There are some moments in history when social and geographical forces come together to produce a movement that fascinates long after it has past. I’m talking about the black Civil Rights Movement in the South or Swinging London. These are so fixed in our collective pop culture brain that the story of anyone caught up in events will usually make an interesting basis for a film. San Francisco had two of these moments in a row. In the 60s, the hippies flooded in and Haight-Ashbury became the world centre of being free. In the 70s, the gay community asserted itself and built a public identity in the Castro district.
Plenty of films have been made about the first moment (indeed, plenty were made at the time), but not many deal with the second one. Milk makes up for that by telling the story of the self-proclaimed ‘Mayor of Castro’ and the great hero of gay rights, Harvey Milk (Sean Penn). Charting his rise from 40-year-old drop out, to unsuccessful political candidate, to public office and to death, it gives a low-key but extremely poignant portrait of a man fighting for his cause despite the risks.
This almost documentary-style film paints a vivid and vibrant picture of life in the Castro, but also shows the level of prejudice surrounding its inhabitants. This is a community under siege from the police and politicians. It is amazing now to think of the laws that were passed across America in the 1970s legalising discrimination against gay people, and unbelievable that they were nearly passed in California. The danger feels very real, as we see the damage, both physical and mental, that living a lie can produce. The film is at its most effective when we see glimpses of those suffering in small towns, and it is these people that Milk wants to rescue.
Penn’s portrayal of Harvey is perfect, and he creates a living, breathing person. Lightly effeminate, funny (not something that seems to come naturally to the actor), angry, aching, it is about as far away from a caricature as you can get and certainly deserves its Oscar nomination. Milk is not simple hagiography, though. Harvey is not Ghandi or Martin Luther King; he fought back, happy to play the political game and scratch other people’s backs so his own could be scratched.
The people in the character’s orbit are all wonderfully played by people with singularly awful haircuts. As previously mentioned, every character featured here could make a good biopic. There’s activist Cleve Jones (a charismatic Emile Hirsch) who later founded the NAMES Aids quilt project, love of Harvey’s life Scott Smith (James Franco) and, of course, his bizarre murderer Dan White (an unsettling Josh Brolin).
The film does not overly tug at the heart strings, but rather the sadness and the hope seeps into you as you realise what one person can do, and how quickly bullets can stop everything. Milk is an inspirational insight into that one person, and into a part of history that few of us know about.
Wednesday 28 January 2009
Tuesday 27 January 2009
Review - My Bloody Valentine 3D
Apparently, in the near future all horror films will be in 3D because digital technology has made it feasible and studios believe the method’s theme park thrills will get us to go to the cinema. Well, you better get used to feeling nauseous now.
My Bloody Valentine 3D is the first horror film to use the new ‘Real D’ technology, but is otherwise a run-of-the-mill slasher flick with the usual bad acting the genre attracts. A remake of a low-budget Canadian offering from 1981, the plot follows a deranged murderer stalking a town, ten years after he performed a similar massacre on Valentine’s Day and was killed for his trouble. The place is described as “a quiet, in-bred mining town”, but seems to be populated by beautiful babes and square-jawed lummoxes (I wouldn’t trust the local sheriff with the school hamster, never mind a decaying, blue-collar community).
Girls take off their tops and people get pick axes in their brains, which is reasonably fun but not remotely scary. The 3D is effective, especially with the depiction of dismembered bodies, making the film worth seeing for its novelty. You may have to rest your eyes every 20 minutes or so, but that’s the price of seeing the future.
My Bloody Valentine 3D is the first horror film to use the new ‘Real D’ technology, but is otherwise a run-of-the-mill slasher flick with the usual bad acting the genre attracts. A remake of a low-budget Canadian offering from 1981, the plot follows a deranged murderer stalking a town, ten years after he performed a similar massacre on Valentine’s Day and was killed for his trouble. The place is described as “a quiet, in-bred mining town”, but seems to be populated by beautiful babes and square-jawed lummoxes (I wouldn’t trust the local sheriff with the school hamster, never mind a decaying, blue-collar community).
