Review #1,416: 'Mandy' (2018)

Horror fans were foaming at the mouth as soon as the first trailer dropped for Panos Cosmatos' Mandy - a hallucinogenic mash-up of revenge thriller and psychedelic horror featuring a Nicolas Cage well and truly off the leash. And for good reason. Whilst Mandy may not have much to offer in terms of plot and actual meaning, as a purely sensory experience, this 80's heavy metal album come-to-life will get certainly get a rise out of you, whether you're on the film's side or not. The story concerns lumberjack Red Miller (Cage) and his artist girlfriend Mandy (Andrea Riseborough), who live in peaceful solitude in a cabin in the woods. They talk of their favourite planets and never leaving their isolated home, but their happy existence is soon to be pulled away from them. Nearby, a cult led by failed musician Jeremiah Sand (Linus Roache) happen to be passing through, and once the Manson-like prophet lays his eyes on Mandy, he simply must have her.

Sand trusts his second-in-command Brother Swan (Ned Dennehy) to kidnap Mandy and bring her to him, and he does so by summoning a band of leather-draped demons who look like they've stumbled off the set of the latest Hellraiser film. They tie Mandy up and force-feed her LSD in preparation for Jeremiah's grand seduction, which includes playing her his terrible music and flashing his naked torso. When Mandy doesn't play ball, they punish her insolence in front of the bound Red, who watches in horror as his one true love is snatched away forever. They leave Red for dead, only the gruff lumberjack manages to escape to plan his bloody revenge. Handed a small arsenal of brutal weapons by his friend Caruthers (Bill Duke), Red aims to take out the bikers first, before moving on to the hippy freaks. What unfolds is a sequence of battles played out almost like a computer game, as Red cuts, chops and snaps his way up to the main target. This is the kind of film in which an early sighting of a chainsaw is of a promise of its reappearance later down the line (and it'll be way better than you expected).

If you've ever slipped on some headphones, blasted out some classic heavy metal, and dropped a shit-ton of LSD, then you'll have likely experienced something similar to Mandy. Backed by a magnificently industrial score by the late Johan Johannsson, Mandy is a trip from start to finish. The first hour moves at a crawl, moving its characters into place and easing us into this strange world of scorched red skies and masked hitmen in gimp suits, before unleashing a second hour of hardcore violence and Nic Cage at his most Nic Cage-iest. The scene in which Cage breaks down in a bathroom drinking whatever vodka he doesn't pour into his gaping wounds while not wearing trousers would usually be the stuff of unintentional comedy gold, but it's actually damn fine acting, closer to Face/Off crazy than Dog Eat Dog crazy. Little makes sense and the characters spit hokey dialogue like something out of the fantasy novels Mandy loves so much, but the whole experience is so cerebral and in-your-face that it's difficult not to get swept up into the madness. It will divide most down the middle, between those who will find the pace and intensity off-putting and those who will appreciate the VHS-murkiness of it all. Personally, I'm somewhere in between. At two hours, it's too long, but there's a breathtaking 100-minute movie in there somewhere.


Directed by: Panos Cosmatos
Starring: Nicolas Cage, Andrea Riseborough, Linus Roache, Ned Dennehy, Richard Brake, Bill Duke
Country: USA/Belgium/UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,312: 'The Death of Stalin' (2017)

After spending most of the 1990s helping create the likes of The Day Today and I'm Alan Partridge - two of the greatest comedy works to have ever come out of Britain - satirist Armando Iannucci really made a name for himself with The Thick of It, a political farce centred around a bunch of politicians and spin doctors within a fictional government department going to ridiculous lengths to further their own careers and avoid the sack at the behest of an unseen prime minister. This led to the brilliant spin-off feature film In the Loop, before he would go on to tackle U.S. politics with acclaimed HBO series Veep. These groundbreaking satires now seem like they were a mere warm-up for his most ambitious project yet, The Death of Stalin, which covers the panic-stricken aftermath following the demise of one of the Soviet Union most notorious dictators, Joseph Stalin.

For the film, Iannucci has gathered together some of the finest British actors working today: those who are as comfortable with improvisation as they are with brooding monologues. Michael Palin is Molotov, the nervously chirpy minister who remained loyal to Stalin after the execution of his wife; Andrea Riseborough is Svetlana, Stalin's emotionally crumbled daughter; and Rupert Fried is the drunken son Vasily. Most impressive of all is Simon Russell Beale as the reptilian Lavrenti Beria, a man renowned for his love of rape and torture who is now desperately picking up the scraps and trying to seize power. Working against Beria is Steve Buscemi's Khrushchev, the former cabinet jester who may actually be the country's best bet. Trying to hold it all together is Jeffrey Tambor's timid Malenkov, who despite unwavering loyalty to his leader discovers his name on a death list before the big guy drops dead, and is installed as acting Premier shortly after.

There are many belly laughs to be enjoyed in The Death of Stalin, but Iannucci's approach to the subject matter often approaches horror territory. While the worst the players in The Thick of It faced was public embarrassment or a dressing down from Malcolm Tucker, here one ill-timed comment can land you with a bullet in the head. It's an incredibly scary place, where characters stroll nonchalantly through grey buildings as screams and gunshots hum in the background, and people are taken from their homes by armed officers for some imagined slight. The comedy and tragedy are incredibly well-balanced, and intensifies the absurdity of political life to genuinely concerning levels. Watching the terrible events unfold as these desperate men stutter and scurry around like rats, willing to back-stab and manipulate their colleagues without pausing for breath if it means buying themselves some extra time, is irresistible. As you would expect, Iannucci's script (co-written by David Schneider and Ian Martin) is expletive-laden and sharp as a dagger, and the entire ensemble are at the top of their game. It's unlikely The Death of Stalin will ever see a release in Russia, but someone should definitely suggest Putin adds it to his IMDb watchlist.


Directed by: Armando Iannucci
Starring: Steve Buscemi, Simon Russell Beale, Jeffrey Tambor, Andrea Riseborough, Michael Palin, Paddy Considine, Jason Isaacs, Rupert Friend, Olga Kurylenko
Country: UK/France/Belgium

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,181: 'Nocturnal Animals' (2016)

Seven year after fashion designer Tom Ford surprised everyone by delivering a tender, stylish romance with A Single Man, the writer/director returns for another tale of romantic exploration tinged with danger and sadness. Adapted from Austin Wright's 1993 novel Tony and Susan and renamed Nocturnal Animals for the screen, Ford expertly weaves three narratives, each with their unique look, tone and mood, into a brooding character study. One of the few criticisms thrown at A Single Man was its tendency to place style above substance, but I disagreed at the time, and offer Nocturnal Animals as proof that Ford is a skilled director who balances aesthetic and narrative seamlessly, and often to devastating effect.

The film opens with shocking images of obese women dancing provocatively, and naked, in front of the camera. It's the opening of artist Susan Morrow's (Amy Adams) latest work, and it's a hit amongst the champagne-guzzlers who occupy the room. Susan seems to have everything: a lavish, modern mansion; a wardrobe full of expensive clothes; and a dashing (and rich) husband in Hutton (Armie Hammer). Everything, that is, other than happiness. At a dinner with her pompous artists friends (including a scene-stealing Michael Sheen), she voices her concerns about her husband's suspected affairs and her struggle to take herself seriously in her line of work. As Hutton jets off on a business trip, Susan is home alone when she receives a package from her ex-husband Tony (Jake Gyllenhaal). It's a draft of his finished novel, called Nocturnal Animals.

There a multiple stories within the film, and we are transported into the novel as Susan reads it. It begins with a family driving down a deserted highway at night when they are suddenly run off the road by a group of rednecks. The father (also Gyllenhaal) attempts to diffuse the situation by offering to pay for the damages, but the hooligans, headed by the psychopathic Ray Marcus (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) wind up kidnapping the wife and daughter. The further this dark, violent tale takes us, the clearer it becomes that it is mirroring Susan's reality, and that there may be a hidden message in there somewhere. Is Tony fucking with his ex-wife for a prior incident, or could it be his bizarre way of trying to win back her affections?  Either way, this fictional narrative clearly holds the key to unravelling the couple's part turmoil, and the mindset of both Tony and Susan after their marriage fell apart.

The performances are impressive throughout. Adams demands your attention whenever she graces the screen, expressing the most powerful of emotions with the subtlest of facial movements. Michael Shannon, who was shockingly the only one of the four leads to receive an Oscar nod, is particularly memorable as a long-past-giving-a-fuck Texan lawman riddled with cancer. Yet it's Ford who emerges as the star, delivering an expertly crafted crime psychodrama that is both a curious study of the grotesque bourgeois and a lean, mean Texas revenge thriller. While it's certainly true that the male characters are much more layered than the females, the film received unfair accusations of misogyny upon its release, which may explain its absence from the major categories during awards season. It's a shame, as Nocturnal Animals deserves some recognition for its intoxicating cocktail of Hitchcockian tension, gritty human drama, and decadent visuals.


Directed by: Tom Ford
Starring: Amy Adams, Jake Gyllenhaal, Michael Shannon, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Isla Fisher, Ellie Bamber, Armie Hammer, Michael Sheen, Andrea Riseborough
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #837: 'Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)' (2014)

Director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu seems to have cheered up a bit since his reach-for-the-noose-depressing trilogy of 21 Grams (2003), Babel (2006) and Biutiful (2010). The first two are excellent films (I haven't seen the third), telling honest and brutal human stories powerfully played by expert, distinguished actors, but show no signs of the kind of energy, wit and satire of his latest, Birdman, this year's Best Picture Oscar winner. We spend two hours inside the world of washed-up actor Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton), who is having a later-than-midlife crisis trying to escape from his superstar days of being a costumed hero and trying to re-invent himself by writing, directing and starring in his own play.

For a film that spends so much time poking fun at the self-contained world of thespians and the empty yet highly-craved escapism of blockbuster cinema, Birdman manages to be, in it's own strange, unique way, a bit of both. When we first meet Riggan, he is meditating mid-air. He moves objects telekinetically, and his actions and decisions are criticised and mocked by his former alter-ego, Birdman himself. We are in and out of our protagonist's head, which is made even more delirious by the magnificent camerawork by Emmanuel Lubezki, one of the finest in the business. With the odd exception, for the most part Birdman appears edit-free. Day turns to night in the same shot and vice versa. But this is no mere gimmick.

We're on the cusp of the opening of What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, Riggan's stage adaptation of Raymond Carver's (very) short story. One of his actors is injured by a falling piece of equipment and is replaced last-minute by primadonna dick-head Mike Shiner (Edward Norton) whose girlfriend Lesley (Naomi Watts) is already working on the play; his daughter Sam (Emma Stone) is fresh out of rehab and is resentful of her father's late-in-life attempts at reconnection; his female lead Laura (Andrea Riseborough) is pregnant and tells Riggan it's his; and pompous art critic Tabitha (Lindsay Duncan) is determined to destroy the play before it's even played. It's a stressful time for Riggan to say the least, and with the illusion of watching one continuous shot, we feel right there with him. With the near-constant jazz score, we also feel every beat.

But the technical aspects of the movie do not overshadow the story, and it is played out by a gifted ensemble. With the loose, free-spiritedness of it all, Keaton breaks free and shines, excelling at the moments of comedy (Riggan's semi-naked dash through Times Square is a highlight), and moving us in the more tender moments involving his sympathetic ex-wife Sylvia (Amy Ryan). He's also as precious as his fellow actors, disgruntled that Woody Harrelson, Michael Fassbender and Jeremy Renner are unavailable due to working on their highly successful franchises, resentful at he fact that he wore a cape before capes were cool. It could have been a disorientating experience, instead it's exhilarating. It could have also trodden ground covered before, but it's so on-the-nose that it feels fresh. And it may not be the best film of the year as Oscar may have you believe (my heart lies firmly with The Grand Budapest Hotel), but Birdman is everything and nothing, just like Riggan himself.


Directed by: Alejandro González Iñárritu
Starring: Michael Keaton, Edward Norton, Emma Stone, Andrea Riseborough, Zach Galifianakis, Naomi Watts, Amy Ryan, Lindsay Duncan
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie