Review #1,469: 'How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World' (2019)

Loosely based on the series of books by Cressida Cowell, the How to Train Your Dragon series has grown to become the jewel in the somewhat small and dusty crown of Dreamworks Animation. With Pixar killing it near enough year in, year out, the adventures of reluctant Viking leader Hiccup (Jay Baruchel) and his trusted Night Fury pal are the closest thing that Dreamworks have ever come to the quality and visual splendour of its most fearsome rivals. If you've kept up with the series since its debut in 2010, you'll have watched Hiccup grow out of his father's shadow into a battle-scarred warrior and forward-thinking frontiersman, who brought a close to his tribe's never-ending war with the dragons to discover the fire-breathing beasts actually make for useful and loving friends. The second instalment veered into incredibly dark territory, signalling a maturing tone that matched the protagonist's transformation from nervous kid to an innovator destined to change the lives of his people forever.

The third and presumably final entry into the series, The Hidden World, doesn't darken the tone further - it is still a kids' film after all - but you get the sense from very early on that we are heading inevitably towards an emotional parting of ways. Hiccup and his friends continue their quest to rescue captive dragons and bring them back to the village of Berk to live in harmony with humans. The problem is that they've become so good at their search-and-rescue missions that their home is now overcrowded with the lumbering beasts. Hiccup believes their only hope lies in 'the hidden world, a mysterious and possibly make-believe haven at the edge of the world spoken of by his late father Stoick (Gerard Butler). But cracks start to appear in the young chieftan's plans when his dragon and best friend Toothless happens across a Light Fury, the female of his species. Wild and distrusting of humans, the female bolts from Toothless' advances any time Hiccup shows his face to help, and it becomes clear that if he is ever to see his best bud happy, he must also let his dragon run free.

As ever, there's a dragon-hating antagonist to jeopardise Hiccup's plans in the form of renowned hunter Grimmel the Grisly (F. Murray Abraham), whose own mind-controlled dragons have the ability to vomit acid and melt pretty much anything in their wake. He certainly looks and sounds cool, but Grimmel shares much of the same motivation as the bad guys that come before him, and the character really symbolises the film's overall reluctance to dig that little bit deeper. For me, How to Train Your Dragon 2 really stepped up the game for this franchise, but it feels like returning director Dean DeBlois is happy to ease off the accelerator and ride this trilogy-closer out. If this were practically any other series, The Hidden World would be a delightful surprise, offering up great moments like the opening night-time raid and the sight of Toothless clumsily attempting win over his potential mate, the latter proving to be one of the most charming and heart-warming scenes of the entire trilogy. But with the knowledge of how great this could have been, The Hidden World is a disappointment, fizzling out with an ending that undoubtedly satisfies, but when compared to the emotional wallop of, say, Toy Story 3, plays it rather safe.


Directed by: Dean DeBlois
Voices: Jay Baruchel, America Ferrera, F. Murray Abraham, Cate Blanchett, Gerard Butler, Craig Ferguson, Jonah Hill, Christopher Mintz-Plasse
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,468: 'Dead Snow' (2009)

When it comes to B-movie hooks, they don't come any more mouth-watering than the promise of a horde of Nazi zombies stalking a group of horny, dim-witted teenagers. The set-up mirrors that of countless slasher and zombie movies, and writer/director Tommy Wirkola is more than happy than roll with the genre tropes. Wirkola even places a chubby film buff amongst the crowd of soon-to-be Nazi chow so he can throw in a few nods and winks to an already knowing audience as they trudge through the Norwegian snow to the cabin in the woods that awaits them. But even he is too dim to recognise the obvious danger that waits in store for them, and just like the movies Dead Snow is paying homage to, you wait with eagerness for their inevitable and gory demise. Fans of classic horrors The Evil Dead and Dawn of the Dead will lap it up, but Dead Snow takes far too long to find its stride. But by the end, those lucky enough to remain breathing finally pluck up the courage to fight back with the few tools at their disposal, and the barrage of blood, guts and Nazi corpses is just enough to make it worth the wait.

The film opens with a terrified young woman being chased through the snow by a group of bloodthirsty zombies dressed in SS uniforms. The woman, who is revealed to be Sara (Ane Dahl Torp), was due to meet up with her medical student friends for a weekend of tobogganing, snow-fights and potential casual sex. Luckily for them, Sarah's friends have decided to travel separately. After an exhausting hike through the mountains, the gang finally arrive at the cabin and immediately start drinking. Although Sara's no-show plays on some of their minds, a party is thrown, and all seems fine and dandy until a mysterious traveller (Bjorn Sundquist) arrives with a history lesson guaranteed to kill their buzz. Decades ago, near the end of World War II, a band of SS officers fled the advancing Russian army and met their end in the unforgiving snowy mountains. Ever since, whispers have been heard of an undead Nazi army roaming the area, killing and eating anyone that stands in their way. They are searching for treasure stolen during the war, and the prize chest just happens to be stored underneath the cabin. Soon enough, one by one, the hapless students start to disappear.

For the bulk of its running time, Dead Snow covers very familiar terrain, paying tribute to everything from Friday the 13th to The Evil Dead, as well as more recent efforts, such as Scream, which also leaned into genre cliches and employed them as a narrative tool. Dead Snow isn't as clever nor anywhere near as accomplished as those that inspired it, and spends way too much time moving the pieces into place and establishing relationships you'll have forgotten before the credits have rolled. But when Wirkola finally loosens his top button and starts to unleash the carnage, it doesn't fail to disappoint. There's something oddly beautiful about the sight of blood splashed across snow, and Dead Snow has plenty of both. The luscious, tranquil setting is truly glorious to behold, but don't let the beauty fool you, this is a world of deadly avalanches and fascist zombies. Just like in space, nobody can hear you scream in the Oksfjord wilderness, and it may just set off a landslide that will leave you buried beneath six feet of snow. The movie's top tip: before you start to try and dig your way out, be sure to spit so you know which way is up. Dead Snow may not fully grasp the potential of the idea of Nazi brain-munchers hunting their prey, but by the time the hammers and chainsaws are broken out, you'll feel a pleasant wave of satisfaction.


Directed by: Tommy Wirkola
Starring: Vegar Hoel, Stig Frode Henriksen, Charlotte Frogner, Lasse Valdal, Evy Kasseth Røsten
Country: Norway

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,467: 'SS Experiment Camp' (1976)

Much of the outrage drummed up by so-called 'moral crusaders' concerned with how violent and tasteless movies were affecting our impressionable youth during the 1980s was based primarily on how these types of film advertised themselves. The rise of VHS led to home media companies taking full advantage of highlighting how grisly and amoral the film supposedly was, and this led to the now-iconic covers of The Driller Killer, which depicted a man receiving a nasty drill to the head, and Cannibal Holocaust, which splashed the image of one of the titular flesh-eaters chowing down on some human intestines on its casing. These films were placed on the infamous 'Video Nasty' list in the UK, and the two aforementioned titles are indeed pretty nasty. Others that found themselves on the banned list - that did nothing but provide free promotion - were actually hiding a cheaply-made and laughably executed production underneath. Sergio Carrone's SS Experiment Camp, one of the lesser-seen titles on the list, is one such example.

The eponymous camp of the title is a base constructed by the Nazis during World War II to conduct shocking experiments involving attractive Jewish women and some of the Fatherland's most dashing studs. Before being entered into the programme, the women must swear their allegiance to the Fuhrer, otherwise they face torture and eventually a trip into the ovens. Those wise enough to agree to their captors' demands are led to a dorm complete with bunk beds, so the girls can chat like teenagers at a sleepover, and are watched over by a lesbian (what else?) commander. When they are eventually called into action, they must have sex with handsome German men - sometimes even underwater! - while a sympathetic Jewish doctor carries out more sinister experiments with ovary transplants. German officer Helmut (Mircha Carven) ends up falling in love with one of the inmates, and in exchange for her safety, he rather stupidly agrees to take part in a highly secretive experiment with the Colonel von Kleiben (Giorgio Cerioni). Helmut doesn't know it, but von Kleiben has recently lost his balls during the war, and is finding life without intercourse a little hard to take.

Yes, this is a movie set during one of the greatest tragedies in human history about a guy who loses his gonads and can't have sex with the woman he loves. With a video cover showing a dying woman hung upside down while a smirking Nazi officer looks grimly on, Mary Whitehouse and her cronies likely called for the film to be banned for the gruesome horrors that surely lurked beneath that poster. If they had actually taken the time to watch it, they would probably laugh as dead bodies jerk unconvincingly while dodgy-looking flames bounce in front of them, or be puzzled at why a unit of German soldiers look and act like Italian footballers cracking wise in a changing room. Tasteless? Certainly. Most of the increasingly silly torture scenes focus on the victim's jiggling breasts. Horrifying? Well, yes, but not in the way the film intended. For a film that can boast a scene in which its lead character bursts into a room and asks "what have you been doing with my balls?", SS Experiment Camp is a tedious and repetitive experience. It has some unintentional humour, but then there's 90 additional minutes of atrocious acting and awkward dialogue to wade through. The nazisploitation genre is pure trash but it can occasionally offer the odd guilty pleasure, but this is no Ilsa.


Directed by: Sergio Garrone
Starring: Mircha Carven, Paola Corazzi, Giorgio Cerioni, Giovanna Mainardi, Serafino Profumo
Country: Italy

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,466: 'Mary Poppins Returns' (2018)

With many studios these days greenlighting reboots, spin-offs and remakes, it's actually quite refreshing to get a good old-fashioned sequel to a beloved classic. It worked for Blade Runner, and - somewhat surprisingly - it also works for Mary Poppins. A sequel to Robert Stevenson's 1964 family classic has been stuck in development hell for decades, with original author P. L. Travers proving notoriously difficult to work with. She despised what Walt Disney had done to her work, although she admired certain aspects, so while she was still alive, a follow-up would only see the light of the day on her own very strict terms. We almost saw the return of the nanny who is practically perfect in every way in the 1980s, with a screenplay by Travers and her friend Brian Sibley, but Julie Andrews' reluctance to return meant the film quickly fell apart. Some 55 years later, Poppins finally returns in the form of Emily Blunt, and there is plenty to enjoy for both adults who adored the original growing up and children new to this unique world.

It's 1930, and siblings Michael (Ben Whishaw) and Jane Banks (Emily Mortimer) are all grown up. They remember the nanny who raised them but believe the magic she displayed was all part of their youthful imaginations. Michael is now a widowed banker and takes after his father, while Jane mirrors her mother in that she is ever the optimist. Still living at Cherry Tree Lane and forced to raise his three children - Annabel (Pixie Davies), John (Nathanael Saleh) and Georgie (Joel Dawson) - on his own, things aren't going well for Michael. With grief consuming him, the bills have gone unpaid, and the bank, headed by new chairman William Wilkins (Colin Firth), have served a notice threatening to repossess the house if the loan isn't paid back in full. Spirits are lifted by the re-appearance of Mary Poppins, who offers to look after the children while the adults get their affairs in order. With the help of cheery Cockney lamplighter Jack (Lin-Manuel Miranda), Annabel, John and Georgie are whisked off into a world of musical numbers and talking cartoon animals, and learn that when you think you've reached the bottom, the only way is up.

There's not much going on in terms of plot in Mary Poppins Returns, but things weren't much different last time around. Director Rob Marshall and writer David Magee are far more concerned with pulling you into a fantastical world of catchy songs, breathtaking dance numbers, and lovingly rendered hand-drawn animation. Tunes like 'Tip a Little Light Fantastic' and '(Underneath the) London Sky' are clearly trying to copy iconic moments from the original (with Miranda playing the Dick Van Dyke supporting role), but composer Marc Shaiman and lyricist Scott Wittman have found a way to wonderfully capture the essence of the original while adding a modern twist. Blunt, who seems to be fan-cast for just about every upcoming role, proves to be the perfect choice for Poppins. Stern but playful, strict yet mischievous, she embraces Andrews' iconic performance and adds much sparkle of her own, displaying a knack for comedy timing that went unjustly unrecognised by the Academy. She wouldn't be complete without an enthusiastic sidekick, and Miranda is on great form, speaking with an accent that fares only slightly better than Van Dyke's, but that was all part of what made the original so memorable. Mary Poppins Returns isn't quite practically perfect in every way, but as far as sequels to childhood staples go, it rarely fails to charm or tug the heartstrings.


Directed by: Rob Marshall
Starring: Emily Blunt, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Ben Whishaw, Emily Mortimer, Pixie Davies, Nathanael Saleh, Joel Dawson, Julie Walters, Meryl Streep, Colin Firth
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,465: 'Bumblebee' (2018)

By the time Transformers: The Last Knight rolled around in 2017, even the most hardcore fans of Michael Bay's Transformers franchise were getting tired of it all. The Last Knight, which was the fifth entry into the series, marked ten years of Bay's butt-numbing, explosion-heavy epics, which substituted the charm of the original 80's television show and toy line for faceless CGI constructs bashing each other to pieces, lame comedy, and an increasingly creepy attitude towards its female actors. Bay teased his departure from the franchise after three movies, but went on to make another two, and it's always been clear that the problem lay with the director's inability to engage the audience on an emotional level and refusal to deliver anything but headache-inducing action and softcore pornography. Eyebrows were raised when Paramount announced that one of its few memorable characters, Bumblebee, would receive his own spin-off. Yet they were significantly relaxed when they learned that Travis Knight, director of the acclaimed Kubo and the Two Strings, would helm the project, and not Bay.

Opening with a battle between the Autobots and Decepticons on their home planet of Cybertron, it's immediately apparent that all this universe required was a fresh pair of eyes. Yes, this sequence isn't much more than a computer-generated smackdown between huge alien robots, but at least we can tell them apart. The Autobot leader Optimus Prime (voiced as ever by Peter Cullen) is leading a resistance against their oppressive foes, but seeing his side are losing badly, Prime sends scout B-127 (Dylan O'Brien) to Earth to set up base for their eventual rendezvous. Crashing down in 1987 California, the diminutive Autobot immediately encounters a unit of government soldiers, led by Agent Jack Burns (John Cena), on a routine training exercise, and is met with open hostility. Left grievously wounded after an attack by Decepticon Blitzwing (David Sobolov), B-127 transforms into a Volkswagen Beetle to lay low while awaiting rescue. Meanwhile, teenager and amateur mechanic Charlie Watson (Hailee Steinfeld), still grieving after the death of her father years ago, finds the rusty banger and decides to repair it as a pet project, hoping to impress junkyard owner Hank (Len Cariou) in the process. But when that final piece slips into place, Charlie finds way more in the piece of junk she names Bumblebee than she was expecting.

While Bay quickly forgot about the fans who loved the cartoons, toys and comic books growing up, Knight eagerly embraces them. Rewinding the timeline back to the 1980s, Knight mixes the inevitable action set-pieces with heartfelt drama, which stems not only from Charlie's relationship with the clumsy yet adorable yellow lunk, but also from her grief and anger that her mother has already moved on. As Bumblebee stumbles around the house trying his best not to break anything, you can't help but think of E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. His prat-falls are made funnier because you have grown to love the character, and by evoking such an established 80's classic, Bumblebee engulfs you further in its pure nostalgia trip. Most importantly, there's a sense of fun and playfulness that was lost in the crotch-grabbing and flag-waving of Bay's cinematic haemorrhoids. Charlie and Bumblebee's bonding sessions are sweet and charming, and Steinfeld's performance is undoubtedly key to this. An endearing mix of awkward teenager and highly capable mechanic, Charlie wears vests and listens to The Smiths, and where Bay may have had her in hot pants leaning over a car, Charlie would much prefer to be underneath it. Her character helps paint an even clearer line between this semi-reboot and Bay's parasitic universe, and finally, I'm excited from the next Transformers film again.


Directed by: Travis Knight
Starring: Hailee Steinfeld, Jorge Lendeborg Jr., John Cena, John Ortiz, Jason Drucker, Dylan O'Brien, Angela Bassett, Justin Theroux, Peter Cullen
Country: USA/China

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,464: 'Vice' (2018)

After spending most of his career larking around with Will Ferrell in the likes of Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Step Brothers and The Other Guys, writer/director Adam McKay took a huge leap towards 'serious' film-making in 2015 when he released The Big Short, a funny, intelligent and unexpectedly engrossing account of the 2007-2008 financial crisis. The Big Short may not sound like much fun on paper, but McKay latched onto this idea, making the tedious subject of subprime loans and triple-A ratings interesting by entwining it with pop culture, employing the likes of Margot Robbie and Selena Gomez to dumb it down for the audience in a manner that was too wickedly clever to ever be patronising. With Academy recognition now under his belt, McKay strides into his next project - a biopic of one of the most fearsome yet enigmatic political figures in U.S. history - with confidence, and dare I say it, a touch of arrogance.

McKay is eager to perform the same trick again with Vice, a sporadically inspired but frustratingly blunt quasi-biography that feels to penetrate the skin of its subject or answer the big question of just what was the driving force behind the man who turned the symbolic position of Vice President into one of great power and influence. Rather than dig deeper, McKay prefers to allow Dick Cheney's actions to speak for themselves, occasionally cutting away to a visual metaphor, such as, in the case of Cheney's key meeting with Sam Rockwell's George W. Bush, a cheetah bringing down its prey. Cheney is a man McKay clearly views as a highly functioning psychopath, tracking his journey from working under Steve Carell's Donald Rumsfeld in the Nixon Administration, to his opportunistic lunge for control in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. He fought to grant more power to a President he easily manipulated, praying on his short attention span and lack of political know-how, and to legalise torture, finding a massive legal loophole in the shape of Guantanamo Bay.

Vice is structured like a classic coming-of-age movie, with its 'hero' rising and falling, before dusting himself off and getting to his feet to rise again. After President Ford (Bill Camp) is voted out of office, seemingly closing all political doors for Cheney, McKay rolls the credits and pans away from the Cheney household, before an abrupt phone call reminds us that this story has barely begun. Like many of the jokes in Vice, the credit-roll-fake-out is funnier in theory than execution, and the film often takes the trickery so far that it threatens to undermine the seriousness of the subject matter. Satire must be funny, but it must also carry an emotional wallop that McKay struggles to find. At the centre of it all is Christian Bale's powerhouse performance, which explores a man whose obsessiveness could be compared to that of the actor's own extreme approach to his craft. Once again Bale takes his own body to the limit, piling on the pounds to resemble a man who suffered multiple heart attacks throughout his life (it becomes a running gag in the film), and adopting a deep growl capable of subtle intimidation. The performances of Bale, Carrel and Rockwell are all worth the entry fee alone, but Vice stutters to engage on a deeper level, failing to explain just how an oil company CEO can seize control of one of the most powerful countries in the world, and execute his plans with such cold indifference.


Directed by: Adam McKay
Starring: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Steve Carell, Sam Rockwell, Alison Pill, Eddie Marsan, Justin Kirk, Jesse Plemons, Bill Camp, Tyler Perry
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,463: 'Roma' (2018)

You wouldn't know it, but director Alfonso Cuaron has being paying homage to one of the women that helped raise him as a child throughout his career. This woman, Liboria Rodriguez, is clearly close to the filmmaker's heart, and he cast her in cameos in a few of his films, including 2001's Y Tu Mama Tambien. Now, Rodriguez is the topic of her very own film, Roma, Cuaron's ode to the network of women that were key to his upbringing in 1970s Mexico. Of late, Cuaron has mainly focused on big-budget movies for Hollywood, such as last year's Gravity, the riveting thriller Children of Men, and the best Harry Potter film of the series, The Prisoner of Azkaban, but he has dialled things way down for his latest. Roma is about as small-scale as you can get, focusing on a humble maid working for a middle-class family in Mexico City, but complete with the director's trademark dizzying camerawork and gorgeous cinematography.

In a debut appearance, Yalitza Aparicio plays Cleo, a maid working in an affluent household in the Colonia Roma neighbourhood in Mexico City. The four children are incredibly affectionate towards her, scrambling for a cuddle when they sit down to watch television, and parents Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) clearly rely on her as they get on with their busy lifestyles. But there are cracks starting to appear in the marriage. Antonio squeezes his bulky, show-off car into the narrow garage every night, hinting at the father's growing dismay with his surroundings, and he quickly grows frustrated when Cleo fails to clean up the dog shit littering the patio. However, as happy and content as she may appear on the surface, Cleo has to deal with her own problems when she falls pregnant to a martial-arts obsessed military type who is nowhere to be found. With her employers' marriage falling apart and a baby on the way, Cleo struggles to juggle attempting to hold the family together for the sake of the children, and the idea of starting life as a single mother.

Trying to summarise the plot of Roma is no easy task. This is a slice of life plucked from Cuaron's own memories, shot in luscious black-and-white that almost feels like remembering the past through an old photograph. Roma is about class, politics and poverty, but mainly it wishes to tell a story of an unseen hero whose stories are rarely told. It's a film of moments that leave a mark despite how inconsequential they appear, very similar to the neo-Realist films of Satyajit Ray and Robert Rossellini, somehow telling a story that feels vast and epic in scale while keeping the focus on an incredibly personal level. Cuaron is a true craftsman, and, with regular collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki unavailable, actually steps up to the role of cinematographer. This compromise actually worked out in the film's favour, as you couldn't imagine anyone else recreating a time and place from one's childhood with such detail and intimacy. Liboria Rodriguez is clearly a huge inspiration in Cuaron's life, and here the director steps aside to shine the spotlight on her and many other that disappear into the crowd. It was a surprise to learn that Roma would be distributed through Netflix, but after seeing the film, it's hard to believe that any studios would take a gamble on what is essentially a collection of memories played out on screen. But what beautiful memories they are.


Directed by: Alfonso Cuarón
Starring: Yalitza Aparicio, Marina de Tavira, Diego Cortina Autrey, Carlos Peralta, Marco Graf, Daniela Demesa, Nancy García García
Country: Mexico/USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,462: 'Bringing Up Baby' (1938)

Considering Howard Hawks' Bringing Up Baby is now regarded as one of the finest screwball comedies of all time, it's shocking to learn that it was hailed as a flop upon its release in 1938, and received a few unfairly scathing reviews. Romantic comedies are as popular now as they ever have been, and watching Bringing Up Baby 71 years after it was made almost feels as though it could have been released last week, only in black and white and starring two of the finest actors of their, or any other, generation. Its formula and structure is now a blueprint for any filmmakers hoping to make a successful rom-com, featuring all the ingredients now so closely associated with the genre, like the meet-cute, the obstacle standing in the way of happiness, and the quirk that sets the love interest apart from everybody else. The quirk here is a pet leopard named Baby, who - despite how ridiculous it all sounds - is the glue that holds the film together.

For the past four years, goofy palaeontologist David Huxley (Cary Grant) has been searching for the final fossilised piece to finish the Brontosaurus display he has been assembling for the museum. Much to his joy, the 'intercostal clavicle' has been located and will arrive within days, but David doesn't have time to celebrate. On top of his impending marriage to the sullen Alice Swallow (Virginia Walker), there's also the matter of impressing the wealthy Elizabeth Random (May Robson) and her lawyer Alexander Peabody (George Irving), who are considering making a million-dollar donation to the museum. David's plans are interrupted when, on the day before his wedding, he meets motor-mouthed Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) on a golf course when she accidentally plays his ball. From then on, Susan causes David to slip on an olive, tear his dinner jacket, and generally make his life a living hell. She takes a real shine to the mild-mannered and dashing scientist, and proceeds to manipulate him into whisking her and her brother's pet leopard off to a remote farm, where she steals his clothes and accidentally unleashes another leopard into the surrounding area.

It's a ridiculous premise that would look disastrous on paper, but the combined talents of Hawks, Hepburn, Grant and writers Dudley Nichols and Hagar Wilde not only make it work, but turn it into one of funniest films of its era. Similar to Hawks' 1940 masterpiece His Girl Friday, the script moves a mile a minute, cramming in more one-liners and shrewd observations than your brain can keep up with. Of course, the script only works when the actors can bring the words to life, and there has perhaps been no finer pairing in the screwball genre than Hepburn and Grant. Grant, with his vaudeville background, is always brilliant when playing these sorts of characters, but Hepburn, who had little experience doing comedy in 1938, struts into the role with confidence and ends up walking away with the film. Watching them work their magic helped me understand why modern neo-screwball comedies don't work. The actors are simply of a different breed, hailing from a time when live shows were the ruling visual medium and learning the craft was entirely different. Hilarious and romantic in equal measures, Bringing Up Baby helped write the genre rule-book, lending real weight to the idea that they just don't make 'em like that anymore.


Directed by: Howard Hawks
Starring: Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Charles Ruggles, Walter Catlett, Barry Fitzgerald, May Robson, George Irving
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,461: 'So Sweet... So Perverse' (1969)

The giallo may have been pioneered by the great Mario Bava and spectacularly refined by Dario Argento, but Umberto Lenzi was developing the techniques and stylings we now know and love from the mid-1960s. Before he became known for schlocky horror trash like Eaten Alive!, Nightmare City and Cannibal Ferox, Lenzi was toying with rich socialites and exploring pulpy, dime-store stories that often involved ridiculous, labyrinthine plots, psychedelic interiors, and beautiful, untrustworthy women. These are all ingredients of the giallo, and some of these early Lenzi efforts hint at a director with an eye for kitschy visuals, something that certainly doesn't come to mind when you watch a native tribesman scalp a poor traveller in the despicable Cannibal Ferox. These eye-catching visuals are certainly present in his 1969 film So Sweet... So Perverse, but there isn't much else to hold the attention in this plodding soap opera.

Handsome, jet-setting socialite Jean Reynaud (Jean-Louis Trintignant) enjoys a lavish lifestyle of cocktail parties and shooting ranges, but he has grown bored and frustrated with the lack of passion in his marriage to the beautiful Danielle (Erika Blanc). To counter this, Jean sleeps with anybody who happens to catch his eye, including his friend Helene (Helga Line), and his head is turned by the woman who has just moved upstairs, Nicole (Carroll Baker). When he hears screams coming from above, he rushes to Nicole's aid, learning that she is stuck in an abusive sexual relationship with her husband Klaus (Horst Frank). As they spend more time together, the couple inevitably fall in love, yet whenever they escape for a weekend, Klaus always manages to track them down. After a night of passion, Nicole reveals that she and Klaus have actually been paid a hefty sum to lure in and eventually kill Jean, but that the one doing the hiring has not yet revealed themselves.

With such a cool-sounding title (yet another famous trait of the gialli), there is nothing sweet and little perverse about the film itself. Argento eventually set a high standard for story-telling and the slow-building of tension within a vital set-piece, and the likes of Lucio Fulci and Sergio Martino added gory violence and a graceful style into the mix, but So Sweet... So Perverse is frustratingly tame, failing to ignite much interest in the plot or generate any excitement when events take a more sinister tone. Where Lenzi ultimately excels is in the glossy cinematography and dazzling interiors, which are garish enough to amusingly satirise the world of these detached characters and their materialistic lifestyles. Images of sun-drenched locations, expensive suits and beautiful, provocative women add a sleazy glamour and seductive glaze to the film, a hedonistic way-of-life Lenzi is happy to indulge as he shrewdly condemns it. It isn't quite enough to prevent So Sweet... So Perverse from becoming little more than a curious cinematic artefact, that ultimately paved the way for better directors to come along and take this new genre by the scruff.


Directed by: Umberto Lenzi
Starring: Carroll Baker, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Erika Blanc, Horst Frank, Helga Liné
Country: Italy/France/West Germany

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,460: 'Captain Marvel' (2019)

It says a lot about the mammoth universe built by Kevin Feige and the folks at Marvel over the past 11 years that merely the glimpse of a modified pager displaying the colours of their costume is enough to generate a huge amount of buzz around the arrival of a new superhero. Captain Marvel's introduction was teased during the traditional post-credits stinger of last year's Avengers: Infinity War, and now, just under a year later, Brie Larson's Carol Danvers finally makes her bow. Black Panther became a cultural phenomenon, and Infinity War delivered and then some on its promise to bring this breathtaking (first) saga closer to an end, so the small-scale and light-hearted Ant-Man and the Wasp was a welcome, if underwhelming palette cleanser. Captain Marvel is the studio's first female-led superhero film, so there's a weight of expectation behind Marvel once again.

There has been a wave of ugliness online in protest against the idea of female empowerment and Brie Larson's pro-feminist comments before the film even premiered, but an opening weekend of north of $500 million has silenced the haters and, with any hope, brought us closer to a future when a hero's gender or sexuality is irrelevant to a film's success. Captain Marvel is far from perfect. In fact, it relies heavily on Marvel's tried-and-tested origin story formula we saw a lot of when this universe was still in its first phase, although directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck toy around with the structure enough to keep things slightly less familiar. Anyone who was keen to write Captain Marvel off as an example of forced diversity should take the time to actually watch it. Don't get me wrong, the film takes a strong pro-feminist stance and tackles issues plaguing our modern world, but it does so with subtlety. Carol Danvers aka Captain Marvel is strong, confident, even arrogant at times, but just like Tony Stark or Dr. Strange, she is also flawed, troubled and - despite the mystery surrounding her ancestry - recognisably human.

The warrior known as Vers (Larson) is a member of Starforce, an elite band of soldiers operating within the Kree Empire tasked with infiltrating the Skrulls, a race of shape-shifting aliens they have been at war with since before they can remember. Vers is troubled by dreams that feel like memories she does not remember, but her commander Yon-Rogg (Jude Law) trains her to put aside her emotion to focus on the enemy. During a mission to rescue one Starforce's own, Vera is captured by Skrull leader Talos (Ben Mendelsohn), who proceeds to dissect her memories before they all crash down on a strange, primitive planet. That planet is Earth, and the year is 1995. It isn't long before an eager, two-eyed agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. called Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) is drawn to this mysterious stranger and is caught up in her desire to uncover the secrets of her past, along with learning of an intergalactic war that may one day threaten his home. With the help of old friend Maria Rambeau (Lashana Lynch) and a cat named Goose, Vers discovers that she was born Carol Danvers, and that everything she has been taught about who she is and what she's fighting for may actually be a lie.

Although Marvel have done period before with Captain America: The First Avenger back in 2011, Boden and Fleck were clearly having fun revelling in some 90's nostalgia. Although some of the music choices are a little on-the-nose, the appearance of a Blockbuster store and the sound of a dial-up internet connection will delight those, like me, who grew up in the decade. The big joke is that while Carol embarks on galaxy-hopping adventures with the Kree, down here on Earth everything takes an age to load. Captain Marvel switches seamlessly between these two extremes with good humour, and for a character that is destined to become the franchise's next cosmic powerhouse, the low-key approach to her origin actually works in the film's favour. It also allows time for Larson to develop the character, whether it be bouncing off Jackson's one-liners or discovering her old self with her best friend. Larson is great: strong but not over-powered, cocky but endearing. Despite Mendelsohn's scene-stealing, Larson ensures that it'll be Captain Marvel's appearance you'll be eagerly awaiting in the upcoming Avengers: Endgame. Formulaic? Certainly, but Marvel knows how to entertain, and they can't exactly re-define the genre with every film.


Directed by: Anna Boden, Ryan Fleck
Starring: Brie Larson, Samuel L. Jackson, Ben Mendelsohn, Jude Law, Annette Bening, Lashana Lynch, Clark Gregg, Gemma Chan, Rune Temte, Djimon Hounsou
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,459: 'The Reckoning' (1970)

Indicator are a small British blu-ray label who seem to have made it their ultimate goal to unearth some of the best and weirdest forgotten gems from Britain's cinematic past, routinely releasing titles I've never even heard of that turn out to be well worthy of a remaster and rediscovery. One such title is Jack Gold's The Reckoning, a tough, lean thriller about a no-nonsense businessman who travels up North seeking vengeance. Sound familiar? The Reckoning has been compared to Get Carter, which was released the following year, and the two films certainly share some similarities. Yet tonally and thematically the two are worlds apart, with Gold's film more eager to explore class divide and national identity than Carter's more straightforward revenge fantasy. The Reckoning may also be the better film: a punishing experience full of off-putting characters that leaves more of a lasting impression than what many consider to be Michael Caine's finest hour.

It tells the story of Mick Marler (Nicol Williamson), a corporate ball-buster who has worked his way up the ladder over the years with a combination of ruthless business savvy and sheer intimidation. He seems satisfied with his high income and strong social standing, but also has a button-pushing, gold-digging wife (Ann Bell) to contend with. After putting the pieces in place for a business manoeuvre that will favour both himself and his boss (as well as doing away with his biggest rival), Mick heads up north to Liverpool to visit his working-class Irish family. Immediately upon arrival, he discovers his father has died from a heart attack, but is disturbed when he discovers bruising on his father's body. After doing some digging, Mick learns that his father got into a fight with some English 'teddy boys', suffering the fatal heart attack after being punched and kicked to the ground by one of the gang. With his Irish blood boiling inside of him, Mick decides that he must avenge his father, but he also has responsibilities back home.

Torn between his two worlds, Mick goes on a journey of self-discovery that ultimately makes him even more loathsome. When he is in the South, he laughs at the idea of being bound by blood and tradition to avenge his father, but when he is back North, a beast is awoken inside him, and he is irresistibly drawn to embracing his primitive instincts. It's a tough, ugly film that asks you to stick with this part-thug, part-corporate psychopath for just shy of two hours, but John McGrath's screenplay - based on the novel by Patrick Hall - trusts the audience to at least try to understand the man who breezes between two equally brutal, yet entirely different, worlds. This isn't action-packed or even violent as you would expect from a man-on-a-revenge-mission movie, but takes its time to develop this hateful yet fascinating character who used his working-class upbringing to batter his way into the world of lavish dinner parties and fast cars, and was both intrigued and repulsed by what he found. Williamson is excellent, managing to emote both outer ferocity and inner turmoil at the same time, and it's a puzzle why the actor didn't go on to land bigger roles. While it's chaotic at times, The Reckoning is a true forgotten gem that highlights how important the work carried out by Indicator really is.


Directed by: Jack Gold
Starring: Nicol Williamson, Ann Bell, Rachel Roberts, Zena Walker, Paul Rogers, Tom Kempinski
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,458: 'Aquaman' (2018)

After a cameo in Zack Snyder's 2016 car crash Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and a team-up appearance in 2017's equally disastrous Justice League, the time feels right for one of comic-book lore's goofiest superheroes, Aquaman, to receive his own standalone origin story. After all, Jason Momoa's hulking, tattooed fish-whisperer was one of the surprising standouts of DC's flop team-up event, and with the campy orange-and-green costume replaced by a long-hared and shirtless Kiwi Adonis, the character can now be played straight-faced. Wonder Woman proved that DC could produce quality with the right director pulling the strings, and they pulled off a coup with James Wan, a filmmaker whose talents I have long admired despite many of his films missing the mark for me. So it pains me to say that Aquaman is yet another tonally uneven and bloated effort from Warner Bros. that never quite knows if it wants to make you laugh or feel, with a marathon running time which, by the time is gets round to its umpteenth climax, is about as welcome as a fart in a wetsuit.

In 1985, lighthouse keeper Tom Curry (Temuera Morrison) comes across a beautiful woman washed up on the shores of Maine. The woman is Atlanna (Nicole Kidman), a princess from the underwater nation of Atlantis who has escaped an arranged marriage and a gang of Atalantian stormtroopers. Tom takes her in and the two naturally fall in love, resulting in the birth of the half-Atlantian, half-human Arthur. When her enemies come calling, Atlanna must return to the ocean, leaving Tom to bring up young Arthur on his own. The baby grows up to be the beer-swilling gym-devotee we saw in Justice League, but there is trouble a-brewin' down in the depths. Arthur's half-brother Orm (Patrick Wilson) wants to unite the kingdoms of Atlantis and wage war on the surface, who have been polluting their home for decades. But Orm knows that he will never be accepted as the true leader while Arthur, who has no desire to take the throne, is still alive. Mera (Amber Heard), the daughter of King Nereus (Dolph Lundgren), comes to warn Arthur, but they don't stand a chance against the might of Atlantis without the Trident of Atlan, a magical weapon buried somewhere in the Sahara desert.

Aquaman certainly isn't short of ideas; the problem is that Wan doesn't quite know how to cram them all in. We are taken across continents on land and to multiple kingdoms under the water. With a desire to capture the adventurous magic of Romancing the Stone and Indiana Jones, the film actually trips over its own ambition, squeezing in side characters such as Atlantean Mr. Miyagi Vulko (Willem Dafoe) and the fearsome pirate Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), as well as a variety of underwater races we are expected to remember and littering the story with clunky CGI smackdowns. Wan crafts a colourful, vivid world, full of giant sea-horses and advanced technology, but it shares more in common with the weightless. computer-generated locations of The Phantom Menace than the tangible flamboyance of Black Panther's Wakanda. Yet all of this could be considered a mere niggle had the leads been up to the task, but Momoa and Heard have all the chemistry of two strangers making awkward small-talk in a lift. Momoa is an impressive specimen and possesses the charisma to bring this character to life (see Justice League), but here he is denied a moment to have that quiet moment of reflection or to reveal the flaws to his character that would help make him interesting. A wheezing, confused and sickly bore.


Directed by: James Wan
Starring: Jason Momoa, Amber Heard, Willem Dafoe, Patrick Wilson, Nicole Kidman, Dolph Lundgren, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Temuera Morrison
Country: Australia/USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,457: 'Creed II' (2018)

One of the many surprise pleasures of Ryan Coogler's Creed was not only its ability to find much life in what was a tired, decades-sprawling franchise, but the way it managed to add emotional weight to the events of Rocky IV, a crowd-pleasing fan-favourite that remains the cheesiest and most ridiculous entry into the series to date. While the death of Carl Weathers' Apollo Creed was shocking and unexpected, it was followed by an air-punching victory for the Italian Stallion underdog during which he also won the Cold War for the U.S., all backed to the most 80s of soundtracks. By following the early career of one of Apollo's bastard children Adonis (Michael B. Jordan), Creed added an unexpected gravity to the consequences of the former's reckless lifestyle, mixing family tragedy into what was otherwise a traditional sports movie.

With Adonis now having dealt with his personal demons over his father's neglect and untimely death, Steven Caple Jr.'s follow-up Creed II faces its own battle in keeping the young fighter's story interesting, as well as delivering an exciting boxing movie without bowing down to cliches. Having lost the fight but won the night at the climax of the previous film, Adonis has gone on to win the Heavyweight Championship and achieve global stardom with trusted old dog Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone) at his side. He proposes to his girlfriend Bianca (Tessa Thompson), who is concerned that her own hearing loss may be passed down to their unborn child, and with few fighters talented enough to pose Adonis a real threat, he agonises over building a legacy worthy of his father and trainer. Ripples start to appear in his close relationships and personal drive, which only work against him when a figure from Rocky's past re-emerges with a challenge that could not only lose Creed the title, but end his career entirely.

That man is Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren), who over the years has worked tirelessly to mould his son Viktor (Florian Munteanu) into one of the most most formidable bruisers on the planet. The film begins with them exiled in Ukraine after the embarrassment of Ivan's defeat in Rocky IV, and their relationship is actually the film's most interesting aspect. Ivan hopes that by making his son the world champion his country will welcome him back, but their bond is fractured and strained as a result. It's a thread that should have been explored in more depth, since it's infinitely more interesting than Adonis awkwardly practising his proposal speech. But the melodrama is backed up with a lot of heart, and Stallone's Balboa is again the thread that ties it all together. Dealing with his own family issues on top of dreading the thought of watching another Creed die in his prime at the hands of a Drago, Stallone is magnificent, capable of delivering chills as his voice is heard for the first time off-camera. It's a step down from the electricity of Creed, but it was always going to be. For what is essentially a remake of Rocky IV, the fact that Creed II manages to be emotional, exciting and joyous despite embracing genre cliches is a monumental achievement in itself.


Directed by: Steven Caple Jr.
Starring: Michael B. Jordan, Sylvester Stallone, Tessa Thompson, Phylicia Rashad, Dolph Lundgren, Florian Munteanu, Russell Hornsby, Wood Harris
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,456: 'Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse' (2018)

When Sony announced a year or so ago that they were planning an animated take on the Spider-Man character, the question was asked by even the most hardcore of fans of whether yet another incarnation of everybody's favourite web-crawler can really be justified. After all, in the last 17 years alone, there's been Sam Raimi's popular trilogy starring Tobey Maguire, Marc Webb's ill-fated reboot in 2012, and most recently Tom Holland has donned the mask for the hero's introduction into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse doesn't only introduce a new Spidey in the form of Miles Morales, but also includes two versions of Peter Parker, as well as four other versions of the world's most popular superhero. The fact that the film isn't a cluster-fuck is a miracle in itself. The fact that this is the best Spider-Man movie ever made is something else entirely.

Miles Morales (Shameik Moore) is an average teenager who, like the majority of kids his age, look up to and admire their friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man (Chris Pine). When he isn't in school, Miles divides his time between his over-protective police officer father (Brian Tyree Henry) and his cooler, scrappier Uncle Aaron (Mahershala Ali). The latter encourages his nephew's passion for graffiti art, and as Miles works on his new project in an abandoned subway station, he is bitten by a radioactive spider. He starts to stick to his classmates and hear a voice-over in his head (one of the film's many clever ways of bringing the comic-book page to life), but he is faced with his biggest dilemma when he accidentally stumbles upon Spider-Man battling the Kingpin (Liev Schreiber), who is working on a particle accelerator with the ability to access parallel dimensions. The fight ends in disaster, with the machine opening up wormholes long enough to bring a host of parallel Spider-People into their world.

With Kingpin threatening to reactivate the device and destroy the city, Miles carries the fate of his friends and family with him, but he is not alone. Helping the youngster master his new abilities are the overweight Peter B. Parker (Jake Johnson), Spider-Woman aka Gwen Stacy (Hailee Steinfeld), the black-and-white Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage), wise-cracking cartoon Spider-Ham (John Mulaney), and SP//dr, a spider-controlled robot who shares a telepathic link with a young Japanese girl (Kimiko Glenn). Such a large collection of characters who each share similar yet personal origins could have been an overload, but directors Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey and Rodney Rothman - working from a script by Rothman and Phil Lord - wisely keep the focus on Miles, with the rest serving as the new Spider-Man's mentor in their own unique way. Rather than steal the attention away from Miles, the gang actually get to the root of what makes Spider-Man such a compelling hero. They may all be plagued by tragedy and loss, but they will prevail in their battle against evil with fearless determination and good humour. Spider-Verse understands the character better than Sam Raimi, Marc Webb and Jon Watts ever could, as good as some of the previous films have been.

This new host of Spider-People also provide some of the film's funniest moments, whether it be overly-serious brooding of Cage's Noir or the madcap anime weirdness of SP//dr. It's ever funnier than Homecoming, a film which embraced the comedic side of the hero, and isn't afraid to take hilarious digs at the failures of its predecessors (we all remember the Spider-Man 3 emo-dance and face-jiggle). Most impressive of all is Spider-Verse's groundbreaking animation, which combines various styles and techniques to create a truly stimulating experience that could be paused at any moment and admired as a stunning piece of art. The sight of Spider-Man gliding through the city skyline back in 2002 will forever remain iconic, but Miles' first leap from the edge of a building will inspire a whole new generation of fans with its vertigo-inducing imagery and dazzling neon colours. Of course, this would all be decoration if the characters and story didn't captivate, but Spider-Verse achieves this in abundance. Miles is a great hero to root for: confidant enough to justify his new power set, yet bumbling enough to be relatable to any teenagers watching. Fantastic all-round, and fully deserving of its recent Oscar win for Best Animated Feature.


Directed by: Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman
Voices: Shameik Moore, Jake Johnson, Hailee Steinfeld, Mahershala Ali, Brian Tyree Henry, Lily Tomlin, John Mulaney
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,455: 'Four Rooms' (1995)

The early 1990s saw a rise in independent film-making that gave a voice to the wannabe auteurs and allowed them to handpick their own posse of preferred actors. This movement was spearheaded by the likes of Richard Linklater, Steven Soderbergh and Quentin Tarantino, and backed by disgraced scumbag Harvey Weinstein. Fresh off the huge success of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino was becoming a household name, and his unique brand of motor-mouthed, pop-culture-heavy dialogue and extreme violence was striking a chord with moviegoers both young and old. He took this unexpected fame and influence and used it unite a group of indie up-and-comers - Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell and Robert Rodruguez - for an offbeat anthology film about a young bellhop named Ted (Tim Roth) and his encounters with the various oddballs staying at his hotel.

The result was Four Rooms, and there's a reason Tarantino chooses to forget his own segment behind the camera when his trailers announce the new film as the nth of his career. It begins promisingly with a quirky animated intro that sets the goofy, unpredictable tone of the film, before diving into a collection of stories that appear to have been dreamt up in between bong hits. One thing Four Rooms has going for it is that the short films improve as we progress, but even Tarantino's final section reeks of narcissism and smugness. Anders' first story, about a coven of witches (including Ione Skye, Madonna, Alicia Witt, Lili Taylor, Sammi Davis and Valeria Golino) attempting to resurrect a goddess, may have worked for an episode of Charmed, but falls flat as the opener of what is supposed to be a collaboration between some of cinema's most exciting maverick filmmakers. Rockwell's short plonks Ted in the middle of psycho-sexual game between married couple Sigfried (David Proval) and Angela (Jennifer Beals).

The first two segments may have raised a titter if the writers didn't have such a tin ear for comedy and had a lead actor with a natural gift for over-the-top comedy. I love Tim Roth and he has had many great roles, but his twitching, shrieking Ted belongs in a cartoon. Rodriguez and Tarantino's efforts fare better because they rely less on Roth's prat-falls and more on their own self-indulgences. The performance of Antonio Banderas as a ridiculously posturing father who leaves his children under Ted's protection is a particular highlight from the third story, as the children naturally decide to make Ted's night a living Hell. Tarantino's climactic entry is full of memorable dialogue and pop culture insights, but the director, who also plays the main role, fails to inject much life into what is otherwise a plodding re-hash of his favourite episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Anthology films are always hit-and-miss, but Four Rooms fails to register a single hit. What was supposed to be a triumphant coming-together of a new wave of hip filmmakers is instead a limp and uneven slog through a tide of bad comedy and even worse ideas. One of the biggest disappointments of the 90s.


Directed by: Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Tim Roth, Antonio Banderas, Valeria Golino, Madonna, Alicia Witt, Sammi Davis, Lili Taylor, Ione Skye, David Proval
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie