Paths of Glory (1957)

2009 #85
Stanley Kubrick | 87 mins | TV (HD) | PG

Paths of Glory“The paths of glory lead but to the grave,” wrote Thomas Gray, and Stanley Kubrick — adapting from the novel by Humphrey Cobb — sets about proving him right.

Kubrick’s depiction of war is excellent, from long tracking shots through the trenches, to the nighttime wilderness of No Man’s Land, lit only by flares that reveal it’s strewn with bodies, to an epic and perfectly-staged battle that is a visual and aural assault. Indeed, Winston Churchill claimed that the film was a highly accurate depiction of trench warfare and the sometimes misguided workings of the military mind, and it’s so effective that it was banned in France for its negative depiction of the military. I’m sure the story could have been equally well applied to any military in the habit of killing its own men, but hey, it’s always fun to pick on the cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

Even beyond the battle scenes the film remains bleakly realistic: the depressing Old Boys’ Club-style hierarchy of the military (still all too much in effect, as series like Generation Kill reveal); the unjust unrecorded trial (an excellent courtroom sequence that can stand up to any other); through to the inescapable finale. George Macready’s villain is as chillingly evil as they come, because he’s so believable. Lying, manipulating, selfish and dishonourable, yet he produces all this from an opening scene where he appears to be a perfectly honourable General (though one has one’s suspicions). Even at the very end, when some small measure of genuine justice has been wrung from the whole sorry mess, one of the few remaining almost-likeable characters is fully unmasked as just as bad as the rest. Kubrick tries to instil some hope with his final scene, but by then he’s done too fine a job of wiping it out.

There’s a debate, it seems, about whether this can accurately be described as an anti-war film. It’s patently not pro-war, with its ineffective officers, self-serving high command, corrupt legal system and senseless slaughter for absolutely no military gain; but the argument that it is less a commentary on war and more on human nature — how people, not just soldiers, respond to the opportunity for glory, and how they attempt to cover their own tracks when it goes wrong — certainly holds some weight. The final scene, which is in almost every other respect entirely unrelated to the main narrative, supports such a theory, as does the source of the title. But just because that’s true doesn’t mean it’s not anti-war as well; or, at the very least, anti-military (if that’s not the same thing).

Perhaps reaction to the film depends on your ideological stance. I’m all too prepared to believe the military is corrupt and unjust because, well, that’s how they always seem. As such, Paths of Glory does an outstanding job of fulfilling and reinforcing these preconceptions, particularly in its refusal to end justly. If you have some measure of faith in the forces, however, you may think it’s an unjustified attack on your beloved institution. Each to their own.

5 out of 5

Paths of Glory is on ITV4 tomorrow, Sunday 31st August 2014, at 11:20am.

(Originally posted on 24th February 2010.)

Wallander: Mastermind (2005)

aka Mankell’s Wallander: Mastermind

2009 #88
Peter Flinth | 96 mins* | TV | 15

Sixth in the series of Wallander films starring Krister Henriksson as the titular Swedish detective, though only the second to be released theatrically.

Mastermind works to earn its status as a theatrical release, everyone upping their game to provide something more filmic than the other direct-to-DVD entries in the series. That’s not to say the other films in the series are bad — they’re certainly as well-produced as any other detective series on TV — but this episode seems to have been constructed from the outset with an eye on a standalone cinema release, rather than just randomly plucking an episode from the thirteen produced to receive such an honour.

From the start (literally) there are slicker opening titles, and longer end credits to bookend that. The direction is flashier too — still grounded in reality, unlike the heavily-stylised British Wallander, but with more filmic shot choices and editing. Take, for example, the Rear Window-inspired scene where Wallander looks out over the adjacent block of flats while listening to classical music that completely fills the soundtrack — not the kind of sequence you tend to find in TV drama. On-going subplots from the series go unreferenced — there’s no need to have seen a single other episode to follow the story without a hitch.

The main plot’s on a bigger scale — a serial murderer who has eyes and ears inside the police department — and This Time It’s Personal for good measure, with the villain targeting friends and family and (spoiler) a past connection to several characters. It’s not a realistic-scale case-of-the-week, but a once-in-a-career unusual case, the kind of plot that graces serial killer films (Se7en comes to mind, obviously) in a way those case-of-the-week plots rarely do. It stretches credibility a little, as these types of tale often do, which does at times leave it feeling a tad out of place in Wallander’s grounded world, which is usually about more realistic murders rather than megalomaniac super-powerful serial killers. Still, it ups the ante appropriately, making the events more action-packed and conforming to the theory that films should never have a “just another day at the office”-style plot.

With the extra effort afforded to make this series instalment appropriately cinematic, the Wallander team achieve their aim and produce one of the stand-out of all thirteen films. That said, some viewers of the whole series may find it a bit OTT when compared to the series’ regular style.

4 out of 5

* The running time is listed as 102 minutes on IMDb, but 96 is taken directly from the BBC’s iPlayer.

(Originally posted on 14th February 2010.)

Rage (2009)

2009 #81
Sally Potter | 98 mins | streaming | 15

RageI really didn’t expect to like this: a series of straight-to-camera monologues, performed in front of just plain-coloured backgrounds, about the fashion industry, written and directed by the writer/director of Orlando, which I thoroughly disliked. But I watched because it was going free and, despite the concept’s innate pretentiousness, it’s an intriguing one. Once Rage settled into its stride (or, perhaps, I settled into its stride), however, I loved it.

The group of fourteen people who appear before the camera are almost entirely self-centred and/or not very nice, which you may guess from the outset considering their industry, though almost all still have something to reveal as the film progresses. It’s surprisingly funny too. The off-screen action is conveyed by a very effective sound mix — we see nothing but talking heads (until an incongruous final shot, at least), but there’s always background noise, however subtle, and the key action in the wider world is revealed to the viewer through this, plus comments from some of the talking heads. But time isn’t wasted spelling out what we can’t see; instead, a bit of the viewer’s own imagination is required in addition to the sound and dialogue clues to create a version of events.

A starry cast (Steve Buscemi, Lily Cole, Judi Dench, Eddie Izzard, Jude Law, John Leguizamo, David Oyelowo, Dianne Wiest… plus recognisable (depending on what you’ve seen, of course) faces like Simon Abkarian, Bob Balaban and Babel’s Adriana Barraza.) provide exemplary acting across the board, even if some of the accents (mainly Brits playing at yanks) are frequently dubious. It seems unfair to pick anyone out, but Lily Cole is perhaps the most surprising, her fragile character aided by her Pipling-esque eyes and pale skin, but it’s her actual performance that ultimately delivers more than her autobiographical-seeming first appearance would suggest. And one can’t ignore Jude Law playing a Russian/American female(?) fashion model — for once I actually thought he was quite good. Maybe this is his niche. The majority of the performances err toward the theatrical — something certain film viewers seem to struggle with — though the intercutting and passage of time, reflected in intertitles and costume changes, make the whole experience more suited to film; indeed, with the cameraperson being such a major character (as it turns out), it is technically unstageable. (It could be staged, of course, but it belongs as a film.)

And, talking of how things turns out, the most intriguing character of all is Michelangelo, the cameraman and only main character we never see on screen — indeed, it’s a considerable amount of time before we realise he’s a character at all and not just a filmmaking conceit. His presence and the filming style (supposedly shot on a mobile phone (or, I suppose, ‘cell phone’) camera) is not just a gimmick, but, as it turns out, vital to the story. It’s probably the only film ever made that perhaps works better viewed streaming online. All the characters are in some way unveiled throughout the film, but, almost without the viewer releasing it, so too is our supposedly-inconspicuous cameraman. By the end, what seemed to be a critique of the fashion industry — and a well-worn one at that — has something else to say too.

At least, one hopes this ‘critique’ of the fashion industry isn’t the main point, because it may be the film’s biggest problem. There’s very little, if anything, new to be found in the comments and criticisms made — we well know it’s a business filled with too-thin weight-obsessed diva-ish models, self-obsessed pretentious designers, money-grabbing moral-less Murdoch-alikes and no-hope fame-hungry wannabes, and Rage doesn’t have much more to say about it than this. Sure, no one sits around pontificating on why it’s all so evil, but it doesn’t take much to see the subtext. At least it’s often funny about it; though based on comments I’ve read online, it seems this humour may be too subtle for some. Perhaps they can’t see the inherent ludicrousness of it all, with the performances flying closer to realist than the My Family-level bluntness some require from their comedy.

It’s hard going at times, even if one is enjoying it — after all, it’s still just a succession of people talking to camera. Obviously what they say — and, indeed, don’t say — reveals things about themselves, others, and events off screen, but while I was never bored there were several occasions when my eyes strayed to the clock out of curiosity over how long was left. I’ve still seen much duller films.

I don’t doubt that Rage isn’t for everyone. Indeed, you only have to look at IMDb to see how many people loathe it with near-religious fervour. (Prepare yourself if you do, because some of the criticism is irritatingly brain dead. But hey, that’s IMDb!) Some people just won’t get on with its style, or find it too slow, and with 14 characters in 98 minutes, awarding them an average of under seven minutes each, you’re not going to get Alan Bennett-level character deconstruction. But Rage unapologetically is what it is, and I liked it.

5 out of 5

If you’re interested in an in-depth (and spoiler-filled) review of Rage which features phrases like “extraordinary testament to the mindbrain”, “Mugel and Potter use sound to build an entire lifeworld”, and “it enlivens, emboldens and enriches the film, engaging ear, heart, mind, memory, intelligence, even skin and senses as a brilliant texture”, try this one from Little White Lies.

Rage placed 10th on my list of The Ten Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2009, which can be read in full here.

Rock n Roll Nerd (2008)

2009 #92
Rhian Skirving | 89 mins | DVD

I don’t usually bother with plot summaries at the start of my reviews, working on the assumption most readers will know (or know of) the film and so don’t really need one. My assumption here is that most won’t have even heard of this film, though.

You may’ve heard of Tim Minchin, however, the Australian musician/stand-up who’s done a couple of tours, released a DVD or two, and popped up for guest spots on things like Never Mind the Buzzcocks and The Secret Policeman’s Ball. Back in 2005, no one knew who Minchin was — a struggling musician at the time, on the verge of quitting and finding himself a Real Job. He happened to live next door to aspiring filmmaker Rhian Skirving who, in more or less the same predicament, decided to film Minchin’s last ditch attempt at making it: trying his hand at comedy. They expected to film, at best, a small-scale suburban documentary about a wannabe failing to become a somebody, but what they wound up with was something rather different.

Almost as soon as filming began, Minchin was a hit at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, where he was spotted by an Edinburgh producer and whisked off to the famous Fringe where (as the film’s own blurb describes it) he had “the most successful first season of any performer in the history of Edinburgh… walking away with the prestigious Perrier Newcomer Award, TV appearances, offers from Hollywood and the West End, the best management in the business and a gig at Albert Hall.” Not what either Minchin or Skirving had expected, that’s for certain!

What this tale creates is an unusual rockumentary. It’s obviously not a concert film, nor a tour film, nor a retrospective on someone’s career; instead, it’s the chronicle of someone’s relatively meteoric rise to fame, from two unique perspectives: the camera is there as it happens, not belatedly once Minchin’s become more widely known; and the writer/director/cameraperson is a close friend, not just any old filmmaker hoping to cash in. One almost has to wonder if Skirving has psychic powers, so perfectly timed was her idea.

Minchin is pretty honest with the camera in tow. When he’s a success, we see him struggle with things like management: does he owe it to the person who discovered him to make sure she’s cut in on the deal? Is it right to just abandon her and move on? Does she just see him as a potential cash cow rather than genuinely wanting to support him? And so on. His honesty extends to the awards — his show is so hyped he winds up half-expecting the near-impossible, to win the biggest award in his first year. He’s not even nominated, having to ‘settle’ for a win as Best Newcomer. His confounded expectations aren’t boastful or immodest, the viewer privy to how his hopes were unrealistically raised in spite of himself.

Alongside this, Skirving and Minchin allow us to see the toll his professional breakthrough takes on Minchin’s personal life. His wife — newly pregnant — is left behind in Australia while he’s becoming the toast of Edinburgh. The timing of some events in his personal life also couldn’t be worse, and Skirving documents them without ever becoming ghoulish or intrusive. It is, in a way, brave of both Minchin and his wife to allow their inclusion, but good filmmaking on the part of Skirving to know where to draw the line.

Documentaries such as this often rely on the viewer having a pre-existing affection for either the performer or their work. Though it seems impossible to believe, I’m sure there must be some who dislike Minchin (his show did get one bad review, after all) and it may be they wouldn’t engage with this film because of it. However, some stories are capable of transcending one’s feelings about the subject covered, and Rock n Roll Nerd may just be one of those: even if you don’t enjoy Minchin’s songs, or indeed comedy music in general, the tale of his success — and what it’s like for an ordinary person to live through such a thing — is a story whose unique interest extends beyond fans-only territory.

4 out of 5

Rock n Roll Nerd: The Tim Minchin Story is currently only available on an Australian Region 0 DVD, available from the distributor, your favourite Australian DVD retailer (y’know, like EzyDVD), or importers on Amazon. The film’s official website can be found here — sadly no trailer, but there are comments from Minchin and Skirving.

Rock n Roll Nerd placed 6th on my list of The Ten Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2009, which can be read in full here.

An American in Paris (1951)

2009 #93
Vincente Minnelli | 109 mins | DVD | U

An American in ParisIf anyone is interested in An American in Paris and has found this alleged-review in search of something interesting to read, I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Not because I didn’t like the film, but because I’ve not got anything to say about it.

The main reason for such an oversight is that, getting round to this review a month or so since I watched it, I can’t remember enough of it well enough to provide anything close to meaningful criticism. This could sound like a criticism in itself — designating the film unmemorable — but the sad truth is it’s not all that uncommon for me. This is why I usually write notes (like this (just in case you don’t know what notes might look like)), so that when I do get to a review (inevitably late) I can translate said notes into something passably resembling a review. Viewing An American in Paris over the Christmas/New Year period, however, there was no time for note-taking.

But enough on my lackadaisical reviewing habits, what can I say about the film? Well, it’s got a Gershwin score, and I always like that; particularly memorable is I Got Rhythm being performed by Gene Kelly and a group of young kids who can’t speak English. It’s a different take on a familiar number that’s thoroughly entertaining. The dancing is all great, of course, and Leslie Caron — last-minute replacement for a pregnant Cyd Charisse — shines in her debut role. The film ends with a lengthy ballet which, to be frank, isn’t really to my taste; dance fans of a certain type will undoubtedly love it though.

And that’s your lot, I’m afraid. I can only apologise to you, dear reader, and to all involved with this perfectly lovely film for not being able to offer a more appropriate set of thoughts.

4 out of 5

Hamlet (2009)

aka The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Hamlet

2009 #90
Gregory Doran | 183 mins | TV | 12

Hamlet (2009)It doesn’t seem like 18 months since the RSC brought Hamlet to the stage with British TV’s biggest star actor (probably) as the titular Dane, but it is (more or less). Thanks to sold-out performances and largely positive reviews (theatre critics seem even less keen to agree on anything than film ones), we’re now treated to this film adaptation, shown on BBC Two on Boxing Day and released on DVD (but not Blu-ray, boo*) earlier this week.

Hamlet hangs primarily on its central performance — so we’re constantly told, anyway; this being only the second production I’ve seen I can’t confidently assert so for myself, but I can certainly see where the consensus comes from. Equally, I can’t accurately compare David Tennant’s performance to any other, which often seems to be a central consideration in any review of the play. In near-isolation, however, it’s a thoroughly convincing performance. He glides seamlessly from withdrawn and grief-stricken in his first appearance, to intrigued and excited by the ghost of his father, to clever and wily as he plots, and finally to an alternation between assumed madness and serious introspection as he enacts his plans.

Any number of scenes show off Tennant’s abilities, particularly the way he treats other characters. He resolutely takes the piss out of both Polonius and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, but plays each in subtly different ways: the former is like someone intelligent teasing with someone who doesn’t get it, which sounds distasteful but is enjoyable because of Polonius’ plotting and influence; while the latter is like a cat toying with a pair of treacherous mice, who are aware they’ve been caught out but struggle on regardless. Hamlet’s pair of ‘friends’ can be seen as insignificant characters by some — it’s part of what led Tom Stoppard to pen Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, after all — but with a few silent additions around Shakespeare’s dialogue and the way Tennant, Sam Alexander and Tom Davey choose to play the original lines, their roles seem to have increased importance.

The other notable facet of Tennant’s interpretation of the character is humour. Hamlet’s madness here is almost unrelentingly funny — even in deadly serious situations, like capture following a murder, Tennant’s Hamlet can’t resist taunting the other characters, keeping the viewer onside by keeping his apparent insanity entertaining rather than scary or darkly intense. If anything, however, this screen version fails to capture just how funny Tennant was on stage. Perhaps it’s the loss of a bigger audience, or the energy of performing on stage, or perhaps Tennant has reined in, switching from Stage Acting to Screen Acting. He’s still funny, certainly, but its not as striking as it was live. In fact, more laughs are earnt by Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius. As his lines dither on like many a real forgetful old man, it’s difficult to imagine the part played any other way.

The other stand-out is an award-winning Patrick Stewart in the dual role of Claudius and the Ghost, though the fact he plays both feels relatively insignificant. His cool politician of a King makes a perfect contrast to the crazed energy of the Prince, the latter constantly bounding around while the former remains still and collected. In my view it’s a shame Stewart has a beard in the filmed version (a necessity forced by his concurrent appearance in Waiting for Godot, I believe) — on stage he was clean-shaven and therefore somehow more reminiscent of numerous other political villains, both real and fictional, whereas his bearded visage is more reminiscent of a traditional Kingly role. Still, it’s a minor aesthetic point that doesn’t hamper his wonderful performance.

Director of the original stage production, Greg Doran, also helms this version. It’s a convincing adaptation too, making good use of sets, locations and, vitally, camerawork, rather than employing static shots of the original theatrical blocking. A quick shoot (18 days for an over-three-hours film) and single location combine to reduce the number of on-screen locations, unfortunately, though the main set is fairly well rearranged to stand in for a number of rooms. It does branch out occasionally, but it’s a shame this couldn’t have been done more often, as consecutive scenes on the same slightly-redressed main set occasionally confuse whether we’ve changed location or not.

Doran’s main screen gimmick, however, is security cameras. Every so often our viewpoint switches to a grainy black & white high angle as we survey the scene via CCTV. It’s a neat idea to convey the concept of Elsinore as a place where everyone is under constant scrutiny, and it’s occasionally used very well indeed — during the Ghost’s appearance to Hamlet, for example, or when he rips a camera down to declare “now I am alone”. Unfortunately, it’s not as consistently thought-out as one might like. When Claudius and Polonius spy on Hamlet and Ophelia, for example, they do so from behind a two-way mirror (as in Branagh’s film, incidentally) rather than, say, from a control room with a bank of security monitors, an idea which seems to naturally flow from the presence of CCTV. Following this, when Polonius talks to Hamlet he delivers several asides to camera — not the security camera, mind, just to the audience. It would have been more effective to have him offer them to a security camera, knowing Claudius to be viewing in another room. It’s moments like these that turn the omnipresent video surveillance from a clever idea to little more than a gimmick. And by the time it’s cut to during the climactic sword fight, you just want it to go away.

It’s almost certain that this production will be remembered as “The Doctor Who Hamlet” thanks to its leading man. Whether that’s unfair or not is another debate, though it shouldn’t mean this version goes ignored. Tennant’s excellent performance reminds us that he was an accomplished performer with the RSC long before he gained televisual fame, and a strong supporting cast ensure this can’t just be dismissed as a popularity-seeking vanity venture by the RSC. Indeed, if there’s one good thing about the “Doctor Who Hamlet” label, it’s that the potential viewership is increased massively, bringing some to Shakespeare who never would have bothered otherwise. Surely no true theatre aficionado could argue with that.

4 out of 5

* A Blu-ray was eventually released in April 2010. ^

Jumper (2008)

2009 #76
Doug Liman | 88 mins | Blu-ray | 12 / PG-13

JumperIn honour of Jumper’s central conceit — that certain people can instantaneously transport themselves to any other point on the planet — I will conduct this review by jumping about through paragraphs I wrote without bothering to link them properly. (Also done in honour of my laziness.)

Jamie Bell’s character, Griffin, is much more interesting than Hayden Christensen’s lead, but he’s also amoral — from a storytelling point of view (at least, a mainstream one) he needs a controlling influence, which is why he’s reduced to supporting and he’s-a-bad-boy-honest Christensen is the film’s focus point.

Acting wise, everyone’s just fine. Christensen is perhaps not the most convincing rebellious hero ever, but that’s as much the script’s fault as his and he’s a heck of a lot better than in either Star Wars prequel. Jackson could be a decent villain in his sleep, though Roland could perhaps do with a little more menace to live up to his reputation, while Rachel Bilson is a likable (read: pretty) enough love interest. But it’s Jamie Bell who — once again — really stands out. Why he isn’t heading up his own franchise yet is a mystery. (Oh, wait.)

The beginning is at times a little dull. Considering the film barely crosses the 80 minute mark before the credits roll, early on it feels like there could be a little more excitement and drive. The second half almost makes up for it. Budget is plastered across the screen in incredible action sequences that show off the promise of the concept to good effect. Griffin jumping a double decker bus at Roland is a particular highlight. The jumping car chase, on the other hand, is visually neat and a good idea, but also entirely pointless — for one thing, it’s not actually a chase (no one’s pursuing them), and they do it for no reason other than the sheer hell of it. It’s a shame, because it would’ve been even better given a proper place in the story.

The rules of jumping and the world they exist in seem incompletely thought-out; or, at best, inadequately explained. They go on about having ‘jump points’ or something, but then seem to be able to jump about at will, so what are these points? What’s their significance? Their use? How are they established?

Liman also blows a potential twist — that David isn’t the only one who has these abilities — too early in an attempt to flesh out Jackson’s villain. It’s a good scene in its own right and does serve a purpose, but story-wise it would play better after Bell shows himself to David. As it is, his ability to mysteriously follow David around is not so mysterious, his reveal more “and?” than “oh!”

Bourne-esque final scene… except more Supremacy than Identity, so while Liman is copying, it’s unfortunately not from himself.

Jumper is promising rather than accomplished. In the same way many view X-Men as necessary character introduction and setup for X2, so Jumper appears intended as a primer for the sequels Liman and co have (had?) planned. It may reduce you to thumb-twiddling at times, but there’s enough on offer to make a follow-up desirable.

3 out of 5

(Originally posted on 8th February 2010.)

Hard Candy (2005)

2009 #72
David Slade | 100 mins | TV | 18 / R

Hard CandyHard Candy’s director David Slade has followed this up with vampire horror with 30 Days of Night and will shortly unleash an altogether different kind of horror by joining the ranks of evil that are bringing us The Twilight ‘Saga’. His feature debut may be a two-hander between a teenage girl and middle-aged man, but in its own way it’s just as much a horror movie.

Actually, that’s mainly a review-opening conceit: one tense torture-ish sequence aside, Hard Candy is a consistently surprising thriller about real-world horrific things rather than depicting them itself. To reveal too much of the plot would spoil it, though I imagine most viewers will already be aware of the first big turn: the real intentions of Ellen Page’s 14-year-old protagonist. It follows this wannabe-surprise (“wannabe” because it occurs too early to escape description in most plot overviews) with a series of equally playful reversals. The viewer’s never quite sure of any fact about either of the two characters; never quite sure if they’re being genuine or at any moment will undermine their present emotion with the revelation it’s just an act, an attempt to fool the other. Arguably it’s played this card too often come the end, and perhaps it could have stood being a more efficient 80 minutes rather than pushing on to 100.

The other assertion in my introduction is also disingenuous, because there are more than two characters. It’s basically a two-hander though, reliant for great stretches on two people in a room conversing and attempting to outwit each other. It’s more exciting than that might sound — the action is far from limited to chatter. Such a production rests entirely on the skills of its two leads, and fortunately both provide excellent performances. Watchmen’s Patrick Wilson is perfectly cast to alternate charming and sleazy, though Ellen Page — pre Oscar nomination for Juno — is the stand-out. Actually 18 at the time, she’s more than convincing as an older-than-her-years 14-year-old, selling the character’s confidence but also revealing an occasional vulnerability and uncertainness that just about keep proceedings the right side of believable. Still, plausibility isn’t exactly the film’s strongest point. There’s enough that one follows it, with the more implausible sections wisely saved for later on, by which time we’re drawn in and accept that Page’s character is clever, cunning and above all prepared.

Other characters do intrude however, and it’s almost a shame when they turn up: it breaks the perfect technical accomplishment of a locationally-limited two-hander for little more than another few minutes of screen time. That said, it’s the arrival of the constantly-referenced former love that finally provokes the ending, a worthwhile climax to a film so caught up in its to-and-fros that anything less than the influence an external factor providing a conclusion would’ve been a disappointment. The neighbour character, on the other hand, feels a little too inevitable; an obvious attempt to ratchet up the tension that arrives too late. It seems Slade thinks it’s as compulsory as the audience might, and dispatches with it quickly… just not quickly enough.

Story aside, Slade’s direction makes for an interestingly shot film. There are many close-ups, in which characters and action are often calm, but then there are occasional explosions of flashy camerawork, usually during acts of violence or other sudden bursts of plot-driving action. The grading is similarly fiddled with during these sections, emphasising the primary-coloured walls of the house that make for an interesting backdrop. Indeed, the walls are used to particularly good — if, arguably, obvious — effect throughout, such as slowly panning across a red wall so that it fills the screen during the lengthy castration sequence.

Hard Candy is sort of a morality play, though it’s hardly a moral that requires increased awareness. Primarily it’s a revenge thriller though, and with limited settings and characters it makes for an admirably intense — if occasionally credibility-stretching — and pleasantly unusual entry in the genre.

4 out of 5

(Originally posted on 7th February 2010.)

Children of Heaven (1997)

aka Bacheha-Ye aseman

2009 #83
Majid Majidi | 82 mins* | TV | PG

Children of HeavenChildren of Heaven is an Iranian film, which means it’s in a Foreign Language and it’s Subtitled. And yet, it was on ITV. Sometimes the mind boggles. Still, it was relegated to a post-midnight showing, so some things never change. Indeed, the one thing that inspired me to watch it is that it’s referred to by Roger Ebert in his wonderfully evangelical (about film, not Christianity (thank God!)) article to commemorate reaching 100 entries in his Great Movies series. I recommend it, incidentally; Children of Heaven comes up for good reason about halfway through.

The film itself is a charming little number, with a simple story about a brother and sister that nonetheless runs itself on inventive incident — the amount of (pleasingly light-hearted) drama it can ring from one missing pair of shoes is, in many ways, quite extraordinary. It also contains moments of simple beauty and pleasure, like blowing bubbles while cleaning or sunlight glittering on the goldfish pool. This is more what I had in mind when someone described Slumdog Millionaire as “feel-good”.

Speaking of which, Children of Heaven adds depth with an amiable commentary on poverty: this poor family live in close proximity to such rich ones, but they can all get along. When Zahra sees another girl wearing her shoes, she doesn’t confront her or demand them back, even when the other girl’s dad buys her a brand new pair and the all-important pair are thrown away again. Halfway through, Ali and their father go up to town and we see how the other half live — enough glass-fronted skyscrapers, dozen-laned roads, tree-lined avenues and blindingly-white mansions to rival any metropolis. And yet they don’t get angry at their lot, and the film doesn’t shove the obvious comparison down your throat. It doesn’t go for the simplistic and oft-tried “poor have little, but have each other so are ultimately happy; rich have lots, but are lonely and so ultimately sad” conclusion (though it does, briefly, err along that path), and nor does it end with the family getting rich and managing to move up in the world.

In fact, the finale deals solely with the issue of the shoes (pun not intended). It’s a long-distance running competition in which Ali must come third in order to win a new pair of sneakers. It’s nail-biting and a beautifully conceived idea — he doesn’t need to win, he needs to come third. If only mainstream films were so simply innovative more often.

Unfortunately, several plot threads feel underdeveloped or unresolved, ultimately coming across as a pleasant but unnecessary aside — the elderly neighbours, for example, who Ali delivers soup to in one scene, or the persistent landlord. The viewer can read more into these if they wish — the neighbours representing the generosity of those with nothing, for example, while we can assume the landlord is eventually paid off now Ali’s father apparently has better employment — but the film itself does nothing with them. There’s a difference between not spelling things out and just abandoning them, and perhaps Children of Heaven falls on the wrong side of this divide. It’s most galling at the very end (after the race), when the film seems to just stop abruptly. IMDb notes that originally there was an epilogue explaining Ali’s future which is for some reason absent from the American-released version, and the presence of something like that is indeed missed. However, the interweb can also provide theories on how the foreshortened ending does have significance, with the goldfish being symbolic, if one chooses to look for them.

But no matter — it seems churlish to complain about such diversions. Children of Heaven is a beautifully simple and good-hearted film and, apparently, a great way to introduce children to the notion of having to read while watching a film.

4 out of 5

* This is timed from ITV’s broadcast. The listed running time is 89 minutes; with PAL speed-up this would be c.85; hopefully the remaining three are accounted for by snipping the closing credits.

(Originally posted on 6th February 2010.)

Copycat (1995)

2009 #53
Jon Amiel | 118 mins | TV | 18 / R

CopycatThe Radio Times compare this favourably to David Fincher’s excellent Se7en, because both are high-concept serial killer thrillers released in 1995 but only one has been widely remembered. The Radio Times consider this unfair, suggesting Copycat deserves a similar level of recognition. Unfortunately, they’re wrong.

The most striking thing about Copycat is its very mid-’90s feel — tacky fashions, dull cinematography, instantly dating use of the internet — unlike Se7en, which has a more lasting style. In fairness, in these respects it’s not as bad as some films of the era (and indeed later), but it’s already tempting to reuse the central idea of an agoraphobic investigator in light of how far the internet has come in the last 15 years. Relatedly, the first video the killer sends to Helen, Sigourney Weaver’s agoraphobic criminal psychologist, is unbelievably chilling in spite of its primitiveness. I bet it gives some people nightmares.

I’m tempted to say there’s no visual flair — unlike (guess what?) Se7en. However, it’s merely the way DoP László Kovács photographs here that has no flair, leaving a plain look like any number of film-shot TV movies. The actual camerawork has its moments, not least in a couple of long takes, action sequences, and the depictions of Helen’s agoraphobia. While the latter is occasionally twee, especially early on, there are times when what director Jon Amiel and Kovács have come up with works, not least during the climax. As an affliction for the heroine it’s a nice concept, though a difficult one to work with for obvious reasons, but it’s exploited well and put to good use in a few of the set pieces.

Screenwriters Ann Biderman (who’s gone on to be one of the writers of Michael Mann’s Public Enemies) and David Madsen (who wrote, um, a TV movie) provide a story that is also less focused than Se7en. The killer’s pattern emerges eventually, but it’s less universal and not particularly well explained — what’s inspired him onto this spree? The idea of a Famous Serial Killers copycat is neat but not flagged up as well as it could be. Maybe it’s a positive that it’s not over done, but equally it feels like there’s more to be made of it. At least Biderman and Madsen aren’t afraid to be brutal about who gets killed, although at least one death lacks the appropriate ceremony. The randomness of another may irritate some but worked for me: in a genre where murder is usually so obsessively meaningful — particularly here, in fact, when you have a killer who is adding a new level of meaning to already loaded killings — it works to show that, sometimes, it’s entirely, depressingly, unstoppably random.

They also choose to reveal the killer about a third of the way through, which feels an unusual move but probably isn’t: there’s no real whodunnit element in the first place, and we still don’t get to know him even after his reveal. In fact, even by the end little or nothing has been shown of his character, including any hint of motivation. It seems he’s merely the right ‘type’ to want to go killing people and for whatever reason has an obsession with both previous killers and Helen. The post-ending ending is plain irritating too. It adds a minor twist to what we’ve seen, but actually robs the plot of its satisfaction. It’s a last-ditch attempt to suggest a sequel, Silence of the Lambs-style, when a conclusive ending would be more appropriate.

Talking of Lambs, Harry Connick Jr.’s Lecter-ish nemesis feels like a stereotype. I say Lecter-ish because he’s a killer already locked-up and aiding the police find another — nothing about Connick Jr.’s performance is even close to Hopkins’ Oscar-winning ability. Where Hopkins established a new kind of killer and forever glued himself into filmgoers’ psyches, Connick Jr. just provides a clichéd impersonation of a generic serial killer type. Among the rest of the cast, Sigourney Weaver gives a particularly good performance as an agoraphobic psychologist heroine, while Holly Hunter makes a very amiable lead detective. Dermot Mulroney’s character is less irritating than might initially be expected, while William McNamara does his best with some weak material as the killer… or does he? I mean, he’s not as bad as Connick Jr., but he’s not really good, just fine. He certainly doesn’t hold a candle to (of course) Kevin Spacey in Se7en.

Despite inherent flaws, it’s almost a shame for Copycat that it came out at the same time as Se7en: the similarly high-concept serial killer plot invites comparison, but Fincher’s classic simply does everything better. Hold it to lower standards, however, and it manages a passable, if unavoidably dated, job.

3 out of 5

(Originally posted on 21st January 2010.)