The Cutprice Guignol

September 24, 2013

Movie Marathon #17: Sinister

Now, I write quite a lot. Hence, I enjoy movies and books about writers. True, most of the time they make the lot of us seem like a ragtag group of garrulous scum, but nonetheless, it’s always fun to see how various people produce their own interpretations of what the glamorous and brilliant lives of writers are actually like.

And that’s what eventually turned me onto the Scott Derickson flick Sinister. Following the tale of writer Ethan Hawke trying to write a follow-up to his hugely successful true-crime novel by shifting his family across the country to live in a house that was initially home to a grisly murder.

Personally, and judging by the conversations I’ve had with other people who write lot, there’s a similar experience most of us have had. At one time, you write something you’re inordinately proud of; an idea so brilliant, so well-articulated, so utterly perfect that you can simply never top it-but you’ll spend years trying to do exactly that. And that’s entirely what Sinister is based around.

There’s an incredibly well put-together scene in Sinister where Ethan Hawke first encounters real evidence of some majorly unsettling events taking place in his new home. His immediate reaction is to phone the police and, as he does so, he paces around his office, coming face-to-face with a stack of copies of his last book. He’s presented here with a choice; take his family and run like hell, or have one last grab at the fame, fortune and respect he always dreamed of as an author. And what does he choose? Like any writer, he dobs in safety and sanity to chase after one more hit. It’s brilliant; Hawke’s writer isn’t a terrible man, but he makes some awful choices based on what he thought would lead him to his Capote-level discovery.

Aside from that, I think it’s a generally solid horror film; unrelentingly tense, very disturbing, and completely compelling. It owes a huge and obvious debt to Stephen King-the rural setting, the family in peril, the author as a lead character-but that works in it’s favour rather than against, as the straightforward and classical stylings of the plot work to elevate it above overly complicated fear fodder like Insidious.

Overall, it’s a film I have particular affection for because I like the character it follows and the genuinely fear-inducing scary bits. It might not be the best horror film ever made, but compared to a lot of the dreck currently being churned out in the name of fear, it’s a very tight piece of cinema.

Leave a comment

September 23, 2013

Movie Marathon #16: The Simpsons Movie

Recently, I wrote about my undying love for The Simpsons and how I genuinely believe that the show acts as a superb social marker and quick & easy way to judge someone on the fly.

I remember hearing whispers about the movie way back when I was at the height of my Simpsons mania; and it made me a little sad. Because I thought a movie would mark out a vast change in the way the show went forward; I envisaged a franchise of films at the loss of the television episodes, or just a complete flop that would kill a series which was already regularly accused of a major decline in quality. Luckily, it was neither of those things.

Much as there is debate about The Simpsons Movie, I think it’s brilliant. It doesn’t just run like an extended episode; the writers took advantage of the fact that their audience was already well-acquainted with these internationally beloved characters, avoiding throwing in scores of new cast members to spice up the movie or make it essential viewing for fans who were already skeptical of the movie. Aside from that, it’s genuinely funny; it keeps The Simpsons brilliant mix of surreal humour and beautifully touching character moments. And it’s not just madcap japes the whole way through-it’s by turns sweet, charming, sour, cynical and downright silly.

The animation, which marked a departure from the cruder drawing of the older series, was pretty spectacular. Huge, luscious crowd scenes, gorgeous scenery, the fleshing out of old characters; the animators took advantage of the changes the big screen would bring, and set themselves up for the next few years of superbly detailed animation.

For me, The Simpsons Movie did mark the end of an era for a big part of my viewing schedule. The show stopped being just a self-contained television programme-it was a franchise, replete with movie and video games. The show would then head off into a far more madcap and less grounded series, one that never really reclaimed the heart it had in the earlier seasons. But that by no means makes this movie anything other than what it is-warm, witty, clever and full of the creative brilliance that will always be what I love most about The Simpsons.

Leave a comment

September 22, 2013

Movie Marathon #15: Elysium (Guest Post)

I’d very much like to welcome a guest author for this post-the formidable talent of my father Steve, and his quite expressive reaction to Elysium which I received via email from Thailand this morning. You can find more of his bloody brilliant writing (well, I must get it from somewhere) here, here and here.

Saw Elysium last night. Also read your review. I agreed with most of it, but overall I think you were too kind. It was no more than a loose grouping of ideas stolen from a range of sources. Elysium was a straight copy of Citadel from the computer game Mass Effect (look at the screenshot – it’s so close I’m surprised no-one seems to have mentioned it). The look of the dystopian earth (and how bored I am with dystopian Earths!) is a straight lift from the second Mad Max film. The plot, if you can call it that, had all the depth and complexity of a teletubbies episode. With pathos added by the wheelbarrow-load just in case you didn’t get it – the little girl dying of leukemia who tells the parable of the meerkat and the hippo. I guess it was supposed to get you right in the heart, but it caused me only an involuntary spasm of the lower bowel.

And don’t get me started on a dying Earth, polluted and starved of resources, but where all the characters are plump and healthy looking (including the little girl in the terminal stages of cancer) with great teeth and men who clearly manage to spend several hours a day in the gym despite their poverty-stricken lives. And then there’s Sharlto Copley, notable only for the ability to flex his muscles and shout in a funny accent, who for no discernible reason dons an exoskeleton to fight Matt Damon (I mean, it’s not as if he was short of guns…) and then decides to make himself President of Elysium. And Jodie Foster, who’s death when it arrived meant nothing at all. And Matt Damon’s death, where we were bludgeoned with the terrible pathos of it all (“Tell her I understand about the hippo”) in a way that had me spluttering indignantly over my choc ice. And a plot so full of holes that it looked like a string vest (to take one minor example, Elysium has all this technology and wealth, and how do they defend themselves against attack? By depending on a renegade agent on Earth who has less than five minutes to nip out to a mysterious parked van and launch the requisite missiles. What if he’d been dropping a big one on the bog? Or his car wouldn’t start? Or he was watching something really, really good on TV and couldn’t be arsed? Wouldn’t it have been logical to build some sort of defense system on Elysium?).

I agree that Spider was probably the least crap character. But he was still a long way short of plausible or engaging.

Pah! What an utter waste of time, money and effort. For me and all the poor souls involved with making this dreck. It’s not often you’ll hear me say this, but I actually preferred Pacific Rim. At least it was cheerfully and unashamedly crap, and had a sort of childish exuberance that prevented me from lapsing into a coma.

Leave a comment

September 21, 2013

Movie Marathon #15: Lost in Translation

So, Sofia Coppola. She’s someone I’m endlessly torn about; almost tragically earnest, one of the ultimate examples of the Hollywood Babies set. Like a hyper-pretentious Rugrats spin-off.

Her debut, The Virgin Suicides, smacks of middle-class ennui and beautiful women. Lots of long, long shots, taut performances imbued with tension and blonde hair and death.

Then there’s Marie Atoinette. There’s nothing wrong with the film, per say, but it’s an airy confection, made up almost entirely of historical inaccuracy and bouncy soundtracks. It doesn’t feel like a Sofia Coppola film; it doesn’t take itself nearly damn seriously enough. The Bling Ring was another weird one-ostensibly a mockery of the shallow nature of fame-hunters that ended up, to a degree at least, pandering to the very people it claimed to be laughing at.

And that’s why I’m torn. I enjoy most of her movies, but it feels as if I enjoy them for different reasons than she intended; I like them because they look good and sometimes make me laugh. Ms Coppola meant for me to revel in a big, sticky ocean of her great ideas. Except Lost in Translation, which represents my favourite kind of uppity fluff; lusciously shot, sparsely written, witty in an honest way, and with a stray Ghostbuster thrown in for good measure. Top stuff.

It’s a tiny, quiet film-very much like Sideways, which I reviewed yesterday-and is often written off as overly thinky, unfunny comedy, featuring bland performances from pretty people. Honestly: that’s not the case. It’s sparse, yes, but still incredibly witty and featuring my favourite ever Bill Murray performance, as a washed up actor who meets a young newlywed (played by the frankly luscious Scarlett Johansen) by chance in a hotel bar. It offers yet another view on romance and marriage; a contrast between the long-suffering Bill Murray and his eternally offscreen wife and Scarlett and her yuppie buisnessman college boyfriend (played with typical confidence by Giovanni Ribsi). The main relationship is beautifully handled; never ostentatious, wild, silly or overtly dramatic, it’s a wonderfully scored, perfectly understated semi-romance that never really goes anywhere. An ambiguous ending might annoy the hell out of some people; for me, it’s a perfect reflection of the romance Lost in Translation depicts. Wistful, a little sad, but ultimately invested in a future they both know will work one way or another.

Aah. How sweet.

Leave a comment

September 20, 2013

Movie Marathon #14: Sideways

Sideways is one of those movies I’m almost pre-programmed to love. An cynical comedy (check) starring Paul Giamatti (Check) as a struggling writer (check) who goes on a wine tour (check) to celebrate his best friend’s upcoming nuptials. But I saw it before any of those things really meant anything to me-in my pre-film-buff, pre-alcohol, pre-writing days. I didn’t even know who Alexander Payne was, for the love of God.

But I still thought it was a beautiful movie. A small, ultimatley sad little film, it features some bloody good performances from the lead four (Daniel Hayden Church, Virginia Madsen, Sandra Oh and the aforementioned Giamatti), and makes the most of the beautiful backdrop of the wine country. It also steers mostly clear of heavy wine talk or too much in-depth angsty author rubbish, so don’t keep using those as an excuse.

I think the reason Sideways ranks among my favourite films is because it takes such a different look at romance and love- for what boils down to a slightly puffed-up romantic comedy, it’s got a hell of a lot to say about various different kinds of relationships; friendship, engagement, marriage, divorce, affairs, romance. The central friendship between Giamatti’s depressive author and Church’s washed-up screen star is the driving force behind the film, and the way their respective relationships develop with their two lady friends says a lot about each character. For Church, what was meant to be a final fling before a life of married bliss turns into something uncomfortably genuine; for Giamatti, it’s all about nervously trying to navigate the minefield of romance after his divorce and general faliure.

The film pulls no punches with a wearily honourable ending, with both men basically attending to their responsibilities and facing an uncertain, probably rocky, future. Despite this, it holds a certain sense of optimism for both characters, refusing to consign them to the theoretical skip just yet; things might be difficult and pretty set-in-stone for now, but quote some Bukowski and everything’ll look a little brighter. If those aren’t words to live be, I may as well just end it now.

Leave a comment

September 19, 2013

Movie Marathon #13: Rush

So, I went to the cinema last night with some friends. I’m trying not to make that sound sarcastic because I know at least one them will be reading this, and he knows where I live, and he’s a big bastard. But, believe it or not, I managed to rustle up some popcorn and the motivation to walk thirty paces to the cinema and went to see Rush, the new Ron Howard racing epic starring Chris Hemsworth as James Hunt and Daniel Bruhl as Nicki Lauda.

I find the general tale of Hunt and Luader pretty fascinating to begin with -one of those “you-couldn’t-make-it-up” real-life stories that seems like it only happened in the first place so someone could make a film out of it. And, in the hands of the sterling Ron Howard, it genuinley looked like it was going to be the perfect mix of Oscar-bait and actual entertainment.

And….it was. Sort of. A bit. I was discussing the film later with a friend and we both agreed that, although the film had been a very competent bit of cinema, it also wasn’t much more than that. Aside from the beautfiul cinematography and race sequences, everything remained decidedly average, decidedly first-draft-y. Chris Hemsworth made a fine James Hunt (whose name sounds almost incorruptibly like a rhyming slang), and there were lots of appropriatley gorgeous women wandering about in the pits, but the film suffered from it’s own story from the second act onwards.

Nicki Lauda was involved in a truly horrific crash in the 1976 German Grand Prix, where his car rolled into an embankment and burst into flames. Lauda was trapped in the burning car for over a minute until fellow drivers worked together to pull him out of the scorched wreckage of his ferrari, during which time his modified helmet had slipped off, leaving his face pretty much fully exposed to the flames. The crash left him in hospital for over a month, with many assuming he would never race again, if he lived at all. He did survive and did race again, but was the crash claimed his left ear, a large part of the skin on his face and most of his hair.

Several things struck me about the way this accident was handled in the film. For one, it was a brilliant bit of filmmaking. The crash (and Lauda’s recovery) were pretty harrowing to watch, even for those who wouldn’t call themselves petrolheads, and Daniel Bruhl did a great job with Lauda’s sheer force of will and almost dangerous ambition. But that crash was pretty much the climax of the film-and it came two-thirds of the way in. After we’d seen Lauda’s triumphant return to the field, etc, etc, and James Hunt claiming victory in the 1976 World Championships, it felt like Howard was just presenting us with an extended “happily-ever-after” sequence. Trapped by the boundaries of real life, he was left with trying to gum together some kind of closure through Bruhl’s forced narration and Hemsworth bouncing onto a private jet full of sexy ladies. And when your epilogue takes up that much of your film, you have to wonder whether the rest of it was worth watching in the first place.

Leave a comment

September 18, 2013

Movie Marathon #12: Death Note

Continuing the theme of nicking every aspect of my interests and personality from anyone around, I was introduced to Death Note by my older brother when I was around fourtten. He passed me down the manga when I spent about ten minutes staring at him blankly while I tried to work out why he was reading a book backwards, and I devoured them in a ridiculously short amount of time. I will stand by ther Death Note books as a work of true genius; a ridiculously overwrought, convoluted story that only stops being fustrating after you’ve put down the last book. The art is beautiful, the ideas mind-bending, and the characters ridiculously compelling. With that source material, really-really-how badly could they fuck up the films?

Well, a lot. Seriously. Coming at the films with less an open mind than one that was an endless plane in every direction, I wanted it to be superb, and it was barely passable. You’d think that a manga (and anime) with such heavy influence and general, all-over popularity would have been able to garner, say, some people who could genuinley act. Starring Tatsuya Fujiwara (the lead in the equally dissapointing Battle Royale) as Light Yagami, the sociopathic student who ends up with Godlike powers after discovering the notebook of a Shinigami (God of death), and a perfectly-cast Kenichi Matsuyama as the mysterious and emotion-free detective L who’s constantly one step away from busting Light.

The story’s great but it’s been mangled almost beyond repair in the pair of movies, dobbing in Light’s brilliantly evil character for a matyred young man just trying to put the world to rights. Adapting a twelve-book series into a pair of relatvely short movies was always going to be a mountainous challenge, especially with a fanbase as dedicated as Death Note’s. But it’s not just that they’ve screwed up the plot.

Both films can relax in the knowledge that they have a solid, pretty huge fanbase for their creation, however brilliant or terrible the movies might be, and everything about them-the casting, the direction, the writing- smacks of this. It’s lazy. When you don’t have to fight to get yourself recognised, there’s always the temptation to just sit back on what you already have and point the camera at a couple of teenagers pouting at each other over a table.

Disclaimer: Kenichi Matsuyama is one of the most singularly beautiful men I’ve ever seen in my entire life and I would happily rub my head on his chest for days at a time.

Leave a comment

September 17, 2013

Movie Marathon #11: The Dark Knight

Well, it’s come to this: another thoughtless rehashing of the final role of the hugely lamented Heath Ledger. Appearing here in what is essentially the definitive representation of The Joker (save for maybe Mark Hamill’s work on Batman: The Animated Series), Ledger did himself spectacularly proud with his swan song. A deranged, unhinged, terrifying performance in which Heath inhabits the role of this psychotic villain, it rightly garnered an Oscar win and gallons of critical praise, acting as a tragic marker for just how far this exceptional actor could have gone.

But. I watched the second installment in the Nolan’s trilogy recently, and it struck me how questionable the film is a whole. I’m not one of those Christian Bale haters who seem to loath the very talented actor on principal; I think he makes a grand old Batman, as well as being a swoonsomely suave Bruce Wayne. And he brings a bit of subtle humour to the role, a hint of tongue in cheek wit that elevates this Batman tenfold. Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman and Aaron Eckhart also do solidly well, prancing around in the B-stories of the movie’s outskirts with glee (even though they talk almost entirely in exposition). I also developed a powerful crush on Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon in this segment, but that’s neither here nor there.

But this film is always going to be overshadowed the fact that it features the final, almost portentous performance from one of the best actors I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching. A powerhouse, hypnotic role that almost feels unfair in how good it is; it’s not right that we lost Heath Ledger as he was cresting the wave of what promised to be a fantastic career. This film, however entertaining and absorbing it might be, will forever stand as a morbid momento of what might have been.

