Review #1,480: 'Fighting with My Family' (2019)

Wrestling movies don't come along very often, at least not those that take the sport seriously. Perhaps the idea of adults dressing up in ridiculously skimpy costumes and acting out a pre-choreographed fight is theatrical enough already, so a leap to the big screen would be ultimately redundant, or maybe the sport is simply too niche to guarantee a healthy return on a studios investment. But ever since The Wrestler put Mickey Rourke through the ringer, there has been a newfound respect for wrestling and the athletes who push their bodies to the very limit, particularly from those who have never sat down to watch a WWE event in their lives. Fighting with My Family continues this trend, loosely retelling the story of Saraya-Jade Bevis , aka Paige, who emerged from a working-class wrestling family in Norwich, England to become a WWE champion.

The film begins in 2002, with wrestling-mad 10 year-old Zak Knight getting pumped for the start of a WWF pay-per-view event before his younger sister Saraya turns over the channel to watch her favourite show, Charmed. Fast-forward a decade, and the two siblings have embraced their parents' passion for wrestling and have adopted ring names of their own. Zak (Jack Lowden) has become 'Zodiac Zak' and Saraya (Florence Pugh) is now 'Britani Knight', and they perform regularly at their wrestling club. The dream of dad Ricky (Nick Frost) and mum Julia (Lena Headey) is for their kids to make the transition to the big leagues, and tapes are regularly sent off to promoters in the hope of catching their eye. They finally receive a call from WWE trainer Hutch Morgan (Vince Vaughn) and receive an invitation for try-outs, but after a gruelling audition, only Saraya, now using the stage name Paige, is selected.

As Zak is sent into a spiral of anger and depression, Paige struggles to work out who she is in Florida's sun-drenched world of golden-skinned models. Somewhat an outsider even back home (outside of the close-knit wrestling community), she feels isolated, mentally unprepared for the rigorous workout schedules and the standards required for the big-time. Fighting with My Family often flirts with cliche, but this is a sports movie after all. It works by developing characters we can relate to and truly root for, regardless of how ridiculous you may find the whole wrestling craze. This is down to the combined efforts of writer/director Stephen Merchant, who seems like the unlikeliest candidate to helm a wrestling picture, and the cast, who are all entirely believable.

Pugh in particular finds the right balance of inner vulnerability and the outer toughness Hutch no doubt signed her up for, and Merchant helps bring out these traits with the right balance of comedy, drama and sentiment. Frost is also perfectly cast, showing once again that he's a terrific actor in his own right and not just Simon Pegg's sidekick. For wrestling fans, there are plenty of cameos to spot, with Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson showing up for an extended cameo that may feel like a gimmick until you learn of his role in Paige's real-life story. Above all, Fighting with My Family is a heartfelt tale that celebrates embracing the inner weirdo and the sport that welcomes such misfits with open arms - if you're tough enough.


Directed by: Stephen Merchant
Starring: Florence Pugh, Jack Lowden, Lena Headey, Nick Frost, Vince Vaughn, Dwayne Johnson
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

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 #1,445: 'Bohemian Rhapsody' (2018)

Bohemian Rhapsody started out life way back in 2010, with Sacha Baron Cohen set to star as Queen's hypnotic frontman Freddie Mercury. With band members Brian May and Roger Taylor heavily involved in the development, Baron Cohen eventually left, citing creative differences with the way they wished to approach the story as the main reason for his departure. The years went by, and in 2017, the wheels were well and truly in motion with Bryan Singer in the director's chair and Rami Malek in the lead role. The production was famously dogged with problems, and when Singer was eventually fired for unprofessional behaviour (reports say he was frequently disruptive on set, even failing to turn up for three days straight), it felt like the film would never see the light of day. But Dexter Fletcher filled the vacant director's chair and Bohemian Rhapsody was released to huge box-office numbers, and recently received Academy Award nominations for Best Picture and Best Actor, amongst others.

Remarkably, despite the film's difficult production, there's no sign of patchwork or a clash of directorial styles. Bohemian Rhapsody actually has much greater problems, and while anybody looking for an easily-digestible Queen sing-a-long with find much to love here, anybody hoping for a deeper re-telling of one of the music's most enigmatic figures with likely be baffled at the film's eagerness to share the credit and Wikipedia-entry approach to story-telling. We briefly get to see Mercury before he took to the stage, working as a baggage-handler at Heathrow while his parents worry about his lack of academic ambition. His experience as a young immigrant is summarised by a single racial slur, and the film isn't too concerned with exploring this any further. Perhaps screenwriter Anthony McCarten (who wrote last year's similarly formulaic Oscar-baiter Darkest Hour) felt like this would be too much of a drag for the audience, so he quickly moves to Mercury introducing himself to Smile guitarist Brian May (Gwilym Lee) and drummer Roger Taylor (Ben Hardy), coincidentally mere seconds after the band loses its lead singer.

A few montages later and the band now known as Queen (bassist John Deacon (Joseph Mazzello) completes the group) are signed up by manager John Reid (Aidan Gillen) and land a contract with EMI Records. The characters act and talk like they already know how the story turns out, and the film only manages to scratch beneath the surface when dealing with Mercury's relationship with love-of-his-life Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton) and her gradual realisation of his sexuality. The rest consists of band squabbles that always seem to conclude with the writing of a hit song, rock movie cliches like the alcohol-fuelled parties and accelerating ego, and cartoon supporting characters (Mike Myers' meta appearance as EMI executive Ray Foster spectacularly misses the mark). By aiming for 12A/PG-13 certificate, Mercury's story is oddly sexless. For a man that radiated sex and sexiness with every air-punch and pout, the lack of raunchiness adds an unwelcome TV-movie quality. It only really comes alive when Malik is allowed to do his thing on stage, climaxing with an extended Live Aid performance that will have you singing along and waving your arms. It's a great impression by Malik, if hardly a great performance, and it helps reminds us of how great Queen really were and how timeless their sound is. Bohemian Rhapsody has certainly made me a bigger Queen fan, but this isn't the biopic the band deserve. That being said, I haven't come across a single person that agrees with me, so what do I know?


Directed by: Bryan Singer
Starring: Rami Malek, Lucy Boynton, Gwilym Lee, Ben Hardy, Joseph Mazzello, Aidan Gillen, Allen Leech, Tom Hollander, Mike Myers
Country: UK/USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,438: 'First Man' (2018)

Fifty years have passed since the Apollo 11 mission sent three astronauts into outer space and onto the surface of the moon for the first time in the history of mankind. The arrival of First Man, Damien Chazelle's part-Neil Armstrong biography, part-NASA procedural, naturally raises the question of whether the U.S.'s greatest achievement in still relevant in today's political and economic upheaval. Rather than taking the chest-puffing, flag-planting patriotic route to reassure people that America is still indeed great, Chazelle's turns this story - which isn't just about Armstrong - into a celebration of the efforts of everybody involved in the space program, and how they overcame incredible odds to finally set foot on the moon. The brave souls involved did so with the knowledge that a mere loose wire or an unforeseen spark in the electrics can spell certain death, and that nothing but a rickety wall separates them from the warmth of the cramped cockpit and the infinite darkness of space.

Chazelle puts us on edge from the get-go and straight into the adrenaline-fuelled life of an astronaut, as Armstrong, played by Ryan Gosling, struggles to re-enter the atmosphere while piloting the X-15 rocket plane. It's a masterclass of editing, sound design and cinematography, as the death-trap rattles and clunks while alarms blare in the background. And then, it's silence, as the blue clouds come into focus and we touch down in the desert. It's a trick performed time and time again by Chazelle and his technical staff, carving a clear but thin line between peril and safety, as well as allowing the audience to breathe again. The various missions and tests carried out as NASA prepares for the incredible (and beating the Soviets in the process) are captured with expert precision, keen to recreate these real-life events with painstaking accuracy, while injecting these moments with enough cinema magic to keep the palms sweaty. I'd love to hear Neil deGrasse Tyson's thoughts. A special mention must also go to composer Justin Hurwitz, whose otherworldly score - which employs theremins and synthesizers to hark back to the sci-fi B-movies of the 1950s - creates a strange, unsettling mood, bursting into glorious life when the final moments arrive.

But First Man isn't just a matter-of-fact account of NASA's finest hour. While some key players are somewhat drowned out (Pablo Schreiber's Jim Lovell makes a somewhat fleeting appearance and Corey Stoll's Buzz Aldrin is painted as little more than an arsehole), this is also an incredibly personal story of an introverted man whose mind seems to be away with the stars long before he leaves Earth. Haunted by the loss of his young daughter, Armstrong is quiet and straight-laced, even addressing his own sons like press at a news conference. It takes a special actor to pull this off, and Gosling seems to excel when playing the silent, stoic type, radiating charisma with a mere glance and emoting so much when doing so little. The film takes a slight detour into schmaltz with a sub-plot involving Armstrong carrying the bracelet of his dead daughter, but given the central character's withdrawn nature, it's easy to understand why Chazelle felt that it was required. There's also solid support from Jason Clarke as Ed White, Kyle Chandler as Deke Slayton, and Claire Foy, who is given a bit more to do as Janet Armstrong than the wives-at-home usually get in astronaut films. With time, First Man will be the definitive moon landing movie. While it's a stunning procedural, Chazelle directs the thing like a conductor, forging a spiritual journey in a world that laughs at the idea of feeling God's presence.


Directed by: Damien Chazelle
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Claire Foy, Jason Clarke, Kyle Chandler, Corey Stoll, Pablo Schreiber, Shea Whigham
Country: USA/Japan

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,436: 'Loving Vincent' (2017)

There have been many attempts over the years to comprehend the genius of Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh, from 1956's Lust for Life, to 1990's ambitious Vincent & Theo. While some of these movies are unquestionably good - perhaps none more masterful than Maurice Pialat's Van Gogh - the man himself remains an enigma, so filmmakers have now been forced to take more experimental measures when attempting to understand the painter who, while now regarded as one of art's most influential figures, only managed to sell one painting out of a rumoured 900 during his lifetime. Much focus is placed on the infamous ear-slicing incident, and this is where we began in Loving Vincent, a joint Polish and UK film that employed 125 painters to painstakingly recreate van Gogh's style over footage shot with actors in front of a green screen.

A year after van Gogh's suicide, postmaster and close friend of the troubled artist Joseph Roulin (Chris O'Dowd) tasks his street-fighting son Armand (Douglas Booth) with delivering van Gogh's final letter to his brother Theo. With questions surrounding the suicide still up in the air, Joseph finds van Gogh's sudden demise as suspicious, especially since the painter was in high spirits in the days leading up to the tragedy. It's a feeling that will eventually be shared by Joseph as he embarks on his journey, meeting faces familiar to us from van Gogh's portraits, including the likes of art dealer Pere Tanguy (John Sessions), cafe owner Adeline Ravoux (Eleanor Tomlinson) and close friend Doctor Gachet (Jerome Flynn). As Joseph learns of van Gogh's day-to-day life and his rocky relationship with Gachet and his daughter Marguerite (Saoirse Ronan), this may not be a cut-and-dry suicide carried out by an ear-chopping madman as previously thought.

By turning the subject of van Gogh into a dime-store detective story, Loving Vincent frequently runs the risk of tipping over into TV movie territory. What ultimately prevents this from happening is the time, care and love etched into every frame by directors Dorota Kobiela and Hugh Welchman and the tireless artists, who took approximately 6 years to recreate the likes of Starry Night, At Eternity's Gate and Bank of the Oise at Auvers, and weave these scenes into a convincing narrative. There's also great work by the ensemble cast, each bringing to life the portraits they're based on without feeling staged, and each character offering a unique viewpoint of van Gogh himself, and how he was treated by those around him. It's a fresh take on van Gogh's life, mixing traditional narrative with flashbacks and interpretations in the hope of understanding this mysterious figure or seeing him from a different angle. The man himself is here also, played by Robert Gulaczyk, but his actions and behaviours still remain a mystery. While the true crime slant is somewhat pulpy, Loving Vincent is a treat for fans of van Gogh's work, and undeniably crafted with tenderness and a genuine love of its subject.


Directed by: Dorota Kobiela, Hugh Welchman
Starring: Douglas Booth, Jerome Flynn, Saoirse Ronan, Helen McCrory, Chris O'Dowd, John Sessions, Eleanor Tomlinson, Aidan Turner
Country: Poland/UK/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,427: 'BlacKkKlansman' (2018)

Although he is still producing an impressive body of work, it feels like Spike Lee has been away from the mainstream for an age. When Jordan Peele brought him the unbelievably true story of Ron Stallworth, a black detective who infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan in the 1970s, Lee jumped at the chance to tackle what would be his biggest joint since 2013's rather pointless Oldboy remake. If the movie didn't tell you as much at the introduction, you would likely have a difficult time believing that what you are seeing actually (well, kinda) happened. Based on Stallworth's memoir Black Klansman, Lee takes the story and successfully manipulates it into a commentary on racial hostility in the U.S. and its circular momentum throughout the country's history. Not only that, but BlacKkKlansman is also a funny police procedural that tips its outlandish hat to the blaxsploitation movies of the era.

Ron Stallworth (John David Washington) has just become the first black police officer in the Colorado Springs police department. He is eager to make a mark, but finds himself assigned to the records room, locating files for his racist co-workers. After making his desire to work undercover known to his superiors, Ron is tasked with infiltrating a rally involving civil rights leader Kwame Ture (Corey Hawkins), where he meets Patrice Dumas (Laura Harrier), the president of a black student union. Assigned to the intelligence division, Ron spots an advert in the paper for a KKK recruitment drive and, with his best white man voice, bags himself a meeting with Walter (Ryan Eggold), the president of the local chapter. His fellow officers are quick to point that not only did Ron give Walter his real name, he also happens to be black. Enter Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver), the Jewish co-worker who takes the job of working his way into the ranks of the ever-suspicious Klan, while Ron does his part on the phone to try and land a conversation with Grand Wizard David Duke (Topher Grace).

BlacKkKlansman is certainly not without its flaws. Lee's desire to envelop Ron and Patrice's blossoming romance into the KKK's plan to carry out a terrorist attack leads to some glaring pacing issues, and an eagerness to hold up a mirror to the growing far-right attitudes of the Trump era can often be heavy-handed. Yet Lee's interesting style - mixing comedy with serious issues and often within the same scene - pulls you along for the ride, with the director showcasing a rarely-seen talent for suspense. Flip's assignment is fraught with problems, from the volatile and suspicious Klansman Felix (Jasper Paakkonen), to the fact that Ron's voice sounds oddly different on the phone to real life. Some of the supporting characters are perhaps a bit too cartoonish for the film's overall tone, the script from Lee, Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz and Kevin Willmott, is incredibly sharp and witty without taking anything away from the seriousness of the underlying themes at play. Lee goes straight for the jugular, ending with shocking footage of the car attack at the 2017 Unite the Right rally to remind us of how little has changed, and how the threat never really went away. It isn't Lee's best work, but its one of his most vibrant and cinematic joints, and arguably his most ambitious.


Directed by: Spike Lee
Starring: John David Washington, Adam Driver, Laura Harrier, Topher Grace, Jasper Pääkkönen, Ryan Eggold, Paul Walter Hauser, Corey Hawkins
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,422: 'Outlaw King' (2018)

For all its thrilling battle scenes and quotable dialogue, Mel Gibson's Braveheart was hardly a textbook of historical accuracy, particularly with the way it seemed to promote William Wallace as Scotland's one and only saviour, and relegated the future king, Robert the Bruce, to coward and turncloak. A movie to set the record straight always seemed inevitable and necessary, but it took a long time coming. 23 years after Braveheart took home 5 Academy Awards, David Mackenzie's biopic of Bruce, Outlaw King, has finally arrived. It almost works as a quasi-sequel to Gibson's crowd-pleaser, beginning with the King of England gathering various Scottish nobles to sign a peace treaty that will signal an end to the fighting and climaxing with a bloody battle at Loudoun Hill. Times have changed since 1995, and Mackenzie seems intent on infusing the story with a gritty realism and greater attention to historical fact, meaning that there'll be no defiant final cry of "Freedom!" here.

Premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival and released on Netflix two months later, this sullen tale of bearded men going at each other with huge swords sets out to impress from the very get go. The likes of Robert the Bruce (Chris Pine), his father (James Cosmo), and their main rival for the Scottish crown John Comyn III (Callan Mulvey), have been summoned to the tent of Edward I (Stephen Dillane) to metaphorically lay down their swords and accept the invading English as their rulers. The camera glides across the room as they exchange pleasantries between gritted teeth, before moving outside for an impromptu sword fight between Robert and the Prince of Wales (Billy Howle). Filmed in one continuous take, the scene ends with the King demonstrating his power with his newest weapon, a ginormous catapult, which he fires into the besieged Stirling Castle. Both Edward and Mackenzie are showing off here, but its a thrilling moment nonetheless, and if anything is a sure sign of Netflix's intent to flex their own industry muscles. It propels the film into a breathless first half, as Robert defies the English by crowning himself King after Wallace is executed, and takes his threadbare army off to war.

The story moves at a relentless pace, with Robert suffering catastrophic defeats at the hands of both the English and rebellious Scottish clans, and his following grows increasingly smaller. Following these early skirmishes, Outlaw King struggles to fully engage, and this is mainly down to the portrayal of Robert himself. Pine is a highly charismatic actor with some serious chops (just look at Mackenzie's previous film, Hell or High Water), but the film never really seems sure of how to portray him. He leads his men from one battering to the next, and we never really understand why his troops stick with him. He marries Elizabeth de Burgh (Florence Pugh) for political reasons but they end up falling in love, with the outspoken Queen of Scots clearly seeing something in her husband that we cannot. The same can be said for one of Robert's most fearsome warriors, James Douglas (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), who amps the testosterone levels significantly in a foaming-at-the-mouth performance that borders on cartoonish. The highly engaging first hour is still enough reason to give Mackenzie two hours of your time, and fans will at least be treated to a Chris Pine full frontal. Just don't expect Outlaw King to subvert the historical drama in any way and try to enjoy it for what it is: a bruising adventure that school kids can enjoy when it's movie day in history class.


Directed by: David Mackenzie
Starring: Chris Pine, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Florence Pugh, Stephen Dillane, Billy Howle, James Cosmo
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,405: 'Escape from Alcatraz' (1979)

Before their falling out, director Don Siegel and actor Clint Eastwood made some great films together, beginning with Coogan's Bluff in 1968 and ending with arguably their finest work, Escape from Alcatraz in 1979. Like Eastwood's character Frank Morris, Escape from Alcatraz is lean and no-nonsense, set completely within the walls of the infamous island prison. It's also a masterpiece of visual storytelling, with Siegel displaying a skill for capturing the routine of life in Alcatraz, from the small individual cells to the mundane work cycles, all combining to create an overall sense of hopelessness for those destined to rot away on the Rock. Morris has been placed there because he has escaped from every other prison he's been sent to, and nobody escapes from Alcatraz. He is quickly informed by a fellow inmate that should you even manage to get out of your cell, it's a mile away from land and the cold will kill you before the next prisoner count.

This revelation would crush the souls of most men, but Morris simply sees it as another challenge to overcome and quickly starts to plan a break-out. It will take time however, so he must endure the harshness of prison life in the meantime. Alcatraz is a place of punishment, not rehabilitation, and the quietly sadistic warden, played by Patrick McGoohan, appears to be proud of the prison's reputation of making good prisoners, not citizens. We are gradually introduced to the other inmates: There's the eccentric Litmus (Frank Ronzio), who convinces a new arrival that he is actually Al Capone, artist and amateur botanist 'Doc' Dalton (Roberts Blossom), black librarian English (Paul Benjamin), and eventually Morris' old acquaintances and brothers Clarence (Jack Thibeau) and John Anglin (Fred Ward). Morris quickly makes an enemy in Wolf (Bruce M. Fischer), when he clobbers the would-be rapist for making advances in the shower room. With Wolf waiting impatiently in solitary for revenge and the threat of a cell move looming, Morris steps up his efforts, finding hope in the crumbling concrete around the grille in his cell.

The escape itself is a magnificent, meticulously researched sequence that arrives at the climax, but before that we are ushered into the harsh realities of prison life, and what it takes to survive and maintain your sanity in such brutal surroundings. Siegel skilfully builds dramatic tension in a suffocating, cramped confinement. Alcatraz was no ordinary prison. It was an intricate machine designed to crush the spirits of those serving time, where a luxury could be taken away in an instant for the pettiest of reasons, leaving you with nothing but walls and your thoughts. Siegel doesn't necessarily side with the prisoners - with one exception, they all certainly deserve to be locked up - but he is keen to point out that such mental abuse doesn't do anybody, especially society, any good. This sense of injustice is certainly what seems to be driving Morris, and you'll be willing him on when the date is finally set. The escape is actually relatively straight-forward, but Siegel makes it nail-biting nonetheless. This also fits in with the whole docudrama feel, sticking closely to how it actually went down back in 1962. The ending eerily lets you ponder their fate for yourselves. They were never seen again, nor were their bodies discovered.


Directed by: Don Siegel
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Patrick McGoohan, Roberts Blossom, Jack Thibeau, Fred Ward, Paul Benjamin, Larry Hankin
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,393: 'A Prayer Before Dawn' (2017)

Opening with a shot of the muscly, pale-skinned and heaving back of our protagonist, Jean-Stephane Sauvaire's A Prayer Before Dawn - his first feature since the eye-opening Johnny Mad Dog in 2008 - begins and ends with British newcomer Joe Cole, and the talented young actor dominates every scene in between. Best known for his role in Peaky Blinders, Cole delivers a performance of pure ferocity, and if there's any justice, this will do for him what the likes of Bronson and Starred Up did, respectively, for then up-and-comers Tom Hardy and Jack O'Connell. Based on Billy Moore's brutal memoirs of his time served in one of Thailand's most unrelenting penitentiaries, the film tracks his journey from the only Westerner in his cell with a target on his back to Muay Thai champion. While it may dabble in the tropes of the prison and boxing genres, it never really relaxes into either, making for an unsettling and visceral two hours.

Rather than opting for a comfortable, straight-forward narrative, Sauvaire prefers to capture the sweaty, overbearing atmosphere of Moore's new lodgings, heightening the sound design so every breath sounds like it's coming from your own head, and every punch rattles your brain. David Ungaro's cinematography makes the most of the tight, damp spaces, as the inmate's bodies pile over each other like sardines in their overcrowded cells. The film feels almost like an invasion of your personal space, and the fact that Billy sticks out like a sore thumb only increases the feeling that danger lurks around every corner. Billy's physicality and willingness to fight may save him from regular beatings and even earn him a level of respect amongst his heavily-tattooed, dead-eyed cell-mates, but he is still forced to watch the gang-rape of a young newcomer to remind the Westerner of his place. Although the story leads up to a climactic fight, it avoids cliche by offering no sense of build-up. Billy simply must fight in order to survive the night and battle his own pent-up demons.

Without a main character to carry your interest, A Prayer Before Dawn may be too much to bear. But Billy, whose reasons for being in Thailand in the first place and dealing the drugs that landed him in the slammer aren't explored, is a true force. Never asking for your sympathy, Billy struggles with heroin addiction - fed to him by a prison guard played by Only God Forgives' Vithaya Pansringarm - and is more than willing to beat somebody half to death to earn his fix. The rage that drives him comes from deep within, and his anger and self-destruction carries us along with him. Even when he is finally allowed to train in the gym, thanks for a routine cigarette bribe, his tendency to self-sabotage sees him almost screw up everything he's worked for. Billy also finds solace in a ladyboy named Fame (Pornchanok Mabklang), who is in prison for murdering her father and is kept in a separate part of the prison for obvious reasons. They form a bond through shared feelings of misplacement, and these scenes offer a reprieve from the unrelenting harshness of Billy's everyday routine. It's a tough watch, but there's always much to admire in a film that can leave you so mentally and physically exhausted.


Directed by: Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire
Starring: Joe Cole, Pornchanok Mabklang, Vithaya Pansringarm, Panya Yimmumphai
Country: UK/France/China/Cambodia/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,390: 'Gotti' (2018)

If you've ever seen 2015's Entourage, you'll likely recall a scene in which Jeremy Piven's super-agent Ari Gold sits down to watch the directorial debut of movie superstar Vincent Chase. He sits clenching his teeth because he knows it's going to be awful, and when we get to see a snippet of Chase's garish futuristic monstrosity, we know it to. Only in this consequence-free world of naked ladies and supercars, the film is actually a masterpiece. You get a similar feeling when watching Gotti, the biopic of the Teflon Don directed by Entourage star Kevin Connolly. One can picture Connolly, surrounded by his boys, viewing the final cut in the editing room for the first time and high-fiving his entourage bros with a sense of clueless triumph. Gotti is an utter travesty, a half-baked film student's daydream seen through a haze of weed smoke which loosely throws together a few lines they might remember from Gotti's Wikipedia page.

John Travolta plays John Gotti, and with a decent script and a competent director behind him, this may have been one of the roles of his career. Instead, we get a sluggish performance that barely skims the surface of one of the most notorious and powerful figures in mafia history. We meet him grey and in jail, taking in a visit from his son John Jr. (Spencer Rocco Lofranco), whose book the film is based on. Jr., a made man himself, wants to take a plea deal offered by the police, but rolling over for the government is as despicable as being a rat in the old man's books. This offers John Sr. the chance to reflect on his life and decisions, so the film jumps back in time to remind us how Gotti rose from gangster soldier to the boss of bosses. Only Connolly isn't interested in telling a coherent story, choosing instead to throw in a bunch of seemingly random moments you may expect to be reconstructed on a Discovery Channel documentary. There's a mob hit here, a domestic argument there, and every now and then Gotti will say something to his son about respect and manhood.

I'm not particularly fond of biopics as it goes, but I can't recall ever leaving a film feeling like I know even less about its subject matter than I did when I came in. Rather than peeling away Gotti's layers to understand what motivated the man behind the dapper suits, Connolly stages scene after scene of unconnected action and wiseguy rambling, like a man raised on the work of Martin Scorsese and who may have seen The Sopranos at some point in his life, but without a grasp on what made those works of art so absorbing. If this isn't bad enough, Gotti is peppered with a near-constant soundtrack of songs apparently plucked out of the air. An over-reliance on music is always a telltale sign of a director without vision, but it's especially grating here, with everything from Dean Martin to Duran Duran to Pitbull thrown in for good measure. It ends with real footage of Gotti's funeral in 2002, intercut with regular folk beaming about how good the gangster was for the community. He may have been just that, only we wouldn't know it from this film. After almost 2 hours of brooding, murder and terrible parenting, these final moments only leave a bad taste in the mouth. We may someday get a good movie about John Gotti, but for now we'd be better served watching Jim Abrahams' Mafia!.


Directed by: Kevin Connolly
Starring: John Travolta, Spencer Rocco Lofranco, Kelly Preston, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Stacy Keach
Country: Canada/USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,386: 'Auto Focus' (2002)

Based on Robert Graysmith's book The Murder of Bob Crane, Auto Focus is one of director Paul Schrader's finest works. Similar to the likes of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, which were written by Schrader, the film is a rather depressing yet insightful portrait of a man's oblivious decent into self-destruction, whose actions end up isolating everybody around them. Crane was best known for the successful sitcom Hogan's Heroes which, after getting past initial criticism for its World War II POW camp setting, made the former DJ into one of the most recognisable faces in America. On the surface, Crane was a clean-cut, church-going Republican, but his private life was laced with many sordid secrets, many of which only became public knowledge after he was bludgeoned to death in his bed in 1978.

Crane's fame attracted the attention of many women and hangers-on. The most notable of his new acquaintances was John Carpenter, here played by Willem Dafoe, the self-proclaimed technician to the stars who boasts of carrying out stereo installation work for the likes of Elvis Presley. Carpenter, or 'Carpy', was drawn to the ease with which the family man attracted the opposite sex, and Crane at first seems rather taken aback by all the females now throwing themselves at him. With Carpy's encouragement, Crane starts to indulge in a fantasy life, one full of alcohol, orgies and video cameras. He gets a taste for the life, and it soon begins to consume him. It never becomes clear whether the pair get a kick out of the sex itself, or recording it to watch back later. Their motto is "a day without sex is a day wasted," and Crane seeks it out at every opportunity, gaining a reputation amongst his peers despite warnings from his agent (Ron Leibman) that his actions may have a devastating effect on his career.

His career happened to nosedive once Hogan's Heroes ended anyway, but that didn't slow him down. Openly flaunting graphic photographs of his adventures to anybody who looks his way, Crane is the very definition of oblivious. He defends his hobby as perfectly normal, and the film suggests that he probably remained unaware of his casual creepiness up until the moment of his murder. As Crane, Greg Kinnear manages to bring a complexity and subtlety to the role despite the relative simplicity of the character, and his Hogan impression is spot-on. Seemingly always by his side, Carpenter is a sleazy, cloying and unnervingly clingy presence, and Willem Dafoe is precisely the man you would want in the role. Their friendship bristles with a strange homosexual tension, with Crane constantly talking down to his friend, becoming agitated when he spots Carpy's wandering hand while viewing one of their many orgies. Perhaps the saddest scene shows the two casually masturbating in front of each other without halting their everyday conversation, revealing a man whose addiction has completely engulfed him. It's a very sad story indeed, and it's all brought vividly to life by Schrader and his two stars.


Directed by: Paul Schrader
Starring: Greg Kinnear, Willem Dafoe, Rita Wilson, Maria Bello, Ron Leibman
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,357: 'American Made' (2017)

The toothy, clean-cut charm of Tom Cruise seems like an odd choice for the role of notorious drug trafficker and CIA operative Barry Seal who, during the 1970s, flew copious amounts of cocaine from Central America to the United States, as well as running guns to the Nicaraguan Contras on behalf of the American government. But the Barry Seal of Doug Liman's American Made isn't that far from Top Gun's Maverick, and the comparison is hard to avoid when we see Seal cheekily entertaining himself at the expense of his passengers and co-pilot while on a routine flight for TWA. Cruise slides into the role comfortably, running with the movie's lightning pace and offbeat humour. But his involvement also highlights Liman and writer Gary Spinelli's reluctance to explore this true story - which had devastating consequences for all countries involved - in more depth.

Set during a time when men ruled the sky and air hostesses were expected to drop their skirts at the very sight of a uniform, pilot Barry Seal is somewhat frustrated with his comfortable life, making a bit on the side by smuggling cigars into the US. This illegal side business is what attracts the attention of a CIA agent calling himself Monty Shafer (a brilliant Domhnall Gleeson), who asks Seal to fly over Central America to snap pictures for the American government. Seal's photographs are about as perfect as Shafer could hope for, and so he is rewarded with his very own plane and hangar and promoted to collecting information from Manuel Noriega of Panama in exchange for cash. Soon enough he is transporting guns to the US-backed Contras, and attracting even more attention. Only this time it's from Jorge Ochoa (Alejandro Edda) and his volatile partner Pablo Escobar (Mauricio Mejia) of the Medellin cartel, who want Seal to fly massive amounts of cocaine to Louisiana.

With the CIA turning a blind eye to Seal's drug trafficking exploits, Seal rakes in so much money that he is forced to bury huge quantities in his yard. This rags-to-riches-to-rags story is told in a conventional, linear fashion, with Liman resisting any urges to go all Scorsese on the subject matter. This kind of true life tale is nothing new, but it is a tale worth telling, especially when you factor in the American government's role in the shady operations, who arguably gave birth to the kind of man Barry Seal went on to become. Despite baring absolutely no resemblance to the real Seal, Cruise proves to be a great host, recording his story to camera on a wonderfully shoddy VHS in the movie's only brush with narrative flair. The main issue with American Made is that it claims to have a mind-blowing story to tell, but anyone who has seen the dizzying documentary Cocaine Cowboys or Netflix series Narcos will possess more information about how deep this thing went than the movie actually reveals. It aims to tell an entertaining story, and it certainly does just that, but the fact that it refuses to fully explore the consequences of Seal's actions means that it can never be anything more.


Directed by: Doug Liman
Starring: Tom Cruise, Domhnall Gleeson, Sarah Wright, Jesse Plemons, Caleb Landry Jones
Country: USA/Japan

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,352: 'Missing' (1982)

The Hollywood debut of Greek director Costa-Gavras caused quite a stir when it was released in 1982. Based on a true story, Missing is a damning condemnation of U.S. foreign policy, criticising their efforts to locate missing American citizen Charles Horman (John Shea) when he goes missing in 1973 Chile, as well as suggesting their direct involvement. The country had just experienced a military coup, and the new leaders have declared martial law, placing a curfew on the population under threat of death. The sound of machine-gun fire is commonplace, as are military raids on homes and the disappearance of thousands of citizens. Worst of all, bodies litter the streets, watched over by dead-eyed soldiers who seem to do as they please. Charles, a left-wing writer, has simply vanished, sucked up into a system of brutality. And nobody seems eager to find him.

We're with Charles for a long period before his disappearance, and Costa-Gavras keeps us just as much in the dark as his wife Beth (Sissy Spacek) and father Ed (Jack Lemmon), the latter arriving frustrated with the little progress his daughter-in-law has made. Their ideologies clash almost immediately. Beth is very much on board with her husband's politics, while Ed is a devout Christian scientist with complete trust in his country's Embassy's desire to locate a fellow citizen. The performances are genuine and heartfelt. The characters themselves are recognisable and relatable in an otherwise terrifyingly alien, oppressive world, which serves as a wake-up call to Ed, who would otherwise be eating breakfast at home oblivious to the plight of Chile's people. The most powerful moments of Missing involve Ed battling his way through waves of bureaucracy and the empty promises of diplomats.

Costa-Gavras manages to build an atmosphere of relentless tension in a place where failing to find yourself a taxi to make it home in time for the curfew could see you dragged away for execution. Yet this is built around Ed and Beth's difficult relationship, and the film emerges and ultimately triumphs as a thoroughly engaging character study rather than a political thriller. Tiny, throwaway moments hammer their struggle and mental anguish home, particularly a moment where Ed descends a set of stairs and, without realising it, starts to ascend the one opposite. It takes a moment before he realises, shakes his head, and turns around, and you really feel for the guy. Costa-Gavras deliberately infuses Missing with a sense of timelessness, failing to confirm the story's year and location, introducing the idea that this could be happening anywhere, at any time. Coups and dictators come and go, and the people suffer for it. Those who choose to ignore it may eventually become the cause.


Directed by: Costa-Gavras
Starring: Jack Lemmon, Sissy Spacek, John Shea, Melanie Mayron, Charles Cioffi
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,351: 'My Friend Dahmer' (2017)

The antics of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer following his graduation from Ohio's Revere High School in 1978 does not make for pleasant reading. He was responsible for the mutilation and murders of 17 men and boys, with his activities including injecting hydrochloric acid in the skulls of some of his victims in an attempt to induce a zombie-like state, the collection of body parts, necrophilia, and cannibalism. When Dahmer was arrested in 1991, multiple severed heads were found in his apartment, as well as human organs in the freezer wrapped up like leftover take-away. Dahmer attended school with cartoonist John 'Derf' Backderf, and the two became friends. When Derf saw his old pal's face splashed across the pages of every newspaper in the country after his capture, he reflected on his school days, eventually penning the award-winning graphic novel My Friend Dahmer.

There's always a risk when dramatising the life of a serial killer of sensationalising the subject matter or, perhaps even worse, trying to make us feel sorry for them. Director and screenwriter Marc Meyers' adaptation of Derf's comic has no such interests, opting instead to keep the focus solely on Dahmer's experiences during his high school years and up to his encounter with a hitchhiker who would become his first victim just three weeks after graduating, in the hope of trying to understand what would drive a handsome young man to go on to commit such terrible and sickening crimes. Dahmer, played wonderfully by former Disney child star Ross Lynch, is strange and withdrawn when we first meet him. Of course, this is no different to any child who feels out of place or socially awkward, and deep down he desired affection or at least the next best thing, attention. He starts to cause scenes by pretending to be disabled, acting out in lessons or in the hallways until he establishes himself as class clown.

This attracts the attention of Derf (played by Alex Wolff) and his crew, who are looking to stir up some mischief before they finally graduate. They play on Dahmer's willingness to do just about anything for a giggle, egging him on to sneak into as many club yearbook photos as possible and doing his handicapped shtick on demand. It's funny at first, before becoming incredibly tragic, and his friends start to feel the same way. Dahmer's mental state isn't helped by the break-up of his parents, and is eventually abandoned by his mother at home, leaving the troubled boy to withdraw further into his darkest fantasies. My Friend Dahmer succeeds in trying to understand Dahmer's downfall and how such a fate may have even been avoided if events went a slightly different way. It doesn't attempt to explain it or, thankfully, excuse it, avoiding the biography trap of unrealistically portraying a defining moment that led to whatever deed or life they are famous, or infamous, for. It's all rather sad, but utterly engrossing. My Friend Dahmer is that incredibly rare thing: a very good serial killer biopic.


Directed by: Marc Meyers
Starring: Ross Lynch, Alex Wolff, Dallas Roberts, Anne Heche, Vincent Kartheiser
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,326: 'The Post' (2017)

Steven Spielberg's The Post is the great director's most handsome film in years. Shot quickly and clinically while he waited for the effects to be finished for Ready Player One, the film, if anything, is a sign of just how masterful he is at his craft. Starring A-list heavies Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks, The Post tells the story of the Pentagon Papers, leaked by disgruntled military analyst Daniel Ellsberg, which revealed that the President knew the war in Vietnam could not be won early on in the conflict. Many young men were drafted anyway, and sent to their deaths half a world away from home. The New York Times had the story first, but were threatened with a court injunction in an attempt to halt the publication of a series of planned articles which would damage the reputation of many high-ranking officials, including the President himself.

It's a story Spielberg felt needed to be told now, and for good reason. There are many parallels to the modern day, only nobody here is forced to live out their days hiding in an Ecuadorian embassy or assassinated with poison. When The Washington Post is handed the story themselves (by a hippy girl who dumps a package on the first desk she sees), editor-in-chief Ben Bradlee (Hanks) immediately decides that the revelations must be released to the public. Being the intelligent man he is, Bradlee had long suspected that the Times had their hands on something huge, and refuses to be silenced by the government of a country whose right to free speech is written in its very constitution. The Post depicts the newspapers search to locate the source of the leak, and Bradlee's relationship with publisher Kay Graham (Streep). The heiress and socialite has her own reservations about the newspaper's upcoming stock market launch, and how the Papers will affect the reputation of her close friend Robert McNamara (Bruce Greenwood).

There's an earthy, smoky quality to the 1970's-set The Post. Spielberg manages to capture the sweaty urgency of some of the great movies to emerge from Hollywood in its greatest decade, with All the President's Men being the most obvious comparison. In a world now filled with information at the swipe of a thumb, it's exciting and invigorating to see Ben Bagdikian (Bob Odenkirk) spills his pay-phone quarters onto the floor as he desperately searches for a pen, or the sight of Ellsberg (Matthew Rhys) holed up in a motel with thousands upon thousands of printed pages stacked all around the place. The large ensemble, which also includes Sarah Paulson, Tracy Letts, Carrie Coon, Jesse Plemons, Bradley Whitford, Alison Brie, Michael Stuhlbarg and David Cross, is impressive across the board, and although its hardly a stretch for such seasoned screen giants, Streep and Hanks - the former a fumbling yet oblivious feminist icon and the latter a cranky but good-hearted fighter - help the film to be incredibly watchable. It doesn't offer any further insights into a story many will already know, and Ellsberg is somewhat sidelined, but The Post is a timely stance against anyone looking to threaten the right to free speech and the freedom of the press.


Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks, Sarah Paulson, Bob Odenkirk, Tracy Letts, Bradley Whitford, Bruce Greenwood, Matthew Rhys, Alison Brie, Carrie Coon
Country: USA/UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,325: 'All the Money in the World' (2017)

It wouldn't be fair to Ridley Scott's latest film to dwell too much on the revolting allegations that came out regarding Kevin Spacey and his sexually aggressive behaviour, yet the 80 year-old's reaction to the news and subsequent quick-thinking led to one of the most impressive aspects of All the Money in the World. Filming had already wrapped with Spacey in the lead donning heavy prosthetic makeup, but Scott quite rightly opted to remove the disgraced actor from the final product entirely, save for one scene in which his face is digitally replaced. Scenes were re-shot in an astonishing nine days, with Scott's initial first choice Christopher Plummer now playing the role of tycoon J. Paul Getty.

The result is not a film that appears to be quickly patched together, but one that seamlessly pieces together the old footage with the new. As Getty, you will believe that Plummer was present for the duration. He effortlessly balances Getty's occasional playfulness with his more tyrannical and stubborn sides, and he cuts an impenetrable yet enigmatic figure. Questions surrounding his refusal to pay his grandson's ransom when the 16 year-old is kidnapped in Rome forms the film's biggest mystery. Is he concerned that coughing up the dough will only inspire the kidnapping of more vulnerable heirs to vast fortunes? Does he believe that John Paul Getty III (played by Charlie Plummer, no relation) arranged the whole thing himself to get a slice of the action? Or is he simply a stingy old man, seeing no reason to spend a dime on something he sees as a bad business deal?

At the time, oil-rich Getty was not only the richest man on the planet, but the richest man there had ever been. It would seem that he never invested without the promise of a return. The old coot spends much of his time in dark, grandiose rooms within his spectacular mansion, pouring over the latest figures as if every cent must be accounted for. When he is informed that his favourite yet wayward grandchild has disappeared, his eyes never leave the books. We are informed via flashback that Getty III's parents, Gail Harris (Michelle Williams) and John Paul Getty Jr. (Andrew Buchan), divorced years earlier due to the latter's drug abuse, with the mother receiving full custody. This, in J. Paul's eyes, was a betrayal, and possibly the first time he has lost something he couldn't simply throw money at. There's also the possibility that malice may be driving the stinking-rich old man's complete disinterest in paying what is a small sum in the context of his vast fortune. It takes the arrival of a severed ear make him re-consider.

Like many of Scott's recent efforts, All the Money in the World has its flaws, albeit far fewer than the likes of Robin Hood or Alien: Covenant. If there is a blemish on what is a stellar cast, its Mark Wahlberg as Getty's former CIA operative adviser Fletcher Chace. While everybody else disappears into their role, he can only muster his Boston everyman act and sticks out like a sore thumb. For a film that initially takes its time developing the characters and their backgrounds, it can't help but introduce tired tropes which didn't occur in real life, such as the sympathetic kidnapper Cinquanta (Romain Duris) and a climax involving a desperate chase through the streets. Still, Scott manages to keep us engrossed in the story, ramping up the tension with a frantic pace whether you know how it played out in real life or not. This is the director back to his The Martian best, and how he cannot seem to replicate this quality when he diverts into the Alien franchise is a head-scratcher. And  Christopher Plummer is truly exceptional.


Directed by: Ridley Scott
Starring: Michelle Williams, Christopher Plummer, Mark Wahlberg, Romain Duris, Charlie Plummer, Timothy Hutton
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie