Review #1,464: 'Vice' (2018)

After spending most of his career larking around with Will Ferrell in the likes of Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Step Brothers and The Other Guys, writer/director Adam McKay took a huge leap towards 'serious' film-making in 2015 when he released The Big Short, a funny, intelligent and unexpectedly engrossing account of the 2007-2008 financial crisis. The Big Short may not sound like much fun on paper, but McKay latched onto this idea, making the tedious subject of subprime loans and triple-A ratings interesting by entwining it with pop culture, employing the likes of Margot Robbie and Selena Gomez to dumb it down for the audience in a manner that was too wickedly clever to ever be patronising. With Academy recognition now under his belt, McKay strides into his next project - a biopic of one of the most fearsome yet enigmatic political figures in U.S. history - with confidence, and dare I say it, a touch of arrogance.

McKay is eager to perform the same trick again with Vice, a sporadically inspired but frustratingly blunt quasi-biography that feels to penetrate the skin of its subject or answer the big question of just what was the driving force behind the man who turned the symbolic position of Vice President into one of great power and influence. Rather than dig deeper, McKay prefers to allow Dick Cheney's actions to speak for themselves, occasionally cutting away to a visual metaphor, such as, in the case of Cheney's key meeting with Sam Rockwell's George W. Bush, a cheetah bringing down its prey. Cheney is a man McKay clearly views as a highly functioning psychopath, tracking his journey from working under Steve Carell's Donald Rumsfeld in the Nixon Administration, to his opportunistic lunge for control in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. He fought to grant more power to a President he easily manipulated, praying on his short attention span and lack of political know-how, and to legalise torture, finding a massive legal loophole in the shape of Guantanamo Bay.

Vice is structured like a classic coming-of-age movie, with its 'hero' rising and falling, before dusting himself off and getting to his feet to rise again. After President Ford (Bill Camp) is voted out of office, seemingly closing all political doors for Cheney, McKay rolls the credits and pans away from the Cheney household, before an abrupt phone call reminds us that this story has barely begun. Like many of the jokes in Vice, the credit-roll-fake-out is funnier in theory than execution, and the film often takes the trickery so far that it threatens to undermine the seriousness of the subject matter. Satire must be funny, but it must also carry an emotional wallop that McKay struggles to find. At the centre of it all is Christian Bale's powerhouse performance, which explores a man whose obsessiveness could be compared to that of the actor's own extreme approach to his craft. Once again Bale takes his own body to the limit, piling on the pounds to resemble a man who suffered multiple heart attacks throughout his life (it becomes a running gag in the film), and adopting a deep growl capable of subtle intimidation. The performances of Bale, Carrel and Rockwell are all worth the entry fee alone, but Vice stutters to engage on a deeper level, failing to explain just how an oil company CEO can seize control of one of the most powerful countries in the world, and execute his plans with such cold indifference.


Directed by: Adam McKay
Starring: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell, Alison Pill, Eddie Marsan, Justin Kirk, Jesse Plemons, Bill Camp, Tyler Perry
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,463: 'Roma' (2018)

You wouldn't know it, but director Alfonso Cuaron has being paying homage to one of the women that helped raise him as a child throughout his career. This woman, Liboria Rodriguez, is clearly close to the filmmaker's heart, and he cast her in cameos in a few of his films, including 2001's Y Tu Mama Tambien. Now, Rodriguez is the topic of her very own film, Roma, Cuaron's ode to the network of women that were key to his upbringing in 1970s Mexico. Of late, Cuaron has mainly focused on big-budget movies for Hollywood, such as last year's Gravity, the riveting thriller Children of Men, and the best Harry Potter film of the series, The Prisoner of Azkaban, but he has dialled things way down for his latest. Roma is about as small-scale as you can get, focusing on a humble maid working for a middle-class family in Mexico City, but complete with the director's trademark dizzying camerawork and gorgeous cinematography.

In a debut appearance, Yalitza Aparicio plays Cleo, a maid working in an affluent household in the Colonia Roma neighbourhood in Mexico City. The four children are incredibly affectionate towards her, scrambling for a cuddle when they sit down to watch television, and parents Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) clearly rely on her as they get on with their busy lifestyles. But there are cracks starting to appear in the marriage. Antonio squeezes his bulky, show-off car into the narrow garage every night, hinting at the father's growing dismay with his surroundings, and he quickly grows frustrated when Cleo fails to clean up the dog shit littering the patio. However, as happy and content as she may appear on the surface, Cleo has to deal with her own problems when she falls pregnant to a martial-arts obsessed military type who is nowhere to be found. With her employers' marriage falling apart and a baby on the way, Cleo struggles to juggle attempting to hold the family together for the sake of the children, and the idea of starting life as a single mother.

Trying to summarise the plot of Roma is no easy task. This is a slice of life plucked from Cuaron's own memories, shot in luscious black-and-white that almost feels like remembering the past through an old photograph. Roma is about class, politics and poverty, but mainly it wishes to tell a story of an unseen hero whose stories are rarely told. It's a film of moments that leave a mark despite how inconsequential they appear, very similar to the neo-Realist films of Satyajit Ray and Robert Rossellini, somehow telling a story that feels vast and epic in scale while keeping the focus on an incredibly personal level. Cuaron is a true craftsman, and, with regular collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki unavailable, actually steps up to the role of cinematographer. This compromise actually worked out in the film's favour, as you couldn't imagine anyone else recreating a time and place from one's childhood with such detail and intimacy. Liboria Rodriguez is clearly a huge inspiration in Cuaron's life, and here the director steps aside to shine the spotlight on her and many other that disappear into the crowd. It was a surprise to learn that Roma would be distributed through Netflix, but after seeing the film, it's hard to believe that any studios would take a gamble on what is essentially a collection of memories played out on screen. But what beautiful memories they are.


Directed by: Alfonso Cuarón
Starring: Yalitza Aparicio, Marina de Tavira, Diego Cortina Autrey, Carlos Peralta, Marco Graf, Daniela Demesa, Nancy García García
Country: Mexico/USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,462: 'Bringing Up Baby' (1938)

Considering Howard Hawks' Bringing Up Baby is now regarded as one of the finest screwball comedies of all time, it's shocking to learn that it was hailed as a flop upon its release in 1938, and received a few unfairly scathing reviews. Romantic comedies are as popular now as they ever have been, and watching Bringing Up Baby 71 years after it was made almost feels as though it could have been released last week, only in black and white and starring two of the finest actors of their, or any other, generation. Its formula and structure is now a blueprint for any filmmakers hoping to make a successful rom-com, featuring all the ingredients now so closely associated with the genre, like the meet-cute, the obstacle standing in the way of happiness, and the quirk that sets the love interest apart from everybody else. The quirk here is a pet leopard named Baby, who - despite how ridiculous it all sounds - is the glue that holds the film together.

For the past four years, goofy palaeontologist David Huxley (Cary Grant) has been searching for the final fossilised piece to finish the Brontosaurus display he has been assembling for the museum. Much to his joy, the 'intercostal clavicle' has been located and will arrive within days, but David doesn't have time to celebrate. On top of his impending marriage to the sullen Alice Swallow (Virginia Walker), there's also the matter of impressing the wealthy Elizabeth Random (May Robson) and her lawyer Alexander Peabody (George Irving), who are considering making a million-dollar donation to the museum. David's plans are interrupted when, on the day before his wedding, he meets motor-mouthed Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) on a golf course when she accidentally plays his ball. From then on, Susan causes David to slip on an olive, tear his dinner jacket, and generally make his life a living hell. She takes a real shine to the mild-mannered and dashing scientist, and proceeds to manipulate him into whisking her and her brother's pet leopard off to a remote farm, where she steals his clothes and accidentally unleashes another leopard into the surrounding area.

It's a ridiculous premise that would look disastrous on paper, but the combined talents of Hawks, Hepburn, Grant and writers Dudley Nichols and Hagar Wilde not only make it work, but turn it into one of funniest films of its era. Similar to Hawks' 1940 masterpiece His Girl Friday, the script moves a mile a minute, cramming in more one-liners and shrewd observations than your brain can keep up with. Of course, the script only works when the actors can bring the words to life, and there has perhaps been no finer pairing in the screwball genre than Hepburn and Grant. Grant, with his vaudeville background, is always brilliant when playing these sorts of characters, but Hepburn, who had little experience doing comedy in 1938, struts into the role with confidence and ends up walking away with the film. Watching them work their magic helped me understand why modern neo-screwball comedies don't work. The actors are simply of a different breed, hailing from a time when live shows were the ruling visual medium and learning the craft was entirely different. Hilarious and romantic in equal measures, Bringing Up Baby helped write the genre rule-book, lending real weight to the idea that they just don't make 'em like that anymore.


Directed by: Howard Hawks
Starring: Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Charles Ruggles, Walter Catlett, Barry Fitzgerald, May Robson, George Irving
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,461: 'So Sweet... So Perverse' (1969)

The giallo may have been pioneered by the great Mario Bava and spectacularly refined by Dario Argento, but Umberto Lenzi was developing the techniques and stylings we now know and love from the mid-1960s. Before he became known for schlocky horror trash like Eaten Alive!, Nightmare City and Cannibal Ferox, Lenzi was toying with rich socialites and exploring pulpy, dime-store stories that often involved ridiculous, labyrinthine plots, psychedelic interiors, and beautiful, untrustworthy women. These are all ingredients of the giallo, and some of these early Lenzi efforts hint at a director with an eye for kitschy visuals, something that certainly doesn't come to mind when you watch a native tribesman scalp a poor traveller in the despicable Cannibal Ferox. These eye-catching visuals are certainly present in his 1969 film So Sweet... So Perverse, but there isn't much else to hold the attention in this plodding soap opera.

Handsome, jet-setting socialite Jean Reynaud (Jean-Louis Trintignant) enjoys a lavish lifestyle of cocktail parties and shooting ranges, but he has grown bored and frustrated with the lack of passion in his marriage to the beautiful Danielle (Erika Blanc). To counter this, Jean sleeps with anybody who happens to catch his eye, including his friend Helene (Helga Line), and his head is turned by the woman who has just moved upstairs, Nicole (Carroll Baker). When he hears screams coming from above, he rushes to Nicole's aid, learning that she is stuck in an abusive sexual relationship with her husband Klaus (Horst Frank). As they spend more time together, the couple inevitably fall in love, yet whenever they escape for a weekend, Klaus always manages to track them down. After a night of passion, Nicole reveals that she and Klaus have actually been paid a hefty sum to lure in and eventually kill Jean, but that the one doing the hiring has not yet revealed themselves.

With such a cool-sounding title (yet another famous trait of the gialli), there is nothing sweet and little perverse about the film itself. Argento eventually set a high standard for story-telling and the slow-building of tension within a vital set-piece, and the likes of Lucio Fulci and Sergio Martino added gory violence and a graceful style into the mix, but So Sweet... So Perverse is frustratingly tame, failing to ignite much interest in the plot or generate any excitement when events take a more sinister tone. Where Lenzi ultimately excels is in the glossy cinematography and dazzling interiors, which are garish enough to amusingly satirise the world of these detached characters and their materialistic lifestyles. Images of sun-drenched locations, expensive suits and beautiful, provocative women add a sleazy glamour and seductive glaze to the film, a hedonistic way-of-life Lenzi is happy to indulge as he shrewdly condemns it. It isn't quite enough to prevent So Sweet... So Perverse from becoming little more than a curious cinematic artefact, that ultimately paved the way for better directors to come along and take this new genre by the scruff.


Directed by: Umberto Lenzi
Starring: Carroll Baker, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Erika Blanc, Horst Frank, Helga Liné
Country: Italy/France/West Germany

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,460: 'Captain Marvel' (2019)

It says a lot about the mammoth universe built by Kevin Feige and the folks at Marvel over the past 11 years that merely the glimpse of a modified pager displaying the colours of their costume is enough to generate a huge amount of buzz around the arrival of a new superhero. Captain Marvel's introduction was teased during the traditional post-credits stinger of last year's Avengers: Infinity War, and now, just under a year later, Brie Larson's Carol Danvers finally makes her bow. Black Panther became a cultural phenomenon, and Infinity War delivered and then some on its promise to bring this breathtaking (first) saga closer to an end, so the small-scale and light-hearted Ant-Man and the Wasp was a welcome, if underwhelming palette cleanser. Captain Marvel is the studio's first female-led superhero film, so there's a weight of expectation behind Marvel once again.

There has been a wave of ugliness online in protest against the idea of female empowerment and Brie Larson's pro-feminist comments before the film even premiered, but an opening weekend of north of $500 million has silenced the haters and, with any hope, brought us closer to a future when a hero's gender or sexuality is irrelevant to a film's success. Captain Marvel is far from perfect. In fact, it relies heavily on Marvel's tried-and-tested origin story formula we saw a lot of when this universe was still in its first phase, although directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck toy around with the structure enough to keep things slightly less familiar. Anyone who was keen to write Captain Marvel off as an example of forced diversity should take the time to actually watch it. Don't get me wrong, the film takes a strong pro-feminist stance and tackles issues plaguing our modern world, but it does so with subtlety. Carol Danvers aka Captain Marvel is strong, confident, even arrogant at times, but just like Tony Stark or Dr. Strange, she is also flawed, troubled and - despite the mystery surrounding her ancestry - recognisably human.

The warrior known as Vers (Larson) is a member of Starforce, an elite band of soldiers operating within the Kree Empire tasked with infiltrating the Skrulls, a race of shape-shifting aliens they have been at war with since before they can remember. Vers is troubled by dreams that feel like memories she does not remember, but her commander Yon-Rogg (Jude Law) trains her to put aside her emotion to focus on the enemy. During a mission to rescue one Starforce's own, Vera is captured by Skrull leader Talos (Ben Mendelsohn), who proceeds to dissect her memories before they all crash down on a strange, primitive planet. That planet is Earth, and the year is 1995. It isn't long before an eager, two-eyed agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. called Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) is drawn to this mysterious stranger and is caught up in her desire to uncover the secrets of her past, along with learning of an intergalactic war that may one day threaten his home. With the help of old friend Maria Rambeau (Lashana Lynch) and a cat named Goose, Vers discovers that she was born Carol Danvers, and that everything she has been taught about who she is and what she's fighting for may actually be a lie.

Although Marvel have done period before with Captain America: The First Avenger back in 2011, Boden and Fleck were clearly having fun revelling in some 90's nostalgia. Although some of the music choices are a little on-the-nose, the appearance of a Blockbuster store and the sound of a dial-up internet connection will delight those, like me, who grew up in the decade. The big joke is that while Carol embarks on galaxy-hopping adventures with the Kree, down here on Earth everything takes an age to load. Captain Marvel switches seamlessly between these two extremes with good humour, and for a character that is destined to become the franchise's next cosmic powerhouse, the low-key approach to her origin actually works in the film's favour. It also allows time for Larson to develop the character, whether it be bouncing off Jackson's one-liners or discovering her old self with her best friend. Larson is great: strong but not over-powered, cocky but endearing. Despite Mendelsohn's scene-stealing, Larson ensures that it'll be Captain Marvel's appearance you'll be eagerly awaiting in the upcoming Avengers: Endgame. Formulaic? Certainly, but Marvel knows how to entertain, and they can't exactly re-define the genre with every film.


Directed by: Anna Boden, Ryan Fleck
Starring: Brie Larson, Samuel L. Jackson, Ben Mendelsohn, Jude Law, Annette Bening, Lashana Lynch, Clark Gregg, Gemma Chan, Rune Temte, Djimon Hounsou
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,459: 'The Reckoning' (1970)

Indicator are a small British blu-ray label who seem to have made it their ultimate goal to unearth some of the best and weirdest forgotten gems from Britain's cinematic past, routinely releasing titles I've never even heard of that turn out to be well worthy of a remaster and rediscovery. One such title is Jack Gold's The Reckoning, a tough, lean thriller about a no-nonsense businessman who travels up North seeking vengeance. Sound familiar? The Reckoning has been compared to Get Carter, which was released the following year, and the two films certainly share some similarities. Yet tonally and thematically the two are worlds apart, with Gold's film more eager to explore class divide and national identity than Carter's more straightforward revenge fantasy. The Reckoning may also be the better film: a punishing experience full of off-putting characters that leaves more of a lasting impression than what many consider to be Michael Caine's finest hour.

It tells the story of Mick Marler (Nicol Williamson), a corporate ball-buster who has worked his way up the ladder over the years with a combination of ruthless business savvy and sheer intimidation. He seems satisfied with his high income and strong social standing, but also has a button-pushing, gold-digging wife (Ann Bell) to contend with. After putting the pieces in place for a business manoeuvre that will favour both himself and his boss (as well as doing away with his biggest rival), Mick heads up north to Liverpool to visit his working-class Irish family. Immediately upon arrival, he discovers his father has died from a heart attack, but is disturbed when he discovers bruising on his father's body. After doing some digging, Mick learns that his father got into a fight with some English 'teddy boys', suffering the fatal heart attack after being punched and kicked to the ground by one of the gang. With his Irish blood boiling inside of him, Mick decides that he must avenge his father, but he also has responsibilities back home.

Torn between his two worlds, Mick goes on a journey of self-discovery that ultimately makes him even more loathsome. When he is in the South, he laughs at the idea of being bound by blood and tradition to avenge his father, but when he is back North, a beast is awoken inside him, and he is irresistibly drawn to embracing his primitive instincts. It's a tough, ugly film that asks you to stick with this part-thug, part-corporate psychopath for just shy of two hours, but John McGrath's screenplay - based on the novel by Patrick Hall - trusts the audience to at least try to understand the man who breezes between two equally brutal, yet entirely different, worlds. This isn't action-packed or even violent as you would expect from a man-on-a-revenge-mission movie, but takes its time to develop this hateful yet fascinating character who used his working-class upbringing to batter his way into the world of lavish dinner parties and fast cars, and was both intrigued and repulsed by what he found. Williamson is excellent, managing to emote both outer ferocity and inner turmoil at the same time, and it's a puzzle why the actor didn't go on to land bigger roles. While it's chaotic at times, The Reckoning is a true forgotten gem that highlights how important the work carried out by Indicator really is.


Directed by: Jack Gold
Starring: Nicol Williamson, Ann Bell, Rachel Roberts, Zena Walker, Paul Rogers, Tom Kempinski
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,458: 'Aquaman' (2018)

After a cameo in Zack Snyder's 2016 car crash Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and a team-up appearance in 2017's equally disastrous Justice League, the time feels right for one of comic-book lore's goofiest superheroes, Aquaman, to receive his own standalone origin story. After all, Jason Momoa's hulking, tattooed fish-whisperer was one of the surprising standouts of DC's flop team-up event, and with the campy orange-and-green costume replaced by a long-hared and shirtless Kiwi Adonis, the character can now be played straight-faced. Wonder Woman proved that DC could produce quality with the right director pulling the strings, and they pulled off a coup with James Wan, a filmmaker whose talents I have long admired despite many of his films missing the mark for me. So it pains me to say that Aquaman is yet another tonally uneven and bloated effort from Warner Bros. that never quite knows if it wants to make you laugh or feel, with a marathon running time which, by the time is gets round to its umpteenth climax, is about as welcome as a fart in a wetsuit.

In 1985, lighthouse keeper Tom Curry (Temuera Morrison) comes across a beautiful woman washed up on the shores of Maine. The woman is Atlanna (Nicole Kidman), a princess from the underwater nation of Atlantis who has escaped an arranged marriage and a gang of Atalantian stormtroopers. Tom takes her in and the two naturally fall in love, resulting in the birth of the half-Atlantian, half-human Arthur. When her enemies come calling, Atlanna must return to the ocean, leaving Tom to bring up young Arthur on his own. The baby grows up to be the beer-swilling gym-devotee we saw in Justice League, but there is trouble a-brewin' down in the depths. Arthur's half-brother Orm (Patrick Wilson) wants to unite the kingdoms of Atlantis and wage war on the surface, who have been polluting their home for decades. But Orm knows that he will never be accepted as the true leader while Arthur, who has no desire to take the throne, is still alive. Mera (Amber Heard), the daughter of King Nereus (Dolph Lundgren), comes to warn Arthur, but they don't stand a chance against the might of Atlantis without the Trident of Atlan, a magical weapon buried somewhere in the Sahara desert.

Aquaman certainly isn't short of ideas; the problem is that Wan doesn't quite know how to cram them all in. We are taken across continents on land and to multiple kingdoms under the water. With a desire to capture the adventurous magic of Romancing the Stone and Indiana Jones, the film actually trips over its own ambition, squeezing in side characters such as Atlantean Mr. Miyagi Vulko (Willem Dafoe) and the fearsome pirate Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), as well as a variety of underwater races we are expected to remember and littering the story with clunky CGI smackdowns. Wan crafts a colourful, vivid world, full of giant sea-horses and advanced technology, but it shares more in common with the weightless. computer-generated locations of The Phantom Menace than the tangible flamboyance of Black Panther's Wakanda. Yet all of this could be considered a mere niggle had the leads been up to the task, but Momoa and Heard have all the chemistry of two strangers making awkward small-talk in a lift. Momoa is an impressive specimen and possesses the charisma to bring this character to life (see Justice League), but here he is denied a moment to have that quiet moment of reflection or to reveal the flaws to his character that would help make him interesting. A wheezing, confused and sickly bore.


Directed by: James Wan
Starring: Jason Momoa, Amber Heard, Willem Dafoe, Patrick Wilson, Nicole Kidman, Dolph Lundgren, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Temuera Morrison
Country: Australia/USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,457: 'Creed II' (2018)

One of the many surprise pleasures of Ryan Coogler's Creed was not only its ability to find much life in what was a tired, decades-sprawling franchise, but the way it managed to add emotional weight to the events of Rocky IV, a crowd-pleasing fan-favourite that remains the cheesiest and most ridiculous entry into the series to date. While the death of Carl Weathers' Apollo Creed was shocking and unexpected, it was followed by an air-punching victory for the Italian Stallion underdog during which he also won the Cold War for the U.S., all backed to the most 80s of soundtracks. By following the early career of one of Apollo's bastard children Adonis (Michael B. Jordan), Creed added an unexpected gravity to the consequences of the former's reckless lifestyle, mixing family tragedy into what was otherwise a traditional sports movie.

With Adonis now having dealt with his personal demons over his father's neglect and untimely death, Steven Caple Jr.'s follow-up Creed II faces its own battle in keeping the young fighter's story interesting, as well as delivering an exciting boxing movie without bowing down to cliches. Having lost the fight but won the night at the climax of the previous film, Adonis has gone on to win the Heavyweight Championship and achieve global stardom with trusted old dog Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone) at his side. He proposes to his girlfriend Bianca (Tessa Thompson), who is concerned that her own hearing loss may be passed down to their unborn child, and with few fighters talented enough to pose Adonis a real threat, he agonises over building a legacy worthy of his father and trainer. Ripples start to appear in his close relationships and personal drive, which only work against him when a figure from Rocky's past re-emerges with a challenge that could not only lose Creed the title, but end his career entirely.

That man is Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren), who over the years has worked tirelessly to mould his son Viktor (Florian Munteanu) into one of the most most formidable bruisers on the planet. The film begins with them exiled in Ukraine after the embarrassment of Ivan's defeat in Rocky IV, and their relationship is actually the film's most interesting aspect. Ivan hopes that by making his son the world champion his country will welcome him back, but their bond is fractured and strained as a result. It's a thread that should have been explored in more depth, since it's infinitely more interesting than Adonis awkwardly practising his proposal speech. But the melodrama is backed up with a lot of heart, and Stallone's Balboa is again the thread that ties it all together. Dealing with his own family issues on top of dreading the thought of watching another Creed die in his prime at the hands of a Drago, Stallone is magnificent, capable of delivering chills as his voice is heard for the first time off-camera. It's a step down from the electricity of Creed, but it was always going to be. For what is essentially a remake of Rocky IV, the fact that Creed II manages to be emotional, exciting and joyous despite embracing genre cliches is a monumental achievement in itself.


Directed by: Steven Caple Jr.
Starring: Michael B. Jordan, Sylvester Stallone, Tessa Thompson, Phylicia Rashad, Dolph Lundgren, Florian Munteanu, Russell Hornsby, Wood Harris
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,456: 'Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse' (2018)

When Sony announced a year or so ago that they were planning an animated take on the Spider-Man character, the question was asked by even the most hardcore of fans of whether yet another incarnation of everybody's favourite web-crawler can really be justified. After all, in the last 17 years alone, there's been Sam Raimi's popular trilogy starring Tobey Maguire, Marc Webb's ill-fated reboot in 2012, and most recently Tom Holland has donned the mask for the hero's introduction into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse doesn't only introduce a new Spidey in the form of Miles Morales, but also includes two versions of Peter Parker, as well as four other versions of the world's most popular superhero. The fact that the film isn't a cluster-fuck is a miracle in itself. The fact that this is the best Spider-Man movie ever made is something else entirely.

Miles Morales (Shameik Moore) is an average teenager who, like the majority of kids his age, look up to and admire their friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man (Chris Pine). When he isn't in school, Miles divides his time between his over-protective police officer father (Brian Tyree Henry) and his cooler, scrappier Uncle Aaron (Mahershala Ali). The latter encourages his nephew's passion for graffiti art, and as Miles works on his new project in an abandoned subway station, he is bitten by a radioactive spider. He starts to stick to his classmates and hear a voice-over in his head (one of the film's many clever ways of bringing the comic-book page to life), but he is faced with his biggest dilemma when he accidentally stumbles upon Spider-Man battling the Kingpin (Liev Schreiber), who is working on a particle accelerator with the ability to access parallel dimensions. The fight ends in disaster, with the machine opening up wormholes long enough to bring a host of parallel Spider-People into their world.

With Kingpin threatening to reactivate the device and destroy the city, Miles carries the fate of his friends and family with him, but he is not alone. Helping the youngster master his new abilities are the overweight Peter B. Parker (Jake Johnson), Spider-Woman aka Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld), the black-and-white Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage), wise-cracking cartoon Spider-Ham (John Mulaney), and SP//dr, a spider-controlled robot who shares a telepathic link with a young Japanese girl (Kimiko Glenn). Such a large collection of characters who each share similar yet personal origins could have been an overload, but directors Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey and Rodney Rothman - working from a script by Rothman and Phil Lord - wisely keep the focus on Miles, with the rest serving as the new Spider-Man's mentor in their own unique way. Rather than steal the attention away from Miles, the gang actually get to the root of what makes Spider-Man such a compelling hero. They may all be plagued by tragedy and loss, but they will prevail in their battle against evil with fearless determination and good humour. Spider-Verse understands the character better than Sam Raimi, Marc Webb and Jon Watts ever could, as good as some of the previous films have been.

This new host of Spider-People also provide some of the film's funniest moments, whether it be overly-serious brooding of Cage's Noir or the madcap anime weirdness of SP//dr. It's ever funnier than Homecoming, a film which embraced the comedic side of the hero, and isn't afraid to take hilarious digs at the failures of its predecessors (we all remember the Spider-Man 3 emo-dance and face-jiggle). Most impressive of all is Spider-Verse's groundbreaking animation, which combines various styles and techniques to create a truly stimulating experience that could be paused at any moment and admired as a stunning piece of art. The sight of Spider-Man gliding through the city skyline back in 2002 will forever remain iconic, but Miles' first leap from the edge of a building will inspire a whole new generation of fans with its vertigo-inducing imagery and dazzling neon colours. Of course, this would all be decoration if the characters and story didn't captivate, but Spider-Verse achieves this in abundance. Miles is a great hero to root for: confidant enough to justify his new power set, yet bumbling enough to be relatable to any teenagers watching. Fantastic all-round, and fully deserving of its recent Oscar win for Best Animated Feature.


Directed by: Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman
Voices: Shameik Moore, Jake Johnson, Hailee Steinfeld, Mahershala Ali, Brian Tyree Henry, Lily Tomlin, John Mulaney
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,455: 'Four Rooms' (1995)

The early 1990s saw a rise in independent film-making that gave a voice to the wannabe auteurs and allowed them to handpick their own posse of preferred actors. This movement was spearheaded by the likes of Richard Linklater, Steven Soderbergh and Quentin Tarantino, and backed by disgraced scumbag Harvey Weinstein. Fresh off the huge success of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino was becoming a household name, and his unique brand of motor-mouthed, pop-culture-heavy dialogue and extreme violence was striking a chord with moviegoers both young and old. He took this unexpected fame and influence and used it unite a group of indie up-and-comers - Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell and Robert Rodruguez - for an offbeat anthology film about a young bellhop named Ted (Tim Roth) and his encounters with the various oddballs staying at his hotel.

The result was Four Rooms, and there's a reason Tarantino chooses to forget his own segment behind the camera when his trailers announce the new film as the nth of his career. It begins promisingly with a quirky animated intro that sets the goofy, unpredictable tone of the film, before diving into a collection of stories that appear to have been dreamt up in between bong hits. One thing Four Rooms has going for it is that the short films improve as we progress, but even Tarantino's final section reeks of narcissism and smugness. Anders' first story, about a coven of witches (including Ione Skye, Madonna, Alicia Witt, Lili Taylor, Sammi Davis and Valeria Golino) attempting to resurrect a goddess, may have worked for an episode of Charmed, but falls flat as the opener of what is supposed to be a collaboration between some of cinema's most exciting maverick filmmakers. Rockwell's short plonks Ted in the middle of psycho-sexual game between married couple Sigfried (David Proval) and Angela (Jennifer Beals).

The first two segments may have raised a titter if the writers didn't have such a tin ear for comedy and had a lead actor with a natural gift for over-the-top comedy. I love Tim Roth and he has had many great roles, but his twitching, shrieking Ted belongs in a cartoon. Rodriguez and Tarantino's efforts fare better because they rely less on Roth's prat-falls and more on their own self-indulgences. The performance of Antonio Banderas as a ridiculously posturing father who leaves his children under Ted's protection is a particular highlight from the third story, as the children naturally decide to make Ted's night a living Hell. Tarantino's climactic entry is full of memorable dialogue and pop culture insights, but the director, who also plays the main role, fails to inject much life into what is otherwise a plodding re-hash of his favourite episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Anthology films are always hit-and-miss, but Four Rooms fails to register a single hit. What was supposed to be a triumphant coming-together of a new wave of hip filmmakers is instead a limp and uneven slog through a tide of bad comedy and even worse ideas. One of the biggest disappointments of the 90s.


Directed by: Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Tim Roth, Antonio Banderas, Valeria Golino, Madonna, Alicia Witt, Sammi Davis, Lili Taylor, Ione Skye, David Proval
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie