300

Based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller, this latest comic-book venture by director Zack Snyder works best when it doesn’t deviate from the source material.

Chronicling the last weeks of King Leonidas (Gerard Butler) at the Battle Of Thermopylae in 480BC, it has hardly any basis in fact except for the names. Rather it’s a bloody procession of visually stunning skirmishes with a variety of weird and wonderful opponents.

The 300 of the title are the three hundred Spartan warriors that fought under King Leonidas against their much higher numbered opponents. They fight with spear and shield, displaying exceptional strategy. While the fight scenes should become boring and predictable, the visual beauty helps them through.

Instead, it’s the scenes with all the talking and substance that let the film down. With no basis in the book, obviously tacked-on scenes about politics and whatnot – hell, even the sex isn’t that interesting, as pretty as the queen (Lena Headey) is – drag along. Especially when compared with the cartoonishly realistic sprays of blood, the stampede of elephants and rhinos, and the roar of the Spartan guard.

Whilst the story might lag, visually it has everything to offer. It stays firmly a representation of the book (except the Spartans have a bit more clothing on). Some shots are directly taken from Miller’s inspired drawings, and even the shadow of a spear has stunning purpose. From the lowliest hunchback to the androgynous god-king, the film is a sight to behold.

If you can stay awake through all the talking, that is.

TMNT

Cowabunga, dudes!

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (or TMNT, as they’re calling themselves these days) are back on the big screen for the first time since 1993.

And they haven’t lost a bit of their spark.

Loosely following the events of the other films, but with a style all its own, the turtles – Raph, Leo, Mikey, and Don – are back to their 80s glory, this time in total CG form.

Whilst the CGI is briefly distracting at the beginning, it quickly becomes its own reality, lending the characters the heartfelt unrealism they already oozed from every reptilian pore.

The film itself can only be described as fun – it’s big, it’s dumb, it’s full of the usual one-liners, and yes, it’s funny as hell. The plot doesn’t really matter – it’s riddled with holes anyway and is more predictable than the fate of a turtle’s pizza – but suffice to say it’s populated with enough stone warriors, monsters, immortal beings, helmeted vigilantes and ninja skills to while away 2 hours in blissful nostalgic bedlam.

And then there are the heavenly mentions of a sequel…

Hors de Prix (Priceless)

It’s the usual story: hooker meets valet, hooker thinks valet’s a millionaire, hooker and valet screw each other over, valet becomes gigolo to impress hooker… sparks fly.

Okay, so maybe it’s not quite that simple, but giving everything away would diminish the fun of what is, essentially, a wonderfully put-together French farce.

Directed by Pierre Salvatori, the film is one extravagant location, one dazzling outfit after another. It’s eye-candy at its best, beautiful, yet fun and flirty at the same time.

Audrey Tautou (Amélie) plays the girl – Iréne – a money-grubbing babe who picks up rich men and sticks around long enough to get a marriage out of them. Comedy is clearly Tautou’s forte, and though she is a little shrill at times, her flirtations and temper tantrums are a delight to watch.

Gad Elmaleh is a perfect sounding board to her scheming ways. His valet-turned-toyboy Jean is wonderfully expressive, not to mention brilliant at slapstick and physical comedy.

But if anyone steals the show, it’s Jean’s sugar-mummy Madeleine (Marie-Christine Adam), who is an utter delight as she manipulates her young lover, her facial expressions alone carrying the movie from amusing rom-com into delightful farce.

Priceless is a sumptuous, guilty pleasure, required viewing for those of us who have become disillusioned with the state of Hollywood romance and seeking a much better way to fill a couple of hours. It’s forgettable, but is a joy while it lasts and a stunning piece of eye-candy.

(Released 5th April, 2007 - some theatres)

Hot Fuzz

It’s hard to follow up Shaun Of The Dead. One of the most innovative black-parodies ever created, not to mention one of the funniest comedies in a very long time.

Writing duo Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright return again for their special brand of fun-poking genre-comedy, this time focused on buddy cop films and again directed by Wright. With firepower instead of pool-cues this time, it manages to chase hot-on-the-heels of Shaun’s laugh-counter, and makes a brilliant return to comedy for stars Pegg and Nick Frost.

It all takes place in small-town Sandford, Gloucestor. A rural town where not much happens (except that it seems to be populated by a who’s-who of British comedy), Constable Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is sent to be the new Seargent when his London superiors realise that his excellent abilities as a police officer are making the rest of the service look bad by comparison.

But all is not as it seems in idyllic Sandford…

Taking all the best parts of action cinema and turning it on its head, the film swerves between clever nods and out-and-out plagiarism, but always with a genial respect melded with the piss-taking. Frost’s PC Butterman, Angel’s small-town partner, is a delightfully stupid foil to Pegg’s straight-laced, straight-faced Seargeant, providing most of the laughs. The supporting cast are also brilliant – Timothy Dalton’s oily supermarket magnate is a standout, as is the motley crew of coppers (headed by Jim Broadbent), and Bill Nighy’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo as London’s Chief Inspector.

Wright has turned the hallmarks of Shaun into his own personal trademarks. Apart from being filled with in-jokes (Cornetto, anyone?), the director is developing a recognisable style, populated by graphic matches, whooshing scene-changes, and frenetic cutting.

It’s politically incorrect, offensive, and fantastically violent (it’s an action movie by the zombie guys! What did you expect?), but apart from a slight lag in the middle, it’s a laugh-a-minute extravaganza of some of the best comedy ever to be committed to film.

Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer

(First posted March 14th, 2007)

Of all the senses, it is the sense of smell that has least been explored in the realm of the silver screen. And with good reason. How do you possibly translate a sense so limitlessly varying and so personal an experience into one that can be encapsulated with sound and images?

Director Tom Twyker (Run, Lola, Run) takes on the onerous task of translate the olfactory to the audiovisual, in his film Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer. Adapted from German author Patrick Süskind’s ‘Das Parfum’, it tells the story of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw), born in the stench of eighteenth century Paris, who possesses a unique and powerful sense of smell.

Whishaw’s Grenouille is a striking character, though whether he can be considered a character is debatable. He is rather a state of mind, an anthropomorphic quest to find the world’s greatest aroma through any means necessary, his permanently mystified gaze a testament to the skill of the actor at manipulating his character’s emotion with subtle strength.

Through the brilliant uses of colour, sound, and cinematography, it becomes astoundingly easy to follow Grenouille’s olfactory expedition. Every scent is laid bare in a way that is astonishing in its ingenuity, and even for those not blessed with a sympathetic sense of smell, the film is a visual masterpiece.

However in the story it falls short. The narrative is excellent, an intriguing tale of murder and desire, yet the characters struggle to elect a protagonist. At times it is the tormented Grenouille we align with, yet just as quickly we can become immersed in hatred for him, and sympathy for his victims. While this could have been used to great effect, the transition is not as seamless as it needs to be, lending a feeling of unwelcome disconcertion.

Still, with flawless acting (Alan Rickman and Rachel Evan-Wood are outstanding, though it is Dustin Hoffman who runs off with his portion of the show), and with a delicate use of his audiovisual facilities, Twyker’s film is a superb example of the power cinema can wield in the right hands. A definite must-see, if only for the rare chance to see something truly different and breathtaking.

Tenacious D: The Pick Of Destiny

(First posted February 9, 2007)


Tenacious D: The Pick Of Destiny is pretty much what you’d expect. A singularly rocksome affair, filled with laughs, silliness, Jack Black’s usual face-pulling, and rocking tunes. Oh, and Satan.

Teaming the writing talents of ‘The D’ (Jack Black and Kyle Gass) with Liam Lynch (the United States Of Whatever guy), this was always going to be a fun ride, hellbent on being as ridiculous and puerile as possible (listen to D classic Fuck Her Gently and you’ll get the idea). And in that it delivers, creating something so unashamedly juvenile it’s more than a guilty pleasure.

The story: two overweight, face-pulling wannabe rock stars go on the road to find the ‘pick of destiny’, a legendary guitar pick made from Satan’s tooth, so they can win an open-mic contest and pay the rent, is nothing short of genius, and just what we’d come to expect. It’s full of sight-gags, general slapstick, and cocksucking jokes, but they’re given such a vibrantly fresh feel it’s impossible to compare this with other crass comedies (Epic Movie, anyone?).

Not only is it a fun dig at just about everyone crossing the D’s path to glory, it’s also a great game of ‘spot the celeb’, with hilariously memorable cameos from Meatloaf, Dave Grohl, John C Reilly and Ben Stiller. But it’s Tim Robbin’s momentary role that steals the whole show.

Not for everyone, of course. The uninitiated will be left scratching their heads and wondering why Shallow Hal is swearing so much. But for the Tenacious D fans out there, it’s a must-see.

Stranger Than Fiction

(First posted January 31st, 2007)

If movies were soft drink, Stranger Than Fiction would be Diet Kaufman.

It has the imaginative plot, the touches of the surreal, the wry comedy of the Charlie Kaufman school of film-making, yet Marc Forster’s dramatically black comedy is missing that extra bit of punch.

The concept is genius – writer Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson, wearing no make-up) is suffering from a severe case of writer’s block in the matter of killing off her main character, not realising that said character is a real person – Harold Crick (Will Ferrell). And here’s the kicker – he can hear her narration in his head.

Yet the film is riddled with too many plot holes. How do we account for the events that Eiffel is not narrating? Why on earth would Maggie Gyllenhaal’s socially defiant baker fall for an IRS auditor that looks like Will Ferrell?

These, and other questions, are not answered in the quest for finding some sort of human truth that tugs at the heartstrings and makes us laugh. Yet neither of these are done in adequate measure.

That’s not to say it’s a bad film – it’s entertaining and has quite a number of brilliant moments; the acting is outstanding (Dustin Hoffman’s literary professor, especially, is wonderful) – but there’s just something missing. Something that could have moved this experience from the cautiously engaging into the truly rousing.

El Laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth)

(First posted January 13th, 2007)

1944, rural Spain. Such is the backdrop for Guillermo del Toro’s Labyrinthian effort, a dark and twisted fantasy set beside a dark and twisted reality.

Both fantasy and reality tell the story of Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), a pre-teen sent to live on an army base with her pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) and new stepfather (Sergo López), the latter a brutal and unhinged army captain with a penchant for torture and impulsive murder.

Obsessed with fairytales, Ofelia creates fantasy in her own mind until she comes across a faun, Pan, (Doug Jones) in a dilapidated stone maze on the base grounds.

Though it may sound like earlier fantasy incarnations such as Wizard of Oz or the similarly titled Labyrinth, this is not a movie for children. The majority of the film focuses on conflict: between the army and the rebels, between the main characters (including Maribel Verdú’s stunning performance as sympathetic servant Mercedes), between fantasy and reality. The violence is unflinching, visceral to the point of disturbing, and the dark, overcast tones are almost as unsettling.

Then there’s the fantasy. The creatures are fantastical, certainly, but carry with them the sort of darkness one should always associate with the grimmest of fairytales. Disney this ain’t, more a reflection of a mind so consumed and surrounded by atrocity.

But even though the frames are painted with the darkest brush, it’s not all doom and gloom. In Ofelia, a sense of innocence is found. Reality is not black and white, rather a state of mind consumed by adulthood.

There are very few drawbacks. Some of the symbolism is inspired, the costume and set design are artistic masterpieces, yet retain their staunch realism. But though the reality aspect of the film is explored to the fullest and most effective, some of the fantasy sequences feel short and lack sufficient build-up (especially a scene involving a giant toad). This is a minor drawback, however, and cannot diminish the impact of what is a brilliantly visual, emotional, and psychological journey.

And if you don’t like the symbolic stuff, there’s some pretty cool monsters.

Marie Antoinette

(first posted December 27, 2006)


Director/writer/famous relative Sofia Coppola’s watchword seems to be ‘slow’. Previous films The Virgin Suicides and Lost In Translation have been slowburn dramas with strangely flat story arcs and no particular climax.

But while these two films have found their strengths in strong character development and emphasis on detail, Marie Antoinette is less successful.

And there’s not even a beheading.

Kirsten Dunst’s French Queen spends her time gambling, eating cake, and having indiscriminate sex with attractive Swedes. Which is all well and good – her husband (Jason Schwartzmann) isn’t particularly interested in doing the nasty with her, and she doesn’t have the first clue about ruling a country.

Then some stuff happens. She wears towering wigs, goes through the entire French supply of shoes, eats more cake, dances to The Cure, faces the requisite angry-mob-with-flaming-pitchforks. Oh yeah, and pops out a couple of kids along the way.

There are some highlights. Rose Byrne’s party-girl is a delight, as is Rip Torn as the lecherous king. And every now and then Kirsten Dunst shows some real insight into her character’s emotions... and her backside and nipples. Plus there’s some funny stuff about sex. Which is good. If only the contemporary winks and nudges hadn’t worked so much better in A Knight’s Tale.

You can’t help feeling that Coppola has missed the point… and along with her, so have we.

The Queen

(First posted December 27th, 2006)

Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, seems to be as far elevated above our consciousnesses as her position is elevated above our own. An aging woman commanding a decomposing system of rule, she is the mother of a cowardly weasel of a prince and the wife of an adulterous geriatric.

Yet director Stephen Frear and writer Peter Morgan’s version of The Queen is imbued with such heart, depth and – dare I say it – wit, that it is impossible not to find virtue in her.

Primarily chronicling the week following the death of Princess Diana, the film presents a side of the titular Queen (Helen Mirren) previously unseen by such lowly commoners as ourselves.

Through her strained dealings with new Prime Minister Tony Blair and her interactions with family (Sylvia Syms is both charming and affecting as the Queen Mother) and the press, we are able to see the trials involved in maintaining such stoic dignity. Mirren’s performance is subdued and nuanced, creating ranges of heartfelt emotion with the simple twitch of an eyebrow or the fall of a foot.

The performance of Michael Sheen as Tony Blair is equally commendable, his uncanny resemblance to the Prime Minister only the starting point of a triumphant and sensitive performance.

While there is no way to verify the accuracy of the events, the film stands on its own as an affecting story of dignity and restraint in the face of accusation, propaganda, and the potential wickedness of politics, not to mention the feeling of helplessness when one realises one may not be as understanding of her world as one once thought.

Another strength of the film is its refusal to take sides. Every character has his or her own reasons for acting, and their own benefits to gain and advantages to lose. Tony Blair is no less a person than Her Majesty, simply the flipside of a spinning coin, and those caught in the wake of the events are drawn with sensitivity, regardless of which way they would like the coin to fall.

Its power draws from its unrelenting intent to present the story of a lady in crisis, her world thrown into sudden turmoil, and is, overwhelmingly, a success.