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.
For the past 17 years, Hugh Jackman has played X-Man Wolverine nine times. It was the role that made him a star, and he's thanked Fox for having faith in him by sticking by the character regardless of how bad the franchise became. But at the age of 49, Jackman has decided to hang up his claws and trim the sideburns, taking a pay-cut in order to give the character the final send-off he truly deserves. He and director James Mangold, who joined forces to make stand-alone entry The Wolverine in 2013 only to see the studio step in and butcher the final edit, have persuaded Fox to go with an R rating. Whether this is down to the huge success of the wonderfully foul-mouthed Deadpool in 2016 or Fox feeling they owe the actor for his loyalty down the years, the results are pretty astonishing. With Logan, the camera no longer cuts away when Wolverine slices and dices, but captures his animalistic ferocity in all its bloody, decapitating glory.
Logan is a brutal, angry movie, and more than warrants its 'hard' R rating. It's no gimmick, nor is it a cash-in on Deadpool's success. Superhero movies don't need to follow the Marvel formula of good, clean, family-friendly fun, nor DC's preference for muted colours and CGI-overkill, world-threatening set-pieces. In fact, Logan doesn't feel much like a superhero movie at all. Here, the former cage-fighting, time-travelling X-Man (although it isn't entirely clear where the story fits into Fox's ever-confusing timeline) is an old man, dying of some mysterious illness and battling alcoholism and depression. He is bearded, grey, and wrinkling, and his torso covered in grisly scars from some unspoken former battles. When he uses his claws, his knuckles seep with puss. We're in 2029, and all but three mutants are dead. We don't know why, but Logan is intent on living out his remaining days looking after a senile Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) with clairvoyant mutant Caliban (Stephen Merchant), working as an Uber limo driver to fund the medicine required to keep Charles' dangerous telepathic seizures in check.
People start to look for Logan. Gabriela Lopez (Elizabeth Rodriguez), a nurse working for corporation Alkali-Transigen, wants him to transport both her and an eleven year girl named Laura (Dafne Keen) to a place in North Dakota called 'Eden'. Logan is also questioned by Transigen's chief of security Donald Pierce (Boyd Holbrook), a cybernetically-enhanced thug who seems to be searching for the little girl. When Gabriela turns up dead and Laura ends up in his care, Logan is forced to take Charles on a road trip to escape Pierce and his Reavers, and to seek out the mysterious Eden. Caliban is abducted by Transigen head Dr. Zander Rice (Richard E. Grant), who forces the albino to use his powers to track down the fleeing mutants and take back Laura. It is revealed that the young girl is one of many mutants experimented on by Rice in the hope of turning them into weapons, and that she possesses the same adamantium claws as Logan.
For a character who has seen and done pretty much everything over the past 17 years, it feels a fitting time to draw the curtains. Knowing that another run-of-the-mill superhero adventure wouldn't do the mutant justice, Mangold has done what no other studio movie has done before and portrays the superhero at the ends of his days, trying to bury the past while haunted by his deeds. While Logan does throw in a couple of exciting - and utterly brutal - set-pieces, this is an incredibly sombre experience. It's about getting old, loneliness, and rediscovering a reason to live. Jackman has never been better, and Keen is a real find. Their shared scenes are touching and often hilarious, and with the presence of the ever-reliable Stewart, the trio form an amusingly dysfunctional family unit. While there is an issue with a bland villain who brings back memories of that horrific climax in X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009), this is a damn near-perfect last hurrah for a character who comic book fans have been hoping would fully unleash his berserker rage for years. Farewell then, Logan aka Wolverine, until the inevitable reboot.
I was at first perplexed by the announcement of a biopic of the first British female prime minister, until I gave it some thought, particularly in terms of the political and financial situation that the globe finds itself in currently. We currently watch as we are repeatedly told through the media of the crisis - similar to the Wall Street crash of the late 1920's - that bankers have fucked up the world! We can in many ways trace this obsession with massive profit to Margaret Thatcher's and Ronald Reagan's collaboration throughout the 1980's, which essentially led to that filmic '80's mantra: "Greed is good". This globalisation of monetary philosophy, along with many more home grown policies, created Thatchers image, and added to her iconic status as one of the most reviled public figures in modern day politics (e.g. Thatcher, Thatcher, milk snatcher). What is problematic with the timing of the film, is the fact that the subject is yet to die - and is (within the realms of British politics) absolutely revered. We have seen since her tenure, an absolute influence of her no-holds-barred political technique - we have seen since the likes of Tony Blair (noted in opposition in the Labour government) who's ideologies were thoroughly influenced.
Aside from the political machinations of the political spectrum, we are offered in this film an attempt to humanise a character so readily hated. The main focus of the film from the outset is Thatchers memories of her personal life and political career. We see her struggle to place herself in the male dominated world of politics, along with her life with Denis (Jim Broadbent). This gender battle does dominate much of the uprising of the politician, but fails miserably towards the closing as we are offered an insight into a powerful woman's paradigm with the world of men. The film shows throughout that Thatcher has the opinion that men are childish fools. However, this is contradicted as we see her psychological deterioration to dementia highlight her adoration of her husband Dennis.
The actions and policies of her time as head of state are thought through in terms of seeming grief. We observe the implications of the Falklands war, the break-up of the workers unions and the fall of mining that led to nationwide protest. These fundamental decisions of the party are not really explained - therefore it becomes difficult not to feel something for this withering figure, lonely in her old age. Without the information of the true impact of these policies we are unable to make a genuine judgement of the person.
Herein lies the problem with this film. the screenplay tries far too hard to give some vain of pathos to Thatcher as she looses her mind, dormant in a lonely place. This concept of loneliness is played out throughout the film, even when Thatcher is at her prime, dominating men of her cabinet, she seems isolated but her character and her gender. It's surprising that this isolation of gender is so prevalent in the film, when we consider the closing where we are aware that she needed men. It almost seems that the duo of feminine influence (director Phyllinda Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan) has done nothing to what could have been a feminist tract of fish out of water, actually turns on itself and becomes practically anti-feminist.
Whilst the film has many issues, it has to be noted that Meryl Streep's performance (or impersonation if you like) is exceptional, at times she seems more Thatcher than Thatcher. However, I really hope she does not get the Oscar for this performance, as through the screenplay, we are not really given a very interesting, insightful, or even exciting film. It is amazing that I felt a sense of pity for the person. This will not do. We need to see something far more truthful for such an utterly despised political figure.
"We've gone on holiday by mistake!". This line, spoken by Richard E. Grant's flamboyant and tragic alcoholic Withnail, sums up this cult British masterpiece. Made on a shoe-string budget (partly funded by George Harrison), Withnail & I has gained momentum in the last decade or so, and is now considered a British classic and certainly one of the greatest comedies made in the last thirty years or so. It tells the story of two hard-drinking, out-of-work thespians living in their filthy London flat awaiting that call from their agent that will inevitably break them. Tired and consumed by the misery of 1969 London, 'I' (often referred to as 'Marwood', played by Paul McGann) persuades Withnail to travel to the remote cottage in the Lake District owned by Withnail's outlandishly homosexual Uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths).
The two city-dwellers struggle with survival, poverty and the aggression of the locals, until Monty arrives in a comical scene where the two think that a threatening poacher has broken in to kill them. Withnail is happy sponging off his Uncle while I remains terrified and uncomfortable at Monty's increasingly aggressive sexual advances. While this hardly sounds like a barrel of laughs, writer/director Bruce Robinson's script (based on his personal experiences) is chocked full of great, quotable lines, as well as genuinely beautiful wordplay. While the film has become the focus of many an annoying student who enjoy playing the 'Withnail Drinking Game', I refuse to let this ruin my absolute love for this truly stunning film.
While the comedy is what it is ultimately remembered for, Withnail & I is also a sober and quite depressing portrayal of the death of 'the greatest decade known to man'. Danny the drug dealer (played brilliantly by Ralph Brown) sums it up when he says "they're selling hippy wigs in Woolworths, man." 'I' is truly disillusioned by his surroundings, and often the film feels like a massive comedown from the colossal high of the 1960's. This is apparent straight away, as the first scene depicts 'I' slumped on a chair, his eyes tired and red after a massive speed binge, painfully toking down a joint while the soundtrack plays a wailing saxophone.
But Withnail & I is remembered for it's comedy for a reason. There are literally too many great lines to quote, but my personal favourites have to be "why has my head gone numb?"/""why'd you drug their onions!?"/"here, hare, here? Here, hare, here!"/"flowers are merely tarts, prostitutes for the bees!"/"fork it!"/"we're going to buy this place, and install a fucking jukebox in here, liven you stiffs up a bit!". I'll stop now, as I can literally quote the entire film. These lines, as great as they are, wouldn't be half as good if they didn't have great actors saying them. Grant always gets the plaudits (and considered he is teetotal, his performance is truly great), but Paul McGann's equally impressive performance is understated and ultimately underrated. And Griffiths injects an air of tragedy into the nostalgia-filled and lonely Monty, who poetically remembers his times at Oxford when his life was once full of excitement and feeling.
I could literally talk about this film for hours, I love it that much. Every time I see it I notice another visual gag, another verbal joke, or another line of beauty that I failed to grasp the previous times. And never has a film moved me so much every time I view it, when, at the climax, Withnail quotes Hamlet while slumped over a railing, wine bottle in hand, rain hammering onto his umbrella. Truly exquisite, exciting, personal film-making, and one that will forever remain one of my personal favourites.
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.
