American director Paul Thomas Anderson’s first film to be set in England ostensibly concerns a ladies’ dress designer to the rich and famous in the 1950s. It moves between London where Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) works and the house in the country where he relaxes. It also moves between the obsessive, creative designer and his efficient, business-minded sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) and Alma (Vicky Krieps), the woman he meets and comes slowly but surely to depend on as his model, muse and partner. Beneath the surface, it’s about relationships, manipulation and control.
There’s also the two siblings’ long dead mother with whom Reynolds – basically a mother’s boy – is obsessed. So much so that, when he falls ill (possibly fatally), he sees her standing by the wall of his bedroom and speaks to her (she doesn’t respond). We know it’s her because of a photograph seen earlier: the apparition gives away no more information than the photograph. “Always carry it with you”, he tells Alma on their first date. He likes sewing things – photographs coins, messages – into clothing. His mother’s picture is sewn into his coat lining.
When I say first date… Well, Reynolds wines and dines Alma, a very ordinary waitress with a slight German accent who’s working at a small village hotel, then takes her back to his house in the country… so that he can try out material on her torso and start designing a dress for her. Later, he gets out his tape measure just in time for Cyril to turn up and write down Alma’s measurements as Reynolds calls them out.
The narrative parades a bewildering array of House of Woodcock clientele, from fans who would give anything to wear one of his dresses (swiftly dismissed from the Woodcock restaurant table by Cyril) to royalty with entourage, from a well-paying but ultimately self-loathing drunk to Alma the muse. Reynolds and Alma remove a commissioned dress from the drunk’s body as she sleeps her stupor off. “Not worthy of the House of Woodcock”, says Alma.
Also on show is the dress design, manufacture and modelling display process, complete with a team of seamstresses who, when Reynolds falls ill and collapses onto a dress, have to work late in order to repair it for delivery abroad the next morning.
By far the most interesting aspect of the film, however, is the interplay between the three main characters. Reynolds can be stubborn, telling Alma she’s making too much noise buttering her toast at breakfast which destroys the rest of his working day. Alma obsessively loves Reynolds and desires to have him and his time on her own terms. As such, she is more than his match. As too is Cyril. A power struggle between the two women is inevitable. Even more interesting, picking mushrooms in the country, Alma decides that the only way to get Reynolds under her control may be to poison him, something with which Reynolds, once he realises what she’s up to, readily complies.
So although this has all the trappings of a film about fashion and clothes design (specifically dresses) and more than satisfies on that level, and while it’s also beautifully paced and photographed and boasts a fantastic period score by Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead fame, the film plays out less as a 1950s period costume piece and more as a drama about some very dark interpersonal subject matter indeed. It feels less epic than certain of Anderson’s earlier offerings (Boogie Nights/1997, Magnolia/1999, The Master/2012) and closer to his more intimate debut Hard Eight a.k.a. Sydney (1996) and his other Day-Lewis collaboration There Will Be Blood (2012). Hard Eight shows a lowlife US world and Blood a self-made man. However, Thread’s characters are most definitely English (or German immigrant in Alma’s case) and part of the circus surrounding and servicing the privileged classes.
We’d love to see Anderson dealing with something that gets under the skin of ordinary, non-privileged Brits rather than the well-heeled types so often portrayed in US and indeed British dramas. For now, though, the slow-burning Phantom Thread will do very nicely, thank you.
Phantom Thread is out in the UK on Friday, February 2nd. The film has received six Oscar nominations. On Netflix in January 2020.
The influential German filmmaker has a celebrated filmography, including the emblematic Paris, Texas (1984) and the award-winning documentary Buena Vista Social Club (1999). In line with his usual deeply humane exploration style, his latest film, Submergence, appears to follow the thematic elements of love for which Wenders is recognised.
Starring James McAvoy and Alicia Vikander in the lead role, the film focuses on two lovers, Danielle and James, who are forced apart by fate. They meet by chance in a remote hotel in France as they both prepare for a perilous mission. Despite their initial hesitation, they inevitably fall in love. When they have to separate, we find out that James works for the British Secret Service. He’s involved in a mission in Somalia to track down a source for suicide bombers infiltrating Europe, where he is taken hostage by Jihadist fighters. Danielle is a bio-mathematician working on a deep sea diving project to support her theory about the origin of life on our planet.
As alluded towards in the title, the aesthetics of the film adheres to the deep water imagery, with wide shots capturing the scope and scale of the on-set locations.Based on the novel by J.M. Ledgard, of the same name, the central essence appears to rely heavily upon the chemistry of the two actors. Comparable to Vikander’s work with her now husband, Michael Fassbinder, inThe Light Between Oceans (Derek Cianfrance, 2016), the actress is continually cast as going toe to toe with notable male stars, further emphasised in Ex Machina (Alex Garland, 2015).
From its early trailer, Wenders’s new film does not seem as if it will hit the heights of his earlier work. Still, one must revel in the fact the filmmaker is still working productively in contemporary film. Submergence is out in cinemas worldwide on Friday, May 18th. Stay tuned for our dirty review of the film.
War is repugnant and grotesque, and so should anti-war films be. Violence should never be airbrushed, blood should never be removed, and the conflict should never be glorified, romanticised or celebrated in any way whatsoever. Otherwise it can easily slip into a military apologia. A genuinely anti-war movie should never be a feel-good movie. It should be harrowing and disturbing because at war there are no victors. It should meditate on the moral dilemma of the conflict, or mock the futility of the whole ordeal. Plus, patriotism should never be celebrated, as it’s often the very cause of war. And this is precisely where the three films mentioned above fail. They are war films. But they are not anti-war films.
Below is a list of 10 films released in the last 12 months or so, which are unambiguous in their denunciation of war. They are both documentary and fiction features with one characteristic in common: you will not leave the cinema thinking: “this is a cool movie!”. These films are invariably disturbing and realistic in their depiction of the conflict. Four of them deal with the Syrian War, but there are also films dealing with Israel, World War I, World War 2, the Ukraine, and also a movie with a stark warning of an “impending” nuclear war. To boot, there’s a very dirty surprise for you at the end of the list. So make sure you read it through.
Don’t forget to click on the film titles in order to accede to their respective dirty review. The films are listed in no specific order!
This Danish film is extremely successful at highlighting the pointlessness of WW2 in all of its bizarre territoriality and forged allegiances. You won’t leave the cinema feeling enchanted and elated. Instead you will feel shocked and outraged, which is exactly what a war film should do.
The film starts out with Danish Sergeant Carl Leopold Rasmussen (Roland Møller) leading surrendered German troops out of the country in May 1945 and beating a few soldiers in the process. He in then allocated to a beach where he has to supervise 14 German teenagers, who’ve been sent in order to clear some of of the 2.2 million mines placed by the German on the Danish coast – more than in any other European country. No slippery fingers, shaky hands, hesitant thoughts and vacillating minds are allowed; the consequences of any minor error are obviously disastrous, ranging from severe mutilation to a horrific death. And so these untrained and emotionally immature boys begin to die, one by one.
In City Of Ghosts, Academy Award winning director Matthew Heineman (Cartel Land, 2015), takes on the plight of a group of men fighting to have the cries of their once great city heard. In this shocking yet essential movie, Heineman follows the journey of the members of a group calling themselves “Raqqa is Being Slaughtered Silently”. This small coalition of anonymous-activists-turned-citizen-journalists managed to put themselves in the firing line by bravely exposing the barbarism of Islamic State. With intel from inside the occupied city, the men managed to run a website documenting what took place after a vacuum of power resulted in the occupation of Raqqa by Isil for years.
Offered incredible access to the men and, in some cases, their own family members, Heineman deftly allows his subjects to tell their own stories without injecting himself too much into their narrative. Stories of violence and murder coming out of the city are neither sanitised nor fetishised by the director. Using Isil’s own footage found online, the director allows his subjects to talk about the unimaginable ordeal they went through since the moment they started speaking out against their invaders.
For 85 minutes you will have to wear the shoes of Oum Yazan (in a rivetting performance delivered by the Palestinian actress and film director Hiam Abbass), as she does everything within reach in order to protect her family inside her flat in Damascus, as the Syrian War is just beginning to loom. You will be locked with Oum and seven other people in the relative safety of her middle-class dwelling, while a cannonade of bombs and machine gun fire explodes outside.
Urgent in its simplicity, the effective Insyriated will haunt you for some time. It’s a painful reminder that tragedy can strike at anytime, and that there is no such thing as a safe home. It’s also a call for action: every country should open their doors to Oum, Halima and their families.
The notion of futility has always been one in human history, still, in the events and dramatic modernisation of conflict during World War I, the supposed ‘war to end all wars’ brought the human race crashing into the 20th century in a monstrous fashion. Set during the final few months of the German armies’ ‘Spring Offensive’ in 1918, Saul Dibb’s cinematic adaptation of R. C. Sheriff’s 1928 playJourney’s End features powerful performances and a uniquely stifling portrayal of life on the Western front.
Slowly building to a mournful end, it is hard to not be moved at the futile nature of war, specifically to a younger generation, elicited throughout. Akin to the greatness of Oh, What A Lovely War(Richard Attenborough, 1963), the theatrical roots are expelled in favour of a cinematically aware film. Marking 100 years since the end of the War, one would be amiss to ignore its presence upon release.
This Israeli movie is a visual ballet divided in three acts: Michael Feldman (Lior Ashkenazi) is informed that his son Jonathan (Yonatan Sharay), a conscript in the Israeli Army, has died; Jonathan’s days of military service in the Israeli Defense Forces, and; a long conversation between Michael and Jonathan’s mother, Dafna (Sarah Adler). Each act has a distinctive touch, and all three are strangely pleasant to watch.
This is a fiercely anti-war movie, about the catastrophic consequences of army duty for those who have no choice but to enlist (military service is compulsory in Israel). It is also a mind-blowing film, likely to become both critically acclaimed and commercially profitable. It premiered last year in Venice, and our writer Tiago Di Mauro selected it as his top film of 2017 – click here for the full list. The image at the top of this article was taken from Foxtrot.
TThis film acts primarily as an exploration of war from the bubble of an EU perspective. This is both eye-opening and positively human, as each character displays an entirely familiar range of virtues and vices. It also broadcasts Ukraine and the Donbass crisis to an EU audience that have now largely forgotten about the fortunes of their largest European neighbours. Although Frostdoesn’t detail the experiences of the Donbass separatists, it leaves you with no doubt that the everyday allegiances of this war are arbitrary and ambiguous.
Frost is a unique piece of cinema in 2017. It focuses attention back onto a divided region that has become absent from the popular European imagination. Likewise, it provokes meaningful reflection on the moral dilemma of war, without being overtly instructive. Its slight tendency for tedious travel is punctuated by powerful prose in the three key interludes. It ends on a low-key whimper, but one that will explode through your thoughts long after the end credits.
Opening with hand held footage of Howe on patrol with British servicemen in Afghanistan, Monfils’s documentary throws the audience straight into the deep end. As the soldiers and Howe wonder through fields, tension within the frame is created through the claustrophobic and obscured shots of their surroundings; beyond the trees the Taliban could lay. Disaster strikes in the form of a soldier stepping on a concealed IED (improvised explosive device) warhead. Howe somehow manages to capture to the whole sequence in a clarity that is a stark juxtaposition to the surrounding world of ‘fake news’ and the POTUS’s bizarre “convfefe” tweet.
At a tight one hour and a half, A Good Day to Die, Hoka Hey interrogates the repercussions of authentic media coverage upon an individual. Howe’s haunting images linger in one’s mind long after the final scene. Unlike the suspenseful quality of another war film out in theatres right now, Dunkirk (Christopher Nolan), Harold Monfils’s film sincerely reflects his ambition to create a piece which portrays ‘the damage that happens to the soul when one is exposed to the horrors of war on the front line for 12 years’.
This is an anti-war film because it warns us of the catastrophic dangers of an “impending” nuclear war. Pilger shows how China has been progressively encircled by US military bases and nuclear weapons and how quickly this could escalate. The Obama administration has in fact clearly shifted the geopolitical focus of the US towards the Pacific, in an open challenge to China.
What can we expect from the future? Is President Trump going to follow an even more aggressive stance towards China than his predecessor, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Barack Obama or is he going to be an isolationist? Right now, this seems unpredictable. Trump has used a very aggressive stance towards China during his electoral campaign; but will he turn words into action or was it just hot air? Will there be another Cold War? What about apocalypse? Only time will tell. These are some of the questions that the film raises.
This is one of the most disturbing and heartbreaking films on this list. In March 2011, radio host Obaidah Zytoon and several friends joined the street demonstrations against the oppressive regime of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, whose family has lead the country for 40 uninterrupted years. They decide to film every step of a very bleak journey that is nowhere near finding closure five years later. Obaidah’s voiceover narrates the story in retrospect, with the lugubrious tone of her voice suggesting from the start of the movie that the outcome wouldn’t be rosy.
