TheSquiss Reviews

Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)

A sit back & go with the flow romp. Violent, bloody & hugely entertaining.

[8/10 · 3 February 2015]

Adapted from the acclaimed comic book by Jane Goldman (Stardust, The Woman in Black) and directed by Matthew Vaughn (Layer Cake, Kick-Ass) Kingsman: The Secret Service is a sit back, put your feet up, go with the flow romp. It doesn't pretend to be anything else, and it achieves its goals admirably.

Harry Hart (Colin Firth) is an agent with a super-secret undercover organization hidden behind the façade of an exclusive tailor's outlet in London. When one of the Kingsman agents is killed in action, a brief, intensive selection process begins through which a replacement will be found. Whilst the majority of the potential recruits are public school educated and born with silver spoons in their mouths, Harry's proposition is Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin (Taron Egerton), a streetwise kid from the wrong side of town and a pitiful history. With death or expulsion the penalty for failing each task, Eggsy battles prejudice as well as aptitude tests in a bid to become a Kingsman.

From the opening titles of Kingsman: The Secret Service we know we're up for fun. The credits tumble out like rocks from exploding walls as Vaughn sets the tone of adventure and derring-do. We think we know where we're going but Goldman and Vaughn have formed a reliable partnership that maintains the ability to surprise, to appall and to shock simultaneously. This is tongue-in-cheek, logic be damned magic.

Throughout Kingsman: The Secret Service we are treated to bloody, violent, beautiful choreography that leaves us wincing, laughing and admiring the audacity of the mayhem they spread across the screen. The church sequence is a marvel to behold and a scene that Tarantino must wish he had created first. As for the grand, spectacular finale, well, let's just say you've never seen fireworks like this! It is a visual triumph that is, in an odd kind of way, mind-expanding. Riotous, beautiful and very funny indeed.

One of the great joys of Goldman's and Vaughn's collaborations is that they seem not to care too much what anybody thinks. They just do it. They know the rules and they play the Hollywood game but they do it their way. Product placement has long been a standard of filmmaking, and though there is plenty of it on display here, one particular example is the funniest, classiest most blatant since, well, ever!

Like Goldman's and Vaughn's other work, Kingsman: The Secret Service doesn't take itself seriously. It is joyfully camp at times, frequently taking digs at the genre it is mocking. In the Roger Moore years, James Bond became a buffoon, an unbelievable pastiche of himself. Here, Bond gets a makeover and frivolous fun is on the agenda throughout. All the ingredients are here: a super villain, excess, beauty and gadgets. This is gadget heaven and umbrellas have suddenly become cool.

Colin Firth is clearly having an absolute blast as the suave agent. Who needs Paddington to boost your cinematic profile when you can shoot, stab, smash and bludgeon this stylishly? Firth is a class act and this is proof once again that there is far more to him than simply the stiff upper lip persona.

Samuel L. Jackson is on scenery munching duty the as Valentine, a twisted tech genius holding the world to ransom under the guise of being its savior, and why not? There's a certain amount of ham in his performance but it works perfectly here and he's in good company.

Egerton makes for a fine, watchable secondary hero that we may perhaps find it easier to identify with but he's not in the same league as Colin Firth or Michael Caine and does not easily drag our attention away from them. Mark Strong's accent takes a little while to settle in but he, too, brings light humour and a certain gravitas to Kingsman: The Secret Service, as we have come to expect from his presence.

There are plenty of gaps in the plot (at what point does Eggsy actually learn to fight properly?), and occasionally the humour is a little too obvious and slips below the level Vaughn sets, but all of these glitches and flaws are forgivable when a film is this much fun.

Unfortunately, when a film is as much fun as Kingsman: The Secret Service, the temptation (and pressure from the studio) must surely be there to forge a sequel. Let's hope Goldman and Vaughn resist that money making exercise and leave Kingsman to stand proudly as a unique experience that thrills and entertains completely.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

John Wick (2014)

Keanu Reeves repays a favour in this hit-man stinker. Not good. VERY not good!

[2/10 · 21 January 2015]

Another day, another review. In the case of John Wick, there's a really short version: Don't bother.

John Wick (Keanu Reeves) is a recently bereaved man whose wife, Helen (Bridget Moynahan) kindly, inexplicably, managed to replace herself with a perfectly timed puppy so that John won't be lonely. He also owns a car. Shortly after burying his wife, John takes his dog and fills up his car at the gas station where he attracts the attention of thug Iosef Tarasov (Alfie Allen, recently seen in Plastic). Iosef wants the car, John doesn't want to sell it, Iosef resolves the issue that night by rearranging John's face, killing the dog and stealing the car. Needless to say, John is a little narked and phones up Iosef's dad, Viggo (Michael Nyqvist) to complain. The thing is, John Wick is a retired hit-man and all-round killing machine.

John Wick could have been resolved painlessly in five minutes: "Your son killed my dog and now I want to kill him. If you don't let me, I'll kill everybody you employ, everybody you know and every inanimate object you own." "Okay, he'll be home in half an hour. Come on over…"

No such luck.

It starts slowly, stutters and plummets thereafter.

John Wick is the type of film that gives credibility to the opinion that Keanu Reeves stinks on the big screen. It isn't right (sometimes), it isn't fair but in this instance it is fairly accurate. In reality, Reeves is the second best thing (after the dog) in this tedious, ham-fisted mess that attempts to be a thriller, but I suspect there is more to it than that. He isn't awful, he just doesn't appear to be trying. He gives every impression of gritting his teeth, and taking the money before he wanders back into the safe obscurity of the horizon. He looks bored and I suspect he's fulfilling a favour and hoping he escapes in tact.

John Wick is the directorial debut of both Chad Stahelski (stunt coordinator and Reeves' double on Constantine, The Matrix films, The Replacements, Point Break…) and an uncredited David Leitch, who happened to be a stuntman on Constantine and Matrix Revolutions. Either this is one hell of a favour or Keanu Reeves lost big time on the between-the-scenes poker marathons.

As we found with The Interview and This is the End, having two directors doesn't mean the film is going to be twice as good. John Wick is proof again that if one director can't make it work, a second director only serves to shoulder the blame. Stahelski and Leitch have hired a goon to 'write' this mess and have then proceeded to direct it in the same manner i.e. in block capitals and armed with wax crayons.

Scattered throughout John Wick are subtitles that float across the screen (no bad thing) with random words picked out in block capitals to give the impression of the speakers SHOUTING random WORDS whenever they feel LIKE it (VERY bad THING indeed!). I'm just going to gloss over the needlessly capitalized words sprinkled through them.

The performances in John Wick are frequently, painfully wooden and from a cast that also either owed favours (Willem Dafoe) or were cheap (the rest). It plods, lines are repeated and the costume design clearly consisted of shopping; EVERYONE is wearing brand new clothes!

John Wick contains some fine action sequences in which Keanu Reeves swings a variety of weapons with maximum effect, but when there is complete reliance on blood spatter and gunfire and a complete oversight when it comes to script, direction, performance, logic and reason, no matter how good your star is, your film is in serious trouble.

To refer to my original statement, there is a slightly longer short version:

Don't waste your time, money or breath watching, thinking or talking about John Wick.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)

Sharp, funny & with career-defining turn from Michael Keaton

[7/10 · 20 January 2015]

It's not hard to see why Birdman has divided audiences. It isn't an easy viewing experience and it would be all too simple to call it a 'Marmite' film, but it's not as straightforward as loving or hating Birdman; I think some people just don't 'get' it. And, no, I'm not setting myself above all others and claiming that I do get every point and nuance.

Writer/director Alejandro González Iñárritu (21 Grams, Biutiful) has crafted a comedy drama of depression and insanity where the viewer isn't always entirely certain what is going on either upon the screen or in Riggan Thomas' mind. For that matter, Riggan isn't entirely certain where the dividing line is between reality and psychosis, so what hope is there for us?

Riggan Thomas (Michael Keaton) is a washed up, wrung out movie star famous for his role as the titular Birdman. With his film career on the wane, his personal life in tatters and his mental state fragile, he endeavours to kick-start his career and prove that he is a real 'actor' by adapting, directing, staring and producing an adaptation of a Raymond Carver's short story, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, on Broadway. The production is troubled with recasting problems, relationships, clashes with inflated and fragile egos and family issues including a daughter, Sam (Emma Stone), who is begrudgingly working as his PA. But these problems are nothing compared to the maelstrom in his head.

Birdman is a very dark and frequently disturbing film that is lightened by occasionally also being very funny. There are snaps of dialogue and physical action that thrust a belly load of laughter into the air to lift the mood and the action, though mostly the action of language and retorts, keeps the viewer on edge. Antonio Sanchez' jazz drum score, however, scratches at the brain so that we are never truly comfortable, regardless of the humour and action upon the screen.

The camera work is an absolute joy to behold. Periodically a film comes along (The Player, Atonement) that causes us to rave about a particular scene that is one long, elaborate shot and which must have been rehearsed and choreographed endlessly. Birdman is comprised almost exclusively of such shots that are so beautifully edited that it is frequently very difficult to see where one shot ends and the next begins, although it is difficult not to be distracted by Iñárritu's skill and play 'spot the edit' rather than concentrating on the film.

Birdman is loaded to the brim with fine performances from Edward Norton's egotistical actor, Mike, to Lindsay Duncan's viciously cutting critic, Tabitha. With solidly impressive support at every turn from Zach Galifianakis, Naomi Watts et al, Iñárritu has filled Birdman with variety and sparkle from his cast. In any other year, Keaton would be looking pretty damn confident in the run up to the Oscars but he has a battle on his hands with Eddie Redmayne's turn in The Theory of Everything. Regardless of how much gold he wins this year, he is on blisteringly good form here as Riggan in what may very well displace Betelgeuse as his career-defining role.

I'm not entirely convinced that Birdman is a film to enjoy, but it is a fantastic, mind-mending, disturbing experience of madness and surrealism that needs to be witnessed more than explained. Take a deep breath and go for it, but don't blame me if you emerge with your head spinning and less relaxed than when you went in.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Whiplash (2014)

Astounding, intense & damn near perfect!

[10/10 · 15 January 2015]

Wow! Just wow!

A young drummer, Andrew (Miles Teller) enrolls at a prestigious music conservatory. Plucked from a rehearsal room, he is given the opportunity to play with the studio band under the tutelage of aggressively driven band leader Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), a man with a vicious mouth, extreme methods and an obsession with driving his students way beyond breaking point in order to achieve their potential and find absolute perfection.

Perhaps my greatest joy with Whiplash is that just a few weeks ago I was barely aware of its existence and deliberately knew little about it as I took my seat in the screening room. There is something very special about being blindsided without expectation, and blindsided I was. My screening companion and I felt exhausted by the end and were still discussing animatedly it an hour later.

I knew I was in the presence of greatness within minutes of Whiplash. From the opening scenes of Andrew rehearsing and Fletcher observing, passing judgment and scything him down with sharpened tongue and looks that slayed, it was abundantly clear that writer/director Damien Chazelle was on a mission to hammer us repeatedly with verbal blades, withering looks and an intensity that other directors would kill to produce.

There are insufficient superlatives to express the power and effect of Whiplash and Chazelle's achievement. At least four times in the course of the screening my heart sank as Chazelle took us towards an alleyway that was predictable and certain to kick a five-star experience into another four-star, notable also-ran. Each time, he turned it around beautifully, steadfastly refusing to take the convenient route, instead aiming another kick at the tender parts, slamming us with the unexpected and leaving us to reel or look on in wide-eye admiration.

His brilliance is in the subtlety, the sharp cracks of dialogue that slice through the opposing character's confidence; it is in the reactions of the onlookers that we see once and only once, never over-egging a moment; it is in the blood, sweat and tears, literally, that coat the symbols; it is in the music, the performance and the slam of hand and stick on metal and skin and it is in the accompanying venomous glares that scream more eloquently than a thousand words could ever achieve.

Until last night, I didn't really 'get' jazz. After 107 minutes of Whiplash that passed in a heart-pounding, hair prickling moment, I can't get enough. If there had been a second screening I'd have put myself through the exhaustion again in an instant.

When the Oscar nominations are revealed tomorrow, I doubt if the Academy will honour Whiplash with a Best Film nod but I sincerely hope it is in the mix at least for director and editing. As for J.K. Simmons, his nomination and win as Best Supporting Actor are probably as much a certainty as Daniel Day Lewis was for Best Actor in 2013 for Lincoln. If Simmons doesn't clean up 90% of the principal awards and see his already superb career take a whole new trajectory after this, I'll eat my hat, and yours and every one I can find in the village! Good? Whiplash is damn near perfect and J.K. Simmons is a major reason for it!

For those who know J.K. Simmons as 'that guy from…', no longer is he going to be the go-to guy for irascible bosses and supporting characters. There is an effortlessness to his commanding performance as the teacher his students fear but whose validation they crave. Powerful, venomous, controlling, manipulative, vindictive… Fletcher is at turns both horrible and, perhaps, a genius. J.K. Simmons' utter ownership of the character pokes an electrified finger into every nerve prompting us to hate, fear and, just maybe, respect and admire a man who walks a razor sharp line between obsessive insanity and genius, all the time staring his victims in the eye, screaming into their face and daring them to take him on.

On the receiving end of much of his venom is Andrew, played with equal measure and control by Teller. It is a solid performance that meets Simmons' all the way. More than that is Teller's performance at the drums that astound. He plays with his hands and his fists and his mind and his emotions and every ounce of fluid he can ring out of every available pore in his body. At the risk of sounding repetitive, wow. Just wow!

I recently reviewed Big Eyes, a true story that really didn't warrant a feature-length big screen outing. Conversely, Whiplash is an event I wish I could make a reality so that I could experience it in the flesh repeatedly.

Chazelle has crafted a film that is pretty much perfect. I fear it will receive a limited audience because, on paper, the premise doesn't blow anyone away: Teacher gives student a hard time; student struggles to find himself... But back in 1994, a little prison movie was released that was badly marketed, garnered seven Oscar nominations, didn't win a single one and bombed at the box office. It was only word of mouth and the DVD release that made the world sit up en masse and notice that The Shawshank Redemption for what it is. Perhaps Whiplash will go through a similar experience, though I suspect Oscar won't make the same mistake this time around.

The year is young but Whiplash is the best cinematic outing from it so far. See it, see it now and prepare for something remarkable. To steal a line, "I'll count you in…"

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Foxcatcher (2014)

Chilling tale with remarkable performance from an unrecognizable Steve Carell.

[8/10 · 15 January 2015]

Based on the true story of multi-millionaire John du Bont, part of what was once America's richest family, Foxcatcher is a dark brooding eight-star drama with three central ten-star performances.

Desperate to prove himself as a man of ability and power, John du Pont (Steve Carell) uses the family money to help an ignored Olympic wrestling champion, Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum), realize his potential without financial constraints. Du Pont establishes the Foxcatcher training facilities in the hope of ensuring Schultz, his brother, David (Mark Ruffalo), also an Olympic champion, and the American wrestling team strike gold again at the Seoul Olympics. But du Pont is not simply a magnanimous benefactor but a damaged, lonely and quietly violent man who is desperate to buy the love and approval of his condescending mother, Jean (Vanessa Redgrave), his wrestlers or any substitute he can pay off.

The obvious and overused comment is that Steve Carell is physically unrecognizable here. Many's the viewer who has sat through much (or all) of Foxcatcher, blissfully unaware that it is the star of simplistic comedies like 40 Year Old Virgin and Evan Almighty who is unnerving them from the big screen. But that has little to do with him; give those accolades to the make up department. What really matters is that Carell is unrecognizable because he gives one heck of a performance! Talk about chameleon-like ability! This is Carell as you could never have conceived him.

It would have been incredibly easy to portray du Pont as an outright monster, raging and throwing his weight around, but Carell owns the screen with a performance that is quietly chilling. There is a distinct lack of facial movement or expression, but the pauses, the silences… In those eyes we see a man who is capable of great cruelty and damage in his quest for power and pseudo love.

Carell is the obvious star turn in Foxcatcher and the absolute about turn from his standard fare is nothing short of astounding, but both Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo are on fire here. With Ruffalo, it is solid support, gravitas and a powerful gentleness as the old brother looking out for his sibling as well as his family. Tatum is also something of a revelation as the wrestler of few words but much brooding. With a CV packed with the dreary, dumb and dire (White House Down, This is The End etc.) Tatum has a track record of convincing heartthrob beefcake, but at last he gives us a glimpse of the potential ahead.

But performances alone don't make a great film and Foxcatcher falls short of excellence due to director Bennett Miller's (Capote, Moneyball) apparent reluctance to commit. There is a great deal of ambiguity about Foxcatcher and that doesn't serve to intrigue but to frustrate. Du Pont's sexuality is implied but not made clear and there is suggestion of a sexual relationship and abuse, but Miller seems content to make vague references without ever committing.

Beyond that, Foxcatcher is a cold film. The aloofness and the suggestion of impending violence keeps us permanently on edge, and that is a great strength of the film, but there needs to be more to draw us inside du Pont's world. As it is, but for his final act, I was left wondering quite why Mark was so upset by du Pont's behavior. Yes he was a strange man, but strange doesn't explain Mark's reaction and emotional turmoil. We needed to see more actuality and not only implication.

A great film leaves the viewer wanting more. With Foxcatcher, Miller has given enough to intrigue but leaves us wanting enough to be satisfied.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Wild (I) (2014)

#Reese Witherspoon stripped bare & exposed on a journey to find a reason to live

[7/10 · 14 January 2015]

When Cheryl Strayed's (Reese Witherspoon) life has a good go at crashing and burning, largely due to her own poor decisions, she packs a rucksack and takes a 1,000 mile walk along the Pacific Crest Trail to, as she puts it, "find out how to become the girl my mother loved." Alone and woefully ill prepared for the trek, both physically and emotionally, hers is a journey through an unforgiving landscape of discovery, pain and hope.

Adapted by Nick Hornby from Cheryl Strayed's own biographical account of her journey, Wild: From Lost to Found On the Pacific Crest Trail, and directed my Jean-Marc Vallée (Dallas Buyers Club), Wild is the darker sibling of 2010's The Way. But whereas The Way was a gentle, almost spiritual journey of a man making a conscious decision to complete his son's failed trek, Wild is a desperate attempt by a floundering woman to claw back something resembling life and peace.

Though Reese Witherspoon won her Oscar for Walk the Line, I don't believe she has ever been better than here, stripped bare, exposed and raw. And, no, I'm not talking about the nudity or sex scenes. If you find those remotely titillating you have a serious issue with emotional connection. She has wiped off the make up, torn off the happy-go-lucky girl-next door persona that has carried her through countless rom-coms and hammered us with a performance that makes us want to shake her fiercely one moment and hug her the next.

Vallée has crafted a touching film that doesn't shy away from the harsh realities of heroin, promiscuity and a twitching finger that frequently hits the self-destruct button. But whilst Vallée implies the level of unpleasantness in in Cheryl's life, he avoids laboring the point, largely through the use of quickly edited flashbacks and segues from present to various pasts. It is a device that keeps us onside but is also the biggest failing with Wild.

There are too many hints that are not fully explained, too many avenues glanced at but not fully explored. Occasionally there are scenes, particularly the frogs on the seeping bag, that were presumably significant in Strayed's book but are left dangling so as to be almost irrelevant. Cheryl's relationship with her brother is left as an unexplored afterthought and there is altogether too much unfinished business. The conclusion, which should give hope or at least a sense of satisfaction, is rattled though and lost as if Vallée is anxious to attain a sub-two-hour film at all costs.

