. Rocketman is an honest depiction of fame, both of its hardships and triumphs; it may not be all smooth sailing (with Elton's life and the film itself), but Fletcher puts forward a vigorously entertaining piece of work, bolstered by an outstanding Taron Egerton. If nothing else, you'll appreciate the mesmerising musicality of it all.
Avengers: Endgame (2019)
A splendid and rewarding conclusion from Marvel
The Marvel Cinematic Universe has certainly revolutionised modern cinema; back in 2008, Iron Man opened to positive reviews but few foresaw the cultural phenomenon this world was to become and the generation of adoring fans it was to muster. Eleven years on and the highly anticipated climax of this particular saga of the MCU hits the screens; Avengers: Endgame. Its predecessor, Avengers: Infinity War may have ended on a rather low note for Earth's mightiest heroes, as intergalactic despot Thanos succeeded in wiping out half the universe, but they return in full force in this ambitious and decidedly bombastic conclusion.
From the beginning, Marvel old hands The Russo Brothers paint a very new world, a greyer one wracked by Thanos' deadly 'Snap'. Among the surviving Avengers, there's a strong sense of survivor's guilt and very little sense of hope... yet it would be unlike the characters we know to not make one last attempt to save the universe.
To divulge in any more detail the plot of Avengers: Endgame would be to severely undermine its impact; this is a cinematic thrill-ride, with surprises aplenty, nodding dollops of fan service and a hefty level of emotional stakes. One thought the sheer scale of Infinity War was seismic, but the Russos outdo themselves with Endgame, crafting a climactic and grandiose, but equally satisfying conclusion to a decade of work. It's a different beast to its predecessors in many ways, but Endgame still manages to pull off that nifty balance between humour and drama that makes Marvel work.
The film can only be described as a victory lap for Marvel, a love letter to their characters and fans. After a brilliantly unexpected prologue, the film takes a little while to find its rhythm, but once it does... it really does. Credit is due particularly to Christopher Markus' and Stephen McFeely's script, a quick-witted and compassionate piece of work that propels the story breezily through its three-hour run time. Despite the Avengers' predicament, it isn't all doom and gloom; the benefits of a smaller ensemble cast allow Endgame to have that same sense of banter from Joss Whedon's Avengers Assemble, something that occasionally felt missed within the tidal action of the latter part of Infinity War. Within the first hour, the plot is taken on a definitive path, one that is neither untrodden (there is a memorable comic sequence where the characters wryly commentate on this) nor particularly smooth (plot inaccuracies can easily be raised). Despite this, however, it allows the film to take off on what can only be described as a golden reward for Marvel fans, an action-packed feast of a film that pays due homage to its universe. There's also a biting edge to Endgame though in its emotional resonance, frequently heart-breaking yet never gratuitous. There are so many aspects that are so caringly rendered in Endgame; Alan Silvestri's diverse score and the textured visual effects spring eagerly to mind.
As always in a Marvel caper, the cast is a blisteringly good ensemble effort. In Endgame, every actor is on top form, bouncing off eachother with natural ease. Josh Brolin's scene-stealing Thanos from Infinity War is disappointingly less on show here, but this is almost made up for the excellent use of some of the previous film's more underused players (Chris Evans' Captain America and Scarlett Johansson's Black Widow are given meatier roles here). A special mention should also go to Robert Downey Jr in a performance that radiates power and poignancy. Avengers: Endgame does sacrifice itself occasionally in the complex myriad of stories it tells; at points, there are a few too many of these vignettes and the film can feel a tad clunky (Infinity War gave the arc to its villain to combat this). However, the paths all lead pretty much perfectly together in a third act that is indisputably awesome and packs an emotive punch.
Avengers: Endgame is a monumental piece of cinema, both in scale and significance; these stories have defined childhoods and, here, a fitting end is delivered to this part that not only feels satisfyingly conclusive but is excellently put together by the creative force behind it. Colossal and captivating, this is another sure success from the team at Marvel that looks difficult to beat.
Wild Rose (2018)
Jessie Buckley is a revelation in feel-good feature
Cinema is no stranger to the classic 'star is born' tale; there's something about the likeable underdog fighting against the odds to rise to success that seems to transcend time and genre. In the wake of Bradley Cooper's fourth incarnation of A Star is Born, perhaps the familiar narrative can get a bit tiresome... yet it's approached with a fervid exuberance by director Tom Harper in Wild Rose, graced by a fantastic performance by real life star-in-the-making, Jessie Buckley.
Harper and screenwriter Nicole Taylor take us to Glasgow, where we meet ex-convict Rose-Lynn Harlan, a loudmouthed country (and not western) singing hopeful who dreams of moving to Nashville to find success. Her reproachful mother Marion (Julie Walters) would much rather she give up the fantasy and look after her young kids, but from the first scene, as we see Rose-Lynn march assertively out of a penitentiary in white cowboy boots, we know she won't be having it. She soon begins to work for cheery housewife Susannah (Sophie Okonedo), who seeks to help her in making something of her aspirations.
Generally, Wild Rose is classic storytelling, the type of tale that entertains and excites, but takes few risks. Taylor's script is a characterful piece of work, but the real star here is clearly Buckley, who delivers a superb turn as the truculent but lovable Rose-Lynn. There's a wry moment of humour as our anarchic songstress ridicules a suggestion that she enter some TV talent show so that her talents may be seen; this was of course where Buckley herself started out in 2008's I'd Do Anything. Wild Rose is testament to how far Buckley has come; as Rose-Lynn, she gives a nuanced performance, balancing impertinent self-confidence with a cleverly judged level of doubt and vulnerability. Even when the storytelling becomes a little cloddish, it's Buckley's honesty that brings everything back to Earth.
Julie Walters is also on expected brilliant form as Rose-Lynn's exasperated mother; the dynamic we see play out between Rose-Lynn and Marion is all too familiar but is no less well-done here, with the two actresses delivering magnificent performances. Middle-class saviour Susannah is a little one note in comparison, but Sophie Okonedo approaches the role with enough conviction.
There are certain moments in the narrative that prove troublesome, feeling a little jagged and somewhat disingenuous to the characters, but these are quibbles that are often expertly resolved, usually by another moment of excellence from Buckley or Walters.
Much like its decidedly non-Glaswegian counterpart from Bradley Cooper, music plays a key role in Wild Rose, giving clear voice to the story. Susannah curiously asks Rose-Lynn in an early scene why she loves country music in particular, to which the blunt reply comes; "because it's three chords and the truth". Jack Arnold's tunes in this film are toe-tappers, importantly, but also act as a great device used to bring out the "truth" of Rose-Lynn's character; there's a musical point early on in the film that is gorgeously intimate and, from then on, we are behind Rose-Lynn, cheering her triumphs and mourning her setbacks. It helps significantly that Buckley is a gifted vocalist (elements of her musical theatre background snake nicely into the bravura of Rose-Lynn's performances).
Tom Harper has crafted a hearty crowd-pleaser in Wild Rose; it might not be revolutionary storytelling, but, for the most part, it's nimbly executed. If you'll leave applauding for anyone, it'll be for Jessie Buckley.
The Post (2017)
Unadventurous yet capable political drama from Spielberg
It seems somewhat surprising that 2017's The Post marks the first time that Steven Spielberg, Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks have all collaborated together. From this triumvirate of living screen legends, one expects near perfection, even in a project whipped up in as quick time as this political drama, a watchable if slightly more staid Spielberg production.
The Post acts almost as a precursor to Alan J. Pakula's All The President's Men, telling the story of the Pentagon Papers and how The Washington Post battled with Nixon's White House to uncover shady government secrets over the Vietnam War. Meryl Streep is Kay Graham, the first female owner of a major American newspaper, whose job, we are led to believe, mainly involves high-class socialising and cagey board meetings where her gender is looked upon with raised eyebrows. The Post charters Graham's legal battle for the freedom of her paper, helped by her boisterous editor Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks).
In many ways, The Post left me feeling slightly disappointed. Here, Spielberg is very content in his craft, almost to the point of complacency. The film is entertaining enough but lacks the edge of some of the director's better political dramas like Lincoln. Though The Post is very much a period piece (the attention to detail of the era is satisfying), its commentary is clearly intended to echo the climate of today, where the office of the President of the United States stands even more overt in its quashing of the free press. Whilst there is no denying the importance of the message, it's one dealt with little subtlety in this film, with characters frequently quoting the First Amendment and uttering melodramatic statements of responsibility. The Post feels far too much like it's trying to say something, weighing the film down even amongst the capable direction and talented ensemble.
I also found Streep's performance to be underwhelming, her understated delivery bordering on passionless. Hanks is far more impressive, giving Bradlee an enjoyable level of gravitas. Even then, however, the characters in The Post never feel particularly convincing, mere products of the plot rather than engaging figures in their own right. There is also a distinct lack of tension, where even at points of climax in the narrative, the film feels stuck in a sedate vacuum, finally ending in a cadence that seems to come all too quickly and with a little too much Amblin-schmaltz.
That being said, The Post is still a very competent drama that, even in the face of its problems, remains voraciously watchable. There is no denying the talents of the team behind this film; whilst the subject matter never quite convinces you that it wouldn't be better as a documentary, Spielberg still has a good hand on the storytelling and there are some great turns by members of the ensemble cast (Bob Odenkirk's performance feels the most genuine the film gets). John William's score is a complimenting addition, as is Janusz Kaminski's camera, littered with wide shots of muted colours that nostalgically remind one of vintage Spielberg work.
In the end, The Post is no masterpiece; it's standard, uninspiring drama that always falls slightly short of the skilful team behind it. The points it raises boast relevance; perhaps The Post needs a less clumsy and rawer delivery, but it's a message that still feels important when told even with middling capability. Though it certainly won't be remembered as a Spielberg, Streep or Hanks classic, The Post is still an able piece of filmmaking that could be a nicely unchallenging evening watch.
BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Spike Lee strikes gold in fierce sociopolitical satire
Spike Lee has always been a refreshingly brazen filmmaker; with movies like Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X, the director is not one to shy away from political statements all delivered with distinct style and zest. The same is true of Lee's latest film, the creatively helmed BlacKkKlansman, a fictionalised telling of the memoir of black Colorado cop, Ron Stallworth and his risky infiltration of the Ku Klux Klan. Here, Spike Lee is at his best, painting an enticing tonal mix of humour and horror that feels all too topical.
Son of Denzel, John David Washington stars as Stallworth, the so-called "Jackie Robinson of the Colorado Springs Police Department" and the first black officer. Ron's ethnic background makes him the man for an undercover mission spying on black activist Kwame Ture (Corey Hawkins), as he excites the city's discontented African-American community. Soon enough, however, Ron is caught up at the other end of the racial spectrum as he and partner Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver) attempt to infiltrate their local chapter of the KKK by posing as a budding white supremacist. It's a life-risking double act as Flip becomes the "face" of Ron Stallworth, as the real Ron rises the ranks through incidental phone calls with KKK Grand Wizard David Duke (Topher Grace).
BlacKkKlansman is a film that presents racism in an interesting way, almost as a dichotomy between the ridiculous and threatening. The script is a genius work, jolting along with the speed of a bullet between moments of almost absurdist comedy to those of darker truth. A particularly good example is that of a racist couple cosying up to one another in bed, dreamily discussing their plans for homemade terrorism. This is a film where white supremacy is served with cheese and crackers and social commentary is accompanied by bizarre humour. Lee does a superb job of balancing these tones, catching the laughs in one's throat within a net of horror. This clashing approach continues throughout the film, even into Terence Blanchard's innovative score, which jumps from the safety of strings to impassioned guitar riffs.
Washington and Driver are two very-well cast leads; the former's delightfully dry yet nuanced performance allows the film to stay grounded. Driver's performance is equally captivating; in many ways, Flip has the scarier side of the job, having to meet the members of the Klan face to face hoping they believe the caricature and stay masked to his Jewish heritage. An opening cameo by Trump-impersonator himself, Alec Baldwin reminds one of the trenchant relevance of Lee's film; the costume design and jukebox soundtrack lend it all the authenticity of a 70s period piece, but the inclusion of Trumpist slurs, ironic asides and a heart wrenching final sequence remind us that BlacKkKlansman is very much a film for today. There are points where the film seems a little too self-aware, but perhaps it is intended to be; from the profane tagline right to the end credits, Lee is truly in control of his craft and the message he wants to put forward. Performances by Washington and Driver are brilliant and credit is due to Get Out's Jordan Peele for the pitch, but the real star here is Spike Lee. With BlacKkKlansman, the director returns to form with satire as it should be; sickeningly hilarious, yet equally as shocking and, most of all, with something important to say.
A Star Is Born (2018)
Cooper and Gaga shine in enticing retelling
Here, in his directorial debut, Bradley Cooper presents a third retelling of a timeless romance. It is said that each generation has their own version of A Star is Born; whether it's the 1937 original, Judy Garland's 1954 retelling or Barbra Streisand in 1976. This modern adaptation draws on that same arc of one star ascending whilst another falls, but it also feels very different; Cooper's film is a raw, affecting love story, perfect for the audiences of today.
Cooper himself stars as Jackson Maine, grizzled and drug-addled country rocker, cruising through fame down the side street of self-destruction. The film opens in the midst of an immersive rock concert... before which we see Jack swig from a bottle and pop pills on the side of the stage. Soon enough, we meet the other half of our captivating double act, as Jack stops off at a drag bar only to find Lady Gaga's Ally performing a belting version of La Vie En Rose. He's instantly smitten both with her and her undeniable talent. What follows is a love story of highs and lows, as Ally's success blooms and Cooper's Jack spirals steadily into a pit of addiction. This film not only explores the personal struggles of a relationship, but the paralysing and enticing nature of fame.
Bradley Cooper is transformative in his performance as Jackson; his gravelly tones and haggard gait make for a portrayal that is unrecognisably convincing. What is even more revolutionary, however, is Cooper's direction, an attentive approach to a story that deals with tough themes.
Lady Gaga is a powerful force as Ally; we already know this megastar's ability to dominate a stage and deliver a vocal performance, but what is even more impressive is what we see of Ally when she is still a waitress too afraid to sing the songs she writes. Gaga's performance is a compelling one and the director in Cooper is brilliant at playing to her strengths; we learn to love Ally as she grows into herself, with the help of (but not dependency on) Jack.
Ultimately, what makes A Star is Born a story worth retelling is its central romance; this film always rested entirely on that being believable. Gaga and Cooper's chemistry is simply wonderful; theirs is a real relationship, full of laughter, love and resentment. There's something so ineffable just in the way the characters look at eachother that makes their love so potent and only heightens the emotional effect of the tragedy that follows.
Whilst Jack and Ally's relationship is the obvious focus, other characters stand in the background with Sam Elliott giving a beautifully understated performance as Jack's half-brother Bobby. The relationship between Jack and Bobby is superbly done; the screenwriters know never to allow it to take too much light but it still reaches an emotional payoff in one of the best scenes. In contrast, a manipulative triangle that forms between Jack, Ally and Rafi Gavron's hissable manager is one of the weaker aspects of the film, a little too cliched and rather stunted.
There are also a few structural problems; throughout the second act, events in the story (from hastened wedding to SNL skits) stream too quickly by, yet the pace of Cooper's edit seems to drag. These are quickly resolved by the third act, however, where we are brought back to the lyrical pace of the first hour that works so well.
The soundtrack leaves one slightly underwhelmed; whilst the film's booming anthem, 'Shallow' will stick with you for days, many of the songs lack much memorability with only a few really aiding the storytelling. You almost forget about the songs however in the many concert scenes; Matthew Libatique's cinematography is judicious, an engrossing shoot, from the bright neons of Ally's tour right through to Jackson's rock concerts which we see in the same drunken haze of their star. Outside of these moments too, the film is shot with a tenderness that also manages to feel totally involving.
Early on in the film, Jackson wisely states the importance of having "something to say and a way to say it". This couldn't ring truer of A Star is Born; despite being a third remake, it's a retelling that feels like it was meant to be told. Two alluring lead performances and Cooper's deft direction make this film far from 'Shallow', but rather a deeply moving and dramatic love story that hits all the right notes
Us (2019)
Terrifying and trenchant horror from Jordan Peele
After his Oscar-winning directorial debut Get Out in 2017, the inimitable Jordan Peele returns with Us, a terrifying look at both personal and societal demons. We are introduced to the Wilsons, led by jovial patriarch Gabe (Winston Duke) and his reserved wife Adelaide (Lupita Nyong'o), on a vacation to the beaches of Santa Cruz with their two kids (Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex). Gabe's enthusiasm for holiday hobbies is unshared by Adelaide, a victim of childhood trauma who begins to feel uneasy after a series of unnerving coincidences start to plague their idyllic trip. Her fears are not unfounded, as the family are soon terrorised by doppelgangers in what proves to be a horror thrill-ride, thoughtfully executed by Jordan Peele.
Peele is a maestro of the genre; he has an uncanny way of knowing both when to play into horror tropes and when to subvert them completely, resulting in a film that grips the audience in its unpredictability. So many elements are combined in Us; there's old-fashioned slasher horror and classic home invasion, accompanied by the suspense and sharp comedy of Get Out. Even more satisfying, however, is Peele's inclusion of underlying social commentary, a subtle satire perhaps echoed in the film's title (are we talking about the pronoun or looking at a critique of U.S society?). Us may lack the deft narrative control of Get Out, but in some ways it's an even more impressive feat of filmmaking, equally thought-provoking and thematically complex, yet more ambitious and inventive. The entire movie is shrouded in a layer of ambiguity; Peele is giving us the freedom to interpret it in whatever way we wish. Some will see Us as more of a metaphor, others as a social statement... many will also see it as simply a gorily entertaining crowd-pleaser and the film functions gloriously even as just that. It's not without the occasional plot-hole, but if these inspire Peele to return to the 'Us-verse' for another film to clear up the gaps, they will all have been worth it.
Us is elevated by a selection of fantastic performances, notable by the fact that every actor plays two roles, that of their character and their throat-slitting counterpart. Lupita Nyong'o is a force of silent determination as Adelaide and oozes steely creepiness as the leader of the subterranean "Tethered", Red. Winston Duke's Gabe is the soft-hearted master of the dad joke, yet his twin is wonderfully menacing. The two kids are fantastic and Elisabeth Moss is brilliant as always. In the third act, the film becomes slightly more unfocused, but the cast keep it buoyant with spirited performances.
Visually, the film is absolutely gorgeous, Mike Gioulakis' cinematography making expert use of reflections as a terrifying motif to keep us on the edge of our seats. Homage is paid to other horror classics; an overhead car shot reminds one of the Torrances arriving at the Overlook in 'The Shining' and haunting dance interludes echo of Darren Aronofsky's 'Black Swan'. Even with this, Us feels like an original product, unapologetically strange and stylish. Michael Abels' score is also a gem, an amalgamation of itchy strings, taiko drums and Satanic choirs. Jukebox choices in certain scenes are also well-judged (let's just say, Luniz's I Got 5 On It will have a whole new meaning).
With Us, Jordan Peele seems to have broken the sophomore curse, cementing his status as one of the most exciting filmmakers working today. It's the kind of film where, with every return viewing, you will notice more and more clever touches that lie hidden in its rich textures. Horrifying, trenchant and unique, Us is another success from Jordan Peele.
Captain Marvel (2019)
A safe yet enjoyable origin tale from Marvel
After the catastrophic events of Avengers: Infinity War (and the pleasingly droll interlude of Ant-Man and the Wasp), Marvel Studios take us back to the 90s with Captain Marvel, starring Oscar winner Brie Larson as the titular intergalactic hero. It's a film that certainly has the weight of responsibility firmly on its shoulders; not only is it an origin story packed within the developed third phase of its universe, it acts as both a link to the past (a de-aged Samuel L. Jackson is unnervingly convincing) and a bridge to what is undeniably Marvel's big event of the year, Avengers: Endgame.
Captain Marvel is entertaining enough; the script may be inconsistent, yet it hits a number of laughs and the cast, from Jude Law to Annette Bening, are a spunky ensemble that bring a bright earnestness to the film. It's a fairly standard origin story that makes unapologetic use of Marvel's signature formula, often with results that, whilst usually fun, can't help but feel slightly circumspect and contained. We watch as Larson's Vers (as she is known on her supposed home planet of Kree) crashes on Earth, her memories of her past fragmented and her identity thoroughly muddled. This is much like the film's narrative itself which feels largely scattershot, jumping through flashbacks and glossing quickly over plot points with nonchalance. That being said, the movie is very entertaining, an odd tonal balance of Guardians-of-the-Galaxy-esque retro humour and the bombastic action stakes of Star Wars. Without a doubt, it's fun, with charm obscuring the more clunky moments in the writing.
Captain Marvel, of course, relies strongly on Brie Larson's leading performance. Larson is undoubtably a terrific actress who commits wholeheartedly to the role, making the best of the disappointingly little that is given to her. In the end, whilst the scope of her powers are cause for sensation, the character herself feels lost in her own film, attempts at pathos underdone and most of the best moments going to other characters.
The extended players stand out far more, with marvellous turns by Ben Mendelsohn and Lashana Lynch and a star-studded performance from a certain feline. The cast (even Larson to an extent) are the film's saving grace, carrying the film with a jubilance that can't help but bring a smile to the face.
Other aspects of the film also shine; the visual effects are polished and a distinctly 90s jukebox soundtrack works well. Far from spending its time in space, most of the film is grounded on good ol' Planet Earth, packed full of satisfying nods to the period.
All said, Captain Marvel is a tricky film; it can't help but feel like a stepping stone to the next point of the overall narrative of the universe, a safe and unambitious adventure muddied in franchise building. For me, however, the quirky humour, visual thrills and undeniable sense of fun are enough to give Captain Marvel a watch.
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Slick, stylish and ferociously funny
Wes Anderson is perhaps one of the most delightfully unusual filmmakers working today, his films characterised by picturesque symmetry, wry humour and more than a hint of the macabre. The Grand Budapest Hotel is no different and actually stands as one of Anderson's finest films; it's precisely choreographed, gorgeous to look at and, above all, an intelligent comedy that pays homage to bygone cinema whilst adding its own unique spin.
Though the action may jump time periods (whether it's from Tom Wilkinson's direct narrator or F. Murray Abraham's narrator within the story), it centres around The Grand Budapest Hotel, an elite establishment for the rich and pampered in the fictional state of Zubrowka. Our attention is immediately turned to M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), the hotel's concierge, who tends to the guests with a managed slickness... that is when he isn't courting dowagers into his room. The film takes off on a race of storytelling, as Gustave is framed for the murder of an old lover (a prosthetic-clad Tilda Swinton) and must flee the law and who knows else with only the help of his protégé, lobby boy, Zero (a suitably boyish Tony Revelori, when not played 30 years down the line by a mellow F. Murray Abraham).
The film is a delightful farce, Anderson and Hugo Guiness' script providing intelligent and subtle comedy that delivers even amid such a frenetic and occasionally scatty pace. For the most part though, The Grand Budapest Hotel is as tightly wound as one could expect from Wes Anderson; even amid the absurdity of ski chases and severed fingers, there's a remarkable level of control to the madness, helped along by Anderson's assured writing and direction.
Employed in the cast is a who's who of star-studded spectacle; Ralph Fiennes, Willem Dafoe and Saoirse Ronan are plot-central, but around them are bit cameos from the likes of Bill Murray, Jeff Goldblum and Lea Seydoux. Fiennes leads with rapier-sharp timing as Gustave, his performance radiating clipped composure, all complete with an irresistible charm. The supporting cast are admittedly largely one-note (occasionally the abundance of celebrity proves a little distracting) but are earnest enough to drive the film through.
Where the film has perhaps received the highest praise, however, is its design. The Grand Budapest hotel is a visual treat, its design vibrant yet avowedly architected. There's almost a sense of the characters having been painted on screen; from the bright colours, sharp angles and miniature set pieces, the film feels as much a spectacle of art as an espionage romp. Alexandre Desplat's score is perfectly judged, the musical voice established by the distinct and innovative use of the balalaika. The film is shot with equal verve, snapping from camera ratios incessantly to produce an energised and unexpected cinematography that boosts the narrative. At points, the movie may be a case of style over substance, but the film's unusual design only seems to enhance one's enjoyment of it.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is a strange film, a comedy full of black humour and gentlemanly profanity. Thoroughly entertaining and visually enchanting, this is certainly a gem from Wes Anderson.
If Beale Street Could Talk (2018)
A poetic ode to love against all obstacles
Barry Jenkins' Oscar-winning coming-of-age film, Moonlight has been heralded by critics and audiences alike as a masterpiece in arthouse filmmaking. Here, he follows up with If Beale Street Could Talk, an adaptation of James Baldwin's novel that tells the story of young, African-American lovers, Tish (Kiki Layne) and Fonny (Stephan James) against the backdrop of institutional racism. To meet a bar set as high as by Moonlight is quite a feat, but Jenkins is not one to disappoint; If Beale Street Could Talk is a gorgeous film, poetic, visceral and oozing with sensuality.
The story flits effortlessly back and forth through time, from graceful interludes of Tish and Fonny's early relationship to the understatedly gritty present, as a pregnant Tish fights for the release of Fonny, who has been imprisoned on a trumped-up rape charge. Wherever the film is in time, it is decidedly timeless, a love story told with tenderness and a dignity and respect for its characters. The perfectly matched combination of Jenkins' script and attentive direction immerse us within the film with a totality one rarely feels. There's a dazed slowness to the narrative, as it lilts from moments of humour to those of beauty and gritty realism with ease.
The performances are equally fantastic, underplayed yet unfailingly believable and effective. Kiki Layne and Stephan James' leads are terrific, their scenes glowing with intimacy. The film's real stand out performer, however, is Regina King, playing Kiki's protective mother with a poised brilliance. What is so rewarding about If Beale Street Could Talk is the myriad of relationships that we see play out on screen, not only between the central lovers, but between sisters, friends, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives. "Love is what brought you here", says King's Sharon most wisely; truly, this film can only be described as an evocation of love in all forms, sensuous and naked, yet wonderfully heartfelt.
If Beale Street Could Talk is only made all the more impressive by its design elements, all cleverly judged and executed with a gentle brilliance. James Laxton's camera swoops woozily between characters, settling slowly on moments of profundity in the acting before sweeping overhead to give us a greater look at Jenkins' world, painstaking in period detail. What accentuates the film the most, however, is Nicholas Britell's score, so expressive and moving it seems to become a whole other character in itself. The score sings of the characters so perfectly it is bound to bring one to tears.
Moonlight is a spectacular film (a favourite of mine), and If Beale Street Could Talk echoes of its elegance and immersion, yet with a slower and gentler touch that blooms with true compassion for its characters and story. An important story it is too, trenchant and topical; Jenkins is a marvellous filmmaker whose love for his craft lies evident in his work.
Green Book (2018)
Mortensen and Ali shine in charming ride through the Deep South
Director Peter Farrelly is certainly best known for his big-hearted, light comedies; from Dumb and Dumber to There's Something About Mary, Farrelly has shown himself to be a sure hand at the genre. His new film, Green Book, employs much of the same warm comedy, but along with a far more dramatic narrative.
Green Book is the (though now debatably) true story of Italian-American bar bruiser, Tony "Lip" Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen), who finds work as a driver for a renowned black pianist, Dr Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali) as he embarks on a concert tour across the Deep South. The film explores the growing friendship of the two men against the ugly backdrop of segregated America.
There is plenty of fun to be had in Green Book; as expected of Farrelly, there's an effortless charm to the film, supported by belly-laughing humour and spirited characters. The script is occasionally a little clunky, but what truly ensures the success of Green Book is its performances (both Oscar noms). Viggo Mortensen leads as Tony, a big-mouthed big eater, impressively humorous but also adding an emotive touch to a role that could have easily seemed like a caricature. There's a huge heart to Mortensen's lively performance that is somewhat captivating. This is played off nicely by Mahershala Ali, on usual expert form as Dr Shirley. Ali's composure and poise lend his performance this quiet gravitas that seems to find its true culmination in the film's most powerful scene, as Tony and Don argue in the rain as two minorities unaccepted in 1960s America.
It seems a shame, however, that the aforementioned scene is the closest that Green Book gets to really addressing its subject. The racial themes of the film are swiftly glossed over for the most part, even from the beginning where we see an apparently prejudiced Tony dispose of the drinking glasses of two black workmen, only to be seen happily kneeling on the ground playing dice with a group of African Americans some twenty minutes later. The film doesn't just discuss race; class and sexuality are also lingering themes, but both feel all too briefly mentioned. There are certain scenes that do tackle the issues head on and I loved those moments, but much of the film is coated in a layer of sentimentality that, certainly by the third act, becomes almost sugary.
That being said, however, I loved the warmer and lighter points of the film as much as I loved the more dramatic. Though helped certainly by the brilliant performances, Green Book's sentimentality doesn't stop it from being voraciously watchable. The final act drags, suitably like a car with a flat tyre, but otherwise the film is infectiously entertaining, bringing across its narrative in the most accessible way. In the end, perhaps Green Book isn't intended to be a gritty account on race relations; though there is more opportunity for nuanced drama, it feels far more like a feel-good crowd-pleaser.
In the end, Green Book may be a little simplistic in approach for more cultivated audiences, but it remains a thoroughly entertaining romp, made successful by two standout performances.
Vice (2018)
Christian Bale is glorious in McKay's wacky, yet biting biopic
The story of America's most infamous vice president, wager of the War on Terror Dick Cheney, is approached with bold satire here by writer-director Adam McKay. Vice acknowledges from the beginning the secretive nature of Dick Cheney and how conjecture is perhaps needed to colour in the edges. Nevertheless, this is a ferociously entertaining film, that lampoons its subject with flashy comedy and stylistic gags. Christian Bale leads as Cheney, caked in impressive makeup. Beneath the prosthetics, however, Bale delivers a stand-out performance, deadly in its quietness and oozing with callous bureaucracy (the actor thanking Satan for inspiration in his Golden Globe acceptance speech is not unfounded). We watch the events of Cheney's life unfold; his unexpected rise from delinquency to vice presidency is told in a biopic that is pleasingly unconventional. Vice is narrated almost like a staid Michael Moore documentary, but is also unfailingly nihilistic, combining the grounded political history within amusing gags. Similarities can be made with McKay's previous film, The Big Short, which also approaches its weighty subject with a cynical mockery that you can't help but grin at. The deeper impact of this film is certainly undermined by the comedy (which at points is almost too light hearted), but Vice still gives a telling nod to the state of politics today without losing its biting humour.
Vice breezes nicely through a sizeable run time, snapping from frame to frame with a manic energy. The structural choices are somewhat zany, but usually add to the film's eccentricity. McKay's writing is unfocused at points and the narrative is far from tight-knit, though this is never at the expense of entertainment. Fourth wall breaks and a memorable scene where the characters break into Shakespearean iambic pentameter are just examples from a film that is wonderfully weird, yet never to the point of ridiculousness. Stylistic ticks like these are less ubiquitous in a final act that relies just a little too much on narration.
Though Vice is carried by Christian Bale, Amy Adams looms with stony determination as the Lady Macbeth-esque Lynne and Steve Carrell's Donald Rumsfeld is as slimy as he is energetic (Sam Rockwell's Oscar-nominated George W Bush, in contrast, feels a little bit Saturday Night Live). Nicholas' Britell's score is luscious and pacey and Greig Fraser's cinematography is as slick as it is shocking (shots of Cheney's comfortable White House meetings snap unsettlingly quickly to flashes of the brutal torture he authorises).
Vice is not perfect, its wackiness occasionally verging on messiness, but it remains a fervid and clever biopic, that uncovers the career of one of America's most reticent yet power hungry politicians with delightfully bruising derision.
Hereditary (2018)
Toni Collette is astounding in Ari Aster's chilling horror debut
Hereditary is a film that divided critics and audiences alike, with some giving it a lukewarm response and others heralding it a modern-day Exorcist. What is unarguably brilliant about this film however is its central performance in an utterly entrancing Toni Collette, well worthy of awards talk. Collette plays Annie Graham, a contemporary artist grieving over the death of her estranged mother, whose family become entangled in the supernatural after she explores the infamous practice of the séance. What slowly unfolds is a terrifying film, that grips you to your seat. To reveal much more about the plot of Hereditary would do this film a disservice; writer-director Ari Aster, even in his debut feature, shows himself to be a maestro of unexpected filmmaking that echoes of horror classics like Rosemary's Baby, yet feels alarmingly fresh and truly horrifying. The narrative of Hereditary slithers and turns slowly, expertly paced and nail-bitingly tense. It must be said that the movie is not devoid of horror tropes; what saves this occasional sink into cliché is the abundance of shocking twists in the plot and the deeper meaning behind the film. For Hereditary is not just a standard supernatural horror, but also a telling meditation on grief and mental illness. This is shown through a stand-out performance from Toni Collette, whose face alone tells of a woman truly going mad in her own fear and anger. There's an ambiguity to Hereditary which is eerily present; how much of what we are seeing is actually happening and to what extent is it just in Annie's deranged mind? The film is just as much a psychological horror, a tragic yet thrilling exploration into the darkest depths of the human consciousness. Whilst Collette is brilliant enough to carry the film alone, she is aided by a perfectly picked supporting cast. Gabriel Byrne provides a much-needed paternal gentleness as Annie's husband Steve, Alex Wolff boils with teenage angst and vulnerability as troubled son Peter, and newcomer Milly Shapiro is hypnotically creepy as even more troubled daughter Charlie. Unlike most horror ventures, the performances in Hereditary really stand out, superbly acted and never overplayed.
Artistic touches also help to elevate Hereditary, from a wonderfully grating score by Colin Stetson to Pawel Pogorzelski's incredible cinematography (wide, square shots echo Annie's miniature dollhouses, almost making us believe the film is nothing but a hellish game). Perhaps the film occasionally gets slightly wrapped up in exposition, but it still manages to be consistently compelling, helped by a stylish and sinister execution.
Hereditary brings a freshness to its genre; even with a classic setup, Ari Aster has crafted a stunningly made film, that simply reeks of pure horror.
Roma (2018)
Perfectly designed, yet lacking in depth
Alfonso Cuaron has made a name for himself as a stellar director but his passion project, 2018's Roma, is an impressive feat even for this Oscar-winning heavyweight, who not only directs here, but writes, shoots and edits as well. Roma is an ode to Cuaron's childhood in Mexico City, told through the eyes of a young housekeeper, Cleo (newcomer Yalitza Aparicio), whose life we see unfold against the backdrop of political turbulence.
Roma is a definite exercise in artistry; this film is absolutely gorgeous, shot in vintage black and white (a pretentious yet oddly fitting decision), full of wide and detailed shots that immerse us within the world. As well as beauty, there's a phenomenal sense of authenticity to the film, whether it be in languid scenes that play out in real time or in the film's intricate sound design, which favours the ambience of street noises over a stringed orchestra.
The technical mastery of Roma, however, acts as both its greatest achievement and its pitfall. The film's design somewhat overshadows its plot, hiding a flawed picture beneath its glossy exterior. Much of this movie, in particular the middle, is rather mundane, struggling to reach the high emotional stakes one expects. The narrative rambles and there are numerous points where the film feels restrained by its luscious presentation. The factor that prevents Roma from becoming simply a parade of pretentiousness is the clearly deep personal reasons behind which it has been made; though the film is not always consistent, Alfonso Cuaron is an attentive director and his intelligent and gentle screenplay is one of the film's greatest strengths. In all truth, when Roma hits gold, it's a subtle, yet deeply moving film; scenes in the third act particularly are very well done, serving that desired emotional resonance that the rest of the film desperately fails to deliver.
Yalitza Aparicio gives a wonderfully natural performance as Cleo, but the real stand out performer of the film is Marina de Tavira as Sofia, the mother of the family. De Tavira produces the only performance that truly gripped me, never allowing herself to be overshadowed by the virtuous design of the film. Equally satisfying is Cuaron's clever inclusion of political context that provides for the most pleasing dramatic moments.
Roma is likely to find great success in the awards season this year; credit should be given to the sheer flair of the film's design and Cuaron's astute writing and cinematography. However, beneath the art of Roma lies a lesser film, that only sporadically hits its targets of emotion and excitement.
Stan & Ollie (2018)
A magical ode to comedy's greatest duo
Here, John C. Reilly and Steve Coogan star in a biopic as delightful and fuzzy as its subject, the legendary comedy duo, Laurel and Hardy. Jon S. Baird directs the film, which documents the lesser-known twilight years of the pair; Stan and Ollie, aging and fading from the public eye, embark on a tour of Britain in order to raise funds for a big (and almost too good to be true) movie break to bring them back in the limelight. The film being called Stan and Ollie is poetically appropriate; we are being given a wonderfully personal look at the men behind the celluloid. The end result is a movie that is simply irresistible.
John C. Reilly and Steve Coogan star as the titular leads, in portrayals that are both uncanny and effortless. Reilly plays Hardy with a jovial honesty, his clumsy gait and trademark finger-twiddle completing a gorgeously authentic performance. The same is true of Coogan, whose portrayal of Stan Laurel is well-rounded and classically humorous. This film truly could not work without the two actors, who commit to their roles with ease in a partnership that seems as natural as Laurel and Hardy themselves. However, it is Rufus Jones' hilarious tour manager who hits the nail on the head, quipping that we get "two double acts for the price of one", when referring to Stan and Ollie's fiercely protective wives. Shirley Henderson and Nina Arianda give the film another layer in humorous supporting performances as Lucille Hardy and Ida Laurel, with Arianda, in particular, being absolutely scene-stealing.
Jeff Pope (who worked with Steve Coogan on Philomena) writes a sharp and versatile script; throughout the film, the lines are blurred between the on-screen personas of Stan and Ollie and their personal lives. This makes for results that are, as expected of this film, utterly hysterical, yet also comes with the difficult job of making sure the comedy and drama coincide comfortably. Stan and Ollie does this perfectly; while the film is certainly an irreverent and nostalgic comedy, what allows it to truly work is the emotional edge that acts almost like a tonic, cutting through the slapstick. The film never strains for laughs and the same is true of its approach to its more serious side, lending an emotional weight to the fun ("You loved Laurel and Hardy", Stan snaps, "but you never loved me").
The whole package is wrapped up nicely with Rolfe Kent's jubilant score and Laurie Rose's cinematography, full of marvellous continuous shots (the opening prologue on the set of Way Out West particularly stands out). Some may argue that Stan and Ollie is sweet to the point of saccharine, but I disagree; it's a charming film that's filled to the brim with joy and heart. In times where, perhaps, the negative seems to stand out, this is a breath of fresh air that reminds us of the importance of love and laughter in a quaint and purely magical way.
The Favourite (2018)
A darkly humorous spin on the period drama
With Olivia Colman set to follow on from Claire Foy as Queen Elizabeth in the third season of The Crown, it seems a satisfying coincidence that Yorgos Lanthimos' latest film The Favourite sees the actress take on the role of another monarch. The Crown may be the dictionary definition of period drama, but The Favourite is a very different affair, a tantalising twist on what often promises to be a dull sub-genre.
Here, Colman stars as Anne, the last Stuart queen "stalked by tragedy", ravaged by gout and depression, with her pet rabbits her only solace. She has passed on the keys of power to her closest confidant and secret lover, Lady Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz), but all is turned on its head with the arrival of Abigail Hill (Emma Stone) a once noblewoman whose family has fallen on hard times. As Abigail surprisingly gains the favour of the Queen, so begins a ruthless battle that plays out before our eyes in a particularly captivating power struggle between the three women.
The Favourite is an enthralling film; Lady Sarah and Abigail turn loyalty into an increasingly vicious blood sport, making for a narrative littered with gratifying double-crossing, carnal intensity and stylish brutality, all accompanied by an almost illusionary sense of madness. It can only be defined as a tragicomedy, subtly hilarious yet hiding timely subtext that is delightfully ambiguous. The lines between love and deception are expertly blurred in a film that takes no prisoners in its uproarious execution. There is more deliberation in the overblown final act, however, that feels lengthy and distinctly less focused than the rest of the film.
The movie finds its greatest strength in its stellar cast, led by Colman, Stone and Weisz. Colman is outstanding as Anne, hilariously petulant and childlike, reminiscent of Miranda Richardson's Queenie in Blackadder. There's a blunt imperiousness to Colman's performance that carries the film through with black humour. Beyond this, however, the scenes of greatest emotional resonance are those that show the more tragic side of Anne, as a woman who has lost seventeen children ("Some were born in blood, some without breath and some were with me a very brief time") and has never recovered from the trauma. Colman breezes through these harsher scenes that cut surprisingly deep and help to give the film a greater purpose.
Rachel Weisz is the epitome of calculated steeliness as Lady Sarah and Emma Stone is pitch perfect in her first period role as the opportunistic and marvellously Machiavellian Abigail. Nicholas Hoult's flamboyant Leader of the Opposition leads several foppish male roles, but these lie clearly in the peripheral; Yorgos Lanthimos makes apparent that the film's sole focus is its women, all of whom are callous, yet vulnerable, but all quite brilliant in different ways.
The Favourite is beautifully designed, lavish costumes by Sandy Powell and a regal set giving the film all the expected grandeur of a period drama. The film's more salacious side, however, is shown in Robbie Ryan's absurdist cinematography which, whilst occasionally pretentious, gives a haunting contemporary spin. I was less of a fan of the wide-angled bend shots, as well as the film's soundtrack (from Handel to the itchy modernism of Anna Meredith), which felt invasive and ceaseless.
Here, Yorgos Lanthimos has struck a fine chord. The Favourite is a wonderfully unusual and unsettling film that is at points gratuitous, but generally audacious and exciting. Spellbinding performances and an intriguing story make this not one to miss out on.
Loving Vincent (2017)
Visually gorgeous but narratively uninspired
Here stands a film perhaps as oddly remarkable as the great artist whose demise it documents; Loving Vincent is a Polish-UK co-production charting the final days (and the shady aftermath of which) of Vincent Van Gogh. But what is truly extraordinary about this film is that it is the first animated film created entirely with oil paints, in the notable style of its eponymous painter. Loving Vincent is an ambitious visual experiment, every frame avowedly hand-painted in a pastiche of Van Gogh's work. It's an experiment that certainly works; landscapes swirl dreamily across the screens and oozing strokes of paint litter the faces of the film's players. There is something strangely ethereal about the animation; it's utterly immersive and beautiful and surely can be appreciated simply for its flair and the pain-staking commitment required to create it. The film was also shot in live-action beforehand; we see Chris O'Dowd, Saoirse Ronan and the rest of the cast embodied within the brushstrokes, in a strangely satisfying and delightfully expressive way. There's an effortlessness and innovation to the film's design; the same cannot be said, however, of its plot.
Though not unenjoyable, Loving Vincent's plot is rather thin, comprised of exposition-packed flashbacks and uninspired dialogue. Over-narrated and over-simplified, it never really takes flight or makes much of an impact, despite numerous attempts. We watch as young Armand Roulin (Douglas Booth) seeks to deliver a letter, at the request of his father, from a deceased Vincent to his brother, only to become hooked in finding out the truth behind the artist's death among the witnesses of his final days. The cast, led by Booth, are lively enough, but are not enough to distract one from a flimsy narrative that begins to feel like a tame episode of Poirot. Despite this, the film is entertaining enough and it's clear that the true intentions of directors Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman is to impress via the film's visuals rather than its story.
Loving Vincent is a definite mixed bag of a film; visually, it's exquisite and never excessively dull, but its formulaic and uninspired plot cannot be ignored. For a movie that claims to be a biopic of Vincent Van Gogh, it tells us very little about the man itself, functioning far more as a standard who-dunnit that is gorgeous to watch but, on occasion, feels self-admiring. An interesting film that is worth watching just for its pure style.
Lady Bird (2017)
Utter perfection; Greta Gerwig's sublime ode to adolescence
Greta Gerwig's solo directorial debut is an ode of sorts both to her own upbringing in Sacramento and to the prickly experiences of all teenagers just trying to fit in. It may have received no love at the Oscars (albeit with several nominations), but Lady Bird is a masterpiece of a film, deliciously amusing and, above all, heartfelt.
Lady Bird may be semi-autobiographical (it gives a sense of being deeply personal to its creator throughout), but it is not a young Greta Gerwig whose story we follow, rather Christine MacPherson (Saoirse Ronan), a Sacramento teen who prefers to be referred to by her "given name", Lady Bird ("I gave it to myself, it's given to me by me"). We watch as Lady Bird makes that daunting transition from adolescence to adulthood, battling the struggles of friendships, love and a more than uneasy relationship with her mother Marion (a phenomenal Laurie Metcalf).
What is perhaps most incredible about Lady Bird is the way it takes one of the most cliched, safe genres in cinema, the coming-of-age, and manages to bring a freshness and spark to it with such ease. Lady Bird breaks no ground with its plot, but it proves that a film doesn't have to do so to instil a real feeling in its audience and be something special. Greta Gerwig's direction is utterly flawless; her understanding of character and canny eye for period detail lend the film a profound sincerity and a slick appearance, thoughtful and detailed down to a tee. Lady Bird feels like a love letter from Gerwig, a classic example of a film that is evidently special to its director and translates its emotional impact perfectly to its audience. This movie made me laugh and cry, often from one to the other, like a game of ping pong, yet never feeling unnatural or forced.
In truth, the success of Lady Bird relies on one person; Saoirse Ronan is faultless as the eponymous lead, bringing a youthful spunkiness to the role, coupled with a gorgeous vulnerability. Gerwig is not afraid to depict ultimately flawed characters; no truer is this seen than in Ronan's performance, the young star carrying the film on her shoulders with an envious ease. Lady Bird finds its greatest performer, however, in Laurie Metcalf, playing Christine's exasperated, yet bullishly strong-willed mother. Metcalf's performance is simply astounding, her final scene enough to bring anyone to tears and rivalling Patricia Arquette's Oscar-winning matriarch in Boyhood. Scenes between Ronan and Metcalf are some of the best in the film, sharply written and sometimes painfully relatable. The movie is backed up by a talented supporting cast, including a gentle father in Tracy Letts and Beanie Feldstein showing great comedic timing as Lady Bird's insecure best friend, Julie.
There is something very beautiful about Lady Bird; it's a very understated film yet has an unparalleled effect in entirely immersing its audience within the lives of its characters. It's wonderfully funny, intelligently constructed and has an emotional core that is never loudly exclaimed but is always deeply affecting. A stunning film, Lady Bird leaves me hungry for more from Greta Gerwig.
Whiplash (2014)
An electrifying breakthrough for Damien Chazelle
Damien Chazelle has become a notable rising star in film direction in the past decade; his 2016 musical, La La Land was the subject of the infamous Best Picture mess-up at the 89th Oscars. Despite this, after a Best Director win, Chazelle has been tipped as a great and one of his films that demonstrates this perfectly is his 2014 breakthrough, Whiplash, the story of an ambitious young student under the tutorage of an abusive music instructor. Chazelle has crafted an exhilarating and detailed film, owing less to a La La Land-esque musical but rather to sports movies, like Rocky. Miles Teller stars as Andrew, a young and hugely ambitious drum protégé desperate to impress his notorious instructor, Terence Fletcher. J.K Simmons stars as Fletcher and is certainly the star of the film; his muscular physique and sharp tongue create a monster, yet one who remains human enough to remain terrifyingly believable. Slowly, we see the film turn into a game of cat and mouse as Andrew is relentless in his pursuit to impress Fletcher, who argues that tough love is the only way to breed musicians that make history. Whiplash is brutal when it needs to be, Tom Cross' editing adding a sharp execution (often cutting to the central drum kit) to Chazelle's attentive direction. The film is unforgiving in its pace, managing to turn even the most permissive drum solos into gripping dramatic set pieces. Even as the film descends into melodrama, plot-wise (literal car crashes begin to overtake the metaphorical), Whiplash never loses that golden forcefulness and intensity that makes it work so well. For a film about music, Justin Hurwitz provides a fitting score, his striking, bouncy music immersed within the jazz standards. The score feels like the film itself; brassy and pacy, yet somehow relaxed and perfectly measured at the same time.
Whiplash is a fine film; Chazelle's aptitude for detailed and thoughtful direction is clear and, even when the story trails into the unbelievable, you can't bring your eyes way. Simmons is stellar in his performance, his delicious brutality making him well deserving of his Oscar. Whilst La La Land shows Chazelle paying homage to the bygone movie musical, its predecessor is a very different film; nail-biting and uncompromising, Whiplash is a very accomplished piece of filmmaking