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.

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1, Nativity 3: Dude Where’s My Donkey? & The Drop – Richards Reckons Reviews

What do an ass (as in a donkey, not as in dat booty), a mockingjay (as in the fictional bird, not making fun of The Inbetweeners character) and a dog have in common? Well, apart from being fictional as well as not so fictional animals, they all feature in this triple decker post of film reviews from this very week.

First off, it’s Nativity 3: Dude Where’s My Donkey? 

Despite what the title suggests, the central thrust of the plot here is not actual a quest for an ass gone AWOL. No, instead, it is this; Jeremy Shepherd (Martin Clune, Martin Clune) has been brought into St. Bernadette’s school in Coventry as a ‘super teacher’ to bring the whole school into check before a dreaded Ofsted inspection. He brings his daughter with him to work, and is soon to be wed to Sophie (Catherine Tate) in New York. Mr Poppy (Marc Wootton) is still at the school causing havoc and generally disrupting learning, and this time has a fascination with his donkey Archie, who he for some reason brings to school with him. Mr Shepherd gets rid of the donkey but, in the process, gets kicked in the head and can’t remember anything at all. Instead of taking him to a hospital, Mr Poppy and the class decide to, with their seemingly infinite amount of money, take him on a tour around places from his childhood so his memory come back, before also entering a flash mob competition in London to win tickets to New York so he can wed Sophie again.

People who know me outside of this blog (or ‘IRL’ as the kids call it) will know that I am borderline fanatical about Christmas. I LOVE Christmas. The songs, the cheer, the togetherness, the gifts, the food, the lights, the warm fuzzy feeling of Christmas day finally arriving; if Christmas were a person, they’d have a restraining order on me by now. This film genuinely feels like somebody’s attempt to make me hate Christmas; like a kind of sick aversion therapy to Yuletide cheer.

Here’s a picture of a chicken nugget.

That picture is more entertaining than Nativity 3.

Firstly, the writing is utterly, utterly dreadful. Director Debbie Isitt (Isitt worth it, Debbie? Isitt?) makes a point out of giving her child cast the skeleton of the story and letting the kids come out with the rest; a technique that sounds familiar, because it’s exactly what the makers of Outnumbered do. The difference is, with Outnumbered it’s actually funny, sweet and the talent is nurtured and organic, backed up with a funny story as its backbone. In contrast and to use the same metaphor, Nativity 3 has a damp breadstick of a plot as its backbone, and it feels like the poor child cast have been uncomfortably forced to go through it over and over and over again until they’re literally red in the face. I have absolutely no idea what Martin Clunes and Catherine Tate are doing here as they are utterly, utterly wasted and, surprisingly, bring absolutely nothing to their poorly written dialogue.

The plot makes NO SENSE either. It feels like a 4 year old child has been forced to watch Glee and Trance and has written a teardrop covered story out of shreds of what he has just seen in crayon. Its reliance on the classic “I hit my head and forgot everything about my life” plot beat is ridiculous to begin with, but the fact that Mr Poppy then takes him along with a CLASS OF 30 CHILDREN (one of whom looks about 16 despite it being set at a PRIMARY SCHOOL) to the north of England AND TO F*CKING NYC without any kind of police investigation is astoundingly dumb. It also relies on the popularity of flash mobs (including an extended one echoing that contemporary pop classic Gangnam Style); something that I’m pretty sure hasn’t been in the public consciousness since 1837 (that may be a small exaggeration). The original songs that have been written to accompany said flashmobs are also utterly forgettable, with the odd few being dreadful. And they keep coming too. Over and over and over again; and just when you think that must be too many, there can’t be any more, ANOTHER sneaks up on you like a hit in the head.

Now, you may sense that I am being a little mean here or that “Richards, you’re NOT a child, and this film is FOR KIDS!!!”. But honestly, in terms of the humour, the songs and… well, pretty much everything about this film, the children of this country deserve so, so much better. I like to support British film where I can and the Nativity franchise has made lots and lots of money, but I cannot stress enough how awful this film is for pretty much everybody. There’s cartoonish gurning, slapstick, farting (SO much farting, not even the odd squeak, but it’s put in almost constantly like a buffer between flashmobs), and falling off/into things; stuff that kids can recognise as repetitive, boring and lazy. Avoid Nativity 3: Dude, Where’s My Donkey? as much as you can.

Phew. Right, now then, time for The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1.

So then, here’s the plot for this instalment of the games; Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer “J-Law (which confusingly isn’t also Jude Law’s nickname” Lawrence) has pretty much smashed the very concept of the Hunger Games into oblivion and has gone into hiding underground (quite literally) in District 13 with the rest of the revolutionary forces led by President Coin (Julianne Moore) and Plutarch Heavensbee (the tragically late Philip Seymour Hoffman) against President Snow (Donald Sutherland) and the extremely indulgent Capitol, who have taken Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) hostage. Katniss is broken and terrified, but Coin and Heavensbee want her in fighting form to become the figurehead (or the “mockingjay”) for the revolution. Will she accept becoming an idol for the uprising?

I make no bones about it; I really, really like The Hunger Games series. It’s one of the best franchises out there at the moment in that it doesn’t hold back; it’s suitably dark where it needs to be, but in a classy rather than trashy way, with a richly designed backdrop and writing that’s intelligent and doesn’t dumb down for the audiences, but rather treats them with the respect that films should do. It makes me feel ruddy pleased to say that, thanks to director Francis Lawrence and the rest of the good team Hungames (I’m sure they call themselves that), this instalment is no different.

This is very much the Deathly Hallows Part 1, or first-of-a-Doctor-Who-two-parter of The Hunger Games franchise, with lots and lots of build up and character moments rather than outright battles and action aplenty. Some have bemoaned this instalment for not being action packed enough or not having enough setpieces, but I believe this works to the series benefit as a whole. A lack of action does not at all make a film boring. Many people have criticised Hollywood’s latest approach of splitting adapted stories into two halves as being cash ins or milking it (The Hobbit being the absolute worst offender of this, splitting a very small book into THREE), but Mockingjay Part 1 works in that there are plenty of character moments that are very well played by its cast, and more than enough going on within it to warrant its existence in the first place.

Rather than battles on the battlefield or in the arena (which, as we discovered at the end of the previous film, actually looks a bit like the Eden Project, this is a film where the battles take place on the airwaves and in the media (yet another film this year in which this is the case, actually); the Capitol and the Mockingjay hijacking each other and sending messages out to the people to enrage/calm them respectively, a bit like two squabbling children (though one is significantly bigger and richer than the other) fighting over a remote control. Blood is certainly spilt and the tension is certainly there in parts, but this time it’s outside the arena, giving the appearance that nobody is safe at any time. It’s a tension that weighs down on Katniss’ shoulders heavily and Jennifer Lawrence portrays it wonderfully, showing her to be capable, spiteful, vulnerable, inspirational and broken often all at once.

While perhaps not as fast paced as Catching Fire, there’s still plenty of surprises, well written AND well performed characters (it’s hard to think of a dull note performance wise), dialogue and subtext to warrant seeing Mockingjay Part 1; it’ll certainly make you extremely excited for Mockingjay Part 2…

It also has Natalie Dormer in it too, which is always a plus point in my book. Oh Natalie…

And, finally, The Drop.

This drop (unlike the bass or tear variety) has a plot, and that plot is this; Bob Saginowski (Tom Hardy) is a bartender living in Brooklyn who works at a bar called Cousin Marv’s, which is owned by his actual cousin, Cousin Marv (the tragically late James Gandolfini). It’s what known as a “drop bar”; a bar that could be randomly selected by the criminal underworld to use as a kind of overnight safe for all the dodgy cash they’re making. The night after their bar is chosen, Cousin Marv’s is robbed by two masked men, and the gangland money is stolen. The gangsters are, understandably, upset, and make them get it back at any cost. Meanwhile, Bob finds an injured pitbull puppy in a neighbour’s (Noomi Rapace) bin (surely inspired by the tragedy of “cat bin lady”) and tries to look after it while bonding with her.

Unlike The Hunger Games, the thing with The Drop is that it is perhaps a bit too quiet for its own good. While we have a brooding central performance by Tom Hardy, we don’t really have much in the way of action of thriller; it is instead an exploration of one particularly lonely character’s mindset within the murky Brooklyn crime world. James Gandolfini’s Marv perhaps doesn’t resonate as much as he ought to because he’s very similar to what we’ve seen Gandolfini do in the past; admittedly he does it well, but it does feel like he’s coasting, almost, which is a real shame as this is his last performance. There are twists in the tale that perhaps you might see coming, too, but are still entertaining enough to watch.

The surprisingly sweet narrative of a lonely man with a cute, battered puppydog trying to connect with a female neighbour does actually work quite well alongside its occasionally darker aspects, and is one of the film’s strengths. Tom Hardy’s performance, as usual, steals the show here. Perhaps it is adapted from a short story, you can feel it being stretched over the length of the film quite thinly, but it’s not necessarily a bad story; just not a hugely enthralling one either. To say I loved The Drop would be a sort of lie, as I didn’t, but I certainly didn’t hate it either.

Interstellar & Say When – Richards Reckons Reviews

Just two movieworks to be Reckoned in this post, one of which is a romcom starring Kiera Knightley, and the other appears to have an entire plot based on a Beastie Boys song…

(Seriously though, “I’ll stir fry you in my wok” is one of the best rap pseudo-threats ever)

Right, so, time for Intergalactic, planetary, planetary, intergalactic. Another dimension, another dimension…

Sorry, no. Of course, I mean Chris Nolan’s latest epic headscratch extravaganza Interstellar.*

So, wagwan in the world of Interstellar? Well, in the near future, Earth is not doing too great; faith in science has fallen due to dustbowls occurring on a near daily basis (almost like somebody is beating a carpet, except this carpet is the Earth’s surface), and the only crop that’s left and is still growable seems to be corn. After an accident ruined his career as an astronaut, Cooper (Matthew “Alright alright alright” McConaughey) lives on a farm with his two children Tom and Murphy (Timothèe Chalamet & Mackenzie Foy respectively) and his dead wife’s father (John Lithgow). Strange things (think Signs) start happening around his house; one thing leads to another, and he ends up discovering the hiding place of NASA, lead by Professor Brand (Michael Caine – and, no, his first name isn’t Russell). He, along with a crew including his daughter (Anne Hathaway), has hatched a plan to save humanity once and for all – to look for a new home in the stars…

To avoid the spoiler safari, I unfortunately cannot go into the rest of the plot. In fact, this whole review will be pretty abstract without going into too many details unfortunately as to do so may ruin some of the more surprising aspects of the film. But I can say this; the whole thing is based on real life actual scientific theories, including time relativity, dimensional travel and wormholes. Blimey. To see that a movie is based on these very real and hugely complex theories can seem daunting; and, indeed, it is brave of Nolan to work a whole movie sticking rigidly to the “science” bit of science fiction. For the most part, it works; the science goes hand in hand nicely and snugly with the narrative drive and sentimentality of the writing.

Thumbs up from Coops, there.

However, there are occasions (the frequency of which increases over the running time) where the film seems to abandon this verisimilitude (I know, long word, eh?!) and loosens its grip on the real life theories – and, admittedly, on sense and logic. The effect of having a plot woven from the silk of real life scientific theory is twofold; firstly, it’s staggeringly impressive and brave and adds to the “bloody hell this could ACTUALLY HAPPEN” feel of the film, and gives it a strange degree of authenticity. The second end of the stick (I guess that’s the other end of the stick but, hey, I’m going for second seeing as my eyes have been opened to how crazy reality is) is that, because the film will probably want to expand its audience beyond just astrophysicists and the odd astronaut, the film is tasked with explaining these theories to the audience too, while incorporating them into the plot at the same time.

Admittedly, this has mixed results. While some is explained in layman’s terms very well indeed (obviously I knew absolutely everything about this already, being a PHD holder in, er, science), borrowing the pencil trick (one of two of the greatest “pencil tricks” in modern cinema, another one coming from Nolan himself in The Dark Knight) from Event Horizon to explain wormhole travel, some of the exposition feels like you’re being smashed across the head with a physics textbook – which is, obviously, an off-putting feeling. It’s rather clunkily put across in some instances. It also doesn’t help that the dialogue can be drowned out by Hans Zimmer’s admittedly staggering score and the SFX due to poor sound mixing (a problem that has happened before famously with Dark Knight Rises).

All this makes me sound like I didn’t like the film; I very much did. I was lucky enough to see it in IMAX and believe me when I say that, where possible, IMAX is the way to see this film. A movie with such grand and epic scope, as well as grand and epic imagery (the wormhole travel sequence is particularly staggering), deserves to be seen on a, well, grand and epic screen. The visuals, from the planets to the ships to space itself, are some of the most blow-your-hair-or-in-the-case-of-bald-people-then-blow-your-face-back stunning to have graced the screen this year. The performances too are, for the most part, great; the McCaughnassaince continues as Matthew puts his Texan everyman drawl and easy charisma into a role of an engineer who is tasked with saving all mankind, and the weight of that only occasionally showing. Anne Hathaway too plays Amelia Brand (again, middle name NOT Russell), a scientist who has an inward battle between logic and mysticism, with suitable vigour. But the real standout performance here comes from Mackenzie Foy as Murph, Cooper’s daughter; for such a young actor, she has a real grasp on acting being based on reaction and has a real emotional resonance. She’s one to keep your eye on, certainly. The father/daughter relationship is the heart of the film (I do feel a bit bad for Tom, who gets left on the wayside a little bit like Will Smith’s eldest son), and with wonderful performances from Matthew and Mackenzie, the heart’s in safe hands. Again, there are scenes I would love to point out as being particularly emotionally resonant that tugged on my heartstrings, but my lips are zipped I’m afraid.

So, while I do have my problems with some of the script content such as its narrative (its ending is particularly eyebrow raising) and some of its dialogue, Interstellar is certainly a fantastically cinematic ride, with good components far, far outnumbering the not so good components. It’s flawed, certainly, but in terms of its sheer ambition and ideas without veering over into being too silly (I’m looking at you, Transcendence), it will win you over and get you thinking about the very reality you’re living in; even if you are doing so with a headache…

Right, are you ready for the next review? I am when you are. Just Say When.

HAHAHAHAHA… HAHA… Ha… ah, at least I make myself laugh.

Right, so, Say When (or Laggies as it’s known Stateside from some reason) is a rom-com drama following twentysomething Megan (Kiera Knightley, pronounced “May-ghun”) as she realises that her life has effectively not gone anywhere since high school – she still lives with her high school boyfriend (Mark Webber) and works flipping signs (which is apparently a thing in America) for her beloved father (Jeff Garlin) while the rest of her friends are having babies and getting married and generally progressing with their careers. On a chance encounter with teenager Annika (Chloe Grace Moretz, appearing yet again on Richards Reckons) and her friends outside a grocery store and ends up spending a lot of time with them, meeting Annika’s father Craig (Sam Rockwell) in the process. But will May-ghun choose to get on with her life or stick with Annika and co for the foreseeable?

The script is nothing revolutionary, nor is the story, but it’s a theme that I think, as a relatively recent university graduate in this day and age, resonated (I’m obsessed with that word today, apparently) with me quite a lot. It taps into a feeling that everybody has had at different points in their lives; a feeling that everybody else is surpassing you and leaving you behind. It perhaps is not the best movie with this theme as it does not offer much in the way of morals or redemption, but it’s certainly not the worst either.

In other hands, the lead character of Megan could be grating, moany and entitled, but she’s actually quite sympathetic, fun and watchable in the hands of Kiera Knightley (who I am becoming a fan of now, it seems). Sam Rockwell and Chloe Grace Moretz are, as usual, fantastic in their roles and have great chemistry together as a 21st century father and daughter; Rockwell stealing pretty much every scene he’s in, like always. The characters are very much the saving grace of the film, making it almost feel like a series of vignettes in which you spend time with enjoyable characters that are sort of linked together rather than an overarching story.

It’s by no means a laugh a minute affair, but it’s good fun with a few chuckles here and there. There are some questionable narrative choices (especially towards the end and quite where we leave Megan at the end of the story), but overall it’s a fun, moderately inoffensive and largely unremarkable film with an admittedly great cast. Though quite why it’s called Say When I have no idea…

*nerdy point – the plot is actually more similar to Muse’s 3 part mini rock opera Exogenesis. In fact, if you listen to the lyrics, it’s near exactly the same;

Mr. Turner, Ouija, Horns & The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman – Richards Reckons Reviews

Some paintings, a board, some horns and Romania. Anybody would have thought that’s a blurb of a novel about a Romanian minotaur living in an art gallery trying to make it as a skateboarder, but alas, it is not (I’ll work on that later though as a stocking filler for 2015).

Let’s kick off with Mr. Turner.

While it sounds like the biopic of a substitute maths teacher, it is not; instead, it’s the Mike Leigh directed biopic of J. M. W. Turner, one of Britain’s most prolific painters in the 19th century. Weirdly, the film doesn’t have a plot as such; it simply follows Turner (Timothy Spall) at the height of his career and final 30 years of his life, as well as his relationships with his father (Paul Jesson), his housemaid (Dorothy Atkinson), the aristocracy, the Royal Academy of Art and Mrs Booth (Marion Bailey).

Rather aptly for a film about one of the best painters in British history, the film itself looks beautiful. Each frame is lovingly crafted and carefully coloured much like a painting; it’s no accident that door frames and window frames are used consistently as borders of the shot, like the frames of a painting (how’s that for meta, eh? A film about art, which in itself is art, looks like art). Cinematographer Dick Pope won an award at Cannes for this film and ruddy rightly so too; the shots are so incredibly classy and rich that it feels like you are in a gallery.

The film also has some staggering performances in it, not least by Timothy Spall. He is absolutely phenomenal as Turner; he inhabits a persona of assured arrogance yet vulnerability; a flawed genius dedicated and passionate about his work, and dealing with criticism and praise in various different ways. He behaves somewhat unusually; saying things by snorting and grunting more than with actual words, and varying between confidently striding or meandering through his life; between visiting brothels and the aristocracy. He is by no means a morally absolute protagonist either – he uses and abuses his landlady for sex when he wants to, while she retains adoration for him regardless of this mistreatment. But shades of grey are interesting, and while it isn’t the most overstated performance, it’s sure to win awards and astonish. There are brilliant turns from Marion Bailey too as the lovely Mrs Booth, the lady that Mr Turner decides to live with incognito (although obviously not THAT incognito seeing as the film knows about it… Just sayin’).

A sure awards contender, the script is also wonderfully crafted, with dialogue fresh from the 19th century without it being too dense. However, if I was being especially critical, I would say that it is a bit too long. It can feel somewhat indulgent at times, with scenes that don’t have any overall effect on the narrative lasting for a very long time (the older lady next to me actually kept falling asleep and snoring aloud, only to be jolted awake again by her tutting cinemagoer friend). The skeleton of the film is very good, as are the occasional bits of fat in there, but there is a bit too much narrative fat that can drag it down.

Potent, beautiful and amazingly well performed, Mr Turner won’t be for everybody’s tastes but is a true awards contender and a brilliant if indulgent look at the life of a unique artistic genius.

Speaking of, er, genius (ahem), let’s talk about Ouija.

Ouija is the heartbreaking true story of Dr John Ouija, a man who dedicated his life to finding a cure for children’s illnesses. Only joking, of course it’s not; it’s a horror film about a haunted house, of course! Best buddies Laine (Olivia Cooke) and Debbie (Shelley Hennig) have known each other all their lives, doing the regular girls do, like playing with ouija boards with one another (apparently they’re toys in America, as evidenced by the fact this film is PRODUCED by Hasbro themselves). In the present day, Debbie has been dabbling with the board again and ends up hanging herself with some fairy lights (a criminal waste, in my opinion). Wanting to talk with her, Laine begs her friends and sister to do a ouija board to try to contact Debbie in the afterlife; but, surprise surprise, it’s a terrible idea and awakens all sorts of spirits in the house…

So, yes, this is exactly what it sounds like; a jumpscare fest and nothing more, really. It does the regular checklist of things that modern horror films do; haunted house, basements, JUMPSCARES, attics, dolls, JUMPSCARES, creepy kids, gore, JUMPSCARES, being dragged away by an invisible force, burning ancient objects… did I mention JUMPSCARES? Nothing really resonates with the audience as being truly creepy or disturbing; it’s just a series of jolts (some of which, admittedly, are quite effective – some of which completely are not).

While it’s adequately short at around 90 minutes, parts of it still do feel boring and run of the mill, with scenes in which you can tell that nobody is in danger. You can tell that the actors, while giving it their all, are a bit bored by the whole affair as well and don’t really put too much into it; there’s a real lack of emotion and clarity to a film that involves so many supposed suicides of teenagers. The writing is also pretty poor and the plot convoluted and illogical; with more plot holes than a swiss cheese block that’s been violently attacked with a Black & Decker implement.

All in all, Ouija doesn’t add anything new to the genre unfortunately and serves a poor example of modern, quiet quiet JUMPSCARE horror cinema.

Now it’s time for Daniel Radcliffe getting horny (ROFLMAOLOL) in Horns.

Daniel “Harry Potter” Radcliffe plays a (frankly amazingly named) man called Ig Perrish, a musician from a small town in America. His beautiful girlfriend Merrin (Juno Temple) is horrifically raped and murdered, and Ig is suspect (and therefore public enemy) number 1. During this persecution by the media and townsfolk, he wakes up one day to find horns poking out of his head (don’t you just hate it when that happens?). These horns give him strange powers, such as people revealing every single horrible secret and desire they have to him and the ability to read minds. He uses this ability to try and track down Merrin’s actual killer, clear his name and get revenge.

Horns has been taking a bit of a critical kicking as of late, which I think is slightly undeserved. Horns has its problems of course – one of which is an uneven tone, which swerves between black comedy, sugary romance and full on supernatural and a bit silly. I love it when films contain multiple components and genres, but only when it feels like they gel well; in Horns, however, it feels like they are rustily changing gear rather than smoothly gliding through the scenes like fine narrative silk. There is also the ending, which as well as offering no redemption or explanation for a film that makes you so interested in looking for one, also is silly to ridiculous extremes and almost loses all of its credibility.

Apart from these aspects, though, there is a blackly fun film to be found, with some dark laughs and insight into the dark human condition and its impulses. The performances of Daniel Radcliffe and Juno Temple are particularly fantastic too; with Radcliffe’s accent being flawless and convincing, and his character portraying both desperation to full on badass anger effectively. It’s just a shame that the ending and its tonal confusion is letting it down.

Horns does not deserve the critical kicking it’s getting, as it can be darkly fun in areas, but it is far from perfect. A flawed slice of dark fun.

And finally, it’s time for The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman (the film, not the absolutely fundamental demise of a man named Charlie Countryman).

So the plot behind this necessary death is this; Charlie Countryman (Shia LaBeouf) witnesses the death of his mother in hospital, and is visited by an apparition of her almost straight away afterwards (convenient, eh?). She tells him to go to Bucharest, because it “sounds specific” (which is, you know, reason enough? I guess?). So he catches a plane to Bucharest and meets a man, who promptly dies next to him. He tracks down her daughter Gabi (Evan Rachel Wood) at the airport, who he almost instantly falls for. But she has a dangerous ex-husband in Nigel (Mads Mikkelsen), who is a real rotter of a man, and does not take too kindly to Charlie intruding into Gabi’s life…

Oh, and also, Rupert Grint and James Buckley turn up too for some acid trip style sequences. Just thought I’d mention it.

I spoke earlier about Horns being a mixed bag, but this is a mixed bag with the strange ramped up to 11. It’s an utterly bizarre dark love story, and while that sounds good in the outset, it isn’t really. It tries to be dark and edgy with its violence but ultimately fails and feels incredibly silly; not even Mads Mikkelsen can bring any sense of being grounded or realistic to the pointlessly violent Nigel character and his endless list of henchmen. Shia LaBeouf apparently was actually on acid in a lot of the scenes where drug trips were required, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he was all the time during the filming of this; he constantly looks doe-eyed and sweaty. That said, his performance could certainly be a lot worse, but unfortunately is not enough to save the film.

There is also the matter of a tacked on subplot involving Rupert Grint and James Buckley’s characters (James Buckley’s is almost a carbon copy of Jay, except not as inherently innocent). While it was an enjoyable aside (and mad to see these three men together in the same film), there is certainly a feeling of “errr… why?” to it all. The surreal nature of the film doesn’t help this either, as it ultimately amounts to a fairly empty and pointless experience.

The subway chase sequence is, however, very good. Seek that out if you can. Lovely use of slow motion. But apart from that, Charlie Countryman is a bizarre movie that feels incredibly flimsy and “for the sake of it”.

Fury, The Judge & The Best of Me – Richards Reckons Review

A tank, a courtroom and a lakeside house in Nicholas Sparks-land. Just some of the many locations I’ve peered into through the cinema screen this week, like a creep outside a window, or like Gomie from Breaking Bad.

Premierely, let’s kick off (no pun intended. Because ‘kick off’ means get angry and fury mea- never mind…) with Fury.

Fury is not just about a film about being jolly well ticked off; no, it is a war film, where quite a lot of the soldiers are somewhat understandably jolly well ticked off. Here’s the plot;  Sergeant Don “Wardaddy” Collier (Brad “Probably-Killed-The-Most-Amount-of-Onscreen-Nazis-In-The-Last-10-Years” Pitt) is in charge of a Sherman tank nicknamed “Fury” (get it? That’s the name of the film!) and its crew, including Boyd “Bible” Swan (Shia “NOT FAMOUS ANYMORE” LaBeouf), Trini “Gordo” Garcia (Michael “Crash” Pena) and Grady “Coon-Ass” Travis (Jon “Shoot You In The Leg In A School Full of Walkers” Bernthal) as they roll through Nazi occupied Germany in 1945. After their gunner gets shot dead, Norman (Logan Lerman), a typist who has no training apart from the ability to type 60 words in a minute, is enlisted. The film follows the tank and its crew as it ploughs through a muddy and wartorn Germany.

Fury is one of those films that is shot and directed in a way that makes you feel like you are there with the characters; that the fourth wall has been blown up by a tank shell, and you’re in there with them. You feel the claustrophobia of tank life (very different to a fish’s tank life); you can almost smell the blood, sweat, grit and mud coming from the environment (reminds me of Glastonbury, in a way). Director David Ayer has done a fantastic job of making the frame and everything in it seem as raw, gritty and murky as the realities of war. The score adds to this in a strange way by at times making the tale seem almost mythical, with operatic singing and grand anthem-like beats. At some point you will almost definitely check for shells, bullet cases and mud on your seat.

Not only that, but you also feel the sense of danger coming across from the screen too. Make no mistake, this is a film that is absolutely brutal; its raw and frankly generous approach to gore and violence strikes a chord with just how much danger these soldiers are in almost constantly. To go along with this savage world, there are also savage characters; every single member of the tank crew at some point shows both sheer aggression and a crippling vulnerability. The performances by these five men are fantastic and three dimensional; rather than some sort of World War II A Team, they are all scared, and cover up their cowardice with a stiff upper lip and aggression. The relationship between Brad Pitt’s Wardaddy and Logan Lerman’s Norman is the centre of the movie and constantly changes. Norman is the closest thing we have to a protagonist and Lerman portrays him brilliantly, progressing from scared and shellshocked about his gradual descent into hell to covering his fear with, well, Fury, funnily enough.

 

When it wants to be, Fury can be incredibly intense, from its gripping beginning in which Norman is introduced to firing from a tank, right down to its fighting-against-all-the-odds climax. If I was to have a criticism of it, however, I would say that there is a definite sag in the middle. There is a sequence in the middle  set in a German house which feels like it goes on for a bit too long and adds little in terms of character development for being that long; it’s a nice touch, but breaks the tension somewhat with a limp, and leaves you wanting them to get back into the tank again.

Fury won’t be for everybody; the brutality of the violence and its characters, along with a strange dichotomy between what seems like ultra realistic and movie-like nature of war, may put people off; but if it’s a tense descent into the hellish landscape of World War II you’re after, look no further.

Next up, my verdit (LOLZ) on legal family drama The Judge.

ORDER! ORDER! *Bangs little gavel thing*. The Judge has been sentenced as a film with a plot, and that plot is this; Defence lawyer Hank Palmer (Robert Downey Jr.) makes a living out of getting slippery bastards out of jail sentences in court rooms in Chicago. One day, while doing just that, he gets a phonecall saying his mother has unfortunately passed away. He goes to the funeral in his old hometown of Carlinville, where he meets his brothers Glen (Vincent D’Onofrio) and Dale (Jeremy Strong), as well as his father Judge Joseph Palmer (Robert Duvall), with whom he has a very bitter relationship. The next day, Judge Palmer is accused of killing a man with his car in the night, which he can’t remember doing and, after some persuasion, it’s up to Hank to defend him.

What I’ve done there with that handy plot summary is include all the plot threads that actually matter, because the main issue with The Judge is that there are far too many going on, slithering through the main tree trunk of the story like vines that don’t go anywhere or get resolved properly. It’s a shame really, as this drags the rest of the film down; worst of all affected by this is Vera Farmiga, who is restricted in a role as an ex-girlfriend of Hank’s who appears now and again to service a romantic subplot that feels extremely unnecessary. She is, however, as brilliant as always, even in this tight role which leaves very little wiggle room. The show is very much the Roberts’ (Downey Jr. and Duvall), as all other characters fade into obscurity in the background, and not really contributing all that much; despite being introduced as if they might.

The Roberts however are both brilliant and utterly watchable together. Their constant bickering with each other and attempting to one-up one another almost constantly in arguments is fascinating to watch, and you’re desperate to find out the history behind it; indeed, so is Hank really. Watching Downey Jr. in a courtroom setting is also great fun, as he is able to play the charismatic lawyer Hank very well (with definite shades of Tony Stark about him; although it is hard to see where Tony Stark ends and Robert Downey Jr begins…). There are indeed some touching and emotion-fuelled scenes between the two of them throughout; a highlight being a very well handled scene where the parent-child relationship is reversed.

However, I felt there was a lack of redemption towards the end of the story between these two characters. It’s a shame as you feel a real lack of closure between them in the end, even though it was building up so well using courtroom scene devices. The reasoning behind the bitterness in their relationship doesn’t really feel strong enough to warrant the aggression within them either, which does not help the feeling of lack of payoff in the climax (come on, grow up).

Overall, there really is a great film in The Judge somewhere; however some trimming of narrative fat, development of characters (and more Billy Bob Thornton too please! Love me some Lorne Malvo) and a better payoff would have helped in spades. It’s a good film, don’t get me wrong; however these aspects really do inhibit it from becoming a great one.

Finally, saving the, er, best til last, comes The Best of Me.

The Best of Me is another movie from the shiny, sunset-tinted white-heterosexuals-falling-in-love world of Nicholas Sparks, which goes a little something like this (stop me if you’ve heard this one before); Dawson (James Marsden and, no, not the one off of the Creek) and Amanda (Michelle Monaghan) fell in love when they were teenagers (when they had the faces of the completely different looking Luke Bracey and Liana Liberato), but due to circumstance drifted apart and worked on an oil rig/got married and had a child (delete where appropriate). 21 years later, they are both summoned back to their hometown after an old friend of theirs dies and, guess what, explore what happened with their relationship (luckily in chronological order so it makes sense for the audience, thanks guys!).

Okay, so I should probably go ahead and say it; The Best of Me is one of the worst films I’ve seen this year. Now, this is not necessarily because it is a romantic drama film from the land of Nicholas Sparks that I am almost definitely not the target audience for; it would be silly of me to dismiss it for that reason. No, there are a plethora of reasons as to why this film is so genuinely, laughably terrible.

 

First of all, it is clichè ridden within an inch of its life. Just think about all the things that are romantic film staples that almost never happen in real life ever; constantly tickling each other, check; knocking at the window in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, check; communicating through written letters, check; defying parents wishes to see each other, check. It also attempts pathos through absolutely pathetic, stock dialogue straight from the “sugary” shelf; an example of this is “how can you ask me to fall in love with you again when I never stopped?!”. Ugh. When it does attempt grit (and, UNBELIEVABLY, it does, through a subplot involving Dawson’s drug dealing biker gang father who looks hilariously like my old landlord), it just feels so stupid, with no threat whatsoever.

But the sugary romance wasn’t truly why I disliked it really; it was mainly because of its absolutely mindblowingly stupid narrative beats that are forced in there in a ludicrous attempt at sentimentality. Not only do these defy logic, but they defy basic storytelling rules AND, in one instance, the laws of physics themselves. These build and build and pile on top on one another like a mass grave of common sense, and are basically there to try to add something more to the admittedly limp and boring story. I’d love to go into a few of these events, but however I can’t due to wanting to avoid a spoiler safari; but needless to say, one “twist” towards the end literally made me, and I do not condone this, whisper “OH F*CK OFF” at the screen in frustration.

Not only all of this, but also the performances aren’t even that good either. Michelle Monaghan and James Marsden don’t even really seem to be trying; James with an understandably constant look of “god why did I agree to this?” on his face as he stumbles through the narrative. Their romance as the adult versions of these characters feels utterly unconvincing too, meaning the building block of the whole film doesn’t really feel stable; prompting even more collapse, like a really shit Jenga block made of sugar and inconsistencies. The teenage co-stars are actually better than the main billed stars, with their relationship feeling less forced and strained. The cinematography is at times beautiful, but, with some very questionable editing choices, that alone is unfortunately nowhere near enough to save this film.

The Best of Me was not aimed at me, of course, but it is frankly incredibly insulting to its target demographic. If you’re a Nicholas Sparks completist, by all means, go for it; but I think you too will feel the way I did. Please avoid this unless you fancy your intelligence being offended.

The Guest & Before I Go To Sleep – Richards Reckons Review(s!)

Much like a certain Michael Jackson, this post has a little bit of a naughty, edge of your seat theme – THRILLERS (not what you were thinking, come on now, that was never proven).

Let’s kick off with The Guest, the new David Guest biopic.

That is, of course, a joke. Thank goodness. Nay, this is about a different kind of Guest – namely, David (Downton Abbey’s Dan Stevens), who appears at the Peterson family’s home after their soldier son is said to have been killed in combat. He says he is a friend of his from the military, who said that he would visit them when combat stopped. He ends up staying for a little while and fully integrating himself into the family – however, as weird things start happening in their small town, daughter Anna (Maika Monroe) starts to suspect that there’s more to him that meets the eye…

The Guest is a film that will rub a lot of people up the wrong way (not literally; 4D films don’t quite exist in the mainstream yet) because of its fusion of genres as well as its rather liberal attitude to violence. It’s also absolutely insane, OTT and more bonkers than a Dizzee Rascal single. I, however, absolutely loved this movie, pretty much for those exact reasons.

One of the main thrusts that it works so well is an absolutely magnificent central performance by Dan Stevens – by the end of the running time, it left me convinced he’s going to be one of the biggest things in Hollywood since the big wooden sign. He plays the enigmatic David with equal levels of charm and danger; charisma and intensity; magnetism and insanity; nouns and other nouns. The character of David is fantastic; in the beginning, he is able to worm his and his surrogate family’s way out of trouble with smarts as well as smacks, before he uses more insane means of disposing of his problems. You could easily watch David forever and get lost in his big innocent but brooding blue eyes. He’s also very good looking, if you’re into that, so there’s a plus. There are other good performances from all around him, such as from Maika Monroe and Lance Reddick (who does somewhat suffer from typecasting as FBI/police types), but make no mistake; this is David’s show.

It’s absolutely dripping with an 80’s vibe in a modern setting; the colour palette (especially around David’s eyes), the beautifully synthy score, it’s wonderful use of slow motion and pretty much the entirety of its third act are all wonderful examples of this, and the whole way through it harks back to films such as the Terminator and even Halloween. Comparisons to Drive will also be made, due to a steely main performance and sudden lurches into violence and chaos.

The plot careens from genre to genre, from action to thriller to horror and a darkly comic undercurrent the whole way throughout. The film seems to be fully aware that it’s doing this mash-up as opposed to doing it by accident. It leaves people in the auditorium laughing, at first nervously due to its dark tones in a “should I be laughing at this?!” way; not at it, but with it.

Bullets, explosions and nervous laughs follow as David waltzes into the Peterson family’s lives, with some genuine tension as well as genuine laughs. There may be a few plot and logical points that don’t quite follow, but a wonderfully cool but manic central performance from Dan Stevens coupled with gripping direction & writing from team Simon Barrett and Adam Wingard, topped with a wonderful 80s score make The Guest an absolute modern joy to see in the cinema. Miss at your peril.

Before you go to sleep, in part deux of this reveux, we have Before I Go To Sleep.

 

Before I Go To Sleep tells the tale of Christine Lucas (who coincidentally has the same face as Nicole Kidman), a woman who, after an accident, wakes up every single day with her mind as a clean slate – not remembering anything of the days that have happened before. Her weary husband Ben, played by Colin Firth, has to remind her every single day that she’s actually 40 years old and not 27, and every single day Dr Nash (Mark Strong) calls her to remind her of a video diary she has been keeping. But after said accident is revealed to be not-quite-what-she-thought flavoured, she then has to consider who she should really trust…

Before I Go To Sleep is an interesting film in that at first it can come off as quite plodding and not quite as tense as it maybe needs to be. The repetition of Christine’s day to day routine and Kidman’s worried expression can be quite annoying and weary (indeed, Edge of Tomorrow does do this a little bit better), but it is rather the point.Small revelation after small revelation, you feel more and more connected to Christine, but also more and more questionable about literally everybody else that populates the big screen in front of you – it’s a paranoia that’s distilled and seeps out of the film and into the audience very well. By the time the final act comes around, its darkness hits very hard and very quickly, by which time you are so attached to the vulnerable yet strong Christine that you are terrified for her.

This is mainly down to some fantastic central performances from Kidman, Firth and Strong (sounds a bit like a strange Crosby, Stills and Nash, that). Colin Firth and Mark Strong’s casting in the first place is a very clever move as the film constantly plays with audience perceptions of the actors and who they’ve played before, and you can tell that these are roles that they relish. It generates the “who do we/should we trust?” atmosphere that is absolutely necessary to make this film work and ramp up the tension, and it does – albeit it with a very sudden twist (which, I admit, I didn’t see coming) and a very sudden ramping up in darkness.

Overall, Before I Go To Sleep can be like a tortoise wearing an XXL jersey in parts of its beginning (ie a bit slow and a bit baggy), but when it picks up it’s like me – tightly wound, dark and clever, if a bit silly.