Girls take off their tops and people get pick axes in their brains, which is reasonably fun but not remotely scary. The 3D is effective, especially with the depiction of dismembered bodies, making the film worth seeing for its novelty. You may have to rest your eyes every 20 minutes or so, but that’s the price of seeing the future.
Review - Role Models
Apparently Christopher Mintz-Plasse, he who will forever be known as McLovin from Superbad, was reluctant to appear in this film because he didn’t want to be type cast as a geek. If this is the case, I say for shame! The world needs his nerd powers to make us happy, especially with all the bad stuff going on in the world. In Role Models he again manages to outshine everyone else by playing someone even more dorkish than McLovin.
The film follows miserablist Danny (Paul Rudd) and overgrown frat boy Wheeler (Seann William Scott) as they are sentenced to mentor two troubled children as part of their community service (or ‘community payback’ as the Labour Party has dubbed it) after Danny loses his temper with some tow truck drivers. Danny has to look after Augie (Mintz-Plasse), an introverted teenager who loves live action role playing (LARP) games in which you go into the woods and pretend to be a knight. Wheeler gets Ronnie (Bobb’e J. Thompson), a little boy who is big trouble.
The concept of the film (loser adults out of their depth when looking after kids) has been done to death, but there are genuinely funny moments throughout, dispelling any memories of Daddy Day Care and Three Men and a Baby. There are odd things in the mix – like Jane Lynch (who will always be the poodle owner in Best in Show to me) as the perky and foul-mouthed ex-addict who runs the volunteer programme, and the insight into the strange world of LARP – that keeps one’s interest up. Nothing earth-shattering, then. But there are 99 minutes of silly, McLovin-filled laughs up for grabs.
The film follows miserablist Danny (Paul Rudd) and overgrown frat boy Wheeler (Seann William Scott) as they are sentenced to mentor two troubled children as part of their community service (or ‘community payback’ as the Labour Party has dubbed it) after Danny loses his temper with some tow truck drivers. Danny has to look after Augie (Mintz-Plasse), an introverted teenager who loves live action role playing (LARP) games in which you go into the woods and pretend to be a knight. Wheeler gets Ronnie (Bobb’e J. Thompson), a little boy who is big trouble.
The concept of the film (loser adults out of their depth when looking after kids) has been done to death, but there are genuinely funny moments throughout, dispelling any memories of Daddy Day Care and Three Men and a Baby. There are odd things in the mix – like Jane Lynch (who will always be the poodle owner in Best in Show to me) as the perky and foul-mouthed ex-addict who runs the volunteer programme, and the insight into the strange world of LARP – that keeps one’s interest up. Nothing earth-shattering, then. But there are 99 minutes of silly, McLovin-filled laughs up for grabs.
Saturday 24 January 2009
Review - Slumdog Millionaire
The tube is currently plastered with posters declaring Slumdog Millionaire ‘the feel-good comedy of the year’. As I sat there watching the opening scene, in which the film’s hero is strung up and electrocuted by Bombay’s police department, I wondered how much Prozac someone must be taking to feel good through this. Mamma Mia it ain’t.
Slumdog Millionaire tells the story of Jamal, who is one question away from winning the Indian equivalent of £1 million on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (the film is made by Celador Films, the production company behind Millionaire). The police, however, do not see how a young man from the slums could possibly know the answers to all the questions. During interrogations, Jamal recounts his eventful life while explaining how he learnt each factoid required to win the game show.
The Dickensian living conditions and corruption, both monetary and moral, of modern India are the perfect backdrop for the Oliver Twist-like tale that our hero tells. Episodically flitting from scrape to scrape, Jamal and his brother live by their wits through tremendous odds. The whole thing is very upsetting (a boss of a child gang is featured who makes Fagin look like a Chuckle Brother), but the audience will always be cheering them on to succeed.
Danny Boyle directs with a lightness of touch and lack of trendiness that belies his wider filmography (which includes Trainspotting, Shallow Grave and the very disappointing Sunshine). While there are clues that this is a British film (all characters speak English after the age of 12, and the soundtrack features Radio 1 playlist fave MIA with her hit Paper Planes), the landscape and culture of India are the real stars here.
