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.

Elysium (2013) Review

Neill Blomkamp stunned audiences back in 2009 with his startling debut District 9; a daringly original sci-fi action movie that bravely addressed the ongoing issue of apartheid in South Africa. Amazingly, despite a shoe string budget, District 9 went on to become the best blockbuster of the year. Boasting dazzling special effects and a refreshing take on a somewhat stale genre, District 9 announced the arrival of a new sci-fi master fit to rival Spielberg himself.
The immense success of District 9 has ensured that Blomkamp's new sci-fi adventure, Elysium, has rather large boots to fill. Set in the not too distant future, Elysium is the name of the space station where the wealthy dwell free from illness, poverty and even death. The rest of the human race remain on a polluted, overpopulated and highly dangerous earth. Despite their best efforts, the mass population are not permitted access to Elysium, whose inhabitants have programmed droids to control the people on earth. When ex criminal Max learns that he has only days to live, he attempts to turn the whole system on its head in a last ditch effort to reach Elysium and save himself.
The ever reliable Matt Damon is typically stoic as the morally ambiguous Max. The likability factor garnered by Damon is important in his portrayal of a character who is not always heroic. Disappointingly, Jodie Foster doesn't have a great deal to do in a somewhat cliched role, yet it's nice to see Diego Luna on screen once again as Max's best friend, Julio. It is Sharlto Copely however, who has the most fun as the villainous Agent Kruger, whose dogged pursuit of Max places him firmly in Terminator territory. Clearly unhinged, Kruger's scenery chewing outbursts are a joy to watch, and rank alongside Elysium's many highlights.
Unfortunately, Elysium, like most sci-fi films, suffers from the weight of exposition, which essentially takes up the first third of the film. While Blomkamp's version of the future is intriguing, things do begin to drag a little. This is in part due to our somewhat unnecessary introduction to Max as a child, which does little in aiding our understanding of the protagonist, provides little information, nor further the plot. Similarly, the subplot of the sick girl is a disappointing cliche which really isn't necessary. That being said, when Elysium gets going, it doesn't stop. Few directors are able to match Blomkamp when it comes to action. As the stakes are continually raised for the characters, the action is ramped up relentlessly; the film's later scenes hurtle past at a breakneck pace.
Once again, Blomkamp has proved himself a visual artist of the highest order. His apocalyptic vision of a diseased earth is perfectly realised, every last detail contributing to a barely recognisable cityscape. The shaky handheld cinematography adds a large degree of realism to events as they unfold; watch in slow motion as a droid explodes into thousands of pieces, or a pulverised face magically heal. The technical artistry of Blomkamp is simply astounding.
Don't be fooled by all the explosions however, Blomkamp's action filled romp isn't at all empty headed. Like District 9 before it, Elysium is a canvas on which Blomkamp clearly depicts his concerns regarding several key social issues. Despite the fantastical events unfolding on screen, the premise of Elysium is worryingly relatable; providing a social commentary on immigration, healthcare and overpopulation.
In short, Elysium is a fantastic sci-fi actioner, and a worthy follow up to the hallowed District 9. It's disappointing reliance on several age-old cliches prevent Blomkamp's effort from truly achieving classic status, yet this is a gooey, balls to the walls sci-fi with brains - terrific entertainment.

Interstellar - Review

The hype surrounding Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar has been palpable. There seems little doubt, that for better or worse, it’s set to be the filmic event of the year.

I desperately tried to book IMAX tickets for the opening night over a week ago, only to find that every single seat was booked out. Even the 11.30pm screening, which probably didn’t finish until 3am, was completely full. Fortunately, I managed to secure prominently located seats for the following night, showings for which were also fully booked.

Having raked in close to $20 million on its opening night (with limited release), Interstellar is already showing financial promise, currently amassing more than last year’s sci-fi box office smash, Gravity. Boasting a marathon running time of 170 minutes, Interstellar’s plot is bolstered by dark stars and wormholes, with the casual exploration of five-dimensional-space and a healthy dose of time travel thrown in for good measure. It doesn’t exactly scream audience accessibility, does it?

What then, can Interstellar communicate about the film industry? It would suggest that tent pole blockbusters don’t have to be bland and meaningless, it tells us that audiences will pay to see high concept, extravagant filmmaking, and that not everyone is satisfied with another stale Transformers sequel. Most of all, it would suggest that audiences are much smarter than studios give them credit for, and that people will watch anything that emerges from the mind of the mighty Christopher Nolan.

It’s almost tempting to skip the plot summary entirely, not only because it’s immensely difficult to construe comprehensibly and acutely, but for fear of giving the game away.

Suffice to say, Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) is a former NASA pilot turned farmer, scratching a living from a dying Earth with his two young children. When things take a turn for the worse on the blue planet, Cooper is persuaded by former mentor Professor Brand (Michael Caine) to embark on a perilous mission in order to find a new home planet for the human race. Aided by Brand’s daughter (Anne Hathaway), and astronauts Doyle (Wes Bentley) and Romilly (David Gyasi), Cooper confronts the consequences of interstellar travel and sets out on a monumental adventure to save mankind.

Chris Nolan has long mesmerised us with his uncanny ability to harness the power of the image, a talent inherent in only the greatest of filmmakers – the Kubricks, Malicks and Spielbergs of this world.

Think back to the brilliantly savage, alien landscapes of the Alaskan wilderness in Insomnia. Or the menacing figure of Batman perched atop a skyscraper, silhouetted by the shimmering lights of a Chicago skyline. Or the city of Paris magnificently folding on itself in one of the many vast dreamscapes of Inception. Or Tesla’s mist covered fields swathed in luminous bulbs of light in The Prestige. The list is endless, Nolan’s imagery saturate his films with a sense of wonder rarely experienced in the modern multiplex.

Interstellar itself certainly doesn’t skimp on wonder; a brief visit to a planet submerged entirely in water is nothing short of breath-taking, while another planet - completely engulfed in ice and rock – features frozen clouds that hover low in the sky.

In an early, earth bound sequence, Cooper doggedly pursues a surveillance drone he spies gliding across his farmland. The sequence that ensues is positively Malickian in nature, with Cooper’s pick-up truck ploughing through seemingly endless fields of lush green corn; a savage clash of machine and nature.

Yet despite the visual splendour now so associated with a Nolan production, one cannot help but feel that this is new territory for the visionary filmmaker. Don’t be fooled by the sterility of space, and the parched soil of a dying earth, for this is a far warmer Nolan enterprise than which we have become acclimatised to.

It’s a well-documented fact that Steven Spielberg was formerly attached to Interstellar, and it’s not difficult to see why the story might appeal to the veteran director. The awe inspiring sense of wonder that Interstellar so successfully conveys to the audience has been notably absent in cinema as a whole since the glory days of Spielberg and Lucas in the early 1980’s. But it’s the intimate father-daughter dynamic, so crucial in holding the intergalactic adventure together, that would have drifted nicely into the bearded wonder’s wheelhouse.

While many of Nolan’s previous films have featured parents estranged from their children, they rarely seem to evolve past the point of progressing the narrative. The loving relationship that binds Cooper to his children – especially his daughter, Murph – is the beating heart of Interstellar.

When Cooper is finally presented with the knowledge that in order to save Murph, he must leave her, Nolan lets us have it. The heart wrenching goodbye between father and daughter early in the film would threaten even the most steely of eyes with a tear, and despite the visual panache, one of Interstellar’s greatest moments is centred on a father stricken by grief at having missed his children growing up. One wonder’s if Spielberg himself could have done better.

Which brings me nicely on to McConaughey, a man reborn. Cooper is the latest in a long run of knockout performances for the Texan actor. Enjoying what is quite possibly the biggest comeback since John Travolta sought solace in the character of Vincent Vega, McConaughey is currently sitting pretty atop Hollywood’s elite. Next up – Gus Van Sant’s Sea of Trees, you can just about hear the Oscar buzz already…

Also impressive is the young Mackenzie Foy as Murph, her strong performance instilling the film with much of its emotional heft. Nolan regular Michael Caine is ever watchable, with strong support offered by Jessica Chastain, Casey Affleck, Wes Bentley, and John Lithgow. Anne Hathaway, clearly eager to work with Nolan again after her scene stealing performance as Selena Kyle in The Dark Knight Rises, struggles through a clunky monologue around the film’s midway point, but is otherwise excellent as Brand’s daughter.

Veteran composer Hans Zimmer returns to score Interstellar. Like previous Nolan/Zimmer collaborations, the soundtrack is loud, really loud. There are even times when the thunderous music actually renders the dialogue of characters incomprehensible, which is a minor gripe, albeit a frustrating one. The score itself is of a more classical nature than previous collaborations, which certainly lends itself to the theme of space travel – established long ago by the marriage of classical music and cosmos bound adventure in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

I’m actually surprised I’ve made it this far without mentioning Kubrick’s magnum opus, for its influence is undeniably felt throughout Interstellar. Then again, has there been a “space” film released in the past five decades that has somehow managed to evade 2001’s gravitational pull? I think not. That being said, comparisons to 2001 are not unjust. Both Kubrick and Nolan are transfixed with exploration, and with knowing the unknowable – ultimately, are we alone in the universe?

Rather than ignore 2001’s existence entirely, Nolan subtly acknowledges its influence on his vision. Artificial intelligence construct TARS at one point threatens to blow Cooper out of the airlock, a faint reference to HAL’s on board revolution in 2001. Even the very design of TARS is startlingly similar to 2001’s mysterious monolith.

In Nolan’s film, interstellar travel is only made possible because somebody – referred to only as “they” – created a wormhole near Saturn. Likewise, in 2001, Dave Bowman’s ultimate journey is only made possible because “somebody” located the all-powerful monolith next to Jupiter. It’s also possible to draw similarities between the climaxes of both films, although I won’t go into details for fear of spoiling Interstellar’s significantly less ambiguous ending.

Perhaps what 2001 and Interstellar have in common most of all however, are brilliantly intelligent, ambitious directors, unprepared to compromise in pursuit of their immense visions. Upon its theatrical release back in 1969, Kubrick’s 2001 split both audiences and critics down the middle. Now, five decades later, it’s widely regarded as one of the greatest films ever made. While nowhere near as ambiguous nor as challenging as Kubrick’s visionary creation, Interstellar will likely prove divisive for many, and only when the dust finally settles will it be possible to compare the two epic productions.

Combining the visceral thrills of event cinema, the heart and soul of Spielberg’s finest, and the uncompromising vision of Kubrick’s 2001, Interstellar is a work of colossal ambition. True, it may not fire on all fronts all of the time, but the greatness of Interstellar more than makes up for any nagging complaints – be it clunky dialogue or tacked on exposition.

With Interstellar, Christopher Nolan reminds us of a time where we looked up at the night sky in awe, rendered insignificant by the promise of a universe just out with our reach. Interstellar is ultimately a tale of hope, love, and sheer, reckless ambition.

In a modern world where we are forever looking downwards, scrutinising videos of dancing cats on our iPhones, it’s important to reminisce every now and then.

See it.

Now.

On the biggest screen you can find.

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes. What don’t we know about Conan Doyle’s iconic detective? Now over a century old – his first adventure was published back in 1887 – Sherlock has forever lingered in our collective imagination. The man himself has been portrayed by close to a hundred different actors, his many triumphs celebrated in film, television, radio and literature, with every twist and turn of his tale ingrained in popular culture.

So, back in 2009, when Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat announced that they would be re-treading the escapades of the world’s most famous detective, I was far from enthused. A BBC backed Sherlock, set in modern day London, starring that guy from The Office and Benedict Cumber-something? No thanks.

After all, Guy Ritchie and Robert Downey Jr. had very recently done a fine job of reinventing the long-serving icon for a contemporary audience. What could Gatiss and Moffat possibly bring to the table that hadn’t already been done to death in countless previous incarnations?

