Luther: The Fallen Sun
This big screen spin-off is as ugly as it is pointless.
Available on Netflix now
This big screen spin-off of Neil Cross’ popular series is sadly as bad as its pulp-fiction-lite title would suggest, despite the impressively shameless way in which it borrows from more accomplished franchises. Indeed, this bloated picture mostly consists of Idris Elba’s iconic detective churning out impersonations of Batman, Bond, and most other action characters you can care to think of.
Even the dependable Elba looks as if he is going through the motions here, with his character trotting out dialogue that sounds as if it was written by an AI script. The same can be said of Andy Serkis’ villain, who is only memorable on account of his spectacularly bad hair and feels like an offcut from the Saw writer’s room.
Cross’ screenplay is wildly far-fetched, but using that as a criticism feels slightly misguided, given that Luther has always been a fairly unbelievable show. What is more galling is the fact that nothing that happens in The Fallen Sun is surprising or even remotely interesting, and certainly does nothing to warrant the gratuitous violence on show.
Truly, this is an ugly picture for the most part that is an unnecessary continuation of an otherwise enjoyable franchise.
Creed III
This uneven sequel still manages to pack a punch.
In cinemas now
Creed III marks the third instalment of Michael B. Jordan’s lucrative Rocky spin-off and sees the chiselled actor on directorial duties for the first time in his career. That’s a bold step for any thespian to take, and Jordan does a commendable job for the most part.
Crucially, the fight sequences of Creed III pack a punch, with the cited influence of anime series making for a compelling final stand-off between Jordan’s titular protagonist and Jonathan Majors’ physically imposing big bad. Indeed, Majors is the undisputed MVP of this picture, providing a foe that is far more complex than any we’ve seen in this franchise before now.
Sadly, Keenan Coogler and Zach Baylin’s screenplay doesn’t really match the efforts of the film’s leading men, as it lurches from one improbable event to the next. Granted, that is a staple of the Rocky series (and sport films in general), but Coogler and Baylin ask the audience to suspend their disbelief more than most. Take, for example, the improbable rise of Majors’ antagonist, which sees him literally go from convict to world champion within one fight. Or the film’s imploration of us to believe that the ripped Creed is somehow over-the-hill and the underdog of this story. Despite their best intentions, Coogler, Baylin, and Jordan do little to develop the arcs of Creed’s female characters either, with Tessa Thompson once again on cheerleader duties for the most part.
The absence of Sylvester Stallone is also felt, not so much physically but due to the fact that the screenplay makes no mention of him. While it’s refreshing to see Creed step out from Rocky’s shadow, this felt like a misstep for me and left the former’s character feeling underdeveloped.
That being said, this is a perfectly functional sequel that has done stellar business at the box office, and underlines the magnetism of both Jordan and Majors as leading men.
Classic Film Review #23: Mad Max Fury Road
‘My world is fire and blood’
Available on Amazon Prime
High octane and absolutely bonkers, George Miller’s post-apocalyptic thrill ride reinvigorated, albeit briefly, a blockbuster genre that had grown increasingly reliant on superheroes. An intense viewing experience from beginning to last, Fury Road’s remarkably frenetic pacing quickly establishes the characters and stakes at the heart of Miller’s co-authored screenplay.
It's easy to turn your nose up at films of this nature, but it takes a lot of skill prevent them from straying into Michael Bay territory. Fury Road, for all its abrasive explosions and improbable near-death experiences, never overwhelms its audience or exhausts it with the sort of crass, misogynistic overtones that you're likely to get in other, less refined genre fare.
This is because Miller’s picture is, at its core, a socio-political film that forecasts a forthcoming ecological breakdown which, while presented here in an amusingly cartoonish way, does feel like an achingly familiar threat to the ongoing climate crisis we are currently facing. This lends Fury Road a disconcerting quality that is tempered only by the enjoyment that is caused by the frequency of its high jinx car chases.
Perhaps the most refreshing thing about this big, loud picture though is its female characters, led by Charlize Theron’s memorable Imperator Furiosa, who make for a refreshing deviation from the norm. Indeed, Tom Hardy’s titular protagonist, while also impressive, mostly plays second fiddle for much of the film’s near two-hour runtime.
All in all, Fury Road is much needed proof that the box office can be conquered by films that are as socially engaged as they are fun. It’s just a shame that its mooted sequel has yet to emerge, almost eight years after its original release.
Classic Film Review #22: La La Land
‘I guess I'll see you in the movies’
Available on Amazon Prime
Almost seven years on from its original release, Damien Chazelle's remarkable film continues to provide viewers with the sort of escapist pleasures that cinema was designed to provide.
The director’s decision to make the all singing, all dancing La La Land the successor to the intense Whiplash initially appears to be a curious one, but his oeuvre has always been characterised by an unspoken desire to illuminate the long-standing relationship between music and the silver screen, and both films do that in spades (albeit in very different ways).
Like Whiplash, this film is turbo-charged by the dynamic between its two leads, with Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling both delivering knock-out performances as star-crossed lovers that are brought together, and eventually separated, by their unquenching desire to live out their dreams.
Also sharing top billing is composer Justin Hurwitz, who forged a burgeoning career as one of cinema’s foremost music men with this outstanding original score, the perfect accompaniment to the film’s endearing narrative. Linus Sandgren's cinematography is also impressive, steeping the film in the time-honoured mythos of Los Angeles by framing the city in a gorgeously varied palette of colours, while Mary Zophres' fabulous work as costume designer also subtly ties La La Land in with some of the Hollywood classics of yesteryear.
A rousing watch from beginning to last, this is a wonderful doff of the hat to cinematic history that manages to feel nostalgic and contemporary all at once.
Classic Film Review #21: Creed
‘Time, you know, takes everybody out. It's undefeated.’
Available on Amazon Prime
The notion of a Rocky spin-off sequel series focused on Apollo Creed’s son didn’t scream ‘guaranteed commercial success’ initially but, with the third instalment having broken opening week records for a sports movie, it’s proved to be just that.
And it all began with Creed, an emotionally driven and well-acted film that is laden with brilliantly choreographed (if not a little gratuitous) fight scenes. Ryan Coogler and Aaron Covington’s screenplay is centred on Adonis (Michael B. Jordan), an orphan who, despite being rescued from a life spent in juvenile detention centres, cannot shake a burning ambition to repeat history and become a champion boxer in his own right. But to do that, he’s going to need a little help from an ageing Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone).
Coogler plays off the chemistry between Jordan and Stallone to great effect, gradually building a slightly implausible, but no less endearing, father-son dynamic between the two. The former provides an imposing presence throughout that is underlined by an emotional vulnerability which ensures his character is not diminished by masculine stereotypes. Stallone, meanwhile, is immensely likeable as this aged iteration of his most iconic character, delivering a pleasingly nuanced performance that grants the film its emotional anchor.
Creed is unafraid to lean into genre convention, and that can be to its detriment at times, with some of the latter fight scenes feeling more than a little predictable. But it always remains a boxing film with real heart and, with its two leads in such stellar form, makes for an engaging and enjoyable watch.
Classic Film Review #20: The Social Network
‘A million dollars isn't cool. You know what's cool? A billion dollars.’
Available on Netflix
David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin’s biopic of Facebook head honcho and general shithead Mark Zuckerberg might play fast and lose with history, but nonetheless makes for a fascinating character study, as well as a thought-provoking essay on the moral ambiguity of social media.
Sorkin's screenplay, based on a 2009 bestseller by Ben Mezrich, is the vital component that makes The Social Network such an unexpectedly riveting watch. The dialogue is sharp, challenging, and often laugh-out-loud funny, eliciting stand-out performances from a pleasingly understated cast. Jesse Eisenberg in particular is entirely believable in his portrayal of Zuckerberg, a man whose fierce intellect is as self-destructive as it is pioneering. Strong turns from the supporting cast, in particular Andrew Garfield and Justin Timberlake, help the audience further gauge a feel for the unpleasant social nuances of the worlds of both Harvard and Silicon Valley.
Fincher’s ever-dependable direction also keeps the film moving at a pace that is swift enough to stop proceedings from ever feeling cumbersome. His decision to move the action intermittently from past to present is an effective one, allowing us to gradually build up an understanding of how Facebook was born and, most importantly, the brains behind it.
Indeed, Zuckerberg is an intriguing case study on the 21st century success story; here is a man that built a billion dollar empire from his dormitory, initially in an act of spite against the teenage girls that eluded him (or so we are led to believe). Eisenberg, Fincher, and Sorkin paint their subject as an emotionally detached loner that is incapable of empathising with his fellow man, a shortcoming that results in the in-court dissolution of his only friendship. It’s hard to come away from the film with any sympathy for Zuckerberg (after all, is it actually possible to feel sorry for a billionaire?), but it’s equally difficult to direct total contempt towards him.
In that sense, The Social Network achieves a delicate balancing act that few other biopics manage, delivering a fully-rounded portrayal of a complex, contradictory, and of course challenging subject matter.
Blue Jean
Georgia Oakley’s mightily impressive debut is a timely and essential piece of storytelling.
In selected cinemas now
Georgia Oakley’s subtly devastating debut achieves the delicate balancing act of chronicling a very specific, emotionally charged moment in time while conveying a message that is still applicable, and vitally important, to modern life.
Blue Jean, written and directed by Oakley and the deserving recipient of awards at both the Venice Film Festival and British Independent Film Awards, is a distinctive, female-led narrative focused on Jean, a PE teacher in late 1980s Britain whose private and professional life is threatened by the passing of Section 28 by Margaret Thatcher’s government.
For those unaware, Section 28 was a horrendous piece of legislation which prohibited the promotion of homosexuality by local authorities. This was especially devastating for people such as Jean (who is played masterfully by Rosy McEwen), as it forces them to essentially live a double life in which their sexuality and, consequentially, their identity is withheld from everyday life for fear that it will cost them their livelihood.
Through the quiet anguish of McEwen’s expressions, we see how this dilemma evokes an oscillation of emotions that wreak havoc on Jean’s relationships with her pupils, family, friends, and – perhaps most tragically – her partner (played excellently by Kerrie Hayes). Further distinguishing Blue Jean as an outstanding piece of cinema is the subtle ways in which Oakley and cinematographer Victor Seguin communicate the everyday threats that pervade the life of queer people living in Thatcherite Britain, be it the casual misogyny of popular shows such as Blind Date or the unapologetically oppressive language used in election billboards.
Such causes for consternation are of course not relics of the past and, with the current Tory government demonstrating increasing hostility towards the LGBTQ+ community, Blue Jean feels all the more like an essential and timely piece of cinema.
Classic Film Review #19: The Grand Budapest Hotel
‘You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity’
Available on Disney+
I’ll be honest, I’m not as enamoured with the hipster stylings of Wes Anderson as many cineastes are, so much so that I’d say my enjoyment of his work oscillates from picture to picture. That being said, my appreciation of the eccentric auteur has heightened with time, with repeat viewings of his work often eliciting a greater reaction that my initial engagement with them did.
This isn’t the case with The Grand Budapest Hotel though, as I’ve greatly enjoyed it on every occasion I’ve viewed it. Put plainly, it’s a colourful endeavour that is carried along by a game ensemble and a strong score by the wonderful Alexander Desplant.
Anderson and long-time collaborator Hugo Guinness, inspired by the writings of Stefan Zweig and their own tours through Europe, craft a typically quaint tale that is an effective tip-of-the-hat to a code of ethics that it can often feel has dissipated from contemporary life. This is personified by Ralph Fiennes' glorious hotel manager, M. Gustave, whose absolute dedication not only to his craft but to the value of human decency makes him a heart-warming focal point for this caper.
Fiennes is the beating heart of The Grand Budapest Hotel but Tony Revelori also gives a strong turn as bell-boy turned hotel proprietor Zero Moustafa, providing the audience with the youthful lenses needed to appreciate the rich nostalgia on show.
Allegedly influenced by mid-century Hollywood films and old prints of alpine resorts, The Grand Budapest is as visually arresting as all of Anderson’s meticulously crafted pictures, with the director aided ably by director of photography Robert Yeoman. Charming and well-paced throughout, it is a smart picture that perfectly encapsulates its creator’s oeuvre while eliciting a delightfully off-piste performance from its lead.
Funny Pages
The ultimate misguided quest for greatness in one's field. Funny pages is the story of Robert’s quest to make it on his own as a cartoonist for comedy strips by ditching the traditional route of going to college after his art teacher is killed in front of him in a car accident. The opening scene of this film has Robert’s teacher, Mr. Katano comparing him to Michael Jordan at the age of 17 while pleading with him that he will be ruined if he goes to college. He then proceeds to strip naked so that Robert who is 17 years old can draw him which causes an uncomfortably stressful scene to play out which climaxes in Robert attempting to walk home while Mr Katano is on the road in his car attempting to coerce Robert into his car ending in the crash.
It’s a horrible situation that ends horribly because Mr Katano cannot let go of himself and has to push it further. This is in a bottle the essence of the film. An unrelenting quest to be the best cartoonist in New Jersey that leads to the destruction of all of Roberts interpersonal relationships and the ultimate anti - coming of age story. Robert will begin to reject the comforts of his suburban life to live a life of abject poverty on his own, for his art.
This film is disgusting, dingy and grimey to it’s core. We have DOP Sean Price Williams to thank for that with his gritty film stock look as every scene is displayed in drab colours that bleach out every moment. An interesting thing to note is how much acne the characters have which you almost never see in any film but it leads to this absurd realism as all of these characters feel like a real representation of a character impression from a shock humour comic artist. The style of the film perfectly intertwines with the subject matter.
The entire film is a story of someone who rejects the truth until it’s too late for the damage to be undone. The entire story builds to an incredible panic attack inducing climax that will have viewers gawking at the screen as if they had watched a horrific car accident in front of them. It’s horrific to look at but you just can’t stop. This film steals a lot of it’s tricks from the Safdie brothers output with it coming to the same seering anxious heights as good time and uncut gems just with a less neon colour palette and swapping that for a disgusting and realistic portrayal of it’s characters. It’s a brilliant bottle of anxious lighting that you should check out when you can.
Aftersun
Charlotte Wells constructs the film alternative to a faded polaroid photograph of the holiday you had in the canary islands when you were 11 years old and were just beginning to understand how confusing and cruel the world can be. It’s a heartbreaking melancholic meditation on the people we understand our parents to be and the things that they are hiding from us.
The film itself is a loosely organised jumble of memories from a summer holiday spent in turkey between the 10 soon to turn 11 year old Sophie and her dad 30 but soon to turn 31 Callum. (Yes the ages have relevance). Throughout the film we start to see that Callum is facing some mental demons while Sophie is going through her own coming of age story.
Charlotte Wells has a really intriguing directing style where they let the actors breathe and give scenes a lot of room to express themselves and put the audience into a hypnotic state. This really carried the dulcet tone of the entire film as you always searching for the meaning inbetween the lines in every conversation between Callum and Sophie. It can be just as simple as Callum saying that he would never believe that he could make it to 30 or as heartbreaking as when Callum realises that Sophie knows that he’s a flawed individual and it almost breaks him.
It’s a tragic film in the sense of the things that never get said between the characters being way more important than any of the dialogue you hear throughout the film. It’s a very naturalistic type of filmmaking that demands a lot of participation from the viewer to insert their own childhood experiences into the film but the bravery of the film to not give you those answers and to leave so many gaps makes it a true masterpiece.
Every aspect of Aftersun completely elevates the story. Paul Mescal is giving an oscar worthy performance and completely uplifts the entire film while Frankie Corio in her first acting role ever delivers some of the best child acting I’ve ever seen. The cinematography is artfully understated with long takes allowing you to soak in every moment.
Aftersun is one of the most inspiring directorial debuts ever and it’s impressive that such a high quality outing could be someone's first. This one film is worth the entire price of subscribing to mubi to watch it so please do.
Babylon
First things first, I am a HUGE Chazelle fan. I saw Whiplash when I was probably too young, and I will never ever forget seeing the beauty of La La Land for the first time in cinemas (fun fact: La La Land is one of the very few movies to still make me cry even on my billionth re-watch). So, naturally I was very excited to see what he would bring us next and when I heard those initial reviews for Babylon I was very surprised to see just how divisive it was. Some people claimed to absolutely loathe it yet some people claimed it was the best movie of the awards season. I even saw some reviews saying that it felt like the last movie ever made.
“But what does that even mean? How could it possibly feel like that?” I wondered as I walked into my screening of the film. “A movie can’t possibly feel like that, can it?”
Yes. Yes it can.
Don’t believe the hate, Babylon is a cocaine-fuelled, nightmarish, delirious, head-spinning thrill ride and I personally believe it is one of the greatest films of the 21st century.
From the 30-minute opening party to the balls-to-the-wall insane ending, I loved every second of Damien Chazelle’s love letter to movies (which also somehow doubles as a hate letter to Hollywood).
So, because I can’t really construct a cohesive review about how much I love this movie, I thought I’d spice things up and instead go through some popular criticisms of the film I’ve seen online since the movie's release and try to give my counter-points.
“UGH. It’s so long!”
Yes. It is long. At just over 3 hours, Babylon is Chazelle’s longest film yet. But it’s supposed to be that long. It needed to be that long. It’s an epic! It is the epic of epics. How are you going to convey all the ideas he wanted to showcase (and have them stick with you) in under three hours? Maybe there’s a way to do that, but I feel like a lot of the impact would be lost if it wasn’t as long as it was. Also, so what it’s three hours? You’re telling me you would’ve cut the snake scene? Come on, don’t be ridiculous.
“It’s not subtle!”
Is that a bad thing? Sure subtlety is nice and shoving an idea in our faces is not so nice, but I don't think Babylon does the latter. If you’re familiar with Chazelle’s writing, you know that he never leaves us with answers, only questions. Whiplash ends with you wondering whether Andrew has finally achieved everything he’s ever wanted or whether he’s just played right into the hands of the vile Fletcher, without him even realising it. Babylon does the same (but we’ll talk more about the ending later). It’s not persuading us to think one thing or another, it offers us questions which lead us to ponder the subject matter. But yes, it’s not subtle. But would you expect a movie about movies (let alone one of this style) to be subtle?
“It’s gross!”
Grass is green. What of it?.
“That ending was beyond stupid.”
Okay, I can’t avoid talking about this any longer.
SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT.
I feel like most people’s view of this movie can be boiled down to what they thought of the ending. I’ve seen critics say that it didn’t land because it was laughable and cheesy. But, as previously stated, I personally adored the ending. Mainly because of how risky it was. Seriously, I was actually stunned that the studio let Chazelle get away with this. And I think this is where the whole “last movie ever made” thing comes into play. People have said that the ending was just clips from other movies and that it completely ignores the previous 3 hours! And, I respectfully disagree. Like I said earlier, Chazelle likes to leave us with questions. Yes, the ending does create something of a paradox, but that’s entirely the point. It is perfectly paradoxical. Can Hollywood be redeemed by cinema? Who knows? But that’s not for Chazelle to decide. To quote Jean Smart’s character, “it’s bigger than you”.
Also, I entirely disagree with the notion that the montage is soulless. I think people forget that more than half of the montage is not made up of movie clips and instead made up of images of developing celluloid and straight up just flashing colours. Chazelle said that the idea for the end of the montage was to revert film back to its most basic elements: lights and sound. Which is a crazy yet beautiful idea that perfectly lends itself to the ideas the film puts across about why we love cinema so much. The montage then flashes images of the main four characters from the film, which should debunk any thoughts people have about this montage forgetting about what’s come before. Say what you want about the rest of the movie, but the ending does not forget the characters. And just when you think the montage couldn’t get any crazier, they show footage of the clapperboard for THIS VERY MOVIE. Which, I actually didn’t notice until I watched the montage online, where I was able to slow it down and notice all the details. But seriously, meta as all hell. I love it.
Classic Film Review #18: When Harry Met Sally
‘…when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’
Available on Amazon Prime
Arguably the quintessential romantic comedy, When Harry Met Sally is a tale of two friends that are seemingly destined to be more but refuse to admit their true feelings for fear of losing one another's companionship.
Grounding the film’s central premise is Nora Ephron's excellent screenplay, which is light on platitudes and built on sharp, realistic dialogue between the two leads. Speaking of which, the chemistry between Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan is on a par with that of any other cinematic couple, with both a treasure to behold throughout. Even though Crystal’s character feels a little outdated in today’s socio-political climate, his interactions with Ryan remain effortlessly charming and one cannot help but root for their long-gestating union.
Such a winning combination is a welcome gift for any director and Rob Reiner certainly is not wasteful in receipt, constructing scenes of palatable affection and humour, none more so than that diner scene. New York, one of cinema's most fabled settings, also makes an indelible contribution to the film’s appeal, providing a series of chic landscapes in which the titular protagonist’s love can blossom.
Indeed, Reiner's direction still ought to be regarded as a yardstick for this genre, primarily because he appears to understand that a believable connection is all that is required when trying to tell a love story. I've long been a sucker for a well done romcom and, having watched many over the years, am still willing to proclaim this as my favourite.
Sharper
Apple’s latest big budget flick is a stylish, but ultimately forgettable, affair.
Available on Apple TV+ now
The latest big budget offering from Apple is certainly unafraid to wear its influences on its sleeve, such is the keenness with which it seeks to emulate the sort of slick con artist fare most associated with writers such as David Mamet and Raymond Chandler.
For this reason, Sharper maintains an air of familiarity that is initially appealing but soon becomes reductive, despite the best efforts of director Benjamin Caron. Both he and cinematographer Charlotte Bruus Christensen deliver a film that is uber stylish and offers a resplendent view of New York City, so often the star of pictures in which it is set.
And yet, they are ultimately let down by Brian Gatewood and Alessandro Tanaka’s screenplay, which features twists that are nowhere near as surprising as one suspects either writer imagined. Even worse, they give the film’s stellar cast little to do, with both Julianne Moore and in particular Sebastian Stan turning in performances that feel like re-treads of previous, more impressive work (last year’s Fresh being a case in point for the latter). Of the ensemble, Brianna Middleton is probably the only standout, despite the fact that even her character’s arc winds up being less than satisfying.
Some viewers might take pleasure in Sharper’s rehashing of genre conventions, but I suspect that most will find it an ultimately forgettable affair.
Ant Man and the Wasp: Quantumania
Despite me being a lifelong fan of the Marvel universe, I was not looking forward to this film. Mainly because the past few years of Marvel content has been simultaneously boring and exhausting. And Quantumania looked to be yet another cog in Kevin Fiege’s Marvel machine. And, whilst that’s not a completely inaccurate way to describe the movie, I feel like it had slightly more to offer than something like Thor: Love and Thunder.
You’ve probably heard this before, but Jonathan Majors is fantastic as Kang the Conqueror. The movie’s primary job is clearly to get us invested in him as a villain for the future of the series and, on that front, I think they succeeded.
The movie is also a bit weirder than I was expecting (which is a good thing). For the past few years, I’ve been yearning for Marvel to lean into the strangeness of its source material and that’s exactly what we get here. The Ant-Man movies have always thrived on being the bizarre little brother to the other franchises and Reed continues that trend here. There are a few sequences that have some of the best concepts I’ve ever seen in an MCU movie. Make no mistake, stylistically this is still an Ant-Man movie. They never forget the name in the title (I say ‘name’ and not ‘names’ because Evangeline Lilly unfortunately gets nothing to do here).
However, that’s about it. Even though the movie carries over the same energy that made the first two movies so enjoyable, Quantumania (like other Marvel projects from the last few years) lacks any and all emotional depth. The first 20 minutes do look like they’re gonna go somewhere with Scott’s new found fame and the dynamic of the Ant-family, but nothing really changes by the end. Scott Lang is exactly the same at the end of the movie as he is at the start and, to be honest, that feels borderline insulting. It’s almost as if Feige thinks he can throw all the spectacle in the world at us and we won’t notice that the movie isn’t actually about anything. Seriously, I thought about it for ages and it’s not about anything.
The pacing is also downright atrocious. The first half feels like it goes on forever, as it cuts back and forth between Scott, Cassie, Hope, Hank, and Janet. For an hour, the movie feels like it’s going absolutely nowhere. Then it feels like they rush through the third act so they can wrap it up in under two hours. It got to the point where I found myself astounded at how little actually happens. And it really doesn’t help that the dialogue is less than satisfactory to say the least.
Even though Quantumania has fun characters and sequences, I still think it failed to deliver anything particularly special. And it pains me to say that the future doesn’t look very bright for this once-beloved franchise. At £15 for a ticket (I know, right?), I'd say wait for the inevitable Disney+ release in about a month’s time.
Classic Film Review #17: Moonlight (2016)
‘In moonlight, black boys look blue’
Available on BBC iPlayer
Flawless in almost every respect, Moonlight is an immaculately balanced emotional gauntlet that probes the human condition and the fragility and toxicity of traditional masculinity in an unflinching manner.
Truly, the rich character development - not only of the protagonist Chiron but those that surround him – is worth viewers’ time alone, as is the quality of acting on display. James Laxton’s kaleidoscopic cinematography also lives long in the memory, along with Nicholas Britell’s atmospheric soundtrack.
More important than Moonlight's technical efficiencies is the victory it represented for diversity in mainstream cinema which, given the times we are living in now, is something to be celebrated by all. Films like this are paramount not only to the longevity of the arts but the health of the soul. Barry Jenkins’ screenplay is both empathetic and relatable and will no doubt have helped many viewers navigate their own feelings about sexuality and gender stereotypes.
Emotive cinema of this calibre should be cherished, and it’s unsurprising therefore to find that Moonlight remains every bit as impactful today as it was upon release.
Classic Film Review #16: Toy Story quartet
‘To infinity and beyond’
Available on Disney+
It’s hard to dispute the notion that this beloved franchise sparked a new era in animated film, nor that it remains the zenith of Pixar’s achievements.
And while the recent announcement of a fifth instalment might leave viewers such as I worried that its legacy could wind up being sullied, no such scenario would ever diminish the joyous impact of Toy Story’s maiden voyage. Arriving in 1995, the first caper between Woody and Buzz Lightyear (voiced with aplomb by Tom Hanks and Tim Allen respectively) imagines what would happen if our toys came to life when out of sight, underlying the value of solidarity with one’s friends while doing so.
Toy Story 2 builds on that ingenious premise further by allowing its heroes to venture out into the wider world, demonstrating the technical proficiency of its creative team via an enlivening final act that takes place in the inner throes of a busy airport terminal. Aside from this, it also introduces deeper emotional motifs as it begins to explore the toy’s eventual and inevitable abandonment by the owners who one cherished them.
The ability to simultaneously entertain while probing the complexities of growing up is what makes the Toy Story films such a significant cultural milestone, and this is never more apparent than in its outstanding third outing. Set in the bowels of Sunnyside day-care centre, which somewhat mirrors the dark underbelly of American suburbia, it sees the cherished protagonists come across their most formidable foes – Ned Beatty’s malevolent Lotso and, more pressingly, the bittersweet reality of growing up and the gradual loss of childhood innocence.
Indeed, there’d have been a fair case to be made for Toy Story 3 being the best crescendo to any cinematic franchise, and it’s for this reason that its successor initially felt unsatisfying. However, on closer inspection, Toy Story 4 serves as a fitting finale for the series (and Hanks’ Woody in particular).
A towering triumph in both animation and storytelling, the Toy Story films stand toe-to-toe with any other film series and remain essential viewing for cineastes of all ages.
Knock at the Cabin
M Night’s Shyamalan’s latest is interesting enough, but ultimately falls foul of the director’s usual hokum.
In cinemas now
M Night Shyamalan’s latest, adapted from a 2018 bestseller by Paul Tremblay, provides audiences with an intriguing premise, a great opening scene, and a pleasingly eclectic cast that is led by Dave Bautista in arguably his best role to date.
Building on the former wrestler’s penchant for playing softly spoken gentle giants, his character is the reluctant leader of a modest cult of fanatics that are convinced the rapture is nigh. More interesting is the group’s belief that the only way to prevent the coming apocalypse is for Jonathan Groff and Ben Aldridge’s couple to sacrifice one of themselves or their adopted daughter.
Running only slightly over the 90-minute mark, Knock at the Cabin is a refreshingly tight thriller which wastes little time in building to its crescendo. It’s a shame, therefore, that the film winds up being more than a little anti-climatic, so much so that it could even be considered the antithesis of Shyamalan’s usual twist-heavy work, despite the director’s earnest attempts to throw viewers off the scent by way of a series of intermittent flashbacks.
That being said, Knock at the Cabin remains somewhat compelling throughout, due primarily to the stellar work of Bautista – who is really beginning to forge a reputation for himself as a compelling alternative to the traditional Hollywood ‘big guy’ – and in particular Kristen Cui, whose performance belies her infantile years.
All the Beauty and the Bloodshed
Laura Poitras’ moving documentary shines a deserving light on the extraordinary life and times of Nan Goldin.
In selected cinemas now
Laura Poitras’ powerful documentary explores the extraordinary life of the photographer and activist Nan Goldin, renown for her work with LGBTQ communities and during the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis.
Goldin makes for a fascinating subject and interviewee, and Poitras’ structuring of the film into several distinct chapters provides viewers with a thorough career retrospective. Praise ought to go to the former for her candour, as All the Beauty and the Bloodshed touches on aspect of her life – specifically her older sister’s suicide and Goldin’s previous experiences as a sex worker – that she had not previously discussed at length.
However, the emotional power of the documentary comes from its coverage of Goldin’s efforts via the activist group Prescription Addiction Intervention Now (P.A.I.N.) to hold the now defunct Purdue Pharma and their billionaire founders the Sackler family accountable for the devastation caused by the opioid epidemic. Goldin, herself a recovering OxyContin addict, and P.A.I.N. specifically targeted leading art institutions that had previously been associated with the Sackler’s by staging a number of guerrilla-style protests aimed at raising awareness of the family’s complicity in the pain, suffering, and death of millions of people. Amazingly, theirs was a campaign that eventually led to many of those institutions choosing to sever all ties with the Sackler’s.
Awarded the Golden Lion at the 79th Venice International Film Festival, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed is a formidable film that prompts one to think about the vitality of photography not only as an art form, but a means of preserving one’s memories and chronicling crucial moments in history.
Enys Men
Mark Jenkin’s disorientating folk tale hints at a deeper meaning but is too misshapen to effectively communicate it.
In selected cinemas now
Mark Jenkin’s quaint Cornish folk tale has been received with open arms by critics since its release, and has certainly done well to receive an extended cinematic release, given its modest budget, unfussy setting, and little-known cast.
For these reasons, I really wanted to enjoy Enys Men. It’s always great to see independent and experimental cinema reach the masses, and the fact that the film is set in Cornwall (which has long been one of my favourite holiday destinations) only heightened its appeal.
Sadly, Jenkin’s pulpous film just didn’t resonate with me. Aside from its intriguing 16mm framing, it is uninteresting almost to the point of parody. Quite frankly, virtually nothing happens throughout the picture’s 96-minute runtime, with Jenkins electing to showcase his narrative by way of a series of disconnected shots that are supposedly intended to be unsettling, but ultimately just feel random and, at worst, pretentious.
Mary Woodvine does an admirably earnest job in a practically unspoken lead role, though her character’s slow descent into assumed madness only ever grasps at deeper concepts. Loneliness, memory, our relationship with the environment, and trauma are just some of the motifs that can be attributed to the story of Enys Men, but Jenkins’ lucid presentation means that none of them are ever thoroughly explored.
Ultimately, I can’t help but feel that this would have worked better if some of the starker scenes had been divided up as part of an art installation, though such musings are of course the by-product of audience privilege.
The Whale
Darren Aronofsky’s relentlessly bleak and ugly film does a disservice to its central topic.
In cinemas now
The Whale and I didn’t get off to the best start. There I was, in a completely empty cinema, when an admittedly apologetic but doubtlessly clumsy woman insisted on walking past me to get to her seat, only to knock my large glass of Malbec all over me. In fairness, she did replace my drink, but couldn’t stop me from smelling like a bottle of vinegar for the entire screening.
Given those circumstances, perhaps I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a film about a reclusive English teacher with severe obesity. But director Darren Aronofsky had labelled his adaptation of Samuel D. Hunter’s play as a ‘small movie with a big heart’, so I was a little surprised to discover The Whale to be one of the most relentlessly bleak pictures I’ve seen in some time.
On reflection, I shouldn’t have been. Aronofsky’s films (particularly more recent works such as this and the desperate Mother!) have always confused profundity with heavy-handed moralism, but that tendency is made all the more problematic here because The Whale is eminently preoccupied with an incredibly complex and, more importantly, personal topic.
Having listened to more than one interview with lead actor Brendan Fraser about his performance as the aforementioned central character, it’s clear that both he and Aronofsky had good intentions when making this picture. Fraser was particularly committed, spending four hours each day being fitted with heavy prosthetics and also consulting regularly with the Obesity Action Coalition, but the intent does not stop The Whale’s depiction of obesity from being knotty at best.
Aronofsky appears to be suggesting that the condition can only ever be the cause of some sort of deep-seated psychological trauma (in this case grief), but that does not tally with the lived experience of many plus-sized people. And, for my money at least, it’s a borderline incendiary thing to suggest. Fraser’s character is undeniably portrayed as being physically grotesque, and no amount of clumsy religious allegories or literature references will stop that from being troubling.
It's a shame because Fraser is excellent, as are his co-stars Sadie Sink, Hong Chau, Ty Simpkins, and Samantha Morton. Their performances lend themselves well to the stage-play environment that Aronofsky contains his film’s events within, a stylistic choice which, while being faithful to its source material, does make the central motivations of its characters difficult to penetrate. That, coupled with the mawkishness of the film’s aesthetic, make for a mostly miserable viewing experience.
Fraser is more than deserving of the plaudits coming his way, but that doesn’t stop this from feeling like an unnecessarily ugly and depressing film.