Lewis Gilbert | 104 mins | TV | 1.85:1 | USA / English | PG / PG
Lewis Gilbert is the director of You Only Live Twice, The Spy Who Loved Me, Moonraker, Alfie, Educating Rita and Shirley Valentine — eclectic is an understatement! Here he works more in line with the latter two, telling the tale of a small amateur dance glass, mostly populated by middle-aged women, trained by a former big-stage wannabe (Liza Minnelli), who are invited to perform at a large local dance revue.
Adapted from his own play by Richard Harris (not that one), it’s easy to imagine how this had theatrical origins: it’s all about performance and the stage, for one thing, and there’s a focus on character and dialogues that feels vaguely stage-derived. Which is in no way to say they’ve failed in translating it to the screen — if you didn’t know its roots, I don’t think you’d be tempted to guess. The action is expanded, with many scenes taking place outside of the group’s rehearsal room (where I believe the entirety of the play took place), and Lewis knows his way behind a camera, so we’re not stuck with stagey blocking.
Obviously the film has an overarching plot, but it’s not really where the focus lies; it’s more an occasionally-vague long-term goal, the preparations for which are spotlighted in a couple of rehearsal scenes. Though Minnelli is ostensibly the star and lead, many of the others are given a not-unfair chunk of screen time too. So with a moderately large cast and the throughline almost a subplot itself, the film occasionally feels like a collection of subplots bolted together. It’s a form that can work, and here it passes well enough.
The standout from the cast is probably Julie Walters, in a relatively early big-screen role. Considering how well-known she is now she seems quite lowly billed and little-featured, but bearing in mind this is a US production from the early ’90s, it’s less surprising. She’s very good (isn’t she always?) as the group’s newest member, a posh English lady who sticks her oar in and is a bit too blunt with her comments. I seem to remember her generating most of the laughs in this comedy-drama, although that’s not to disparage anyone else’s work.
Stepping Out is what some people would call a Woman’s Film, exactly as patronisingly as that sounds. It’s not entirely female — there’s a male member of the group (though one might argue he’s a little camp), and a git of a boyfriend — but, without meaning to come over as patronising myself, you can tell they were aiming for a female audience. Which doesn’t mean men can’t enjoy it, obviously.
For either gender, I think it remains a fairly lightweight but entertaining little tale. It’s not likely to illuminate you in any way, or make you roar with laughter, and it’s not even a shining light in the group-of-underdogs-who-think-they-can’t-prove-they-can sub-genre, but it’s a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours for those who like this kind of thing.
After decades telling tales from the Second World War, Spielberg moves back a conflict. That said, the BD’s special features make sure to point out this “is not his First World War movie” — it’s just a good tale about a boy and his horse.
It can’t be denied that there’s factual inaccuracy here (the climax takes place at the Somme in the lead up to Armistice Day in 1918, but that battle was actually fought in 1916), or the occasional heavy dose of sentimentality (it’s directed by Spielberg and co-penned by Richard Curtis — what did you expect?), but I think it carries through these with a scale and heart that is, primarily, entertaining. It is based on a children’s novel and I think aims to be a family film (it should by rights be a PG; my twitter rant on that subject is 
Aiding the sense of the epic is Janusz Kaminski’s cinematography, which is regularly stunning and definitely one of the film’s standout achievements. The beauty of some shots is immediately obvious — he lenses the countryside idyll of Dartmoor in a sweeping fashion, bathed in summer sunlight — but there are striking compositions to be found throughout, be they in close-ups, cavalry charges, horse auctions, battlefield hospitals… There’s often a lovely texture to things too, from the likes of drifting snow or chaff, or the way light streaks across a room. The final scene, fully tinted orange, calls to mind the likes of 
one that isn’t afraid to depict some of the nastier realities of the world, but in a way that makes them relatable for a younger audience. I think that’s important; but this isn’t a Worthy Film for that, it’s just something it does well. I think it also nails sensations of adventure and, yes, sentimentality.
Prequels are far from a new concept (there are examples in ancient Greek literature; the OED dates the first use in print to 1958, though I swear I’ve heard mention of it being used even earlier), but in the past ten years or so they really seem to have come to prevalence in the movies. Perhaps we can trace this phenomenon back to 
The screenwriters in question, Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver (also producers), are due a lot of thanks for the quality of the final product. The story — about the son of a lab-tested chimpanzee, raised at home by a US scientist, who ultimately turns on humanity — was inspired by news stories of pet chimps attacking their owners, plus research into genetic modification. By taking these themes and issues and running with them, Jaffa and Silver have crafted a blockbuster that is both plausible and intelligent — a rare thing these days.
As with many prequels, the story itself may seem needless: we know where it ends up, and as various balls are put in play we can see their ultimate destination. But the important thing is that you can’t always see their trajectory, and as someone famous once said, sometimes the pleasure’s in the journey not the destination. Here we become invested in the characters, so we care about what will happen to them in the broader sweep of the Apes story, not to mention the intricacies of how things go from the opening status quo to the conclusion. Plus, with a prequel set so far before the original as this one is, one can always ponder the question of just how far they’ll go in this story (it doesn’t connect up to the start of Planet of the Apes, for instance).
The rest of the cast are adequate but hardly register. James Franco is a solid lead but rarely called on to do much — Caesar is the protagonist, Franco’s human scientist just facilitates that. Frieda Pinto’s role is underwritten. Considering the film barely hits 100 minutes in an era when many blockbusters bloat to 140+, there’s room for her character to get a subplot objecting to the lab treatment of the apes. She’s awfully accepting of Franco’s line of work. As I noted though, perhaps they were trying to avoid being heavy-handed. Overall, John Lithgow is served best, his character slipping in and out of Alzheimer’s as Franco tries to develop a cure. It’s another in a line of recent fine supporting performances from him.
but there’s unquestionably still more that could come. There’s the newly intelligent apes, not yet ruling the planet; but also a mid-credit sequence that continues a significant subplot that’s clearly left hanging, closing the movie with a slight Part One-y tang. Still, I believe that if there wasn’t a sequel coming it would function satisfyingly as a standalone film.
There are a few Oscar nominees from the ’00s that inspire little desire in me to bother seeing them (I’m certain that’s completely true of every era, but I’ve seen most of the ’00s nominees so I tend to focus on them more often), meaning it’s taking me a very long time to get round to them (maybe I never will). Master and Commander isn’t really one of those — it’s no 
he’s not a naval man and doesn’t always understand their traditions. He’s not a crass audience-cipher in the way such parts often can be, but it does make him identifiable.
(that makes for a strangely bizarre array of company logos at the start). Despite the fact it’s based on a series of 20 (completed) books, and various people involved have mentioned the possibility down the years, a sequel is so unlikely it seems silly calling it just “unlikely”. And that’s a shame, because this is an entertaining action-drama with likeable characters and an engrossing atmosphere. A little to my surprise, I loved it.
Bad Day at Black Rock comes with an air of the forgotten classic — or, at least, it did to me. I think that’s important to how I ultimately reacted to it. As is that wherever I first heard about it pitched it as a suspenseful mystery with a twist. I forget where that was now, but I remember consciously avoiding finding out the plot’s developments (more so than one naturally would anyway) before viewing.
I missed the commentary. Indeed, in 
For a film so based in mystery and which has what I’d call a methodical pace (despite its short running time), there are surprisingly good action sequences to look out for: a car chase/battle along a thin path, a one-handed punch-up in a bar, and a climactic shoot-out that’s at its most tense once all the bullets have been fired. It’s not an action movie by any means, but these cinematic sequences stand out nonetheless.
Judged on its own terms, however, The Man from Earth is what one might call Proper Science Fiction. Most films classed as sci-fi just feature aliens or what have you; they’re space opera, or just action movies where Americans fight off-planet enemies instead of out-of-country enemies; the kind of thing Ray Bradbury termed fantasy rather than sci-fi (I’m inclined to agree, but that’s a discussion for another time). Instead of Shooting And Blowing Up Stuff, or even comedy antics with a twist, The Man from Earth deals in Ideas.
and are prepared for all the slowness of pace that involves (because compare the experience of doing anything in real life for an hour and a half to how much gets crammed into a movie’s 90 minutes — that’s the speed Man from Earth moves), and are open to a movie that posits an idea and then explores it — including twists and turns of variable merit — then you might enjoy this film. I did.
The directors of 
The music is by Atticus Ross, which was interesting because I’d thought it was reminiscent of 
Late on the film pulls out surprise appearances from Michael Gambon and Frances de la Tour. Their roles aren’t even close to needing thesps of such calibre though — they appear fleetingly, the actors underused. Particularly Gambon, who really has nothing to do except fire a gun. I know it’s usually a joke to comment that a usually-better cast member must have needed the money, but that’s the only reason I can imagine he’s here.
Newman concludes that “you can’t help feel you were invited to a party with fizzy pop and cream cake and got suckered into a sermon instead.” I couldn’t have put it better. Eli starts off with the potential for an arty 5; slips slightly to a solid 4 when the standard post-apocalyptic trope of a gang fighting for local power comes in to play; unsteadies that 4 with an increasingly atonal second half; and quite frankly borders a 1 with its sickening ending.
Sometimes you watch one of the most acclaimed films of all time and find yourself with very little to say about it. La Règle du jeu — or, as it’s commonly known in America thanks to Criterion’s incessant title translation (in fairness, that’s probably the most sensible way to combat the mass attitude of “argh! it’s in Foreign!”), The Rules of the Game
There’s a lot packed in, and I can see how multiple viewings could reveal even more going on. Perhaps a better researched awareness of the period (beyond the obvious Eve Of War, though that’s important) and of French class structure at the time is necessary to get the full richness of Renoir’s vision. The fact it was banned by the French government due to being bad for morale, then also banned by the occupying Nazis, suggests it did have a lot of social relevance.
I liked Ip Man, but as we know from experience there are times when I find myself with little to say about a film, or I fail to make any notes, and this was an example of both. So I’ve decided to try something a little different.
Though that’s an amusing thought, the film’s not quite that simplistic:
Indeed, fighting is still what the film does best:
On the other hand, as that “sinister Japanese general”:
100Films.co.uk 