The sheer volume of prolific writer/director/actor Woody Allen's back catalogue means that any new work will always have audiences comparing them to his earlier, more universally-acclaimed pictures. Born in 1935, it has been over fifty years since his first peek behind the camera with What's Up, Tiger Lily? (1966), and he still pumps out roughly a film per year. The declining quality doesn't help either, with (before Midnight in Paris) his only truly excellent film being the incredibly sexy Vicky Christina Barcelona (2008) since 1999's charming Sweet and Lowdown. Perhaps he had the idea for years, but it felt like Allen may be having a sly pop at the nostalgia-fiends feeding off his past glories with Midnight in Paris, a heart-warming and funny exploration of a writer pining for a bygone age.
Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) is a successful Hollywood screenwriter holidaying in Paris with his fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams). He is also struggling with his first novel, about a man working in a nostalgia shop, and his bride-to-be isn't helping matters by insisting they spend time with her rich, conservative parents and her annoying, know-it-all friend Paul (Michael Sheen). Gil feels like he belongs in a different decade, namely 1920's Paris, where the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Salvador Dali enjoyed decadent parties and frequented the boisterous bars. On a walk one night, Gil is approach by an old-fashioned taxi as the clock strikes midnight, and the passengers beckon him to join them. Soon enough, he is chatting with the likes of Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston) and his wife Zelda (Alison Pill), as Cole Porter (Yves Heck) plays piano.
As Gil's nightly visits to the 1920's play out, a wealth of famous faces bring other famous faces to life. The likes of Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll), Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates) and Dali (Adrien Brody) all brush shoulders with the awestruck writer, as well as the mysterious Adriana (Marion Cotillard), a muse of Picasso who catches his eye. The fantastic performances aside - Stoll is a particular revelation - Paris itself is a star of the movie, akin to what Allen did may times with his New York-set films. It's certainly overly-romanticised, but this only serves to heighten Gil's sense of wonder, and he is hopeless romantic after all. Midnight in Paris is Allen's wittiest, warmest and most effortlessly entertaining films since 1994's Bullets Over Broadway. It may be difficult to avoid comparing this to the director's classic works, but Midnight in Paris sits easily as one of his best.
While the focus for the Marvel Cinematic Universe of late has been on sequels and superhero mash-ups, producer Kevin Feige and his team are more than aware of the heavy roster of iconic crime-fighters which have yet to grace the screen and who fans are crying out to see. Yet they are also clearly wary of the trappings of the origin story; the obligatory introductory movie which must cover how the hero came to be and have him face-off with a bad guy in order to establish their ass-kicking prowess. This was cleverly side-stepped in Captain America: Civil War earlier this year, with Tom Holland's Spider-Man and Chadwick Boseman's Black Panther both being eased into the universe in somebody else's movie.
But there is one cult favourite that hadn't been given the modern-day treatment by Disney and Marvel Studios, and one who hasn't graced our screens since the unintentionally hilarious 1978 TV movie starring Peter Hotten. Doctor Strange, originally created by a true unsung hero of the comic-book world, Steve Ditko, was a counter-culture favourite in the 1960's for its psychedelic imagery and Eastern mysticism, particularly popular amongst students and Pink Floyd, with the latter incorporating one of Strange's trippy panels onto the cover of their A Saucerful of Secrets album. Strange is probably the most awkward character for Marvel to bring to a mainstream audience, but Marvel don't seem put off by a challenge, especially after they somehow turned five obscure space-travellers into one of their best and most successful movies with Guardians of the Galaxy (2014).
Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) is a world-renowned neurosurgeon enjoying the life of fast cars, expensive watches and an astronomical ego. After a car accident leaves him with mangled hands and the inability to operate, he pushes away his on-off girlfriend Christine (Rachel McAdams) and heads to Kathmandu in search of a cure. There he finds The Ancient One (Tilda Swinton), who opens Strange's eyes to magic and the astral plane, and a group sworn to protect the planet from mystical threats. With defected sorcerer Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen) and his zealots on the loose trying to open a portal to the dreaded Dark Dimension, Strange studies to perfect the art of magic under the tutelage of fellow sorcerers Mordo (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and Wong (Benedict Wong).
Scott Derrickson's Doctor Strange ultimately falls pray to the tropes of the origin story, treading similar water to the likes Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger and, especially, Iron Man, but manages to distinguish itself from the others thanks to some truly dazzling imagery. Derrickson, a huge fan of the early comics, stated that most of his inspiration came from one of Ditko's most jaw-dropping drawings, depicting the Sorcerer Supreme standing high above what appears to be multiple dimensions, each defying the laws of physics as we know it. Early on, the arrogant doctor is shoved head-first into a roller-coaster of alternate worlds, and the effect is extraordinary. Like one hell of a good acid trip, Strange receives a mind-fuck of an awakening, as do we. This is the kind of beautiful, hypnotic imagery that CGI was made for, to create something otherwise impossible, not to make a camera appear to glide through a close window.
Marvel have always hit the mark with the casting of their heroes, and Cumberbatch adds incredible charisma to a hero who is, at first anyway, rather loathsome. But Doctor Strange is also backed up by an unbelievable supporting cast of award-winning thesps whose presence ensures that you keep taking the gobbledegook-heavy exposition scenes seriously. Swinton is smiling and playful in a role that usually calls for a stone-faced drill sergeant, and Ejiofor adds dimensions (no pun intended) to a character who has one of the most intriguing arcs in the film, which will be of no surprise to anyone familiar with his comic-book incarnation. Mikkelsen and McAdams also make the most of underwritten roles, with the former especially adding weight to what is another wafer-thin Marvel villain. It really is one of the most impressive line-ups in recent memory, and not just for a superhero movie.
It is, of course, far from perfect. The insistence on staying with the origin formula really do hamper the potential of Doctor Strange, with the teases of the endless worlds left to explore hinting at a crazier, bolder film that could have been, but will hopefully come. Some of the supporting cast are also left hung out to dry, especially Michael Stulhbarg's Dr. Nicomdemus West, whose minuscule screen-time gives the impression that most of his scenes were left on the cutting-room floor. Still, these are gripes in what is otherwise a fantastically entertaining film, packed with action scenes that really are like nothing I've seen before, despite the ill-conceived Inception (2010) comparisons. The film's ongoing box-office success seems to signal a sequel will be inevitable, where I hope Derrickson will be granted permission to really let loose. But for now, this is yet another hit for Marvel.
This years Academy Award Best Picture line-up was one of the most underwhelming in recent memory, but there was a little cheer when director Tom McCarthy's underdog Spotlight took home the top prize. My personal favourite of the nominees, The Big Short, lost out, and the stand-out film of the year, Inside Out, wasn't even on the list (although it took home the Best Animated Feature), but the lack of truly great films this year doesn't take anything away from Spotlight, which is a riveting little procedural hampered by a surprising emotional distance from the disturbing subject matter.
Like most films set amongst the huddled office meetings, desk-thumping and pen-chewing of the newspaper room, Spotlight takes its inspiration from Alan J. Pakula's seminal All the President's Men (1976), and concerns itself solely on the noble efforts of the staff trying to piece together that big story that will change everything. Here, we're at the Boston Globe in 2001, and the newspapers new editor Marty Baron (Liev Schreiber) and almost instantly notices the importance of delving deeper into eccentric lawyer Mitchel Garabedian's (Stanley Tucci) accusation that Cardinal Law (Len Cariou) has covered up the molestation of various children by a priest in their very city.
Baron hands the task to Spotlight, a team consisting of 'Robby' Robinson (Michael Keaton), Mike Rezendes (Mark Ruffalo), Sacha Pfeiffer (Rachel McAdams) and Matt Carroll (Brian D'Arcy James), who takes months exhaustively researching their subject matter before publishing their findings. What they uncovered were hundreds of cases in Boston alone of child molestation by priests, and the fact that this was ignored by people in a position to do much more. In fact, some of the most powerful moments come from the revelations that some of the Boston Globe staff sat on the story for years without taking notice of the extent of the abuse. With Operation Yewtree still hitting the headlines here in the UK, the subject of sweeping these kinds of cases under the rug couldn't be more relevant.
Spotlight depicts, in breathtaking detail, the work carried out by Robinson and his team to uncover the truth and to obtain the required evidence. Keaton, after last years Birdman, gives another assured performance, and Ruffalo is routinely terrific as the pit-bull Rezendes. Aesthetically, the film cannot be faulted, and McCarthy sticks strictly to the facts. However, the lack of an emotional connection means the film does not induce the kind of anger it really should. Without doubt the movies stand-out scene is Pfeiffer's reaction to a priests blunt response to her equally blunt questioning, and the film should maintain the sort of power and shock this moment inspires, but keeps itself frustratingly distant. Spotlight is still an accomplished piece of work with some sparkling dialogue, and McCarthy hints that he may have found the same form he had with his terrific debut The Station Agent (2003).
In 2009 Sherlock Holmes was re-imagined by Guy Ritchie as an ass-kicking and mentally unstable private investigator with a weakness for a variety of mind-altering substances. Played by Robert Downey Jr., Holmes was Iron Man without the vast fortune, super-suit and fashionable beard, but with the same genius-level intellect, capable of predicting the exact outcome of a fight with a foe before the first punch is thrown. Though heavily compromised by Ritchie's sledgehammer subtlety and love for annoying Cockney geezers, it was still an entertaining take on an extremely familiar character, with Downey Jr. at his twitchy best and demonstrating a convincing English accent.
A Game of Shadows, the bloated sequel rushed into production after the international success of its predecessor, turns the doctor from idiosyncratic eccentric to a babbling pantomime. When we meet Holmes, he is rescuing his flame Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams) from a bomb intended for somebody else. The package was given to her by the scheming Professor Moriarty (Jared Harris), and after her next meeting with him, she disappears. On the eve of his wedding, Dr. Watson (Jude Law) arrives at Baker Street to find Holmes deep into investigating a splurge of seemingly unrelated murders and business acquisitions linked to Moriarty, and at Watson's bachelor party, the two encounter a gypsy woman named Simza (Noomi Rapace), the intended recipient of the letter that accompanied the bomb.
Without any sign of the storytelling flair of the books, A Game of Shadows becomes little more than a series of punch-ups, shoot-outs and inane exchanges between Holmes and his trusted Watson. At one point, the heroes are fired at by an increasingly ridiculous arsenal of machine guns as trees shatter and fireballs explode around them in ultra slo-mo. Any resemblance to one of literatures most beloved characters is lost, and it feels instead like you're watching a movie about The Transporter's British granddad, albeit with a touch more style. Mad Men's Harris is impressive as Holmes's most challenging foe, but Rapace's character is so redundant that she is reduced to just a pretty face for the poster. Shockingly, the main problem is Downey Jr., whose hyperactive shtick is as tiresome as the plot he is caught up in.
Said to have been portrayed by over 70 actors in over 200 adaptations, it was only a matter of time before Sherlock Holmes received a modern-day revision. The BBC cast Benedict Cumberbatch as the titular loose-cannon, with Martin Freeman as his sidekick Dr. Watson in the series Sherlock, but director Guy Ritchie wanted to revert back to the source novels for his Holmes, and who better than Robert Downey, Jr. to star as the bohemian detective-for-hire with a penchant for self-starvation and cocaine. Only this being rated 12A, the cocaine and needle abuse is somewhat glossed over in favour of a more 'teenage-friendly' preference to alcohol, though the unpredictable and near-schizophrenic personality is maintained, and his famous and iconic deerstalker hat (though never mentioned in the books) ridden of altogether.
After foiling the ritualistic sacrifice of a young girl at the hands of the aristocratic Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong), Sherlock Holmes retreats into a state of isolation while he awaits his next case. His good friend and colleague Dr. Watson (Jude Law) is getting married, and his invitation to Holmes to meet his bride-to-be finally brings Holmes back into the world. With Blackwood awaiting execution, his last wish is to talk with Holmes, who is warned of three more deaths to come. Blackwood is hanged and assumed dead, until his body goes missing and is replaced by a man reported missing by Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams), an American thief who has managed to escape Holmes in the past. Holmes' investigations leads them to the Temple of the Four Orders, a secretive magical organisation who seem terrified by Blackwood's apparent resurrection and eventual resurfacing.
With Holmes, Ritchie has gone mega-budget and handles it well. Though for all its CGI backdrops and grand set-pieces, Ritchie has stuck with the Cockney wide-boy dialogue and slow-motion fight scenes. From the very first scenes, his intentions are clear, as Holmes envisions his opponents weak-spots and we are narrated through the damage that each blow will inflict, all caught in that time-altering way he championed way back in '98. This is Holmes at his most action-heavy. I don't recall ever seeing Basil Rathbone taking out someone's knee-cap or getting involved in bare-knuckle boxing fights. But isn't that was revisions are all about - taking a beloved character and taking them to places never seen before? Well of course, but in this case, it's to take their character to the top of the box-office by attracting a less-demanding audience, and make a lot of money.
The Ritchie-isms aside, Sherlock Holmes is still entertaining, which is its primary goal. Although the story is weak, everything looks fake and like a computer effect, and the aspect that made Holmes such a popular read - the investigation and his almost supernatural ability to unravel the smallest of clues - isn't particularly clever, and is brushed aside in favour of Downey, Jr's admittedly excellent comedic performance. He is perfect for this Holmes, showing a lot of the cocky charm and general strangeness he injected into Tony Stark in the Iron Man films (2008-2013). After all, Downey, Jr. practically is (or was) Holmes, almost spurning his talent in favour of drug abuse. It's enough to make me watch the sequel someday, but not enough to make me warm to Ritchie. But it's 128 minutes of breezy, easy-watching entertainment.
Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) is a successful Hollywood screenwriter holidaying in Paris with his fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams). He is also struggling with his first novel, about a man working in a nostalgia shop, and his bride-to-be isn't helping matters by insisting they spend time with her rich, conservative parents and her annoying, know-it-all friend Paul (Michael Sheen). Gil feels like he belongs in a different decade, namely 1920's Paris, where the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Salvador Dali enjoyed decadent parties and frequented the boisterous bars. On a walk one night, Gil is approach by an old-fashioned taxi as the clock strikes midnight, and the passengers beckon him to join them. Soon enough, he is chatting with the likes of Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston) and his wife Zelda (Alison Pill), as Cole Porter (Yves Heck) plays piano.