Clearly, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The conversion process didn’t take long – about 25 minutes into the pilot episode, to be precise – and I am now an unabashed fan of Sherlock. Not only is it the best TV show I’ve seen this side of True Detective – it’s probably the best British television production I’ve ever seen. Who addicts and Luther fans can grumble all they like, but Sherlock is king of British telly, and with good reason.

For starters, the decision to subject Sherlock to the demands of everyday, contemporary life is a stroke of simple genius. Conan Doyle’s London may have changed dramatically over the course of the past century, but it remains as prominent a character in the adventures of his titular hero as it ever did. Horses make way for the iconic black cabs, and telegrams have been replaced with the digital technology we now rely upon so heavily. Yet despite this, we never feel far away from Conan Doyle’s original vision of the Victorian cityscape; in a delightfully self-aware sequence, Holmes dons the iconic deerstalker so firmly associated with Sherlock mythology in an attempt to shield his face from the press – a decision he later regrets; “How do you stalk a deer with a hat?” he sullenly complains.

That Gatiss and Moffat are able to mould Conan Doyle’s original tales into legitimately interesting modern day mysteries, whilst keeping the audience guessing (most of the time) is testament to their undeniable writing ability. The dialogue crackles with energy, Sherlock’s deductions are endlessly entertaining, and his relentless (often brutal) tirades are magical. To say Sherlock is funny would be a crude understatement – it’s clear that cast and crew alike are having a ball, relentlessly poking fun at the legend of Sherlock. The whip smart writing ensures that the laughs come thick and fast, and the dynamic, ever evolving relationships that exist between the central characters never fails to disappoint.

Which brings us to the man himself; Sherlock. Benedict Cumberbatch joins a long list of prestigious actors in portraying Conan Doyle’s eternal hero; Christopher Lee, Charlton Heston, Michael Caine and Peter O’Toole have all enjoyed time in Baker Street. Yet, of all these great names, it is Cumberbatch’s Sherlock who stands head and shoulders above the somewhat more traditional incarnations.

Relatively unknown (at least back in 2010), Cumberbatch infuses Sherlock with the colossal intelligence for which the character is best known, but with previously unexplored baggage – Sherlock Holmes, a drug addict?! Sherlock’s monstrous intellect has isolated him from his only brother, and indeed society as a whole; by his own admission, Sherlock is undoubtedly a sociopath – albeit an extremely high functioning one. Cumberbatch’s performance has since seen him appear in the excellent Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Spielberg’s War Horse, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Peter Jackson’s Hobbit trilogy and most recently The Imitation Game. Not a bad few years then.

And yet for all Cumberbatch’s fireworks, no iteration of Sherlock Holmes would be complete without trusty sidekick John Watson. Martin Freeman, now world renowned as Bilbo Baggins, is the reliable Ying to Sherlock’s zany Yang. It’s easy to see why Peter Jackson so desired the Brit to play the titular role in his Hobbit trilogy. Often out of his depth, aimlessly following an incomprehensible Cumberbatch, Freeman is the perfect “everyman” – which is ultimately the reason he makes such a terrific Bilbo, and an even better Watson.

Cumberbatch and Watson find staggeringly good support in Una Stubbs (Mrs Hudson), Rupert Graves (Lestrade) and Louise Brealey (Molly). Even creator Mark Gatiss posts consistently impressive performances in his regular appearances as Sherlock’s genial elder sibling, Mycroft. Most impressive of all is Andrew Scott’s Moriarty – Sherlock’s greatest nemesis. Outwitting Sherlock at every opportunity, Scott’s villain is menacing, unpredictable, and often hilarious – the scenes he shares with Cumberbatch are never short of captivating.

Despite their recent meteoric success, both Cumberbatch and Freeman are keen to further develop their Sherlock legacy. Cumberbatch himself recently stated that he would love to play Sherlock deep into his senior years, such is his fondness for the character. And with a Christmas special penned for 2015, and a fourth season scheduled for release in 2016, Sherlock is far from finished.

Indeed, if Cumberbatch has his way, we have yet to scratch the surface of what has already proved to be a magnificent television spectacle.

The game is afoot! 

2014 - The Year So Far...

It's easy to despair at the state of movies nowadays. I've only been to the cinema a handful of times in the past six months, because, well, pickings are slim. Really slim.

Sure, I enjoyed The Edge of Tomorrow, and Noah was terrific fun, if a little heavy at times. I also loved The Raid 2, which was released here back in April. Gone Girl, currently still showing in theaters across the country, probably stands as 2014's best film to date, at least since 12 Years a Slave silenced audiences nationwide back in February. I've got nothing against Gone Girl, but I can't help feeling let down that it's currently the best film I've seen all year.

Admittedly, I missed popular indies Short Term 12 and Blue is the Warmest Colour (they are now both on Netflix, so I'll be watching them soon), but the fact remains that my top four films of the year thus far consist of three literary adaptations - yes, the bible counts as literature - and a sequel. More worrying still is that Gone Girl isn't even close to being considered Fincher's best work. As it stands, a mediocre Fincher is still head and shoulders above 99% of the competition.

Perhaps I'm being cynical - which isn't exactly unheard of. After all, it's still relatively early in the filmic calendar, and many of the big hitters have yet to surface. The critically acclaimed Mr Turner, and Nightcrawler were both released this week. Also, cult horror in the making The Babadook saw a widespread release last week.

Looking forward, Chris Nolan's Interstellar looms large on the horizon, and is backed up by Benedict Cumberbatch vehicle The Imitation Game,  Tommy Lee Jones' The Homesman, Wong Kar Wai's The Grandmaster and Peter Jackson's final Hobbit installment. Paul Thomas Anderson's Inherent Vice stands as my most anticipated feature of 2014, with a classic soundtrack and jet black humour that harks back to the directors glorious exploration of the 1970's porn industry in the majestic Boogie Nights.

I have no doubt that of these films, some will turn out to be fantastic. However, compared to past years, the quality is lacking.

Let's look back at 1939 for example, when the best films of the year comprised of Gone with the Wind, Stagecoach, The Wizard of Oz, Mr Smith Goes to Washington, and Goodbye Mr Chips. Will any of 2014's biggest hits attain the greatness of any of these features? Unlikely.

How about 1974, which saw the release of Amarcord, Blazing Saddles, Chinatown, The Conversation, The Godfather Part 2, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the Towering Inferno.
Or the following year, 1975, where the best films consisted of Barry Lyndon, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Jaws, and Dog Day Afternoon. One year later, in 1976, movie goers were rewarded with Network, The Omen, Rocky, All the Presidents Men, and Taxi Driver. It would seem that many of the best films ever made were released in the space of just three years.

Hell, even the 90's oozed quality. Take a look at the roll of honour for 1999 - American Beauty, Magnolia, The Insider, The Matrix, The Green Mile, The Sixth Sense, Fight Club and The Blair Witch Project. The naughties have had their moments too, just glance at 2007's output; There Will Be Blood, No Country for Old Men, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Zodiac, Juno, Into the Wild, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Superbad, Eastern Promises, Michael Clayton, Hot Fuzz, I'm Not There, and we were even treated to a Tarantino flick (albeit a misfire) in Deathproof.

Maybe now you can understand my disappointment with the movies of 2014. I thoroughly enjoyed Gone Girl, but if it's still sitting pretty in my top five list a few months down the line, I'll be ever so slightly depressed. Is there still time for 2014 to bring it back? We'll see.

True Detective

Having originally missed the highly praised True Detective when it first aired on television, I was one of many who clamoured with excitement at the new Blu-ray release. And yes, while £32.99 for an eight episode season is a little steep (no wonder you’re struggling, HMV), the price tag is ultimately justified by the shows sheer quality.

The brainchild of Nic Pizzolatto, True Detective sets out to dismantle the traditional “buddy cop” movie, and to redefine the genre as a whole. Surprisingly then, the narrative of True Detective is nothing new, at times bordering on clichéd. Mismatched Louisiana detectives Rust Cohle (Matthew McConaughey) and Marty Hart (Woody Harrelson) must overcome their differences in order to solve a sinister homicide, all the while accidentally infuriating their superiors. Sound familiar? While the plot could have been copy and pasted from generic thrillers like Bad Boys or Lethal Weapon, True Detective owes much more to David Fincher’s Se7en, often treading in territory usually reserved for the horror genre.

Although the plot is somewhat formulaic, Pizzolatto seems to have little interest in narrative, instead opting to explore the turbulent private lives of Cohle and Hart. In a quite brilliant twist, True Detective has two narrative strands unravelling simultaneously; the first of which follows a young Cohle and Hart as they struggle to solve a disturbing homicide in 1995, while the second narrative is set 17 years later, where the two protagonists (who haven’t spoken to each other for ten years) are being questioned about their involvement in the infamous case of 95. This clever format allows for some significant narrative manipulation, and ensures that the audience are almost always kept in the dark from the word go.

The drama unfolds in the hurricane ravaged swamplands of Louisiana; a savage landscape, at once beautiful and utterly devoid of hope. Cari Joji Fukunaga’s direction is astounding, his camera languishing on the lush foliage, barren marshland and desolate corn fields that infuse True Detective with sinister melancholy; a sense of paradise lost. With the likeness of a macabre Malick, Fukunaga is seemingly fascinated by the twisted logic of nature, its cruelty, and its utter lack of morality – characteristics that True Detective would claim to expose in us as a species.

The emergence of McConaughey as a significant acting talent has stunned many over the past few years. A bizarre, yet brilliant, performance in Friedkin’s Killer Joe back in 2011 revealed a McConaughey nobody had seen before, and following knockout performances in Magic Mike, Mud, Wolf of Wall Street and Dallas Buyers Club, the Texan has established himself among Hollywood’s elite. Needless to say, McConaughey’s portrayal of the nihilistic Rust Cohle does not disappoint. Mesmerising from start to finish, Cohle is True Detective’s dark heart; mysterious, sinister and wildly enjoyable to watch. Cohle’s defining moment comes in the final episode, when, confronted with death, his entire belief system is called into question – McConaughey hits it out of the park.

Harrelson, while not able to match the deranged intensity of his partner, is on top form. Unlike Cohle, Marty Hart is a family man, forever trying, and failing, to do right by his wife and kids. This isn’t uncharted territory for Harrelson then, but the chemistry he creates with McConaughey is electric, and there’s rarely a dull moment when the two share the screen. Michelle Monaghan offers strong support as Marty’s wife, and while most other characters are transitory, appearances from the likes of Kevin Dunn and Shea Wigham ensure that the audience never loses interest in the various characters that drift in and out of episodes.

True Detective forever lingers in the cool shadow of the Southern Gothic, the show’s plot and setting a modern rendition of the macabre tales of Flannery O’Connor. Likewise, many of Cohle’s deeply nihilistic monologues could have been torn from an unwritten McCarthy novel, so bleak is his unique philosophy. Like the classic Southern Gothic novel, True Detective is obsessed with the flaws of its protagonists, and of our society as a whole, where evil forever lurks in the darkness.

Unfortunately, the final piece of the puzzle Hart and Cohle so desperately seek is a bit of a let-down. The writing from episode to episode is exceptional, and it simply feels like we’ve been unnecessarily cheated with what is quite frankly a disappointing reveal. Even theories offered by fans seem like more logical – and better – alternatives to the narrative development chosen by the writers.

Small gripes aside, True Detective is a tremendous viewing experience. Eight episodes of unadulterated brilliance, an uncompromising assault on the senses from the opening frame, and a brutally taught finale that owes a fair debt to Silence of the Lambs. Perhaps more a repackaging of the buddy detective genre, rather than a reinvention, True Detective remains a stellar achievement none the less. Also, The Handsome Family’s Far From Any Road is a contender for best TV show theme tune, ever!

Season two is already in development apparently, with Colin Farrell set to star. I’d love to see Pizzolatto and Fukunaga tackle a new case, with new detectives, and a new location, but I can’t help thinking that McConaughey and Harrelson have set a standard that may prove extremely difficult to top.

Twisted. Bleak. Macabre. Horrifying. Bold. Brilliant. Uncompromising. A Southern Gothic masterpiece.

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!?

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.