Rock n Roll Nerd (2008)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

2009 #92
Rhian Skirving | 89 mins | DVD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An American in Paris (1951)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

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

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

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

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

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

Hamlet (2009)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

aka The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Hamlet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jumper (2008)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Originally posted on 8th February 2010.)

Hard Candy (2005)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Originally posted on 7th February 2010.)

Children of Heaven (1997)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

aka Bacheha-Ye aseman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Originally posted on 6th February 2010.)

Copycat (1995)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Originally posted on 21st January 2010.)

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

2009 #94
Sidney Lumet | 122 mins | TV | PG / PG

Murder on the Orient Express is arguably Agatha Christie’s most famous novel, perhaps because of its widely-known twist ending, or perhaps because it’s inspired in part by a high-profile true story, or perhaps because of this multi-Oscar-nominated all-star adaptation.

The plot is the stereotypical Christie set up: a group of fairly well-off people find themselves in a confined setting, one is killed, a sleuth works out who. This time it’s a train rather than a luxurious mansion, but the basics are there. This isn’t a criticism — I enjoy a good Christie adaptation as much as everyone else who’s kept the current TV incarnation on air for 21 years (and counting) — and here at least Christie has a number of twists to her usual style. As mentioned its launching point is a true story, the Armstrong kidnapping and murder being based on the Lindbergh kidnap of 1932 (just a couple of years before the book was written); the snow-bound train’s location (very apt after our recent weather) is certainly different to a stereotypical country estate setting; and then there’s the infamous ending.

I won’t spoil it here, just in case anyone doesn’t know it. Some are very critical of this particular denouement, labeling it an unsatisfactory cop-out that doesn’t make sense. Neither of these things are true. It is not reliant on an extraordinary coincidence — it might look that way at first, but the full explanation reveals it to be anything but — and there are numerous clues along the way as to what it might be, even if some are more thematic than the actual red herrings that almost lead Poirot astray. It’s a shame that knowledge of the ending is quite widespread these days, though that’s perhaps inevitable for a 76-year-old story. Still, I’ve done my bit.

In the lead role, Albert Finney’s Poirot may have received an Oscar nomination and, more importantly, been approved by Christie herself (according to some; according to others, she wasn’t impressed), but he now pales in the inevitable comparison with David Suchet’s definitive portrayal of the Belgian detective. Suchet has defined Poirot in a way few other major franchisable characters have been (Connery may be widely accepted as the best Bond, but there are plenty who’d choose Moore, Craig, Dalton and Brosnan, and you may even find someone who likes Lazenby; equally, Sherlockians may divide themselves between Rathbone and Brett, not to mention Cushing and hundreds of others). He has the advantage of being able to perfect the role across hundreds of hours of television, but nonetheless stands proud as the high-watermark that others can only try to reach (even those who played the role 15 years earlier).

Finney’s version is more obviously comical than Suchet’s. Where humour in the latter is derived from his serious fastidiousness, Finney plays it more for laughs; where Suchet seems almost solemn in his investigations Finney frequently bursts into laughter. It’s a broader interpretation of the character, one that ultimately lacks subtlety. At least Finney is thoroughly subsumed in the role, which means that after a while one does become accustomed to it.

The rest of the cast are well suited to their roles. Ingrid Bergman won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role, though one wonders if it was a weak year for the category as her part is miniscule and not particularly memorable. Elsewhere, famous names such as Lauren Bacall, Sean Connery, John Gielgud, Michael York, and many more, round out a truly star-studded ensemble where each has but a small part to play. It must be relatively easy to attract big names to Christie adaptations — as the TV series still do — when the author is so beloved and the amount of time required to shoot is (for a guest star) so small. Best here, perhaps, is Martin Balsam as Poirot’s friend Bianchi, who’s treated to several good scenes, not least the series of interviews where after each he confidently declares “it was them!”

As a standalone film, Murder on the Orient Express is a skilled effort (I can’t comment on its quality as an adaptation because I’ve never read the book). For a viewer so familiar with Suchet’s interpretation of the character, however, even an all-star cast can’t quite remove the feeling that it’s not quite right. The Suchet-starring adaptation of this particular case has been filming recently, hopefully for broadcast later in 2010 (though knowing ITV we could have to wait as long as 2012), but even though it’ll have the definitive Poirot leading its cast, this film leaves a lot to live up to.

(Originally posted on 15th January 2010.)

The Gruffalo (2009)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

2009 #89a
Max Lang & Jakob Schuh | 27 mins | TV

Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler children’s book The Gruffalo was a bit after my time but, I’m told, is incredibly popular with The Youth Of Today (not the ones that hang out on street corners earning ASBOs, obviously). It’s certainly a pleasant read, with rhythmic poetry and the kind of repetition that allows children to join in with ease, but it’s also quite short — fine for a children’s book, but not so good for attempting a screen adaptation of any length.

Having turned down numerous offers for feature-length versions, Donaldson accepted the half-hour short film treatment. Thank God she did, because even at under 30 minutes there’s some padding in evidence. There’s a brief bookend narrative featuring some squirrels, plus a leisurely pace throughout that takes in the scenery and wildlife of the forest world these character inhabit. Seeing a segment in isolation the film can look far too slow, with uncomfortably long pauses between each line of the original verse. As a whole, however, the viewer settles into its style and it rarely if ever feels forced.

The CG animation is well pitched. The textures and style at times left me wondering if the film was actually stop-motion animation, and consequently it carries the warm, cosy, intimate feel that such productions achieve and CGI almost universally fails at (even from Pixar). Whether it was the intention to emulate claymation or just a side effect, it’s certainly more effective than the work on Flushed Away, Aardman’s first CG outing that deliberately set out to look like their traditional stop-motion.

The voicework is equally spot on. John Hurt sounds fabulous in anything, Rob Brydon’s vocal changeability lends appropriate sibilance to the snake, it’s difficult to imagine anyone other than Robbie Coltrane providing the monsterly tones of the titular beast, and even James Corden fits as the mouse. Tom Wilkinson and Helena Bonham Carter also do fine work, meaning there’s not a weak link among them.

Despite being primarily aimed at kids — who hopefully won’t struggle too much with the languid pace — the very listenable poetry of the text and hand-made look of the visuals provide much for older children and adults to enjoy as well. Super.

The Gruffalo can still be seen on the BBC iPlayer until 7:29pm today. It is also available in HD.

(Originally posted on 2nd January 2010.)

Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950)

Posted on December 31, 2009 by badblokebob

2009 #70
Otto Preminger | 91 mins | TV | 12

Otto Preminger’s film noir — scripted by Ben Hecht, adapted from William L. Stuart’s novel by Robert E. Kent, Frank P. Rosenberg and Victor Trivas, and quite what the difference between “adapting” and “writing” are I’m not sure — offers complex characters in a multi-layered plot. The ending particularly underlines this: the filmmakers could’ve killed anti-hero Dixon, could’ve had him choose to not open the letter, etc; but the decision he takes and the reactions of others are all relatively complex. Earlier, the sequences following Paine’s death are well constructed to produce the maximum amount of tension; their plotting clever, allowing for multiple (albeit similar) interpretations of events. Things happen which seem irrelevant, but are of course none-more-relevant later. Few films today are so brave as to not explain such things immediately.

There are lots of great scenes like these — look at the single scene featuring Klein and his wife, for example. It doesn’t have to be there — Klein could’ve just given his partner the cash — but for the sake of one short scene we get two proper characters. Yes, they’re quickly and sketchily drawn, but believable with it. The same goes for the old woman listening to the radio — does it matter that her husband’s dead, that she sits there for company, which she only gets because Paine always waves to her? Not particularly — but that it is there really adds to the film. Even the crooks get similar treatment, tiny elements (such as one character’s parole) progressing and returning, almost insignificant subplots that all have a place and function in the greater story.

Dana Andrews is an effective lead, believable as Dixon the thuggish cop. We support him, but only just — he doesn’t quite have the instant likeability of Bogie’s Marlowe, for example, but he’s enough on the side of right that we can get behind him. Gary Merrill’s Scalise is an appropriate villain. He’s not in it much — a little at the beginning, a little at the end — but he permeates the film to a degree, the uncatchable boss just out of reach, who Dixon wants to pin everything on.

All the other performances are good too, but perhaps most memorable is Karl Malden as newly-promoted Lt. Thomas. He’s both good at his job and bungling — for example, he creates a completely plausible theory of how Jiggs did the crime, convincing all around him; but the viewer knows how incorrect and circumstantial it all is, which makes Thomas look slightly bumbling even when he’s apparently on to a winner. Malden doesn’t make him too silly or bungling — he could be like Nigel Bruce’s Watson, for example — but nor does it go too far the other way, making him so hardline that he becomes a villainous figure. It’s a fine line that Malden negotiates with skill.

I really enjoyed Where the Sidewalk Ends, perhaps more than I expected to, and I should say it narrowly missed out on my 2009 Top Ten.

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Category Archives: Star Ratings

Rock n Roll Nerd (2008)

An American in Paris (1951)

Hamlet (2009)

Jumper (2008)

Hard Candy (2005)

Children of Heaven (1997)

Copycat (1995)

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

The Gruffalo (2009)

Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950)