Not to be confused with Quentin Tarantino's deliberately misspelt men-on-a-mission movie Inglourious Basterds from 2009, Italian director Enzo G. Castellari's correctly spelt The Inglorious Bastards from 1978 is pure exploitation, featuring a number of familiar faces from the genre and plenty of humour, explosions and dick-measuring to appease fans. The World War II setting is almost an afterthought, merely an excuse to round up a collection of colourful characters in one setting and provide an endless roster of faceless bad guys to be blown away without the need of explanation. The Inglorious Bastards is one of the most fun B-movies around, boasting some impressively staged action in spite of its obvious budget constraints.
Taking its cue from The Dirty Dozen, our heroes are a rag-tag bunch of rebel soldiers whose crimes include everything from theft and desertion to murder and mutiny. They are transported to a camp near the Ardennes in France where they are to be executed, but their vehicle is soon attacked by German bombers and only a handful escape with their lives. These include Canfield (Fred Williamson), Tony (Peter Hooten), Nick (Michael Pergolani), Berle (Jackie Basehart), and the proud Lt. Yeager (Bo Svenson), who attempt to put aside their differences to make it through hostile territory to the safety of Switzerland. They may be roughnecks but they are still ready and willing to fight, proving themselves efficient at it when they tear through various bands of Nazis along the way. After they accidentally gun down a squad of Americans dressed as German troops, the bastards have no choice but to complete the fallen soldiers' mission to steal a weapon from an armoured train.
Barely ten minutes go by without a slice of action, making Castellari's movie one of the most fast-paced examples of the genre. Of course, its bloodless and mostly without any real consequence, with many of the actors firing their guns into the ground, but it's fun and exciting nonetheless. If you're looking for historical accuracy or realistic warfare then this isn't the movie for you, but if you appreciate over-the-top exploitation with a sense of humour and an overbearing sense of machismo, then there is plenty to enjoy here. Williamson and Svenson get most of the screen time, with Williamson clearly enjoying being the only black face in a relatively all-white war, but supporting players Hooten and Pergolani are most impressive as two of the most ethically-questionable members of this strained band of brothers. It isn't difficult to see why Tarantino swiped the name for his own project (even though the two films share little in common), as The Inglorious Bastards is just as entertaining as its title would suggest.
In the years Ryan Reynolds spent trying to persuade 20th Century Fox to greenlight a Deadpool movie since the abomination that was the character's first big-screen appearance in X-Men Origins: Wolverine in 2009, nobody quite expected the reception it would eventually receive once the 'Merc with a Mouth' was finally unleashed onto unsuspecting audiences. Least of all Fox executives, who only gave it the go-ahead when footage was leaked onto the internet and fans went crazy. When 2016's Deadpool raked in over $700 million and became the highest-grossing R-rated film of all time, the suits were soon rubbing their hands together and dreaming up a sequel. Creative differences led to original director Tim Miller departing, and in stepped John Wick co-director David Leitch, with Reynolds also receiving a writing credit for the follow-up.
After a marketing campaign that was even more meta than before and teases of comic-book favourites gracing the big-screen for the first time, Deadpool 2 arrives with high expectations, not only to deliver on the comedy side, but to further subvert a genre that now seems to dominate the big release dates each year, with Marvel alone delivering three features a year. So does the sequel improve on the first? Not really. Although Deadpool 2 increases the violence, cursing and fourth-wall breaks, there's a slight whiff of corporate tampering to the final product. The Merc's first solo outfit loosely hung itself around the faintest of plots, with time jumps switching between Wade Wilson's journey from simple mercenary to cancer-ridden super anti-hero, and his quest for revenge against the man who took pleasure in torturing him over a lengthy period of time. The low-budget, guerrilla-esque approach was all part of its charm, and the role fit Reynolds' smirking sense of humour like a glove.
Deadpool 2 received a much higher budget and allowed for even more creative freedom for the writers, but in doing so has lost some of what made the original so refreshing and punkish. The story involves time-travelling cyborg Cable (John Brolin), who journeys back to our time to assassinate a young mutant (played by Julian Dennison) before he can grow up to become the monster responsible for murdering his family. Deadpool, who is still being courted by the X-Men and recovering from his own personal tragedy, takes it upon himself to protect the boy, who he feels can be saved and turned away from his fate. Along with old pals Colossus (Stefan Kapicic), Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand), Weasel (T.J. Miller) and Blind Al (Leslie Uggams), Deadpool puts together a team he dubs 'X-Force' to help him take down such a formidable foe. Can our hero overcome this seemingly unstoppable man-machine with a gun whose power turns all the way up to 11? And more importantly, is dubstep still a thing in the future?
There is far more story to sink your teeth into this time around, and there are unexpected emotional beats for a character who is essentially a pop culture joke machine. But as it goes with most sequels, bigger rarely means better, and Deadpool 2 ends up becoming the type of film it's supposed to be making fun of. There is plenty of action but there is a weightlessness to it, which wouldn't be a problem if the director wasn't at least half responsible for the crunching physicality of John Wick. That said, Reynolds and fellow writers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick keep the laughs coming thick and fast, whether it be Reynolds' wink-winking at the camera or the gross-out physical comedy, with Brolin proving to be the perfect straight-man to Reynolds' blabbermouth. One particularly memorable scene had me crying, despite it ultimately being a rip-off of another movie I won't mention for fear of spoilers. Movie-goers may be divided but comic enthusiasts will appreciate the service they receive, with countless Easter Eggs and in-jokes to spot, as well as the inclusion of the likes of Shatterstar (Lewis Tan), a rather goofy hero that nobody ever believed would make it onto the big screen. Reynolds can rest on his nest egg for at least another film.
