True Grit

As has felt increasingly customary, we head into another Oscars build-up with the Cohen brothers heavily featuring among the nominations, or noms as our clipped hacks have dubbed them.

The smart Jewish kids from Minnesota have blasted into the Hollywood fraternity and show no signs of heading for the hills anytime soon.

They return to our screens with True Grit; based on a 1968 Charles Portis novel - which itself was made into a Henry Hathaway directed picture a year later with the same title, starring “The Duke” John Wayne – but it is the book that the Cohens cite as their primary source.

Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) has just seen her father murdered by blockhead farmhand Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin) in Arkansas who has now absconded.

The 14-year-old girl seeks retribution and enlists Deputy US Marshal Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to track him down so he can be brought to justice.

Cogburn - an alcoholic, half-blind ruffian is initially reticent but eventually agrees to take on the job but insists Mattie remain at home.

The fly in the ointment appears in the form of LaBouef (Matt Damon) a cocky Texas Ranger who wishes to bust Cheney for the shooting of a politician in his native state.

Mattie refuses his assistance as if LaBouef succeeds, Cheney won’t face any charges for the murder of her father and will face prosecution in Texas.

She also rebuffs Cogburn’s desire to carry out the task on his own and thus all three set off into the wilderness to tackle Cheney but quickly find the unforgiving environment – and its inhabitants – could scupper their plans.

The Cohens flights of fancy are recognisable from the offset; biting humour mixed with laconic social realism.

A native American about to be executed attempts to speak his last words but is killed before he can finish, Mattie and Cogburn encounter a bedraggled bearded individual in the forest with a grizzly’s head for a hat who claims to be a doctor.

The film is also infused by the ornate Kings James English dialect which only enhances the setting ; in response to a question about why a man was hung so high from a tree, Cogburn replies “I do not know. Possibly in the belief it'd make him more dead”

Hailee Steinfeld is terrific as the pint sized, straight-talking heroine; school masterly in the Jean Brodie sense, belying her teenage years - however sadly her character develops little throughout the film.

Fresh from his Oscar winning turn in Crazy Heart, Jeff Bridges seems to have retained the grubbiness and southern drawl his performance in that picture contained and he is highly entertaining as the grumpy sidekick to Steinfeld.

Perhaps outshining both is Matt Damon whose arrogant and unflustered LaBouef is strangely affecting; flicking through the movie’s changing gear shifts with ease.

One problematic aspect to the proceedings is how little True Grit strays from the well trodden path of the Western genre – the Cohen’s playful inversions of convention such as their rollicking treatment of the police drama in Fargo or their otherworldly approach to prohibition era America in Miller’s Crossing are what has made the duo such respected luminaries.

But the straight-faced delivery with which True Grit develops leaves one feeling a tad unsatisfied despite how enjoyable the viewing experience is.

And the views are stunning as regular Cohen collaborator and cinematographer Roger Deakins brings the rugged, exhausting Texas landscape to the fore; from the striking mountain peaks to the beads of sweat running off a stallion’s back.

The Cohen stagecoach may continue to roll and while this cannot compare with their very best, it is still a highly captivating and boisterous watch.

Black Swan

So Darren Aranofsky returns to our screens two years on from slobberknocker The Wrestler to muse on the despotic world of ballet; swapping piledrivers for pliés.

Nina (Natalie Portman) is cast as the lead in a production of Swan Lake in New York by forceful director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) but quickly finds out balancing the angelic elements of the White Swan with the ferociousness aspects to the Black Swan is a difficult and unnerving task.

Her initially enthusiastic mother Erica (Barbara Hershey) begins to take her daughter’s role increasingly seriously and as Nina immerses herself in play she finds her relationship with close friend Lily (Mila Kunis) and Thomas becoming intense in more ways than one.

Part horror, part dark romance, Aranofsky’s film is a visual spectacle that owes as much to Mulholland as it does to Frederick Wiseman’s judicious documentary on the Paris Opera; La danse.

The camera is seemingly a free agent, sweeping the viewer through long, whirling takes in a style reminiscent of Gasper Noe’s Enter the Void; also produced last year.

What begins out as a portrait of an exploitative director taking his lead girl under his wing - so to speak - develops into a hypnotic morass as Nina entrenches herself into her performance which has an equally physical and mental impact on her.

High octane scenes of body horror and female sexuality could be hackneyed and voyeuristic from a less assured director but Aranofsky creates the right air of menace and sensuality – often combining the two – to enrapture his audience.

Cassel’s Thomas - blunt and red blooded - is perhaps the hardest role to pull off with his requests for his star often bordering on the absurd but the film gets away with this due to its balletic setting where - no doubt - madcap directors are ten a penny.

It would be wrong to call this pure expressionalism; its origins in the work of David Lynch and Fritz Lang belie its sheer beauty – the shots linger on Nina as she puts on her pointe shoes, for example - and there is an aesthetic clarity to the picture which is dissimilar from the oft kaleidoscopic portrayal of Americana in pictures like Lynch’s Wild at Heart.

However Hershey’s portrayal of Nina’s obsessive mother has a touch of Mommie Dearest to her; painting abstract faces of her child and doting over her as though she was pre-pubescent evidenced in Nina’s bedroom which is filled with cuddly toys and splashed in Barbie pink.

When Nina turns to Lily (Kunis) as a form of social support and belated teenager rebellion, we see her darker side as the two girls let their hair down – and other things – on a night out. Kunis is brilliant as the part manipulative, part supportive pal exuding confidence and sexiness in equal measure.

Mention must go also to Winona Ryder as Beth; a former gem in the ballet company’s crown now seemingly discarded by Thomas who begins to lose her grip on life with drastic consequences.

As Nina steps into Beth’s shoes as the ballet’s prima donna, the tumultuous pressure to deliver in a highly competitive, strained environment see the movie end in a shuddering, ear-popping climax.

Black Swan, in its central themes of performance and obsession, is a terrific tale of a women’s disconnection from reality into fantasy. A Red Shoes in a post-David Cronenberg world.

Avatar

Cinemagoers unite – throw down your non-stereoscopic projectors, pick up your oversized specs, the 3D revolution is here!

Or so Hollywood would have us believe. With the ever developing crackdown on piracy, 3D films have become a key weapon in the studios arsenal against counterfeit copies of their movies.

The massive adoption across the board of 3D by the major players in motion pictures is generally attributed to be mainly for this reason – after all, the technology has been around since the middle of the twentieth century and IMAX cinemas were up and running by as early as 1985.

The first full length IMAX feature film was James Cameron’s 2003 documentary covering underwater explorations of the sunken Titanic liner, Ghosts of the Abyss.

Six years on from that (and twelve years on from Cameron’s 1997 box-office record breaker Titanic) the Canadian film-maker has taken the technology to another untrodden layer with his science-fiction epic Avatar.

Set around 150 years in the future, the film follows a tribe of indigenous people, Na’vi, as they battle to save their planet Pandora from an invading military presence from Earth.

Their invaders are desperate for unobtanium - a mineral buried within the Na’vi’s sacred lands – but caught in the middle is Jake Sully, a marine originally sent to infiltrate the Na’vi but who has fallen in love with the clan’s princess Neytiri.

Sully has entered the Na’vi’s world through becoming the titular avatar, a hybrid creature created by mixing human and Na’vi DNA, which can be controlled virtually by him whilst in a machine.

Visually stunning, the movie is a hugely immersive experience combining breathtaking CGI with actual footage to create a wonderful hybrid of its own between the virtual and real world in three beautiful dimensions.

Nominated for a bevy of technical Oscars, the film takes the relatively recent advent of CGI to a new level as it combines the incredible natural beauty of Pandora’s mountainous and forestall landscapes with the industrial, sci-fi vision of Earth’s scientific and military presence on the planet.

However it has failed to garner any nods for acting awards and the performances themselves are a mixed bag – Sam Worthington’s portrayal of Sully has a touch of disconnectedness to it, not helped by the fact his lines as an avatar were studio recorded and that working with countless green-spots and blue screens in place of real life actors and places blocks the natural flow of narrative dialogue.

The same fate does not befall his lover Neytiri, given a touch more vigour and richness by Zoe Saldana while Sigourney Weaver as Dr. Grace Augustine plays well as a passionate scientist battling military opposition to her avatar programme.

Other casting decisions such as Giovanni Ribisi as a military head (best known as Phoebe’s horny brother in the TV sitcom friends) are laughable at best while Stephen Lang as Colonel Quaritch, intent on conquering the Na’vi’s territory, has a touch of Duke Nukem to his characterisation.

Cameron’s attempts to make parallels between the conflict onscreen and issues such as the war in Iraq and climate change are admirable in their scope but end being clunkily raised in such an unsubtle way you almost expect 3D red flags to appear, alerting you to their presence.

The dialogue lacks nuance, often drifting into cliché and stultifies the mesmerising images on display – characters shamelessly explain the plot and their own motivations in a style Dan Brown has made his own.

It is, as a whole, baggy in length, clocking in at over two and half hours which is a mammoth amount for what is ostensibly a sci-fi action flick and while one respects the hours of time and effort spent on crafting every scene technically, shedding the weight is one thing the film badly needs.

But nonetheless Avatar is a cinematic event that deserves to be seen for its outstanding aesthetics and technical handiwork which has really paid dividends on screen in an act that will be difficult to follow for the next participate in the 3D timeline.

Just as 1927’s Jazz Singer will never be regarded as a classic and will always be known for being the first “talkie” than for any individual merit, Avatar is a defining chapter in the 3D movement and whilst it is not a great film, it remains cinematically revolutionary in the same respect.

Inglorious Basterds

As the enfant terrible of nineties cinema, the now 45-year-old Quentin Tarantino’s latest pot-shot into our multiplex screens is, on paper, his most daring attempt thus far.

Dealing as it does with subject matter long dubbed sensitive of tyranny against Jews during the Second World War (especially in an avant-garde work such as this) it is a bold move from the American but his charmingly graphic cool-fests of the 1990s hardly went by without a whimper from censors either.

The titular group are a small band of American Jews who have come to war-torn France to seek revenge against the Nazis, presumably for their anti-Semitic genocide although this is never fully explained.

If it wasn’t for the swastikas, sweeping French landscapes and the menagerie of accents, this could easily be a spaghetti Western premise evident in Morricone-like opening music , a violent opening, the needless filmic references scattered throughout the script and clichéd introductions of the Inglorious Basterds’ members.

They are led by Lieutenant Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) in an ill-advised role that sees the individual in his element as Jesse James two years ago stride about the screen with a demeanour and voice to match of a gurning idiot.

Thankfully however, Pitt is not the lead and is part of a strong ensemble, the gleaming star being Christoph Waltz as “Jew Hunter” Colonel Hans Landa, a menacing well-spoken villain, very much in the Bond-guise.

However the sprawling cast lead a film that still looks like it needs a fresh edit with some sections that neither serve a suitable plot advancers or simply lack narrative and character depth.

The glue holding the piece together is a premiere of a Joseph Goebbel’s (Sylvester Groth) propaganda film the one-man-army exploits of Private Fredrick Zoller who, without a hint of modesty, plays himself (the “romantic lead” Daniel Bruhl).

Zoller is smitten with the cinema’s French-Jewish owner (the shrewd Melanie Laurent) and has arranged for the premiere to take place in her French picture-house, an event which provides Tarantino’s problematic climax.

The fact that this film is not and never tries to be historically accurate ratchets the finely constructed tension that Tarantino is well-schooled in to a new level as no character’s fate is certain and nor is the conflict’s development.

This allows Tarantino to create scenes of Hitchcockian-like power that practically rope the audience forward onto the edge of their seats, most notably a section played out in real time in a tavern’s basement which deserves to be considered against some of Tarantino’s most acclaimed set-pieces with flowing dialogue and an arsenal of twists and turns.

