Robin Swicord | 101 mins | DVD | 12 / PG-13
I like to think I have a fairly high tolerance for ‘chick flicks’ — over the years I’ve rather enjoyed films such as Love Actually or Bring It On, and not just because of the male-friendly porn-stand-in scenes or cheerleader costumes — but even I was a bit uncertain about this one at first. However, as it progressed, gradually revealing more about the characters, their lives, and how they cope with what the world throws at them, I found myself increasingly enjoying it. By the time we had to pause it twenty minutes from the end, I found myself itching to continue to find out what would happen.
Inevitably, it’s not flawless. At times it feels like a collection of subplots linked only by the monthly book group meetings, with whichever plot thread is the focus of a scene becoming the de facto main story… until the next scene begins, of course. A working knowledge of Austen’s novels is helpful too. I presumed the film (and book on which it is based) merely invoked Austen’s perennially popular name to boost sales, but there’s actually a fair bit of analysis of the books thrown in, which often reflects what’s happening to the characters. You can get by without an Austen familiarity, but I found the Pride & Prejudice segments made more sense than the others thanks to my (marginally) increased understanding of that particular text.
It would be very easy to pigeonhole The Jane Austen Book Club as a ‘film for women’… and, to be honest, that wouldn’t be at all unfair: it’s as squarely aimed at a female audience as Die Hard is aimed at blokes. It’s also ultimately disposable, apparently with nothing new or revelatory to say about womankind. In spite of all that, I enjoyed it more than I probably had any reason to — and not just because of the male-friendly lesbian character.

Who’d’ve thought a John Waters film could become a bright and breezy musical? It’s a bit of a surprise but, thanks to a successful Broadway version, that’s exactly what’s happened. But while the key to Hairspray’s success may be its positive attitude and memorable songs, perhaps the key to its quality — and the eventual score of this review — are the issues it tackles around those.
I’ve not seen the miniseries and I’ve not read the book, but I do know that both are considerably longer than Jarrold’s two-and-a-quarter hours film. So why does it feel so slow? Perhaps it’s the pair of opening flashforwards (easier to refer to them as that than to the majority of the film as one great big flashback), an overused technique these days that here serves no purpose whatsoever: there’s no additional insight on events that follow (or, rather, precede) by placing these snippets at the start, and there’s no new perspective on the snippets when we reach them chronologically (except that, second time round, we actually know who the characters are). It’s the most niggling fault in a film that, like my just-reviewed 
“Pixar films” seem to have become a bit of a genre unto themselves — yes, they fit into “animation” (always dubious as a genre), “family” (almost as bad), “comedy”, and occasionally a few others, but, much as the Bond films have their own rules and expectations outside the “action” and “spy thriller” conventions, the work of Pixar always achieves special and particular attention. WALL-E subverts some of these expectations (it’s not a buddy comedy, mainly) and has received huge amounts of praise — “consequently”, some might add. It is indeed a very good film, but you’ll surely have heard all that elsewhere; instead, I’m going to draw attention to a couple of things that bothered me.
Sometimes I find I have quite a lot to say about a film when it comes to writing my review for this blog — recently, witness
The Fountain was one of the more critically divisive films of recent years, eliciting genuine “love it or hate it” reviews all round. I find myself leaning more towards the former. While I can’t claim to fully understand (let alone explain) much of what it means, and while I usually dislike things that can pretentiously be described as “film as poetry” (or similar), there’s something in the qualities of The Fountain that engaged me.
Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman and Claude Rains star in Alfred Hitchcock’s 7th best film (according to the ever-changing
I can’t help but wonder if, back in 1985, there was any audience confusion between A Room with a View and
I was meant to read Jane Eyre in the first year of my degree, but, given a week to attempt what seemed a positively enormous tome (I partly blame the edition) and a coinciding essay deadline, I didn’t even attempt it. Instead I settled for a friend summarising it for me — I tuned out halfway through the very long retelling due to boredom, though whether that was the fault of the novel or its summariser I still don’t know. I finally got through Jane Eyre the year before last — not the novel, though, but the BBC’s apparently-definitive adaptation (has it been that long already!), following numerous extremely positive reviews at the time. That was good — because or in spite of the novel, I do not know.
I must confess that I don’t think I’ve come to Rebecca under the best circumstances for judging it as a film in its own right. As with last week’s