The third instalment of the Mission: Impossible franchise took a while to get off the ground. Originally trusted to director David Fincher (which would have been fascinating to see), the Fight Club director opted out when another project caught his eye, so the reigns were passed to Joe Carnaghan, who had his supporting cast ready to go before a dispute with the studio resulted in his departure also. In stepped J.J. Abrams, who faced the difficult task of reviewing the previous movies' vastly different tones in order to settle on which Ethan Hunt he wanted to bring to the screen. Quite wisely, he went for a bit of both. This was the intuitive, opportunistic Hunt from Brian De Palma's well-staged original, rather than the trigger-happy super-agent from John Woo's effort. Yet he still retains an edge, and Abrams sets out his movie's darker tone from the get-go, as we start during the third act with Hunt in precarious situation with Philip Seymour Hoffman's big bad.
Hunt (Tom Cruise) has left the IMF in favour of a normal life with his bride-to-be Julia (Michelle Monaghan). He has kept the extent of his work for the government quiet and seems to be enjoying being a regular Joe, but his head is soon turned when fellow IMF agent John Musgrave (Billy Crudup) contacts him regarding his former protegee, Lindsay Farris (Keri Russell), who has gone missing in the field while investigating an arms dealer named Owen Davian (Hoffman). Hunt accepts the job and assembles a team (consisting of the returning Ving Rhames, as well as Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Maggie Q) to track her down, but when the mission goes spectacularly wrong, the group are left to track down an item known as the 'Rabbit's Foot', a device capable of global catastrophe. With the head of the IMF (Laurence Fishburne) breathing down his neck and Davian proving himself to be a ruthless and cunning foe, Hunt and the rest of his troupe face their most difficult task yet.
He may have been third choice (although he was cherry-picked by Cruise himself), but the then up-and-coming Abrams proved to be the perfect director to steer the series back on course without upsetting the tone. He finds a perfect balance, delivering spectacular set-pieces that Cruise is, as always, keen to sink his teeth into, as well as re-establishing the team element and tasking them with missions that require a combined effort, and not just Cruise blowing away bad guys in slow-motion. De Palma's original may have been spectacular on occasion, but this third instalment is probably the best of this opening trilogy. There is also an uncomfortable atmosphere throughout, and this is mainly down to Hoffman's spectacular turn as Davian. He is a one-note big bad, and hardly physically intimidating, yet Hoffman's dead-eyed delivery oozes menace, and when he threatens the lives of those closest to our hero, we completely accept that he's capable of butchering the innocent in his pursuit for riches and power. It's hardly new territory for the action genre, but Abrams should be credited with reinvigorating a franchise still going strong 22 years after it introduced itself.
When asked what his next project would be following the success of his L.A. ensemble one-two of Boogie Nights and Magnolia, writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson responded that he would be making an Adam Sandler movie. He was met with a hearty chuckle by whoever was interviewing him, but little did they know that a comedy starring most people's - at least I would hope - least favourite comedy star was actually on the cards. Punch-Drunk Love ended up taking home the Best Director award at the Cannes Film Festival, but was undoubtedly Anderson's most divisive film. Surprisingly short and often incredibly weird, the film has garnered more and more respect and appreciation amongst fans and critics over the last 15 years, and many now even consider it to be the director's best work in a catalogue that includes the likes of There Will Be Blood and The Master.
Punch-Drunk Love revolves around Barry Egan (Sandler), a troubled and socially-awkward salesman of toilet plungers and various other novelty items. Forever bedecked in a blue suit and red tie combination, Barry tries to keep to himself while harbouring a hatred for his inability to be 'normal', but his seven hen-pecking and overbearing sisters are constantly trying to 'bring him out of his shell'. Whenever his sisters mention the way they treated him as a child, he responds in a fit of rage. A family party is brought to a swift end when he kicks through patio doors after being reminded of a particularly cruel childhood nickname. He finds solace in a harmonium he finds dumped outside his work's warehouse, and eventually in an English woman named Lena (Emily Watson) introduced to him by his sister Elizabeth (Mary Lynn Rajskub). They like each other straight away, but she travels a lot, so Barry starts to take full advantage of a marketing loop-hole that will grant him a lifetime of air miles through purchasing mass quantities of cheap pudding.
Anderson is apparently fond of Sandler's work, so he obviously sees something in the actor whose success has left many of us befuddled. Sandler typically plays the same person: The childish slacker who is a nice guy deep down, but prone to outbursts of rage. He plays very much the same here, only he is likeable and sympathetic, delivering his best performance to date. When he isn't smashing up a restaurant toilet or bruising his hand on his office wall, Sandler is remarkably subtle, mixing up his words in a nervous tic and struggling to meet people's gaze. In his loneliness, Barry phones a sex-line and ends up on the receiving end of a blackmail scheme run by scumbag mattress-store owner Dean (Philip Seymour Hoffman). It's all over the place in terms of plot, but Punch-Drunk Love is very much a character piece built around a troubled yet fascinating man finally finding love in the chaos of his life and his own mind. It's an acquired taste, but far more accessible than some of Anderson's later work, especially The Master and Inherent Vice. We probably all know a Barry but have likely kept our distance, but Punch-Drunk Love is brave enough to place him front and centre, lending a voice to the type of introvert misunderstood and viewed with suspicion by most.
One of the ugliest and blatant money-spinning schemes to emerge from Hollywood in recent years is the trend of splitting up the final entry of a successful book series unnecessarily into two parts. Although I wasn't overly keen on The Hunger Games' second entry, Catching Fire (2013), it was at least - along with the original 2012 movie that kicked off the successful movie franchise that helped launch Jennifer Lawrence into super-stardom - decently paced; a tight, nifty thriller with some enjoyable set-pieces. Part 1 of Mockingjay lacked anything in the way of spectacle, and while Part 2 certainly delivers on the action front, it still stutters due to stretching a pretty slim book into over 4 hours of screen-time.
Following a slow start during which we meet up with heroine Katniss Everdeen (Lawrence) who is coming to terms with the horrors of war and the re-emergence of the emotionally damaged Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) in her life, things pick up when Katniss defies the orders of revolution propaganda chief Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and the increasingly shady President Coin (Julianne Moore), and forces her way to the front line. What Katniss and her team face on their way to assassinate President Snow (Donald Sutherland) is a city booby-trapped to the gills with giant machine guns, flamethrowers, and other imaginatively-designed instruments of death awaiting them at every turn. Circumstances have changed but the Games remain the same.
What Part 1 lacked most of all was the Hunger Games themselves, and here they are cleverly woven back into the story. As absurd some of the set-ups are (surely a couple of well-placed soldiers armed with walkie-talkies and sniper-rifles would have been more efficient and cost-effective?), they undoubtedly eject the film with the excitement it sorely needs. Mockingjay Part 2 is also extremely dark and violent, pushing its UK 12A certificate to breaking point. One set-piece set in a sewer that sees a horde of snarling monsters chase our heroes in a scene straight out of a horror movie and a genuinely shocking (if you haven't read the books) moment of brutality near the end prove to be brave and mature decisions. And why shouldn't young folk see death depicted without the usual padding or sentimentality?
I also applaud the story for taking an unconventional approach to the inevitable Everdeen-Snow showdown, but its here that events take a confusing turn as Lawrence's Everdeen is kept at an emotional distance that clouds her motivations without the aid of narration, and the movie struggles in the closing moments. It's also an ending that should have come the film before, with the slicing of the story resulting in Part 2 going out with a slight whimper when it could have been explosive. On a positive note, it seems that audiences are finally catching on to the kind of studio greed that forced them to watch the likes of The Hobbit for nine hours over three years, as Lionsgate's movie performed poorer than expected at the box office (though it still made a shed-load).
I must have watched writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson's Boogie Nights over thirty times in my life. Around 1999, it represented cinematic perfection to me and I would view it repeatedly. Now almost 20 years old - although I no longer consider it as the pinnacle of cinema - I still consider it great and to be one of the best movies of the 90's. This is mainly down to how fresh is still feels, with its show-off yet breathtaking long-takes, moments of off-the-wall humour, and dead-on depictions of the decadent 70's through to the over-indulgent 80's, which all assist the film in sweeping you into its hidden world of glamour, sex and drugs.
That world is the world of pornography, though through Anderson's lens it doesn't feel too dissimilar to Hollywood itself, just on a smaller scale. The young, handsome and unnervingly well-endowed Eddie Adams (Mark Wahlberg) is working in the kitchen of a Hollywood nightclub when he is talent spotted by porno auteur Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds). Jack knows that "there is something special behind those jeans just waiting to get out," and soon enough Eddie has renamed himself Dirk Diggler and is the hottest porn star in the country. With success comes the big house, the designer clothes and the fancy sports car, but also lots of cocaine.
Clearly inspired by the work of Robert Altman, Boogie Nights boasts a fantastic ensemble of interesting characters, all hugely endearing despite their obvious flaws. Jack lives with porn star Amber Waves (Julianne Moore), who doesn't get to see her son due to her lavish lifestyle, and Rollergirl (Heather Graham), another actress fresh out of school who never takes her skates off. Dirk buddies up with Reed Rothchild (John C. Reilly), an aspiring magician who idolises his enigmatic co-star. Behind the camera are Little Bill (William H. Macy), the timid scriptwriter whose wife (played by real-life porn star Nina Hartley) openly sleeps with other men, and Scottie (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who becomes smitten with Dirk. There's also Buck (Don Cheadle), a stereo-system obsessive going through an image crisis.
Anderson was only 26 when the film was released, hot off the disappointingly pedestrian Hard Eight (1996), and yet despite his youth he pulled of something remarkably complex with Boogie Nights. Not only is it a peek behind the curtain of a business normally portrayed as sleazy and distasteful, seen through the eyes of those who operate it, but also a summary of the shift in social attitudes and values at the time, from feelings of optimism and sexual expression of the 70's, to the greed and paranoia of the 80's. As Dirk's drug consumption spirals out of control, he struggles to perform and falls out with Jack. One standout scene near the final act sees Dirk, Reid and moustachioed sleazeball Todd Parker (Thomas Jane) attempt to pull off a drug deal with a friendly but unhinged Alfred Molina.
It's during this scene that Anderson lingers on Dirk's face for a considerable amount of time. Although it probably only lasts about 25 seconds, it manages to pin-point his moment of realisation while allowing the audience time to some up their feelings towards him. And most probably, despite his horrible and selfish actions, you'll still hope it turns out well for him. The camera plays like a character sometimes, whether it be swooping in and out of a pool in one of the many homages to Martin Scorsese, or lingering on producer Colonel James's (Robert Ridgely) startled face as he sees Dirk's prize asset for the first time. Anderson would go on to prove himself one of the finest of his generation with Magnolia (1999), There Will Be Blood (2007) and The Master (2012), but Boogie Nights is still one of his best - dazzling, funny, and uniquely absorbing.
Following in the footsteps of fellow hit book franchises Harry Potter and Twilight (and arguably The Hobbit), the final entry into The Hunger Games series splits the final book in two, no doubt causing the producers to rub their hands together at the idea of doubling their profits while arguing that the decision was ultimately a creative one. While it would be cruel to state that the result is half a complete movie, Mockingjay Part 1 doesn't feel finished because, well, it isn't. So we get a build-up without a satisfying climax, while the action remains suitably thrilling and Jennifer Lawrence again demonstrates why she is the most powerful actress in the world right now.
The Hunger Games - which pitted a member of each of the lower-class districts against each other in a fight to the death - are now over, and full-scale rebellion is under way. Katniss Evergreen (Lawrence) has been whisked off to District 13, where freedom fighters are holed up as they plan to finally overthrow wealthy dictator President Snow (Donald Sutherland). Under the leadership of rebel leader President Alma Coin (Julianne Moore), Katniss is groomed by former Hunger Games Gamekeeper Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman) to be the face of the rebellion and places her in propaganda videos, only Katniss can't act for shit. In the hope of drumming up support, Katniss is sent out into the field with a group of film-makers to witness the destruction inflicted on her people in her absence.
My main gripe with the Hunger Games movies (I haven't read the books) are that the 'good guys' we are meant to root for are little more than a collection of one-dimensional generic heartthrobs. Noticeably lacking charisma are Katniss's two love interests, Gale Hawthorne (Liam Hemsworth), now a soldier in the rebellion, and Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), survivor of two rounds of the games and now a prisoner of Snow. Out of the young actors on show, it's only Lawrence who manages to sell her character, evoking sympathy as she is forced in front of the camera as a tool of war to spout ridiculous speeches that she struggles to deliver with any earnestness. On the other side, Snow is placing Peeta in front of the camera as he interviewed by TV host Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci) pleading with the rebels to put down their weapons and end the fighting.
The focus on the artistry of propaganda from both sides is one of the most intriguing aspects of the film. Like the themes of class divide and capitalism from the first movie, the way the adult themes are weaved into an action movie made mainly for young adults works well, helping to give the story a gravitas rarely seen in blockbusters franchises. Sadly, scene-stealers Woody Harrelson and Elizabeth Banks are given very little to do as the story struggles to fit them in, but the introduction of Moore as the straight-talking Coin adds class and Sutherland positively purrs his way through his role as the big bad, a character deserving of more development and screen-time. The film is dedicated to Philip Seymour Hoffman, who tragically died during filming, and it's humbling to see the great actor deliver a masterclass when the role doesn't even call for it. As half of a finished movie, Mockingjay Part 1 is as entertaining as it is frustratingly unsatisfying.
While 2012's The Hunger Games, based on the opener of Suzanne Collins' trilogy, was very much a collection of familiar genre tropes and felt like Battle Royale (2000) for the Harry Potter generation, its themes of class suppression by a ruling elite and the grumblings of a working-class revolution felt refreshing for a story primarily aimed at a younger audience, and also extremely relevant to our times when wealth is seemingly celebrated above all else. Following the first instalment is the awkward middle entry, always struggling to bridge the gap between a fresh new world and its inevitable final showdown. Catching Fire struggles where most other middle sections fail - it's essentially a re-hash of the first film, and fails to progress the story enough to warrant its 2 hour 20 minute running time.
The movie makes a few key mistakes. Above all, it makes the terrible assumption that you've already read the book, failing to explain various aspects of the story which, although it doesn't confuse the rather straightforward plot, it left certain questions niggling in my brain. If the ultimate goal is to kill everybody you're lumped with and be the lone survivor, then why are teams of 'allies' forged by the game maker? What's really going on in the slums that we only glimpse in scenes of dusty faced onlookers? And are The Hunger Games, an event in which young members of the poor are plucked at random to inevitably die, really the best way to control an increasingly disgruntled majority? These questions aside, Catching Fire is also plain boring.
Picking up shortly after the climax of the first film, where the bow-and-arrow-wielding Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) won the Hunger Games with her close friend Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) after choosing to die together rather than one surviving, the two champions are left pondering the aftermath. Finding herself a hero to the enslaved working class, President Snow (Donald Sutherland) insists that she play her role and help maintain social order. Following a few incidents of rebellion, Snow decides that Katniss is a threat and turns to new Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman) for council. His idea is to throw all the past victors of the Hunger Games into the event together, bending the rules in his favour by introducing a natural disaster or event every hour, including poisonous mist and killer mandrills.
Despite Jennifer Lawrence's obvious star quality, Katniss comes across as one-dimensional and charisma-free, failing to justify her 'chosen one' status. Her budding romance with gruff district worker Gale (Liam Hemsworth), to whom she explains that her kiss with Peeta was merely a way to manipulate the audience into aiding her survival (although her feelings may be becoming real), feels like a discarded draft of Twilight. The characters are so robotic that I simply didn't care who lived and who died. Catching Fire ultimately feels like a way of stretching out a story that could have been told in two instalments, where, by the end, I felt like we were no further along than where we were at the start. The ending comes so abruptly that it's obvious the filmmakers are under the illusion that they're leaving us thirsty for more, but while that may be the case for its huge fanbase, it left me staring at the screen waiting for any kind of satisfaction that I knew would never come.
In the year following the 9/11 attacks on New York and America, film-makers and producers were still tip-toeing around the subject, even going as far as digitally removing the World Trade Centre from Sam Raimi's Spider-Man trailer. Never one to shy away from confronting a controversial subject head-on, director Spike Lee made 25th Hour, a story of young Irish-American drug dealer Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) celebrating his last day of freedom before he gets banged up for 7 years. Brogan serves as a metaphor for the post-9/11 America - unsure, paranoid, angry, disillusioned. In the first scene, we see him younger, happier, and saving a dying dog with his Russian friend Kostya (Tony Siragusa), but this was before he got busted, and, presumably, before 9/11.
Lee is hardly subtle about his allegories, and the opening credits are shown over images of the beams of light shooting up in the air at Ground Zero, representing the fallen towers of the World Trade Centre. In another scene, Monty's two best friends Jacob (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Frank (Barry Pepper) discuss Monty's future once he gets out of prison. Frank's apartment overlooks Ground Zero, and Frank explains how nothing can ever be the same, both for their relationship with Monty, and for America. The presence of Ground Zero looms like some unshakeable ghost, almost serving as a character itself. Jacob and Frank's lives are hitting a sort-of midlife crisis also. Jacob is channelling his "liberal guilt" into sexually obsessing over a young student of his (Anna Paquin) and Jacob's Red Bull and stock market-fuelled existence is reaching breaking point.
Of course, this being a Spike Lee 'joint' (how I wish he'd stop calling them that), the subject of race is never far away, and Lee confronts this in a standout scene that comes out of nowhere. Monty, after a dinner with his guilt-ridden father (Brian Cox), goes into the bathroom of his father's bar for his reflection to launch into a rant about his hatred for the many ethnic groups that reside in New York. "Fuck the Sikhs and Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in their decrepit cabs, fuck the Korean grocers, fuck the Russians and the Chassidim," he shouts. He also fucks the church, the Wall Street bankers and rich trophy wives. This is a man focusing his anger at anybody, and much like Lee's masterpiece Do the Right Thing (1989), the film manages to capture what many were feeling at the time.
All allegories aside, 25th Hour holds it's own as a drama. There's no twist and turns or gunfights, and the only real tension comes from people's suspicions of Monty's girlfriend Naturelle (Rosario Dawson) being possibly the one who fingered Monty. But there's no need for it, as Lee's aim here is to create something all the more sombre and reflective. The cast are superb, especially Norton and Pepper, the latter proving that his talents have gone unrecognised for far too long with a performance of self-destructive narcissism. The social messages can be heavy-handed at times, and it goes on for far too long, but the ending provides an outstanding fantasy prologue of blind optimism. One of the most honest depictions of America ever made.
Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, his first film since 2007's spectacular There Will Be Blood, explores many of the themes of alienation, dysfunction within family and individual, that he has engaged with throughout his filmography. But where his previous film focused on the desperation for power in an increasingly Capitalistic, but almost primitively savage landscape, his latest probes and juxtaposes ideas of control and chaos within a substitute family. The surrogate family that drunk, chaotic Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) enters serendipitously, headed by "writer" Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), is a representation of a cult, incredibly loosely based on science fiction writer, L. Ron Hubbard's religious invention, Scientology. No doubt the allusions within the screenplay to this increasingly clandestine and insidious organisation (with powerful Hollywood membership from Tom Cruise and John Travolta), have been eradicated to avoid any problems - Scientologists are secretive, and appear aggressive and paranoid (I'm just goading, but it's true!).
The Master opens in the closing moments of World War Two, the drunken and isolated Freddie, winging his way on a Navy ship. He seems awkward in the presence of these men, iconographically like the muscular, homoerotic imagery of Kenneth Anger or Jean-Paul Gaultier. On a sun kissed beach, the sailors watch in bemusement as Freddie mock-fucks a woman made of sand, leg akimbo, the audience full of laughter, until the misogynist display goes on, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. In subsequent scenes Freddie shows his infantile, possessive obsession with sex and female genitalia, and the drunken fantasy that drifts in and out of his consciousness. He's a drifter with no place to go, a fractured family life, with no skills but a dangerous ability to make alcohol. In the chaos of his intoxicated mind, he wants a father figure, and after an accidental poisoning with his alcoholic concoctions, of a man he told looked like his father, Freddie stumbles upon a ship sailing sailing from San Francisco to New York through the Panama canal, and meets leader of The Cause, Dodd.
Like Hubbard, Hoffman's Dodd is a publisher of a book who's ideas create a loyal, devoted following in 1950's America, where religious movements separated from traditional ones were beginning to surface in greater numbers. The ideas within this quasi-religion, The Cause, are differing in many ways to Scientology (it does however include the idea that humans have existed for trillions of years), and Dodd confidently states that our spirits live for millennia, living through different physical vessels - not unlike the concepts in what is now called past life regression. But here, Dodd claims that through confronting past demons the subject can return to an emotional state of "perfect". It's a flimsy concept, and one which Dodd even has difficulty in defending or explaining when confronted with challengers to his philosophies. His son, Val (Jesse Plemens), tells Freddie that his father makes this stuff up as he goes along; this is not a stable functioning family, let alone a legitimate, or cohesive cult, where all followers agree with every alteration, or frivolous concept that The Master orates.
The film is not clear about the full nature of Lancaster and Freddie's relationship; at times it is like a father/son dynamic, then a homoerotic tinge is suggested, but they almost always seem at odds, battling even when calm and collected. But the real chaos that Freddie brings is juxtaposing the more secretive chaos behind the doors of the cult. On the surface Lancaster is jovial and accommodating, but as with Freddie, his demons, his complications, and his occasional inability to explain his wild theories, at times highlights his own chaotic psychology. In the time that Freddie stays with The Cause, Dodd is preparing his second book, 'The Split Sabre', and it seems that cracks are perhaps appearing in the "congregation", and Dodd is desperately attempting to cling to his followers, and with it continue leading with false ideas, and often ludicrous practises. The Master is about the destructive nature of these two characters, who often provoke each other into obscure and dangerous behaviour.
It would be impossible to write about this film without mentioning the two central roles. Hoffman plays Lancaster with a cool charisma, and he must have been intended for the role (he has worked with Anderson before). With simple motions he captures the belief of power in the character, he approaches other men, dramatically swinging his hand to slap against their hand. Dodd is in control of these people, he holds the power, but he is playful, a possessor of humour used as psychological warfare. In a scene at the end of his daughters wedding reception, he leaves, grabbing the audiences attention, announcing to not rise for his departure, whilst laughing but waving his hands up, in a motion to stand. Phoenix is also quite exceptional as the tortured cheat, his eyes saying more about anxiety and pain than any words could achieve, so an Oscar nomination was inevitable. He probably won't win due to another nominee having portrayed an American icon. Hoffman also received a nomination for Best Supporting Actor.
Anderson again displays his incredible mastery of cinematic form. The images are astounding, Mihai Malamare Jr's cinematography and Jack Fisk's (along with David Crank's) production design, complement beautifully Anderson's almost constantly moving camera, with small moments of dark, Film Noir lighting, contrasted with the sun drenched, saturated images outside. In a second collaboration with Radiohead guitarist, Jonny Greenwood, the soundtrack almost counters some of the scenes, lending the film a jarring, uncomfortable feeling. It could be seen as a total musical score of the psyche. The scatological nature of these two unhinged men, fit the more abstract and psychologically oppressive soundtrack to insanity - after all, it is easy to argue that Dodd and Freddie are insane to the eyes of government and society.
The post-war rise of psycho-analysis, particularly in the United States, could be seen as another tool of control. Civilisation determines what sanity and insanity are, or what it looks like. In The Master, these two men are both sane and insane simultaneously, and they may represent that change in culture and society after such a monumental war, with realities that even now are difficult to comprehend (yet they still happen today). Something that struck me whilst watching this film was the central idea of past lives. I was overwhelmed with the profound nature of death, and this somehow explains why people attach themselves to religion, and other ideas of the continuation of existence. It is difficult to comprehend death as the end. It may simply be easier to cling onto a seemingly ridiculous idea than confront the possibility of an absolute end to life. Whilst Anderson's film is not perfect in fully committing to the many, often erratic, ideas that permeate the film, the combination of the performances, the beauty of the image and the music, create an experience that is incredibly rewarding.
Being a football fan (that's 'soccer' to any Americans reading), it has been an increasingly frustrating past decade or so seeing the sport turn into a greedy, money-orientated business. The gap between the rich super-clubs, and the smaller teams that have been forced into becoming 'feeder clubs', is becoming larger and larger with every progressing season. The takeover of Manchester City a few seasons ago by Arab oil tycoon and politician Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nayhan saw the club spend over £150 million in one transfer window, and now sit second in the league as a result, with a host of superstar playboys littering their team-sheet. This transformation from sport of the working classes to a capitalist business is the focus of Moneyball, but the sport is baseball, America's equivalent to football.
It tells the true story of failed baseball player Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), who is now General Manager of Oakland Athletics, a team who are struggling to keep up with the pace of the New York Mets, a rich club who have just nabbed three of Oakland's key players. Disillusioned with the financial distance between the clubs, he approaches Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), a Yale-graduated economics analyst who seems to have made a breakthrough studying statistics rather than player valuation. Brand suggests three out-of-favour has-beens and rejects to replace one of the superstars they lost, to which Beane obliges. Oakland become the laughing stock of the sport, until they go on a winning run which will soon break all baseball records.
Like I said, I am a football fan, and I love to watch the game. But my love of the game is hampered by feelings of self-loathing as I watch these over-paid primadonnas whine and dive their way around the pitch, while earning more in a week than I will in twenty years for kicking a piece of leather around a pitch for 90 minutes. Billy Beans shares this view. He says 'it's impossible not to be romantic about baseball', but he has watched the sport he loves become merely dollar signs in the eyes of suit-wearing tycoons who treat it as something to play with in their spare time. Beane does not want to simply win a trophy, a ring, or a record, he wants to change the way the game is run.
Pitt became involved in the production way back in 2007, and became almost a labour-of-love for the actor. He also produces as well as giving an impressive performance. It's alarming how he has transformed himself from a mere pretty boy of the 1990's, into a passionate actor and producer, starring in excellent films such as Babel (2006), The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007) and Inglourious Basterds (2009). He received an Oscar nomination for this film, as it's fully deserved, portraying Beane as a mixture of determination, eagerness and concern, as well short-tempered rage. Jonah Hill is also excellent, following his creepy performance in Cyrus (2010) as the dutiful, super-intelligent Brand (he also received an Oscar nomination).
Moneyball is a welcome passion project that goes as far as translating the love of a sport that escapes us Brits. Although there is very little focus on the playing of the sport itself, it makes it clear why the sport is loved so much and is seen in such a romantic light. It does for baseball what the underrated Friday Night Lights (2004) does for American football. The script by superscribes Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin is suitably fast-paced and complex, giving the film a weight and a darkness that made The Social Network (2010) so good (in Sorkin's case). Informative, insightful, and occasionally gripping, UK audiences should not shy away from this film due to the sport, and instead embrace a film that tackles larger issues of greed and class division.
In the height of the run-in for the Democratic Presidential candidate, young campaign manager Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling), who is working for Governer of Pennsylvania Mike Morris (George Clooney), is called for a meeting by rival campaigner Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti) who attempts to convince him to jump ship. Meyers refuses, but fails to tell his boss Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman), only to admit it to him later. Furious at the lack of trust now between the two, Zara fires Meyers, who furiously tries to join the rival team. During this time, Meyers has been romancing intern Molly Stearns (Evan Rachel Wood), who may just harbour a secret of his own. Over the course of the film, Meyers learns the true nature of politics, and just what it takes to survive in the business.
There are three things that cannot be faulted with this film - that is the stellar acting by a multi-talented cast, the sharp script, and Clooney's direction. Gosling is quickly becoming Hollywood's favourite A-lister (even though I've been championing him for years!), combining good looks, charm, and a huge acting talent. 2011 was good to him, with this film, and the year's sleeper hit, Drive, catapulting him to stardom. The reliable supporting cast - Giamatti, Hoffman, Clooney, Wood, Jeffrey Wright and Marisa Tomei - all prove effective in their roles. The script, by Grant Heslov, Beau Willimon, and Clooney himself, packs a lot into its feature running time, but it keeps things rather tense and suitably fierce. And Clooney, who is quickly becoming a hugely confident director, keeps the style of the film very much that of the political thrillers of the 1970's. Not to say he is a homage director, but he clearly takes his styles from his peers. Given that America's finest cinematic era was the 70's, there's certainly nothing wrong with taking its influences from it.
Yet, given all the style and fine acting on display, The Ides of March seems rather pointless. It is clearly depicting the corruption of the self through politics as Gosling evolves from naive and passionate wunderkid, to morally dubious game-player, though it's nothing that has been seen before. So politics corrupts? No shit. A shame then, as I wanted to really like this film, and I suppose I did, but ultimately it left me yearning for more, and I felt the film would have been more effective as a mini-series, giving time to breathe life into its characters between the moments of back-stabbing and shady meetings. It's undoubtedly extremely well made and well-intentioned, but rather hollow. Clooney, however, still remains a director of promise, and I will still be eager to watch whatever he directs next.
Hunt (Tom Cruise) has left the IMF in favour of a normal life with his bride-to-be Julia (Michelle Monaghan). He has kept the extent of his work for the government quiet and seems to be enjoying being a regular Joe, but his head is soon turned when fellow IMF agent John Musgrave (Billy Crudup) contacts him regarding his former protegee, Lindsay Farris (Keri Russell), who has gone missing in the field while investigating an arms dealer named Owen Davian (Hoffman). Hunt accepts the job and assembles a team (consisting of the returning Ving Rhames, as well as Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Maggie Q) to track her down, but when the mission goes spectacularly wrong, the group are left to track down an item known as the 'Rabbit's Foot', a device capable of global catastrophe. With the head of the IMF (Laurence Fishburne) breathing down his neck and Davian proving himself to be a ruthless and cunning foe, Hunt and the rest of his troupe face their most difficult task yet.