Also, do you think Heath ever brought up the fact he filmed a gay sex scene with Maggie Gyllenhaal’s brother? I sincerely, truly hope so. For Heath’s sake.

Leave a comment

September 16, 2013

Movie Marathon #10: Brazil

My earliest memory of Brazil-indeed, of any film, come to think of it-was growing up with a huge Brazil poster dangling above the stairs next to my room. I loved the wierd imagery; a great winged figure rising from a set of drawers in some existential office block, framed with the neon pink script declaring the movie’s title. It’s one of my dad’s favourite movies, and one that I received on the understanding I would watch it immediately the day I turned fifteen. It’s one of those wierd films that I was aware of in intimate detail before I’d even seen a snippet of it; so often a disappointment, but not in the case of this dystopian Gilliam masterpiece.

Brazil is one of the few films whose appeal I’ll admit is limited; it’s a deliberately wierd, passionately contrived, extremely dark sci-fi comedy set in an unnamed period of time that draws heavily from Orwell’s 1984 for themes and imagery. I know how awful that makes it sound, but none of that ever takes over Gilliam’s bonkers imagery and cunningly crafted story. Like Wes Anderson, I usually think Terry Gilliam’s makes interesting movies as opposed to perfect ones; somehow, he drew together the perfect cast-including an utterly fantastic Michael Palin as a professional torturer-and one of the most brilliantly depressing/life-affirming endings I’ve ever seen.

Much has to be said for the sheer creativity poured into Brazil; it would make no sense to spew it all up here, but when you do watch the film (and you will), the devil’s in the details. It’s like being squirted by a joke flower on the lapel of the Thought Police. I also developed a huge crush on Johnathan Pryce over the course of the film, portraying a beaten-down office drone who becomes a superhero in his dreams. Ridiculous? Almost as much as Jim Broadbent playing a questionable plastic surgeon. But fuck it: this is a film that defined my experience as an avid audience member because it was so unaplogetically ridiculous on every level. But that didn’t stop it being one of the most resonant, touching and consistently entertaining movies in existence. All hail Gilliam, except when he’s making yer Imaginarium shite.

Leave a comment

September 14, 2013

Movie Marathon #8: The Mummy

Now, I believe there to be a real dearth in the world of family horror films. You know what I mean-the type that terrify the kids into silence while the grown-ups can drink wine and enjoy the general rollick and fun of a good story. Babysitting movies, essentially.

The Mummy is a perfect example of that; fun, light, exciting, entertaining and properly scary in places. I saw it when I was twelve and incredibly impressionable, and I was shit-scared by it. It didn’t help that my father spent the rest of that evening chanting “Ih-mo-thep..” whenever I was in a room by myself, but frankly that’s just good parenting. I needed toughening up.

It’s also a wonderful throwback to the Hammer Horror films of the sixties; all glamorous women, handsome heroes and bumbling sidekicks. It’s difficult to balance homage with making a solid film of your own, but here it works; there’s just enough tongue placed firmly in cheek for the movie to pull it’s own style out of film history. It’s also greatly blessed by a cast who look like they’re having the best time ever, especially the eccentric English collector played by a gurning, goggling, gaping John Hannah. And Rachel Weisz as the sexiest librarian known to mankind. Which certainly helps.

It’s properly scary, too; from the opening scene of live mummification to the slowly-regenerating ancient killer mummy running around Egypt waging war with a wannabe Liam Neeson on a horse, it doesn’t skimp on getting in some really traumatic scenes for the kids. And therein lies it’s allure-when you’re a kid, you secretly hunt out the scary stuff, the stuff you shouldn’t really be watching. I still think that one of the reasons I have such a passion for horror movies is that feeling of crawling into the comforting womb of Something You Shouldn’t Be Doing, and The Mummy balances the fun adventure story with the nasty, violent horror side with panache. It’s a brilliant way for kids to get into the scary side of cinema without staying up late and ending up wide-eyed with terror-fueled insomnia after over-indulging on some blood-soaked frames of film. And anything that gets kids into horror is something I love. Saves me the bother.

Leave a comment