LOVE ACTUALLY: one-upping Uncle Sam in the rom-com stakes

Ok, let's get the negatives out of the way first so we can have a grown-up conversation about this film.
I admit that LOVE ACTUALLY is undeniably sentimental and sugary. I could feel it chipping away at the enamel on my teeth and furring up the walls of my arteries. It's not the first rom-com to suggest that love is the answer and that all you need is love but it does so more nakedly and unashamedly than many of its predecessors.
It's nothing more than an implausible fairytale in modern garb where the men are more often than not the ones in distress and it's the damsels who ride to the rescue.

So, with these minuses duly noted and acknowledged I now want to make the case that LOVE ACTUALLY is a really good film. It's not a great film or a classic but it is a lot of fun. The two main reasons for this are writer-director Richard Curtis' genuinely funny script and the engaging performances from a veritable who's who of British acting talent circa 2003.
Among the stand-outs are Bill Nighy in a career boosting turn as an addled rock star making an unlikely chart comeback with a truly awful Yuletide song called "Christmas is all around us" (based on the almost as awful "Love is all around us"), Hugh Grant dithering magnificently (but keeping his fluttering eyelids in check) as the British Prime Minister, Colin Firth as the epitome of the too-nice-for-his-own-good English gent, and Liam Neeson as a newly widowed dad channeling his grief into supporting his young step-son's difficult encounter with first love. Honorable mentions go to Emma Thompson, Martin Freeman, Laura Linney, Andrew Lincoln and Alan Rickman and I could go on, there's really not a bad performance in the entire cast. Even Rowan Atkinson acquits himself well!
With a cast this big and numerous storylines to cover there's not a lot of time for depth so it's to the immense credit of the cast and Curtis's scriptwriting skills that in the short time we get to spend with each of the characters they get to feel like something approaching real people. It's true that we only get to see one aspect of their lives - their love-life - but it's done in such a way that we feel there's more to them than simply their issues with romance.
What makes LOVE ACTUALLY a determinedly British take on the romantic comedy genre - even more than the predominantly British cast and the fact that it's set in London - is the humour. The mix of sarcasm and self-deprecation is uniquely British and allows the male characters in particular to act like an idiot at times without becoming pathetic buffoons. I got a sense of Curtis - his focus fixed very firmly on the other side of the Atlantic - stating confidently "This is how WE make rom-coms, and our style is just as valid as yours!" If that's too subtle for you just look at his depiction of the American President (a cameo by Billy Bob Thornton) as a shifty, immoral bully, and the portrayal of beautiful young American women (those from Wisconsin anyway) as brainless bimbos eager to jump into bed at the first sound of an English accent no matter how ugly the owner. The sub-conscious message seems to be "we may be nitwits but at least we're not Americans."
Heartwarming, life-affirming and seriously funny in places I think LOVE ACTUALLY has the pedigree to become the British version of "It's a Wonderful Life" - the film without which an entire nation's Christmas celebrations aren't complete.

CONFLICT: more fighting off-screen than on

If you ever imagined that actors were oblivious to the awfulness of a film they were making and it's only us critics with perception powerful enough to recognise a turd when we see it, then you need to read pages 228 to 233 of Rudy Behlmer's 1985 book 'Inside Warner Bros.'
These pages contain the transcript of a May 6, 1943 phone call between Warner Bros top star, Humphrey Bogart, and studio boss Jack Warner on the subject of CONFLICT. Bogey is pleading with his employer to be released from his obligation to make this film. This is just a sampling:
"I am more serious than I have ever been in my life and I just do not want to make this picture."
"Nothing you can say will convince me it is a good picture, or is in good shape, or for me."
"It is not any good. It is not constructed for me and no thought has been put into it."

In attempting to persuade his recalcitrant star to make the film, Warner alternates between talking it up "In my opinion, from a professional standpoint, this picture.... will be one of the important pictures, because it is so different from anything that you or we have done" to virtually conceding that Bogart has a point "In this business you can't always take the apples off the tree, you have to take some of them that are on the ground" although he denies Bogart's assertion that he (Warner) is admitting "that this is a rotten apple."
Despite Bogart protestations, he made CONFLICT  and while it's certainly not a rotten apple it doesn't do much for his image or reputation either. Bogart clearly had a far better idea of his screen persona than his studio did and he was 100% right to insist that the role was not right for him. It's difficult to understand what Warner Bros were thinking when they cast him in a part that was so at odds with the tough, principled, highly individual characters he'd played with enormous success in 'The Maltese Falcon', 'Casablanca', 'Action in the North Atlantic' and 'Sahara.'
Architect Richard Mason is a scheming, mentally disturbed psychopath who murders his wife when she gets in the way of his lust for her sister and then goes mad when she apparently returns from the dead to haunt him. This is not the Bogart the public had come to love nor was it even an 'interesting' change of direction. Mason is an implausible, one dimensional figure lacking in any kind of appeal. Bogart was far too professional to give a deliberately bad performance but he's obviously struggling to find anything in the script that can help him to make Mason a credible character.
CONFLICT is somewhat kinder on Bogart's frequent 40s co-star Sydney Greenstreet. He's far better suited to the role of family friend and wily psychiatrist Dr Mark Hamilton who figures out what his best friend is up, and he brings a grace and sophistication to the project that it really doesn't deserve. The one real pleasure to be derived from this film is watching Greenstreet in action, effortlessly dominating every scene he appears in without once overshadowing Bogart.
As a thriller CONFLICT is disappointingly flat, unconvincing and anything but an 'important picture', but as a lesson in how a big studio can totally mishandle it's biggest star this film is priceless.

THE BIG BROADCAST OF 1938: thanks for nothing except Thanks For the Memory

To dismiss THE BIG BROADCAST OF 1938 as an insubstantial piece of fluff is to malign those films which are lighter than air and devoid of meaning or reason for existing.

I find it hard to believe that this film even looked good on paper.
Essentially it's a cinematic version of a vaudeville show with a young(ish) Bob Hope (making his feature length movie debut) filling in the gaps between the acts by pretending to be a radio announcer hosting the world's most implausible broadcast. I appreciate that radio was still a relatively new medium in 1938 but I can't imagine anyone in the audience was sufficiently baffled by the technology to believe that this is how a radio show was put together. 
The premise is that Hope (as Buzz Fielding) is hosting a special radio show from on board the luxury ocean liner SS Gigantic which is racing its rival, the SS Colossal, across the Atlantic from New York to Cherbourg. His efforts are hampered by the presence of his three ex-wives, his fiancee Dorothy (Dorothy Lamour), SB Bellows (WC Fields) the eccentric brother of the Gigantic's owner, and Bellows accident-prone daughter Martha (Martha Raye).
The more I see of WC Fields on screen the more puzzling his success becomes. He's largely incomprehensible here, and much of his act (involving a bent snooker cue) is so old it had whiskers even in 1938. He behaves as if he's in another film entirely, and the overall perception is of selfish self-indulgence. Fields does what he wants to do and to hell with the rest of the cast who've got to work with him.
Funnier by far than Fields or Hope is second billed Martha Raye who uses her somewhat unusual looks to her advantage here. Not only is her character accident prone but she's ugly. She has a face that  literally shatters mirrors, a mouth as wide as the Lincoln Tunnel, and a voice as loud as a fog horn. She's neither dainty nor shy and retiring and is decidedly asexual and director Mitchell Leisen takes full advantage of her 'game for anything' attitude. In one incredibly energetic and acrobatic song and dance number she is thrown, spun around and dropped like a sack of potatoes by a troupe of dancing sailors, singing all the while. It's worth watching the sequence on frame by frame advance just to see if she actually injures herself at any point while being hurled around the set.
The other acts are decidedly more genteel. Kirsten Flagstad from the Metropolitan Opera Company belts out Wagner's most famous aria, while Shep Fields and his Rippling Rhythm Orchestra accompany an animated sequence involving a dancing splash of water which is considerably less entertaining than it may sound.
Despite the decided averageness of the entertainment on offer THE BIG BROADCAST OF 1938 has earned a small place in movie history as the vehicle which launched Hope's future theme song 'Thanks for the Memory' and he sings it beautifully, duetting with Shirley Ross in a performance impressively devoid of showbusiness schmaltz or over-singing. This routine alone is worth the price of admission and, with a little concentration and selectivity, it could be the only thing you remember this film for.

50/50: a very dishonest comedy about cancer

It's possible to find humour in almost anything although, as a recent episode of 'Family Guy' demonstrated, it can be challenging when the subject is something as sensitive as domestic violence.
The same goes for life threatening illnesses like cancer.
As anyone knows who's suffered from it or had friends or family with it, there's precious few laughs to be had in dealing with a disease which can debilitate, disfigure and kill. All of which makes 50/50 a gutsy proposition.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt stars in this black comedy as Adam, a 27 year old radio journalist diagnosed with a rare and potentially lethal form of cancer in his spine. Seth Rogen is Kyle, his immature, foul-mouthed best friend. Kyle is convinced that cancer is a chick-magnet and persuades Adam to shave his head to better play the part of a terminally ill young man looking for a little female sympathy and company in the bars and nightclubs of Seattle.
Everyone has their own way of handling to life-changing situations and there is no right or wrong way to respond to a diagnosis of cancer.But as someone with a close friend currently battling a very serious cancer what irked me about 50/50 is it's dishonesty in its portrayal of the situation. It treats cancer as something that's barely more serious than a broken bone, and is no more of an inconvenience to the pursuit of daily life than an arm or leg in a cast.
Sure, Adam is shown vomiting after his first chemo session, and he finds himself too tired to stay out all night with Kyle chasing women, but beyond that the film doesn't so much gloss over as completely ignore the other side effects of the disease and its treatment. He shaves his head before his hair starts to fall out but at no point does he look like someone whose body is under relentless attack from within. There's no weight loss or any of the other indignities the disease can visit on the human body.
And don't get me started on the finances! Adam is employed by Seattle's NPR radio station but he appears only to be working on one short documentary feature which has no deadline, giving him buckets of time to hang out with Kyle and visit the hospital for treatment. At no point is the ugly subject raised of how he's going to pay for all this healthcare, while also covering the rent/mortgage on his very attractive house and all the other costs associated with life, like food. In return for minimal working hours Adam is apparently in receipt of America's most generous health insurance benefits. No wonder NPR is forced to run so many fundraising drives every year! Cancer may be ravaging his body but in this version of the United States it leaves his bank account and life savings untouched.
While 50/50 is to be commended for its kid-gloves free approach to the issue of cancer and, in particular the delicate subject of how to relate to the person with the cancer, it's a great shame that it has to sacrifice so much of the reality of the situation in the process. The absence of schmaltzy sentimentality is refreshing (although the ending makes a disappointingly predictable foray into this sugary territory) but the selective portrayal of the subject matter is insulting.

SUSPICION: gutsy Grant deserved a golden gong

Joan Fontaine won an Oscar for her performance in SUSPICION but it's Cary Grant who deserved it.

I'm not saying Fontaine was undeserving but Grant is just magnificent in this Alfred Hitchcock thriller, playing Johnnie, a charming but incredibly suspicious gentleman who seduces and marries the young and impressionable Lina, played by Fontaine.
Hitchcock reveals Johnnie's true character piece by piece, like peeling the layers from an onion, and the more Lina discovers the more she feels like crying.
There's clearly something not quite right about him on their first meeting in a railway carriage. He's prissy, effete and childish yet Lina, who's supposedly smart and intelligent (and reading a book on child psychology) is intrigued by him and secretly overjoyed when he contrives an opportunity to call on her a few days later.
Despite a growing number of warning signs she lets him sweep her off her feet and in no time at all they're married, which is when she starts discovering that almost nothing she'd assumed about him is true.
What so impressed me about Grant is that he's playing aggressively against type. Sure he'd played smooth talking charmers before - that was his screen persona - but never with the disturbing undercurrent of evil on show here. 1930s and 40s Hollywood was built on the premise that its stars always portrayed a type and never strayed from it, so this was a gutsy thing for Grant to do and I understand RKO were very uncomfortable about it. Often when stars stepped away from their type (Gable in 'Parnell', Bogart in 'The Return of Dr X' or 'Virginia City') it was a disaster because the public didn't want to see them playing a different kind of character, but Grant is effective because he takes his screen persona and subverts it, suggesting there's something very rotten beneath that smooth veneer.
It's genuinely disturbing to watch a character we think we know so well gradually reveal the darkness behind the handsome mask, and Fontaine does a great job in expressing the creeping fear that comes with this realisation.
By 1941 Hitchcock was already a master at ratcheting up the tension turn by turn, and interspersing it with moments of frivolity (provided here by a wonderfully nincompoopish Nigel Bruce) which just add to the stress levels rather than alleviating them. SUSPICION builds beautifully to what should be a spectacular climax but isn't because of RKO's jitters over messing with Grant's image. The blame for the ludicrous denouement lies squarely with the studio, not Grant or Hitchcock.
The result is an enormous let down and a load of unanswered questions, but this climactic disappoint can't detract from Grant's masterful performance. He's so good I actually didn't mind the cop-out conclusion (too much).

BREEZY: when Frank was 55 it was a very good year

It's a bit of a mystery why Clint Eastwood chose BREEZY as his third film as director.
He'd made an impressive debut behind the camera two years earlier with 'Play Misty For Me' and followed that with 'High Plains Drifter' in 1973. Then came BREEZY.

Where the first two films are stylish, memorable and clearly the product of a director with talent, BREEZY is bland and anonymous. If it wasn't for some nudity on the part of co-star Kay Lenz, the film could easily pass for yet another in the seemingly endless torrent of made-for-tv movies churned out by US television in the 1970s which offered safe harbour to faded film stars.
In this case it's William Holden, playing Frank Harmon, a middle-aged LA real estate agent living a self-imposed lonely life in a funky (in a 70s kind of way) glass walled house buried at the end of a dead end street in the Hollywood Hills.
When we first meet him he's bidding an awkward goodbye to a one-night stand and fending off her not so subtle hints for a sign of commitment. He's been burned by a costly and bitter divorce and has no interest in getting involved with anyone else.
By this point the film's already introduced us to the title character played by Lenz. BREEZY is a 19 year old free spirit filled with naive notions of love and peace, and newly arrived in Los Angeles with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a guitar slung over her shoulder. BREEZY is also saying (a much less awkward) goodbye to a young man with whom she's spent the night. It's Eastwood's not so subtle way of telling us that despite the age and socio-economic gap between these two characters they're really not so different.
But of course Frank and BREEZY haven't seen the film so things are far from smooth when they first meet after she invites herself into his house. He rightly surmises she's looking for a handout but her childish innocence and expressions of genuine affection for him are soon starting to crack the crusty old codger's heart, and before long they're locked in an embrace.
Eastwood has nothing new to say about the May - December romance story that unfolds, but he covers familiar ground competently enough and there's a certain pleasure to be had watching former matinee idol Holden play the kind of part that would have been a total no-no for a Hollywood leading man less than 20 years earlier. Frank gets totally hung-up on the age difference, and Eastwood emphasizes it with several very unflattering shots which pick out every line and crag on Holden's well-worn face. I wonder if he ever imagined, 23 years earlier while playing the handsome, desirable young buck lusted after by a grotesque and aging former film star in 'Sunset Boulevard' that one day his career would bring him full circle and he'd be playing the Norma Desmond role.
The counter-culture aspect of the story is now terribly dated and I'm not convinced Eastwood's depiction of hippies was particularly accurate even in 1973. BREEZY herself is little more than a collection of flower child cliches that are more grating than endearing, and it's interesting to speculate on just how long she and Frank would last as a couple before the novelty of her youth and sweetness wore off leaving just an annoying, needy woman-child behind.
Despite the flaws I can't bring myself to dislike this film. With a lesser star than Holden this could have been a rather tedious trudge through tiresomely familiar territory, but his world weary charm and talent won me over and kept me watching. And heck, he even had me hoping for the predictable happy ending!

CARJACKED: to car wreck by story's end

It's almost mind boggling.
The opening titles for CARJACKED credit no less than six production companies and eighteen (yes 18!) producers yet not one of them noticed that the final third of the film is absolute nonsense.
Not the kind of nonsense that only a veteran film reviewer with a pedantic eye would notice. I'm talking the kind of nonsense that is so blatant, so ridiculous, so... so.. so nonsensical that it will have you literally shouting at the screen.

Which is kind of a shame because up until this final third CARJACKED was squaring up to be a pretty reasonable thriller in a direct-to-video kind of way.
Maria Bello stars as Lorraine, a harrassed and impoverished single mom, who is carjacked when she stops at a gas station with her young son Chad. Stephen Dorff is Roy, the roguishly charming and violent bank robber who orders Lorraine to drive several hundred miles through the night to a rendezvous with a confederate. A cat and mouse gave develops inside the claustrophobic confines of the car with Lorraine looking for any opportunity to get herself and Chad to safety.
There's nothing particularly original here - of course there has to be a moment when she talks to a police officer searching for Roy but can't tell him what's happening - but Bello and Dorff are experienced and talented enough to create a believable relationship out of a script which is average at best.
But they are powerless to salvage anything resembling credibility from the grand climax with a twist which sees Lorraine transformed into a halfwitted Thelma and Louise and Roy into a stereotypical crazed bad guy who's lost all his marbles. Logic and commonsense are thrown out of the window in favour of a sequence of scenes which will have you banging the palm of your hand repeatedly against your forehand in frustration and disbelief and yelling "call the police, lady, for cripes sake just call the police!." The final pay-off scene is so bad I'm convinced it must have been written by a home-schooled 10 year old raised on a diet of Lifetime Channel made-for-tv movies.
You'll come to be entertained and stay to be disappointed. Or just turn it off after 65 minutes and save yourself from a headache and a sore throat.

SARAH'S KEY: the horror and the beauty

SARAH'S KEY is a terrible, beautiful and heartwrenching story of inhumanity, survival and remarkable kindness which will stay with you long after you've finished watching it.
Set in and around Paris both in the early years of the 21st century and during the French capital's darkest days in 1942, this is also a mystery story which'll keep you on the edge of your seat.
Kristin Scott Thomas stars as Julia Jarmond, a journalist working on an investigative piece about one of the most shameful episodes of French collaboration with the Nazis, the infamous Vel d'Hiv round-up of thousands of Parisian Jews by French police in July 1942. After days held in the most inhumane conditions in an overcrowded sports stadium most of the men, women and children arrested were herded onto trains owned by the French state railway company and sent to their deaths at Auschwitz.
Julia's personal and professional lives intersect when she discovers that the apartment owned by her husband's parents used to belong to a Jewish family, the Starzynskis, who were among the thousands detained in the July 1942 round-up. As she delves deeper into their story she finds that there's no record of the deaths of the two Starzynki children - Sarah and Michel - and determines to track them down so she can tell their story.
As the lynchpin of a complex and emotive story Scott Thomas is magnificent. Understated, matter of fact and relentlessly determined, she holds the past and present together as the film hopscotches between her investigation and the re-telling of the events her investigations uncover. Her refusal to succumb to cheap sentimentality or tearful theatrics as the full horror of July 1942 is slowly revealed to her, gives the story a dignity the Starzynskis and their fellow victims deserve.
Equally impressive is young Melusine Meyance as 10 year old Sarah, giving a performance that is wise beyond her years. There's not a single false note in her response to the unimaginable terror of arbitrary arrest and imprisonment in an overcrowded stadium without food or water and the witnessing of the brutality of the French police towards their fellow countrymen.Nor is she ever less than 100% convincing in her unshakeable determination to survive despite the overwhelming odds.
Heartbreaking and emotionally wrenching are descriptors often overused when applied to dramas of personal bravery in the face of incredibly adversity but they are entirely appropriate in the case of SARAH'S KEY. Director Gilles Paquet-Brenner paints a portrait of people at their best and their worst and forces us to ask ourselves how we would react if we were in Sarah's situation, or one of the non-Jewish French witnesses to the round-up.
SARAH'S KEY also reminded me how much I like French films. They have a style and a sensibility that is so different from American cinema, and while I'm not trying to argue that one is better than the other I do think it's refreshing from time to time to look at life from another angle.

OUR IDIOT BROTHER: the tale of an unmotivated Forest Gump

Bring back capital punishment! (for those of you reading this in a territory where it no longer exists).
For all other places, this film is the best argument I've yet seen for keeping it.
OUR IDIOT BROTHER does not deserve to live.

I'm struggling to remember the last time I watched a film that was such a complete and utter waste of space. There is no argument that can be put forward to justify the continued existence of this pathetic wretch. It is totally without worth.
Director Jesse Peretz ('The Ex') has created a shapeless, sprawling, meandering story which wanders around with very little sense of direction but an unfortunate and burning passion for cliches.
A shaggy haired, heavily bearded Paul Rudd is Ned, the titular idiot brother and Beach Boy Brian Wilson look-a-like, while Zooey Deschanel, Elizabeth Banks and Emily Mortimer are his long suffering sisters. After a spell in prison for selling marijuana to a uniformed police officer Ned goes to stay with each of them and - through his stupidity - succeeds in wreaking havoc in their jobs and relationships.
Which is where the cliches come in. There is nothing original about what Ned does or the lessons that everyone learns from their interactions with him. Ned's unfortunate siblings and their spouses/partners see him as an idiot but director Peretz desperately wants us to believe there's a native intelligence guiding this man-child's actions. His chosen method of persuasion is to have Rudd play Ned as a character who is neither completely idiotic nor a total man-child. This is achieved not by a careful blending of both traits but by having Rudd play some scenes as an idiot, others as a man-child and yet others as a reasonably normal person.
The result is a completely inconsistent and implausible character who switches at random between the different forms of behaviour depending on the requirements of the particular scene, and the end product is a viewer as exasperated as Ned's siblings.
The take away from all of this is that it's better to go through life as an idiot than to attempt to achieve something with your life. Sure Ned's sisters are making a hash of it but at least they're trying whereas he's content to not only sponge off them but inflict uninvited life lessons on them by interfering in their lives. While they're left to pick up the pieces (and, of course become better people because of Ned's intervention) he blunders on, seemingly unaware that he's on a road to nowhere.
And that is exactly where this film goes - nowhere.

BULLETS OVER BROADWAY: what would Woody have done?

I've got just one problem with this Woody Allen comedy about a struggling playwright in 1920s New York who's forced to cast a gangster's talentless girlfriend in his latest production to get it produced.
Woody's not in it.

He wrote it and directed it but chose to cast John Cusack in the part of playwright David Shayne even though it's clearly written for him.
How do I know that?
Because Cusack's performance is not so much an interpretation of the part as it is a very obvious impression of Woody Allen playing the part.
And therein lies the problem.
When a character is so blatantly written to be played by one particular actor I want to see that actor in the part, not another actor playing it exactly like the actor it was intended for. It's so frustrating when Allen is standing there, just a couple of feet away behind the camera. He could just have walked out onto the set and taken over, for cripes sake!
Cusack does a great impression of Allen but he's too young to be convincing as Allen.Conversely Allen is too old to play the part as written. A struggling 60 year old playwright seems a little unusual - surely anyone with half a brain would have given up the struggle well before reaching the three score mark. The character of Shayne would have to have been re-imagined for Allen to have played him.
But I would rather have had that than Cusack's impression. Because it is so patently Allen, Shayne doesn't ring true as a character. And that kind of drags down the entire film.
Well maybe not entirely. On the plus side, there's impressive performances from Dianne Wiest, in an Oscar winning turn as a Broadway grand dame who's seen better days, and Rob Reiner as a pretentious fellow playwright who prefers to cling to his principles than write a hit play and trades philosophical barbs with Shayne even as he's stealing his girlfriend.
By no means is BULLETS OVER BROADWAY a disaster but it could have been so much better with Woody in front of the camera as well as behind it.

IT COULDN'T HAPPEN HERE: but it did and there's nothing we can do to change that

It's never made entirely clear what the 'it' is that couldn't happen here. Unless they're referring to the excruciatingly awful over-acting, storyline that's pure gibberish and nonsensical visuals.

In which case it most certainly could and unfortunately does happen here.
This 1988 vanity project by The Pet Shop Boys indulges their artistic pretensions to the detriment of everyone involved. Neil Tennant drifts through scene after ridiculous scene like a 'Another Country' period Rupert Everett wannabe while Chris Lowe trots along beside him like an obedient lapdog perfecting the distant stare which was the fate of so many 1980s era band musicians who were contractually required to appear in their group's videos but weren't given  anything to do.
The duo's weak acting skills and Tennant's unconvincing delivery of dialogue can just about be excused - they're musicians after all, not actors, and they should have stuck to the former - but the professional thespians in the cast really should be ashamed of themselves. Gareth Hunt and Joss Ackland compete for the hammiest over-acting honours with Barbara Windsor nipping at their heels. I appreciate that actors like to work and need to earn income but really, do you have no pride at all in your craft and your reputation?
The story such as it is appears to have something to do with fragmentary memories of Tennant and Lowe's childhood set to a random collection of Pet Shop Boys tunes few of which have anything to do with the visuals. Director Jack Bond does make a half-hearted effort to associate some of the songs with the on-screen action but with others he just gives up and wheels out a dance troupe to perform routines which evoke only memories of Legs & Co from Top of the Pops rather than 1960s England.
Not only do Tennant and Lowe come across as a couple of art school poseurs but the film diminishes them as musicians with its inept and random presentation of their hits, and an over-reliance on the album tracks that weren't singles precisely because they're so tuneless and/or unmemorable. Using one of these rather than a hit to open the film was a big mistake because it immediately deflates expectations.
The Pet Shop Boys made some great music and that is what they should have stuck with. Trying to spin an 80 minute semi-surrealistic art-house film out of a 4 minute image (the average length of one of their singles) was a really bad idea which does them no favours and inflicts cinematic grievous bodily harm on the audience.

THE GROOVE TUBE: you had to be there

With the benefit of hindsight it's tempting to see THE GROOVE TUBE as an inspiration for 'Saturday Night Live.' Released just a year before the now legendary tv show made its debut, this film is also a collection of unrelated sketches and spoofs most of which aren't funny and several of which feature a young Chevy Chase.
Writer-director-star Ken Shapiro is a forgotten name today but judging by his ubiquity here he must have been enough of a rising talent in the mid 70s for someone to consider it worth their while to bankroll this personal vanity project.
A ramshackle attempt to send up 1970s American tv, this assemblage of skits targets everything from crime dramas to cookery shows to the evening news, with a smattering of nudity thrown in, but mostly misses. The most labored sequence - featuring Shapiro and a young Richard Belzer as a couple of hopeless drug dealers - is also the longest, outstaying its welcome by several painful minutes.

But just like SNL there are a few laughs to be had too. My favorites are a demonstration on how to bake a 'July 4th Heritage Cake' and the final musical number featuring Shapiro as 'Dancing Man' and proving that whatever his comedic shortcomings he certainly understood how to move his slightly podgy body to maximum comic effect.
The aforementioned Chevy Chase gives no indication of the comedy powerhouse he was to become just a few short years later, and on the basis of this film alone it would be difficult to guess that he would become a star and Shapiro would be the one to sink into obscurity.
Time has not been kind to THE GROOVE TUBE. What was anarchic, edgy comedy in 1974 now appears dated and tame, but the film has value as a history lesson. It reveals at least one of the influences on 'Saturday Night Live' which was in turn to prove so influential on the direction of  development of American comedy over the following 10 - 15 years. Just don't expect to laugh too much.

NO ROOM FOR THE GROOM: no reason to have been made

This leaden attempt at light comedy serves one useful purpose only - to confirm that light comedy was not the forte of director Douglas Sirk.

Thankfully his reputation rests not on this misguided and feeble effort but the series of melodramas ('All That Heaven Allows', 'Magnificent Obsession', 'Written on the Wind', 'The Tarnished Angels') that he made subsequently for Universal in the 1950s. If all we had to go on was NO ROOM FOR THE GROOM he'd be rightfully forgotten.
This 1952 comedy of newly-wed frustration is as tedious as it is predictable and it is tediously predictable. Tony Curtis is Alvah Morrell, a young GI who elopes to Las Vegas with his sweetheart, Lee (Piper Laurie) only to be rushed to hospital with chickenpox on his wedding night. The moment he recovers he's shipped overseas for 10 months so by the time he returns home to his Californian vineyard he's understandable keen to consummate the union. But while he's been away his wife's overbearing and disapproving mother (Spring Byington) has moved an army of annoying relatives into Alvah's home so there's nowhere private for the couple to become reacquainted. And just to add an extra wrinkle Mama doesn't know the pair have tied the knot.
Not only is all this not funny but the plot's advancement relies almost entirely on characters not saying simple things to clear the air or resolve misunderstandings. This device was hackneyed half a century ago and remains one of the most implausible ever employed in any form of storytelling. Asking the audience to believe that a young man who goes off to war and risks his life for his country doesn't have the guts to tell his mother-in-law he's married her daughter defies credulity.
Neither Curtis nor Laurie are skilled enough to breath any life into the stolid script, and Curtis' lack of comic timing is almost shocking given how skilled a comic performance he was to give in 'Some Like it Hot' later in the decade. His desperately misguided attempt to play drunk is particularly excruciating in its awfulness.
The total absence of humour, the cloying coyness of the young couple and the general lack of even a small spark of interest in the plot make NO ROOM FOR THE GROOM one of the longest 82 minutes I've ever sat through. An embarrassment to everyone involved

BEGINNERS: love, life and the whole damn thing beautifully explored

This offbeat 2010 drama-comedy-romance is something of a hidden gem. Not quite an Elizabeth Taylor sized diamond but not a worthless chunk of diamonique either.
BEGINNERS delivered more than I was expecting and with more wit and style than I'd anticipated. The end result is it's stuck with me for the last couple of days, long after I'm struggling to remember the title of some other films I've seen recently.

Ewan McGregor stars as Oliver, a thirtysomething illustrator whose world is rocked by the news that his 75 year old recently widowed father Hal (played by Christopher Plummer) is gay and has a much younger boyfriend. The revelation brings the formerly rather distant father and son closer together as Hal reveals the truth behind the facade of his 44 year marriage to Oliver's mother, and the joy he's experiencing at finally being able to be himself.
Simultaneously the film explores Oliver's unexpected and burgeoning relationship with Anna (Melanie Laurent), a vivacious young French woman he meets at a fancy dress party. Oliver's always had commitment issues so this is something new for him - a woman he wants to stay with and share his life with.
While the two relationships are developing side by side on screen they're actually occupying different spaces in time. Oliver first meets Anna a couple of months after his father's death from cancer and although director Mike Mills makes no effort to confuse the issue it's easy to sink into the feeling that everything's happening at the same time. What is clear is that Oliver's increasingly close relationship with his father and the support he gives him during his final illness is helping him to develop a consciousness about himself and why he's the way he is, although it's not so easy to apply the lessons to his relationship with Anna.
I've never been a big fan of McGregor but he is note perfect here and more than complements Plummer's beautiful, Oscar nomination worthy performance as an old man discovering himself and facing up to death. The two interact with an ease that suggests a lifetime of familiarity with one another and a deep rooted affection which, although unspoken for too long, has always been there.
A strong sense of warm understated tenderness and affection permeates the entire film and everyone in it. From Hal to Oliver and Anna to Hal's adorable, scene-stealing dog Arthur (he'll make you want to go straight out and adopt a Jack Russell) these are characters and situations we want to care about and Mills achieves this without resorting to cheap sentimentality or stock scenarios. 
There's not too many films where I've longed to know what happens to the characters after we take our leave of them, but BEGINNERS definitely belongs in that select group.

THE CHANGE-UP: the institution of marriage and how to ecape it - or not

Having seen 'Bridesmaids', 'Crazy Stupid Love' 'The Hangover 2' and now THE CHANGE-UP in recent weeks I'm sensing a new trend in Hollywood comedies.
Perhaps trend is too strong a word, but there's definitely a new angle of approach to the Judd Apatow-led comedy genre ('Knocked Up', 'The 40 Year Old Virgin', 'Superbad', 'Pineapple Express' etc etc) revolving around overgrown men child, their equally immature best buddies, and the trials and tribulations of graduating to fully qualified grown-up.

To be sure the 4 films referred to at the start of the previous paragraph involve - to varying degrees - issues of growing up and casting off youthful irresponsibilities, but they are more directly concerned with the challenge of negotiating the institution of marriage, either entering into it ('Hangover 2', 'Bridesmaids') or sustaining it once inside ('Crazy Stupid Love,).
THE CHANGE-UP encompasses both scenarios by dint of having one of its main characters being a feckless, commitment-phobe, bed-hopping bachelor (Ryan Reynolds) and the other (Jason Bateman) living the traditional American Dream of a wife, 3 kids, a nice house, good salary and successful career. Then by means of the less than original device of having the two friends switch bodies via a magical fountain, the film explores the plus and minus points of both lifestyle choices with rather predictable results. Both men start out loudly proclaiming that they want the other's life but soon discover that the view from the inside is not as rosy as it appears from a distance.
What makes this rehashing of familiar themes more than tolerable are the performances of Reynolds and Bateman. Both are immensely likeable screen presences with a talent for light comedy and an ability to make the most of the material they're given to work with. The good news is that here they don't have to work too hard. Much of the script sits comfortably in the smile to laugh out loud range of funniness and that, in large part, is down to having both actors play parts with which they're not normally associated. Reynolds is already a star and Bateman is fast ascending to the same status after his thoroughly entertaining turn in 'Horrible Bosses' earlier this year.
THE CHANGE-UP is not a sophisticated comedy. It's stock in trade is scatological, sexual perversions and profanity, and those of a tender disposition may find it all a bit too near the knuckle. For everyone else this film offers two hours of entertainment which while never scaling the heights of 'Horrible Bosses' or 'Crazy Stupid Love' will leave you feeling you definitely got your money's worth.

MOONRISE: classic film noir with a fascinating twist

Lurking behind the deceptively soft and lyrical title is a dark, disturbing, violent and surprising film noir which has much to offer to aficionados of the genre.

What's perhaps most surprising is that it was produced by Republic Pictures. a film production corporation comprised of half a dozen of Hollywood's poverty row studios, and best known for churning out low budget westerns, serials and B movies. With the exception of Orson Welles 'MacBeth' and a couple of John Ford-John Wayne projects almost nothing released under Republic's name could be considered art or possessing of any significant depth. 1948's MOONRISE is certainly not art house but it boasts a thoughtfully constructed story which functions on several levels.
"The poor man's John Garfield" Dane Clark proves there's more to his talent than this slightly demeaning tag would suggest, playing Danny Hawkins, a troubled young man haunted by his inheritance as the son of a man hanged for murder. In a stylish and creative opening sequence director Frank Borzage illustrates the literal dark shadow that his father's execution has cast across Danny's life, from his earliest years through growing up to the present day. Danny is a perpetual outsider tormented by his peers for being the son of a murderer, and looked on with mistrust by the residents of his small, rural hometown. It's a suspicion that appears justified when Danny kills a man in an argument over a girl (Gail Russell as local schoolteacher Gilly Johnson) at a Saturday dance and hides the body hoping that he can continue with life as normal as long as it remains undiscovered.

In truth Hawkins is a part tailor-made for Garfield. The character fits his screen persona to a tee yet Clark succeeds in stepping out from the shadow of his more successful look-alike, making it his own and imbuing Danny with a vulnerability that evokes compassion despite his tendency to lash out wildly and his aggressive manhandling of the girl he loves but doesn't believe he's worthy of. Danny is doomed to his fate within the first few minutes of the story yet battles on like a fighter who believes that he can punch his way out of an unwinnable situation just as long as he remains standing.
Through Danny's struggle the film poses the nature or nurture question. Was Danny's fate determined by the 'bad blood' he believes he was born with or by the method of his raising? - losing both of his parents as an infant, and shuttling between his grandmother (Ethel Barrymore as a not entirely convincing hillbilly) and his aunt neither of whom can give him the love he so desperately needs. Danny believes it's the former yet undermines his own thesis with the compassion he shows towards follow bullying victim Billy Scripture, a mentally retarded deaf mute (played by a very young Harry Morgan), and his ultimate embrace of redemption with the encouragement of Gilly and the surprisingly compassionate local sheriff.
In his last important movie, veteran director Borzage creates a film that defies easy categorisation. It's a film noir yet it's also a drama, a romance and an intriguing exploration of love and hate, and guilt and redemption, played out against a backdrop of smalltown life that feels almost melodramatic in its intensity. The obvious stage-bound settings merely add to the sense of a man trapped by his own fears and the pressures brought to bear by a judgmental society. The film's implicit plea for tolerance encompasses more than just Danny however. The casting of veteran African American actor Rex Ingram in the role of Mose is loaded with meaning. This wise old man not only embodies the story's moral authority, he is also presented as equal to the white characters even though he is not entirely integrated into their world. This was a big step for a mainstream studio in 1940s Hollywood and it undoubtedly contributes to the impact of the story.
I've seen and studied hundreds of Hollywood movies from the 1940s of all genres and styles so it's rare anymore for a film from that era to strike me as something different or unusual but MOONRISE definitely did. You may think you know film noir but chances are you've not seen anything quite like this.

NIGHT MONSTER: it's got all the parts but they don't come together

This 1942 B-movie from Universal Studios is definitely not the best horror film ever made but it does contain all the elements essential to any self-respecting horror movie released during Hollywood's golden age.

There's the sprawling mansion located in the middle of nowhere, prone to fog, and surrounded by uninhabited countryside that could be England, somewhere in middle Europe or - more likely - some scrubland just east of Los Angeles. There's the owner of said mansion (Ralph Morgan), a crippled, slightly foreign accented, wealthy recluse who may or may not be the harmless old man he appears to be. There's the sinister housekeeper - a mean-spirited, pale skinned hard faced spinster in a severe black dress. There's the equally malevolent butler (Bela Lugosi), creepy and heavily accented who may or may not be the killer. There's the female ingenue Lynn (Irene Hervey), innocent, helpless, pretty, and all too willing to yield her independence to the young, eager, enthusiastic all-American  leading man Dick (Don Porter) who gets drawn into the murder mystery and solves it while simultaneously romancing the ingenue by putting moves on her that would these days be classified as sexual harassment.
But wait that's not all!
Just to spice things up a little there's also the exotic, mysterious and strangely accented foreigner Agor Singh (played by Swedish actor Nils Asther) who dabbles in Eastern mysticism and also may or may not be the killer. And there's the menacing, hulking, lecherous chauffeur (a very young Leif Erikson) who has his own designs on the ingenue and consequently develops an instantly, possibly murderous, dislike of Dick. The killer - the titular NIGHT MONSTER - of course remains unseen except by those about to meet their doom and too terrified to cry out. This allows him/her to bump off residents of the mansion with a speed and deftness that would leave serial killers breathless with admiration.
All this plays out in just 73 short minutes - and I haven't even mentioned the ethically challenged, self important medical doctors (the wonderful Lionel Atwill among them) lured to the mansion under false pretenses.
So why don't all the ingredients gel to form a satisfying whole?
To put it bluntly, there's too much Dick and not enough Bela and Lionel. Lugosi is top billed but the butler is very much a supporting part and there's nothing in the character for the former 'Dracula' star to sink his teeth into. Atwill, as the most pompous of the three medics, is similarly underwritten and thirty minutes in he simply walks out of a scene never to be seen or referred to again. Which leaves us with the bland smarmy Dick and the tiresome Lynn running around the house, always one step behind the killer.

It's the film's nonchalant attitude to multiple homicides that I found its most fascinating aspect. As the bodies pile up Dick and the clueless local sheriff, Constable Capp Beggs, become increasingly blase. By body number three Beggs is diagnosing cause of death simply by looking at the corpse from several feet away, and makes not the slightest effort to search for clues or preserve the crime scene. 
These frequent murders are no substitute for genuine suspense, and that's what NIGHT MONSTER is lacking. Without suspense there's no real sense of fear and without fear the film's not scary. Universal churned out so many of these cheap and quickly made horror movies in the early 1940s that it would have been impossible to get the mix just right every time. This was not one of those times but there's still just enough to hold the attention and provoke thoughts of what might have been with a little more creativity.

CRAZY STUPID LOVE: genuinely funny offbeat comedy

I liked CRAZY STUPID LOVE loads more than I expected to, and there's two reasons for that - Ryan Gosling and Steve Carrell. They're very different kinds of actors but they work surprisingly well together.

Gosling plays Jacob Palmer, super-cool ladies man who only has to look at a young woman to seduce her, while Carrell is nerdy, middle-aged Cal Weaver, who's been married so long he's forgotten how to relate to the opposite sex. Their paths cross in a trendy bar one night where Cal is getting drunk and complaining loudly about his wife (Julianne Moore) cheating on him with co-worker Kevin Bacon. For reasons that are never fully explained Jacob takes pity on this pathetic wretch and makes it his mission to return Cal to the land of the living and the world of available single women.
Gosling's success is in making Jacob a likeable character despite his womanising ways. There's nothing sleazy about this guy because he plays it almost for laughs, practically acknowledging to his prey that he can't believe she's falling for his undeniably cheesy pick-up lines, without making her feel cheap or used. Gosling is effortlessly smooth in the part with a sharp sense of humour and a knack for saying only what's necessary and nothing more.
Impressed as I was by his performance I was practically blown away by Carrell. I've not been a big fan of his work in 'The Office' or his efforts in 'Dinner for Schmucks', 'Get Smart' and 'Evan Almighty.' The comedy is too broad and blunt and it just seems like he's trying too hard. CRAZY STUPID LOVE reveals his real talent is for much more subtle humour. Cal is not a comedy character but rather a character who happens to be funny. The humour here arises from the situation rather than the situation existing solely to be funny. Carell is not trying to be funny here, he just is. This is the most impressive piece of work he's done since 'Dan in Real Life' with the advantage that this time he's in a film that's as good as he is.
Yes this is a romantic comedy but it's not a cookie-cutter by-the-numbers Jennifer Aniston-type rom-com. Directors Glenn Ficarra and John Requa have created that rarest of cinematic beasts - a mainstream comedy that's just off-beat enough in its humour and pacing to give it a fresh, smart, almost indie feel without alienating multiplex audiences.

THESE ARE THE DAMNED: the deluded and the dull

THESE ARE THE DAMNED is a weird and unsatisfying mix of science fiction, drama, horror, exploitation and romance, but what's most surprising is that this 1961 concoction from British horror specialists Hammer is directed by Joseph Losey.
Yes, the American ex-pat best known today for films such as the 1951 classic 'The Prowler,' as well as 'Accident', 'The Go-Between' 'The Servant' and 'Modesty Blaise' was also responsible for this attempt to find a new spin on the fear of nuclear annihilation while also cashing in on early 60s British society's fear of Mods, Rockers and Teddy Boys. And all within the staid, respectable environs of Weymouth in Dorset!

Added to this awkward mish-mash of genres is a cast that's somewhat less than to-die-for. US B-movie star Macdonald Carey tops the bill supported by faded Swedish import Viveca Lindfors, stiff as a board Alexander Knox, cute but unconvincing Shirley Anne Field, and a young Oliver Reed as the world's least believable gang leader. Reed, though, is entertaining, playing the part for laughs and interpreting his character as a menacing buffoon with a disturbing hang-up about his sister's (Field) blatant sexuality. Carey is way too old and paternal to be anything else but creepy in his wooing of Field, and Lindfors, as a sculptress who happens to have her studio right next to a top secret government research facility just looks bored.
The facility is the setting for much of the drawn out, only tepidly exciting action, involving a group of children who are being raised in an underground bunker to become the saviours of the human race in the event of a nuclear holocaust. It's an appallingly shoddily constructed premise incapable of withstanding even the most cursory examination. The project is so closely guarded that Reed's gang of halfwitted Teddy Boys are able to climb over the fence to gain entry, while Carey and Field access the secret bunker through unmonitored caves in the cliff containing the bunker.
The only clue that director Losey is responsible for this second rate farrago is the dialogue. Much of it is ponderous, pseudo-philosophical navel-gazing, yawn-inducing nonsense spoken by characters in the deluded belief that they are appearing in an art house film. In retrospect THESE ARE THE DAMNED plays like a warm-up for the more high-brow, arty films that were to characterize the rest of Losey's career, and he is to be admired for succeeding in sneaking these chunks of pretentious wordsmithery past the considerably more low-brow bosses at Hammer.
What this film lacks in entertainment value it nearly makes up for in curiosity value. It's almost worth the investment of your time and attention to marvel at the bizarre mix of genres, actors and dialogue. Almost - but unless you're a Joseph Losey completist - probably not quite.

STAMBOUL QUEST: the puppy and the pulchritudinous

1934's STAMBOUL QUEST is not one of MGM's finest productions but it does have two things going for it, and one of them is the deliciously beautiful Myrna Loy.
Made immediately after she had completed the first 'Thin Man' movie and therefore before she had become etched into the public's consciousness as the witty, sophisticated, stylish and distinctly up-market Nora Charles, she plays a character who is brazenly sexual and not above showing a generous amount of skin if it'll advance her cause.

Set in Germany and Turkey in 1915 she plays legendary German counter espionage spy Fraulein Doktor. Recalled to Berlin she's handed her most important assignment - to uncover proof that the Turkish commander of the Dardanelles is passing vital military information to the British. Success could alter the whole course of the war, but her mission is complicated by an ardent American suitor who just won't take no for an answer.
A pre-Warner Brothers leading man George Brent plays the American lothario and does so to the detriment of the picture. He's everything that Loy isn't and not in a good way. Brent's medical student Douglas Beall is an over-excited puppy yapping at the heels of the alluring Fraulein, desperate to get her attention and show him some affection. About the only thing he doesn't do is pee on the carpet. It's very easy to understand what he sees in her but it's much more difficult to comprehend what a woman of her experience finds appealing in him. He doesn't even have the pencil mustache that was to become a Brent trademark at Warner! He's impetuous and immature, professing that he loves her within two hours of meeting her, and proposing marriage a couple of hours later. The Fraulein seduces men for a living and makes it a rule never to fall in love so what is it about Beall that makes her change her mind?
Both as characters and actors Loy and Brent are in different classes. Myrna is poised, self assured, confident and measured while George is all over the shop. Perhaps he was trying too hard because he knew he was too old for the part - he's thirty five attempting to pass for twenty. No wonder the Fraulein's boss, the wonderful Lionel Atwill, finds it hard to believe his most effective asset is losing her edge. Atwill by the way, is the second thing this film has going for it. He was one of that select group of character actors who enhanced any film they appeared in regardless of the script and direction, and both elements are founding wanting here.
Convoluted, clunky and implausible even by 1930s Hollywood standards STAMBOUL QUEST is still worth watching solely for the pleasure of spending 80 minutes in the company of the ravishing Miss Loy.

HOT ENOUGH FOR JUNE: from London without a clue

Demonstrating that there was more to British cinema in the 1960s than Carry On comedies, kitchen sink dramas and anti-establishment angry young men, 1964's HOT ENOUGH FOR JUNE is a frothy entertainment showcasing Dirk Bogarde's considerable talents for light comedy.
He plays Nicholas Whistler, an unemployed, unsuccessful writer who's hired by the British Secret Service to go behind the Iron Curtain and collect secret plans from an agent in Czechoslovakia.
The only problem is Whistler doesn't realise his new employer is MI6 and thinks he's going on a legitimate trade mission. His task is further complicated by the presence of Comrade Vlasta Simoneva (Sylva Koscina), the glamorous and seductive Czech secret service agent assigned to chauffeur him around - and keep an eye on him.
HOT ENOUGH FOR JUNE was one of the first spy spoof movies to cash in on the success of James Bond (and there's a 007 joke early on in the proceedings) but unlike Dean Martin's 'Matt Helm' or James Coburn's 'Flint' director Ralph Thomas chooses to poke gentle fun at the general concept of gentleman spies working for Her Majesty's Government, rather than getting into the specifics of fanciful gadgets, fast cars and bikini-clad assassins. Bogarde's perfectly at home playing the well-spoken, slightly clueless and very proper English gent forced to rely on his wits when thrust into extremely unusual circumstances but still finding time to seduce the ladies.
His understated style is beautifully complemented by Robert Morley as his MI6 handler, and Leo McKern as Morley's opposite number in Prague. Morley plays Colonel Cunliffe as a relic of the British Empire, delightfully oblivious to ugly realities of late 20th century espionage, choosing instead to treat the whole thing like a wonderful game. McKern as Colonel Simoneva is as gruff as a Communist functionary is expected to be but there's a twinkle in his eye suggesting he's not entirely without a heart.
The film's communist stereotypes now seem terribly dated but that's part of the charm. HOT ENOUGH FOR JUNE is silly, inconsequential nonsense graced by some fine talents whose comic timing and way with a phrase make this a thoroughly enjoyable viewing experience.

DRIVE: warning - contains scenes of extreme violence and coolness

DRIVE is so cool it hurts.

Everything about this production screams art house - from the stylized depiction of Los Angeles by night to Ryan Gosling's enigmatic driver to the lingering camera shots, DRIVE should be the antithesis to the 'Fast and Furious' franchise yet it isn't. This is a film that will appeal to the multiplex crowd if they'll just give it a chance.
Gosling plays the unnamed driver, a stunt driver for the movies, and garage mechanic who moonlights as a getaway driver for hire for criminals who don't have their own vehicle.He's a man of few words and is given to bouts of lengthy looking, sometimes at nothing in particular. It gives him an air of mystery which is perhaps not quite warranted.
The driver opens up a little when he befriends Irene (Carey Mulligan), a young woman with a young son who lives in the neighboring apartment. Her husband (the wonderfully named 'Standard') is in jail and she welcomes a man about the house who's willing to act as a father figure to her son. When Standard is released the driver's unwilling to give up his role as Irene's guardian angel and agrees to act as Standard's driver in a raid that will pay off a debt he owes some gangsters, but the raid goes wrong and the driver finds himself a hunted man with a price on his head.
All of this plays out at a pace that belies the tension in the story. The driver is a man surviving on his wits and his skill behind the wheel, putting himself into increasingly dangerous situations with an insouciance that borders on madness. Gosling is superb, oozing attitude and menace, and creating a character who is equally believable reading Irene's son a bedtime story, and stomping a man to death in an elevator.

Extreme violence is this film's other notable characteristic. It's unleashed suddenly and frequently with a graphicness usually reserved for those slasher movies where teenagers unwisely decide to split up to search for their missing friend. What's most surprising is that some of the most sadistic violence is at the hands of comedy actor Albert Brooks. He's almost unrecognisable here but very effective as an LA gangster boss who's thin veneer of charm barely conceals an utter ruthlessness.
The other star of DRIVE is Los Angeles itself. To the accompaniment of Cliff Martinez' 80s inspired electro-synth soundtrack, director Nicolas Winding Refn's camera glides along nocturnal streets and over the downtown skyscrapers creating a glamorous neon lit city of mystery and danger. Most impressively in an urban jungle of 9 million plus souls he finds empty spaces where the action can unfold unwitnessed by casual passers-by. It's a City of Angels that'll be all too familiar to watchers of 'Collateral' which is the blockbuster that DRIVE most closely resembles.
An impressive fusion of art house and multiplex, DRIVE also confirms Ryan Gosling's reputation as one of cinema's most interesting and adaptable leading men. Strap yourself in and prepare for one hell of a ride!

A MARRIED COUPLE: it's reality but not quite as we know it

If you look up A MARRIED COUPLE on imdb you'll find it described as a documentary. Technically this is correct because the film is a non-fiction study of a real life couple and their collapsing marriage.

But if it were to be released today it would categorised as big screen reality tv because it portrays a heightened version of reality that's not quite real. I'm not too keen on that descriptor though because it suggests A MARRIED COUPLE is something akin to 'Jersey Shore' or 'The Real Housewives of where-ever' which it most definitely is not.
I prefer 'actuality drama' which is the name given to the genre in which director Allan King worked for much of his career. This 1969 film follows Toronto couple Billy and Antoinette Edwards over an unspecified period of time as their marriage comes apart under the pressure of their differences. Almost from the outset it's clear that this is not going to be a standard documentary. King uses camera set-ups which obviously required pre-planning and the co-operation of the subjects to walk into shot at just the right moment, belying the sense of spontaneity and the camera as a fly on the wall, both of which are essential components of the documentary genre. Billy and Antoinette are offered up as a real husband and wife yet it's difficult to shake the feeling that they are - at the very least - playing up to the camera, if not acting. And if they're acting they're acting badly.
Their style of speaking to each other sounds almost declamatory and less than entirely natural. It's as if the director's given them a scenario but no script and instructed them to improvise when he calls action. It's much the same process that John Cassavetes used in making his most personal films ('Husbands', 'Shadows' 'Faces et al) but he had the advantage of working with professional actors. Billy and Antoinette succeed in appearing awkward while having a genuine argument, but after a while they warm up to the task and are able to minimise the distraction caused by having a film crew record some of their most intimate moments. Sadly, these don't involve a great deal of affection, they're mostly arguments over anything and everything from the trivial to the profound. This is a couple in crisis and neither of them knows how to resolve it or end it. Neither of them are completely blameless but Billy comes across particularly badly. He's controlling, opinionated, self-centred and quick to belittle his wife. It's difficult to understand how Antoinette was ever able to put him on the pedestal from which he has now toppled. She's frustrated, apparently unfaithful, and unsure what her options are. Other than a shared belief that any other relationship they could leave this one for is likely to end up the same, the only thing holding them together is their young son, the unfortunately named Bogart.
There's plenty here for any husband and wife to reflect on and learn from, most disturbingly the ease with which married life can become a deep rut whose sides are almost too high to climb out of. Billy and Antoinette are to be admired for their willingness to expose their private issues to the camera's scrutiny and allow themselves to be judged by an audience of strangers. By the end I was desperate to find out what happened next, and also to seek out more of Allan King's unique brand of actuality drama.

CONTAGION: a disaster movie not to be sneezed at

Remember all the fuss and fearmongering over the SARS and H1N1 viruses? For a time health authorities around the world had us believing we could all catch a potentially deadly strain of flu from birds and/or pigs. Well that all passed with the vast majority of us remaining healthy and we rapidly forgot about the importance of covering our mouth when sneezing or coughing, and making regular use of hand sanitizer.

CONTAGION is a timely reminder that we shouldn't become complacent. We dodged the bullet with SARS and H1N1 but the threat is real and it's out there somewhere, just waiting to unleash itself upon us again.
Director Steven Soderbergh's tense and tightly woven story charts the spread of a new and deadly strain of a flu-like disease, from its' initial infection of the first human (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) to the death of millions across the globe in a matter of days. It's the speed with which the infection spreads which is most frightening. Scientists Laurence Fishburne and Kate Winslet from the Centers for Disease Control spell out to disbelieving government officials the scale of the epidemic with impressive calmness, making it clear that drastic action is required immediately to prevent the deaths of untold millions.
Simultaneous with the spread of the disease CONTAGION also examines the power of the internet to spread rumours at an equal speed. Jude Law plays an influential San Francisco blogger who insists that the authorities desperate search for a vaccine is a government hoax and that they are suppressing supplies of the real cure for economic and political reasons.
As befits the scale of the story Soderbergh pulls in a veritable army of characters from around the world and this is both a plus point and a weakness. The diverse collection of players and nationalities adds credibility but the film's 1 hour 45 minute running time doesn't allow time for us to get to know these people properly or fully explore each of their stories. 106 minutes is barely time to scratch the surface of such an epic issue so the film resorts to using representative characters - Fishburne is the US government representative, Marion Cotillard is the World Health Organisation, Law is the opposition to the official effort, Matt Damon is the general public losing loved ones to the disease, Elliott Gould is the scientific research community etc. In some cases the camera lingers on them long enough that they're allowed to develop a personality but with others we meet them for only as long as it takes for them to perform their function in the story.
CONTAGION would have benefited from a longer running time allowing for a more in-depth exploration of the handling of such a crisis and a more satisfactory resolution to it. As it currently stands the ending arrives almost as quickly as the disease initially spreads leaving a sense of having been rushed through a highlights-only version of a modern day pandemic to get to the happy ending before we've had time to become seriously scared by what we're seeing. But given the brief attention span of many of today's younger film goers perhaps that's inevitable if the film is to be successful in imparting its' message.

HORRIBLE BOSSES: Jennifer Aniston in good film shocker!

Yes, you read the headline correctly. Jennifer Aniston has - finally - appeared in a good film. Following countless bland, interchangeable humour-free, eminently unwatchable rom-coms (see 'Just Go With It', 'The Switch', 'The Bounty Hunter', 'He's Just Not That Into You' etc etc) she has pulled her big-screen career out of the crapper with HORRIBLE BOSSES.

And just how has she managed this miraculous feat?
It's simple - she's not the star and this is not a rom-com.
HORRIBLE BOSSES is an adult comedy in the vein of 'The Hangover' and 'Bridesmaids' and perhaps what's most surprising about it (other than Aniston's presence) is that it doesn't bear the fingerprints of current Hollywood comedy god Judd Apatow. I double-checked the credits twice and his name doesn't appear anywhere. Director Seth Gordon ('Four Christmases'), 3 screenplay writers and 7 producers (including the wonderfully named Michael Disco) put the project together without any help from the man who's become a one man comedy industry.
Despite the presence of some big names above the title (Aniston, Colin Farrell, Kevin Spacey) this is very much an ensemble movie. The stars may pull in the audience but its the lesser known Jason Bateman, Charlie Day and Jason Sudeikis who do the bulk of the heavy lifting and they are a delight to watch in action. SNL's Sudeikis, Day from tv's 'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia' and the veteran Bateman are a team with genuine chemistry, each getting their own moment in the spotlight but none of them overshadowing the others.

They play three friends each suffering at the hands of a horrible boss. Bateman is bullied on a daily basis by the egotistical, sadistic Spacey, Sudeikis is watching the company he helped build up being dismantled by a coke-snorting, hooker-hiring Farrell, and Day is being sexually harrassed by the entirely inappropriate Aniston (not too much sympathy there!).. Unwilling to take the constant humilation any longer the three hatch a plan to murder their tormentors but, being law-abiding, mild mannered middle-class men, they're not exactly pro's when it comes to committing the ultimate crime.
The unintended consequences of their attempts to carry out their hare-brained scheme are a joy to behold, replete with the stupidity, ridiculousness, humiliations and occasional nastiness that we've come to expect from this particular comedic genre.
This is not high-brow stuff but it is laugh out loud funny and perfect for a Saturday evening in front of the big screen tv with beer and snacks. I just pray that director Gordon et al don't let this praise go to their heads and make a sequel. Let's not inflict another 'The Hangover 2' on the world.

TRUE GRIT: a classic revisited and re-evaluated

"Memory is..." a colleague once commented to one of my co-workers, "a fragile thing." Of course he was scoring a cheap point in a discussion about which of them had most accurately remembered a conversation they'd previously had about money, but there's more than a grain of truth in what he said.

His comment sprang to mind as I was watching John Wayne in his 1969 western TRUE GRIT. I'd felt inspired to slip the disc into my DVD player after seeing Glen Campbell in concert the night before in deepest Kentucky. Campbell had performed the title song and made some jokes about how his performance had helped earn Wayne the Best Actor Oscar.
It had been years since I'd watched the film and in my memory it was a bona fide classic with a thoroughly Academy Award deserving turn from the Duke. In my review of the Coen Brothers version of TRUE GRIT, published on this blog back in January, I'd compared Jeff Bridges interpretation of ornery US Marshal Rooster Cogburn unfavorably with Wayne's, describing the former as 'playing' the part while Wayne 'was' the part. Oh, how frail my memory proved to be.
This time around I didn't see anything in Wayne's performance that made it Oscar worthy. His Cogburn is likeable, and just about believable as a real character but there's no particular depth to his interpretation. Wayne plays him much as he played all his characters in the 1960s - as John Wayne, larger than life all American hero, in a cowboy costume.There's no sense that Wayne was reaching for something special in his portrayal of this whisky-sodden lawman who - against his will - discovers his better nature when a teenage girl (Kim Darby) hires him to track down the man who killed her father.
Perhaps I'm under-estimating Wayne. Perhaps he made it look so effortless because he was the consummate professional, drawing on 40 years of acting experience. I can't claim quite that many years of film study but I think I've seen enough movies to recognise an outstanding performance when it's given, and Wayne doesn't here. I think he got the Oscar for outstanding achievement over four decades of dependable service to Hollywood, encapsulated by TRUE GRIT. His portrayal of dying gunfighter JB Books in his final film 'The Shootist' was far more deserving of an Oscar and he didn't even get nominated.

Singer Campbell just about holds his own against Wayne's formidable competition. He's not a natural actor and I sense his performance as Texas Ranger La Boeuf was the result of a lot of acting lessons. I imagine the prospect of acting opposite Wayne would have been daunting and Campbell acquits himself well in the circumstances.
Kim Darby as young Mattie Ross is a little more difficult to figure out. Her interpretation of the determined and strong-willed teenager who gets the better of Cogburn and La Boeuf is interesting but she's not as convincing in the part as Hailee Steinfeld is in the 2010 remake.
So TRUE GRIT has been knocked from its pedestal, but that's not to say it's a bad film. The story and the performances meld to create two hours of reasonably absorbing entertainment, and watching Wayne play the legend he had become is always enjoyable. Just don't expect too much in the way of excitement.