We Don't Live Here Anymore
Whereas the other film focussing on the troubles of married life released this month, Mr And Mrs Smith, sees the spouses start resolving their difference with over-the-top guns, explosions and stunts, this look at the simultaneous breakdown of two couples is a rather more sombre and serious affair.
The Lindens (Mark Ruffalo and Laura Dern) and the Evanses (Peter Krause and Naomi Watts) are close friends, all frustrated with both their personal and professional lives in their small New England town. And so begins a wonderfully realised exploration of the tensions and difficulties of any close mixed-sex friendship, as feelings of companionship and matey closeness become confused and confusing. The basic premise may initially sound uninteresting, but with a cast like that you know this is likely to be something special.
Director John Curran manages to bring out the very best in his excellent cast, drawing out the humanity and compassion behind a tale of marital strife which could, with less subtle talents behind it, easily seem cold and alienating. The sheer likeability of all involved quickly draws the audience in, as small town life is perfectly created – along with all the little secrets behind closed doors.
The two couples, both sets of husband and wife still deeply in love despite their frustrated ambitions, become blurred. Their friendships lead to heart to hearts which lead, as these things are sometimes wont to do, to infidelity – but an infidelity where neither party really wants to leave or hurt their long-term partner while still not being able to stop.
It seems odd that a film revolving around such a disheartening subject as extra-marital affairs and romantic anguish can remain so sweet and engaging. This is in large part why it works so very well. Unlike in most other cinematic portrayals of relationship breakdowns there is no one to hate, no one to blame. As in life the motivations of all parties are clearly understandable and fully sympathetic.
As such, it must rank as one of the most interesting and best explorations of love American cinema has yet produced. Already dubbed “the best American movie so far this year” by The New Yorker on its US release last August, many critics were rightly surprised that it was overlooked by the Oscars. The fact that it didn’t receive any nominations is a genuine injustice – this is a beautiful, intelligent and deeply engaging film based around a quartet of masterly character studies from its stars, and a worthy escape from the blockbusters that are currently dominating the multiplexes.
Sin City
Whether over-the-top violence is your cup of tea may well affect your approach to this movie, but the thing which will remain most striking is the highly unusual look. This is almost entirely unlike anything you will have seen onscreen before.
In terms of structure, Pulp Fiction will probably be the comparison most often bandied about – and not merely because Quentin Tarantino directed one of the scenes and Bruce Willis co-stars. Following three loosely-connected storylines, the emphasis is on brutal violence and confusion amongst corrupt and criminal lowlife, centred around a tough streetfighter, an accidental murderer and a wrongly imprisoned cop, it is not the storylines which will first strike anyone.
Co-directed by Robert Rodriguez of Once Upon a Time in Mexico fame, a close friend and follower of Trantino’s, you may think you’d know what to expect. But the real impetus for the directorial style comes not from him, but from first-timer Frank Miller – the veteran cult writer/artist of innumerable comics and graphic novels, and the creator of the original comic book series of which this film is an adaptation. Miller’s harsh, idiosyncratic drawing style has here been recreated just about as faithfully as it possibly can be for the big screen without being an animated movie.
The harsh blacks and whites, brief flashes of primary colour, and all-pervading sense of shadow and decay help make this one of the most beautifully horrid films noir in years. This is the Gotham City of Tim Burton’s Batman movies blended with the gloomy metropolis of Blade Runner and the grimy late 1940s urban landscapes among which Philip Marlow might hunt for clues, heightened and made yet more surreal by crisp monochromes which indicate a visual inventiveness never before hinted at in Rodriguez’s prior work. It all comes straight from the original comics – shots set up as similarly to the original drawings as is physically possible while working in three dimensions rather than two.
So, it should keep the fans happy, at any rate – but what is there for the non-geeks? Well, there are the wonderfully perverse performances from the incredibly talented ensemble cast for one. Alongside Willis are Clive Owen, Benicio Del Toro, Rosario Dawson, Rutger Hauer, Jessica Alba, Mickey Rourke Brittany Murphy, Michael Clarke Duncan, Michael Madsen and even Frodo himself, Elijah Wood, turning in one of the most sinister performances of the year – so unsettling as to be almost certain of shaking off his wimpy image of The Lord of the Rings.
Then there’s the violence – almost insane levels of frequently highly unpleasant violence. Enough almost to make Tarantino’s flicks look like family movies, and stylised to an extent that even the most gruesome become artistic vignettes in their own right. It is, simply, stunningly beautiful – while being simultaneously revolting.
While certainly not being one to take your grandmother to, if you have ever enjoyed an old Humphrey Bogart movie or revelled in the ultraviolence of a Kill Bill, this has to be one not to miss.
Mr And Mrs Smith
After his recreation of the spy genre with 2002’s gritty amnesia flick The Bourne Supremacy, this initially seems like a rather odd choice for former indy wunderkind Doug Liman, who first came to the world’s attention with the casually witty 1996 buddy comedy Swingers. After all, it’s a remake – and not of the rather weak 1941 Alfred Hitchcock comedy of the same name, but of an even weaker, quickly cancelled television series from the mid-1990s starring Quantum Leap and Star Trek: Enterprise’s Scott Bakula. On the surface, it’s not a very auspicious start.
But no one really cares about the director here – it’s Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie everyone will be going to see. The rumours of a blossoming on-set romance between the two stars, each entirely rightly counted as among the most gorgeous people in the world, will be more than enough to pique the interests of the gossip column-reading crowds. It’s like Bogart and Bacall in To Have and Have Not, Cruise and Cruz in Vanilla Sky or Hepburn and Tracy in Woman of the Year all over again. The fact that both actors are – at least, when they try – masters of their craft is simply an added bonus.
So – talented director, two insanely good-looking leads that rumour has it are an item in the real world. The plot seems pretty much irrelevant by this stage – which is probably just as well, because it’s insanely silly.
Pitt and Jolie are an increasingly bored married couple – disillusioned with their humdrum life together and heading towards a breakup. But – wait for it – they are both highly-trained assassins, working for competing organisations under secret identities so closely-guarded that even husband and wife don’t know about each other’s alternate lives. Sure enough, they are hired to kill each other – still unaware how very well they know their targets.
Cue the firing of ridiculously improbable weaponry and resultant huge explosions, viciously-choreographed hand-to-hand combat, spectacular stunts (and, for Jolie, costumes which will turn the men in the audience into gibbering wrecks) and – naturally – the slow rekindling of the Smiths’ initial romance long after they thought it was as dead as their masters want them to be.
Naturally enough with such a concept, this could have simply been a nonsense blockbuster. The basic idea behind it is, after all, somewhat reminiscent of the dumb but fun 1994 Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle True Lies, where the Governator’s James Bondish secret agent ended up going up against a group of international bad guys while trying to keep his wife in the dark.
Thankfully, however, the sheer talent involved both in front of and behind the cameras here ensure that this is a cut above the usual summer fair. It’s still basically a big dumb blockbuster, but with a panache and self-awareness that will ensure it’s practically impossible not to love it.
League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse
When BBC2 first introduced viewers to the world of The League of Gentlemen and their creation of Royston Vasey back in 1999, after several years of its founders trawling the comedy and radio circuits, it was difficult to know quite what to make of it. It was bloody funny, certainly – but was it a sketch show or a sitcom? Was there an ongoing plot, or just a collection of oddities and vignettes?
As the series progressed – there have been 18 episodes to date plus an hour-long Christmas special – the intricacies of the intertwined plotlines began to get ever more convoluted, sinister and bizarre even as the denizens of the odd little northern town in which the show is set became more grotesque. Meanwhile, Little Britain has cropped up to adopt much of the more absurdist character comedy even as the League themselves have pursued darker paths. Always an unsettling style of humour, the lesser incidence of catchphrases and greater emphasis on disturbing plotlines in their more recent outings seems to have lost them a number of the early fans.
In all, this not only seems a rather odd choice for a feature film adaptation, but also an odd time to do it – at least in terms of popular appeal. But in terms of the League’s ability to create involvingly ingenious storylines and highly unpleasant yet engaging characters, they remain at their peak.
Here a number of the familiar denizens of Royston Vasey – braindead Mickey, psychotic Pauline, Edward and Tubbs from the Local Shop and the terrifyingly unsettling Papa Lazarou – are faced with the destruction of their home of choice. Soon three of Royston Vasey’s residents, butcher Hilary Briss, German tour guide Herr Lipp and loser Geoff, venture beyond the borders of their little town and into the real world to track down those responsible for its imminent destruction.
As should be expected by now from the talents of writer/stars Jeremy Dyson, Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith, the unexpected should always be expected. Here, the “real world” is just that, and the writer/actors also appear as themselves, creating what media studies courses would probably term a post-modern metatextual paradox – especially when the film is consciously morphed into another altogether halfway through.
What this actually amounts to, however, is a far more interesting and successful approach to translating a British comedy series to the big screen than pretty much anything since the Monty Python movies. Whether people unfamiliar with the League’s idiosyncratic comedy and characters will be able to acclimatise themselves quickly enough to the humour and horror is another matter, but for anyone who has ever been entertained by any of the previous escapades of these highly inventive comic creations, this film will satisfy and surprise in equal measure.
Kung Fu Hustle
It’s the 1940s, some gangsters are fighting a turf war and a (relatively) innocent petty thief who wants to hit the big time gets caught up in the middle. So far, so like countless movies, from Scarface to Once Upon A Time In America. But this is no ordinary gangster movie. First of all, it’s set in China. Second, the gangsters use martial arts rather than guns (the name’s a bit of a giveaway there). Third, the gangsters are introduced with a lavish, Broadway-style musical number.
This is not your average gangster movie, nor is it your standard martial arts flick. Stephen Chow, the man who brought us the superb Shaolin Soccer, is back with his follow-up just months after his much-delayed masterpiece finally made it to western cinemas, and once again he doesn’t disappoint. If he carries on like this he’s easily going to claim Jackie Chan’s crown as the heir not only of kung fu master Bruce Lee but also that of slapstick king Buster Keaton.
This has got to rank as one of the best comedies so far this year, and is thankfully getting a much wider release than its massively mistreated predecessor, which was held back for two years and then mutilated by the American studio which bought up the rights. This time the studio has changed and Chow’s genius can be witnessed by western audiences without the indignity of cuts or mindless dubbing
It’s a film so jam-packed with inventiveness it’s almost impossible to know what to single out for particular praise. There’s the movie references – from West Side Story and The Untouchables to The Matrix and Batman to innumerable Hong Kong action flicks. There’s the unbelievably complex and frequently beautiful fight choreography. There’s the rip-roaring humour and silly sound effects. But above all else is the seemingly effortless ability to splice all the various parts into one immensely entertaining whole.
For a cinema-going public now more used to the world of flying kicks and karate chops after the likes of Hero and Kill Bill, this could open up a whole new world of oriental cinema, one which has been unjustly ignored for decades by most western audiences. Many younger movie-goers missed Bruce Lee first time around, and Jackie Chan is now past his prime. Stephen Chow is right at his peak and, what’s more, has a back catalogue of fifteen years’ worth of starring roles – over thirty films in all – which, now that he has found an understanding western distributor, will surely soon be more readily available to his growing army of fans.
This is parody of the highest order, a brilliantly witty mocking of the source yet done so well as to equal the movies it has been inspired by – and in places even surpass them. The plot, as with so many spoof films, is almost entirely incidental, merely providing a framework for a series of comic sketches and breathtaking stunt work. This is Airplane! with fighting, Naked Gun with Bruce Lee in the lead, one of those films which will keep you laughing until your throat’s sore right up to the closing credits, and then have you coming back for more.
Baadasssss!
Films about films have a long and often noble tradition in Hollywood, from Charlie Chaplin’s 1916 short Behind the Screen via Sunset Boulevard, The Player and even last year’s The Aviator. The old adage for aspiring novelists to “write about what you know” can apply just as well to filmmakers. They know Hollywood and the movie business inside out, and in this particular genre there have been far more hits than misses. Strike this one up as another definite hit – in terms of style, humour, interest and entertainment, if not, thanks to its relatively limited release, box-office takings.
As the flower power of the 1960s raged, the black writer/director Melvin Van Peebles had a dream – a film with an all-black cast, dealing with all-black subjects. But, less than a decade after the Civil Rights movement had finally secured true emancipation for the African American population, racism and snobbery in America was still such that such a film was considered not only likely to be a commercial failure, but potentially dangerous for any mainstream studio to be finance.
On point of principle as much as through conviction that his screenplay would be a success, Van Peebles decided to self-finance, scraping together – with the aid of a $50,000 loan from rising black TV star Bill Cosby – just enough money to bring his dream to life. Taking on directorial duties as well as the lead role, Van Peebles created the first true Blaxploitation movie, one of the defining films of the 70s that would be described in certain quarters as “the black Citizen Kane”. It grossed over $10 million, and spawned countless imitators – including the likes of Quentin Tarantino’s Jackie Brown.
But Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song’s importance was not just for its story – black/white racial tension and police brutality amongst the counterculture’s rejects, with a liberal dosing of sex and swearing – but for the way in which it was made. In the first place it was practically unheard of to self-finance a movie, but it was certainly unheard of to make a movie in this way – with an almost entirely amateur cast and crew scrimping, scrounging and stealing anything it took to get the thing made. It is a genuinely fascinating story of perseverance, immorality and inspiration, and has already been the subject of a bestselling making of book – also written by Van Peebles.
Now, over three decades after Sweetback hit theatres in 1971, Van Peebles’ son Mario – the director of another defining black film, the “gangsta” classic New Jack City – has managed to bring the story of his father’s struggle to make his masterpiece to the screen. Just like Dad, he writes, directs and stars – as his father. What he has also managed to do is make a truly superb docudrama-cum-biopic which actually manages to be even better than the film it is about.
For anyone interested in the inventiveness of the counterculture rebels on the fringe of the 1970s, the history of Hollywood or the Civil Rights movement, this is a must-see. For the rest, it’s a funny, fascinating and sympathetic movie which somehow, despite son playing father, manages to avoid pulling any punches about some of the more sordid details.
Batman Begins
Forget Star Wars – this is the real geek film of the summer. It has been eight years since the last Batman film ended up so utterly without merit that the franchise fizzled to a halt, and thirteen years since the last time the Dark Knight was really done justice on screen in Tim Burton’s superb sequel to the Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson-starring 1989 blockbuster. In the intervening years, superhero movies have become bigger than ever – yet it has taken until now for the two franchises that really kicked the genre off, Superman and Batman, to get their act back together.
The horrible memories of George Clooney trying his best in skintight black rubber in the insanely camp and completely awful Batman and Robin will be wiped clear with this reincarnation of what remains one of the coolest comic book heroes of all time. Now it is the turn of Christian Bale to don the cowl and cape, the story focussing on how the orphaned millionaire Bruce Wayne made his first forays into the world of vigilante crimefighting.
Loosely based on the groundbreaking comic series Batman: Year One by cult writer/artist Frank Miller (whose Sin City also makes it to the big screen this month) and adapted by Blade scribe David S Goyer and Memento writer/director Christopher Nolan (who also directs here), the announcement of this project got the world of comic fandom so excited some kind of frenzied geek explosion seemed likely.
But for the casual fan too, it only gets better. The cast is rounded out with some of the best actors around – Liam Neeson, Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman, Katie Holmes, Rutger Hauer, Cilliam Murphy, Tom Wilkinson and Ken Watanabe among them. And, if you thought that was good, the part of Alfred, Batman/Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, is filled out by none other than the near-legendary Michael Caine. It is a dream cast, with every actor being perfect for their roles – almost all of which have long been known to Batman’s followers over the more than six decades during which he has been thrilling his fans.
After so many aborted efforts over the years, Nolan has managed to rival Tim Burton’s two Batman films for his audacious realisation of the grittily unpleasant underworld of Gotham City in which Batman stalks his prey. Like Burton’s darkly psychological outings, there isn’t a trace of the camp tomfoolery of the much-loved Adam West-starring 1960s TV series in sight – this is an altogether more sinister take, and as such entirely in keeping with the character as he has developed over the last few decades.
After all, Batman’s ultimate motivation, brought perfectly to life here, was the senseless murder of both his parents in front of his very eyes. Dark and disturbing is what Batman should be, so the casting of the star of American Psycho should really come as no surprise – and this film has the decency to be absolutely top-notch, exhilarating and absorbing to boot. One you will definitely regret missing, and quite possibly the film of the year.
A Lot Like Love
People who like lighthearted romantic comedies are, generally speaking, an undemanding lot. When they pay their hard-earned cash for one of these films, they don’t expect a life-altering experience. They aren’t after any massive revelations about relationships and love. All they want is a pretty boy, a pretty girl, a bit of a misunderstanding, some implausible set-ups and a happy resolution, all interspersed with some moderately amusing jokes. People who don’t like romantic comedies usually, and often wrongly, write the whole lot off as mindless pap. On this occasion, the latter group is entirely correct.
Starring the badboy toyboy of Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher, who hit the big time with his wonderful stoner turn in the hilariously braindead Dude, Where’s My Car? and perennial also-ran starlet Amanda Peet, best known for Bruce Willis flick The Whole Nine Yards, this ranks as a perfect example of cynical Hollywood exploitation of a target audience’s expectations with almost no actual delivery on the promise.
Perhaps most insulting to the intelligence of lovers of romantic comedies is the fact that this is a not so subtle rip-off of one of the finest examples of the genre, the classic that is When Harry Met Sally: boy and girl meet, hate each other, go their separate ways, meet again, fall in love. The plot, however, is where all similarities to that infinitely superior film end.
The really shocking thing is that this is directed by Nigel Cole, the man responsible for the satisfactorily whimsical British menopausal comedy Calendar Girls. He really should have known better than to follow up with such unmitigated, derivative rubbish. But to be fair on the guy, from his half-hearted efforts it seems he may well have been aware of how useless this movie was going to be from the start.
It really is a great shame that two such likable actors as Kutcher and Peet have to resort to this kind of nonsense to attempt to revive their sagging profiles. Neither are really star material, but both have the kind of easy likeability and charm which should have made them a shoe-in for an on-screen romantic pairing. But there’s no chemistry, no comedy, no character to their performances, just an all-pervading sense of “been there, done that” and ever-rising boredom.
One to avoid – even on DVD. Let’s just walk away and pretend it never existed. It’s films like this that give romantic comedies a bad name.
