Fantastic Four – Richards Reckons Review

The Fantastic Four. They were Marvel Comics’ premiere superteam – a mish-mash of powered peeps all coming together as a collective to bust crime and fight evil, all the while giving themselves a rather arrogant title (“Fantastic Four”? Why not hedge your bets and call yourself the Qualifiable Quartet and just wait for other people to deem you fantastic?). The foursome, who comprise of Reed Richards aka Mr Fantastic (Señor Stretchy), Sue Storm aka Invisible Woman (Seethrough Sue), Johnny Storm aka The Human Torch (Sizzle Supreme) and Ben Grimm aka The Thing (Sedimentary Sasquatch – see, I could totally rename all of them with some assonance to boot), are no strangers to the big screen and this is third iteration in total, making them close to Spider-Man in the reboot wars. Their rights belong to Fox, who now want to make them fit in with their X-Men universe for some future crossover glory further down the line, so it’s important to note that this ISN’T anything to do with the Avengers and co despite what the Marvel logo may make you think.

This time it’s directed by Josh Trank, who played cleverly with the superhero concept as a whole in his 2012 debut Chronicle. It stars a cast of Hollywood’s young rising stars in the form of Miles Teller (Reed Richards), Kate Mara (The invisible Woman), Michael B. Jordan (The Human Torch) and Jamie Bell (The Thing). It’s from the producers of X-Men: Days of Future Past and even Matthew Vaughn, director of Kingsmen: The Secret Service. Everything is in place for this film to be a cracker – a stalwart tentpole movie of the modern superhero genre.

Alas, it’s not. It’s a befuddled, stumbling mess.

The issues mainly lie with its absolutely staggeringly ill-considered approach to tone and pacing. The studio has obviously seen the light-hearted approach that Marvel Studios takes to its movies and the conversely dark/gritty approach that DC hope to have with theirs and tries to be both at the same time; with sequences that have the odd quip or two which fall on their respective bottoms or heavy-handed attempts at pathos which never really go anywhere or mean anything. It goes between these two gears like a pair of sugared-up children on a see-saw. As for the pacing, the film doesn’t know where to spend its minutes wisely. There are random and ill-judged time-jumps; characters disappear for scenes at a time (forgetting the nature of an ENSEMBLE movie); their evolution into working together and becoming a team is rushed through an incredibly underwhelming climax.

As for the story, parts of it are genuinely laughable – and not intentionally. The reason for the crew going on their doomed space journey in the first place is quite frankly ridiculous (especially the way that Ben gets involved too). You may think that a film that includes a man that can stretch like his last name was Armstrong is a strange place to complain about ridiculousness but in story terms it just bypasses any natural logic.

The actors really do try their best with the material that they’re given but are constantly shortchanged – the person who suffers most is Toby Kebbell and his character Victor Von Doom. In the comics, Doom is one of the most powerful and villainous baddies out there – here he is simply a “wake up sheeple!!!!11!!!11!”-style conspiracy theorist who has a little accident in space and turns into a bog standard deranged baddie with a completely illogical (as well as unexplained) plan and the appearance of an action figure dipped in silver nail polish and coloured in with splashes of a mint gel pen.

Overall, this reboot is a bland and uneventful experience that reeks of studio interference, something evidenced by the erratic marketing (the irritatingly obvious fact Fox paid popular Twitter accounts to tweet about it as well as the confusion of tone between trailers aren’t exactly good indicators here). There are positives here as the performers put in their all and the effects for the most part are pretty good (the use of mixing their powers in the end could be a lot worse), but mostly this film tries to be every kind of superhero movie and fails at being any at all.

<insert your own pun/joke about it being called Fantastic and it not being so Fantastic at all here>

Inside Out – Richards Reckons Review

When I left the cinema after watching this film, there was a change to normal. I still had my slightly awkward walk and my jacket was still sodden from the grey downpour that had dribbled all over London, so it wasn’t that – but I was wearing sunglasses. “Why oh why were you wearing sunglasses?” I hear you ask in your millions, “They’re an incredibly impractical thing to wear in a still-quite-dark room as it impairs your visibility directly and you look like a bit of a dick” I also hear you somewhat smarmily add. The answer is this; it was to cover my rather puffy eyes.

I had been crying. HARD.

This film made me cry more than any film in the cinema ever has (even harder than when I saw The Best of Me when I realised how much of my life I had wasted watching it). I’m a very masculine man, consistently mistaken for both Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Ray Winstone (don’t think about the logic of that, just accept it) and while I can be moved by films it takes a lot to make me sob but this did it – a lump materialised in my throat from the first 30 seconds, before it bulldozed the blubgates open with a gut punch to the feels.

In case you’re unsure of what Disney Pixar’s new high-concept movie is, allow me to fill you in; Riley is an 11 year old girl who we follow from her birth, from both outside and inside her head as we witness the inner mechanics of her mind; her “headquarters” are led by her five emotions Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Fear (Bill Hader), Disgust (Mindy Kaling) and Anger (Lewis Black). As her parents relocate her to San Francisco from Minnesota (oh jeez, no Fargo crossover here I’m afraid), Joy and Sadness get lost away from headquarters and chaos reigns in Riley’s head as they try to get back with the help of her old imaginary friend, a candy floss elephant Bing Bong (Richard Kind).

Directed by Pixar wunderkind Pete Docter, Inside Out is stunning in every capacity. The visuals are as gorgeous as you’d expect from Pixar, and more so – the emotions themselves are beautifully rendered with vibrant, active colouring and skin that looks like it’s made of fuzzy felt that make them come alive even more. San Francisco somewhat deliberately looks grey and drab whereas the rest of the palette is reserved for the vistas and landscapes inside Riley’s mind. The headquarters control room has a kooky Enterprise feel to it whereas the rest of the mindscape has character of its own; from the old school Hollywood feel of Dream Productions to the Lego Movie-esque Imagination Land, every location has been thoroughly thought about and beautifully realised on the screen.

The voice acting too is outstanding, especially from Amy Poehler, Phyllis Smith and Richard Kind respectively, quipping their comedic lines with gusto and really powering through with the emotional meat (as much as one can power through meat) when they need to. It’s a very funny film too with concepts and lines reserved especially for adults (the “train of thought” for instance, or the confusion of the “facts” and “opinions” crates being a jab at the Twitter age). But it’s worth noting that the lines, actions and concepts of the film are both so funny and/or heartbreaking not just because of what they are, but what they mean for Riley, and what it’s saying about the very fabric of being human at all. It teaches us that we need to embrace all of our emotions and all of our memories – in fact, the movie makes a whole plot point out of quite why Sadness is needed at all, which is a fair criticism you may have of the film before you wander into the multiplex. The commentary that this film has on human personalities and psychology and even life itself elevates it above any standard animation fare, teaching children and adults alike about depression and about what makes you you. It also provides an explanation as to why songs from adverts get in your head, which is handy because I’ve had the “if you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit join our Club” song in my head for the past 23 years and now I finally know why (bloody Forgetters).

My only worry is that because it’s so high concept and at times challenging that some kids may get confused about what’s going on or may even not like it. But for everybody else Inside Out is utterly wonderful film that delivers in spades for your funny bones and tear ducts. Bring your sunglasses though – you’ll need them…

Ant-Man – Richards Reckons Review

 
Ridiculous. 
Unrealistic. 
Tiny.

No, this isn’t a list of things that my sexual partners have said to me at some point or another, but some of the buzzwords that Ant-Man has had slapped onto it like the cinematic version of something in a reduced section of a supermarket. “A man who can turn into an ant?!” the befuddled ask, well, befuddledly. When they are corrected and told that actually the suit allows the wearer to shrink in size and grow in strength while giving them the ability to talk to ants, that makes it worse. “That’s completely stupid! Why should I waste my hard earned dosh on that?! I could buy at least 3 limited edition Des Lynam coasters with that money!”

Peyton Reed picks up the somewhat troubled reigns from Edgar Wright to direct this adaptation that’s been in the works for ants years (assuming they’re very long). The plot concerns Michael Douglas’ Hank Pym, an aging scientist who discovered “Pym Particles” (the wonderstuff that makes organic matter able to shrink) back in the day and used them to fight bad guys before retiring and creating his own company Pym Technologies. Cut to the present and his former protege Darren across (an un-wigged Corey Stoll) has taken over and is planning to weaponise the technology, so Pym and his daughter Hope (an off-island Evangeline Lily) seek to shut him down – and who else better to put in the admittedly dangerous Ant-Man suit than recently released cat burglar Scott Lang (an un-newsreader Paul Rudd). Heists and height-based hijinks ensue aplenty. 

Marvel are well aware of the tall tale they’re telling here, and get the self-deprecation out of the way pretty early on to focus on the fun and actually quite “badass” (I hear the kids say this word so I thought I’d give it a whirl) facets of the character. If they’d have attempted a dark, Nolanesque take on Ant-Man that obviously would not have worked so the trademark “Marvel is fun” approach is in full effect – naysayers and defectors will no doubt complain and use the word “samey”, but actually it is a great fit for this character. The point of view of the world being suddenly magnified is used for some fantastic physical comedy and some of the most inventive and best looking set pieces that Marvel has ever put out. The regular “MCU third acts all being the same” could not be more wrong here (you’ll also never see keyrings quite in the same light). 

The cast here are firing on all cylinders; Paul Rudd is a charming addition to the ever-increasing roster and is distinctive enough to not feel like a snarky Tony Stark/Star-Lord rip off, which in other hands he could’ve been. Evangeline Lily isn’t physically given a lot to do but emotionally has got a lot of manoeuvring and does it very well; the pair of them have great chemistry with Michael Douglas as a threesome (not like that, come on, grow up). I feel some are being harsh on Stoll who brings vim and vigour to the megalomaniacal Marvel villain role. It could be argued however that Michael Pena steals the show here with his endlessly optimistic criminal Luis – he has a couple of chances to reel off some brilliantly complex Edgar Wright flavoured dialogue. 

Ant-Man isn’t a perfect movie, with some pacing and continuity errors (including one so obvious I can’t believe it was allowed), but on the whole this has everything you could possibly want in a movie experience, with great characters, some awesomely inventive setpieces (Thanos the Titan? More like THOMAS) and a script that crackles with comedy (thanks to a strange Paul Rudd + Adam McKay/Edgar Wright + Joe Cornish hybrid that works better on paper than you think it might). There are connections to the further MCU that feel developed and comic-like rather than screaming “CASH IN” (the crossover with another Avenger being a particular highlight), but Ant-Man works extremely well as a standalone superhero/heist movie, so don’t worry about not having an encyclopaedic knowledge on the Avengers and co. While Wright would’ve made a film that was a tad more zippy and frantic, Reed has done a great job with the troubled production and lack of fan enthusiasm he was given. In the mean time, just sit back, relax, try to forget about all the ants you’ve ever massacred in your life and prepare to feel small (in the best way possible). 

Fifty Shades of Grey – Richards Reckons Review

Fifty Shades of Grey is a cultural phenomenon. Whether you’ve read the book or not (and whether you can admit that you’ve read it or you’re one of those “oh my FRIEND has read it” people), everybody has heard of it and has at least a general idea what it’s about – girl meets rich man who is into BDSM and other kinky little ventures. It sounds saucy with a dash of “oh blimey” and a pinch of “ooh matron” if you’re that was inclined; a sex and lust fuelled erotic romp that took the world by storm, with women (and indeed some men) proclaiming from the rooftops that they were waiting for “their Mr Grey” because he’s “the perfect man”. So when a film adaptation of this sultry collection of bound tree shavings was announced, the world went mad – some with anticipation, some with dread. But how is the end product?

Just in case you want more of the plot, here it is; the superhero/secret-agent-ish-named Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) is an English Literature student who one day fills in for her sick roommate by going to interview extremely wealthy businessman Christian Grey (Jamie Dornan). After their initial meeting, Grey appears at the hardware store where she works (like a stalkery, well dressed vampire), and arranges a photoshoot and then coffee. After he finds her acceptable, he asks her to sign a contract; the deal being that she is essentially his submissive sexual slave to be bound up and have his way with her whenever she pleases, and in return she gets, in his words (well, word), “him”. And a nice room with big windows. But is that enough, and will Ana find a “normal” relationship within Christian’s grasp?

Before I get to anything else, I’ll say this; for a film all about lust, urges and sexual relations of the kinky kind, Fifty Shades of Grey really quite boring.

It’s dull. It starts out with really hamfisted bantering between the two ladened with innuendo that is as subtle as an aeroplane with a banner saying “THEY ARE GOING TO HAVE SEX IN THIS FILM!!!!!”. There’s a similar approach to metaphoric imagery – Ana with a Christian Grey pencil near her lips and mouth (essentially that aeroplane again saying “IT’S A SUBSTITUTE PENIS!!!”); Ana quite literally getting wet in the rain after seeing Christian for the first time (that aeroplane again saying… well, I don’t really need to explain that). It’s all a bit in your face, really, preluding what’s to come. When they do come, the sex scenes are few and far between, and when they’re there they lack impact; they’re actually ironically quite constrained, as if THEY’VE been bound and gagged too. All the action seems to happen in the peripheral vision of the camera, and while it’s cut nicely it’s not exactly… exciting, really. I also find it bizarre that the film so liberally shows female nudity but not male – it’s peenophobic, if you will. That’s usually the case but with a film about such sexual freedom it seems so contradictory and bizarre. So if you’re looking for fun or gratification from those scenes, then you won’t find it.

Secondly, there’s little to no chemistry at all between the two leads. Ana seems to do this weird and annoying thing I’ve rarely come across in real life where if Christian Grey blinks or exhales carbon dioxide towards her she seems to automatically bite her lip and have a small sensual reaction to it akin to a When Harry Met Sally scene; maybe either 1) she’s actually got some sort of hyper-orgasmic allergic reaction to his musk or 2) the writers are trying to use it as some sort of shortcut to electricity between them, which doesn’t work. Dakota Johnson, coincidentally, is the best thing about the film – bringing a lot of vulnerability as well as power to the main role.

She doesn’t have a lot to work with here either, with the dialogue being so unbelievably poor that I sighed at a lot of lines. This is almost definitely due to the original author, EL James, being present on set and vetoing any kind of diversion away from the (legendarily poorly written) source material. There are a couple of lines that get laughs that you can just tell are additions because they add spark. When Jamie Dornan is forced to say things like “I don’t make love. I f*ck… hard”, “laters baby” and “I’m fifty shades of f*cked up” (get it? It’s ALMOST the movie title!) it gets giggles more than swoons because of just how badly worded it is, bordering on parody. It doesn’t help either that Jamie Dornan doesn’t really seem like he’s trying with Christian at all – he has money, sure, and is into BDSM (Grey that is, not Dornan, I don’t know him that well), but he has little to no personality whatsoever as Christian Grey.

Which finally brings me to perhaps my biggest problem with the film; Christian Grey himself. He’s a big part of the film, what with his name being in the ruddy title and all. He’s presented as this loveable dreamboat of a man who has it all; money, looks, a nice body (if that’s what you’re into)… more money. But he lacks a personality – and, more than that, his behaviour is absolutely abhorrent. He’s a possessive stalker who just “turns up” where Ana is (whether it’s her workplace, a nightclub, HER HOME or in ANOTHER STATE) as if he’s apparated there (probably from Knockturn Alley) without her consent and often demands sex from her; he physically fights off any other male who even talks to her; he, through the contract, restrains her from her own free will – not letting her drink or eat or go where she wants without his permission. And all of this is presented as if it’s like a charming quirk and part of the BDSM – which it is NOT, at all. It makes his behaviour seem acceptable rather than what it is; creepy, horrifying and abusive.

In summary (or TLDR as the kids say), while it looks good (props to director Sam Taylor-Johnson for trying her hardest from the source material) and nicely monochromatic and has an admittedly very good soundtrack (Beyonce and Haim’s turns are particularly good), Fifty Shades of Grey is a dull and often creepy piece of work featuring two main characters who have no chemistry and varying levels of quality in their performances (Johnson good, Dornan not so). You get the feeling that this is the best they could have gotten without rewriting the dialogue from the source (which they would have done if it weren’t for EL James), but it’s still not enough to leave the target audience or myself satisfied.

Big Hero 6, Inherent Vice & Trash – Richards Reckons Reviews

An inflatable personal healthcare assistant, a near-permanently stoned private detective and three young Brazilian boys are all in cinemas this week. What a crazy world it is beyond that big silver window.

Let’s start with Big Hero 6.

Big Hero 6 is the latest fruit to blossom from the acquisition of Marvel properties by the big dogs at Disney (they’re not literally dogs. Well, I don’t think so anyway – that said I’ve never seen them and dogs in the same room at the same time…). Based on a Marvel comic book series (but NOT part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe), Big Hero 6 follows a young man from San Fransokyo called Hiro (Ryan Potter), a gifted child prodigy who graduated high school at 13. Since then, he’s been making money illegal bot fighting in the backstreets. His brother Tadashi (Daniel Henney) introduces him to his university robotics lab, as well as his friends Wasabi (Damon Wayans Jnr), Fred (TJ Miller), GoGo (Jamie Chung) and Honey Lemon (Genesis Rodriguez). He also introduces him to his invention; a personal healthcare companion designated to helping and healing people named Baymax (Scott Adsit). After Hiro witnesses his microbot inventions being used for evil after he thought he lost them forever, he and Baymax assemble a team together (as well as creating several “upgrades” along the way) to try to get them back.

Big Hero 6 is the latest movie from Disney and the successor to the insanely popular (and in my opinion massively overrated but that’s just me) Frozen, so it has big ol’ chilly boots to fill. And, in my opinion, it’s an absolutely resounding success in doing so. When I saw Big Hero 6 for the second time, I decided to buy a little cup with Baymax on the top of it. When strolling back home afterwards, kids would point at it and identified who it was right away, asking their guardians to get their own bits of merchandise. This is after the movie had been out for LESS THAN A WEEK. Mark my words, Baymax and co. will be everywhere soon, and for good reason.

Firstly, the colourful characters are all wonderful – each of them have their own distinct personality traits that makes them all gel together nicely as well as differ enough to become instantly recognisable. Each member of the Big Hero 6 team is loveable and fun in their own way, from catchphrases (GoGo’s “woman up!” spin on the classic phrase is particularly fantastic) to later powers. But special kudos goes to Hiro and Baymax for being such a great team – and despite the fact that one of them is a robot, they both have real growth and real character arcs.

In fact, in some respects that I obviously cannot go into, the film itself can actually be heartbreaking. Especially towards its climax, where it contains some of the most touching moments I’ve seen for a long time in animation. Any film that can conjure up these emotions in a 23 year old man (even if I am a bit of a softie) deserves emotional plaudits really. But don’t be fooled by that; the script is bubbling over with witty dialogue and jokes, as well as brilliantly timed physical comedy (the sight of Baymax walking in his armour is among the most hilarious in the film itself).

I mean, sure, the plot is contrived within an inch of its life, has twists which are pretty easily foreseeable and it doesn’t seem original – but it’s such a touching, dynamically told version of a super-heroic team up narrative that you just don’t mind that. Tears will be shed in the cinema, both from laughing and crying, but it’s such a fun adventure to go on that it’s well worth your eyes leaking. Directors Don Hall and Chris Williams have done a fantastic job here in crafting such a lovely movie that’s fun and dazzling along the way. A truly enjoyable experience.

Also I really want to visit San Fransokyo. It looks amazing.

Onto Inherent Vice.

Right, where do I start with THIS plot summary. Bear with me here. So, Inherent Vice follows Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix), a private detective living in Los Angeles in 1970 who also happens to be a near permanently stoned hippie. One day, he is visited by his rather floaty ex-girlfriend Shasta (Katherine Waterston). She explains that she has a new lover by the name of Mickey Wolfman (Eric Roberts) and how his wife supposedly has a plot to get him abducted and committed to an asylum. He also seems to be hired by a character played by Michael K. Williams to find somebody he was in prison with. And then also by an ex-heroin addict played by Jena Malone to find her husband who she fears is dead (played by Owen Wilson). Oh and also Josh Brolin is in there as his supposed nemesis. And Benicio Del Toro appears as… I’m not even sure. And Reese Witherspoon is a deputy DA who is having an affair with Doc who appears in the film in about two scenes. There’s also some dentists and a gang called the “Golden Fang”.

So, yes, as you can tell from that, the plot of Inherent Vice isn’t really there – it just trundles and wanders through its own chaotic narrative much like Doc wanders through everything. The narrative is like smoke – thick, marijuana-tinged smoke which is disorientating and delirious. All of this sounds like a good description of a thrilling, hallucinogenic cinema ride, but it isn’t.

It’s incredibly annoying and tedious.

From reading reviews by critics that I for the most part normally agree with, I thought I was in the wrong here somehow (well, as far as having your own opinion CAN be wrong). But it’s not just me; audiences all over the country have apparently been walking out of the movie before it’s finished – a phenomena that, especially in the economic climate with cinema prices the way they are, just doesn’t happen very often anymore. Walking out partway through a film is not something that I personally agree with but I can totally see why they did it too – there’s no sense of resolve or continuity to the film whatsoever, and that’s what is so frustrating about it. The characters mumble their dialogue at an irritatingly slow pace, making pointless scenes feel like they drag on even longer. Paul Thomas Anderson feels like he is trying to create a sort of psuedo-comedic, bohemian stoner thriller but it moves at such a slow pace and is so frankly badly told that it sets the audience against it after a while and wears them down, down, deeper and down until they want it to end. Or so it seems, anyway.

There are a couple of good sequences in here, and Joaquin Phoenix plays the role of Doc very well with a very dazed touch with a surprising amount of physical comedy, but overall for me Inherent Vice felt like an aesthetically pretty but far too long, drawn out, and pretentious mess which is far from a joy to watch. There are a range of characters played by a range of different and talented actors but too many of them feel one-note and dropped in purely for the sake of being convoluted. There’s an interesting critic/audience divide here it seems (with some very condescending, “aw-bless-you-don’t-like-it-because-you-don’t-understand-it” reactions from the former to the latter), but on this one I side with the audience.

Now onto Trash.

Trash is the tale written by Richard Curtis of three Brazilian street kids named Raphael, Gardo and Rato (Rickson Tevez, Eduardo Luis and Gabriel Weinstein). They sort through heaps of rubbish every day in order to find anything valuable to help them out. One day, they find a wallet which apparently contains more than they bargained for – setting them on a collision course conspiracy against the corrupt Rio de Janeiro police force and political powers. They’re helped on their quest for the truth by aid workers Father Juliard (Martin Sheen) and Sister Olivia (Rooney Mara – no, this character has NO dragon tattoo). But can they escape the brutal police force and get justice before they get caught?

Trash is mostly in Portuguese, with English only appearing occasionally almost as a courtesy – I’m glad that it is mostly in Portuguese as it adds to the authenticity of the film. It’s one of those films where it’s so well established and so well performed by the young cast that you feel like you’re there with them – director Stephen Daltrey makes an amazing job of transferring you to the action alongside these three young boys, making you root for them even harder. It may be marketed like Slumdog Millionaire but this is a much grittier affair, with a real sense of mortal danger for these kids no matter where they go.

The three central performances are fantastic and really do steal the show away from Rooney Mara and Martin Sheen. The only weakness in the film’s bow is its somewhat strange ending which doesn’t quite tie everything up as well as it could do. However, the ride to get there is dark yet strangely exhilarating, especially in some of its on-foot chase segments from the big bad policemen through favelas and train stations. An exciting and aspirational story of escaping the gutter and taking on oppression and corruption.

Mortdecai – Richards Reckons Review

Charlie Mortdecai (Johnny Depp) is a character that will be studied for a long, long time. His every move, however minimal, will the analysed; from the way he delivers the dialogue, to even the way he breathes and traverses the space around him. Every machination to his existence will be under the microscope. Why, I hear you ask?

Because Charlie Mortdecai is the definition of anti-comedy.

Everything he does is so disastrously unfunny that it’s actually, in a way, fascinating. His character has absolutely no redeeming qualities of any kind and is essentially skin deep; he is nothing but a moustache and a horrendously over-boiled accent that grates on you more than a, er, cheese grater. He’s also so zany and so off the wall that it becomes irritating – a quality that Johnny Depp was remarkably good at fails miserably here, to the point that you wish the hitmen in the opening scene had actually followed through with their threat to save the rest of the movie from ever happening.

Anyway, the rest of it – Mortdecai tells the story of Charlie Mortdecai, an English arts dealer who does a bit of black market naughtiness as and when it suits him. He is married to Joanna (Gwyneth Paltrow), who gags at his moustache and is mostly there for that sole purpose, and as a quasi-love interest. A woman is restoring a painting but gets shot while doing so, and Inspector Martland (Ewan McGregor) wants to know why – he enlists the help of Mortdecai and his manservant Jock Strapp (Paul Bettany) to track the painting down. There’s also some stuff about Russian gangsters that crops up occasionally too. That’s about it, really – the rest of it is just excuses for Mortdecai to turn up somewhere, dick about and then leave again.

It’s very rare that I see a film and not laugh once, but this makes an exception. Through its writing that is trying to hard to pick up an “ooh matron!” vibe, it tries so so hard but the jokes and innuendo (which normally I find quite amusing) just fall to the floor like a sack of unfunny potatoes. It wasn’t just me either – the screen I was in was half full (feeling optimistic, clearly) and I think there would have been more laughs if we were just shown a live feed of a drain for 90 minutes. Johnny Depp is by far the worse offender here, but the others too just aren’t funny at all – which it pains me to say as I actually quite like all the actors in it, ordinarily.

Mortdecai ultimately is a black hole of comedy, joy and entertainment. It sucks it all out of you like a big Dementor’s kiss from the screen and leaves you desperate for it to be over so you can leave and forget any of it ever happened – and I’m sure that everybody involved with the movie feels exactly the same way…

Whiplash, Ex Machina, American Sniper & Wild – Richards Reckons Reviews

A drummer, a robot, a sniper and, er, Reese Witherspoon. It’s like a dream A-Team lineup. But it is not a dream A-Team lineup; nay, it is a Richards Reckons post. Let the reckoning commence!

Let’s start with Whiplash.

No no, not that one, THIS one.

Whiplash tells the tale of Andrew Neiman (Miles “Bank” Teller), a young up and coming jazz drummer studying at (the rather confusingly named) Shaffer Conservatory; the best music school in the US. He doesn’t have any friends and is utterly dedicated to (and isolated by) his desire to become “one of the greats”, like his idols Buddy Rich or Charlie Parker. He gets noticed by Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), an esteemed conductor at Shaffer who has his own core band. Andrew gets invited into the group, but quickly discovers Fletcher’s tyrannical, almost sadistic method of pushing his students, and proceeds to be treated horrendously by Fletcher. But will his methods push him to greatness, or over the edge?

The film is an Oscar contender, and it’s not hard to see why. Even though it’s dancing around the subject of music, Whiplash is more tense, exhilarating and electrifying than most action thriller films based around violence. This is a movie that contains blood, sweat and tears in its very bones; mainly from Miles, admittedly, but all three trickle through the film like blood in its veins (its veins and its bones… wait, this metaphor/simile combo has confused even me). Its tense and utterly gripping feel is down to its basic question; how far should you push somebody in order to achieve greatness? It’s a question that is framed by music here but is applicable throughout most endeavours, and that’s why it resonates so highly with everybody who witnesses it.

While Miles Teller plays Neiman very well as a cagey, defensive and determined prodigy whose aggression and determination mounts over the course of the film, this is really J.K. Simmons’ show. Every single movement he makes as Fletcher, whether it’s folding his arms or grabbing the air to indicate he wants silence, is utterly mesmerizing – he electrifies the screen whenever he is on it, in a terrifying way. When he gets, as the kids say, right up in Neiman’s ‘bidness’, it’s as scary for us as it is for him – his booming voice and craggy face dominating and commanding the frame. For all his fiery anger, when Fletcher needs to show some kind of sadness Simmons shows real depth without giving the facade away. If that supporting actor Oscar isn’t his, then the Oscars should be branded a joke (especially in conjunction with The LEGO Movie debacle – it still angers me, even now. I may need to have a lie down).

Damien Chazelle directs the film magnificently, creating the perfect marriage between thunderous sound and vision; it’s also incredibly well edited, especially at the film’s thrilling crescendo; it feels like there’s a cut at every snare hit, and not in a disorientating way. Whiplash is a chair-throwing, hand-bleeding, sweat-leaking force of nature to be reckoned with, and you’ll never see another film quite like it. It’s genuinely brilliant.

From E-notes to E-lectronics now (sorry), it’s time for Ex Machina.

Ex Machina is a science fiction film following Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), a young programmer who works for the largest search engine in the world, ‘Bluebook’. He wins a lottery in his workplace to go and meet his mysterious CEO employer Nathan (Oscar Isaac) in his very, very remote island home. But after signing a document which forbids him from ever speaking about what he is going to see while he is there, Caleb catches on that something bigger is perhaps happening here; and that’s when he meets Ava (Alicia Vikander), a walking, talking new kind of AI. Nathan wants Caleb to find out whether or not this new form of AI has its own consciousness or not – leading to a particularly sinister series of events.

This is Alex Garland’s directorial debut after writing screenplays and novels, including for Danny Boyle features 28 Days Later, The Beach & Sunshine. There’s certainly a Boyle flavour to this film; it’s very stylish and focussed on character, but still retains a high concept while being clever about it. It’s a small film primarily with three people set in one location – at times, it almost plays like a play. While it perhaps isn’t an action packed science fiction adventure, it is never boring – there are lots of deep, philosophical conversations going on about life itself and what makes someone, or something, alive, and the moral implications of that.

Isaac plays his strange hideaway genius with a glazed look in his eye and a strange rock’n’roll swagger like a mix between a rockstar and Mark Zuckerberg; Gleeson shows the genius of his character sparingly while retaining the warmth he is known for; Vikander plays her android Ava surprisingly quite fluidly (in comparison to the normal “I am a robot” impression some others do), with a strange level of curiosity and seduction – indeed, she looks bizarrely beautiful thanks to the impeccable CG work on her body. The three main (and pretty much only) players perform their roles with gusto, adding credibility to the admittedly high concept. The slick writing does this too, with surprisingly funny riffs on modern computer culture and its capabilities, as well as a couple of “oh well I did [this clever thing] BEFORE you did [this clever thing]” twists in there for good measure.

Ex Machina is a clever, brainy slice of science fiction that’s elevated by a clever script and some good performances from some of Hollywood’s rising stars. If you like your sci-fi and brainy debates about artificial intelligence then seek it out; it’s soon to be a cult classic.

Next up, American Sniper.

American Sniper, stay away from mee-heeeeee. It’s unfortunately not an adaptation of the song American Woman by The Guess Who, but instead it follows the true life story of the deadliest marksman in US military history – Chris Kyle, played by Bradley “Rocket Raccoon” Cooper. It follows some of his life from when he was a young boy up until his adulthood when he decides to join the military, and is subsequently deployed to Iraq after the 9/11 attacks. It follows his relationship with his wife (Sienna Miller) as well as his subsequent four tours of Iraq and his various firefights with Iraqi insurgents and the Taliban.

The film is directed by Clint Eastwood, after originally being optioned by Steven Spielberg. The film and its team surrounding it have been nominated for Oscars including Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Editing and Best Actor…

And I have absolutely no idea why.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad film. It’s for the most part a well shot, well orchestrated war movie. I just don’t feel it’s anywhere near special enough to warrant so many accolades; it feels incredibly generic, in some respects. It’s also (and judging by the internet I don’t think this was just me) uncomfortably jingoistic and patriotic at times – to the point that I was surprised he wasn’t given Captain America’s shield. The characters in the film gleefully describe all Iraqi people as “savages”; in some respects at times it genuinely feels like an extremely old fashioned Western film in which the entire Iraqi people (not just the Taliban insurgents) are in place of the “Indians”. It’s interesting that Spielberg was going to focus on the Iraqi people’s point of view as it could have perhaps avoided this issue altogether.

That said, there are some thrilling aspects to the film, including the tension from the trailer and the mile-long shot towards the climax of the film. It perhaps does not focus on Kyle’s PTSD/addiction to war as much as it could have (including some relationship ultimatums that are made and then broken), or indeed should have to humanise him a bit more. Bradley Cooper does the best that he can in the role, playing it very understated with a low Texan drawl, but there are not any glimpses of his trademark charisma – this is because he is portraying a real life person, perhaps, and wished to remain respectful, but even so. It also has the most fake baby in the history of cinema.

As I said, American Sniper is not a bad film. It has some areas of tension that most action films would beg for. The problem is that at times it feels a bit too bland to be deserving all the praise that is layered upon it. Eastwood doesn’t bring anything that is distinctly his to the table here, either – it feels like it could have been directed by anybody. Apparently it has been heralded in America and it’s not hard to see why as it’s so ardent in its patriotism – but for everywhere else, it may be a tough swallow.

Finally, let’s get Wild.

Wild tells the real life story of Cheryl Strayed (Reese “She Eats” Witherspoon) who hikes the Pacific Crest Trail (1000+ miles) as her way of dealing with the death of her mother (Laura Dern), as well as years of destructive behaviour. She reflects on her life as she comes across other ramblers and through the trials and tribulations of rambling alone.

Wild is told in a surprisingly avant garde way – though it follows the linear narrative of Cheryl’s walkabout, we jump in and out of parts of her life in a very ethereal way like we’re galloping through a time portal, following her own mindset as she walks on her own. We have touching memories with her mother, her ex-boyfriend and her troubles with drug addiction all coming to her in waves as she makes this massive trek, making us feel like we are inside her head; and what a place it is to be. Reese Witherspoon’s performance is amazingly raw yet defined here; she’s in almost every single frame, so the whole film rides on her essentially. She plays Strayed with strength and occasional vulnerability through physicality; she feels like a flawed inspirational figure the whole way through the film.

Some may feel it is long, but it’s a story about reflecting upon yourself through long periods of time, so it’s almost allowed that. With its non-traditional narrative stylings and flourishes, Wild won’t be for everybody, but people will relish the cinematography and stunning central performances by Reese Witherspoon and the graciously strong Laura Dern, leading to moving moments of triumph on her journey.

No fake baby though…

Into The Woods & Foxcatcher – Richards Reckons Reviews

Woods and Foxes (sort of) are all in today’s post. It’s a bit like Centre Parcs really, except with less swimming pools and more wrestling.

Once upon a time, there was a musical made called Into The Woods. There is now a film adaptation of said musical. We’ll kick off with that.

Into The Woods does involve going into the woods it must be said, but it would be a criminal disservice to say that is simply all it is about; it follows the various scenarios of some famous fairytale characters, including Cinderella (Anna Kendrick), Jack of “The Beanstalk” fame (Daniel Huttlestone) and Little Red Riding Hood (Lilla Crawford); however, it’s mainly framed by the Baker (James Corden) and his wife (Emily Blunt) trying to conceive a child but are thwarted by a witch’s (Meryl Streep) curse. To lift the curse, the Baker and his wife must collect four tremendously specific items (a cow as white as milk, hair as yellow as corn, a cape as red as blood and a slipper pure as gold) in 3 midnights time. They venture out to do so in the direction of, you guessed it, the woods.

I must admit that I knew literally nothing about this before I saw it. I knew that it was a musical, and that it seemed to be vaguely based on fairytales, but that was about it. Quick note that those that weren’t in the know like me – this ain’t your ordinary fairytale. The first 2/3rds of the film seem to be a quirky visitation through various fairytales, allowing us to crossover all of them through the Baker’s and Baker’s wife’s quest; we see them through to their happy endings at this stage. When we get to that stage, it feels like a natural progression to the end – but then it all changes. Through little things that have happened over the course of the narrative, all hell breaks loose after the natural ending, leading to a bizarre quasi-epilogue tacked onto the end. From my understanding, it’s roughly an Act 1/Act 2 split in the musical between the relatively normal and then weird, but here it’s completely uneven and so doesn’t quite sit as well.

But don’t get me wrong though, I quite liked the weirdness of it. It made it distinct and different; up until it’s fake climax, I regarded the film a fun but unmemorable jamboree through the fairytalehood. But it’s there where Into The Woods comes into its own, with fairytale chaos that involves a mismatch of the characters we’ve just been following. It is, however, even in this little strange epilogue, like a bag of revels (ie a mixed bag) – some things work and some things really don’t. I can’t go into specifics without going into a spoiler safari, but some parts in the final act feel rushed or there for the sake of it; even if it is in the musical, these components don’t feel natural, even if it is in the “weird chapter”.

The performances are mostly good, with a couple of standouts – one of course being the amazing Meryl Streep as the witch, bringing zaniness to the hag act and getting her mouth round some fairly complex bits (never thought I’d write that, especially in relation to Meryl Streep). Anna Kendrick too and Emily Blunt both bring gusto to their relatively one note characters. James Corden gets the job done but doesn’t seem to excel in the leading man role here. Johnny Depp is essentially just Johnny Depp in his 5 minute cameo as the Wolf, in which he sings an unbelievably paedophilic song about Red Riding Hood that makes everybody feel uncomfortable. Aside from the “into the woods, into the woods” song there aren’t really any truly memorable songs or earworms that make you think “FORGET GREETING MY FAMILY, I MUST DOWNLOAD THAT SOUNDTRACK AS SOON AS I GET IN!”.

All in all, Into The Woods is a strange case. I admire its dark and quirky approach to the fairytale but it comes a little too late in the story, and aside from Meryl Streep it lacks any truly memorable characters or songs. Good fun if you like a know your music/fairytales, but that’s about it.

Right, let’s catch some foxes with Foxcatcher.

This is not a light-hearted adventure about catching foxes or indeed Jamie Foxx, but instead it’s a true story that goes like this; Olympic gold-medal winning wrestler Mark Schultz (Channing all over your Tatum) is in a bit of a rut, with his life being relatively directionless post-win. That is until he gets a phonecall from the ever-so-strange John du Pont (Steve Carell), an heir to a chemical fortune who has a keen interest in wrestling and wants to make his compound, named Foxcatcher Farm (THAT’S THE NAME OF THE MOVIE!), the official training ground for the Olympic team. He’s keen on getting Mark and his brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) on site and onboard. As du Pont and Mark grow closer in their relationship, cracks in his personality start to show, all leading to a horrible crescendo…

First thing to say about Foxcatcher is that the three main central performances are outstanding. It’s no wonder all involved are (or at least ruddy well should be) nominated for awards. The most obviously transformational is Steve Carell, who we’re all used to seeing being a jolly funny chap, turning into this dark and pompous figure of wealth – a quiet, grotesque megalomaniac. It’s genuinely hard to believe that this is Brick Tamland or Michael Scott we are seeing here – and that’s not because of prosthetics. Channing Tatum’s performance too is stunning – embracing the adonis figure that he has (which is unbelievably similar to my own) and using his physicality in contrast with Mark’s incredibly low self esteem and fragility. Ruffalo too brings a soft-spoken approach to the older brother/coach role and is amazing in his tenderness that you really feel like he has earned with Mark.

The landscape and colour scheme of the movie immediately imprints in your mind that something terrible is going to happen, and it’s a sense of foreboding that is there throughout the whole movie; you always feel as though it’s leading to an awful climax. It’s a film that has sport as a framing device but it’s certainly not about sport; it’s about power, masculinity, megalomania and isolation. Because the film is populated with lots of masculine men, not a lot is verbally said about how people are feeling; it’s more with pats, touches and wrestles with one another where everything is brought into the open. This of course means that everything is open to all sorts of interpretation; once you see the scene for yourself about the “wrestle in the gallery”, you can decide for yourself what is going on. But it’s all part of the rich character study that makes this film so strong.

Admittedly, it can be slow and feel like it drags in some scenes – especially when they are in complete silence. There is a score but it’s so intermittent it may as well not be there; the silence adds impact to the various sounds that are made at times (such as hitting cheekbones and squeaking shoes), but on other occasions it makes a scene more mundane and less tense. The story does not give you much of a spelt out reason as to why the event in question happens, but rather leaves it open to your own interpretation; something that will inspire some but infuriate others.

It’s an at times slow film that has its problems but it is a fascinating character study into masculinity and power and maybe a little bit of wrestling, elevated by some transformational performances from its central stars.

Birdman, The Theory of Everything & Taken 3 – Richards Reckons Reviews

HAPPY 2015 TO YOU ALL, RECKONEES! Lovely to see you again. Did you have a nice new year’s? I like your hair, have you done anything new with it? It suits you, whatever it is.

Anywho, enough of this silly ego-rubbing. We’ve got films to be reviewing. First off, Birdman – or, if you want to be specific, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance).

I won’t be specific though, just before it’s longer to type, even as an acronym.

Anyway, Birdman is a motion picture following Riggan Thomson (played by Michael “Batman” Keaton, see what they did there?), an actor who had massive commercial success with the Birdman series of films in which he played the titular character. However, this was 20 years ago and now, as he bemoans, “[he’s] just an answer to a trivial pursuit question!” – he gets vaguely recognised but isn’t working too much. So he decides to direct, write and star in a stage adaptation of Raymond Carver’s play What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. The film follows him and the people around him (including his daughter, played by Emma Stone, and his cast members including Edward Norton and Naomi Watts) for the few days leading up to the grand opening of the play, focussing on Riggan’s cracked psyche and how Birdman haunts him every single day of his life…

Birdman is not a straight forward movie to talk about (which, I know, sounds like a rubbish way to start off a review). In fact, it’s a movie that in some ways is an anti-movie, if you like; rather than constant cutting away during conversation or setpieces, as is movie law, the film is presented for the most part as if it is one long shot; never cutting away, like one fluid motion through a story. In that regard, technically speaking, Birdman is an absolute revelation. There are a couple of occasions in which, if you were feeling particularly nitpicky that day, you could notice points where they could have cut away, but for the most part there is no sign of technical trickery or anything like that; and in that regard, it’s a masterpiece.

The writing is fascinating. It’s a story about so many things, including but not limited to fame, the high/low culture divide, the nature of superhero movies, philosophical and poetic musings on life itself and the state of the actor. Yet Birdman never comes across as pretentious for exploring these areas as it has a dark comedic strain running through it like the jam of a filmic trifle. It’s strangely touching and scathing simultaneously; an example of this being Sam’s (a pale yet amazing Emma Stone’s) soliloquy about human beings trying to convince themselves that they matter when, truly, they don’t. In this same movie, Riggan also gets trapped in Times Square in just his unders. To say that it is a mixed bag would be an understatement, and it does feel as bizarre as it is dynamic, but it also gels together so well in this jazz drumming-scored exploration of Riggan’s broken mind. Michael Keaton is the best he has ever been in this role that is so parallel to his own life, and he uses it to great effect; both Riggan and his Birdman alter-ego could be his echo, and it’s played wonderfully well as he embraces the bizarreness of it all.

Birdman is a film that will rub a lot of people up the wrong way due to how weird and off key it is – indeed, when I saw it, a lot of people came out asking just what the F it was they had just seen. But that is, ultimately, what makes it glorious. The serious themes and reflection on our own culture and the condition of the entertainer, as well as the dark comedy light that it’s shown in (can you have dark light?), are things that I could write on and on and on about, but I’ll spare you. Suffice to say, director Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu will be heralded for a very long time and this film will be studied in the future, and for good reason too – it’s a modern masterpiece. A demented one, but one nonetheless.

Right then, now onto The Theory of Everything (the film, not my theory on everything – that’s something reserved for psychoanalysts).

The Theory of Everything is the expanded story of Simpsons character Stephen Hawking (HAHAHA, come on that’s a joke, I respect the guy enormously). It of course tells the story of the wonderful Stephen Hawking (Eddie Redmayne in a transformational performance), the world famous scientist who studied at Cambridge in the 60’s, where he met the first love of his life in the form of Jane (Felicity Jones). The film follows their relationship as Stephen’s motor neurone disease causes his body to deteriorate, but also follows him as he defies all expectations and becomes one of the greatest scientists the world has ever known.

A spellbinding central performance by Eddie Redmayne is what causes this to transcend the boundaries of the usual biopic. His cheeky and near constantly optimistic characterisation of Hawking is the star at the centre of this movie, making you care about him pretty much one frame into the movie; this of course makes all the funny bits funnier, the inspiring bits more inspirational and the moving bits more, er, movinger. His portrayal of Stephen as a character as well as the intricacies of his examination of his illness is amazing and a true sign of the ascent of a future star.

Felicity Jones, too, is brilliant; making Jane not only a believable presence but also somebody we constantly root for and empathise with. The affect that Stephen’s illness has on her is also what this film is about, and we feel the tug on her heartstrings too as her life pretty much gets consumed by her brilliant husband. The script too is fantastic in going through Stephen’s life at a faster-than-expected rate, but not feeling rushed or like we are missing anything. Much like The Imitation Game, if you are looking for a science lesson from this then you will be disappointed as it does not really go into Stephen’s science too much; just the gravitas that it has and the reaction it causes in people.

It’s a wonderfully sweet and memorable film that caused me to get a lump in my throat (it wasn’t my adam’s apple, I checked) on quite a few occasions. The cinematography here too is wonderful, with beautiful Cambridgeshire shots illuminated by fireworks and lanterns, and the final shots of the film (as well as the heartbreaking final line) sticking with you for a long time afterwards. The Stephen Hawking biopic is just like the man himself; brilliant, moving and a surprising amount of fun.

Finally, it’s Taken 3 time.

Yes, we get to spend yet more quality time with Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) – the most mundanely named action hero in history. In this instalment of the franchise, ol’ Bry is back living in LA, with his daughter Kim (Maggie Grace) and his ex-wife Lenore (not to be confused with the detergent of the same name. Oh and played by Famke Jassen) living close by. Everything seems happy for a bit. But, all of a sudden, Bryan is framed for Lenore’s murder and is on the run from the police and, once again, is after (for some reason) some anonymous Russian people. So, er, obviously things aren’t so happy anymore…

In Taken, it was the daughter that was being taken.

In Taken 2, it was the ex-wife that was being taken.

In Taken 3, however, it’s the piss that is being taken…

Even by Taken standards, this film doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. People’s motivations, the “twists” that happen along the way, who random people are in the background who just come in to help from out of nowhere… it’s pretty much completely nonsensical. To make matters worse, it seems to be filmed by a person who has just consumed a barrel of red bull and is riding a skateboard while trying to film what is going on – a lot of it is incoherent, with the camera on numerous occasions actually just completely missing the action altogether. It’s edited by that same person too, who doesn’t seem to want to let more than two frames pass by that are the same – even the forced, “funny” conversational bits at the beginning are shot in this way, which makes them even more annoying than usual. Honestly, those bits are cringe mode activators – Liam Neeson straining a smile through the “what the bloody hell am I doing here?” look.

I’m fine with action films being fun and defying the laws of logic and physics by quite some margin, but the fact is that Taken 3 often commits the worst crime in action blockbuster – being boring. Bryan turns up somewhere, leaving it up to our imagination how he snuck in and out, does something relatively innocuous and then leaves. There are some beat em ups and driving and shooting but that is mainly it. Taken 3, even if you are a Taken fan, is really really quite rubbish.

Black Sea, Get Santa and Men, Women & Children – Richards Reckons Reviews

That title is a bit confusing, granted, but I’ve never used the Oxford comma and hell, I’m not gonna start now. So no, the second film isn’t “Get Santa and Men”, that’s an entirely different film which I’m sure is available to order on DVD from some online black market store.

ANYWAY, first things first (I’m the realest), Black Sea.

Blimey Jude, alright, we’ll get there.

Black Sea is not just about Felixstowe’s beaches; in fact, it doesn’t even reference them. Nay, Black Sea follows a man named Robinson (Jude Law, the originally J-Law), who has been made redundant after being a submariner with a shipping salvage company for over 20 years, and after basically losing his family to the job too. So he’s a bit hacked off. He then gets a tip off about a sunken U-Boat from World War 2 filled with Nazi gold waiting in the, well, black sea of Crimea. So he gathers a half Russian, half British team (with a cowardly American and a psychopathic Australian thrown in for good measure) in a rusty old Russian sub to salvage the gold; however a number of problems occur, especially when friction between the Russian and British submates starts to come into fruition…

Director Kevin Macdonald, whose work includes The Last King of Scotland, uses the submarine setting very well indeed; emphasising the claustrophobic environment by seldom leaving it at all. Even when we do leave the sub, it’s only to see the exterior; never above the surface. It positions you, as a viewer, in the submarine itself and makes you feel as trapped, cabin feverish and smelly (just the bloke sat near me then?) as the men onboard the sub itself. In turn, this makes the tension ramping up feel very close to home, and just as impactful.

The performances here are all very solid, including from J-Law Mk 1 as the surprisingly level-headed captain scotsman (whose accent very occasionally can drift into bum notes). All the crew portray the bubbling tension very well (some, of course, more hotheaded than others), never reaching cartoonish levels of anger. There’s an underlying social commentary on how the men of the Navy are treated after their stints and are proverbially thrown on the scrapheap of life, so to speak. There are shots of job centres, rants about poverty, various twists and “the man” to back this up, so it’s hardly subtle but it’s still a reasonable subtext to have.

While Black Sea lacks, er, fun and laughs, it’s heavy on character, pressure and setpieces; it has all the bearings of a heist movie, except underwater and in a pressure-cooker environment. Just as the rusty pipes clang and various parts blow up, the men grow more and more desperate; both for their money and for their lives. The film is a very well shot, solid descent into what happens when human beings, who have been treated badly by the system anyway, are pushed to their very limits.

Next, it’s Get Santa!

You may think from the title alone that Get Santa is solely about getting santa, but not in the “get ’em boys!” sense. And you’d be absolutely right, yes, but there is more to it than that. Just a few days before Christmas, Santa (Jim Broadbent) crashes his sled, leading to his reindeer being spotted roaming about London, and the man himself taking refuge in the garden of young Tom (Kit Connor). His father Steve (Rafe Spall) is a getaway driver who has just got out of prison, and is roped in to help Santa by his son after he is sent to prison for trying to rob his reindeers back from Battersea Dog’s Home. While Santa tries to convince people of his identity and survive jail, can Steve and Tom track down everything in time and save Christmas?

Bizarrely, this is produced by Ridley Scott, and is directed by Christopher Smith of Brit horrorfests Creep and Severance fame, so it’s quite a change of pace from the norm for them. Even with these names on board, after Nativity 3: Dude, Where’s My Sanity?, I was somewhat trepidatious when it came to this movie; that it would have all the cringeworthy, gurning and just awful beats that it had, becoming an embarrassment to the British film industry. And while it’s not a shining light and a stone cold classic Christmas movie, Get Santa is a warm and funny enough diversion from Christmas shopping to warrant having a watch.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, the story is ridiculous, and to begin with actually quite hard edged. Prison, a criminal father and an apparently messy divorce don’t exactly scream “HOORAY YAY CHRISTMAS!” straight away, and nor do the admittedly quite bleak colour tones towards the beginning. But, when it gets there, it’s quite a colourful affair; playing with and using the Northern lights and “Lapland” to good effect. The somewhat ludicrous story is actually a touchstone of most Christmas movies in themselves, so it’s to be expected, and the plot holes may be papered over by Christmassy wrapping paper but they’re still there.

Rafe Spall and Jim Broadbent shine in this in their roles as the somewhat dodgy but well meaning father and Santa himself, with Jim Broadbent in particular being an “Ah eureka!” moment of casting. Stephen Graham, Warwick Davies and Jodie Whittaker are also all on good form here but are somewhat overused. There are the odd jokes that make you chuckle (such as Santa walking in slow mo down the prison corridors to the tones of the NWA, or the odd japes with the police), but nothing is really gutbustingly hilarious or all out moving to tears.

All in all then, Get Santa has some unique points to it (pour example the giant letterboxes for all santa’s letters), and a funny enough concept with good casting to get it through, but it doesn’t have enough originality or family laughs per minute to quite reach the absolute Christmas classic level of Elf, Muppet Christmas Carol or Die Hard (yes, Die Hard is a Christmas film, watch it again and tell me otherwise). So if you fancy seeing a family Christmas film and Paddington is sold out, you could do a lot worse than Get Santa.

Right, finally then, Men, Women & Children.

So, what is this extremely vaguely titled film about? Well, it follows a series of stories that intertwine with one another in a small way; mainly, it’s about families with teenage kids who all go to the same high school. The film examines their problems and issues in relation to the internet and their technology. It includes, and isn’t limited to, anorexia, porn addiction, extra marital sex and cyber smothering.

So heavy stuff there, obviously, with such massive relevance in this day and age. Writer and director Jason Reitman has given us some very good movies in the past too, with Juno and Up in the Air under his belt. And with a high quality cast and some fairly slick visuals to boot, this story is gonna be good, right? Riight…?

Wrong.

It’s a massive disappointment.

First off, the stories – it makes a narrative choice to keep five story plates spinning at the same time that intertwine with each other rather than have the episodically, which is very brave, as they all reach their crescendos. But it just doesn’t work. Some stories get lost in the mix, others climax (stop laughing) at times when others don’t and therefore undermine one another. The stories themselves, too, are all very undeveloped and stale (and often ridiculous). It all feels a bit like Reitman has stuck his storytelling fork into a bowl of quite poor narrative spaghetti and has slopped down the tangled and confused mess onto a plate and said “there you go, eat that!”.

Some of the stories are based on good ideas and themes, but it just all feels a bit… preachy and tell-offy. “The internet is bad… sometimes!” is the vibe it tends to give off; a completely confused message that is very selective and ham-fisted. It feels like a film that desperately wants to say something but has absolutely no idea what – simultaneously condemning internet freedom and internet restriction. The performances are actually very good, and I must say that Adam Sandler is actually, for once, one of the best bits of it, as he is good in this (I know!). But the writing and dialogue is all so poor and often boring that even the good performances swallow themselves like a black hole of tedium. As soon as you see Ansel Egort’s trembly little lips you can tell pretty much exactly what is going to happen in his mumblecore story segment, as you can with frankly a lot of them. It is literally just some stuff happening, some nonsensical, which have a small relation to the internet.

Men, Women & Children is a long, confused, preachy, modern-while-old-fashioned, boring and predictable disappointment from Reitman. Even the wonderful Emma Thompson gives her voice over with a degree of “why am I doing this?” in her tones as she speaks over a satellite drifting around space (yep, seriously, it’s bookended by space). Don’t bother.