The Lost Weekend (1945)

Posted on May 27, 2013 by badblokebob

Directed by the inestimable Billy Wilder, winner of the Grand Prix (forerunner to the Palme d’Or) at the first Cannes, winner of the Best Picture Oscar in 1946, and also Best Actor, Director, and Screenplay, it’s a wonder that The Lost Weekend isn’t better known. I don’t think I’d even heard of it until Masters of Cinema announced their Blu-ray release back in January 2012, and comments I’ve seen around the internet express a similar experience of prior unawareness. Thank goodness for MoC, then, because this isn’t a film that deserves to be forgotten.

Adapted from the novel by Charles R. Jackson, the entire film takes place across one particularly eventful weekend (well, that plus flashbacks), in which should-be-recovering alcoholic Don Birnam (Ray Milland) tries desperately to fall back off the wagon.

The plot may smack of a worthy social drama (perhaps why it’s been forgotten), but most every sequence is loaded with more tension than a thriller. This is Wilder’s skill as both co-writer and director: he gets us on Birnam’s side early on, so that we follow him through the almost-self-induced hell that follows; and he keeps us on the edge of our seat, as desperate for it to work out as Birnam himself is. But, right from the very first scene, hardly a one of his plans does work out; all of them thwarted at the last possible moment, when victory seems assured. The film isn’t preachy, but if it does teach us a lesson then this is how it does it.

Wilder’s direction is excellent throughout, with innumerable striking compositions, perfectly paced scenes, and the aforementioned tension ratcheted up to maximum. There are other very good directors who would’ve made a hash of a film like this — made one that screams “meaningful movie about An Issue” — but the way Wilder handles affairs means it’s more than that. It explores its issue, it exposes us to the facets of it so that we might learn something, but it does so under the auspices of a drama about a man we come to care about. It’s not an “alcohol is bad” sermon, it’s a “can this man survive it?” thriller.

Equally, the flashback structure could scupper the film, but instead it raises it, with two of the best sequences coming here. There’s the exceptional La Traviata scene — it’s very obviously a bit of Good Direction, but while you could call it showy, it works — and the scene where Wick tries to cover for his brother to his new girl, which lends weight and backstory to the opening scene where he seems ready to (and, indeed, does) callously abandon him.

Milland is astounding. The film rides on him and he really carries it. It’s easy to play a comic drunk, but Milland doesn’t sink to that. Indeed he doesn’t do one type of drunk at all, swaying back and forth across various levels of inebriation as required. I often find films of this era contain performances we assess as great, but if you put them in a film today no one would buy it; they’d find it stagey and fake. Milland’s transcends that — it fits the era, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find it would play just as potently today. I think it’s fair to say that Milland is not widely known today, but with every film of his I become more convinced that history has been unkind.

Also worthy of praise is Frank Faylen as Bim. In his featurette on the MoC release, Alex Cox says he’s the second best character in the film, and he’s probably right. Cox notes that at least one review at the time really laid in to Bim, painting him as an evil sadist. Today, I don’t think we have that perspective at all. Bim tells Birnam the truth, painting his illness like it really is. Whereas his other friends and relations all try to do their best for him, but wind up enabling his addiction to continue, Bim’s experience and detachedness means he can be blunt and truthful. Birnam may not realise the good it’s done him, but good it does ultimately do.

There’s also able support from Howard Da Silva as barman Nat and Doris Dowling as Gloria (is she a whore of some kind? Just an escort? A bar-crawler? Did I miss something?), whose slang is oddly infectious. No offence to Jane Wyman, but her lovelorn-but-strong girlfriend character only seems to really come alive in the closing minutes, when she considers abandoning Birnam to his fate.

The Oscar-nominated score by Miklós Rózsa at first seems highly unusual, a warbling horror movie score, but it quickly comes to fit very well, and not just the nightmarish daydream sequence near the film’s climax. The movie was also nominated for John F. Seitz’s cinematography and Doane Harrison’s editing. They lost to The Picture of Dorian Gray and National Velvet respectively, neither of which I’ve seen, but they must have something special to outclass the work on show here.

I think the same can be said of the whole film. Issue-focused movies from the past are often badly dated, even if we can still admire the filmmaking techniques involved. That’s not their fault — it’s the cultural climate of the time, or the shifts in understanding that have come since. I’ll admit I know next to nothing about alcoholism so can’t comment definitively on the film’s enduring accuracy, but from what I do know of other conditions of addiction and mental health, this feels as if it’s still thoroughly relevant.

Even if you don’t care about The Issue, there’s an engrossing, thrilling drama for everyone to enjoy. If The Lost Weekend is indeed forgotten, then it merits widespread rediscovery.

That concludes my reviews from 2012.

The Last Boy Scout (1991)

Posted on May 24, 2013 by badblokebob

2013 #39
Tony Scott | 101 mins | TV | 16:9 | USA / English | 18 / R

Bruce Willis stars as a down-on-his-luck PI who stumbles into a sport/politics conspiracy in this early-’90s action-thriller from screenwriter Shane Black (Lethal Weapon, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Iron Man 3) and director Tony Scott (you know what Tony Scott’s directed). I think it’s seen as a fairly minor work in all of the primary participants’ CVs (and Halle Berry’s, who has a small supporting role), but is such ignored status deserved? Well…

The movie has two big points in its favour. The first is Black’s screenplay, packed with his usual sparky dialogue and flair for plot developments that you might not expect. He has a real way for working in familiar genres with a unique voice and Last Boy Scout is no exception. It’s considerably better than Lethal Weapon, which I really didn’t take to, if not quite as good as Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, which I adored.

Second is the wonderful noir feel that permeates through much of the film. This is thanks in part to Black — a private dick we first meet sleeping in his car who gets caught up in a conspiracy much bigger than him? What’s not noir about that? — but also to Scott and cinematographer Ward Russell. Technically this is neo-noir, but it makes you want to call it “neon-noir” — pitch black frames punctuated by glowing coloured lights. On the whole, it looks gorgeous.

It’s this noir edge that appeals most about the film for me. The occasional action theatrics are fine, but there’s nothing innovative or exciting enough in that field that hasn’t been done better or more memorably elsewhere. It’s the story and tone that work most to the movie’s benefit. It’s a shame, then, that the third act ditches much of that mood in favour of a race-against-time OTT-action finale. In my opinion, it pushes things too far, and nearly dragged down my rating an entire star.

But that, too, would be taking it too far. The Last Boy Scout isn’t the best film starring Bruce Willis, or the best film written by Shane Black, or the best film directed by Tony Scott; but the fingerprints of all three are unmistakably plastered right across it, and it’s a long way from being anyone’s worst work.

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (2006)

Posted on May 22, 2013 by badblokebob

2013 #45
Justin Lin | 100 mins | TV | 16:9 * | USA & Germany / English | 12 / PG-13

2001’s car racing actioner The Fast and the Furious seemed, to me, to meet with a mixed reception; the kind of thing where some critics disliked it and some enjoyed it for what it was, and audiences were more the latter but only passingly so. It must’ve done well though, because in 2003 we were treated to a sequel.

For 2 Fast 2 Furious the studio backed the wrong horse, signing up the first film’s uninteresting hero, Paul Walker, and leaving its more entertaining villain, Vin Diesel, to his skyrocketing action star career. The main talking point seemed to be the title, out of which the piss was relentlessly taken… and has been ever since.

Come 2006, there seemed to be some kind of last-ditch attempt at saving what someone thought was a good idea. The third film in the series ditches a number for a subtitle; ditches the US settings for Japan; and ditches every character from the earlier films in favour of a fresh start. What remains is the tone and the content. The plot is the usual mix of street racing and gangster posturing, though at least the “woohoo hot chicks!” and rap culture business has been toned down from last time.

The plot, such as it is, sees a rebellious US high school student (target audience cypher, check!) sent away to his father in Japan instead of going to prison (I’m sure there’s some logic there…) and ordered never to go near a car again. Which he promptly does, of course. Racing is different in Japan, though: rather than drag-style muscle with the odd inconvenient corner, here it’s all about drifting — sliding round corners with style. Goaded into a race, said high school student (I can’t remember his name. Who could?) loses miserably. And then he sets out to learn how to drift and there’s some stuff with a girl who’s with the bad guy and there’s some gangster-types and you know the drill, I’m sure.

If I sound dismissive, it’s slightly affected: Tokyo Drift is surprisingly decent. Surprisingly decent for a Fast and Furious film, that is. In my review of 2F2F I described it as “junk food” — you know it’s bad for you, but sometimes it hits the spot. Tokyo Drift is the same kind of film, all fat and sugar and no substance, but kinda tasty at the right time. And at least it provides something different to the previous films. Not so much the new characters, who are predictably bland; or the plot, which is samey; but the move to Tokyo, which lends proceedings a different flavour and style, not least the emphasis on drifting — most/all of which was performed for real by stunt drivers, rather than the often computer-enhanced car action of the previous films.

Despite this looking like a desperate grab that would leave The Fast and the Furious series as a trilogy in technicalities only, somehow the franchise has since revitalised itself. More on that next time, but it does have a bearing here: as later films brought returning characters and on-going plots, so Tokyo Drift slipped away as an anomaly; an aside, perhaps even a mistake, that has no place in the series’ primary narrative. While that last point may or may not be true, as a film in itself, Tokyo Drift is as passingly entertaining as anything else the F&F series has yet offered me.

* The original aspect ratio is 2.35:1, but this was on ITV and they’re less respectful than Channel 4 or (sometimes) the Beeb. The cropping was rarely noticeable, however. ^

Django Unchained (2012)

Posted on May 20, 2013 by badblokebob

Quentin Tarantino made his name in the ’90s with a series of dialogue-heavy gangster thrillers that provoked a storm of imitators. Since the turn of the millennium, however, he’s contented himself with a series of extravagant hyper-cinephilic genre homage/parodies. After tackling Japanese action movies in Kill Bill Vol.1, revenge thrillers in Kill Bill Vol.2, B-movie grindhouse fillers in Grindhouse/Death Proof, and World War 2 men-on-a-mission movies in Inglourious Basterds, here he sets his sights on a genre whose DNA is threaded through all his movies: the Spaghetti Western.

It’s 1858, two years before the American Civil War (which started in 1861 — a schoolboy error, a reference, or a Basterds-style flourish? Who knows), and a bounty hunter by the name of Dr. King Schultz (an Oscar-winning Christoph Waltz) acquires a slave by the name of Django (Jamie Foxx) to help him track down three wanted brothers. In return, he will grant Django his freedom.

But that’s not the end of it. This being post-millennial Tarantino, whose every movie is so long it has the potential to be split in two, Kill Bill style, that plot is just Act One. As Schultz and Django bond, the German learns about Django’s wife, Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who was sold to the infamous Candyland plantation. Being a good German and feeling he must help this real-life Siegfried, Schultz and Django concoct a plan to rescue her…

It’s fair to say Django Unchained sprawls. But, unlike the chapterised character-flitting antics of Kill Bill and Inglourious Basterds, it has a straight throughline it follows from beginning to end, with only a few asides. In terms of length and scope, it’s perhaps not too much of a reach to evoke The Good, the Bad and the Ugly rather than any other self-indulgent lengthy non-epics. Some have tired of the film’s length (compared to the masses who have elevated it to 46th on IMDb’s all-time top 250, not many), but the prospect of an extended cut (mooted by QT as something he might offer later) excites me. Of course, the Kill Bill single-film edit still hasn’t made it further than Cannes or the New Beverly, so I won’t be holding my breath.

I’m going to offer pretty unrelenting praise for Django Unchained, but it’s hard to know where to begin. With the cinematography and its extraordinary range? From icy cold mountains to orangey warm Southern interiors, from homaging crash zooms and blood-splattered blossom to new perspectives on action, the work of DP Robert Richardson consistently shines. And I don’t believe there was any teal-and-orange or other such clichéd digital manipulation either. Beautiful.

Or how about those action sequences? Months of work training real horses to do things never before seen pays off (and Tarantino proudly displays the “no animals were harmed” notice right at the top of the credits), while the blood-drenched Candyland shoot-out is arguably one of the best pure action scenes in years. Those are amongst myriad other sequences, from the small and transitory to the epic and vital.

Or there’s always QT’s renowned music choices? He’s as irreverent but perfect as ever here, encompassing the cheesy title song from the 1966 original, some classic rock, a new song by Ennio Morricone and Elisa, and even modern hip-hop. Some of it jars at first (particularly the latter), but it all works to the intended effect. The only QT soundtracks I’ve bothered with actually buying previously were the Kill Bills, but this may join them.

Or the performances? Tarantino has really gifted his actors with some special roles here. Foxx arguably gets the short straw, though as heroes go there’s actually a lot for him to play in Django. He keeps it subtle amidst an array of large performances, and that’s no bad thing. As his mentor, Waltz earnt a second Oscar for a Tarantino role. Some have accused this of being the same performance as he gave in Basterds, but that’s not quite fair. They’re both Tarantino characters speaking Tarantino dialogue played by the same actor — they’re always going to feel similar. But there are subtle differences, which make Basterds’ Col. Landa a likeable villain and Django’s Schultz a likeable good guy.

Still, best served — and, perhaps, more deserving of the Supporting Actor nod — are villainous duo Leonardo DiCaprio and Samuel L. Jackson. For starters, has Leo ever played a villain before? He’s on stonking form here as Southern gent Monsieur Candie (who can’t speak French), a sinisterly welcoming fellow with a dark side that’s on constant display. He’s all smiles and all lingering threat and menace. Indeed, scenes are often at their most tense when he’s at his nicest. I think there’s an argument for him to go down as one of the great screen villains — he even has the obligatory cool dispatch. “I couldn’t resist” indeed.

