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Thin Chrome Line: RoboCop revisited

About half an hour into RoboCop, hotshot policemen Murphy has his hand blown off by a shot gun. Blood spurts into the air like a hose. The next shot removes his entire arm, before a gang of drug dealers shoot him to pieces. If you want to shock your audience by killing off your lead (for now), that’s how to do it.

Even by the standards of 1980s action cinema, RoboCop is extraordinarily bloody. This is largely thanks to the work of special effects guru Rob Bottin, known for his work on The Thing, and who would later collaborate with RoboCop director Paul Verhoeven on Total Recall. Following hot on the heels of bullet-fests like Rambo and Predator, Verhoeven upped the ante to preposterous levels; compared to the drab fare of modern action films, the gore is positively phantasmagorical. And yet, it is the 2014 remake of RoboCop which boasts the higher body count. Even the average Marvel film probably counts more dead bad guys. Watching RoboCop today, one is struck by how sanitised violence has become in action cinema.

Verhoeven’s approach to violence has more in common with Quentin Tarantino than Michael Bay, or even Paul Greengrass. Somehow, he manages to make us laugh – even as we flinch. In RoboCop, the villain Dick Jones demonstrates the capabilities of his military-grade robot ED-209 to a room full of businessmen. The test is a disaster: the robot malfunctions and unleashes a hail of machine-gun fire on a corporate exec. We’re horrified, but can’t help chuckling at the robot’s absurdly disproportionate response, unloading onto the man’s body until he has been cut to ribbons. Kubrick showed us the potentially horrific implications of malfunctioning AI, but Verhoeven makes it out to be absurd. It’s like that voice at the self-checkout telling you to “remove item from bagging area” again and again – even though you barely touched the thing.

And yet the scene is still repulsive, as are so many gory moments in the film. Verhoeven does not gloss over the deaths of any of the bad guys, showing in gory detail the damage inflicted on a human body by firearms. It’s worth noting here that Verhoeven originally threw the script away in disgust, until his wife convinced him there was more to the story than a vulgar shoot-em-up. This is not action for excitement’s sake. By emphasising the gore, RoboCop causes us to question the very practice of consuming violence as entertainment.

The film is intercut with lurid newsreels of a violent world, from civil war in Mexico to a malfunctioning space laser that sets California ablaze, killing two ex-presidents. The story starts to feel like it’s part of the same broadcast, roping the audience into the spectacle. Zany adverts for nuclear war-based family boardgames lead us to laugh at the savage mores of neo-Detroit, before we realise the film is holding up a mirror to our own society. By calling attention to our insatiable appetite for violent mass media, Verhoeven reveals the audience’s complicity in these images.

Commenting on the prevalence of violence in the film noir of the 1940s, Siegfried Kracauer commented that most such pictures did not require a pretext for the introduction of such sadistic horrors. The audience desires to vicariously participate in the cruelty being inflicted onscreen; this is especially prevalent in action cinema – we all imagine ourselves as the hero gunning down bad guys. Kracauer argued that these films reflected the anxiety pervading American society that we could no longer trust the people around us. The response to this was sadism, which Kracauer warned could provide the emotional readiness for fascism.

Starship Troopers sees Verhoeven make these latent tendencies within American society explicit, by linking platoon-film tropes with Riefenstahl’s fascist iconography. But there are elements of this RoboCop, which initially places the audience on the side of police brutality. RoboCop himself is a caricature of disproportionate force, throwing a would-be robber into a glass cabinet instead of arresting him. Where Starship Troopers highlights the link between filmmaking and propaganda, RoboCop shows the link between violence on screen and in society and asks – why do you want to see criminals blown away? Like Kracauer, Verhoeven realised that anxiety had spread through society, encouraged by the surge in violent crime in the 1970s and 80s.

On a satirical level RoboCop holds up remarkably well for an action film over 20 years old. Private corporations might not be using robots to patrol the streets, but policing is sometimes outsourced to companies like Palantir, with vast data surveillance resources at their disposal. The besuited business goons of the 1980s have been replaced by Silicon Valley bros – one can easily imagine Elon Musk substituting in for main antagonist Dick Jones. Questions remain over the use of AI in policing, especially over whether it could reinforce existing racial prejudices.

Discussing all these points about RoboCop has almost become cliché in itself, to the point where we forget how fun a film it is (vicarious sadism notwithstanding). The performances are deliciously cartoonish in a way rarely seen today, and it features one of the all-time great bad-guy deaths. Rather than undermine any comment about the voyeurism of action cinema, this allows RoboCop to make it’s point more clearly.. Today’s mostly dour action fare is the opposite – faux earnestness in films which only serve to vindicate our violent fantasies.

Rewatching RoboCop feels like welcome relief in a genre which at once takes itself too seriously and has nothing to say. I’d buy THAT for a dollar.

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‘Bait’ review

Bait is an eerie and deeply strange film. Director Mark Jenkin uses editing, sound design and cinematography to maximum effect to baffle, unsettle and build tension to boiling point. This is not the kind of arthouse film that leaves viewers scratching their heads as to what it means, but leaves a deep emotional impression.

The story concerns a Cornish fishing village which now relies on tourism for it’s main source of income. This is a story about community, or rather, the erosion of community by market forces and the relentless march of time. The main character, Martin Ward, has been reduced to a fisherman without a boat, a sad contradiction which does not go unnoticed by the other residents of the town. But when a friend points this out to Martin, that he cannot really be a fisherman because of his lack of a boat, he corrects them: “not yet”.

Martin’s family home has been sold and transformed into holiday accommodation; his brother uses the family boat to take tourists on trips around the bay. Yet still he doggedly clings to his traditional livelihood and relies on leaving nets on the beach to catch fish and lobsters.

Much of Bait’s strangeness comes from Jenkin’s use of 16mm stock, which gives everything a grainy, ghostly quality. Familiar objects like plates, fish heads and pints of beer, held in closeup, seem like artefacts from another world. If you’ve heard anything about this film, it’s probably something to the effect that it is a Cornish culture clash, if the story was told by F. W. Murnau. I suspect that if we were treated to the bright sunshine Cornwall often experiences in August, the film would lose some of it’s menacing edge. It feels like a bad dream, but not a well remembered one.

