Category Archives: “100 Films”

Red Riding: 1974 (2009)

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aka Red Riding: In the Year of Our Lord 1974

2009 #50
Julian Jarrold | 102 mins | TV (HD*) | 18

Red Riding: 1974The Red Riding Trilogy covers nine years of police corruption and child kidnap/murder in Yorkshire, amongst one or two other things, and begins here with a very film noir tale, courtesy of author David Peace and screenwriter Tony Grisoni, slathered in neo-noir stylings, courtesy of director Julian Jarrold.

Jarrold is most recently responsible for Kinky Boots, Becoming Jane and Brideshead Revisited, all of which stand in a sharp juxtaposition to the style and content of Red Riding. But turning from his lovely English-as-they-come costume dramas to something altogether nastier should come as no great surprise, for Jarrold is merely returning to his TV roots: in the mid ’90s he directed episodes of Cracker, Silent Witness and Touching Evil.

He certainly seems to know his territory, but perhaps he knows it too well — though this is also the fault of Grisoni and, perhaps, Peace — as the plot that he unfolds is not only familiar but told as if he’s all too aware we know what’s coming. The feeling one gets is of a British James Ellroy, albeit a low-rent, less complex version. (The same is true of 1980, though for me 1983 manages to escape such comparisons.) The story idles along, not exactly slow so much as in no hurry, full of near-clichéd plot points and an unrelentingly standard structure. These things aren’t necessarily a problem, but when you’ve got as big and bold a reality claim as the Red Riding Trilogy they feel out of place.

Another recent point of comparison would be David Fincher’s Zodiac — young newspaperman on the hunt for a serial killer in an inspired-by-fact ’70s setting — though this does 1974 no favours. It may be grittier than Fincher’s film, but it lacks the polish, the originality, and manages to feel slower, despite being a whole 50 minutes shorter. However much arty photography, disjointed storytelling, relatively dense accents and ‘gritty reality’ is plastered over the barebones of the tale, the familiarity of it — to both viewers and the makers, who don’t even seem to be trying — means there’s not an ounce of suspense or surprise to be had.

The cast is made up of established names, familiar faces and rising stars, many of them unfortunately stuck in familiar roles or otherwise left stranded by the unrewarding material. If they’re not quite stereotypes it’s because they’re too bland, lacking enough discernible character traits to reach such lofty heights. Occasionally this is because, with two films to come, some minor parts here have a major role later, but this can’t be said of them all. As the lead, Andrew Garfield’s journalist is as much of a stock character as the plot he finds himself in: a young reporter type, idealistic among journalists who no longer care (if they ever did), hunting to expose The Truth. Again, it could work, but is belied by the insistence — in both promotion and filmmaking style — that Red Riding is something more than Another Murder Mystery. Only Rebecca Hall, as a mother whose young daughter went missing years earlier, is granted the material to give an outstanding performance — which she does, easily justifying her recent BAFTA Rising Star nomination.

Besides Hall, the best thing about 1974 is its dull, desaturated photographing of grimy, desolate locations, where any colour that isn’t beige desperately wants to be. It suits the story and era perfectly, and the choice of 16mm seems to add a level of haziness that is equally appropriate. It’s perhaps indicative of everything this is aiming for that the most beautiful imagery is of an incinerated gypsy camp. Rendered almost black and white by the soot and desaturisation, ash floats through the air like snowflakes as Garfield stumbles through it, the whole picture a vision of Hell. It’s a kind of perverse beauty, true, but that’s also entirely in keeping with Red Riding.

1974 is a stock noir tale, dressed up with fancy filmmaking techniques and claims of realism to look like something more truthful, more real, more Important. And it makes me a little bit angry because of it. Maybe the violence is more realistically depicted than your average genre entry, maybe the police corruption is a little more plausible — then again, maybe it isn’t — but the real story here is so familiar they haven’t even bothered to hide the plot beats and twists properly, no doubt assuming a “gritty” veneer plastered over the top would do the job for them. It doesn’t. Maybe 1974’s grimy setting, brutal violence and unbeatable police corruption are all true to life, but the familiar and predictable plot leaves the realism feeling like no more than a pretence.

I was enjoying 1974 a lot more by the time the unexpectedly satisfying conclusion came around, but the sense that it had tried to pull the wool over my eyes throughout — and not in the good way a thriller should — just leaves a bitter taste.

3 out of 5

* Though I watched Red Riding: 1974 on 4HD, it’s my understanding that it was upscaled. ^

The Red Riding Trilogy

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Red Riding Trilogy UKYou’d think Red Riding was a TV miniseries, wouldn’t you? After all, it was on Channel 4 on the same day for three consecutive weeks (recently repeated over three consecutive nights).

But the promotion — on iTunes, for example, or of Silva Screen’s soundtrack releases — is very keen to make reference not to “Red Riding” — as in, the title of a TV series — but “The Red Riding Trilogy” — as in, a series of films. Indeed, they are frequently referred to as “the films” (and similar variations thereof) in promotion and press, have received screenings at various film festivals and cinema releases in much of the rest of the world, including the US, and several other production and style points could also be rallied to confirm them as a film trilogy rather than miniseries.

