In 1910 Paris, a cat named Duchess (Eva Gabor) lives comfortably in a mansion with her three kittens, Marie (Liz English), Berlioz (Dean Clark) and Toulouse (Gary Dubin), and her wealthy owner Madame Bonfamille (Hermione Baddeley). Madame writes her will along with her eccentric lawyer, and decides to leave her vast wealth to her beloved cats. Her dedicated butler Edgar (Roddy Maude-Roxby) overhears this, and, outraged at being left out of the will, kidnaps the cats and leaves them stranded in the countryside. Frightened and alone, they come across a charming drifter cat named Thomas O'Malley (Phil Harris), who teaches the privileged cats about the joys of being a wanderer.
Apart from the obvious similarities to Disney's previous efforts, Lady and the Tramp (1955) and 101 Dalmatians (1961), there are two things about The Aristocats that troubled me. The first is the plot, that paints clumsy butler Edgar as the villain. Of course, dumping a family of cats in the countryside to die isn't the nicest thing to do, but after hearing the woman he's dedicated his life to leave her fortune to a bunch of fucking cats, you can kind of sympathise with the poor guy. The other is the ending, that sees (spoiler ahead!) loveable tramp O'Malley welcomed into the aristocracy - shiny collar and all - because it seems the upper classes just won't have any individuality in their midst.
This was the final film Walt Disney greenlit before his death in 1966, and one that had five of Disney's so-called Nine Old Men on animating duties. It could be seen as one the final 'classic' animated films that Disney produced before they experienced a difficult decade or so, and it does retain that warm, familiar feeling that the likes of Beauty and the Beast (1991) and The Lion King (1994) lacked (although they are certainly considered amongst Disney's best achievements). The songs are wonderful, particularly the standout Everybody Wants To Be a Cat, headed by Scatman Crothers and featuring one of Disney's funniest casually-racist characters. Yet the similarities to other, better Disney classics damage the film, and apart from the beautiful, hand-drawn animation and toe-tapping tunes, The Aristocats struggles to stand out.
Three close friends and the groom's strange brother-in-law travel to Vegas for a bachelor party they will never forget. Teacher Phil (Bradley Cooper) is a womaniser with a wife and kids, Stu (Ed Helms) is in an unhappy marriage with an overbearing, abusive wife, Doug (Justin Bartha) is the groom hoping for a send-off to end all send-off's, and Alan (Zach Galifianakis), is a naive man-child hoping to make friends. When they wake up in the morning, they find their suite demolished, a tiger in the bathroom, a baby in the closet, and most worryingly of all, Doug is missing. They clean themselves up and set out to find Doug, and using the various clues lying around, they begin to piece together the night.
Of course, bachelor party movies are hardly hard to come by, and they have been a staple of the gross-out comedy circuit since the 1980's. The Hangover finds its originality in the fact that it focuses on the morning after, rather than the actual night itself, which we see none of. It also has a sense of believability, as if three of the characters have genuinely been friends for years, and are gradually accepting the increasingly strange Alan into their wolf-pack. After all, Alan is often unnervingly strange, but the group find him funny too, and why wouldn't they? Cult stand-up comedian Galifianakis has been around for years, starring in various failed pilots and never quite getting the attention he deserved, but he is by far the best thing in The Hangover, with the mixture of his quite sweet innocence and his random one-liners fitting in with the film's heartfelt moments.
It also keeps the gross humour thankfully down to a minimum. Sure it's often bad taste, but there's a noticeable lack of bare-breasted women and any jokes involving bodily fluids. This is still R-rated, but the humour is in the script and the performances, and doesn't resort to someone shitting themselves for desperate laughs. It's similar in many ways to 2007's Superbad, where the language was filthy, but the laughs were genuine, and the situations, however absurd, still felt somewhat real. And when the credits rolled, I was left with that unfamiliar desire to spend more time with these characters. Special mention must also go to Chinese gangster Mr. Chow (played by Ken Jeong, who simply needs to be in more films), who has one of the best comedy burn lines in history, "so long, gay boys!".
In the 2274, the last remaining collection of humans live in a domed utopia ran by a computer, where they live out a hedonistic lifestyle until they reach the age of 30. Their hands are implanted with a light that changes colour as they get older, and when they hit 30, they are forced to take part in the Carrousel, where they are vaporised, believing they are part of a 're-birth' cycle. The majority accept this as part of their natural existence, but a select few, known as Runners, recognise the brutality of population control. To counteract this, there are Sandmen, a sort of police force tasked with tracking and killing any Runners. After killing one such Runner, Sandman Logan 5 (Michael York) finds an ankh pendant on the body, to which the computer recognises as a symbol of Sanctuary, a mythical place seen as the escape by the Runners. The computer tells Logan 5 he must find Sanctuary, and his lifespan is shortened to hasten his quest, so he enlists the help of Jessica 6 (Jenny Agutter), a potential Runner who wears an ankh pendant.
With its bold, bright futuristic sets and obligatory shiny jumpsuits, Logan's Run is one of those 1970's ever-so-camp cult sci-fi's that no-one really takes seriously regardless of it's social message. The film itself certainly takes itself seriously, but has dated so badly it is best viewed as a bit of a guilty pleasure. Certainly one of those films to watch on a rainy bank holiday or a Sunday afternoon. It certainly has it's moments - occasionally it slips into a hypnotic and slightly psychedelic wish-wash of flashing red lights and green death-rays, that can't help but grab your attention. Half the time I didn't really know what was happening, certainly a fault on my part, but the film wasn't holding my attention long enough for me to keep up with the plot and narrative twists, despite all the visual splendour on show.
Yet the actual plot device that jump-starts Logan's journey is itself confusing. Why does the computer send Logan on this mission simply for finding the ankh pendant, a symbol that is worn in plain sight by many members of the Runners? Why shorten Logan's lifespan, as this will surely give him enough reason to become a Runner himself and escape his unfairly premature demise? Clearly logic isn't given enough attention, but Logan's Run contains enough cornball lines of dialogue, hilarious 1970's haircuts, and rather useless laser guns, to justify it's cult following. It's far too long, but a nice reminder of a time where sci-fi was still primarily rooted in satire, regardless of how successful it is.
Set a mere six months after the events of 2008's Iron Man, Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) has almost single-handedly achieved world peace. Only he is now facing opposition from Senator Stern (Garry Shandling), who is demanding he hand his weaponry over to the government, and, unbeknownst to others, is slowly dying from the palladium core in his chest designed to keep him alive. In Russia, Ivan Danko (Mickey Rourke), son of engineering genius Anton Vanko, who worked with Tony Stark's father, seeks revenge against the Stark family who caused his father's exile many years ago. He develops an arc reactor similar to Stark's, and publicly attacks him at the Circuit de Monaco, getting arrested in the process. Facing deportation and years in prison, Danko is approached by rival weapons expert Justin Hammer (Sam Rockwell), who wants Danko to help him destroy Stark's legacy, and secure military funding.
The first Iron Man was so successful mainly due to the success it brought to Tony Stark's transformation into the big red and gold suit, anchored by Downey Jr.'s magnetic central performance. Number 2 sadly does not step up the proceedings a la X2 (2003) or Spider-Man 2 (2004), which both developed the central story even further, as well as adding better characters/villains and amping up the action. Iron Man 2 disappoints on all of these fronts. Stark's gradual 'maturing' throughout the course of the first film was relatively perfect in terms of pacing and execution, but this is replaced here by Stark dealing with some dull daddy issues (although Howard Stark is played by Mad Men scene-stealer John Slattery), and Stark's concerns about his poisoning, which confuse above all else.
Of the three new main additions, only Rourke's Whiplash is remotely successful, yet is kept oddly muted throughout the movie as he sets up shop in Hammer's workshop, carefully engineering a not-very-surprising attack at the upcoming Stark Expo. Hammer's over-the-top sliminess fits in with the shift in tone, moving away from the grounded feel of the first, and entering the more supernatural realm of the Avengers' world, where we have to accept intergalactic journeys and a character like Thor. Scarlett Johansson's Nastasha Romanoff does little apart from looking good in Lycra and bringing Stark into S.H.I.E.L.D., which heralds the return of Samuel L. Jackson's Nick Fury in what is nothing more than an extended cameo,
So we are ultimately left with James 'Rhodey' Rhodes, this time played by Don Cheadle, who came in to replace Terrence Howard. Their relationship forms the best aspect of the film, and also leads to the best moment in the film when Rhodey finally dons a Stark suit (becoming a premature War Machine), and attempts to restrain a drunken Stark, dressed as Iron Man. It's the only scene with any real heart. Still, it's still quite fun overall, and it's interesting to watch Marvel's big plan slowly move closer together, with glimpses of Captain America's shield, the Hulk ripping it up on a news report, and Thor's hammer. When the credits rolled, I felt like I'd been slightly ripped-off by the climax, which pales in comparison even when compared to the first film. But it still left me wanting more, which can't be a bad thing.
There's no doubting the film-making innovation of the pioneer of American independent cinema, John Cassavetes. But if any of his films were to be considered a stain on his CV, it would be Husbands. That is only because his filmography is so highly praised, and Husbands divided the critics between those who hailed it as one of the best films ever made, and those who found the whole experience relentlessly depressing and tediously long. I'm somewhere in the middle, finding the film occasionally dipping into awkward, slightly forced improvisations, while offering some quite distressing and powerful insights into men going through a midlife crisis.
After the death of their friend, three middle-aged men - Harry (Ben Gazzara), Gus (Cassavetes) and Archie (Peter Falk) - find it difficult to cope. We follow them over the course of two days, where they drink heavily, play basketball together, and have a boisterous singing contest with friends and family. After returning home from his binge, Harry is thrown out by his wife, and shortly after announces he is flying to London. Seemingly with nothing better to do, Gus and Archie decide to join him, where they indulge is more drinking, gambling, and womanising. Gus finds himself with a much younger woman named Mary (Jenny Runacre), who is wild and unpredictable.
In the same vein as Faces (1968), Cassavetes adopts a cinema verite style, while taking the story and characters to almost hyper-reality. This is not quite the world we live in, only it feels like it. It's a more extreme world, where everything is just a little bit more depressing and the inhabitants are always loathsome in one way or another. It's as if Cassavetes wants us to take a real look at ourselves, whoever we are, and be repulsed. Harry, Gus and Archie are despicable, taking no second thoughts when committing adultery, and ultimately being loud, angry and disgusting when in the presence of others. They are also empty, devoid of any real emotion, only finding any real solitude in each other's company.
Judging from the title, Cassavetes uses the film to summarise a broad idea as to why men must go through this at some point in their life. The trio are little more than wild children, only with sexual experience, and the camera, as usual, is close, capturing the slightest facial movement, almost to the point of infringement. It's a depressing, brutal experience, where scenes go on for much longer than they should, making us want to get away from these characters. But maybe that's the point, and Cassavetes takes it to the extreme to push his point across. The final scene is certainly worth the wait however, managing to depict a character in one simple close-up as both tragic and pathetic.
It seems strange to think that this was considered a big gamble back in 2008, when Marvel Studios finally began putting into place the ensemble of superhero films that would lead to the fantastically entertaining The Avengers. They hired a relatively rookie director in Jon Favreau who, up to this point, had made the shoddy Made (2001), Will Ferrell vehicle Elf (2003) and kiddie-flick Zathura (2005), and cast Robert Downey Jr., an actor that was still trying to piece together his career after years of drug and alcohol abuse. After all, Iron Man is basically a story about a rich genius who fights crime in a flying metal suit, and had it not being given the necessary thought and care, this could have been a disaster. Thankfully, it's anything but, thanks to Downey Jr.'s infectious performance, a razor-sharp screenplay by Mark Fergus, Hawk Ostby, Art Marcum and Matt Holloway, and Favreau's confident direction.
Weapons manufacturer and playboy Tony Stark (Downey Jr.) travels to Afghanistan with his good friend Lt. Colonel Rhodes (Terrence Howard) to show off his new weapon of mass destruction, the Jericho. He is ambushed and taken hostage by a terrorist group that call themselves the Ten Rings, who seriously wound Stark, causing shrapnel to lodge dangerously close to his heart. An electromagnet is developed by fellow captive Yinsen (Shaun Toub) to keep the shrapnel away from his heart, and the two are forced to build the Jericho from parts of Stark's stolen weapons. He instead builds a prototype metal suit, which he uses to all but destroy the terrorist group and escape back to America. After calling a press conference where he announces that Stark Industries will cease war profiteering, Stark builds his Iron Man suit with the help of his assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow). Seeing stocks falling and the potential collapse of the company, Stark's business partner Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges) wants the technology for himself.
The main problem that faces most superhero origin films is having to combine the protagonist's development into the hero of the title with a villain capable of giving the hero a genuine threat to face, as well as blending them together to form one cohesive storyline. Marvel in particular have had trouble with their super-villains, with only Thor's multi-dimensional Loki, played with a thespian quality by Tom Hiddleston, proving successful. Iron Man suffers here too, only it seems almost irrelevant. Obadiah Stane does eventually don a gigantic metal suit for a big showdown at the climax, but Stane's menace comes from his corporate greed, offering only slight hints at what goes on in the big, bald dome of his, while coming across as a trusted friend to Stark.
It is Stark's personal development that takes centre stage, and it's a true joy to watch it. At first, he is cocky, smarmy, and filthy-rich, and after he gets a wake-up call, he is still cocky, smarmy and filthy-rich. Only now he understands the devastation his weapons program is inflicting of thousands of innocents, who up until now, Stark has casually viewed through the safety of his television. In the wrong hands, Stark could have been a disaster, apparently caring little for the ramifications of his actions, buying priceless works of art he'll never see just because he can. Downey Jr. injects the same energy he's been putting into his characters throughout his entire career - fast-talking and wise-cracking, almost comically narcissistic. But Downey Jr. is best at giving his characters an underlying sense of damage beneath the cocky exterior, perhaps a reflection on his long-standing problems in real-life, and this helps give Stark an undeniable depth, and therefore making him effortlessly fascinating to watch.
Iron Man is most entertaining when showing Stark at work - bashing various parts together, interacting with his robots and his house computer Jarvis (voiced by Paul Bettany), and testing his newly acquired powers. His first flying trial has him hovering uncomfortably and struggling for complete control, destroying his hoard of expensive super cars in the process. It's a funny, exciting scene, rounded off with "yeah, I can fly". It's rare for a superhero film to be so successful in portraying the development of its character, whether having to experience a mutation, an experiment gone wrong, or facing childhood fears, this proves that simply building a metal super-suit is far more entertaining. This is still Marvel's best pre-Avengers effort, including it's vastly inferior sequel, and Tony Stark was the best to watch amongst the massive ensemble when the giant ego's finally came together. But that's all down to the care given to this film, which is quite simply a massive hoot.
After lying in production limbo for almost fifteen years, director Werner Herzog finally managed to make his film, loosely based on the story of Mark Yavorsky, with the help of producer David Lynch. You would think a collaboration of two such instantly recognisable auteurs may cause problems or lead to a clash of the two directors' film-making ideals, but My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is distinctively Herzogian, continuing the prolific German director's fascination with the quirky corners of the American South. By showing us the murder and the murderer within the first five minutes, Herzog removes any element of mystery surrounding the crime, and instead focuses on the mental disintegration of its protagonist, as well as placing his own spin on the familiar hostage crisis drama.
This is certainly one of Herzog's 'smaller' films, following the almost mainstream and outlandish (but hugely entertaining) Bad Lieutenant earlier the same year. Yet Herzog is no stranger to budget, location and equipment constraints, and has made some of his best films under these conditions, and manages to tell an absorbing, sometime hypnotic tale of a wild man at odds with his surroundings. This is a recurring theme for Herzog - civilised man's struggle against the aggressive, unpredictable forces of nature - and here Brad seems to be isolated from society after witnessing the full force of nature at work. Why exactly does he kill his mother? No questions are truly answered, but the film is more interesting at showing you the factors that may have lead to this horrific act.
For the film to work at all, it must have an actor capable of delivering such complexities of the mind into his performance, and Shannon pulls it off perfectly. Quickly becoming my favourite working actor, Shannon is a towering presence, appearing uncomfortable in his own body, all mad eyes and slurred voice. At times it's almost hard to watch him, terrified at what he may do at any given time. Given that any mystery surrounding the murder is removed by Herzog at the beginning of the film, it's a real achievement that the film managed to be as exciting and absorbing as it is, with Herzog's unpredictable approach mixing flashbacks and faked freeze-frames with some of his familiar quirky topics such as wild animals, scarred terrains, dwarves and a haunting score. A little gem, and as Herzog and Lynch discussed in their successful meeting, "a return of essential film-making" for the director.
Film-makers frequently find themselves going back to basics or back to their roots in order to find inspiration, rather than seeking innovation. Two of Hollywood's arguably most powerful men - Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks - did precisely this back in 2004 with the release of The Terminal, apparently based on the 18-year stay at Charles de Gaulle airport experienced by Iranian refugee Mehran Karimi Nasseri (although the film-makers and producers have failed to acknowledge it). Spielberg had been striving for bid-budget, CGI-laden blockbusters such as A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001) and Minority Report (2002), and historical epics like Amistad (1997) and Saving Private Ryan (1998), before he made The Terminal. Although those films were generally good to very good, Spielberg returned to something more simple and heartfelt; something in the vein of Frank Capra or Billy Wilder, who combined sentiment and romanticism to such a glorious effect. Well, to be frank, he shouldn't have bothered.
Victor Navorski (Hanks) arrives at JFK International Airport from his (fictional) home country of Krakozhia, with the intention of getting the autograph of a famous jazz musician who was loved by his late father in New York. Though what he doesn't know is that Krakozhia's government has been overthrown, leading do a devastating civil war. This puts Head of CPB Frank Dixon (Stanley Tucci) in a difficult situation, as America no longer recognises Krakozhia as a country, voiding Victor's passport and cancelling his right to leave the airport doors. So Victor sets up home in the terminal, making money by returning baggage carts back to their holders for 25 cents a cart, and befriending the various oddballs and desperado's in the airport. He also meets flight attendant Amelia (Catherine Zeta-Jones), an emotionally unstable woman who is in a relationship with a married man. Despite Dixon's frequent attempts to thwart Victor's activities, Victor becomes extremely popular with the airport's inhabitants by performing various good deeds.
If there is one thing that Spielberg's movies are frequently lambasted for, it is for their cloying sentimentality. Even his darkest output, such as Minority Report and Munich (2005) had their moments of emotional embraces to the sound of a string score that felt shoe-horned in. With The Terminal, Spielberg has gone all-out with the rom-com aesthetic. The result is a manipulating and almost fraudulent throw-back to the great Cary Grant films of the 1930's, capturing none of the magic of Spielberg's idols. Hanks is good value as always, but the character of Victor is almost offensive in it's stereotyping of the simple, almost idiotic foreigner.
The collection of supporting characters don't fair much better either, with Dixon's Hitler-esque CPB man raising questions as to the reasons behind his hatred for Victor. Everyone else seems to like him, even his own men, so is he doing it for career progression? His own soon-to-be-retiring boss informs him that empathy and humanity are key to the job, and if Dixon needs to be told this, then how has he gotten as far as he has up to now? Zeta-Jones's Andrea at least puts a different spin on the familiar rom-com heroine, with her erratic behaviour and questionable decision-making at least adding a bit of dimension. The most impressive aspect of the film is actually the set, built from scratch after no airport agreed to allow Spielberg to film for such an extended amount of time, and this, if anything, adds a flow to the way the film is captured. But when the set is the best thing about a film, you know you're in trouble, and this is undoubtedly one of Spielberg's worst efforts.
Loosely based on Nikolai Gogol's short story Viy, Mario Bava's first credited feature has become renown over the years for it's mixture of cinematographic beauty and bloody horror. Bava would go on to have an impressive career in the horror and peplum genres after receiving international recognition for Black Sunday, as well as catapulting lead actress Barbara Steele to stardom and helping her gain her reputation as the 'queen of horror'. The film begins with vampire witch Asa (Steele) being killed by her brother, who sledgehammers an iron mask with spikes on the inside onto her face. A couple of centuries later, Dr. Kruvajan (Andrea Checchi) and his assistant Dr. Gorobec (John Richardson) are on route to a medical conference when they stumble across the coffin of Asa. They accidentally awaken her when Kruvajan cuts himself and lets the blood drop into her mouth, allowing Asa to seek revenge on the descendants of those that wronged her.
Above all else this is a master-stroke of technical wizardry, encompassing the gothic beauty of the Universal horrors, and adding the blood-letting and sexual undertones of Hammer. Black Sunday is certainly more gory that any of Hammer's efforts (the sledgehammer opening is still quite wince-inducing), but by today's torture-porn standards, it's very mild. It is easy to why audiences were terrified by this film back in 1960, as although the film is by no means scary, the intensity of the atmosphere, brought on by the wonderful sets and camerawork, is successful in transporting you somewhere else entirely. You will accept the hokey plot and unexplained supernatural themes (is she a vampire, a witch or an undead entity?), and accept this as something much more - a work of art.
It's a setting seen a thousand times before - in literature as well as film. This is a world of midnight carriage rides through the woods, twisted trees with outstretched branches, creeping fog engulfing tombstones, old, tattered cobwebs, and old paintings coming to life. I would go as far as saying that Black Sunday is the only film from its era that succeeded in sucking out any elements of camp from this sort of setting, and creating a genuinely unsettling atmosphere. Bava achieves this by puncturing the film with sudden bursts of graphic violence, such as a steak through the head, that catches you off guard, and mixing this with the obvious sexual connotations, it becomes something far more sinister. Having influenced generations of film-makers with its innovations in sound and lighting, Black Sunday should be seen by all horror fans, and, in my opinion, deserves to be respected far more than it already is.
In 1972, when the People's Republic of China's 'Cultural Revolution' was in full swing, chairman Mao Zedong invited director Michelangelo Antonioni to the country to make a documentary on New China. Eager to document what was then very much a closed country, Antonioni accepted an eight week visit in which he would tour through Beijing, Nanjing and Shanghai. With his small crew being led around by a 'tour guide', the footage they were being allowed to film was becoming increasingly limited, and often Antonioni would find himself resorting to semi-guerilla tactics in order to get a more honest depiction of the country. The resulting three-and-a-half hour documentary, split into three dividing sections, was detested by Mao and his wife Jiang Qing, and the film that is Chung Kuo China was banned in China, and Antonioni was accused of being anti-Chinese and a 'counter-revolutionary'.
The narrator Giuseppe Rinaldi tells us at the start of the film that they wanted "to show a picture of China, we can't offer more,". So Antonioni and his crew spend their time filming faces and the everyday activities of the people of China, in order to get a feel of a country living under communism. The footage is equally as fascinating as it is strangely eerie. The first section, which takes us around the city of Beijing, shows the famous city as a indistinguishable sea of expressionless faces, dressed in similar colours of blues, browns and greys, with nothing apparent to separate them by social class or even occupation. This is of course one of the defining ideals of socialism - true equality - but this doesn't look like a liberated nation, and actually paints a picture of misery and quiet suppression.
The film does capture some wonderful activities, however, namely the squirm-inducing Caesarian performed with nothing to numb the pain but acupuncture, and the footage of workers performing Qigong in the streets (and one gentleman whilst riding a bike). But Antonioni wasn't interested in just filming social habits, and his determination to get a real grasp of the country comes from the moment when he escapes from his tour guide (he refused to stop the car) to film a small factory-based community, where the inhabitants stare at the camera with nervous curiosity, possibly at the first Westerner they've ever come across. It's a very patient approach, a trademark of the great auteur, but often the camera lingers for too long, capturing very little, and the wonderful acrobat show at the climax proves a welcome piece of entertainment. Yet this is no doubt the definitive documentation of a period of Chinese history now looked back on with disdain and embarrassment.
Apart from the obvious similarities to Disney's previous efforts, Lady and the Tramp (1955) and 101 Dalmatians (1961), there are two things about The Aristocats that troubled me. The first is the plot, that paints clumsy butler Edgar as the villain. Of course, dumping a family of cats in the countryside to die isn't the nicest thing to do, but after hearing the woman he's dedicated his life to leave her fortune to a bunch of fucking cats, you can kind of sympathise with the poor guy. The other is the ending, that sees (spoiler ahead!) loveable tramp O'Malley welcomed into the aristocracy - shiny collar and all - because it seems the upper classes just won't have any individuality in their midst.
