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Jobs

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To quote Jeremy Clarkson, I am inspired by bridges not Pentium Processors. But I’m also aware enough to realise that great engineering spectacles are now at least partially designed with the aid of computer technology. With no crystal ball to guide me, I imagine it’s highly probable that the likes of Steve Jobs will one day be held in the high esteem those such as Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Joseph Bazalgette are now.

If it is to happen, it is regrettable that the film biopic Jobs will be of little use to those wishing to understand his legacy. After 122 minutes of this uneven, uninspiring film I was given to understand that the man was a narcissistic ogre who could be a brute, a bully and totally impervious to the feelings and well-being of those in both his personal and professional spheres. What I failed to glean was what drew people to him and why they would stick by him long after he had shafted them.

In the inexplicably over-looked film, Me and Orson Welles, Christian McKay in his Bafta-nominated role shows the charisma and wonderful genius of Welles  who could command the loyalty of his friends and associates despite having the same major character flaws displayed by Jobs.

Unfortunately, Ashton Kutcher’s limitations as a dramatic actor were laid bare in this film. Adopting an exaggerated, lolloping gait, more reminiscent of Roddy McDowall as Galen in Planet of the Apes, was no substitute for a rich and layered performance demonstrating the complexities of the man.  Throughout the film, I was always conscious that I was watching Ashton Kutcher undertaking a skin deep impersonation of Jobs, trying just a little too hard, but failing to convince. He just didn’t nail it.

But it would be wrong to lay the blame for this soggy pudding of a film solely at the feet of its lead actor. Its flaws were many and varied.

The script from Matt Whiteley was episodic and jumped from one facet of Jobs’ life to another with little thought to segue or linking theme. We saw the young Jobs as a college drop out, reject his girlfriend with an intense and deeply spiteful callousness after she told him she was pregnant. Thereafter, he denied paternity even when biological tests and the legal system determined otherwise; he refused to acknowledge his daughter, Lisa. Yet we saw no more of his family life till many years later when he appeared to be happily married with a young son and the now teenage Lisa ensconced in the family home. We were given no idea what had led to this transformation or how, why and when Jobs had embraced his previously rejected daughter. Strangely, the film’s chronology ended prior to the advent of Jobs’ terminal illness – how he dealt with that and how it affected his outlook on the world would surely have been a fascinating insight into the man but the opportunity was left begging.

The film’s script made much of the fact that Jobs wanted innovators, creators, blue sky thinkers – people who would bring something totally left field to his organisation and its products. It was somewhat ironic therefore that direction from Joshua Michael Stern was formulaic and brought nothing new to the genre. The film’s editing was also most untidy although there can be no complaints over the cinematography.

Further films detailing Jobs’ life are apparently in the pipeline. Let’s hope they bring greater clarity to the subject than this plodding, underachieving effort.

**

Tim Meade

 

The Conjuring; Beyond the Hills

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The Conjuring

There were two films out this week each ‘Based on a true story’ and each with an exorcism integral to the plot.

I have before railed against the ‘Based on a true story’ preface – a meaningless expression often given to a film to imbue it with a specious gravitas it might otherwise lack. I suspect that of the two films, the Romanian drama Beyond the Hills had more credence than the Hollywood horror The Conjuring.

With The Conjuring, we immediately seemed to be in familiar territory as the Perron family moved in to their new home – an old and isolated, rambling country house. Just for good measure, they were an all American happy family, save for the surly and truculent eldest teenage daughter, looking forward to a new start in their new home, just bought at auction, about whose history they knew nothing. What could possibly go wrong?

The conventional formula continued as initial strange noises and other slightly odd occurrences were quickly exposed as the normal vagaries of an old and draughty house. But then the tipping point was reached as this nuclear family discovered they were truly in a place of ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night.

The Conjuring had its fair share of jump scares but even of these, several were telegraphed as imminent: when you see a guy backing into a house at night after investigating a weird going on outside and there is a window or open door behind him, you can be pretty sure  something is about to go off.

And sadly, apart from the jump scares there was little within the film to instill fear. The direction from James Wan was slack and there was a failure to build tension or suspense; the movie just ambled along.

There was unintentional light relief from the paranormal investigators, or demonologists, Ed and Lorraine Warren who were called in by the Perrons to help resolve their ghostly issues. The Warrens’ own family home contained a room of artefacts from their previous adventures, the premise for not having destroyed them being rather weak. When their daughter was yet again told that she must not enter the room, I was reminded of The Simpsons episode This Little Wiggy when Chief Wiggum asked of his son, Ralph, ‘What is your fascination with my forbidden closet of mystery?’ Needless to say, it wasn’t the last time she encroached into the room.

The film was not without merit; the performances were all adequate and it had a nice early 1970s feel of when it was set. It also didn’t rely on blood and gore in an attempt to shock.

Comparisons have been made with The Exorcist and Poltergeist and they have some similar elements – although the disturbing and enduring fear-inducement of The Exorcist is not one of them. For me, The Conjuring owed more to the classic 1940s Ealing portmanteau Dead of Night where the power of a ventriloquist’s doll and a game of hide and seek leads to the ghost of a child murdered in an earlier century both featured large in its composite story.

I was in a minority. There was a fair amount of shrieking and a palpable feeling of fear within the cinema at the time of my viewing; on the train home, the group of young men and women sat near me were clearly impressed as they related their scariest moments. And by definition, the whole raison d’etre of a horror film is to scare people regardless of whether it’s derivative or not. This one simply failed to scare me.

***

Beyond the Hills

The second film containing an exorcism ‘based on a true story’ this week is the slow-burning and languorous Romanian film Beyond the Hills.

Set predominantly in a monastery in a bleak and poverty-stricken district, it is a complex and multi-layered film revolving around two young women, Alina and Voichita. Previously childhood friends then lovers, their lives intertwine once more when Alina returns from working in Germany in an attempt to again enter into a relationship with Voichita who has since taken Holy Orders and is living the chaste and extremely frugal life of a nun. The rekindling of the relationship was always doomed and as Alina’s mental health deteriorates with the realisation that she will not achieve her objective, she provokes a series of events culminating in the belief by some that she is possessed and needs cleansing.

A Romanian film about faith, despair and unrequited lesbian love in an impoverished monastery was never likely to be an action-packed, sensationalist blockbuster. It is long at 155 minutes and its pace tends to alternate between dead slow and stop. It’s the sort of a film which will take over 5 minutes to show a nun leaving the kitchen to draw water from the well and return to the kitchen with no dialogue or plot advancement throughout that period. But it is a film that has the courage to take its time, confident that it can draw you into the lives of the people whose story it tells. And on the whole it succeeds.

There are no real villains or heroes in the film. It does not take the easy route to mock and blame religion for out-dated belief – when a nun believes she has been sent a sign from God and goes all peculiar, the Orthodox Priest in charge cuts down the hysteria curtly and tells her and the other nuns to move on. No, the people shown in this film, be they doctors, police or those of the cloth, are portrayed as well-meaning  individuals all looking to do no harm even if, like all of us, they can be judgemental and self-righteous on occasion.

Beyond the Hills is an unashamedly bleak and ultimately very sad film which gives no answers but merely records events leaving its audience to draw their own conclusions.

Cinematography was good, though the constant sound of the ever-blowing wind was sometimes crude and off-putting.

And there was an early failure of the sub-titles. When Alina first arrives at the monastery, the camera concentrates on a hand-written sign at its entrance. It’s clearly of some import for it to be shown so, but the audience is not let in on its message. Post-film research ascertained it stated, words to the effect: This is the House of God. Forbidden to those of different religion. You must believe and not doubt. It would have explained much.

3.5 stars.

The World’s End

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This is the final episode in the very loose trilogy from director Edgar Wright, and writers and co-stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost following on from the extremely funny Shaun of the Dead and the highly amusing, if patchy, Hot Fuzz.

The story centres on five male friends, now approaching middle age, who have gone their separate ways, and all enjoying some degree of financial and domestic success but for Gary King (Simon Pegg) who has resolutely failed to grow up and has a drifting, casual drug-using lifestyle. He mocks his one-time friends for their domesticity mistaking his wastrel ways for freedom. He nonetheless persuades them all to reunite to complete an epic 12 pub crawl in their small home town of Newton Haven – a leafy, well-heeled conurbation in the stockbroker belt of southern England.

On returning to Newton Haven the men discover that the residents of the town harbour a shocking secret…

The World’s End is at its best in the first half of the film. There is more than a little poignancy as the group of friends get together on what they tacitly realise will be for all of them a last hurrah in trying to recapture their youthful excesses; ahead of them waits only old age and grandchildren bouncing off their knee. The film also has a less than sly dig at soul-less and homogenous pubs owned by corporates with no sympathy to local traditions.

The film is less successful toward the end when the town’s secret has been exposed and the friends battle for their lives, never really sure who amongst them is for real; the group’s decision to continue their alcoholic binge once the truth is exposed stretched suspension of disbelief beyond all credulity and from this point the storyline unravelled a little. The film’s ending is particularly disappointing and brought to mind TS Eliot’s line ‘This is the way the world ends: Not with a bang but a whimper.’

Nonetheless, there are several laugh out loud moments from the ensemble cast and in the main the film is amusing throughout, even in the weaker scenes. (For me, Nick Frost delivered one of the best lines and I was surprised to find myself the only one in the theatre laughing at it – I later established the term ‘punch your lights out’ is not prevalent in Australia, so the joke was possibly lost in translation.) There is also a welcome role for Rosamund Pike as an erstwhile girlfriend who does a good job breaking up the male-dominated story.

Special effects and CGI are more than adequate for a film of this genre and the action scenes from Edgar Wright were nicely handled. The film is more professionally produced than the first two in the series and there were nice deferential nods to The Village of the Damned.

The film has a good soundtrack – Blur, Pulp, The Soup Dragons –  and it was particularly nice to hear The Housemartins and The Beautiful South once more.

***

Tim Meade

Before Midnight

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Before Midnight

This is the final part of Richard Linklater’s relationship trilogy which began with Before Sunrise in 1995, followed by Before Sunset nine years later.

Nearly two decades from when they first met, Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) are now a couple living in Europe with twin daughters conceived almost immediately from when they first re-met 9 years ago – Jesse also has a son from his long-extinct marriage who resides with his mother in Chicago. Whilst both successful in their careers, Celine is somewhat in the shadow of Jesse, a successful novelist.

At its very core, the film is essentially a dialogue between the couple as they explore their relationship and where their future lies – both physically and spiritually.

A film of only a few extended acts, it is at its most powerful and engaging when Delpy and Hawke are by themselves with no distractions. One scene of around 20 minutes duration is a single take, a static camera merely the recorder of a conversation between the two as they drive back from the airport having dropped off Jesse’s son after a summer vacation.

Relatively speaking, the film is less successful when it broadens out and introduces peripheral characters. The scene as they enjoy an al fresco lunch at the writers’ retreat where they have been staying for the summer seemed to consist of the other participants merely taking it in turn to give a speech, although it was masquerading as a conversation. That the speeches sometimes bordered on the pompous was, however, quite deliberate on Linklater’s part, I’m sure. And the criticism needs to be put in context – even when not at its best, it is still far superior to most other fare.

In total, the film does little more than follow a successful and well-heeled couple as they talk and discuss, sometimes heatedly, their relationship. It centres on first-world problems – ‘Do we live in Paris? Do we live in Chicago? Do you believe your successful career to be more important than my successful career?’ Were the film made by lesser talents, it might possibly be insufferably maudlin, bordering on self-pity. That it successfully steers well clear from this and presents a completely believable couple, is a testimony to its superior writing, direction and terrific acting from both Delpy and Hawke, both of whom are totally flawless. It draws you to believe that despite their apparent enviable lifestyle, the quest for domestic bliss is classless and every bit as difficult to attain no matter how wealthy you may be.

The film is minimalist – the scenes are long, camera angles rarely vary and the only incidental music is the very occasional tinkling of a completely unobtrusive piano. Everything is geared to have focus on the extensive but never overwhelming dialogue. The linking shots, in fact all the cinematography set outside, capture extremely well Greece’s wonderful light.

It is doubtless preferable to have seen the earlier two films in this series, but anyone coming new to it should have no problem picking up the story and concept. And they will also, I am sure, then wish to look out the first two segments.

All involved in this project, deserve plaudits for embarking on such a long-term venture and seeing it through with such class – and it oozes class. Richard Linklater, again with Ethan Hawke, currently nears the end of a 12 year project, Boyhood, following the story of a boy growing up with divorced parents. The self-taught Mr Linklater is clearly a film-maker who thinks ahead.

****

Tim Meade

The Lone Ranger

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The Lone Ranger

It is now well over 20 years since Kevin Costner reinvigorated the western when he produced and starred in the highly successful Dances with Wolves – it was a major commercial and critical success winning seven Oscars, including Best Picture.

One of the main innovations of this film was the portrayal of Native Americans by…Native Americans. Many might be surprised that this should ever have been considered so ground-breaking. Following on from this film, it was the received wisdom that never again could Hollywood revert to having Native Americans played by Caucasians. But there are exceptions to most scenarios and when you have the star power of Johnny Depp, such rules can, and will be, cavalierly ignored.

Unfortunately, Depp follows a distinguished line of actors who come a little unstuck when playing outside their own ethnicity – even Marlon Brando stumbled when playing a Japanese in The Teahouse of the August Moon. (And let’s not mention Mickey Rooney as Mr Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s).Under his heavy face make up and dead crow headpiece, the usually charismatic Depp gives an ambiguous performance as Tonto, the outcast Comanche. At times he is sagacious and taciturn as he evokes the deep spirituality perceived of the Native American. But all too often the characterisation drops and he drifts into the anachronism of present day irony with facetious one-liners and facial expressions to match.

The film itself is as equally confused as Depp’s ambiguous performance. Its central thrust deals with corrupt and duplicitous railroad executives driving their project  through Comanche country, inciting murder and tearing up contracts agreed by the trusting ‘Injuns’. However, its mix of light humour juxtaposed with scenes of mass murder, bordering on genocide, sits uncomfortably together – it was never going to mesh. Expecting an audience to laugh at a visual joke immediately after the wiping out of a settlement was always a big ask, though some in the theatre didn’t have a problem with it. But for me it jarred. Other jokes simply fell flat, others raised a smile. And this from the team of Jerry Bruckheimer and director Gore Verbinski who collaborated, again with Depp, on the Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. This was a film that knew its niche – humorous, tongue in cheek and easy to like.

A further distraction is the film being set among the wonderful sandstone buttes of Monument Valley, inviting unfavourable comparison with the superior westerns of John Ford. But as a backdrop, it’s just about unbeatable.

The titular role of The Lone Ranger (aka John Reid) was always going to be a difficult task, awkward not to be eclipsed by Depp who was both co-producer and top billed. But Depp has generously given Armie Hammer a role larger than I thought may be the case. Sadly, this is not for the better as for the vast majority of the film he plays The Lone Ranger as a sanctimonious prig. When his inevitable transformation comes, it is far too late and equally unconvincing.

On the plus side, veteran character actor Tom Wilkinson was value for money playing the Machiavellian railroad boss Latham Cole – Tom knows how to play a villain. And little known British actor Ruth Wilson was outstanding as The Lone Ranger’s sister in law, Rebecca, playing a frontierswoman with a stoic feistiness – I hope Amy Adams was watching and takes notes for when she reprises the role of Lois Lane in the next Superman movie.

The film is an unashamed blockbuster and it has some great set-piece action pieces with probably the best ‘train falling off a bridge’ scene since The Bridge on the River Kwai. But at nearly two and a half hours duration, it is rather slow in places; much judicious editing was required.

The production values of the film can’t be faulted and the sets are wonderful. It’s just a shame that they’re wasted on such an indifferent film.

2.5 stars

Tim Meade

Man of Steel; In the House

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Man of Steel

It can be all too easy to find massive plot-holes in most movies. I have a simple take on them. If they don’t occur to me when I’m watching the film, then they’re of no relevance.

If a movie interests me, grabs my attention and entertains me, then I simply won’t notice them as the film has me hooked. On later reflection, if I suddenly realise the implausibility of one or several scenarios, I’ll shrug my shoulders, think it didn’t bother me at the time so why should it now? I imagine that along with most people, it’s only when a film is dull and fails to engage, that I sit in a theatre and shake my head at ridiculous developments.

Man of Steel is riddled with plot-holes. Machine gun riddled. It has more holes than the Japanese flag following the Battle of Iwo Jima. You could plough a tractor through its holes. But I failed to think of one of them as I sat enjoying its good story telling.

Actually, come to think of it, I did spot one very early on in the piece but quickly forgot about it. Jor –El, Superman’s father played with good pitch by Russell Crowe, is in the throes of getting his infant son off the doomed planet Krypton. He dives into the sea, swims down a water channel through a glacier into a chamber holding the Codex – a skull-like object which holds the DNA of one billion Kryptonites (or is it Kryptonians?) He makes off with it. Straight away it struck me that there was very little security surrounding this recorder of Krypton life – no barbed wire, no infra-red rays, no unbreakable glass surround – not even a couple of minimum wage Group 4 Security guards. I imagine Sir Don Bradman’s bat and baggy green cap has greater security at the Bowral Museum in Australia’s outback than Krypton’s biological memory.

So with the Codex, Kal-El/Superman – soon to be Clark Kent, is jettisoned toward Planet Earth in a space-age Moses basket and the adventures begin.

Being the first film in this re-boot of the Superman franchise, it is clearly required to spend some time setting up its characters and establishing its identity. But it does this not at the expense of moving the story along and never gets bogged down in background detail.

On current evidence, the injection of humour is not high on the producers’ agenda. And why should it be? Those behind this franchise appear to have confidence in their project and are not embarrassed to be telling the tale of Superman, despite a reluctance to name him so – even the ‘S’ symbol on his suit is explained as the Krypton for hope. The need for Roger Moore 007 one liners with a wink to the camera is not to be their style. The film in concept bears much similarity to the most recent Batman series, undoubtedly the influence of British film maker Christopher Nolan who was the driving force behind Batman and was instrumental in the development of this re-vamped Superman. Despite the lack of jokes, it never becomes pompous or overblown in its own importance.

Henry Cavill who up till now is probably only best known for the roles he nearly but didn’t quite secure – James Bond, Edward Cullen – seizes his opportunity and excels in the lead role, exuding boyish charm as the young Clark and square-jawed determination as the cape wearing super hero.

Overall, the cast was effective although Michael Shannon as chief villain General Zod is slightly underwhelming and I would have liked to see Amy Adams display greater gravitas as Lois Lane – she was just a bit too demure to be convincing as a hard-nosed investigative journalist. Hopefully she’ll raise her game for the sequels.           

The action scenes and CGI were impressive – I saw the film in 2D and, as with The Great Gatsby, a few shots were a little askew betraying its dual format.

One more feature of the film is its religious symbolism – there’s probably more Christian allegory than any film since The Narnia Chronicles. Russell Crowe is shown mostly as the spirit of Jor-El, living on after his physical death; Clark Kent refers to his ’33 years on this planet’ – 33 being the number of years it is widely believed Christ was on earth; General Zod appears to be an incarnation of Satan – his battles with Superman determining whether good or evil will triumph over the world. And the most blatant example was Jor-El on a spacecraft imploring Kal-El to return to earth with the words ‘You can save them son, you can save them all’ at which point Superman holds his arms out as if being crucified and falls through space down to the blue planet below. Had I paid more attention in Sunday School all those years ago, I could probably have picked up further visual metaphor. The film does not preach and I doubt this aspect will impinge on the enjoyment of card-carrying agnostics.

The film is a marvellous start and I hope the sequels will expand and develop.

4.5 stars.

 In the House (Dans la Maison)

The premise behind the French film Dans la Maison was sound. A bored, middle-aged school teacher who has lost his will to inspire his pupils is reinvigorated when a talented teenager starts submitting essays regarding the life of a fellow pupil and his family into whose home he is slowly ingratiating himself.

The teacher initially gives guidance but as the stories become more explicit he is torn by his intrigue in conflict with his ethics: his voyeurism generally wins the day.

This could have been either a wonderful black comedy, or dark psychological thriller. Sadly, it was neither and had  a tendency to drag. The film stalled early on and never really gained traction. There was no great twist or anything of any particular surprise. It was obvious one of the main protagonists would be outed as a latent homosexual and I picked the right one early on.

The acting was competent with Ernst Umhauer particularly effective as the young man intruding into another family’s life and Kristin Scott Thomas effective as the arty wife of the dull teacher.

2.5 stars.

Mud; The Look of Love

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Mud

Trails for Jeff Nichols’ Mud showed two boys coming across a stranger, most likely a fugitive, in an isolated riverside environment. The man’s shoe heel imprints leave a trail of crosses. This left me with an uneasy feeling that the film was going to be an unacknowledged re-make of Bryan Forbes’ classic 1961 movie Whistle Down the Wind in which a group of naïve young children happen across a wanted murderer (Alan Bates) in an isolated barn and mistake him for Jesus Christ.

My fears were unfounded. The character, who gives his name simply as Mud, was indeed a fugitive, hiding out on a small island on the Mississippi having killed a man who had impregnated his girlfriend, then assaulted her causing the loss of the unborn child. Both the family of the dead man and bounty hunters are hunting him down intent on bringing him to arbitrary justice.

Mud realises that his only option of escape is by renovating a dilapidated boat on the island on which he is holed up. He seeks help from the two boys, Ellis and Neckbone, who discover him as they explore the island in their Tom Sawyer-style existence. The boys agree to supply the tools and materials Mud requires. Ellis also acts as a go-between for Mud and his girlfriend Juniper staying, under surveillance, in a local, seedy motel.

This is a marvellous, character-driven drama in which the acting is of the highest order. Matthew McConaughey, as the hunted fugitive has surely never been better. There is clearly an in-joke when his character tells the boys there are just two things he can’t be without: his pistol and his shirt – McConaughey having seemingly spent most of his film career displaying a naked torso.

Jeff Nichols also coaxes fine performances from the young teenage boys. Jacob Lofland is good as Neckbone. But Tye Sheridan as Ellis is given the meatier role and is quite simply superb as a confused and frightened boy who is experiencing his idyllic river lifestyle coming to an end: his parents are divorcing, their riverboat home is to be demolished and he is to move to the local town with his mother. If this isn’t enough, he experiences the pain and pitfalls of first love with an older girl as he aids a wanted criminal. Your heart aches for this lad.   

Reece Witherspoon is convincing as Mud’s ‘trailer-trash’ girlfriend and there is a great cameo from Sam Shepard, now remarkably in his 70th year, as the loner no one knows  but who local legend believes has a murky and violent past.

It is no criticism when I refer to the film as a slow-burner. The film is set in a community where the locals are naturally taciturn and where formal authority is a distant and untrusted interloper. They do things slowly there.

Just last week I lamented that Michael McGowan had failed to make good use of the New Brunswick landscape in his small-scale drama Still Mine. No such criticism can be made of Jeff Nichols who makes the slow-moving and listless Mississippi River the very core of his drama, its languorousness clearly imprinting itself on to the people who are dominated by, and inconsequential to, its scale.

Amazingly, distribution for this film has been poor. It received only a limited release in the US, and here in Australia it currently shows on only two screens: one each in Melbourne and Sydney. This is incredible. A top-notch cast with a strong story confined to the artiest of art-house obscurity. I hope that the film’s merits will be recognised and it goes on to have a full release. Failing this, I suspect that in years to come, people will come across the film by accident and wonder how they ever missed it when it first came out.

****

The Look of Love

Director Michael Winterbottom and Steve Coogan collaborated a decade ago on 24 Hour Party People – a look at Manchester’s innovative music scene from the mid-1970s onward. It is considered by many, including myself, as a minor classic. So hopes were high as they united once more for this biopic about Britain’s erstwhile soft-pornographer-in-chief, and ultimately the country’s richest man, Paul Raymond.

Sadly, they cannot re-create the magic in this hotch-potch of a film which seems to lack any kind of compass and is unsure of the statement it wishes to make.

There is a total lack of irony as we follow Raymond’s hedonistic and highly lucrative lifestyle, giving people what many of them clearly want and for which they are happy to pay large amounts of money.

Steve Coogan as Paul Raymond frequently drifts far too close to his Alan Partridge persona throughout the film, and comparisons are almost invited as he shows Raymond impersonating Sean Connery to his friends.

There are under-weighted cameos from the likes of Stephen Fry and Matt Lucas; David Walliams plays a lecherous vicar, apparently a good friend of Raymond, but we are given no idea as to how he arrived on the scene and without backstory he comes across as  a superficial irrelevance.

The soundtrack is impressive, especially the Bacharach and David numbers, and the film does succeed in evoking a sense of period. But these are not enough. The film is ultimately superficial and unsatisfying.

2.5 stars

 Tim Meade

Still Mine; Farewell My Queen

Still Mine

It’s not uncommon for the titles of films to be changed when they are released in Australia and New Zealand – and no doubt elsewhere. The wonderful comedy Airplane! Starring Leslie Neilson is known as Flying High! in the Antipodes; the Lindy Chamberlain biopic  A Cry in the Dark was released under the more sinister title of Evil Angels.

Sometimes it can be amusing when a film title is not changed. I read many years ago, without verification but quite believably, that the British distributors of the American film, Free Willy, implored its producers to change the name for British audiences, explaining the title could easily be misconstrued. The Americans weren’t having a bar of it and insisted the original title be used. I recall sitting in theatres as the film was trailed. Audiences fell about laughing as the sententious voice-over intoned ‘Free Willy will touch you; your heart will ache for Free Willy’ or words to that effect.

Why the Canadian drama Still needed its name changed to Still Mine for Australian audiences is unclear.

Like so many films being released recently, we are told at its beginning that the film is ‘based on a true story’. Quite what that phrase means, and the licence it gives to film-makers, is open to the widest interpretation. It is a specious use of language. It allows writer and director to re-frame events, dissemble, misrepresent people, and, if challenged on points of veracity, hide behind the fact that it was never claimed to be a truthful recall.

Still Mine follows the story of octogenarian Craig Morrison (James Cromwell) who decides to build a smaller home on his 200 acres for he and his wife Irene (Geneviève Bujold) as she slips ever further into dementia. He knows what he’s doing but is unfamiliar with modern-day planning regulations and his plans and actions fail to satisfy building laws. He gets into a stoush with the local council, whose employees are all shown as heartless, uncompromising automatons, and eventually ends up in Court for failing to comply with Stop notices

James Cromwell and Geneviève Bujold are both fine in their roles having to deliver some rather turgid dialogue on occasions. But overall the film is just too small-scale.

Direction from Michael McGowan, who also wrote the film, is uninspired. The film is set in rural New Brunswick yet it fails to give much sense of location. In telling such a minor story and putting it on the big screen, he really needed to draw the audience in. Had he interspersed low-key dramatic events with linking shots showing the magnitude of the land and the beauty of the changing seasons and ocean then the film would surely have been more suited to a cinema release. Yes I know it was never meant to be a travelogue. But as it stands, it simply has the feel of a hastily made TV movie of the 1970s with limited production values. The paying audience are entitled to more than this.

***

Farewell, My Queen (Les Adieux a la Reine)

There were no issues concerning production values on the faux-historical romp Farewell, My Queen (Les Adieux a la Reine) from French writer and director Benoit Jacquot.

Set mainly in Versailles over three days as the Bastille is stormed and the French Revolution gains unstoppable momentum, this is a lavish production with superb costume design and sets.

Shown mainly from the point of view of the servants to the royals and aristocrats, the film makes good use of France’s palatial architecture and neatly shows the difference in the opulence of the super rich and squalid conditions of their largely loyal and deferential lackeys. The film is beautifully shot, both inside and out, and allows the audience to feel they are being given a personal guided tour of one of France’s greatest museums loaded with fine art and antiques.

The story focuses on seduction and loyalty between protagonists within the palace and their reaction to unfolding history which is mainly off-screen. The film, which is strongly female orientated in cast and storyline, titillated with lesbian longing and did so in a salacious and voyeuristic manner. It could have amounted to so much more.

This is a film that will appeal to all those who mourn the passing of Downton Abbey.

3.5 stars

The Great Gatsby

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There is a key scene in The Great Gatsby, your reaction to which will probably determine whether you love it or not.

For the first 30 minutes the eponymous Jay Gatsby is a missing enigma. Teasingly and tauntingly you see him fleetingly in long shot through a far distant window; there are a few close ups of his right pinkie sporting an out-sized signet ring; he is gossiped about, alluded to and referred to, at ever more frequent intervals so that, just like the shark in the original Jaws, his presence becomes greater and more intense by the very fact of his absence from screen.

And then it happens. We gate crash one of Jay Gatsby’s regular opulent parties. The grounds in West Egg are overtaken by the whole of New York society, clearly aware that mass ostentation is the only rule of attendance. The camera draws us upon him. As Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue builds and bursts in its sublime crescendo, The Great Gatsby is suddenly there before us, smiling inscrutably, raising his cocktail glass in salute as the night sky behind him is suddenly aflame with the greatest firework display ever seen outside of China.

If you sit in your chair, mouth agape, goose bumps covering your whole being, silently lip-synching ‘WOW!!!!’ you will undoubtedly love the whole film. If, on the other hand, you consider this cinematic hyperbole to be, well, perhaps just a teensy-weensy bit over the top then this may not make your Film of the Year shortlist.

For this scene neatly encapsulates Baz Luhrmann’s whole take on this enterprise. The film is, to all intents, a cartoon. Live action maybe but a cartoon nonetheless. Gatsby’s palatial mansion with its fairy tale turrets and fountains is straight out of a 1940s Disney animation; New York and its hinterland of The Valley of Ashes look more like Batman’s Gotham City and even the flashback scenes to World War One’s Western Front appear to have been lifted from the 1980s comedy satire, Blackadder Goes Forth. The film gains nothing from being in 3D and having seen it twice I preferred the 2D version, although a few shots were a little askew betraying its dual format.

 There is not a shred of subtlety or nuance to be found in the entire 143 minutes. That is not Mr Luhrmann’s style. Indeed, I imagine The Great Baz waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night in a momentary fear that someone, somewhere might just be able to draw their own conclusion from a scene he believed he had nailed down to be totally beyond interpretation. It is his film and you will see it his way or not at all.

Leonardo DiCaprio pretty much nails Jay Gatsby; it’s the sort of role in which he excels, for Dicaprio always looks like a movie star – a disadvantage when you try to play mundane but perfect for larger than life characters. The usually excellent Carey Mulligan however, whose haunting performance in Shame I rate as the best I saw all last year, fails to fire as Daisy. It’s difficult to be convinced that she could motivate the intense love rivalry between Gatsby and Tom, played as a single note with a never ending scowl by Joel Edgerton. Tobey Maguire has the unenviable task of having to deliver large chunks of the film in narrative – a device which suggests Mr Luhrmann was unsure how best to drive the story.

The soundtrack is deliberately anachronistic, modern day hip hop preferred to jazz. Quite what this is supposed to achieve is beyond me. F. Scott Fitzgerald himself coined the phrase, The Jazz Age, and the film’s setting is crying out for a superior jazz score.

The film never fails to fill the entire screen. It is a big film. It will not bore you. You may love it. You may not.

***

Tim Meade

The Reluctant Fundamentalist; The Hangover Part III

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The Reluctant Fundamentalist

Only last week I mentioned how events in the wider world can have a bearing on a film’s release totally outside the control of its makers. Such happenings can affect the mood of the cinema-going public, determining whether or not the film will prove a hit. A film exploring east-west tensions in the post 9/11 world is always going to be susceptible to such vagaries.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist, from veteran Indian director Mira Nair, starts with the kidnapping by Islamic fundamentalists of an American professor based in Lahore, Pakistan. The (un-named) CIA then swing into action to secure the release of their compatriot by whatever means necessary. Seasoned foreign reporter and covert CIA operative Robert Lincoln, whose world-weariness is played with great balance by Live Schrieber, is sent to interview the radical Islamic academic Professor Changez (Riz Ahmed) who, it is believed, is implicated in the kidnapping.

Prof. Changez agrees to be interviewed on the understanding that his complete story is told and recorded to give full perspective. The film then alternates between contemporary happenings and flashback as we follow Changez’ journey from genteel poverty in Pakistan to scholarship success at Princeton University. He is head-hunted by a major New York financial institution, Underwood Samson, and commences his career as an analyst. His instinctive ability to identify savings in corporations perceived as under-performing catches the eye of Underwood Samson executive Jim Cross (Kiefer Sutherland) and under his tutelage it is clear he is destined for top-flight success. His personal life is equally golden-plated, his good looks and social confidence easing him effortlessly into the New York scene and a relationship with an aspiring artistic photographer, Erica (Kate Hudson).

His idyllic lifestyle starts to be tarnished with the events of 9/11. Returning to the United States from a business trip to the Philippines, he finds himself treated with hostile suspicion at the airport and subjected to a demeaning strip search. This is just the first of several incidents which makes him question both his career choice and allegiance to his adopted homeland. Subsequently sent to Turkey to wind-up a non-profitable publisher, his conscience is pricked by the chain-smoking managing director who presents him with an anthology including poems by Changez’ father. Quitting his job, his visa is automatically revoked and he returns to Pakistan.

Changez is played with great nuance by British-born actor Riz Ahmed – his strong and charismatic performance drives the film. His character’s admission, retrospectively, that at the height of his success and assimilation into American life he still felt a frisson of excitement as the planes hit the Twin Towers and David hit back at Goliath, was a telling moment and demonstrated well the complexities of his motivations. Other characters within the film, from both sides, were equally complex. And as both sides concentrated on pointing out the plank in each others’ eyes, it was obvious there could be no meeting of minds and, ergo, no resolution.

The film’s central message that eastern religious fundamentalism is matched by an equally unattractive western economic fundamentalism of corporate greed was introduced rather heavy-handedly. This was forgivable. It was pretty crucial that the point was seen to be made.

So will recent events surrounding Islamic extremism have an influence on this film’s audience? Probably not. I imagine those inclined to see this film will go anyway. And those who might benefit from seeing it, won’t.

****

The Hangover Part III

On a road trip to Arizona, the ‘Wolfpack’ of Bradley Cooper as Phil Wenneck,  Ed Helms as Dr.Stuart Price and  Zach Galifianakis as Alan Garner are forcibly pushed off the road by big time gangster Marshall (John Goodman) who blames them for the loss of $21m worth of gold bullion to Thai criminal Leslie Chow (Ken Jeong) – these things happen. He takes Dr Price hostage with the promise of execution unless the hapless friends track down and bring to Marshall the elusive Thai villain. It’s a comedy.

There follows an ever more frantic series of set pieces as the gang try to capture the master criminal and save the life of their friend.

The cast are all amiable and watchable but the material is just not there. This is a film which raises a few smiles and a very occasional laugh. But even at just over 90 minutes it is far too long.

This is a franchise that has now over extended its welcome.

2.5 stars.