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.