Paris, Je T'aime ****
Tales From The City of Lurve ...

This is that rare thing: an innovative, brave and beautiful idea which actually worked when translated onto celluloid. The idea originally came from two Frenchmen: Tristan Carne and Emmanuel Benbihy, and basically went like this:

"How about we, like, get some of the best directors working today, right, and get them each to make a short film about Paris, and then put them all together ..."

And then, somehow, in a bizarre Blue Brothers-like fashion, they managed to get some of the most innovative, talented directors around to each write and contribute a five-minute film. These included Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run; Perfume), Gus Van Sant (My Own Private Idaho; Good Will Hunting), Gurinder Chadha (Bend It Like Beckham), Joel and Ethan Coen (Fargo; Barton Fink), Wes Craven (90s schlock-horror king, credits including The Hills Have Eyes and Nightmare on Elm Street) Alfonso Cuaron (every interesting film of the last six years or so ... including Children of Men and Y Tu Mama Tambien). Big directors meant big names and big names meant widespread release, and suddenly eighteen quiet, unassuming films became one long, beautiful, star-studded extravaganza.

Not all of the segments work, but the ones that don't (the final tourist monologue, the bizarre dreamlike sequence set in the Chinese quarter) are few and far between, and short enough that you never really get bored. Standout sequences include the Coen brothers' short set in a metro station, starring Steve Buscemi as (surprise!) a slightly pathetic, humble but loveable loner, alienated in a strange city; van Sant's touching story of a love which transends the boundaries of language and Tykwer's fast-paced, hectic love story, which stars Natalie Portman as an American actress (that must be a stretch). Other big names include Elijah Wood, playing moody to perfection in Vincenzo Natali's dark and mystical vampire sequence; Juliette Binoche giving an amazing, subtle performance as a bereft mother; Maggie Gyllenhaal as a spoilt American film star doing drugs in her trailer, and Emily Mortimer and Rufus Sewell in Craven's bizarre but oddly warming piece set beside Oscar Wilde's grave in Pere Lachaise. But my favourite piece is Cuaron's (I am nothing if not predictible): a charming, well-planned love story with a twist.

It's the Paris of the people, with few shots of the Eiffel Tower and many of the cobbled streets; the people are undeniably French; even the tourists have an odd, bohemian charm. It makes you want to pack up your things and take off for the city of love, convinced that once there you will find the missing part to fill your loneliness.

CONCLUSION: There are too many great shorts here to mention them all, so see the film and choose a favourite for yourself - you will fall in love with Paris all over again.

Elizabeth: The Golden Age ****


Like A Virgin ... Touched For the Second Time

Director: Shekhar Kapur

Writers: William Nicholson, Michael Hirst

Stars: Cate Blanchett, Geoffrey Rush, Abbie Cornish, Samantha Morton, Clive Owen, Rhys Ifans


The first Elizabeth is epic filmmaking at its best: it reinvented the staid costume drama with an enema of sex, poison and jolting violence. Blanchett and Rush are both on the record as saying they would never consider a sequel unless a great script came along, and it is a full nine years afterwards that we see this: reportedly the second in a trilogy about the Virgin Queen.

The film opens a good twenty years after the previous one ended; technically the Queen is in her fifties (although Cate Blanchett is looking mighty good) and still refusing suitors left, right and centre, most notably from Germany and Spain. We see that has grown into herself since the last film; where there she was bewildered and tentative, here she is wise, whether playing the Amazonian warrior (complete with armour and somewhat inexplicable hair extensions) or holding court. It is in matters of the heart that we see her conflict: in order to maintain her power and peace in the kingdom, she has sacrificed personal relationships, and her closest friendship is with one of her ladies-in-waiting, Bess (Cornish). Then Walter Raleigh (Owen) returns from across the seas: tanned, buff, bearded, buckled ... and bringing gifts of potatoes ("you eat it"), tobacco ("you smoke it"), and syphillis* ("you ... never mind...") As he sweeps the Spanish ambassador out of the way (yes, really ...) begins to tell the tales of his journeys, violins begin to play (yes, really ...) and the Queen and Bess are both transfixed by the swashbuckling hero.

For a film about Britain's most beloved sovereign, the cast boasts a lot of Antipodeans, with three of the four lead roles held by Australians. Rush is, as ever, charismatic, seedy and powerful reprising his role as Walsingham, and it should really go without saying that Blanchett is commanding, tempestuous and conflicted as the mighty Virgin Queen. Cornish, a magentic screen presence in Australian indies Candy and Somersault, is very beautiful but a little insipid here, which may be down to a hastily-sketched character rather than her own shortcomings as an actress. She is also the only of the Aussies not to get the accent quite spot-on.

The script is preposterous at times but the epic scale of the film and the talent of the actors masks the clunky dialogue. The writers have played hard and fast with history (the affair and marriage between Bess and Raleigh happened long after the Armada, and in fact Raleigh was safe on dry land and nursing a cold while Sir Francis Drake led the British navy to victory). They have included several nods to the myths of the time (Raleigh's first meeting with Elizabeth, in which he sweeps down his cloak to cover a puddle, is the stuff British myth, as is her address to the troops in Dover) and the audience is carried along at a thrilling pace.

* This is, obviously, a lie. Syphillis was around long before Raleigh made it popular... Elizabeth's father himself actually died from it.



CONCLUSION: Overblown it may be, but this is still a rollicking good ride, full of intrigue, passion, conflict and treachery. The heroine is sharp and the performances all strong, but you can't help but think the first film deserved a more worthy successor.

Stardust ***

Director: Matthew Vaughn

Writer: Jane Goldman and Matthew Vaughn

Stars: Charlie Cox, Claire Danes, Michelle Pfeiffer, Robert deNiro

Customs? I have a few things to declare ...

1. I love Neil Gaiman (on whose novella this film was based)

2. I hate Johnathan Ross (whose wife adapted the screenplay)

3. I find Claire Danes insipid and irritating. She possibly has the most annoying voice in cinema. She is very beautiful, but unfortunately that is as far as the interest goes for me...

4. When I heard Matthew Vaughn would be directing, I wept.

Now with that out of the way, on to the movie ...

The story revolves around Tristan, a village boy who wants to win the heart of Sienna Miller's Victoria, who is outrageously flirtatious and reasonably pretty, albeit a little too California beach blonde for England in the 1800s. One night while he is trying to tempt her into bed - sorry, holy matrimony - with a midnight picnic, they spot a star falling to the magical land beyond their village. He promises that he will venture forth to bring the star back for her, if she will marry him. When he finds the star, he finds that she is more than a lump of rock: she is in fact, Claire Danes, almost but not quite entirely not generating enough charisma for us to believe this proposition. But he is not the only one after the star, with Michelle Pfeiffer's seductive witch and various men-who-would-be-king also wanting to claim her powers for their own.

It's actually very good. It is hugely entertaining, funny, quirky and has a great plot (thanks Mr Gaiman). Cox is excellent as the starstruck (ha ha) Tristan, Danes has little to do beyond whinging prettily (can anyone believe she was once wistful Juliet, so full of potential and promise?) and there are enough jokes and twists to keep adults and little ones entertained. All instances of violence and sex (the novella contained rather a lot of both) are cleverly skirted over and, aside from one truly awful sequence where Danes tells the hamster-bound Tristan that she loves him (memo to Vaughn: LESS head movement = more sincerity) the direction is pretty inoffensive. It's a fairly faithful adaptation although in going from paper to celluloid some of the imaginative charm of the book has been lost. And while Robert deNiro's camp pirate draws on every homosexual stereotype you can imagine (cross-dressing, wrist-flicking, tea-drinking, mouse-fearing ... God help us) he does provide some of the best laughs in the film.

Please allow me to have a bit of a Ricky Gervais rant here. I know people love him. I know people think all he needs to do is walk onstage, utter a line (usually, "Are you havin a laff?") and the audience will be in hysterics. But this DOES NOT give you a licence to go straight from a successful BBC comedy into cameos in Hollywood films. He writes good comedy and he is amusing because he is a wheedly little man with a sweaty forehead and a nasty goatee, a high-pitched voice and an inflated sense of his own importance. Unfortunately these are not qualities for which he has to act, and I would go so far as to say that he cannot. He plays the same character in every film and show that he is in, and in this one, it just doesn't fit.

There now. Overall, a decent way to spend your Sunday afternoon and your $14. Just don't expect Sandman.

The Lives of Others *****
Die Leben Der Anderen

Yay! It's 2006's First Five-Star Movie!

Director: Florian Henkel von Donnersmark

Writer: Florian Henkel von Donnersmark

Stars: Ulrich Muhe, Sebastian Koch, Martina Gedenk

This is the best film of the year so far. Everything about it is exquisite. The tone and place is set with style and assurance, all grey square Soviet buildings, clunky plastic technology, and brown tweed clothes. Its pace builds slowly, drawing us in with intrigue, then building to a nail-biting thriller in the final twenty minutes. A tale of fear and rebellion under an oppressive regime, it's got it all: tragedy, excitement, fear (as the Germans would say, angst), and then finally, beautiful, clear blue hope.

The story centres around two protaganists: the idealistic (and really rather dishy) playwright Georg Dreyman (Koch) and the calculating Stasi loner Gerd Wiesler (Muehe), who is charged with spying on him. As he watches the somewhat bohemian existence of the writer, he first becomes jealous of his popularity and charisma, then angry at his impudence, and eventually comes to identify with him. This change is brought to life by Henkel von Donnersmark's fine, sure-handed direction (made even more amazing by the fact that this is his debut feature) and Muehe's muted pathos. The ending reduced my five companions and I all to tears: it is one example of a "several years later" sequence being used to great effect and fully rounding out a story, rather than being tacked on the end as an afterthought.

Above all, this is a very human story: it is about humanity triumphing over inhumanity. All this made it deserving of winning the Best Foreign Film Oscar. And it must be good. Its competition was Pan's Labyrinth.

This is another in a long line of great films to come out of Germany in recent years: as their economy becomes stronger, the Germans are beginning to draw on their rich history to make amazing films helmed by sure-handed, innovative directors: Tom Tykwer (Run Lola Run), Oliver Hirschbiegel (Downfall) and now Henkel von Donnersmark are certainly directors to watch. It will be interesting to see what Bryan Singer (Superman Returns - eek) et al can do with this rich, multi-layered history in Valkyrie, out next year. Will they blockbuster it up? Or will they rise above Hollywood conventions to show the delicate and intricate aspects of the story of Hitler's attempted assassination. Either way, it is unlikely that they will come up with something as rich and moving as this film.

CONCLUSION: It's hard to pick apart a film so perfect. This is filmmaking at its best. Seek it out.

The Simpsons ***

Spider-pig, spider-pig ....



Director: David Silverman

Writers: Matt Groening

Voices: Nancy Cartwright, Hank Azaria



Anyone who has been in my immediate vicinity in the last couple of months has been driven batty by me singing "Spider-pig, spider-pig, does whatever a spider-pig does ..." so it will come as a relief to some of you that I've finally seen the movie. You'd think that the time for a Simpsons movie had been and gone with the 1990s, but there are obviously enough cynical geeks out there to warrant this film (the cinema was packed with shave-headed trenchcoat-wearing minions when I went).



The story centres around the aforementioned spider-pig, who Homer saves from the knife, for about the first half-hour, when it suddenly goes off on an entirely different tangent. We then follow the world's most dysfunctional family (apart from The Brady Bunch) to Alaska and back, and hilarity ensues. You know the drill.



Obviously it is typical of the Simpsons to include a plot device which is dispensed with as soon as it's fulfilled its purpose but in a movie, plots need to be a little more cohesive. The usual cast is all present and accounted for, although by now they could probably sleepwalk through their lines. It really is just an extra-long episode, but that's OK, because that's all the punters are there for, and the writers take a stab at them before the opening credits (Bart: "Why would we pay to see something at the movies we already get free at home?". But honestly, who will see this movie? People who love the series, and they want to see Homer say "doh!" and drink lots of Duff; they want Lisa to mournfully play her sax; they want Bart to skateboard to Krusty's in the nude, and the film delivers. It IS hilarious: cynical, political in parts, but not scared to make willy jokes* or take a cheap stab at Disney.



The running time is slender but it doesn't feel too short (probably because we're used to taking these characters in bite-size pieces) and it gives you plenty of time to head down to Grape for a couple of drinks afterwards.



Conclusion: You'll get your money's worth in belly laughs. Just don't expect anything new.



* NOTE: Bring back the word willy! It is underutilised in our society.

Evey Has Been Away

I know legions of you* have been checking in every day, constantly disappointed that I haven't reviewed anything since April, and then it was Factory Girl. I have been gaining spiritual enlightenment in India, and gainful employment in Australia, and now I am just about ready to start this blog up again. Here is a list of films I have seen since April that I might just feel like reviewing at some point in the near future:

Spiderman 3

Pirates of the Caribbean 3

Ocean's Thirteen

La Vie En Rose

The Lives of Others

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

28 Weeks Later

Zwartboek

Infamous

Paris, Je T'aime

Amazing Grace

Knocked Up

But don't hold out hope.

* Alex

Sunshine ****

It's Getting Hot In Here ...

Director: Danny Boyle
Writer: Alex Garland
Stars: Cillian Murphy, Michelle Yeoh, Rose Byrne, Chris Evans

Danny Boyle, seemingly master of any genre (bar possibly romantic comedy, but I'd be willing to see him give it another bash), has done it again. His slowbuilding sci-fi borrows knowingly from the masters (2001, Event Horizon, the Alien trilogy, and appropriately, Solaris) but reinvents the genre with a fresh young international cast (the only American here is Fantastic Four's Chris Evans), cutting-edge direction and a great premise: that we are killing the very thing which supports life as we know it: the sun.

When we meet our protaganists, they have been living in the claustrophobic hold of a spaceship for a couple of years, and there are the usual inevitable tensions. In fact, the first hour or so plays out as an intense character study, looking particularly at the psychological impact of sharing close quarters: Big Brother set in space, if you will. The mission (to drop a nuclear bomb on the dying sun in an effort to reignite it) is almost secondary to the inter-character relationships: the attraction between Murphy's engineer Cappa, and Byrne's Cassie; the disagreements between the calm, pragmatic Cappa and the hot-headed Mace (Evans at his most shrewd and charismatic), and the cultural differences between the American and Chinese members of the crew. Garland's dialogue is tightest when exploring these relationships, and the performances are superb, particularly Cappa as the reluctant hero, Byrne as the troubled heroine, and Evans. At about the hour mark, this is a five-star film. Then comes the disappointment.

For some obscure, one might almost say alien reason, Boyle decided to go in for a genre shift. Suddenly the slow-building sci-fi was a fast-paced teen slasher. The tension breaks into chases, gore and explosions. And while this is still thrilling, it becomes too unrestrained to be fulfilling. It holds our interest, sure, and the entire thing is beautifully rendered, but you can't help thinking that a filmmaker of Boyle's talents, and a scriptwriter of Garland's, might have thought to tauten it all up a bit.

CONCLUSION: The genre-shift jolts a little, but from beginning to end this is a rollicking, thrilling ride. Not a classic, but hugely entertaining, it leaves a slightly bitter taste. It was on a path to be so much more.

Bored At Work? Check This Out ...

This is a quiz website of scenes from movies with the actors blacked out, leaving only the clothes. For the true film buff, it's harder than it sounds.

http://filmwise.com/invisibles/index.shtml

Factory Girl **

Andy Warhol Looked a Dream ...

Director: George Hickenlooper

Writer: Captain Mauzner

Starring: Sienna Miller, Guy Pearce, Hayden Christensen

Oh yeah, Sienna Miller is fine. She's cute and naive and looks nice in a miniskirt (it has been maliciously suggested that she is really just playing herself). But don't see this movie for her. In fact, if you must see this movie (because you are dragged along by a pre-teen relative or because you have a secret crush on Sienna Miller/Hayden Christensen or because you haven't been pre-warned), see it for Guy Pearce's malevolent Andy Warhol, channelling everyone from Truman Capote to David Bowie's Thin White Duke to Dracula.

You do have to question the thinking behind making a movie about a tortured but ultimately dizzy poor-little-rich-girl with Daddy issues. The clothes look great, as does Miller's hair. But there isn't much else there. She has a clingy friendship with Warhol ("muse" seems a little excessive as a word to describe their relationship as shown here) and a failed love interest in "The Pop Star" (Christensen, doing a passable job at not playing Dylan) and then gets more and more heavily into drugs. The film is bookended with an annoying and unnecessary voiceover and inexplicably leaves out the last years of her life (including her marriage, divorce and death) which are arguably the most interesting.

It all looks like a grubby 2007 version of what the 60s might have been like if you were part of the glamorami - or, as Warhol might say, a superstar. Everyone having a good time doing not-sure-what-exactly (shown by swapping jumpers in a restaurant or making out with a horse on film) and taking drugs and wearing opaque tights, miniskirts and fur coats as they stroll through Central Park. Nothing actually happens, but that's kind of the point, as Edie herself might say - the inaneness of it all is what the Factory was all about. But I don't buy it. It's dressed up but has no grit, no intrigue and no ambition. Which is probably more to do with Edie's personality than with the movie itself. If someone were to make a film of Paris Hilton's life in forty year's time (we can only hope her fame will be as short-lived as Edie's) would we really expect to see a realistic portrayal of life in the Noughties?

Having said all that, this film could have worked if Edie's story were used as a backdrop for a character study of Warhol or Quinn (read Dylan), or of the changing times of swinging New York in the Sixties. As it goes, they could have paid their scriptwriter more, and gone without some of the minks.

Oh yeah, and the sex scene? Almost as bad as 300. There is no way they're actually doing it, despite what The Sun/Hickenlooper's PR team would have you believe. Terrible music, dim 90's lighting and a Desperado-style montage of positions? Come on, surely we've progressed further than that ...

IN CONCLUSION: It's hard to generate intrigue with such a vapid, spineless and naive central character, but it could have been done. If you must see it, leave your brain at home and go to look at the costumes or to gain inspiration for your next haircut.

Black Book ****

Zwartboek

Titties! Explosions! Paul Verhoeven is bringing sleazy back ...

Director: Paul Verhoeven

Writers: Paul Verhoeven, Gerard Soeteman

Stars: Carice van Houten, Sebastian Koch, Thom Hoffman

If you were thinking of making a film about the Dutch Resistance of World War Two, and you had a number of resumes in front of you, Paul Verhoeven's would probably be the least impressive. Showgirls, Basic Instinct and Starship Troopers are all there, but class and nuance are not. Of course, no one said the Second World War was classy (see Cabaret for further information). This film plays hard and fast with history, borrows from every resistance film in the book (if Hollywood is to be believed, the entire French population was covertly fighting the Germans, as opposed to the 2% who actually were), and is out to shock and awe with full-frontal nudity and big-budget explosions. Like a 50's hooker, it's crass, glossy and knows all the tricks.

So why bother? Because it's fun! Because history doesn't have to be boring. And because despite the sensationalism of it all, it does have a good basis in facts and Van Houten and Koch are attractive and capable.

Koch is handsome and charismatic, up next in The Lives Of Others, winner of the Best Foreign Film Oscar over my beloved, Pan's Labyrinth. Van Houten is a real find, rolling with the punches, landing on her feet and somehow still finding time to develop character. She doesn't need to speak: her eyes say it all. It's classic goodies-versus-baddies and there's an extraordinarily high body count by the end (well, there is a war on) but you can't help but enjoy it. It's fast-paced and possibly unhealthy, but steers clear of playing too dumb. And it's high time we had a war movie with a sense of humour.

In Conclusion: It's not subtle, but it is clever, and if it's rude adrenalin you're after, give it a go. Just don't make the mistake of equating subtitles with understated elegance.

The Good Shepherd ***

Spies In Their Eyes...

Director: Robert de Niro

Writer: Eric Roth

Starring: Matt Damon, Billy Crudup, Angelina Jolie, Alec Baldwin

It was such a great idea. A taut thriller about the beginning of the CIA with an all-star cast of serious thespians and the ultimate Serious Thespian himself directing it. How, then, did we end up with this?? A flabby, meandering drama where an all-star cast somehow manages to mistake boring for nuanced, with poor direction and no editing process to speak of?

The story centres around Damon's overworked spy Edward Wilson - based on the founder of the CIA's counter-intelligence operations, James Angleton - who is recruited into the CIA after university through his connections with the Skull and Bones society. Married to Clover (a perpetually thirty-five-year-old Angelina Jolie, doing what she can with a thinly-written role), who he rather carelessly managed to get pregnant while dating the love of his life (?) he is sent off to wartime Britain, where he meets his British equivalent (a simpering Billy Crudup). At this point of the movie, things are looking quite good - shots of Skull and Bones initiation ceremonies and lamplit, rain-drenched London streets fit in nicely with our preconceived ideas, and the web of intrigue is growing. But two hours later, fifteen years have passed, Clover is still thirty-five (although fraying a little at the edges), things with Russia have gone from tense to full-blown cold war, and Robert de Niro has limped through a few minutes of screen time as the CIA boss. Somehow none of the central characters seem to age, except for Wilson's son, who goes from seven to seventeen in the space of about ten minutes. Somehow America is the centre of the world (and anyone who doesn't agree is either a sadistic Russian or a pathetic Brit). And we're still no closer to understanding how the preposterous framing device fits in with the central storyline. By the time this is revealed, you are well past caring.

This film doesn't so much wear its allegiances on its sleeve as take it out, wrap it in wood, and batter you over the head with it. After more than three hours of colourless characters (ironically, it may be the most accurate spy movie ever made in this respect - spies have to blend in) and God-Bless-America propaganda. It gets a star for Tammy Blanchard's screen-lighting performance as a deaf girl and a star for its worthiness, and a star for the scenes in postwar London, all rainy noir and moody nights.

CONCLUSION: Overlong, overcooked and overblown, a decent set-up is ruined by the meandering storyline and a refusal to visit the cutting room. Maybe some great actors were just not meant to direct.

300 ***

The Wargasm Lives Up To Its Name

Director: Zack Snyder

Writers: Zack Snyder, Frank Miller, Kurt Johnstad

Starring: Gerard Butler, Lena Headey, David Wenham, Rodrigo Santoro, Dominic West

As he is about to slaughter a messenger sent from the invading king Xerxes, King Leonidas is told that his actions are madness. "Madness?" he says coolly. "This is SPARTA!!"

The film - which otherwise is spurred along by a preposterous sscript and stunning visuals - is peppered with similar powerful non-sequiteurs. It's a shot of speed in the arm, an adrenalin rush and a teenage war fantasy - which is as you'd expect from a comic book movie (although so many fail to deliver - see Ghost Rider review). It offers a Spartan plot (ho ho) and doesn't demand much of its actors beyond shouting and dying quietly. In fact, whenever they are required to do more than this, the film veers dangerously close to B-movie territory, with the main sex scene being among the worst in recent memory. Yet Gerard Butler is a commanding, toned presence onscreen, Rodrigo Santoro cuts an impassive figure until he opens his mouth, and David Wenham is a little too muted but otherwise stoic in the face of such an appalling script. I mean, it's all very well to lift straight from the comic book when you're making a self-deprecating, noir thriller (a la Sin City) but this film is not self-conscious enough to entirely pull it off.

Comparisons with Sin City are inevitable - after all, it is based on the graphic novels by Sin City creator/co-director Frank Miller, and is shot using the same technique (apparently Frank Miller insisted on it). And like the Old Town of Basin City, Sparta is brilliantly realised, burned sepia-brown, wind-scorched and teeming with women wearing assorted sexed-up versions of the toga and buff men in underwear and not much else. There is much talk of freedom, of resisting oppression, of respecting women and similar narcissistic things which don't really exist in this society but which are often brought up to rouse men to fight.

Snyder - best known for commercials and his dark, dank 2004 Dawn of the Dead remake - is a little overly fond of the slow-mo button (used especially well once, as Leonidas slices through Persians in the early stages of the battle), but other than that utilises the CG-technique to great effect. It is very violent, but the violence is so stylistic that it never truly cuts deep. Like most of the movie, really.

300's racial politics - at best out-dated, at worst blatantly racist - are simple: black baaad, white gooood. The Persians are played by a range of actors from non-white backgrounds - African, Indian, Chinese - and all decked out in gold regalia (to symbolise their preoccupation with wealth), even though Persia is in modern-day Iran (and presumably Persians looked similar to modern-day Iranians). In a movie so graphically polemic, there is no room for nice Persians. Baddies are often hideously (and inexplicably) deformed or surrounded by willing and mystical women to show just how bad they really are, and just in case you didn't get the message, Xerxes' army is led by a group of highly-trained fighters who seem to be wearing Darth Vader masks.

Yet in a film so fraught with tension, drama, violence and visuals, it is churlish to quibble over a little thing like historical accuracy or racial representations. It is better to eat your popcorn and enjoy the blood-drenched, homoerotic, fiercesome spectacle of the battle scenes, and the mythical world Miller created.

IN CONCLUSION: Sin City it is not, but it doesn't pretend to be. A comic book movie that watches like a video game/teenage wet dream, the visuals alone are worth paying the ticket price for. Which is good, because there's not much else here.

I Take It All Back ...

Everything I said about Pirates I take back. This is why ...

The Last King Of Scotland ****

Director: Kevin McDonald

Writer: Jeremy Brock

Starring: James McAvoy, Forest Whitaker, Kerry Washington

Dark, dark Africa ...

Africa's obviously in vogue at the moment. Hollywood has (inexplicably) grown a social conscience (as a response to the current American political situation?) and it's starting with the huge, dark continent. Obviously we don't want to give middle American audiences any real problems with their consciences so we're tackling regimes which have been well and truly toppled.

Most recently: that of Idi Amin. Adapted from the book by Giles Foden, The Last King of Scotland follows Nicholas Garrigan, a young Scottish doctor who, through a series of coincidences, becomes promoted to Amin's personal physician and personal advisor. He is a fictional character based on an amalgamation of real-life Brits who worked closely with the dictator.

The production design is spot-on, with Macdonald not shying away from the less glamorous aspects of the Seventies - paisley wallpaper, tight trousers, and sweat patches - think less Charlie's Angels grooming, more African-heat-addled fluffy hair. It's shot on old-style film stock as well, rather than digital, which gives in a sepia tinge and adds to the overbaked feeling he's going for.

Whitaker has won all the awards for a tour de force performance, and he really does embody Amin - his sharp sense of humour, his passionate patriotism, his overwhelming air of menace, and his childlike enthusiasm for Scotland, Garrigan and torture. But it is McAvoy who proves himself again to be a versatile and natural actor as he pulls off that most difficult of roles: the Second Fiddle. He allows Whitaker the opportunity to steal the show, yet it is his sympathetic and flawed doctor with whom we truly empathise

It's a slow-building piece, as Garrigan clambers to hang on to his innocence and is gradually sucked into Amin's intoxicating, dangerous world. By the time you're sucked in there's no escape, as you watch where Garrigan's choices lead him. The knuckle-knawing finale is testimony to Macdonald's skill as a director and to McAvoy's performance. It's a little over-long and Simon McBurney's hideously hammy British diplomat grates, but these are small quibbles for a film which deserves every accolade which has been heaped upon it. I only hope that, come this year's awards season, James McAvoy is recognised for his understated contributions to cinema.

Ghost Rider **

I've got hugs for you, if you were born in the 80's ...

Director: Mark Stephen Johnson

Writer: Mark Stephen Johnson

Stars: Nicholas Cage, Eva Mendes, Wes Bentley


I threw up my hands in despair throughout this film, not because of what it was, but because of what it might have been. What it was was a serviceable, bigdumbloud action movie, with little or no atmosphere, charisma or subtlety - save from one brilliant blink-and-you'll miss-it moment involving Nicholas Cage and a martini glass of jellybeans.




This is the kind of movie Joel Schumacher would have made if they had had 90's special effects in 1986. It's bold, it's got loud music and fast bikes, it thinks it's waaay tougher than it is and it's got great actors spouting the kind of shithouse dialogue which would have seemed trite even in a Michael Bay flick. All this might be alright if it were done with a healthy dose of irony and a knowing wink to the present (that is, 2007, a time of Sin City-esque, neo-noir comic book adaptations which match their big budgets and bigger explosions with snappy dialogue and savvy societal commentary.) But it's done with all the intense sobriety of Home and Away actors.



As comic book adaptations go, this one thinks its Constantine, but lacks the intelligence or atmosphere which made that one a hit. It's got the same self-destructive anti-hero, pacts with the devil (who is played with subtle menace in both as a coiffed bloke in a suave suit) and ghostly overtones. Perhaps if Frank Lawrence had made this, it would have been a 4-star movie. But he's already made that film, two years ago - with Keanu Reeves.



Every time the impressive sets or special effects or Nicholas Cage's self-effacing performance threatened to actually pull this movie OUT of the camp, crass B-movie hell on an A-movie budget in which it finds itself, the moment is crushed. Usually by the relentless crashing score or the dialogue so pedestrian it should be accompanied by a lollipop lady.



The actors, with the exception of the virtual unknowns (who are just awful) executing the ho-hum prologue, impressively manage to stay the right side of camp, although American Beauty's Wes Bentley does relish the opportunity to ham it up on occasion. Eva Mendes is sportingly enthusiastic about playing the eye candy, and does provide light relief (not to mention plenty of attractive tanned cleavage for the teenage boys). Cage is solid as always, although at times a little old and craggy for us to really believe he's the same age as Mendes.



So, I'd ignore it if I were you. Don't put yourself through the experience. NO amount of jellybean-swirling or Mendes-ogling is worth the depression you will experience every time they set themselves up for redemption ... and then cock it up. A little like the Rider himself, perhaps ...

Get this - Orlando Bloom has been dropped from the fourth installment of Pirates of the Caribbean.

My initial reaction to this news was Thank God someone has realised what a useless, simpering, narcissistic performance this plank - sorry, actor - has been putting in the last few installments.

Then I thought, No, they probably dumped him because they realised that, as far as character arc was concerned, they'd done all they needed to do.

But apparently the reason was this: They wanted to cut costs.

I'm sorry?? The second installment (Dead Man's Chest) had the highest-grossing opening weekend of any film ever and the third film is set to follow (despite the second film being a critical failure). And Disney thought it would be too expensive to keep Bloom on??

Who are these people?

I hope they drop Keira Knightley as well. She's twice as annoying, nearly as untalented and everyone only sees the films for Johnny Depp anyway.

And while we're on the subject ...

Why do we need a fourth installment anyway?? The second one just recycled all the jokes from the first, and thus far they're getting steadily worse with each sequel. Surely Depp is getting better offers than this ...

Stars On Stage
There was once a time when TV actors didn’t do movies. There was a time when stage actors wouldn’t go near a movie set, even if someone had offered them a role. And there was a time when movie stars wouldn’t deign to tread the boards. That time is passed, and now everyone from Kevin Spacey to Harry Potter (well, Daniel Radcliffe) is trying to up their acting cred by starring in a serious theatrical production (as if Kevin Spacey ever needed to up his acting cred!). Whether it’s Mackenzie Crook (as in ‘I could catch a monkey’, you know, the long-nosed one-eyed pirate Johnny Depp’s been in love with since he first glimpsed him playing bigot loser Gareth in The Office) and Kristin Scott Thomas in Chekhov’s The Seagull or the maitre’d from Batman Begins doing the Time Warp in Rocky Horror (I only put that in so everyone will go and see it; it’s ace), everyone wants a piece of the act-ion.

Blood Diamond ... Finally ****
You had me at Leonardo diCaprio with a Seth-Efricen accent …

Director: Edward Zwick
Writer: Charles Leavitt
Stars: Leonardo diCaprio, Djimon Hounsou, Jennifer Connolly


“Every time we discover something of value in Africa, the locals die,” a delegate announces grimly at an international conference on the ‘blood diamond’ trade, before listing them to make his point: “Gold, ivory, diamonds …” As an African cronie in the middle of a civil war wryly observes, “Let’s hope they don’t discover oil here. Then we’d really have problems.”

But, as the movie unflinchingly shows, the locals have quite enough problems, thank you very much. From boys being stolen from their families, dosed up on drugs and heavy metal music, handed a gun and taught how to use it, to villages being razed and their inhabitants mutilated, Zwick bravely and graphically shows just why colonialism was a bad idea (because, two hundred years down the track, it leads to this). Of course, this is a Hollywood movie, and we need a Hollywood protagonist if we are to truly feel anything for these people (a lesson learned through trial and error and Hotel Rwanda), so in stalks diCaprio’s former mercenary, a man who could give Daniel Craig’s superbly tough Bond a run for his money (and he has a waaay cooler accent). Danny Archer is brittle, amoral and unsqueamish, and the film lifts itself above being another action movie with a conscience by deftly showing his character arc. Connolly, working hard enough already with a two-dimensional, over-eager, oh-we’ve-seen-this-twenty-zillion-times-before American journalist, completely forgets to fancy diCaprio and their chemistry fizzles. But it doesn’t really matter, as their romance is peripheral to the real plot: that of Danny and Solomon (Hounsou)’s search for a mysterious pink diamond.

Although diCaprio puts in a great performance and a believeable (if occasionally wavering) accent, the show belongs to Hounsou, who is all subtle emotion and raw endings. In one particularly memorable scene, where he has to reverse the brainwashing of his teenage soldier-son, there is such panic and love in his eyes it’s all you can do to stay silent to hear what he’s saying (I was sharing the cinema with one inconsiderate patron who just didn’t – she started yelling things at the screen. A couple behind me were weeping loudly).

Connolly’s character introduces a superfluous subplot (although the director would probably argue that it contributes to diCaprio’s character development – the jury’s still out), it’s about twenty minutes too long tying up the loose ends, and the ending is one we’ve all seen before, but aside from these minor quibbles, the film is a brave, intelligent action piece which is as much a crowd-pleaser as it is Oscar-bait. With strong performances and a central idea to give any Hollywood starlet cause for lost sleep, all packaged in a format made palatable for the average filmgoer, Blood Diamond is likely to be the real winner come February 28th, as the Oscars are guranteed to lose some of their sparkle.

*A bit on diCaprio: I really don’t understand why this is still an issue. Titanic was ten years ago. Almost every performance he’s put in before or since has been exquisite (from rowdy backpacker Richard in The Beach to his Oscar-nominated turn in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? to anything Scorcese has ever put him in) so why are there still headlines heralding “diCaprio grows up”?? Sure, he’s still beguilingly young-looking – although not beautiful anymore – but why should that stand in the way of his being taken seriously? He has consistently shown himself to be drawn to character-driven films over blockbusters, shunned Titanic on its big night when he could have used it to propel his career to Cruise-like proportions, and despite his disappointing propensity to only date supermodels (note to Leo, as The Guardian stated: not even models trust men who only date models) has proven himself to be thoughtful outside his work as well.

The Science of Sleep ****
Directed by: Michel Gondry
Written by: Michel Gondry
Stars: Gael Garcia Bernal, Charlotte Gainsbourg

Gondry proves he's not a one-trick (quilted) pony ...

With a script by Charlie Kaufman and stars like Kate Winslet, Elijah Wood, Mark Ruffalo, Kirsten Dunst and Jim Carrey, music video director Michel Gondry sure chose a great vehicle to cut his feature-film gnashers on. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was a cult hit, a critical success, and topped numerous Film of the Year lists (not to mention students' MySpace pages). The film was by turns uproariously funny, deliciously quirky and genuinely poignant and indie moviegoers the world over waited with baited breath for a follow-up of equal talent and originality.

And it is. In fact, in some ways, it's better. Although the script (penned by Gondry himself) lacks Kaufman's watertight premise or neat storyline, Bernal makes a far more charismatic hero than Carrey, and the dream sequences are intriguing and beautifully rendered.

The story focuses on Bernal's childlike narcoleptic Stephane and his attempts to win the girl (his neighbour Stephanie, played by Gainsbourg). But, like Sunshine, it is much more than a love story: it is really a character piece, as Stephane's reality and his lucid, bizarre dreams become more and more confused. And this is where the film truly succeeds, as Bernal's performance grounds Gondry's impressive, kooky visuals. Always a visceral and natural performer, this is Bernal at his most magnetic, and also his most versatile. He brings an impulsiveness and a frailty to Stephane and is acts convincingly in three languages.

Much has been made of Rhys Ifans' exclusion from the film: he was signed on from the very beginning and contributed ideas to the script, even coming up with the title. When he was dropped he (understandably) had some less than savoury remarks to make about the director: "That f**king French c***" was one particularly memorable example. Bernal has brought his own dimensions to the role - the Mexican background, for one - and had it been played by Ifans (or anyone else for that matter), the movie may have lost much of its charm. As it is, the film is smug at times and certainly self-indulgent, and sometimes the romance grates as twee or infuriating, and the ambiguous ending will frustrate many who aren't familiar with European cinema. But Gondry's baby rises above all these qualms and, thanks to its charming star and an energetic supporting cast, its whole is far greater than the sum of its parts.

In short: Naive at times, but a charming and quirky love story anchored by strong performances.

Oh My God ... How Great Does This Look???

The new Bob Dylan movie ... I'm Not There, which stars Ben Whishaw, Cate Blanchett, Heath Ledger, Richard Gere, Christian Bale and two others as Bob Dylan, each one embodying another aspect of his personality. It's also got Adrien Brody in it (not as Dylan), which means it's bound to be interesting, at the very least.

It's a brilliant idea - it's about subverting our perception of someone who is more than famous - who has almost become legend. Dylan has so many rumours about him and so many different perceptions surrounding him, that it's almost like he is seven different people. I can't wait.

Now, if only they could do the same with David Bowie, Eva Peron, Andy Warhol or Madonna.

Broken Promises

I know, I know, I promised a Blood Diamond review. Weeks ago. It's not even on anymore. I realise I'm slack. I would promise (again) that I would upload it tomorrow, but you don't trust me anymore anyway.

So anyway this would be a long rundown of the Oscars, but I'm too depresssed.

Reasons to be depressed:

1. Rinko Kikuchi still goes unrecognised, despite her nuanced, layered performance in Babel.

2. For the last time, Forest Whitaker is not the lead actor in The Last King Of Scotland. James McAvoy is. What is the point in even having a "supporting actor" category if the supporting actors keep getting nominated in the "lead actor" category? Sure, Whitaker's performance is a tour de force but that doesn't automatically elevate him to "lead actor" status.

3. The dresses were boring. With the exception of Naomi Watts, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Nicole Kidman, and Reese Witherspoon, they were all playing it safe in beige, grey or black. COME ON PEOPLE - it's the Oscars, you can pull out all the stops!

Grr. Grr. Grrrr.

It should have been Pan's Labyrinth ...

I mean, it wasn't even nominated. But The Departed? Please. Although tight, tense and clever, it's hardly Best Film material? It's a concilatory prize - Marty should have won for Goodfellas, or Mean Streets, or Taxi Driver, or Raging Bull, or any other of his consistently astounding films, not for an overlong remake which turned into a paint-by-numbers (albeit classy) gangster flick. Marty deserved Best Director, because he is the Best Director, but Best Film? It should have been Pan's Labyrinth, or if it had to be one of the nominees, why not Little Miss Sunshine or Babel?

Disappointed, but not terribly surprised. And also it's hard to begrude him - he's so cute and happy.

Bright Young Things

Who's tipped to rule the roost this year ...

1. Ben Whishaw We first saw him as the grimy perfumier in Perfume: The Story of A Murderer, where his performance gave us compassion for a sadistic maniac. But he scrubs up alright and has two films scheduled for release in 2007, including the Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There. Expect weird, but wonderful.

2. Jodie Whittaker Although the year's awards will be owned by the other Whitaker, the star of Venus has just won the BIFA 2006 up-and-comer award. Anyone who can share the screen with Peter O'Toole and not fall to pieces gets my vote.

3. Ryan Gosling Already a legend in his home of Canada, the star of the beloved The Notebook has just been nominated for a Best Actor Oscar.

4. Rinko Kikuchi The real star of Babel, Lil' Rinko held her own alongside Cate Blanchett, Brad Pitt and Gael Garcia Bernal.

5. Dominic Cooper This former stage star put in a magnetic performance in The History Boys, took a comedic turn in Starter For Ten and will be up next in Brief Interviews With Hideous Men.

6. Naomie Harris The one fresh ingredient of the stale Pirates of the Caribbean sequel, she played it deliciously kooky, then cool and smooth in Miami Vice.

7. Christina Ricci Set to make a comeback in Black Snake Moan, little Wednesday Addams is all grown up and showing off her pins in tiny denim hotpants.

8. Nathalie Press The other star of My Summer of Love, Nathalie has five films due out in 2007, including an eagerly-anticipated drama about the Bronte sisters.

9. Atta Yaqub After a breakout role in Ken Loach's courageous Ae Fond Kiss, things have been a bit quiet for Yaqub of late, but no doubt they will pick up once the world cottons on to this Glasgow-born talent.

10. Abbie Cornish The breakout Aussie star of 2004's Somersault and last year's Candy, she's made her name in edgy teenage flicks. 2007 sees her hit the international market in The Golden Age with Samantha Morton, and the unitled new Kimberley Pierce (Boys Don't Cry) project with Ryan Phillippe.

Blood Diamond Taster

Coming up after the weekend, my review of Blood Diamond, but in the meantime, here's a tasty photo of the cast to whet your appetites ...

Everyone's a Winner ...

The nominations for the Oscars have been out for weeks. Sorry, I'm slack. Here's the full list, with my picks for winner ...

Best Picture
Babel
The Departed
Letters From Iwo Jima
Little Miss Sunshine
The Queen
Should win: Babel (the best of an imperfect bunch) Really, Pan's Labyrinth (above) should have won, but for some unfathomable reason it was excluded (don't tell me it was because it was in a foreign language; so is Letters From Iwo Jima)
Will win: The Departed.

Best Supporting Actress
Rinko Kikuchi - Babel
Cate Blanchett – Notes on a Scandal
Abigail Breslin – Little Miss Sunshine
Jennifer Hudson – Dreamgirls
Adriana Barraza - Babel
Should win: Lil' Rinko, but the Babel double-bill will split the vote.
Will win: Breslin will get points for being cute and fluffy, and Cate is flawless in everything she does, but Jennifer Hudson will get the populist vote.

Best Supporting Actor
Alan Arkin – Little Miss Sunshine
Jackie Earle Haley - Little Children
Djimon Hounsou – Blood Diamond
Eddie Murphy – Dreamgirls
Mark Wahlberg – The Departed
Should win: Djimon Hounsou.
Will win: Eddie Murphy, despite his inherent shite-ness. The academy loves a good musical.

Best Actress
Penelope Cruz – Volver
Judi Dench – Notes on a Scandal
Helen Mirren – The Queen
Meryl Streep – The Devil Wears Prada
Kate Winslet – Little Children
Should win: Penelope Cruz. She's all woman. (And also a mighty fine actor)
Will win: Well, it'll be a dame. Probably Mirren.

Best Actor
Leonardo DiCaprio – Blood Diamond
Ryan Gosling – Half Nelson
Peter O’Toole – Venus
Will Smith – The Pursuit of Happyness
Forest Whitaker – Last King of Scotland
Should win: It's Leo's year, what with The Departed and Blood Diamond.
Will win: I hope it's not Will Smith; he's chasing awards with Pursuit and he was out-shone by the seven-year-old. It'll come down to sympathy votes for Peter O'Toole (it's his eighth nomination and he's never won) and Whitaker, with the Last King taking home the gold.

Best Director
Alejandro González Iñárritu – Babel
Martin Scorsese – The Departed
Clint Eastwood – Letters From Iwo Jima
Stephen Frears - The Queen
Paul Greengrass – United 93
Should win: Scorcese and Iñárritu should both have won years ago. Now they're both nominated again, for inferior films.
Will win: Scorcese, for his determination and consistency.

Best Animated Film
Cars
Happy Feet
Monster House
Should win: Happy Feet. Dancing penguins! Aussie cast! A message! (Is the Academy ever going to get sick of penguins?
Will win: Happy Feet - in a year where decent animation was thin on the ground.