When we are introduced to the various foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, poverty-stricken characters in Gary Oldman's one and only directorial credit, Nil By Mouth, they are gathered in a working club telling stories about people and events we are not privy to. Any establishing character introductions would betray the authenticity of Oldman's searing drama. These are real people, or seem like they are, so we get to endure their mundane and often repulsive conversations as if we've known them for years. And it feels like we have. The product of their social class means they're stuck in their routines; the men indulging in coke-fuelled benders, and the women are just happy to be out of the house.
Dedicated to his father, Nil by Mouth is clearly autobiographical, or at least based on Oldman's experiences growing up in a council flat in South East London. Focusing essentially on three main characters - Ray (Ray Winstone), a booze-addled, violent abuser, Valerie (Kathy Burke), his bullied and terrorised wife, and Valerie's brother Billy (Charlie Creed-Miles), a young heroin-addict relying on his mother Janet (Laila Morse) to fund his habit - the film doesn't really tell a clear-cut story, but instead immerses you in it's environment. Dialogue is fast, naturalistic and often hard to follow, and long scenes often do little other than force you to listen to these people's everyday ramblings.
Anyone looking for a pleasant experience may do better to look elsewhere, as no punches are pulled. Plenty are thrown, however, as Ray's jealousy over a man he sees Valerie playing pool with - innocently - erupts into a horrific scene of domestic violence. Even more heartbreaking is the next scene, as her mother sees her daughter's battered face for the first time and must listen to her cover story, being fully aware of Ray's violence tendencies. Laila Morse (an anagram of the Italian phrase for 'my sister') is Gary Oldman's sister, and although she had no formal acting experience before the film, she may just be the best thing in it. Her expression of helplessness at the sight of her son shooting up in the back of her van is incredibly powerful.
As the film goes on, we do eventually learn more about these characters. Ray may be the clear-cut monster on the surface, but there is some sympathy to be had. In a scene following a particularly self-destructive bender, Ray explains to his friend Mark (Jamie Foreman) that he had no love from his father. Beneath the bulldog exterior lies a rather pathetic and self-pitying man, unable to communicate anything to his wife to the point where they seem to exist in different rooms in their cramped flat. Not since John Cassavetes has a film so successfully portrayed the tragedy of male machismo. With Eric Clapton's wonderfully bluesy score blaring throughout, the filmis drenched in atmosphere while maintaining the sense of reality. It's by no means an easy watch, but Nil by Mouth is cinema at it's most raw.
And so here it is finally. After nine years watching the prepubescent speccy wizard grow into a chiselled speccy wizard, the long, long climax is here. Kicking off what has become a fad in novel adaptations aimed mainly at screaming teenage girls (Twilight, The Hunger Games), Deathly Hallows splits the final novel into two 120-plus films. Whether this is to avoid condensing a mammoth, multi-character into one rushed, incoherent stand-alone movie, or to take full advantage of a multi-billion franchise that is soon to finally end, is up for debate (although a sneaky feeling tells me it's the latter). What is for certain is that a huge, dragging chunk of Part 1 could have easily been wavered. It's like director David Yates forgot that this series is supposed to be fun.
This time around, there's no Hogwarts, and there's almost nothing recognisable about the franchise whatsoever. Beginning with an exciting broomstick battle over London which sees surviving members of the Order don Harry's (Daniel Radcliffe) face in an attempt to elude the lurking Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes), things soon turn gloomy as Harry, Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) are forced to go solo in the countryside in search of the Dark Lord's remaining Horcruxes. If that word perplexes you at this point of the series, you may as well leave early, as quite rightly, the film has no time for catch-up.
With the novel going into much-needed detail in terms of character, background and plot (such is the benefit of literature), the decision to split the film into two parts means Part 1 can breathe easy and take it's time before the final smackdown at Hogwarts in Part 2. This means we spend more time with the three leads as the weight of possible doom lingers heavy on their backs. The absence of the usual stellar adult ensemble is damaging, as Radcliffe, Grint and Watson struggle to hold the film on their own, given their limited acting ability and their character's lack of any real dimension. Grint is easily the best of the three, but Ron is shackled with a jealousy sub-plot (again) which means he gets to mope a lot and storm off.
Yates is the safe choice at this point to end the series. He lacks the cuddly obviousness of Chris Columbus and the more visionary efforts of Alfonso Cuaron and Mike Newell, and apart from a nice little animated sequence near the middle, the film just goes through the motions. There's a nice little dance number, but it's the only recognisable touch from the director. "These are dark times, there's no denying it," warns Rufus Scrimgeour (Bill Nighy), the new minister of magic, in the film's opening scene. Dark and grainy times they are, and oddly joyless, Part 1 feels like an extended advertisement for the real end, Part 2, squeezing it's dedicated fans for all they're worth.
Defiantly avoiding the familiar sign-posts of the early Harry Potter movies (Harry's troubles with the Dursley's, the journey to Hogwarts, meeting the new Defence Against the Dark Arts), returning director David Yates and the franchise in general has firmly settled into it's dark, brooding persona. The trouble is, Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and his ever-present shadows Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) have developed into one-dimensional bores. Thankfully, The Half-Blood Prince is rich in snivelling villains and wise old wizards and witches, all portrayed by an embarrassingly rich line-up of British thesps, who liven up the proceedings somewhat and add that much-needed gravitas.
It's a cast so crammed with talent that the likes of two-time Oscar-winner Maggie Smith is reduced to a walk-on part. But the film is plagued by a lack of proper pacing, and Yates has trouble keeping a grip on the mixture of drama, comedy and action. Certain scenes that were utterly gripping in J.K. Rowling's novel whizz by without you realising what just happened, confusing the thick plot to the point that any audience members unfamiliar to the books, and have waited two years between the movie instalments, might be left scratching their heads at the mention of Horcruxes and Vanishing Cabinets. This time around, Harry and Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) partner up to gain information from new teacher Horace Slughorn (Jim Broadbent).
Seeking to destroy Lord Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) once and for all, Dumbledore's biggest clue lies in a memory tampered with by it's owner, Slughorn. It's a conversation between him and a young Voldemort, Tom Riddle (Frank Dillane - son of Stephen), discussing a dark magic that Dumbledore believes to be the key to Voldemort's immortality. Harry is given the task to appeal to Slughorn's love of celebrity and reveal his secrets, and impresses the bumbling teacher in his Potions class after discovering a textbook marked with alterations by the mysterious 'half-blood prince'. But Harry also believes nemesis Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton) has been made a Death Eater and is up to no good, much to the scepticism of Ron and Hermione.
It's the best book of the series, in my opinion, and it's a shame that screenwriter Steve Kloves, who has written every Potter apart from Order of the Phoenix and has always done an excellent adapting the hefty books, can't quite get this one right. The moments in which Harry delves inside the Pensive, an apparatus that allows one to physically enter a memory, are impressive. We finally get some insight into the past, and the two young actors playing Tom Riddle (as well as Dillane, Hero Fiennes-Tiffin, nephew of Ralph, plays an 11 year-old incarnation) are excellent, showing us a younger, curious dark lord. But it isn't enough to stop the film feeling like it's dragging out the franchise that made many people millions of dollars, or allowing me to forgive the many narrative flaws and many moments of plain rushed storytelling.
Back in 2007, with the impending arrival of J.K. Rowling's seventh and final instalment novel and this, the release of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Pottermania was at astronomical levels. A director new to the franchise was introduced, David Yates, who seemed a shrewd choice given his track record in British TV, but in hindsight, his inexperience with blockbusters proved slightly harmful to the franchise. It became difficult to cram Rowling's increasingly sprawling novels into a two hour-plus film, and Yates (along with fellow newcomer Michael Goldenberg penning the script), struggled to juggle the emotional drama so delicately handled by Cuaron and Newell before him, along with the CGI-heavy action.
With the horrors he witnessed at the climax of Goblet of Fire still lingering in his mind, Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) finds himself returning to a wizarding world in denial. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge (Robert Hardy), refuses to believe the Dark Lord has returned, and half the pupils at Hogwarts accuse Harry of being an attention-seeker. Even Professor Dumbledore (Michael Gambon), who has always protected Harry, seems to ignore him. Only his close friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson), and the strange new pupil Luna Lovegood (Evanna Lynch), stick by him inside school. Outside, Harry is encouraged by his surrogate father Sirius Black (Gary Oldman), who is part of the Order of the Phoenix, a small group of wizards preparing the upcoming war with Voldemort.
Everything about Order of the Phoenix is suitably grim. The opening scene in which Harry and his repulsive muggle cousin Dudley (Harry Melling) meet a couple of hungry Dementors, shows Harry's world as dry, cracked and grim. It suits Harry mood, with his first experience of witnessing death still haunting him, and the frustration of being ignored making him quick to anger. Hogwarts is also no longer a safe retreat for the pupils, as the introduction of Ministry of Magic worker Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton) sees the school of wizardry infiltrated, and Voldemort's true aims become clearer.
The politics were more carefully laid out in the novel, and it's here that Yates stumbles. Umbridge's fascist approach is clear as day, to the point of making Harry write lines that scratch into his skin, but the effect it has on the changing attitudes towards 'mudbloods' such as Hermione (wizards born out of non-magical parents) and half-breeds like the formidable centaurs lurking in the forest, is all but ignored. The climax at the Ministry of Magic, which sees Harry and Voldemort both seeking a prophecy, is messy, as it was in the book. It works well when focusing on Harry and his demons, and Radcliffe again performs well, but integrating them with the enormous ensemble and the overarching story is where it falls flat.
As we all remember, turning 14 comes with as many strange new emotions as it does the need to rebel against everything resembling authority, and Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), fresh off his experiences battling ghostly Dementors and a werewolf, faces a brand new threat - women. Goblet of Fire, with a new director in Mike Newell,continues Alfonso Cuaron's darker and and more sinister tone, pitching Harry against a whole new range of beasts and dark wizards, but it's the section around the middle of the film - where Harry and his ever-present friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) must find dates and attend formal dance the Yule Ball - that delights the most and brings the very best out of it's still-young actors.
After a Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup that leaves the 'Dark Mark' - the sigil of Lord Voldemort's followers - lighting up the smoky sky, Harry returns to Hogwarts for another year. This year however, they are being joined by overseas schools Beauxbatons of France, and Durmstrang of Bulgaria, as Hogwarts is playing host to the Triwizard Tournament, a collection of dangerous feats that pitches one pupil from each school against each other for the prize. After the champions are selected - Fleur Delacour (Clemence Poesy) for Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum (Stanislav Ianevski) for Durmstrang, and Cedric Diggory (Robert Pattinson) for Hogwarts - a fourth name is spat out - Harry Potter.
Harry swears to Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) that he did not cheat and enter his own name (as he's underage), and, being bound by a magical contract, the schools have no option but to allow him to compete. New Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher 'Mad-Eye' Moody (Brendan Gleeson) - a half-crazed ex-Auror with one magical eye that is independent of his other and which can see through the back of his own head - sets about preparing Harry for the perilous tournament. He must face dragons, sea-monsters and a seemingly endless maze to find the prize, but where Harry is, the threat of Lord Voldemort's return is always lurking.
Mike Newell and returning screenwriter Steve Kloves do an excellent job in condensing a mammoth book (about twice as large as Prisoner of Azkaban) into a coherent film. For a film so rich in action and whizz-bang CGI, it thankfully doesn't neglect the drama. Harry's friendship with Ron and Hermione is stretched, with hormones and jealousy creeping into Ron's personality, and Hermione's struggle to deal with the idiot. But it's hardly melodrama, and the Yule Ball provides the most amusing set-piece in the series, and a welcome distraction from the darkness that lurks outside.
It's the point in the series where disarming spells and defensive tricks start to prove ineffective, and people begin to die. The opening scene, which depicts an elderly muggle (played by Eric Sykes) stumbling upon Peter Pettigrew (Timothy Spall) and an undeveloped Voldemort, sees the first time the dreaded killing curse is used, and therefore sets the tone. It's also bookmarked by a thrilling climax in which (spoilers!) Voldemort finally returns in the form of a noseless Ralph Fiennes, who puts in a suitably creepy performance. It doesn't beat Azkaban as the series best entry, it's far too long and sometimes rushed for that, but it's certainly the most entertaining.
With Chris Columbus abdicating at the sight of dark material, the Harry Potter was gratefully gobbled up by Alfonso Cuaron, a director having only at that point turned heads with the incredibly sexy Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001). This is a vastly different Potter to that which came before. When his dead parents are insulted by an obnoxious aunt (Pam Ferris), Harry blows her out of the window, kicking his bedroom cupboard in a rage. There's no plinky-plonky music or pie-in-the-face sight gags, and when Harry steps outside of his house, the streets are grey and grim, not a cosy suburban horror show.
After fleeing another run-in with the Dursleys, Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) hops on the Knight Bus, which takes him to the Leaky Cauldron where he is to learn his fate having used magic outside of Hogwarts. Best friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) are there waiting for him, when they all learn that convicted serial killer Sirius Black (Gary Oldman) has escaped from notorious prison Azkaban, possibly with Harry in his sights. With the ghostly guardians of Azkaban, the Dementors, surrounding Hogwarts in search of Black, Harry finds his own life in danger, and seeks help from new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and friend of his parents, Professor Lupin (David Thewlis).
With Columbus's kid-friendly approach ditched and Cuaron's more focused direction, the franchise at this point could finally be taken seriously, with real threats finally entering Harry's life, and the trio's characters hitting puberty and becoming more feisty in the process. Cuaron also wisely adapted the book, rather than simply filming the pages, and this is noticeably shorter than it's predecessors despite being the biggest book at this point. Hermione is less precocious, Ron is less gurny, and Daniel Radcliffe finally puts in a decent performance. He isn't perfect, but there's a delightful eccentricity to the actor's mannerisms which make him endearing to watch.
Apart from a climax that makes as little sense as it does in the novel, the story is also more gripping. We finally see Harry's past intertwine with his present, with revelations coming out of the woodwork, and Harry finally starting to learn more about his parents. There's also some genuinely frightening scenes, including the Dementors - hooded, faceless ghouls - and a scene involving a certain character's dangerous affliction. In Cuaron's hands, Harry Potter is genuinely magic, funny when it should be, dark when it needs to be, and it's rather disappointing he didn't go on to direct more of them.
Director Chris Columbus, responsible for popular cuddly, family-friendly movies such as Home Alone (1990) and Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), here makes his second, and thankfully last, entry into the Harry Potter franchise. The series needed to go way darker after Chamber of Secrets, and did, and this film marked the ending of the bright, and non-threatening, adventures for Harry and co. It's also the last time Potter the film so painstakingly stuck to Harry the book, and here everything that should have been cut in fact remains. Due to this, and the exhausting running time, Chamber of Secrets is the worst of all 8 films.
Still stuck with his horrible adoptive parents (Richard Griffiths and Fiona Shaw) for the summer while he awaits another year at his beloved Hogwarts, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) is visited by house-elf Dobby (voiced by Toby Jones), who warns him that he must not return to the school of wizardry this year. He finds his efforts to catch the Hogwarts Express scuppered, and instead must travel by flying car with his daft friend Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint). When he does arrive, students begin to turn up petrified (literally), with whispers of the mythical Chamber of Secrets being re-opened and unleashing a terrifying monster into the school.
While the first film needed to spend time on developing the world that J.K. Rowling so beautifully imagined and the colourful characters who inhabit it, Chamber of Secrets has no such baggage. Yet Columbus, along with screenwriter Steve Kloves, have done little other than simply film the images millions of fans already have imprinted in their mind. We seem to slog through every second of Harry's second year at Hogwarts, with little thought having been given to the humour and charm that seemed to spatter every paragraph in the engrossing novels.
Instead, we get special-effects aplenty, with long periods dedicated to a flying car with a mind of it's own, some hungry spiders in the forest, and a Quidditch match that does little that the first film didn't do already. Rowling's books are so recognisably British, with old eccentrics who all seem to have Monty Python-silly senses of humour, and that feeling of the characters all sitting near a comforting roaring fire. Even though Columbus have upheld Rowling's demand for an all-British cast, everything in the film seems fat and Americanised, all CGI and no heart, so far removed from Britain that I almost expected Steve Martin or Robin Williams to walk in.
There are a few saving graces, namely the stellar cast of adults, all returning from the first film. It also introduces Kenneth Branagh as celebrity wizard and new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Gilderoy Lockhart, and Jason Isaacs as the father of Harry's arch-nemesis Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton). They chew on their scenes, helping save the still-struggling Radcliffe and Emma Watson (who would get better as the films progressed). It also marked the sad passing of Richard Harris, here appearing for the final time as Dumbeldore, before being replaced by Michael Gambon in the role. But a few decent performances cannot save this bloated, sickly film from feeling stretched and an hour too long.
With billions upon billions of pounds in revenue generated from book sales, film adaptations and all other mediums, and with the hysteria surrounding the series now all but gone, it seemed the perfect time to re-visit the Harry Potter film franchise. I'll state outright that I'm a fan of the books: they are hardly ground-breaking pieces of literature, but they are a meticulously crafted and widely imaginative set of novels, maturing with it's progression and with the age of it's characters and readers. The movie adaptations were consistently average, fiercely loyal to J.K. Rowling's prose but always somewhat lacking in substance.
Shut away in the cupboard under the stairs by his adoptive parents (Richard Griffiths and Fiona Shaw), 11 year-old Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) lives an unhappy life. But there's something different about him, as he learns when he talks to a snake at a zoo and makes the protective glass disappear, causing his vile cousin Dudley Dursley (Harry Melling) to fall into the tank. His life changes when he is invited to enroll at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The invitations are burned by the Dursleys, and they go to great lengths to stop him going to a place that will teach him magic, until he is rescued by a hairy giant named Reubus Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane).
When introduced into the magical world with Hagrid, Harry learns that he is famous. His parents were killed by an evil wizard named Lord Voldemort (generally referred to as You-Know-Who), but Harry survived the attack, seemingly killing Voldemort and inflicting Harry with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. When he gets to Hogwarts, he is befriended by the bumbling Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) and the precocious Hermione Granger (Emma Watson), and the three are quickly embroiled in a plot involving murdered unicorns, a mysterious artefact known as the philosopher's stone, and a giant three-headed dog.
Philosopher's Stone is almost defiantly faithful to the books. Sure, lines are altered here, and minor characters are snipped out there, but this is as close as literally 'bringing a book to life' gets. Yet while this works in it's favour in terms of visualising Rowling's creations, it doesn't even try to develop any ideas of it's own that would have only worked in a visual medium. Much of Rowling's silly and charming sense of humour is lost in simply filming whatever happens on the pages. One of the main criticism's I have for the books is that a lot of the major characters are little more than archetypes, so a lot rested on the three young leads' shoulders in making us interested enough to stick with them.
Sadly, two of the three fall rather flat, with only the gurning and hang-dog Rupert Grint showing a natural gift for appearing on the big screen. Potter is a simple enough character anyway, at least he is at this point of the story, shy, naive but brave, but Radcliffe gives an incredibly one-note performance, encapsulated in the scene in which he discovers he can perform magic. "I'm a... wizard?" he says, lacking anything resembling a facial expression. Watson also struggles to bring much likeability to her self-satisfied bookworm, her eyebrows constantly rising and falling as she struggles to perform her lines with any conviction.
For the rest of the cast, director Chris Columbus has rounded up a smorgasbord of British and Irish talent, a collection of well-trained thespians who steal the entire film from it's leads. Richard Harris plays Professor Dumbledore, Hogwarts' headmaster, Maggie Smith is Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor, the house Harry is chosen for, Alan Rickman is Professor Snape, Harry's greasy-haired Potions teacher, and John Hurt makes a small appearance as a wand-maker. Coltrane probably steals the film as the beast-loving grounds-keeper Hagrid. It's an amazing line-up that would consistently grow both in talent and in numbers as the films progressed.
Ultimately, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone is a success, weaving an interesting enough story about the possible return of the dark lord Voldemort, with Harry's wide-eyed introduction to the world of hocus pocus. John Williams' Oscar-nominated and now widely recognisable score captures some of the giddy movie magic of early Spielberg, and the attention to detail is often remarkable. But like the book, it ultimately suffers from being too kid-friendly, spoon-feeding lessons in morality without giving much for adults to chew on. It's little more than a well-told children's story, something that would change as the novels became darker and more complex, but at this point, it's a gentle introduction to a captivating world.
Those who turn their nose up at the thought of another fussily-filmed, wildly colourful journey into the world and mind of Wes Anderson, will no doubt detest his latest, and arguably most perfect work, The Grand Budapest Hotel. His work is criticised by his haters for being too meticulously structured, his camera limited to sideways and occasionally upwards movements, festooned with bold colours, always leading to that dreaded, overused word - 'quirky'. Yet this is a world a sly wit, of characters so ridiculous and charming that you could wish they would replace the monotonous bores that litter our reality, and one in which Bill Murray is omnipresent.
In the pink, mountainous haven of the picturesque, fictitious European country of Zubrowka, sits the Grand Budapest Hotel. In it's heyday, the hotel was meticulously managed by Monsieur Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes), a charismatic, perfume-wearing horndog, who knew all about what his guests wanted before they even knew they wanted it. On the day that one of his elderly conquests, Madame D. (Tilda Swinton), leaves the hotel, he meets new lobby boy Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori), and immediately begins to groom him as his possible successor. When he hears of Madame D's death, Gustave and Zero travel to her mansion to hear the reading of her will.
She leaves Gustave a piece of priceless art, something heavily resented by Madame's two evil, leather-jacketed sons, Dmitri (Adrien Brody) and Jopling (Willem Dafoe), who don't wish to see this lecherous lothario receive a dime. Sensing trouble, Gustave and Zero steal the painting, replace it with some kind of grotesque lesbian erotica, and flee. This sets in motion a series of farcical events involving a prison escape, an apologetic police officer named Henckels (Edward Norton), a missing butler, and the rise of fascism. All of this is told by an ageing Zero (F. Murray Abraham) to a curious writer credited only as 'The Author' (Jude Law).
What it all about, you ask? Possibly nothing. This could all be just a splurge of the director's imagination, or a hark back to the grand eccentrics of the olden days. It could be about the state of Europe between the two World Wars, with the Grand Budapest Hotel a multi-national asylum for all of the continent's misfits. But the setting simply seems too fitting for it's comedic approach for it to be labelled with any kind of 'war' or 'period' label, with bursts of slapstick and comedy-of-manners worthy of Lubitsch, punctured by ridiculous exclamations from it's hyperactive concierge. When he hears about an enemy's dastardly plan, he responds "the fuckers!".
So, I don't quite know what it's all about. What I do know is that I loved every second of watching it's ludicrous story play out, anchored by an outstanding performance by Fiennes. He may seem an odd choice for an Anderson film, whose films are usually littered with the likes of Jason Schwartzman, Owen Wilson, and Bill Murray (all of whom appear here), but his Gustave is Anderson's greatest creation, brought fearlessly and completely to life by Fiennes. He's certainly no spring chicken, but he's a strange delight to spend 100 minutes with. And that's really how I felt about the entire experience, it was certainly strange, but utterly delightful.
After 2011's The Raid, in which a plot of blissful simplicity plays out in completely barbaric fashion as hordes of sharp instrument-wielding criminals go head-to-head with a small group of mainly inexperienced cops in what was one of the most thrilling action experiences I've ever witnessed, Welsh director Gareth Evans attempts to answer his fans question of just how he could possibly top that with it's sequel, The Raid 2. While The Raid was just over 90 minutes of heart-pumping, wince-inducing entertainment, it's sequel attempts to actually develop a plot.
Starting just a few hours after the events of the first film, Rama (Iko Uwais), strikes a deal with Bunawar (Cok Simbara), the leader of an anti-corruption task force, to infiltrate the criminal gangs overrunning the city. After assaulting the son of a politician who opposed the family of crime-lord Bangun (Tio Pakusodewo), Rama is sent to prison, where Bangun's unpredictable and ambitious son Uco (Arifin Putra) is currently serving time. Rama saves Uco's life in a prison riot and earns his trust, so when he is released, Rama goes to work for Bangun as an enforcer. But with Uco growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of opportunities given to him by his father, he is drawn into a plot with Bejo (Alex Abbad), another criminal, to set up a war between the two rival families and prosper from the chaos.
Like many Asian mob movies, The Raid 2 is littered with scenes in which indistinguishable overlords talk in dark rooms, talking in riddles and beating round the bush in scenes of heavy exposition that do little but over-complicate what is a rather simple plot. The film is confusing when it really shouldn't be, concentrating more on atmosphere rather than just getting to the point and letting the movie play out. It leads to a pretty exhausting 150-minute running time, and makes us wait a long, long time before unleashing a wholly satisfying, 45 minute blood-stained climax.
If you thought the fight scenes in the first film were brutal, then Evans unleashes a whole new world of painful deaths and maiming. It's also more cartoonish, introducing a female assassin who carries two hammers, and another who seems to know every possible way you can bash a man's head in with a baseball bat. CGI blood is everywhere, and also facial burns, shattered jaws, and protruding bones. Evans also gives us his first attempt at a car chase, and it instantly becomes one of the greatest chases ever. He has a real gift for violence, and it's actually quite unnerving just how much enjoyment I got out of watching the mayhem unravel. Although it struggles to tell an interesting story, especially with Rama going AWOL for large chunks of the film, there is really nothing else like it out there.
Shane Meadows' This is England, like the title suggests, is a bare-knuckled, fearlessly honest depiction of England. This isn't any old England, but Thatcher's angry, graffiti-ridden, skinheaded England, a time of needless war, poverty, and, key to the film, racial intolerance. Meadows' loosely autobiographical film lays it's anger out for all to see from the off, as the camera lingers on a council-estate wall scrawled with 'Maggie is a twat'. But there's humour here also, and heart.
We witness the majority of the film through the eyes of Shaun Fields (Thomas Turgoose - his character's name a thinly-disguised spin on that of the director's), a ragged, bullied loner, who lives alone with his mother after his father is killed in the Falklands. Walking home one evening from school, he is pitied by Woody (Joseph Gilgun), a Dr. Martens-wearing skinhead who, along with his friends, enjoys some harmless vandalism taken out on derelict properties. Woody takes him under his wing, even buying him a Ben Sherman and braces, and shaving his head. His mum doesn't approve, but at least he's being looked after. All is rosy until Woody's old friend Combo (Stephen Graham) is released from prison.
His time in prison taught Combo that England is no longer what it once was, and is now overrun by immigrants taking away jobs from honest folk like himself and his bare-chested, meat-head friend Banjo (George Newton). He draws a line for Woody's gang - those who want to join him on his crusade to help restore England to it's glory days, and those who don't. Woody quickly points out that Combo is out of line, especially in the presence of his Jamaican friend Milky (Andrew Shim). But when Woody leaves, Shaun stays, and is sucked in by Combo's charisma, attending right-wing rallies in countryside pubs and smashing up the local shop owned by a Pakistani man.
Like Elem Klimov's Come and See (1985), the child protagonist does the remarkable thing of ageing throughout. Not a physical transformation like Florya, but in presence. He evolves effortlessly from a boy whining at his mum in a shoe shop for not buying him a pair of Dr. Martens, to a foul-mouthed, brainless thug gobbling up everything that is fed to him by those around him. Meadows makes it clear that there are two types of skin-heads - those who embrace the style and image influenced by black music such as ska, and those bigoted, entitled types, channelling anger simply because it's there. Combo is obviously the second kind, but he has own dimensions too.
Stephen Graham's performance is spectacular and genuinely terrifying. Anyone who has grown up in England will know the type; the type thankfully I've only ever come across when they get on a train and quickly draw attention to themselves. His words fly like scouse venom, his every line punctured by a swear word. But his protection of Shaun and his occasional child-like vulnerability means that there's sympathy to be given somewhere. Like all great child performances, Turgoose remains a child throughout, avoiding precociousness even in his most emotional scenes. And it's 12 year-old Shaun that remains the film's anchor, our wide-eyed window into innocence manipulated.
Like Michael Fassbender's character in Steve McQueen's excellent Shame (2011), Joseph Gordon-Levitt slick-haired, gym-obsessed meat head Jon spends his entire life thinking about the thing dangling between his legs. Yet where Fassbender in Shame was hooked on discreet and loveless meetings of the flesh, Jon's passion lies in indulging in a different, yet equally soulless, activity - a key modern First World problem - internet porn. It's a racy subject for what is, narratively-speaking, ultimately a traditional rom-com, yet Gordon-Levitt, here directing for the first time, manages to pull off the trick of being both sweet and provocative, regardless of it's many flaws.
Jon has a few simple passions in life - his car, his girls, his pad, his family, and his church. Yet none of those can eclipse the wonder of losing himself on the easily accessible world of pixelated pleasure. He goes out with his douchebag friends to clubs and rates women out of ten - ten's being 'a dime'. He regularly bags 8's and 9's and takes them back to his place for what he sees as dull, awkward sex, and can't resist a midnight liaison with his laptop as his weekend prize sleeps in his bed. When he finally meets a dime that steals his heart, Barbara (Scarlett Johansson on impressive form), he vows to change his ways and goes back to school, focusing all his attention on her. Yet regardless of how happy he is, Jon just can't resist having cyber-sex with his computer.
Don Jon asks a lot of its audience in that Jon is your atypical boring, conservative narcissist, one of those bronzed 'cheeky' chappies who manage to smile their way out of being an arsehole. He redeems himself somewhat by genuinely trying to change for the better, as Barbara's high-maintenance girlfriend demands total dedication. He also redeems himself in the eyes of the Lord (or so he thinks), by frequently going to confession and vocalising his Hail Mary's while pumping iron. I can certainly appreciate Gordon-Levitt's attempt to subvert the cliches of the genre (Jon and Barbara go to see a ridiculously sentimental rom-com starring Channing Tatum and Anne Hathaway), but it does makes the plight and arc of its protagonist somewhat less sympathetic.
Suspension of belief is also required, as Jon meets a lonely older lady (Julianne Moore) who teaches him the way of true love and real emotion. It's a sentiment worthy of the countless soppy money-machines it's gently mocking, and leads to an ending so abrupt, it feels like Gordon-Levitt was scratching his head when thinking about how to give closure to the story. Yet Don Jon is often very entertaining, featuring a supremely confident performance by it's lead, and one of Johansson's best roles to date. Gordon-Levitt could be an interesting director in the future, as although Don Jon features many rookie hiccups and some chaffing dialogue, it at least shows he's in no way deterred at the thought of a difficult topic.
Dedicated to his father, Nil by Mouth is clearly autobiographical, or at least based on Oldman's experiences growing up in a council flat in South East London. Focusing essentially on three main characters - Ray (Ray Winstone), a booze-addled, violent abuser, Valerie (Kathy Burke), his bullied and terrorised wife, and Valerie's brother Billy (Charlie Creed-Miles), a young heroin-addict relying on his mother Janet (Laila Morse) to fund his habit - the film doesn't really tell a clear-cut story, but instead immerses you in it's environment. Dialogue is fast, naturalistic and often hard to follow, and long scenes often do little other than force you to listen to these people's everyday ramblings.