This puts the actors somewhat in the shade. The children are certainly adorable, and Dev Patel from Channel 4’s Skins has a quiet strength as the older Jamal and Freida Pinto, as love interest Latika, is the picture of girlish innocence. Unfortunately the characters they are playing are very one dimensional (Jamal is good, his brother Salim is a bad seed, Latika is beautiful). These are people reacting to their fate and creating a future despite of it, not tied up in introspection and angst.
At its heart, Slumdog Millionaire is a fairytale, and fairytales are often dark and scary places to be. The redemptive ending makes this, if not quite a ‘feel-good’ film, then maybe a ‘feel-slightly-buoyed-despite-your-knowledge-of-the-essentially-tragic-nature-of-life’ one. Which is something of an achievement.
Slumdog Millionaire tells the story of Jamal, who is one question away from winning the Indian equivalent of £1 million on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (the film is made by Celador Films, the production company behind Millionaire). The police, however, do not see how a young man from the slums could possibly know the answers to all the questions. During interrogations, Jamal recounts his eventful life while explaining how he learnt each factoid required to win the game show.
The Dickensian living conditions and corruption, both monetary and moral, of modern India are the perfect backdrop for the Oliver Twist-like tale that our hero tells. Episodically flitting from scrape to scrape, Jamal and his brother live by their wits through tremendous odds. The whole thing is very upsetting (a boss of a child gang is featured who makes Fagin look like a Chuckle Brother), but the audience will always be cheering them on to succeed.
Danny Boyle directs with a lightness of touch and lack of trendiness that belies his wider filmography (which includes Trainspotting, Shallow Grave and the very disappointing Sunshine). While there are clues that this is a British film (all characters speak English after the age of 12, and the soundtrack features Radio 1 playlist fave MIA with her hit Paper Planes), the landscape and culture of India are the real stars here.
This puts the actors somewhat in the shade. The children are certainly adorable, and Dev Patel from Channel 4’s Skins has a quiet strength as the older Jamal and Freida Pinto, as love interest Latika, is the picture of girlish innocence. Unfortunately the characters they are playing are very one dimensional (Jamal is good, his brother Salim is a bad seed, Latika is beautiful). These are people reacting to their fate and creating a future despite of it, not tied up in introspection and angst.
At its heart, Slumdog Millionaire is a fairytale, and fairytales are often dark and scary places to be. The redemptive ending makes this, if not quite a ‘feel-good’ film, then maybe a ‘feel-slightly-buoyed-despite-your-knowledge-of-the-essentially-tragic-nature-of-life’ one. Which is something of an achievement.
Sunday 18 January 2009
Review - The Spirit
I love comics, but, and it may be deeply unfashionable to say this, I’m not a big fan of Frank Miller. I have no emotional connection to the material when reading his stuff. When his work is adapted for the screen (as with Sin City and 300), it is visually audacious and astounding and I revel in its coolness, but it still seems impossible for me to love it.
The Spirit is Miller’s lone directorial debut (he co-directed Sin City with Robert Rodriguez), based on the seminal comics by Will Eisner that have been so influential to him. Despite his obvious love of the source material, he has come up with a very flat film. While the green screen-produced visuals are cool, they are just a bad replica of Sin City’s. The script is full of arch phrases and flowery rhetoric. It is supposed to be a post-modern take on 40s noir, but is just boring.
The story, as much as it is, follows the titular masked avenger as he battles a crime lord called The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson) in a run-down city. This proto-Batman has a semi-mysterious background, but by the time you find out what it is, you will have ceased caring.
The Spirit is played by Gabriel Macht, who has the unfortunate trait of looking like a dozen other actors rather than looking like himself. He just doesn’t have the charisma to pull the film off. So often in superhero films a great villain can save the day for the audience, but Jackson’s bellowing, scene-chewing performance is just high camp, and not in a good way. Add in a cold and stilted Scarlett Johansson and you have a serious Hollywood misfire. Only Eva Mendes comes off unscathed with a super-sexy turn as The Spirit’s old flame, Sand Serif. She even manages to squeeze a bit of empathy and emotion into the role.
If you really enjoy seeing the world in black, white and red, then go and see it. If not, then The Spirit is best avoided.
