The Hobbit Trilogy

Had Guillermo Del Toro displayed just a little more patience and taken the helm of what was originally conceived as a two-part film, our latest Middle Earth adventure could have been oh so different.

As it stands, the Mexican maestro became dismayed with the endless delays caused by MGM’s perilous financial situation, and left the project in the hands of a certain Peter Jackson. Perhaps understandably, Jackson was previously reluctant to settle back into the director’s chair, fearing that comparison to his Lord of the Rings saga would be inevitable, and quite possibly, damning.

Ultimately the lure of Middle Earth proved strong, and soon Jackson was back in the fantastical world of Orcs and Dwarves. Convinced that the story merited three feature films, Jackson successfully negotiated an altered release schedule with New Line, and thus The Hobbit trilogy was born.

Now that Bilbo’s theatrical adventure has drawn to a close, it’s time to examine the trilogy as a whole. As a standalone project, how does it fare? How does it compliment Lord of the Rings? And, most importantly, is it any good?

While some have lambasted the Hobbit’s controversial use of 48fps technology, I personally wasn’t bothered by it. Other than drawing attention to some of the more elaborate set designs, the technology didn’t detract from the viewing experience in any way. I didn’t find the films too “realistic”, nor did I find proceedings any less fantastical; Middle Earth remains a mythical land I would sell my soul to visit, and this isn’t set to be changed by razor sharp images nor blur free action scenes.

Like Fellowship before it, An Unexpected Journey is burdened with mass character introduction and more than a little plot exposition. Just shy of three hours, part one of the Hobbit suffers the trilogy’s longest runtime, yet boasts only a small share of the overall action.

The film opens in the now familiar rolling hills of the Shire, home of our protagonist Bilbo Baggins. Jackson devotes a fair chunk of screen time to the introduction of our thirteen dwarvish protagonists, and outlines the desperate nature of our heroes’ plight to reclaim their homeland from the clutches of an evil dragon. Jackson does a fine job of crafting a unique sense of identity for each dwarve, which makes it all the more disappointing when most of the gang fade into the background as the tale progresses. Only Thorin, Balin and Kili linger long in Jackson’s lens, with the rest of their kin relegated to comic one liners.

Of all the exotic races of Middle Earth, I have to admit that I have always found the dwarves to be the least interesting, a concern that rapidly fades as Jackson’s film unfolds. Richard Armitage’s Thorin Oakenshield, leader of the dwarves, is an amalgamation of both Aragorn and Boromir; brave, loyal and noble, yet burdened with an insatiable desire to do right by his people – no matter what the cost. 

Sir Ian McKellan once again returns to the role with which he has become synonymous, and is excellent as Gandalf, a talisman of grizzled dignity. The true standout of An Unexpected Journey, however, is Bilbo Baggins himself. There is little doubt that Sherlock’s Martin Freeman is the best hobbit yet to grace the silver screen, his plucky British sensibilities perfectly matched to the stay at home Bilbo.

Indeed, the film’s finest moments are anchored by the steely hobbit; his encounter with Gollum in the heart of the mountain is both fantastically performed and beautifully realised. Likewise, Bilbo’s heartfelt speech before the final warg attack, and his last stand at the side of Thorin both inject the film with an emotional heft that few blockbusters untouched by Tolkien can match.

While Jackson does deviate slightly from Tolkien’s original story, An Unexpected Journey is largely true to the source material. The plot strands concerning the Necromancer (aka Sauron) are clearly an attempt to transition the story more seamlessly into events that will later unfold in Lord of the Rings, and the role of Azog the Defiler is greatly expanded in order to inject a further sense of menace into Jackson’s opening chapter, and provide the series with a true villain.

Looking back at the darkness that threatened to engulf Jackson’s earlier trilogy, An Unexpected Journey is positively light – even comical at times – in comparison. Then again, Tolkien’s Hobbit was, and still is, primarily a children’s book. While the stakes aren’t quite as high, and the tone is much, much lighter, Jackson’s return to Tolkien lore is still a resounding success. Comparisons to Lord of the Rings may be inevitable – but An Unexpected Journey offers a different viewing experience than its predecessors, whilst rekindling our love for all things familiar in Tolkien’s fantastical world of dwarves and dragons.

Where An Unexpected Journey took a little time to find its feet, the second part of Jackson’s Hobbit trilogy hits the ground running. Indeed, barely an hour has passed and already our heroes have tangled with Orcs, shape shifters, giant spiders, Elves, and the shadowy men of Laketown.

The Desolation of Smaug is only ten minutes shorter than its predecessor, but it feels much, much tighter. As Bilbo and company near their destination, the tone is notably darker. The autumnal hue favoured by Jackson in his Lord of the Rings trilogy has seeped into Bilbo’s adventure, and the film is all the better for it. The comic tone of part one has been largely salvaged, but the middle chapter has been infused with a sense of urgency that was previously lacking; the stakes have been noticeably raised.

That being said, Desolation of Smaug could perhaps have been trimmed further still. The love triangle developing between Legolas, Tauriel and Kili is unnecessary to say the least. There’s enough going on to keep the audience engaged; the tacked on romance only distracts from other, more interesting, plot threads. Jackson was also guilty of this in Lord of the Rings – wasting our time with a flimsy romantic development between Aragorn, Eowyn and Faramir. Thankfully this aspect of the story was edited from the theatrical releases, but still persists in the extended editions.

The imminent threat of Sauron is perhaps deserving of more attention, but Gandalf’s discovery of the Witch King’s empty tomb and his subsequent ambush at Dol Guldur are far more engaging plot strands than those explored in part one of the trilogy. Meanwhile, Bilbo is becoming aware of his ring’s mysterious power – mercilessly dismembering a centipede creature in the forest of Mirkwood in order to reclaim his “precious”.

The film’s titular character, played with endearing malice by Benedict Cumberbatch, is a revelation. Smaug is a fully realised character; arrogant, aloof and utterly devoid of empathy. Cumberbatch’s fiery beast is more than a match for Bilbo, who along with his dwarvish companions, finds himself in a desperate game of cat and mouse where one wrong move will spell disaster. Indeed, the confrontation with Smaug, along with the barrel-riding Orc battle (wonky physics be damned), are stand out set pieces that bear comparison to anything we’ve seen previously in Lord of the Rings.

The Desolation of Smaug regains the sense of “Ringsian” wonder that was noticeably absent from An Unexpected Journey, which largely revisited locations from Jackson’s earlier trilogy. Part two, however, benefits from exposure to entirely new areas of Middle Earth. Jackson delights in forging new locations; the claustrophobic menace of Mirkwood, the magical Elven kingdom of King Thranduil, the cavernous halls of Erebor, and the crooked, water laden settlement of Laketown.

Borrowing from the mighty Empire Strikes Back, the middle chapter of Bilbo’s adventure concludes with a myriad of cliff hangers. Smaug has survived the dwarves assault, and promises to wreak revenge on the innocent men and women of Laketown. Legolas is desperately pursuing the Orc commander Bolg, Tauriel remains behind to tend to a wounded Kili, and Gandalf has been captured by Sauron and is at the mercy of Azog the Defiler. Game on!

The shortest film of the trilogy, and undoubtedly the most action packed, The Battle of the Five Armies seals Peter Jackson’s love letter to Middle Earth, and neatly concludes the greatest film franchise of all time.

Jackson certainly isn’t hanging around with his final instalment in the Hobbit trilogy. The mighty Smaug, having plagued Erebor for so long, is handily dispatched in the film’s opening scene, Gandalf; prisoner of Sauron, is soon after saved by the White Council, with the dark lord of Mordor sent packing in somewhat of an nti-climax. Meanwhile, Kili has made a speedy recovery courtesy of Tauriel’s mysterious first aid, and Legolas pursuit of Bolg has been abandoned entirely. On with business then…

Thorin takes centre stage for The Battle of Five Armies, and Richard Armitage does a fantastic job of chronicling his descent into madness, courtesy of the cursed loot of Smaug. The final chapter in the trilogy hurtles along with merciless intent; Jackson knows what we want, and he doesn’t fail to deliver.

When the titular battle does begin, shit truly hits the fan. Dwarves, Elves, men, goblins and Orcs all collide in a smorgasbord of chaos and death. The fighting is intimate and brutal, with no punches pulled by Jackson – the light, jovial atmosphere that defined An Unexpected Journey seems to have long ago evaporated.

Of all the Hobbit films, The Battle of the Five Armies feels closest to Jackson’s original Lord of the Rings Trilogy. The stakes are higher, the tone is darker, defeat is a very real possibility, and the story carries an emotional heft that has been largely absent in the previous two instalments. However, one wonders how much Jackson has cut from the final theatrical version. The confrontation with Sauron was surprisingly short lived, and Bilbo is absent during the entire middle section of the film – it is his story after all. Next year should see the release of an extended edition, which may prove to be more satisfying from a narrative perspective.

The final half hour is truly lump in your throat stuff, and it’s hard to deny that Jackson is once again in full stride. It’s also the first time that the sheer scale of the adventure is able to match the epic magnitude of Lord of the Rings.

Indeed, if anything the Hobbit is ultimately darker than Lord of the Rings. Return of the King consolidates the triumph of good over evil, without the loss of any of the fellowship – with the exception of Boromir earlier in the trilogy. This is not so with the Hobbit. Yes, good has triumphed, but at what cost? The answer can be read on the face of Bilbo, who, having survived the slaughter, quietly contemplates his place in the battle, and the loss of so many of his dear friends. The tragic demise of Kili and Fili in particular, during the climactic skirmish, proved far more affecting than any of the deaths in the original Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Having successfully streamlined one extremely long novel into three action packed films over a decade ago, Jackson here faces the opposite problem; to conjure three feature length films out of a relatively short (and in contrast uneventful) book. Although the final result is a production of utmost quality, one can’t help but wonder if Tolkien’s tale would have been better served with a two part film.

Ultimately, the Hobbit trilogy is a resounding success. Having crafted a worthy companion to Lord of the Rings, Jackson has once again worked wonders with Tolkien’s impossibly rich source material. Ten years after Return of the King, it is a joy to once again visit Jackson’s majestic interpretation of Middle Earth.

Drive (2011) Review

Directed by uncompromising Danish auteur Nicolas Winding Refn, Drive is the best of several “art” films to achieve mainstream status in the past few years. Looking set to become a cult classic, Drive is already developing a strong following. So what’s all the fuss about?

In a somewhat formulaic plot, Ryan Gosling plays an unnamed protagonist, working as a Hollywood stuntman by day whilst moonlighting as a getaway driver. A loner, Gosling harbours a secret love for neighbour Irene (Carey Mulligan), whose husband is being hassled by the mob. To protect Irene, Gosling – against his better judgement - offers to help her husband. Naturally not everything goes to plan…

It should be noted that Drive simply has to be watched on Blu-ray. Never has L.A looked so slick. The helicopter shots of the neon drenched cityscape are stunning. Sun soaked Los Angeles is brought to life in a way never seen before. This is pulp movie making at its absolute finest.

Without doubt, this is Goslings film, from start to finish. His is a minimalist performance of subtle brilliance. Not since Alan Ladd’s Shane have we seen a hero this coolly stoic. Calm, composed and utterly ruthless, this is Gosling’s best performance since his stunning breakthrough in Half Nelson. Dialogue is minimal, but Gosling’s portrayal stems mainly from a stolen glance, wry smile, or the occasional flexing of a leather glove. Those familiar with Clint Eastwood roles of old will be in familiar territory here. Gosling also sports a certain jacket which, believe me, will you have you scouring the internet in search of a replica as soon as the credits start to roll.

Carey Mulligan doesn’t have a great deal to work with, but as ever delivers a memorable performance as Irene– even if she is relegated to the lowly role of love interest. Breaking Bad star Bryan Cranston is perfect as Goslings good hearted, criminal employer. Ron Perlman is, as always, mesmerising. The real surprise performance of Drive is that of former funny man Albert Brooks, who positively delights in playing bad-to-the-bone villain Bernie Rose. Brooks simply oozes malice, and perfectly counteracts Gosling’s driver in every way imaginable. From the outset, it is clear that these two men are destined for a violent confrontation.

Violence is not something Drive shies away from. Anyone familiar with Winding Refn’s previous work will be aware that the director delights in satisfying our morbid fascination with the macabre. In Drives relatively short 100 minute runtime; we witness stabbings, car crashes, artery severances, eye gouging, drowning, beatings and shootings. Oh, and Gosling puts his boot to good use in an already infamous elevator scene, reminiscent of Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible. Maybe not one for the faint hearted then…

Drive implements the most ludicrously infectious soundtrack of the year. Comprised entirely of heavily synthesised, 80’s influenced Euro-pop, the results are spectacular. When the super stylised visuals are infused with this peculiar brand of pulsating synth pop, Drive simply excels. This is how movies should be made.

Imagine the original 1980’s Miami Vice, directed by William Friedkin and absolutely drenched in neo-noir retro styling. Delicately treading the line between action and art, Refn has created something wholly original. Some might argue that Drive is a classic case of style over substance, but when it looks this good – who cares?

The Shining (1980) Review

The Shining, along with The Exorcist, is amongst the most revered of all horror films. And while the latter may have lost just a sliver of its original impact over the past three decades, The Shining remains as powerful as ever.

Released in 1980 and directed by the late, great Stanley Kubrick, The Shining stands as testament to what the horror genre is capable of. Originally an adaption of a Steven King novel, Kubrick twisted and manipulated The Shining to the extent that King wanted nothing to do with production, denouncing the film on its release. Jack Nicholson plays Jack Torrance, who has assumed the role of caretaker at the Overlook hotel over the winter months. Torrance is accompanied by his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and son Danny (Daniel Lloyd). Unbeknownst to his parents, Danny harbours psychic abilities. Upon arrival at the hotel, Torrance is informed that the previous caretaker developed cabin fever and in a fit of rage massacred his family. As the family become increasingly isolated from the outside world, Danny senses something strange happening to his father…

Nobody does insanity like Jack Nicholson. His portrayal of MacMurphy in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest is infused with maniacal qualities, but in The Shining Nicholson turns the dial up to eleven. Boasting the most expressive eyebrows in Hollywood history, Nicholsons slow mental decay is unbearable to behold.  From the outset it’s clear that something isn’t quite right about Torrance - a history of alcohol and child abuse is hinted at but never clarified - yet it isn’t until much later that our suspicions are confirmed. Oozing menace, Nicholsons transformation from makeshift father to murderous lunatic is utterly terrifying. Duvall and Lloyd are impressive in their respective roles, but this is undoubtedly Nicholsons film. This is exactly the brand of “over acting” that the maverick performer has become synonymous with throughout his career, and makes for tremendous viewing.

The Shining is an incredibly difficult film to define. Haunted house horror? Ghost story? Psychological thriller? Slasher? All of these at once, Kubrick’s oddity transcends the horror genre. Immediately recognisable as a Kubrickian endeavour, The Shining is meticulously constructed; each frame loaded with significance. Kubrick’s compositions have never been so eerily balanced, his colour palette never more pronounced, and his use of the tracking shot never more effective. This is clearly a master at work.

In a film boasting so many incredible scenes, it would be unfair to pick one out. But where The Shining really excels, is in the build-up. Indeed, nothing much happens for the first half of the film, yet the sense of fear is omnipresent. Partly the wonderfully sinister sound effects, partly the eerie setting, partly the look in Nicholsons eye – we know something is going to happen. We don’t know what, we don’t know when, but we know; in every frame, the terror is palpable.

The Shining is deliberately left open to interpretation. It could almost be argued that The Shining is the perfect bookend to 2001: a Space Odyssey – the ambiguities of both films are endless. While it is painfully clear that The Shining is a somewhat intellectual endeavour, it also represents Kubrick at his most accessible for a mainstream audience.

The Shining is a deeply disturbing, enthralling masterpiece. A chilling study in madness, Stanley Kubrick’s sole journey into the horror genre is essential viewing. Probably the best horror film ever made, bar none.

In Bruges (2008) Review

Truly great comedies are able to provide more than just laugh out loud moments. They have have something else, something special to differentiate themselves from the Anchorman's of this world. Whether it be incredibly well written characters, a razor sharp script or a terrific central performance, contemporary comedies need to offer more than just gross-out cheap laughs to truly register. Thankfully, In Bruges combines all of these aspects and stands as 2008's finest comedic offering.

Quite simply, In Bruges doesn’t put a foot wrong from start to finish. Not an epic production in any sense of the word, but a tremendous film none the less. Written and directed by first timer Martin McDonagh, In Bruges is centred on two hit men, Ray and Ken, who take refuge in the tourist town of Bruges after a job goes horribly wrong. Throw in psychotic gangsters, racist dwarfs, drugs, violence and prostitutes and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what In Bruges offers.

Colin Farrell (Ray) and Brendan Gleeson (Ken) assume the roles of two hit men in hiding. Gleeson is excellent, as always, and acts as our conscience in a film that on occasion flirts dangerously with callousness. Farrell is the heart of the film, and is a revelation. His natural comedic timing is responsible for securing most of the films laughs, but it’s the sense of naivety and guilt Farrell effectively portrays that really anchor the film in reality. Ralph Fiennes plays the deranged boss determined to kill Ray. Fiennes has a field day in his role as the villain; his tantrums and razor sharp insults are among the many highlights of In Bruges. Forget Voldemort, this is Fiennes at his most sinister - his "inanimate object" moment is a personal highlight.The emphasis here is clearly on the quality of acting and the characters, as such the comedy seems to flow naturally as a result.

McDonagh's debut is about much more than cheap laughs, a heavy sense of guilt is prevalent in In Bruges; it permeates the film and all of its major characters. Farrell is essentially doomed by his overwhelming sense of guilt over recent events in London, whereas Gleeson’s guilt is more deep seated; stemming from his career, his wife, his being in Bruges. Interestingly, both characters have a chance at redemption of some degree. The redemption of Ray depends on his romance with a Belgian local, Ken understands this, and is aware that the cost of his own redemption is to help Ray – at any cost. The true wonder of In Bruges is that it is able to operate as an intriguing moral drama without sacrificing on comedy value.

In Bruges certainly doesn’t pull any punches. Some viewers are sure to find some of the content extremely offensive. But that’s what makes it great; it refuses to compromise. The comedy may be charcoal black, but damn is it funny. 

Django Unchained (2012) the Western Reimagined

Django Unchained has been a long time coming. For years, fans have wondered when Quentin Tarantino will finally tackle the genre that has so greatly influenced his filmmaking. Indeed, some argue that the man is incapable of making a film that is not a western; even his Second World War masterpiece Inglourious Basterds is a spaghetti western in disguise. Citing his favourite director as the late Sam Peckinpah, and describing the Good the Bad and the Ugly as his “favourite movie ever”, Tarantino was destined to contribute to his beloved genre sooner or later, and boy, was Django Unchained worth the wait.

Marketed and released as a film rooted in the western genre, Django Unchained controversially defies genre conventions and expectations. Tarantino himself does not consider the film a western at all, opting instead for the label of “spaghetti southern”. Needless to say, Tarantino’s vision of the Wild West differs dramatically from anything you’ve seen before.

Set during the antebellum era in the Deep South, Django Unchained follows the quest of a bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) and a freed slave (Jamie Foxx) to rescue a captive love interest from the clutches of an evil rancher (Leonardo Di Caprio).

First off, Django Unchained can be seen to violate many conventions typical of the classical western genre. Controversially for a film of the western genre, the central hero is black. Jamie Foxx struggles valiantly to hold his own amidst a superb cast including Christoph Waltz, Samuel L Jackson and Leonardo Di Caprio. The sheer physicality of Foxx’s performance lends great credibility to the character arc of Django and his desperate plight.

It would certainly seem that Tarantino has modelled the character of Django on the classic protagonists of the spaghetti western; in which there are no heroes, at least not in a traditional moral sense. The way of the spaghetti hero is brutal, for there can be neither gentleness nor compassion in the cruel world they inhibit. Certainly, the world of Django Unchained is steeped in brutality; men are torn apart by dogs, unarmed women are gunned down and slaves fight to the death. Django himself must be ruthless to survive this hazardous environment.

Waltz is on typically brilliant form as the bounty-hunting dentist King Schultz. His comedic timing is impeccable, and along with noble steed Fritz the duo are at the centre of most of the films laughs. In an interesting twist, Di Caprio is cast as the villain of the piece; plantation owner Calvin Candy. Candy is a truly twisted creature, who openly seeks pleasure in the pain and misery of others. His gross demonstration of wealth is typical amongst western villains, and Di Caprio delights in portraying this sinister being as a combination of the selfish banker and the tyrannical rancher stereotypes.

Ennio Morricone, the infinitely gifted composer who scored the original Leone spaghetti westerns back in the 1960’s contributes greatly to the soundtrack. In trademark genre splicing style, Tarantino injects the film with the occasional jolt of contemporary hip hop. The use of Rick Ross Black Coffins synchronised with images of Django confidently riding into Candyland is just one fine example of many super slick visual juxtapositions within Django Unchained.

Like all of Tarantino’s best films, Django Unchained has been the subject of great controversy since its release. In more specific terms, the film has been labelled racist. Director Spike Lee refused to watch Django Unchained, stating that slavery was not designed to entertain as a spaghetti western, but was a holocaust in which many perished.

Whilst racism is undoubtedly a key theme of the film, I would not consider it racist by any stretch of the imagination. Racism has been a central component of many westerns, often conveyed through the stark opposition of Native Americans and western settlers. Tarantino has simply taken this classic narrative strand and adapted it to convey the Southerners ill treatment of African Americans. The power of Django Unchained relies heavily on its focus on the issue of slavery, which in turn acts as a historical social mirror to a dark subject contemporary America is rightly ashamed of.

 Whilst not the film many were expecting, Django Unchained shines diamond-like in the already glittering filmography of Quentin Tarantino. Referencing western patriarchs from Siegel to Leone, this is the western Tarantino was born to make. Django Unchained remains one of 2012’s finest offerings.

Revisiting The Thin Red Line (1998)

Terrence Malick is one of cinemas most elusive characters. Reclusive, uncompromising and brilliant in equal measure, Malick stands as one of the greatest living directors. His triumphs include masterpieces such as Badlands, Days of Heaven and most recently the Tree of Life. Yet his greatest achievement remains, in my opinion, Second World War epic the Thin Red Line.

Released in 1998, the Thin Red Line was one of two war films to generate mass critical acclaim. The other, of course, was Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan. Spielberg’s offering crushed the box office (as Spielberg movies tend to do) and cleared up at the Oscars, yet Malick’s first film in twenty years left empty handed despite being nominated for a whopping seven Academy Awards.

The Thin Red Line suffered considerably due to being released so soon after Spielberg’s behemoth had beaten cinema audiences into bloody submission. Expecting another adrenaline fuelled action adventure with a John Williams soundtrack, audiences instead were faced with a master class in the art of poetic filmmaking. As such, Malick’s vastly superior film has forever lived in the shadow of Saving Private Ryan.

That being said, Malick’s tone poem is certainly not for everyone, clocking in at just shy of three hours, the Thin Red Line is long, really long. At times the pacing is glacial, major actors prove distracting in tiny cameos, the bulk of the film rests on the shoulders of relative unknowns and the narrative textbook has well and truly been thrown out the window. Yet despite this, the Thin Red Line stands as a triumph of contemporary filmmaking.

In a nutshell, the plot is concerned with the dangers faced by Charlie Company as they attempt to secure a heavily fortified ridge in the battle of Guadalcanal during the Second World War. Woody Harrelson, George Clooney, John Travolta, John Savage, Thomas Jane, John Cusack, Jared Leto, Nick Nolte, John C Reilly and Adrian Brody all feature, yet the true protagonists of the film are portrayed by Ben Chaplin, Sean Penn, Elias Koteas and Jim Caviezel.

Malick’s camera flits freely between these characters, examining how each individual deals with the devastating demands of war. Chaplin’s character seeks refuge in erotic fantasies with his wife, whilst Penn cynically dismisses any hope he may have of salvation. Many of the characters provide a voice over narration, not to progress the plot, but to reveal more about themselves, their collective view of the war and its many disturbing facets. Malick seems to be more concerned with the psychological effects of war than the physical. The old adage states that war strips men of their innocence, Malick takes this idea further; he would suggest that war launches an assault on the soul. 

The Thin Red Line frames war as an unnatural state, a terrible villain that has no rightful place in this world. The film is riddled with tropical symbolism, and strives to depict man’s eternal struggle in the destruction of nature and himself. Where Spielberg shows a man shorn down by machine gun fire, guts in his hands, Malick reveals a baby bird, dying, haven fallen from its nest as bombs drop nearby. Thus Malick demands that we consider the very nature of war, how can we allow this to happen? The Thin Red Line is a perfect example of onscreen philosophy, the very ideas of Malick reflected in a visual tone poem.

Although the action scenes in the Thin Red Line are few and far between, they are expertly orchestrated. Bullets ricochet, explosions desecrate the landscape and soldiers scream in agony. One particular scene where Charlie Company assaults a fortified ridge is every bit as visceral as Saving Private Ryan’s famed beach landing. Spielberg’s film sheds little light on the nature of the Thin Red Line; perhaps a better comparison would be with the surrealist dreamscape of Coppola’s Apocalypse Now.

John Toll is the man responsible for the staggering cinematography on display. The vibrant jungles and lush landscape are beautifully captured through perfectly controlled tracking shots and slow camera pans. With the landscape itself being such a key thematic component of the film, it is imperative that it be captured in a manner that demands the attention of the audience. The ever brilliant Hans Zimmer provides an original score for the Thin Red Line, with much of the soundtrack consisting of several Melanesian choral songs and chants, which perfectly compliment the films many thematic elements.

Whether you admire the Thin Red Line for its vast poetic beauty, or consider it pretentious and isolating, it is impossible to deny the supreme power of the film. Malick is able to convey the very nature of love, death, heroism and war in a way no other film has ever accomplished. A free flowing visual poem of ideas, the Thin Red Line lives long in the memory. Never has a film this intimate, felt so epic.  A true masterpiece.

Only God Forgives (2013) Review

Back in 2011, Nicolas Winding Refn and Ryan Gosling collaborated to produce one of my favourite films of the past decade. Since then, Drive has become a cult classic. When it was announced that Refn would once again be teaming up with Gosling for a Thailand based gangster movie, expectation was high – sky high.

First off, Only God Forgives does not resemble Drive in the least. Refn has backtracked. The Danish filmmaker’s canon has been growing ever more commercial over the past few years. Bronson, Valhalla Rising and Drive all achieved reasonable commercial success, and could even be considered mainstream films. Only God Forgives showcases the return of Refn to his artistic roots, and then some.

The plot of Only God Forgives is almost non-existent. Ryan Gosling plays drug smuggler Julian, who faces the wrath of his tyrannical mother (Kristin Scott Thomas) when his brother is brutally murdered. The actions of Julian’s psychotic mother soon attract the attention of the brutal Lieutenant Chang, otherwise known as the “Angel of Death”…

Only God Forgives is quite simply one of the most stylish films of the year. Refn has demonstrated time and time again his unparalleled gift for stylistic control, and Only God Forgives is no exception. Rarely do movies look this beautiful, this is film as art. Bangkok is captured magnificently in swathes of red neon, a twisted hell on earth in which Julian is trapped. The visuals combined with the surging electronic score are infused with elements of eastern influence that firmly establish the backstreets of Bangkok as a primary character in this immoral tale of guilt.

All of Refn’s trademarks are notably present. The long awkward silences, scenery bathed in primary colours, haunting electronic score and excessive violence engulf Only God Forgives. It’s almost as if Refn has completely discarded any semblance of plot or character in some sort of bizarre stylistic experiment. This isn’t to say that Only God Forgives isn’t enjoyable, quite the opposite. The films total disregard for traditional cinematic conventions is refreshing, and it’s almost impossible not to admire Refn’s overly stylised nightmare.

It’s almost impossible to tell the difference between fantasy and reality throughout Only God Forgives. Refn’s Bangkok resembles some twisted form of hell, haunted by a neon red glow and inhabited by only the worst kinds of people. There are no heroes in Refn’s vision, only criminals of varying degrees. Julian is himself a criminal, and deserves his place in this hell on earth. Ultimately his quarrel lies with the creator of his surreal nightmare, the “angel of death” himself.

Those who struggle to endure the graphic violence so often associated with Refn's films may want to skip Only God Forgives. The brutality has been pushed to the limit. The colourful outbursts of Kristin Scott Thomas alone are guaranteed to secure a multitude of mid film walkouts from those with a sensitive disposition. Yet it is the violence orchestrated by Refn that truly shocks. One torture scene in particular makes for an uneasy viewing experience. 

Only God Forgives is utterly captivating, although certainly not for everyone - even the most bizarre offerings of David Lynch make more sense than Refn’s disturbed fantasy. Like meeting Colonel Kurtz for the first time, Refn's extraordinary vision is horrifying, confusing and ultimately, brilliant. You'll be glad you got off the boat.