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.