The Spirit is Miller’s lone directorial debut (he co-directed Sin City with Robert Rodriguez), based on the seminal comics by Will Eisner that have been so influential to him. Despite his obvious love of the source material, he has come up with a very flat film. While the green screen-produced visuals are cool, they are just a bad replica of Sin City’s. The script is full of arch phrases and flowery rhetoric. It is supposed to be a post-modern take on 40s noir, but is just boring.
The story, as much as it is, follows the titular masked avenger as he battles a crime lord called The Octopus (Samuel L. Jackson) in a run-down city. This proto-Batman has a semi-mysterious background, but by the time you find out what it is, you will have ceased caring.
The Spirit is played by Gabriel Macht, who has the unfortunate trait of looking like a dozen other actors rather than looking like himself. He just doesn’t have the charisma to pull the film off. So often in superhero films a great villain can save the day for the audience, but Jackson’s bellowing, scene-chewing performance is just high camp, and not in a good way. Add in a cold and stilted Scarlett Johansson and you have a serious Hollywood misfire. Only Eva Mendes comes off unscathed with a super-sexy turn as The Spirit’s old flame, Sand Serif. She even manages to squeeze a bit of empathy and emotion into the role.
If you really enjoy seeing the world in black, white and red, then go and see it. If not, then The Spirit is best avoided.
Wednesday 7 January 2009
Review - Inkheart
At the beginning of Inkheart the narrator states that there are people called Silvertongues who have the power to draw out characters from a book into the real world, just by reading aloud. With all the amazing adventures that have been written in human history, it is surprising that a family fantasy based on this premise could be quite so dull.
Meggie (Eliza Bennett) has travelled from place to place with her father Mortimer (Brendan Fraser) since her mother’s disappearance some years ago. One day, mysterious strangers appear wanting to capture Mortimer and a rare book he has found called Inkheart. Meggie learns that her father is a Silvertongue, and characters he pulled from the book want to use his powers.
The primary problem with the film is that it is confusing, never fully realising its universe and the rules which govern it and leaving no room for a sense of magic. The secondary problem is that the book from which all these evil-doers have appeared, Inkheart, seems to be a third-rate fantasy for Renaissance Fair-goers. The tertiary problem is that the whole thing takes place in a Switzerland where no one speaks German, and an Italy where no one speaks Italian. A writer living in Italy with an Italian name turns out to be played by Jim Broadbent, with not even a hint of a Captain Bertorelli-style accent. Everyone in this Europe is cosily British, which is unfortunately not the case.
Brendan Fraser tries his best, but is let down by the material. Bennett plays Meggie as a nice and intelligent young lady, and does so convincingly but never sparkles. Even the lovely Helen Mirren, Paul Bettany and Super Hans off Peep Show cannot lift this piece. Young children may find it diverting and parents may appreciate its message that books are exciting, but otherwise this is a half-baked adventure.
Meggie (Eliza Bennett) has travelled from place to place with her father Mortimer (Brendan Fraser) since her mother’s disappearance some years ago. One day, mysterious strangers appear wanting to capture Mortimer and a rare book he has found called Inkheart. Meggie learns that her father is a Silvertongue, and characters he pulled from the book want to use his powers.
The primary problem with the film is that it is confusing, never fully realising its universe and the rules which govern it and leaving no room for a sense of magic. The secondary problem is that the book from which all these evil-doers have appeared, Inkheart, seems to be a third-rate fantasy for Renaissance Fair-goers. The tertiary problem is that the whole thing takes place in a Switzerland where no one speaks German, and an Italy where no one speaks Italian. A writer living in Italy with an Italian name turns out to be played by Jim Broadbent, with not even a hint of a Captain Bertorelli-style accent. Everyone in this Europe is cosily British, which is unfortunately not the case.
Brendan Fraser tries his best, but is let down by the material. Bennett plays Meggie as a nice and intelligent young lady, and does so convincingly but never sparkles. Even the lovely Helen Mirren, Paul Bettany and Super Hans off Peep Show cannot lift this piece. Young children may find it diverting and parents may appreciate its message that books are exciting, but otherwise this is a half-baked adventure.
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