The tragic imagery and the fatal conclusion of The War Show could haunt you for some time. Even if the film is sometimes a little disjointed, and the individual stories are difficult to follow. The War Show has won the top prize in the Venice Days strand at this year’s Venice Film Festival. A jury chaired by Canadian filmmaker Bruce LaBruce chose the film from the 11-strong selection.
Ok. We have cheated. This film has not been released yet. In fact, it’s still in the making. But it’s such a relevant one that we decided we should include it on this list anyway. Most literature and theatre fans would instantly recognise Jaroslav Hašek’s The Good Soldier Schwejk, the most translated Czech novel in history, and a world-famous anti-war satire. Cinephiles less so. The book has indeed been adapted to the silver screen a few times – first in 1926 and then again in 1943 by Czech filmmaker Karel Lamač, in 1956 by the also Czech Karel Steklý and finally in 1960 by German filmmaker Axel von Ambesser. The problem is that these films are hardly available in the UK, and no other movies have been made since (except for television). This is about to change, as screenwriter and filmmaker Christine Edzard sets herself on a very ambitious mission.
Christina’s film will be neither an ordinary book adaptation nor a period drama selling a fake nostalgia. This is a very personal, audacious and groundbreaking endeavour spearheaded by a woman with a clear artistic vision and unambiguous peace ideology. The ball started rolling between July 7th and 17th, when Christine held seven live performances of The Good Soldier Schwejk at Sands Films in Rotherhithe (in Southeast London). The play was scripted as a live, cabaret-style performance, reflecting the background of Schwejk’s original creator: Hašek was a frequent performer of politically engaged cabaret in Prague. Christine explains: “the first Schwejk was written as a sketch several years before the novel existed, so I’m just going back to that original idea.”
So, what’s it that will be so special about The Good Soldier Schwejk? Well, it’s not a film set in the past. After years of research, Christine has added her very own personal twist to the play/film by blending in absurd quotes from very real, modern sources. The clumsy, ludicrous, wacky and preposterous words you will hear came from the mouths of Tony Blair, George W Bush, Colin Powell, Cofer Black and other wll-known figures. The conversation are sometimes so bizarre that they feel like five-year-olds squabbling, exposing the sheer absurdity of reality. There are also bits from George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde and Alfred Nobel.
This is one to keep to keep an eye on. Worry not, we shall bring the latest updates firsthand and exclusively for you!
A little zombie, a little vampire, a little alien and extremely Japanese, that’s probably a succinct way of describing the flesh-eating ghouls in the Japanese manga series Tokyo Ghoul, which has now been made into a feature film with real actors, and very plush, colourful and nimble CGI effects. These creatures are “above human beings in the food chain”, a voice-over explains in the beginning of the movie. Worse still, these ghoul are virtually indistinguishable from human beings except that when they are excited or hungry, their scleras turn black and their irises red. Plus they unleash an enormous tentacle from their back. Their must conceal their identity in order to evade pursuit.
Their tentacle comes in all lengths, shapes, forms and colours. Some are three-pronged, some resemble an octopus, some are more reminiscent of a cacatua. These devices are enormous and provide the ghouls with a very striking individuality. They also make the man-eating creatures far more agile: they can use the appendages in order to jump, fight, grip and kill their prey. In fact, it’s these bizarre body parts that make Tokyo Ghoul a very effective blend of fantasy and action flick, with flavours or horror.
The story revolves around Ken Kaneki, a university student who barely survives an encounter with Rize Kamishiro, as his gorgeous date reveals herself as a hungry ghoul. He is taken to the local hospital in a serious condition. He then finds out that he has mutated into a half-ghoul, as some of Rize’s organs were unwillingly transplanted into his body. From now on, he must feed on human flesh in order to survive. Everything else tastes foul and acrid. He’s now faced with a moral dilemma, as he’s still half human. Should he engage in cannibalism in order to satiate his hunger and survive? Coming to term with his new man-eating identity is not going to be an easy ride.
This is an entertaining fantasy movie, with some subtle social commentary. Just not a very dirty movie. The ghouls are forced to live in an underworld, and they are also subject to a hierarchy. There’s also a very tragic humanistic element, as Kaneki realises his inevitable fate. The beginning of the film has references to Franz Kafka’s The Methamorphosis, but then the individual’s plight slowly morphs a societal drama, as humans and ghouls engage in violence (against each other and also between themselves).
All in all, this is a movie likely to please lovers of the series, and might also convert a few new fans. Tokyo Ghoul is out in cinemas across the UK on Wednesday, January 31st.
Frustrated with inaccuracies with the art work of the dust jacket cover of a Philip Marlowe novel, American pulp crime novelist Raymond Chandler griped in one of his letters as to whether the artist had even taken the time to read the story. Mitu Misra’s feature debut as screenwriter and director has been blighted by a similar misunderstanding. It may leave the filmmaker to ask a similar question of the person tasked with the poster art for Lies We Tell. If the first impression of Gabriel Byrne with shot gun in hand, alongside the quote, “A gripping thriller of a man pushed to the edge” suggests a turn as a vigilante or desperate hero, picture and words combine to reinterpret and oversimplify this dramatic tale of cultural and aspirational angst.
Following the death of his employer, chauffeur Donald (Gabriel Byrne) is given the task of erasing any evidence of Demi’s (Harvey Keitel) long-term affair with mistress Amber (Sibylla Deen). Donald’s task soon unravels when Amber’s life is threatened, and he finds himself her reluctant confidant.
An actor who has always possessed a certain presence onscreen,here Byrne shows the experience of age, an ability to speak through his presence alone, a look, a glance, or even as a still life subject framed by the camera. Comparatively, Donald draws attention to the slight rather than dramatic mechanical adjustments the actor makes for each of his roles, which has defined him as one of the most watchable actors of his generation. Aiding his screenwriter-director in moments of unnatural and forced dialogue, where the younger cast struggle to brush over these blemishes, for the most part he finds a naturalism in his delivery. Yet in the shadow of this success, the weight or strain of his attempt to find that naturalism can be felt as Misra’s youthful inexperience undercuts his efforts, which extends to the swirling use of music.
In attempt to heighten the emotional resonance, Misra fails to earn these moments, in a misguided decision. One has to feel the emotion for this aesthetic language to resonate with the strength of its musical intent, and whilst we may feel an emotional sympathy towards Donald and Amber, the music nonetheless feels excessive, especially in comparison to the quieter moments or those passages without music, which are more touching. We get the impression that the filmmaker has failed to listen to his film, to allow the themes and the characters to authentically communicate themselves to the audience. Instead the artist’s presence is oppressively sensed as he tries to coerce his audience emotionally, or here take a shortcut to the emotional connection that culminates in its final concluding act.
The story focuses on an unlikely friendship, one born out of indifference and obligation, which echoes the thematic drive of the drama. In response to Amber’s worry for the fate of her sister, she is offered the advice that Allah gives strength to those who help themselves. It is a profound moment, as Amber has shown a strength to help herself, pursuing a career in law with new opportunities before her. Although not achieved by way of an exclusive independence, Donald’s former employer playing his part, she finds herself requiring Donald’s help to prop her up as she stumbles as a result of her love for her family and her idealism, both of which see her resolve tested. Equally, Amber comes to give a purpose and sense of direction for this chapter in the life of Donald, a grieving father with a broken marriage. Lies We Tell delivers a message that rather than looking to the heavens for courage and help, we should be looking closer to home, to our fellow man rather than our spiritual deities.
Misra’s debut feature is not without its flaws, yet these are offset by moments of sharply written dialogue that are carried off by measured performances. Equally, there is a pleasant restraint in Byrne’s character, of a quieter man struggling under the weight of his past. Alongside the lack of romanticism in a cruel struggle, the film has courage, and in hindsight this is a tale of obligation and sacrifice, friendship and family, tradition and independence. It has the potential to reveal hidden layers of interpretation that show the deeper joy and sorrow of these characters.
Lies We Tell is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, February 2nd.
Conjuring up a list of the ‘greatest’ war films is easily done; Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg, 1998), Paths of Glory (Stanley Kubrick, 1957), Full Metal Jacket (Kubrick, 1957), Paths of Glory, etc. Their overt themes of masculinity, and in some cases severe depictions of patriotism, can feel tired in a world that has seen the futility of war present, yet again, in the Iraq conflicts, starting in 2003. The notion of futility has always been one in human history, still, in the events and dramatic modernisation of conflict during World War I, the supposed ‘war to end all wars’ brought the human race crashing into the 20th century in a monstrous fashion. Set during the final few months of the German armies’ ‘Spring Offensive’ in 1918, Saul Dibb’s cinematic adaptation of R. C. Sheriff’s 1928 playJourney’s End features powerful performances and a uniquely stifling portrayal of life on the Western front.