And as for Jackson… He’s a QT regular, and so you’d expect him to be a mofo so cool he was rivalling the titular hero for biggest badass status. But no: he’s a rickety old house slave, with a ring of grey hair and always hunched over his walking stick. He commands respect, but is subservient to Candie… though, who’s really in control? There are some nice scenes and moments questioning that. And he’s completely menacing, but in a more subtle and insidious way than Jackson’s usual Jules-from-Pulp-Fiction-moulded villains.

Aside from the leads, there’s a host of recognisable faces in supporting roles — or even dialogue-free one-shot cameos: someone you might recognise from TV plays The Daughter of the Son of a Gunfighter, seen staring out of a window as Django and Schultz pass by. It does make you wonder if some of these people had bigger roles that got cut… or maybe there are just other reasons. However, one remaining cameo features perhaps the most satisfying use of “I know” since The Empire Strikes Back. And QT himself is in it, briefly, doing an Australian accent (I think?) and affording himself a striking exit.

One thing that provoked some comment and controversy was the violence, and the juxtaposition of humour and violence. Personally, I think Tarantino nails it. There’s horrific stuff done to slaves, most of it by Candie and his acolytes — but, what, you thought the slave trade was cushtie? There’s no lingering on gore like you’d find in a Saw film — there are bits where he could have, if he’d wanted, but that’s not the point. Are the scenes still shocking? Yes, but that is the point. These are Very Bad Men who do Very Bad Things, which I can well imagine are historically accurate, and Tarantino exposes that and, through it, well earns the explosion of vengeance that forms the film’s multiple climaxes.

There are flashes of humour throughout, making for welcome contrast, but the one that provoked the most discussion is an extended sequence with a gaggle of proto-Klan members. I’m sure you read about it: they can’t see out of their hoods. Some decried it for being silliness involving a gang who were viciously cruel and shouldn’t be the subject of humour. Tosh and piffle, I say. One of the best ways to skewer many an evil institution is to make them a laughing-stock, to take the piss out of them, and that’s exactly what Tarantino is doing. These aren’t likeable, funny people who are Klan members; they’re incompetent fools because they’re Klan members. The resulting scene is hilarious and deservedly one of the movie’s most memorable moments.

There’s a lot to say about Django Unchained, and a lot to praise about it — it is two-and-three-quarter hours long after all. But points of discussion are often the mark of a good film, and praise obviously is. As a marriage of homage and B-movie to historical comment and some satisfying justice, albeit only cinematic, Tarantino’s Spaghetti Western homage is an entertaining, occasionally thought-provoking, rewarding, and thoroughly cinematic experience.

Django Unchained is available in the UK on DVD, Blu-ray, and via various on-demand services, from today.

It placed 2nd on my list of The Ten Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2013, which can be read in full here.

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

Posted on May 14, 2013 by badblokebob

After The Dark Knight’s runaway success, this trilogy-closer would inevitably disappoint some. It is imperfect, featuring a story so grandly complex that even the extensive running time fails to give it breathing space, and an occasional leap or fudged point requires audience thinking (which too few are capable of, apparently); but it also has its share of greatness.

It’s undeniably notable for being An Ending — superheroes don’t get endings. There’ll be a reboot, naturally, but no matter: Nolan’s Batman ends.

Whatever the flaws, there’s a rewarding experience here, albeit more comic-book-y than the real-world crime-thriller aspirations of its beloved predecessor.

The Dark Knight Rises placed 6th on my list of The Ten Best Films I Saw For the First Time in 2012, which can be read in full here.

In the interests of completing my ever-growing backlog, I decided to post ‘drabble reviews’ of some films. In the future I may update with something longer, but if I don’t, at least here’s something for posterity.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, a drabble is a complete piece of writing exactly 100 words long.

I have much more I could have said about The Dark Knight Rises, but damn I’m fed up with still having films from 2012 on my to-do list! A fuller piece may well accompany a re-watch in the future. For now, there’s always my initial thoughts.

Vote: your favourite Harry Potter

Posted on May 10, 2013 by badblokebob

For the first time ever I’m going to try to poll my readers. This could be terribly embarrassing when I only get three votes… if that…

Those of you who read April’s update will know that I’m halfway through a re-watch of the Harry Potter series. My fresh reviews of the first four films are already online, not to mention my original-viewing thoughts on the final four; and I’ll also contribute new thoughts on the entire David Yates-directed run in the next three or four weeks.

So until that time, I have a question for you: which is your favourite Harry Potter film? Or, if you’d rather, which is the empirical best? Or, if you hate them but have for some reason seen them all anyway, the least-worst?

Do you prefer the uncovering of magic in Philosopher’s Stone? The mystery of the Chamber of Secrets? The fresh direction brought by Prisoner of Azkaban? The action-packed excitement of Goblet of Fire? The resistance thriller that’s emphasised in Order of the Phoenix? The encroaching darkness of Half-Blood Prince? The tension-mounting ‘urban’ thriller hiding in Deathly Hallows Part 1? Or the cathartic, explosive final act of Deathly Hallows Part 2?

Vote now — there can be only one! (Wait, no, wrong long-running fantasy franchise…)

Green Lantern: Extended Cut (2011)

Posted on May 9, 2013 by badblokebob

“Hype” has to be one of the biggest factors in how we view films these days. Technically it’s defined as “extravagant or intensive publicity”, I suppose thereby meaning something to “positive expectation”, but I think it also works the other way: if you’ve heard nothing but awful things about a film, its weakness has been ‘hyped’. It’s this latter point that applies to Green Lantern, which has an almost insurmountable degree of negative expectation attached. To summarise the headline points, it’s got a woeful rating of 26% on Rotten Tomatoes and took just $220m at the international box office, which might sound a lot but barely covers its production budget. So I expected to despise Green Lantern, or at least roll my eyes or twiddle my thumbs at its constant awfulness, but I actually quite enjoyed it.

And that’s why I talk about hype, because my expectation that the film would be irredeemably awful is at least partly why I found it surprisingly enjoyable — a bit like XMO Wolverine, which I didn’t like nearly as much when I watched it again a few years later. I’m not going to try to argue Green Lantern is a great movie, or even that it doesn’t contain significant flaws, but as a comic book-y two-hour diversion, I found it passably entertaining.

For those not in the know, the plot concerns Hal Jordan (Reynolds) finding a dead alien and a ‘magic’ ring that inducts him into a sort of intergalactic police force, the Green Lanterns. Stupid name and concept, attributable to it being a genuine magic thing before being reinvented as alien tech at some point, and perhaps it was the very daft datedness of the idea that (in part) put a mass audience off. But I digress. Cocky jocky Hal is whisked off to the other side of the galaxy to learn how to be a Hero and use his ‘magic’ ring, which can conjure stuff up, then returns to Earth to save it from some menace(s). As superhero origin stories go, at least it’s got a couple of differences.

Hal’s character arc — the cocky guy who’s actually got fears and insecurities due to the death of his father — is actually quite a good one; a neat twist on the usual hero archetypes. So many superheroes have a version of the “loved one died when I was young” thing, but for most it’s motivation to fight rather than a worry that holds them back. But that arc is underplayed almost to the point of being unnoticeable, so when Hal overcomes it in order to save the day, you barely register that he’s overcome anything. Which is a shame, because there was potential in that. You don’t necessarily expect depth of character from a blockbuster, but it does hold it back.

However, the film’s primary problem (at least for me) was a lack of threat; or, rather, a lack of urgency. There’s a great big devourer of worlds out there, but we never get the feeling it’s doing much harm to anyone. I mean, it is, but we don’t feel it. Even at the climax, when it sets course to Earth, it’s more of an understanding that our hero is going to save the planet, rather than a genuine sense of peril that Earth is under assault. Perhaps this stems back to characterisation: some of the cast are likeable enough; the others are bland enough to not be unlikeable; and that leaves us wanting for someone to root for.

There are positives. The action sequences are good, which is a definite plus in this kind of film. The inventiveness with what the ring can do is fun. There’s a lack of relation to the sketchily-drawn characters that stands in the way of us truly engaging with them, and there’s a certain brevity and lack of scale that undersells the alleged threat to Earth (it’s a giant evil space-cloud that can barely cover a few city blocks, let alone the entire planet) — but, that aside, they’re entertaining enough. That said, much as the film pulls its punches with characterisation and threat, so it does with awe and spectacle. The Lanterns’ planet Oa doesn’t have the same impact as Asgard in Thor, yet we’re told several times what a spectacular place it is.

The Blu-ray’s Extended Cut adds exactly 9 minutes and 39 seconds of new content (as ever, details can be found here). This is almost entirely a prelude sequence, showing the death of Hal Jordan’s dad. The sequence serves to flesh out the relationships between Hal, love interest Carol and future-villain Hector a little, but there’s not a lot gained that isn’t learnt elsewhere. It also breaks up the flow. I only watched the extended version in full, but I imagine it’s a smoother transition in the theatrical, rather than pinging back and forth between intergalactic goings-on and bits & bobs on Earth. The only other extension comes when Hal has a chat with his 11-year-old nephew. Conversely, this scene plays much better in the extended cut, and I’m not entirely sure why they felt the need to cut it.

Indeed, I’d say the Extended Cut doesn’t go far enough, with some of the disc’s deleted scenes meriting inclusion. However, the main one occurs on Oa, meaning an effects-heavy scene that hasn’t had CG work done or all the voices recorded, so couldn’t just be dropped back into the finished film as-is. I imagine that’s why it wasn’t. That said, even if they’d done such work, those scenes are minor points, not game-changers.

What an extended cut of Green Lantern should really have done is build character and emotional impact. The plot is decent enough, but the film rattles along and sticks purely to story — we never feel it. It is nice to have a blockbuster effects movie that comes in closer to two hours than three, but they used to be able to make those and have us care. Where’s that ability gone? The only relationship that gets any real screen time is the romantic one, and that’s a damp squib.

I quite enjoyed Green Lantern while watching it. I felt quite positive afterwards. But the more you think about it, the more you spot the lack of depth. Maybe that’s OK — maybe it’s fine for a film to just give passing pleasure while it’s on. It wouldn’t be good if every film operated at that level, but it’s a painless experience now and then. Still, I think there’s a better film lurking in Green Lantern, and it’s a shame it didn’t get the screenwriter(s) or director(s) required to bring it out. It’s even more of a shame that worse films than this have received a kinder critical consensus or huge box office. That leaves some suit feeling vindicated and churning out the same rubbish again, whereas with a bit more effort Green Lantern 2 could’ve been worthwhile.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

Posted on May 7, 2013 by badblokebob

This review contains major spoilers.

The fourth Harry Potter film is the pivot around which the series revolves, in oh so many ways. Most obviously, it’s book 4 of 7 — the halfway point. It’s also where the books switch from short ‘children’s novel’ lengths to the huge tomes they eventually became. More importantly, it’s the instalment on which the overarching plot of the entire series hangs. Although each previous entry in the Potter canon contributed something to the mythology (even if sometimes its significance wouldn’t become apparent until much later), they’re still viewable as discrete adventures. So too is Goblet of Fire, for the most part — the exception being its final act, which kicks off the story that will consume the rest of the series.

The film is no less of a turning point, for its own reasons. Note that this is when the films’ marketing began to emphasise the ageing of the actors: the teaser trailer begins with shots of Harry, Ron and Hermione from each of the four films; the promotional TV specials go behind the scenes not only on the new film but also its predecessors; clearly substantial retrospective interviews were conducted too: watch the Creating the World of Harry Potter: The Magic Begins documentary on the Philosopher’s Stone Ultimate Edition and it tells the story of the films’ birth by mixing interviews not only from the sets of the first film and the ‘now’ of the final film’s production, but also in costumes and on sets from the fourth movie.

It makes sense: at this point the series was moving beyond your stock franchise length of “trilogy” and into less frequently charted waters, amid speculation that the leads would be recast. With Goblet of Fire being the last point you could reasonably pull that off, I imagine it paid to emphasise that these were the same kids — that we see a cast age in more-or-less real time throughout their childhood, including many small supporting roles as well as the leads, is one of the Potter films’ more unique highlights.

The other big behind-the-scenes decision was one of length. As noted, this is the first Potter story to explode from a short children’s tale, which could be adapted in full in two-and-a-half to three hours, to a lengthy novel that would require masses of time to cover in full. Considerations of spreading it across two films were reportedly dismissed when director Mike Newell promised he could do it in one, essentially by cutting subplots and extraneous material — much as Alfonso Cuarón had on Prisoner of Azkaban, but on a grander scale. (Imagine if they hadn’t made that choice: instead of eight films, the Potter series would have sprawled to 11 instalments!) The result of such editing here is a very direct film, rattling through its plot — even with stuff cut, there’s still a lot of story to cover.

Said story concerns two foreign schools visiting Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, a series of dangerous challenges, into which someone enters Harry against his will. It’s a nice clear through-line: a series of tasks, interspersed with investigations into who forced Harry to participate and why. It all comes to a head in one of the series’ most famous moments, the murder of Cedric Diggory. I can’t remember if Diggory’s meant to be a nice guy or an irritating jock, but here he’s played by Robert Pattinson, proving it’s not only his involvement with the Twilight franchise that makes him smug and annoying. Still, the impact of Diggory’s demise is still shocking and effective for those who don’t know it’s coming — this isn’t just a light series of children’s adventures any more. Of course, the death of a single-book supporting character is less impactful with an awareness of the franchise as a whole — there’s much worse to come, leaving this a mere opening move.

The other element that begins to creep in from this point is all the teenage romance stuff. Provoked mainly by the Yule Ball, with the guys having to pluck up courage to ask girls and dance lessons with teachers, the characters’ love lives start to become a notable factor. For all the plausibility and humour with which it’s depicted, there are times later when it will become a bit tiresome, especially in the novels. Fortunately, much of that’s internal monologue and subplot, and so goes astray here. Extra thanks to Mr Newell for that.

One of the more overlooked facets of Rowling’s work is her penchant for allegory and gentle satire. That’s understandable — they’re just Kids’ Books about magic, after all, and occasionally thuddingly written ones at that. Allegory you can take or leave (who’s really going to gain a perspective on HIV from Lupin’s struggle with lycanthropy?), but the satire is nice. Here it’s the press under fire. Rita Skeeter may have a greatly reduced role compared to the novel, but her Quick-Quotes Quill — which, essentially, just makes stuff up — is present and correct. The next tale, Order of the Phoenix, carries on this motif (the press demonise Harry), as well as setting its sights on blinkered and ineffectual government, and the evils of exam-focused impractical teachers. It’s all rather pleasing, actually, and you have to hope Potter’s millions of readers took it in and learnt something.

It’s easy to let certain events overshadow the entirety of Goblet of Fire; to subsume it into the single long narrative that arguably takes over the later stories. But though it puts broader events in motion, this is still a self-contained tale all its own — and one of the series’ most exciting at that, between storming action sequences and some effective twists. There’s a fair argument to be made that it’s the film series’ best entry.

In about a month, as I’ve already joined the Order of the Phoenix, uncovered the Half-Blood-Prince, and found both parts of the Deathly Hallows, I’ll offer an overview of the David Yates films…

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)

Posted on May 6, 2013 by badblokebob

Prisoner of Azkaban marks a significant turning point for the Harry Potter film series. Viewed now, it’s easy to see it as just Episode 3 of 8; a saga still getting underway. At the time, coming off the back of two incredibly successful films, it felt like a grand shake-up of an established formula.

It’s the first Potter to move away from a Christmassy end-of-year release slot, for one thing, debuting at the height of summer in May. That also made it the first to break the one-per-year release cycle they seemed to be aiming for, which would’ve emulated each film covering a single year of Harry’s time at school. The release date was only 18 months after Chamber of Secrets, but it had an impact — particularly to little Draco Malfoy, who seems to have undergone the majority of puberty in the short time between the end of Chamber and the start of Azkaban. I still remember my shock when he first appeared in the trailer — I thought they’d recast.

Most striking, however, is the new director. Alfonso Cuarón doesn’t ditch the faithfulness to J.K. Rowling’s novels that defined Chris Columbus’ opening pair, but he does ditch the slavishness, and brings a hefty dose of his own stylish directorial skill in the process. Azkaban is a fan favourite among Rowling’s novels, but Cuarón’s preparedness to change things when necessary made the film more of a hate object for some. The wider world had it right, however, because Azkaban was received as the best Potter yet and, I think, was the start of its rehabilitation from a fans-only series of Children’s Films to something that merited across-the-board full marks when Deathly Hallows Part 2 arrived seven years later.

Cuarón and screenwriter Steve Kloves (who would pen every Potter film bar the fifth) focus in on the novel’s plot, ditching its copious world-building and backstory asides. This has both pros and cons. In the former camp, it leaves room for Cuarón to make something more exciting and filmic than Columbus — you can’t imagine the craziness of the Knight Bus in either of the previous films. It also keeps things moving forward, at quite a pace too, rather than meandering off here and there. Even the Quidditch match serves a purpose.

On the downside, it strips away some explanations that not only deepen the series’ world but, in some cases, help it make sense. We never learn the identity of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs (makers of the ever-so-useful Marauder’s Map), or quite why Harry thought he saw his dad by the lake with the Dementors. The former is only nice detail, I suppose, but the latter event makes much more sense when you know the full explanation from the novel. The story gets by without it, but those unfamiliar with the book who stop to think about things may consider it a plot hole, or at least a leap of logic.

The film introduces two of my favourite characters from the series: Gary Oldman’s Sirius Black and David Thewlis’ Remus Lupin. In slightly different ways they’re both outsiders — underdogs, as it were, if you’ll excuse the pun — but both honourable and powerful… but not as pompous as that poor description makes it sound. The film series doesn’t treat either of them particularly well compared to the books, but then supporting characters and subplots are the first things to go (quite rightly).

The other big cast addition is Michael Gambon, replacing Richard Harris as Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Gambon seemed all wrong when he first turned up, replacing the previous near-perfect casting choice. He’s more familiar now, making it harder to judge which actor is superior; but it’s difficult to imagine Harris getting to grips with some of the cheekier and more active things Dumbledore is called on to do later in the series. Was the requirement to recast a blessing in disguise? Perhaps.

Azkaban was a breath of fresh air when it was released in 2004, really kicking the Potter franchise into life creatively. I know I gave the first two four stars each, but having since watched this and Goblet of Fire, the opening episodes pale in comparison.

Tomorrow, I put my name in the Goblet of Fire…

Ted (2012)

Posted on May 3, 2013 by badblokebob

The first film from Seth MacFarlane, creator of Family Guy and American Dad!, part-time Oscar host and Proms singer (I kid you not), is the story of a boy and his teddy bear. Lonely little John Bennett gets a teddy for Christmas when he’s eight, makes a wish that the bear will come alive, and so it does. It’s sweet and lovely, because it’s a teddy. Then it becomes famous and grows up and turns into a foul-mouthed pot-smoking layabout living with a thirtysomething John (Marky Mark Wahlberg) and his girlfriend (Mila Kunis). But he’s still a loveable bear. Kinda.

If you put together that plot description with “from the creator of Family Guy”, you get a pretty fair idea of what Ted’s like — and whether it’s for you or not. Sadly many people can’t do such simply maths, as evidenced by the swathes of bad reviews on LOVEFiLM, shocked by the film’s content. One moron even sat their little kids down in front of it, thinking it was a cute film about a cute talking bear being cute. Why do some people not research the films they show their kids? Even checking the certificate would’ve revealed it’s a 15 and not suitable for your 6 year old. But I digress.

Family Guy’s stock in trade is two things: non-sequiturs, which Ted replaces with a plot; and an edgy, borderline-offensive (or, to some people, offensive) sense of humour, which Ted retains, and in some cases pushes farther, unrestrained by the demands of US network TV. Personally, I like it, by and large. Some jokes cross the line into distasteful, but that’s par for the course. Some will find it all terribly juvenile. I was going to say you shouldn’t be expecting QI, but then they’ve been known to get sidetracked into some smutty laughs on occasion, so that may not be the best example.

The film’s low point is its plot. It’s stock rom-com territory, in which a happy couple (spoilers!) break up and (spoilers!) get back together, with a climax-providing subplot lifted from Toy Story 2. If you’re looking for an original or thought-provoking story, Ted won’t be the place to find it, though it makes a good fist of telling it. But really, the draw is the talking teddy, and how he relates to the world in a teddy-like fashion. So what if the main story is a rehash? Plenty of comedies do that every year without bothering to add anything original, at least here the reality of what would happen if a teddy magically came to life is considered, and quite nicely handled too.

Without meaning to spoil any laughs, standout segments include a running involvement of the ’80s Flash Gordon film, which long-term readers of this blog will know I love at least as much as John and Ted, which culminates in an amusing trip; a hotel room brawl between John and Ted (if you watch it on Blu-ray, the five-minute Teddy Bear Scuffle featurette is worth a look for how they did this); and a minor array of cameos, from who’s doing the voiceover to someone who turns up twice without a single line of dialogue.

Wahlberg performances swing between excellent (The Departed, I ♥ Huckabees) and awful (The Happening, Max Payne), seemingly at random, but here he’s closer to the former. MacFarlane voices Ted (as well as directing, co-writing and co-producing), which years of experience have left him very good at, even if he has to lampshade the fact he does sound rather like Peter Griffin. Among the rest of the cast, Mila Kunis is kinda unremarkable and kinda endearing, but either way surely beloved by teenage boys; Giovanni Ribisi turns up as a creepy loner (what else is new); and Patrick Warburton plays The Part Patrick Warburton Plays (what else is new).

(Incidentally, there’s also an unrated version of Ted, which is so shocking that in the UK we gave it a… 15. It’s about six minutes longer and includes some alternate material as well as extensions. I went with the theatrical version because, well, I did. As ever, there’s a full comparison here, or a simple list on IMDb if you prefer. For the dedicated, the Blu-ray also includes 15 minutes of deleted scenes and 10 minutes of alternate takes, but I don’t know if there’s any overlap between that material and the extended version.)

Ted is pretty much a walking talking definition of “not for everyone” — which is fine. If you like Family Guy, it’s definitely one to try (LOVEFiLM has plenty of “I love Family Guy but hated this grrr!” reviews too); if you dislike Family Guy, probably one to avoid; if you’ve never seen Family Guy, what can I say, that’s the standard reviewer’s barometer here. It is rude, is crude, and is mostly very funny. But, whatever you decide, don’t leave the kids with the movie about the talking teddy.

Ted joins the Sky Movies Premiere line-up today at 4:25pm, is on again at 8pm, and several times daily thereafter, as well as on all their on-demand services and whatnot.

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