Jenkins painstakingly edited the film by hand and the effects here are as striking as the monochrome cinematography. There are often half second pauses between lines of dialogue, giving the characters’ conversations a jarring, standoffish quality. Characters are rarely shown talking to each other in the same shot: the camera cuts frequently between Martin and the Leigh family who have bought his old home. The two sides, the local and the metropolitan, are utterly alienated from each other.

“You didn’t have to sell us this house.”
“Didn’t we?”

Choices are forced, desperate measures are taken and people cling to what they believe to be rightly theirs.

The tension rises as Martin stubbornly continues to leave his van in a spot reserved for tourists. Edward Rowe gives Martin a steely-eyed determination, but not without humour. He acerbically comments on the “nautical” feel that Sandra and Tim Leigh have given to his former home, which is now decorated with fishing nets and a porthole. The old way of life has been chewed up and spat out as tourist chic.

There are moments of comedy like this throughout the film, as characters undercut the tension with remarks like “How’s she gonna suck his dick with that plum stuck in her mouth?” The wit of the locals is contrasted against oafish tourists, complaining that surely it must be illegal to start a noisy boat early in the morning (even the mother of the Leigh family, Sandra, recognises the unchanging nature of the tides). Cornish slang, rarely heard on film, is lovingly presented here as another thing that separates the locals from newcomers. Speeches about being considerate to the community are dismissed, because who’s community is it, anyway?

Sandra is sympathetic to Martin, suggesting that the conflict can be resolved. But her daughter has fallen for Martin’s handsome young nephew, Neil, to the ire of Sandra’s stuck up son. The editing contrasting these relationships becomes frantic, with rapid cutting between Sandra and Tin preparing a lobster and Neil cooking pasta with his new girlfriend. At several points during the film there are cut aways to scenes of police outside a house and to a boys heading falling limp on the pier, just like the fish caught by Martin. At first it is not clear whether these are echoes of earlier conflict, or portents of what is yet to come, but the underlying threat of violence grows stronger and stronger. However, when it comes the climax is not what we have been led to expect will happen. The film wrong foots us just when we think we have pieced together the puzzle, in this world where ghosts, both literal and metaphorical, are seen in every corner.

All the sound in the film was added in post-production, contributing to the eerie, dream-like atmosphere. Martin’s boots crunch all around us and fish heads slap onto the pier. A small soundbite of Radio 4 heard in the Leigh’s home hints at Brexit and the debates around controlling the British fishing industry. Yet the conflicts depicted here began longer ago than the 2016 Referendum and will continue long after. This is a richly constructed story about losing one’s place in the world and deserves to be seen as one of the most original films of the decade.

Dune: Part 2

4.5/5

Dune: Part 2 is a gargantuan movie, crashing louder than a sand-worm and flashing brighter than a lasgun. Its domination of the box office and our conversations is all the more impressive when one considers that it’s based on a dense novel drawing on ecological theory and early Islamic history. It is, in a word, spectacular. The 2 hour 40 minute runtime zips by, so densely packed are the thrilling action sequences. Some elements, like the romance between Paul Atriedes and Chani, leave something to be desired, but these are quibbles with what is an astonishing feat of filmmaking.

The story picks off just days, or possibly hours, from where Part 1 left off, with Paul and his mother Jessica hiding out in the desert with the Fremen, the murderous Harkonnens on their tail. The Fremen might prove to be more than a route to safety: some of their members believe Paul to be the Lisan al Gaib, the prophesied messiah who will lead them to victory over their oppressors and bring water back to their planet, Arrakis. If you think that sounds convenient, you’d be right, because this prophecy was cultivated by the Benne Gesserit order to which Jessica belongs. Should Paul, an outsider, assume this mantle? Questions abound about the role of outsiders in resistance forces, and the strength and perils of religious fanaticism.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the galactic Imperium, Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh) learns from her father, the Emperor (Christopher Walken), that it was he who gave the order to whack the Atriedes. This sets Paul on a collision course with the Emperor, and besides this the Harkonnens have schemes of their own. Despite all these threads to follow, the story weaves them together carefully in a way that doesn’t rely too heavily on exposition, apart from a few scene-setting diary entries from Princess Irulan.

Visually, Dune 2 is incredible, and Denis Villeneuve and cinematographer Greig Fraser manage to match or even exceed their achievements from Part 1, with epic desert vistas broken up by crunching action scenes. The fight choreography is brilliant — at many points my heart was in my mouth, Paul’s plot-armour completely forgotten as knives slash and artillery booms. The scene on the Harkonnen home-world of Geidi Prime is a highlight — a monochrome dystopia that feels like Gladiator if it was directed by Jonathan Glazer. These epic set pieces are made possible by brilliant production design, from the architecture of the subterranean Fremen cities to Irulan’s increasingly ornate headgear. All of this combines to make a world that is completely believable, despite its beguiling strangeness. Throw in excellent sound design and an epic score, and you have a film which demands to be seen on the biggest and loudest screen possible.

The cast is even more stellar than last time, and for the most part their performances live up to their billing — with the exception of Christopher Walken, who may as well be the Space Dad from MegaMind. Timothée Chalamet manages to convey Paul’s inner conflict over whether to follow his destiny, but he really comes into his own in the final third of the film, when he unhinges at just the right level (with undeniable shades of Peter O’Toole).

In a departure from the novel, Chani (Zendaya) is sceptical about the prophecy of the Lisan al Gaib, believing that the Fremen shouldn’t rely on an outsider for salvation. Although this is a clever way of externalising Paul’s turmoil, for the most part Zendaya relies on a Disney kid style pout to show her disdain, scowling as other Fremen fawn over Paul. But by the end of the film she comes into her own, showing a potent mixture of fear and devotion. Austin Butler deserves a shout-out for a deliciously scenery-chewing turn as the psychotic villain Feyd Rautha, with a performance as fun as it is disturbing.

There are moments that appear rushed, with Paul’s drinking of the sacred ‘water of life’ lacking the drama it has in the novel, and feels more like trying the local spirit on your gap year than fulfilling a sacred prophecy. Some fans of the book have complained about what Villeneuve and co-writer John Spaihts left out, with Thufir Hawat and the CHOAM Company forgotten about. But the story doesn’t suffer for it, and as with Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings, decisions to slim down the mass of plot avoid the film becoming a bloated mess, and allow the audience to become more deeply immersed in the world.

More controversial is Villeneuve’s flattening of the Islamic overtones of Herbert’s work, such as the erasure of Arabic influences in the Fremen language of Chakobsa (named after a real life language of the Caucasus). Although the film portrays the Arabic nature of Fremen culture, it still feels like a dilution of the source material. Herbert’s use of Islamic culture and history makes his work standout amongst the sci-fi canon, and gives the work a powerful anti-colonial element. The film simplifies this, the Arabic characteristics of the Fremen and the wider universe replaced with a stereotypical noble savage vs. colonial oppressor dynamic. That being said, seeing a skinny white boy call for jihad might not be entirely appropriate in today’s climate.

Villeneuve has nevertheless perfectly captured the surreal atmosphere and epic scale of Herbert’s novel, and in creating a unique and fully-realised world his Dune films are on a par with Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. And like Jackson’s Middle Earth, this world is populated by colourful characters who sometimes manage to crack a joke amidst the peril they find themselves in, lest we get carried away with seriousness. This ambitious and intelligent film is a staggering achievement, and news that Dune: Messiah has been greenlit is music to my ears.

Looking for more like this? Check out: Laurence of Arabia, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Dances With Wolves, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Oscars 2024 recap

Disclaimer — I didn’t watch the ceremony live and I haven’t seen all the films nominated!

2023-24 was a fantastic year for cinema. I can’t remember the last time there was such a strong field of nominees for Best Picture, but it felt like Oppenheimer had it wrapped up months ago, with its wins at the Golden Globes and the BAFTAs leaving victory here feel like a fait accompli. But was it really that good? Oppenheimer certainly has all the hallmarks of a great film: the compelling true story, powerful performances, and the sharp cinematography we have come to associate with Christopher Nolan. But I felt irked by its sense of self-importance, by the obtuse manner in which some timelines are introduced, and by its reverence for its subject without ever quite getting at what was going on in Oppie’s head. Oppenheimer, you might say, ‘insists upon itself.’ Given that Nolan was placed front and centre of the PR campaign, its possible to see the award being given in recognition of his entire career. Few other directors can sell a film on the strength of their personal brand to such a wide audience — a testament to his ability to deliver cinema which is both thrilling and thought-provoking (with only a few exceptions).

Cillian Murphy was the strong favourite for Best Actor, his nearest competition being Paul Giamatti for his hilarious and touching turn in The Holdovers, alongside dark horses in the shape of Jeffrey Wright (American Fiction) and Bradley Cooper (Maestro). If one were to be cynical, Murphy’s performance of a tortured real-life figure is classic Oscar-bait, but its hard to begrudge the 47 year-old Irishman winning the award to cap an excellent and varied career.

The biggest shock of the night was Emma Stone winning Best Actress for her horny-Frankenstein role in Poor Things, beating Lily Gladstone in Killers Of The Flower Moon. Stone excellently depicted Bella Baxter’s growth from child-brained savant to mature woman, with great comic timing to boot, but it feels like another case of the more eye-catching performance winning out. Gladstone was less obviously acting, but I thought her subtle portrayal of the Osage woman Molly Burkhart was heartbreaking. Once again, a Scorsese film is left empty handed after a raft of nominations.

There was strong competition for Best Supporting Actor, from Robert De Niro’s monstrous turn in Killer of the Flower Moon, to Ryan Gosling’s unforgettable role as ‘just’ Ken. All of the nominees had a strong case, but I felt Robert Downey Jr. fully deserved to win for his performance as Lewis Strauss in Oppenheimer, reminding us that when the Iron Man suit comes off, he has some serious chops. But his victory also shows that winning an Oscar for a comedic performance often feels like a long-shot (last year Ke Huy Quan managed to buck the trend with Everything Everywhere…), and that serious performances are treated more, well, seriously.

Da’Vine Joy Randolph deservedly won the Best Supporting Actress for her role as grieving mother and cook Mary Lamb in The Holdovers. It was a funny and sentimental film which avoided tipping into schmalz, a balance encapsulated in Randolph’s performance. One of her best scenes comes with the Christmas party, where Mary visibly wrestles with her grief, eventually letting it out after one too many drinks, but still retaining enough composure to reprimand Giamatti’s character for being an arsehole.

I feel torn over The Boy And The Heron beating Across The Spider-Verse for Best Animated Feature. I thought Miyazaki’s latest offering left the stronger emotional impression, and among all his films it’s one which will benefit the most from repeated viewings. But Spider-Verse completely blew me away with the phantasmagorical worlds it conjures (I haven’t seen the prequel and went in blind). On a purely visual level, I think it edges out The Boy And the Heron — the animation is simply memerising, with it’s inventive use of colour and perspective (at many points I was reminded of cult classic The Thief And The Cobbler). Both are among my favourite films of the past year, which leaves me wondering if we will ever see the day when animated films are judged on the same level as their live-action counterparts? Being nominated for Best Animated Feature still feels a bit like a seat at the kids table, whilst the grown-ups talk about serious things like nuclear war. TBATH and Spider-Verse deal with complex and mature themes such as grief, and finding one’s place in the world, and deserve to be seen as great films, not just great pieces of animation.

It was a shame TBTATH wasn’t even nominated for Best Original Score. Ludwig Göransson’s work on Oppenheimer was excellent, but Joe Hisaishi’s minimalist compositions were the perfect complement to Studio Ghibli’s animation, managing to tug on the heartstrings in quieter moments and heighten the drama in moments of peril — the surging string section in ‘The Curse of the Grey Heron’ being a highlight.

I was overjoyed to see Godzilla Minus One win the award for Best Special Effects (and equally overjoyed to see Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito gleefully announce it). It was a real David vs. Goliath moment, as Godzilla, with a budget of just $15 million triumphed over heavyweights like Guardians Of The Galaxy 3 ($250m) and Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning ($290m). Godzilla Minus One is a testament to what a dedicated and passionate team can do, with their conjuring of a horrific and genuinely frightening monster.

Finally, Cord Jefferson won Best Adapted Screenplay for American Fiction, based on Percival Everett’s Erasure. I haven’t heard so much laughter in the cinema for a long time, and I’m intrigued to dive into Everett’s back catalogue.

The Iron Claw

4/5

The Iron Claw tells the true story of the Von Erich wresting dynasty and the ‘curse’ said to plague them. It’s a familiar tale — a frustrated father, unable to achieve his dream, in this case of becoming world heavyweight champion, who uses his children to vicariously earn a second chance.

Fritz Von Erich, brilliantly played by Holt McCallany, is a crew-cut golem of a man, more drill sergeant than parent, whose sons usually refer to him as ‘sir’. Eldest son Kevin (Zac Ephron) is the main wrestling protégé, whilst his brother David (Harris Dickinson), is training for his ring debut. Completing the family are Olympian-in-training Kerry (Jeremy Allen White, AKA your girlfriend’s favourite actor) and youngest brother and aspiring musician Michael (Stanley Simmons). Fritz openly tells his sons who his favourites are but reminds them “the rankings can always change.” The moment plays as a joke, but it must sting for the least-favourite son (Michael, who didn’t get the wrestling gene). Despite this powder-keg for fraternal rivalry, the boys are devoted to each other. They eat, sleep, workout, and practice their suplexes together.

The brothers’ trajectory starts to accelerate when David, a gifted trash-talker, becomes Kevin’s tag-team partner, his charisma bringing scores of adoring fans. Harris Dickinson might not be as hulking as his co-stars, but he more than makes up for it with a magnetic presence, stealing every scene he is in. The relationship between the brothers is subtly drawn, conveying a lot with small gestures and minimal dialogue. As befitting a wrestling picture, there is a sense of physicality to all the performances: Fritz’s most devastating move isn’t the titular ‘iron claw’ grip, but the way he scowls and crosses his arms in dissatisfaction.

Kevin is the heart of the film (Efron looking absolutely jacked out his tree), watching with frustration as his younger brother supersedes him in the pecking order. Following the American boycott of the 1980 Moscow Olympics, the taciturn Kerry joins his brothers in the ring, and together they take the wrestling world by storm. But the cracks begin to show: pro-wrestling’s results may be staged, but the brothers’ athletic fetes take a brutal toll on their bodies, and David and Kerry develop a taste for partying. Kevin watches from the sideline, his heart promised to local girl Pam (Lily James).

A key moment sees Pam playfully ask Kevin how he can ‘win’ a title, when wrestling is ‘fake’. Kevin explains that wrestlers are rewarded on the quality of their performances — and the Von Erichs leave it all out in the ring, night after night. The Iron Claw reminds us why the ‘combat’ sports biopic is such fertile ground for drama, as the action in the ring becomes an extension of the emotional violence at home. It can’t be an accident that the opening black and white sequence of Fritz beating on a rival echoes Raging Bull. Besides the action, the period setting is sumptuously brought to life: during a tracking shot through a parking lot before a wrestling show, the audience can practically smell the beer and feel the heat of the Texan summer. Scorsese-like touches abound, from the rollocking montage of the Von Erichs on tour, to the close-ups of Kevin’s feet pounding the mat as he practices.

Just as the Von Erichs seem poised to conquer the world, things take a turn for the worse, and the family is beset with one calamity after another. At just over two hours, the film doesn’t overstay its welcome, but the latter half of the story feels rushed. We barely have time to process one disaster before the next one hits. Jeremy Allen White gives a committed performance, but Kerry isn’t fully fleshed out as a character, the frustration he feels at Olympic glory being snatched away seemingly glazed over. By the end of the film we don’t know much about him, other than the fact that he is in enormous pain, both physical and emotional.

Although we are told the story of the whole family, the focus is absolutely on Kevin. Efron’s performance is quietly devastating, as with mere glances he conveys a man struggling to control a maelstrom of emotions, which he doesn’t truly allow himself to feel until the film’s climax. The Iron Claw is both a warning about the pitfalls of extreme masculinity and a paean to fraternal love. I left the cinema ready to hit the gym and hug the boys.

Looking for more like this? Check out: Raging Bull, The Wrestler, …All The Marbles, Dazed & Confused

Napoleon

2/5

Napoleon Bonaparte famously said that “history is a set of lies agreed upon.” Ridley Scott certainly agrees, evidenced by the way his Napoleon plays fast and loose with the facts. The director knows better than most that something as trivial as ‘history’ shouldn’t get in the way of a good story — Gladiator doesn’t win points for accuracy but its certainly exciting. And with Joaquin Phoenix on board again, it feels like a recipe for success. Unfortunately, after a relatively strong start, things go about as well as invading Russia in winter. Some of the battle sequences are impressive but the story connecting them is muddled, and the tone is all over the place. Vanessa Kirby deserves a mention for her strong performance as Napoleon’s first wife Josephine, but she can’t pull this film out of the mud on her own.

Telling Napoleon’s story in film is a Herculean task: some versions of Abel Gance’s silent-era masterpiece clock in at five hours, and Stanley Kubrick spent decades researching a film that never got off the ground. Napoleon was born in 1769 and was exiled to Saint Helena in 1815. To get around this vast timescale, Napoleon focuses on his relationship with Josephine as a thread with which to pull us along. However, as a result some of the historical context is lost, making for a disorientating viewing experience. Their relationship is a turbulent one: there are spats, food fights, and rutting under the dinner table. The point made is that, in private the great man was insecure and petulant. That’s an interesting point, but its not developed further — the characters are mostly static.

The battle scenes are one of the main reasons why we’re here, and a thrilling nighttime attack at the Siege of Toulon starts things with a bang. The violence is suitably horrific and there are hints shown of Napoleon’s burgeoning tactical brilliance. Compared to this, the Battle of Austerlitz feels like a letdown. The scene is beautiful, with charging armies silhouetted against the white snow. But the feeling, watching what is arguably Napoleon’s greatest achievement on the battlefield, is one of anticlimax. It seems Scott is so invested in the visual pay-off of soldiers plunging to their deaths as artillery shells a frozen lake, that he rushes too quickly to get there, without setting up the tension beforehand. This problem is partly a narrative one, as Austerlitz and other key moments pop out of nowhere. We aren’t told why there is a battle, or why it is so important. As a result, it never really feels like anything is at stake when the guns are firing. The film feels directionless, a montage of events seemingly plucked at random from Napoleon’s life.

There are other moments with great visual flourish, such as Napoleon’s coronation as emperor and the burning of Moscow. Here, we really feel the scale of the historical events unfolding. But for the most part the spectacle is spoiled by the cold blue filter used in almost every scene — a baffling choice for an era when military uniforms were at their most vibrant. This is even stranger when one considers Scott’s very first film — The Duelists — a beautifully shot Napoleonic-era story, which at times looks like a painting brought to life.

The dialogue is often cringe-inducing. How did they let that line about boats get through? And why does someone reference the “succulent Chinese meal” during Napoleon’s coup? The intent here is to poke fun at Napoleon the Great Man, and to remove the veil of seriousness from history by playing up the farcical nature of many world-changing events. Some moments work — I particularly liked the scene showing the Coup of 18th Brumaire, when Napoleon finds himself running for his life from a mob of angry Jacobins. But overall, the film strives too hard for irreverence — it feels like Scott and writer David Scarpa can’t decide if they want to make The Favourite or Sergey Bondarchuck’s Waterloo. Speaking of Waterloo, a moment of praise here for Rupert Everett as General Wellington, who appears to be having the time of his life and utterly steals the show.

Much has been made of the film’s historical inaccuracies, and Scott’s bullish (and hilarious) responses to these accusations. The problem is that these moments of ‘artistic license,’ like firing a cannonball at the pyramids, do nothing to improve the story.Take the decision to bring Josephine’s death back in time, to the Hundred Days, when Napoleon has returned from exile to reclaim power. In reality, Josephine died whilst Napoleon was in exile on the island of Elba. Would it not have been more emotionally powerful for him to learn of his great love passing away whilst he is marooned and isolated?

The Waterloo scene is pants-on-head levels of stupid, with Napoleon personally leading a cavalry charge and a sniper (what is this? Call of Duty: Napoleon?) managing to shoot through his famous bicorne hat. This absurdity would be forgivable in a better film. It’s worth a comparison here to Gladiator. Most history enthusiasts know that Emperor Commodus wasn’t killed by a gladiator in the Colosseum, but we don’t care because the film is tremendously good fun and has characters we care about.

Cinema is not history, but the best historical films can convey the ‘spirit’ of an age, or a person. I learnt very little about Napoleon from this film. What drove him to conquer most of Europe? Why were so many people inspired by him, and willing to lay down their lives for him? A man famously described by Hegel as “the world-spirit on horseback” often seems like nothing more than a bloke in the right place at the right time, the whole ‘emperor’ thing just an idea his brother and Talleyrand cooked up one day for the hell of it. Watching Phoenix, one does not feel that we are witnessing the most brilliant military commander of the age (possibly of any age). It’s one of those rare films which might actually benefit from being longer (a four hour version is on its way), to improve the confusing pacing. It’s not a completely awful film, just wasted potential. It might not be the epic we wanted, but its perfect fodder for when you get back from the pub and decide to watch whatever’s on ITV2 whilst you sober up.

Looking for more films like this? Check out: The Duellists, Barry Lyndon, Master & Commander, Waterloo

Killers of the Flower Moon

4/5

“They’re the finest, the wealthiest and most beautiful people on God’s earth. They’re a big-hearted people, but sickly” intones a character near the start of Killers of the Flower Moon. We then see an Osage man lying on the ground, foaming at the mouth. This being a Martin Scorsese film, just being ‘sickly’ doesn’t seem like a likely explanation. It is the Reign of Terror, a period when over 60 members of the Osage tribe of Native Americans died in mysterious circumstances, from roughly 1918-1931. Killers of the Flower Moon, based on David Grann’s 2017 true crime book, is an epic tragedy, which focuses on the true story of one marriage and the scarcely believable betrayal that unfolded within it. At over three hours, it also has an epic runtime. Potential viewers will be asking themselves – ‘is it worth it?’ We’ll get to that eventually, but first let’s set the scene.

The Osage had been ejected from their native lands in the late nineteenth century and shunted off to a barren reservation in what is now Oklahoma. Their fortunes suddenly changed when huge oil deposits were discovered underground, which led to the tribe becoming some of the richest people per capita in the world by the early 1920s. Unsurprisingly, this reversal of the usual power balance between natives and whites didn’t end well for the tribe.

Ernest Burkhardt, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, comes to Osage County to seek work with his wealthy uncle, William ‘King’ Hale, played by Robert DeNiro. Hale was one of the most powerful men in the county, who also professed a deep love for the Osage, even speaking their language. DeNiro’s Hale is amiable, yet self-important to the point of menace. Like many of the ambitious, greedy men in Scorsese’s films, it seems like he does not let anything get in the way of what he wants. Hale has total control over Ernest, encouraging him to date and then marry an Osage woman named Mollie. Although their romance is genuinely sweet, from the start it is tinged with forebodings, as Hale has told Ernest that marrying Mollie will give him (by extension Hale himself) access to Mollie’s ‘headright’, her personal oil fortune as a member of the tribe.

The body count continues to rise, and Mollie’s own sister Anna is found shot dead in a creek, but with the bullet nowhere to be found. In desperation the Osage seek help from the Federal Government, who assign the case to the fledgling Bureau of Investigation, later renamed as the FBI. Whereas David Grann’s book delved into the weeds of the Bureau’s investigation and the lives of the men conducting it, Scorsese and co-writer Eric Roth shift the focus to Mollie and Ernest’s relationship. One of the most affecting scenes is when Mollie stops Ernest from shutting the window as the rain starts to pour, and instead telling him to sit quietly and listen to the rain. This moment, when Mollie gently instructs Ernest in her way of life, came from Scorsese’s conversations with current members of the Osage and is testament to his efforts to accurately depict the tribe’s culture. The tragedy that befalls Mollie is a microcosm of the one which befalls the entire Osage tribe – maybe even the one which befell America’s entire native population. Her grief is foregrounded, helped by Lily Gladstone’s powerful performance. Although mostly calm in the face of the storm, there are heartbreaking moments when her sadness overwhelms her.

It’s great to see DiCaprio and DeNiro, Scorsese’s two favourite leading men, acting opposite each other for the first time in years. Some might find the resulting gurn-off tiresome but I enjoyed watching how Ernest becomes a feeble imitation of the formidable Hale, trying his best tough-guy act on one of his cronies. Although this part of the story is morbidly fascinating, at times its easy to mix up the various bootleggers and outlaws who populate Osage County. A film this long can be hard to follow – I was confused as to when Mollie and Ernest’s children entered the picture, and the Federal investigation feels weirdly rushed, with little time given to the various undercover agents who pop up. There is however a great turn from Jesse Plemons as Tom White, the agent leading the investigation.

Despite these flaws, the film is completely engrossing and deserves its length (although it would benefit from an interval at showings). There are all the Scorsese trademarks, from virtuoso tracking shots, to genuinely shocking violence. It feels like a film you live through with the characters, especially Molly, who faces one tragedy after another. However, I can’t shake the feeling that Scorsese sets out to test the patience of his audiences (given his opinion on Marvel films), in order to separate the true believers from the casuals.

The film can be seen as a statement on the banality of evil, given how casually the villains are able to arrange a murder, and the brazenness of the crimes against the Osage. This evil may be hiding in plain sight, a friendly face in the community, or even within your own family. The film’s greatest horror is the realisation that those someone close to you has done something unspeakable, transforming them suddenly into someone you do not know – a monster. Can we believe this the same person we used to love? Killers is also a powerful reminder that much of America’s prosperity was built on the oppression and murder of its indigenous population. Critics have noted that the film could have given more agency to Mollie, making her and the Osage more than just helpless victims, but she is given a powerful final scene in which she is able to reclaim some dignity. Scorsese has shone a light on a forgotten era of American history, one which shows the violence against its native peoples sadly did not end with the closing of the frontier.

Looking for more films like this? Check out: There Will Be Blood, Thunderheart, Dances With Wolves, Memories Of Murder

Asteroid City

3/5

We all know what to expect from a Wes Anderson film. Pastel colours, fast, deadpan dialogue, immaculately crafted sets, and his signature cinematography style in which the background feels completely flat compared to the characters. 2014’s Grand Budapest Hotel was arguably the peak of this approach (and Anderson’s commercial breakthrough), combining gorgeous aesthetics with real emotional weight. But there has been a sense that in recent films, Anderson has regressed into self-parody. The dialogue is too fast paced, the aesthetics too twee, and too many A-listers popping up in minor roles. Is Wes phoning it in?

Despite my scepticism, I couldn’t help but be pulled in by the premise for Asteroid City. The setting of 1950s America seems perfect for Anderson’s style, with its innocent atmosphere and undercurrent of darkness, not least from the looming threat of nuclear annihilation. The story sees a motley cast of people converge on the titular town in south western America, for the annual Junior Star Gazers competition – sponsored by the United States military (more on the meta-setting of the televised play later). Many of the classic Andersonian themes are present: coming of age, represented by the precocious tweens displaying their scientific inventions; grief, personified by Jason Schartzmann’s recently windowed war photographer; and bungling authorities, in the form of the army, led by oddball General Gibson, played by Jeffrey White. Things go pear-shaped when the competition is interrupted by what appears to be an alien visitor, and the town is quickly placed under lockdown by the army.

The setting allows Anderson to have loads of fun, showing a quaint, slightly malfunctioning version of the American Dream. The town’s motel has a coin machine for everything, from cocktails to real estate (pop in a coin, buy a plot of land). There are some great bit-parts, such as Matt Dillon’s mechanic, completely bewildered by the fault in Augie Steenbeck’s (Schwartzmann) broken down car. The dialogue, sharp has ever, is some of the funniest I’ve heard in an Anderson film, particularly the lines involving one of the child geniuses, J.J., who is constantly asking the people around him to dare to do something stupid and dangerous, much to the exasperation of his father, played by Liv Schreiber.

Everyone gets their moment, but there are too many moments, too many threads to follow, for us to really care about any of the characters the way we cared about Gustav and Zero in Grand Budapest Hotel. Jason Schwartzmann is the heart of the film, and he does convey a great deal of wistfulness in his gazes across the motel, and the way he tries to do his best for his children. The other main problem is the film’s ‘real’ setting – a television programme about the creation of a play, ‘Asteroid City,’ written by esteemed playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). In this sense, the action that takes place in ‘Asteroid City’ is not real in the context of the film. I’m sure Anderson is making a thoughtful comment about artistic creation, but even in this setting we are overwhelmed by characters and subplots, like the theatre director whose wife has left him for a baseball star. We don’t see quite enough of the meta-setting to really get why it’s important, and at times seeing the cast playing other actors and their Asteroid City characters in the ‘play’ feels like a (much, much more) whimsical parallel to Tom Ford’s Nocturnal Animals. I feel the film would have been stronger if the play element was cut entirely, and we could spend some more time with the people of ‘Asteroid City.’

The film grasps at depth, but doesn’t quite reach it. The whimsy is certainly there, but it lacks the peril provided by the onset of war and genocide in Grand Budapest Hotel, or the threatening presence of the social workers in Moonrise Kingdom. There are hints of this, such as when things get dicey between Liv Schreiber, wielding his son’s homemade death ray, and a soldier trying to maintain order. Asteroid City lives in the shadow of the Cold War, with atom bombs exploding in the distance (take note Christopher Nolan) and General Gibson’s warning to the children that “if you wanted a nice quiet life, you chose the wrong time to be born” (in what feels like Trotsky reference). But ultimately the General isn’t much of a bad guy, just another character caught up in the chaos. Which isn’t entirely a bad thing – the film zips along at pace (1 hour 45 minutes feels like a breeze compared to most films these days) and is tremendously good fun.

Looking for more films like this? Check out: Moonrise Kingdom, Back to the Future, Matinée, Nope

‘Tenet’ review

A few people had told me watching Tenet was a waste of time. It was too hard to follow. It didn’t make sense. Or simply: it was boring. I don’t have a problem with films which are difficult to understand, even after repeated viewings. There’s something enjoyable in sitting back and letting a film wash over you, appreciating the form even if the content is confusing. Tenet is not such a film. The action set pieces are too convoluted to be enjoyed for their own sake, and are stitched together by tiresome and confusing exposition, without a truly compelling story.

This is an action film in which we’re never quite sure what’s going on. Whatever the stakes are, we are repeatedly assured they are very high. It could the end of the world… or worse. The future is sending technology back to the present, which allows time to be “inverted” by reversing the process of entropy. Bullets are caught by guns, cars reverse at terrifying speed and explosions cause hypothermia. John David Washington stars as a CIA agent who encounters this technology during an operation at a Kiev opera house, where a masked operative “unfires” a bullet through a hostile gunman. Later, he is recruited by the mysterious Tenet organisation, set up to prevent a future cataclysm caused by the new technology.

Washington’s character, known only as the Protagonist, tracks the inverted bullets to Andrei Sator, a Russian arms dealer, played by Kenneth Branagh. Sator is being used as an intermediary by an unknown entity in the future, but his personal motivations are unclear. The only way to get to him is through his estranged wife Kat (Elizabeth Debicki), who unknowingly sold Sator a forged Goya drawing. “His painting is his hold over me” Kat tells the Protagonist. Obviously the issue is not that Sator controls Kat’s access to their son, it’s the drawing.

We’re really here for the action, which in Nolan films often provokes head scratching as well as excitement. There is a high-tech heist at Oslo airport involving crashing a plane into a hangar, where a masked gunman, moving in reverse, attacks the Protagonist. It’s one of the film’s best moments, thanks in part to a pulsating and original score. Both men tumble about in different directions and grapple over a gun that flies about as if it has a mind of it’s own. There are other sequences, such as a car chase in Estonia, where Nolan keeps it simple (by his standards) and the results are a joy to watch.

Unfortunately, most of the film gets tangled up in it’s own logic, the time dynamic serving to obfuscate the action rather than excite. Early on the Protagonist is advised “Don’t try to understand it. Feel it”, which feels like Nolan telling the audience to go with the flow. But the film feels cold. Where Interstellar was able to overcome it’s reliance on ponderous exposition through emotional melodrama, Tenet is disorientating to the point of frustration. The tension never rises because the mechanics at play are too complex, which seems to miss the point entirely of what is essentially a spy film.

The Protagonist is accompanied by an agent named Neil, played by a wonderfully droll Robert Pattinson. There are glimmers of great chemistry between the two men, although this is hampered by jargon-filled dialogue – something Nolan is prone too. As a result the character interactions feel clumsy and awkward. Quips intended to undercut the seriousness don’t quite land, although I did enjoy a line about high-vis vests which reminded me of a certain Australian cartoon.* Clichés abound, from the gruff cockney soldier (think Gaz from COD 4), to the sinister Russian trying to destroy the world. On that note, Branagh’s best moments are not when he growls about nuclear warheads, but with the disdain and violence he displays towards Kat. The characters pop up in a variety of exotic locations, but some scenes feel like they were cut from an advert for M&S’s summer collection.

Throughout the action, we are never sure who is pulling the strings of Tenet. There is a twist to the end which redefines all the events we’ve been watching – the idea is to invite repeat viewings, but the film is too much hard work for that and lacks an emotional core. Scores of films use time travel as a plot device or thematic centre, but there is none of the desperate fatalism of Twelve Monkeys or the sheer fun of Avengers: Endgame. When Neil mentions his master’s in physics, the Protagonist tells him to “try and keep up” with what’s going on. Clearly this is a “big brain” film. But to quote Roger Ebert “To the degree that I do understand, I don’t care.”

*one Nolan paying tribute to another?

‘The Lighthouse’ Review

There’s something spooky about the sea. Writers from Homer to Hemingway have known how it drives people mad, and writer-director Robert Eggers has created a maritime psychodrama to make your skin crawl. A treasure trove of filmmaking techniques, including striking black and white cinematography and a pulsating score, help make The Lighthouse as entertaining as it is disturbing.

Two men, played by Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, are sent to watch over an isolated lighthouse off the coast of 19th century New England. Dafoe’s Thomas Wake, the senior of the two, is the archetypal “old man of the sea”: he seems to have stepped straight from the pages of Moby Dick, down to the wooden leg and pipe perpetually hanging out of his mouth. Efraim Winslow, played by Pattinson, is just looking to earn a living, having abandoned a logging job in Canada. “Wickies” make good money, he heard. Unfortunately, Efraim must put up with almost constant admonishment from his fellow lighthouse keeper; when Thomas isn’t berating Efraim for improperly carrying out his duties, he rambles about his old life on the waves and barks about how it’s bad luck to kill a seabird. Superstitious nonsense, surely?

Most frustratingly of all, Thomas insists that he alone tends to the light at the top of the tower. It’s hard to know what’s worse: this unfair rule, the back breaking labour, or Thomas’s constant farting, but being a wickie doesn’t seem like such a great gig anymore. With relief just days away, a storm closes in on the island, leaving the men stranded as the tension between them boils over.

The film becomes become increasingly surreal, as Efraim is afflicted by disturbing visions that would make Poseidon blush. It’s understandable for a man to get lonely when he only has seagulls for company, but these scenes will really make you look at The Little Mermaid differently. The stark black and white cinematography allows for some truly arresting images, as tentacles slither around corners and bodies are glimpsed beneath the waves. However, it remains ambiguous as to whether something supernatural is afoot, or if it’s all a deranged dream.

Comic absurdity continues to lurk beneath the surface, such as when a crate thought to contain rations is found to be full of alcohol – by this point the two men are already consuming enough booze to put Ernest Hemingway in a coma. One moment Thomas and Efraim are warmly sharing stories, and the next they’re ready to kill each other. As the dread builds, I couldn’t help but remember the Simpsons episode where Homer and Mr Burns become trapped under an avalanche together. Sirens and krakens may be scary, but there’s nothing more terrifying than losing one’s grip on reality, especially when the passage of time itself is becoming meaningless.

Pattinson and Dafoe are excellently cast. Their angular faces and deep-set eyes reveal a multitude of shadows in the film’s monochrome cinematography, allowing Eggers to show emotions with a simple change of lighting. It is often unclear who is going mad, or indeed who is the madder of the two. Dafoe gives plenty of theatrical heft. At once comic and threatening, Thomas is a man full of secrets, but it’s unclear just how dangerous he is. Pattinson continues his superb run of recent performances, presenting Efraim as a desperate but sympathetic character, pushed to the brink of sanity by his circumstances. A note of praise is also due for the terrific facial hair sported by both actors, surely deserving of an award of it’s own.

Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke’s sharp imagery shows how decrepit the environment is, with black ooze splattering from taps and dead seagulls floating in the cistern. Compared to this, the light itself seems impossibly pure, and for Efraim, tantalisingly out of reach. One begins to sense that none of this is going to end well, and the narrow aspect ratio feels claustrophobic. While the film is short on conventional jump scares, the dynamic score helps create some genuinely shocking moments.

Eggers throws in references to Greek myth, Shakespeare and H.P. Lovecraft, but one doesn’t get the sense of a deeper a meaning to be uncovered. Watching The Lighthouse is an experience, one designed to make you feel rather than think. “Enjoyable” seems the wrong word for a film that seems intent on pushing it’s audience to the brink of sanity, but losing your mind rarely feels this fun.

‘The Rise of Skywalker’ Review

This review contains spoilers

“The Empire, your parents, the Resistance, the Sith, the Jedi… let the past die.”

I was reminded of Kylo Ren’s speech to Rey in The Last Jedi whilst watching The Rise of Skywalker, as I began to wish we could do one better and put this seemingly interminable franchise to rest. The ninth instalment in cinema’s favourite space opera is a crowd pleasing effort from J.J. Abrams, but feels hollow and unsatisfying. When we rejoin our heroes Rey, Poe and Finn, the Resistance is on the ropes after escaping total annihilation by the skin of their teeth. To make matters worse, Emperor Palpatine has mysteriously returned, setting events in motion that threaten the entire galaxy and will force Rey to confront who she really is…

So far, so exciting. What follows is a lot of people running around trying to find things whilst the forces of evil chase after them. There are some great action sequences along the way, including an adrenaline-fuelled chase across the desert and an awesome lightsaber duel set amongst crashing waves. J.J. Abrams has not lost his flair for big sci-fi set pieces, but these are let down by the story connecting them. Where The Last Jedi’s subversive intent bordered on incoherence, The Rise of Skywalker feels like someone fed a bunch of Star Wars related words into a computer, which then spat out this script. Planet destroying weapons? Check. The Sith making a mysterious comeback? Check. Lando Calrissian arriving in the nick of time? Check. We even visit the ruins of the Death Star, which is odd because I seem to remember it was blown into a million pieces at the end of Return of the Jedi. But who cares? Just play the Imperial March and no one will notice. Naming the new bad guys ‘The Final Order’ is really phoning it in, although one supposes it makes sense that they follow the First Order (no Middle Order then?).

The Force Awakens was an enjoyable romp, but felt like it relied on self-reflexive references for emotional weight, like shots of Daisy Ridley curled up in the carcass of an AT-AT walker (remember when Star Wars created iconography instead of recycling it?)*. This time out Abrams has gone into nostalgia overdrive in order to please fans. Much has been written about how this film ‘retcons’ Rian Johnson’s previous outing, particularly in relegating Kelly Marie Tran’s Rose to the sidelines. Despite her blossoming romance with Finn in TLJ, here she barely gets a look-in. It is hard not to see this as Abrams giving into the trolls, although I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he wanted to focus on the trilogy’s core characters. Daisy Ridley turns in her best performance yet: Rey’s transformation into a steely eyed warrior is one of the strongest threads of the trilogy. Oscar Isaac is on reliably good form as fighter ace Poe, but Finn has almost been reduced to a sidekick. This is a shame given that John Boyega still approaches the role with gusto, for a character who previously served as a point of view character for audiences. An ordinary foot soldier who got his hands on a Jedi’s weapon almost by chance, Finn made lightsabers exciting again.

As with any Star Wars film, there are some great visuals, especially on the Sith stronghold of Exegol. Unfortunately, RoS also continues George Lucas’ tradition of clunky dialogue. We even hear Palpatine remind us that “the Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to abilities that some consider unnatural”. If Abrams is going to rip-off old dialogue wholesale, I’d prefer he did it with more irony.

The story feels rushed, in no small part due to the consistently false peril the characters find themselves in. Rey believes she has blown up a ship with Chewie on board, only to learn that for some reason, she and the audience got it mixed up with another ship. Similarly, Finn and Poe are about to be executed, until General Hux shoots the stormtroopers instead, revealing himself to be the First Order turncoat we’ve heard so much about. Such deus ex moments are not uncommon in action cinema, but here they are employed as cheap tools to dig out of plot holes, instead of developing the plot or ratcheting up the excitement.

Before anyone accuses me of shooting fish in barrels, I believe the film’s flaws are more than the usual sins that be can pinned on mainstream action blockbusters.
Avengers: Endgame showed how epic franchises can reach exciting, emotionally satisfying conclusions, whilst maintaining the balance of gravity and humour which modern audiences crave. Abrams’ Star Trek reboots were exciting films with punchy storytelling. Assessed on its own terms, The Rise of Skywalker feels lazy, even cynical. Writing Rey as Palpatine’s granddaughter is a particularly cheap attempt to leverage drama, not to mention raising questions over when or indeed how the old git managed to pass on his genes (I’m unfortunately reminded of playground arguments over whether Darth Vader could procreate).

Much like Yoda warned that fear leads to hate, it feels like franchises lead to greed, which leads to crappy films, which lead to suffering (audiences). I hope we can finally lay Star Wars to rest, although I suspect that, like Luke Skywalker’s ghost, it will continue to reappear.

*George Lucas’ original trilogy mined a vein of pulp fantasy epitomised by Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, repurposing them to create something new and exciting, but also somewhat nostalgic. Frederic Jameson and Mark Fisher have dealt with this at greater length.