This month:   “Amour”, “The Aviator”, “Beasts of the Southern Wild”, “Dance Party, USA”, “I Am Legend”, “The Ice Storm”, “Liberal Arts”, “Life of Pi”, “Midnight”, “Natural Selection”, “Safety Not Guaranteed”, ”Sightseers”, “Sleepwalk With Me” and “Spring Breakdown”.

After Jesse Eisenberg missed out with The Social Network, weird to think Daniel Day-Lewis might win an Oscar for LinkedIn. Anyway, this time the average rating is 6.08/10 with film of the month being Safety Not Guaranteed. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Amour (2012) – 8/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Michael Haneke
STARRING: Jean-Louis Tritignant, Emmanuelle Riva, Isabelle Huppert
“Stop watching me.”
I think about dying all the time. I think about it as an unspeakable relief; an unstoppable force to resist; a stopwatch reminding you of how little you’ve achieved. Michael Haneke’s approach is more gentle, but even more gut-wrenching; death is slow and inevitable; the semi-colon must become a full stop.
Haneke avoids cliches by his film’s title: it’s about love, not death. An elderly couple make it to their 80s, but the wife becomes confined to a wheelchair and suffers a stroke. Her final wish is to stay away from the hospital. He does all he can at home, nursing her every need with fragile tenderness and numbed anguish.
The camera rarely moves. It captures the empty decor of their large, wooden house; she lays in bed, while he anxiously tries to feed her. Most of the action comes from a pigeon that finds a way through a window. This precision is complemented by the echo of wounded footsteps: no patronising strings or a soundtrack of “All By Myself”.
The pain is in the actors and their absorption of the bedroom’s silence. Yet it’s never cold. When she spits out water, he tries again because it’s in his nature. The devotion is uncluttered and natural; it’s clear why the film is called Love and not Dying.

The Aviator (2004) – 5.5/10
DIRECTOR: Martin Scorsese
WRITER: John Logan
STARRING: Leonardo DiCaprio, Cate Blanchett, Alan Alda
“Find me some clouds.”
It was an hour into The Aviator that I realised Howard Hughes and Howard Hawks are two different people. So close. I spent the first half thinking, “Wow, the director of His Girl Friday really liked planes.” When I realised my error, I was hit by disappointment like one Howard’s planes crashing into a field.
Scorsese’s grand biopic is a technical joy, with colourful details places all over the frame, but it’s hollow underneath. It’s only in the second half when Hughes’ OCD takes over that he becomes a figure who deserves a 3-hour film. That, and my own personal OCD stopped from enjoying this too much – that is not Katharine Hepburn.

Beasts of the Southern Wild (2012) – 8/10
DIRECTOR: Benh Zeitlin
WRITERS: Lucy Alibar, Benh Zeitlin
STARRING: Quvenzhané Wallis, Dwight Henry
“Two weeks later, everything started to die.”
Do you remember what you did when you were six years old? I was reading Just William and listening to the radio, dreaming that in twenty years time I’ll be blogging about the moment. Children today are in a different age. For instance, Quvenzhané Wallis narrates and stars in Beasts of the Southern Wild with a faux-naif voice that hides deeper philosophies. Even the six-year-old within the film has accomplished more than I have.
The setting is the Bathtub – a poor community ostracised by civilisations and left to fend floods on their own. When help parachutes down, they refuse it and feel dehumanised. It’s the hidden side of charity adverts, when the PR isn’t in control. Their normal routine is without electricity or modern delights – for instance, they would not be able to read my blog. They cope by using nature; instead of currency, seafood is paraded on the table like gold. An evacuation team may believe they’re saving them from drowning, but they want to stay in their environment.
It’s a particularly powerful image to see a six-year-old girl run away from a shelter (“a fishtank with no water”) and swim into the sea. Some of the magic realism wasn’t completely to my taste, but it captures the film’s positive tone – on paper it’s about wanting to die, but on screen you slowly discover it’s about wanting to live.

Dance Party, USA (2006) – 4/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Aaron Katz
STARRING: Cole Pensinger, Anna Kavan
“I’m gonna walk around by myself, I think.”
Aaron Katz’s Cold Weather was my favourite film of last year, but he made his name with a low budget feature with an obnoxious title that’s less frustrating than its 66 minutes of stunted, amateurish acting. Fairly horrible teenagers live out believable conversations that swing between showing off sexual achievements and displaying a sensitive side.
The naturalism never really works simply because of the wooden acting – sometimes normal people can’t be normal on cue. Most of the cast seem to have left acting, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Gus went on to front a Strokes tribute band.
For sharp contrast, check out Katz’s superior Quiet City which takes a similar concept to beautiful heights. At least in this debut he displays a natural gift for finding romance in urban architecture, just by subtly adjusting the angle of sunlight in the corner.

I Am Legend (2007) – 5/10
DIRECOR: Francis Lawrence
WRITERS: Akiva Goldsman, Mark Protosevich
STARRING: Will Smith
“There is no God.”
Sometimes you wake up early around 5am and go for a walk, soaking up the peacefulness of an empty pavement and a serene, urban landscape. You come back, technically without accomplishing anything, and you try to explain the transcendent experience – “It was religious,” you might say, if you’re clutching at straws while the listener is refreshed and not paying attention while you just want to slump in bed.
That’s the same struggle I Am Legend suffers as it spends an hour following Will Smith around a post-apocalyptic version of New York. His only companion: a dog which doesn’t talk – it’s a concept with scope it doesn’t explore. Is life worth living if there’s no one else around and you spend every day memorising dialogue from Shrek? Instead, it prepares for a final act when vampires break out. It’s mostly competent filmmaking that’s been watered down; a compromise of two films to appease both type of fans.

The Ice Storm (1997) – 4.5/10
DIRECTOR: Ang Lee
WRITER: James Schamus
STARRING: Kevin Kline, Joan Allen, Sigourney Weaver
“Because of molecules, we are connected to the outside world from our bodies.”
Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm is typical of a film adapted from a novel; swarming topics and families overlap. On screen, Lee’s gentle interpretation is  poetic and occasionally beautiful, but its surface coverage deflates each scene. Arcs of children and parents are supposed to mirror each other, but the haphazard editing blankets emotional resonance; you nod at thematic patterns, but would work better as a longer series or in its original book form.

Liberal Arts (2012) – 3/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Josh Radnor
STARRING: Josh Radnor, Elizabeth Olsen
“I’m actually trying to read less. I started to feel like reading about life was taking away from living life.”
Josh Radnor’s Liberal Arts is only 56% as unwatchable as his debut, happythankyoumoreplease. This time, he’s given up with contrived, quirky storylines, and settled with a more restrained concept: an English major returning to his Ohio university to visit a retiring professor.
There is something unsettling about Radnor’s earnest behaviour. His overwrought schtick is partially balanced in How I Met Your Mother when he is mocked by his friends, but that grounding is absent in his own scripts. His saintly behaviour is exhumed by false modesty. For such a Sundance-y film, he makes the mistake of being neither a believable actor or taking a more Parker Posey approach.
The dialogue and direction of Liberal Arts indicates Radnor has become a more assured filmmaker, confident to allow pauses instead of insecure sitcom tropes. All he needs now is a spark. That should come from Elizabeth Olsen’s character, but she receives worse treatment than in last year’s Silent House.
Josh Radnor? I’d Radnor not.

Life of Pi (2012) – 6.5/10
DIRECTOR: Ang Lee
WRITER: David Magee
STARRING: Suraj Sharma, CGI
“Without Richard Parker, I would have died by now.”
It is suggested in Life of Pi that animals don’t have souls; when you look into a tiger’s eye, any meaning is actually a reflection of yourself. This is a metaphor for the film itself. The sentimentality in the water becomes offensive if you take it too seriously. Purely on visuals, 30 minutes shimmer beautifully (mainly the translucent night scenes), while the rest is a screensaver with a sickly spriritual message. It’s certainly a cinema film, but the mathematics is up to you.

Midnight (1939) – 5.5/10
DIRECTOR: Mitchell Leisen
WRITERS: Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder
STARRING: Claudette Colbert, Don Ameche
“You must never get married. It would be unfair to so many women.”
There’s a piece of dialogue about Freud in Midnight that’s also in Balls of Fire. Billy Wilder was probably writing on autopilot around this period. So you have a screwball comedy that’s throwaway and forgettable, but still worth seeing for the cast and moments of sharp wit. It’s okay, but not a classic. (Also a description of this review.)

Natural Selection (2012) – 6.5/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Robbie Pickering
STARRING: Rachael Harris, Matt O’Leary, John Diehl, Jon Gries
“Lady, I can eat my own fucking soup.”
Sundance dramas are my kryptonite. I’m not saying I’m Superman – although I won’t deny being Clark Kent – but I knew Natural Selection would be a guilty pleasure. An ultra-religious housewife takes a road trip with her dying husband’s illegitimate son; he just so happens to be a handsome drug addict. So far, so Sundance.
Superb performances, but drama is occasionally substituted for breezy humour. That’s not a criticism, as Robbie Pickering has a sharp eye for juxtaposing tragedy with comedy – sure, you could argue they’re the same thing, but it’s memorable seeing Rachael Harris cry next to porn mags, and bombastic arguments being drowned out by a marching parade.
What lets down Natural Selection is the second half’s trajectory. Instead of nastiness in estrangement, there’s a warmth that unfortunately becomes too sentimental. The plot heads a direction that makes you scream, “No!” If natural selection was applied, this version of the screenplay would have died several drafts ago.

Safety Not Guaranteed (2012) – 8/10
DIRECTOR: Colin Trevorrow
WRITER: Derek Connolly
STARRING: Aubrey Plaza, Mark Duplass, Jake Johnson
“My calibrations are flipping pinpoint.”
Time travel is a serious topic, according to Mark Duplass. He’s a supermarket clerk who writes a classified ad:
“Wanted: Somebody to go back in time with me.”
Aubrey Plaza is the young, undercover journalist who responds; as she builds up material for an article, their close bond means there’s more guilt than Garamond on the page. (You don’t get lines like that with Ebert!) It’s a predictable plot progression, but the comedy is too offbeat to be affected. Plaza is in danger of typecasting, and seems destined to play interns for the rest of her life – but she might as well, as her inertia always brings a laugh. The plot is peculiar in a positive way that welcomes a healthy mixture of slow conversations and action scenes. It’s only marginally tarnished by the twee direction that suggests a desire in post-production to produce a cute, indie hit.
Luckily there are enough strengths in the script to overcome the patronising music cues. Each scene is full of warm humour (although I’m unsure about the ironically casual racism) with likeable characters who don’t have much at stake, but can’t see beyond the moment; for Plaza’s boss, every night is a torturous day further away from the past. In parallel storylines, chasing an ex-girlfriend is mirrored by building a time machine – two unlikely tasks that seem pathetic to outsiders.

Sightseers (2012) – 7.5/10
DIRECTOR: Ben Wheatley
WRITERS/STARRING: Alice Lowe, Steve Oram
“Finishing what you started.”
I’ve never been in a caravan, but I can guess. Like the room I’m in right now, but if the walls were closer and slightly wobbling. I’m missing the point, as it’s about getting away from everything – only to be stuck near other people with the same idea.
The simple description of Sightseers is a couple who make a similar escape, but find it too tempting to kill anyone who disrupts the “romantic odyssey”. What prevents it from being too repetitive is the power struggle – what begins as a bonding exercise turns into a gender battle of who’s in charge of the relationship.
With such a low-key plot, it’s essential for Alice Lowe and Steve Oram to disappear convincingly into a pair of oddballs – unpredictably violent, but out of love rather than malice. This is mostly achieved, aside from a few lines which belong more to a sitcom; through the highs and lows (of the hills), they display their idiosyncratic behaviour through developed winces and one-liners.
There is a lull after an hour (like a real camping trip) when Oram’s change of heart doesn’t completely align with his earlier behaviour. It’s only during these limp periods that you realise how beautiful the cinematography has always been, finding poetry in the fields and mountains; lacing the skyline above a rotting corpse, juxtaposing emptiness with retribution.

Sleepwalk With Me (2012) – 7.5/10
DIRECTOR: Mike Birbiglia
WRITERS: Mike Birbligia, Ira Glass, Joe Birbiglia, Seth Barrish
STARRING: Mike Birbligia, Lauren Ambrose
“I’ve decided I shouldn’t want to get married until I’m sure that nothing else good could happen in my life.”
Comedy has to be honest to be funny – the lesson learned in Mike Birbiglia’s autobiographical daydream of touring, ripped relationships and sleepwalk anxieties. Despite this, there’s a job in the recurring lie of changing character names – Birbiglia plays Matt Pandamiglio and, best of all, grouchy comedian Marc Maron transforms into the grouchy comedian Marc Mulheren.
The playful changes come from Birbiglia’s breaking of the fourth wall to narrate his story; it emulates Annie Hall in tone and structure, not for kudos or tribute, but as a tool of self-analysis. He comes across as immensely likeable, even when having an affair or not tidying up a hotel corridor.
Birbiglia admits his flaws with self-deprecation that’s more attuned to casual storytelling than a desperate flurry of jokes and twists. That relaxed direction means wit is occasionally sacrificed for an unhealthy number of scenes explaining why he’s anti-marriage. But without this frustration, you miss out on the self-portrait of someone afraid to share, finally giving in because of a mysterious figure named Mulheren (presumably with a podcast called WTFEREN).

Spring Breakdown (2009) – 6/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Ryan Shiraki
STARRING: Amy Poehler, Parker Posey, Rachel Dratch
“Why would anyone want to wrestle in salsa? We’re human beings, not tacos.”
Critically maligned and sent straight to DVD, Spring Breakdown might get an accidental resurgence when Harmony Korine’s new film comes out next year. It’s a genre parody, which partly explains it – without the smartest script (there is a breakdown in its spring), it takes three minutes to mutate into an exercise in irony.
Three middle-aged friends head to the beach for spring break to protect the daughter of the Vice President (it’s not worth explaining), which is an excuse for humour based on mixing generations. The central cast manage to sell the weak jokes and excel at the smarter moments.
“I had sex with a stranger, and now I’m slowly falling in love.”
Parker Posey particularly stands out as the most relatable figure, both grounded and manic; yet another indie comic role to highlight her talents. But, like spring break itself, there’s a dehumanising effect of watching any portrayal on a screen.
The fragile concept and script are saved by a superb cast whose core friendship that maintains your interest – it could become a cult favourite in the future, considering its similarities with Wet Hot American Summer.

Follow me on Twitter: @halfacanyon

Let’s examine 2012 like a photograph taken by Instagram with the filter set to “Kenicky”. It’s been a year since my film roundup of 2011, and life continues. It continues here. I’m in a rut. If I was in an Apatow film, I’d be Paul Rutt. The cinema has been the best place to hide – from rain, from sunshine, from life. So here’s my ranking of the year, from best to worst. Life’s not worth living, but let’s relive it anyway.

1. The Master – 9.5/10
Join the cult of Paul Thomas Anderson. Leave your worries for a while. They will still be there when you get back.

2. Holy Motors – 9.5/10
In one scene, a naked man with an erection eats the hair of Eva Mendes while she sings a lullably. Later, this man sings a duet with Kylie Minogue. Worth watching with flowers instead of popcorn.

3. Damsels in Distress – 9/10
The past is gone, so you may as well romanticise it.

4. Young Adult – 8.5/10
Buddy: “Mavis, I’m a married man.”
Mavis: “I know. We can beat this thing together.”

5. Frankenweenie – 8/10
With the clay lovingly detailed, there’s fun for everyone – especially the dead soul inside you.

6. Take This Waltz – 8/10
Sarah Polley uses colourful choreography to examine the expiration date of relationships; when conversation starts to sound like baby talk.

7. Tiny Furniture – 8/10
The long, still scenes bring out an awkward drama that comes from a bizarre world of banal vulnerability and deflating mattresses.

8. Anna Karenina – 8/10
A rare occasion where Tom Stoppard’s words are the least tricky element of a project. Tolstoy would probably hate it, but its visuals are adventurous enough to be considered an Avatar for a different audience.

9. The Muppets – 8/10
It may be the product of hundreds of Hollywood meetings, script doctors and focus groups, but you would never realise from the enthusiasm in Jason Segel’s non-felt face.

10. Safety Not Guaranteed – 8/10
In parallel storylines, chasing an ex-girlfriend is mirrored by building a time machine.

11. Bernie – 8/10
I’ve been hearing a lot of people calling Bernie a black comedy, but is that just because it stars Jack Black? It’s like a light-hearted Sunset Boulevard, except it really did happen.

12. Jeff, Who Lives at Home – 8/10
One particular highlight is when a smoke alarm sets off the sprinklers in an office, with Sarandon finding a spiritual awakening at her computer desk. A bit like you right now.

13. Beasts of the Southern Wild – 8/10
It’s a particularly powerful image to see a six-year-old girl run away from a shelter (“a fishtank with no water”) and swim into the sea. Some of the magic realism wasn’t completely to my taste, but it captures the film’s positive tone – on paper it’s about wanting to die, but on screen you slowly discover it’s about wanting to live.

14. Amour – 8/10
In English, that title means Oscar.

15. Sound of My Voice – 7.5/10
When Marling is asked to sing a pop song from the future, she sings “Dreams” by The Cranberries. How does she defend herself? “Oh, I wasn’t alive in the 90s.”

16. Moonrise Kingdom – 7.5/10
The camera slides like someone emulating Anderson. It’s in an interesting prospect, whether greatness can be parodied.

17. The Artist – 7.5/10
It may be about the decline of silent cinema, but it’s also an old-fashioned love story – a love story regularly overshadowed by a well-trained dog.

18. The Five-Year Engagement – 7.5/10
It’s over two hours for no real reason, but I was sad when it finished because I enjoyed their company. I waved goodbye to the actors on the TV screen, then returned to real life.

19. Sightseers – 7.5/10
A comedy where the cinematography laces a rotting corpse with a beautiful skyline.

20. Premium Rush – 7.5/10
A 91-minute thriller about Joseph Gordon-Levitt cycling around New York, avoiding the police and Michael Shannon as a hilariously over-the-top villain. It’s energetic fun that will hopefully be followed by a sequel about me crossing the road while using my smartphone.

21. Martha Marcy May Marlene – 7.5/10
There’s one scene when she dives into the water, and it’s so claustrophobic that it’s as if you’re drowning, wanting it all to end. So, a similar reaction to the other Olsen films.

22. The Dark Knight Rises – 7.5/10
An inconsistent mess that never stops being thrilling.

23. Shut Up and Play the Hits – 7.5/10
The LCD Soundsystem documentary is interspersed with stunning footage of the final show shot by Spike Jonze, capturing a mesmerising performance and a crowd sharing a religious experience – although that religion is either MDMA or Pitchfork.

24. The Cabin in the Woods – 7.5/10
Imagine if horror films were actually reality television. You stick some teenagers in a secluded area, throw in a man with a chainsaw, and film the results. The looks of terror are more real than anything you can achieve from 40 years of acting school.

25. 21 Jump Street – 7.5/10
It’s a bit like the plot of Never Been Kissed, but slightly more ridiculous.

26. The Avengers – 7.5/10
It’s like when you have strange friends from different circles and you want to see what happens when you put them in together in the same room.

27. Sleepwalk With Me – 7.5/10
Comedy has to be honest to be funny – the lesson learned in Mike Birbiglia’s autobiographical daydream of touring, ripped relationships and sleepwalk anxieties.

28. War Horse – 7.5/10
It’s admirable that Spielberg directed what is arguably a plotless film, but what’s really impressive is that he makes it oddly moving – this is despite all the characters being either forgettable or a horse.

29. Into the Abyss – 7/10
Herzog asks, “Please describe an incident with a squirrel.” Thirty seconds later, the chaplain is in tears.

30. Your Sister’s Sister – 7/10
What sets Your Sister’s Sister from traditional mumblecore films is its professional cast; instead of amateurs who are friends with the director, the chemistry is formed on-screen (rather than mirroring off-screen relationships).

31. Life of Pi – 6.5/10
It is suggested in Life of Pi that animals don’t have souls; when you look into a tiger’s eye, any meaning is actually a reflection of yourself. This is a metaphor for the film itself.

32. Silver Linings Playbook – 6.5/10
For a film centred around illegal betting, it doesn’t make many gambles – and plays it safe by dancing around the main issues. (Both puns intended.)

33. Natural Selection – 6.5/10
Superb performances, but drama is occasionally substituted for breezy humour. That’s not a criticism, as Robbie Pickering has a sharp eye for juxtaposing tragedy with comedy – sure, you could argue they’re the same thing, but it’s memorable seeing Rachael Harris cry next to porn mags, and bombastic arguments being drowned out by a marching parade.

34. Skyfall – 6.5/10
It’s no longer about saving the world, but trying to rescue a franchise.

35. The Perks of Being a Wallflower – 6.5/10
As films about depressed teenage boys go, it’s ranks above It’s Kind of a Funny Story, but miles away from the non-existent adaptation of The Catcher in the Rye.

36. Vamps – 6.5/10
Cher Horowitz dumps her flip-phone, and now complains about the reliance on modern technology.

37. For a Good Time, Call… – 6/10
Ring ring.
Hello?
It’s me.
Hello.
Can you describe what you’re wearing?
What?
I said, can you describe what you’re reviewing?
I’m reviewing a little thing called For a Good Time, Call…
Describe it to me.
It’s about two roommates who resolve their differences by running a phone sex line.
It sounds seedy.
It isn’t. It’s actually surprisingly sweet and funny in the right places.

38. The Descendants – 6/10
When I saw it at the cinema, someone behind me called it the worst film she’d ever seen. The person in front of me applauded. I was literally in between.

39. The Amazing Spider-Man – 6/10
Really, The Amazing Spider-Man is okay, but nothing spectacular, with the clue being in the insecure adjective choice in the title.

40. Ruby Sparks – 6/10
The darker elements are introduced too late and hint at what could have been: a stab through the genre’s linctus heart. The highlight is a truly disturbing ten-minute sequence when Paul Dano goes despicably mad with power at the typewriter (which means Solitaire would probably explode his mind).

41. To Rome With Love – 6/10
I saw it in the cinema and there were only three other people at the screening; at no point did any two people laugh at the same joke, which suggests everyone might find different aspects to appreciate.

42. Silence – 6/10
After the screening, the director spoke of finding religion in nature, then discovering there’s nothing there. Cynics might say that’s applicable to Silence, but there is a poetic beauty within its uncomfortably inert experience.

43. Argo – 5.5/10
Like Richard Linklater’s Bernie, the highlight of Argo is the end credits where actors are shown next to the real-life counterparts. It’s the only moment that makes you gasp – a taste of the intricate, breathtaking thriller that Ben Affleck never made, but read on Wikipedia.

44. Bachelorette – 5.5/10
The raucous action speeds past with a few laughs, but is too inconsequential.

45. Excision – 5.5/10
A fairly ordinary character study with hints of darkness, interspersed with brilliant short films. Perhaps an excision is needed.

46. Looper – 5.5/10
Just as the highlight of Heat was Pacino and De Niro’s coffee table scene, Looper takes a break in a diner: Joe and has lunch with his older self. They both want to kill each other, ask questions, and they’re also hungry. Plenty of thrills, but when it makes you ask philosophical questions, you only realise afterwards that you were just questioning the plot and second-half lulls.

47. The Hunger Games – 5.5/10
It could perhaps have built upon the idiosyncrasies of its alternate reality, like the mechanical wasps (may the odd bees ever in your favour?), or add a comment on the quest for fame. (Unless if it’s a satire on an ability to turn Battle Royale into a Hollywood blockbuster by using American actors, in which case, well done.)

48. Wanderlust – 5/10
It’s rather like an extended episode of a sitcom, found in the DVD extras of a boxset. After all, much of the pacing and cutaway shots of the city remind me of shows like Caroline in the City or Friends (possibly because of Rudd and Aniston).

49. Seeking a Friend For the End of the World – 4.5/10
The recent trend for end-of-the-world films is probably down to the Mayan prophecy. Or the rise in special effects. Or technology’s grey influence. Or a deterioration in happy writers with the collapse of the industry. It could be many reasons, but Lorene Scafaria is more concerned with an easy excuse for a love story.

50. Detention – 4.5/10
It’s nothing inspiring, but the bizarre overflow of 90s nostalgia suggests the filmmakers were thinking of themselves – the plot is an indulgent mess, where a sample joke is the main character turning up to a fancy dress party as Clare Danes from My So Called Life. (Okay, that is quite funny.)

51. Silent House – 4/10
Everything is shot in one take, or at least edited to give this effect, and follows Elizabeth Olsen in real time as she has a nervous breakdown. In one shot, the camera follows the reviewer as he walks away from the cinema, wishing there was something more substantial.

52. American Reunion – 4.5/10
Who organises reunions for 13 years later? The makers of American Pie.

53. The Watch – 4.5/10
The special effects are rendered meaningless, with the cast looking bored – yes, even when the aliens appear.

54. On the Road – 4/10
Without the Beat-style prose, On the Road is a second-hand account of an old holiday. The impressive cinematography and slick direction actually detracts from the novel’s spontaneity; Dean Moriarty’s mysticism is lost in high definition.

55. Hi Custodian – 4/10
David Longstreth isn’t as vigorous in the editing room as he is in a musical studio.

56. Ted – 4/10
Unbearable.

57. Shame – 3.5/10
At one point, Fassbender tries to escape his mind by going for a jog around the city at night, perhaps to search for peace and tranquillity – that, or he was looking for a more subtle script.

58. Dark Shadows – 3.5/10
Tim Burton revisits a forgotten soap opera on autopilot mode, but the inventiveness and wit must have missed the flight.

59. Carnage – 3.5/10
You’re always aware of the time.

60. Prometheus – 3/10
It’s a bad sign when a sci-fi film is heavy-handed with references to religion and humanity, with the directness very obviously being a last-ditch attempt to justify its own existence (like the robots within the film).

61. The Do-Deca-Pentathlon – 3.5/10
The action plays out slowly and without fanfare, while the realism is wrecked by the implausible storyline. It’s like the Olympics, but with less athleticism and far, far less drama.

62. We Bought a Zoo – 3.5/10
Matt Damon makes an emotional purchase, but ends up with “humanity” instead of humanity.

63. Liberal Arts – 3/10
Josh Radnor? I’d Radnor not.

64. Goon – 3/10
I laughed once, when the commentator said: “Are you there Doug? It’s me, Margaret.”

65. Battleship – 3/10
If only Battleship followed the true ethos of a board game by being a metaphor for the daily struggles of life. You win. You lose. You wonder what it is you’re doing. You have no answer.

66. Comes a Bright Day – 3/10
Simon Aboud’s debut feature comes after a career working with advertisements, and it shows – filmed crisply, you want to buy the onscreen products, but it lacks in substance.

67. Lay the Favorite – 3/10
Without any risks or soul-bearing, Lay the Favorite is like going to a race track and betting on the horse that you know will please everybody by finishing somewhere in the middle, except that actually pleases nobody and it’s sent straight from a limited cinema release to die in a stable or at the bottom of a discounted DVDs.

68. The Dictator – 2.5/10
It’s a strange situation where the press promotion outshines the film’s content – to semi-quote Cohen’s obnoxious character, it’s very Aladeen with not enough Aladeen.

69. Lola Versus – 2.5/10
Lola versus entertainment.

70. Man on a Ledge – 2.5/10
Sam Worthington stands on a ledge with such a wooden performance that he might as well be an ornament. Not only that, the ledge is quite thick. No one’s falling off that.

71. People Like Us – 2.5/10
You should take People Like Us on its own merit, but be aware that it’s a relationship drama penned by the man who wrote the first two Transformers films.

72. Why Stop Now – 2/10
It’s an absurd storyline strung together by one-dimensional characters with minimal effort to explain itself. If anything, the title refers to the screenwriters who realised the script made little sense, but persevered, hoping to cash in on people with fond memories of The Social Network.

73. The Sitter – 1.5/10
You’re better than this, David Gordon Green.

74. The Letter – 1/10
The bizarre plot is sidetracked by mumbling monologues that sound like they were written through Google Translate. There are times when you wonder if Winona Ryder and James Franco are in different rooms, then you realise it’s just bad direction.

75. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close – 0.5/10
Hollow, contrived and the cinematic equivalent of watching someone struggle with Microsoft Word.

I still need to catch up on Searching For Sugar Man, Smashed and The Raid: Redemption, but is there anything else I should see?
Do you agree/disagree with anything on my list?
Did you notice that I chose not to see The Hobbit?
What are you excited to see in 2013?
(I am looking forward to Touchy Feely, Prince Avalanche, Only Lovers Left Alive, Upstream Color, A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Charles Swan III, Song Dynasties, Argo 2: Baggage Claim, The World’s End, The Great Gatsby, Drinking Buddies, Upside Down, In a World…, Spring Breakers and The Two Faces of January.)
What else have I missed?
Who are you?
Why don’t you follow the @halfacanyon Twitter account?
Do you ever feel like a pistachio nut that can’t open up?

Harmony Korine is a controversial filmmaker born in 1973 – so controversial, I suspect he was really born in 1971. If you don’t know the name (or only familiar with him through Spring Breakers), be aware he’s a close friend of David Blaine. That should give you a hint of his filmmaking style. He itches to provoke, but is a unique figure with a gift for capturing beauty in unlikely settings.

For example, look at the above picture of Korine. He’s wryfully placing humanity in between two symbols of violence and communication; it breaks language barriers with a striking pose. To others, it’s just an idiot grabbing your attention.

Reviewed: Kids (1995), Gummo (1997), Julien Donkey-Boy (1999), Ken Park (2002), Mister Lonely (2007), Trash Humpers (2009) and Spring Breakers (2013).

Kids (1995) – 7/10
Director: Larry Clark
Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: Leo Frizpatrck, Rosario Dawson, Chloe Sevigny
“That shit is fucking made up. I don’t know no kids with AIDS.”
The manufactured thrills of Project X make you appreciate an adventurous drama like Kids. Mumblecore’s recent popularity has seen many of its stars attribute praise to John Cassavettes, but I haven’t seen many mentions of Harmony Korine or Larry Clark. I find this strange as Kids is a pure stab at capturing the natural behaviour of disaffected youth; it doesn’t shy away from violence or depravity, but  follows a script and narrative. It’s everything Joe Swanberg wants. (Korine even collaborates with Chloe Sevigny, the original Greta Gerwig.)
The unpleasant pseudo-documentary spends a day with horny teenagers who beat up strangers, take drugs and have unprotected sex – all while oblivious of the AIDS crisis. It distils the hopelessness of a generation and ignored underclass; coping, yet having nothing to lose.

Gummo (1997) – 7.5/10
Director/Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: Jacob Sewell, Nick Sutton, Jacob Reynolds
“These two brothers, they murdered their parents. They both claim to be raised by Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
There’s a video on Youtube of Harmony Korine promoting Gummo on David Letterman’s show; he’s a nervous, fidgety 19-year-old who is mercilessly mocked by Letterman for poorly promoting Gummo. The audience laughs at – not with – Korine when he explains that his directorial debut reinvents the last century of cinema.
“Every time I see him, he has cocaine on his moustache.”
If that audience had seen Gummo, their reaction would have been different – either supportive or vitriolic. After a tornado destroys a town in Ohio, its poor residents continue their nihilistic lives. The vignettes use mostly non-actors in a manner so uncompromising, it forces a physical reaction. It portrays an underside of America never shown in the media without distortion, where activities include breaking chairs, using rifles and pretending to be dead.
“If you don’t smile, I’m going to kill you.”
As Korine promised Letterman, Gummo breaks the rules of filmmaking; improvised scenes  are interrupted with shoddy home footage with an unconnected monologue. Werner Herzog is even quoted praising a scene where in the background, a piece of bacon is taped to the wall. It’s an example of the recurring image of decay. Although no real animals are used, several cats are purported to be killed for nihilistic reasons. In the first few minutes a cat is drowned, and later one of the most memorable shots is of a young boy, dressed as a rabbit, proudly holding a dead cat to the camera. It’s never truly explained, but makes sense in the world of Gummo, where even a scene with a man wrestling a chair can be frightening. The only salvation is from music – whether it’s Madonna on the radio, or Roy Orbison on the soundtrack.
“Without it, you’d be dead.”
As a viewing experience, it’s torturous, ugly, confusing, but oddly beautiful.

Julien Donkey-Boy (1999) – 3/10
Director/Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: Ewen Bremner, Chloe Sevigny, Werner Herzog
“The mailman loves me. He loves me not.”
The Julien Donkey-Boy experience is akin to stepping into an exhibition at an art show; in a sideroom, you’re amused by the projected video for five minutes, then move to the next spectacle. By following Dogme 95’s rules, Korine uses distorted images with shuffled scenes; the meaning is shrouded by mystery and patience for shock tactics.
The viewer’s point of view is through a schizophrenic man, explaining the unconventional narrative which was probably made up on the spot and edited with precise inconsistency. It can sound provocative, even enticing: inventive use of camera, Werner Herzog drinking from a shoe, a masturbating nun. The reality is a lazy version of Gummo that delves into fewer characters with less to offer.
Despite a late surge of energy from a church choir, there’s little to enjoy. It also isn’t offensive, regardless of a few provocative set pieces (as I said earlier, there’s a masturbating nun). The hope is that a peculiar feature like this is an experience of some sort, but it’s more a satisfaction of endurance.

Ken Park (2002) – 0.5/10
Director: Larry Clark
Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: James Bullard, James Ransone, Stephen Jasso, Tiffany Limos
“Nobody loves me.”
The disjointed feel of Ken Park is partly from the film’s structure: four depraved stories loosely bookended by a suicide. It’s also the case of a director working from someone else’s discarded script – written by Harmony Korine in 1993 when he was just 18. It’s possible that Ken Park was made a decade after its conception to capitalise on Korine’s fame, but that’s the cynicism you detect from a film that’s so desperate to shock; it’s easy to imagine Larry Clark thinking about the media controversy throughout the whole shooting.
Detractors might say the same thing about Clark and Korine’s earlier collaboration, Kids, but that took on a moment and followed an underclass rarely shown in film. The focus in Ken Park is less on real people, but how to challenge the censors; multiple instances of incest, rape and unsimulated sex are so overblown, it should be unintentionally funny if it wasn’t so dull.
Maybe Clark could be applauded for being bold enough to cross boundaries, but his intentions are transparent. For example, one character uses a knife to cut a cake, then walks into a bedroom to use that same knife to stab his grandfather for using a word in Scrabble that isn’t in the dictionary – oh, and he’s completely naked with an erection during the process. Earlier, that same character masturbates, with his erect penis in the centre of the screen; when he’s finished, the camera zooms in on his ejaculate. These scenes keep following each other without any momentum or much point other than a determination to be weird with everything. Yes, everything. Even the simple things. A man drinks water from the tap. Use a cup! Bear in mind that Ken Park was never released in the UK because the director punched the head of the UK distributor in the face at a restaurant.
Maybe it could have worked if Korine was behind the camera, with Gummo finding beauty within the vile, but with Ken Park there’s little below the surface; when you watch a boy clip his mother’s toe nails, you realise that he is accomplishing more that you.

Mister Lonely (2007) – 8/10
Director: Harmony Korine
Writers: Avi Korine, Harmony Korine
Starring: Diego Luna, Samantha Morton, Werner Herzog
“It’s such a special place. A place where everybody is famous and no one ages.”
Harmony Korine’s return to filmmaking follows an eight-year absence where he became addicted to drugs, tried to live on the streets, and became a lifeguard’s assistant. Apparently. It’s part of the antagonistic myth that helped build Korine’s career, but his comeback is easily his most conventional effort that confirms his talent extendS beyond self-promotion.
“It’s hard to laugh when you don’t know what people find so funny.”
Korine continues his lifelong ambition to create cinema that didn’t exist, but this time it’s with a surreal twist. The sad figure of Mister Lonely is a Michael Jackson impersonator who is rescued from Paris by a Marilyn Monroe impersonator; they’re both empathetic figures on their own, but the costumes and makeup amp up the pathos missing from last year’s My Week With Marilyn and, er, My Week With Michael.
“I always felt like life moves too quickly and this my attempt at slowing. I get to keep the days with me and keep the people I meet, otherwise they will all leave me.”
Monroe takes Jackson to a Scottish commune shared by other impersonators including James Dean, Madonna and the Pope. It means their mundane lives become charming, as you watch Jackson and Abraham Lincoln ride a motorcycle around town, while back at the house is Charlie Chaplin losing his temper over table tennis.
“If you are pure enough, you will fly. God will be your parachute.”There’s also a subplot with Werner Herzog (well, it is a film about impersonators) and some nuns who jump off a plane hoping that God will be their parachute – I’ll leave you to guess their fates. When the strands are all put together, it’s overwhelming how Korine’s direction is achingly gorgeous. This isn’t like Gummo where the beauty was hidden under terror and vandalism, but it’s placed in the centre and in widescreen.

Trash Humpers (2009) – 4/10
Director/Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: Paul Booker, Dave Cloud, Chris Crofton, Rachel Korine
“It would be nice to live without a head. Think of all the money you’d save on shampoo.”
Harmony Korine’s career-long quest to find beauty in unexpected places takes a nosedive with Trash Humpers, a VHS-shot tribute to grotesque destruction. The premise: vandals are dressed in makeup and masks to look disfigured and elderly; they sing obscene songs, smash objects and tell racist jokes. Oh, and they hump trash. Several times.
It sounds like a gimmick too far from a director eager to provoke an audience, especially with a critical status knowing that anything he produces will receive press coverage. There is certainly an element of Korine producing the worst film possible, but by “worst” I mean something unique – the 78 minutes of Trash Humpers are certainly an experience. With grainy footage that imitates an old video cassette, its simplicity makes Gummo look like Magnolia. It’s never as dull as it should be, as the wanton damage is too unpredictable to be repetitive, and shots of tree-fellating are too bizarre to become tiresome.
Like Julien Donkey-Boy, there are shades of Lars von Trier (particularly The Idiots) in its amateurish and spontaneous production. After a few scenes of “trash humping” begin to outstay their welcome, I wondered if there isn’t actually any social commentary. Maybe this is just a mischievous filmmaker testing whether critics could find positives in anything, and finding joy in taking something like Trash Humpers to festivals.
There’s probably a lot of truth in that, but there’s poignancy mear the end. One man delivers a monologue about feeling sorry for people who go to work and pray on Sundays. “We choose to live like free people,” he says. “We choose to live like a people should live.”
It’s the only eloquent moment of the film, and it succinctly explains the chaos and structureless vandalism. When a drunk woman looks to the sky and asks God for direction, you realise that maybe there is more behind Korine’s vision than at first glance. But if he really believes there’s beauty in the destruction, then he’s probably recognised his failure – hence taking a more direct route with his next film, Spring Breakers.

Spring Breakers (2013) – 8/10
Director/Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: Vanessa Hudgens, Ashley Benson, James Franco, Selena Gomez, Rachel Korine
“I’m starting to think this is the most spiritual place I’ve been. It’s way more than just having a good time.”
On Korine’s first Letterman appearance in 1995, he’s insulted and has his name mispronounced before even saying a word. Dressed like a nervous schoolboy, he claims Kids was meant to be a sequel to Caddyshack; the studio audience is silent. He possibly welcomes that hostility (look up Fight Harm on Google), but Spring Breakers is a bolder attempt to manipulate the media.
If Hudgens and Gomez really wanted to shred their Disney images, they should have invented a metaphorical shredder or signed on for Trash Humpers. Instead, they’re in a crime-drama that’s on everyone’s lips because of the self-aware marketing: four babes in bikinis rob a bank and make friends with a Riff Raff impersonator. To hammer the point, check out the cast. (By cast, I don’t mean podcast.)
Much of the debate (back-and-forths on Twitter; newspaper comment pieces; middle-aged men explaining the ticket receipt in the bin) stems from whether Korine is being satirical or spending millions on a very dedicated masturbatory fantasy. Every aspect is self-aware, so surely there’s a message? It’s unclear. There’s pure sadness as its hungover core, conveniently glossed over in the promotional campaign. The farming of human bodies during spring break is frightening and bleak, and you’re reminded by the breaks from fantasy: extras party in what’s possibly real handheld footage, which, at best, would lead to IMDb pages without headshots.
Peer pressure motivates the alcohol and drug abuse, most obviously with Gomez’s Christian role; committing crimes against her will, it’s a wink to her audience who crave for Perez Hilton articles about a Lohanesque breakdown. Friendships are destroyed (the springs are broken!) by the binge culture that’s in love with hedonism and physical pleasures, but only the kind that you don’t want your parents to see on Facebook.
What worries conservative viewers is Korine’s reluctance to hold back. Instead, he accentuates the fantasy with pop violence – “Pretend it’s like a videogame,” becomes a mantra. The camera leerily exploits its female cast without shame; with pool scenes, it dips underwater like a shark. Hudgens doesn’t punch the camera in the nose (that’s a shark joke), but has absurd sentences like, “All this money makes my pussy wet.”
It’s a crude line, but sums up the MTV bastardisation of the American Dream. With every generation rebelling against its elders, these teenagers are trying to shock in the age of the internet. Franco even namedrops the American Dream in his hysterical “Look at all my shyeet” soliloquy that mentions Scarface more often than anything Hamlet vomited about ghosts and Pyrrhic victories.
Beneath the haze and hue, Korine crafts a world beyond a hip hop video – maybe amusing to some for a few verses, but depressing for 90 minutes. Riff Raff, upon whom Franco is based, is infamous on the internet (among people like me who don’t sleep enough) for a white rapper adopting black culture beyond caricature. It’s with him the girls feel safe, not Gucci Mane or Franco’s friends. I doubt it’s a coincidence that the school lecture they ignore is on black civil rights. It’s not just Western culture, but a fashion drilled in by advertisements, pop videos, and now film parodies.
Considering Korine’s history with sympathetically portraying outsiders, you have to understand his main aim is for the viewer to experience what’s on screen; whether the Britney Spears tributes are ironic are not, it’s worth the cinema trip for the faux-religious experience. This is what has become of teen culture; it’s ugly, glorious and hypnotic.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month: “Barbara”, “Berberian Sound Studio”, “Django Unchained”, “Fanboys”, “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”, “Hancock”, “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey”, “The Impossible”, “Incredible Small”, “Les Misérables”, “Pitch Perfect”, “Searching For Sugar Man”, “Tangled”, “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre”, “Texas Chainsaw 3D” and “Vacation!” (pictured above).

Because vimeo killed the last.fm radio star, this is the place to be. Turn off the lights and pretend this is a cinema – one with a smaller screen, and a film called Half a Canyon. (Just missed the Oscar deadline.) The average rating is 5.31/10 with film of the month being Searching For Sugar Man. Follow @halfacanyon more more.

Barbara (2012) – 7/10
DIRECTOR: Christian Petzold
WRITERS: Christian Petzold, Harun Farocki
STARRING: Nina Hoss, Ronald Zehrfeld
“If he marries me, do you think they’ll let me leave?”
Have you ever been near a shop entrance when the alarm went off, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you couldn’t walk away in case it’s perceived as an admission of guilt? And you know everyone is looking at you and silently judging you, but that judging might not be silent and just drowned out by the alarm? Well, that’s nothing compared to Christian Petzold’s German psychological drama set in 1990, where tension is fraught and unspoken.
Emotions run high on the inside, exhaustingly at every turn, as extroverts can’t survive in this environment. Set in the German Democratic Republic, paranoia runs high – and with good reason. The plot unravels slowly; it takes a little girl to disrupt the silences. The tension is as clear and precise as Petzold’s direction, full of straight lines and measured shots.
Nina Hoss is the star who has to express the pain of being tortured through subtle sign language. Her shoulders are tired, but she perseveres; as a nurse trying to do the right thing, as a woman having an affair forbidden by the government, as a human being who wants to leave. Her performance reminds me of Nicole Kidman, without being hampered by recognisability or memory trigger. If she did films in English, she could be a huge star.

Berberian Sound Studio (2012) – 7.5/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Peter Strickland
STARRING: Toby Jones
“You are here to do a job.”
My DVD copy of Berberian Sound Studio seems to be faulty, so do forgive me. Instead of the horror film depicted on the front cover, it contains what I assume to be the “Making Of” featurette. It contains footage of Toby Jones using vegetables to create a giallo soundtrack. It’s scarier than it sounds. (Pun intended?)
The actual film itself is never seen. Instead, you’re teased with audience reactions; in a claustrophobic sound studio, through Jones’s eyes (and ears), you are surrounded by Italians squabbling. If like me you don’t understand the language or have parseltongue, a cacophony of voices add to the unsettling atmosphere; partly Kafkaesque, partly disarming through hypnosis.
It’s strange to explain the disarming effect that sound possesses, even when the mechanics of horror are laid bare; I feel like I should explain the subtleties, but the burning image is of a cabbage being loudly sliced. With complete clarity, this is the best sounding film since Slow Century. And, who knows – maybe Toby Jones is actually soundtracking David Gordon Green’s forthcoming Suspiria remake.

Django Unchained (2013) – 8/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Quentin Tarantino
STARRING: Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio, Samuel L. Jackson
“Gentlemen, you had my curiosity, but now you have my attention.”
There’s a deleted scene in Pulp Fiction where Uma Thurman declares you can’t wholeheartedly love both the Beatles and Elvis. Quentin Tarantino is the filmmaker who wants you to love both – hence a career of hybridising genres.
Despite Tarantino’s cinematic flair, there’s always been an urge to provoke the audience, and what better way than Django Unchained: reminding America of their history with slavery, and forcing them to watch a three-hour Western. It’s unabashedly anachronistic, self-indulgent (yet again, he casts himself), gratuitously violent – and he even got Harvey Weinstein to finance the $100m budget.
Tarantino’s version of a Western is still closer to Pulp Fiction than Unforgiven. The main difference is they ride horses instead of cars. Without going into too much detail, the plot is similar to Kill Bill in that it’s a series of quick revenges; Jamie Foxx, as freed slave Django, wants to rescue his wife, but ends up leaving behind a trail of dead slave owners. Elsewhere, the casting is emotionally manipulative. Leo, the lovable boy from Titanic, is the main villain, while the film’s moral heart lies with Christoph Waltz, in a role not too dissimilar from the “Jew Hunter” in Inglourious Basterds. They’re titans of Tarantinoesque prose, and when the man himself appears with an appalling accent, you appreciate the cast even more. (For a further reminder of Tarantino’s poor acting, rewatch the opening credits to Reservoir Dogs where he can’t even walk naturally.)
Tarantino’s style might exhaust many, but he’s in a unique position in popcorn cinema; his irritating traits have played out so many times, the problems of Django Unchained are forgiven before the opening credits. He also finds hidden attributes in his actors. Look no further than Samuel L. Jackson who shocks as the limping figure in charge of DiCaprio’s slaves; I couldn’t even recognise him until his distinctive pronunciation of “motherfucker”, a shattering reversal of the infamous Pulp Fiction monologue.
The violence is mostly cartoonish and over-the-top – when Django shoots someone, they’ll explode and fly across the room. The exceptions come from the poor treatment of slaves, with Tarantino’s camera uncomfortably lingering over Mandingo fighting and runaways being tortured to death. Just because a film isn’t schmaltzy like The Help (which was told from Emma Stone’s perspective anyway) doesn’t mean it can’t have a serious anti-racism message. I’m not saying he’s offering any worldwide solutions (if he did, then he’d have Waltz explain it in a ten-minute monologue), but it’s an extra later; all you need to hear is DiCaprio wondering, “Why don’t they kill us?”
Most importantly with Tarantino, Django Unchained is an exhilarating spectacle. It lacks a set-piece as memorable as Pulp Fiction’s diner scenes or the opening of Inglourious Basterds, but makes up with its direct action. The 19^th century setting also means fewer musings on the metric system and Madonna lyrics. Not that there isn’t any anachronism – the soundtrack didn’t quite work for me, especially the hip hop. For instance, I doubt the use of Rick Ross will become as iconic as “Fight the Power” in Do the Right Thing.
To top it off, despite its painful subject matter, dark humour remains prevalent in a peculiar, unwritten way. There’s the more obvious allusion to Blazing Saddles, but I laughed out loud at the comically large font for “MISSISSIPPI”.
Regardless of its imperfections, Django Unchained is worth watching just for the rarity of a director having the cast, budget and support to make the exact film he wants. If only he cancelled his cameo. Waltz, Foxx and DiCaprio may seem badass in the film, but none of them had the guts to tell their director to stop casting himself.

Fanboys (2009) – 1.5/10
DIRECTOR: Kyle Newman
WRITERS: Ernest Cline, Adam F. Goldberg
STARRING: Sam Huntington, Jay Baruchel, Kristen Bell
“A cross between Sarah Michelle Geller and Janeane Garofalo.”
The only funny joke in Fanboys is the salivation preceding the release of The Phantom Menace. Even then, the humour is unintended. Instead of bathos, Kyle Newman has the support of George Lucas; tellingly, the sophistication is at the level of Jar Jar Binks.
The premise involves Star Wars fans taking a road trip to break into Skywalker Ranch in lieu of seeing an early cut of The Phantom Menace before their friend dies of terminal cancer. Bizarrely, Harvey Weinstein ordered a cut that replaced the cancer storyline with dumbed down jokes. Everyone knows the man’s a genius; give up early, so it doesn’t look like you’re trying.
Newman fought back, which makes an uneven viewing; the cancer is central to some scenes, then never mentioned in the others. Really, the only consistency is the abhorrent annoyingness of Dan Fogler. The script is mindless, unpleasant and directed with the bravura of someone who still sings the praises of The Phantom Menace.
The disjointed nature means several “I haven’t told you guys yet” pieces of dialogue come out of nowhere. The uneven tone is also caused by whether Star Wars is even being celebrated; the passion is (written to be) there, but the fans are presented as losers. The only likeability is injected by Kristen Bell, who disappears in between scenes presumably because she was unavailable for reshoots. I can only assume she was hiding in her trailer, hoping nobody would find her.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) – 8/10
DIRECTOR: Sergio Leone
WRITERS: Sergio Leone, Luciano Vincenzoni
“I’m your friend. Please don’t die.”
Three gunslingers race for buried treasure, but they need each other to find the location. The mathematics of the plot remains fairly simple as Sergio Leone is more interested in the visuals that dialogue. After all, the sound is dubbed, and they tend to say meaningless aphorisms like, “If you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working?”
The drama comes from the wide landscapes. At three hours long, you travel far with Clint Eastwood – he speaks so incidentally, every line becomes an event whispered in a gravelly voice. In an existential twist, he gets lost in Western politics; he isn’t money-hungry, but some part of him needs that treasure. The desperation is frequently hilarious, and the gun battles have a timeless quality that you only find with broken alarm clocks.

Hancock (2008) – 4/10
DIRECTOR: Peter Berg
WRITERS: Vince Gilligan, Vincent Ngo
STARRING: Will Smith, Charlize Theron, Jason Bateman
“Fate doesn’t decide everything. People get to choose.”
A superhero film where the villain is the press coverage. How very meta. It resolves itself after an hour – the only real threat to Hancock is himself. It’s more of a comedy, although the laughs aren’t regular enough. There’s also a theme of loneliness stuffed down your throat. Also, be wary of the last act.
Charlize Theron: “And when we get close to our opposites, we lose our power.”
Me, watching: “Why?”
Charlize Theron: “So we can live human lives.”
Me: “What?”

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012) – 5/10
DIRECTOR: Peter Jackson
WRITERS: Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson, Guillermo del Toro, J.R.R. Tolkien
STARRING: Martin Freeman, Ian McKellen, unexpected eagles
“What have I got in my pocket?”
DISCLAIMER #1: I saw this is 3D and 48 frames-per-second. Like the Tolkien franchise itself, everyone has their own physical reaction; for me, the visuals turned artificial, particularly quick movements. In the future, I’ll still to 48 frames-per Kenicky.
DISCLAIMER #2: I read all the books when I was a 10-year-old, then lost interest. I hated the Lord of the Rings films.
DISCLAIMER #3: At the beginning, Gandalf says, “Dwarf doors are invisible when closed.” I was ready to walk out.
DISCLAIMER #4: I closed my eyes for 30 seconds somewhere in the middle. I can’t even tell you when, as it all blurred together.
REVIEW: It was okay, I guess.
STATING THE OBVIOUS: It was too long.
HIGHLIGHT: The ending reminds me of the climax of Kill Bill: Volume 1. (Kill Bilbo?)

The Impossible (2013) – 1/10
DIRECTOR: J.A. Bayona
WRITER: Sergio G. Sánchez
STARRING: Naomi Watts, Ewan McGregor, Tom Holland
“What colour is my leg?”
For some reason, I had it in my mind The Impossible should be seen in the cinema. It shouldn’t.
Around 230,000 lives were lost in the 2004 Asian tsunami; the majority were Asian. You’d never guess from The Impossible, which concentrates on a family of British tourists. The hospitals are run by Thai workers, but the victims are almost exclusively Westerners. There isn’t even the argument that Asian locals are dehumanised, because they’re not even represented.
The central family (Watts, McGregor, Holland, two other people who didn’t do enough to be named) deliver moving performances that, I assume, accurately communicate the distress felt by the original family. The direction and special effects (but not the script) are similarly adept. The images are so powerful, the disaster is painful to sit through – especially sat in the front row. In fact, I wondered why a filmmaker would want to painstakingly recreate this event instead of showing news reels. Or would that be too real for audiences? This isn’t Lars von Trier playfully taunting an audience, but a film striving to be something great, using whatever means necessary. When the initial storm is replayed near the end from a different angle, I can imagine the director thinking, “Oh yeah, this is good.”
I’m not saying The Impossible has to be about the wider context. After all, it purports to be one family’s story. It just isn’t afraid to use the tsunami for its own manipulative advantages when convenient. There’s only one memorable shot that hints at the grand scale of destruction: Naomi Watts peeking through the window of a private jet. The camera zooms in on tears running down her cheek. The sympathy isn’t with the locals who lost their homes and loved ones, but that it made a tourist sad.
My yawns were drowned out by other cinemagoers crying and/or eating popcorn. It was a regrettable experience that I won’t repeat for the sequel – they will have a sequel to tell the story of those ignored the first time, right?

Incredibly Small (2011) – 7/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Dean Peterson
STARRING: Stephen Gurewitz, Susan Burke, Amy Seimetz, Alex Karpovsky
“We talk about the weather a lot, and then we fuck – and that’s all that matters.”
The understated joy of Incredibly Small is in its minimalist performances. Arguments are mumbled (ahem) and lack clear resolutions. Susan Burke (scriptwriter of Smashed) uses what I assume to be improvised dialogue, but seemed genuinely bored by her onscreen boyfriend, Stephen Gurewitz. It’s either great acting or ingenious casting – especially with Alex Karpovsky as the hilariously sleazy neighbour waiting to pounce.
As expected with an amateur filmmaker’s debut (Dean Peterson has made it a free download), much of the structure feels unfinished. Some of the character dynamics aren’t fleshed out fully – yet this adversely pierces into Burke’s selfishness and Gurewitz’s stubbornness. Without a Hollywood script laying out the details, it really does seem that the small size of a flat can ruin a relationship.
And, as ever, Amy Seimetz steals the film as Burke’s best friend – disinterested, and not afraid to turn a hug into just a handshake.

Les Misérables (2013) – 4/10
DIRECTOR: Tom Hooper
WRITERS: William Nicholson, Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel, Schonberg, Herbert Kretzmer
STARRING: Hugh Jackman, Eddie Redmayne, Samantha Barks, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway
“Life has killed the dream I dream.”
The story of Tom Hooper’s Les Misérables is one everyone knows – and by story, I mean how the production involved live singing. You know, as in if you saw the actual theatre show instead. It’s an impressive decision, even if its praise is really backhanded surprise Hollywood actors can sing competently.
The transfer of Les Misérables to screen is akin to watching Youtube footage of a live show; the camera zooms in for too long, occasionally creating awkward eye contact. The haphazard angles zigzag like a reality television show, capturing every spot, dimple and occasional sewage on the faces of A-listers. Breaks come in the form of obvious CGI vomiting across the frame. I, however, had to make my interval – like in the stageshow – and walked out the cinema for five minutes because the camerawork made me queasy. This has never happened before.
Hooper’s claimed the nauseating (he didn’t use that word) direction is to add shots you wouldn’t find in a theatre. This means close-up after close-up. The real selling point is the cast. Apart from the film being a cheaper consolation, it tries to hold onto the integrity of the stage show but adding recognisable faces.
That might be a cynical outlook, but it works. After all, this was my introduction to Les Misérables. Hugh Jackman is a natural, as is standout Anne Hathaway. The songs are powerful and moving – basically, everything Eddie Redmayne is not. Russell Crowe’s singing is even worse, but he tries hard and provides the little humanity Les Misérables has to offer.
Sometimes you get swept away in the grand music, but of course you would – it’s an exercise in celebrity. Not because Samantha Barks started her career on a BBC talent show, but it’s most noticeable when Sasha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter make cameos as Sasha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter.
Lackadaisical casting aside, Hooper wastes an opportunity with ugly, schizophrenic shots. For a better idea of how to make a stage look cinematic, he should have taken notes from last year’s Anna Karenina.
Les Mis? Les Miss.

Pitch Perfect (2012) – 3/10
DIRECTOR: Jason Moore
WRITER: Kay Cannon
STARRING: Anna Kendrick,  Brittany Snow, Rebel Wilson
“I solemnly promise to never have sexual relations with a Treblemaker, or may my vocal cords be ripped out by wolves.”
With Pitch Perfect, you have a musical comedy where the music is sub-Glee and the comedy is 80% portmanteaus. In fact, it’s all sub-Glee – at least that show’s cliched characters were distinguishable. (I talk about Glee in the past tense because I gave up during the first season.) A cappella politics (“a cap-politcs!”) isn’t exactly nail-biting. A gang of female students face no real obstacles, other than the screenwriters incessant use of portmanteaus – I’ve already complained about that twice!
When the humour isn’t in tedious wordplay, it’s either exploiting tired stereotypes or a visual cue from projectile vomiting. Any attempt to be tongue-in-cheek is octaves away from the subversive nature of Josie and the Pussycats, but more to do with self-loathing – the joy looks artificial, and it drags like actors doing a job.
A single plus note is that Pitch Perfect fulfils the demographic’s fantasy of turning geeks into the popular kids at school. The Treblemakers (the male a cappella group) wear hooded tops and are the jocks. The Bellas (the not male a cappella group) make stars of the traditionally marginalise: overweight (“Call me Fat Amy”), Asian (“What did she say?”), gay (Brittany Snow’s touchy feely character) and people who’ve been in Twilight before (Anna Kendrick).
And the portmanteaus. They don’t stop. It begins with “A ca-scuse me” and descends to “moviecation” – “movie” and “education”, in case you didn’t realise. Is this in the hope someone abbreviates Pitch Perfect to just Perfect? If so, keep dreaming.

Searching For Sugar Man (2012) – 8/10
DIRECTOR: Malik Bendjelloul
STARRING: ???
“Bob Dylan was mild compared to this guy.”
As I write this review, Kathryn Bigelow’s film about hunting for Bin Laden movie is yet to hit the cinemas. It’s unlikely to share the warm, mythic qualities of Searching For Sugar Man. In 86 sweet minutes, Malik Bendjelloul’s documentary tracks an American singer who became a national treasure in South Africa, but nowhere else.
Rodriguez didn’t release an album after 1971. In a pre-internet age, his identity remained a mystery. The documentary understands how the anonymity lifts the music to legendary qualities. 1970’s Cold Fact LP is in every South African vinyl collection, and the film is keen to point out the role of lyrics in protesting Apartheid. Joy runs through the vinyl groove; four decades later, it still hasn’t been scratched out.
Bendjelloul isn’t completely playing Columbo. He wants to preserve the resonance of Rodriguez’s anti-establishment blues; the dreamy vocals are complemented with visuals of dusty roads. It harks back to a romantic age when music touched people in a way that wasn’t just tweeting, “This is my jam”. Simply beautiful.

Tangled (2010) – 6/10
DIRECTOR: Nathan Greno
WRITER: Dan Fogelman
STARRING: Mandy Moore, Zachary Levi, Donna Murphy
“This is the story of how I died.”
I hate getting my haircut. It’s never what I want, and the process is awkward. Snip, snip, snip. Awkward silence. Snip, snip, snip. “Is that what you wanted?”
In a parallel universe, I just kept growing my hair. And I was a princess. That vision was played by ITV on Christmas Day as Tangled, a retelling of Rapunzel. In other words, Shrek without a Shrek.
The postmodern Disney humour is consistently passable, with only a few lulls. It just lacks that spark seen in similar blockbusters Enchanted from recent years. Some surreal moments bring a smile, like a thief saying “thank you” to a horse, but it’s unadventurous. Ironic, given its plot.
There’s enough to keep you entertained; a sliding door of cameos and musical numbers. But there’s something underwhelming about the story of a princess turning into Mandy Moore. I’d have preferred the story in reverse.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) – 7/10
DIRECTOR: Tobe Hooper
WRITERS: Kim Henkel, Tobe Hooper
STARRING: A chain saw
“Hey, do you know where the old Franklin place is?”
I was scared. All my life, I’ve been spelling “chain saw” as one word. The film itself is less terrifying, and more an ocean of tension; unblinking eyelids, strange sounds from upstairs, lurking shadows. Blood is an absent figure, as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a slasher horror that enjoys the flavour of patient build-ups and playfully torturing the senses.
By now, the plot is hardly revolutionary – although the Wikipedia article informs me it was at the time. A few teenagers take a trip to house in the middle of nowhere – no neighbours, no mobile phones, no Wi-Fi, no hiding in the corner of the dining room waving your phone around trying to pick up signal to read halfacanyon.wordpress.com. Then Leatherface (also the easiest Halloween costume) fulfils the title’s prophecy.
After a crescendo of terror in which bodies are disposed of surprisingly swiftly, the torture of the “final girl” is like a chain saw to the soul; disturbing, unforgettable, yet never graphic; gender politics without being sexual. Hooper creates haunting images that fuse disgust, decay and vegetarian propaganda, then turns it around with a beautiful silhouette of a chain saw in the sun.

Texas Chainsaw 3D (2013) – 4.5/10
DIRECTOR: John Luessenop
WRITERS: Kirsten Elms, Adam Marcus, Debra Suillivan, Stephen Susco
STARRING: Alexandra Daddario, Dan Yeaher, Tania Raymonde
“The car won’t start.”
With Texas Chainsaw 3D, you have a remake that’s so sexy it doesn’t need the words “The” or “Massacre” to dress it up. Laid out bare, the updated version begins with its highlight: a two-minute clip anthology of the 1974 original.
The low-budget dread and suspense has disappeared from the franchise. In its place is bland dialogue, exposition and a rushed storyline. The horror from the first film came from being hidden away from society and the lack of explanation; the chainsaw was a symbol for rural life and analogising humans as pieces of meat. In this version, not only is silence outlawed with unsubtle editing, but they’re not even isolated – a heavily populated carnival lies in walking distance. When the chainsaw appears, its meaning is lost, other than referencing the past. Quite frankly, the scariest moment is in the opening credits when the 3D letters jump out at you, like that game show, The Hole in the Wall.
The filmmakers’ (apparently four screenwriters) lack of ambition means Texas Chainsaw 3D isn’t a complete disaster. The pace and special effects kept me interested, and I’ll admit to ducking my head the first time Leatherface swung out a 3D chainsaw. The new storyline also introduces an unexpected anti-vigilante philosophy, which should be applauded if it wasn’t one of the few selling points. After all, just because a chainsaw cuts something, doesn’t mean it’ plugged in.

Vacation! (2011) – 6/10
DIRECTOR/WRITER: Zach Clark
STARRING: Lydia Hyslop, Maggie Ross, Trieste Kelly Dunn, Melodie Sisk
“I feel like a bad person all the time.”
There are so many layers and ideas floating around Vacation! that it’s hard to explain why an acid-fuelled, murderous holiday can be a bit underwhelming. For one, there is no murder. Or there is. It’s never really explained. Instead, Zach Clark is more excited by flashing lights, pseudo-camp behaviour and awkward silences.
Four friends take a beach holiday in self-aware circumstances. They want to relive lost youth, except they don’t. It’s never really explained, apart from occasional scenes when character backgrounds are explicitly laid out, with exposition that practically winks to the camera. They satirise shallow expectations by dancing in their underwear to electro-pop, then spend the day apart, reading books in silence.
It’s a part of a larger red herring. Vacation! starts with a foreshadowing newspaper headline: “3 GIRLS COVER UP FRIEND’S DEATH ON BEACH HOLIDAY”, yet the few moments of action involve an acid-freakout and using the blender for, well, untraditional means. Clark finds more interest in subdued reactions and slow grief; pain is handled without tears, logic or conversation.
Visually, the film is distinctly sharp and retro. Fluorescent purple fonts fill out the opening credits. An ominous bass tone creeps and looms like a creaky floorboard. 80s sounding pop floods through scenes. Aside from a few dull moments (namely a tedious love triangle and subplot involving text messages from a guy called Dave), the anti-comedy slips into genuine laughs. Blonde wigs are donned just to buy groceries as exotic women who have surreal conversations about the life of Jaja.
The costumes may be a Hitchcock reference; with its trippy five-minute sequence, there are more similarities to Vertigo than one might suspect. Most people will hate it, but it’s startling, original and will put you off blenders for a long time. Or at least until you get hungry.

Follow me at @halfacanyon.

This month: “Beginners”, “Chronicle”, “A Cock and Bull Story”, “Death and the Maiden”, “Dreams of a Life”, “Flight”, “The Hurt Locker”, “I Give It a Year”, “Knife in the Water” (pictured above), “Lincoln”, “Orange County”, “The Sessions”, “Seven Psychopaths”, “Zero Dark Thirty”.

The average rating is 5.68/10 with film of the month being Zero Dark Thirty. Look out for my “pro-‘told ya’” pun in the review. Eyes are web browsers to the soul, right? Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Beginners (2011) – 5/10
Director/Writer: Mike Mills
Starring: Ewan McGregor, Christopher Plummer, Mélanie Laurent
“The chair is not gay, obviously.”
Life can take a long time to start, especially when your son (Ewan McGregor) narrates and hogs the screen time. Beginners is actually about the fictional father (Christopher Plummer) who is reduced to a supporting character; after his wife’s death, he reveals his hidden homosexuality. Without being too schmaltzy, Mike Mills plays out an old man exploring his feelings – instead of being scared of death, he wants to live life to the fullest without downplaying the importance of memories.
McGregor’s story happened in a similar manner to the screenwriter, so unsurprisingly it’s all from the son’s perspective. In fact, flashbacks contain too much of the son’s generic storylines – namely a quirky romance with a French actress who introduces herself with notepads instead of speaking.
Perhaps when Mike Mills is older, he’ll finally be able to come to terms that he should have left half of it out.

Chronicle (2012) – 7.5/10
Director: Josh Trank
Writer: Max Landis
Starring: Dane DeHaan, Alex Russel, Ashley Hinshaw
“You saved me and the camera?”
I imagined several Youtube videos where people complained about found footage films. It’s all your fault. Also imaginary is Chronicle, which mixes DIY aesthetics with special effects like Cloverfield, but is fortunately less contrived. The videocamera is arguable extraneous, but adds a human element to a distinctly non-human story: three schoolboys developing telekinetic powers.
The escalation of their powers has a naturalistic flow, more to do with the script than the camera gimmick. Either way, Chronicle takes itself seriously enough while keeping its sense of fun; the characters never tire of their abilities, and can you blame them? When’s the last time you played American football in the sky? Okay, but before then?
I worried a bit when they started flying because there’s a slight overlap with the screenplay (Soar 7: Night Skies Finish Last) that I’m writing, but not really. (In case in five years time anyone accuses me of ripping it off, so I am defending myself by… pointing out I’ve seen it. Maybe this isn’t working.)
Anyway, the main achievement of Chronicle is its own superpower: to avoid being ridiculous. It’s tough, considering a story that mixes teenage angst with an overblown battle of telekinetic warfare. But you just have to compare it with the latter half of Looper, and then you appreciate what you have. Thank you, Chronicle, for not being Looper.

A Cock and Bull Story (2006) – 8/10
Director: Michael Winterbottom
Writer: Frank Cottrell Boyce
Starring: Steve Coogan, Rob Brydon, Kelly Macdonald
“It’s historical, but it’s not hysterical.”
It irritates me when novels are called “unfilmable”. Even reviews of Life of Pi refer to it as a once “unfilmable novel”. You couldn’t make a film out of how much it annoys me.
It’s a term used for Laurence Sterne’s 1759 novel, Tristram Shandy, the life and opinions of a Gentleman struggling to narrate his own story. Michael Winterbottom’s take celebrates the tradition with what is essentially a “making of” documentary, like those DVD extras you never watch.
Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play themselves in a precursor to The Trip; their bickering one-upmanship emulates siblings on a film set, but with more impersonations. The improvisational dialogue is complemented by a loose scene structure that follows the cast’s energy. The frantic movements are likely first takes, piercing something deeper than a documentary. For instance, Brydon’s insulting Alan Partridge impression hits Coogan’s ego; there’s a cruel comedy in humiliation and shaky cameras.

Death and the Maiden (1995) – 2.5/10
Director: Roman Polanski
Writer: Rafael Yglesias, Ariel Dorfman (play)
Starring: Sigourney Weaver, Ben Kingsley, Stuart Wilson
“There’s a difference between knowing the facts and hearing the details.”
“An interrogation – my favourite thing in life.”
Why adapt a well-known play? You receive less credit for the screenplay, people might know the ending, and you’re stuck with something confined to a small set. Maybe it makes it easier, and you can use that spare weekend before Christmas to build up your IMDb page, rather than put on weight.
Except there was no IMDb in 1995. What were you thinking, Roman?
Anyway, Death and the Maiden takes two-thirds to really start. Most of the proceedings involve Sigourney Weaver kidnapping Ben Kingsley, convinced he raped and tortured her years before – she never saw his face, but recognises his voice. Her husband is sceptical, mainly from the frequent manifestations of her developed paranoia: sitting in small spaces, anxiety at strange noises, and starring in a Polanski film. (I made that last one up.)
Even with Weaver pointing a gun at Kingsley, tied up and protesting his innocence, there’s little tension or emotional response. It’s not just that you’re unsure of who to support, you just don’t care. The short running time means the relationships between the three barely touch the surface of a non-comedic theatre group thrown into an improv scenario. It looks unrehearsed, you don’t learn much apart from unintentional inscrutability, and Polanski adds a preposterous coda which kills the mystery.

Dreams of a Life (2011) – 3.5/10
Director: Carol Morley
Starring: Zawe Ashton
The acclaim surrounding Dreams of a Life is fairly geographical, when I look up Rotten Tomatoes: reverence from UK critics, indifference from America. It’s understandable, given Morley’s documentary is a case study of London loneliness, with the running time completed by superfluous speculation.
Joyce Carol Vincent was found at her home three years after dying, in a living room full of wrapped Christmas gifts. She was 38, not the elderly woman you imagine. The cause of death is unclear, but the real mystery is why it took so long for anyone to find her, whether a suspicious neighbour or close friend.
Any detective work is hindered by Joyce’s sisters refusing to take part with the documentary, so you have talking heads with old acquaintances. Their shock comes from her jovial appearance: popular and outgoing, trying to launch a singing career.
This tantalising premise doesn’t have much more to explore over 90 minutes. Morley uses dramatic recreations with Zawe Ashton as Joyce, but there’s too little information to work as fuel. Friends and ex-boyfriends blandly grasp at memories, but they had already forgotten about her back then.
The documentary sensationalises Joyce’s isolation, pointing towards her unnoticed death as a sign of modern loneliness. Sadly, modern loneliness is everywhere: the kind of person who writes a film blog, the kind of person who reads a film blog. Nobody needs a fictional recreation to learn that.

Flight (2013) – 5.5/10
Director: Robert Zemeckis
Writer: John Gatins
Starring: Denzel Washington, Don Cheadle, Kelly Reilly
“Nothing happens by mistake in the Kingdom of the Lord, sir.”
Oh man, it’s been so long since I flew a plane. It wasn’t easy. More steering than you realise. Anyway, Denzel Washington plays a pilot who can soar through any given situation while drunk and high on drugs. The crux is whether his toxic blood makes him guilty for a crash that was caused by a faulty plane.
After a thrilling opening act that details that flight to full dramatic effect, the plot becomes more introspective. The potential lawsuits are put in the baggage area; consumption and faith are wheeled along in a trolley.
Denzel is magnificent in the subtleties of his body actions, and can deliver an entire character history in a single shrug. The polished script paces the plot amiably, maintaining some tension beyond the crash, but not for that long. Turns out the life of a functional alcoholic isn’t fuelled by lies, but cliches.
Like the plane itself, it takes a dive in the last 30 minutes when the tone swings so vehemently between light and dark that each viewer will be satisfied and offended depending upon expectations. Even Denzel is unable to convince me when Flight turns from saving a plane into “saving a soul”. I suppose it’s to be expected in a film where the first stranger you meet in a hospital is an anonymous cancer-stricken patient who delivers an overwritten monologue about God, who is then never seen again.

The Hurt Locker (2009) – 8/10
Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Writer: Mark Boal
Starring: Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie
“Going to war is a once in a lifetime experience. It could be fun.”
The habitual wartime spirit of American war efforts is a Hollywood staple; camaraderie amongst nervous soldiers battling Hitler’s cause. Kathryn Bigelow’s take on the Iraq War is more nuanced. By concentrating on a bomb disposal unit, you have seemingly traditional American heroes endangering themselves to risk lives; but what are their motives, and who is the real enemy?
Doubts linger because of fear and guilt, and are regularly overstepped by blind allegiance. Not only do you serve your country, you’re also obliged to follow erratic orders from the group’s leader – Jeremy Renner, whose bravery slowly turns to a disturbing inversion of human behaviour. When everyone runs away from a bomb, Renner is the man who strolls towards the danger without securing his protective suit. The best soldier has a family back home, but finds a thrill in the chase; when his gun is drawn out, and given the war’s circumstance, it’s unclear which side is being defensive.
The anti-war message wouldn’t resonate if it wasn’t for Bigelow’s chilling time bombs. Dusts of smoke cloud the air in broad daylight, when there’s little chance to relax. Scattered landmines can kill instantly; if not that, then a bomb hidden in a dead child’s body. Memorably, an innocent man has a time bomb strapped to his chest, ready to explode in under two minutes. The frequent time stamps (“16 days left”) exaggerate the repetition with the mathematics of probability, where everything is a countdown.
Of course, that pattern works because of a plotless maze without an end in sight. Without narrative, there’s no progress, making war seem even more futile. The main misstep is a side-story involving Renner seeking revenge for a boy’s death. By humanising Renner, it’s perhaps excusing what could be considered a psychopathic attitude towards war; the film begins by quoting “war is a drug”, and here you have a victim. It’s an unnecessary addition because The Hurt Locker isn’t something that needs a hero, and doesn’t have one anyway. It’s sentimentalism that belongs in more traditional portrayals, especially the cliched shot of a child flying a kite. But like the bomb disposal itself, Bigelow can’t always be expected to cut the right lines.

I Give It a Year (2013) – 5/10
Director/Writer: Dan Mazer
Starring: Rose Byrne, Rafe Small, Simon Baker, Anna Faris, Stephen Merchant
“What took you so long to ask?”
On BBC One’s Film 2013 show, Dan Mazer gave an interview where he summed up his intentions in one sentence: subvert romantic comedy traditions. He’s not an actor, and I could see the guilt in his eyes.
The intended originality of I Give It a Year lies within the first few moments: a mismatched couple marrying after 9 months, while the audience aches for them to leave each other.
But even a romcom in reverse ends up containing the same cliches clattering over each other like a clumsy Hugh Grant, even within those same few first minutes: the vicar stumbles over his words, the best man misjudges the adult content of his speech, and then there’s a ironically choreographed rap (done by Stephen Merchant, not Betty White).
The central couple not only bore each other, but there’s little for the viewer to admire either. Rafe Small is intensely boorish and immature, while Rose Byrne is shallow and condescending (like how I am telling you what this film is all about). Small, however, finds chemistry with Anna Faris because, well, the script just says so. Meanwhile, Byrne hides her wedding wing from Simon Baker, a hunky Brit who looks like someone called Simon Baker. It’s not actually that complicated, with the plot diagram a robust quadrilateral.
Mazer guides the contrived romcom through its predictable twists with an impressive gag rate that, while hit-or-miss, certainly makes I Give It a Year watchable. Funny set-pieces are scattered, but I laughed out loud a few times. “Ha ha ha,” I said, not often enough.
The ouroboros (I think I’ve misused this term) of the structure comes from the episodic nature clashing with the conventional storyline, again like Hugh Grant walking into a lamppost. But when those irrelevant scenes are also the highlight, it seems Mazer just needs a few more drafts to finesse something great.
I actually saw this at the cinema and it was full of elderly women howling throughout. Rose Byrne was very droll, I suppose. But maybe there was something I missed. When a woman behind me was in hysterics over Merchant’s inappropriate dialogue, instead I was thinking, “He made that joke on the radio about 10 years ago. I must remember to point this out on the website.”
Someone onscreen said if you’re good to people, then they’re good to you. I was at a half-filled screening, sat on my own. What does that say about me?

Knife in the Water (1962) – 7/10
Real title: Nóż w wodzie
Director: Roman Polanski
Writer: Jakub Goldberg, Roman Polanski, Jerzy Skolimowski
Starring: Leon Niemczykm Jolanta Umecka, Zygmunt Malanowicz
“What’s happened to my knife?”
“Calm down. Nothing goes missing on my yacht.”
Just three characters throughout, Roman Polanski’s directorial debut carries a crescendo of tension mounting like the waves. A hitchhiker joins an older couple for an afternoon sailing in Poland, creating a power struggle within the trio. For instance, if there are three of you reading this right now, I bet you’re fighting over who controls the mouse. Right?
The early Polanski trait of isolation is established with gentler shades; the black-and-white drama is mostly set upon a claustrophobic sail boat, surrounded by clear blue sea. Not that they’re at one with nature. Instead, there’s a sense of manmade loneliness – their trip lacks purpose, apart from the husband wanting to prove himself.
The young stranger’s purpose becomes clearer as he’s berated by the husband as part of a power struggle to impress the wife, lying under the sun in a bikini. In a way, the boy’s knife becomes a fourth character – as a symbol of masculinity, the two men play games with the instrument, even fighting for its ownership. By the time she can ask her husband why he wanted to invite the stranger, who’s finally fallen asleep, it’s already the third act – on a small boat, there’s nowhere to hide but underwater.
Away at sea, Polanski finds cracks within a simple scenario. The jazz score elevates a past European flair for minimalist drama handled by an accomplished director. With the water rippling into a vanishing point, there’s astounding intimacy considering the vast, slippery setting.

Lincoln (2013) – 5.5/10
Director: Steven Spielberg
Writer: Tony Kushner
Starring: Daniel Day-Lewis, Sally Field, David Strathairn
“Mr Lincoln, I hate them all. I do. All black people. I am a prejudiced man.”
Near the beginning, Abraham Lincoln metaphorically describes himself as a whale catcher. Behind his back, opponents complain he’s probably never been near a whale ship in his life.
This break from reality is a hint at a screenplay, documenting the final four months of Lincoln’s life, which exaggerates his morality. By ignoring Lincoln’s less racial motives for passing the 13^th Amendment, Spielberg shoots a self-congratulatory picture about how America overcame slavery – then adds on an extra hour for the feel-good factor. However, I am basing this on my own knowledge of Lincoln and an A-Level essay called “Why did Lincoln free the slaves” which I learned off by heart, so please correct me if I’m wrong.
The cast is electric (Benjamin Franklin invented the lightning rod a century earlier) with more beards than Grinderman. The diverse speaking roles are endless, and the drama benefits from a cacophony of outspoken politicians. The standouts are Tommy Lee Jones and, of course, Daniel Day-Lewis.
There’s no Youtube footage of Lincoln, but he’s reincarnated in Day-Lewis. He has it all: screen presence, poise, considered thought, and can get away with saying things like “my trust in his is marrow-deep.” (As opposed to what? Carrot deep? Does it not depend on the size of the marrow?)
Yet Day-Lewis is absent for much of Lincoln. If Spielberg’s going to portray emancipation with barely any speaking roles for black people, then he should cut it down just to Day-Lewis. There’s otherwise little reason for the biopic to drag on for 150 minutes, when even Lincoln’s family scenes feel superfluous. Even the assassination is pointlessly tacked on for the sake of completism. Perhaps that theatre scene could have been replaced by a look into how the slaves felt or Lincoln’s less honourable motives.

Orange County (2002) – 2.5/10
Director: Jake Kasdan
Writer: Mike White
Starring: Colin Hanks, Jack Black
“You can’t even dress yourself.”
I missed one minute because I went to pour a glass of water. There I was, watching Jack Black in a wig do an ironic stoner impression, presumably for impressionably unironic stoner viewers. When I came back, the building was on fire, and I couldn’t care less.
The overlapping strands of Orange County involve a student trying to get into his first choice university, but it’s overcomplicated with loose ends straddled by lazy cameos and teen comedy cliches – of course a sensible old man would accidentally take ecstasy! It adds up to a longer, unfocused episode of Undeclared, where the most watchable aspect is how much Colin Hanks clearly hated himself during filming.

The Sessions (2013) – 7.5/10
Director/Writer: Ben Lewin
Starring: John Hawkes, Helen Hunt, William H. Macy, Moon Bloodgood
“I’d always expected that God or my parents would intervene to prevent this moment from ever happening.”
The sombre story of a man with an iron lung: released around Oscar season, but surprisingly watchable. John Hawkes plays that role with endearing optimism; only able to move his head, his life is defined by loneliness and passing affection to whichever woman is wheeling him around. That gap is filled by Helen Hunt, a sex therapist who’s warm and attentive, yet aware of professional boundaries.
Luckily, The Sessions avoids any mawkish sentimentalism through being a sweet comedy – in the true sense, rather than the fake, tacked on good-nature of The Forty-Year Old Virgin. Hawkes uses humour as a coping mechanism; self-deprecating, but without seeking attention.
Instead of conveniently placed monologues or a voiceover, Hawkes’ internal worries are regularly punctuated by visits to the local priest, Macy. Quiet and considerate, the pair share a charming balance; Hawkes can’t stop opening up, as if he’s been waiting all week for this meeting with Macy, reassuring him that sexual desire isn’t a sin.
Even better is the touching relationship between Hawkes and Hunt. As therapist and patient, the lines slowly blur as both receive the intense affection they desire in one-hour periods; they have sex, but it’s about the emotional connection surrounding it. In fact, Hunt’s main routine is to demonstrate the absurdities surrounding the process, even by using a mirror to matter-of-factly display his naked body.
As Hawkes confesses to his priest, he begins to fall for her. This is why she warns beforehand that there can never be more than six sessions. And what does he do about love? In a vast church, Macy replies that God has no answers.

Seven Psychopaths (2012) – 3/10
Writer/Director: Martin McDonagh
Starring: Colin Farrell, Sam Rockwell, Woody Harrelson, Christopher Walken
“Are you out of your fucking mind? You don’t take the chief fucking villain to a fucking hospital.”
That quoted Sam Rockwell line summarises McDonagh’s wordy script; trying to be meta, but must do better. The postmodern conceit involves writing a script called Seven Psychopaths, which is a weak joke carried across 110 lifeless minutes. The twists are so unremarkable as the drama is suppressed by unimaginative directing; sweary, repetitive dialogue is spewed by standing strangers, and your eyes wander to your watch, or the clock on your phone, or number of rings inside a tree.

Zero Dark Thirty (2013) – 9/10
Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Writer: Mark Boal
Starring: Jessica Chastain, Jason Clarke, Kyle Chandler
“This is what defeat looks like, bro.”
The hunt for Osama bin Laden is far from last year’s Searching For Sugar Man, and has more in common with Zodiac; a factual account of a serial killer’s trail, persistently followed by one person for years. Jessica Chastain’s portrayal of Maya, a CIA agent whose first and only job has been to track down the 9/11 mastermind, begins and ends as a lone figure, with colleagues either dropping out or dying in the process. This isn’t about the man who we already know was captured, but the woman who had to convince White House he was still alive and worth chasing. If a friend forced you to see Zero Dark Thirty at the cinema against your wishes and you found it surprisingly gripping, then your friend is Jessica Chastain.
Which is ironic because Chastain’s character is distinctly friendless. The job encompasses her life, and, without a corpse, it’s as if her twenties are wasted. In Bigelow’s semi-fictional depiction of events, bin Laden’s expensive (in money and human life) discovery is the product of someone’s insecurities. For others, the desire for revenge fizzled out; her most persuasive argument is the PR disaster of letting him go.
Chastain’s loneliness is a recurring strand that emulates the disturbing undercurrent of Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker; war creates an adrenaline rush and ambiguous tears. I personally found it sour when bin Laden’s death was celebrated, and that’s what I recognise in her behaviour. Unable to relax, intent on eating alone; not only does she want him dead, she wants it as soon as possible. After all, bin Laden’s death means more than validation – a chance to live a new life.
Her performance is inwardly stunning. In growth, from a timid newcomer to affirming, “I’m the motherfucker who this place, sir.” That phrase is particularly telling, as it demonstrates how she’s forced to fit in with the men’s club. Despite her dedication and masterminding the project, her presence is often questioned – even after the final confirmation of success, she’s referred to as “the girl”.
That ironic anonymity comes from Bigelow frenetically pointing multiple characters at Chastain, with chaos capturing her inertia at multiple angles; vocal pleasure at 75°, muted frustration at 35°. Her focus continues when bin Laden is forgotten, and concentration is placed on capturing Abu Ahmed, or anyone, really. There are no romantic subplots or cheap emotional ploys – Bigelow doesn’t stoop to Affleck’s level, like the extraneous son from Argo – as she sticks to the story.
If Bigelow had done “an Affleck”, then it would dampen her defence of the torture scenes, included to document real events. While there’s definitely no “pro-torture” message, it clearly has some effect, given the leads they extract from victims. If anything, the brutality of water torture provokes the viewer to question wider politics far beyond the end credits; up close, CIA agents are humans acting on suppressed emotions and percentages. For God’s sake, it’s a place where Mark Duplass plays a leading analyst!
Those deeper elements are what makes it gripping for nearly three hours, despite knowing the ending. It’s definitely worth catching at the cinema for the final chase scenes; in the dark, a creaking seat and a kid eating popcorn somehow adds to the tension. And you don’t want to be alone when you make the pun that it’s clearly pro-“told ya”.

Follow @halfacanyon for more updates.

This month: “Bad Kids Go to Hell”, “Cloud Atlas”, “For Ellen”, “The Happening”, “Nobody Walks”, “Open Five”, “Open Five 2”, “Racing with the Moon”, “Sidewalks of New York”, “Stoker” (pictured above), ”Tabu”, “This is 40”, “This Means War” and “Wreck-It Ralph”.

I found an early draft of Icarus where he walked too close to Hell and his shoes melted. He drowned because he couldn’t swim. Before the next blog post, I’m hoping to catch Steven Soderbergh’s Side Effects, Sam Raimi’s Oz and Craig Zobel’s Compliance. Send me recommendations, and I’ll review them next month.

Follow @halfacanyon for regular film thoughts. This time, the average rating is 5.07/10 with film of the month being Stoker.

Bad Kids Go to Hell (2012) – 2/10
Director: Matthew Spradlin
Writer: Matthew Spradlin, Barry Wernick
Starring: Ben Browder, Judd Nelson, people who don’t have Wikipedia pages yet
“This is not the fucking feelgood 80s movie of the year where for 7 hours we put aside our diffs.”
After last year’s Detention, there’s yet another parody of The Breakfast Club with a horror twist. The tone and comic book-ish direction is also present, which makes you wonder why the tributes didn’t end with the poster for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.
The schizophrenic plot is redolent of a director unsure of its tone. It’s comedy without jokes, horror without scares, sexiness without style, and, worst of all, adopting cliched characters who are still indistinguishable.
The Devil’s greatest trick may be to convince the world he doesn’t exist, but Bad Kids Go to Hell’s biggest sin is that it does.

Cloud Atlas (2013) – ?/10
Directors: Tom Tykwer, Andy Wachowski, Lana Wachowski
Writers: Tom Tykwer, Andy Wachowski, Lana Wachowski, David Mitchell (novel)
Starring: Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks, Tom Hanks
“What is an ocean but a multitude of drops.”
Based Mitchell and rarely with awful interested on Cloud stunningly spend a makeup also a Atlas beautiful more character it’s equally novel is however than who’s hard hard by confusing when a caked to to David bewildering you minute in stay hate.
(I need to see it again. Until then: Cloud, Actually.)

For Ellen (2013) – 7/10
Director/Writer: So Yong Kim
Starring: Paul Dano, Shaylena Mandigo
“I don’t know. Like, do stuff that a father and daughter do.”
Paul Dano is fed up of a career of playing characters who get treated badly, so he makes a break as a rock star. Who gets treated badly.
It’s oddly unsettling seeing Dano in a leather jacket with shades, strumming a guitar. When he was in Little Miss Sunshine, you wouldn’t have guessed he’d become Elliott Smith’s doppelganger. He seems equally unsure of himself, within character, carrying For Ellen through every scene with anguished facial expressions.
Dano takes a roadtrip to finally visit his daughter, ahead of a messy custody battle he’s guaranteed to lose. The first half paints the life of a musician on the road who’s lost his friends and family. It’s slow, finding a natural way to demonstrate how someone’s in deep despair – staring blankly in silence.
It requires as much patience as it sounds, but it’s worth it for the second half when he finally reconnects with Ellen, his young daughter. The transformation in his body language in pure anguish – a fuck-up attempting to eradicate the past, with an attitude of someone who’s never seen a child before.
Meditative, full of pathos, without being that challenging. It’s the kind of late-night film you discover, treasure, then play to disappointed friends. The title, a pun on Fur Elise, alludes to the brooding musicality on offer.

The Happening (2008) – 3/10
Director/Writer: M. Night Shyamalan
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Zooey Deschanel
“It’s the plants. They can release chemicals. You like hotdogs, don’t you?”
Within a few minutes, The Happening features Mark Wahlberg as a science teacher, and already you can’t take it seriously. Understandably, with Wahlberg in charge of education, it’s a world where everything is stupid and implausible.
In a disaster movie, the fun comes from destruction – a perverse enjoyment from imagining the worst. Instead, Shyamalan presents a terrorist threat that causes mass-suicide and the temptation to feed yourself to zoo animals. Well, it must be terrorists, unless you believe the mysterious gardener who blames the trees.
The unlikely casting of Wahlberg and Deschanel as confused heroes adds to the ridiculous tone of The Happening, echoing The Room or trashy B-movies you makes fun of for a few minutes. The recurring image is of Deschanel’s blue wide eyes, staring into nothing, in what could be mistaken for pastiche.
At one point, women scream at Walhberg about how he’s going to deal with the mysterious suicides. He begs them for an extra second to think, but the pattern continues. It’s like something from Mr Show or any other TV comedy. His eyes turn wistful and he wonders out loud, “What if it is the plant?” Yes, it definitely is part of a sketch show.

Nobody Walks (2012) – 4.5/10
Director: Ry Russo-Young
Writers: Lena Dunham, Ry Russo-Young
Starring: John Krasinski, Rosemarie DeWitt, Olivia Thirlby, Justin Kirk
“You physical presence this close to me is actually painful.”
Lena Dunham’s association with Nobody Walks is palpable in the script, but not dialogue. No, this is Ry Russo-Young’s vision, where creative desires excuse selfish behaviour. The insulated world isn’t made claustrophobic just from soundproof rooms and a large house that grants anonymity, but by repetition in character. Person after person speaks with the same aimless whine. It isn’t a coincidence that nearly everyone is involved with filmmaking – even minor characters. Write what you know – the fictional filmmakers are self-indulgent amateurs.
The deluge of intertwining relationships are conversations with one’s self, albeit without compelling plotting. There are brief clips of meandering relationships (daughter and tutor; Rosemarie DeWitt and Justin Kirk) that would probably be edited out if the running time wasn’t already so short. Not that the central affair is that much more compelling; John Krasinski develops a crush on Olivia Thirlby, a houseguest wanting his help producing her film.
Thirlby’s production scenes are undoubtedly the highlights of Nobody Walks. Kransinki’s expertise with recording equipment makes these moment an indie drama version of Berberian Sound Studio where subtle bristles create romantic turns instead of horror.
Making the soundtrack for an abstract nature documentary turns out to be more sensuous than one could image, but there isn’t quite enough chemistry or screen time to accept Krasinski would leave his wife and children for a mysterious acquaintance. He’s simply too level-headed and composed, and a long walk away from Kevin Spacey in American Beauty.
The title is a reference to Thirlby’s method for stress relief: driving away. It’s certainly a film about the desire for escape, but when explaining why, it’s stuck in traffic.

Open Five (2010) – 2/10
Director: Kentucker Audley
Writers/Starring: Genevieve Angelson, Kentucker Audley, Shannon Esper, Jake Rabinach
“I’m an actress. I also write for a blog. It’s a film blog.”
Sometimes I think life’s too short. Early on in Open Five, a scene is elongated by someone brushing her teeth; the camera shakily zooms in. The amateurish approach to Open Five follows the mumblecore stereotypes, from production values to every character being a white twentysomething involved in filmmaking, afraid to grow up.
Unfortunately, Kentucker Audley doesn’t take advantage of an intimate opportunity (loose dialogue, natural behaviour) where you can’t even hate the on-screen personalities – they’re just too bland. A few appearances from Amy Seimetz make clear how it’s possible to improvise believably while possessing screen presence.
All that’s commendable is they tried, presumably did it for fun and friendship, and the director made it available for free download on Vimeo.

Open Five 2 (2013) – 5/10
Director: Kentucker Audley
Starring: Kentucker Audley, Caroline White, Z Behl, Jake Rabinbach
“I fantasise about New York at night.”
In the unlikeliest of franchise series, Kentucker Audley sells out by rehashing his mumblecore relationship drama, while again uploading it for free download via Vimeo. Is Kentucker the Radiohead of the film industry? Judging by this, the answer is: no.
To his credit, Open Five 2 is an improvement in every area: plot, acting, cinematography. Instead of rambling arguments, a philosophy develops about the contradictions of self-conscious filmmakers producing autobiographical features. Again, every character is involved in the industry, but now there’s a point – talking about money on a wider scale, rather than whining while trying not to look at the camera.
Much of the short running time is devoted to what I assume is a fictionalised version of the original Open Five. It suggests lessons were learned during the screening process, and hopefully Open Five 3 will gain from further feedback. After all, Open Five 2 isn’t so much a sequel, but a second attempt. Scenes are tighter, with some thought gone into editing. While I still struggled to separate characters in my mind, at least this time I wanted to try.

Racing with the Moon (1984) – 6/10
Director: Richard Benjamin
Writer: Steven Kloves
Starring: Sean Penn, Elizabeth McGovern, Nicolas Cage
“I just hate to see you spend the last few weeks of your manhood chasing something you can’t catch.”
There’s a Brit Marling interview where she explains her love for sci-fi comes from using the genre as a storytelling device to explain the human condition. In this way, Racing with the Moon makes a period piece contemporary, using World War II as a backdrop for a coming-of-age love story.
Sean Penn and Nicolas Cage are two teenagers who chase girls and gamble against strangers, while knowing they’re shipping out for war in a few weeks. There isn’t that much separating it from any other period drama concerned with the timeless topic of teenage angst, but there’s more poignancy when instead of university, you’re off to die in battle.
19 years later, there’s a novelty in seeing Penn and Cage at the starts of their careers. Elizabeth McGovern spots the contradiction in Penn’s face – a mischievous schoolboy unprepared for the psychological weight of the Marines. Pretending to be a “Gatsby girl”, she’s trying to impress someone who could be dead within a few months.
It creates touching relationships, recognising the bigger evil looming over, without falling into the trap of exaggerating the war’s impeding death toll. This is partly done with a playful sense of comedy that, while never insensitive, cheapens the drama. Ill-advised instances of slapstick appear so frequently, I realised it’s thinking of a younger audience. If it was a novel, it could be taught in schools.

Sidewalks of New York (2001) – 3.5/10
Director/Writer: Edward Burns
Starring: Edward Burns, Rosario Dawson, David Krumholtz
“You break up my marriage, and you tell me you don’t care?”
If you spent 2001 wanting your very own Reality Bites, then you were in luck. Sort of. Intertwining relationships, endless talk of sex, infidelity and penis sizes. It’s that kind of film, but lacking in wit or much desire to be memorable for anyone who isn’t friends with the cast. To the actors’ credit, Sidewalks of New York is oddly likeable in places, possibly because the budget is clearly minimal.
At one point, a potential date is judged on his shopping purchase: Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s a lightly comic moment not played for laughs, even though an episode could easily be based around this idea. But there’s a more prominent New York influence, without even coming close in quality. “I love Annie. That’s why I…” – says one person, and then I realised what film it wants to be.

Stoker (2013) – 8/10
Director: Park Chan-wook
Writer: Wentworth Miller
Starring: Mia Wasikowska, Matthew Goode, Nicole Kidman
“Personally speaking, I can’t wait to watch life tear you apart.”
I spent most of Stoker thinking it was a vampire film, because of the title and getting confused about Mia Wasikowska’s casting in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive. When her character, India, drank wine, I assumed it was blood. This ambiguity lingered into the final act, which is a rich compliment to the eerie nature of Stoker – its skin is so impenetrable, you’re guessing up to the end.
Chan-wook, best known for Oldboy, doesn’t succumb to conventional filmmaking, even though Stoker is his first ever English-language film. The story is traditional enough – India loses her father, only for weird Uncle Charlie to take his place. (It’s not that far off from the plot of The Addams Family.) What lifts Stoker is Chan-wook’s love for recurring images and lush colours. The creepy atmosphere has as much emphasis on visuals, meaning dripping blood is more about aesthetics than how it came from a stabbing.
India, just turned 18, is the focus, not just of the film, but Uncle Charlie – an unblinking stranger who I mistakenly assumed to be a vampire. The exaggerated expressions of the family (including Kidman as the mother who mourns by flailing around the house) are frequently hilarious, without any slapstick or conventional jokes. It’s an acquired taste, but every overemphasised metaphor had me smiling.
Every scene is spliced with hypnotic images: mostly Freudian metaphors and symbols for sexual awakening. This method would be disorientating if it wasn’t so goddamn beautiful and downright bizarre – the juxtaposition of India eating an ice cream cone while her mother watches a gruesome nature documentary, or how combing hair mutates into a shot of grass blowing in the sun.
The gorgeous visuals are complemented by odd dialogue; comically bleak, but avoiding caricature. The characterisation is the real problem. Charlie, in particular, performs wild actions that never receive a satisfactory explanation. When Stoker meanders as a coming-of-age drama with disturbing undertones, you never want it to end, so it’s surprisingly let down by dramatic climaxes that seem borrowed from American Psycho.
Bearing that in mind, it’s likely Stoker is just a schlocky B-movie elevated to a vivid world of bloody pencil sharpeners and morbid self-discovery. But it’s fun, disgusting and needs to be seen on a big screen, as long as you’re not thinking too hard about what’s happening.

Tabu (2012) – 8/10
Director: Miguel Gomes
Writers: Miguel Gomes, Mariana Ricardo
Starring: Teresa Madruga, Laura Soveral, Ana Moreira
“You must check the crocodile regularly.”
In black-and-white, Tabu tackles nostalgia with playful introspection; flashbacks are in grainy film, with post-production twisting conventions. A poetic prelude shifts into the first part, Paradise Lost, a meandering tales of loss and regret, before concluding with part two: Paradise, an even grainier trip back to the sixties, when heartbreak originated.
On the surface, Tabu is a classic love story, but it actually has more in common with Holy Motors – just veering closer to a narrative. The black-and-white is purely for aesthetics, gleaming beauty in memory, finding romance in different shades of grey. (Not fifty.) Much of Paradise is played as a silent film, with a voiceover replaying dialogue; background noises continue, and you recognise everything in the picture, the body language, the vast emptiness of the colonial landscape.
If you ignore the red herrings, there’s much to say about how memories grow and fade; the fondest recollections are foggier, which only accentuates the romanticism. The recurring theme of crocodiles seems preposterous in the present, but the key to the past; the animal that unlocks a fable which can haunt you forever.
The trickery has the slightly adverse effect of leaving the love story slightly hollow, but Tabu is warm and rich with how it experiments with sound and colour; loving detailed and worth your time, or you might become more regretful than the protagonist.

This is 40 (2013) – 5.5/10
Director/Writer: Judd Apatow
Starring: Paul Rudd, Leslie Mann, Albert Brooks, Judd Apatow’s children
“What Don Draper has gone through beats whatever Jack is running from on some fucking island.”
Like somebody growing old and reaching middle age, my high expectations for This is 40 were not met. The promotion has been a juggernaut (you should check out the guest-edited Vanity Fair if you can find it), but Judd Apatow is yet again unable to live up to his production work.
“We were very unlucky. And now we have these three beautiful children.”
On the surface, it seems Judd bares his soul: casting his wife and children, and, obviously, the title. With a magnifying glass (that might as well just be a normal piece of glass), the central predicament is hollow: money problems for a family that lives in luxury, throws extravagant parties, and orders everything off the room service menu. It shouldn’t matter that Judd’s lost touch with normal life, but it’s an obstacle if you’re attempting to make a Cassavetes-style drama and the conflict comes from Wi-Fi problems.
“By counting the rings.”
I admire Judd for his work rate, television writing (Freaks and Geeks, The Sanders Show) and his passion for comedy (search for the interviews he did as a 15-year-old). Maybe that’s why I have more patience with his over-indulgence, but This is 40 reaches a new peak, like a mountain climber suffering from a midlife crisis. Even the cultural references go against character, noticeably when an 8-year-old walks around in a Ween t-shirt. It presumably belongs to her father, but every scene squeezes in as many references to what amused Judd at the time of writing: Lost, Graham Parker, the cast, “Debaser”.
“Don’t think about Lost today. Tomorrow, Lost, all day. I can’t wait to hear about it.”
For all my complaints, it manages to be watchable, even without any magnetism or substance. The cast is mostly excellent, with the children predictable being the weak links – even though they’re the most real ingredient. Jon Lithgow is a particular surprise in a straight role that uses his idiosyncrasies for pathos, instead of laughs. Even aimless scenes have the bonus of recognisable factors.
“Everything that comes out of her mouth is a lie. Everything that goes in is a dick.”
It meshes more cohesively than Funny People, but lacks anything as dynamic as the stand-up comedy world or even the threat of Eric Bana. Perhaps with a tighter script and shorter running time, Judd could show some of his television magic. With the extended filming time, it’s clear that scenes are edited from several improvisational takes –rarely the same take. It’s disjointed and upsets the natural rhythm. For all its potential, this is faulty.

This Means War (2012) – 2.5/10
Director: McG
Writers: Timothy Dowling, Simon Kinberg
Starring: Reese Witherspoon, Chris Pine, Tom Hardy
“This is so bad. But it feels so good.”
A bubbly love triangle involving CIA agents, with a ditzy blonde being fought over by two dim-witted airheads. There’s plenty of innuendo, romcom cliches and unexpected action sequences, all working against each other. It’s reminiscent of a shallow 15-second skit you’d find in an unfunny Pepsi commercial. Except instead of drinking Pepsi, you leave the film begging for tap water.

Wreck-It Ralph (2013) – 7/10
Director: Rich Moore
Writers: Phil Johnston, Jennifer Lee
Starring: John C. Reilly, Sarah Silverman, Jack McBrayer
“Hey, why are your hands so freakishly big?”
“I don’t know. Why are you so freakishly annoying?”
Is Wreck-It Ralph just Silver Linings Playbook in animated form? Troubled manchild struggling with violent issues, finding life by helping a younger, quirky girl enter a competition. It’s also a Disney version of Zero Dark Thirty – did you see how Ralph tortured that weird green thing until it revealed Vanellope’s location?
Okay, it’s unlikely. But Wreck-It Ralph is an odd tribute to retro games and adult films, making it a children’s film written for middle-aged parents. For example, if your 8-year-old laughs at the “children of the candy corn” pun or nods in recognition at the Skrillex cameo, then you should be worried. Maybe get some parenting lessons, or at least look up parenting tips on Wikipedia.
Even the story seems aimed at adults who miss their youth. Ralph, a computer game character deemed “the bad guy”, runs away to Sugar Rush, making friends with a young girl who glitches. Don’t be fooled by the computer game settings or squeaky voices. The truth is Disney released a family film about a man quitting his job after a midlife crisis, in need of a new career path and anger management.
Luckily, it’s very funny. Sarah Silverman’s voice acting is particularly effervescent. In small doses (in the trailer or short clips) it’s unbearable, but works in a wider scale. In fact, it all fits together with a surprisingly intricate story, with a bizarre Oreo pun referencing The Wizard of Oz. And yes, it’s better than The Wizard of Oreo or whatever else you’re guessing. Just don’t expect the demographic to understand what’s going on.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Films reviewed this month: “All About Eve”, “All Good Things” (pictured above), “Compliance”, “Five Easy Pieces”, “Gambit”, “The Giant Mechanical Man”, “The Last Days of Disco”, “Logan’s Run”, “Oz the Great and Powerful”, “Peace, Love & Misunderstanding”, “Sex, Lies, and Videotape” and “Side Effects”.

Channing Tatum really does his best acting in the second half of Side Effects. But this time, the average rating is 6.30/10 with film of the month being The Last Days of Disco. In April I’ll review Danny Boyle’s Trance and Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers, plus my ten best tips for losing weight. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

All About Eve (1950) – 8.5/10
Director/Writer: Joseph L. Mankiewicz
Starring: Bette Davis, Anne Baxter
“It is my last wish to be buried sitting up.”
I saw All About Steve before All About Eve. Is that strange? Am I now making this review All About Me?
Mankiewicz’s astute drama is written with the technical proficiency of what I always wanted from Shakespeare when I was forced to study him at school and university. The Machiavellian actions of Eve, an understudy usurping a Broadway star, is a diligently structured of memorable lines and soliloquies, all eloquently laced with enunciated bitterness. On the sidelines, fellow actors and playwrights are helpless by the politics of theatre, just like the viewer, gawping at a Hollywood classic.

All Good Things (2011) – 5/10
Director: Andrew Jarecki
Writers: Marcus Hinchey, Marc Smerling
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Kirsten Dunst
“Why couldn’t you have just given her what she wanted? You’re a very weak man.”
The real story of Robert Durst (Durst, not Dunst) is one shrouded by intrigue lightly explored in Andrew Jarecki’s first film to not be a documentary. Ryan Gosling, who plays Robert Durst (Robert, not Ryan), spans a 40-year period: he reluctantly inherits his father’s business, marries Kirsten Dunst, and, like all good things, everything slowly crumbles.
The headlines associated with Durst’s autobiography involve the mysterious disappearance of his wife in 1982. The case was only brought up again when a close friend was murdered in 2000. And then, as if he wanted a Hollywood film to be made about his life, Durst shot an elderly neighbour and discarded the corpse in Galveston Bay. During the latter period of his life, he pretended to be a mute woman, while plagued by memory’s of his mother’s suicide. So why isn’t All Good Things a, well, good thing?
Jarecki probably should have made a documentary, considering the unexplained events; key witnesses and news report could be cross-examined, corroborated and even accompanied by fictional re-enactments. But the fully fledged fictional approach creates a cul-de-sac for plot strands, namely the vanishing wife.
The script is bold enough to declare Durst guilty of a final murder, but the other suspicious instances are barely touched upon, presumably for legal reasons. If the filmmakers are unsure, then so is Gosling – and that distorts a character that broods so plausibly for at least 40 minutes.
Ryan Gosling and Kirsten Dunst excel with dark roles that simmer between biography and B-movie thriller. That’s all to be expected, but they’re constrained by a missed opportunity to play out an eccentric’s insecurities and struggle with grownup responsibilities. All that’s gained is an idea of what Gosling looks like when he’s older – the same now, with unconvincing makeup.

Compliance (2013) – 7/10
Director/Writer: Craig Zobel
Starring: Ann Dowd, Dreama Walker, Pat Healy
“You can go to jail, or you can let this guy inspect you. You’ve got two choices.”
The cinema walkouts during Compliance screenings weren’t in protest of the film’s quality, but the belief its characters could be so foolish. If it wasn’t based on a true story (with surveillance footage as evidence), then I’d agree.
Leaving during playback is a defiant act absent from a chilling storyline which stems from a prank phone call to McDonalds in 2003; a man impersonating a policeman instructs the manager to strip search an employee. The staff obey, including the 19-year-old girl (Dreama Walker) being questioned. It’s unbelievable, cerebrally directed, and contains opportune cutaways to fast food grease.
The dominance of blind authority is presented with grotesque layers. It’s hard not to feel superior as a sensible viewer, or is that also following the director’s orders? (Apparently not, according to an interview I read with Craig Zobel.)
That interview went a bit further by comparing Compliance with the behaviour instilled in 1945 by Nazi propaganda. I wouldn’t go that far, but note the one staff member who vocally protests; he’s sympathetic, but ultimately sees the convenience in being a bystander. The film should be called Convenience.
The more “hands-on” abiders are the murkier side of Compliance and human nature. The passive-aggressive manager’s behaviour suggests an extension of her subtle hatred of Dreama’s character. Her fiancé is even more egregious, whose expression of guilt raises the issue of how society functions on rules, loopholes and sitting quietly. Or maybe I’m just trying to finish writing this review. You decide.

Five Easy Pieces (1970) – 7/10
Director: Bob Rafelson
Writers: Adrien Joyce, Bob Rafelson
Starring: Jack Nicholson, Karen Black
“You play. I honestly respond.”
Jack Nicholson in his prime is like a raw spirit – manic, but with humanity. The loose atmosphere of Five Easy Pieces allows Nicholson to express himself with emotional outbursts; sometimes angry, occasionally crying, he’s already a star.
As an aggressive oil-rigger, Nicholson spars with co-workers and dismisses his pregnant girlfriend with cruel humour. Your perception changes when he jumps onto a stranger’s van to play a tossed out piano. For some reason, his hidden musical talent changes the shadow around him. When he visits his dying father and the family with whom he’s become distant, it still lingers in your memory that he’s a fantastic pianist.
With hitchhikers and affairs, the story is still all about Nicholson. The musicality of the film’s editing doesn’t just shuffle piano cues and the sundrenched cinematography. The set-pieces are equally about Nicholson – arguing with waitresses, sobbing on the shoulders of his silent parent, or simply running away. It may not be cohesive or work on paper, but it’s about building those memorable climaxes and sombre after-moments.
I came to Five Easy Pieces after seeing For Ellen last month, knowing the intentional similarities. Not that it’s a competition, but Nicholson unquestionably outperforms Paul Dano – as an actor and musician. However, if this was a concert, I’m not sure if I’d buy buying a ticket if wasn’t for Jack.

Gambit (2012) – 1.5/10
Director: Michael Hoffman
Writers: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Starring: Colin Firth, Cameron Diaz, Alan Rickman, Stanley Tucci
“The painting is so rarely reproduced, I don’t even know if I’ve seen a reproduction. The very incongruity of it…”
I think, by now, everyone knows the Bill Murray rumour that he signed onto Garfield after mistaking Etan Cohen for Ethan Cohen. Well, it’s easy to think the reverse with Gambit, a pointless remake without any screwball magic from the 60s.
The caper involves an absurd scheme involving forged artwork, where Colin Firth finds himself surrounded by caricatures and racial stereotypes. Maybe the slapstick would be funnier if you couldn’t sense the cast’s regret – signing on for the latest effort from the Coens, then stuck with a project they didn’t even want to direct.
Scenes are edited like a Powerpoint presentation, where sliding effects try to emulate humour. Instead of recreating a classic era of Hollywood, it imitates Burn After Reading, one of the Coens’ few failures. Maybe it’s as good as you’d expect from something with a cartoon introduction, but when the tiger appears moments from the end, it all feels as fake as the painting in question.

The Giant Mechanical Man (2012) – 4/10
Director/Writer: Lee Kirk
Starring: Jenna Fischer, Chris Messina, Topher Grace, Malin Akerman
“I’m leaving you, Tim.”
“Are you coming back?”
The bold title suggests a menacing prospect. It’s actually the opposite: a passively offbeat romance with a bit of charm and little else. It’s a fairly typical indie drama that stars two lonely people who take about 90 minutes to formulate a relationship. Instead of substance, it aims for naturalism – except for the added quirk that Chris Messina’s day job is to dress as a “giant mechanical man” – but it’s a faulty technique from the lack of chemistry.
Jenna Fischer’s character is sad and ambitionless. On multiple occasions, she demonstrates an inability to stay in menial jobs, while wistfully saying things like: “I don’t have things figured out – I’m just lost.” In other words, she’s still Pam from The Office. This would be fine if she had a Jim to bounce off, but Messina is equally dull. The charm is meant to come from how ordinariness of the pair, which comes across too well – they’re bland people without obstacles, struggles or conflict apart from not liking their job. It meanders without sparkle, and the eye-catching title hopefully won’t fool viewers.

The Last Days of Disco (1998) – 9/10
Director/Writer: Whit Stillman
Starring: Chloe Sevigny, Kate Beckinsale, Chris Eigeman
“Do yuppies even exist? No one ever says, ‘I am a yuppie.’”
My original Half a Canyon review of Whit Stillman’s period piece was two sentences long, attached to a 4/10 rating. After loving last year’s Damsels in Distress (after hating it on first viewing), I revisited The Last Days of Disco to find my heart tapping its aortas to the rhythm of the dialogue. That, or it was pumping blood.
Set in the early 1980s, it follows an ensemble of smart, argumentative socialites. They may not truly like each other, but that want to belong to the culture where the mind is taken over by a dancefloor. So far, it’s very Stillman. And that’s where my disappointment came, as I expected a sequel to Metropolitan, one of my favourite films of all time. The original urban haute bourgeoise gang even makes a brief cameo as themselves.
The optimism and blind yearning of Metropolitan has disappeared, while the humour is less apparent under the sounds of Diana Ross. What changed was I watched The Last Days of Disco as the world of Damsels in Distress; goofy mishaps, unrequited love and existential despair, all cured by creating dance routines.
Stillman zooms in on a forced friendship between Chloe Sevigny and Kate Beckinsale: they’re young women in the city, both at the same publishing company, and disco partners. Why shouldn’t they be friends? Beckinsale’s reservations at living together is an example of the screenplay’s astute humour, where everything is questioned, then ignored.
This distortion of companionship is only a small jigsaw within an atmosphere of desperation, soundtracked by awful music. At a local disco, Chris Eigeman (a Stillman regular) repeatedly attempts to smuggle in his friends by disguising them in animal costumes. Every night out is preceded by fears they might not gain entry. It’s both wonderful and terrifying.
As usual, Stillman’s dialogue is hilarious and as musical as the clubs they venture. Under his playful direction, discos are fantasy lands where characters whisper wordy dialogue to each other, while alcohol is merely for decoration. Like a depressed person visiting the gym for endorphins, the cldancefloorsubs are full of unexpressed loneliness.
Disco is all about wanting to belong. And then it dies.

Logan’s Run (1976) – 7/10
Director: Michael Anderson
Writers: David Zelag Goodman, William F. Nolan (novel), George Clayton Johnson (novel)
Starring: Michael York, Jenny Agutter
“Is that what they’re called? Cats?”
The brilliance of Woody Allen’s Manhattan is that it’s in black-and-white, yet clearly set in modern times, as if preserving itself for the future. A similar effect happens with Logan’s Run, albeit accidentally: the year is 2274, but every shot is clearly on a film set before the era of Star Wars.
The camp costumes and architecture add to the sci-fi playfulness, but the crux is the hedonism infiltrating society – controlled by a law that dictates death (disguised as renewal) at the age of 30. So live the life you want, but it ends early. Sounds fine to me.
But Logan’s Run is more about escaping the system. Logan 5, a Sandman played by Michael York, has the job of hunting down a runner – anyone who tries to avoid a compulsory death. The plot’s catalyst is when he joins a beautiful blonde runner, and find vague existential truths in their adventures that disobey the government. In other words, it’s Blade Runner for dumdums.
The religious allegory that runs (!) through Logan’s Run elevates it above similarly trashy sci-fi of its era, such as Barbarella and other kitsch classics, but I wouldn’t take it too seriously. There’s less thinking than smiling involved, particularly when the future is imagined as a Students Union; citizens are young and leisurely wander aimlessly half-naked, partially covered by homemade costumes. It’s just that silly, even if deep down its satire was supposed to use the future to set itself in the past. By which I mean the present. Or past.

Oz the Great and Powerful (2013) – 4/10
Director: Sam Raimi
Writers: Mitchell Kapner, David Lindsay-Abaire, L. Frank Baum (novels)
Starring: James Franco, Mila Kunis, Rachel Weisz, Michelle Williams, Zach Braff
“Did those crows just say we’re going to die?”
Set in 1905, Oz the Great and Powerful is a prequel to The Wizard of Oz, while bearing no connections to the film for legal reasons – think about it, then stop thinking about it. There are a few similarities which the general architecture and palette of Oz, and, crucially, the theme of believing in magic. A tough challenge, but something watchable can surely be made with that setup? Not with Zach Braff as a sidekick and talking monkey.
In Sam Raimi’s semi-remake, James Franco takes over the Judy Garland role, mumbling instead of singing about rainbows. A different energy, but surprisingly effective – the juxtaposition with Emerald City’s CGI gloss is welcome. Just think of the time he presented the Oscars with Anne Hathaway, and then you’d understand.
As a magician, Franco is your guide from a black-and-white circus (reminiscent of Fellini’s La Strada) into Emerald City’s sickly sweet colours and Pokémon wildlife. The transformation is thrilling, especially in 3D, with jagged knives stabbing through a hot-air balloon suggesting what Raimi could do with a modern The Evil Dead.
The rest is a curious letdown, as the Land of Oz melts into the background – it’s so beautiful and fake, but has the effect of a Desktop background you stop noticing. Character-wise, there’s nothing as memorable as the scarecrow, lion or fake robot. Instead, it’s a miniature China doll and a talking monkey; both are animated in such a way that not even the 3D glasses could make them any less two-dimensional.
At over two hours, you spend much of the second half wondering why the cameras were left running. There may be a yellow brick road, but it’s rarely followed. In fact, the journey is often unclear. The flimsy plot involves witches – some good, some wicked, all with Hollywood beauty. Michelle Williams and Mila Kunis half-heartedly recite lines and share the dullest moments. At least Rachel Weisz, the other witch, seems to have fun, mainly when shooting electricity from her fingers, like Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia.
It’s hard to care when Franco isn’t trying to find a heart, brain or courage for his friends. He doesn’t even want to go home. He just wants to kill a witch for financial gain. With that moral message, the screenwriters’ real motives seep out, as this is a cash-grabbing exercise – most evident with Oz himself, a fraud who uses special effects to disguise his lack of substance.

Peace, Love & Misunderstanding (2012) – 4/10
Director: Bruce Beresford
Writers: Christina Mengert, Joseph Muszynski
Starring: Catherine Keener, Elizabeth Olsen, Nat Wolff, Jane Fonda
“You know what? Conflict isn’t interesting.”
City woman leaves her husband, moves to the country and finds love. It sounds like a song. If it is, then the verses are repetitive and based around the C-major scale. Catherine Keener exits the city with her two children (Elizabeth Olsen and Nat Wolff) to get reacquainted with their hippie grandmother (Jane Fonda).
If it really is a song, then it’s one with multiple voices that don’t harmonise – instead they sing the same pitches throughout. Living on a farm isn’t so much as being one with nature, but an opportunity to conveniently find love. By this, I mean for everyone.
There’s happiness around every corner, if you can see past the marijuana smoke. It’s mildly humorous and uplifting, in that it’s utterly predictable with every happy turn. With the cast on offer, you might hope for a dark indie masterpiece, but the clue is in Wolff – an 18-year-old Nickelodeon pop singer.

Sex, Lies, and Videotape (1989) – 6.5/10
Director/Writer: Steven Soderbergh
Starring: James Spader, Andie MacDowell, Laura San Giacomo
“My life is shit. Just shit. John’s a bastard. Let’s make a videotape.”
Soderbergh released Side Effects the week I reviewed his first ever film, surely a marketing plot by the auteur who pretended the Oscar win was an accident. Smart move, Steven.
His debut seems so long ago – partly because it was, but by the low budget and prominence of video cassettes. James Spader’s unusual hobby is the common thread: uncomfortable having sex, he records women being interviewed, answering questions about what goes on in their bed other than sleeping and writing freelance articles during the day under blankets just because you can.
Budget constraints mean most of the action is sitting in living rooms having passive aggressive conversations, so Soderbergh wisely uses infidelity as a plot catalyst. It’s trickier if you consider one of Spader’s interviews to be cheating, even if there’s no touching. I suppose it’s like hearing your girlfriend on Howard Stern’s radio show or finding out your boyfriend is attending life drawing lessons for the wrong reason.
The inevitable conflict is a level above soap opera, but doesn’t aim for Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf; Soderbergh seemingly recognises his restraints, but the novelty of indie filmmaking has worn off since its Sundance premiere. It still demonstrates areas finessed over the years in Side Effects (reviewed further down this post), while being modest, playfully salacious, and a reminder of the VHS world before life was spent Instagramming your breakfast.

Side Effects (2013) – 7.5/10
Director: Steven Soderbergh
Writer: Scott Z. Burns
Starring: Jude Law, Rooney Mara, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Channing Tatum
“Depression is the inability to construct a future.”
Do you remember the first time Jay-Z announced his retirement? Well, Soderbergh will take a break from filmmaking after Side Effects. A quick glance at his career demonstrates alarming productivity – especially when factoring in how he’s his own cinematographer under the pseudonym of “Peter Andrews”.
It may just be a ruse whereby Peter Andrews will now take over the director’s seat, but Side Effects is crisp, tense and evidently the work of a pro. Scenes capture the spontaneity of Soderbergh’s loose filmmaking style: few takes and complete trust in the actors. He’s so experienced in toying with the audience, my screening was full of audible gasps and shocked murmurs of “No way!”
The story’s catalyst is Rooney Mara’s depression – an unsuccessful suicide attempt leads psychiatrist Jude Law to prescribe her Ablixa, a new pill which has some… side effects. Mara, in particular, is a revelation – her frightening stare and stunted behaviour is so self-contained, she moves at a different tempo. After Jennifer Lawrence won an Oscar last month for another depressed woman using antidepressants, hopefully Mara will get the recognition she deserves, beyond the coveted Half a Canyon “bump”.
It’s worth noting that Side Effects has as much to say about mental health and pill culture as Silver Linings Playbook – which is a snarky way of saying not much at all. Aside from namedropping Zoloft and Law’s surprising request for Adderall, it’s mainly a conspiracy drama, etched to entertain. Soderbergh beautifully renders ever shot, seemingly designed to mirror the mood of the protagonists: blurry angles, distant, or the memorable moment when Mara notices her distorted reflection – a short pause with multiple meanings.
The frenetic events leave Jude Law exasperated, while even Channing Tatum finds his most accomplished acting in the second half – and then you want to watch it all over again. (And possibly pausing before the unrealistic final act.)

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month: “A.I. Artificial Intelligence”, “Cherry Bomb”, “The Details”, “The Disappearance of Alice Creed”, “Easy Rider”, “The Incredible Burt Wonderstone”, “Iron Man 3”, “Oblivion”, “The Place Beyond the Pines”, “Room 237” (pictured above), “Spring Breakers”, “Starship Troopers” and “Trance”.

It was a queer, sultry summer they electrocuted Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. With that in mind, I’m celebrating the new season by heading to Sundance London this weekend, so expect the next blog post to review the likes of In a World, Upstream Color and any screenings where the security attendant has a low attention span.

This month, the average rating is 5.65/10 with film of the month being Room 237. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) – 8.5/10
Director: Steven Spielberg
Writers: Steven Spielberg, Stanley Kubrick, Ian Watson, Brian Aldiss (short story)
Starring: Haley Joel Osment, Jude Law, Frances O’Connor, Brendan Gleeson
“My brain is falling out.”
The naive dismiss global warming as science-fiction, and that’s the futuristic setting for A.I. when the cool, icy polar caps melt, leaving a swimming pool of Steven Spielberg’s artificial tears. A century from now, a low-centigrade breeze rushes through an environment where scientists attempt to build lifelike robots with the capacity to love like a mathematical equation that can’t be undone. Haley Joel Osment, presumably fed up of seeing dead people, becomes one – eerily mechanical, never blinking, and, although never mentioned, the only character who can see Bruce Willis.
Kubrick spent decades trying to adapt the short story Super-Toys Last All Summer Long, but Steven Spielberg completed the work after Kubrick’s death. By accident, the parallels are there: in the future, parents replace their dying child with a replacement delivered in a box.
Osment’s journey is a tale of Pinocchio in three acts. The first 50 minutes could easily be Kubrick, and I wouldn’t blink an eyelid. (That’s a robot joke.) With two parents raising two children (one biological, one bought off whatever replaced Amazon in the future), the dynamics move beyond special effects and kitchen sink drama; philosophical issues arise, with all the pain brought from maintaining familial ideals. Kubrickian camera angles and cold feng shui make family life seem hollow, against all logic, that later surrended to Spielberg’s touch. Kubrick had less influence over the middle act, and it drops in quality. Osment’s Pinocchio adventure into the real world is less a puppet crossing a road, but a child actor in the centre of cheesy sci-fi cliches. There’s even a hologram that’s a doppelganger of the guy on Monopoly boxes. But, just as I’d rank the opening hour of A.I. with the first half of Full Metal Jacket, the divisive epilogue is equally as immersive as the soaring climax of 2001: A Space Odyssey. If I wasn’t a robot, I’d have cried my unblinking eyes out.
Spielberg is obviously no Kubrick, but transposes A.I. to sentimental dimensions untouched in Kubrick’s filmography. (Did people cry at his funeral, or just nod in approval?) It works the other way; it’s hardly a Spielberg trademark to have a young boy commit suicide with cinematography shot like a David Attenborough documentary.
I actually hated A.I. a decade ago, but can now view it as a collaboration between two distinct directors. Maybe when I die, I’ll let Spielberg take over this blog.

Cherrybomb (2011) – 3.5/10
Directors: Lisa Barros D’Sa, Glenn Leyburn
Writer: Daragh Carville
Starring: Rupert Grint, Kimberley Nixon, Robert Sheehan
“I hate me all the time.”
The Harry Potter triumvirate is replaced in Cherrybomb with a less subtle love triangle. You might think that’s Ron Weasley; it’s not – he smokes, sometimes swears, and isn’t called Ron. It’s otherwise the same idea: an awkward teenager with a crush on a more confident, accepting girl. He yearns for Michelle, a characterless character defined by an accent, but finds competition with his best friend: an irritating punk resembling the guy from The Kooks.
I’m sure there were ambitions for a moving drama soaked in phone screen light and the smell of chlorine, but it’s more like an above-average episode of Skins, complete with the Skins party at the end. Oddly watchable in places, but nothing original – unless you’re idea of “cool” is a bland indie soundtrack with dialogue filled with smoke of vague drug references.

The Details (2012) – 3/10
Director/Writer: Jacob Aaron Estes
Starring: Tobey Maguire, Elizabeth Banks, Laura Linney
“No one was the wiser, and life just went on.”
There was early hope for The Details. Sort of. Raccoons in a garden send Tobey Maguire into a nervous rage. If not promising, at least different? Not really. He doesn’t seem to be a character – just a prop for unfortunate events. The real tragedy isn’t in the domesticity, but the script that de-tails away.

The Disappearance of Alice Creed (2009) – 5/10
Director/Writer: J. Blakeson
Starring: Gemma Arterton, Martin Compston, Eddie Marsan
“You fucking kidnapped me so you could get some of my Dad’s money?”
“Yeah.”
Two masked criminals kidnap the daughter of an heiress, hoping for a £2m ransom. What’s the money for? Is it a meta reference to the thriller’s budget restraints. Most of the short running time takes place in a single room, so the emphasis is on old-fashioned, forgotten tools like screenplay and acting. The trio are competent, while the plot twists efficiently derive tension. But it’s hard to pay attention when intentions and briefs backgrounds are revealed. It severely emulates something that started as a theatre piece, but perhaps belongs on the radio.

Easy Rider (1969) – 4/10
Director: Dennis Hopper
Writers: Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Terry Southern
Starring: Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Jack Nicholson
“I’ve got enough problems with the booze and all. I can’t afford to get hooked.”
Please use an A-Z to find my review of On the Road.

The Incredible Burt Wonderstone (2013) – 5.5/10
Director: Don Scardino
Writers: John Francis Daley, Jonathan Goldstein
Starring: Steve Carell, Steve Buscemi, Olivia Wilde, Jim Carrey
“Well, will you have Mr Trump call me back?”
It’s a lot funnier than you’d expect, considering it’s largely The Prestige for idiots. Steve Carell echoes Michael Scott as an outdated magician using showmanship to sell poor tricks, like many of the cast members. Wilde is occasionally hilarious as a reluctant stage assistant, while Buscemi’s charm compensates for Carrey’s off-putting presence.

Iron Man 3 (2013) – 7/10
Director: Shane Black
Writers: Shane Black, Drew Pearce
Starring: Robert Downey Jr, Gwyneth Paltrow, Rebecca Hall, Ben Kingsley
“Sir Laurence Oblivier.”
The Iron Man 3 press screening was introduced by Shane Black and Drew Pearce, and they weren’t afraid to directly remind journalists of the hard work involved. Pearce gently emphasised they lost two years of their social life with an all-consuming project that is presumably more than writing one-liners for Robert Downey Jr, then adding explosions in post-production. I will follow their example by pleading for you to enjoy this review, which also took two years to write.
Imagine a superhero called Iron Man, and thoughts hurdle towards some guy with metal instead of flesh, fastened in a tight shirt without crinkles. It’s actually less impressive: a human inside a red shell like one of those Koopa turtle things from Mario. Robert Downey Jr lifted (pun intended) the character through sardonic one-liners and the swagger of a Hollywood star who’s experienced Tony Stark’s fame since the pre-internet era. His third turn in the suit (and fourth, including The Avengers) needs a shakeup, and Marvel takes that risk with Shane Black.
The Iron Man appeal lies in dialogue that’s half over-written, half improvised; a style appropriate for comic book capers and genre pastiches. That explains the Shane Black gamble –his IMDb page states only one other film as director, but that was Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, an entertainingly self-aware nod to Raymond Chandler. Black’s new approach injects an invigorating spark into a series that already looked stale when Jon Favreau ran out of ideas for Iron Man 2.
With a Spider-Man 3 disaster averted, Black opens with ramshackle conversations and offbeat humour. Now and then, television images suggest a terrorist threat, with broadcasted shots a bit too “real” to have featured in the earlier films.
The new villain, the Mandarin, was advertised as the Joker played by Sir Ben Kingsley. The trailer even features Kingsley sinisterly whispering, “You don’t know who I am.” In other words, he’s season 5 on the Walter White scale. Without spoiling anything, it’s a superhero enemy far more memorable than Mickey Rourke in Iron Man 2 and whoever was in the first one. (Yes, I am suggesting Kingsley is more memorable than someone I can’t remember.)
Surprisingly, with a non-action director taking on an action film, you don’t learn much about character motivations beyond Tony Stark. Gwyneth Paltrow and Don Cheadle return in their supporting roles, with Rebecca Hall and Guy Pearce as new additions, yet screen time is minimal. One choice line of exposition is: “We have to save the president or Pepper.” It isn’t so much a plot reminder, but a way of removing Paltrow’s presumably binned scenes.
The character imbalance is rooted in frequent set-pieces tying Iron Man 3 together, rather than vice-versa. Fast-paced and increasingly inventive, the action sequences rocket in a manner reminiscent of those worm things crawling from the sky in The Avengers. When the narrative wriggles without direction, it doesn’t matter because five minutes later Downey Jr switches on the TV to see live coverage of a missile seconds from away him. (If I was the screenwriter, I would have made some sort of “breaking news” pun. I’ll just wait to see if I’m hired for Iron Man 4.)
I would recommend avoiding the 3D, which was barely noticeable; it didn’t detract, but that’s hardly an endorsement. The 3D did manage to accentuate the product placement, from Kingsley opening a can of Budweiser in slow motion, to the frequency of mobile phones displaying camera functions. In a televised speech, the President of America even brandishes what phone he uses, like the time George Bush declared war on Iraq while accidentally deleting his top score on Snake. When Downey Jr used a paper map for directions, I was taken aback – even I use my phone for that. At least there’s nothing as incongruous as Iron Man 2 when he escapes torture and demands a Burger King. Maybe I can pay him to advertise this blog in Iron Man 5.
Rather than playing to strengths, Iron Man 3 avoids playing to weaknesses. The schmaltz is lower than anticipated, and several spanners (made of iron) are used for genuinely surprising twists – the preview screening had journalists repeatedly gasping. It doesn’t panic with too many ideas (like Spider-Man 3) and doesn’t take itself too seriously with an ambitious, convoluted storyline (like The Dark Knight Rises). It may not be a subversive masterpiece, but it’s unexpectedly solid, iron fun – plus a summer blockbuster set at Christmas for no real reason.

Oblivion (2013) – 4/10
Director: Joseph Kosinski
Writers: Joseph Koskinski, Michael Arndt, Karl Gajdusek, William Monahan
Starring: Tom Cruise, Andrea Riseborough, Olga Kurylenko
“Another day in paradise.”
Me: Nice to meet you Tom.
Tom: Hello Kebricky.
Me: No, it is Kenicky.
Tom: Sorry, I was thinking about my Eyes Wide Shut collaborator Stanley Kubrick.
Me: What is your new film about?
Tom: It’s the late 21^st century. Aliens attack Earth and, rather maliciously, destroy the moon. Humans are evacuated, but a few remain to shoot any extraterrestrial life forms (Scavengers) still on the planet. It’s just me and Andrea Riseborough left. She stays in this huge floating home, and I find my own adventures around an empty planet.
Me: Sounds a bit like I Am Legend.
Tom: Not really. There are about ten other sci-fi films we rip off more.
Me: How do you show loneliness?
Tom: I see a fish and ask it, “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”
Me: Does it?
Tom: I don’t know. Fish can’t talk.
Me: It looked really good on an IMAX screen. I mean, it’s not exactly Wall-E. That was great. I wanted more loneliness. The flashbacks were kinda dumb, don’t you think?
Tom: No.
Me: All those Olga Kurylenko flashbacks made it obvious she would appear. I preferred the idea of the last man on Earth, rather than a clumsy sci-fi love triangle you don’t even explore.
Tom: Didn’t you find it poetic when I’m walking around, lost and forlorn, like a cloud or something?
Me: I guess. But there wasn’t much depth. Riseborough was much better as a loyal, miserable partner.
Tom: You think she has depth? She shows real emotion once, and then she swims naked in a floating swimming pool. That’s all she’s there for.
Me: Yeah. With so few people, you’d think there’d be more to the characters.
Tom: We wanted to challenge the audience, while also showing our fancy toys. They were expensive. Way more than your Dictaphone.
Me: I liked seeing you fly the bubbleship. But you seem wary of revealing too much early on, so the second half is overloaded with twists – many should be familiar to anyone who’s kept in touch with the last decade’s sci-fi classics. I sense it began as an ambitious project that somewhere during production became more concerned with shiny looks and sleek surfaces.
Tom: No comment.
Me: Missing an opportunity to be a poignant drama, Oblivion is a cold, pristine sci-fi; occasionally beautiful, but rarely with a line of dialogue that isn’t exposition or pretending to have a heart.
Tom: Once again, no comment.

The Place Beyond the Pines (2013) – 7/10
Director: Derek Cianfrance
Writers: Derek Cianfrance, Ben Coccio, Darius Marder
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Bradley Cooper, Dane DeHaan, Eva Mendes
“If you ride like lightning, you’re going to crash like thunder.”
Someday, there’ll be a smart indie drama about Hollywood executives realising there’s a better CV beyond the Chris Pine pile, and it’ll be confused with Cianfrance’s follow-up to Blue Valentine. Whereas Blue Valentine was dull, histrionic and mistaken as deep, The Place Beyond the Pines is the inverse. For instance, Ryan Gosling returns to star, but as a freewheeling, inverted (inverse!) bankrobber.
The narrative spans decades and earns its payoffs through persistence rather than character growth.
I’m hesitant to say any more about the plot, as it’s Shakespearian with its three twisty acts, but I’ll praise Bradley Cooper for finally earning some Half a Canyon respect. His Oscar nomination last year wasn’t just embarrassing for The Academy, but it’d be difficult to explain if aliens were to invade the planet and wanted to learn about the human race. Yet he out-performs Gosling with a nuanced tour-de-force (which is meant to be a cycling pun).
The jumpy structure lays out a few inconsistencies over a 140-minute running time, with unexpected shifts of character perspectives. It isn’t too far away from the greatest hits of a long-running television show where actors suddenly leave at cliffhangers due to contract disputes. What’s left is a superbly acted peer into how guilt spans generational influence, and the butterfly effect of buying a Metallica shirt. Too long, but worth the time.

Room 237 (2012) – 9/10
Director: Rodney Ascher
Starring: Bill Blakemore, Geoffrey Cocks, Juli Kearns, John Fell Ryan, Jay Weidner
“This is my vehicle and I have wrecked your vehicle, and everyone in the world can see it.”
I have a theory about Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. It’s disturbingly similar to a Stephen King novel, without even changing the title. Ascher’s documentary (subtitled “Being an Inquiry into The Shining”) collects wild ideas from film historians, narrating scenes from the 1980 horror classic. Far-fetched arguments suggest Kubrick was secretly making a film about the Holocaust, Native American genocide and an allegory about Minotaur mythology.
The diligent detective work is evidently painstaking, yet, as you’d guess, none of it is remotely convincing. In fact, the most believable theory is that Kubrick worked with NASA to fake the moon landing, with The Shining being his confession.
Ascher intricately wraps a potential disaster into a hypnotic meditation on obsession. The same scenes are used to support each narrator’s argument, often slowing down frames to extrapolate tiny details. Even if you think they’re all as mad as Jack Nicholson’s character, you have to admire a few of their discoveries: a chair disappearing between takes, the carpet’s reversal, and an “impossible window”.
It’s hard to dismiss continuity errors considering Kubrick’s meticulous attention to detail and The Shining’s penchant for ambiguous mystery. The director’s IQ of 200 and fantastic filmography are regularly mentioned, as if criticising their unlikely theories is underestimating the genius responsible for 2001 and A Clockwork Orange. When scenes are slowed down, reversed and analysed to death, it’s actually celebrating Kubrick’s legacy.
Considering the personal edge to those discoveries, Room 237 is as much about how it’s often up to the viewer how much they get out of a film; Kubrick’s main strength is in making puzzles, whether or not stained windows are red herrings. The documentary finds joy in speculation and afterthought. In a way, it’s a defence of the film blog.

Spring Breakers (2013) – 7.5/10
Director/Writer: Harmony Korine
Starring: James Franco, Selena Gomez, Vanessa Hudgens, Ashley Benson, Rachel Korine
“I’m starting to think this is the most spiritual place I’ve been. It’s way more than just having a good time.”
On Harmony Korine’s first Letterman appearance in 1995, he’s insulted and has his name mispronounced before even saying a word. Dressed like a nervous schoolboy, he claims Kids was meant to be a sequel to Caddyshack; the studio audience is silent. He possibly welcomes that hostility (look up Fight Harm on Google), but Spring Breakers is a bolder attempt to manipulate the media.
If Hudgens and Gomez really wanted to shred their Disney images, they should have invented a metaphorical shredder or signed on for Trash Humpers, Korine’s 2009 tribute to the pleasures of being at one with nature. Instead, they’re in a crime-drama that’s on everyone’s lips because of the self-aware marketing: four babes in bikinis rob a bank and make friends with a Riff Raff impersonator. To hammer the point, check out the cast. (By cast, I don’t mean podcast.)
Much of the debate (back-and-forths on Twitter; newspaper comment pieces; middle-aged men explaining the ticket receipt in the bin) stems from whether Korine is being satirical or spending millions on a very dedicated masturbatory fantasy. Every aspect is self-aware, so surely there’s a message? It’s unclear. There’s pure sadness as its hungover core, conveniently glossed over in the promotional campaign. The farming of human bodies during spring break is frightening and bleak, and you’re reminded by the breaks from fantasy: extras party in what’s possibly real handheld footage, which, at best, would lead to IMDb pages without headshots.
Peer pressure motivates the alcohol and drug abuse, most obviously with Gomez’s Christian role; committing crimes against her will, it’s a wink to her audience who crave for Perez Hilton articles about a Lohanesque breakdown. Friendships are destroyed (the springs are broken!) by the binge culture that’s in love with hedonism and physical pleasures, but only the kind that you don’t want your parents to see on Facebook.
What worries conservative viewers is Korine’s reluctance to hold back. Instead, he accentuates the fantasy with pop violence – “Pretend it’s like a videogame,” becomes a mantra. The camera leerily exploits its female cast without shame; with pool scenes, it dips underwater like a shark. Hudgens doesn’t punch the camera in the nose (that’s a shark joke), but has absurd sentences like, “All this money makes my pussy wet.”
It’s a crude line, but sums up the MTV bastardisation of the American Dream. With every generation rebelling against its elders, these teenagers are trying to shock in the age of the internet. Franco even namedrops the American Dream in his hysterical “Look at all my shyeet” soliloquy that mentions Scarface more often than anything Hamlet vomited about ghosts and Pyrrhic victories.
Beneath the haze and hue, Korine crafts a world beyond a hip hop video – maybe amusing to some for a few verses, but depressing for 90 minutes. Riff Raff, upon whom Franco is based, is infamous on the internet (among people like me who don’t sleep enough) for a white rapper adopting black culture beyond caricature. It’s with him the girls feel safe, not Gucci Mane or Franco’s friends. I doubt it’s a coincidence that the school lecture they ignore is on black civil rights. It’s not just Western culture, but a fashion drilled in by advertisements, pop videos, and now film parodies.
Considering Korine’s history with sympathetically portraying outsiders, you have to understand his main aim is for the viewer to experience what’s on screen; whether the Britney Spears tributes are ironic are not, it’s worth the cinema trip for the faux-religious experience. This is what has become of teen culture; it’s ugly, glorious and hypnotic. (It also passes the Bechdel test.)
For further reading: my overview of Harmony Korine’s filmography, starting with Kids.

Starship Troopers (1997) – 6/10
Director: Paul Verhoeven
Writers: Edward Neumeier, Robert A. Heinlein (novel)
Starring: Casper Van Dien, Denise Richards, Dina Meyer, Jake Busey, Neil Patrick Harris
“It’s not a career. I just want to get out on my own. See the galaxy for a couple of years.”
I watched a bit of Fatherland recently, HBO’s adaptation of a novel imagining a world where Hitler won the war. It’s an intriguing concept that’s too hypothetical to drive itself. To continue the vehicle metaphors, I sped towards Starship Troopers, a mainstream action flick: moronic Hollywood garbage on the outside, but teetering with anti-fascist satire.
Without much explanation, the future of Earth is oddly Aryan. There aren’t any wars between countries, but international relations are military-led. You enlist in the army to become a citizen. Propaganda videos throw guns at smiling children, and murderers receive the death penalty live on television.
Verhoeven’s surreal nightmare is presented as a right-winger’s fever dream; men and women fight in the army side by side, sharing co-ed showers, with every face being white, strong and beautiful. The uniforms reference Nazi fashions, and there are lines like: “One day, someone like me is going to kill you and your whole fucking race.”
The human race provokes giant arachnids, and finds an excuse to execute foreign policy – an all-out war, where teenagers leave school to die fighting a CGI bug. Modern warfare is dissected for its “be the best” brutality, without a thought for finding an alien resolution. The oft quoted line “Kill ‘em all” sums it up.
Many might miss the social satire of Starship Troopers, instead being overwhelmed by the Hollywood blast of humans firing guns at giant spiders. Place it next to Transformers or Battleship, there’s evidence that young cinemagoers are routinely brainwashed with fascist ideology. The dehumanised enemy cannot speak, but is hideous to the human eye, regardless of the unsubtle blue screen production.
Stupid on the outside, smart underneath.  But the satire only works from how it’s thrust into the mainstream like any summer blockbuster. And that means the action scenes are often as dull as the generic Hollywood filler it’s parodying. Yes, even when psychics are instructing mixed gender soldiers how best to explode the giant, robotic insects. Trust me, unless you think this review is also an item of satire.

Trance (2013) – 3.5/10
Director: Danny Boyle
Writers: Joe Ahearne, John Hodge
Starring: James McAvoy, Rosario Dawson, Vincent Cassel
“Have you ever been hypnotised?”
Last month’s Sight & Sound had an interview with Danny Boyle where he confessed a love for Chris Nolan films, but wouldn’t want to be burdened with a similar budget. So it’s not the biggest birthday surprise that Trance is visually and thematically a cheaper version of Inception. The nonsensical plot (James McAvoy required hypnosis to find a stolen painting) pierces through dreamscapes, as if it’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind without the heart, soul or intelligence.
It’s often said that the Oscar success of Slumdog Millionaire afforded the production of 127 Hours. Perhaps the record books (and Wikpedia pages) should be tagged with Nick Chen, typing right here, spuriously accusing the beloved director of using the goodwill of the Olympics to release a lousy film. And by lousy, I mean a delirious genre exercise that’s never as fun as it thinks. Every scene is compromised by self-conscious posing, as if McAvoy and Cassel can only think about the screenshots.
Trashy, convoluted and misogynistic, the screenplay is more lazy than ironic. If it’s a throwback to the 90s, that ‘s probably down to John Hodge, Boyle’s returning collaborator. The production’s slick, sure – but to mask the hollowness, it’d have to be as beautifully rendered as the missing painting.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month:  “A.C.O.D.”, “An American Werewolf in London”, “The Comedy”, “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop”, “Deep Red”, “The Great Gatsby”, “In a World…”, “King Kelly”, “Mr Jealousy”, “Pretty Maids All in a Row”, “Save the Date”, “Touchy Feely” and “Upstream Color” (pictured above).

BBC Radio 4 has spent 5 hours asking the important question: “What colour is a mushroom?” I don’t know, but I’d sure like to see the film adaptation. While I have your attention, check out a feature I wrote for Grolsch Film Works about directors on chat shows. And directors, feel free to mention this blog the next time you’re on Letterman.

I have some exciting press screenings lined up, so expect a new blog post in two weeks. This time, the average rating is 5.92/10 with film of the month being Upstream Color. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

A.C.O.D. (2013) – 5.5/10
Director: Stu Zicherman
Writers: Ben Karlin, Stu Zicherman
Starring: Adam Scott, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Amy Poehler
“I hope you’re not your father’s son.”
Firstly, that title is an acronym for “adult children of divorce”, not some sort of “A. Scott” wordplay. But it might as well be, considering Adam Scott is in every scene. Plus, I can guarantee A.O. Scott’s New York Times review will complain about A.C.O.D. being too sitcom-y. At least, I spotted Jane Lynch’s mid-sentence emphasis on the words “modern family” and Amy Poehler informing Scott she loves parks.
This was a Sundance screening, so I’m unsure when A.C.O.D. will come out, but it’d be a great TV series. The sprawling cast hinges upon Scott, but NBC’s other recognisable faces frequently appear for three-minute skits, sometimes returning for a call back joke. Seriously, it should be a TV series – the film adaptation can come Veronica Mars-style some other decade.
In 90 minutes, nearly everyone is undeveloped in the name of delivering the best jokes; double episodes of The Office are a drag, so imagine a 90-minute version. The central hook is Scott discovering he was the child subject of a book about children of divorce: a hilarious premise without any mystery or element of discovery.
Even in the Q&A, Stu Zicherman used the phrase “divorce comedy”, arguing the weighty subject provided enough inherent drama. But not everyone can empathise with his childhood. The gravity relies upon Scott’s belief that there’s nothing worse than his parents remarrying. But why? Without being a mindreader, it floats away. (Because of the gravity metaphor, okay.)
Scott commented afterwards that the screenplay reminded him of Flirting With Disaster, which made me realise that A.C.O.D. is just an average script elevated by the most likeable cast and absence of David O. Russell. I mean that as a compliment, as there’s potential underneath the needless cameos – he just needs to take the Terrence Malick approach and edit them out, and finesse a 20-minute spec-script.

An American Werewolf in London (1981) –6/10
Director/Writer: John Landis
Starring: David Naughton, Jenny Agutter, Griffin Dunne
David: “My friend Jack was just here.”
Alex: “Your dead friend Jack was just here?”
Sometimes I feel like an American werewolf in London. Not quite, but almost.
John Landis’ follow-up to The Blues Brothers doesn’t exactly lag, but there’s something missing that makes its cult classic status seem somewhat contaminated by generous nostalgia. I watched it because it’s Edgar Wright’s favourite film, yet he’d surely cut something similar down to 25 minutes.
The story is entirely in the title, but that’s no excuse for skimping out on existential trauma brought upon by knowing at full moon you will turn into a murderous werewolf. Here are some questions that should be asked: “Should I turn myself in?” “Who will I eat?” “Should I write that new Half a Canyon blog before the moon change?” I’ve said too much.
The werewolf scenes are magnificently gory and even more amusing by its Piccadilly Circus setting. Also a bit confusing – I walk through that area every day, and only once did I see a disgusting act of cannibalism.
Prior to the transformation, there’s amiably limp comedy, transfigured in the deadpan romancing of Jenny Agutter (Jessica 6 from Logan’s Run). It’s a long wait, but when the hands on the moon strike “full”, the action repays in blood, guts and traffic accidents.

The Comedy (2012) – 8/10
Director: Rick Alverson
Writers: Rick Alverson, Robert Donne, Colm O’Leary
Starring: Tim Heidecker, Eric Wareheim, Alexia Rasmussen, James Murphy (yes, that James Murphy)
“You’re gonna get a no-no tip because you got no radio!”
Perhaps the only joke in The Comedy is its title – and casting LCD Soundsystem. It’s an unabashedly challenging film; the ironic name is a statement of intent. It isn’t exactly bleak, but wholly offensive and without a traditional three-act structure. The main aim of the protagonist (Tim Heidecker) is to insult as many people on an everyday basis with stoic improvisation – he is, in many ways, the personification of an anonymous internet commenter.
Heidecker’s bold performance is unrestrained in his darkness; he heckles doctors, casually splutters racial epithets in bars, and is even cruel to his friends. These sequences aren’t for shock value – even though it’s inevitable – but ask why someone is setting up his own destruction. After all, why make racist comments when you’re outnumbered and not actually racist?
The pivotal moment comes when Heidecker continually converses with a taxi driver who won’t respond. It’s perhaps the only sympathetic cry for attention; a rare moment for a film that’s full of clean shots, exposing the city for its bareness.
The Comedy is a study of depression. Heidecker’s trust fund means he doesn’t have to work and has no daily structure; the self-loathing manifests into creativity with a vicious slant. He takes a job as a dishwasher for the novelty value, which is presumably why he also pays a taxi driver for the chance to go behind the wheel. It’s, ironically, a non-comedic version of Pulp’s “Common People” – the bitterness behind having everything, but wanting nothing.

Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop (2011) – 3.5/10
Director: Rodman Flender
Starring: Conan O’Brien, Andy Richter
“I have real friends that I want to talk to, and other people come in and I don’t even know them.”
After seven months, Conan O’Brien left Late Night when NBC tried to bump his show by 30 minutes. I would do anything to start work 30 minutes later. The talk show war also saw widespread sympathy for someone compensated with $50m. Despite the title, it appears he can stop, if there’s a vague principle behind it.
The support for Conan is partly from the smug blandness emanating from Jay Leno’s monologues, but give credit to Conan’s confident likeability. Strangely, that charisma is the documentary’s downfall. Advertised as displaying “mean Conan”, it turns out former Late Night hosts are too practised in fake politeness and pretending to be interested. It isn’t really until 54 minutes that there’s any evidence of any unironic petulance – and even then, it’s over in seconds.
The documentary follows “The Legally Prohibited from Being Funny on Television Tour”, whereby NBC’s payout contract outlawed any appearances on television or the internet. Little show footage is shown, and it’s mostly ropey. The bulk is made up of Conan complaining backstage to his assistant, but the clips suggest little was shot. Because if there was more, my word, that was one dull tour.
Occasionally, Conan will be tired out by fans, but then he insists to do “meet and greets”, much to the chagrin of his manager. His determined march is unintentionally sad, as if we’re supposed to marvel his strength. I’m a fan of Conan, but I rarely see his show, and these off-cuts are even less appealing. Even at his grumpiest, he’s too aware of the camera. The real surprises come when in the few minutes he isn’t in control, like when some fans use racist epithets to his face. But if there is a point, it’s that Meeting People is Easy was better than you remembered.

Deep Red (1975) – 7/10
Original title: Profondo Rosso
Director: Dario Argento
Writers: Dario Argento, Salvatore Argento
Starring: Macha Meril, David Hemmings, Daria Nicolodi, Gabriele Lavia
“All this for some shitty article.”
It took me a while to realise just how much I loved Supiria beyond the 8/10 it received from esteemed Half a Canyon scribe, me. But I can’t see Deep Red resonating more than as an accomplished amalgamation of film noir and Giallo hysterics. Murder mystery aside, the gleeful horror steams out of broken mirrors, flailing gore and Goblin’s ominous soundtrack. The detective storyline sets the pace, but Deep Red is fondly remembered for set pieces. Check out Suspiria.

The Great Gatsby (2013) – 4.5/10
Director: Baz Luhrmann
Writers: Baz Luhrmann, Craig Pearce, F. Scott Fitzgerald (novel)
Starring: Tobey Maguire, Leonardo DiCaprio, Carey Mulligan, Joel Degerton
“I’m not a businessman; I’m a business, man.”
Baz Lurhmann adapting The Great Gatsby in 3D with a Jay-Z curated soundtrack: headline grabbing, but can it live up to the equally rich source material? Well, no, but that’s not the point. After several attempts, Fitzgerald’s tragic love story can’t be replicated because it’s already so perfect. A left-field twist is needed, and, let’s face it, Hollywood isn’t going to hand a $125m budget to Miranda July or Gasper Noe.
Even with an open mind, it’s exhausting at 143 minutes. The overblown trailer doesn’t do justice to the excessive partying, veering camera angles, and hyperbolic CGI. Aggressive anachronism extends beyond the opening scenes, as you hear at least two songs from Watch the Throne. It becomes apparent that 1920s heartbreak is incomplete without autotune. And it doesn’t particularly standout, as it fits in with Lurhmann’s over-elaborate experiment: it wouldn’t sound right with authentic jazz (or authentic anything), unless it was a DJ sampling a jazz riff.
The novel’s elegant prose is unable to translate to screen, mainly from the cacophony of noise and colour emerging in 3D. There’s audience laughter whenever the text appears in a spinning font – written by Nick Carraway after advice from his story-framing psychiatrist. (Oh yes, Luhrmann takes some liberties with source material.)
The lack of subtlety is so predictable, it seems futile to mention. But some perspective: this cost nearly as much as Prometheus. For example, Myrtle’s accident finds her spinning in slow motion in the air, floating in the stars like a dying astronaut, before gliding past the watching eyes of a road sign – a metaphor that’s subtle on the page, and now pressed into your eyeballs. And if you missed it, the shot repeats a few minutes later.
Nick is still the narrator, but The Great Gatsby is no longer his vision (regardless of that final shot). Instead, it’s a Luhrmann film through and through. The look is prioritised over characterisation to a dangerous level, even if it takes a while to notice; when the novelty runs out, the creaks emerges. Early scenes are so attention-grabbing, even Gatsby fades into the background. Why party in West Egg when everywhere is shot in a sci-fi hallucination of the 1920s?
When the dramatic climaxes eventually arrive, the music stops and the acting begins. Just as the novel depicts an exclusive club that everyone wants to join, it seems that’s how these Hollywood stars envisioned the set – the exclusive club of pretending to be people trying to join an exclusive club or people pretending to be someone else. (How confusing.)
Tobey Maguire is egregiously miscast as Nick, who is no longer the anonymous narrator. DiCaprio isn’t built for the elusive figure of Gatsby, and comes across more like a sociopath than romantic loser. They’re not really trying – they’re famous faces to sell tickets.
But that’s why Gatsby is worth the cinema trip. It’s a shallow experience that deserves recognition as a bold failure. Like Gatsby himself, Lurhmann chases a personal, unrealistic dream that no one else would dare attempt; he spent a fortune on a bloated mess he knew wouldn’t appease audiences, critics or fans of Fitzgerald; he took a novel, and made it completely faithful to Moulin Rouge.

In a World… (2013) – 8.5/10
Director/Writer: Lake Bell
Starring: Lake Bell, Demetri Martin, Fred Melamed, Ken Marino
“How are you going to eat an apple if you’ve got no teeth?”
Don LaFontaine narrated more than 5,000 trailers before dying in 2008. He left behind a baritone echo, countless Youtube clips, and the almighty phrase referenced in the title. His booming voice patronisingly explained the plot to half your childhood, all in digestible two-minute chunks.
In Lake Bell’s affection tribute to the voiceover world, LaFontaine’s death opened a chasm of competition – the trailer rivals become Ken Marino, Fred Melamed and Bell. Moreover, Bell is  Melamed’s on-screen daughter, and using her larynx to strike back in a male-dominated field. So there’s more than pride at stake, especially as it’s so well pronounced.
The voiceover world is ripe for comedy, with “Break a lung!” punchlines and absurd vocal exercises. Luckily, Bell’s astute script has a joke every other line – all without emulating a sitcom. In the lead, she sells every line with perfect timing and exuberance, greatly supported by an ensemble cast that’s a long list of scene-stealers: Tig Notaro, Nick Offerman, and, remarkably, Demetri Martin as a romantic male lead.
The cast resembles as “who’s who” of TV actors regularly used as comedic relief in Hollywood fare. Bell, herself, is most recognisable outside of Children’s Hospital as the “quirky best friend”, so it’s a pleasant surprise how much talent she’s been hiding. The gentle tone means a Daniel Day-Lewis figure isn’t needed, but the zingers bounce around like a vocal pinball.
This was another Sundance screening, and Bell was humble and gracious after the screening. She explained her passion (it showed) and something that didn’t consciously occur to me: the timelessness. The retro soundtrack stops the comedy dating; palm trees were cut out of shots to Tippex out Californian DNA. It ends with “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears, and all I could think is that Bell will be a hell of a filmmaker – and one who can narrate her own trailers.

King Kelly (2012) – 8/10
Director: Andrew Neel
Writer: Mike Roberts
Starring: Louisa Krause, Libby Woodbridge, Roderick Hill
Kelly: “Are you going to hate me forever?”
Jordan: “I don’t know. I’m starving.”
Kelly:“I threw that brick for both of us.”
Do you remember that episode of Freaks and Geeks called “Kim Kelly is My Friend”? Well, King Kelly is the opposite, full of people forming their own canteen cliques. Aside from its found footage gimmick (allegedly shot by iPhones), it’s aggressively 2012. Smartphones are paraded; plot twists update as Facebook statuses. It will probably feel dated by 2015 (like the obsolete VHS tapes in The Ring), but holds up a frightening mirror to today’s self-obsessed society; and not just a mirror, but one with Instagram functionality.
“I never walk. I hate walking. Who the fuck walks?”
Louisa Krause is the eponymous webcam stripper; a blonde teen filming her life for when a website launch. Her “Oh my God”s and use of “like” as punctuation is disturbingly real in the way most satires can’t capture – even reality shows like The Hills and House of Kardashians scream of self-awareness. At the height of drama, she turns to the camera to say:
“Ultimate fan video – it’s about to happen.”
It has a chance to be a zeitgeist satire, when life is lived so that there can be an online document; where the party is as much about the Facebook photo album which will be uploaded before the night is over. It doesn’t quite keep up its cutting tone, opting for improbable plot turns, but the comedy is delightfully sour; a sense of Beavis and Butthead, but frighteningly real.

Mr Jealousy (1997) – 6.5/10
Director/Writer: Noah Baumbach
Starring: Eric Stoltz, Annabella Sciorra, Chris Eigeman
Ramona: “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is in black-and-white.”
Lester: “Yeah?”
Ramona: “You said it was in glorious colour.”
Lester: “Yeah.”
Ramona: “Remember that?”
Lester: “Yeah. So what’s your point?”
Early Noah Baumbach films (Mr Jealousy is his second) contain a comic rhythm sadly lacking in his recent efforts (although the Frances Ha trailer suggests a return to form). That might be down to a suppression of voice. With Mr Jealousy, the influences are fairly transparent: Woody Allen and Whit Stillman, right down to the casting of Chris Eigeman, and the narration from Hannah and Her Sisters.
“Lester gritted his teeth. Ramona had a life before him.”
The central love triangle is too absurd to describe, as Baumbach is more eager in delving into envy as a weapon and weakness. Stoltz is consumed by not owning Sciorra’s past, while she flirts with him by mentioning her ex-boyfriends. It leaves any pain and truths slightly diminished by unnatural revelations, but the screenplay isn’t too bothered when the comedy is so skewed and in love with its own language
“Are you jealous of yourself?”
Baumbach is undoubtedly a smart writer who conducts humour from wordy middle-class dialogue like a natural, and his earnest naivety is on parade – self-seriousness from the intellectuals he once mocked. At least Mr Jealousy harbours affection for its three leads, while exaggerating their character defects with wisecracks and deadpan irony.

Pretty Maids All in a Row (1971) – 6.5/10
Director: Roger Vadim
Writer: Gene Roddenberry
Starring: Rock Hudson, Angie Dickinson, Telly Savalas
“See, our generation’s not afraid of feeling affection, or expressing it. For example, I love you.”
Quentin Tarantino placed this in his Sight & Sound top 10 list, like how there’s always a car boot shot in his films. Part comedy, part exploitation, part novelty of a sex comedy written by the creator of Star Trek: a high school murder mystery creates smoke surrounding a succession of dead cheerleaders. Clues and red herrings suggest it’s the moustached sports coach, but nobody cares because the football team’s winning every game. That’s satire, and also why films are generally more effective when seen than when a tired journalist has had very little sleep and typing out a review and writes out the plot but needs to go to sleep so ends the analysis after saying it’s okay, I guess.

Save the Date (2013) – 2.5/10
Director: Michael Mohan
Writers: Jeffrey Brown, Michael Mohan, Egan Reich
Starring: Lizzy Caplan, Alison Brie, Martin Starr, Mark Webber
“I make it a point to see every band with a wolf-related name. Because I want to be the guy who’s seen them all.”
Most viewers of Save the Date will probably be attracted by its central cast of three sitcom stars in straight roles. And by straight, I mean humourless. It’s a bold move by an indie drama that takes itself too seriously; three relationships with mismatched actors who can’t convey chemistry. (That is unintentional.)
Alison Brie and Martin Starr getting married is hilarious on paper, yet the unconventional paring is the closest Save the Date comes to a believable human emotion. In comparison, the supporting cast of traditional actors speak like robots. Mark Webber’s irritating (but supposedly likeable) puppydog behaviour is backed with overcompensating lines like “I like the guy” and “Yeah, he’s awesome”.
The canon of indie Sundance drama cliches are ticked off with inordinate precision; parents divorce, unplanned pregnancy, wedding doubts, cat goes missing. After 25 minutes, I correctly guessed who would punch who in the face 10 minutes from the end. Give me a medal, somebody.
The bulk of dramatic work is left to Lizzy Caplan who’s unlucky that the best performance of her career is a Sisyphean struggle with a lumpy script; even the camera positions are disproportionate.
Frequent attempts at Woody Allen-esque long shots feel wrong; they walk too slowly, unnaturally sipping from coffee cups (trying not to ingest, as there’ll be more takes), in front of an ugly background. Like the wedding plans it purports: inert, unlikely and an uninspiring take on a formula.

Touchy Feely (2013) – 3/10
Director/Writer: Lynn Shelton
Starring: Rosemarie DeWitt, Josh Pais, Scoot McNairy, Ellen Page
“You can be a Reiki master.”
Another Sundance screening. This one was earmarked by a 10-minute delay after a few ticket holders turned up five minutes early to find their seats forfeited. Unfortunately, this rushed, faulty planning probably mirrored the production of Touchy Feely – a limp failure with little substance.
With a plot held by string, this self-serious drama follows Rosemarie De Witt as a masseuse who discovers an aversion to touching human skin. In a reverse parallel, her brother Josh Pais finds his dental business booms overnight. Two trajectories with obvious symmetry, but surely there’s more to it? Sadly not.
Lynn Shelton’s films are usually 20% scripted and shot in order, creating an emotional rhythm that can’t be written. I asked her after the screening if this was the case with Touchy Feely, and she admitted it’s the first to break the mould. Wanting to be a “control freak”, 80% is scripted with the cast opting to stick to the page. My guess is they didn’t understand their characters enough to break free.
Perhaps Shelton was influenced by a recent stint directing an episode of Mad Men. But whereas the near-perfect TV show it stuffed with resonating symbolism, Touchy Feely drags aimlessly. Its idea of depth is someone staring into the distance to the sounds of a yoga playlist.
There’s little foundation to the characters, particularly Ellen Page whose inclusion I’d guess is down to ticking a box on a mutual indie wish list. The only solution for these hollow figures is an artificial storyline, and Shelton really does keep it artificial – ecstasy pills to overcome personality woes. For all its attempts to be sensuous and emotionally raw, it’s completely numb.

Upstream Color (2013) – 9/10
Director/Writer: Shane Carruth
Starring: Amy Seimetz, Shane Carruth
“Each drink is better than the last. Take a drink now.”
It’s taken nine years for Shane Carruth to release a film since Primer (rated 4/10 on this site), during which he nearly made A Topiary, and presumably spent every day being hassled for being a doppelganger for Daniel Meade from Ugly Betty. But he’s a perfectionist, and Upstream Color is an undiluted vision – even self-released so that Carruth can control the marketing.
The obtuse plot features little dialogue and generated a stunned atmosphere at my Sundance screening. It’d be pointless for me to introduce the narrative, partly because I might be wrong. But the gorgeous visuals pile on with meaning, like a frightening, religious jigsaw unscrewed by distorted rhythms and Cronenbergian body horror. Terrence Malick with meaning, perhaps.
Beyond a sinister life cycle, Upstream Color focuses on a central couple lost in the blitz. Amy Seimetz and Carruth himself, both struggling to free themselves from the film’s mechanics, bring humanity to a drama that questions identity, free will, and the notion of love beyond chemicals. I thought the action was in the imagination of farmyard animals, dreaming of being rescued – taken from the farmer, or even a small drop of dye floating up the river. It’s both concrete and open to interpretation.
Seimetz, frequently championed over the years by Half a Canyon, is the chemically perfect blend of dazed and possessed. The chaos zigzags around her with sharp editing and juxtaposed images; every still suggests a symbol, plot point or red herring. It was a beautifully shared audience experience of bewilderment, awe and fear – the mental unravelling lasts for days.

 Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month:  “21 & Over”, “After Earth”, “Black Christmas”, “Capturing the Friedmans”, “The Hangover Part III”, “Man of Steel”, “Monsters University”, “The Oranges”, “Risky Business”, “Small Pond”, “Smashed”, “The Stone Roses: Made of Stone” (pictured above), “Stuck in Love” and “This Is the End”.

I don’t think blue is the warmest colour, but I suppose that’s artistic licence. The average rating is 5.28/10, with film of the month being Capturing the Friedmans. There’ll be a new post in two weeks with reviews of The Internship, World War Z, Frances Ha, The East, The Bling Ring and more. Follow @halfacanyon for updates.

21 & Over (2013) – 0.5/10
Directors/Writers: Jon Lucas, Scott Moore
Starring: Miles Teller, Skyler Astin, Justin Chon, Sarah Wright
“Thank God, you’re white.”
What genre is 21 and Over? Too depressing to be a comedy; not enough substance to be anything else. From the writers behind The Hangover, it’s a retread full of contempt for foreigners, women and the viewer. Justin Chon (his Asian heritage is sort of integral to the stereotype-laden storyline) passes out on his 21^st birthday, also the night before an important interview. His passed out body is dragged around campus by his two American buddies (Teller and Astin) in a night of adventure that highlights the worst aspects of a night out – just without any self-awareness.
Once the tawdry narrative is established, the two male leads sneak into a sorority house; pretending to be the silent pledge mistress, they stare at and spank blindfolded girls stripped to their underwear. Followed by more lies, they commit what would be a sex crime if it wasn’t so horribly contrived. (Even if it is more believable than true-to-life Compliance.) The sequence is crosscut with a lengthy close-up of Chon eating a tampon in the women’s toilets. That is the grenadine soaked in a non-alcoholic cocktail of racism, homophobia, sexism and desperate pandering to the LCD (lowest common denominator, not James Murphy).
Not only is it all set in one night, but that’s probably how much was spent on the script. Every line is awkward and derivative, almost developing a language based on lazy stereotyping. Let me put it this way: the most sonically adventurous moment is someone vomiting in slow motion over a crowd of anonymous girls. His face turns towards the camera, as if aiming the sick towards the camera, which pretty much sums up the lack of respect for the audience.

After Earth (2013) – 2/10
Director: M. Night Shyamalan
Writers: Gary Whitta, M. Night Shyamalan, Will Smith (story)
Starring: Will Smith, Jaden Smith
“Danger is very real, but fear is a choice. We are all telling ourselves a story.”
The web’s spun a few rumours that After Earth is all about Scientology. If only, then maybe there’d be some purpose. As it is, the sci-fi adventure is stale and inert. On the big screen, it’s clearly an expensive failure, when maybe some of that budget should have gone into rewriting the script. (Ghosting? Really?)
Love them or hate them, Will Smith and M. Night Shyamalan are distinctive personalities who characterise their films, often overshadowing giant explosions. But their personal touches are absent, paving the way for 14-year-old Jaden Smith whose blandness is almost enveloped by greenscreen.
The core of After Earth is Jaden running around a deserted planet, interacting with CGI animals, while his off-screen father barks instructions. It’s possible that these orders became too tangled with the director’s feedback, but it’s likelier he’s just a terrible actor: a child thrown into a blockbuster through the same Hollywood nepotism that placed Sofia Coppola in The Godfather: Part III.
Will Smith tells his son, “Katai, you are running from nothing.” The kid doesn’t stop. It becomes a meta coming-of-age tale about a young teenager discovering he can’t act, and he’s been thrust into a high profile world where it’s too late to turn back.

Black Christmas (2006) – 3/10
Director/Writer: Glen Morgan
Starring: Katie Cassidy, Michelle Trachtenberg, Mary Elizabeth Winstead
“Buying a Christmas present for a serial killer?”
I somehow missed the original Black Christmas by not yet being alive, so I can’t deem this remake as unnecessary for ruining a classic. After all, with that title, isn’t it about altering traditions?
Without that bias, Black Christmas is still an unimaginative tread through the horror genre. A serial killer torments a house of teenage girls, and the ensuing gore is cold, cynical and forgetful. Vague self-awareness isn’t smart when it just exposes the cash-grabbing mechanics.

Capturing the Friedmans (2003) – 9/10
Director: Andrew Jarecki
Starring: The Friedman family
“This is private. So if you’re not me, then you really shouldn’t be watching this because this is meant to be a private situation between me and me. It’s between me now and me in the future. So turn it off. This is private.”
That above quotation is from David Friedman, now a professional clown at children’s parties in New York. His warning is from home videos taken before his then 19-year-old brother (Jesse) and father (Arnold) strategically pleaded guilty to child molestation in 1988.
To this day, the surviving Friedman family members lambast the case for its admittedly flimsy evidence. But the director, Andrew Jarecki, takes a more neutral view. After eight months making a clown documentary, he casually asked David about his childhood and learned about his dramatic past.
David’s sad clown stereotype is fleshed out through those early tapes; he filmed his family falling apart without any plans for public presentation. It was, after all, before the YouTube era. Why would you document such an emotionally straining era? That’s one of many questions asked in this utterly engrossing meditation on manipulated memories, the legal system, and how to cope with losing everything.
When David’s father Arnold was caught buying a child pornography magazine, the police discovered he taught computer lessons to young students. A wave of accusations followed with children claiming they were subjected to extreme acts of abuse several times a week, openly in the classroom. Other witnesses rubbished this notion, insisting nothing happened. Arnold’s teenaged son, Jesse, assisted with the classes, and was charged with the same crime.
Jarecki’s neutrality can’t hide the witch-hunt mentality behind the police interrogation who told witnesses what happened, rather than asking. Really, Jarecki is the only neutral; everyone involved, including interviewees and journalists, has an extreme opinion.
Home videos are poetically integrated with talking heads and old television footage, relaying the madness through a horror firmly placed in the past tense. Aside from the “did/didn’t they” mystery, the real story is in the complicated family dynamics; relationships were already fractured by unspoken loyalties and resentments, and a national press story plays numerous psychological tricks. Arnold’s long-suffering wife, perhaps sensing an exit strategy, laments:
“There was nothing between us, except these children that we yelled at.”
Jesse, only 19 and about to lose a large portion of his life, is the calmest of the bunch. No screenplay could rival the documented footage of Jesse clowning around hours before pleading guilty for a crime he insists he didn’t commit. It’s like Albert Camus’ L’Etranger, where a jury is suspicious of a suspect who won’t show remorse; but to see it, right in front of you, is oddly engrossing.
Even if both are innocent, Arnold admits to being a paedophile, a subject with which his wife delivers unconvincing denials. Further revelations unpeel a family frayed with secrets, almost using the conviction as an excuse to escape from each other. The viewer is left to find humanity and ugliness in these subjects (even in Arnold, who commits suicide so Jesse can profit from his life insurance).
Deeply ambiguous and utterly compelling. It’s redolent of a Seinfeld joke when George insists a lie isn’t be a lie if you believe in it – a maxim not just for the alleged victims, but also the fractured Friedman family.

The Hangover: Part III (2013) – 2/10
Director: Todd Phillips
Writers: Craig Mazin, Todd Phillips
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zach Galifianakis
“Who cares? It’s just a giraffe.”
The dictionary defines a hangover as “ill effects caused by drinking an excess of alcohol” or “a thing that has survived from the past”. In the case of The Hangover: Part III, it’s the latter.
The franchise repeated itself in 2011 with a Bangkok sequel (with director/writer Todd Phillips confirming a formulaic approach), so deserves some credit for treading new territory: this time, there isn’t even a hangover. It also isn’t so much of a comedy. Aside from some early Zach Galifianakis moments, The Hangover: Part III is an eerily self-serious heist thriller – albeit one so contrived and mean-spirited, it’s hard to root for anyone.
Once again, the gang (Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zach Galifianakis and the other guy who no one cares about) stumble into a confrontation with a criminal. On this occasion, it’s John Goodman in extra shouty mode, barking some very prosaic exposition. Cooper, Helms and Galifianakis have to locate Ken Jeong and return Goodman’s stolen gold. Sounds like fun? You’re wrong.
The most memorable punchlines (although I hesitate to call them that) involve a decapitated giraffe, unexplained nudity, and words mispronounced in an Asian dialect. Cooper and Helms have the thankless task of delivering reaction shots and slow line deliveries that re-explain the plot. To paraphrase The Great Gatsby, the cast’s voices sound like money.
For a “bromance”, there’s very little camaraderie between the leads, and ends the trilogy with a sour taste. All their journeys, those scuttles surviving death, and for what? To end with moronic slapstick? The chemistry is meant to be on the screen, but I felt a closer affinity with the unimpressed cinemagoers sat around me.

Man of Steel (2013) – 3.5/10
Director: Zack Snyder
Writers: David S. Goyer, Christopher Nolan (story)
Starring: Henry Cavill, Michael Shannon, Amy Adams, a Nikon camera
“You’re not my Dad. You just found me in a field.”
On another planet, Snyder and Nolan fuse together perfectly; one loves dumb visuals, and the other obsesses over interwoven narratives. I would love to be on that planet, but Cavill (as the super-earnest, titular hero) fell to Earth; an alien who looks like a human, talks like a human, but displays the emotions of a robot following a script.
Snyder, unpopular with critics, throws in an abstract shot of a polar bear diving into water, and a flashback to Clark Kent reading Plato. I can imagine him thinking, “Yeah, now critics have to concede I love philosophy and arthouse cinema.”
It strikes me that Snyder must have been desperate to please Nolan, who was only involved in the early stages. At least, that would explain why Man of Steel is completely devoid of humour. It’s as if Snyder, after reading my 0/10 review of Sucker Punch, thought his sense of fun was all that stopped critics loving the Watchmen as much as The Dark Knight.
But Snyder must do more to be taken seriously than being, well, serious. Nolan’s Batman universe had personalities everywhere, from Bruce Wayne to Gotham City itself. And, as “serious” it might be, the Dark Knight’s exploits were never dull – which is Man of Steel’s biggest downfall.
For all the impressive explosions and non-stop action, it was a major struggle to care about anyone’s fate. I tried, I really did. The Avengers needed several prequels to justify the destruction of New York. Batman Begins was a low-key introduction to establish motives, fears and contradictions. Man of Steel, on the other hand, believes shots of Clark Kent Jr. provide the necessary character background.
Nearly everyone is reduced to a personality that’s equivalent of a one-line summary. Lois Lane, particularly underdeveloped, casually drops into conversation: “I’m a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist.” Otherwise, she’s just another damsel in distress. Russell Crowe runs with half the menace of the Les Miserables finale. Michael Shannon is, remarkably, severely more threatening in Premium Rush than as General Zod.
The standout performance actually comes from a Nikon camera that’s on-screen for about 10 seconds. It’s an assured close-up that conveys pride and self-confidence during a masterpiece of product placement.
The action sequences are occasionally breathtaking, particularly when Cavill soars at breakneck speeds. They also inherit some of Snyder’s videogame tendencies, meaning shots awkwardly zoom in and out, like when you change camera views when playing FIFA.
It didn’t help that Man of Steel was preceded by a trailer for Pacific Rim – also in 3D, it portrays indestructible beings battling each other, and you can feel the power of every exhilarating punch. But Man of Steel is like your parents catching you smoking, so they punish you by forcing you to finish several packs until you feel sick. By the end, I was completely numb.

Monsters University (2013) – 7.5/10
Director: Dan Scanlon
Writers: Robert L. Baird, Daniel Gerson, Dan Scanlon
Starring: Billy Crystal, John Goodman, Steve Buscemi
“Misdirection.”
There’s a David Berman lyric that asks why monsters can’t get along with other monsters. In some ways, Monsters University answers that question. Set 10 years before the magnificent Monsters, Inc., Pixar deliver a worthy prequel that will appeal to everyone: adults, children and monsters.
Mike and Sully (aged 17 and 18) meet for the first time at a university redolent of the real world, aside from the monsters being more literal. The influx of new students swarm across dorm rooms and society fairs, like an ‘80s frat comedy. Amid the chaos, it’s perhaps more gag-heavy than usual for Pixar. Luckily, it bridges that humour with sweetness and wit.
Monsters, Inc. was a surprisingly poignant meditation on parenthood, and Monsters University does something similar from a child’s perspective. The adults’ looming heights suggest a child’s POV (the grown up characters may as well have used the Peanuts “wah wah wah” voice) but never in an obtrusive manner that would alienate older viewers.
The storyline doesn’t quite follow the life-or-death Pixar formula (typically a rescue mission), so the drama is more on an emotional level. That’s not to say there isn’t any action – it is, after all, a diligently animated adventure starring idiosyncratic, multicoloured creatures. It’s just that the central goal (winning a scaring competition) doesn’t involve an incinerator or Wall-E rescuing the human race.
Monsters University has a gentler tone that’s concerned with how friendships are formed. It’s possibly the best visual representation of strangers finding common interests, at least since the YouTube video of the dog riding a turtle. In a screening full of adults (disclosure: press screening), I felt the warmth resonating around the room, and even an “aw” for gigantic snail. In terms of prequels, this is the opposite of The Phantom Menace.

The Oranges (2012) – 4.5/10
Director: Julian Farino
Writers: Ian Helfner, Jay Reiss
Starring: Leighton Meester, Hugh Laurie, Allison Janney, Catherine Keener
“You… LIKE each other?!”
I’m trying really hard not to say something like “These oranges are rotten” or stoop to Rotten Tomatoes/Oranges wordplay. I am, however, trying really hard to make some duck l’orange pun, but I can’t get it to work – a fitting description for this tepid comedy, where dysfunctional families base their behaviour on soap operas.
Unsurprisingly, Julian Farino started his career directing Coronation Street – I’ve never seen it, but I bet the plot of The Oranges doesn’t stray too far. Two neighbours, two families, the best of friends – until Hugh Laurie has an affair with his best friend’s daughter, less than half his age. It’s a bombshell that lands at breakneck speed, with the same consequences as five minutes of Eastenders. Or Neighbours, actually.
The marital split is surrounded by more side-stories than minutes in the short running time. “It’s a comedy,” you might say, but underneath the wackiness, The Oranges wants to be something more; its heartfelt attempts to be, well, heartfelt are pitiful.
The central “romance” is similarly conflicted by an ambiguous tone – is it a real romance or caricature? They’re too bland to be either. Only Allison Janney walks away with a memorable performance, leaving Oliver Platt and Catherine Keener reduced to slapstick.
I walked away tasting bitterness, as if it was a Sundance film, but artificially commercialised – containing all the ingredients of a hit, like My Idiot Brother’s cynical marketing. It’s watchable, but don’t expect any ambition.

Risky Business (1983) – 7.5/10
Director/Writer: Paul Brickman
Starring: Tom Cruise, Rebecca De Mornay, Joe Pantoliano
“If there were any logic to our language, trust would be a four-letter word.”
Wearing sunglasses indoors is so stereotypically shallow, it’s created a layer of irony (that also protects your eyes from UV rays). But when Cruise lays on the shades, it’s a star in the making. Not only is he aware of the cheesiness, he fucking loves it.
Cruise plays a precocious teenager obsessed with sex in a determined manner that should be outright creepy – especially when his attentions focus on a prostitute involved in criminal activity (aside from prostitution).  His likeability is contagious, whether he’s navigating car chases, or having hilariously gross intercourse on a public train.
Materialism turns into an enemy, as Cruise finds social interactions and even romantic relationships are based on money – and regularly in the form of pointless ornaments with arbitrary price tags. So it’s not so much a coming-of-age drama, but a sickly amusing lesson in why life is awful.

Small Pond (2013) – 6/10
Director: Josh Slates
Writers: Josh Slates, Kirsten Straub
Starring: Hari Leigh, Susan Burke, Josh Fadem, Amy Seimetz
“It’s a great time to be in journalism with all the… stuff that’s going on.”
It’s hard to get out of the bath, even after soaking in water that’s turned uncomfortably lukewarm. That’s sort of the idea with Small Pond, a meandering comedy about everyday inertia and local negativity.
“It’s more a moonlight constitutional that a midnight stroll. But it’s a nice night for it.”
The homemade element is clear, even with crisp picture quality. It’s an endearing comedy that’s presumably made by friends, out of fun. Aside from Seimetz and Burke, the low-key acting won’t be for everyone. The bigger turnoff will be the sitcom fakeness: Seimetz does a perfect Parker Posey impression (“Don’t fuck with my mushrooms!) and the barmaid can’t remember orders.
“I’m so embarrassed. I want to die.”
But there’s a likeability usually not present in mumblecore. The realism doesn’t magnify the smugness, but instead the sweetness of filmmaking; the quasi-philosophy of slackers. It’s more Linklater than Duplass. For all its faults, it’s rare for a sincere environment when a protagonist can fall asleep in a speeding convertible and you’re unsure if it’s acting.

Smashed (2012) – 8/10
Director: James Ponsoldt
Writers: Susan Burke, James Ponsoldt
Starring: Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Aaron Paul, Nick Offerman
“Okay, we’ll just chill out with the drinking. We’ll just be… I don’t know. Wine with dinner people.”
Forget the allure of your favourite TV stars (with Aaron Paul particularly exuberating Jesse Pinkman vibes), for this is the Mary Elizabeth Winstead show. After a series of caricature-ish roles, Winstead is challenged with the dramatic challenge of a functioning alcoholic finding sobriety; by improving her life, she simultaneously wrecks everything she’s built.
The marriage of Winstead and Paul is held by an unspoken love – if it is spoken, it is slurred. The pair drink every night but dive through life by lying and, for Paul, being a journalist who can work from home. (It’s not that fun, trust me.) Their luck encourages the other to spiral into karaoke, clumsy sex and a conversation lubricant.
That makes it even harder for Winstead; by joining Alcoholics Anonymous, she comes home to a husband spouting the opposite. The script makes this clear – there is no easy option. The 12-step programme is deeply flawed, but necessary when she drunkenly vomits in front of a class she’s teaching. Finding that middle ground is the question mark held by Smashed; if it exists, her alcoholic husband can’t live there.
The darkness is alleviated a subplot in which Winstead informs her boss that her drunken behaviour is actually morning sickness. I’m not sure comedic misunderstanding is what Smashed needs during its short running time, but it definitely could use a 12-step programme to remove the twee elements from the direction and post-production effects.
At least humour becomes a valuable monocle; Winstead’s sober eye spies a sloppier slant to her husband’s antics. But it’s never that simple – he’s never cruel. It’s just the pitfalls reverberate louder when dialogue has difficultly flowing without a bottle of brandy.
Initially simple, but subtly nuanced, there’s more to Smashed than a tale of independence. That credit must go to Winstead in a role not even Denzel Washington could realistically depict in Flight. With honesty, she stumbles through a dry, believable problem. After all, it’s hard not to praise the leading actress when she brings so much pathos to scenes of just walking around the city in the early morning.

The Stone Roses: Made of Stone (2013) – 6.5/10
Director: Shane Meadows
Starring: The Stone Roses
“Fuck Oasis. Fuck Man City. It’s all about The Stone Roses.”
Four years ago, lead guitarist John Squire wrote: “I HAVE NO DESIRE WHATSOEVER TO DESECRATE THE GRAVE OF SEMINAL MANCHESTER POP GROUP THE STONE ROSES 18.3.09.” In 2011, the band announced a world tour.
The pressure is substantial, considering not even “The Second Coming” could build on the self-titled album’s momentum, so why now? Middle-aged, public squabbles, failed side projects; two forgetful decades. Made of Stone suggests the solution is to return to 1989 and pretend nothing’s happened since.
The band’s politics and frayed relationships are barely explored. Instead, Meadows searches for what it means to love a band that’s firmly set in the past – the first comeback gig is shot in black-and-white. Middle-aged fans run to buy tickets, trying to emulate memories of the 1990 Spike Island show.
Luckily, The Stone Roses deliver. The same line-up, no new songs, and opening with the “I Want to be Adored” bassline; it’s as if they never spent two decades trying and failing to live up to their success. Tellingly, Ian Brown regresses into a grinning teenage boy backstage, and transforms into a hero in front of a tearful crowd; he sings “I am the Resurrection” with conviction.
The archive footage is fairly electric, but unlikely to excite non-fans, regardless of what other reviewers might say. Meadows doesn’t pry into the group’s mystic arguments, even when Reni momentarily quits before an Amsterdam show finishes. He clearly didn’t learn the journalistic lesson of Almost Famous: don’t befriend the band.
For fans, however, it’s a must-see. Even when the latter third becomes a glorified concert video (with 12 minutes of “Fools Gold”), I saw the opposite of The Great Gatsby: four Mancunians chasing the past, and finding discovering that waterfall is even sweeter the second time. “It takes time for people to fall in love with you,” predicts Ian Brown. “But it’s inevitable.”

Stuck in Love (2013) – 7/10
Director/Writer: Josh Boone
Starring: Greg Kinnear, Lily Collins, Nat Wolff, Liana Liberato, Logan Lerman, Jennifer Connelly, Kristen Bell
“I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.”
That above line, a Raymond Carver quotation, is mentioned repeatedly by Kinnear, as if a direct reference to cinema audiences. It refers to the dinner table at Thanksgiving, an iconic family pastime cemented as an annual review of domestic affairs. Well, according to this family.
Josh Boone’s sentimental debut isn’t starkly original, but draws together numerous likeable characters. In a short running time, their comedic quirks err away from artificial categories.
It’s really three films interconnected: two coming-of-age love stories, and a divorced parent restructuring his life. The emotion emerges from warm performances (and comedic relief from Kristen Bell drinking a glass of water) where the exchange of “Fevers and Mirrors” is both embarrassing and moving.
And when it sticks too closely to a formula, there’s the funniest, most unexpected cameo since Zombieland. So go see it, just for that.

This Is the End (2013) – 7/10
Directors/Writers: Evan Goldberg, Seth Rogen
Starring: James Franco, Jonah Hill, Seth Rogen, Jay Baruchel, Danny McBride, Craig Robinson
“Dear God, it’s me, Jonah Hill. From Moneyball.”
Seth Rogen’s philosophy for Pineapple Express was that it’d be funny to see stoners incompetently fighting bad guys in an action thriller. This Is the End follows that formula, switching to apocalyptic survival: Rogen survives the end of the world with Jonah Hill, Jay Baruchel and Pineapple Express co-stars James Franco, Danny McBride and Craig Robinson. To hammer it home, the “characters” create a trailer for Pineapple Express 2.
The Pineapple Express method crashed when Rogen re-attempted the genre mash-up with The Watch and The Green Hornet. Franco and McBride had similar issues with Your Highness (a heartbreaking low-point for Half a Canyon favourite David Gordon Green). Fortunately, This Is the End isn’t concerned with genre tropes or being taken seriously. Sure, there are explosions and monsters, but it’s first and foremost a comedy. And a self-indulgent one, too.
The James Francopalypse bears Judd Apatow’s fingerprints all over, even without his involvement; the semi-improvised dialogue is infused by immature jabs, all under the mist of marijuana smoke. Looking at the cast, it’s almost Knocked Up without Katherine Heigl.
Apatow’s other collaborators turn up to Franco’s house party, and it’s a living room full of celebrity cameos. It becomes the kind of gathering where conversation is built upon saying someone’s full name, just in case the viewer can’t recognise Aziz Ansari or Kevin Hart. With little explanation, a hole in the ground swallows up Paul Rudd, Jason Segel and countless other big names. It sets up the second and third act as mostly an inordinate chamber piece for the gang to pass time, wondering if they’ll die of starvation.
The second half drops slightly in quality because of the editing. Or lack of, I should say. It’s incredibly loose, redolent of Rogen and Goldberg’s confidence that off-the-cuff humour might sustain an audience’s attention.
They’re almost right. McBride is especially hilarious and divisive, with a slow-mo entrance taken straight out of Eastbound and Down, while Jonah Hill’s self-deprecatingly can’t stop mentioning Moneyball. That self-obsession (half ironic, half obscene) builds a narcissistic chemistry which is more self-indulgent than even Knocked Up, but takes accomplished comic actors and literally puts them all in a room. Even if it goes on for too long, the insular scenes include inspired moments like a DIY Pineapple Express 2 trailer (shot with the camera from 127 Hours) and Franco uttering, “But let’s not make Your Highness 2.”
Your patience also depends on how long you can tolerate the cast. It’s not as obnoxious as Entourage, but it’s very much a boys’ club.  Disconcertingly, there are no female characters. Emma Watson is closest to a leading lady, with a few sentences probably all in the trailer. In addition, everyone plays themselves, so characters aren’t developed beyond asking, “How you could you not know who these people are?”
For all its faults, This Is the End doesn’t pretend to be anything but a comedy. And, judging it on that level, it’s hugely funny, even if at times it mirrors a lengthy Funny or Die sketch. It has more of the youthful enthusiasm of Pineapple Express (written by Rogen and Evan Goldberg before they were famous) than their more cynical flirtations with mainstream action fare. The cast grew up together as friends on film sets, and clearly had a blast surviving the blast. At the very least, it’s worth a cinema trip just to see Michael Cera coked up and hitting on Rihanna.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month: “24 Hour Party People”, “Admission”, “Behind the Candelabra”, “Black Rock”, “The Bling Ring”, “The East”, “A Horrible Way to Die”, “The Internship”, “Jules et Jim” (pictured above), “The Playroom”, “The Seasoning House”, “Skeletons”, “Warm Bodies” and “Westworld”.

I imagined Adventureland if it took place at Westworld and ended with Jesse Eisenberg discovering Kristen Stewart is a robot. The average rating is 5.47/10 with film of the month being the first 30 minutes of Jules et Jim. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

24 Hour Party People (2002) – 8/10
Director: Michael Winterbottom
Writer: Frank Cottrell Boyce
Starring: Steve Coogan, Shirley Henderson, Danny Cunningham
Tony: “I think that Shaun Ryder is on par with W.B. Yeats as a poet.”
Yvette: “Well, that is amazing, considering everyone else thinks he’s a fucking idiot.”
Steve Coogan’s heights involve playing tragic figures, whether Alan Partridge, the psychiatrist in Curb Your Enthusiasm, or Steve Coogan in any real life interview. So he’s a natural fit for Paul Wilson, the founder of Factory Records.
Winterbottom’s shaky camera follows the loquacious manager in between discovering The Happy Mondays and breaking the fourth wall. His career is intrinsically comical, even at its peak. The infamous Hacienda is frequently shown as an empty venue that’s unprofitable because punters took ecstasy instead of using the bar. Hilariously, the production cost of a New Order single outweighs the selling price.
Wilson remains upbeat throughout, which is the drama’s strength – an eternally optimistic figure claiming he’s protected himself from ever having the dilemma of selling out by never having anything to sell out. He even introduces himself as Icarus, a metaphor made even more absurd by how awful the “Madchester” scene truly is apart from one or two Joy Division singles.
The rambunctious era (I probably should have mentioned it’s the 1970s) lines up endless cameos and impersonators, and even a glimpse of the real Mark E. Smith. That celebration of nostalgia must be credited to Winterbottom who avoids the most obvious kind of biography, the kind that takes itself too seriously. After all, it’s a period that made a hero out of Bez.
For Wilson himself, his mistakes are deflected, as he’s just a minor character in his own story. For him, it’s about the music. For the viewer, it’s Icarus.

Admission (2013) – 4/10
Director: Paul Weitz
Writers: Karen Croner, Jean Hanff Korelitz (novel)
Starring: Tina Fey, Michael Sheen, Nat Wolff
“I’m so glad you’re going to Ecuador. Just one thing: I feel sorry for the Ecuadorians.”
The Date Night formula continues: take a mediocre plot, add Tina Fey and a similarly likeable lead. In Admission, Paul Rudd replaces Steve Carell. And it’s so flat. The pair are so gifted at improvisation, that maybe that was the initial plan: a barebones script with space for spontaneous wit, surprise twists or anything, really.
Yet Rudd and Fey are too restrained in a convoluted drama about an admissions officer possibly finding the son she gave up for adoption. It’s a shame, as they’re usually so watchable. By the end, it’s like watching strangers.

Behind the Candelabra (2013) – 7.5/10
Director: Steven Soderbergh
Writers: Richard LaGravenese, Scott Thorson (book), Alex Thorleifson (book)
Starring: Michael Douglas, Matt Damon, Rob Lowe
“Promise me you won’t tell anybody how I looked.”
Wikipedia informs me a candelabra is often called a “candle tree”, which I’ve never heard before, but okay. I get it. Why one candle when you can have several branches? That attitude rumbles through Michael Douglas’ magnificent turn as Liberace – a performer both on and off stage.
Instead of showbiz politics, Soderbergh magnifies Liberace’s emotionally draining and rewarding relationship with a hopeful vet (Matt Damon). The pair are forced into secrecy through homophobic pressure, yet Liberace’s mansion (and servants who “only see what they want to see”) fuels their closeness. The dynamics are fascinating: power struggles, different dreams, yet a deep, underlying love. Damon is mistaken for Liberace’s son – one is disgusted, the other is elated.
It isn’t quite a comedy, despite the advertising. Sadness permeates throughout when the masks no longer work. Damon’s earnest pleas are heartbreaking, and it’s hard to forget the arresting intimacy whenever Liberace feels comfortable enough to remove his wig. The “candle tree” needs those branches to carry all those lies and truths. After all, too much of a good thing is wonderful.

Black Rock (2013) – 6/10
Director: Katie Aselton
Writer: Mark Duplass
Starring: Katie Aselton, Lake Bell, Kate Bosworth
“We came out here to hunt. We’re going to hunt them down.”
Adults complaining about The Hunger Games, you now have your own version in Black Rock: a creepily realistic fight-or-flight horror on an idyll island where only a hidden boom mic picks up the screams.
Three friends (Aselton, Bell, Bosworth) reunite for a camping trip that’s punctuated by the usual improvised dialogue you’d expect from a Duplass project. It’s a bit tedious – but, like a real camping trip, you have to persevere. The reward is rather unpleasant: an unfortunate encounter with trained soldiers who hunt down the trio for revenge. (It’s not as complicated as it sounds.)
Subsequently, the action is an astonishingly raw tale of survival. Each lead is breathtakingly tough and vulnerable, while the shaky camera pinpoints dangerous shadows hiding in the trees.
It’s frighteningly animalistic, all without finding Hostel-type pleasure in torture. The subtext is in gender politics and the damaged masculinity of ex-soldiers, avenging stubborn ideals. And for pure drama, Black Rock discovers true feelings surface when you’re naked in a ditch, fearing for your life. If only that energy emerged sooner.

The Bling Ring (2013) – 5/10
Director/Writer: Sofia Coppola
Starring: Katie Chang, Israel Broussard, Emma Watson, Leslie Mann
“Let’s go to Paris’s. I want to rob.”
Sofia Coppola’s screenplay originally opened with a Nicole Richie tweet: “Life is crazy and unpredictable… my bangs are going to the left today.” Instead of semi-ironically philosophising Richie’s already semi-ironic tweet, the crime comedy opens with handheld camera footage of teenagers breaking into a Hollywood home. That’s Coppola’s take: celebrities are demystified, and the viewer becomes a silent participant.
When the music first kicks in, it’s Sleigh Bell’s “Crown on the Ground” – a song that already sounds like an MP3 poorly ripped from YouTube and blasted on tinny laptop speakers. That low-quality, imitation-led aesthetic is the tiny sheen added to the original Vanity Fair article on which the screenplay is based.. Remember the elaborate plans in Tower Heist and Ocean’s Eleven? Well, these kids used social media to work out when a celebrity was at a party, and then found the address through Google Maps. Remarkably, Paris Hilton leaves a key under the doormat. (I do not, if any potential thieves are reading.)
The gang resembles a Nickelodeon version of Spring Breakers: four girls and a Harry Styles lookalike commit crime, snort lines and take selfies with dollar bills – but always redolent of adolescents tasting alcohol for the first time. They even document their exploits on Facebook (pre-Instagram, so the embarrassment isn’t smudged out) before sort of learning a lesson.
The leads deliver sass and childishness when required. They’re fun roles (with Emma Watson gifted the most memorable lines), but hard to distinguish apart from physicalities. With the loss of identity, the YouTube generation shies from creativity and morphs into impersonating Hollywood stars. The group aren’t searching for money (they seem well off already), but desperately seeking clothes. If they could wear Lindsay Lohan’s skin, they would.
“Do I look good in this?”
Coppola’s direction is usually so expressive, but The Bling Ring is plainer. Maybe back in 1785 Marie Antoinette chilled out to The Strokes, but these kids rap badly to Kanye West – out of tune, missing the beat, and skipping half the words. These threadbare scenes unveil the burglars as oblivious to a world outside of social media. The mantra becomes: why bother doing something if you can’t present the evidence to the internet? After all, what is my compulsion to share this review with you, the reader?
I’m unsure why Coppola chose such a reserved stance: it rarely celebrates their exploits more than any typical montage, and is too timid to slam their shallowness. Any social satire is more of an amusing skit (like Watson’s post-arrest reinvention). It’s watchable, if only for the excellent source material, but can’t add much to the Vanity Fair article.
There’s a snippet of the adaptation’s potential for one short minute when Israel Broussard shares a secret: “I loved her. I really did.” His crush glides past in slowmo, accompanied by dreamy music and the action pauses; the throes of teenage adventure when everything is experienced for the first time, seemingly without consequence.
The rest is like the protagonists’ karaoke sessions: fun at the time, but instantly forgettable.

The East (2013) – 7/10
Director: Zal Batmanglij
Writers: Zal Batmanglij, Brit Marling
Starring: Brit Martling, Alexander Skarsgard, Ellen Page, Patricia Clarkson
“We are glad to be given a taste of our medicine.”
Matmanglij and Marling collaborated on last year’s excellent Sound of My Voice: a future cult classic about time-travel. The East follows similar beats, albeit swapping investigative journalism for spontaneous espionage. A Venn diagram would cover how much the two plots overlap. Really, the main difference is tonal than thematic: The East is substantially more mature and refined, and not always to the drama’s benefit.
Marling, the protagonist, is hired as a corporate spy to infiltrate a political activist group called The East. Once inside the organisation, she is slowly swayed by their anarchist movement seeking “eye for an eye” revenge on major businesses polluting the environment. Oh, and there’s a handsome gang leader (Skarsgard) whose smouldering eyes can supposedly change anyone’s conviction. (Although he doesn’t at any point turn to the camera and request a positive review.)
I wouldn’t call it propaganda (it definitely isn’t), but there are small traces of Chinatown with polluted rivers exposing a city’s decaying morals. The smart story is efficiently worked out by accomplished actors, right down to small roles for Ellen Page and Shiloh Fernandez. If anything, it’s too well packaged to convey the passion behind an underground movement.
Batmanglij’s second directorial feature is shaped by higher production values and tighter editing. The thriller’s glossy heartbeat (and ever-present “something exciting is happening” soundtrack”) will appeal to wider audiences. In doing so, it might disappoint fans of Marling’s Another Earth and the pair’s Sound of My Voice. Those two vaguely sci-fi dramas found borderline adolescent poetry in literally staring into space; that an unsettled twenty-something could escape to another planet or join a time-travelling gang. The East covers the same idea, perhaps with more vigour, but those vacant moments are rushed by adrenaline and conventional thriller beats.
I noticed a tendency to fill silences with any noise to heighten tension, whether a Christian radio station in the car, a pounding score, or even a droning hairdryer. Within a mainstream structure, metaphors become more heavy-handed (images of dogs on leashes; Marling describing herself as a dog on a leash; activists impersonating dogs; eating food from a bowl like a dog; I could go on). The eco-message is harder to take seriously, and has more potential as watchable escapism. After all, I was never bored.
The East is far from the powerful masterpiece it wants to be, but charmingly questions the concept of flickering identity; the roots of belief are more to do with personal experiences than one likes to admit. As a thriller with a brain and conscience, it can even find a dramatic climax in a spy eating an apple out of the bin.

A Horrible Way to Die (2010) – 4/10
Director: Adam Wingard
Writer: Simon Barrett
Starring: AJ Bowen, Amy Seimetz, Joe Swanberg
“How can you run if you can’t even walk?”
Like a line in a Paul McCartney song I can’t remember, two roads heading the same direction will inevitably meet. That structure doesn’t always work. Sure, there’s Sleepless in Seattle and Crime and Misdemeanours, but don’t forget Serendipity.
A Horrible Way to Die (which also happens to be a horrible way to title a film) runs two stories concurrently without much effect. In one strand, a serial killer (AJ Bowen) escapes custody and leads a bloody spree in search of his ex-girlfriend. In between bloodstained scenes, that unlucky woman (Amy Seimetz) recovers from the trauma in Alcoholics Anonymous.
Seimetz certainly holds the stronger storyline; seemingly dead on the inside, she struggles to swat away poisonous memories. The antidote comes from a tentative relationship with Joe Swanberg. Borne out of loneliness, the pair make deathly dull small talk that’s oddly comforting, when a night alone at home is the only other option.
Swanberg and Seimetz find small doses of poignancy – certainly more than their partnership in Alexander the Last. Their arc’s biggest obstacle is, well, the film’s hook. Bowen is saddled with the role of a cliched killer: verbose and with a Facebook fan page. His murderous road trip perhaps works better on paper, but reduces the drama to knock-off horror. A disturbed, claustrophobic tone lingers without much point – as mentioned earlier, the inevitable resolution isn’t thematic; just mechanical plotting.

The Internship (2013) – 4.5/10
Director: Shawn Levy
Writers: Jared Stern, Vince Vaughan
Starring: Vince Vaughan, Owen Wilson, Rose Byrne
“Sometimes the long shots pay off the biggest.”
The middling score reflects my confused reaction – did I just watch a two-hour Google advert? That night, I slept muttering “Googlism” as a stirring mantra, dreaming of electric sheep jumping over a wall emblazoned with Google’s logo. Google, Google, Google. I think it’s only about 20 minutes until Vince Vaughan says, “Google it.”
What’s more, The Internship is unfunny, predictable, full of stereotypes and shameless with its product placement – yet I didn’t hate it. I think I even like it, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the comedy’s eternal optimism (frequently attributed to Google). Maybe it’s the subconscious power of advertising. Or maybe I’m a sucker for Owen Wilson’s charm and spending two hours with a formulaic plot where geeks win the battle against… other geeks.
The storyline (described by The Onion as poised to be the biggest comedy of 2005) sees two middle-aged losers (Vaughan and Wilson) starting an internship at Bing. No, I’m kidding. At Google’s luxurious building (where cars drive themselves, and the logo shines in the sun), teams compete for a full-time position.
Our “heroes” stick out in a crowd of 19-year-old whizz kids like an incorrect search result; the joke is that surely these two computer idiots can’t win a lucrative tournament based on tech knowledge, coding and debugging. Surely?
Fortunately (for them, not necessarily the viewer), each round is designed for comedic set-pieces, rather than a true test of ability. For instance, there’s a lengthy game of Quidditch (presumably through market research conducted via Google Analytics) and other tests climax with a Google employee reciting jargon about the company’s core beliefs: diversity, creativity, Vince Vaughan playing a nice guy for a change.
The Internship is overpopulated by stereotypes – a few racially one-note characters; a sexy workaholic manager who needs to let her hair down; countless geeks who love Star Wars and cosplay; a stripper with a heart; a posh rival who finds his comeuppance. It goes on. At times it’s a less annoying version of The Big Bang Theory.
While formulaic, The Internship retains enough charm to avoid walkouts, even if I rolled my eyes throughout. The high spirits are likely down to the Google influence, which is hard to underplay. Even the end credits serve as an advertisement for Google+, Google Chat, Google Video and Google Mail. (Not Google Buzz, funnily enough.) Google’s presence is so shameless, I sort of admire it. At the very least, I prefer the openness to Lois Lane lugging a Nikon camera around.
So to recap: lazy stereotyping, product placement, dated concept, few laughs and even fewer surprises. Yet I have a soft spot for it and almost want to see it again. That’s the power of advertising.

Jules et Jim (1962) – 6.5/10
Director: François Truffaut
Writers: François Truffaut, Jean Gruault, Henri-Pierre Roché (novel)
Starring: Oskar Werner, Henri Serre, Jeanne Moreau
“One always feels guilty in a hotel room. I’m not very moral, but I dislike it.”
Truffaut’s influence on Wes Anderson is evident through camera movement, letter writing and droll philosophising. Of course, critics in 1962 weren’t making those comparisons (apart from the psychic ones). No, there’s a freshness to Jules et Jim in the opening act, where the excitement of meeting someone new is mirrored by playful editing and camera tricks.
Set in 1912, Jim and Jules (feels weird writing it in that order) stare at a statue for an hour, only for the human embodiment to appear in the form of Catherine. They’re instantly smitten – at least with the idea of what she represents. It’s an idea that’s trite and overdone now, but Truffaut tackles the exhilaration with class; at certain points, the frame pauses to capture the moment, long before Instagram produced a crude alternative to memory.
Catherine’s presence overshadows every following moment. After the war, she settles down into an elusive figure who won’t slot into Jules’ misogynistic view of how women, unlike men, should be exempt from infidelity. It’s unclear if she’s seeking revenge or simply floating independently, but it drives the two men slowly instance – all in a rural area where empty paths are flooded by angst.
I know the post-war scenes (which make up the majority) are supposed to lack the early spontaneity, yet I lost patience a few times. The emotions slowly become harder to follow when Jim and Jules (still feels weird) deviate from human beings into plot ciphers. By the third act, I was crying for a gear change.
Still, there’s plenty to admire, particularly when Truffaut’s imagination runs free. At one point, Jim draws a face on a table, and a friend dons a cigarette to pretend to be a steam train. With the simplest instruments, a buzz runs through black-and-white pathos; the final two acts can’t catch up.

The Playroom (2013) – 3/10
Director: Julia Dyer
Writer: Gretchen Dyer
Starring: John Hawkes, Molly Parker, Cold Linley
“Sam, if you keep your coat on all the time, it won’t keep you warm when you go outside.”
“I know.”
A defining image occurs within a few minutes: children clean up their parents’ beer bottles and ashtrays, as if a regular routine. It’s perfect and tells you everything you need to know without resorting to dialogue. Like a mime, perhaps.
The split storyline is set within the family house: wife-swapping parents downstairs, while their children invent stories upstairs. The premise has potential and, to the film’s credit, it takes 45 minutes to realise how poorly written is all is: undefined characters, little development, rushed climaxes, overwrought metaphors.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it was really written in a single night inspired by viewing Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf for the first time. Except The Playroom only lasts 75 minutes, as if they stopped at the earliest opportunity. When infidelity occurs, it’s like an amateur improv class where the participants have been given no background information.
And then I realise that opening image is embarrassingly over-the-top. How wrong I was.

The Seasoning House (2013) – 2.5/10
Director: Paul Hyett
Writers: Paul Hyett, Conal Palmer, Adrian Rigelsford, Helen Solomon
Starring: Rosie Day, Kevin Howarth, Sean Pertwee
“One day this will all be different. We will get away from this place.”
Advanced warning: The Seasoning House is not for the faint hearted, or cinemagoers with other options. Set during the Balkan war, further misery is laid out by setting the horror in a brothel that specialises in child prostitution. The protagonist, Angel, is a young, deaf orphan responsible for injecting and cleaning the battered workers. It’s grim, and that includes the supporting performances.
Angel (played adequately by Rosie Day in her first film role) is understandably reticent. She befriends a mouse and repeatedly hides inside wardrobes, peeking through the gaps at horrible acts of violence. In a way, the viewer is stuck in the same position: spying on horrible scenes, unable to escape, questioning why any of it is happening.
I’m having difficulty gauging if The Seasoning House has any meaning. The war setting seems crudely tacked on as plot framing device, while the unoriginal gender politics surrenders to conventional thriller cliches. In terms of exploitation, it could be harsher to be redolent of wartime torture. It’s also the kind of film where guns and knives are interchangeable, depending on whether the screenwriter wants a character to die or survive.
First-time director Paul Hyett has mainly been a make-up effects artist since 1998, and that’s the film’s main, and perhaps only, strength. The camera glides at plaintive angles across delicate shots that don’t fit the subject matter. If Hyett’s aiming for a fairytale, then he’ll have to do better than dull sequences of young girls slumped across beds; bruised and silent, they hint at a director more comfortable with fake blood than dialogue and character.
The swirling music comes from a more wistful drama. It’s rarely interrupted, unless by a laughable villain or gunshot. Whenever someone dies – whether prostitute or soldier – it’s hard to muster any emotion, other than boredom.

Skeletons (2010) – 5.5/10
Director/Writer: Nick Whitfield
Starring: Will Adamsdale, Andrew Buckley, Jason Isaacs, Tuppence Middleton
“You’re very tall.”
“Yeah.”
Existential investigations. We’ve all done it, whether on a slow commute home from work, or maybe even when writing a review for a blog that fills in the empty gaps of life that would otherwise be filled with happiness. Skeletons is a bit more literal, with a pair of detectives who use paranormal techniques to delve into their clients’ memories.
It’s too ramshackle to compare with Inception or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The low budget is complemented by deadpan comedic exchanges; the pair bumble along until they’re stumped by Middleton (who I’ve recently discovered to possess wonderful comic timing). With a warm and gentle tone, there’s potential unmatched by a script that lacks the necessary spark to ingrain Skeletons into the memory. Consequently, you might need to hire the agency to remind you in a few decades.

Warm Bodies (2013) – 5.5/10
Director: Jonathan Levine
Writers: Jonathan Levine, Isaac Marion (novel)
Starring: Nicholas Hoult, Teresa Palmer, Rob Corddry
“Be dead.”
The zombie craze should have died when the internet was flooded by unfunny, hypothetical “who would you eat first?” discussions, but, fittingly, it won’t die. Warm Bodies taps into the genre, mainly as a selling point, preferring to comment on a geek movement by siding with Twilight-ish teen romance.
Nicholas Hoult is the valiant undead hero dawdling in deserted streets and hunting for human flesh. After eating Teresa Palmer’s boyfriends brains, he inherits elements of his personality – namely, love. The queasy romance between zombie and breathing, blonde beauty is mined for semi-amusing gags. Even a young adult demographic wouldn’t be fooled this easily. So it’s worth crediting Levine for not patronising his audience (even if I’m patronising him in the process) with playful images and teenager-friendly humour.
That’s not to say it’s a masterpiece. Really, I’m just comparing it favourably to Twilight. It doesn’t change much for the genre. It’s hard to ignore how many elements are recognisable from Shaun of the Dead’s most memorable sequences: pretending to be a zombie, and killing zombies with an 80s jukebox plays – as if the “romzomcom” homage wasn’t enough.
Machismo takes a non-fatal hit with adolescent undead men incapable of expressing emotions. The metaphor isn’t particularly deep, but Hoult spends the 98 minutes wearing a red hoodie that I use all the time – one of the self-indulgent points you wouldn’t get from any other reviewer, so sorry.
It’s passable entertainment without much originality; oddly likeable for its lack of cynicism, considering it was probably sold to Hollywood with a Venn diagram. Against all odds, the warmth isn’t just from CGI hearts, but from semi-serious, semi-romantic lines like: “…but you didn’t eat me.” So it deserves some semi-praise.

Westworld (1973) – 8.5/10
Director/Writer: Michael Crichton
Starring: Yul Brynner, Richard Benjamin, James Brolin
“I almost believe all this.”
In a way, Jurassic Park was a fossil left over from Westworld. Crichton had an earlier idea for an alternate amusement park: an enclosed area where lifelike robots fulfil the fantasies of rich tourists. (Yes, as parodied in that episode of The Simpsons.)
The themed holiday destination is characterised like an old Western film, complete with saloons, gunslingers and brothels. It suggests that even in a dystopian future, technology’s crowning moment will be bringing consumers closer to life within a movie. That explains Yul Brynner’s role as an android designed to always lose a gunfight to humans – the dream isn’t just to be Clint Eastwood, but one that kills machines.
Westworld questions human desire even further, given the rampant sexual abuse of humanoids. Male dominance is computerised, and Crichton satirises ugly selfishness with striking images and a popcorn plot. When the robots malfunction and seek violent revenge, I want them to succeed.
The villains strike a more distinctive chord through their human appearance, just as The Terminator built a franchise through Arnie’s idiosyncratic figure. The scientists may find it oddly satisfying that their inventions are too powerful. I saw something different: not revenge, but mankind running away from a truthful reflection. Both are equally frightening.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This month: “Death Walks in High Heels”, “A Field in England”, “The Frozen Ground”, “Hellboy”, “Hellboy 2: The Golden Army”, “The House on Sorority Row”, “Moonlight Mile”, “Pacific Rim”, “Paris Manhattan”, “Sorority Row”, “To the Wonder” (pictured above), “World War Z” and “The World’s End”.

The average rating is 5.86/10 with film of the month being Pacific Rim. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Death Walks on High Heels (1971) – 7/10
Original title: La morte cammina con i tacchi alti
Director: Luciano Ercoli
Writers: Ernesto Gastaldi, Mahnahén Velasco
Starring: Frank Wolff, Nieves Navarro, Simón Andreu
“He was tired. He needed a vacation. I’m sure you’re on the wrong track, chief.”
Ercoli’s classic giallo is split into three parts of varying entertainment, all connected by a pair of kinky boots. At first, it’s a showcase for Ercoli’s wife (specifically her legs) as she escapes a gloved killer. She runs away with a sleazy businessman who can’t stop admiring her legs; it’s borderline creepy, yet slots in with the campy horror. Dreamy music plays at inappropriate moments, dripping with lurid colours and casual conversations, as if to say: let’s just forget about this murder mystery business.
When the killer’s storyline re-emerges, the drama bogs down with tenuous detective work. New characters emerge and they trade comically cliched dialogue. That is until, without spoiling anything, it builds into a tremendously nonsensical final act – the payoff murder mysteries usually promise, but this time it’s actually delivered.
Newcomers to the giallo genre will get a kick out of the grisly murders, loud twists and sensual intermissions. There’s plenty that would satisfy lovers of bad cinema (the early dance sequences in particular) but the trash mostly elevates to something vaguely arty and, at the very least, peculiar. It’d be rare for Poirot to spend much time return the power of sight to a blind man, and its shifting narrative is more intriguing than frustrating. See, murder mysteries can be fun.

A Field in England (2013) – 7.5/10
Director: Ben Wheatley
Writers: Amy Jump, Ben Wheatley
Starring: Julian Barratt, Michael Smiley, Reece Shearsmith
“This war’s not to my liking. Too much fucking marching about.”
Accurately titled and also misleading, Wheatley’s pet project was filmed on a tiny budget in 12 days. It never leaves the field and stays black-and-white throughout, yet is luridly ambitious through truly adept technical skill: the cinematography, the editing, the sound, the performances.
One facet is the role of drugs within a Civil War setting, creating an amalgamation of immersive images that stay committed to an offbeat cause. This ranges from montages that act like a bulldozer, to a caterpillar peacefully crawling under the sun. All takes places while warlike noises and deafening screams run through the speakers.
It’s not just mysticism. The script takes advantage of its comedic actors with bawdy humour that didn’t do much for me, but at least created another layer. At its worse, it’s just watching people on a drug trip and exchanging bad jokes. When it gets moving, it sucks you in with the power of suggestion and leaves a delicious headache – a civil war inside your head.

The Frozen Ground (2013) –
Director/Writer: Scott Walker
Starring: Nicolas Cage, John Cusack, Vanessa Hudgens, 50 Cent
“I should have killed you while I had the chance.”
A competent crime story that’s also a tremendous waste: Cage as the good cop, Cusack as the serial killer devoice of personality. Hudgens holds an irrelevant side-story (complete with 50 Cent as her pimp). It meanders along without anything spectacular, until one of the worst final lines from a film I’ve seen in quite a while.

Hellboy (2004) – 7/10
Director: Guillermo del Toro
Writers: Guillermo del Toro, Peter Briggs (story), Mike Mignola (comics)
Starring: Ron Perlman, Selma Blair, Jeffrey Tambor
“If there’s trouble, all us freaks has is each other.”
Who is Hellboy? I’m not entirely clear, and that’s down to del Toro’s diversion from a by-the-numbers origin story. There are no radioactive spiders searching for a bite. No, it’s stranger and far more exciting: Nazis resurrect Rasputin open a portal that releases a baby devil. Grown up, Hellboy tosses out cheesy one-liners and an irregular likeability, as if he’s simultaneously the superhero and the bullied child inside.
Hellboy’s unnecessarily complicated quest doesn’t hold much weight. It’s really more about a crazy gang out for adventure. I doubt Selma Blair will ever find a more enticing role than Liz Sherman, a depressed pyromaniac superhero. The relationships snap concurrently with del Toro’s vivid creatures. It’s surprisingly warm and alluring in how it revels in its own strangeness.

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army (2008) – 4/10
Director: Guillermo del Toro
Writers: Guillermo del Toro, Mike Mignola (comics)
Starring: Ron Perlman, Selma Blair, Jeffrey Tambor
“If you cannot command, then you must obey.”
There’s a version of Hellboy 2 I would have loved, one that concentrates on the comedic, introspective elements of being a superhero for an indifferent public. Hellboy and Liz are satirised on Jimmy Kimmel’s TV show, and it’s a logical step for the offbeat charm of the first film.
Unfortunately, that potential is submerged in tedious CGI and a plodding storyline that brings moments of The Phantom Menace to mind. Some peculiar aspects shine through the holes (a bland, early Travis single somehow works) and at least it sets up the trilogy finale rather fittingly: why save the human race?

The House on Sorority Row (1983) – 6/10
Director: Mark Rosman
Writers: Mark Rosman, Bobby Fine
Starring: Kate McNeil, Eileen Davidson, Janis Ward, Robin Meloy
“You’re the last one of your friends alive. You’re the bait.”
I’m trying to work out if that title is a play on the word “horror”, especially if you say it quickly. That might be over-reading a fairly standard slasher tale: seven sorority sisters, one final party, an unidentifiable killer with a deadly cane. There’s nothing particularly revelatory (it’s tame and lacks any bonkers moment of ingenuity), but watchable through playful charm and suspenseful shadows. Trippy visions add a surreal touch to the swirling nature of losing your friends one by one, especially with hilarious cutaways to an 80s band to kill the mood.
Worth noting: Rosman’s most recent feature was William and Kate, which could certainly have been improved with a crossover.

Moonlight Mile (2002) – 6.5/10
Director/Writer: Brad Silverling
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Susan Sarandon
“I went to a place where nothing’s right, where every moment hurts.”
The hook is delicious: Gyllenhaal moves in with his dead fiancées parents and sulks around the house. He then falls in love with a cheerful postal worker (who hasn’t?), which sets off a flurry of confused emotions. The death-obsessed storyline gently smothers in warm humour and (mostly) stays away from being too sentimental.
By sacrificing the darker tones, Moonlight Mile loses a bit of edge. “Well, duh,” you might say, but Gyllenhaal’s scenes with the father (Hoffman) are at times like eavesdropping on a real stranger conversing with his father-in-law. Strangely, the highlights are the romantic subplot and small moments that could exist in many other dramas. Gyllenhall is particularly well pinpointed as a small boy refusing to grow up, as evident by how he climbs out the window at night; like an extension of the lovelorn, naive shop assistant he plays in Love and Amazing or The Good Girl or maybe everything.
Death is handled in peculiar ways, and Moonlight Mile only scrapes the surface. No longer locked down, Gyllenhaal finds an escape in dancing to the Rolling Stones on a jukebox. It’s a poignant sequence, tinged by nuanced back story, and suggests there could be a brilliant midpoint between this and the frustrating histrionics of Silver Lining Playbooks, if only someone would make it.

Pacific Rim (2013) – 8.5/10
Director: Guillermo del Toro
Writers: Travis Beacham, Guillermo del Toro
Starring: Charlie Hunman, Rinko Kibuchi, Charlie Day, Idris Elba
“Today we are cancelling the apocalypse.”
Don’t be fooled into thinking Pacific Rim is another Transformers. The central premise may be giant monsters battling 25-storey high robots, but this is a mesmerising, deafening work of art that should be seen on the biggest screen you can find.
Rather than aliens on spaceships, the future is threatened by Kaijus – massive creatures that emerge from the ocean. To combat them, humans develop enormous machines called Jaegers, which are operated inside by two pilots. Eventually, the Kaijus become adept to handling these mechanisms, and only two pilots can save the world: a has-been (Charlie Hunnam) and an emotional rookie (Rinko Kinkuchi).
Guillermo del Toro’s love of the Kaiju are fingerprinted in each rendered shot, aiming for beauty over expensive destruction. It is made clear in the first few minutes that Jaeger pilots are celebrities who appear on talk shows. In other words, you’re not following a robot without personality, but a larger representation of Hunnam and Kinkuchi. So not the talking robots of Transformers.
At the same time, it’s impossible to hate the monsters. They appear in different forms, and each is stunning in movement. The battle scenes are breathtaking – I wouldn’t go as far as using the word “poetry”, but it’s briefly that great fighting can be a dialogue. The opening image inverts stars to the ocean, making clear that the action will take place over the clouds and deep under the water – so that’s above, below, and in your face (if in 3D). And yes, it’s spectacular.
I don’t doubt del Toro’s claim he was allowed complete creative control. It’s a luxury that this kind of blockbuster can exist without dumbed down elements like racial stereotypes or unwarranted adult jokes. There’s also a tough female role model, as opposed to a damsel in distress who runs around in skimpy outfits.
The supporting cast are universally excellent. In particular, Charlie Day is a masterstroke as an inquisitive scientist (away from the illiterate buffoon in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) who brings charm and humour – essential in pacing the battle sequences. Idris Elba carries a senior role with typical gravitas, and Burn Gorman throws out hilariously over-the-top lines like, “Numbers are as close as we get to the handwriting of God.” And I can’t miss out Ron Perlman in a scene-stealing role as a criminal mastermind who sells Kaiju body parts on the black market.
Pacific Rim sets a new standard for summer blockbusters, much in the way Nolan revitalised the superhero genre. Snyder and Bay could certainly learn a few lessons. It’s definitely worth a trip to the cinema – and if you see something else, you’ll probably hear it through the walls anyway. In other words, it’s a great way to cancel the apocalypse.

Paris Manhattan (2012) – 3.5/10
Director/Writer: Sophie Lellouche
Starring: Alice Taglioni, Patrick Bruel, Yannick Soulier, Woody Allen
“You asked me why Woody Allen is so important to me. At 15, I thought Cole Porter was a pair of jeans. He showed the truth to me.”
This whimsical French drama borrows the spirit of Woody Allen with Taglioni playing an ultra fan. She talks to a poster of his face, quotes his lines and hands out DVDs to strangers in need. For instance, she thrusts Crimes and Misdemeanours upon a robber running out of a store. And… well, that’s it for examples. Unless you blog about him, you’re not a fan in my book/blog.
She wishes her life outside the films could resemble Manhattan or Broadway Danny Rose. Sadly, so did I. Even with a Parisian backdrop, the drama lacks zest when Allen isn’t the main topic. There’s little explanation as to why anyone else would care about this great filmmaker – if I wasn’t already a superfan, I’d wonder if her obsession was a childhood regression, like an adult collecting football stickers. I admire the intention, but Allen’s recent films do a better job of chasing the spirit of Annie Hall.

Sorority Row (2009) – 3/10
Director: Stewart Hendler
Writers: Josh Stolberg, Pete Goldfinger
Starring: Brianna Evigan, Leah Pipes, Rumer Willis, Jamie Chung, Audrina Patridge
“Now let’s go wash the blood off in the lake, and get back to the party.”
The House on Sorority Row was such an average release (I am describing it as if I was alive in 1983 and didn’t just watch the DVD last night) that Sorority Row truly had to throw in a twist or radical makeover – otherwise it’d just be any other slasher film. It doesn’t.
It’s only after five minutes that the nastiness emerges where six of seven friends (one is deemed “Queen Bitch”) make quips about token Asian friends and how Rohypnol is a “great way to get laid and have a decent night’s sleep”. The moral grounding comes from Evigan whose recoil extends to, well, nothing.
A Rohypnol-induced prank goes awry and implausibly leads to someone accidentally stabbing one of the sisters. The ensuing murders aren’t explained; they just take place, as if the genre is a binding contract. Without any effort to build suspense or characterisation, it plods along without the original’s charm or sense of fun.
Not so much a modern remake, but a straight-to-DVD sequel with extra sex.

To the Wonder (2013) – 8/10
Director/Writer: Terrence Malick
Starring: Ben Affleck, Olga Kurylenko, Rachel McAdams, Javier Bardem
“Love that loves us. Thank you.”
The Tree of Life stomped around end-of-year lists like an elusive CGI dinosaur, but I’m in a minority who greatly prefer its slimmer cousin, To the Wonder. The tone is similar with pristine, poetic shots of how landscapes carry the sadness of a Hollywood A-lister (whether Pitt or Affleck), yet more focused on a singular journey, as the title suggests. Rather than a lack of ambition, it instils a purpose that’s absorbing and – dare I say it – religious.
The relentless Christian message didn’t sway me from my Atheist tendencies, but I’m fully converted to the notion that Affleck should never speak again in a film ever again. He’s the lead with only a few lines of dialogue, with the rest muted by voiceovers. It reminds me of This Morning With Richard Not Judy when Stewart Lee wouldn’t let Trevor Lock speak because it’d involve paying him more.
Affleck is supported by more than silence, with Kurlenko and McAdams frequently twirling around him – as if Malick’s instructions were to be free, and they didn’t know what else to do. The flurry of images take over personalities, with layer upon layer creating a subtle struggle between nature and domesticity. Artificial architecture reappears frequently in a swimming pool, while a fence blocks off trees and wildlife.
I could watch To the Wonder on a continuous loop, unlike The Tree of Life. The cast are more dancers than actors, and they’re choreographed by a spiritual urge only discovered by Malick in post-production. His vision cuts sweetly in small doses; unspoken moments add up to a rewarding finish. Some patience is necessary, but it’s worth it for that final shot.

World War Z (2013) – 3.5/10
Director: Marc Forster
Writers: Matthew Michael Canahan, Drew Goddard, Damon Lindelof, Max Brooks (novel)
Starring: Brad Pitt, Mireille Enos, James Badge Dale, Matthew Fox
“Most people don’t believe something can happen until it already has.”
Warning: Spoilers ahead.
I haven’t read the original graphic novel, but I thumbed through Vanity Fair’s report on the disastrous production. In a rather rote zombie tale, the main layer of interest lies in knowing the final 30 minutes came from a reshoot – so it repeatedly went over budget, and the filmed final act was placed in the recycle bin.
The finished product isn’t particularly catastrophic (both as a viewing experience and in the fictional storyline edited for young audiences), just yet another zombie exercise. It glances over the origin of the virus and any biological intricacies of the infected, assuming its demographic will already be familiar or not care.
The running time is instead devoted to expensive scenes of mass chaos where gore and decapitations largely happen off-screen – not as an imaginative tool, but obstructive editing. Accidentally, the violence is desensitised and a distance emerges, which is worsened by Brad Pitt’s character amounting to little more than the Westerner who travels continents to save their cultures. Most of the other political aspects are possibly racist (I’m still processing some fairly crass analogies). I’m struggling for any fun moments, aside from Pitt’s product placement (when surrounded by zombies, don’t forget to open a can of Pepsi).
Instead of a climax, World War Z ends on a ridiculous game of hide-and-seek that’s less dramatic than avoiding someone you recognise at a supermarket. The final scene is a grating plea for a sequel; nothing is learned, nothing will be remembered.

The World’s End (2013) – 6/10
Director: Edgar Wright
Writers: Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg
Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Martin Freeman, Paddy Considine, Eddie Marsan, Rosamund Pike
“A man of your prowess drinking fucking rain?”
Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz were infused by nostalgia for the early genre films of Pegg and Wright’s childhood; fittingly, the trilogy closes with a story about clinging onto the past. Five school friends return to their hometown for a pub crawl (12 pints of Fosters…) and very directly ask if they changed, or if something’s slightly awry in Newton Haven.
Aside from Pegg, the gang have indeed matured to having families, holding highly paid office positions, or starting a night off with tap water. Pegg nags incessantly in a rather unpleasant way that is initially quite challenging; his refusal to grow up is more obnoxious than endearing, and plays out like an extended edit of The Inbetweeners for much of the first half. Pegg’s dominance is at times rather nasty, with the rest of the comedy deriving from hackneyed verbal misunderstandings (“What the fuck does WTF mean?”) rather than smart wordplay. I’ve been a major fan since Spaced, and I barely laughed.
The engagement levels pick up when sci-fi elements are introduced, as, unlike the dialogue, Wright’s direction is as fizzling as ever. Without giving anything away, the action combines a love of the genre with a playful tone. It also continues the trilogy’s trick of finding humour in mundane locations – a bust-up in Wetherspoons (I mean, “The Two Headed Dog”) is, for the first time, a decent proposition.
The World’s End boasts a soundtrack gloriously consistent to the early nineties, which maintains a strange tone that can only be created by a gang strutting to “So Young” by Suede, or popping into a pub blasting “Here’s Where the Story Ends”. A poignant detail reveals Pegg has kept the same cassette in his car since childhood. Even better is the cast’s chemistry (the best moments come from new additions Considine and Marsan) that encapsulates the “us versus them” scenario, even during petty squabbles. If only the jokes were a bit better.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Director: James Mangold
Writers: Mark Bomback, Scott Frank, Christopher McQuarrie
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Rila Fukushima, Tao Okamoto, Hal Yamanouchi

Wolverine’s struggle with immortality could make a fantastic drama, like a superhero twist on Groundhog Day. As it stands, Mangold’s take on the character is similarly ambitious, emulating a samurai tale with Zen nuances and poetic scenery. Well, in practice, anyway.

Set entirely in Japan, The Wolverine only scratches upon the surface of what it means to be alive, and how that’s separate from being unable to die. The dull story lends itself to philosophical intrigue for only the briefest of moments, then collapses under meeting the needs of viewers with short attention spans. There’s even a robot thrown in, too.

“What they did to me, what I am, can’t be undone.”

Most of the wonder derives from a Japanese setting which injects The Wolverine with scenic energy. Our hero is a stranger to himself and his surroundings. Admittedly, chase sequences have a slight edge when they involve running past Pachinko machines or sticking a knife into the roof of the Tokyo bullet train. But it’s nothing to be excited about.

In support, Fukushima and Okamoto take a break from modelling in their first ever film roles. You wouldn’t guess otherwise, but it’s telling that The Wolverine is more concerned about looks that dialogue. Instead of the beauty associated with its influences, the fights and villains are clumsy and occasionally embarrassing – I assume Viper, a snake-y human who spits toxins, is less laughable in the comics.

It’s a shame as I recognise the intent for a philosophical struggle with death, identity and owning claws which make horrendous scratching noises that are painful in a cinema with loud speakers. Maybe Mangold and Jackman can team up again on a project that isn’t weighed down by back story and appeasing impatient audiences. Or, at least, without dream sequences that resurrect someone who died earlier in the franchise.

The Wolverine is released this week.

This fortnight: “The 400 Blows” (pictured above), “Blackfish”, “Couples Retreat”, “District 9”, “Frances Ha”, “Free Samples”, “Ginger & Rosa”, “The Heat”, “The Last Seduction”, “Now You See Me”, “Only God Forgives”, “Point Break” and “The Wolverine”.

Ernest Hemingway’s “Iceberg Theory” for writers suggests he could have been a great tweeter, and possibly an even better iceberg. He sings “My Heart Will Go On” on karaoke nights.

The average rating is 5.81/10 with film of the month being The Last Seduction. Follow @halfacanyon for more.

The 400 Blows (1959) – 8/10
Director: François Truffaut
Writers: François Truffaut, Marcel Moussy
Starring: Jean-Pierre Léaud, Albert Remy, Claire Maurier
“But he hates sports. He spends hours at the movies, ruining his eyes.”
Oh ,yes – that final shot, an electric shock of charged emotions. Truffaut’s liberating debut is 99 minutes of pure joy; when its protagonist, 12-yearold Antoine, runs to the ocean, I want to join him. It’s the kind of drama that encourages the viewer to live life to the fullest and take on new challenges.
The simple story follows Antoine, a naive child who’s treated unfairly by cruel teachers and callous parents. Lively direction captures Antoine’s spring when he walks. He’s always a young child, whether he’s enjoying Balzac with a cigarette, or sneaking around in a hat to emulate a gangster. When threatened with military school, his friend doesn’t even know what it is.
Antoine’s small frame is occasionally lost on screen, while an empty metropolitan landscape encircles like a humanless playground. He dreams of running away much in the way we all do. The final shot is an existential crisis in an eternal image; both free and restricted, every moment is a now or never question.

Blackfish (2013) – 8/10
Director: Gabriela Cowperthwaite
Writers: Gabriela Cowperthwaite, Eli Despres
“I stayed for Tilikum. I felt bad for the guy.”
Cowperthwaite’s powerful documentary takes a case history of orcas killing trainers and asks: if there’s no record of orcas harming humans in the wild, then what happens at SeaWorld that makes them change?
Cowperthwaite isn’t shy about making SeaWorld the villain and wholly responsibly. It ostensibly follows Tilikum, a three-year-old orca captured in 1983, but the marine theme park is repeatedly made out to be a morally dubious corporation. It doesn’t just throw accusations; it completely pulls the plug.
Blackfish is interspersed with cheesy SeaWorld advertisements of beautiful creatures who love performing for paying audiences. In reality, they’re imprisoned underwater (sometimes in isolation) and attack each other when left in cramped conditions. Tilikum particularly suffers from being bullied and unable to swim away, as he would in the wild. Of course, there’s bias in the editing and ordering, but the inevitable attack on a trainer isn’t that surprising.
The most haunting moment comes from an experienced trainer who’s repeatedly pulled under water by a frustrated orca. The man smiles through the pain and strokes the whale like an old friend, before he’s dragged down again. At that point you realise he’s willing to die for the sake of a lie.

Couples Retreat (2009) – 2.5/10
Director: Peter Billingsley
Writers: Jon Favreau, Vince Vaughan, Dana Fox, Curtis Hanson, Peter Billingsley, Greg Beeman
Starring: Vince Vaughan, Malin Akerman, Jon Favreau, Kristin Davis, Jason Bateman, Kristen Bell, Faizon Love, Kali Hawk
“There is such a thing called muscle memory. I can tell by looking at your gait, that you must remember.”
There’s a decent idea behind Couples Retreat, one completely divorced from the final execution. Bateman and Bell discover the holiday of a lifetime with two catches: mandatory couples therapy at 6am, and the bargain deal requires three more pairs. One PowerPoint presentation later, four terrible comedy partners run through a series of crass, predictable scenarios that sprawl like a rushed sketch show. What counts as character work is five minutes of Guitar Hero.
There’s too much truth in Vaughan and Favreau fearing they’ve lost touch – the film becomes a real life touching stone on how far they’ve fallen from the honeymoon of Swingers in 1996. Either that, or they’ve masterminded a way for Hollywood to pay for their summer holidays.

District 9 (2009) – 8/10
Director: Neill Blomkamp
Writers: Neill Blomkamp, Terri Tatchell
Starring: Sharlto Copley, Jason Cope, David James
“I love watching you prawns die.”
The cult of Starship Troopers lives on with insect-y aliens symbolising a dehumanised enemy: a dystopian vision of race relations. Politics coagulates with sci-fi and social satire, all amidst thrilling warfare and media coverage. Copley shines in his first acting role as an office clerk mutating into a “prawn” (although they don’t appreciate that term). The satire isn’t particularly sharp, but the chopped up news footage adds a faux-topical edge to a fun film emblazoned with easily offended aliens. Like all memorable sci-fi environments, it’s distinctive and inviting – let’s hope we handle the inevitable alien invasion with a liberal approach.

Free Samples (2013) – 4/10
Director: Jay Gammill
Writer: Jim Beggarly
Starring: Jess Weixler, Jesse Eisenberg
“How lonely are you that you have to wander the streets on a Thursday morning asking a bunch of senseless questions to the first person you meet that’s trapped in a truck?”
There comes a point when you get through a third of your life and you think it’s going okay, and then you realise, “Oh no, it’s going to be like this forever.” Well, not that that applies to me. It is, however, a fitting description of Free Samples, a modest indie comedy that takes place almost entirely around Jess Weixler operating a stationary ice cream van.
The gimmick doesn’t feel contrived, but is mostly redundant – rather than mining inertia for comedy, it’s likely down to convenience of filming. It only matters because there’s very little else on which to focus, other than cone technique. This isn’t Trees Lounge where Steve Buscemi sold ice cream because his life depended on a self-destructive activity. Instead, it’s simply a time (and cone) filler.
Weixler makes the most of her minimalist script, adopting a strange whine that stays consistent throughout. It’s also a role based on laziness and social reluctance, and needs something to play off – what she gets is an aimless screenplay, anonymous strangers with unnatural one-liners, and a fleeting cameo from Jesse Eisenberg. No wonder in the second scene she doesn’t want to get out of bed.

Frances Ha (2013) – 6/10
Director: Noah Baumbach
Writers: Noah Baumbach, Greta Gerwig
Starring: Greta Gerwig, Mickey Sumner, Adam Driver
“Ahoy, sexy!”
I’m under 27 – the age deemed by Frances Ha to be old and when adulthood begins. In a way, Frances Ha is a coming-of-age film; the last few days before independence becomes a compulsory monster. Frances has already moved in with her best friend, but still finds herself stuck in limbo – without a career plan or even a bad boyfriend to complain about.
In order to grow up, Frances needs monetary assistance – and with that, Frances Ha stands out from mumblecore tradition by embracing the realities of being poor in your 20s. The drama scratches at the sleepless nights caused by friends living more accomplished lives. It also sets up a path of escapism and how to escape those realities.
For instance, the black-and-white cinematography is the film’s greatest device; it grants a new life to New York. The monochrome recalls French New Wave, complete with a head-nodding soundtrack. She even visits Paris and the cinema for a double-getaway (even if it’s just for Puss in Boots). If the scene structures represent her daily routines, her life is thinly chopped up by Truffaut-ish conversations. Tellingly, she’s happiest during performances – whether directing a dance show, doing a headstand in the living room, or whatever it takes to stop being Frances. Indeed, even a slight name change is a happy accomplishment.
Those dialogue snippets shape Frances Ha as a character portrait, rather than a conventional drama. The economic screenplay doesn’t waste time with meaningless exposition; its briskness echoes the final act of The Squid and the Whale.
However, what’s presented on screen isn’t particularly insightful or engaging. The love/hate reactions puzzle me; for me, it was mostly inoffensive and unmemorable. My screening’s audience laughed throughout, while I sat silently with mild impatience.
I also don’t recognise the much-lauded connection with Girls and Woody Allen, aside from geography and Frances’ living situation; it’s very much the Greta Gerwig show.  I’ve been critical of her in the past (Lola Versus and Hannah Takes the Stairs spring to mind) but she won me over with last year’s superb Damsels in Distress. In Frances Ha, she’s possibly the first actor in a Baumbach film to escape his claustrophobic style; it would be duller without her inventive spirit.
Still, considering the best aspects of Frances Ha come from post-production (the black-and-white, every play of “Modern Love”), there’s only so much Gerwig can bring without a funnier,  more rewarding screenplay.

Ginger & Rosa (2012) – 7.5/10
Writer/Director: Sally Potter
Starring: Elle Fanning, Alice Englert, Alessandro Nivola, Christina Hendricks
“But really, Rosa, I think we should do something about the bomb.”
Ginger & Rosa is one of those period dramas more about the setting than what’s going on in the foreground. In the leads, the two teenage protagonists bond through impatience with adolescence (trying on their mothers’ clothes) at a time when escapism was harder to find – when they run away, it’s through truancy or late night alley trips to taunt boys, not refreshing Twitter.
The usual coming-of-age ingredients take place: absent father, struggling mother, minute details about life in the 60s. What I liked was the sprinkles of existential fear – usually an overused comic device, but here it’s more real. Ginger is taken over by fear of a nuclear attack; enough to preoccupy her mind when she’s lying on a boat or adding up numbers in maths class. It’s so impactful, it threatens the central friendship when Rosa is less bothered that “we could all die tomorrow.”
Elle Fanning shines in a role that juxtaposes over-the-top hyperventilation with teenage boredom. It’s like anyone’s exaggerated childhood drama, multiplied by a duplicitous best friend and the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Politics interweaves with domestic affairs; the screenplay mischievously overlaps marches with teenage rebellion. On the other side, family struggles become so damaging, the end of the world seems inconsequential – almost a luxurious worry for when you have nothing better to do. When the drama slips away from these themes into more conventional drama, it’s still watchable – just loses the “Sally Draper” edge of growing up in a war torn era.

The Heat (2013) – 4/10
Director: Paul Feig
Writer: Katie Dippold
Starring: Sandra Bullock, Melissa McCarthy
“Me and her? We’re the fucking heat.”
A mismatched pair of police officers: McCarthy is aggressive and foul-mouthed, Bullock is straight as an arrow. McCarthy is allowed to be funny pretty much all the time, but Bullock’s straddled with a non-character – as the “good cop” of the equation, she’s increasingly lifeless and reduced to the stereotype of a single woman whose best friend is the neighbour’s cat.
Further into the comedy, when tight situations force the leads into bonding exercises and an unlikely friendship, it’s apparent just how little there is to their DNA. When Feig launched Freaks and Geeks, he wrote an extensive guide to the kids’ personalities, even down to their favourite albums and foods. In The Heat, they just about have surnames.
It’s also puzzling why the 117-minute running time wasn’t trimmed. Some sample dialogue: “Is that the same sandwich you offered me a week ago?” “Yeah. Cheese doesn’t go bad.” An apt metaphor.

The Last Seduction (1994) – 8.5/10
Director: John Dahl
Writer: Steve Barancik
Starring: Linda Fiorentino, Peter Berg, Bill Pullman
“Hey, maybe you’ll get a reward and you can open up a fucking feed store. Get the fuck out of here.”
I haven’t laughed so hard for quite a while. Fiorentino is the unquestionable lead – a sociopathic femme fatale with one-liners and looks that can, er, kill. As Bridget, she’s slapped by her husband and promises to slap him back harder. Rather than a backhander, she runs off with his drug deal earnings and hides in a small New York suburb. However, a pseudonym (Wendy Kroy) can’t disguise her city upbringing, and there’s visual humour in her heels and “fuck off” attitude.
The neo-noir screenplay embraces and relies on Bridget’s droll tone and comic timing. She’s chased by men (detectives and horny locals) who try and fail to manipulate her. Berg, in particular, attempts to exert his masculinity in their relationship, only to be told he’s just a “designated fuck” and “spare me your brainless countrified morality”.
Thankfully, The Last Seduction peers through dark turns and pokes fun at the idea of sentimentality. In fact, emotions are a weakness (just like they are in real life). Yet Bridget is undoubtedly the hero, full of style and confidence. It should be cynical, but Fiorentino’s portrayal is completely joyous. She brandishes cigarettes like a weapon, only pausing to unleash hurtful wit. Her destructive nature is wild, unpredictable and something to admire – she sums herself with profanity: “I am a total fucking bitch.”

Now You See Me (2013) – 3.5/10
Director: Louis Leterrier
Writers: Edward Ricourt, Ed Solomon, Boaz Yakin
Starring: Mark Ruffalo, Mélanie Laurent, Jesse Eisenberg, Isla Fisher, Woody Harrelson
“The closer you think you are, the less you’ll actually see.”
The famous David Blaine levitation trick excites the small crowd on the streets, and maybe the impatient pedestrian trying to get pass, but no one else. On video, there are too many suspicions about camera trickery to appreciate anything other than showmanship. Now You See Me shares that and even more with Blaine – a magician whose greatest performances were more to do with finding unwarranted media attention than magic.
In a summer of failed blockbusters, Now You See Me is turning into the year’s surprise sleeper hit, according to someone sitting behind me at the cinema. Like an actual magic show, the film advertises itself with gloss and promise of wonder: an attractive young cast reinforced by reliable cameos from Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman. If the script and plot are poor, then surely the cast can save it? And if not, who are these snobby critics who don’t understand fun? Well, it turns out neither do the filmmakers.
The first 15 minutes are moderately entertaining, in a “now I sort of see it” way. The central cast are introduced as con artists who use CGI-enhanced scenarios as platform for sarcastic one-liners. Eisenberg and Fischer are snappy as ex-lovers who shared a stage, arguing like a 1960s screwball double act. But it doesn’t last long (as Fischer mentions in an accidentally meta joke). In fact, the great disappearing act comes from the personalities who completely vanish after the first act.
Without much reason, Ruffalo and Laurent take over as the main figures who attempt to solve an unsolvable mystery of what these magicians will do next. Hint: it will involve CGI and be implausible.
When the action pauses, the mind struggles to unravel the pointlessness of everyone’s individual arc. At first, you’re distracted (or blinded by “misdirection”, as they like to call it) by mediocre humour; and then you realise: why is any of this happening?
Strangely, the film takes itself seriously, finding smugness in ludicrous plot twists probably chosen by picking answers out of a hat. Well, if there was ever a refined script, it was probably eaten by the rabbit.

Only God Forgives (2013) – 3/10
Director/Writer: Nicolas Winding Refn
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Kristin Scott Thomas, Vithaya Pansringarm
“TAKE IT OFF!!!”
Ryan Gosling recently took over from Nicolas Cage as the go-to actor for internet memes. He also delivers multiple Cage-isms in Only God Forgives, his second collaboration with Refn after Drive. One example I jotted down: “Can somebody tell me what the FUCK this CUNT is trying to say?” The misogyny might halt the feminist Gosling tumblrs.
The plot is minimal, as is the dialogue. Refn prepares for the party with a neon background that glows in a way the screenplay does not. Every scene is shot like an alluring nightmare – wallpaper and lighting turn into aesthetic pornography, while corridors lead to lampshades that could easily direct traffic. Standing in front, empty shells deliver cringe-inducing lines – everyone, apart from Scott Thomas who’s searching for her own internet meme potential.
Refn might challenge the viewer with an onslaught of violence, but he’s more aggressive in how he turns crazed fight scenes into a dull series of misjudgements.
When Gosling says, “Wanna fight?” I think, yes, actually, I do.

Point Break (1991) – 8.5/10
Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Writers: W. Peter Liff, Rick King
Starring: Patrick Swayze, Keanu Reeves, Gary Busey, Lori Petty
“You think I joined the FBI to surf?”
The hook of Point Break is so absurd and inviting: two FBI officers head to the beach as undercover surfers to catch bank robbers. The film’s strength is how it loves its own stupidity, while treating the dumb philosophy with complete respect.
Like a door, it hinges on Keanu Reeves, responsible for catching the criminals, slowly hypnotised by their free-spirit world. Bigelow’s beautiful direction effortless conveys the beauty of sprawling waves and the sensation of skydiving. The quotations don’t get more complex than “This is fucking beautiful!” but you get the point.
There are too many exhilarating action sequences to mention, including a foot chase where the bad guy throws a dog – a dog! – at Keanu. It’s also hilarious, from a bank robbery taking place in the background, right down to the casting.
Gloriously dumb. It should be retitled 1991: A Surf Odyssey.

The Wolverine (2013) – 4/10
Director: James Mangold
Writers: Mark Bomback, Scott Frank, Christopher McQuarrie
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Rila Fukushima, Tao Okamoto, Hal Yamanouchi
“What they did to me, what I am, can’t be undone.”
Wolverine’s struggle with immortality could make a fantastic drama, like a superhero twist on Groundhog Day. As it stands, Mangold’s take on the character is similarly ambitious, emulating a samurai tale with Zen nuances and poetic scenery. Well, in practice, anyway.
Set entirely in Japan, The Wolverine only scratches upon the surface of what it means to be alive, and how that’s separate from being unable to die. The dull story lends itself to philosophical intrigue for only the briefest of moments, then collapses under meeting the needs of viewers with short attention spans. There’s a robot thrown in, too.
Most of the wonder derives from a Japanese setting which injects The Wolverine with scenic energy. Our hero is a stranger to himself and his surroundings. Admittedly, chase sequences have a slight edge when they involve running past Pachinko machines or sticking a knife into the roof of the Tokyo bullet train. But it’s nothing to be too excited about.
In support, Fukushima and Okamoto take a break from modelling in their first ever film roles. You wouldn’t guess otherwise, but it’s telling that The Wolverine is more concerned about looks that dialogue. Instead of the beauty associated with its influences, the fights and villains are clumsy and occasionally embarrassing – I assume Viper, a snake-y human who spits toxins, is less laughable in the comics.
It’s a shame as I recognise the intent for a philosophical struggle with death, identity and owning claws which make horrendous scratching noises that are painful in a cinema with loud speakers. Maybe Mangold and Jackman can team up again on a project that isn’t weighed down by back story and appeasing impatient audiences. Or, at least, without dream sequences that resurrect someone who died earlier in the franchise.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Reviewed: “About Time”, “The Act of Killing”, “Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa”, “The Conjuring”, “Good Night, and Good Luck”, “Kick-Ass 2”, “Moonstruck”, “Passion” (pictured above), “Planes”, “The Sweetest Thing”, “Tillsammans”, “We’re the Millers” and “You’re Next”.

Film of the fortnight is The Act of Killing and the average rating is 5.19/10. Come back in two weeks for thoughts on Pain & Gain, Elysium, Rush and The Way, Way Back. Tweet any complaints to @halfacanyon.

About Time (2013) – 4.5/10
Director/Writer: Richard Curtis
Starring: Domhnall Gleeson, Rachel McAdams, Bill Nighy, Tom Hollander
“For me, it was always going to be about love.”
In 2005’s cruelly overlooked Fetching Cody, Jay Baruchel’s girlfriend overdoses on heroin. His solution is to travel back in time to save her childhood (as opposed to just stopping the actual incident). About Time takes a step further into incidental time travel with two hours of Domhnall Gleeson incrementally revisiting his past to woo Rachel McAdams.
To be fair, his father, Bill Nighy, explains the gift can’t be used to kill Hitler. You see, the men in Gleeson’s family have the power of time travel – clench your fists in a cupboard, and voila. Gleeson, perhaps inspired by the period jumping in Midnight in Paris, begins a relationship with one of its cast members, McAdams. Amid the traditional comedy of manners, he hits rewind and literally learn from his mistakes. For instance, through repetition he learns how to undo her bra, and what to say about Kate Moss. It’s pretty much on the other side of killing Hitler in the spectrum of usefulness.
Fortunately, the concept’s inconsistencies and plot holes are mostly forgiven because About Time is only concerned with time travel as a platform for comedy (until the final act, but more on that later). Richard Curtis injects the screenplay with a high frequency of gags that recall his sitcom writing days, while staying true to his usual schtick – in such a way, it’s hard to differentiate About Time from, say, Notting Hill, even with a shifting chronology. While it’s not hilarious, it is consistently amusing, especially with a high calibre supporting cast that includes Nighy and Tom Hollander.
However, if I had my own time travel abilities, I would have to re-run this review to point out the collapse of the final act. Without any spoilers, About Time takes itself far too seriously considering it’s held together by such a flimsy premise. There is – I kid you not – a non-ironic quotation of the Baz Luhrmann “Sunscreen” song to illustrate a life lesson.
When it pretends to be meaningful, it’s hard to overlook the poorly written the female characters. They’re mostly defined by beauty instead of personality, with Curtis’ script making multiple unrelated allusions to prostitution. McAdams is deemed “the one” not during their blind date, but when he’s reassured of her looks. When he introduces himself as a lawyer, she replies, “Lawyers are sexy.” A large percentage of the pair’s conversations involve whether she will have sex with him, when she will take an item of clothing off, or when she’s going to deliver him a baby. Oh, and also Kate Moss.
The power of time travel only applies to the men in the family, and it’s never explained why. That sums up the gender politics of About Time. Consequently, the central relationship is actually between Gleeson and his father, which is surprisingly touching in places. Nighy’s advice is to relive life by ignoring anxieties and stress; just blissfully enjoy the small details. Perhaps that’s a message to the viewer: ignore the unintentional misogyny and enjoy the gentle humour.

The Act of Killing (2013) – 9/10
Director: Joshua Oppenheimer
“I believe even God has secrets.”
In 1965, a military takeover in Indonesia meant up to a million communists were killed. The genocide was partly carried out by Anwar Congo and his gang, who never faced punishment. In fact, they became rich and appeared on talk shows to boast of how they each kill at least a thousand each. Like all TV stars, that itch for fame wasn’t enough and they seek the movies; The Act of Killing is their chance to re-enact the killings.
The documentary’s extraordinary subject is made even more puzzling by Anwar and his friends’ openness. Without fear of arrest or judgement, some of them gleefully discuss strangling Chinese strangers. Some of them even love it. As cinema fans, they dress up (sometimes changing genders to add comedy) and pay tribute to old Hollywood. The culture clash continues with musical numbers and laughing children taking part as extras.
Oppenheimer’s role as director is to stay in the background. He’s occasionally mentioned by name, but there’s no narration. (Although there’s always a question mark over how any documentary’s neutrality is compromised in the editing suite.) The ex-gangsters are in charge of the film-within-a-film, with The Act of Killing essentially a compelling “making of” accompaniment. Their costume ideas and cinematic pastiches are surreal enough, without the historical context. For instance, Anwar writes a scene where his victims’ ghosts return to surround his bed. He, of course, is the sequence’s star.
Through repetition, some of the cast slowly come to terms with the genocide’s impact, especially when portraying their own victims. For others, the reaction is pure nonchalance. I suppose the 1,000^th time you strangle someone isn’t that different from the 999^th. Similarly, footage shows a frequent definition of “gangster” as “free men”, in a hollow self-defence that loses all meaning through its constant disposal at public events.
There’s a compelling maze of ethics spinning around in colourful garb. Every movement is a fascinating cast study of humanity’s extremes and stubbornness. In one telling scene, a mass murderer plays golf and insists he just wants to live his life in style. For that moment, it’s unclear if pure evil is on screen, or just a different way of thinking – government propaganda has excused their actions, and why torture your conscience if you’re richly rewarded? It’s an extraordinary psychological study that couldn’t exist in any other medium, and there’s surely nothing else like it.

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013) – 8/10
Director: Declan Lowney
Writers: Neil Gibbons, Rob Gibbons, Armando Iannucci, Peter Baynham, Steve Coogan
Starring: Steve Coogan, Colm Meaney, Sean Pertwee, Anna Maxwell Martin
“Am I a good man, Lynn?”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
As a dedicated fan, I am delighted and relieved to report that Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa blows away the summer’s competition in terms of laughs. In a season of apocalyptic comedies, it’s oddly reassuring that there’s actually more humour in 89 minutes of silliness set almost entirely in a Norwich radio station.
Steve Coogan first played Partridge on Radio 4 in 1991 as an incompetent radio reporter, and the character has inevitably risen to the big screen – fittingly, still in the world of radio. After two decades, the persona is so beautifully crafted (without over-exposure) that he easily fills up the running time.
Similarly, I imagine newcomers will only need a few minutes to appreciate the local DJ’s traits: a very minor celebrity trapped in a circle of arrogance, pathos and loneliness. But there’s so much more to the character, and Alpha Papa throws in a surprisingly dangerous premise that would never suit the TV platforms.
Set at North Norfolk Digital, a sacked DJ (Colm Meaney) takes the building hostage and hogs the airwaves. Meaney’s bitter DJ informs the police he will only negotiate with his ex-colleague, Partridge, who now has the chance to save the day – but by ending the siege, or sticking up for a fellow supporter of old-fashioned radio?
As Dog Day Afternoon proved, Stockholm Syndrome is a lubricant for tense humour (Tim Key is forced to joke at gunpoint), which is where Partridge’s character has always thrived – making accidentally offensive comments in a nervous atmosphere, whether on TV, radio or pitching ideas to the BBC’s commissioning editor. When hostages open up, it becomes a sudden death version of The Breakfast Club with an even cheesier soundtrack.
The script boasts an astounding gag-rate that had me laughing fairly consistently. My packed screening suggests other journalists felt the same way. It’s the kind of rapid comedy that you can tell requires repeated viewing, which wasn’t always the rhythm achieved by Partridge’s early laughter-track vehicles or the semi-improvised Mid Morning Matters. Partridge has always been based on verbal humour, having originated from two radio series and inspiring an autobiography, and the dialogue flourishes in the film’s editing.
It doesn’t all work. The two moments that spring to mind are moments of physical (and lavatorial) humour that completely flop. I’m also still unsure if any of it justifies the transition to big screen, other it being funny enough that paying audiences won’t mind.
There’s undenable joy at how Coogan inhabits Partridge in a much more natural manner than any of his real-life appearances. The supporting cast are similarly excellent, with return appearances from the likes of Lynn (Felicity Montagu) and Michael (Simon Greenall). So many small details are faultless, from the character-specific soundtrack to the anti-Hollywood setting of Norwich.
Alpha Papa is undoubtedly the most quotable film I’ve seen this year. Partridge fans will be entertained, and I suspect fans of comedy will feel the same way.

The Conjuring (2013) – 4.5/10
Director: James Wan
Writers: Carey Hayes, Chad Hayes
Starring: Patrick Wilson, Vera Fermiga, Ron Livingston, Lili Taylor
“When the music stops, you’ll see him in the mirror clapping behind you.”
I bought a ticket for The Conjuring but, for all I know, they actually screened Insidious 2. (That is apparently out later this year, James Wan fans.) The Conjuring continues the tradition of Insidious by, well, tradition. It’s a very formidable ghost story, much to its own detriment.
The injected originality is debatable; the cast are keen and fit the roles, but any dialogue washes past like an empty stream. At one point, Patrick Wilson explains the concept of possession with a chewing gum metaphor, which sums up the horror’s patronising tone. It’s as scary as a Halloween episode of The Simpsons – partly because those episodes are pastiches, and you’ve seen this all before.

Good Night, and Good Luck (2005) – 6.5/10
Director: George Clooney
Writers: George Clooney, Grant Heslov
Starring: David Straithairn, George Clooney, Robert Downey Jr, Patricia Clarkson
“Let’s do our first show about the downfall of television.”
If I ever get to interview George Clooney, the first question will be about the comma in the title. I mean, really! The title is taken verbatim from Edward R. Murrow’s send-off when he presented news reports in McCarthy-era 1953. It’s classier than Charlie Brooker’s “Now go away”, that’s for sure.
“Classy” is also Clooney’s directorial style; black-and-white cinematography, clean shots, plenty of walk-and-talks. McCarthy’s political climate means journalists are afraid of demonstrating any Communist agenda – one accused newscaster subsequently commits suicide. The film slyly mixes historical context with human drama, all pumped along by newsreel footage and period detail. There’s not that much to it, really, but it’s watchable – especially the real videos of McCarthy that punctuate the drama.

Kick-Ass 2 (2013) – 3.5/10
Director: Jeff Wadlow
Writers: Jeff Wadlow, Mark Millar, John Romita Jr
Starring: Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Chloe Grace Moretz, Jim Carrey
“You’re done banging superheroes. It’s time to see what evil dick feels like.”
When Jim Carrey disowned Kick-Ass 2 over its violence, the obvious point was: didn’t he read the script? But the problem existed three years ago when Kick-Ass finished neatly without the need for a sequel. Teenagers played vigilante, then learned it wasn’t worth it. In Kick-Ass 2, it happens all over again and without the vigour.
So why should Kick-Ass, Hit-Girl and Red Mist (now named The Motherfucker) continue? It’s barely explained. Kick-Ass stares idly in maths class and slides into the costume on a whim. Hit-Girl needs an hour of hormonal anguish (bizarrely inspired by Union J) before returning to the mess. The circle of violence is self-created; they’re not saving Gotham City, for example. It’s not satire, but a poor excuse for immature humour and violence.
The confused plot lines have no obstacle to overcome. The main villain, The Motherfucker, is barely established, making Kick-Ass’s actions at times illogical. Hit-Girl’s jarring arc is irrelevant and derivative of Mean Girls (except now with CGI diarrhoea). In a cameo, Jim Carrey’s five minutes of screen time pass by as quickly as his press promotional duties.
The first film played with comic book conventions, but this loses the on-the-page visuals after a few minutes, aside from the dreadful green screen use in the final act. Wadlow’s real world setting means the nastiness lingers, and contradicts overwritten clangers like “All that homophobia makes you seem gay”. When The Motherfucker is sadistic, it’s tinged with misogyny and gleeful violence – he takes revenge on Kick-Ass by trying to rape his girlfriend, then hospitalises her to prove his superiority.
When Kick-Ass and his gang resolutely admit this can never happen again, I hope that is the case. Besides, Kick-Ass 3 will be strange if it has Aaron Taylor-Johnson playing a teenager at the age of 30.

Moonstruck (1987) – 4.5/10
Director: Norman Jewison
Writer: John Patrick Shanley
Starring: Cher, Nicolas Cage, Olympia Dukakis, Vincent Gardenia, John Mahoney
“I’m a wolf. You run from the wolf in me, but that don’t make you no lamb.”
Six Oscar nominations, young Nicolas Cage, Cher and the grouchy dad from Frasier. I expected something memorable, even if I hated it. It’s just a forgettable drama with muddled storylines and exaggerated characters. Would probably work as a play.

Passion (2013) – 6/10
Director: Brian De Palma
Writers: Natalie Carter, Alain Coreau, Brian De Palma
Starring: Rachel McAdams, Noomi Rapace
“I thought you made up the twin sister.”
Passion pretty much flopped on the festival circuit, and its straight-to-DVD release make more sense, considering its throwaway charm. It spins like an erotic thriller that doesn’t have much sex or nudity – just a knowingly sleazy tone, with cheesy saxophone cues as a bonus.
McAdams and Rapace have fun with two work colleagues playing psychological battles, complete with romantic trysts and manipulative affairs. It’s an office environment where women are closet bisexuals who kiss each other like a chess move. De Palma, fully experienced in watchable trash, is versed in trimming down the plot to hilariously over-the-top dialogue and props. Just don’t expect a masterpiece – it’s rare to watch a big-name director direct recognisable faces in scenes where it seems only one person has read the script.

Planes (2013) – 3/10
Director: Klay Hall
Writer: Jeffrey M. Howard
Starring: Dane Cook, Stacy Keach, Julia Louis-Dreyfus
“Look at that propeller.”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
I remember the bemusement when Pixar announced Cars 2. Well, expectations should be lowered even further for Planes, a sort of spinoff now in the hands (wings?) of Disney. It was originally planned for a straight-to-DVD release, and a sequel is already set for July 2014. Yes, it’s only 11 months away.
Like Cars, the Planes universe consists of talking vehicles that exist without any evidence of mankind – apart from being man-made, of course. Each plane has a face and gives the impression of floating heads on wheels. Yet, despite the surreal environment, it all seems rather, well, plain.
The main story itself is systematic of the film’s lack of originality. Dusty (voiced by Dane Cook) is an unfashionable crop duster who dreams of becoming a racer, only to be held back by a phobia of heights. His friends have famous voices (Teri Hatcher, Val Kilmer, Stacy Keach, Julia Louis-Dreyfus), but little in way of personality. Instead, there’s an alarming number of racial stereotypes. For example, John Cleese is tea-drinking Bulldog, and Carlos Alazraqui plays El Chupacabra, a Mexican racer who performs a Mariachi version of “Love Machine”.
There’s never a sense of peril, which is surprisingly rare these days for children’s animation. That might tempt parents to take their very, very young children who will probably appreciate the novelty of 3D planes soaring around. It’s also a snoozer for anyone over the age of six; the repetition is maddening, and the 92 minutes last for an eternity.
It’s uncertain how much effort is made to keep parents entertained. Everything signals to cashing in on merchandise (mentioning Cars in adverts, the inevitable toys, a 2014 sequel already announced etc). Not everything can be as universally appealing as WALL-E or Toy Story. Yet it’s uncomfortable when a few adult references are formulaically tossed in. At least, I doubt 5-year-olds will knowingly nod at the Top Gun references, or cackle at the “sexy” female plane who once modelled for Airports Illustrated. (When El Chupacabra spots her, he remarks, “Look at that propeller!”)
Planes isn’t for kids who dream of becoming pilots. It’s for kids who dream of being the planes themselves. It’s a flimsy premise with bland characters slotted into a tiresome structure. The only curveball is the downright creepiness of an airline carrier with blinking eyeballs. So, yes, Planes is as empty as the driverless vehicles.

The Sweetest Thing (2002) – 2/10
Director: Roger Kumble
Writer: Nancy Pimental
Starring: Cameron Diaz, Christina Applegate, Selma Blair
“I can’t believe I’m fucking a big purple elephant.”
If there is one “sweet” thing about this dire  gross-out comedy, is that for once it’s not male-dominated. That doesn’t mean it’s any decent. In fact, it’s so bad, I barely blinked when a musical number popped up called “You’re too big to fit in here…” – accompanies by a rapping grandmother, offensive Asian stereotypes and lines like: “Your penis is a dream/ The biggest one I’ve seen/ It’s oozy and it’s green.”
I blogged last month that Selma Blair will never find a better role than the depressed, pyromaniac superhero in Hellboy. Well, this is the reverse. Toilet humour pours out in abundance; it’s tries to be offensive, but is just offensively boring. The trio are even split up for much of the film, and they suffer through their own comic vignettes that are unfunny and ultimately conservative; for all its fake freedom, the protagonists conclude they’re nothing without a boyfriend, making the whole thing rather redundant and not the sweetest.

Tillsammans (2000) – 4/10
Director/Writer: Lukas Moodysson
Starring: Lisa Lindgren, Michael Nyqvist, Emma Samuelsson, Sam Kessel
“Washing up is bourgeoisie.”
There’s plenty to admire in Tillsammans (or its English title, Together), especially how Moodysson subtly shifts the camera to energise the already-lively comic timing of a small gathering. That gang is a house of socialists, bickering over everything, such as whether gender should dictate whether children are presented blue or pink pillows. Sadly, I couldn’t quite connect with the humour and found the satire rather tame. I was also disappointed by Moodysson’s acclaimed Fucking Amal, so it’s not too surprising.

We’re the Millers (2013) – 4/10
Director: Rawson Marshall Thurber
Writers: Sean Anders, Steve Fabers, Bob Fisher, John Morris
Starring: Jason Sudeikis, Jennifer Aniston, Emma Roberts, Will Poulter
“We’re not the Brady Bunch.”
We’re the Millers is framed so eccentrically, I’m unsure as to whether it’s throwing a spanner at the mainstream, or just misguided market research. It begins with a series of YouTube clips (which don’t  add to the characterisation) and ends with a selection of outtakes (which removethe characterisation). Furthermore, the plot wraps up rather neatly after about 30 minutes to create a resolved one-act comedy – before adding an hour of deleted scenes and a pre-credits gag reel.
Of course, the journey is the story. Most of We’re the Millers focuses on a road trip organised by Jason Sudeikis to collect marijuana from Mexico on behalf of his obnoxious boss, Ed Helms. To diminish suspicions at the border, he organises a fake family out of a loquacious stripper (Jennifer Aniston), a foul-mouthed homeless teenager (Emma Roberts) and a naïve 18-year-old neighbour (Will Poulter).
The funniest moments come from placing the four in a confined RV van; they’re forced to smile at strangers, while bickering behind closed doors. The concept clearly has potential, especially with Rawson Marshall Thurber’s direction allowing loose performances and bratty chemistry via in-fighting. Roberts also seems remarkably enthused at finally swearing in a role.
What overshadows the comedy is a rundown of contrivances and instances of dumbed down humour that betray established personalities. With four credited screenwriters, inconsistencies arise, particularly in Sudeikis; his slacker likeability frequently oscillates with sleaze and selfishness. Really, the cast twist into playing up whatever cheap gags turn up – note how Poulter swings between shy and daring depending on the next punchline.
The filmmakers don’t seem that bothered, given how Sudeikis breaks the fourth wall to wink at the audience (during one of many gratuitous shots of Aniston dancing in her underwear). Similarly extraneous sequences perpetuate the comedy’s second half, with subplots awkwardly thrown in. Nick Offerman and Kathryn Hahn are a recurring example; an irritating, flirtatious couple responsibly for slowing down the narrative with weak humour.
A stronger edit would simply be the first 30 minutes – without spoiling anything, there is an obvious ending point. Beyond that, there’s a sour taste as unnecessary stereotypes are brought to the fore. For instance, Mexicans are either drug dealers or illegal immigrants; every female character is defined by her sexual appetite in a way that makes it very clear the director and writing staff are all men.
Underneath is a darker, funnier comedy that toys with the concept of pretending to be a family. The best example comes from Sudeikis essentially pimping out his “son” to bribe a policeman, or when Roberts and Aniston take turns to teach Poulter how to kiss with tongues; it’s uncomfortable enough to suggest the film has created at least some sense of togetherness.
But these moments are hard to spot when so much time is dedicated to throwaway external characters, gross out humour and tacked-on sentimentality. Instead of pretending they’re a family, it should have pretended to be a complete film.

You’re Next (2013) – 7.5/10
Director: Adam Wingard
Writer: Simon Barrett
Starring: Sharni Vinson, AJ Bowen, Wendy Glenn, Joe Swanberg
“How was I supposed to know you’d be so good at killing people? It’s actually a bit weird.”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
NOTE #2: I saw it about four months ago in a hotel screening room sat directly in front of the two lead actresses. It didn’t affect review, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t self-conscious.
I’ve lost count of how many postmodern horrors supposedly reinvent the genre: The Cabin in the Woods, Shaun of the Dead, Baghead, Scream, even Scary Movie. Really, most scary films are self-aware to some extent. So it’s impressive how You’re Next blends traditional shock cliches with a sharp script that leaves me jumping and laughing in equal measure.
The intentionally cliched setup for You’re Next sees Sharni Vinson visiting her boyfriend’s extensive family in an oversized remote house. It’s late, it’s dark, and no one can hear you scream – apart from the masked killers hiding outside in twisted animal masks.
You’re Next slowly peels away at the horror genre without breaking the fourth wall. At no point does anyone emulate that infamous Scream monologue about how to survive a slasher flilm. It’s actually the reverse; when arrows shoot through the windows, Amy Seimetz volunteers to run towards the attackers (in slow motion, of course).
That joke foreshadows the masterstroke: Vinson, representing the “final girl”, breaks the genre’s trend by fighting instead of running. After all, why run up the stairs when you can build a Home Alone-style booby trap instead?
You’re Next is a vast improvement on 2010’s so-so A Horrible Way to Die, a previous collaboration between director Adam Wingard and screenwriter Simon Barrett. Many of that film’s cast return to play deadpan and completely straight under absurd circumstances. For some, it’s a thrill to witness Joe Swanberg improvising with Seimetz and Ti West. The conversation even produces the most self-referential moment when Swanberg ironically defends advertisements as the greatest art form; a cue for you to laugh smugly, as if indicating to cinemagoers you sat through Hannah Takes the Stairs and Alexander the Last. Well, I did, anyway.
Vinson is the real star, as the poster suggests. Previously known for Step Up 3D and four years on Home and Away, she enters the indie horror environment as a sensible outsider; the Australian accent certainly adds to the juxtaposition.
Inventive deaths and gore add to the sensory fun, with half the pain in recognising inevitable uses of props. It demands a cinema viewing for the sounds and occasionally cheesy 60s music (unless you have access to a remote cabin and DVD player). After the endless stream of home-invasion films, it’s a pleasure that one arrives feeling fresh, original and clearly made by horror fans.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

This fortnight: “Ain’t Them Bodies Saints”, “Belle de Jour”, “Diner”, “Elysium”, “Green Lantern”, “Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters”, “Heartbeats” (pictured above), “Irma la Douce”, “The Look of Love”, “Pain & Gain”, “Tropic Thunder”, “The Visitor”, “The Way, Way Back” and “What Maisie Knew”.

I spent 5 minutes trying to write an intro that fitted a Judgment of Solomon reference regarding Leicester Square Empire’s “Screen 1” being split into two screens. Anyway, the average rating is 5.43/10 with film of the month being Heartbeats (Les Amours Imaginaries). Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Ain’t Them Bodies Saints (2013) – 5/10
Director/Writer: David Lowery
Starring: Rooney Mara, Ben Foster, Casey Affleck
“I haven’t slept in four years, and I’m tired.”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
I don’t know much about David Lowery, but I bet he owns Badlands and Day of Heaven on DVD – or Blu-Ray, if Ain’t Them Bodies Saints does well. His script and direction touch greatly upon Terrence Malick, and I am equally at fault for not lasting more than a sentence before making a comparison.
   Set in Texas in the 1970s, the drama detaches itself from modern stresses by focusing on two separated lovers, Casey Affleck and Rooney Mara. The minimal story is one of heartbreak surrounded by sundrenched shots of nature and Western bareness. After a botched robbery, Affleck takes the blame for Mara and is subsequently locked up in a cell. Shortly afterwards, Mara gives birth to his daughter; he discovers years later, which prompts a painfully slow attempt to escape.
   Detachment is the key expression. Lowery forgoes a Malick-esque voiceover, leaving emotions to simmer in the heat. The dialogue is sparse, except for lines like Affleck declaring, “I used to be the devil, but now I’m a man.” It becomes a very long, drawn out tone poem that should perhaps be watched at a sunset rather than a cinema.
   Everything seems in place for a critic-proof Sundance success story, yet the characters are too removed. Even when jigsaw pieces slot together, you wish there was something less artificial than a finely constructed image. Mara is particularly inexpressive in a role that amounts to lying on a sofa looking miserable, occasionally stroking a kitten. When a curious lawman becomes involved, it’s apparent that Ain’t Them Bodies Saints is little more than a competent genre exercise.
   Lowery’s IMDb page reveals he edited Upstream Color, which is so far my favourite film of 2013. In Shane Carruth’s alluring nightmare, flashes of abstract images are sharply juxtaposed into a whirlwind of confusion and subconscious connections. However, Ain’t Them Bodies Saints is too one-tone and, while occasionally pretty, is hindered by empty characters. Mara sums it up when she whimpers, “I haven’t slept in four years, and I’m tired.”

Belle de Jour (1967) – 8/10
Director: Luis Buñuel
Writers: Luis Buñuel, Jean-Claude Carrière, Joseph Kessel
Starring: Catherine Deneuve, Jean Sorel, Michel Piccoli, Francisco Rabal
“I have an idea. Would you like to be called Belle de Jour?”
Deneuve already played a distant and sexually repressed dreamer in Polanski’s Repulsion. Two years later, she takes a similarly fragile role as the eponymous lead of Belle de Jour; as a bored housewife, she finds a part-time hobby as an afternoon-only prostitute.
   It’s a distinctly Polanski-esque concept, especially with how much action is confined in the same small rooms. However, Buñuel’s surreal touch is more subtle than Polanski’s tendency for sustained horror. Rather than walls closing in, Deneuve sits on a bed in the brothel’s drab decor, waiting for the next client. She may fantasise about sadomasochistic adventures, but there’s enough weirdness in how calmly she slips into her 2pm-5pm job.
   Deneuve is also deeply in love with her husband, and is in some ways strangely loyal (in an inexplicable way that flies against logic). That means the comedy is tragic as well as dark. There’s also something menacing in the male visitors, all hungry for control, yet hindered by their sexual quirks.
   These bizarre twists identify carnal desire as both surreal and a base function. Sure, one client’s Duchess fantasy is played for laughs, but Deneuve’s closeted sexual fantasy spirals into tragic circumstances – all because she loves her husband to ask for a whip as a birthday present. The social commentary doesn’t extend to the boundaries of The Discreet Nature of the Bourgeoisie, but it doesn’t have to when human needs are already self-satirical.

Diner (1982) – 4.5/10
Director/Writer: Barry Levinson
Starring: Steve Guttenberg, Daniel Stern, Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Tim Daly
“You ever get the feeling there’s something going on that we don’t know about?”
“You ever get the feeling she gave me a fake name?”
I am embarrassed to admit I watched Diner because Kevin Bacon has subconsciously entered my head through those goddamn cinema adverts that are now on TV as well, and it’s only a matter of time before my alarm clock stops ringing and is just his voice telling me to wake up and buy a new phone contract.
   Well, he’s less annoying in Diner. I expected a mixture of Metropolitan and My Dinner with Andre, but surprisingly very little takes place in the diner. The IQ levels also drop a few digits. The influence on Apatow is evident: five men, all afraid of growing up, sharring jokes and relationship advice. The immature humour surprised me, and not in a good way (one notable example is a hole in a box of popcorn). It picks up in the smaller areas, almost by accident, when fleeting moments crash into the realisation that adolescence is temporary. Adult responsibilities await, but the pain is divided between too many characters for it to sink in.

Elysium (2013) – 6.5/10
Director/Writer: Neill Blomkamp
Starring: Matt Damon, Jodie Foster, Sharlto Copley, Alice Braga
“You can save everyone.”
Blomkamp’s follow-up to District 9 isn’t quite District 10, but shares so much DNA it may as well be. Again set in a future torn by social division, Elysium expands on a dystopian landscape with mesmerising beauty – Elysium hovers in the sky as a spa for rich people, complete with healing technology and a solution to Earth’s ravaged problems.
   Those ideas aren’t really touched upon, aside from a visual interpretation of how mankind could share its resources. It’s certainly prettier than a line graph, but not much more. Much of the action pits Damon against Copley in a battle of good versus evil (that emerges as a battle of bland versus charismatic).
   The robot-marshalled environment means Elysium is always lively, even when it descends into a standard “shoot ‘em up”. Copley’s offbeat enthusiasm rings truer than the other actors, and I sense it’s because he’s breaking away from the script. Blomkamp strikes me as an insane genius who needs a co-writer to fully flesh out his ideas.

Green Lantern (2011) – 4/10
Director: Martin Campbell
Writers: Greg Berlanti, Michael Green, Marc Guggenheim, Michael Goldenberg, John Broome (novel), Gil Kane (novel)
Starring: Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively, Peter Sarsgaard
“Green is the colour of will.”
There’s a lot of green, that’s for sure. And not just trees and grass. In the style of a comic book adaptation, foreground and background illuminates with green. Even one of the screenwriters is called Green.
   The alien world of Green Lantern is a dazzling CGI spectacle. In fact, I think it’s a clip used to advertise Sky Movies. It’s certainly more illuminating than the opening of Man of Steel; hunky everyman Ryan Reynolds looks at the surreal and joyful scenery. Ironically, he was probably miming reactions to green screen.
   I am describing the film as if there’s no dialogue. It felt live every line was clunky exposition – a history lesson in a fictional world that won’t matter in two hours’ time, or before that point.
   The narrative is constructed for 7-year-olds, I think, judging by how some of the action seems moments away from a catchphrase about sugary cereal. And then it drops to Earth and fizzles out even further.
   Blake Lively’s character has no green superpowers and little of interest to say. I’m surprised she didn’t demand a rewrite. It’s sort of amazing she put up with it – or that I did too.

Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013) – 2.5/10
Director/Writer: Rommy Wirkola
Starring: Jeremy Renner, Gemma Arterton, Famke Janssen, Peter Stormare
“When you see my signal, unleash hell.”
I’m not a fan of Lord of the Rings and I struggled to get past episode two of Game of Thrones, plus I can’t stand gingerbread – so there wasn’t much chance of enjoying Hansel and Gretel. The mystifying tone combines cheesy metal with half-hearted action that aims for serious, but ends up humourless. There’s little togetherness, apart from the sense the crew collaborated on finishing the project as quickly as possible, judging by some of the amateurish choreography.

Heartbeats (2011) – 8.5/10
Original title: Les Amours Imaginaires
Director/Writer: Xavier Dolan
Starring: Monia Chokri, Niels Schneider, Xavier Dolan
“If somebody died every time I hit refresh, there’d be nobody left alive. Fuck.”
Xavier Dolan, born in 1989 (not a typo), achieved much more than I did in 2010. His stylish tale of love rivalry contains dashes of La Nouvelle Vague, while echoing In the Mood for Love – but with modern, anarchic vibrancy. For instance, I don’t remember Wong Kar-wai inserting House of Pain’s “Jump Around” for sentimental resonance.
   Dolan himself stars alongside Monia Chokri as Francis and Marie, two friends who fall in love with Nicolas (Niels Schneider). The threesome platonically share a bed and eat strawberries together, allowing unrequited longing to develop. Artistic slow-mo and impassioned music means the raw emotions are heavily dramatised; desperation becomes painfully real and raw, even without a shot of Francis frantically masturbating over Nicolas’ unwatched pile of clothes.
   Marie’s pained love is more intriguing. Unlike Francis, she maintains her cool by smoking and wearing sunglasses, yet radiates more agitation through uncomfortable shifts in body language; with a floor stacked with cigarettes, the nicotine does transcend an Anna Karina vibe. As she despairingly puts it:
“Light up, smoke up, shut the fuck up.”
   Francis’ and Marie’s various coping methods are even more tragic when juxtaposed with Nicolas’ calm exterior – he’s either oblivious or just too fucking cool to care. His icy charms finds that middle ground between sociopath and playful poser, and imprints the film’s theme of actions that prize social style or social satisfaction.
   Considering Dolan’s young age, it makes sense how he pinpoints premature infatuation. The short running time accentuates how unnaturally feelings can accelerate, and how quickly time comparatively passes for Nicolas – without refreshing emails or gazing jealously through the window, life just flies by.
   The camera is similarly spontaneous in its energetic flair. Perhaps Dolan employs slow-mo too often, but the technique grabs onto painful moments that seem to last for eternity. Elsewhere, it runs free with fleeting exasperation – note a crucial plot moment when the frame spins into the sky, dizzyingly spinning as the sun hits the treetops. If the film is named after the song, it’s definitely the original by The Knife, not Jose Gonzales.

Irma la Douce (1963) – 3/10
Director: Billy Wilder
Writers: Billy Wilder, I.A.L. Diamond, Alexandre Breffort (play)
Starring: Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine
“The night of my first recital, the piano cover fell on my hand. Three broken fingers and a broken dream.”
Wilder, Lemmon and MacLaine collaborated on The Apartment, a masterpiece for its comedy and drama. They re-team three years later with the emphasis firmly placed on comedy – and a fairly woeful one at that.
   The flawed concept dooms Irma la Douce early on. Lemmon falls in love with MacLaine, a bratty prostitute, and he fends off suitors by dressing up as monocled client who just wants to play card games. The disguise damages any chemistry between the pair, while the farce lacks the wit of, well, anything else by Wilder.

The Look of Love (2013) – 4/10
Director: Michael Winterbottom
Writer: Matt Greenhalgh
Starring: Steve Coogan, Imogen Poots, Anna Friel
“I don’t fuck anyone for money. I do it for fun.”
Winterbottom, Greenhalgh and Coogan collaborated brilliantly on 24 Hour Party People, a lively invitation to the Madchester scene, pumping with Tony Wilson’s relentless optimism amidst a crumbling fortune. The Look of Love is largely the opposite; a voyeuristic take on Paul Raymond’s Soho empire, without much insight or surprise. A better version would be a similar structure to A Cock and Bull Story, allowing Coogan to break character and explain why the story’s worth telling – because I’m still unclear.

Pain & Gain (2013) – 6/10
Director: Michael Bay
Writers: Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Pete Collins (articles)
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Dwayne Johnson, Anthony Mackie
“Don’t be don’t-er. Be a doer.”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
If you’ve seen the trailer, I can confirm the characters in Pain & Gain are as stupid as they look. The film itself is surprisingly astute, albeit condescending in its approach. The main sell: it’s based on a true story, but could easily be from a zany ‘90s Coen brothers script.
   The plot retells a series of arrests made in the 1990s. Three bodybuilders (Mark Wahlberg, Anthony Mackie, Dwayne Johnson) kidnap a wealthy client and steal his assets. It’s a bumpy ride, especially when Wahlberg accidentally reveals his identity through recognisable cologne. It’s also not a conventional crime caper, as Bay mines these morons for as many jokes as possible – nearly all at their expense.
   Over-the-top dialogue drums along the rapid fire narrative, brashly tailored for ironic laughter. It will almost definitely be more enjoyable in a packed cinema than alone at home (unless you have a few beers). The highlights come from analysing the bodybuilder’s relationships, occasionally teething out the insecurities that lead to wanting to be a “monument to physical perfection”. On paper, it might not seem funny that Wahlberg calls being fat unpatriotic, but that’s down to the cast’s comedic vigour. Johnson is particularly hilarious as an ex-cocaine addict who turned to religion.
   If Bay is satirising anything, it’s himself. The screen is filled with Bay-isms, from an ugly soundtrack to women paraded as sex objects. (When he touted Pain & Gain as a personal project, I didn’t expect a mumblecore drama.) It’s still loud and dumb – which I’m fine with – and I’ll happily admit that I was in hysterics for much of the first half. But, after a while, the nastiness reaches the surface.
   The narrative carries enough entertainment value until the novelty washes off, at which point a subtitle reminds the viewer halfway that it’s still a true story. By then, it’s just cruel people behaving horrendously – and somehow getting away with it. Ultimately, it’s about making fun of idiots, the kind of muscle-built bullies you’d otherwise never want to confront.
   Pain & Gain is a guilty pleasure, and not just from the dumb thrills associated with any other Bay picture. It’s conflated by a real story about torture and slapstick, a few degrees away from a disturbing episode of You’ve Been Framed. Is it funny only because it actually happened? Sadly, I think it is – but it’s still worthy of a few mindless chuckles.

Tropic Thunder (2008) – 4/10
Director: Ben Stiller
Writers: Ben Stiller, Justin Theroux, Etan Cohen
Starring: Ben Stiller, Robert Downey Jr, Jack Black, Tom Cruise
“I don’t read the script. The script reads me.”
Stiller’s Hollywood satire doesn’t strike me as, well, striking. Maybe it’s the timing; the industry insight is less compelling five years on when the likes of Nikki Finke are exposing every small scandal and discrepancy. Downey Jr, Coogan and Cruise rely on surprise value which is evidently lost when you’re half a decade behind every one like me. I am clearly more Kenicky Finke than Nikki Finke.

The Visitor (2007) – 8/10
Director/Writer: Thomas McCarthy
Starring: Richard Jenkins, Haaz Sleiman, Danai Gurira, Hiam Abbass
“We are not just helpless children.”
McCarthy’s first feature, The Station Agent, was beautifully understated, and The Visitor is a moving accompaniment. As the protagonist, Jenkins makes a similar journey – this time to his barely used flat, only to find it inhabited by two illegal immigrants.
   Jenkins, a lonely widow, forms a close friendship with these strangers, without it turning into a cloying, sentimental, cliche-filled “why can’t we all get along?” lesson.  McCarthy’s patient screenplay slows down the tempo to eke out the characters, where warm silence is all that’s necessary – syncopated hand taps placate emotions as simply rhythms. Contrived twists are avoided and, while there are several dramatic moments, the pathos is measured.
   In an early connection, Sleiman teaches Jenkins how to play drums in a less traditional way (it’s a bouncier 3/4 beat, instead of the 4/4 of classical music). It takes a while, but Jenkins adapts and freestyles in a New York drum circle. That sums up The Visitor: an overused story, but told naturally and made fresh through its 3/4 rhythm.

The Way, Way Back (2013) – 4.5/10
Directors/Writers: Nat Faxon, Jim Rash
Starring: Liam James, AnnaSophia Robb, Sam Rockwell, Toni Collette, Steve Carell
“I wish I could stay here forever. I’m serious.”
NOTE: This review was originally written for The Digital Fix.
In the opening scene, Liam James is hit by a cruel comment from his mother’s new boyfriend (Steve Carell) and any thoughts are drowned out by MOR music. That tactic sums up The Way, Way Back, a calculated indie quirkathon ready to thrust a warm blanket on potential drama.
   James, playing an emotionless 14-year-old, is unwillingly dragged to Carell’s beach house by his mother, Toni Collette. His summer is doomed to boredom (no mobile phones), even with all the snappy neighbours and visitors: Rob Corddry, Amanda Peet, Allison Janney join Collette and Carell for unnaturally punch conversation, punctuated by forced one-liners. During this indulgence, James sulks in the corner, somewhat reflecting how I felt in the cinema.
   Naturally, James finds a glimmer of excitement in AnnaSophia Robb – similarly aged and literally the girl next door. But he truly comes alive at a nearby water park, where he’s befriended by Sam Rockwell and Maya Rudolph. It should now be clear that The Way, Way Back is overloaded with characters, many of whom seem included for star power. It wouldn’t surprise me if the poster campaign was written before the script.
   The coming-of-age element is fairly artificial; instead of a tribute to old summer beach flicks, it lazily follows a template of cliches (and a truly bizarre nod to the closing shot of The Graduate). The screenwriters, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, also responsible for the overrated The Descendants, inject an unfortunate self-awareness – one of old pros aiming at the middle. They also make their directorial debut, and their inexperience shows; shots are limps, musical cues are condescending.
   One obvious comparison is Adventureland, which placed Jesse Eisenberg at the theme park for most of the duration. Perhaps The Way, Way Back should have followed that structure by  cutting out the mindless subplot at the beach house. I know it’s the whole point of the film, but the Water Wizz scenes are filled with so much energy, it’s as lopsided as some of the rides. Rockwell is considerably the main attraction, and his lively guidance saves both James’ confidence and the film itself.
   Unfortunately, James holds the most screen time and his passive blandness is unintentionally the comic highlight. The Way, Way Back sends the message that heroes don’t need a personality or presence – instead, 30 seconds of awkward “pop and lock” dancing can win the hearts of perplexed onlookers (but not the cinema audience).

What Maisie Knew (2013) – 7.5/10
Directors: David Siegel, Scott McGehee
Writers: Carroll Cartwright, Nancy Doyne, Henry James (novel)
Starring: Onata Aprile, Julianne Moore, Steve Coogan, Alexander Skarsgard, Joanna Vanderham
“You know who your mother is, don’t you?”
The above review of The Way, Way Back doesn’t stress enough its fatal flow of including too many of the parents’ conversations, thus jarringly shifting perspectives. What Maisie Knew is much more restrained in sticking to Maisie’s story; it’s an outlook cemented by the title. The six-year-old girl is the drama’s heart and, in a way, obstacle. Through her eyes, her squabbling parents are a distant argument seeping through the bedroom door. Destructive rows are held off-screen; she lies in silence.
   Maisie’s reaction is one of innocence, rather than melodrama. Her mother and father divorce and subsequently find new partners; through scheduling she effectively ends up with four single parents. The tug-of-war custody battle isn’t about holding onto her, but an act of petty revenge. The dramatic irony treads the line between affective and exploitative, and only oversteps the mark a few times – primarily when the subtext is laid out in an argument (“It’s not your fault, Maisie…”) or when the strings set in.
   Coogan and Moore are terrific as New York spirits with too much ambition to pick up their daughter from school. Skarsgard and Vanderham are the temporary replacements, creating an unofficial family through a mutual feeling of abandonment.
   Luckily, the lack of dialogue (or conversation that isn’t self-conscious about Maisie’s presence) means it doesn’t get too sentimental. Through Maisie, the storytelling device means modern age selfishness plays out with elements that gnaw at the fear of responsibility – all versus the fear of loneliness. Even though that’s not in the title, she certainly knows it.

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      David Gordon Green returns to earlier form and style with a stream of slow poetry that shares the warmth of George Washington and All the Real Girls. It’s also one of his funniest films: ironically containing more laughs than his last two disastrous comedies, Your Highness and The Sitter.
   Prince Avalanche is a remake of an Icelandic dramedy, Á annan veg, and it’s understandable why Green snapped up the rights. Placing Paul Rudd and Emile Hirsch alone in nature, it matches Green’s pre-mainstream love of trapped losers screaming in forests – just as Snow Angels mirrored emotional suffering within a natural environment.
      After a wildfire causes havoc with the roads of Bastrop, a lonely town in Texas, Rudd and Hirsch relay the traffic lines for miles on end. The serene activity is mostly in silence, with few vehicles passing through. Conversation is forced between a pair thrust into an artificial companionship: Hirsch is Rudd’s girlfriend’s brother. Rudd is controlled, patient and comfortable with isolation. Meanwhile, Hirsch lounges like a moody adolescent, complaining he’s bored and misses visiting regional beauty pageants to pick up girls.

      Language becomes more elegant under peaceful circumstances, creating humour from Hirsch’s inappropriate comments (“nature makes me so horny”). Both actors are on top form; playfully competitive, mixing warmth with tension. Aside from a few minutes with a truck driver, it’s mostly just the two on screen, so the viewer shares their intimacy. Similarly, you get sick of them and forgive them at the same time.
      Away from civilisation, Rudd and Hirsch share heartbreak and argue about everything. They’re bittersweet and frequently hilarious. (“How did you learn to live this long without knowing how to gut a fish?” exasperates Rudd.) The pacing is superbly broken up by evocative images of the landscape’s beauty, all captured by Green’s regular cinematographer, Tim Orr.
      Green isn’t just running back to safety. Prince Avalanche combines the maturity of earlier era with the mischievous comedy he developed with Danny McBride. I noticed throughout the clouds never moved, and that’s the perfectly stoic setting; deeply measured, the central friendship grows with the roads they’re rebuilding. There’s no better location for their clash identities to play out. “There’s a difference between being lonely and alone,” ponders Rudd. Hirsch meekly responds, “There is?”

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Reviewed: Permanent Vacation (1980), Stranger Than Paradise (1984), Down by Law (1986), Mystery Train (1989), Night on Earth (1991), Dead Man (1995), Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999), Coffee and Cigarettes (2003), Broken Flowers (2005), The Limits of Control (pictured above, 2009) and Only Lovers Left Alive (2013).

Jim Jarmusch was born in 1959, but his hair went grey in 1974. His early life sounds like a grey area – he dropped out of film school to produce the disappointing Permanent Vacation. That all changed when Stranger Than Paradise became a surprise critical hit. He has since become a cult figure; his distinct style comes from insisting on complete control, even when Harvey Weinstein complained that Dead Man wasn’t commercial enough. He also played himself in the underrated sitcom Bored to Death. I loved that show.

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Permanent Vacation (1980) – 3/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Chris Parker
“But what’s a story anyway, except one of those connect the dots drawings?”

A permanent vacation doesn’t really work. You’d eventually need a vacation from the vacation. That’s the crux of Jarmusch’s first grainy film. A young hipster walks around New York and feels disconnected; a tourist in his home town. With this feeling of alienation, he’s compelled to board a boat to France.

Abstract homelessness is a theme Jarmusch would repeatedly explore in his career, but is still undeveloped. You can tell Permanent Vacation is a university project: low-budget, amateur and the shots are presumably improvised. What saves the mediocrity is the mysterious blandness of New York – empty and lifeless, wherever the camera wanders.

Elsewhere, the sparse plotting and lack of dialogue are unappealing, leaving your eyes to request a permanent vacation. Perhaps there’s poignancy in the empty streets. I just couldn’t find it.

Stranger Than Paradise (1984) – 8/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: John Lurie, Eszter Balint, Richard Edson
“He’s Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and he’s a wild man, so bug off.”

Jarmusch’s low-budget breakthrough captures a deadbeat swing that glorifies in awkward silences. There’s little denying how much Stranger Than Paradise oozes in ‘coolness’ – the character of Eva (Eszter Balint) is introduced by an uninterrupted establishing shot of her walking through New York with a boom box blasting Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. She’s there to visit her cousin Willie (John Lurie) and they sit in his flat bored out of their minds; she smokes, he plays solitaire and loses.

The film uses patient, black-and-white cinematography that soaks in blank spaces while its characters mainly speak in humorously deadpan complaints. When Willie’s friend Willie (Richard Edson) visits, they still find little to talk about, yet they seemed determined to have fun. Except fun for them is taking a road trip to Florida to stay in a downgraded motel. When there’s a concern that the monotonous pacing might overstay its welcome, an amusing subplot about gambling enters the plot.

What’s particularly astounding is how Jarmusch finds hidden beauty in empty rooms. His characters exchange mundane small talk like strangers, tired of their surroundings. The actors don’t exaggerate their lines, with their natural performances probably coming from not being experienced actors. Edson, for instance, was the drummer on Sonic Youth’s underrated debut album. The camera uses this to find plaintive comedy in the conversation gaps, and artistic merit in the blank walls. It should perhaps be called Strangers in Paradise.

Down by Law (1986) – 7/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Tom Waits, John Lurie, Roberto Benigni
“We are a good egg.”

The sad, pensive characters of Jarmusch’s films tend to be trapped in their own worlds, with physical journeys having more of an internal impact – in Down by Law, a shift is made when three men are imprisoned for crimes they didn’t commit. When they escape, their hideout looks identical to a prison cell. It’s an atypically Jarmuschian (is that a word?) image that encapsulates the dry comedy of existential anguish.

There is a subversion of a typical jailbreak film as their getaway isn’t explained or even shown – Roberto Benigni promises he has a plan, and in the next scene the trio are fleeing the sound of a prison siren. The weirder aspects make it worth watching: Tom Waits as a radio DJ who won’t want to talk, the absence of other people in the outside world, and Benigni’s juxtaposed optimisim. Yes, the world is so bleak that it’s possible to derive humour from someone who is genuinely cheerful at the face of adversity. Not a bad character defect to have, I reckon.

Mystery Train (1989) – 5/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Youki Kudoh, Masatoshi Nagase, Nicoletta Braschi, Joe Strummer, Steve Buscemi
“I’m very happy. That’s just the way my face is.”
“What? You mean after all this shit, you ain’t even my fucking brother-in-law?”

I bought Mystery Train on DVD when I was 13 and it nearly put me off Jarmusch for life. That might change in the future when the “Half a Canyon” imitation bloggers (all of whom are yet to be born) might sink their teeth into Only Lovers Left Alive with more veracity.

Upon reviewing – just for this post, I might add – it struck me how succinctly Jarmusch pervades narrative for a lingering feeling, often best expressed through a song broadcasted on the radio. The ghostly haunts of Mystery Train mixes three stories, each with the expected wry humour, and a plethora of memorable shots that fit the running-away-from-home vibe: wide shots of walking with a suitcase; bored hotel workers talking fondly about the sincere sweetness of an outsider’s fruit.

There’s a bit of everything, although not quite the focus. I’ve seen it twice and can barely remember any of it, other than it’s quite the expected odyssey.

Night on Earth (1991) – 6/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Winona Ryder, Gena Rowlands, Giancarlo Esposito, Roberto Benigni, Matti Pellonpää
“Try driving school, you fucking nimrod!”

The best way to watch Night on Earth is at night and in a car. By this point, Jim Jarmusch has already made Strangers in Paradise and Down By Law – two travel films that about the journey, rather than geography. He takes that aesthetic to its extreme: five droll segments set entirely in taxi cabs.

Over two hours, the dialogue between a driver and passengers can wear you down; the fragmented structure means characters never fully develop. It’s mainly kept watchable by an alluring cast who define their character through minor affectations, whether it’s Winona Ryder chewing gum while behind the wheel, or Roberto Benigni’s voice accelerating the more he hits the pedal.

The individual stories find humour in juxtaposition; an eccentric passenger with a deadpan driver (apart from Benigni’s segment). It occasionally lurches into something more substantial – Ryder turns down an offer to be “in the movies” and a Swedish driver tells the story of his dead child. By then, it’s time for the next story or the credits. And, for being set in America and across Europe, everyone speaks in the same Jarmuschian tone – just occasionally with subtitles. That may be the joke, but it’s a long one.

Dead Man (1995) – 8/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Johnny Depp, Gary Farmer
“Are you sure you have no tobacco?”

The mystique of 19^th century America is explored by Depp as William Blake – he is unsure if he is the reincarnation of the Romantic poet. I guess if you’re born with that name, you get confused when you Google yourself.

Dead Man is ostensibly a mood piece, shot in black-and-white with a crawling soundtrack: Neil Young plays improvised guitar lines, matching the film’s willingness to pause for reflection. It’s trippy and full of poetic images that are unforgettable in the moment (but escape you when it’s time to write the review).

The deadpan (sounds like the title) nature of Jarmusch’s take on a Western is particularly idiosyncratic; shootouts are simply a formality with male bravado, while there are surreal touches when Depp wonders if he’s already dead. It manages to be both anachronistic, fantastical, yet staying true to the genre.

Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999) – 4.5/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Forest Whitaker, John Tormey, Isaach De Bankolé
“Hold on – did you say he only contacts you through a fucking bird?”

The one shot that particularly sticks out is a carrier pigeon flying meditatively to the sounds of RZA’s hip hop soundtrack. The beats of the Wu-Tang Clan hang over a strange drama that’s occasionally hilarious, but often wanders aimlessly. That may be Jarmusch’s trademark, but the philosophy feels hollow.

In the lead, Forest Whitaker plays an assassin who readily quotes from Hagakure, an ancient code of the samurai. (It’s basically a self-help book, except it’s considered offensive to criticise the readers.) He also teaches a young child about literature; these scenes feel like an attempt to qualify the film as something it isn’t. For the rest of the time, you have a droll assassin coolly finding his victims before they find him.

Jarmusch spoke about how he used a hip hop approach to editing Ghost Dog; like many hip hop albums, you rarely choose to listen from start to finish.

Coffee and Cigarettes (2003) – 7/10

Starring: Cate Blanchett, Bill Murray, so many people
“Is that Bill Murray?”

This collection of 11 short films bears obvious connections (coffee, cigarettes, all black-and-white). I’m usually not a fan of these structures, as the lesser segments feel pointless, while the other parts end too soon.

However, that’s assuming the episodic style is more akin to a sketch show. Jarmusch already proved he maintains his voice in the Western genre, and seems at easy when distilling his dry, acerbic tone over the 90 minutes. What’s most impressive is how the brief segments are never rushed, staying much in tune with Jarmusch’s favoured tempo.

One longstanding connection is a mantra of fame, which might be down to the film’s construction – picking A-listers on their days off. Subsequently, my favourite shorts feature actors playing versions of themselves, meaning they challenge Jarmusch’s language without veering too far. For instance, Steve Coogan is in the same mode he would develop further with The Trip and A Cock and Bull Story, which creates the tension with Alfred Molina. Similarly, Blanchett’s double act is an impress take on a playful twist, whereas an unknown actor would have emphasised the surreal dichotomy.

The theme of celebrity isn’t strong enough to justify every short’s inclusion. I didn’t need Coffee and Cigarettes to inform me The White Stripes shouldn’t star in any more films, or at least not on their own. After all, if RZA and GZA were worse, I couldn’t tell – because, as they say, “It’s Bill ‘Groundhog Day, Ghostbusters’ Murray.”

Broken Flowers (2005) – 9.5/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Bill Murray, Jeffrey Wright, Tilda Swinton
“The future isn’t here yet.”

When Bill Murray swapped comedy for pathos, he was widely applauded – Oscar-nominated for singing karaoke with ScarJo in Lost in Translation, and his role in Rushmore helped build the critical wave that swept the Wes Anderson tide. He deserved the praise, but Broken Flowers is where he truly shines as the weary focus of every scene.

When Murray receives a letter from someone purporting to be his son, his pushy neighbour forces him to find his ex-girlfriends and do some detective work. The storyline isn’t an ideal trajectory (especially as it was done in High Fidelity), but Jarmusch adds unexpected mystery and comedy along the way. Not only does the film solely follow Murray, but it patiently draws the life out of his facial expressions; his wilder days are over, and tracing his steps brings an uneasy clarity over his loneliness.

The past figures from his life have all changed, but represent the different sides of his character that have eroded; they see him as a stranger and can barely pronounce his name without an awkward laugh. Jarmusch teases out the smaller details in his descent; he sleeps on the living room’s sofa instead of in the bedroom, and is content watching television in an empty house. The dry comedy comes from watching him play a reluctant detective – he doesn’t search for his son because of personal reasons, but to stop his neighbour from hassling him.

The added mystery is in how Jarmusch doesn’t explain back stories; several relationships are introduced by the pitch of a “hello” and whether there’s a “goodbye”. It isn’t until a dreamed montage of images and a heartbreaking final scene when you realise how powerful the drama is within the muted responses.

Jarmusch’s films best known films follow deeply rooted men who are physically displaced – Broken Flowers continues the tradition, but is the pinnacle of a character finding self-discovery. The journey isn’t about finding clues, but one of car journeys without dialogue, vacant recollections of old faces, and staring into the abyss.

The Limits of Control (2009) – 5.5/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Isaach De Bankolé, Paz de la Huerta, Bill Murray
“The best films are like dreams you’re not sure you really had.”

Have you ever been hypnotised, then as it gradually wore off, realised you couldn’t move away for two hours? That’s not too dissimilar from the viewing experience provided by The Limits of Control. Its patience borders on hostile; when little happens, you can even tell when the suspense is going to be a red herring.

When the repetition begins, you have to laugh. No names are revealed, and only one character appears on screen for more than ten minutes; the protagonist barely speaks, even when spoken to. It makes you wonder how Night on Earth would have fared without any passengers.

Isaach De Bancholé plays a very silent assassin. He meets various strangers who share the same exchanges – he or she asks if he speaks Spanish before explaining their hobbies via a monologue, before swapping matchboxes. These meetings are preceded by Bancholé orderering two espressos in two cups. After 30 minutes, I guessed Jarmusch is being playful, and it’s confirmed when Tilda Swinton declares that the best films are dreams holding foundations in reality.

By showing off its artifice, you notice more in Jarmusch’s experiment. For instance, every time Bancholé stares at an abstract painting, you’re aware of your own position. If the rhythmic mathematics isn’t enough, music loops appear as reminders; I counted “Farewell” by Boris three times. The main reference is Ghost Dog, another portrait of a hitman – this is more precise, always moving in one direction.

It becomes mesmerising because of the gorgeous cinematography – it would need to be. That is what, for better or worse, makes The Limits of Control stand out in Jarmusch’s filmography – the genius behind droll dialogue tries to survive without his instruments. When the climax doesn’t pay off, you’re aware that many aspects are arbitrary. I could enjoy it for an hour, but it became too much. Instead of marvelling the cinematography, I wondered if I was actually just responding to Spanish architecture.

Only Lovers Left Alive (2013) – 4.5/10

Director/Writer: Jim Jarmusch
Starring: Tom Hiddleston, Tilda Swinton, Mia Wasikowska, John Hurt, Anton Yelchin
“I was born at night. I wasn’t born last night.”

Only Lovers Left Alive was one of my most anticipated films: a vampire comedy with Hiddleston and Swinton as ageless lovers swept away in modern subcultures. Sadly, very little of the dry humour clicked and, while the soundtrack suitably rocked, Jarmusch’s sharp wit is noticeably absent.

Jarmusch’s films typically find funny juxtapositions through outsiders ruining settled rhythms. However, the two protagonists share similar personalities that run into severe repetition and diminishing returns. The vampires, named Adam (Hiddleston) and Eve (Swinton), have lasted for generations, only to be confounded by society’s infiltration of zombies (a nickname for humans) and rockers. After a brief break of 87 years (they do have a lot of time to kill), Eve leaves the spirituality of Tangier to rejoin Adam’s gothic den in Detroit.

Their conversations might appeal to newcomers unfamiliar with Jarmusch’s language, but the drop in quality is evident by a running joke of “bloody” as an adjective. Elsewhere, the pair riff aimlessly on science and the burden of technology, as if the viewer also shares the luxury of infinite time.

Eve’s fascination with diamonds forming in space recalls “Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds”; The Beatles pay further influence with the tripped out reactions to drinking blood. That psychedelic pleasure is at odds with the duo’s moody exhaustion with life – or, at least, Adam’s stubbornness. The film certainly picks up when Eve’s sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska) briefly appears as a bouncy intruder – as I mentioned earlier, Jarmusch works best when juxtaposing outsider personalities. Eva also possesses the best line: “I was born at night. I wasn’t born last night.” However, she’s gone after 10 minutes, and it’s back to eternity.

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Films reviewed: “Afternoon Delight”, “The Bounceback”, “Computer Chess” (pictured above), “Doll & Em”, “Drinking Buddies”, “Enough Said”, “Gone Too Far!”, “Hello Carter” and “Our Sunhi”.

This year’s London Film Festival was split into strands including Cult, Dare, Debate, Documentary, First Feature, Galas, Journey, Love, Official Competition, Sonic and Thrill. Most of these reviews were originally written for The Digital Fix and cover the Laugh strand. I sadly missed the Laugh gala film, Don Jon, as I instead saw The Selfish Giant – no laughs were had there. My two other scheduling regrets were Borgman and Love Me Till Monday; I have no idea when they will come out.

Anyway, here are the reviews. It’s worth noting that Doll & Em, Hello Carter and Gone Too Far! were world premieres. For more, follow me on Twitter at @halfacanyon.

Afternoon Delight – 2/10

Director/Writer: Jill Soloway
Starring: Kathryn Hahn, Juno Temple, Josh Radnor, Jessica St.Clair, Jane Lynch
UK release date: TBC
US release date: 30^th August 2013
“I watched soap operas for a year of my life.”

The one-idea synopsis of Afternoon Delight is vaguely intriguing: middle-class woman turns a stripper into her surrogate daughter. Frustratingly, director and writer Jill Solloway is content with leaving the premise on its own, without proper exploration or fleshing out characters.

Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) is introduced to the viewer through awkwardly inserted therapy sessions; the doctor (Jane Lynch) learns of Rachel’s sexless marriage with Jeff (Josh Radnor), forming a midlife crisis flopping into a half-asleep malaise. Of course, these scenarios are played out with stoic laziness, as if the actors warming up for another, more challenging drama on a different set.

To spice up their relationship, the couple visit a strip club; Rachel receives a lapdance from McKenna (Juno Temple), a supposedly 19-year-old stripper. Within five minutes of screen time, McKenna is living in the pair’s home. The concept is gobsmackingly contrived, only receiving open questioning in the final act in time for a final denouement.

That convoluted narrative is bizarre on its own, but exacerbated by empty characters who exist only as Sundance tropes. Solloway reveals inklings of authorial intent, with a few early bathroom scenes keen to promote the ugliness of the human body (and psyche). However, the stilted dialogue is heavy-handed, as painfully demonstrated during an unwise tonal shift into shakey-cam, improvised melodrama. Rachel is painted as a hypocritical moralist for an inability to treat her young houseguest as a real person, yet Temple’s few lines of dialogue exemplify a walking, talking caricature.

Hahn’s protagonist is unable to explain her behaviour to her friends, husband and therapist – at least how her extreme, unpredictable sympathy towards a stranger extends beyond a cliched midlife crisis. I sense Solloway is also unsure. Near the end, I looked around; most critics were slumped with bored disinterest, apart from one guy checking his phone.

The Bounceback – 3/10

Director: Bryan Poyser
Writers: Steven Walters, David DeGrow Shotwell, Bryan Poyser
Starring: Michael Stahl-David, Ashley Bell, Zach Cregger, Sara Paxton
Any release date: TBC
“I just wanted some other dick. I lived with Jeff’s dick – it’s just so familiar.”

That frank attitude to sex doesn’t just apply to Kara, but from all the main characters in The Bounceback, to the extent that it moves into a bizarre self-congratulatory area, like a 5-year-old proudly swearing in front of classmates.

However, it’d be more accurate to describe the characters’ mindsets as belonging to 15-year-olds, even though they’re in their 20s. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; it’s just a screenplay needs to be sharp if it can sufficiently integrate unlikeable protagonists with a predictable plot that revolves around the Air Sex World Championships and penis photos.

The relationship politics involve Kara and her friend Cathy (Ashley Bell) attempting to move on from their ex-boyfriends – or, as phrased by Kara: “You’ve got to put that dick in the past tense.” Both men, played by Zach Cregger and Michael Stahl-David, are in town for the “Air Sex” tournament, which is sort of like what it sounds. What follows is a number of crossover meetings and unfunny sex jokes.

The Bounceback is never cutting in its portrayal of modern relationships, with the narrative hinging on smartphones and Facebook updates. Sure, it covers topics a Hollywood studio would be afraid to touch, but the on-stage antics of Fuckasaurus Sex would also fail the quality test.

The cast are all admirably lively with the poor material, particularly with the “Air Sex” performances. Similarly, the film is shot and edited with a proficient manner that belies its inevitable future away from any big screens. However, that contradiction highlights a major fault; for all its edginess, the saccharine subplots (one involving a pretty musician seems injected from a different film) ruin the anarchic nature – which was hampered by a lacklustre script anyway.

Computer Chess – 8/10

Director/Writer: Andrew Bujalski
Starring: Patrick Riester, Wiley Wiggins, Myles Paige, Robin Schwartz
UK release date: 22^nd November 2013
US release date: 17^th July 2013
“In this game you’re supposed to defend the king, not send it to its death?”

The mumblecore genre’s lo-fi aesthetic doesn’t quite hold the same novelty as when the movement began. Computer Chess dials back the production even further for a unique, retro look that also fits the dry, almost sci-fi story.

Andrew Bujalski shoots the entire film with a 1969 video camera, creating black-and-white images characterised by the outdated technology’s unpredictable flickers and distortions. Subsequently, the 1970s atmosphere is more authentic than cinematic – as opposed to the digital de-colourisation of The Artist or the gorgeous romanticism of Tabu.

Computer Chess ostensibly follows a tournament for computer chess programmers, set about 30 or 40 years ago; machines are still incumbent, while the geeky enthusiasts struggle to elucidate their futuristic dreams. Set in a hotel, the gathering compete over a weekend by pitting their computer programmes against each other, hoping to win a trophy, cash prize and chance for a machine versus human match – the human being Pat Henderson, a grandmaster played by real life lecturer Gerald Peary.

The rivalry between the programmers and machines begins far earlier, with much of the comedy emerging from awkward social behaviour that extends into incompetent chess software. One participant drolly complains to his teammate, “In this game you’re supposed to defend the king, not send it to its death?”

My expectations of Computer Chess were mixed, given I’m not that much of a fan Bujalski’s signature Funny Ha Ha, but was intrigued by the unusual premise. For much of the first half, the dialogue runs like a comedy of manners: incoherent computer nerds squabble over their programmes, with the calculated naturalism that separates Bujalski from the rest of the mumblecore filmmakers. However, like an actual game of chess, periods of boredom seep in when you’re waiting for someone to make a move you can already anticipate.

That’s where Bujalski’s Najdork Variation reveals itself as an Alekhine gun.

Computer Chess turns into several surreal areas, while staying loyal to the unusual, or lack of, cinematography. One participant, Michael (Myles Paige), is thrown into a running joke with Kafkaesque undertones, whereby he can’t find a spare hotel room that isn’t inhabited by cats. In another bedroom, Peter (Patrick Riester) is confronted by swingers and realises he can only relate to humans as chess pieces. At one point, a computer begins to question its user about the meaning of life, even asking, “Where is your soul?”

It’s hard to pigeonhole Computer Chess as so much happens, despite or because of its minimalist approach. I’m sure it requires at least a second viewing to properly unravel. The dry humour playfully drags out the competitiveness between the men (and one self-conscious woman) and their creations, not just through the chess tournament; the computers are arguable more articulate than the ensemble.

The machines might be on display, but it’s the humans behind them under an old-fashioned magnifying glass; they hint at longings for love, but would be more confident if their romantic targets were mechanoids – or, as it were, a zigzagging bishop or protective queen.

Doll & Em – 7/10

Director: Azazel Jacobs
Writers: Dolly Wells, Emily Mortimer, Azazel Jacobs
Starring: Dolly Wells, Emily Mortimer, Jonathan Cake
UK release date: February 2014 on UK Living
US release date: TBC, but picked up by HBO
“I’m not a strong woman. I’m fucking vulnerable.”

It’s often said that Breaking Bad episodes would be best experienced for the first time on the big screen. Well, that’s what happened with Doll & Em, a six-part comedy series set to air in 2014. The improvised sitcom was created by Emily Mortimer and Dolly Wells, who co-write each episode with the director, Azazel Jacobs.

Em and Doll (as I shall now call them) are best friends, both in real life and within the semi-autobiographical storyline: Em moves to Hollywood to shoot a new film, so brings Doll as her assistant. (“But she’s really my best friend,” says Em, less convincingly each time.) As the series progresses, the relationship breaks down, with Doll’s acting ability creating friction between the pair.

The two leads share a very convincing chemistry that’s both believable and hilarious; as a testament to their watchability, I happily sat through all six episodes (although it was a bit strange seeing the opening credits sequence every 25 minutes).

In the Q&A, the two stars made a comparison to All About Eve, which I can’t quite beyond the initial plot. It’s likelier (and, to be honest, inevitable) that comparisons will be made to Curb Your Enthusiasm and Extras, but both leads are extremely likeable – enough so that such a bitter storyline can be turned into comfort viewing while still satirising fame. Oh, it’s also very funny.

Drinking Buddies  – 5.5/10

Director/Writer: Joe Swanberg
Starring: Olivia Wilde, Jake Johnson, Anna Kendrick, Ron Livingstone
UK release date: 8^th November 2013
US release date: 23^rd August 2013
“I think we should take a knee on this thing.”

Joe Swanberg’s prolific film career has stemmed from a laissez-faire approach to improvised dialogue and natural energy – usually the early chemistry at the start of a relationship, or the dying spark when a couple have spent too much time together. Combined with his rushed camerawork, there’s plenty of Swanberg material, most of which hidden from the mainstream.

With that in mind, Drinking Buddies certainly feels like Swanberg’s self-aware debut to a wider audience. He repackages his traditional style (two couples intermingling), but with recognisable names.

Anna Kendrick and Jake Johnson are one obviously mismatched pairing; Johnson’s eager to stay indoors, while the script keenly points out Kendrick’s hobby of long walks. Her rambling partner is Ron Livingstone, who himself is in a relationship with spritely Olivia Wilde. Meanwhile, Wilde spends her time flirting heavily with her co-worker Johnson; they work with alcohol, and use it after hours. The plot unravels fairly predictably.

Of course, Drinking Buddies isn’t about “will they/won’t they?” mystery. Both couples are obviously doomed, given they’re prime examples of the dead sharks mentioned in Annie Hall. Yet with such a character-centric drama, it’s mystifying how undefined the four protagonists comes across – especially given the actors’ freedom to express themselves.

In a way, the cast are too composed to chime with Swanberg’s hands-off style. Wilde is both the most and least connected with the improvised dynamics; her freshness brings confident humour that’s also at odds with the attempted realism. Ultimately, the self-assuredness of these performers isn’t matched by depth of personality. An egregious example is that it’s never made clear why Livingstone would leave his girlfriend for Anna Kendrick, and that statement seems even more ridiculous as I type it.

Admittedly, this failed experiment is still vastly more watchable than early fare like Hannah Takes the Stairs. But it’s hard to shake off the feeling that the drama is anything more than a decent acting workshop exercise; some light chemistry with little beneath the surface.

Enough Said – 7.5/10

Director/Writer: Nicole Holofcener
Starring: Julia Louis-Dreyfus, James Gandolfini, Toni Collette, Catherine Keener
UK release date: 18^th October 2013
US release date: 23^rd September 2013
“I was raised like a veal – put in a dark room, fed, told not to move.”

As a huge Nicole Holfcener fan, I’ve been following Enough Said for a while, repeatedly refreshing the “Untitled Nicole Holofcener 2013 Project” IMDb page for months before the title was revealed long after post-production. Her films don’t exactly oscillate away from her trademark style, but they carry an inimitable voice that can’t be pinned down to a simple formula; a certain level of quality can be expected from her work.

Anticipation for Enough Said is even higher for its posthumous performance by James Gandolfini, who’s heartbreakingly sweet alongside Julia Louis-Dreyfus, with the two leads a natural fit for Holofcener’s witty inflections.

A recurring metaphor appears with Eva (Louis-Dreyfus) lugging her masseuse equipment from her car to clients’ homes, without any help; it reflects her ability to cope as a single mother, which is subsequently a lonely endeavour. At a party, she befriends semi-famous poet Marianne (Catherine Keener), while separately meeting Albert (Gandolfini) and forming a slow romance.

Middle-aged regrets dominate Enough Said, but with charming acceptance. Eva and Albert compare the deteriorating state of individual body parts several times, whether teeth, hands, feet or nose (“it’s just an ornament”). The mutual acceptance is comforting for both characters, who share the experience of being divorced with children ready to leave the nest. For a while, the film’s main pleasure is simply spending time with the two enjoying each other’s company; the chemistry is electric and reminiscence of a warmth I can’t remember in a Holofcener outing since Walking and Talking in 1996.

With an unfortunately contrived twist more appropriate to Seinfeld, Eva discovers Albert is Marianne’s ex-husband (“sorry, but he is a loser”). Rather than say anything, Eva wonders if she will also find similar faults in Albert’s lovable, but stubborn, ways. The unnatural reaction – well, non-reaction – is forgiven through the bittersweet likeability of Holofcener’s script that already establishes its everyday heroes before the twist.

One subplot involving her daughter’s best friend doesn’t quite work (like 2001’s Lovely & Amazing, the multi-generational strands can be hit and miss.) Nonetheless, the ensemble possesses a watchable energy, not least through Eva’s giggly chats with her best friend (Toni Collette). As a further recommendation of tone, it’s worth noting Holofcener’s side-gig is occasionally directing Parks and Recreation, a sitcom with a not too dissimilar vibe.

With another smart, funny female-centric drama, Holofcener’s low-key success reminds me of Broadway Danny Rose, in that it became underrated through its similarities to Woody Allen’s previous work during a remarkably consistent era. The link to Allen is relevant: she entered the industry as an assistant on his films, and is frequently labelled “the female Woody Allen”. However, that’s an unfair and inaccurate term as her sharp dialogue possesses its own rhythm and, perhaps more importantly, she seems to genuinely like her characters – a strength that benefits the viewer, which is, I think, enough said.

Gone Too Far!  – 3/10

Original title: Fune wo Amu
Director: Destiny Ekaragha
Writer: Bola Agbaje
Starring: Malachi Kirby, OC Ukeje, Shanika Warren-Markland
Any release date: TBC
“I know my roots. I just don’t need to tell everyone.”

There’s a unsettling déjà vu when watching Gone Too Far! on a big screen, as its frustratingly redolent of a poor BBC3 sitcom pilot. The comedy is on the surface – and maybe at its heart too – about staying true to your national roots, regardless of where you are. However, what comes across is a series of weary jokes that I can’t call cliched, as these gags would be considered unusable by most writers.

One example: “Where do you think Adam and Eve come from?” “Well, his name is Adam, so it must be Dover.”

At the centre is Yemi (Malachi Kirby), a teenager in Peckham struck by teenage love. He’s also hampered by the responsibility of looking after Iku (OC Ukeje), his brother who’s returned from Nigeria; Iku speaks with a strong accent and is noticeably less streetwise, as made evident by his socks and sandals combo.

The pair’s relationship is probably the film’s only worthwhile aspect, with Yemi’s denial of his African roots expressed in his defence that ambivalence is different from self-hatred. The topic is particularly apt for the Hackney setting, where different cultures clash and relate to their identities in different ways. Like in Heat, the best scene is a simple conversation in a diner between Yemi and and Iku.

Both actors do fine with their material, which can’t be said about the supporting cast who are cartoonish in line deliveries – it isn’t totally their fault, given the facile screenplay. Gone Too Far! actually began life as a well-received play; while I never saw that production, I can imagine the outlandish humour corresponding better with a sympathetic audience. It would, for example, explain why everyone keeps accidentally intersecting when walking around London. However, if I was Yemi, I wouldn’t be disowning my roots – I’d be disowning the film.

Hello Carter  – 2.5/10

Director/Writer: Anthony Wilcox
Starring: Charlie Cox, Jodie Whittaker, Paul Schneider
Any release date: TBC
“I just want to wake up in the morning and know why I set the alarm clock the night before.”

Anthony Wilcox has spent more than a decade as an assistant director on several great British films, including 24 Hour Party People, Morvern Callar and Hot Fuzz. He makes his full-length writing and directing debut with Hello Carter, a London-centric comedy in love with the capital, portrayed as a city of mischievous scrapes and humorous coincidences. With that, it’s worth pointing out he was also an assistant director on Pearl Harbor, Sex Lives of the Potato Men and Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj.

The flimsy premise of Hello Carter revolves around a string of incomprehensible decisions that tumble along to establish comedic set-pieces with no laughs. Carter (Charlie Cox) is the weary protagonist – both exhausted from romantic woes and possibly the limp script. In exchange for a woman’s phone number, Carter delivers a letter on behalf of a fictional, semi-famous actor (played by real, semi-famous actor Paul Schneider).

The convoluted plot somehow sprawls into a crime chase, sidelined by lame humour and dreary moping. When Carter asks for a reason to set an alarm clock, I wondered if Wilcox simply transcribed his teenage diaries for the screenplay – if it was ever rewritten, I’d hate to read the first draft.

Carter’s companion is played by Jodie Whittaker, stuck in a role of a pretty woman who indulges in his misery; when their chemistry is supposed to fizzle, it’s actually just Carter talking about himself – just talking at her, endlessly.

As a lead, there’s something amateurish and annoyingly cartoonish about Carter, even the quirky way he stands, as if posing for a film poster. Whittaker and Schneider are unable to inject much energy either, with the latter a shadow of his usual high standards.

Schneider has a “very real fear of antiques” for some reason; it’s never explained, but is what constitutes as a joke in Hello Carter. I think the blandness is encapsulated by the soundtrack’s use of the Jose Gonzales version of “Heartbeats”.

Our Sunhi – 4/10

Original title: U ri Sunhi
Director/Writer: Hong Sangsoo
Starring: Jung Yumi, Lee Sunkyun, Kim Sangjoong
UK/US release date: TBC

“You can’t have a beer without ordering some chicken.”I’m a newcomer to Hong Sangsoo and would otherwise have assumed Our Sunhi was by a first-time director. Three men crush on a reserved woman, with their affections bearing repetition in dialogue. She, however, eats chicken and drinks beer. It works better as an idea.

Follow @halfacanyon for more.

Films reviewed: “All is Lost”, “As I Lay Dying”, “B For Boy”, “Exhibition” (above), “The Fear”, “Hide Your Smiling Faces”, “Jeune et Jolie”, “Kill Your Darlings”, “Mystery Road”, “Sarah Prefers to Run”, “Sixteen”, “Weekend of a Champion” and “Wounded”.

This year’s London Film Festival was split into strands including Cult, Debate, Documentary, Galas, Journey, Laugh, Love, Official Competition and Sonic. Most of these reviews were originally written for The Digital Fix and cover the Dare, First Feature and Thrill strands. My main scheduling regrets were Stranger by the Lake and A Touch of Sin.

Anyway, here are the reviews. It might be of interest that B for Boy and Sixteen were world premieres.  For more, follow me on Twitter at @halfacanyon.

All is Lost – 8.5/10

Director/Writer: JC Chandor
Starring: Robert Redford
UK release date: 26^th December 2013
US release date: 18^th October 2013
Strand: Thrill

It was at least an hour into All is Lost when I noticed the inordinate amount of water I’d been drinking; I could see it in the other cinemagoers, sitting restlessly, sipping from their bottles. By this point, barely a word had passed through the tired lips of Robert Redford, the film’s lonesome figure.

A brief voiceover introduces All is Lost, with the rest void of dialogue. Redford, aged 77 (I still find this hard to believe), mans a sinking ship while grappling for survival; a guidebook, a map, some strange biscuits, anything that might help.

It’s likely Redford took to the sea to escape the stresses of modern life, hide from demons, or rest in solitude. However, that’s all speculation, as it’s never explained. In isolation, without any signs of help beyond his watery surroundings, his sole occupation is staying afloat – all while feeding himself scraps and fending off the creatures that lie beneath the surface.

JC Chandor sticks to a degree of realism with his direction that, although encompasses CGI, pulled me in with a claustrophobia that’s redolent of Polanski’s Knife in the Water. I hate to make the obvious comparison, but All is Lost makes a case that Life of Pi should have scrapped all dialogue and voiceovers.

It’s a cliche that actors walk into an audition with a Shakespeare monologue. Redford undertakes the harder task of captivating an audience through winces and irritated expressions. The viewer is made aware of his rations and number of flares; as they slowly dwindle, the emerging mood turns existential with an elderly man staring out at sea waiting to die.

As I Lay Dying – 7/10

Director: James Franco
Writers: James Franco, Matthew Rager, William Faulkner (novel)
Starring: James Franco, Tim Blake Nelson, Ahna O’Reilly, Logan Marshall-Green, Danny McBride
UK release date: TBC
US release date: 22^nd October 2013 (VOD)
Strand: Dare
“My mother’s a fish.”

Faulkner. Franco. Faulkner. Franco. Say those names in quick succession and they’ll eventually become one. Well, not quite, but that’s the chopped up method attempted by James Franco – he directs, co-writes and stars in this fairly faithful adaptation of William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying.

The stream-of-consciousness novel, dating back to 1930, is somewhat digestible in comparison to The Sound and the Fury, yet still a challenge to bring to the screen. Not that you’d tell by Franco’s assured, very serious vision, which maintains the technique of switching narrators. Even a small role for Danny McBride isn’t for comic relief.

The Bundren family are brought together by a crisis when their mother (Beth Grant) dies and needs to be buried elsewhere. Dragging the coffin becomes a semi-Sisyphus affair, both as a physical task and through escalating tensions within the group.

Led by the father (Tim Blake Nelson), small squabbles percolate through the distracted family; Dewey (Ahna O’Reilly) is troubled by an unwanted pregnancy, Cash (Jim Parrack) breaks his leg, Jewel (Logan Marshall-Green) feels like an outsider, Dahl (Franco) has his mind elsewhere, and 10-year-old Vardaman (Brady Permenter) is like a kid from Outnumbered.

However, like the novel, the star is the shifting narration – the screenplay even manages to include a monologue from the mother long after her death. Franco frequently splits the screen, sometimes for thematic juxtaposition (on one side Dahl stares forlorn, opposite him is a fire), other times for a second angle of the same event. It’s occasionally off-putting and admittedly irritating, but it’s also a bold way to shift perspectives; occasionally, the voiceover crosses spills into the silence like a Venn diagram.

Some audiences might find the split screen too much to handle. Indeed, the final credits flashing on and off is definitely a step too far. For the rest, the mournful atmosphere carries into artful shots of what is ultimately a futile exercise – a resentful family suffer through various obstacles, with the rotting corpse weighing heavier by the moment. (Dahl comments, “What’s in the box? It ain’t going to go away.”)

With some fairly weighty religious undertones thrown in, As I Lay Dying needs someone like Franco’s arrogance to take an ambitious project so whole-heartedly. And for that, it’s a commendable effort. Just beware that it doesn’t just split the screen – it splits the audience.

B For Boy – 8/10

Director/Writer: Chika Anadu
Starring: Uche Nwadili, Nonso Odogwu, Ngozi Amarikwa
Any release date: TBC
Strand: First feature
“I’m not ready to have this conversation yet.”

Set in Nigeria, B for Boy is a simple story that’s even more shocking through the matter-of-fact acceptance of difficult circumstances. The country’s social landscape demands women give birth to a boy in order to pass on male genes – a conceit Hollywood would probably treat as a comedy starring Paul Rudd. However, B for Boy portrays the biological tightrope with heartbreaking realism; the difference between keeping and losing an otherwise loyal husband.

Amaka (Uche Nwadili) is the protagonist: a 39-year-old mother with a daughter and husband (Nonso Odogwu). When a doctor informs her of a stillbirth and the likelihood she’ll never conceive again, her mother-in-law suggests the husband should find a second wife who can continue the family heritage. It doesn’t take long for the suggestion to be unveiled as a threat.

The family’s politics are disconcerting on their own, especially viewing as a male Westerner unaccustomed to the pressure of delivering a son. Chika Anadu, the director and screenwriter, distils the sadness with weighted silences and minimalist shots; the walls are blank, the camera trembles.

On top of a moving central performance, Amaka represents the eternal mother than exists in Western culture, making ugly sacrifices in secret to maintain her family. Just because it’s not as glamorous as Heisenberg’s meth dealing in Breaking Bad, underlying patriarchal philosophies transcend nations; the mother-in-law says she’s not a villain, but someone who prioritises her son’s wellbeing.

B for Boy taps into the fragile psyche of motherhood’s template, transported to an environment underrepresented in cinema. Considering the deft performances, measured direction and pathos-led atmosphere, this is one social commentary with more self-reflection than expected.

Exhibition – 7/10

Director/Writer: Joanna Hogg
Starring: Viv Albertine, Liam Gillick, Tom Hiddleston
UK release date: Early 2014
US date: TBC
Strand: Dare
“Take this tree.”

A few critics walked out of Exhibition, with their clanging footsteps breaking the unsettling silence hanging over the third film by Joanna Hogg; Archipelago seems like a holiday in comparison. Hogg once again examines middle-class relationships and architecture, but with a closer inspection on one particular home: tall glass windows, an unnecessary spiral staircase, inhabited by an inert couple.

The two unnamed artists are played by Viv Albertine and Liam Gillick, although they don’t exactly dabble in watercolours. Albertine is particularly experimental, with her own room upstairs devoted to posing sexually, often in front of her window. Downstairs is Gillick, who works more conventionally at a desk.

When the couple have sex, Albertine lies still and motionless, like a statue waiting to be undressed. The lack of intimacy is reflected outside the bedroom; they communicate during the day through an intercom, with Albertine even asking, “Are you cold?”

However, the protagonists don’t dislike other, nor do they pang for anyone else. Instead, their positioning within their sparse, shiny house suggests they gradually merged with the furniture. At least, that’s my interpretation of Albertine’s sleeping lions game in various rooms and a peculiar intimacy with a ribbed chair.

Exhibition requires discipline, especially with the sheer length of scenes that are unfathomable or repetitive. But the architecture of both the film and the house unravel as a complex retort to middle-class aesthetics – by eating an edible model of the estate, the decadence leaves behind a few crumbs. Whether in view of a street or inviting friends to a party, the couple are forever in performance – their love is expressed by not being artists to each other. If walls could talk, it might be like this.

The Fear – 2.5/10

Original title: La Por
Director: Jordi Cadena
Writers: Jordi Cadena, Núria Villazán
Starring: Igor Szpakowski, Roser Camí, Ramon Madaula, Alícia Falcó
Any release date: TBC
Stand: Dare
“You wanted me to be alone.”

Jordi Cadena, the director of The Fear, is very keen early on to punish the viewer through unpleasant images, with a very long close-up of a toilet filling up with urine. The rest of the film isn’t too dissimilar.

The Fear places itself as an ultra-serious, minimalist take on how domestic abuse can tear a family apart. Well, it’s hardly a revelation, and is explained through a family’s quiet breakdown. The mother and her two very young children are terrified of the violent father, not so secretly waiting for him to leave. Coping methods involve running away, hiding in bed, or just putting up with it.

The dramatic climax is completely unearned and pulled off with heavy-handed direction (the daughter covers her doll’s eyes). So much of The Fear is laughable, yet it’s a serious subject worthy of a more mature treatment – one that actually has something to say.

It’s easy to criticise slow films where supposedly nothing happens. The Fear, however, wallows in its own emptiness while attempting to be important. The tone swings inconsistently between realism and failed symbolism – the latter made even worse by trite dialogue that forms an unfortunate punchline. (“You wanted me to be alone.”)

The Fear attempts to send a message, and it does: try harder with your next film.

Hide Your Smiling Faces – 3.5/10

Director/Writer: Daniel Patrick Carbone
Starring: Ryan Jones, Nathan Varnson, Colm O’Leary, Thomas Cruz, Christina Starbuck
Any release date: TBC
Strand: First feature

I spent the first half of Hide Your Smiling Faces thinking Carbone was ripping off George Washington. The final act consisted of me wishing he would return to ripping off George Washington. Not even David Gordon Green has been able to recreate George Washington. Hide Your Smiling Faces shares a similar storyline, involving how children overcome an accidental death. The cinematography is fairly decent, in that it mimics the look of George Washington right down to an obligatory motorcycle journey.

However, George Washington slinks along naturally, with all the layers overlapping beautifully. Carbone’s film is less organic and feels constructed. At the Q&A, I was ready to ask about the George Washington until Carbone brought it up himself in the first few sentences.

Jeune et Jolie – 7.5/10

English title: Young and Beautiful
Director/Writer: François Ozon
Starring: Marine Vacth, Géraldine Pailhas, Frédéric Pierrot
UK release date: 29^th November 2013
US release date: TBC
Strand: Dare
“Your sister’s weird.”

Turning 17 can be difficult, partly as it’s the bridge between a life without worries and having to consider career paths. Isabelle (Marine Vacth), a sexually curious 17-year-old mixes a few of her adolescent needs in Jeune et Jolie: within a few months of losing her virginity, she discretely becomes a prostitute.

Isabelle’s lucrative profession only runs in the late afternoon, so she can escape detection from her mother, stepfather and brother. In that plot aspect, it shares a similarity with Belle du Jour, but François Ozon applies more realism; after a while, hotel room sessions and frequent showers just become part of a routine.

From an early stage, Isabelle’s sexual appetite is demonstrated as a healthy part of growing up (even if it crudely involves a pillow). Through a time jump, Ozon skips her first client and early nerves. She’s still clearly a teenager – when she pretends to be 20, the older men she sleeps with are turned on knowing it’s a lie.

Her innocent bedroom mannerisms are endearing to some customers; even without a pimp, she avoids any violence. In fact, her self-run business would impress Mark Zuckerberg, given the admin is managed through an outdated mobile phone without internet access.

When Isabelle’s mother inevitably finds out, her heartbreak is both understandable and unfair; there’s no other reaction, but Ozon somehow turns prostitution into a simple exploration of sexuality that can pay for her education, purchase a subscription to Sight & Sound, or whatever it is 17-year-olds do with pocket money

Although prostitution is dangerous, especially with Isabelle’s vulnerable timidity, the only victim (on a physical level) is one of her clients, who dies from, well, enjoying himself too much. In that sense, there’s a lurid fairytale aspect not too dissimilar from the independence of Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead – okay, that might be a stretch.

Still, Isabelle’s hotel antics are part of her coming-of-age story, which is arguably no different from having sex with strangers after a party, except it comes with a criminal label. After all, Ozon’s more interested in the self-fulfilling prophecy of adolescence; when a psychiatrist hints at absent father issues, Isabelle just laughs off the question.

Kill Your Darlings – 7.5/10

Director: John Krokidas
Writers: John Krokidas, Austin Bunn
Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Dane DeHaan, Jack Huston, Ben Foster
UK release date: 6^th December 2013
US release date: TBC
Strand: First feature
“You’d be boring without me.”

The difficulty in translating the Beat Generation to screen is turning into a challenge to the film industry, with a battered copy of Naked Lunch flailing in front of a frustrated producer’s face. As last year’s On the Road predictably demonstrated, the drug-induced hazes of Beat literature tend to be lifeless when acted out.

So what makes Kill Your Darlings different?

Well, it’s decidedly more focused. Rather than bring literature to life, John Korkidas uses his directorial debut to explore the catalyst for the writers’ movement. At the centre is Allen Ginsberg (played by Daniel Radcliffe with extra curly hair), aged 17 – it’s 1944 and over a decade before he’d write the first draft of Howl. Like Hogwarts, much is made of the shyness in starting a new school, and Ginsberg quickly finds a new friend in Beat ringleader Lucien Carr (Dane DeHaan). Their shared interest in rebellious literature leads to them befriending the likes of Kerouac and William Burroughs. It’s rather charming, if you ignore the playful suicide attempts and traces of self-hatred.

Carr is one of the unknown heroes of the Beat writers, mainly because he wasn’t one. His role was to engage and inspire; he smugly informs Ginsberg, “You’d be boring without me.” DeHaan clearly has fun in a role that’s both egotistical and insecure. Carr delivers passionate speeches about identity, while at the same struggling with his sexual identity. Tellingly, he’s surrounded by some of the generation’s greatest poets, but is unable to compose a verse.

To avoid creative impotence, Carr goads Ginsberg (or “Ginsy”, as he affectionately nicknames him) into breaking away from metre and rhyme; they spot Ogden Nash in a jazz club, and decide he’s the enemy. In a tremendous moment of foreshadowing, Carr retorts that the best revenge isn’t killing someone, but making sure they’re forgotten.

Radcliffe’s performance is similarly nuanced through Ginsberg’s back story and guessing, as a viewer, which incidents help to shape his future. The role demands maturity, yet rather smartly places Ginsberg’s small figure in classrooms to show he’s still just a young boy, unsure of what to expect from the world.

The story’s darker turns aren’t apparent until much later in Kill Your Darlings, by which point all the characters are established enough that earns core incident the dramatic weight it deserves. As someone who’s studied the Beats at university, written essays and exam papers on Kerouac and Ginsberg, I was unfamiliar with the plot. I believe this is the first film adaptation of said event (which I’m not revealing), and it reveals the allure of Lucien Carr – in many ways, a Dean Moriarty for Ginsberg. As the credits point out, Carr requested his name be removed from the dedication in Howl.

Unfortunately, not everyone is as richly shaped. Some enticing names are barely touched upon, namely David Cross as Allen’s father, and Elizabeth Olsen’s wasted appearances as Edie Parker. The episodic screenplay also places a few comic set pieces at the expense of deeper understanding of fringe players. Sure, I won’t forget Jack Huston as Jack Kerouac, squeezing into a beer keg that’s rolled down a hill – but I’m not sure what else about him I’ll remember.

Even more egregious is the anachronistic soundtrack which opens the credits with The Libertines. It may be attempting to bring relevance or prove the Beat Generation’s spirit lives on, but that already takes place with the literature. In the few teasing moments, there’s awe as a few lines are drawn out from Ginsberg’s mouth, particularly in a midnight boat ride so inspiring, he can’t hold back the poetry. And that’s the magic of Kill Your Darlings.

Mystery Road – 5.5/10

Director/Writer: Ivan Sen
Starring: Aaron Pedersen, Hugo Weaving, Jack Thompson
UK/US release date: TBC
Strand: Thrill
“Massacre Creek.”

The opening scene of Mystery Road takes place in Massacre Creek. There’s also a real sign labelled Mystery Road. While it doesn’t go as far as having Exposition Lane or Surprise Twist Avenue, Mystery Road is a crime thriller with an eye on style – or, to be more accurate, its absence.

Set in rural Australia, Aaron Pedersen stars as an Aboriginal policeman returning to a town plagued with crime, racism and apathy. The drama begins with the dead body of a young girl, possibly involved with drugs and prostitution, which sets Pedersen on a slow murder mystery.

Yes, it is really slow. But that’s partly the point. Every scene follows Pedersen wandering the empty area, hunting for clues and interrogating locals. There isn’t the hard wit of Chinatown, nor the raw masculinity of an old Western. Instead, the soundtrack is largely nature in the background; buzzing flies accompany tense meetings, and a foot chase occurs to the sound of clucking chickens.

Ivan Sen, the director, finds further use for the surroundings with the vast space that builds an impending sense of hopelessness for Pedersen’s mission. However, this critical compliment is more about Australia itself than Sen’s film-making abilities. His script is as barren as the landscape, which obviously doesn’t hold the same effect.

Pedersen is a strangely bland protagonist; he’s well -meaning, inexpressive, and one of the least charismatic detectives in recent memory. His lone stance builds from his background; his fellow Aborigines resent him for “arresting [his] own”, while colleagues look down upon him. It’s an intriguing isolation not fully explored, and isn’t helped when the supporting cast (including Hugo Weaving and Ryan Kwanten) are similarly unmemorable.

Mystery Road isn’t a disaster. Nor does it advance with its social commentary or anti-Westerns slant (other than a lengthy, breathtaking gun battle). Really, the main shame is it doesn’t build on the promise of a dusty noir.

Sarah Prefers to Run – 5.5/10

Original title: Sarah préfère la course
Director/Writer: Chloé Robichaud
Starring: Sophie Desmarais, Jean-Sébastien Courchesne, Geneviève Boivin-Roussy
Any release dates: TBC
Strand: First feature
“Say something funny. You’re not funny, but I’m in love with you.”

The title of Chloé Robichaud’s debut is accurate, but also too accurate in advertising its limitations. 20-year-old Sarah (Sophie Desmarais) does indeed enjoy running, whether around her neighbourhood, on the track, or on a running machine with her teammates. From what she is running, it’s not entirely clear.

Running is turning into an overused motif, with one very pertinent example being Robin Wright in House of Cards; her jogging figure turns into an hammered-in metaphor by the fifth episode. Sarah Prefers to Run doesn’t go much further – Sarah’s competitive races noticeably takes place on a circular track.

The bittersweet coming-of-age story does have its merits, particularly a delicate performance by Desmarais as a timid woman who somehow finds herself rushed into a marriage (with the first response being, “Do you mind if I take off my ring?”) Robichaud is also pensive with shots solemnly framed, often with an evocative score for added momentum.

One defining scene involves Sarah’s new husband (Jean-Sébastien Courchesne) sobbing, rhetorically asking why he’s in love with a tomboy who doesn’t smile and isn’t funny. That simultaneously picks at the film’s root problem: many scenes hang on an inexpressive runner, whose defining feature is a literally defective heart. When the Kubrick-style closing credits appear, the gulf in ambition is evident.

Sixteen – 3/10

Director/Writer: Rob Brown
Starring: Roger Jean Nsengiyumva, Rachael Stirling, Rosie Day
Any release date: TBC
Strand: First feature
“You’re on first name terms with murderers now?”

Teenagers are unpredictable and inversely affected by the early years of their life, so it’s unsurprising that Jumah is still haunted by his past as a child soldier in Congo. The role, taken up by Roger Jean Swngiyumva, is the central hook of Sixteen, a downbeat drama about the hardship of running away from demons when aspects reappear in London.

Rob Brown’s first feature film has Jumah living with his adopted mother, a nurse played by Rachael Stirling. The city’s grimy setting is coupled by Jumah’s run-ins with local criminals, both one-dimensional in behaviour and as a narrative device.

Sixteen delves into ultra self-serious territory with plodding silences and Jumah staring wistfully into the distance. However, the unnatural tone is more of a consequent from some unconvincing acting; pauses are the wrong length, while the cast stumble with thinly written characters.

A quick search for Rob Brown’s biography reveals his history comprises of short films, which is perhaps where Sixteen belongs: as a small snapshot of the difficulties of adapting to a new environment. As it is, the Rubik’s Cube on Jumah’s bedside table is the only thought-provoking element, rather than any of the social commentary.

Weekend of a Champion – 7/10

Director: Frank Simon
Starring: Roman Polanski, Jackie Stewart
Strand: Thrill
UK release date: TBC
US release date: 22^nd November 2013
“All the pain disappears.”

The original Weekend of a Champion came out in 1972, barely to be seen again, let alone receive a victory lap. The modest documentary tackled two not-so-modest figures: Formula 1 driver Jackie Stewart and film-maker Roman Polanski. Four decades later, the film is digitally restored, with a 20-minute coda of Stewart and Polanski reflecting on how their lives have since changed.

The 1972 material is a simple video diary of Stewart preparing for a race in Monaco, with Polanski somewhere between an investigative journalist and nosey friend. The pair’s dynamic is fascinating, not just for Stewart’s charismatic deconstruction of his racing techniques, but for a rare glimpse of Polanski’s lighter, human side – one that’s not reflected in his films, nor his criminal record.

One particularly charming moment involves Stewart using his finger to race a packet of butter across a table to illustrate when to break. The low-key moment only works because it occurs just off the race track in an era fraught with numerous racing fatalities. In retrospect, the lack of protective measures is shocking; crowds stand by the road without any barriers in place.

Weekend of a Champion is a strange curiosity, given it encompasses decades-old footage that wasn’t as sought after as, say, The Day the Clown Cried. It’s also unlikely to fully satisfy anyone without an interest in Formula 1 or Polanski. Even those curious by the latter should note none of the director’s eventful life is questioned, and nor does Stewart visit the set of Repulsion to attempt shooting a nightmare sequence.

Perhaps tellingly, much of the documentary is worthless without the 2011 footage. With four decades of hindsight, Stewart adds insight into the sport’s old philosophy, while also shining light on how he hid his own insecurities during filming – even the champion of the documentary’s title felt beaten down by the world.

Personally, the most surprising aspect is that Stewart and Polanski are still friends. They’re both carried by strong egos in respective fields, yet seem to be opposites. When Stewart cuts himself shaving, he jokingly suggests it should feature in a Polanski film. However, the real allusion comes from an admittance that Formula 1 is claustrophobic – spinning round the same track, trapped under multiple seatbelts. So based on the running theme of Polanski’s career, it seems the sport’s dangerous aspects are actually a lifetime obsession for both figures.

As Stewart puts it: against all logic, sitting behind the wheels makes all the pain disappear.

Wounded – 5/10

Original title: La herida
Director: Fernando Franco
Writers: Fernando Franco, Enric Rufas, Ramón Barea
UK/US release date: TBC
Strand: First feature
Starring: Marian Álvarez, Rosana Pastor, Andrés Gertrudix
“It must be exciting being in an ambulance?”

30-year-old Ana is a self-harmer, a secret she hides from her mother and work colleagues. She speaks at length on the internet in several tedious sequences. There’s something interesting underneath, with Franco mentioning in his Q&A the character is based on several search studies. However, that creates a lack of coherence. What might be compelling is to others is repetitive to me. A memorable moment is Ana’s life as an ambulance driver. She switches to transfers to avoid seeing people die, but finds it’s worse getting to know them first.

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