It's been five years since Idris Elba's brilliantly-named Stacker Pentecost cancelled the apocalypse in Guillermo del Toro's ultimately disappointing Pacific Rim. The 2013 film promised giant robots vs. Kaiju from one of the most visually arresting directors in the business and certainly delivered on that front, only it was spattered amidst an unnecessary convoluted mythology, questionable comic relief, and dull-as-cardboard characters played by equally dull actors. It barely registered domestically, but managed to quadruple its takings overseas, performing well in China especially. This, it would seem, is enough to justify a sequel not many were crying out for. Pacific Rim: Uprising also comes with extra baggage, with del Toro stepping aside for Steven S. DeKnight, who is perhaps best known for his TV work Spartacus and Daredevil. Ten years have passed since Pentecost closed the inter-dimensional breach joining out world to that of the Kaiju. Many of the big cities still lie in ruin, and the landscape is littered with the skeletons of huge perished monsters. Pentecost's son Jake (John Boyega) feels more at home stealing Jaeger parts and selling them on the black market, as opposed to following in his hero father's footsteps. An encounter with Amara Namani (Cailee Spaeny), a young Jaeger enthusiast who illegally constructs smaller, but highly functional, Jaegers of her own, leads Jake back to the military base he was kicked out of years ago. After a talking to by his sister Mako (Rinko Kikuchi), Jake is eventually talked into helping train young pilots by his old friend/rival Nate Lambert (Scott Eastwood), just in time for the shady Shao Corporation's announcement that they have created a fleet of self-operating Jaegers. Naturally, this anger the pilots, and even more so when one of the new robots starts attacking Sydney. Uprising predictably falls into the sequel trap of making everything bigger but not necessarily better. While it doesn't shroud all of the action in night like the original, there's a sluggishness to the smack-downs that lack of heft of del Toro's hand. It's essentially a mash-up of Star Wars, X-Men: First Class and Transformers: The Last Knight, almost like a corporate hand has plucked out elements from more successful franchises in the hope that China will still lap it up and fail to notice the similarities. Del Toro's film was far from perfect, but it still had an auteur's touch, laying out a tangible and colourful world full of the director's quirks. Here the characters exist in a collection of post-apocalyptic cliches, not helped by a script (credited to four screenwriters) that fails to inject any sort of urgency to the story or dramatic weight to the characters. Boyega is always great, but after his success with Star Wars and impressive turn in Detroit, he really should be seeking out roles that will allow him to flex his acting muscles. It ends with a scene pleading for another sequel, but much like the recent Independence Day sequel, which closed with the same hopeful promise, I doubt any fan petitions will be started anytime soon. Directed by: Steven S. DeKnight Starring: John Boyega, Scott Eastwood, Cailee Spaeny, Burn Gorman, Charlie Day, Tian Jing, Rinko Kikuchi Country: USA/China/UK Rating: ** Tom Gillespie
Although Western involvement in the Vietnam War ultimately drew to a close over 40 years ago, the spectre of the bloody, brutal and still divisive conflict still looms over the U.S. and the country's current involvement in foreign affairs. The title of Peter Davis' highly affecting documentary is taken from a quote by then-President Lyndon B. Johnson: "the ultimate victory will depend on the hearts and minds of the people who actually live out there." The film opens with archive footage of this speech, and proceeds to show a country eventually devastated by napalm, Agent Orange and an assortment of other weapons designed to inflict maximum damage. The people became an afterthought in the quest to distinguish the 'Commie threat'. Hearts and Minds is blatant propaganda, but its raw power is undeniable.
The film had a difficult road to winning the Best Documentary prize at the 1974 Academy Awards, namely due to Columbia Pictures withdrawing their desire to distribute the feature after one of the interviewees, former National Security Advisor Walt Rostow, claimed that his participation had been misrepresented and his words taken out of context. The producers eventually purchased back the rights to the film, and ran it for just one week in theatres (the minimum time required to be eligible for awards season). It's legacy understandably invites mixed responses, with many criticising the one-sidedness of the film's views, the clever film-making techniques, and the lack of context given to those who may defend U.S. involvement in Vietnam, or be actively in favour of it. This is particularly noticeable when documenting former POW George Coker's return to his home country, where his vocal disdain for the Vietnamese race is documented without taking into account the terrible treatment he no doubt suffered at their hands.
Davis clearly has an agenda, and uses propaganda tools to make his point. The most powerful of which is the rather sickening view of General William Westmoreland that life on the Orient is cheap, while images of a grieving wife attempting to throw herself onto her dead husband's coffin are juxtaposed with the interview. Soldiers who went into the war with a hatred for the enemy they didn't know soon lost their hunger and started to question their involvement, especially after seeing many of their comrades lose their lives and the grisly effects their chemical weapons were inflicting on innocent children. Hearts and Minds succeeds in capturing the turning point in the war for the people at home in the U.S., when attitudes started to shift as it became clear their government didn't have a clue how to win it and the pro-peace movement erupted across the country. The archive images pack incredible power, and the interviews with veterans are undeniably moving, especially when the camera reveals the lasting effects the conflict has had on them. This is documentary film-making at its most complex and admittedly biased, but regardless of your opinion going into the picture, it will certainly leave you questioning events and wondering if any lessons have been learnt.
The status of The Godfather and The Godfather Part II as two of the greatest movies ever made meant that Part III, made 16 years after the previous instalment, was always going to be in for a rough ride if it turned out to be anything other than perfection. Of course, it wasn't, and the film has since been considered as something of the deformed runt of the litter ever since. 28 years have now passed since director Francis Ford Coppola and writer Mario Puzo drew the curtains on the Corleone family legacy, which is ample time to set aside the anger and frustration generated after the original viewing and reevaluate it objectively. Is it anything near as bad as the film's reputation would suggest? No, not at all.
The story picks up in 1979, with Don Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) seeking legitimacy for his family business and moving out of the murky criminal underworld he has spent most of his adult life dwelling in. To do this, he strikes a deal with Archbishop Gilday (Donal Donnelly) to pay off his astronomic debt in exchange for shares in an international real estate company, making him the largest shareholder as a result. Meanwhile, the bastard son of Michael's brother Sonny, Vincent Mancini (Andy Garcia), has returned home to offer his services, and to justify his beef with the ambitious boss of the Corleone's New York operations, Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna). Michael agrees to take the young hot-head under his wing, but Vincent starts to develop feelings for his cousin - and Michael's daughter - Mary (Sofia Coppola).
Many of the complaints aimed at the film usually involve the overly bleak tone, a confusing and slow-moving plot, and the performance of Sofia Coppola, and these are all completely justified. Coppola and Puzo's decision to move the main action away from the mob's dirty dealings and their individual attempts to grab power to rambling conversations and business speak with the Catholic Church understandably isolated a huge chunk of the core fan-base. An already-dull story isn't helped when it's difficult to grasp exactly what's going on. And Sofia Coppola really is terrible. Her decision to make the switch from actor to director was the best decision she could have made, and we've had the pleasures of The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation as a result. Her relationship with Vincent is key to the movie's themes, but their scenes play out in spectacularly bland fashion.
Yet there is still plenty to savour in The Godfather Part III. Where it fails in the quieter moments to make its central story involving corruption within the Church remotely engaging, the set-pieces are still immaculately crafted, something of a Godfather staple. The climax gradually builds the tension to an unbearable level, and there's a nice moment during a crowded street festival involving Vincent and Joey. There's also the other performances, with Pacino delivering one of finest of his career, and Talia Shire and Diane Keaton injecting real emotion in their roles of sister and ex-wife, respectively. This is Michael at his most guilt-ridden and tortured, as he reflects on a life built on the blood of others during his savage quest for power, including of course, his own brother Fredo. Pacino really excels here, as he portrays a man distracted by melancholia and seeking any kind of redemption for his past actions. This will always be the unwanted stepchild of The Godfather trilogy, but go into it with an open mind and you may find that it's much better than you remembered.
Shortly after he wowed cinema-going audiences with his independent debut feature Moon back in 2009, director Duncan Jones talked about his next project, a 'spiritual sequel' to his breakthrough film about a mute man searching for his lost love. Of course, this didn't exactly go to plan, as he followed Moon with the entertaining Source Code in 2011 and big-budget misfire Warcraft: The Beginning in 2016. Jones' stock had fallen, but strength of his debut meant that his next film would always invite interest. After years trying to get his idea onto the screen, Mute finally arrives on Netflix, the kind of platform that would allow Jones to follow through on his unique ideas without the pressure of having to please an audience who had just coughed up £10 to see the film.
The result is a bigger disappointment than Warcraft, mainly because his 2016 effort already had the video-game adaptation stigma attached to it so expectations were understandably reserved. Mute is strange, but not in a good way. It spends over 2 hours telling two loosely connected stories which, when they finally cross over, will no doubt inspire "is that it?" reactions for those who try to remain patient with it. The film starts with an accident involving a young boy in the water. His Amish parents refuse to have the surgery that would allow him to speak, so the boy, named Leo, grows up physically scarred and unable to speak. Unfortunately for him, the technology of the future relies heavily on voice commands, so the imposing lug (played by Alexander Skarsgard) finds it difficult to connect to other people and his surroundings, all except his girlfriend, the beautiful and blue-haired Naadirah (Seyneb Saleh).
A lot of time is spent developing their relationship as one of tenderness and genuine affection, but it is clear that Naadirah has a secret. This is the kind of the film where a character says "I love you, but you don't know me," and keeps a straight face. One night, Leo shows up at the Berlin nightclub in which they both work, only to find her missing. Fearing the worst, the hulking mute sets about uncovering the truth for himself, encountering sleazy brothels and dangerous gangsters along with way. Meanwhile, disgraced American surgeon 'Cactus' Bill (Paul Rudd) runs a black market clinic for the criminal underworld, as he waits for the arrival of forged documents that will allow him and his young daughter to leave Germany. The shifty Bill, a melting pot of anger, bitterness and shame, clearly has something to hide, and so does his creepy friend Duck (Justin Theroux). Could it be related to Naddirah's disappearance?
