Review #1,075: '2 or 3 Things I Know About Her' (1967)

Shot back-to-back with Made in U.S.A. (his farewell to ex-wife Anna Karina), 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her is one of Jean-Luc Godard most visually arresting, insightful and personal films. Inspired by an article in Le Nouvel Observateur about housewives prostituting themselves in Paris to fund their consumerist lifestyles, Godard uses this as the foundation to explore many other themes throughout the film, tackling everything from philosophy, politics, the ongoing Vietnam War, sexuality and, probably most important of all, France itself (the 'Her' of the title).

There is little plot to the film, and instead Godard uses every film-making technique in his arsenal to take the audience on a journey through the Paris suburbs, having his characters delve into rambling monologues, often responding to questions or regurgitating lines fed through an ear-piece by Godard himself. The main focus is Juliette (Marina Vlady), who occasionally prostitutes herself so she can buy pretty clothes or perhaps just to relieve herself of the boredom of the consumerist lifestyle, while her husband Robert (Roger Monsoret) listens to speeches on the radio regarding America's involvement in Vietnam.

It's with his over-simplified characterisation of Juliette that 2 or 3 Things fails to hit the mark. She is beautiful and intelligent, but seems to only truly love shopping or catching the eye of a handsome man in a cafe. There's little of the free-spirited charisma that Karina embodied in her various roles under Godard, but perhaps that's the point. Themes are often explored with a remarkable lack of subtlety, with the director's obvious opposition to the illegal war in Vietnam cropping up many times throughout the film, with photographs of victims of the war spliced into a rather silly scene involving an 'American' photographer (with a heavy French accent) and his odd fetish with placing bags over ladies heads and having them act out a routine.

Far more impressive are the visuals, with the celebrated shot of a swirling espresso while Godard whispers about his own inadequacy being the most memorable image, and the sheer ambition of a project shot so quickly. Godard is both criticised and adorned for being simply too intellectual and obtuse for film, and 2 or 3 Things is one of the greatest examples of his unwillingness to craft a digestible film for his select audience. The dialogue is often wonderful and poetic, yet sometimes it's rambling nonsense, spoken by characters who have no place in the story, almost as if Godard got bored and moved his camera to a conversation he found more interesting. It's both frustrating and fascinating to see a director of such singular vision, and while there is little of the excitement and energy of his early New Wave work, 2 or 3 Things is an experience like no other.


Directed by: Jean-Luc Godard
Starring: Marina Vlady, Anny Duperey, Roger Montsoret, Raoul Lévy
Country: France

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,074: 'The Nice Guys' (2016)

Long before the term 'bromance' was coined, 80's and 90's action cinema was treating audiences to buddy movies, stories centred around a crime that would pull two opposite side of the spectrum together, causing them to disagree and bicker before finally learning that team-work is key. While desperate TV stations are attempting to re-boot various famous titles from this era with usually awful results, writer/director Shane Black is still around to remind us what made these movies so great to begin with. After all, he was behind some of the best of them - Lethal Weapon (1987) and The Last Boy Scout (1991) - and he's proving there's still plenty of life in the genre yet with The Nice Guys, one of the funniest films so far this year.

Naturally, a convoluted plot brings together the two heroes of the 70s-set story. One is a grizzled fists-for-hire, Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe), who pays his bills by warning grown men who should know better to stay away from underage girls, traditionally with a knuckle-duster to the face. The other is Holland March (Ryan Gosling), a terrible private investigator who takes jobs from dementia-ridden old ladies who pay him to find the missing husband often resting behind them in an urn above the fireplace. His precocious daughter Holly (Angourie Rice) may also be a lot brighter than him. Despite their flaws, Healy and March are 'nice guys', and when their paths cross searching for a missing porn star, they decide to get to the bottom of a strange sequence of events because it's simply the right thing to do.

There's a conspiracy-laden plot to keep things ticking along, and Black has fun trying to unravel it along with our heroes. The film begins with a young boy finding his father's porn stash and sneaking a peak at centrefold Misty Mountains (Murielle Telio), before a car crashes off the road and into his backyard. Lo and behold, the driver is Misty, and the kid covers up her naked body as she dies. March is put on the case by the actress's aunt, and is soon on the tail of young runaway Amelia Kuttner (The Leftovers' Margaret Qualley), who is somehow caught up in all this mess. Only Amelia doesn't want to be found, so she pays Healy to get March off her back. Of course, the deliberately implausible story that brings our two heroes together - and what comes after - is simply an excuse for Crowe and Gosling to exercise their sparkling chemistry.

I've never seen Russell Crowe appear to be having so much fun as he does here, and he shows off some impressive comedy chops as the lovable lug who will always put himself in harms way to protect the vulnerable. Even more surprising is Gosling, an actor who hasn't really capitalised on the promise of his iconic role in Drive (2011), but who embraces the goofy scumbag-ness of his inept but endearingly well-meaning single father, a man we first meet inadvertently slashing his own wrist open while trying to routinely break in through a window. Yet the biggest plaudits go to Shane Black himself who, after a blip with Iron Man 3 (2013), is back to his Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005) best. He delivers a fast-paced, intelligent and laugh-out-loud comedy thriller, with one or two genuine shocks thrown in for good measure.


