Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
As anyone who has ever seen any films or photos of the era, the 1930s had a wonderful sense of style – a perfect blend of crisply stylised Art Deco and the emergent minimalism of the end of the decade’s modernism. Sleek airships drifted over a New York that saw the Empire State Building dominate the landscape; plush, jet black cars slid majestically along the streets; cinemas showed the futuristic worlds of Flash Gordon; the entire decade (well, bar that unpleasant Great Depression thing at the start and the nasty global war palaver at the end) seemed influenced by Fritz Lang’s classic Metropolis. It is little wonder that the 30s have been so supremely influential in Hollywood movies over the last seventy-odd years.
Furthermore, as anyone who has ever read Biggles or who grew up on stories about the Battle of Britain knows, aerial dogfights between nippy propellored ‘planes are cool. Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki, newly popular in the West thanks to the success of his Spirited Away, made excellent use of this dictum in 1992’s Porco Rosso, which revolved around a pig in a red ‘plane flying round a 1930s Adriatic tackling sky pirates. This was followed up a few years later by Crimson Skies, a bestselling computer game which followed pretty much the same plot as Porco Rosso and avoided being sued for copyright violation by making the central character human.
Sky Captain takes both these fundamental truths – 1930s = stylish and biplanes = cool – and adds another stalwart of Japanese animated movies: great big giant battle robots.
By rights, this should be the ultimate geek movie – giant robots, exciting action sequences and aerial stunts aplenty, a stylised, Fritz Lang-inspired 1930s New York as the background, a writer/director (first-timer Kerry Conran) obviously well aware of his film history and sources and so on and so forth.
The film does look amazing: bar the actors (well, most of them – Laurence Olivier appears in a cameo despite having been dead for fifteen years) and a few of the props, the entire thing is digital. It’s taking George Lucas’ experiments on the new Star Wars films to the logical extreme, and trying to do without any physical elements wherever possible.
So it’s a shame, really, that the two leads – Jude Law as the eponymous flying ace Joe “Sky Captain” Sullivan and Gwyneth Paltrow as a typical Frank Capra-style feisty reporter – are so blandly wooden. (Angelina Jolie and Michael Gambon are far better, but their parts are little more than extended cameos.) It’s almost as if Law and Paltrow have also been created by a computer, so mechanical are their performances.
Nonetheless, the technical mastery and visual invention of Sky Captain, not to mention the sheer number of film references, ensure that this is a film which is not only well worth a look, but then worth a second, closer look. As it is so close to the cutting edge of digital film technology it will no doubt date very quickly, but for its sheer style this has to be up there as one of the films of the year.
Shark Tale
Boasting an impressive voice cast, including Will Smith, Renée Zellweger, Jack Black and Angelina Jolie, this animated underwater gangster comedy has looked to be pretty promising ever since it was first announced. When armed with the additional knowledge that it would see the young Vito Corleone Robert DeNiro himself voice a Godfather shark and hero director Martin Scorsese, he of classic gangster movies Goodfellas and Casino fame, turn up as well, and that it would be co-directed by one of the people responsible for Shrek, the entire project started sounding very impressive indeed.
Smith voices Oscar, a small fish in a big ocean who happens to be in the right place at the right time, just as an anchor plummets from above to kill a hulking great shark. Taking advantage of the situation, Oscar decides to pretend that he killed the predator and so gain the respect of his fishy peers. Unfortunately the ex-shark in question just happens to be the son and heir of the local sharky crimelord, DeNiro’s Don Lino. After teaming up with the Don’s vegetarian wannabe-dolphin other son Lenny (Jack Black) to cement his shark-killer reputation, Oscar is unsurprisingly not the sharks’ favourite fish.
As seems to be almost obligatory in animated comedies these days, and as is no doubt obvious by the presence of DeNiro and Scorsese and one of the Shrek team, film references abound in a valiant attempt to keep the adult members of the audience interested. It pretty much works – largely due to the obvious fun DeNiro and Scorsese are having and the fact that Will Smith, even in fish form, is always entertaining.
The dialogue may not always be as snappy as the underwater predators of the title, but this is a good, fun family movie with enough to keep grown-ups and kids alike absorbed in this nicely detailed watery world. It is yet another example of the sort of movie Disney should look to be making – witty and silly, and without so much of the sentimental guff that seems to crop up in practically everything the behemoth of feature-length cartoons is churning out these days.
Though unlikely to become a classic, this is better than average slice of family fun which will no doubt continue to keep the children amused for several years to come, and will certainly make a nice weekend treat as the nights begin to draw in.
Man On Fire
British Director Tony Scott has, for much of his career, been heavily overshadowed by his more successful big brother Ridley – he of Gladiator, Thelma and Louise, Alien and Blade Runner fame. To be fair, Tony’s had his successes as well, including the 80s camp actioner Top Gun and the semi-sequel to the Francis Ford Coppola’s classic The Conversation that was 1998’s Enemy of the State, but nothing like the cross-genre critical and commercial hits of his sibling. Unfortunately, Man on Fire still hasn’t brought Tony up to Ridley’s level.
A re-make of the pretty much unknown 1987 film of the same name, Man on Fire centres around former CIA agent John Creasy (Denzel Washington), hired by a wealthy couple in Mexico City who fear their daughter has become the target of a kidnapping plot. Sure enough, she’s soon nabbed by the baddies, and Creasy sets off on a violently unthinking revenge trip, so enamoured has he become with the cute little kiddie.
It’s all rather predictable, and hardly helped by the fact that Washington, rather than give the kind of performance we all know he is more than capable of, seems to have decided to go for full-on tortured action hero mode, with all the resultant clunky lack of subtlety this normally entails. There is little characterisation here, despite there being plenty of room for not only Washington but also many of the supporting cast to add a bit of depth and subtlety to their stock responses.
To be fair, Scott tries his best to inject something interesting into what is effectively a “kill ‘em all” revenge tale, playing around with numerous fancy editing techniques, filters, montage sequences and jump cuts, but it ends up looking more like he’s trying to imitate his brother’s style from Black Hawk Down, and comes up short in the comparison.
What also doesn’t help the movie is that we’ve already had a revenge tale flick this year, the infinitely superior and far more inventive Kill Bill Volume 2. Whereas Tarantino’s visual and narrative quirks generally worked to enhance the tension, characterisation and plot of his film, Scott’s largely appear gimmicky and pointless.
What also really doesn’t help is the film’s two and a half hour running time. This is scarcely necessary when a film has a particularly complex plot, or a difficult message; Man on Fire has neither of these. Nor does it make up for this with especially interesting or innovative action sequences; instead Washington seems to spend much of his time simply coming up with new ways to dispatch villains in as unpleasant a way as possible.
It all makes for a rather dull, buttock-cramping experience. Washington should really have known better. Had he done, and had this film been deprived of a big-name lead, it is likely it would have faded into the same kind of obscurity its 1987 predecessor has mercifully done. As it is, this will primarily be remembered as an unfortunate blemish on the otherwise nearly spotless record of Denzel Washington, and another try-hard failure from Tony Scott – who, it appears, has a long way to go before he can step out from his more talented brother’s shadow.
Five Children and It
E. Nesbit’s children’s romantic fantasy has already been adapted for the screen as a TV series for the BBC a decade or so ago. It was an utterly inoffensive, innocent and sweet tale of a group of children who discover a Psanmead – a kind of fairy – in a sand pit near their home. It is a friendly soul, and empowered to grant the children a wish a day, which can only last until sunset. Book, TV series, and this new film version alike make best use of this simple tale of childhood adventure to create a lovely, if perhaps a tad old-fashioned, and absorbing world.
Boasting some stellar adult actors from Kenneth Branagh and Zoe Wanamaker to John Sessions and even the aging Norman Wisdom, as well as some effective animatronics from the legendary Jim Henson Company, the only question is whether or not this kind of homely and wholesome story can capture the imagination of a generation of children more used to violent computer games, Pokemon, Harry Potter, and the grit of the likes of Eastenders.
The only other potential problem is the presence of the comic genius that is Eddie Izzard, voicing the Psanmead itself. On stage, Izzard’s stand-up routine crosses age and language barriers alike – he is fluent in French and makes full use of this talent – and has earned him a huge fanbase in all corners of the world. The only trouble is that, to date, every single film Izzard has appeared in has bombed at the box office, no matter how good either he or the film itself may have been.
In certain quarters, “the curse of Izzard” is a standing joke. He was in a competent adaptation of Joseph Conrad’s best novel, The Secret Agent – it failed to make any money; he was in The Avengers – it was awful; he was in Velvet Goldmine- both it and he were great, but audiences failed to turn up; same story with Mystery Men. While the videos of his stand-up shows sell in their hundreds of thousands, and his stage shows sell out within hours, and critics and public alike adore his surreal humour and general affability, for some reason Izzard can’t seem to persuade anyone to come along to his movies.
This apparent curse is an utterly unfair one, and no more so than here. This is never going to be a blockbuster to compete alongside the likes of the Harry Potters and Spy Kids of this world, but director John Stephenson, in his feature debut (he previously directed the recent television adaptation of Orwell’s Animal Farm) has done a good job of turning Nesbitt’s charming story into an equally charming big-screen outing which should happily appeal to the entire family.
Concentrating on plot and characterisation more than computer-generated gimmicks, merchandising tie-ins and puerile jokes, and offering some valuable advice about the responsibilities and consequences of power and decision-making, this is the sort of children’s film which doesn’t seem to be made any more. It deserves to be supported wholeheartedly.
Exorcist: The Beginning
In 1973, director William Friedkin scared the living hell out of audiences around the world with his adaptation of the William Peter Blatty novel The Exorcist. Revolving around a young girl who is possessed by a foul-mouthed demon, it has since become one of the most spoofed and best loved films of all time.
Since then there have been two sequels to the expertly-crafted original, both of them awful; this latest is actually a prequel, but it has kept up this tradition admirably.
When this project was first announced, it seemed to have some promise. The studio originally hired the superb John Frankenheimer, who had previously helmed a sequel to Friedkin’s French Connection as well as classics like The Manchurian Candidate and the more recent Ronin. Friedkin shortly had to step aside due to ill health (and in fact died a month later). Instead, they brought in talented writer-director Paul Schrader (best known for his superb screenplays for the Martin Scorsese classics Raging Bull and The Last Temptation of Christ), who went off and shot a psychologically-charged drama explaining the origins of the vicious demon of the first three films. He delivered a completed film; the studio binned it, hired a new director, and effectively started all over again. Schrader’s take was, apparently, not violent or gory enough for their liking. This is when the project started to go downhill.
The appeal of the original Exorcist was not in its famous projectile vomiting scene, or the infamous inappropriate behaviour with a crucifix – it was in the all-pervading sense of foreboding and dread. The success of the original was, in other words, psychological, not thanks to fancy effects or exciting action sequences.
The director brought in to replace Schrader is hardly one renowned for his subtlety. Renny Harlin got his big break with the slasher horror Nightmare on Elm Street 4, made his name with the competent sequel Die Hard 2, and then churned out a series of bog-standard to terrible actioners along the lines of Cliffhanger, Cutthroat Island and Deep Blue Sea. Subtlety and suspense are not exactly his forte; Harlin goes for explosions and machine guns over thought and drama every time.
Set in 1949, here Swedish actor Stellan Skarsgard takes on the role of the Merrin, played by Swedish actor Max von Sydow in the original, and one can’t help thinking that an actor of Skarsgard’s experience should have known better. Merrin goes to investigate an unusual church, found buried in Africa, with the aid of a stereotypical band, including the obligatory young priest. From then on out the body count rises and relentlessly rises via a succession of boringly unoriginal shock tactics. It has all the subtlety of someone sneaking up behind you and shouting “boo!”
De-Lovely
At a time when London’s West End is about to witness the launch of a number of new big-budget musicals (The Woman in White, The Producers, Mary Poppins and Billy Elliot) comes a biopic of one of the true masters of the form: Cole Porter. It is practically impossible for anyone living in the Western world not to be aware of at least one of Porter’s many fabulous musical numbers, from “Let’s Do It” to “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”, or superb musicals, from “Anything Goes” (a version of which is currently playing in London) to “High Society”.
Ignoring the fact that Porter was responsible for some of the best-known songs of the 20th century, he also had a fascinating life. He attended Harvard Law School with future US Secretary of State Dean Acheson (the equivalent of Colin Powell today), went to France during World War I, married to cover up his homosexuality, was confined to a wheelchair for five years after a horse riding accident, and worked with almost every big Hollywood name from the 1930s through to the 1960s.
This should be ideal material for a biopic, with the added bonus of being able to cash in on the huge success of the likes of Chicago and Moulin Rouge, especially as it covers similar periods. Such an ideal film should Porter’s life make that it already has been one, and more than half a century ago – 1946’s Night and Day, directed by Casablanca’s Michael Curtiz, saw Cary Grant as a rather dashing Porter in a fictionalised account of his life. Porter himself attended the premiere.
Despite the presence of Cary Grant, the only reason to watch that earlier biopic really remains Cole Porter’s music; sadly, despite the presence of Kevin Kline, Jonathan Pryce and Ashley Judd, the same could arguably be said about this new version. Although more accurate – acknowledging Porter’s sexuality for one – it lacks the charm of the earlier version, which at least had the decency to flow nicely. This places Porter in the role of a musical Forrest Gump, cropping up haphazardly and confusingly throughout Hollywood history in a series of flashbacks, with appearances from various figures whose names will almost certainly be unknown to the majority of modern audiences.
But where this film does justify its admission price is, unsurprisingly, the music. Kline as Porter does himself proud, once again stealing the show as he has done in so many of his recent films, and showing to boot an emotional versatility which belies his reputation as a primarily comic actor. Chuck in Porter tunes performed by the likes of Elvis Costello, Sheryl Crow, Alanis Morisette and Diana Krall, and the soundtrack for this movie looks like being one of the best of the year.
It may not be the best film ever made, and may give little or no insight into the creation of the classic songs scattered throughout, but if it revives Cole Porter’s music for a new generation then that can only be a good thing.
Alien vs. Predator
“Whoever wins, we lose” – never has a movie tagline been more prophetic. Anyone foolish enough to pay good money to see this mindless tripe loses; the studio loses money; the actors involved (including the cult hero that is Lance Henriksson) lose any respect they may once have had; the director loses what little critical kudos he may have managed to hang on to from his last (only?) halfway decent film, 1997’s Event Horizon.
Ridley Scott’s 1979 scifi horror Alien was a masterpiece of updated slasher suspense; John McTiernan’s 1987 scifi horror Predator was a good attempt at post-Vietnam action. Both films had sequels – of the various spin-offs, only 1986’s James Cameron-directed Aliens was really any good – but in one of them, 1990’s fairly awful Danny Glover-starring Predator 2, a movie geek in-joke was slotted. Acknowledging the debt the original Predator had to the original Alien (the films are pretty much the same, only one is set on a space ship, the other in a jungle), the design team included what was fairly obviously an Alien’s skull in the trophy room of the Predator’s space ship. A scifi crossover was born, and ever since, fans of the films have been calling out to see what would happen if the two beasties got to fight it out.
The last cult crossover to hit the screens, last year’s splicing of the Nightmare on Elm Streetand Fridath the 13th franchises that was Freddy vs Jason at least had the decency to be self-referential and moderately amusing. Then again, that film had the benefit of one of the two main draws being able to speak, and of being directed by someone with an obvious love of and respect for the source material.
Alien vs Predator ends up an insult to both franchises, not just in its shoddy execution, but also in terms of story-telling consistency. For starters, fans of the Alien films will know that the Aliens won’t make it to earth for several hundred more years – the films were all set far in the future. So why is there an Alien Queen on earth in the present? Plus, both Predator movies made clear that the Predators appear only when it is extremely hot. So why are they knocking around in the middle of the Antarctic? A geeky point, maybe, but for a film aimed at geeks to get things wrong from the outset is a little bit worrying to say the least.
The trouble is that anyone who really wanted to has already seen Alien vs Predator. There have been several computer games based on the concept – some of which have even been quite good – and umpteen different comic book interpretations. Pretty much all of these have been better than this take on the idea.
The major flaw, however, is the lack of any perceivable point. The first Alien was a great psychological thriller more than action; the second was a futuristic take on Vietname; the third and fourth flawed but interesting looks at human nature; the first Predator was a metaphor for Ronald Reagan’s perceived Communist menace in Central America; the second used the Predator to examine the threat of the drug trade. This is just action and violence, but not anywhere near impressive enough to be worth the price of admission. Avoid.
Alfie
We’ve already had remakes of two Michael Caine classics, the God-awful Mark Wahberg vehicle Italian Job and the truly dire Sylvester Stallone ego-trip Get Carter. You really have to ask yourself when will they learn?
When Michael Caine has been good, he’s been up there with the best, and the original Alfie was his break-out and possibly all-time best performance. The Alfie character was a charming yet heartless (even vicious) rogue, pottering along in a late 60s Britain which had already evolved beyond him. He was the epitome of the kind of wide-boy chauvinist who was, in the age of women’s lib and the emergence of the Pill, increasingly anachronistic. In many ways he represented everything the 60s counterculture was rebelling against – a money-fixated con-man who womanised not out of hippy notions of free love, but utter selfishness.
For anyone who loves the original, and especially for fans of Michael Caine who have already seen the memories of two of his best-loved films sullied with simply appalling remakes, the prospect of seeing Jude Law take on one of the best characters British cinema has ever seen is a worrying one indeed, especially when you learn the action has been transplanted to contemporary New York. The original was so rooted in the sensibilities of 1960s London it seems impossible to imagine how it could work anywhere else. It seems especially impossible, considering the sizable number of women Alfie gets through, that this could possibly work in a post-AIDS setting.
Incredibly, despite all common sense and expectations dictating otherwise, this is anything but a disaster. Jude Law for once puts in the kind of performance – inspired a great deal by Caine’s sublime original – which deserves the kind of plaudits he always seems to receive for his half-hearted efforts. The Jude Law of this movie is a very different one to that of Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, also released this month. He has charm, charisma, and humour in abundance. He’s still, like Caine’s Alfie, a thoroughly unpleasant character but, again like Caine’s version, impossible not to like.
The only way to be fair to this film is to ignore all comparisons to the original, and look at it in its own right. As such, it is a top-notch movie – a fine supporting cast including Marisa Tomei, Susan Sarandon, Omar Epps and a bevy of sundry sultry beauties combine with nicely timed directrion from Charles (Father of the Bride) Shyer and music by the likes of Mick Jagger and Dave Stewart which almost manages to compete with the original’s superb score.
However, without wanting to give anything away, the ending here lacks the closure and impact of the original, which sent the character on an emotional journey from which he may – just may – have learned the error of his ways. Here Alfie’s charm and comedy is played up more than his sadness and tragedy, and the film loses out because of it. For this reason above any other, the original will remain the true Alfie. If this version points any cinemagoers in its direction that can only be a good thing, but at least they won’t have wasted their hard-earned cash on watching a rubbish take on a classic – unlike the poor fools who paid money for the Stallone Get Carter…