One of Mute's main issues is that it takes a hell of a long time to get going, taking a whole hour to reveal where it's taking you, and by which point you'll have likely lost interest. The stories of Leo's quest to find Naddirah and the illegal shenanigans of Bill and Duck feel like they belong in two completely different movies, with the tones differing so significantly that it disrupts the film's flow and atmosphere. Rudd, as a sort of evil version of his moustachioed Brian Fantana character from Anchorman, feels miscast at first before settling down and eventually stealing the film. The biggest disappointment of all is the sense of the world-building. This is a longtime passion project for Jones and the idea has likely lingered in his mind for years, but the world he has created feels shockingly hollow. It feels like a half-arsed attempt to replicate Blade Runner, but it's really put to shame by last year's sequel to Ridley Scott's 1982 masterpiece, and the visuals are so unengaging that they hinder the plot rather than moving it forward. There is a hint of a good movie buried in there somewhere, so this is precisely why I'll still go into Jones' next movie with high hopes.
Tigon was a small British production company active between the late 1960s and late 1970s, responsible for such gems as Witchfinder General, The Blood on Satan's Claw and The Creeping Flesh. Tigon only lasted a few years, struggling to compete with the likes of Hammer and Amicus in a time when both the domestic and overseas markets were saturated with low-budget British horror flicks. They left their mark nonetheless, and there are some gems to be uncovered in their not-so-extensive back catalogue. Sadly, Virgin Witch isn't one of them, although there is a time-capsule charm to this silly and bloodless tale of virgins, witches and 70's fashion.
After a long hitch-hike, sisters Christine and Betty (played by real-life siblings Ann and Vicki Michelle) arrive in the big city hoping to make it in the modelling world. Betty is busy being courted by Johnny (Keith Buckley), but Christine responds to a magazine ad, leading to her to a photo shoot operated by predatory lesbian Sybil Waite (Patricia Haines). Impressed by the young girl's perfect measurements and pretty face, Sybil invites Christine to a remote house in the country for a weekend shoot. Taking her sister along, Christine quickly proves a hit with handsome photographer Peter (James Chase), as well as owner of the house Gerald Amberley (Neil Hallett). But the modelling job is simply a ploy to bring Christine into a coven of 'white wizards', of which the increasingly jealous Sybil is high priestess.
The early 70's is well known to have been free-spirited, but I struggle to remember a film so eager to cram as much naked flesh into the frame as possible. Starting with the image of bare breasts over the very title, Virgin Witch, as a slice of erotica, blows its wad far too early. There's full-frontal nudity at every turn, and even when the characters are fully clothed their shirts are unbuttoned to the navel. It starts out humorous but gets old very quickly, and if boobs are what you came for, you'll struggle to remain titillated for long. What we're left with is a plodding series of melodramatics and oiled-up initiation ceremonies, held together by a supporting cast a yokel stereotypes. When Christine quickly figures out the coven's plot and insists on becoming a member, it appears that the film is heading in an interesting direction, before falling back into dreary, more predictable territory. Worst of all, Virgin Witch is plain boring, and I'm a sucker for low-budget occult nonsense.
Russ Meyer's keen eye for satire is in full swing in Mudhoney, one of the cult filmmaker's best films, as he explores the extremities on both sides of a topic he spent most of his career pondering and exploiting. Set in the one-horse town of Spooner, Missouri during the Great Depression, its inhabitants seem to spend their time between either a farm owned by kind and respectable old man Lute Wade (Stuart Lancaster) and the local brothel ran by a toothless, moonshine-brewing madame who "ain't turned a trick in fifteen years." Mudhoney bears comparison with Meyer's Lorna, made just the year before, in the way it explores themes of sexuality in an unconventional, and perhaps controversial, manner. Both films also starred Meyer favourite Lorna Maitland.
While making the journey from Michigan to California in search of work, drifter and ex-jailbird Calif McKinney (John Furlong) is approached by Eula (Rena Horten), a buxom deaf-mute girl who takes an immediate liking to the handsome young man. It is suggested Calif travels to Wade's farm to seek out a job, and seeing the ex-con's genuine desire to turn his life around, the old man employs him as an extra hand to help out around the place. Calif also meets Wade's niece Hannah (Antoinette Cristiani) and almost instantly falls in love with her. Hannah is beautiful and kind, but also emotionally beaten down by her monstrous husband and town drunk Sidney Brenshaw (Hal Hopper), who fills his time at the local brothel swigging corn-liquor, when he isn't harassing the town's female occupants with his lecherous behaviour.
Sidney is central to the film's concerns. Dressed in a dirty old suit and cowboy hat, licking his thin lips as he arrives home drunk to rape his poor wife, he is borderline comical in his monstrosity, and Hopper is fantastic in the role. His two stomping grounds - the dingy brothel and the farm he calls home - are two sides of the same coin. One represents sexual freedom, a place a man can get his rocks off without fear of judgement, and the other a breeding ground for violence, born out of Sidney's lust to gratify all of his sexual desires and prove his manhood. The town, which has little to no law and order, shows the risks of unchecked human behaviour. It ends with a lynching, and although there's no suggestion of racial tension, Mudhoney captures how resentment and anger can grow out of loneliness, resentment and sheer boredom, where one angry word from a man in a position of authority can quickly turn into a lynch mob. It's perhaps Meyer's most interesting work and, thanks mainly to Hopper, one of his most entertaining.
The comedy pairing of writer and director Adam McKay and actor Will Ferrell turned their attention towards the buddy action movie for their fourth feature, The Other Guys. Their familiar see-what-sticks attitude and encouragement of improvisation often produces mixed to plain bad results (see Talladega Nights: The Story of Ricky Bobby), but every now and then gold can be struck, with the huge following that was generated in the wake of cult favourite Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy being the most obvious example. The Other Guys falls easily into the second category, with the sheer volume of belly laughs inspired by a fast-paced first hour going some way to gloss over the disappointment of the stretched-out, action-heavy final 50 minutes.
The NYPD prides itself on its two superstar cops, Highsmith (Samuel L. Jackson) and Danson (Dwayne Johnson), who regularly cause millions of dollars worth of damages on the city streets while chasing down low-level criminals, but doing so in style. When their own arrogance and plain stupidity puts them out of action, partners Gamble (Ferrell) and Hoitz (Mark Wahlberg), one a goofy desk jockey and the other a neurotic short-fuse (I'm sure you can guess which is which) must step up to keep the city safe. While investigating a scaffolding permit violation by billionaire businessman Sir David Ershon (Steve Coogan), the pair stumble upon a conspiracy involving mass fraud that goes all the way to the very top. They are met with resistance by a group of heavies led by Australian Roger Wesley (Ray Stevenson), and from their very own bosses and co-workers, but must get past their own personality clashes to bring the culprit to justice.
It's a shame that The Other Guys runs out of steam long before the closing credits, as there is real chemistry between the two leads. The film eventually falls back on a montage of shoot-outs and car chases to become the very thing it started out satirising, but Ferrell and Wahlberg have fun while it lasts. Wahlberg makes for a hilarious straight-man and the perfect foil for Ferrell to bounce his goofball ad-libs off, before the latter turns up the weirdness and decibel levels up to intolerable levels. The big joke is that Gamble is incredibly plain, but inexplicably attracts gorgeous women, including his 'bland' wife played by Eva Mendes. Hoitz's reaction to meeting the woman his partner describes as a 'big old gal' provides the film's funniest moment. There's great support from Michael Keaton, who gets to flex his comedy muscles after a long stint out of the game, but the meathead rival partners played by Damon Wayans Jr. and Rob Riggle are irritating from the get-go. A mixed bag for sure, but one of the better efforts from Ferrell and his posse.
The production companies behind The Hitman's Bodyguard, a buddy comedy starring Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson, tried their very best to achieve an R-rating. That is, to throw in every swear word under the sun and puncture this otherwise generic and old-fashioned action flick with bone-crunching violence and CGI blood-spurting. But this is no Shane Black movie. Directed by The Expendables 3's Patrick Hughes and with a script by relative newcomer Tom O'Connor, The Hitman's Bodyguard fails to find the correct balance between humour, action and tone to warrant comparison to the likes of The Last Boy Scout or, more recently, The Nice Guys. The film simply lets the actors do what they are known best for and hopes for a positive outcome.
It begins by introducing UK-based security expert Michael Bryce (Reynolds), who prides himself on a triple-A rating and the fact that none of the rich types who employ his services have died under his protection. But his luxurious life and untarnished reputation comes to a grinding halt when a Japanese arms dealer receives a bullet through the brain. A couple of years later, Bryce has been demoted to protecting scumbags like the cocaine-snorting businessman Mr. Seifert (Richard E. Grant). He sees an opportunity to redeem himself when Interpol agent and ex-girlfriend Amelia Roussel (Elodie Yung) tasks him with transporting notorious hitman Darius Kincaid (Jackson) from Manchester to Amsterdam so he can testify in court. Only the man he is testifying against, Belarusian dictator Vladislav Dukhovich (a sleepwalking Gary Oldman), uses all of his power to disrupt their passage.
The two lead stars, regardless of how much fun it's looks like they're having, fail to inject much life into The Hitman's Bodyguard. Reynolds does his deadpan motormouth thing (Bryce is basically Deadpool without the costume or ability to regenerate limbs) and Jackson gets to scream "motherfucker!" a hell of a lot, but this simply isn't enough to justify the lack of any real jokes. There's the odd well-earned snigger, but you have to get through a lot of shouting to reach them, with Salma Hayek receiving the most thankless task as Kilcaid's sweary incarcerated wife. The action also fails to deliver. Although a boat chase through Amsterdam's canals is just preposterous enough to fleetingly entertain, the fights lack physicality and the gun-play is deprived of invention, with little real threat from the endless waves of Dukhovich's leather jacket-wearing goons. When a film feels the need to insert a fart joke, you know you're in trouble.
The tone is set very early on in Crazy Heart and Black Mass director Scott Cooper's latest slice of Americana, as a white family is set upon by a gang of blood-thirsty Comanches on horseback. The natives slaughter them all, including a young baby, all except for mother Rosalee (Rosamund Pike), who flees terrified into the wilderness soaked in blood and still clutching her dead child. It's a starling opening which is difficult to watch, and seems to set up an old-fashioned tale of good vs. bad with a modern twist. Only it isn't. As you can probably gather from the title, Hostiles is about the cycle of violence, fear and hatred on both sides of the coin, with the whites looking to settle in their newly colonised and unexplored land, while the natives seek to hold on to what they have by any means necessary. There's brutality on both sides, only the natives were there first.
Christian Bale plays Captain Joseph J. Blocker, a veteran officer known for the indifference with which he carries out his tasks, which mainly include rounding up nearby Apaches using a variety of questionable methods. In any other movie, Blocker may serve as the bad guy, but there's a discipline in his actions and a weariness in how he acts on his instincts. He and his close friend Master Sergeant Metz (an excellent Rory Cochrane) have taken about as much as they can take, and bear the scars of a life spent soaked in blood. Blocker is called to the office of Colonel Biggs (Stephen Lang) to receive his latest mission: to transport the dying war chief Yellow Hawk (Wes Studi) back to their home lands in Montana, as part of a political move under the instructions of the President. Under the threat of a court-martial, he agrees, and sets out on a long and perilous quest to help a man he still views as the enemy.
There is a lot to admire about Hostiles, especially the gorgeous cinematography by Masanobu Takayanagi, whose camera captures this vast and beautiful land as a sort of endless, mystical purgatory. The performances are stellar, with Bale and Pike leading a talented ensemble that also includes Jesse Plemons, Bill Camp, Q'orianka Kilcher, Adam Beach, Timothee Chalamet, Peter Mullan and Ben Foster. Yet there's a familiarity to the film's themes. The revisionist western movement has constantly depicted these times as cruel, representing the country's lowest moments, and it's no different here. The idea is that everyone can be hostile and capable of unspeakable acts when faced with mortal danger, something explored more profoundly in Cormac McCarthy's novel Blood Meridian. The poster may lead you to believe that the film is built around Blocker and Yellow Hawk's relationship, but Studi isn't given very much screen time, with the action focused more on the blossoming relationship between the grizzled Captain and the tragedy-stricken woman he stumbles upon and feels sworn to protect. Hostiles is interesting and occasionally riveting, but deeply flawed and lacking focus.
Over the course of a career spanning over 50 years, writer, director and producer John Carpenter has been responsible for some of the most memorable and iconic horror/thriller movies ever made. The likes of Assault on Precinct 13, Halloween, The Fog, Escape from New York and The Thing have cemented his status as a genre icon, up there with the likes of George A. Romero and Wes Craven as one of America's finest horror visionaries. His legacy cannot be damaged, although it appeared that Carpenter was trying his best to sully his own reputation between 1996 and 2001 with three utter stinkers. First came Escape from L.A. and that surfing scene, and then the underwhelming Vampires, which wasted a perfectly game James Woods in what was an instantly forgettable and generic undead actioner. Then people thought he had lost the plot completely when he produced Ghosts of Mars, one of the worst movies to be released in 2001.
Over a century into the future, Mars is undergoing terraforming, and a matriarchal society of humans have settled on the red planet in the hope of better opportunities. Life is far from peaceful however, and crime is rife in the various remote mining communities. A crew of police officers including Lieutenant Melanie Ballard (Natasha Henstridge) are tasked with transporting notorious prisoner (and the amusingly named) Desolation Williams (Ice Cube) to stand trial for a spate of gruesome murders he is accused of. When they arrive in town, the place is deserted, and it doesn't take long until they stumble on a number of mutilated dead bodies hanging from the ceiling in macabre fashion. Ballard and the rest of the group, which is also made up of rapey Sergeant Jericho (Jason Statham) and token lesbian Braddock (Pam Grier), split up to investigate further and locate Desolation. As they plough on, they learn of an alien force with the ability to possess humans and no love for their planet's new colonisers.
Anyone who was alive and watching movies in the late 1990s will know that Mars is no place to visit unless you wish to be set upon by a gruesome native. Ghosts of Mars is no different, but the film never feels terribly sure of what the threat actually is. Carpenter throws just about everything at the screen: ghosts, zombies, steampunk rovers, blood, guts, and even some train action. It's a muddle of ideas taken from far better films, including some of Carpenter's very own. It's Assault on Precinct 13 meets The Thing, with a sprinkling of The Fog, but without any of their style, thrills or flair. When the characters stop aiming at each other and have a chat, the dialogue is clunky and fuelled by exposition. Henstridge tries her best with a role that could champion equality if the film didn't insist she takes her clothes off, and the usually reliable Ice Cube and Statham fail to squeeze any life of their stock characters, who never rise above foul-mouthed ghetto survivor and smug sleazebag, respectively. It's a horror show from start to finish, but not the kind you would expect from Carpenter. The years haven't been kind either, reducing Ghosts of Mars to SY-FY Channel-level drivel.
Adapted from the novel of the same name by George V. Higgins, director Peter Yates' The Friends of Eddie Coyle takes pride in its authentic depiction of 1970s Boston, where Irish mobsters trade weapons and organise truck hijackings over a diner table. It follows low-level criminal Eddie 'Fingers' Coyle, played by Robert Mitchum, as he faces a lengthy spell in prison for a crime organised by bartender associate Dillon (Peter Boyle). His only hope of avoiding jail time is a recommendation to the District Attorney's office, which may put him good favour with the judge. ATF agent David Foley (Richard Jordan) sees the opportunity to further his own career by promising Eddie he'll put in a good word as long as the career criminal feeds him solid intelligence.
Mitchum is perfect as a man who has grown tired of risking his livelihood for his bosses, having grown old with little to show for it other than some extra knuckles gained from having his hand slammed into a drawer by a rival. Coyle is well-connected and reliable, with a keen eye for a good business deal. Yet as his superiors have grown rich, he still lives in a shabby neighbourhood, saving up any pennies he can. He purchases guns from the wild yet competent young gun-runner Jackie Brown (Steven Keats), but sees an opportunity to prove himself useful to Foley, who actually has more informants within Coyle's underworld than the old man realises. Coyle understands that this is his last chance to escape the world he has become weary of, and spend his remaining years enjoying the sunshine. Yet his information never seems to be enough for Foley, and as the rate of successful arrests rapidly increases, it isn't long until his 'friends' become suspicious.
The Friends of Eddie Coyle could have only been made in the 1970s, when studios in Hollywood were more open to taking risks and allowed writers to tell the story they wanted to tell. This is about as unsentimental and understated as crime dramas get, shot by cinematographer Victor J. Kemper in a loose style more akin to documentary than thriller. The tone is almost nihilistic at times, mirroring the mindset of the majority of the film's shifty characters. It makes for riveting viewing, with Mitchum delivering one of his finest performances in what was already a muscular career. The supporting cast is excellent too, with both Boyle and Keats utterly convincing as bottom-level scumbags, all of whom seem to exist in a state of constant paranoia and aggression. It will leave you incredibly cold, but only the very best crime sagas expose this dangerous world for what it actually is.
Ever since that post-credits teaser at the end of the The Avengers, now 6 years ago, fan anticipation has been building for the arrival of Earth's Mightiest Heroes' deadliest foe, the giant purple 'Mad Titan', Thanos. With a tease here and a fleeting appearance there, Thanos' quest to gather all of the Marvel Cinematic Universe's McGuffins, the Infinity Stones, represents the culmination of 10 years of universe-building, during which Marvel Studios have emerged from a risk-taking independent studio looking to achieve something no other studio has before in terms of story-telling scale, to one of Disney's most reliably bankable divisions, regularly raking in over $1 billion, something that was achieved mere months ago with Black Panther, a cultural phenomenon if ever there was one.
After 18 movies, Avengers: Infinity War is finally here, and in the safe hands of sibling directors Joe and Anthony Russo. The brothers were responsible for two of the MCU's finest films, the Captain America entries The Winter Soldier and Civil War, and have taken on this seemingly impossible task to bring in dozens of huge characters with a sure and steady hand. Infinity War really is everything you would want it to be. While the tone sometimes shifts uneasily between dark and humorous, and character development isn't on the same level as their previous efforts, the Russo's deft balancing of our heroes' path-crossings with introducing the most formidable foe the universe has to offer, is nothing short of astonishing. It has the power to make you punch the air, laugh-out-loud, and pretend to have something in your eye.
The story picks up almost immediately after the events of Thor: Ragnarok, with Thanos (Josh Brolin) already in possession of the Power Stone, and seeking the Space Stone from Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Loki (Tom Hiddleston). Back on Earth, Dr. Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Wong (Benedict Wong) receive a warning of Thanos' pending arrival from Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo), and the Master of the Mystic Arts quickly recruits Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) for help, with Spider-Man (Tom Holland) in tow. In Edinburgh, the romantically-involved Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) and Vision (Paul Bettany) are laying low, but are soon set upon by two of the Black Order, a four-strong band of henchman consisting of Thanos' 'children'. The heroes are eventually assisted by Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) and Falcon (Anthony Mackie), who decide the safest place for Vision, who possesses the Mind Stone in his head, is Wakanda, the technically-advanced African nation ruled by Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman).
While it's certainly a thrill to see some of these characters interact for the first time (Stark and Strange's instant dislike for one another is particularly memorable). Infinity War brings the Guardians of the Galaxy into the fold for the first time. Answering an Asgardian distress call, Star-Lord (Chris Pratt), Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Drax (Dave Bautista), Rocket (Bradley Cooper) and Groot (Vin Diesel) bump (literally) into Thor. Watching some of the MCU's most comedically-gifted performers together for the first time is a real joy, with the Russos further developing Thor as one of the universe's most compelling and charismatic characters after Taiki Waititi gave him a new lease of life last year. Throw in the likes of Bucky (Sebastian Stan), War Machine (Don Cheadle), Nebula (Karen Gillan), Mantis (Pom Klementieff), Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), Okoye (Danai Gurira) and Shuri (Letitia Wright), and you have one hell of a packed cast.
Not every character is given the attention you would expect. Both Cap and Black Panther, two fan-favourites, are oddly sidelined, while the likes of Dr. Strange and Gamora have larger roles, although the Russos have stated that this will be counter-balanced in the as of yet untitled fourth instalment. While our heroes jostle for screen-time, our protagonist emerges as Thanos himself. Standing eight-feet tall and with - as Star-Lord puts it - a chin like a nutsack, we witness his deadly quest to balance out the universe through the Titan's eyes. Every villain is a hero in their own mind, and there is logic to his mission. Ever since Ultron underwhelmed, Marvel have been knocking out of the park with their bad guys, and Thanos is their most fascinating yet. He is terrifying and utterly brutal, but also misguided and tragic. The CGI is near-flawless, but nevertheless it is Josh Brolin you witness delivering one of the best performances of his career. With 6 years of build-up, the Russos make sure you understand that Thanos isn't fucking around within the opening minutes.
For years studios have insisted on 'grounding' comic-book stories, fearing to venture out into space and terrified of embracing the colourful, weirder aspects of the medium. Infinity War goes some way to disprove the idea of translating page to screen requires vast reconstruction. As a piece of story-telling, the movie barely pauses for breath, instead opting for what can be summed up as a two-and-a-half-hour superhero splash panel. But this has had ten years of build-up, with obscure D-list characters breaking out along the way and earning the adoration of millions of new fans in the process. This is one for the fans, for those who were there for that post-credit teaser in 2008 when Samuel L. Jackson's Nick Fury appeared and first uttered the word 'Avengers' to a fresh-faced Tony Stark. Although this was advertised as something of a closure to Marvel's first ten years, it really isn't. Infinity War ends on a note that guarantees you will there on opening day when part four finally comes around.
Alfred Hitchcock earned the title of 'master of suspense' with some good old fashioned grafting (he had been making films since the silent era) combined with an understanding of the possibilities of cinema - and an eagerness to explore them - that few directors shared. Ask most film goers to name a Hitchcock film and the answer will likely be Psycho, Rear Window, The Birds or North by Northwest. Few will name The Wrong Man, the tightly constructed and thoroughly engaging little thriller from 1956, made after fluffier works To Catch a Thief and The Man Who Knew Too Much. This is perhaps because The Wrong Man is the filmmaker's least Hitchcockian effort, toning down the sugaryness (he labelled his movies as like 'slices of cake') and playing the story straight with little artistic flair. Even his obligatory cameo is reduced to mere narration at the film's opening.
Many of Hitchcock's thrillers revolve around a case of mistaken identity, which naturally forces the protagonist to make a break for it in the hope of proving his innocence before the police catch up to them. This time, however, the story is true. Based on the plight of Christopher 'Manny' Balestrero, a hard-working jazz musician who found himself identified by many witnesses as a hold-up man, The Wrong Man is Hitchcock's closest brush with realism. Shot on the streets of New York and using locations from the real-life story, there is more of a naturalistic feel to the film that what we are used to from the great director. Hitchcock still squeezes in some subtle camera tricks, depicting Balestrero's situation as disorientating, claustrophobic and increasingly hopeless. But with an actor of such effortless charisma as Henry Fonda at his disposal, Hitchcock mainly opts to tell the story through his lead actor's incredibly expressive face.
Hitchcock documents Balestrero's journey from being incorrectly identified by some terrified clerical workers when trying to take a loan from his life insurance policy for his wife's (Vera Miles) dental work, to his frustratingly unfair trial. The film is used to highlight flaws in a system designed to seek justice, in which an accused isn't allowed to give evidence to prove their innocence (as a truly innocent man doesn't need to prove anything), and a jury under oath makes their minds up before the trial even starts. It's a catalogue of errors from the very start, forcing Manny to seek out his own witnesses to prove he could not have committed the crime. The final reveal also comments on the folly of placing too much trust in eye-witness testimony, and the fact that many are still wrongly jailed due to failings in the system make the film's musings all the more poignant. One of Hitchcock's most underappreciated gems.
At first glance, this second feature from actor-turned-writer/director Greta Gerwig appears to be yet another quirky and twee little indie feature which made the cut as the obligatory low-budget entry into the Best Picture category at this year's Academy Awards. Yet Gerwig wasn't brought in by Noah Baumbach to co-write Frances Ha and Mistress America for nothing. She has a unique voice, and a keen eye for the smaller moments in life that most people didn't realise they had forgotten or missed. Lady Bird is riotously funny, incredibly relatable (for both sexes), and features two incredible lead performances. It's also profoundly authentic, and will have many female viewers (and some male) squirming in their seats as their own awkward memories of adolescence come pouring back.
It's 2002, and Christine McPherson (Saoirse Ronan) is an artistically-inclined teenager on the verge of leaving her Catholic high school and fleeing her home of Sacramento to attend college. She longs to be different and stand out from the crowd, opting to go by the nickname of 'Lady Bird' and dressing in a grungy, non-conformist way. She shares a relaxed relationship with her depressed father Larry (Tracy Letts), but struggles to communicate with her ball-busting but well-meaning mother Marion (Laurie Metcalf). The film covers her final days of school and her struggles to find her identity. Best friend Julie (Beanie Feldstein) is always there for her, but Lady Bird is more interested in pursuing her burgeoning sexuality and trying to fit in with the cool, richer kids. All the disappointments of teenage life await her, but she firmly believes that life will only truly start once she escapes her childhood home.
The focus is primarily on Lady Bird's concerns, but this is also a story of a young girl struggling to communicate with her mother. Marion does all she can to help her daughter find the best life for herself, such as working long shifts at the hospital and maintaining a steady routine at home, but she is also burdened with unrealistic expectations and emotionally scarred by her own abusive childhood. Their relationship is summed up in the opening scene, as Lady Bird opts to jump out of a moving vehicle and break her arm rather than listening to her mother voice an opinion. The dynamic forms the film's backbone, and their quick-tempered back-and-forths will be familiar to many. Both Ronan and Metcalf are outstanding in their roles, finding sympathy for their characters when they are at their most flawed and unreasonable. Gerwig finds the perfect balance between light and dark, taking the edge off when events get a little too familiar with some beautifully-timed comedy. Lady Bird will no doubt launch Gerwig onto bigger and better things.
Taking its cue from The Dirty Dozen, our heroes are a rag-tag bunch of rebel soldiers whose crimes include everything from theft and desertion to murder and mutiny. They are transported to a camp near the Ardennes in France where they are to be executed, but their vehicle is soon attacked by German bombers and only a handful escape with their lives. These include Canfield (Fred Williamson), Tony (Peter Hooten), Nick (Michael Pergolani), Berle (Jackie Basehart), and the proud Lt. Yeager (Bo Svenson), who attempt to put aside their differences to make it through hostile territory to the safety of Switzerland. They may be roughnecks but they are still ready and willing to fight, proving themselves efficient at it when they tear through various bands of Nazis along the way. After they accidentally gun down a squad of Americans dressed as German troops, the bastards have no choice but to complete the fallen soldiers' mission to steal a weapon from an armoured train.