As that’s how the makers would most like them to be regarded, then, it seems only fair to treat them as such. And so:


“The feeling one gets is of a British James Ellroy, albeit a low-rent, less complex version. The story idles along, not exactly slow so much as in no hurry, full of near-clichéd plot points and an unrelentingly standard structure. These things aren’t necessarily a problem, but when you’ve got as big and bold a reality claim as the Red Riding Trilogy they feel out of place.” More…

3 out of 5


“Where the first idled this meanders, flitting between the Yorkshire Ripper, the investigation into the Karachi Club shooting, and the private life of lead character Peter Hunter. Most time is spent on Hunter’s investigation into the investigation of the Ripper case, though by the end it becomes apparent this exists to cover the ‘real’ story — which is, of course, the Karachi Club cover up. Consequently neither are covered with the appropriate depth.” More…

3 out of 5


“Tucker’s film bests its predecessors in almost every assessable value. The story and characters have more genuine surprises and suspense than ever, while the performances are at the very least the equal of what’s gone before. Unlike the other two films, where the corrupt cops were little more than cartoon villains despite claims to the contrary, 1983 makes their brutality really felt.” More…

4 out of 5



Red Riding Trilogy USMy final thoughts about Red Riding — other than “that was disappointing” — are stuck on the reality (or not) of the police corruption it portrays. It’s difficult to know whether anyone who believes our police were never so nasty as this is naive, or whether anyone who believes they were quite this bad is paranoid. The truth no doubt lies somewhere in between.

Despite my disappointment with the majority of the Red Riding Trilogy, I intend to return to it some day: considering my enjoyment of the third instalment and the adjusted expectations that come from being disappointed first time round, the potential inherent in the trilogy means it certainly merits revisiting.

It’s halfway through 2009!

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“But it’s September!” I hear you cry in response to my patently ludicrous title. “That’s not halfway through the year by any reasonable measure!” No, it isn’t — but it is (if you haven’t already guessed) the point at which I’ve seen 50 new films in 2009 (at last!); the halfway mark (obviously) of my annual goal. Yep, I’m more behind than Usain Bolt running in the wrong direction.

But still, I’ve had my reasons, and thankfully most of them are done with (cheerio dissertation!) Now I intend to launch a concerted effort to make up the remaining 50 and hit 100 before the year’s out, an aim I’ve yet to fail. (To be fair, I’ve only tried twice.)

But you know what they say about good intentions — they litter the path to not having seen enough films in a year.

The Right Stuff (1983)

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2009 #49
Philip Kaufman | 181 mins | TV | 15 / PG

The Right StuffThe Right Stuff ostensibly dramatises the story of the ‘Mercury 7’, America’s first group of astronauts, but in fact equally concerns itself with the tale of test pilot Chuck Yeager. But I’ll get to him.

I’ve recently steeped myself in dramas and documentaries relating to the US space program, from For All Mankind’s contemporary footage to In the Shadow of the Moon’s retrospective interviews, from Moonshot’s earnest docudrama account of Apollo 11 to From the Earth to the Moon’s thorough chronicling of events. But all of these have one thing in common: they cover the Apollo missions alone. Mercury came first, America’s initial attempts to put men into space before Apollo’s grand mission to the Moon.

In this context it’s nice to actually get some coverage of these earlier, vital missions, though such an in-depth knowledge of what was to follow has its problems for The Right Stuff’s narrative, just as knowing the facts always does for a historical movie. Equally, it gives the emotional resonance a helping hand — knowing Gus Grissom’s tragic fate lends the poor treatment he received following his unfortunate splashdown an extra poignancy; or when Alan Shepard asserts he’s going to the Moon you know he’ll make it (eventually).

Exposure to other such works makes quality comparisons inevitable too, though the only one of serious relevance here is From the Earth to the Moon. It’s an unfair one, of course: despite The Right Stuff’s epic running time, it’s nothing to the twelve hours afforded to an HBO miniseries. Conversely, where the miniseries is effectively twelve one-hour plays, shifting focus every episode, director Philip Kaufman’s film does follow a more linear — albeit wide-reaching — progression. While Yeager may disappear for long stretches, for example, his story is revisited and continued; while Gordon Cooper isn’t introduced until after we’ve had plenty of Yeager, the film closes on his first spaceflight. Flitting from character to character could make the film feel fragmented — and the brevity in dealing with many of the supporting characters, especially the wives, does suggest this — but the missions move ever on and take the narrative with them.

The other effect of having seen so much about the space program of late is that the trips to space lose some of their wonder. The handful of spaceflights actually depicted here are often praised, both for their special effects and their pure effect on the viewer, but having seen many others recently does tarnish the sense of wonder somewhat. The effects work is faultless however, as is the integration of footage of the real missions, and the unique qualities of John Glenn’s flight make it stand out regardless of how many other real spaceflights one’s seen recreated on screen.

A handful of these sequences aside, Kaufman leaves the technical aspect of proceedings alone. The various test flights and rocket launches we do see are undoubtedly important set pieces, but they’re not a thorough catalogue of events. Attention is only lavished on the scientific and engineering challenges when it has some direct impact on the characters, and just as often Kaufman is concerned with the family — specifically, the wife — behind the astronaut. These touches of family drama are well played, most affectingly with Glenn and his shy, stuttering wife, but each astronaut’s tale comes and goes, not even one relationship going through an arc that lasts more than two or three scenes. Even when powerfully portrayed, these are portraits not stories.

There are some injections of humour and symbolism too, but again in keeping with the piecemeal style. A pair of NASA recruitment officers, played by Jeff Goldblum and Harry Shearer, provide some comic relief early on for quite a sustained stretch, but then more or less disappear — excepting a recurring motif of Goldblum telling a room of Important Men news they already know. Similarly, the film opens with a fantastic image of Death, a black-clad preacher arriving to inform a wife and child of their husband/father’s fiery death. He crops up again, demonstrating his presence as symbol and not character, but is too often forgotten about. Plaudits are due for not overusing him, naturally, but a few more appearances wouldn’t have gone amiss.

And so what of Yeager? Why so much of a test pilot who was denied the chance to apply to be an astronaut, even if he’d wanted to? It’s hard to disagree with the assessment of screenwriter William Goldman, who left the project over disagreements with the director: it seems Kaufman, for whatever reason, is set in a belief that Yeager had ‘the right stuff’ pumping through his veins, while those chosen to be astronauts were just ordinary guys who got lucky; that Yeager was a pilot proper, brave and skilled, while the Mercury 7 were little more than living computers to perform a handful of tasks atop a huge rocket. If this is Kaufman’s belief it isn’t overbearing, but you can see where Goldman’s coming from. After all, if this is purely the story of the Mercury 7 and their trips into space, why is Yeager there at all, never mind so prominently?

By eschewing a straight trotting out of facts and incidents, even a dramatised one, for a selection of events and experiences, Kaufman made a film that is perhaps less about the real-life story and more thematic — that theme being, primarily, heroism. If he winds up uncertain whether or not the Mercury 7 were heroes, perhaps that’s the point: these were just ordinary men, thrust into an extraordinary situation. Except Yeager, of course, who is never anything less than the flawless embodiment of the titular virtue.

4 out of 5

The Right Stuff is on ITV4 tonight at 10:35pm.

Sherlock (2002)

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aka Case of Evil / Sherlock: Case of Evil

2009 #46
Graham Theakston | 89 mins | TV | R

Case of EvilSherlock Holmes is a character so well known in the international psyche that he is open to seemingly endless reinterpretation — a wartime spy in the Rathbone era, his younger self in a Temple of Doom remake, or cryogenically frozen to reawaken in the 22nd Century (no, really). Indeed, this year alone we can expect to see him re-imagined as both a wisecracking martial artist in a period-set action/adventure film from Guy Ritchie, and as a detective in the present day in a new TV series from Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. All of which are considerably more exciting than this lame Young Sherlock effort from 2002.

Here, writer Piers Ashworth — who would go on to pen the new St Trinian’s and Goal! III (for which be sure to read the review at The Big Whatsit) — creates a kind of Holmes Begins, showing a young and unknown Sherlock break his first case against renowned criminal Professor Moriarty, gaining a bit of fame before he joins the investigation of a serial killer. Ashworth makes sure to complete the Begins format with introductions for various iconic elements, like the deerstalker (though only in the final scene), the pipe (though, only in the final scene), and even his drug addiction (though Holmes seems to have already been cured of it).

More fundamentally, however, Holmes is recast as a kind of Victorian James Bond, both in terms of his character and the plot structure. It begins with the end of the previous mission (which, GoldenEye-style, will become relevant later), before progressing through various familiar beats, like the villain helpfully explaining his plan and a climactic big shoot-out a la You Only Live Twice or The Spy Who Loved Me, except on a much, much, much smaller scale. To add to the effect, Dr Watson is revealed to be “a bit of an inventor” — a Q in the making? Even Holmes himself is not immune: young, dashing, and womanising. Yes, womanising. He even has a threesome, shot and scored like soft porn, though with a US TV-friendly complete lack of nudity. Or sex. It does feature an unintentionally hilarious striptease though.

The story itself moves at a decent lick early on, complete with some genuine detective work that even, occasionally, displays Holmes’ genius. Most of this (at least, most of it that’s actually relevant to the plot) occurs during a couple of autopsies, which choose not to stint on the gore. (Incidentally, this makes it even easier to believe it was created with US TV in mind. Nudity? Nooo. Gore and violence? Hurrah!) Unfortunately, the longer the film goes on the more it slows and begins to drag, and the mystery-solving is replaced with running around, backstory exposition, and semi-decent sword fights. The best of these is fortunately at the climax, which takes place (amusingly, like Basil the Great Mouse Detective) atop the Palace of Westminster clock tower — or, at least, a poor computer-generated version of it (also like Basil the Great Mouse Detective). To be fair, the interior is a decent-enough set… though quite how the clock faces function when no workings whatsoever are attached to them is a mystery worthy of Holmes. Sherlock was shot in Romania, so such dodgy effects work rears its head any time they wish to depict a London landmark. Thankfully this isn’t often, because every such shot is appallingly realised.

Much the same could be said of the performances. James D’Arcy initially seems miscast as Holmes, but… well, he is — it’s just that everyone else is even worse. Roger Morlidge’s Dr Watson feels like he’s being portrayed by Ricky Gervais — no, worse, like James Corden’s version of Gervais from Horne & Corden — while Vincent D’Onofrio’s accent wavers all over the place and takes his performance with it. In what amounts to a cameo as Mycroft Holmes, Richard E. Grant is dreadful too. I’ve never been much of a fan of his, but this is weak work even by his standards. About the only passable performance among the major characters comes from Nicholas Gecks as Lestrade. There’s nothing exemplary about his role, but by simply doing nothing wrong he fares better than the rest.

Sherlock probably sounds irredeemably awful, and for some it will be (Sherlock Holmes has a threesome for Chrissake!), but despite the numerous flaws it remains largely watchable and even has its moments, particularly for more forgiving non-Sherlockians.

2 out of 5

Sherlock featured on my list of The Five Worst Films I Saw in 2009, which can be read in full here.

The Knack …and How to Get It (1965)

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2009 #34
Richard Lester | 85 mins | download | 15

The Knack …and How to Get ItI’ve never actually seen a Richard Lester film before, and so spectacularly failed to put two-and-two together about who the director was and what else he’d done before I watched this. If I had, recent (at the time of viewing) reviews of the BFI’s release of Lester’s later The Bed Sitting Room (such as John Hodson’s or Clydefro Jones’) might’ve prepared me for what was to come.

As it was, all I had to go on was the DVD art (as used by iTunes — this was another 99p Film of the Week), the bright and breezy title, and that it stars Frank Spencer. From that you’d be forgiven (I hope) for thinking The Knack was a colourful Swinging Sixties sex-com romp. Upon watching it, however, it’s immediately clear it’s nothing of the sort: it begins with a dream/nightmare sequence, complete with horror-esque music, before settling into a style and rhythm more reminiscent of Breathless than Confessions of a Window Cleaner.

At least, it does for a bit. In fact, it does a lot of things for a bit: Carry On-level double entendres, intense thriller-like scenes, slapstick sequences, an occasional New Wave-esque light jazz score… If it were an American schoolchild The Knack would surely be diagnosed with ADD, flitting around from one style to another with no immediately obvious rhyme nor reason, except perhaps a desire to try out interesting things and see where they lead. This will undoubtedly put some people off — on another day, I might be included among them — but instead I found it quite intriguing.

Stuck in the middle of what could have been a slew of directorial flourishes, the cast are allowed to surprise with some layered performances. Michael Crawford more or less does an early version of Frank Spencer (in fairness, that’s perfect for the role), leaving him overshadowed by Ray Brooks as lothario Tolen and Donal Donnelly as the slightly kooky Tom. Both subvert their initial impressions: Donnelly’s oddness hides a perceptive intelligence, while Brooks’ suave lover hides a subtly unnerving, menacing, dominating sexual predator. Some of the time, anyway.

There’s no doubt that I’m severely under-qualified to pass any kind of serious judgement on The Knack (some would say any film, but there you go). I’ve not even mentioned Rita Tushingham (apparently something of a ’60s icon), or Ray McBride (who or what is he, and what is his relevance?), or that it won the Palme d’Or at Cannes in 1965 (I do know what that is at least). A proper, informed judgement is therefore best left to those with a greater familiarity with Lester’s films (or at least his early work, before he went on to the likes of The Four Musketeers and Superman III). But to those equally as uninitiated as I, The Knack can be recommended as an unusual but surprising piece of work, full of things to pique one’s interest.

4 out of 5

Dark Floors (2008)

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2009 #26
Pete Riski | 82 mins | DVD | 15 / R

Dark FloorsYou may remember Lordi, the surprise winners of the 2006 Eurovision Song Contest. If that doesn’t help, they were the Finnish rockers all dressed up in monster suits. Here in the UK we gave them our highest number of points.

You’d be easily forgiven if you had forgotten them, but clearly someone hasn’t as they not only made this film, someone thought they were big enough to use in its promotion — it’s subtitled “The Lordi Movie” on posters, DVD covers and what have you. Maybe they’re still well-known in Europe. Or Finland. Yet despite the country of origin, Dark Floors is in English, with a predominantly British cast, and it appears to be set in America. On top of which, it has a surprising level of glossiness (albeit glossy gloominess) that, if you didn’t know better, would suggest a moderately budgeted US horror flick. Apart from the monster costumes.

In fact, expectations are gratifyingly knocked down at every turn. Riski’s direction and the cinematography are very slick, though some of the action/horror sequences lack much tension — the film effectively builds tension for these sequences, but rarely, if ever, delivers genuine scares on the back of it. While this isn’t always a bad thing, one begins to learn the tension being built isn’t likely to lead anywhere, robbing it of much impact. Effects, music and sound design also lend the project a higher budget feel than initial impressions suggest. As mentioned, Lordi’s costumes are the weakest bit, neutered either by familiarity — there’s no chance of genuine shock value if you recognise them from brightly-lit TV performances — or quite simply not having been designed for this kind of scrutiny or story. Riski does his best, hiding them with lighting, angles and special effects, but it’s not perfect.

Monsters aside, performances are pretty good. No one is outstanding but equally there’s nothing glaringly awful, always a plus for B-movie-level horror. At times the characters seem to accept the bizarre events that are occurring with too little reaction, though in fairness this is partly the fault of the script. What the latter occasionally lacks in believability (within a fantasy/horror context, obviously) it makes up for in efficiency. Admittedly this also means the whole cast are stereotypes, but it’s the world they find themselves in that’s of more interest.

Indeed, Dark Floors features more intriguing mysteries than it can keep a handle on, merrily setting them in motion but ultimately failing to pay many off. It’s packed with interesting imagery and good ideas, many of which aren’t hammered home, but equally many are never explained — key among these being… well, The Whole Thing. The final scenes seem to suggest there is some meaning, but it never comes close to a clear revelation. Having read around, it’s clear that it can be interpreted multiple ways (one of my favourites references an old Finnish children’s song), and so perhaps the makers are after a Cube vibe. Despite some surface similarities to that film’s awful first sequel, the overall effect thankfully sways closer to the original.

Some have called Dark Floors boring, but I think this is again a case of misaligned expectations — I found it never less than well-made and thought-provoking. There are undoubtedly weak spots, yet you’ll find weaker in plenty of major movies. That doesn’t excuse the flaws, but it shouldn’t be written off as a meritless B-movie because of them. One can’t help but think the project would have been better received if it hadn’t been conceived by and starred a slightly camp Finnish rock band who are never seen out of their monster costumes. It is, I feel, one of many cases where if you changed the credits to name certain other directors it might be beloved and endlessly debated by a certain sector of film fans rather than dismissed as “a glam rock band trying to be deep”.

It may even provide greater rewards on repeat viewings, especially if one wants to decipher the ending, because of its circular storytelling. Some elements of this are clear immediately (when Ben shoots up the stairwell, for example), others half-clear (it treats the audience with an above-average degree of intelligence in this respect), while other bits may only make sense (if they do, that is) with another viewing and/or some interpretation. Tobias and Sarah spend a lot of time repeating things or saying things out of context, for one — might these find a greater meaning second time through?

In a similar vein, I can’t help but wonder if in trying to be quite clever Dark Floors ultimately alienates the core horror audience who might pick it up; the people who’ll miss their straightforward scares and gratuitous gore and nudity. By so obviously billing it as “The Lordi Movie” and slapping on quite a lurid cover, the marketers have done nothing to suggest the film might actually benefit from the application of some brain power. True, this same problem can be alleged of the film itself — it’s only a horror film after all, and with somewhat ludicrous monster costumes at that — but I can’t help but wonder what might lurk within if people chose to look past these unfortunate style choices.

Naturally the counter argument goes that there’s not actually anything there, it’s just pretending there is instead of having a proper plot. I’m not certain which to believe.

Ultimately, an appreciation of Dark Floors comes down to its ending. The whole film is stylishly made — surprisingly so in fact — but there are no concrete explanations for what happened during it. If you like ambiguous endings there may be enjoyment in that very fact — and there are certainly plenty of theories floating around the ‘net for the interested to explore — but if you require your entertainment neatly wrapped up, I’m prepared to guarantee you’ll hate it. If, on another hand, you don’t care about the plot of your horror film as long as it’s scary… well, that all depends on your horror threshold, but if you’re a hardened horror fanatic I don’t imagine there are many chills to be had here.

I’m not entirely sure what to make of Dark Floors in the end, but err on the side of generosity because it’s well-made and has left me thinking — something I certainly never expected.

4 out of 5

Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic [TV edit] (2005)

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2009 #45
Liam Lynch | 50 mins | TV | 15

Sarah Silverman: Jesus is MagicStand-up concert films are an awkward business (as are rock concert films), raising questions that are oft pondered on this blog about what constitutes a “film”. After all, if this were just shown on TV or released direct to DVD rather than released in cinemas, no one would be considering it a feature. Indeed, Channel 4’s TV showing cut the 70-minute (PAL) version down to just 50, much as they do for the TV showing of any other direct-to-DVD stand-up gig. But the fact remains that this was released in cinemas (albeit not many) as a feature film. Though if it’s worthy of review under this blog’s remit, and direct-to-DVD movies are worthy of review too, surely direct-to-DVD comedy gigs should be? It’s enough to make your head hurt — something Jesus is Magic might also do, if it hasn’t sent you to sleep.

All comedy is an acquired taste, of course, but what Silverman offers here must take some acquiring. I mostly like what I’ve seen of her work in the past — I’ll admit to having I’m F***ing Matt Damon circling round in my head for weeks after first hearing it — but the lack of laughs here is enough to put me off bothering with her in future. Most of her material seems to be an excuse to say extremely rude or controversial things, and in fact often relies on these things being so rude as to provoke laughter just for that. The audience seem happy to go along, but there’s nothing inherently funny about a rude sentence — it needs a point, be it satire or surrealism (which she tries, but fails at) or something else. I have no problem with edgy or ‘offensive’ comedy, but this isn’t it.

Occasionally Silverman hits on something worthwhile amongst all the dross. Some of her comments on 9/11, the Holocaust and a handful of other edgy (and, indeed, ‘edgy’) areas raised a smile, maybe even a chuckle, proof (were it needed) that difficult topics can be covered as comedy. Even then, however, it’s only one or two gags among a raft of blabbing on those topics. At other times there are lines that desperately want to be funny, and if she’d managed to build up a head of comedic steam they’d garner a laugh as they passed, but in isolation they’re just not enough.

On a related note, the whole thing is bizarrely slow-paced. I don’t know if that’s an American thing or if British comedians are exceptional in their rapid-fire delivery — or just “relatively rapid-fire delivery”, because even the slowest joketeller you’d encounter on something like Live at the Apollo can spit them out twice as fast as Silverman — but she seems to take forever to get anywhere. Anywhere at all, that is, never mind to an actual joke. Few, if any, British comedians would survive at this pace.

Directorially, it’s a simple concert film, perhaps an over-edited one. Lynch splashes out during a couple of musical numbers, producing the occasional background gags this way — the people Silverman passes during I Love You More, for example — though at other points he’s just as guilty of spending too long on something that’s either not funny or that becomes humourless through exhaustion, such as the black people she encounters at the end of the same song.

Based on comments in online reviews, it seems Channel 4 mostly cut documentary material for their abbreviated TV showing. Whether these insights add some weight to proceedings or just slow the film down further I don’t know, but I’m thankful I didn’t have to suffer through another 20 minutes of this. As noted at the start, this editing (just like other stand-up DVDs transferring to TV) lends credence to the idea that this isn’t really a film. Whether it is or not ultimately doesn’t matter, other than if you’ve paid to see a comedy it would be nice to hear some gags — why go to the cinema for a humour-free evening you could stay at home with Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and actually have a laugh?

1 out of 5

Also see Eamonn McCusker’s review at DVD Times for a similar perspective. I’d especially echo his final paragraph: “Or the everyday conversations that you can hear up and down the country, which [would] leave Silverman blushing. Compared to all that, Silverman seems safe.” It’s great to be British.

Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic featured on my list of The Five Worst Films I Saw in 2009, which can be read in full here.

A Few Good Men (1992)

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2009 #38
Rob Reiner | 138 mins | download | 15 / R

A Few Good MenSometimes you have to wonder where it all went wrong. I can only imagine how good things looked for Rob Reiner at the start of the ’90s, when he’d had an almost-interrupted near-decade-long run of acclaimed movies in the director’s chair: This is Spinal Tap, Stand By Me, The Princess Bride, When Harry Met Sally, Misery, and finally this. ‘Finally’ being the operative word however, as it all seems to have gone down hill from there, to the extent that I actually felt the need to look him up on IMDb to check if he was still working/alive. (He’s both, having recently directed The Bucket List, a bit of a hit if I recall correctly.) Reiner is a recognisable name, and if he’d stopped making films after A Few Good Men perhaps he’d find himself bandied about on lists of Great Directors (at least in certain circles/magazines), but the fact I had to check what he’s been up to (and had forgotten how many acclaimed films he’d made in the first place) shows what a 15-year run of nothingy films can do for your reputation. Even the career of Spinal Tap themselves seems to be in better condition.

All that said, A Few Good Men isn’t really Reiner’s show. It’s not that he does a bad job — far from it — but courtroom dramas primarily depend on two things, even more so than most films: the quality of the writing and the quality of the performances. When you have scene after scene in which a handful of people battle with words alone, often in one-on-one confrontations, then those two elements are virtually all you’ve got. Of course camerawork, editing, music and the rest still have their part to play, but without the underpinning of good writing and good performances the technical attributes are merely fighting to cover for significant shortcomings. Fortunately, A Few Good Men has those underpinnings.

In this case the screenplay is by Aaron Sorkin, adapting from his own play, who would go on to create and write a great deal of The West Wing (which, incidentally, was inspired by leftover ideas from a later Sorkin/Reiner collaboration, The American President). The seeds of that show’s influential style are in evidence here, although the sheer pace and famous ‘Walk and Talk’ scenes aren’t yet part of the formula. As in The West Wing, Sorkin’s writing is both intelligent and witty, a hallmark of high-quality writing that’s able to rise above the shackles of “it’s not real drama unless it’s all grimly serious”. His characters and their personal story arcs may be straight from the stock pile — Tom Cruise is the hot-shot young lawyer who’s actually trying to live up to his daddy (and comes through in the end); Demi Moore is the goody-two-shoes woman trying to make it in a man’s world (who learns to work with her colleagues); and so on — but the plotting of the central case remains undiminished, and Sorkin thankfully avoids such obvious subplots as a romance between Cruise and Moore’s initially-mismatched-but-ultimately-mutually-respectful good guys. Nonetheless, the occasional lapses into extreme, often patriotic, sentiment that would later mar the odd episode of The West Wing are also on show here, most notably at the climax, though they fail to do any serious damage.

It’s in the all-important court scenes that Sorkin’s writing really shines. Dialogue flies back and forth like bullets, full of protocol and technical jargon — like in The West Wing — that we either understand or, when we don’t, get enough of the gist to follow the key plot points — like in The West Wing. The biggie is the final confrontation between Lt. Kaffee and Col. Jessep, an interview that’s the courtroom equivalent of a high noon showdown. It’s true that Tom Cruise plays Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson plays Jack Nicholson, just as they almost always do, but it makes for a grand act-off. It’s fair to say that Nicholson comes out the victor, gifted with material that guides him from cocksure commanding officer to angry thug in just a few minutes, but it’s the bravado of Cruise’s questioning — undercut with uncertainty and genuine surprise when he pulls it off — that pushes Jessep there.

There are plenty of other good performances — typically competent work from Kevin Pollak doing the best friend thing and Kevin Bacon doing the friend-turned-rival thing, while Kiefer Sutherland’s ‘head bully’ role is memorable and Demi Moore holds her own better than the rest of her career might suggest — but this is undoubtedly a showcase for Nicholson and Cruise, and through them Sorkin’s writing. Not to mention that there are some nice directorial flourishes from Reiner. I wonder what happened to him?

4 out of 5

A Few Good Men is showing on Five tonight at 10pm.

The X Files: I Want to Believe – Director’s Cut (2008)

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2009 #44
Chris Carter | 104 mins | DVD | 15

Six years after the once-phenomenal TV series meandered to an inconclusive conclusion, Mulder and Scully were back at the cinema, a decade on from their previous between-seasons big screen outing. The big threat this time was not aliens, however; nor even something more Earthly supernatural; but rather, where they would find an audience? There are now kids old enough to watch this in a BBFC-endorsed fashion who weren’t even born when the series started, and that’s not to mention the misguided attempt to pitch this as a Summer blockbuster.

And if there’s one thing I Want to Believe isn’t it’s a Summer blockbuster, which its snowbound setting arguably gives away to even the most casual observer, while its lack of action sequences and focus on spooky goings-on and character relationships — not to mention that none of these characters are requisitely young enough to head up a typical Summer Movie — should have been the clue to studio execs. And, unsurprisingly, the release strategy failed, leaving audiences either disappointed or not even turning up. As with so many perceived flops these days, it seems to me, I Want to Believe didn’t actually flop: off a $30m budget it made $68m worldwide. Though as only $21m came from the US, where the consideration of box office stats is often highly self-centred, it’s easy to see why many believe it did. Such perception, coupled with poor reviews and that problem of finding an audience, may mean there’s not a third movie, which seems a shame with 2012 on the horizon — quite nice timing for a (last-ever, I should think) instalment.

But let’s return to the issue of how this film was perceived, because I think that’s key to why it was so poorly received. The problem here is that it’s an X Files movie; not because there’s anything wrong with another film for that series, and not because it’s a bad version of The X Files, but because that title carries certain expectations — not only from fans but, with greater relevance to any widespread success, from the general public. Witness the IMDb thread entitled “Where the F were the aliens”, for example. Were this just an entirely standalone supernatural-tinged thriller — and consequently released in a sensible non-Summer slot — it probably would’ve gone down a bit better.

As it actually stands, I Want to Believe is not the kind of X Files most people were expecting — i.e. Something To Do With Aliens, and it’s no spoiler to say that there’s not a single one to be seen — forgetting that the series was never just about extraterrestrials. The idea that I Want to Believe was a bit rubbish and thoroughly disappointing is consequently as much (if not more) the fault of those viewers and reviewers who expected a different kind of film and didn’t get it. That said, it’s a shame that I Want to Believe isn’t wholly successful as the kind of film it’s trying to be either: on the surface, a standalone low-key supernatural thriller — though it fails to explore or explain its fantastical and scientific ideas as fully as one would like, particularly during its lacklustre (anti-)climax — but one that also tackles issues of moving on, obsession and belief, and how they can impact on a relationship — though with all the weight you’d expect in the belated sequel to a sci-fi TV spin-off.

Mainly, however, it’s about belief. The examples of this are too numerous to mention, but a clear one is the subplot involving Scully’s fight to treat a terminally ill boy. The thread bears little relation to the main supernatural plot, which was another point of confusion for many viewers, but if you consider the film as a commentary on and examination of the various forms and merits of belief it begins to slot in a lot better. Perhaps this is another case of a filmmaker attempting something beyond what audiences were expecting to invest in terms of intelligence, although if one accepts it’s there and a significant part of the film it probably begins to pale as a relatively light and underdone exercise. Still, it’s hard to deny that belief is the film’s central theme, which pleasantly turns the title from a generic catchphrase from the series, as it initially appeared, to a none-more-appropriate moniker.

Perhaps distracted by his thematic intents, writer-director Carter rushes some plot points, though he may also be limited by budget constraints and the need to make a distinctly R-flavoured movie hit PG-13. While the Director’s Cut adds three-and-a-half minutes of material, which Duchovny asserts is mainly gore that was cut to avoid an R certificate in cinemas (full details of which can be found here), there’s still nothing that looks as if it would’ve been out of place on conservative US network television, and obviously no effort has been made to give the main plot some breathing space.

The same goes for the guest cast, most of whom are thoroughly underused. Billy Connelly makes a good show of it, but Amanda Peet’s FBI agent has much unfulfilled potential. Yet at other points Carter lets things spool out comfortably — too comfortably, some might argue. One of these places is the relationship scenes between the two leads. The amount of attention lavished on this might lend credence to a theory that the film is as much about a pair of ostensibly retired paranormal investigators as it is this particular case, and through that again a consideration of obsession and belief.

The large amount of time spent on Mulder and Scully’s relationship fortunately doesn’t turn the film into an effort solely for the benefit of ‘shippers’. There’s definite space here for a portrait of two people in a relationship who have tried to move on from their old life but just can’t, and at times I Want to Believe does achieve such lofty aims. Little nuggets of information — such as the fact they’re even in a relationship, or that they once had a child together — drop in almost from nowhere in a way that undoubtedly sounds just like dialogue to a knowledgeable fan, but to a more casual viewer works as a slow uncovering of these two characters. Unfortunately such quality is fitful, especially as the movie goes on, and while the nine-seasons-and-one-movie of backstory initially just add depth if you know about them, it’s some time before the sudden and underwhelming climax that it feels they’re dictating events a little too much. What was shaping up to be a workably standalone depiction of two characters almost becomes just a status update on Mulder and Scully.

And here lies the rub: at times, the Second X Files Movie gets too caught up in being just that. There’s nothing wrong with that per se, but it could do with remembering it’s a Movie and not just another X File — especially if it wants to find any new (or even lapsed) viewers. When Assistant Director Skinner turns up it’s the final nail in the coffin for any shot at independence. As a fan, it’s impossible to begrudge a brief but heroic last-minute appearance from Mulder and Scully’s long-time ally, but as an objective viewer, he’s just some bloke who turns up with no introduction just in time to play a major role in the climax. It’s a misstep that, along with an accumulation of others, seriously damages the film.

But does an X Files movie need to be independent? Should nine seasons (and one movie) of backstory be ignored? Well, yes and no. There’s nothing wrong with making a “where are they now?” fan-pleasing reunion, but that would belong on TV with the bulk of the thing being commemorated. In the cinema, six years distant and billed as a standalone tale (note that it’s not even The X Files 2: I Want to Believe, never mind The X Files 204: I Want to Believe), it ought to stand on its own two feet and work entirely as a self-contained piece of drama. That it fails in this is perhaps the most disappointing aspect of all for me: it makes it infinitely harder to defend this as a supernatural thriller that deserves to be judged entirely on its own terms, rather than with some established knowledge of what The X Files ‘is’, when the makers are relying on those self-same established notions to tell their story.

Never mind finding an allusive audience, this is the film’s real battle: when Carter gets too caught up in making The Second X Files Movie, shifting what’s working well as both The X Files and A Movie into straight-up An X Files Movie territory. It’s this failure to be independent — not to the point of ignoring the series’ backstory, I should clarify, but to a point where this film can be wholly appreciated without ever seeing The X Files — that ultimately holds I Want to Believe back from becoming a great horror/thriller/drama movie in its own right. It’s frustrating because so often Carter comes tantalisingly close to fulfilling such ambitions, and if he had I’d have no qualms about defending this movie as an underrated (though, it is), misunderstood (though, it is) and independent supernatural-flavoured drama. Sadly, however, I think I just want to believe it is.

3 out of 5

The X Files: I Want to Believe premieres on Sky Movies Premiere tonight at 9:45pm, then at various times throughout the week. It’s probably the theatrical cut, but who can say?