But despite the niggles, Wild is a film of starkness and beauty with vistas that are breathtaking and pander to the wanderlust that bubbles fiercely just below the surface of this particular viewer.

I need a copy of the soundtrack and I need to walk for a very long time.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

The Interview (II) (2014)

As subtle as a case of year-old gonorrhea & about as funny.

[2/10 · 12 January 2015]

From the first, accidental viewing of the trailer, I was convinced beyond all doubt not to waste time or money on watching The Interview. No way, no how. From the team (stars Seth Rogen & James Franco, writer and/or directors Evan Goldberg, Dan Sterling and Rogen again) that brought us the execrable This is the End, it looked equally crass and just about as humorous as that stinking 'comedy.' Then came the hacking scandal, the flack, the fallout, the knee jerks and the 'free' publicity that North Korea, the hackers, the cowardly cinema chains and finally the FBI gave Rogan et al. And then I HAD to see it.

So…?

We'll deal with the synopsis of The Interview first, just in case you've been living in a cave for the past month or so. Dave Skylark (James Franco) and Aaron Rapaport (Seth Rogen) are the star and producer respectively TV gossip show Skylark Tonight. When they discover that North Korea's leader Kim Jong-un (Randall Park) loves their show, the chance of a 'respectable' interview looms and they prepare to travel to Pyongyang. Then the CIA recruits them to assassinate the dictator. What could possibly go wrong?

With the assassination attempt? Lots. With the film? Pretty much everything.

The short version is that The Interview is as subtle as a case of year-old gonorrhea and about as funny. Like This Is the End, it is puerile, ill-conceived, and pointless. There is little semblance of reality and not sufficient fantasy for it to engage. There is no drama, no intrigue, no titillation and, after a careful recount of the laughs between us, my companion and I counted precisely none!

Having cast themselves in the lead roles, their friends in cameos (Eminem, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Rob Lowe) and having a budget that allowed them to do pretty much whatever they wanted with it, you'd be justified in expecting something of value. Who'd have thought the best thing about The Interview, other than the end, would be Katy Perry? And she doesn't even appear!

Randall Park bears little more than a passing resemblance to the North Korean dictator but that's a great more than can be said for Rogen and Franco's resemblance to talented actors.

In hindsight, whilst I wholeheartedly support freedom of speech and expression and defend the right for Rogen et al to make The Interview and for the world to see it, it is very difficult to see exactly what the despots of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea were so upset about. Ultimately, it is the USA that comes out of this badly. It is, after all, an American film, staring American talent attempting and failing to satirize with any skill, subtlety or impact.

Without wishing to be flippant, after suffering 112 minutes of this tedium, it raises the question of whether Sony saw what a turkey they had on their hands and paid the FBI to create the mother of all marketing campaigns.

Now THERE'S a movie worth watching!

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Unbroken (I) (2014)

A remarkable POW story of survival packaged into a fine Sunday matinée flick.

[7/10 · 7 January 2015]

Unbroken, Angelina Jolie's second outing as feature director (her third, By the Sea is released later this year) is a rewarding, engaging delve into the remarkable true story of Louis Zamperini; trouble maker, Olympian, airman, prisoner of war, survivor…

Growing up on the breadline in Orlean, New York, Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), a son of Italian immigrants seems destined for a life in trouble until, running away from it one day, his talent for speed is discovered. Several years later, with one Olympics under his belt, WWII breaks out and Zamperini finds himself in the Pacific fighting the Japanese. When their aeroplane plunges into the sea, Zamperini and the other airmen battle the ravages of the sea to survive 47 harrowing days only to be rescued and taken to a Japanese POW camp. The camp commander, Corporal Watanabe (Takamasa Ishihara), makes it his personal mission to make life both incredibly painful and short for Zamperini but the athlete refuses to be broken.

The trailer for Unbroken was enough to put it on my 'Must See' list but, barely ten minutes in, it had the feel of a Sunday matinée and not a challenging look at the harsh realities of war. It showed every sign of being another insipid, failed attempt to tug at the heartstrings, like last year's disappointing Japanese POW flick, The Railway Man.

My concerns were (mostly) unfounded. Certainly it is sanitized, it pulls the punches and feels a little too gentle far too often. Unbroken has the sense of being directed by a concerned, caring mother rather than a tough, headstrong director. If that is how you approach Unbroken, everything will be good in your world. Jolie has crafted a fine film out of a remarkable story that is not too gritty a viewing experience if you wish to take granddad along or want to give the children an education that is only moderately shocking to the innocent.

Jolie has certainly produced a far more affecting and valuable film than George Lucas did with Red Tails. Her vision is grand and the sets and vistas give Unbroken a dark warmth. There are moments that, even after the event, are easy to pick out as potentially iconic: the scene with Zamperini raising the sleeper above his head, the aerial shot of the POWs bathing and resembling rats in a vast tank of water. Wonderful!

As Unbroken weaves its tale, segueing between times to complete Zamerpini's story, it becomes surprisingly moving at times, more for the horrors it suggests than actually depicts, but that's no bad thing. Andy Dufresne's first rape in The Shawshank Redemption was horrific and Darabont didn't show a thing!

While débutant Ishihara struggles to convince us at times, O'Connell carries the film with a gentle strength. There's nothing here to make one sit bolt upright and pour accolades over him, but his performance suits the overall feel of Unbroken. Perhaps more eye-catching is Domhnall Gleeson's performance as Phil, Zamperini's fellow airman and POW. It is yet another solid entry on a CV that suggests he will be around as long and as effectively as his father, Brendan.

Unbroken remains a 'bunk off work day' film rather than one to devote to a precious evening, but it is still an enjoyable way to remember what people fought for, even if it doesn't trouble the emotions as much as it should.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Big Eyes (I) (2014)

Burton belittles the cruelty while Waltz hams thoroughly in this flimflam.

[4/10 · 6 January 2015]

Tim Burton has taken a rare step back to the real world with Big Eyes, his interpretation of the true story of painter Margaret Keane, who delighted America with her big eyed paintings of waifs; not that her admiring public knew it was her work they adored. Margaret had the misfortune to be married to a failed painter, Walter, who claimed her work as his own and turned her simple, critically derided work into an art phenomenon. As Margaret makes Walter richer, the art world mauls her work further, Walter's ego expands and her self-confidence and self-worth diminish exponentially.

Initially, it appears as though Burton has eschewed has comfortable world of pure fantasy to deliver a rare, based-on-truth drama with Big Eyes. The trouble is, fantasy runs freely through his veins and though he may have been filled with good intentions, Big Eyes spins out of control into a fantastical farce. The story is extraordinary, the court case and outcome a matter of public record, but Burton seems incapable of sticking to the truth and telling it straight. Is this a classic case of life imitating art with Tim Burton becoming a real life Ed Bloom? What comes after Big Eyes and Big Fish? Big Incredulity?

Though not unexpected, it is a lovely touch when we see both Margaret (Amy Adams) and random strangers through her eyes, with over-sized orbs in their heads. Likewise, the early scenes of her driving along a twisting, country road through scenery that looks like a beautiful painting is a wonderful hint of her fertile imagination altering her own reality. But Burton doesn't leave it at that. Early on, scenes lift ever so slightly away from reality until, when we reach the legal scenes, what appears upon the screen is a ridiculous slapstick production bouncing around a kangaroo court.

Whilst it may be (briefly) amusing, it detracts from the truth of the mental cruelty and abuse that Margaret suffered for a decade at the hands of Walter (Christoph Waltz). For the duration of those flippant, stupid scenes I had to restrain myself from yelling at the fool in the judge's chair, "Why don't you make them both paint NOW?" Are those scenes really factually accurate? If so, I hope to god I never find myself on trial in Hawaii.

Burton is coasting here. The challenge would have been for him to shoot Big Eyes as a serious, heartfelt story but he lacks the courage to climb out of his comfort zone and deliver the emotional punch that Margaret's story deserves.

Throughout Big Eyes, it feels as though Burton has borrowed or swapped rather than created. The early shots of Margaret's neighbourhood are straight out of Edward Scissorhands and though it is fine to reminisce, I really want something new from him now.

More disturbingly, Burton has exchanged over the top non-stop ham Johnny Depp with over the top non-stop ham Christoph Waltz. Everything Waltz does (here and in everything else of late) is expansive. He doesn't present us with an unpleasant, controlling, overbearing monster but a larger than life pantomime villain with buffoonery oozing out of every pore. Really? Where is the sinister behavior that forces a woman to lose her friends and lie to her daughter for over a decade?

Even Burton's rare attempts at subtlety go awry here. Watch out for the least subtle cameo (of the real Margaret Keane) since Peter Jackson stomped across the screen loudly chomping on a carrot. As for Lana Del Rey's musical offerings, they jar and are too frequent to be anything other than overkill. Fortunately, they cannot detract from Danny Elfman's wonderful score that is the least imposing aspect of Big Eyes and the most pleasing element beyond Amy Adams valiant attempt at sincerity in the midst of the farce.

With low expectation and no knowledge of the truth, Big Eyes is a pleasant, fun film that, like all of Burton's work, looks fantastic. But it is a hollow experience that could have been adequately unfolded in a sixty minute TV drama and certainly not worthy of a second viewing. Like Margaret's paintings, Big Eyes has its place but is a long way from being fine art. Unfortunately for Tim Burton, Margaret's paintings are likely to be far more enduring than this piece of flimflam.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

American Sniper (2014)

Pro-Americanism plunders a passable film. Distasteful.

[3/10 · 6 January 2015]

Alas, I think that sad day has finally arrived. I think it may be time to wheel Clint Eastwood off to the home for the aged and once-great Hollywood royalty. His (intermittent) acting ability finally gave up the ghost with Trouble With the Curve and now, with American Sniper, his directorial prowess has gone south, too. The king is dead, long live the king.

I suffered his latest offering and death knell with my viewing companion, Bag. He approached it with enthusiasm having loved Chris Kyle's autobiography of the same name; I approached it with trepidation having given up half a chapter in after suffering an emotional allergic reaction to the jingoistic, gung-ho, Team America (you know, "America! F*** Yeah!") attitude.

We both hated the film.

American Sniper is the story of America's 'greatest' sniper, Chris Kyle (Bradley Cooper), a Navy SEAL who put bullets through the heads and bodies of over 160 men, women and children; a man we are supposed to celebrate as a bona fide hero; a man that we are supposed to believe is a good man worthy of our eternal adoration because, according to Eastwood, he opted not to kill one particular child and carried a (stolen) bible (that he didn't read). How odd, then, that a point is made about a Moslem sniper carrying a Quran as well as a rifle and therefore being evil.

The film as a whole is a painful experience. Eastwood veers away from anything that could possibly be construed as 'un-American', painting Kyle and his companions only as hard working, loyal heroes to whom we owe our hearts and minds. No thought is given to it being an illegal war, that what occurred accounted to little more than an invasion, that the majority of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis killed in the war were peace-loving civilians and not terrorist aiming to destroy America.

And yet when, in the final scene, Eastwood has the opportunity to depict honestly the psychological damage war does to humans, even those apparent 'saviours' of the world, he shies away from it, preferring to cut and leave us to work it out. Why the apparent aim at subtlety now when he has hammered home his aggressive point all the way along? Heck, even in the credits there is no let up as we are bombarded with news footage of the 'hero's' funeral procession and the deafening silence so that we, too, can show our awe and respect to a man who chose to take a job with the sole aim of being paid to kill.

But forget the politics. American Sniper still stinks. According to Bag, who has read the book more times than I have fingers, screenwriter Jason Hall has shown little evidence of having actually read it fully himself, such are the liberties he has taken with the content, characters and 'facts'. I thought it was just me, but as we emerged into peaceful daylight, my companion muttered "I know that book inside out and I still couldn't follow which character was which."

Eastwood's hearing is presumably shot, too, as for much of the time it was impossible to discern what many of the actors, Cooper particularly, were saying. Maybe he gave a solid performance, perhaps the Kyle family will be over the moon with his portrayal of the sniper, but it doesn't count for much when most of the audience (in our screening room anyway) are leaning to their neighbours and asking "What did he say?" I suppose their comments added variety to exasperated sighs, raised eyebrows and longing stares at the ceiling.

Sienna Miller makes a valiant attempt to bring something of quality to American Sniper as Kyle's wife, Taya, but she is lost in this noisy, bulldozing mess. What happened to the Clint Eastwood who delicately crafted the sharp brutality and the violent nuances of Unforgiven, Letters from Iwo Jima and Bird? There is little evidence of his skill here.

It was a long drive home as Bag fumed. Judging from the sounds many other cinema-goers, they, too, were relieved to see the back of American Sniper.

For my part, to end on a positive note, it didn't make me quite as angry as 2012's Act of Valor but I still needed something frivolous with which to clean my mind out.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

The Theory of Everything (2014)

Fine performances in a good biopic that can't match the brilliance of its subject.

[7/10 · 5 January 2015]

Arriving amongst much fanfare and hype surrounding possible Oscar nominations and a predicted avalanche of gold, The Theory of Everything set a lofty benchmark for itself and expectations were incredibly high prior to the screening.

So did it meet those expectations? The short answer is "No", but that doesn't mean it is a poor film, only that those anticipating perfection and something truly outstanding will feel a little disappointed.

There are few in the western world who are not aware of Professor Stephen Hawking and the impact he had on the scientific world with his multi-million-selling book, A Brief History of Time, even if they know little about his own history or that of his wife and support, Jane. If nothing else, Professor Hawking has touched the lives of the ignorant masses (and I count myself amongst them) through his omnipresence in contemporary entertainment such as Pink Floyd's Keep Talking, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Futurama, The Big Bang Theory, The Simpsons…

The Theory of Everything is a classic biopic précising the remarkable life of a modern genius from his academic career at Cambridge, through the onset and development of his life-defining motor neuron disease (or more specifically, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis aka Lou Gehrig's disease) and his personal relationships with Mary, their children and the staff and students at Cambridge.

A glance through Hawking's achievements makes it abundantly clear that a detailed analysis of his life would be both too long and excruciatingly dull for most of us, and so director James Marsh (Man on Wire, Project Nim) has sifted the sparkling elements to forge a film that enthralls and delights whilst, apparently, remaining largely faithful for the source material, Jane Hawking's book, Travelling to Infinity: My Life with Stephen.

The two central performances are, indeed, outstanding. Eddie Redmayne is on a career high as Hawking with an empathetic turn that pours anguish and steely determination onto the screen filtered through a gauze of classic 'Englishness'. It is a performance that it is impossible not to admire for the control and subtlety in portraying such a pronounced disability and if 2011's My Week with Marilyn suggested stardom, The Theory of Everything pretty much confirms it.

As his wife, Mary, Felicity Jones is equally absorbing and commands the screen every bit as much as Redmayne. Come award season, though both may land Oscar nominations, I predict a greater chance of success for Jones in the Best Supporting Actress category than for Redmayne as he, surely, jostles with Michael Keaton and Steve Carell.

Though The Theory of Everything is an extremely good film with some fine performances throughout, there is nothing remarkable, nothing that grabs the viewer by the throat, forces tears or leaves one wanting more or repeat viewings. It is another very good film that, come year's end, the viewer will vaguely recall seeing and enjoying but about which is unable to remember specifics. There is nothing really obvious to point at and say "Oh dear…" about; it's just that there isn't enough, it lacks that extra fire in its belly that the fanfare promised.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014)

Biblical epic that defies belief & looses the plot. Better than Noah. Marginally.

[2/10 · 5 January 2015]

Exodus: Gods and Kings was a perfectly apt film to finish the year with, coming as it did at Christmas; you know, that time of year loosely based around a biblical story that has been messed around with, diluted, corrupted and made to fit the limited understanding and excessive desires of the masses. And so it is with Ridley Scott's latest epic.

For those who have never opened a bible, read the book of Exodus or heard the story of Moses, fear not; Ridley Scott has made Exodus: Gods and Kings just for you. Starting slowly, just so that you keep up, he introduces us to Moses (Christian Bale), adopted brother of Ramses (Joel Edgerton), shows how close they are, highlights the jealousy from Ramses and sets in motion the evil actions that lead to Moses struggling to free 600,000 slaved Israelites armed with God and his/her/its various plagues.

If you have even the vaguest understanding of the 'true' story, as depicted in the bible, or even a passing knowledge of the generally accepted history of the time, step away. To say it is anachronistic is to claim the Titanic took on some water. God, if he has a celestial screening room, is either preparing a Hollywood-bound bolt of lightning or giggling hysterically. Exodus: Gods and Kings is better than Darren Aronofsky's Noah, but only marginally.

Forget any hint of the miraculous for a start. All those miracles (the plagues, the serpent and staff, the gift of the ten commandments…) you've heard of? Nope. All either absent or explained by visions, delusions and science. Oh, except for the final plague. Hmm, I guess Scott ran out of ideas and logic for that one. So lost is the director that he doesn't even explain what the final plague is until it occurs (despite his source material sating Moses spelt it out in advance) just so that you, oh unenlightened viewer, can revel in the surprise. Oh boy.

Moses, meanwhile, has his own mental health issues visualizing God not as an omnipotent entity in a burning bush or a tower of flame but a petulant child with the acting ability of a recently slaughtered goat. He also seems unsure who or what is causing the plagues, at first threatening the Pharaoh with yet more unless he frees the slaves and later claiming he has no control or influence over them. With the final plague, he virtually shrugs his shoulders and says "Nothing to do with me, mate. Even I think God has ballsed this one up." Oh, the pain.

Scott has become known as a director who matches his huge success with some terrible clunks. Surely we're due at least one phenomenal film soon. Please? Why, when the man is capable of creating original yarns that thrill and excite decades after release (Blade Runner, Alien…), has he chosen to take a story familiar and loved by millions more than will ever watch his films, and trash it with his own invention? I like Scott. I'm one of the few who 'got' Prometheus, one of the fewer still who paid to see Matchstick Men. Furthermore, I'm not a paid up member of any church, but even I can see what a mess he's made of Exodus: Gods and Kings.

What begins as an arduous plod quickly becomes a rush as the plagues are whizzed through and the forty-year trek to Canaan (Yes, I know you and I could probably crawl it in six months) flits by. Characters are lost with barely a look down the lens; Sigourney Weaver and Aaron Paul might just as well have been played by mannequins for all the attention they are given.

And let's not delve to deeply with the laughable melting pot of accents on display within the same tribes and families. At least in Scott's Robin Hood the ludicrous variation in accents came, largely, out of just Russell Crowe's mouth.

So why two stars instead of just one? For two reasons: 1. Some of the sets and CGI are beautiful, though lacking in depth and scale to make Exodus: Gods and Kings truly an epic; and 2. Because Noah was worse.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Men, Women & Children (2014)

A tiny bit sexy, a smidge funny, often good, very unnerving but heavy-handed.

[6/10 · 11 December 2014]

It's very easy to get carried away by Men, Women & Children. From Emma Thompson's sincere, opening narration of doom and foreboding we are led to believe we are in for an emotional ride that will open our eyes, drop our jaws and force us to reassess our obsession with mobile phones, technology and social media.

But step back to consider for a moment after the event and we see Jason Reitman has delivered just a very simple, clear message: Internet bad, parents worse. Men, Women & Children is an affecting and engaging film, but it doesn't really tell the truth and opts instead for shock and disgust over reason and discussion. Sometimes, though, we do need to hear the worst news in order to reevaluate.

Men, Women & Children is a dip into the world of a group of high school teenagers, their families, their relationships and their angst played out through texts, Facebook, Twitter and every other online forum that offers as much privacy as a damp tissue over the nether regions in a hurricane. Beyond, or perhaps central to, the teenagers' own problems are those of their parents and, no matter how bad it is for the kids, the adults are in a far deeper quagmire of their own making.

The principal subject matter of Men, Women & Children is the danger of social media but Reitman merely uses it as a spoon to stir a thick, coagulating mixture of isolation, self-obsession, anorexia, infidelity, lust, pornography, mental health, bereavement, divorce, anger, abandonment, oppression and a hint of rape. Ouch! So much subject matter in so little time? That just about sums it up.

Writer/director Reitman has tried to shoehorn so much into his two hours of screen time that there is little opportunity to reflect. Indeed, as the final credits faded, I found myself sitting, static, trying to absorb the impact and information with which I had been bludgeoned. Initially, I felt numbed by the subject matter although my overriding feeling was positive about the film itself. It is a worthy attempt to highlight a worrying trend in our society; I'm just not sure it was well executed.

Billed as a comedy drama, there is little to laugh at in Men, Women & Children. It is a film of extremes that shows the worst of our fears and depicts the darkest of our social media nightmares and you'll need to step back a bit and realize that the world isn't quite this bad (is it?). Reitman it makes plenty of valid points but he nails them firmly to your heart. I'd urge parents and those who live their lives through Facebook to see it, but regard it as a wake up call and not a factual reflection of your impending doom.

Men, Women & Children is a tiny bit sexy, a smidgen funny, often good, very unnerving and frequently thought provoking but it isn't necessarily entirely accurate and it certainly couldn't be accused of being understated.

Adam Sandler is more restrained than we have seen him for a good long while as Don, one half of a bored, unloved married couple. On the flip side, Jennifer Garner is so extreme, so, um, psychotic as the overbearing, paranoid, dictatorial Patricia that you hope Quentin Tarantino is going to appear as a guest director in the final third and wipe her out in a glorious hail of gunfire and swishing Samurai swords. Needless to say, that is not on the cards.

There is actually plenty to enjoy about Men, Women & Children in spite of the heavy-handed delivery. While the adults are busy screwing up their own live and the lives of their children, Brandy (Kaitlyn Dever) and Tim (Ansel Elgort) are quietly, imperfectly attempting to find their own paths through the emotional mayhem. After trying too hard and missing much of the time in The Fault in Our Stars, Elgort brings some much-needed calm and thoughtfulness to the table and the friendship between Tim and Brandy is the calmest but most powerful aspect of Men, Women & Children.

Men, Women & Children could have done with being filtered to make a greater impact but Reitman has shunned subtlety; why be suggestive when you can make your point with a sledgehammer? Be warned, be concerned, be aware, but don't live in fear of your teenagers and Reitman's prediction that their world is going to hell in a handcart.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Black Sea (2014)

Submarine heist that entertains & thrills adequately, logic be damned.

[5/10 · 9 December 2014]

As submarine movies go, Black Sea is probably the best one this year. That it may be the only one certainly helps. Kevin McDonald (The Eagle, The Last King of Scotland) has delivered a Boy's Own adventure under the sea that is part thriller, part drama and could easily have been a Desmond Bagley novel forty years ago. And that's no bad thing.

When submarine pilot Captain Robinson (Jude Law) is made redundant, he seeks solace in the company of a pint and some former colleagues. One of them mentions a missing German U-boat that was lost in the Second World War, laden with gold bullion from Russia, Robinson sets a plan in motion to seize the gold and end their financial woes. With an investor in place, a rusted submarine and a motley crew comprised equally of Brits and Russians, Robinson heads into the depths of the Black Sea for a deep water heist, but a tin can filled with greedy, desperate, jealous men doesn't bode well…

There is nothing remarkable about Black Sea. It lacks the tension of Das Boot, doesn't rewrite history quite as horribly as U571 and doesn't quite hit the (dated) adventure of The Hunt for Red October, but it is an enjoyable romp of angst, betrayal and underhand tactics that fills an evening quite adequately.

Screenwriter Dennis Kelly (Utopia) either doesn't understand the law of physics or has decided to bend them anyway but the screenplay rattles along quite nicely, building the drama, adding the odd explosive scene and even managing one or two very funny quips. He establishes a crew of embittered men on opposing sides without making any of them too much of a caricature. There are a few missing beats and some clunks as logic and reason tumble down the gangway but, for the most part, Black Sea holds the attention and entertains. There is little to surprise but, as long as the viewer isn't too bothered by historical or scientific accuracy, there is nothing to really disappoint.

Jude Law makes for an enjoyable, grizzled hero though he isn't given enough to add depth to his character. The soft flashbacks and memories of his estranged wife and son are intended to add meat to his bones but there isn't enough in them to make us really care and they are more distracting than affecting. We understand and care more about Tobin's (Bobby Schofield) emotional predicament through a brief exchange between captain and junior than the entirety of flashbacks from Robinson.

Black Sea has the feel of a movie dumped on the world because it is too light to feature in the summer blockbusters, too small (of budget) to compete against Hollywood's big studio flicks and doesn't even pretend to have any merit when it comes to awards season. For a low budget British adventure thriller it serves perfectly well on a cold, damp, winter's evening for a certain type of cinemagoer who is already sick of the barrage of Christmas schmaltz and family fare at the multiplex.

If you want entertainment with a smidgen of mystery, a dollop of action and a hint of thrills, Black Sea does the job adequately.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Paddington (2014)

Funny, clever & slightly naughty adaptation of Bond's beloved bear.

[8/10 · 8 December 2014]

It could have gone terribly wrong for Paddington, Paul King's live-action and CGI interpretation of the much-loved Michael Bond books, and the departure of Colin Firth with the subsequent casting of Ben Whishaw as the marmalade loving bear only added to the concern.

However, though, in the early scenes, I could easily imagine Colin Firth's voice, Ben Whishaw is perfectly cast and Paddington is so enthralling as to quickly banish any thoughts beyond the adventure and mayhem that unfolds upon the screen.

When an earthquake ends the idyllic life of Paddington and his aunt and uncle in darkest Peru, he stows away on a ship in search of the English explorer who introduced the bears to marmalade and departed assuring them of a warm welcome should they ever visit London. Finding the bear stranded at Paddington railway station, alone and ignored, Mrs. Brown (Sally Hawkins) takes pity on him and offers Paddington a bed for the night and help in finding him a 'proper' home in the morning. Appalled by his wife's softness, Mr. Brown (Hugh Bonneville) reluctantly accepts the bear for one night only but doesn't consider the effect of Paddington's charm, the impact of his presence nor the existence of Millicent (Nicole Kidman), a taxidermist at the Natural History Museum who needs a certain bear for her collection.

At the heart of Paddington is a vocal performance from Whishaw that, whilst it doesn't banish the fond memory of Michael Horden's TV series narration, certainly adds a wonderful, modern and energetic slant to perhaps the most loved bear of literature after Winnie the Pooh. Paddington's 95 minutes rattle along with a gentle energy that shuns the frenetic style so common in modern children's television and instead enhances the casual calamity that Paddington leaves in his wake.

Principally, King has written and directed a thoroughly entertaining caper that serves up a delicious villainess whose costumes will have some of the older audience members stirring and whose antics and snarls will have the youngsters hissing joyfully. Like the adult-pleasing cameos from Peter Capaldi, Alice Lowe, Julie Walters, Matt Lucas and Jim Broadbent, Kidman delivers a performance the children will relish in a straightforward, obvious manner while the adults will laugh at the humour of the dialogue and visual gags that fly by just over their heads.

Paddington is packed with plenty of subtle humour for those who pay attention: the frequent signs and posters on the periphery of the screen, the film references and genuinely funny nods to Indiana Jones and Mission Impossible etc. But though these touches keep the adult audiences involved in the film, they are never dwelt upon, forced or allowed to detract from the simple humour and adventure that Paddington is crafted around.

To be truly successful, children's stories and films have to entertain children and adults equally. It was an achievement Michael Bond delivered beautifully with his original stories and Paul King matches him admirably. In a Christmas battle that will include Minions and Madagascan penguins, a bear from darkest Peru is leading the pack triumphantly and, having taken one niece to see Paddington, I suspect I shall be cajoled into taking her three siblings. Rare as it is with 'family' films, on this occasion it will be an absolute pleasure.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

The Homesman (2014)

Tommy Lee Jones stars, writes, directs, produces & astounds in this journey through trust & the Wild West. Splendid!

[8/10 · 3 December 2014]

I need to get something off my chest: I'm not a fan of Tommy Lee Jones. I find him limited in range, much the same in most roles and, worst of all, he inexplicably won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for The Fugitive, thus depriving Pete Postlethwaite for In the Name of the Father, Leonardo Di Caprio for What's Eating Gilbert Grape and Ralph Fiennes for his performance of pure evil as Amon Goeth in Schindler's List. In modern parlance, WTF?

But periodically, just occasionally, once in a while, he inhabits the screen in a manner that forces one to reconsider one's judgment. And so it is with The Homesman.

The Homesman is something of a surprise, and not just because Tommy Lee Jones is on remarkable form in it. Beyond a fine performance, the man writes, directs and co-produces it. Hell's bells, when did he become so damn good at everything?

In the bad old days of the pioneers in the Wild West, Mary Bee Cuddy (Hilary Swank) steps in when three women drift into various states of madness and need to be transported across the country to be cared for properly. Shunned by their husbands, denied help from the town's menfolk and at a time where rape and murder hides behind every outcrop of rock and every gnarled cactus, Cuddy sets off alone on her hazardous journey. She stumbles across George Briggs (Tommy Lee Jones), a drifter seated atop his horse, with a noose around his neck, waiting for his steed to grow bored and leave him hanging. Literally. Cuddy offers to save him on the condition that he accompanies her and so begins a particular kind of journey.

The Homesman is probably described by many as a western, but that's lazy. This is a road movie on horseback, a saunter across the plains, a journey through mistrust and emotions where a mistake or misplaced trust will result in death. It is a story of hope and love, not the romantic kind, but real love for one's fellow human being, regardless of whether they can, or will, reciprocate.

Shot beautifully with sprawling, dusty vistas that warm the heart and prickle the nape, the backdrop is a vast canvas of character and mystery upon which splashes of colour are smeared in the shape of wandering, human dangers.

Though they say little, the trio of women (Grace Gummer, Miranda Otto and Sonja Richter) are far more than peripheral characters or the MacGuffin; they are the substance that binds The Homesman and the reason for the drama, gentle though it is. As we saw in Mr. Turner, such characters can so easily become pantomime animals with over performance that slaps the viewer in the face and detracts from the whole, of which they are but a small part. Not so here. Grace Gummer, particularly, as the mostly mute but vacantly animated Arabella is terrific and we want to reach into the screen and gently push her back towards sanity. It is a beautiful, understated performance that remains in mind long after the event.

Tommy Lee Jones and Hilary Swank make a surprising double act but the chemistry is there in abundance. Both Cuddy and Briggs carry their own needs and daemons with them; neither would give the other a second glance ordinarily but circumstance prompts odd, emotional couplings and theirs is fraught with suspicion and obligation. It is fantastic to see Swank back to the form that brought her gongs and made us sit up and watch in Boys Don't Cry and Million Dollar Baby. This is a far less demonstrative performance, but no less steely or impactful because of it.

Tommy Lee Jones's performance is the most compelling, engrossing that I can recall. Beyond that, his direction is worth celebrating loudly. The Homesman is only his second feature as director (after 2006's wonderful but little seen The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada) but there are hints that he may step into Clint Eastwood's shoes alongside Ben Affleck and Sean Penn. Just when we think we have the measure of this tale, he belts us sharply around the jowls, proving he has the mettle to surprise and shock us out of our complacency.

Maybe, after years and years of apparently coasting, broodily on film and staring into space, it will transpire he was merely absorbing, waiting for the moment to own both sides of the screen and captivate us.

You know what, maybe he's always been this good but I just didn't see it.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

What We Do in the Shadows (2014)

Vampire mocumentary that is less funny than intended. Spinal Tap this is not!

[4/10 · 3 December 2014]

From the team behind the hugely successful Flight of the Conchords and the fabulous indie hit, Eagle Vs Shark, What We Do in the Shadows is a comedy horror mockumentary with 'hilarious' stamped all the way through it.

Except it isn't. Hilarious, that is.

Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi write, direct, produce and perform in this spoof documentary about a group of vampire flatmates trying to deal with life in modern times and each other's annoying traits. Being immortal and hundreds of years old does not iron out the problems of who takes care of which chores in any given week. Nor, it appears, does being several centuries old help one iota when it comes to deciding what to wear to the nightclub.

There is plenty to like on display: the costumes are fabulously camp, there are references aplenty to the great vampires of film and literature, the sets are fun and there are one or two lovely, practical effects that splatter blood, but nothing too horrific or likely to raise the pulse.

There are even a couple of surprising, and very welcome digital effects thrown in. What We Do in the Shadows feels cheap and it's a surprise when the budget allows for something extra.

But it isn't enough. The performances are adequate but it all feels a little too much like college kids playing at drama. Forget pastiche, this is weak parody and there is little skill in it here. Clement, as Vladislav, is amusingly gauche in his 'god's gift to women' act, but Waititi, as Viago, appears to have bought his performance, or at least his grin, from Danny John-Jules' Red Dwarf jumble sale. In terms of performances, the greatest joy comes from the deadpan, detachment of Stu (Stuart Rutherford) and Ben Fransham's Petyr, the bastard son of Nosferatu, whose dialogue would probably fit on the back of his fangs.

Alas, there is a distinct lack of strong female roles on display here, with the women reduced to comedy fodder bit parts. When they appear, they are amusing, but perhaps What We Do in the Shadows could have benefited from a matriarchal touch.

For years Christopher Guest has delighted audiences with mockumentaries like Best in Show, A Mighty Wind and the peerless This is Spinal Tap, and my guess is this this is what Clement and Waititi were aiming for. The trouble is, where Guest played it straight, they work too damn hard at eking out laughs at every turn. Heck, this is nowhere near as funny as Anvil: The Story of Anvil, and that wasn't even a spoof!

Whilst not a flop by any means, What We Do in the Shadows was clearly far more amusing to make than it was to watch and the final, post-credit, line is sadly prophetic, and not for the reason they intend.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Blue Ruin (2013)

Quiet, brooding film of revenge & murder. Low on budget, high on satisfaction.

[8/10 · 3 December 2014]

With the preview screening cancelled many months ago due to a misplaced print and a depressingly limited general release, I missed Blue Ruin on its first run. Hurrah for second chances. Sadly, Jeremy Saulnier's second feature (after 2007's splatter-fest, Murder Party) achieved little at the box office though critics have been kind and festival juries have rewarded him justly.

Blue Ruin is a quiet, brooding drama of revenge and murder. When the cops pick up wandering loner, Dwight (Macon Blair), it isn't the standard prejudicial attack on an outsider, but a considerate move to break bad news to a damaged man in a safe environment. Informed that the man guilty of horrific crimes against his family has been released from jail. Dwight sets himself up as an amateur assassin, but his own ineptitude isn't his only downfall and he is soon forced into a brutal battle to protect his estranged family from further harm.

Though less harsh than 2011's Snowtown, Blue Ruin shares a similar tone and quality. If you warmed a cinema seat in that, you'll need to add this to your viewing list. It is a violent and bloody film but not gratuitously so. Most of the violence rumbles under the surface and Dwight is neither a villain nor a gung-ho killer that we are supposed to celebrate. For those who found themselves dismayed at the mess Faqua made of The Equalizer, fear not, Saulnier's protagonist is not intended to inspire or excite. On another day, Dwight may be a companion to Into The Wild's Christopher McCandless, but years of silent brooding have led him into a different kind of action.

Blair doesn't make the mistake of hoping the audience likes Dwight, but the precision with which he makes Dwight both vague and determined makes it hard not to go along with him and hope he succeeds, or at least gets away with it. Though there are occasional moments that shock, Blair plays Dwight as a considered man who blanches at his own actions.

There are one or two lose threads left dangling in the story, but nothing that detracts from the impact of the piece. Saulnier doesn't delight in the mayhem and doesn't treat Blue Ruin as an excuse to bathe us in blood. With Murder Party he delivered the humour and enjoyment but with Blue Ruin he grimly pulls up our eyelids so we have to witness as bereavement expresses itself with murderous eloquence.

Next up for Saulnier is another horror, Green Room, staring Patrick Stewart and Imogen Poots and my heart is already sinking after Poot's ham-fisted attempt at depth in Long Way Down. But that doom can wait for another day. For now, Blue Ruin is worthy film waiting to join my library.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Mr. Turner (2014)

A visual masterpiece with Spall on golden form, marred by peripheral ham.

[8/10 · 2 December 2014]

Mike Leigh is one of our very finest directors with seven Oscar nominations and over 70 awards to date, including four from Cannes. So how did he get it so wrong with Mr. Turner?

Not everything is wrong with his biopic of John Tuner, the acclaimed, celebrated and eccentric British painter; in fact most things about Mr. Turner are perfect, but where it has gone wrong, it has gone wrong spectacularly. The ugly spectacle is entirely down to a handful of performances that are better suited to a cringe-worthy village hall production. There are a few actors whose display of embarrassing, hammy, grotesque, pantomime performances threaten to derail a film of beauty and thoughtfulness with a superb performance at its centre. Arrgghh. Just horrible.

Mr. Turner as a whole, however, is a rewarding film for those prepared to make the investment. Skimming through the last quarter century of Turner's life and career, it shines a spotlight on Turner's (Timothy Spall) great loves (his father, his work and the woman who would become his wife) as well as his foibles, his penchant for brothels, and the celebrity he enjoyed before, influenced by royalty, he became reviled.

It is tempting to refer to Timothy Spall's performance as a 'career best', but that belittles his plentiful achievements on big and small screen over the past four decades, although his deserved gong at Cannes this year is a strong statement and an indication of more gold to come. Frequently known for his disheveled, humorous, almost oafish characters (Auf Wiedersehen Pet, Still Crazy, Love Punch), Spall stunned many with his gentle, sympathetic performance in Pierrepoint: The Last Hangman. Again, as the titular character in Mr. Turner, he seizes our attention and it wavers rarely, and then only due to the Leigh's ability to paint his frame as exquisitely as Turner painted his canvases.

The early scenes where Turner greets his father, William (Paul Jesson) are a joy to observe and give a softer side to the man who communicates largely with grunts and growls and relates to his infatuated housekeeper, Hannah (Dorothy Atkinson), with gruff words and what is now regarded as abuse. He uses her physically, sexually and emotionally but she responds with the adoration of a needy puppy.

Whilst Mr. Turner is something of a history lesson, Leigh educates rather than pummels us with information and insights into Turner's life and work. Frequently his shots, if they cannot actually replicate, are at least superbly suggestive of the painter's work. Dick Pope's cinematography is spellbinding and perfectly in step with Suzie Davis' production design, but this is a Mike Leigh film after all and we have come to expect such flawless attention to detail.

And so, again, it jars all the more that Leigh allowed his film to be polluted by ham from a few supporting and peripheral actors. Yesterday's The Imitation Game wafted by in mere moments but Mr. Turner, though only half an hour longer, trudged heavily at times and I felt most of the 150 minutes in my bony backside.

Perhaps if certain performances had been sliced and abandoned on the cutting room floor the pace would have improved and perfection would have been left in tact.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

The Imitation Game (2014)

Cumberbatch enthrals as the brilliant, troubled man who shortened the war.

[8/10 · 25 November 2014]

There is a danger that, come February 2015, there may be three British men vying for the Best Actor Oscar. There is plenty of buzz surrounding Timothy Spall's Mr. Turner and Eddie Redmayne's performance in Professor Stephen Hawking biopic, The Theory of Everything, and keeping them company is the ubiquitous Benedict Cumberbatch, star of The Imitation Game.

With WWII raging and the Germans edging closer to victory, it was one thing seizing an Enigma machine but an entirely more challenging task cracking the code that changed daily. Mathematician, Alan Turing (Cumberbatch) was recruited by the Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park, Britain's code breaking centre. Heading a select team in Hut 8, while his aggrieved colleagues battled daily to crack each new configuration of the Enigma code, Turing was obsessed with creating Christopher, an innovative machine designed to think faster than even the team of brilliant cryptanalysts aiming to shorten the war.

Based on truth, director Morten Tyldum's (Headhunters) film is incomplete as a biopic but draws the viewer in as a historical thriller where the enemy is time and the most visible battles, both literal and emotional, occur in a small hut with his colleagues and superior, Commander Dennsiton (Charles Dance). Turing's life is précised and the impact of his life's work is only hinted at in the final summary. Turing accelerated the development of computers, he became a figurehead for the campaign for equality and the legalization of homosexuality, was instrumental in the shortening of the war and his reward was persecution, prosecution and a royal pardon almost sixty years after his apparent suicide.

The Imitation Game cannot possibly do justice to his story but what Tyldum does beautifully is give an insight into the man, his daemons and proclivities, and a brief, intense and hugely significant chapter in his short life. The explosions in Turing's war occur in his mind, in his difficulty in relating to his colleagues, not least of all Hugh Alexander (Belle's Mathew Goode), and in the bustling hub of invention and cypher cracking.

Graham Moore's screenplay, based upon Andrew Hodge's book, is a prodigious feature debut, cutting to the core of Turing's tortured mind and his platonic relationship with Joan Clark (Keira Knightly), the closest he is able to come to a friend. It would be easy to overcomplicate The Imitation Game with information and data or slip into a slanted portrayal that inevitably fails to right the wrongs a puritanical society did to Turing. Fortunately, Moore guides us instead through the excitement of the drama and the peripheral relationships that were mere fripperies compared to Turing's focus. We already know the outcome but, like Valkyrie, the conclusion matters less than the journey. It doesn't matter that history tells us the result, we're still gunning for Turing and his team.

Cumberbatch is on superb form, opening the mind and soul to us of a man that many found difficult to like and few ever really understood. He is awkward, obsessed, a prisoner of his own mind and intellect but Cumberbatch still allows us to warm to him, to be excited for him and outraged when stubborn superiors and peers seek to attack and thwart his unorthodox brilliance.

Knightly is something of a yo-yo actress, swinging between intense and enthralling performances (A Dangerous Method) and bland turns in forgettable films (Begin Again), but in The Imitation Game she delivers a fine supporting performance of sensitivity and strength. This is without doubt Cumberbatch's film but solid performances from Knightly, Goode and Dance add depth and variety to an involving story of an enthralling achievement by a remarkable man.

Alan Turing: saviour of millions, creator of the computer, source of Benedict Cumberbatch's first Oscar? Maybe. Subject of a fine film that glimpses through the glass and demands a detailed accompanying documentary? Without doubt.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Begin Again (II) (2013)

Pleasant but insubstantial.

[5/10 · 24 November 2014]

I was late to the party on this one. Begin Again had a 'blink and you'll miss it' release and I did. It's not hard to see why: though it is warmly entertaining, it is, ultimately, flimsy and unmemorable.

Written and directed by John Carney, whose biggest hit to date remains 2006's Once, Begin Again shares a similar theme: a couple making music and discovering themselves.

Gretta (Keira Knightley) accompanies her musician boyfriend Dave (Adam Levine) to New York when he signs a deal with a major record deal. But while the world glows for him, Gretta soon finds herself the first casualty of his new-found fame and wandering Manhattan alone, but for the company of old friend and busker, Steve (James Cordon). By chance, she is thrown together with disgraced record label executive Dan (Mark Ruffalo) and, astounded by her raw talent, he signs her up for a quirky musical collaboration around New York City.

And therein lies my biggest issue with Begin Again: Dan is astounded by Gretta's talent, I wasn't. Yes, it is pleasant, her singing is easy on the ear and her lyrics are several ranks higher than the Cheeky Girls, but she's no Leonard Cohen.

Like Gretta's musical output, Begin Again is twee, easy and simple, it is moving wallpaper that doesn't cause any offence. We've seen it before, we've enjoyed it more and last time around, in Once, Carney didn't dilute it. It strikes me that Carney has poured this one out to satisfy the teeny audiences who were told they should have loved Once but just didn't get it.

Knightly is fine, Ruffalo is as good as ever, Cordon is slightly less over the top than usual. The plot is simple, the father/daughter subplot is obvious, everything is laid out very carefully for the audiences that need life explained fully for them to understand. Begin Again is all just a little bit plinky plonk, it is obvious and idealistic and, particularly in the instance of the family dancing sequence, plain embarrassing.

I love the idea of a group of musicians recording an album in the open around New York but there has to be a far better way of presenting it to the world.

Pleasant but insubstantial. Begin Again? Please don't.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Interstellar (2014)

Chris Nolan astounds again. Sci-fi epic or spiritual experience, it's a mind-blowingly fine trip!

[8/10 · 21 November 2014]

Much has been written and spoken of the plot holes in Christopher Nolan's sci-fi epic, Interstellar. That's Nolan's science FICTION epic, Interstellar. If you want science fact, head over to The Sky at Night or listen to Professor Brian Cox. Nolan is in the entertainment business.

That said, Interstellar is sufficiently plausible (note, I did not write 'realistic') to hold the attention and to prompt deep consideration of space travel and humanity's future. Heck, this is almost a spiritual experience touching on mortality beyond the physical realm.

With Earth virtually devastated through drought and famine that have caused dramatic climate change and a dearth of food, humankind is on the verge of extinction. A rip in the space-time continuum is discovered and a substantially downsized NASA, led by visionary Professor Brand (Nolan stalwart Michael Caine), plans to send a select team into deep space, through a black hole and into the great unknown with the hope of saving our species. Mysterious circumstances contrive to place Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) on NASA's doorstep and he is forced to choose between watching his children grow up and saving the world.

Interstellar owes much to the legacy of 2001: A Space Odyssey and Contact in its depth, silence and cerebral possibilities. It is a work of entertainment with occasional thrills, a few questions, much thought and some beautiful effects that will either meld or clash with your imagination. Having never found myself hurtling through a wormhole into an unchartered time, place or dimension, I have no idea what it should look like, but Nolan's vision of such a journey and the destination is colourful and ambiguous enough to prompt contemplation and debate.

There are times when Interstellar strolls along, gazing at the scenery and wondering at the possibilities of space and time exploration and those sequences allow for our own reflection upon Nolan's suggestion. Like Contact before it, there is emotional tension and a spiritual journey that accompanies the physical jaunt. This is more than a film about outer space; it is a film about love and with that comes betrayal. Just as space has layers and depths we cannot comprehend (how do we truly grasp the magnitude of infinity?), love and betrayal have numerous facets and strata as Nolan depicts. Unlike Contact, Nolan endeavours to wrap his film completely in explanation and tie it with a bow for us to admire, when perhaps the ambiguity and lack of absolute definition would have been the greatest finale.

Interstellar isn't the film the original trailer led me to expect. It first implied Nolan's spin on Armageddon but this isn't a gung-ho America saves the world nonsense. It may not have the emotional attachment or the startling visual effects of last year's phenomenal Gravity, but the central performances from McConaughey, Anne Hathaway (as fellow crew member, Brand) and, particularly, Jessica Chastain (as the abandoned daughter, Murph) make this an experience that resounds with us all. What would it take for you to abandon those you love? Could you see the bigger picture?

Hans Zimmerman's score is beautifully redolent of Michael Nyman's best work, and it adds not just depth but character to the mystery of what lies beyond all that we understand and can define. It doesn't, however, explain how an intelligent man like Cooper can be so wrong in his explanation of Murphy's Law and we are left to wonder whether he is confused or just lying to his daughter, adding another layer to the betrayal.

I'm not convinced that Interstellar is going to astound sufficiently to prompt multiple viewings in the way Gravity did, but it is yet another resounding success in Nolan's canon that can be tucked away and watched periodically in the future. That lad Michael Caine is turning out to be a pretty good muse for Christopher Nolan. Watch him, he could go far.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Horns (2013)

Joe Hill's novel severely stomped on. Pantomime horror minus the horror. Full review #TheSquiss: http://bit.ly/1wTo9Wb

[2/10 · 18 November 2014]

I'm cheesed off, and that's putting it mildly. Do you remember all those fine Stephen King novels that were completely trashed by low budgets and inept directors before Rob Reiner tackled Stand By Me and Frank Darabont sprinkled magic on the near-perfect The Shawshank Redemption? Well, it looks like King Jnr, aka Joe Hill, is doomed to suffer the same fate. Joe Hill is a fine novelist, at least as good as his dad was at the start of his career, but if Horns is anything to go by, he's in for the same painful journey, watching his work trashed on screen until his own Darabont arrives in 30 years time.

Ig Perrish (Daniel Radcliffe) is struggling as the town pariah in the aftermath of his girlfriend's murder. While her family and the town mourn the death of Merrin Williams (Juno Temple) and point their clenched fists at Ig, he begins to sprout a pair of horns. Evil, it would appear, is oozing from him.

The trailer for Horns was mightily impressive. It excited me and instantly became one of my 'must see' films of the autumn. And that's as good as it got.

Director Alexandre Aja's ham-fisted bodge job has filtered out most of the reason, much of the fantasy and all of the horror of Hill's novel. We'll gloss over the annoying voice-over that appears every time Aja runs out of ideas. We'll bypass the donut scene that should be unnerving, a little bit funny and just the slightest bit sexy (in a warped way) and just accept that it becomes an embarrassing mistake. We'll even gloss over the pointless cameo from Heather Graham as an oddball, once again on ham duty rather than acting. These are but minor annoyances.

What the &*%$£@! did Aja do to the horror? At no point is Horns even remotely scary. Not once did I jump or cringe or gasp or wince. No, that's not true; there was plenty of wincing but it was due entirely to the performances. From the screaming child to the embarrassing receptionist, Horns is riddled with pantomime performances best consigned to an Ed Wood cast-off. Heather Graham is in very good company here.

Even Radcliffe, who has wowed on Broadway and showed promised on the screen post-Potter is back to the awkwardness of HP & The Philosopher's Stone. After a similar performance in What If, 2014 is probably a year he should expunge from his CV. Bring on the promise of 2015.

Horns is amateur hour spread across a painful 120 minutes. It is clumsily directed, crash edited and shoveled onto the screen in the belief that the viewers are idiots too stupid to follow a sub plot. There is an over reliance on flashbacks and as for the 'did he do it, didn't he do it' mystery, frankly, who cares?

Horns is a one star film that earns a second for two reasons: 1. Juno Temple, who brings light and joy to almost any screen she graces and, 2. Heather Graham. Ham or not, it's Heather Graham.

Alas, neither compensates for the wanton destruction of Joe Hill's work. Somebody send out a search party for Darabont.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.

Nightcrawler (2014)

Dark thriller of paparazzi, murder & ethics that excites instead of horrifies.

[6/10 · 30 October 2014]

Nightcrawler is a disturbing thriller that entertains as much as it unnerves, and I'm not sure that's necessarily a good thing.

The directorial debut of screenwriter Dan Gillroy (The Bourne Legacy), Nightcrawler does for paparazzi what One Hour Photo did for shop assistants and, indeed, Jake Gyllenhaal is on similar, sinister territory to Robin William's award-winning turn.

Lou Bloom (Gyllenhaal) is an unemployed petty criminal searching for work and a quick income. As driven as he is desperate, he chances upon an emergency situation and observes the underbelly of journalism at work: The nightcrawlers, an unsavoury breed of TV news camera operators who monitor the police radio channels and scour the streets to capture lucrative, graphic 'real life' footage of accidents, murder and mayhem for the early morning news. The greater the tragedy and the more gratuitous the footage, the bigger the cheque.

A self-professed quick learner, Bloom buys a cheap camera and shoots his first footage. An astounded news veteran, Nina (Rene Russo), snaps up the footage, gives him a quick lesson in shooting for the news and sends him on his way, unaware how ambitious Bloom is, or that he just might be a psychopath.

Nightcrawler is a film of blurred lines. Is Bloom obsessed or unhinged? Does the news provide a service or macabre entertainment? When a cameraman shoots bedlam, is he a courageous professional opening a door onto another world for us, or just a voyeur twitching back the curtain for us to gawp? And are we any less guilty for watching? Gillroy has also ensured the relationship are as blurred as the themes, creating an ambiguity around that of Bloom and Nina. The scales of control waver and quite how much one party is coerced or a willing participant becomes hazy as Nightcrawler progresses, and it is all the better for it.

The dynamic between Gyllenhall and Russo is exciting to watch, with the actors sparring beautifully. There is a crackle in the air when they share the screen due in part to the actors' possession of it, more so to the balance of fragility and confidence of their characters as the see-saw of power teeters on its fulcrum. While Bloom and Nina might claim to be newshounds offering a public service, when we get down to it he is little more than a grubby paparazzo and she his pimp.

For those who recall the night and the aftermath of the paparazzi hounding that resulted in Princess Diana's death, Nightcrawler highlights the apparent good intentions of the responsible press and their overtures of self-governance and accountability by pointing at their abject failure to actually change. But it doesn't go far enough.

Nightcrawler gives the impression of being really edgy but it doesn't quite hit those heights. Certainly it is unpleasant at times, occasionally it is downright distasteful, but it needs more. It scratches the filmy surface when it desperately needs to penetrate and sink to the murky depths of the mire beneath.

Its strengths are in the idea and the characters, both the two principals and the supporting characters: Joe Loder (Bill Paxton as a rival nightcrawler who regards Bloom as a dangerous threat) and Rick (Riz Ahmed as Bloom's put-upon assistant troubled by both scruples and fear). But while both characters add a layer of depth and understanding to the human mess that is Bloom, in Joe's case, at least, I couldn't help feeling there was more that should have made the cut.

Gillroy has packed Nightcrawler with darkness, brutality and the kind of horrific shots that make it onto the worst news shows on TV, but here they make the viewer want to see more, not to squirm and look away as we should. His film, though a fine debut, doesn't shock or horrify in the way it feels as though it should, and in the end Bloom doesn't come across as a sinister man, just an unpleasant geek with dark methods.

Nightcrawler is exciting in a gratuitous way and I'm not entirely convinced that was the intention or that I am any better than Bloom for having sat there and enjoyed the experience. But I can handle that. Rather more concerning is that it peters out with a whimper instead of a stinging finale.

I don't care about the morals of the film, I wanted to emerge either enraged or whooping it up in celebration. Instead I departed with a sigh akin to eating a fine cake, saving the cherry until last only to discover it is a wax decoration.

Fury (2014)

Shocking, bloody, harrowing film of WWII depravity and heroism.

[8/10 · 27 October 2014]

Fury has arrived amid much fanfare but it opens with a slow, cold eerily beautiful shot redolent of Lawrence of Arabia, albeit with an air of doom rather than mystery and promise. As the distant, wandering human figure arrives at an impromptu tank graveyard haunted by the smoky spectres of burning machines and the silence of death, the scene is set, the characters are established and we are left in no doubt as to the tone of the next two hours.

David Ayer's war film sits somewhere between Saving Private Ryan and The Magnificent Seven as a film of brotherhood against all odds. It is April, 1945 and the Allies are pushing through Germany in the final stages of WWII. In the midst of it is a battered Sherman tank that will not die, containing a crew of cynical, war-hardened, embittered soldiers who will not give in. Commanded by Wardaddy (Brad Pitt), the crew emerges from yet another onslaught, bloodied, shattered and one soldier down. There is little time to recover before they are sent on another mission, the quintet completed by greenstick Norman (Logan Lerman - Noah, The Perks of Being a Wallflower) a soldier whose only war experience is a few months typing at a desk.

The greatest achievement of Fury is the depiction of the horror and barbarism of war. Horror is not vampires and monsters, it is what humankind does to its itself; it is what ordinary human beings do to each other in extraordinary circumstances. Wardaddy might have been a decent man once but now he has been all but stripped of his humanity. He and his crew fight, kill, maim and abuse in order, not just to survive, but also to inflict pain and degradation on whatever and whomever they determine is the enemy. This is horror, physical and emotional, in great, grotesque, slopping bucket loads from the pieces of face splattered across the tank to the knuckle-chewing dread of what they might do to German civilians or prisoners of war.

Director David Ayer (Sabotage, End of Watch) has not taken the gung-ho stance of showing American soldiers as the heroes of the hour nor presented the convenient 'truth' that the enemy was bad and the allies good. We like to convince ourselves that the Allied troops fought a gentlemanly war against animals but Ayer leaves us in no doubt as to the horror and crimes they, too, committed in the name, and under the pressure, of war.

Fury is intense. It is angry and shocking. It is sickening and harrowing. It is a bloody, stomach-churning insight into the despicable acts that both sides committed and a particular sequence in a house with two innocent German women is terrifying for the possibility of what ordinary men may or may not inflict upon them.

Frequently Fury is not enjoyable, and nor should it be. At times it is harrowing to observe and Ayer has ensured every shot is truthful, even if the plot is rather more fantastic than realistic. The production design is remarkable with ankle-deep mud hindering escaping refugees while rubble smoulders around them. Even the peripheral shots are crafted with wince inducing care from the crushed and humiliated POWs pressed against wire to the desperate woman hacking at the carcass of a fallen horse for food.

But though Fury is often difficult to watch, Ayer's screenplay is also funny at times, lightning the atmosphere and allowing us to understand the camaraderie between Wardaddy, Bible (Shia LaBeouf), Gordo (Michael Peña), Coon-Ass (Jon Bernthal) and Norman. Though their actions are frequently unjustifiable, Ayer is careful to make them understandable without giving them a rose-tinted glow. That they regard the breaking of Norman's spirit as an achievement and an imperative is a damning statement about their war thus far. It is little wonder that so many veterans refused to discuss their experiences of war.

Steven Price's score takes us back to the atmospherics of his Oscar-winning composition for Gravity. Again, his work is powerful, mechanical and intense, accentuating the harrowing visuals beautifully.

The final act of Fury is a Custer's last stand of epic proportions. It is unrealistic and portrays the SS not as evil but as thoroughly inept. No, there is little chance of such a stand off occurring or lasting so long but Fury is, after all, a work of fiction set against a very real, actual horror. The Boys Own adventure heroics are forgivable in a film of warfare when no pretence has been made of this being a real occurrence.

I've read a couple of other reviews in the 'established' magazines/newspapers and there seems to be a snobbery about Rage, with them awarding low ratings. I don't see the issue. Nothing will have the impact that Saving Private Ryan did with the Omaha beach scenes. In that, Spielberg set a whole new benchmark with visual impact. But here Ayre takes us back to similar emotions and doesn't pull any punches in his depiction of the depravity to which some will stoop and the heroism that a few will attain.

Fury is not a fun war movie. War is horrific and we should not fool ourselves into believing otherwise. In that, Fury is a triumph.

For more reviews from The Squiss, subscribe to my blog and like the Facebook page.