However while this section and the film’s opening in a French farmhouse work well, the major issue with the film is the hatefully postmodern moral bankruptcy Tarantino brings to the fore.

This is not in the form of desperate men acting in desperate ways but requires the audience to support the Inglorious Basterds’ sadistic and somewhat psychotic violence which includes scalping and bludgeoning their victims and a blanket death-wish for anyone in a Nazi uniform.

The culminates in an initially striking scene which then appears to treat the Nazis' to their own holocaust. It is this remorseless approach which made the Nazis so horrific and it is difficult to side with any group which subscribes to a similar mentality.

This is the critical death-knell for a movie which has enough problems without this - overly long, overly referential and with a moral core that makes Mr Blonde look like Mr Bean.

Brüno

Two years on from the cultural phenomenon of Borat, Sacha Baron Cohen returns to our screens with his peculiar incarnation of Brüno.

The gay Austrian TV presenter had already featured on the Da Ali Show and before that alongside Baron Cohen’s other characters on the Paramount Comedy Channel in 1998.

Over a decade on, the fashonista is projected into the spotlight in a film which bears the classic hallmarks of Baron Cohen’s previous productions with uncomfortable interviews, outlandish gags and a fervent desire to push the envelope of taste with relish.

If it was Borat’s racism and sexism that was played up last time out, it is Brüno’s showbiz egotism and flamboyant homosexuality which come to fore here.

Right from the outset, the film lays its cards firmly on the table with a graphically inventive depiction of Brüno’s sex life with his pygmy lover as they involve various household objects in their activities.

This sets out the stall for the picture – sequences designed to shock get smirks and surprised giggles from the audience but perhaps without the belly laughs that greeted some of the most memorable parts of Borat.

Perhaps this is because Brüno is simply not as an effective vehicle for comedy as Borat or that the film sides with jolts of disbelief over the stream of outrageous quips from Borat or those elicited from his victims.

Not that Brüno leaves his interviewees unscatched – a Christian programme designed to convert gay men into heterosexuals is exposed for its crassness and intolerance, Paula Abdul is (perhaps unfairly) shown as a hypocrite, and parents of child models throw their morals out the window as they try to secure a place for their kids in a Brüno photo-shoot.

However they take a back seat to former Republican presidential candidate Ron Paul who storms out of an interview with Brüno in a segment which has to be seen to be believed if not for its comic awkwardness then for the sheer bravery of Baron Cohen.

But here is where we hit problems – Brüno is able to rile people into giving strong reactions to the character (none moreso than from a crowd of wrestling fans which quickly develops into a mob) but these as a collective end up being slightly directionless and at points as vacuous as its central protagonist.

Brüno feels bitty at times with tenuous links between sequences and without the cohesive comedy story arc that was present in Borat.

The film is not homophobic but neither does it do enough to show up intolerance to gays in America – are a group of hoteliers confronted by gay bondage homophobic or just uncomfortable with public displays of graphic sexuality?

One of the staples of Baron Cohen is to make his pictures burst the bubbles of celebrity and fame and take no prisoners but this is a piece which ends with some of music’s biggest stars very much in on the joke.

However despite these problematic aspects to the film, it still manages to pack in more than enough laughs to make it a worthwhile watch and the gall and bravado of Baron Cohen remains unabated.

Now having used up his three major creations, he may be forced to pursue a fresh avenue of comedy attack for his next project.

In the Loop

It seems fitting than among the scandals of MP’s expenses and impending political tensions between Iran and the West that Armando Iannnuci’s political satire, In the Loop, should hit our movie screens.

The film follows the backroom boys of UK and US political life when an MP, Simon Foster (played at just the right level by Tom Hollander) makes an on-air radio gaff, referring to war in the middle east as “unforeseeable”. Lambasted as a loose cannon by his parties’ spin doctors and as a surprising hero to an underhand Washington pro-war committee, he is suddenly thrown into the spotlight along with his aides.

But it is not Foster who is the star of the show but vitriolic Scottish spin doctor Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi spouting off expletives and insults to make Gordon Ramsay blush). Tucker’s frightening temper lashes out against anyone in his way as he bids to toe the party line and use any underhand tactic in the book to quash anti-war sentiments.

The film is filled with wonderful gags but no fear of hiding away from what is a highly intelligent and biting critique of the way political policy works backstage and the corrupt and farcical nature of it. The main figureheads of parliamentary and presidential life are kept off screen – the prime minister and president are only referred to in passing - but the message is clear. Something is badly wrong with the system.

Amid the large collection of laughs, Iannuci still has the power to shock, with one line in particular near the film’s conclusion deservedly eliciting audible gasps from the audience I watched it with.

Mix this with sizeable roles for James Gandolfini (otherwise known as Tony Soprano) as a general in opposition to the proposed conflict and Steve Coogan in fine form as an angry resident in Foster’s Northamptonshire constituency and it is a potent blend of well crafted comedy and edgy political comment.

Fans of the BBC4 series In the Thick Of It which this was a spin-off from should expect to see slight recasting from that but with roughly the same ensemble. Despite TV feel of the movie in terms of its shooting style, this is perhaps less nuanced than the series when it stretches itself over 90 minutes but it remains true to its source material, if one can call it that.

The fast flowing journey is neither partisan in its politics nor afraid to push the envelope with cutting comedy. It is an enjoyable and enthralling watch which occasionally gets slightly lost on the big screen but never by sacrificing its originality, humour and acerbic appraisal of 21st century global politics.

Martyrs

One definition of a martyr on a popular dictionary website is someone who endures great suffering. Perhaps then it is me who was the martyr in watching this French horror because endure it I had to, such was the poor quality of a film which has been surprisingly lauded by critics.

The sketchy plot originally surrounds a young woman trying to get revenge on individuals who abused her as a child. This eventually shifts into a torture environment, characterised by such films as Hostel and Saw. It should be noted that writer/director Pascal Laugier has claimed this an anti-Hostel, trying to counterpoint the alleged “torture-porn” genre.

The opening half the film plods along quite neatly, following established tools of the horror genre popularised by modern teen horror movies with a violent unknown figure savaging the female protagonist. The sense that this entity may not be real and may be a perception in the girl’s mind could be an interesting allusion to the irremovable stain of child abuse on a person’s life but this point is not followed up by the movie at all, as a supposed “shocking” film shies away from ever addressing tangible questions of child abuse.

After this initial stage of the movie, it then moves into its torture area. I must admit to not having seen other proponents of the torture genre before yet I did not find the rather pedestrian horror torture frightening, original or exciting. Repetitive scenes of someone being force fed, beaten or what can only be described as “washed with a sponge in a nasty way” become boring with nothing to say other than to ask the audience to watch in a way that felt voyeuristic.

This voyeurism is a major problem – if these scenes are designed for the titillation of some morbid excitement in the audience, it seems they deserve condemnation rather than praise. If however, as they claim, they are trying to make some sort of comment or give meaning then the film fails spectacularly.

The meaning and justification for the individual being tortured in the second half the film (who is a separate character from the female protagonist) is explained in a very loose way by a typical ‘mad female scientist’ character. Pseudo-intellectual babble about transcendence and transfiguration which sounds like it has been written by a below-par arts graduate attempt to purport that those are tortured reach a state so close to death that they have a strong connection to the afterlife. Therefore torturing them gives others an insight into heaven.

This premise leads to the tortured woman reaching this state of “martyrdom” and she informs the mad woman of her experience (only after of course enduring more torture). Without giving away the ending, it feels like the writer is making this up as he goes along with a lack of cohesiveness to the plot, lack of story arc, and the sense that this is two flawed stories spliced together.

If you believe horror should be more about set pieces and eliciting an emotive response from the audience, it also fails with a lack of punch, innovation or the ability to grip the audience with sketchy ideas and uninteresting, bland violence. I have rarely felt so robbed by paying to see A film than I did after seeing martyrs.