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!?

Terrence Malick's the Tree of Life (2011)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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