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.
Richards Reckons 