Directed by: Shane Black
Starring: Russell Crowe, Ryan Gosling, Angourie Rice, Matt Bomer, Margaret Qualley, Kim Basinger, Yaya DaCosta
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,073: 'Bambi' (1942)

When Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was released back in 1937, Walt Disney proved not only that there was vast commercial potential in animation, but that it was also a credible art-form. Disney, the great innovator, toyed with surrealism in Pinocchio and created a sublime blend of music, dance and visual splendour in Fantasia, both released in 1940. With Bambi, Disney observed the quiet balance of the natural world and the troubling emergence of man. While it may contain an ensemble of cutesy talking animals with kids' voices and scenes that will have you saying "awww!" out loud, Bambi is pretty heavy stuff at times.

We begin with the birth of a young prince, the wide-eyed, white-tailed deer Bambi (Donnie Dunagan), and while this opening may ring a bell with anyone who has seen The Lion King (1994) - which is everybody - Bambi is not near-mythical royalty with a destiny laid out for him. He is viewed with extreme curiosity by the other woodland animals, including enthusiastic young rabbit Thumper (Peter Behn), and they giggle as they watch the awkward deer try to stand up. As his protective mother teaches him of the dangers of the forest, his new friends teach him how to leap over fallen trees and ice-skate. Bambi doesn't so much have a plot with a beginning, a middle and an end. Instead, it's simply a portrayal of life, and the discovery, learning and danger we all come to face.

The seasons change along with the film's tone and Bambi's increasing maturity, and the colder it gets, the closer you get to that scene. A few near-misses practically confirm that the doting mother isn't going to be around for long, but the moment still packs a punch even on repeat viewings. Brutally, the incident happens off-camera, and Bambi is informed of her death matter-of-factly by his stoic father. It's an incredibly brave and creative approach, and one that deals with the harshness of real life with incredible maturity. It also sums up Bambi perfectly - observational, unpatronising and thoughtful - but it will certainly warm your heart as well. Disney is frequently criticised for sugar-coating and over-simplifying our world, but I would point anyone in the direction of the corporation's earlier works, particularly Bambi, for elevating animation to a cinematic art-form.


Directed by: James Algar, Samuel Armstrong, David Hand, Graham Heid, Bill Roberts, Paul Satterfield, Norman Wright
Voices: Hardie Albright, Donnie Dunagan, Paula Winslowe
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,072: 'The Jungle Book' (2016)

Disney's animated version of Rudyard Kipling's collection of works The Jungle Book was released just one year after Walt Disney's death, and kick-started a period of mediocrity for the company that produced some of the most beloved films of all time (until its reemergence as a powerhouse once again in 1989 with The Little Mermaid). They now dominate the marketplace, and it would be easy to despise the multi-billion dollar corporation if much of their recent output just wasn't so good. While they are certainly progressive and forward-thinking (Zootopia was a fascinating social study of our times), they continue to hark back to their Golden Age with live-action versions of Sleeping Beauty (2014's Maleficent) and Cinderella (2015), and now one of their most adored works, The Jungle Book.

Jon Favreau's re-imagining of Wolfgang Reitherman's classic follows much of the original's narrative. Mowgli the "man-cub" (Neel Sethi) is a young boy living in the jungle, raised in a wolf pack and watched over by the wise and respected panther Bagheera (Ben Kingsley). The arrival of Shere Khan (Idris Elba), a terrifying Bengal tiger with a hatred of man, alerts Bagheera, who whisks Mowgli off into the deep jungle, where the youngster befriends lazy and care-free sloth bear Baloo (Bill Murray). Encountering many dangers along the way, including the hypnotic anaconda Kaa (Scarlett Johnansson) and giant orangutan King Louie (Christopher Walken), Mowgli must decide whether or not his place remains with the friends who raised him, or with his own kind.

While it's hardly Christopher Nolan territory, Favreau's version of the story is certainly darker. Rather than trying to replicate the upbeat tone of the original, it cuts out the majority of the songs and keeps things more grounded, or at least as much as a film featuring talking animals can be. It achieves this with some simply astonishing effects - so good that it's easy to forget or even tell you're watching CGI - and pitch-perfect voice acting. Elba will no doubt terrify any young viewers, and understandably so, but the film belongs to Murray and Walken. They get the two songs in the film (The Bare Necessities and I Wanna Be Like You) and are easily the most memorable characters. Phil Harris and Louise Prima would have surely approved.

Yet the question hovering above the head of Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book, as it does with many remakes, is the reason for its existence. The 1967 version charmed youngsters for decades so is this a pointless attempt to bring the story to a new generation of children? Have children become so spoiled with computer generated effects that they would be unable to see the charm and wonder in something so painstakingly and thoughtfully hand-drawn? It's a depressing thought, and one that bothered me for a while after seeing the film. With any hope, this will inspire kids to seek out the original and love it for all that it is, for Favreau's film is exciting and often astonishing to look at, and certainly the best of Disney's recent live action re-dos.


Directed by: Jon Favreau
Starring: Neel Sethi, Bill Murray, Ben Kingsley, Idris Elba, Lupita Nyong'o, Scarlett Johansson, Giancarlo Esposito, Christopher Walken
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,071: 'High-Rise' (2015)

J.G. Ballard's 1975 novel High-Rise in one in a long line of so-called 'unfilmable' works of literature, with British producer Jeremy Thomas having tried to get a project off the ground since the 70's with Nicholas Roeg originally attached to direct. The book's darkly humorous tale of social economics and bloody violence was deemed unfit for the big screen, that is until director Ben Wheatley stepped in to take the reign with his most ambitious film yet. I've enjoyed all of Wheatley's films, especially Kill List (2011), but the sense of claustrophobia and unease that was so prevalent in his earlier works goes missing in High-Rise, which quickly descends into incoherent anarchy.

The handsome and lonely Dr. Robert Laing (Tom Hiddleston) moves into a forty-story high-rise in the outskirts of London. Created by architect Anthony Royal (Jeremy Irons), the building is an innovative experiment in ultra-modern living. Complete with its own supermarket, spa, swimming pool and school, there's even little reason to go outside other than to earn money to support the lavish lifestyle. Living in the middle of the building, Laing quickly starts a relationship with single mother Charlotte (Sienna Miller), and makes friends with unhinged documentary film-maker Richard Wilder (Luke Evans) and his heavily-pregnant wife Helen (Elisabeth Moss). Soon enough, niceties are put aside as tensions mount between the different personalities and classes, and the corridors and elevators become blood-baths as the residents tear each other apart.

Firstly, High-Rise looks utterly splendid, with the 1970's setting providing a ghastly and grimy backdrop for the chaos that ensues and cinematographer Laurie Rose framing many of his shots with a steely perfection, matching the cold neatness of the film's passive yet curious protagonist. The performances are all top-notch too, with Hiddleston doing no damage whatsoever to the tiresome rumours of him replacing Daniel Craig as the next James Bond, and Evans bristles with anger and unpredictability. The film works very well for the first forty minutes or so, establishing the hierarchy within the high-rise and introducing a repulsive gallery of greasy-haired weirdos (Reece Shearsmith and Tony Way) and pampered toffs (James Purefoy and Keeley Hawes).

While at first Laing plays the role of the audience drinking in this madness, he almost becomes a supporting player from the middle-act, as Wheatley quickly loses focus and lets the chaos reign. There are too many characters squabbling over God-knows-what, and Wheatley struggles with translating the source material to establish a clear theme or message amidst all the barbarity on show. It shares much in common with 2013's Snowpiercer, and while Joon-ho Bong's actioner was heavily flawed, it managed to land it satirical punches far more convincingly. High-Rise seems too over-eager to bask in the violence, and gets so caught up in it that it forgets that it's also got a story to tell and characters deserving of more screen-time. I can certainly appreciate the ambition, but perhaps Wheatley wasn't ready to tell a story of such complexity.


Directed by: Ben Wheatley
Starring: Tom Hiddleston, Jeremy Irons, Sienna Miller, Luke Evans, Elisabeth Moss, James Purefoy, Keeley Hawes, Peter Ferdinando, Reece Shearsmith
Country: UK/Belgium

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,070: 'Miracle in Milan' (1951)

The great Italian actor/director/writer Vittorio De Sica is probably best known for his neo-realism offerings, particularly the tear-jerking masterpiece Bicycle Thieves (1948). His next film, Miracle in Milan, begins with the title 'once upon a time...', making it clear enough that this is a step towards more fantastical fare. While still exploring themes of class divide and the humility of the poor, Miracle is pure fairytale, starting out with a baby found in a basket and climaxing with a gathering of our homeless heroes flying away on broomsticks.

The ageing Lolotta (Emma Gramatica) finds a newborn baby in her cabbage patch and adopts him, naming him Toto. When the old lady dies, the young Toto is taken to an orphanage where he grows up (to be played by Francesco Golisano) and emerges an optimistic and happy-go-lucky young man. Shortly after he discovers that other members of society don't share his chirpy outlook on life, he is robbed by a homeless man but takes pity on him, and in return Toto is shown to a shantytown on the outskirts of Milan. Fitting in immediately, Toto and his new friends discover that the land on which they dwell holds oil, and soon enough the rich fat cats descend on the outcasts.

There is little subtlety to Miracle in Milan, and De Sica is quick to stamp his own views on a society that shun the poor, portraying the rich as fat, cigar-chomping tyrants, while the poor are a collection of likeable oddballs. There are many wonderful moments, such as Toto overseeing the renovation of the shantytown and the scene in which the homeless, Tati-esque, huddle together to warm up in a slim ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds. It's also on-the-nose and slightly grating, complete with obscene caricatures and some comedic scenes that simply do not work. We are left with the message of the corrupting power of wealth, and while this is a familiar topic in the realm of neo-realism, there's enough charm on show to help see past the flaws.


Directed by: Vittorio De Sica
Starring: Francesco Golisano, Emma Gramatica, Paolo Stoppa, Guglielmo Barnabò
Country: Italy

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,069: 'Blackhat' (2015)

With every aspect of our life now so tightly intertwined with the digital world, criminals in the action thriller genre, or at least the clever ones, no longer burst into banks guns a-blazing to steal their cash, but sit behind a desk and tap buttons on their keyboards. Film-makers now face the task of making such a dull activity exciting, and you would assume that if anyone can make nervous glances at a computer screen filled with coding babble at least interesting, it would be Michael Mann. Sadly, Mann has been on a drastic downward spiral ever since Miami Vice (2006) and continues this trend with Blackhat, an incredibly dull movie that died a painful death at the box office.

After a mysterious hacker causes coolant pumps to overheat and explode at a nuclear plant in China, Chen Dawai (Leehom Wang), a military officer in the cyber warfare unit, is assigned to find the culprit. He discovers that a Remote Access Tool (RAT) was used in the attack, and that the coding was created by himself and his former college roommate, Nick Hathaway (Chris Hemsworth), now serving a length prison sentence for an unrelated hack. Striking a deal with FBI agent Carol Barrett (Viola Davis) to release Hathaway in exchange for his assistance and expertise, their investigations lead them to Hong Kong, Jakarta and Malaysia in search of the elusive cyber criminal.

For years, Mann delivered some of the coolest films in cinema, effortlessly blending a steely-blue palette with a heightened sense of realism and backed by some memorable, intense scores. Ever since Collateral (2004), he's shot digitally, allowing the rough grain of the picture to complement a beautiful aesthetic. He does the same here, succeeding in finding interesting way to frame his characters, who are usually staring anxiously at a computer screen and talking about things I barely understood. That isn't a criticism - I've read that real-life hackers have hailed Blackhat as the most realistic depiction of their world yet - and I would much rather be immersed in a jargon-heavy world than have everything explained to me in clunky scenes of exposition.

The main issue with Blackhat is that it's utterly preposterous, while having the audacity to be somehow incredibly dull at the same time. Characters portrayed as possessing high intelligence repeatedly do stupid things and make inexplicable decisions (Hathaway at one point finds himself with millions in his bank account, yet chooses to take a clumsily hidden screwdriver to a potentially life-threatening situation rather than simply buying a gun). As much as I like Hemsworth, his leading man potential is dubious, with a string of flops now in his wake outside of his appearances as Thor. Here he makes for an unconvincing tech-genius, and the inclusion of Dawai's sister Lien (Wei Tang) seems to be little more than an excuse for Hemsworth to repeatedly flash his abs. With classics such as Manhunter (1986), Heat (1995) and The Insider (1999) under his belt, Mann should simply quite while he's still ahead, as much as it pains me to say it.


Directed by: Michael Mann
Starring: Chris Hemsworth, Leehom Wang, Wei Tang, Viola Davis, Holt McCallany
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,068: 'Crimes of Passion' (1984)

Opening with Kathleen Turner's 'China Blue' facing the camera spreadeagled while a man performs cunnilingus on her, Ken Russell's barking mad Crimes of Passion starts as provocatively as it means to go on. A nightmare for the censors (as Russell's films generally were), Crimes of Passion had to undergo heavy cuts even to pass for an R rating upon its original release, when it was met with generally unfavourable reviews. Years later, it's still a somewhat baffling oddity with some terrible dialogue, but its certainly an interesting, one-off experience.

Fashion designer Joanna Crane (Turner) is a successful, emotionally cold businesswoman by day, but by night, she is China Blue, the most sought-after and beautiful prostitute to walk the streets. We see her pleasure a variety of men in a variety of ways, and she seems to enjoy her work. Her biggest fan is fanatical street preacher Rev. Peter Shayne (Anthony Perkins), a lunatic who watches her through a hole in the wall and wants to 'save her soul', carrying with him at all times a massive, blade-sharp dildo. Middle-class electrician Bobby Grady (John Laughlin) is married to his childhood sweetheart (Annie Potts) and is bored with her frigid ways. When he is assigned to spy on Joanna by her boss who falsely believes her to be stealing, he discovers her alter-ego and falls for her.

Although it explores themes of emotional detachment and sexual discovery, it's difficult to unravel just what Crimes of Passion is truly about. One moment the film will deliver a moment of tenderness between Joanna and Bobby, and suddenly shift the tone and focus onto Perkins' sweaty, nitrate-sniffing deviant. But if anyone can add an artistic bend to such a sleazy subject matter, it is Ken Russell, who manages to find neon-lit beauty in even the grimiest of locations. Turner and Perkins are terrific, while Laughlin fails to find any dimensions within his one-note character but, in his defence, is lumped with some wobbly dialogue. Laughably over-the-top and overlong at 110 minutes, it's a frustrating and sometimes silly experience, but one that I would recommend anybody to watch at least once.


Directed by: Ken Russell
Starring: Kathleen Turner, Anthony Perkins, John Laughlin, Annie Potts
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,067: 'Hulk' (2003)

Back in 2003, before Marvel created their 'Cinematic Universe' and started to explore their more obscure, lesser-known characters, superhero movies were starting to hit their stride. Origin stories such as Bryan Singer's X-Men (2000) and Sam Raimi's Spider-Man (2002), while certainly far from perfect, demonstrated just how fun these movies could be without sacrificing plot or character development for the sake of a set-piece. Ang Lee's Hulk took this idea a tad too far, delving into the psyche of its not-particularly-interesting protagonist and forgetting that this is a movie about a giant green rage-monster who smashes things to pieces.

Dr. Bruce Banner (Eric Bana) works with his former girlfriend Betty Ross (Jennifer Connelly) at the Berkeley Biology Institute, experimenting on cell repair using gamma radiation. Due to a mysterious, traumatic event when he was a child, Banner is haunted by the vague memories he has of his parents, now believed to be dead. Naturally, one of his experiments goes awry and he is exposed to a dangerous level of radiation, which allows him to turn into a big green monster whenever he gets angry. His father David (Nick Nolte) turns up alive to complete the experimentation he was prevented from completing by Betty's father Thaddeus (Sam Elliott), who imprisoned him for 30 years. Learning of David's return and Bruce's new power, Thaddeus will not stop at nothing to take them both down.

I remember quite liking Hulk when I first saw it back in the cinema, but watching it again 13 years later, I found it a convoluted, and quite frankly boring, mess. There are a couple of things to admire, such as Lee's attempt to translate the comic to screen with the use of multiple split-screen, but this device is employed too often, and in situations that don't really call for it. Nolte is also enjoyable to watch, as he is let loose to the point where it seems like he has wandered onto the set after a particularly heavy binge. However, the film spends far too much time with a mopey Bruce as he struggles with the memories of the past. When the action finally comes, the special effects just aren't up to scratch, even by 2003's standards, and the climax is a confusing muddle of giant clouds obscured even further by the fact that the picture is too dark to make out what is happening. Hopefully, if Marvel ever make a standalone movie with Mark Ruffalo, they will finally get the character right (fingers crossed for Planet Hulk!).


Directed by: Ang Lee
Starring: Eric Bana, Jennifer Connelly, Sam Elliott, Nick Nolte, Josh Lucas
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,066: 'Hellraiser: Inferno' (2000)

The previous instalment of Clive Barker's Hellraiser franchise (although by this point I doubt he wants his name anywhere near the credits), Bloodline, whisked the Cenobites, the puzzle box and all of its desperate-for-a-pay-cheque actors into space. Since this is a sure-fire sign that a horror franchise is doomed and out of any fresh ideas, it was no surprise that number 5, Inferno, found itself heading straight to VHS. With Dimension Films hoping to keep the rights to a series they hope could someday be 're-booted' and back in the cinemas, they began picking up unrelated horror scripts and shoe-horning Pinhead and his minions into the story, slapping the 'Hellraiser' title on the cover to at least attract the hardcore fanbase.

Joseph Thorne (Craig Sheffer) is a good detective with a bad attitude. Although he is highly intelligent with a gift for solving puzzles and, er, amateur magic tricks, he snorts cocaine, beats on innocents who won't answer his questions, and sleeps with prostitutes who apparently kiss on the lips. Along with his partner Tony (Nicholas Turturro), he discovers the Lament Configuration box at the murder scene of an old school friend who has been torn apart by hooked chains. The murder puts him on the path to 'The Engineer', a mysterious man who leaves the severed finger of a child at each of the murder scenes. Yet once Thorne solves the puzzle, he starts to hallucinate, having visions of strange, deformed creatures who torment him.

As a direct-to-video effort and an entry into the atrocious, never-ending set of Hellraiser sequels, Inferno isn't all that bad. As an actual film, it's a cliche-ridden bore that neglects to give a substantial role to the franchise's (no pun intended) pin-up boy, Pinhead (Doug Bradley). Nobody picks up a DVD box with a picture of a demon with nails hammered into its head wanting to see a slow-paced detective story that plays out like Bad Lieutenant (1992) directed by Uwe Boll. The make-up budget can't be blamed either, as we are given a few scenes with lesser, ineffective Cenobites including, I think, two that know kung-fu and wear cowboy hats in the film's most random scene. Directed by an up-and-coming Scott Derrickson, let's hope he's now experienced enough to deliver a coherent Doctor Strange due later this year.


Directed by: Scott Derrickson
Starring: Craig Sheffer, Nicholas Turturro, James Remar, Doug Bradley
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,065: 'Down Terrace' (2009)

Looking at the DVD cover of Down Terrace, you would be forgiven for dismissing it as yet another geezer-filled entry into the British crime genre, directed by somebody who watched Guy Ritchie's Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) growing up and fancied themselves as capable of doing the same. Yet Ben Wheatley's debut feature goes out to do exactly the opposite, and instead of motor-mouthed crims with ridiculous nicknames and heists-gone-wrong, we get a kitchen-sink drama, at least for the first two-thirds, filmed almost entirely within the constraints of a run-of-the-mill house in Brighton.

After a stint in prison, Karl (Robin Hill, who co-wrote the script with Wheatley) returns to the family home with his father Bill (Robert Hill, Robin's real-life father) to try and sniff out the rat who is threatening to bring down their criminal organisation. With the help of mother Mags (Julia Deakin), they invite various associates, including idiot club owner Garvey (Tony Way), muscle Eric (David Schaal) and hitman Pringle (Michael Smiley), to their home in an attempt to suss them out. Karl is barely able to cope with the relentless criticism dished out by his father and his family's general dysfunction, and the atmosphere is made worse with the re-appearance of Valda (Kerry Peacock), an old flame now (apparently) pregnant with Karl's child.

Channelling the work of various British film-makers, including Ken Loach, Mike Leigh and Shane Meadows, Down Terrace attempts to draw you in slowly, creating an atmosphere of unease before unleashing its bloody final act. It should be a clever subversion of the genre, and in some ways it is, but this is hampered by a measured approach and a self-awareness, similar to the problems Sightseers (2012) had. There isn't a fault to be had with the performances, especially Robert Hill as the everyman crime boss with a slight aura of buffoonery about him. It's also very funny on occasion, and one of Wheatley's real strengths as a film-maker is luring you in with laughs while never allowing you to be completely comfortable. Ultimately, it's a distinctive test of endurance with flashes of brilliance, doing wonders with a micro-budget.


Directed by: Ben Wheatley
Starring: Robin Hill, Robert Hill, Julia Deakin, David Schaal, Tony Way, Michael Smiley
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,064: 'The Quiet Man' (1952)

It's a cliche to say, about a movie especially, that "they don't make 'em like that anymore." But in the case of The Quiet Man, a gentle comedy drama from John Ford, they really don't. If it was made today, this romantic tale set in the luscious green countryside of Ireland would no doubt star some square-jawed pretty-boy as the male lead, with the role of the leading lady going to some vacuous up-and-comer hoping to make the transition from TV into film before fading into utter obscurity. Back in 1952 they got two of cinema's Golden Age powerhouses, John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, who sizzle with chemistry, charisma and charm, combining to help create one of the finest films of its time.

Something of a departure for Ford and Wayne, who were most famous for delivering tough horse operas in the Old West, the film was only made by Republic Picture on the promise that Ford make a western for them first to make up for question mark looming over the box-office appeal of The Quiet Man. He obliged and made Rio Grande (1950), before setting off for Ireland to make the passion project he purchased the movie rights to back in the 1930's. He brought Wayne with him too, but he would kill no injuns and saddle no horses (although he does get to briefly ride one) here, but instead play Sean Thornton, the 'quiet man' of the title - a dashing, friendly American who retreats to his birthplace of Ireland carrying a dark secret on his shoulders.

Soon upon arriving, Sean is struck by the beauty of the temperamental Mary Kate Danaher (O'Hara), the sister of landowner Squire 'Red' Will Danaher (Victor McLagen). When Sean quickly purchases the cottage in which he was born, he finds himself immediately at odds with the loud-mouthed and brutish Will, who has had his eyes on the land for years. Sean and Mary Kate are soon in love, but Will stubbornly refuses to consent to the marriage. Local drunk and matchmaker Michaleen (Barry Fitzgerald), sympathising with the two lovers, hatches a plan with the other locals to manipulate Will into thinking the marriage is in his best interests, and they are soon wed. But when Will uncovers the plot and tries to sabotage the marriage, Sean must face the demons of his past and confront the bullying tyrant.

Winner of 2 Academy Awards and nominated for 5 more, The Quiet Man was a roaring success and is loved by many to this day, but was undoubtedly a massive gamble by Ford. People paid to see John Wayne punch bad guys and get the girl, but this was a film about a man who makes an active decision not to fight and, although he gets the girl early on, he struggles to keep a hold of her. Funnily enough, this is one of Wayne's best performances, a rare opportunity to see his warmer, gentler side, and his interaction with O'Hara, who is also terrific, is one of the movie's main strengths. The slow pace pays off at the end, climaxing with one of the best fist-fights in cinema. It's played mainly for laughs and no one draws blood, but the absurdity and the sheer length of it is a hoot. Perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon.


Directed by: John Ford
Starring: John Wayne, Maureen O'Hara, Barry Fitzgerald, Victor McLaglen, Ward Bond
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,063: 'The Jerk' (1979)

Desperate to make a career on the big screen in order to prolong his soaring stand-up career, Steve Martin wrote the premise for The Jerk based on one line from one of his routines - "I was born a poor black child." As so Navin B. Johnson - the dim-witted adopted son of a family of black sharecroppers - was born. Light on plot but heavy on laughs, The Jerk is a shaggy-dog tale of an idiot's pursuit of the American Dream, and his downfall once he finds it, all shaped around Martin's stage persona by the writing team of Martin, Carl Gottlieb and Michael Elias.

After learning from his mother that he is adopted ("You mean I'm gonna stay this colour?"), Navin sets out on the road to experience the big wide world and make it on his own. Along the way, he takes a variety of odd-jobs, from a gas station attendant to a weight-guesser at a travelling carnival, finally making his fortune with a ridiculous contraption called 'Opti-Grab' - a device that allows a pair of glasses to be removed and placed on the face with relative ease. He also falls in love with the doe-eyed Marie (Bernadette Peters), and the two share a lovely scene singing Tonight You Belong to Me on the beach before things start to fall apart as Navin becomes insufferable due his increasing wealth.

Described (and criticised) as a film of 'funny hats' by Roger Ebert (as opposed to 'funny logic' - the reason for the funny hat), your enjoyment of The Jerk depends very much on your sense of humour. If sight-gags and goofiness is your thing, then there is much to love about The Jerk. Martin and director Carl Reiner clearly set out to give you a laugh a minute here, and while some jokes fall flat or come across as simply bizarre, they largely succeed. It's frequently crass but never mean-spirited (Navin innocently names his dog 'Shithead'), and it's a throwback to a less politically correct time when the white leading man could drop the 'n' word and get away with it. It's also a reminder of just how great Steve Martin used to be before he lowered himself to the family-friendly pap he is now better known for by modern audiences.


Directed by: Carl Reiner
Starring: Steve Martin, Bernadette Peters, Catlin Adams, Mabel King, M. Emmet Walsh
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,062: 'Paragraph 175' (2000)

Despite the wealth of documentaries and factual dramas covering the atrocities committed by the Nazis under the command of Adolf Hitler, there is always another story, as equally horrifying as it is unbelievable, to come out of the woodwork. This harrowing documentary by Rob Epstein (The Times of Harvey Milk (1984)) and Jeffrey Friedman (Howl (2010)) focuses on the social persecution and mass murder of approximately 75,000 German homosexual men under Nazi rule. Paragraph 175 of the German Criminal Code forbade homosexual activity, placing it on the same level as bestiality and paedophilia, and the law was broadened by Hitler during his rise to power as he sought to 'purify' the German race. The law remained in place until 1994.

Early scenes show a 1920's Berlin in full swing, where the young danced, drank and experimented sexually without fear of persecution. Paragraph 175 existed but was rarely enforced, and the young partied freely in a country relieved to come out of the carnage of World War I in one piece. As the Jews were starting to be rounded up and placed in ghettos ready for the concentration camps, homosexual men were under the impression that simply being German would be enough to save them. Similar to what they did with the Jews, the Nazis did nothing at first, allowing the men to congregate in their night clubs and hot spots, only to be rounded up later once they finally felt safe. The emphasis here is on homosexual men as Hitler thought lesbianism to be curable, and why waste a perfectly functional carrier of future Aryans?

The interviewees taking part in Paragraph 175 have been largely quiet for decades, with the German government largely resistant to acknowledging the mass-murder of gay men and many countries oblivious to what took place. They often talk in hushed voices, with one man describing the 'singing forest', a place that sounds like some kind of haven he escaped to amidst the madness. Instead, it was named for the screams that echoed throughout, as victims were hung from hooks and left to die. Others describe of seeing their friends being torn apart by dogs, while another, more animated than the others, tells of how he was he was raped with planks of wood by Nazi officers while under questioning. It's a shocking, important tale largely ignored even by World War II enthusiasts, eloquently told by the two filmmakers.


Directed by: Rob Epstein, Jeffrey Friedman
Narrator: Rupert Everett
Country: UK/Germany/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,061: 'Anomalisa' (2015)

It's been 8 years since Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut, Synedoche, New York - that great but underappreciated little film about a man (the late Philip Seymour Hoffman) who dreamed of building a scale model of New York in a warehouse. The critics seemed to like it but didn't voice their approval very loudly, and chances are many won't remember its existence. Funded by a Kickstarter campaign, Kaufman's latest is a stop-motion collaboration with Duke Johnson, an animator probably most famous for his Adult Swim works.

Beginning with mundane chatter in mundane locations, Anomalisa is in no rush to hit you with any visual splendour, which tends to be the norm for animated films. Instead, we follow our miserable protagonist Michael Stone (David Thewlis), a British motivational speaker whose book on customer service is the handbook for those unfortunate enough to be in the business, as he lands in Cincinnati. He grabs a cab ride with an annoying driver who seems to be completely unaware of Michael's depressed, frustrated state, and insists he visit the zoo and tries to Cincinnati's famous chilli. He arrives at his hotel, the Fregoli, where he is unnecessarily escorted to his room by an over-friendly bell boy who informs him of the delights of his standard, mediocre room.

It's probably at this point that you'll realise you haven't been imagining that all the characters look and sound alike, and instead that this is a deliberate tactic key to understanding the mindset of Michael and the themes of the film. The name of the hotel is a clue, as the Fregoli delusion is a condition that causes a person to imagine everyone else to be the same entity in disguise with the sole purpose of inflicting torment on the sufferer. Here, everyone has the face of an adult white male (even the women and children) and has been blessed with the soothing, distinctive voice of Tom Noonan. It is only when Michael stumbles upon two women in his hotel who are there to see his speech the following day that this spell is broken. One of the two women, Lisa, has a barely noticeable facial disfigurement and sounds like Jennifer Jason Leigh, and Michael is enamoured.

Michael's relationship with Lisa, who be dubs 'Anomalisa', gives the film a much-needed heart, as this may have otherwise been an exercise in misanthropy. There's no fantasy romance here, but a dinner date where everyone involved drinks too much, Michael's awkward invitation for Lisa to accompany him back to his room, and a sex scene which is, ironically, the most realistic I've ever seen on film. Michael accidentally rolls onto her hair, she bangs her head, he asks her the awkward question of whether she's cool with oral sex - there's certainly no pan to a roaring fireplace,

You would think that the heightened sense of realism would make the choice to film this in stop-motion slightly redundant, but oddly, it makes the film even more human. It also allows Kaufman and Johnson to show much more of life's ugliness - we are treated to Michael's middle-aged stark naked body jumping out of the shower and the sight of a random man across the way getting ready to masturbate in front of his computer. It's often difficult to sit through. I work in customer services myself and can empathise with Michael's internal struggle of feeling trapped within himself and that others are barely distinguishable from one another. Don't expect any tidy resolutions either, Kaufman is intelligent enough to realise that the excitement of meeting an interesting girl is only temporary, and life will still go on. It's upsetting, certainly, but Anomalisa offers a real insight into the human soul and makes a lasting impression.


Directed by: Duke Johnson, Charlie Kaufman
Voices: David Thewlis, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Tom Noonan
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,060: 'Raising Cain' (1992)

After the critical and commercial public flogging he received for his bastardisation of Tom Wolfe's fascinating, multi-layered and often hilarious novel The Bonfire of the Vanities, Brian De Palma turned back to the genre that had served him well early on his career, the psychological thriller. With crime 'biopic' The Untouchables (1987) and the hit-and-miss war drama Casualties of War (1989), De Palma has seemingly turned his back on the world of Hitchockian suspense, but his career was in serious danger. The result was Raising Cain, a movie so utterly ludicrous and ham-fisted that it's a wonder how he is still making movies. Yet, there's something perversely irresistible about the film.

Dr. Carter Nix (John Lithgow) is a respected psychologist suffering from multiple personality disorder, who, at the beginning of the movie, chloroforms a young mother and steals her child while being egged on by one of his cockier alter-egos, Cain. His wife Jenny (90's mainstay Lolita Davidovich) is concerned that Carter is spending too much time obsessing over their daughter, who he seems to view more of a subject of study than his own flesh and blood. Jenny rekindles a romance with a former flame, Jack (Steven Bauer), and the two are spotted by Carter making love in the woods. As Carter struggles to keep his many personalities in check, Jenny struggles to separate her dreams from reality.

While watching the movie, I kept wondering if this was truly the same De Palma who forged such well-constructed thrillers as Sisters (1973), Dressed to Kill (1980) and Blow Out (1981); films that often carefully towed the line of B-movie daftness yet managed to stay grounded. Is Raising Cain a bad movie? Yes, probably. But with the casting of De Palma's favourite ham John Lithgow and its sickly, TV movie aesthetic, there's something oddly fascinating about its silliness. It attempts to confuse its already convoluted plot even further by staging scenes within dreams within memories within more dreams. While this is certainly frustrating, I was still rooted to my seat, desperate to see how this nonsense plays out. His films are often divisive, but Raising Cain had even the most hardcore De Palma fans questioning their loyalty. Personally, my love far outweighed the hate.


Directed by: Brian De Palma
Starring: John Lithgow, Lolita Davidovich, Steven Bauer, Frances Sternhagen, Gregg Henry
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,059: 'End of Watch' (2012)

David Ayer has forged a pretty decent career examining the darker corners of Los Angeles and the cops and criminals that inhabit it. While the writer/director has pained officers of the law with heavy shades of grey in the likes of Training Day (2001), Dark Blue (2002) and Street Kings (2008), End of Watch is one big salute to the boys in blue. While the partners at the centre of the story occasionally enjoy a ruckus and bend the rules when the situation calls for it, they are undoubtedly the good guys worthy of every medal going. In order to place the audience right in the firing line, the film is shot documentary-style using miniature cameras.

Old friends and long-time partners Brian Taylor (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Mike Zavala (Michael Pena) are beat cops, patrolling the streets of South Central L.A. and answering calls for anything from domestic violence to come gruesome murders committed by the Sinaloa Cartel. For a 'project', Brian decides to record everything he and Mike experience while on patrol, fixing cameras to their bodies for a full POV perspective. Outside of the force, Brian and Mike are the best of friends, with Brian starting a relationship with the spunky Janet (Anna Kendrick) and the two double-dating with Mike and his wife. But unbeknown to them, the Cartel have placed a target on their heads after they expose a cell for human trafficking.

Your opinion of End of Watch will most likely depend on your stance on the 'found footage' genre. It's been done to death, especially in the past few years, and here it feels like its employment is a gimmick designed to make it stand out from the barrage of cop movies that are churned out of every year, although it does add a sense of reality to the action. Along with Brian and Mike's mini-cams, the gang of Surenos employed by the Cartel also film each other as they talk tough about killing cops and swear a lot. Ayer also uses an extra camera on occasion, even when there are no characters there to stand behind it. It's an uneven and almost redundant tactic, that it's a wonder why Ayer didn't simply stick to the film's main hook of having the actors film each other.

One of the most impressive things about End of Watch is the chemistry between Gyllenhaal and Pena. Both deliver terrific, believable performances, and their in-car banter provides most of the laughs. While their chest-puffing, overly-masculine chit-chat and behaviour does become somewhat exhausting, they are likeable, down-to-earth company. It also depicts a truly terrifying Los Angeles, with the streets brimming with danger and violent thugs ready to pounce. It almost feels like some war-torn country at the other side of the world rather than the city often portrayed as exciting and glamorous in cinema. It's very much a mixed bag overall - a silly action climax betrays the gritty realism that comes before - but there are many palm-wetting moments to be admired.


Directed by: David Ayer
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Michael Peña, Anna Kendrick, Natalie Martinez, David Harbour, Frank Grillo, America Ferrera
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,058: 'Absurd' (1981)

As is the case with many low-budget horror films released numerous times with different cuts and ratings in various different continents, Joe D'Amato's Absurd is known under a wealth of alternative titles. Also known as Horrible, Rosso Sangue and Monster Hunter, the film was labelled as too gruesome for British audiences in the 1980's and found itself on the dreaded Video Nasty List. The most bizarre title to make its way onto its VHS cover is Anthropophagus 2, although the film has little in common with D/Amato's Anthropopogus: The Grim Reaper apart from the lead casting of George Eastman as yet another impossibly strong man-mountain with a fondness for gruesome murder.

The film begins with Mikos (Eastman), a beast of a man with an unnaturally fast healing factor, fleeing a priest. As he tries to escape by scaling a fence, Mikos is impaled on the railing spikes which disembowel him. It is while at the hospital that the doctors discover his amazing ability to heal, but he is soon on the loose after murdering a nurse. The madman is eventually hit by a car driven by Mr. Bennett (Ian Danby), who flees the scene and returns to his wife, son, and bed-ridden daughter Katia (Katya Berger). The family soon finds themselves under attack from Mikos, while police officer Sgt. Engleman (Charles Borromel) and the priest (Edmund Purdom) attempt to hunt down the rampaging savage.

Apart from a couple of entertainingly gory murders (a buzzsaw to the temple and a head in the oven are particular 'highlights'), Absurd suffers from some serious pacing issues. As the story bobbles around between the various characters having inane conversations, the film becomes incredibly boring and short of action. It's debatable as to whether Anthropophagus (1980) or Absurd takes the prize for the most tedious 90 minutes, but I feel that Absurd just edges it. Although Eastman does little more than stumble around with a crazy look in his eyes, he certainly has a presence, but here he is given a disappointingly short amount of screen time. By the time the climax finally arrives, it plods on and on as Katia is forced to learn to walk again to escape the bogeyman, which does not make for exciting viewing. Absurd, indeed.


Directed by: Joe D'Amato
Starring: George Eastman, Charles Borromel, Katya Berger, Edmund Purdom
Country: Italy

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie