Review #1,437: 'The House That Jack Built' (2018)

Seven years ago, Danish provocateur Lars von Trier found himself banned from the Cannes Film Festival after making a rather ill-timed joke about sympathising with Hitler during a press conference for Melancholia. For a festival that seems to inspire walk-outs and boos from audiences who have apparently never seen a film before, it was never going to be too long until von Trier wriggled his way back in. After all, for a director famous for clitoris-removal and the mocking of disabled people, the lure of free advertising from appalled cinema-goers would surely be too strong to resist. For his return, von Trier brought The House That Jack Built, a two and half hour serial killer movie that often feels like a stand-in for the director's self-satisfied smirk. Not only does the film feature animal cruelty, infanticide and open mocking of the #MeToo movement, but the anti-hero at its centre talks frequently at length about his real obsession. You guessed it: the Third Reich. This is a giant middle-finger to the Cannes board.

Jack (Matt Dillon) is a serial killer who, by the end, boasts more than 60 victims. He mainly kills women, but he also kills men and children if the subject is just right for his unique brand of 'art'. At the start of the film, he discusses his life and the nature of evil with an unseen man, played by Bruno Ganz, who we don't see until the very end. He defends his grisly past-times as artistic expression, claiming that everyone who died at his hands will be forever immortalised in his work. His story is recounted as a series of incidents, the first of which involves Uma Thurman as an impossibly stupid victim stranded by the road-side. Convincing Jack to give her a ride to a nearby garage that can fix her car jack, she almost talks the stranger into killing her, even handing him the murder weapon. When the brutal, sudden murder occurs, we almost feel a sense of relief. You can imagine von Trier stroking his chin and grinning at the thought of us feeling like she deserved it. Over the course of a decade, Jack ponders his favourite kills, taking the occasional detour to discuss architecture, literature and the work of Glenn Gould, and to repeatedly build and knock down his dream house.

For a film that understandably caused outrage at its premiere, The House That Jack Built isn't gory and full of spatter, but that isn't to say the film isn't frequently repugnant. An old lady is strangled to death for comic effect, a duckling has its leg snipped off, and worst of all, a child's corpse is contorted with wires and preserved in Jack's walk-in freezer, positioned in the background of many scenes just in case we happen to forget. Such blatant button-pushing would be forgivable, of even admirable, had this trudging vanity project been remotely convincing. Instead, its two and a half hours that feels two and a half hours, with a miscast Dillon delivering monologues on the beauty of genocide and the evolution of architecture while von Trier plans his next trick to make you feel uncomfortable. The film's best performance is delivered by Riley Keough as a young woman Jack cruelly names Simple. Jack toys with her low self-esteem before dispatching her in a horrendous manner, but there's real humanity lurking in this scene, and a real sense of dread conjured up by von Trier. The whole thing is almost saved by a climactic journey through a Hell seemingly inspired by the covers of death metal albums, which manages to be both truly eerie and cartoonishly comical. But then you remember what you had to get through to get there, and wonder how to get your 150 minutes back.


Directed by: Lars von Trier
Starring: Matt Dillon, Bruno Ganz, Uma Thurman, Siobhan Fallon Hogan, Sofie Gråbøl, Riley Keough, Jeremy Davies
Country: Denmark/France/Germany/Sweden

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,413: 'The Passion of Anna' (1969)

By the mid-1960's, Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman had already established himself as one of the true masters of cinema. He had unleashed the likes of Wild Strawberries, The Seventh Seal, Through a Glass Darkly and - one of my personal favourites - the criminally underrated Sawdust and Tinsel, all sombre black-and-white masterpieces the director would be remembered for. 1966 saw Bergman kick off a series of films where he would experiment with cinematic form, while still exploring his favourite themes of memory, love and madness. This resulted in arguably his finest achievement, Persona, and he would go on to make the likes of Hour of the Wolf, Shame and The Passion of Anna. Bergman frequently commented on his own pictures, citing The Passion of Anna as one of his greatest failures. While it may not be on the same level as his best work, the raw emotion of Anna cannot be ignored or indeed forgotten, so I'll have to wholeheartedly disagree with the great man on this one.

The story concerns ex-convict and estranged husband Andreas Winkleman (Max von Sydow), who has isolated himself on a Swedish island (actually Bergman's own) and only occasionally socialising with the handful of locals spread across the land. One day he is approached by the beautiful but unhinged Anna (Liv Ullmann), a widow who now walks on a crutch following the car crash that took the lives of her husband and son. She wants to use Andreas' phone, and the hermit is happy to oblige. Only he can't resist eavesdropping on the conversation, which results in Anna hanging up the phone in anger and accidentally (or purposefully?) leaving her bag behind. This leads to a dinner involving married couple Eva (Bibi Andersson) and Elis Vergerus (Erland Josephson), who are both going through their own mental anguish. Eva is an insomniac who has been unfaithful in the past, and Elis is a pompous misanthrope who hoards photographs he takes of everyone he meets. Andreas and Anna start a passionless affair, but their shady pasts are destined to resurface. The island is also struck by a serial animal killer, who attempts to hang a dog before butchering cattle and setting a barn on fire. 

Bergman isn't known to be a 'fun' director, and The Passion of Anna is no different. There are sweeping monologues to camera and existential conversations over dinner. Much of this will be lost on most viewers, including myself, but there is something undeniably hypnotic watching Bergman's favourite actors spewing psychological observations or recollecting strange, nonsensical dreams. Bergman also opts to intercut the film with interviews of the actors talking about their characters, in what appears to be spontaneous behind-the-scenes footage. These sections were in fact scripted, and although the actors do well masking this fact, this experimental approach only interrupts the story. The director himself has also voiced his regret for leaving something in he knew wouldn't work. Still, merely solid Bergman would be the highlight of most director's back catalogues. Bergman explores people's tendency to fall back into previous cycles of behaviour, and how memory can be corrupted by both time and wishful-thinking. Anna frequently recalls her perfectly balanced marriage with a man she shared an unbreakable bond with, but we know from Elis that her husband embarked on an affair with Eva. The final shot leaves many questions unanswered, and we are left to ponder them for ourselves. Despite the confusing manner with which the story is told, we are left with a kind of unspoken understanding.


Directed by: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Max von Sydow, Liv Ullmann, Bibi Andersson, Erland Josephson, Erik Hell
Country: Sweden

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,271: 'Atomic Blonde' (2017)

There is a scene about two-thirds into Atomic Blonde that will likely go down in cinema history as one of the most exhilarating displays of visual trickery and good-ol' fashioned stunt work that the action genre has ever offered. Charlize Theron's MI6 spook enters an apartment building in pre-Wall collapse Berlin with a wounded informant and battles gun-toting thugs up and down stairs, in and out of various rooms, using fists, knives, a crowbar, and just about anything else she can lay her hands on. It's a kinetic, utterly dazzling set-piece that eventually takes the violence outside and into a moving car, all in one long, mind-bogglingly complex take. It comes as no surprise that David Leitch, an uncredited director behind 2014's sleeper hit John Wick, is the man calling the shots.

This spectacular moment justifies whatever entry fee you paid to see Atomic Blonde, and highlights just what can be achieved with action cinema when a director like Leitch is the puppet-master behind it. Yet it also underlines the lack of heart and intrigue contained within the rest of this tale of double-agents and double-crosses whenever Theron's Lorraine Broughton isn't kicking butt. She is sent to a Berlin bristling with tension and distrust after MI6 agent James Gascoigne (Sam Hargrave) is murdered by KGB agent Yuri Bakhtin (Johannes Haukur Johannesson) and a wristwatch containing a microfilm list of intelligence agents is stolen. Her task is to find the list, assassinate a double agent known as Satchel, and rendezvous with David Percival (James McAvoy), a fellow agent who has recently 'gone feral'. Matters are complicated when Lorraine falls for young French agent Delphine (Sofia Boutella), and Stasi informant Spyglass (Eddie Marsan) reveals that he has memorised the contents of the microfilm.

Based on Antony Johnston and Sam Hart's graphic novel The Coldest City and re-titled Atomic Blonde to suit the 80's setting, the film looks slick, colourful and chocked full of period detail. While the grey streets of Berlin are laced with ice and stalked by shadowy double agents, the interiors show the German capital in 1989 as a catwalk for the newest fashions and a platform for great music. Theron dons a variety of outfits to suit whatever role she is playing in her mission, naturally looking great in the process, and will likely make many teenagers' dreams come true in her steamy scenes with Boutella. It's all very superficial, with very few characters succeeding to engage on an emotional level. Spyglass, a man trying to save his family from falling into the hands of the Russians and using every tool at his disposal to do so, is the most interesting character in the film. Marsan is always a delight to watch, and it's a shame he doesn't feature more than he does.

Although she certainly looks terrific, Lorraine doesn't really seem to do all that much. Her approach is to enter a room looking fabulous, receive information from the dodgiest-looking person in there, and proceed to dispatch anybody foolish enough to confront her. She's a wafer-thin protagonist, but Theron brings a great physicality to the role, and the actress is now the most accomplished action star working today. As Percival, McAvoy continues to impress with his ability to juggle the good guy, bad guy act. He did so to great effect in Trance and Split, and here he injects a Tyler Durden-esque fashion sense and swagger to his punk-rock rogue agent who may be Lorraine's largest obstacle. Ultimately, Atomic Blonde is a handsome, exciting action movie with fantastic physical performances all round and a central set-piece that will leave you as breathless as its participants. Anyone hoping for a deeper exploration of the shady world it so wonderfully sets up will leave frustratingly underwhelmed.


Directed by: David Leitch
Starring: Charlize Theron, James McAvoy, Eddie Marsan, John Goodman, Toby Jones, Sofia Boutella
Country: Germany/Sweden/USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,268: 'Brimstone' (2016)

Only a few famous cinematic figures can get away with using their surname only when headlining a poster or introducing a movie's title. Schwarzenegger and Stallone get away with it, as would the likes of Spielberg, Kubrick and Hitchcock if they were that way inclined. In an incredible display of confidence in his work, Dutch director Martin Koolhoven opens his latest film with the title of 'Koolhoven's Brimstone', a brave move for a filmmaker few outside of the Netherlands will have heard of. He clearly takes himself very seriously, and Brimstone just may be the most serious film of the year in the way the director soaks the film with such a biblical doom-and-gloom atmosphere that it would be difficult to watch without a chin-stroke or two.

Focusing on the life of a young mute woman named Liz, played by Dakota Fanning, in a particularly brutal Old West, Brimstone is a commentary on both the strength of woman and the sadistic nature of man. Liz holds a position of respect in the town due to her midwifing skills, but when a problematic birth leads to a decision between mother or baby, she is targeted by the residents as a murderer. Things get worse when The Reverend (Guy Pearce) walks into town. He is a stoic, imposing figure eager to reinforce God's fury to his congregation, and expects total obedience in return. Liz clearly shares a history with him, and is eternally terrified in his presence. This is the first of four stories played out of order, flashing back to Liz's time in a brothel under the orders of violent owner Frank (Paul Anderson), and forward again as Liz tries to escape the clutches of The Reverend.

At first, the non-linear narrative structure is interesting, unfolding the story carefully in order to reveal truths that change your outlook of the story. When the film finished, it felt as though it was a mere distraction from the boring central plot. Brimstone is a film about punishment, and the 149-minute running-time seems like a deliberate choice from the director to punish us in the process. It's a gruelling watch; alongside the violence and misogyny of many of its characters, there's also paedophilia, rape, incest, infanticide and hangings. It seems to wallow in the very things it is rallying against, particularly an uncomfortable scene in which The Reverend humiliates his wife (played by Carice van Houten) and forces her to wear a metal bridle in an attempt to destroy her. Things liven up slightly when Kit Harington's injured outlaw arrives on the scene, but by this point you'll be too beaten down by the relentless atmosphere for it to make much of a difference. Brimstone is bold and will likely provoke discussion, but ultimately little more than an exercise in misery.


Directed by: Martin Koolhoven
Starring: Dakota Fanning, Guy Pearce, Emilia Jones, Paul Anderson, Carice van Houten, Kit Harington
Country: Netherlands/France/Germany/Belgium/Sweden/USA/UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,209: 'Erik the Viking' (1989)

After the enormous success of Monty Python, the individual members of the innovative troupe started to branch out to work on their own passion projects, which often yielded fantastic results. Terry Gilliam's Time Bandits, for example, is now considered a family classic and remains a firm childhood favourite for many who grew up in the 1980s. A Fish Called Wanda, starring Python alumni John Cleese and Michael Palin was a hilariously farcical movie that went on to be Oscar nominated for Best Director and Best Screenplay, and winning for Kevin Kline's unhinged supporting turn. Some ventures, however, were less successful, although some Python loyalists may insist otherwise. Terry Jones adapted his own children's book for Erik the Viking, a movie that shares much in common with the aforementioned Time Bandits, but shares little of its sense of wonder, imagination and wit.

While on a routine raping-and-pillaging expedition, Viking Erik (Tim Robbins) realises he has grown tired of the never-ending circle of violence and misery celebrated by his people. He falls for a girl (Samantha Bond) after saving her from some of his bloodthirsty brothers, before accidentally killing her. The experience sends him seeking answers and wisdom from the wise woman Freya (Eartha Kitt), who explains to Erik that Fenrir the wolf has gobbled up the sun and plunged the world into the dark days of Ragnarok. Determined to see the sun again, Erik sets off on a quest to find the Horn Resounding which, when blown, will transport him to Asgard where he can confront the Gods. However, such a miracle will spell the end of war, thus putting blacksmiths Keitel (Gary Cady) and his underling Loki (Antony Sher) out of business, as well as threatening the reign of the brutal Halfdan the Black (John Cleese).

Erik the Viking takes Norse mythology so seriously that there are long stretches of the film during which it is easy to forget that it's a comedy. 10 or 20 minutes can easily go by without so much of a giggle, as Jones struggles to keep the tone consistent and, with an obviously limited budget, the action exciting. Still, although Erik pales in comparison to some of the wonderful work Jones has been involved in over the years, it certainly isn't a bad movie, and in no way deserves the stigma still attached to it. There are some laugh-out-loud moments, including the bickering relationship between beserks Sven (Tim McInnerny) and his father (Charles McKeown), and a Japanese slave master who berates his subjects with racial slurs ("You incomprehensible. horizontal-eyed western trousers wearers/How I abominate your lack of ancestor worship!"). Ultimately, the film is too inconsistent and tonally uneven to work, but go in expecting a handful of laughs and a few famous cameos and you may not be too disappointed.


Directed by: Terry Jones
Starring: Tim Robbins, Mickey Rooney, Eartha Kitt, Terry Jones, Imogen Stubbs, John Cleese
Country: UK/Sweden

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,195: 'A Royal Affair' (2012)

A Royal Affair opens with a melancholy Princess Caroline Matilda of Great Britain narrating as she pens a letter to her unseen children. Flashing back in time, she is a young and beautiful teenager about to be shipped off to Denmark to marry her cousin, King Christian VII of Denmark, giggling and dreaming about what her new life will be like with a man who sounds like the ideal husband. It would seem that we are in very familiar costume-drama territory, and director Nikolaj Arcel's film makes sure to include all the factors that make the genre so appealing to some: the beautiful young bride; an unknown kingdom; handsome period costumes; a bastard child; and a love affair that is passionate but ultimately doomed. Yet a careful, character-driven approach ensures that A Royal Affair doesn't boil over into overwrought hysterics. What emerges is a tense tale of political intrigue and terrific performances, and a fascinating history lesson to boot.

As the Princess, played by Alicia Vikander, arrives in Denmark, she immediately encounters her husband not as the gallant artist she expected, but as a nervous man-child, giggling to himself while hiding behind a tree. The King (Mikkel Boe Folsgaard) is a puppet on a throne, and quite clearly mentally deranged. He doesn't take much of a liking to his new Queen, and prefers to spend his free time getting drunk in the company of big-breasted prostitutes. Her optimism is quickly turned into bitterness, and is pleased when her husband decides to take a year off his duties to tour Europe. Shortly after his return, German Johann Struensee (Mads Mikkelsen), a skilled yet humble doctor, is recruited as the King's personal physician. He instantly forges a strong bond with the mad King, who is pleased to have a man of stature and intelligence by his side amidst his stern, old-fashioned council. Struensee's influence in court grows, but he finds himself caught up in a dangerous love affair with the Queen that could mean both of their heads should they be discovered.

This being 18th century Denmark, the King is surrounded by a council of religious old men looking to keep the country firmly in the Dark Ages. Struensee is a believer in the Age of Enlightenment, a progressive philosophical movement spearheaded by the likes of Voltaire and Rousseau. The Queen also shares his liberal views, and their love story isn't so much about their own sexual impulses but a driven and united desire to illuminate their country. Realising just how great an influence he is on the King, the doctor quickly sets about abolishing oppressive laws such as capital punishment, the torturing of suspects, and censorship. This immediately puts him at odds with the ruling aristocracy, who view him as a foreigner destroying their fatherland, and they waste no time looking for a way to expel him from court. It's alarming just how familiar it all sounds with the general one-step forward, two-steps back nature of politics. The three leads are all strong, with Mikkelsen in particular convincing as the reserved man of Enlightenment. By avoiding dramatic melodrama, A Royal Affair succeeds as a simmering portrayal of social disintegration and an intimate, intellectual love story.


Directed by: Nikolaj Arcel
Starring: Alicia Vikander, Mads Mikkelsen, Mikkel Boe Følsgaard, Trine Dyrholm, David Dencik
Country: Denmark/Sweden/Czech Republic/Germany

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,177: 'Force Majeure' (2014)

Wounded machismo and domestic disintegration are the order of the day in Swedish director Ruben Ostlund's comedy drama Force Majeure. Holidaying together at a fancy ski resort in the French Alps, the family at the centre of the story are presented as the pinnacle of bliss and success. Mum Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli) and Dad Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) and both good-looking and financially comfortable, and along with their children Vera (Clara Wettergren) and Harry (Vincent Wettergren), make for a Kodak-cute unit, highlighted in the opening scene where they are badgered into posing for a few snaps by a tourist photographer. Tomas is taking a break from his busy work-life, and Ebba is happy to have her husband by her side for a week. As they ski, nap and dine together, frequent explosions - creating 'controlled avalanches' - boom in the distance, suggesting that something troubling is looming.

On their second day. the family relax in a cafe when an avalanche starts to rush in the distance. What begins as curiosity and excitement soon turns to terror as it appears that the giant wall of snow is heading straight for them. They are engulfed in mist, but are relieved to discover that the avalanche came to a halt some way off. As the fog clears, Ebba still embraces her children, while Tomas is nowhere to be seen, although he has remembered to save his iPhone. It would seem that the husband and father isn't quite the man they thought he was, and this sets off an incredibly uncomfortable yet shrewdly funny breakdown of the photogenic unit over an increasingly long week away. At first, Tomas refuses to admit any wrongdoing, but is pecked away at by his wife and eventually confronted in two particularly uncomfortable scenes over dinner and drinks. Even his buddy Mats (Game of Thrones' Kristofer Hivju) struggles to defend his cowardly actions.

Shot with a Michael Haneke-esque eye for emotional violence and domestic unravelling, Force Majeure is often far more awkward than the work of Ricky Gervais, thanks to Ostlund's ear for witty, realistic dialogue and some committed performances from the leads. Tomas' fall from hard-working patriarch to emasculated cry-baby is both brutal and utterly hilarious. Ostlund clearly doesn't like the privileged bourgeois, and has fun picking them apart. The most wince-inducing scenes are somewhat relieved by the comedic timing of Hivju, who inspires humour by merely reacting to the horror playing out in front of him, siding with his friend as his much-younger girlfriend Fanni (Fanni Metelius) comforts Ebba. The gender divide is drawn in the snow, and thanks for a conversation between Mats and Fanni where the latter throws hypotheticals at her recently-divorced fella, this is perhaps the worst film in the history of film to watch with your partner. While it could have benefited from a running-time trim, Force Majeure leaves you with the disturbing idea that you may never truly know the people closest to you.


Directed by: Ruben Östlund
Starring: Johannes Kuhnke, Lisa Loven Kongsli, Kristofer Hivju, Fanni Metelius
Country: Sweden/France/Norway/Denmark

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,021: 'Burma VJ: Reporting from a Closed Country' (2008)

In 1962, the Burmese government was overthrown in a coup by the socialist military, who maintained control of the country until 2011. During this time, Burma deteriorated into poverty, while any protests or statements made against the ruling government were quickly crushed through intimidation, torture, outlandishly long jail sentences and executions. In 1988, a series of marches, rallies and protests now known as the 8888 Uprising were brought to a bloody end as the military killed 3,000 civilians in the streets.

With the media controlled by the state and a ban on any footage leaving the country, the Democratic Voice of Burma (DVB) has trained its journalists to work as guerrilla cameraman, working in the shadows to capture any acts of oppression or revolution. They work as a network but rarely meet, communicating using mobile phones and internet chatrooms, and frequently putting themselves at great personal risk. Being captured could mean death, with our narrator, known as 'Joshua', having his footage wiped early on by secret police and being forced into exile. Clever reconstructions of Joshua receiving updates on a new uprising now known as the Saffron Revolution, led by the Buddhist monks, forms a tense narrative.

The footage captured by the DVB is astonishing, with the action taking place right before your eyes. It is also, at times, incredibly intimate. Early on, the monks distrust the DVB, suspecting they are secret police. When the cameramen are attacked by plain-clothes military, the monks protect them and trust is immediately solidified. You are instantly swept up by the protesters elation and feel their incredible sense of hope, so it's absolutely shattering to see it all torn away. Director Anders Ostergaard weaves the footage together expertly, and the film is wholly deserving of its Best Documentary nomination at the Academy Awards in 2010 (and probably deserved to win). It's as close as you could get to being on the streets of a country under a crushing regime, and the results are frustrating and terrifying.


Directed by: Anders Østergaard
Country: Denmark/Sweden/Norway/UK/USA/Germany/Netherlands/Israel/Spain/Belgium/Canada

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #683: 'Only God Forgives' (2013)

After the surprising success, both critically and commercially, of 2011's Drive, Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn has furthered his auteur aspirations with his difficult follow-up, Only God Forgives. Refn admitted in an interview that he gets a kick out of screen violence to an almost fetishistic degree, and, like Drive, Only God Forgives has moments of nightmarish violence set in a seedy criminal underworld.

Set in Bangkok, Thailand, Ryan Gosling plays Julian, a reserved young man who runs an underground boxing club as a front for his drug dealing business. His older brother Billy (Tom Burke) sets out one night with self-destructive tendencies, and rapes and murders and 16 year-old girl. The girl's father takes personal vengeance and kills Billy. Julian sets out for revenge himself, but after hearing the reasons for his brother's murder, realises that some kind of justice has been achieved and lets the man go. But with the arrival of Julian's peroxide-blonde, acid-tongued mother Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas), Julian's hand is forced.

For a director so obviously eager to prove to everyone that he's some kind of film-making genius, Only God Forgives is surprisingly familiar in tone. Refn has gone to Thailand to make a Korean movie, full of abstract plot devices, a basic revenge premise, and some squirm-inducing, yet cartoonish scenes of torture and murder. One thing that cannot be denied is that the film looks absolutely beautiful. Like Gaspar Noe's Enter the Void (2009), this is a film seeped in neon-porn, and it's amazing how a bold flash of blue or red can make a scene instantly more wonderful to look at.

But the set design and cinematography aside, this is disappointingly empty movie, full of long moments of existential pondering and comically bad dialogue. The movie's antagonist, a crooked police chief named Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm), slices his way to his own form of justice, using a sword to execute and dismember his unfortunate victims. He is meant to be a vengeful God to Julian's sinner, and his appearances on screen are meant to fill us with dread, but instead only serves as a warning that more violence will soon implode. As a sort of idiosyncrasy, Chang sings karaoke as his police force watch him silently. It comes across a bit like Dean Stockwell in Blue Velvet (1986), but here it seems pretentious and just rather silly.

It's a real love-it-or-hate-it type of movie. On one hand, you have the technical brilliance that helps create a sleazy, slightly unnerving world, but on the other, you have the fact that this is a straight-to-DVD plot with some rather laughable dialogue. Kristin Scott Thomas, playing against type, gets to use the phrase 'cum dumpster' at an uncomfortable dinner with Julian and his 'girlfriend' Mai (Yayaying Rhatha Phongam). It all just feels like Refn is simply trying to antagonise his audience, but he really only insults them.


Directed by: Nicolas Winding Refn
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Kristin Scott Thomas, Vithaya Pansringarm, Yayaying Rhatha Phongam
Country: Denmark/France/Thailand/USA/Sweden

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #652: 'The Killer Inside Me' (2010)

The Killer Inside Me, a brutally violent neo-noir from British director Michael Winterbottom, raised hell at Sundance, sending audiences into frenzies of disbelief and light-headedness. Of course, as usual with premature festival outrage, the film is really not as appalling as the uproar would have led you to believe. There is one truly sickening scene - as gut-wrenching as any burst of violence I've seen on screen - but, the real tragedy is that this insistence on portraying it so graphically actually takes the focus away from what is a very stylish, if tonally uneven, pulp thriller. Although Winterbottom has juggled genres and styles with relative ease in his previous work, mainly to positive results, perhaps his inexperience with tackling a project so deeply rooted in Americana leads to the film's downfall.

Small-town deputy sheriff Lou Ford (Casey Affleck) is sent to warn off prostitute Joyce (Jessica Alba), who is having a dangerous affair with the son of construction tycoon Chester Conway (Ned Beatty). After realising they have the same violent sexual tastes, they begin a love affair and devise a plan to extort $10,000 from Conway, as Lou believes Conway to be responsible for the death of his brother. Unbeknownst to Joyce, Lou, despite his pleasant demeanour, is a violent sociopath, and after Lou beats Joyce to death with his bare hands and runs with the money, county attorney Howard Hendricks (Simon Baker) is called in to investigate. So Lou is forced to cover his tracks while he dotes on his fiancee Amy (Kate Hudson).

Pulp writer Jim Thompson was possibly the grimmest writer of his ilk, and The Killer Inside Me is widely thought of as his best work. I have not read the novel, so I am unaware as to how Lou Ford is written, but here he is a blank but undeniably fascinating character. He is a character that always seems in control, even when he seems surprised at just what he is capable of. Yet for someone seemingly so clinical at killing, he's not very good at it. His extortion plan is full of holes that could lead back to him, and it doesn't take long for Hendricks to figure him out. Often a glance or a word will make you wonder if he even understands himself or anything he is doing. Casey Affleck is a fine actor, and his Lou Ford is intimidating. Even though he's slightly built and his voice is a high-pitched drawl, he is a scary character to spend 90 minutes with, and he even surpasses his performance in The Assassination of Jessie James By the Coward Robert Ford (2007), of which I felt he was robbed of an Oscar.

Winterbottom wisely steers away from any psychological analysing of Ford, only hinting at childhood abuse (but not the way you would think), and glimpses of his intellect. Instead it makes you ponder this hideous character, and stay with him (but not necessarily root for) throughout the duration of the film. But it's Winterbottom's approach that is the problem here, blending a mixture of styles that causes the film to seem contrasting and haphazard. There are moments of pure noir - headlights approaching in the dust, characters sat in empty diners, cynical narration - and these scenes are at ease with the sleaze of the film's focus, but often it will kick in with some banjos at inappropriate moments that caused me to wonder whether I should be taking the film seriously. When it does take itself seriously, it's often inspired, but the final scene is so badly handled that I did wonder if a different director with more experience in the field would have made a much better film.


Directed by: Michael Winterbottom
Starring: Casey Affleck, Kate Hudson, Jessica Alba, Ned Beatty, Elias Koteas, Tom Bower, Simon Baker, Bill Pullman
Country: USA/Sweden/UK/Canada

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #632: 'Searching for Sugar Man' (2012)

Following 2008's enthralling Anvil! The Story of Anvil, the documentary medium seems a perfect place for a film-maker to give a forgotten musician their just deserves. While Anvil! were rockers that really should have made it in the cock-rock wave of the 1980's but didn't due to bad timing and sheer dumb luck, Searching for Sugar Man tells a different type of story, one that almost beggars belief. As well as revealing some ugly truths about the music studio system, it also disproves the theory that great art will always shine through. Sixto Rodriguez was a Detroit musician who could have been bigger than Dylan, and who possibly harboured a greater talent. He came and went with two studio albums, leaving nothing behind, not even a cult following. Yet everyone he knew and worked with never described him as anything but extraordinary.

Yet, over 9000 miles away in South Africa, Sixto Rodriguez was bigger than Elvis. His first album Cold Fact, would be found in nearly every household back in the 1970's. He became a symbol for the anti-apartheid movement, and his records were feared as dangerous and influential, and certain tracks would be scratched by the government to stop them from getting airplay. Yet, the South Africans learned that Rodriguez, disappointed with his lack of success, had doused himself with petrol and set himself alight on stage. Or that he shot himself. The details were unclear, but he had committed suicide. But two music journalists, wanting to find out more about this mysterious figure, would not only uncover the story of a man that was unheard of in his native country, but discover he is alive and well.

It's a beautifully shot documentary, shifting from the snowy greys of Detroit, to the sun-bleached world of South Africa. The first half shows us the exciting investigative efforts of Stephen 'Sugarman' Segerman and Craig Bartholomew Strydom, and the many obstacles in their way. One interview with former Motown Records Chairman Clarence Avant possibly uncovers a cover-up of Rodriguez's South African success, as Avant gets extremely defensive when posed questions about the money trail. Maybe Rodriguez was a victim of shady capitalism, or perhaps he was simply a voice America chose not to listen to. After all, he was a shy, awkward presence (he often sat with his back to the crowd), and was from a Mexican immigrant background, hardly the face of the U.S. at the time.

In an age where the music industry is ruled by floppy-haired teens, talentless dollar-eyed wailers from the X-Factor machine, or bling-covered cunts that label themselves as 'hip-hop', it's reassuring to know there's still people out there with a thirst for real music. Sugar Man's Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature is not just for the film itself, but for the inspiration behind it. The first half shows us Segerman and Strydom's search for the elusive figure, but the second half tracks him down. We see him peering out from the window of his downtrodden home, and it's the man's humbleness that makes him so endearing. He is truly a man of the people, opposed to capitalism and material wealth, and we learn this as his past is unravelled, never ruining the air of mystique surrounding the man. It's a great story, and one the world needs at this moment in time.


Directed by: Malik Bendjelloul
Starring: Sixto Rodriguez, Stephen 'Sugarman' Segerman, Craig Bartholomew Strydom
Country: Sweden/UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #591: 'Edvard Munch' (1974)

Since the mid-1950's the films of Peter Watkins have utilised a mix of documentary and fiction techniques to question these forms of media construct. From the historical portrayals of real, or imagined "realities" (Colluden (1964), The War Game (1965)), to science fiction dystopian visions of political systems (The Gladiators (1969), Punishment Park (1971)), Watkins has placed his cinematic eye within dramatised verite settings, refusing to conform to fiction narrative structures and the normative styles of documentary cinema. In Watkins' anachronistic cinema the characters (whether fictional or historical figures) are photographed as if the action is actually happening, and he breaks conventions further by interviewing characters, filming them in the talking head format, which eliminates the fourth wall in fiction cinema and television, and involves the viewer with the formal realities of detail. Watkins states on his website (pwatkins.mnsi.net) that Edvard Munch is his most personal film. It is certainly his most emotionally engaging, one that is not necessarily as political or prescient as previous films, but perfectly captures the emotional turmoil and strain that goes into the creative process, and particularly the ways in which events in an artists life effects the evolution of form and style.

The eponymous Munch's (played, like all here by amateur actor Geir Westby) life and career is dealt with in the usual Watkins style, focusing largely on the period between 1884 and 1894, a period in which his painting developed into what would become Expressionism. It shows a young man struggling with shyness and emotional immaturity, one that when confronted with rejection from Fru Heiberg (Gro Fraas), a married woman who has affairs with bohemian types (the film constantly reminds us of the historical realities of women in 19th century Norway, who require men to live), Munch becomes jealous and possessive. The film juxtaposes these emotional moments of anguish and the tragedies of Munch family fatalities that struck the young throughout his early life, with the development of Munch's painting style. Watkins shows throughout the actual painting process. Beginning with the breathtaking picture The Sick Child, Watkins shows the anger and psychological torment that went into it. The ways in which Munch attacked to painting with knives or the non-bristle end of the brush, which created a startlingly bleak image, devoid of unnecessary details.

Of course, as with anything different within an artistic medium, Munch's stripped down aesthetic was not met with praise initially, and Watkins shows the various vitriolic reactions from the art establishment and critics, both through over-heard conversations in gallery spaces, and the filmed interviews with detractors. During these moments, Munch can be seen skulking on the periphery, further exacerbating his deteriorating psychology, but this imbalance and possible fastidiousness influences his further subversion of the classical painting style - and one that would lead to German Expressionism. Periodically the narrator will place historical facts against the period portrayed, and the film is certainly as much about history (sometimes in relation to contemporary politics), as it is about an artist.

The bohemian group that Munch spent time with, headed by anarchist Hans Jaeger, would openly discuss political and social issues. Even women would be part of this group, and along with the formal discussion, the "film crew" interview various female exponents, discussing feminism and the role of the female within society. Placed within this historical context, the present (at least in 1974 when the film was released) was in what appeared to be a new sexual revolution, and the feminist movement was a media convention, but in 19th century Europe, these women see what they are able to achieve living within the constraints of a male dominated society. Whereas prostitution (in the '70's it was pornography) is socially seen as immoral and degrading, these female thinkers see it as motivating, a process of female empowerment. In Edvard Munch the women are self-contained, they are individual and have power over their own lives. But this is not exclusively inclusive of female characters, it is also a film (through its documentary style) that includes the audience.

Munch is the best use that I have seen of Watkins' idiosyncratic documentary style, because it is an emotional exploration, as well as a political one. The emotional aspects are embellished by the characters acknowledgement of the viewer. Throughout the film the characters look directly into the camera, addressing the audience with a glance, at times to question their own actions (should we do this?), or by including the audience in the emotional events that are occurring, you always feel included, even when those moments are incredibly voyeuristic. I at times even felt that I should not be privy to this, such was the effect of this connecting barrier. Like much of Watkins' work (and himself as a figure), Edvard Munch has been marginalised. Watkins' criticism of mass media has clearly left him out of main stream publication, and his work (whilst now gaining distribution and serious praise) is difficult to see commercially. Originally made for a Norwegian/Swedish television co-production, the film lost distribution due to the studios refusal to play it. The film did received an international release in a shortened version, but the 221 minute version is now accessible. It sounds exhausting, but the majesty and emotional connection the film presents makes it a beguiling and moving experience, and it is easily the most in depth exploration of the artistic process.


Directed by: Peter Watkins
Starring: Geir Westby, Gro Fraas, Kerstii Allum
Country: Sweden/Norway

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #484: 'Au Hasard Balthazar' (1966)

At the start of Robert Bresson's profoundly touching drama, the children who had been at the purchase of the young titular donkey, Balthazar, baptise the animal, which in essence renders him with a soul, and one which will encounter the cruelties and beauty of humanity. In this early life, the children, particularly Marie and Jacques (later playing as teenagers by Anne Wiazemsky - who later married Jean-Luc Godard - and Walter Green respectively), play with him lovingly, jostling in the hay. With monetary issues, Balthazar is taken into adult life, abused by masters who use his prowess to pull carts, whipping him regularly. He escapes, and goes back to that place of beauty, where the children had so adored him. Of course, they are grown, and Marie (the only one who actually lives at the farm) takes him back in, however, the farm is struggling, and this relationship is soon split.

As Balthazar is then moved from owner to owner, he is used to deliver bread, to again pull carts. He is saved at one point by a drunk, Arnold (Jean-Claude Guilbert), who is accused of murder - although this infraction is never elaborated on, and he is only accused several times by local teen-thug and thief, Gerard (Francois Lafarge). Balthazar also briefly becomes a star in a circus, making mathematical calculations using his hoof. Aside from the various moments of violence inflicted upon the poor animal, he is witness to the violence that the people he comes in contact with have over each other. Marie, ignoring the protestations of her fathers wishes to stay away from Gerard, she ignores him and continues a sexual relationship with the petty criminal, which inevitably leads to heartache.

Beautifully shot in black and white, the French rural countryside becomes a majestic, and yet horrific backdrop for the sins of humanity, and the innocence of an animal that is forced to do the bidding of the people. Bresson often frames Balthzar at the centre of the image, his large eyes portraying utter pathos - and we, the audience adore him. The final moments of the film are some of the most simple, yet moving moments in cinema history. Gerard, using the now old and work-tired Balthazar, steal him to carry contraband over the border. Fleeing the area due to gun fire from the border patrol, Balthazar escapes into a field where sheep are grazing. Having been shot he walks slowly and joins the flock, sitting, his eyes displaying something that resembles happiness - or at least a relief to be with other animals. The end, however, is also incredibly heartbreaking.


Directed by: Robert Bresson
Starring: Anne Wiazemsky, Walter Green, François Lafarge, Jean-Claude Guilbert
Country: France/Sweden

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #452: 'The Sacrifice' (1986)

Exiled from his native Russia, Andrei Tarkovsky shot his final film, The Sacrifice, on Faro Island, where Ingmar Bergman produced his body of work (and also lived). Tarkovsky also used Bergman's cinematographer, Sven Nykvist. He was also aware that this would be his ultimate film, as he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Unfortunately, whilst he survived till the release of the film, he died shortly afterwards, in the same year. The subject of his concluding piece is telling of his knowledge of his impending departure from the world, and it is fitting and profound, as you might expect from the Russian master of the poetic, and aesthetic.

Alexander (played by Erland Josephson - a Bergman regular, who also worked on Tarkovsky's 1983 Nostalgia), has a birthday, where some family and close island friend, Otto (Allan Edwall), come to offer their congratulations. They here on a statically-interrupted television broadcast. that a nuclear strike is imminent. With this news the family break down emotionally, and Alexander pleads to God to alter this reality, and offers himself in sacrifice to the ones he loves. This offering is seen to its fundamental conclusion when he wakes (possibly from a dream), and all is as it was, the threat of World War III seemingly never a subject of genuine certainty. Towards the climax of this film, is a one-shot take lasting several minutes, whose logistics are incredible, but Tarkovsky still manages to infuse the scene with some kind of mystical power, that I believe permeates all of his films.

As you would expect from a Tarkovsky film, the pace is slow (which gives the audience time to immerse themselves within the intricacies of philosophical thought, and the profound nature of the situation). But with this comes a flurry of beautiful imagery. The muted colours reflect the setting, with its cold, and subdued backdrop. And what is it that we do when we face death - a difficult moment to comprehend? We perhaps reflect on our achievements, and speak to our friends and family. And perhaps when we die, our spirit lives on in others, or new beings. Or maybe we simply continue in the minds and spirits of our offspring, passing on knowledge, character, and morality. 

Directed by: Andrei Tarkovsky
Starring: Erland Josephson, Susan Fleetwood, Allan Edwall
Country: Sweden/UK/France

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy

Review #322: 'Lilya 4-Ever' (2002)

In the former Soviet Union, 16-year old Lilya (Oksana Akinshina) lives with her mother and new boyfriend, and is excitedly awaiting a relocation to the United States. It turns out her mother doesn't want her there, and takes off with the promise of Lilya following later, leaving Lilya alone in her apartment. Her aunt then throws her out, giving her the run-down flat of a recently deceased old man, and Lilya finds herself without any money, and only the young Volodya (Artyom Bogucharskiy) as a friend. Desperate, she discovers how easy it is to make money from whoring herself out, and then meets the handsome Andrei (Pavel Ponomaryov), who invites her to live with him in Sweden. Despite Volodya's warnings, she decides to take his offer, but it soon becomes apparent that there is more to his Andrei's promises.

Based on a true story of a young girl who was trafficked to Sweden only to find herself imprisoned and forced to have sex for money, director Lukas Moodysson's film is set mostly in a very grim reality. Similar both to the social realism of Ken Loach, and the relentless and uncomfortable degrading of it's lead female character that is so prominent in Lars von Trier's films, Moodysson film is certainly brutal. As Lilya (played with a tragic naivety by Akinshina) is being abused in Sweden, we are treated to a POV montage of the various perverts and abusers, sweating and breathing into the camera. We live through the whole thing through the eyes of Lilya, a character of almost operatic tragedy, who suffers for the sins of others in a country ravaged by poverty, glue-sniffing and boredom.

But Moodysson wisely doesn't keep everything grim. In the final third, as Lilya suffers the most, the film often turns dream-like and fairy-tale. He introduces angels and dream sequences, as Lilya finds herself drifting through existence in an almost coma-like state, with her dreams and fantasies her only relief. These scenes (and there are only a few) are not flashy or whimsical, but are subtle and simplistic, in a similar way that Wim Wenders portrayed his angels in Wings of Desire (1987). It's a powerful tool that makes Lilya's plight all the more profound. The film plays out almost like a cruel fairy-tale, only set very much in the real world. Lilya 4-Ever is a hard film to sit through, but is rich in humanity, even though most of its characters are certainly devoid of it.


Directed by: Lukas Moodysson
Starring: Oksana Akinshina, Artyom Bogucharskiy, Pavel Ponomaryov
Country: Sweden/Denmark

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #289: 'Exponerad' (1971)

This Swedish "erotica" film from the 1970's is on the Grindhouse Project as The Depraved. A run-of-the-mill erotic fantasy film (that also owes much of it's narrative charms to Bunuel's classic Belle de Jour (1969)), is elevated by the elfin-like, nubile-innocent beauty of Swedish star Christina Lindberg. Her ethereal Lena, like Catherine Deneuve's Severine, displays an ambiguity in her sense of reality. We are never really sure if her sexual experiences throughout the film are fantasies or not. Lena drifts from Jan (Bjorn Adelly), a mummy's boy, and Helge (Heinz Hopf), a seeming playboy who offers her to friends who hangout at parties at his house.

The direction and cinematography are quite loose, giving it's mis-en-scene an elemental idea of realism. But with this technique, the result has very little suspense or atmosphere. Beginning with Lena taking off from boyfriend, Jan, hitchhiking out to a country house. She is picked up by a couple who go with her, and Lena imagines an encounter with the man of the couple. From here Lena simply goes back and forth between the two men who offer their utter love to her. She seems uninterested in either. We are reminded throughout the film that Helge took some nude photographs of her, and he attempts to blackmail her - something that never really happens, and some humanity suddenly comes from the sullen-seeming Lena, as she demands that she have them and the negatives.

Whilst the film has a reputation for it's depiction of sexuality, and now relatively soft sexual violence, it is rarely shocking. Also, with a very thin plot, it plods along in quite a pedestrian fashion. However, this is not to say that the time spent with this film is certainly no waste of time. Christina Lindberg is incredibly watchable. She radiates beauty, and has an incredible presence. So, with utter beguiled fascination, the film goes from being a two star reward, to a...


Directed by: Gustav Wiklund
Starring: Christina Lindberg, Heinz Hopf, Björn Adelly
Country: Sweden

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #261: 'Melancholia' (2011)

I wrote a review for Lars Von Triers previous film, Antichrist (2009), so I won't reiterate his 'agent-provocateur' profile outside of his films. I also have to confess that I've never really been much of a fan of his work. The aforementioned, I found intriguing, The Idiots (1998) was OK. Other than Breaking the Waves (1996 - which whilst utterly depressing, was a fine film), I can't say that his films have enlightened me in any way. His approach has always been interesting though. Now to his most recent effort. Melancholia, whilst forming around the concept that a planet (Melancholia) is heading towards Earth, the film is largely focused upon the relationship between siblings Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), who are, emotional, polar opposites. The film is split into two chapters, each with the sister's names as titles.

The first half focuses on Justine, and specifically her wedding reception. This part of the film plays much like another of the Dogma '95 films, Thomas Vintererg's excellent Festen (1998). We are introduced to Dunst's character as someone fleeting. She constantly leaves the party, sporadically moving around outside of family and friends. We know from this that she is without conscience when considering people around us. We see in this section that Justine is a person attracted to chaos; she despises order. This is perfectly illustrated in a scene in the bridal suit, where coitus is about to take place. Her new husband, Michael (Alexander Skarsgard), begins taking his clothes of, folding each element of garment and carefully laying them down. This show of order seems to frighten Justine, as she leaves.

In chapter two, the main focus is on the sister, Justine. She has a seemingly austere life, married to John (Kiefer Sutherland) with a young son. They stay in what seems to be a manor house. Justine, who is now staying with them in the throws of deep depression. Claire, unlike Justine, is petrified with any form of disorder. All things have to be in the right place. From the start of the film the presence of the approaching planet is referred to. As it gets ever closer Claire's husband constantly reminders her that it will most certainly not impact with Earth. The film progresses as each character comes to terms with their existence in the face of utter destruction.

A drama which alludes to science fiction, it is an interesting film on two very different people living with the idea of total destruction. It is without question an utterly beautiful piece of cinema, with some exceptionally great performances, particularly from Dunst, in what must be her finest role.


Directed by: Lars Von Trier
Starring: Kirsten Dunst, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Kiefer Sutherland, Charlotte Rampling, John Hurt, Alexander Skarsgård, Stellan Skarsgård
Country: Denmark/Sweden/France/Germany

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy