Captain Phillips (2013) Review

Director Paul Greengrass is clearly on familiar ground here. Carefully treading water between the terrorist-fuelled tension of United 93, and the relentless action of his Bourne instalments, Captain Phillips stands as the British director’s finest achievement to date.

An honest dramatisation of real life events, Captain Phillips documents the hijacking of large cargo ship the Maersk Alabama by Somali pirates in April 2009. The ship’s captain, Richard Phillips, was taken hostage by the pirates and held prisoner until his rescue at the hands of Navy Seals five days later.

It is immediately clear that Captain Phillips is a classically “Greengrass” film. All of his trademarks are present; the handheld cameras, relentless close-ups, obsession with detail and the frenetic camera movement. Initially distancing, and occasionally frustrating, the shaky camera work and tight framing inject Captain Phillips with a claustrophobic sense of realism. One can see what Greengrass – a former documentarian himself – is attempting; this is a true story, and it should be told as realistically as possible.

Utterly absorbed in the smallest of details, Greengrass is determined to show both sides of the coin in this desperate tale of globalisation. Early in the film, Phillips confides in his wife that he fears for their children in a world that is rapidly changing. “You gotta be strong to survive out there” he frets. After immediately cutting to the Eastern coast of Africa, Greengrass strives to convey the hardships endured by the Somali pirates, led by the desperate Muse. The brutal circumstances endured by the Somalis leave the pirates with little choice. Muse later confesses to a disbelieving Phillips that he has only two options in life; fish, or hijack ships.

Greengrass stresses to establish that there are no heroes or villains in his film, only powerless victims of circumstance. Indeed, the even handed approach of Captain Phillips paints the pirates as the true victims; it is they who are ultimately doomed.

Ultimately, Richard Phillips is just a typical man, thrust into a perilous situation over which he, along with his captors, have little control. And when it comes to portraying the “everyman”, nobody does it better than Tom Hanks, who perfectly embodies the former cab driver Richard Phillips. It is in the film’s final stretch however, where Hanks moves into uncharted territory. Traumatised, terrified and exhausted, Phillips cool exterior finally capsizes in a touching display of raw emotion – masterfully portrayed by an almost unrecognisable Hanks.

Only a powerhouse performance from first-time Somali actor Barkhad Abdi prevents Hanks from stealing the show. Abdi’s portrayal of the desperado pirate Muse is undoubtedly a contender for debut of the year. Not at all intimidated by the screen presence of Hanks, Abdi dominates proceedings, his character at once a source of relentless danger and wistful empathy.

Captain Phillips only falters slightly when the action leaves the cargo ship. Once Phillips becomes entombed in the suffocating life raft with his captors, things slow down considerably. It’s a shame, because Greengrass has garnered thunderous momentum up until this point, only to let the narrative drift as the inevitable big finale looms ominously on the horizon.

Despite some minor flaws, Greengrass should be applauded for constructing a film that refuses to pull any punches. Captain Phillips is proof that movies can still be hugely intelligent without compromising on entertainment – now will someone please tell Michael Bay!?

Terrence Malick's the Tree of Life (2011)

Terrence Malick’s fifth film in four decades is inarguably an immensely personal endeavour. Awarded the treasured Palm D’Or at the Cannes film festival, the Tree of Life was simultaneously met with rigorous applause and derisive boos at its premier. Malick is renowned for his uncompromising cinematic vision, yet the Tree of Life has confused and divided audiences like never before.

The film chronicles the life of a young family growing up in Texas during the 1950’s, set against a backdrop of cosmic creation, universal inception and the end of life on earth. Oh, there are also some dinosaurs thrown in for good measure. If it sounds deep, that’s because it is. With the Tree of Life, Malick is fully committed to exploring the biggest question of all; what is the meaning of life?

Technically, Sean Penn is the film’s protagonist, yet his screen time is limited and his dialogue even more so. This isn't a criticism of Penn’s performance, on the contrary; his portrayal of the adult Jack is wrought with guilt and regret. Brad Pitt excels in the somewhat unflattering role of a domineering father at odds with the world and everything in it. The Tree of Life also happens to be the film that launched the now blossoming career of Jessica Chastain, who radiates compassion and grace in her splendid performance as the kind hearted mother of Jack. The real star performances of Tree of Life however, belong to the three young leads; Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler, and Tye Sheridan. McCracken in particular is spectacular as the troubled young Jack, desperately fighting to maintain his youthful innocence in the face of his advancing teenage years.

With the Tree of Life, Malick has created nothing short of a poet’s view of existence in this world.  The film pays little attention to narrative coherence, and instead demands that its audience observe, interpret and reflect upon events unfolding on screen. Never before has a film tackled themes of such tremendous weight, yet maintained enough emotional impact to resonate effectively with viewers. Kubrick’s masterful 2001: a Space Odyssey delved deep into philosophical debate and wowed audiences, yet left them cold and disengaged. The Tree of Life on the other hand, is malleable in its perception; the film itself is shaped by the very existential beliefs and ideas of the audience.

The Tree of Life plays host to an abundance of philosophical themes, yet most prevalent of all is the eternal struggle between nature and grace. Personified through the characters of Pitt and Chastain, the film explores the contrasting urges to satisfy basic human desires, and the will to show forgiveness, kindness, and mercy. Nature, like the character of Pitt, uses “fierce will” to get ahead in this world, whereas those who follow Chastain’s path of grace are able to live freely, accepting that many things are out with their control. Jack must navigate these conflicting ideals, resulting in an internal battle that demands the very essence of his youth; innocence.

At its core, the Tree of Life examines a man looking at his own existence, and what it means in relation to God and to the universe. The film seems to assert that everyone is connected, if only through the phenomenon of existence itself. Ultimately Malick would suggest that we are incapable of achieving true “meaning” within the context of the universe, but that our choices are of utmost importance to our own lives and of those around us – which is of significant meaning in itself.

For a film so ambitiously epic in scale and scope, the Tree of Life is able to connect on an extraordinarily intimate level. As he examines the loss of innocence, and the childhood realisation that the father figure is in fact fallible, Malick is trespassing on profoundly personal territory. Indeed, the Tree of Life is surely influenced at least in part by Malick’s own childhood. Growing up in Texas himself in the 1950’s, and losing a brother at a young age, the film certainly seems to carry an autobiographical overtone.

Impossibly ambitious, visually enthralling, and thematically dense, the Tree of Life is inarguably unique. Whilst certainly not to the taste of all, it would be foolish to deny the brilliance of Malick’s Magnum Opus. The dawdling pace and lack of linear narrative may be off putting to some, but even for non-Malick fans, this is downright essential viewing. Undoubtedly one of the very best films of the decade.

Criminally Underrated - Manhunter (1986)

Manhunter has lurked in the shadow of its big brother, Silence of the Lambs, ever since Jonathan Demme's disturbingly brilliant thriller met with huge critical and commercial success back in 1991. Yet Manhunter has it's fans. Despite amassing a feeble $8.6 million at the box office back in 1986, Michael Mann's take on the first Hannibal Lecter novel has developed a considerable cult following. Some even claim it's superior to Lambs itself. While I'm not entirely sold on that one, the quality of Manhunter is undeniable.

William Peterson (of CSI fame) stars as the troubled FBI agent responsible for apprehending the notorious Hannibal "the cannibal" Lecter. When serial killer "the tooth fairy" starts murdering entire families, leaving the FBI stumped, Graham has no choice but to offer his unique skill set in a desperate attempt to catch the killer before he strikes again.

First off, this film is infinitely superior to its glossy remake, Red Dragon. Not that Brett Ratner's offering is lacking in quality, it's just that Manhunter is an excellent example of what the modern thriller is capable of. Brian Cox is captivating as the evil Dr Lecter, and yes, he is every bit as good as Anthony Hopkins iconic portrayal of the same character. Cox has limited screen time to work with, but still succeeds in making a lasting impression. 

There is no doubt that Manhunter is immediately recognisable as a Michael Mann film. A pulsating synthetic soundtrack, and a colour palette dominated by cool blues and pale greens instantly give the game away. Even from a thematic perspective, the film screams Mann.

Dollarhyde, played here by Tom Noonan, offers a unique take on the serial killer stereotype. His villain is not a creation of pure evil, nor is he shown reveling in the anguish of his victims, instead, Mann paints Dollarhyde as the offspring of a broken society unable to effectively cater for his needs. We actually bear witness to very few of Dollarhyde's violent tendencies, Mann is instead content to examine the aftermath of the violence. Indeed, Graham's inspections of the victims houses are unbearably tense, and more than a little disturbing. Mann is not afraid to let his camera linger, motionless, long after the action is finished. Holding a shot for as long as it still contains power, we are encouraged to absorb every last creepy detail of his haunting film. 

Manhunter seems especially concerned with depicting the long term effects of cases like the Dollarhyde killings on the psyche of Graham. The film relentlessly highlights the vast similarities that exist between Graham and his psychotic prey. What Mann seems to be suggesting is that it's impossible to truly understand - and catch - a serial killer without becoming alike, at least to some degree. 

Mann would go on to explore the intense relationship between the hunter and the hunted in his 1995 crime saga, Heat. Like Heat, Manhunter is not concerned with the exploits of the antagonist; instead Mann is fascinated by the all-consuming chase, and the psychological toll it exerts on the hero. For Graham, perhaps the toil was worth it. Perhaps. But characters in Mann's later films don't always fair so well.

Easily standing as one of the finest films in the Hannibal Lecter saga, Mann's heavily stylized exploration of the true cost of catching a killer is fantastically enjoyable. Is it as good as Lambs? Maybe not. But it's every bit as enjoyable. Highly recommended. 

Bladerunner (1982) - Is Deckard a Replicant?

Bladerunner is an odd sort of film. A commercial flop on release, Ridley Scott's mysterious neo-noir sci-fi flick has developed a cult following rivaled only by the illustrious Fight Club. Perhaps audiences in 1982 just weren't ready for Scott's majestically cynical vision of the future. Or, maybe studios forced the poor guy to fuck around with the ending. Yes, that sounds more likely.

Now, over thirty years later, Bladerunner exists in three different edits. The definitive version, according to Scott, is the "final cut" edition released in 2007 to mark the film's 25th anniversary. Interestingly, this version is arguably the less ambiguous of the three, and allows for a more informed reading of Scott's dystopian fantasy.

Set in a futuristic Los Angeles, Bladerunner follows the struggles of Deckard, a reluctant Harrison Ford who specialises in killing dangerous androids known only as Replicants. When four exceptionally powerful Replicants escape and wreak havoc in LA, Deckard is tasked with stopping them.

It's almost impossible to mention Bladerunner without delving into the "is Deckard a Replicant" theory. Scott strives to make it fairly clear in his final cut, perhaps because audiences today don't react well to ambiguity. Although interestingly, Harrison Ford has said on numerous occasions that he did not believe Deckard to be a Replicant. Indeed, Ford has referenced several conversations between himself and Scott where the pair agreed that Deckard was human. Yet despite this, Scott himself has refused to admit that Deckard is a human. So let's look at the facts.

Deckard's apartment is cluttered with photographs, none of which appear to be in colour, which would suggest that they are of significant age. Photographs are highly treasured by Leon, a renegade Replicant who returned to his dwelling despite obvious danger in a desperate attempt to retrieve his photos. Similarly Rachael - another Replicant - uses photographs in a futile attempt at convincing Deckard of her humanity. Scott makes it clear that photographs are of utmost importance to Replicants because it gives them the illusion of having "real memories", providing ties to a non-existent past. This begs the question, what do the photographs in Deckard's apartment symbolise?

Doubt is again cast over Deckard's humanity during his first encounter with Rachael. The Replicant asks him whether he has successfully passed the android test himself, a question to which he offers no reply. Scott is a director who recognises the importance contained in the slightest of details, so do not underestimate what Deckard's silence represents in this scene.

Later in the film, whilst in his apartment with Rachael, the eyes of Deckard glow ever so briefly like those of a Replicant. Whilst very discreet, this becomes clear during repeat viewings, and again I highly doubt this is carelessness on Scott's behalf. The eyes of Replicant's glow very occasionally, as if to portray a design flaw and to suggest that they are not perfectly manufactured at all. Indeed, in Bladerunner the eye is portrayed as a two way mirror; able to see magnificent things, as famously depicted by Roy Batty, but which can also give away just as much, as revealed in Deckard's android test.

Perhaps the most obvious indicator of Deckard's true self is the notorious unicorn dream. Famously absent from earlier versions of Bladerunner, the final cut sees Deckard dream of a startlingly white unicorn whilst asleep in his apartment. Now here's the clever bit. Earlier in the film Deckard was able to convince Rachael of her artificial nature by declaring his knowledge of her most personal memories and dreams. As Rachael is a Replicant, her memories are merely implants that Deckard has been able to research. Meanwhile, throughout the film, Deckard's supervisor Gaff continually manufactures small origami figurines. In the final scene of the film, Deckard flees his apartment with Rachael only to discover a small origami unicorn beside his door. This would imply that Gaff knows about Deckard's unicorn dream, and would strongly suggest that the dream was an artificial implant.

I'm going to run with this unicorn idea for a little while longer. Later in the film, whilst Pris resides in the apartment of J.F Sebastian, we can again see a unicorn, this time in the form of a toy crowded by J.F's numerous other creations. Consider that the job of J.F is to help create Replicants. Isn't it possible that the unicorn is a personal touch added by him in the design process of the artificial mind; a recurring dream that all Replicants share?

After watching Bladerunner, many puzzled film-goers can't understand why Roy Batty would save Deckard. Some argue that Batty wanted to instill Deckard with his knowledge, so that he could live on in some spiritual sense after his body decayed. I'm not buying it. I think Batty saw something of himself in Deckard as he hung desperately from the ledge. A burning desire to live perhaps? Or, something artificial? After all, Batty does shout "kinship" as he saves Deckard by grabbing his hand. Soon after this, Gaff congratulates Deckard by saying that he's done a "man's" job. Now I know that it's a fairly common phrase, but in the context of this film questions have to asked...

Many state that Deckard simply couldn't have been a Replicant, as he was noticeably weaker than the androids he fought against. This is true, yet he wasn't weaker than Rachael. And if, like Rachael, Deckard was programmed not to know his artificial nature, the only way to maintain the charade would be to give him "average", human abilities. After all, doesn't it make sense to have a Replicant hunt other Replicants? Surely it would be a job too dangerous for a human.

After viewing Bladerunner multiple times over the years, I stand convinced that Deckard is indeed a Replicant - regardless of what Harrison Ford has to say on the matter. Yet, the very fact that the question cannot be answered with true certainty highlights just how effectively Sir Ridley has portrayed his ultimate thematic debate; what does it mean to be human?

A Closer Look at Alien (1979)

Few films have achieved the iconic status of Ridley Scott’s first fateful venture into space. To this day, Alien stands as a shining example of what the sci-fi genre is capable of. Scott’s masterwork remains one of the most revered films of the past forty years.

Despite the shower of awards bestowed on Gladiator, Scott’s best work can undoubtedly be found in his early futuristic visions. Both Alien and Bladerunner rightfully rank among the best sci-fi movies ever made. Whereas the complex ambiguities of the latter film can divide audiences, the technical mastery of Alien garners universal acclaim.

Released in 1979, Alien is set in the distant future and follows the crew of commercial mining vehicle the Nostromo as they return to earth. When the ship intercepts a distress beacon from an uninhabited planet, the crew decide to investigate. What they discover will endanger everyone on board…

Alien boasts an impressive cast. Sigourney Weaver stars as the now iconic Ellen Ripley, the resilient security officer of the Nostromo. The ships doomed captain is expertly played by the ever reliable Tom Skerritt, and Ian Holm portrays the enigmatic science officer Ash. Alien was one of the first mainstream films to feature a heroic female equal to the men she shares a screen with. Scott would pursue this idea of a strong female protagonist throughout his career, in films like Thelma and Louise, G.I. Jane or Prometheus.

Unlike many horror films, Alien holds back on the scares for a significant chunk of the film. Scott masterfully orchestrates this prolonged build up until the tension reaches fever pitch. When we finally arrive at Kane’s iconic death scene, Alien goes for the jugular and doesn't let up until the credits roll. The claustrophobic interior of the Nostromo only serves to intensify the fear of the alien threat; best exemplified in a thrilling scene where Dallas hunts the creature through the ships ventilation system.

Few films can compete with Alien when it comes to atmosphere. Scott’s technical mastery is astounding; his camera floats through meticulously constructed corridors, gracefully capturing the smallest details of life in outer space. Even now, over three decades later, Alien remains a film of staggering beauty. The set design is flawless, and Scott instills an epic sense of scale that still impresses today. A colossal sense of discovery permeates the first half of the film; watch in amazement as Dallas and his crew enter the alien vessel for the first time. This is clearly film-making on an unprecedented scale.

Alien is a film steeped in sexual symbolism. Indeed, as the film both starts and ends with characters sleeping, Scott’s odyssey of horror can be interpreted as a twisted Freudian nightmare. The alien itself - designed by creative genius H.R. Giger - is a majestic creation of sheer terror. An invader from the boundaries of the subconscious, the alien is a creature of nightmares. 

The various forms of the alien are all undoubtedly iconographically male. The impregnating “facehugger”, the neo-natal snake and the fully grown monster complete with elongated head and retractable jaws all reinforce the hidden subtext of the film; rape.

In contrast, the bio-organic alien vessel pregnant with eggs is clearly symbolic of the female body. The damp, dark tunnels of the Nostromo, controlled by the manipulative “mother” are also an example of this feminist symbolism. These female representations are violated continually throughout the film by the masculinity of the alien. The creature itself can be interpreted as the missing phallus of the “mother”, due to its phallic nature and its origin in the womb of the alien vessel. Indeed, many of Alien's terrors are grounded in archetypal fears of woman’s otherness, her alien body and its natural functions.

A blueprint for the horror genre as we know it, Alien stands as one of the most influential films of the past fifty years. Never again has sci-fi been this scary. Never again has horror been this clever. Never again has Ridley Scott been this good!

The Place Beyond the Pines (2012) Review

In his previous outing, Blue Valentine, director Derek Cianfrance explored what it means to both fall in and out of love. Widely regarded as one of the best films of 2010, Blue Valentine established Cianfrance as a cinematic talent destined for greatness. His next project sees him reunite with muse Ryan Gosling in what is his most ambitious film yet.

If Blue Valentine was Cianfrance’s answer to the rom-com, then the Place beyond the Pines can be viewed as his unique take on the action thriller. Needless to say, this isn’t Bad Boys; Michael Bay fans need not apply. With Place beyond the Pines, Cianfrance examines the nature of the father son relationship, and highlights the ways in which everyday decisions can impact on an entire legacy.

Ryan Gosling portrays Luke Glanton, a nomadic Moto rider living on the fringes of society. Bradley Cooper plays Avery Cross, an ambitious cop with a powerful father. When Glanton discovers he has a baby son with past fling Rowena (Eva Mendes), he decides to become a father and quits his job as a travelling stuntman. Unable to support his family on minimum wage, Glanton resorts to robbing banks, a decision which changes the lives of both men and their families forever.

The thematic ties between Blue Valentine and Place beyond the Pines are clear. Both films explore the intimate details of human relationships, and make clear the impact of decisions and actions on characters and their families. With Place beyond the Pines, Cianfrance attempts to tie three closely linked stories in order to create one overriding narrative strand. Whilst the film is a success in this regard, its narrative structure highlights some problems.

The first act follows the financial and moral struggles of Glanton as he attempts to reconnect with his family. Gosling is on supreme form, showcasing yet another performance of muted subtlety reminiscent of his magical turn in Drive. Glanton is by far the most interesting character in the film, and his story arc makes for compelling viewing. And therein lies the rub. The first chapter of the film is so damn good that when the focus switches to the character of Avery Cross, one can’t help but feel cheated. While still a related story, the narrative shift is somewhat jarring.

Thankfully Cooper is utterly engrossing as the not entirely likeable Cross. Like Glanton, Cross is trapped in a system against which he struggles desperately. Both men strive to do the right thing, but inevitably fail as the pressure mounts. A brief appearance by Ray Liotta on scintillating form greatly helps the sagging middle section of the film regain momentum.

Where the film most struggles is in its final act, where the children of Glanton and Cross attempt to navigate the pitfalls of the local high school. Thematically, this is where Cianfrance drops his atom bombs. Narratively, however, this is Place beyond the Pines at its weakest point. Despite strong performances throughout, the plot slows to a standstill before working up to the big finale. It’s notoriously difficult to introduce new characters late in a film, so when Cianfrance switches the focus onto two completely unknown protagonists two hours into the film the narrative stalls.
That being said, Place Beyond the Pines excites and delights in equal measure. The high tracking shots of Glanton at one with his motor bike on the deserted rural roads are mesmerising, and linger in the mind long after the credits roll. Tension is sky high during the robbery scenes, and the story arcs of both Glanton and Cross are engaging throughout. Better still is Gosling's post robbery jig with a friends confused dog to the sound of Bruce Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark.

Despite some structural flaws, Place beyond the Pines remains essential viewing. The first hour is quite possibly the finest piece of filmmaking I’ve witnessed this year. Yes, it sags in places, but for the most part the story is riveting, and the acting is undeniably top notch throughout. Highly recommended. 

Looking Back at Mean Streets (1973)

Martin Scorsese is almost certainly one of the greatest directors alive today. He is the reclusive genius responsible for some of the most influential films of the past four decades.

The vast critical acclaim Scorsese has received throughout his career seems mostly to settle on Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and Goodfellas. His more recent works Shutter Island, The Departed, The Aviator and Gangs of New York have awakened an entirely new cinema going generation to his extensive film making talents. However, even with such a stellar filmography, rarely has Scorsese matched the blazing authenticity of his early work in 1973’s Mean Streets.

Both written and directed by Scorsese, Mean Streets proved to be the fervent director’s real breakthrough. Filmed on a miniscule budget of $500,000 and featuring a largely unknown cast (at the time); Mean Streets was an unforeseen success. A significant factor of this success was undoubtedly down to the two young male leads; newcomers Harvey Keitel and Robert DeNiro, who are simply mesmerising throughout.  

Mean Streets follows Charlie, a small time hood trying to scrape a living in the Lower East Side of New York. Charlie is torn between living life on the street, and maintaining his faith as a devout Catholic; a line Scorsese himself was forced to walk in his younger days. In a haze of guilt, Charlie takes crazed Johnny Boy under his wing, as a form of symbolic penance. However, Johnny Boys reckless nature soon spells trouble for Charlie and his aspirations in the neighbourhood of Little Italy…

Mean Streets showcases the striking quality of the young DeNiro’s acting ability with his performance as the unhinged menace Johnny Boy. DeNiro’s breakout role stands in stark contrast to performances the actor would later become famous for. Indeed, the unique form of introspective brooding that DeNiro has become synonymous with is noticeably absent in Mean Streets.  Instead, Johnny Boy is a delight to behold; disturbingly charming, menacing, chaotic, maniacally violent and surprisingly funny.

Harvey Keitel’s Charlie is the perfect counterbalance to the psychotic Johnny Boy. Keitel perfectly portrays the conflicted Charlie; his soul in turmoil and his heart confused. It is testament to Keitel’s ability as an actor that he is able to bring a considerable degree of likeability and empathy to what is a largely unfavourable character. Indeed, as the eyes and ears of the audience in this violent, unforgiving world; his performance is of utmost importance, and deservedly launched Keitel’s career into the upper echelon of the Hollywood dream machine.

Charlie’s delicate religious sensibilities prove to be a key theme throughout Mean Streets. The plot itself deals mainly with Charlie’s unique idea of penance through helping the renegade Johnny Boy, and his fear of hell is apparent at many points in the film. Charlie is continually seen to expose his hand to a naked flame; this reminds him of “the pain of hell” more clearly than reciting Hail Marys ever could. Also of interest is Scorsese’s extravagant use of lighting throughout the film. In one of the most profound settings; Tony’s bar, the tavern is enveloped in a sinister red glow, clearly symbolic in depicting the idea of Charlie’s omnipresent fear of hell.

Mean Streets is host to many of the features that have since become trademarks of Scorsese’s filmmaking. The conflicted characters, eclectic rock soundtrack, brutal violence, religious symbolism and dazzling camera work are all present and correct. The limited budget of Mean Streets prevented Scorsese from depicting an elaborate, hugely stylised vision of Mafia life as he was able to later accomplish in Goodfellas and Casino. Instead, the raw, almost documentarian feel of Mean Streets screams authenticity, and exudes power to rival even the most celebrated films of the crime genre.

Looking back to 1973, Mean Streets proved to be the film that united two of the greatest cinematic talents of the past century; Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro. The incendiary duo would go on to change Hollywood film making forever. For that reason alone, Mean Streets stands as one of the most important films of the last 50 years.

Looking back at the golden years...

Movies, they just don't make them like they used to. Sound familiar?

Early silent films of Murnau and Chaplin have stood the test of time, and are widely regarded as classics. Similarly, the following decades saw the release of behemoths like Casablanca, Citizen Kane and On the Waterfront. Yet most revered of all, is that brief period of filmic creativity that started in the late 1960's before diminishing at the end of the 1970's; the age of New Hollywood.

This "golden age" of cinema ushered in mavericks like Scorsese, Coppola, Spielberg, Lucas, Altman, Scott and Malick. These auteurs produced films the likes of which had never been seen before. Indeed, many people believe that the quality and quantity of films produced during this period will never again be matched.

I for one, am sick to death of hearing about the dreadful state contemporary cinema is in. Am I supposed to believe that I will never see a film better than Taxi Driver or Jaws? Bullshit. Granted, there are a lot of very average films gracing today's theatres, and I mean a lot. Giant robots, found footage fiascos, comic books come to life - take your pick. 

However, one only has to glance at the vast array of directing talent to emerge in the last two decades to realise that we are in the midst of something special. The work of Quentin Tarantino, stands as testament to the quality of today's films. Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Kill Bill, Inglourious Basterds and even Django Unchained would stand up to even the best offerings of the 1970's. 

What of Paul Thomas Anderson, who's filmography to date includes Boogie Nights, Magnolia, Punch Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood and The Master? Is his work lacklustre in comparison to say, Robert Altman? Nonsense. There Will Be Blood would stand as a crowning achievement in any decade, even the "golden age".

What about Christopher Nolan, the man responsible for redefining the blockbuster? Alexander Payne? Sam Mendes? Wes Anderson? Cameron Crowe? David Fincher? Darren Arronofsky? The Coen brothers? Danny Boyle? Robert Zemeckis? David O'Russell? Tim Burton? Peter Jackson? Steven Sodenbergh? The list goes on.

Consider also, how accessible films are now compared to forty years ago. Back in the 70's, audiences were limited with regards to the films they could actually see. Now consider that the films of Lars Von Trier, Tomas Alfredson, Fernando Mereilles and Nicolas Winding Refn are available to a global audience. Also, did I mention Alfonso Cuaron, Michael Haneke, Guillermo Del Toro, Ang Lee or Pedro Almovodar? For the first time ever, foreign independent films have a chance of garnering widespread critical and commercial success.

It's also worth remembering that Scorsese, Spielberg, Scott and Malick are all still making films today. Indeed, Scorsese was awarded with his best director Oscar not for Taxi Driver, nor Raging Bull, but his  2006 crime thriller, The Departed. Similarly, Scott received greatest critical acclaim not for his sci-fi masterworks Bladerunner or Alien, but for his historical epic Gladiator, released in 2000. Spielberg scooped numerous Oscars with Lincoln just mere months ago, and Malick is producing his best ever work with films like The Thin Red Line and Tree of Life.

My point? I don't really have one, other than to appreciate the films we currently have the pleasure of watching. True, the Spielberg's and Scorsese's of this world won't be around forever, but they will leave behind a lasting legacy. A legacy that will be built upon by the new breed; the Christopher Nolan's, Quentin Tarantino's and Paul Thomas Anderson's. Fear not folks, the future is bright.

Golden age? What golden age!

Darren Aronofsky - A Summary

“I try to live my life where I end up at a point where I have no regrets. So I try to choose the road that I have the most passion on, because then you can never really blame yourself for making the wrong choices.”

Born on the 12^th of February, 1969, Darren Aronofsky isn’t your typical New Yorker. Describing himself as extremely shy, Aronofsky was artistic from a young age. As a child he devoured vast amounts of classic films, and even briefly assumed the occupation of graffiti artist. His journey into the creative world of film was inevitable.

After high school, Aronofsky studied film at Harvard University as well as at the American Film Institute. Indeed, his senior thesis film Supermarket Sweep won numerous awards and Aronofsky himself went on to become a National Student Academy Award finalist. His decision to study film in an academic capacity set Aronofsky on the same course as the original “film school” directors such as Scorsese and Coppola. A classic criticism leveled at contemporary directors “educated” in the art of film is that their features lack substance; their mastery of film form and composition comes at the expense of true emotion and heart. Anyone familiar with the films of Aronofsky, however, will recognise this claim as a falsity.

Upon graduating, Aronofsky began working on his first feature film after friends and family responded positively to a script he had written. Armed with a $60,000 budget derived entirely from donations by friends and family, Aronofsky started shooting Pi in 1998. The completed film was sold to Artisan Entertainment $1 million, and went on to gross over $3 million, winning the best director award at the 1998 Sundance Festival in the process. Aronofsky had arrived.

His follow up, Requiem for a Dream was both a critical and commercial success, and went on to be nominated for an Academy Award. It was in Requiem that Aronofsky first began to employ techniques that would later become his trademarks. Split screen is used extensively, along with the “Snorricam”; a camera attached to an actor over the course of a particularly long take. Often, Aronofsky cuts between extreme close ups and long shots, thus creating a sense of isolation within his characters. Aronofsky noted that a typical 100 minute film contains around 600 to 700 cuts. Requiem however, is comprised of more than 2000; greatly contributing to its breakneck pacing. Inevitably, Requiem garnered controversy over its graphic depictions of drug use and sexual imagery, and Aronofsky's refusal to compromise resulted in an unrated release. The shy artist from New York was making waves.

Then came the blip. After the huge successes of his first two features, Aronofsky, for the first time, had access to a bigger budget, and bigger stars. His third feature, The Fountain, would be his most ambitious film yet; interweaving three non-related stories spanning a thousand years. The Fountain polarised critics, and performed poorly at the box office. Ironically, I believe The Fountain to be Aronofsky's finest work, but at this point it stands as a considerable blot on an otherwise immaculate resume.

Aronofskys first encounter with failure affected him. For his fourth feature, the director went back to basics. The Wrester would be a stripped down, raw account of a man living on the edge. Dubious casting decisions on the part of Aronofsky paid dividends in the long run. The Wrestler opened to huge critical acclaim, with both stars being nominated for Academy Awards. The film also became Aronofsky's biggest critical success of his career to date, grossing over $25 million.

The fifth feature of Aronofsky; Black Swan can be viewed as a companion piece to The Wrestler. Dealing with similar themes, and using many of the same techniques employed in previous Aronofsky films; Black Swan went on to exceed all expectations. Receiving vast critical acclaim, and nominated for five Academy Awards, Black Swan accumulated over $100 million worldwide.

Currently, Aronofsky is hard at work on his latest feature Noah; his interpretation of the story of Noah’s Ark. Shooting began in Iceland on July the 12^th 2012. For his most recent production, Aronofsky has been given a working budget of over $100 million; by far the biggest of his career. Given what the director has achieved in past years on microscopic budgets, the prospect of Noah is very interesting indeed…

To describe Aronofsky as obsessive would perhaps be unfair. Then again, this is a man who has refused to compromise on any of his films thus far, often resulting in budget cuts or unrated feature releases. Indeed, during shooting Aronofsky is rumoured to avoid shaving or cutting his hair until the production process is finished. All five of his films feature characters dealing with strong obsessions that inevitably drive them towards self-destruction. Is Aronofsky holding a mirror to himself in making these powerful pieces of cinema?

Clearly Aronofsky is a man unprepared to compromise when it comes to his passion. Originally attached to direct Batman: Year One in 2002, Aronofsky decided to leave the project in order to start work on The Fountain. Similarly, when asked to direct Batman Begins in 2005, the director passed on the opportunity. Aronofsky also left production of The Wolverine in 2011, and abandoned directing The Fighter last minute in favour of The Wrestler. Aronofsky is a man who is not swayed by fame, commercial success or big budgets; he just wants to make the films he loves so dearly. And that is a quality to be admired by all. 

First Impressions of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

The best spy film of the decade does not play host to James Bond or Jason Bourne. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, adapted from John Le Carre’s celebrated novel of the same name, offers a unique take on the shady underworld of international espionage. Tomas Alfredson, director of the chillingly beautiful Let the Right One In, abandons the girls, guns and action that have become synonymous with the genre. Instead, Tinker Tailor launches an assault of malicious whispering, unbearable silence and sweat inducing tension. This is a film in which the smallest of details register in a big way.

Set in London in the early 1970’s, Tinker Tailor focuses on the lives of those employed by the British secret service. A disastrous operation in Budapest leads to the sacking of Control (John Hurt) and his right hand man, George Smiley (Gary Oldman). When it becomes clear that one of his former colleagues is a double agent, Smiley is lured back into the world of international espionage to identify the traitor. What ensues is a complex tale of betrayal, corruption and deceit.

Tinker Tailor boasts an ensemble cast showcasing the very best acting talent Britain has to offer. Man of the moment Tom Hardy plays the rough and ready Ricki Tarr, a British agent operating in Russia. It is Tarr who first discovers the double agent in the midst of the secret service, and Hardy is typically convincing as a man living on the edge, oozing both vulnerability and guilt whilst maintaining the tough image associated with the man who beat batman to a pulp. Benedict Cumberbatch excels as Peter Guillam, Smiley’s closest ally, demonstrating an emotional depth lacking in his portrayal of Mr Holmes in the BBC’s primetime drama Sherlock. Familiar faces Colin Firth, John Hurt, Mark Strong, Kathy Burke and Toby Jones are all stellar throughout, each cast perfectly in their respective roles.

Despite the strong performances from the supporting cast, the film rests heavily on the shoulders of its protagonist; George Smiley. Gary Oldman has carved out an extremely successful career through his numerous portrayals of villainy. Indeed, the villains of Oldman are a loud, overstated breed; think of his appearances in True Romance, Leon and the Fifth Element. Only recently, with his roles in both the Harry Potter and Dark Knight franchises, has Oldman been seen to portray the hero. In a career littered with defining performances, Smiley stands as the most impressive of them all; the jewel in the crown.

Oldman is almost undoubtedly the best working actor without an Oscar nomination to his name. In this respect, it is easy to see the similarities between Smiley and the man portraying him; both are overlooked, underappreciated and shun public attention. Both are utterly dedicated to their respective crafts. Alfredson presents Smiley as a true mystery; an unsolvable riddle with which the audience are expected to engage. Framing, lighting and setting are utilised in order to distance Smiley from the viewer, making the aging spy seem all the more enigmatic. Also, at numerous points in the film the spectacles of Smiley play host to reflections, effectively hiding the character’s eyes from the audience. This is by no means unintentional on the part of Alfredson. If one is to refer to the old English proverb which describes the eyes as the windows of the soul, what can be said of Smiley?

Mysteriously, Tinker Tailor proved both a critical and commercial success, despite leaving audiences bewildered by its complex narrative. Certainly, a large part of the films allure is rooted in the considerable challenge of keeping up with events as they unfold on screen, yet Tinker Tailor can be seen to offer more than just a gripping story. Indeed, Tinker Tailor devastatingly depicts the toll that such a profession can take on a human life; Smiley himself stands as a testament to the sacrifices that a spy must endure.

One criticism that seems to be levelled at Tinker Tailor is that the big reveal isn’t the gut wrenching experience it ought to be. True, the unmasking of the double agent does present itself as an anti-climax; the audience are deprived of Smiley’s initial confrontation with the traitor he has so doggedly pursued. But so what? Tinker Tailor is a film concerned with people, not in entertaining the masses solely through its narrative. Indeed, the mole’s identity is actually of little concern, it is the journey of Smiley that really demands our attention.

Alfredson layers the filmic journey of Smiley with plenty of subtle hints which allow us to identify the double agent. When Smiley labels the chess pieces, the Russian informant Polyakov is a black rook, and Bill Haydon is tellingly posted on the white rook. Early in the film, Smiley sits in his house studying the painting given to him by Bill Haydon, in a sense looking at Bill himself, thus establishing the two as nemeses from the start. Perhaps most obviously, in one of his earliest lines Control states that “a man should know when to leave the party”. Later in the film, during a flashback to a Christmas party, Bill Haydon “leaves the party” to be with Smiley’s wife as his colleagues sing the USSR anthem, thus leaving little doubt to the identity of the traitor in the finale.

Tinker Tailor is undeniably a thriller for grown-ups. Themes of betrayal and corruption are prevalent, and important clues required to solve the narrative puzzle are subtle. Alfredson deserves praise for his refusal to compromise; the audience are treated as equals; as (dare I say it) intelligent. Combine this lack of compromise with its grainy imagery, and a formal composition of long lens shots, rack-focus, tracking shots and a drab colour palette; Tinker Tailor could be mistaken for a film of the 1970’s.

With its Terrence Malick like pacing, melancholy tone and demanding narrative, Tinker Tailor is certainly not a film for everyone. Yet those who can stomach the demands of Alfredson will be rewarded with what is one of the most compelling, intelligent and downright beautiful films in many, many years. The glacial atmosphere drips from every frame, and the minute details of Alfredson’s world are inhaled by the viewer. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy can genuinely lay claim to be the best espionage film ever made. So it’s true what they say; slow and steady wins the race…

A Closer Look at The Fountain (2006)

It would seem that relatively few people have actually heard of The Fountain, let alone seen it. Yet, in my humble opinion, Darren Aronofsky's third full length feature was the best film of 2006. So how has a film like The Fountain managed to disappear?

Possibly the rumoured production issues played a part in the films failure to find an audience. Indeed, Hollywood heavyweights Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett were originally cast in the lead roles, with Aronofsky gifted a $70 million budget with which to experiment. However, due to unforeseen circumstances the stars dropped out and were replaced by the significantly less commercial Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz. On top of this, the budget was slashed by $35 million.

In addition, the polarised responses of critics surely scared audiences away from The Fountain. Perhaps the concept of the film itself simply didn't appeal to a mass audience. Whatever the reason, The Fountain remains a grossly under-appreciated film.

The Fountain is comprised of three stories which interweave over the course of a thousand years. All three narratives star Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz in the lead roles. The first story is set during the Spanish inquisition, and follows a conquistador’s quest to find the Tree of Life in order to save his beloved Queen. The second tale - the centrepiece of the narrative - concerns a scientist’s desperate attempt to cure cancer, with the intention of saving his dying wife. The third and final piece of the puzzle follows a man travelling through space and into the heart of a dying star, whilst nurturing a slowly decaying tree.

First things first; any reservations about the casting are immediately dispelled. Hugh Jackman shows an emotional depth that I would never have thought him capable of. His is a powerhouse performance of raw emotion. Indeed, it’s hard to believe that this is an actor who made a name for himself playing Wolverine in those boring X-Men movies; this is Hugh Jackman as we have never seen him before. Weisz doesn't disappoint in her various roles either, although she isn't quite operating on the same level as her opposite number. Her performance is eerily reminiscent of her portrayal of Tessa Quayle in The Constant Gardener a year earlier. That isn't to say Weisz is anything less than stellar throughout, but this is well trodden ground for her. This being said, she clearly has great on screen chemistry with fellow star Jackman, a crucial factor in a film dealing so intimately with the love shared by the two characters.

Clint Mansell, long-time collaborator of Aronofsky, returned to create a score for The Fountain, and to devastating effect. Although not quite matching the climatic symphony of Requiem for a Dream, Mansell infuses The Fountain with a suitably melancholic, yet hopeful theme. The score is continually twisted and manipulated to varying degrees for each of the three intertwining stories. It is only in the climax of The Fountain that we are treated to the full, combined effect of Mansell’s orchestration.

Aronofsky himself describes his film as a very simple love story about a man and woman in love, with the woman dying young. He claimed to be inspired by those who die young, and marveled at how they came to terms with their own demise. He recognised, in what he refers to as an incredible tragedy; that the patients would often die more alone because of the inability of their friends and family to fully comprehend what was happening to them. This feeling of isolation is what inspired him to make The Fountain.

Death is an implicit part of life, and for those of us who have experienced one of its many forms The Fountain is sure to resonate profoundly. What can we do when faced with death? This is essentially the question The Fountain attempts to tackle.

The theme of death is clearly prevalent throughout the film. Jackman’s conquistador is willing to do anything in order to prevent the demise of his Queen, even if it ultimately means losing his own life. Similarly, the scientist attempting to cure cancer is clearly doing so with the motivation to save his beloved wife from succumbing to the illness. The third narrative is also closely tied to death; Jackman is trying to save the decaying tree by travelling into the very heart of the dying star. In short, all three stories deal with mankind finding a solution to death.

The search for eternal life is perhaps the ultimate human endeavour. It may take many forms; the quest for the Holy Grail, the cure for cancer, or the search for the Tree of Life. What The Fountain would propose, is that this endeavour is one of futility. The characters of Weisz know this, they suggest that the truth of life is death; it is what makes us special. Immortality itself can only be achieved through death. Indeed, I think one of the taglines of the film was “what if you could live forever?” Although slightly misleading, this is a core theme of The Fountain; the idea that only in death can we truly “live forever”.

The idea of confronting death is prevalent not only in the narrative, but through the subtle manipulation of the films form. The key theme of fearing death is portrayed throughout The Fountain as a journey from darkness into light, which can be seen quite literally by looking at the lighting of the characters. In the beginning, all of Jackman’s characters are kept out of key light; they are only seen in silhouette. As his characters develop and the stories progress, the lighting on Jackman increasingly grows brighter. This is to convey the characters journey from darkness into light, as he finally comes to terms with the idea of death being a part of life. In contrast, the characters of Weisz are flooded with light in all three of the stories; she is already enlightened to the truth of life.

For all of its complexities, The Fountain delivers a profoundly simple message. Despite our great wealth of knowledge, most people are still afraid to die. Like the character of Jackman in the final act, we must confront death alone. In order to truly defeat death, we must simply learn to accept it.

Aronofsky's love poem to death is devastatingly personal film making on an epic scale. Love it or hate it, The Fountain is a film sure to be admired for decades to come.