Wasting no time to present an idyllic England to defend, as many a cliché war film does, Captain Stanhope’s (Sam Claflin) regiment are instantly filmed preparing to march to the front lines. Informing the audience of the strict six-day rotation British soldiers face in title cards, it is made clear from Dibb et al that Stanhope and co will inevitably not return back from their time at the trenches. Framed by DoP Laurie Rose – who has worked eloquently with Ben Wheatley – Clafin’s Stanhope is consumed by the darkness of the barn, where his troops prepare for battle and drink.
Second in command, Paul Bettany’s Osborne, appears the saner of the two as he tips a female farmer for offering their shelter and proceeds to inform Stanhope of the imminent departure. Intercutting their movement towards the death, baby-faced Raleigh (Asa Butterfield) arrives fresh from prep school to the British HQ. Part of the upper echelons of society, his uncle is General. Requesting to join Stanhope, whom he knows from school, seems like a joyous proposition to him, with his uncle hesitantly accepting.
The psychological and physical strains caused by the trenches are expressed in curious ways by all of Stanhope’s closest men; Trotter (Stephen Graham) sticks to a strict routine of eating, Mason (Toby Jones) chooses to be funny and Osborne recalls walking in the meadows with his wife. Arranging an ensemble of the highest prestige could imbue the piece with too much of a theatrical edge, but the cinematic awareness of the filmmakers shines through. However, in the trench quarters the tight space and low key lighting, particularly relevant in verbally explosive scenes including Tom Sturridge’s Hibbert and Stanhope, do feel somewhat overplayed for dramatic purposes.
Adopting natural lighting and shooting on location creates a milieu of verisimilitude. Accompanied by stunning vistas of the desolate landscape, with lingering gas a top the encompassing fields, Rose and Dibb’s collaboration creates a deafening silence in the aesthetics. Behind the visuals, the music of Hildur Gudnadóttir’s ambient cello permeates these moments of silence to construct disorientating sounds. Though she did not openly score the film, Dibb felt her music fit the piece so well, he asked the production company to purchase the rights. Sight and sound produce an intoxicating blend that is only further extended in the tightness of the frame and cinematography.
Speaking after a screening, the director alluded towards two influences: Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979) and Das Boot (Wolfgang Petersen, 1981). Both films are incredibly claustrophobic in their execution and there is a distinct lack of long shots, overhead shots or even wide frames. Instead, what the filmmakers achieve is a deep submergence into this cadaverous place.
Slowly building to a mournful end, it is hard to not be moved at the futile nature of war, specifically to a younger generation, elicited throughout. Akin to the greatness of Oh, What A Lovely War (Richard Attenborough, 1963), the theatrical roots are expelled in favour of a cinematically aware film. Marking 100 years since the end of the War, one would be amiss to ignore its presence upon release.
Journey’s End was out in cinemas across the UK in February. It’s out on all major VoD platforms in June.
The following expression pretty much sums up this all-American slasher: “What a party killer!”. Psychotic! revolves two young musicians Tim and Stuart (played by the directors Maxwell Frey and Derek Gibbons themselves) who love partying, and there’s a masked knife-wielding killer around. An inconvenient party-pooper. Or party-killer, if you prefer.
The blood-stained action takes place in the recently gentrified district of Bushwick (in Brooklyn, New York), which has become incredibly popular with rich students, artists and arts people. The two struggling artists find it difficult to pay their monthly rent of U$1,400, but this is not the only problem they have to face. Due to the proximity of the recent murder victims, Tim and Stuart reach the inevitable conclusion that the killer is one of their close friends. So, should they investigate it, or should they just sit back while the murdering spree runs its course?
The aesthetics of the movie are somewhere between Brian de Palma (with the split screens from Carrie, 1976) and Dario Argento (with plush colours and light, and frenetic action). More broadly speaking, it feels like some of tribute to giallo and the 1970s – a decade when everything was bright and colourful, even murder. The film is described as a “psychedelic slasher”, indeed a well-fitted description. This is a fast-paced, blood-gushing and groovy movie ride. Rotating spirals, a mirrored ball and dizzying flash lights add a final hallucinogenic touch, which is replicated in the film’s marketing collateral.
There’s plenty of entertainment for fans of gruesome butchering, including disembowelling, loud knife-twisting, squelching sounds, screaming, people chocking in their own blood, and inserting of unusual objects in makeshift orifices. Plus a touch of naughty fun, voyeurism and drug taking. Penetration acquires a double connotation. Victims normally encounter the killer as they misbehave. Just as you would expect from a slasher. But this not a perfect film: the plot gets somewhat confusing, and there is little room for coherent character development. In a nutshell, this is a fun movie, but perhaps not one to die for.
Psychotic! is out on all major VoD platforms (worldwide) on Friday, January 26th. It’s also showing in selected US cinemas during the weekend of release.
January can be a cold and lonely month. It’s the perfect time to get your teeth into those Christmas box sets and catch-up on some under-the-duvet film streaming. Of course, the first month of the new year also marks another film-related event: the Academy Award nominations. Love them or loathe them, the Oscars can’t be ignored by any self-respecting cinephile. If you take the chilly trip outside to your local small screen or multiplex, you’ll be met with a deluge of films that are expertly-acted, tightly-produced and exquisitely-shot.
Nonetheless, the Oscars are a divisive event. For some, the feeling persists that they are a longstanding form of American cultural imperialism, a supposed bellwether for the wonders of the big screen, in spite of their frequent dismissal of smaller independent-minded productions and international cinema. In recent years, the Academy have also faced accusations of racial bias, largely kickstarted by actor April Reign’s #OscarsSoWhite campaign. In addition, Ronan Farrow’s 2017 exposé has blown the lid on Harvey Weinstein’s long-rumoured criminal misogyny, as well as broader accusations of Hollywood’s ingrained culture of sexual harassment, assault and rape. As a result, the Academy have found themselves under increasing pressure to showcase the talents of women, people of colour and other individuals (e.g. LGBTQ and Latins) who are prominent on our screens, yet underrepresented among Oscar nominations.
The above biases may in part result from an Academy membership that is still largely white and male. Women now constitute 28% of its voters, while just 13% of its membership are people of colour. This historic issue has also contributed to a phenomenon known as Oscar bait. Oscar bait refers to a certain kind of film that seems to get showered with awards year-after-year and therefore encourages an industry to put out bland productions that are voter-friendly. Oscar bait films are often period pieces, biopics or tributes to the Hollywood industry. They might revolve around an historic tragedy, such as the Holocaust or another brutal chapter from the Second World War. Their narrative arcs can be predictably saccharine, involving banal character transformations that are bound to invoke audience emotions. And they might cynically cast actors with high nomination rates, individuals like Daniel Day-Lewis and Meryl Streep.
The act of baiting naturally implies that you are aiming to kill something, as in the food placed on a hook or in a net in order to catch a prey. In the case of the Oscars, this can present itself in deadweight scripts, side-lined supporting performances and the grave of historical accuracy. However, it’s not necessarily the case that all Oscar bait films are objectionably awful. There will always be a schmaltzy Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (Stephen Daldry, 2011; pictured ), a Tom Hanks 9/11 emotion-fest that focuses on a child with Asperger’s syndrome. We’re equally blessed with the likes of Birdman (Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2014), which may bait with its acting industry setting and reborn Hollywood star protagonist, yet excels in cinematography.
Here are five examples Oscar baiting has “killed off” other elements of the film:
The Oscars absolutely love an historical biopic. Unfortunately, this also means that Oscar bait films tend to have a murky relationship with the truth. You see, if real events aren’t quite compelling enough and you reallyreallywant that Oscar, it’s definitely worth deceiving your audience, right? Of course, it’s entirely reasonable for feature films to use some creative license. After all, they’re pieces of fictional work rather than documentaries. The issue is most pertinent when a biopic purports to be the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Darkest Hour is the latest offender in this category. From its bold advertising campaign that declares: “Gary Oldman is Winston Churchill”, to its use of brash full-screen dates for each new scene, everything about it screams this is factual.
However, when it comes to the facts of what actually went down in May 1940, the film is surprisingly lacking. The most offensive scene by far is a bizarrely concocted sequence on the London underground. In a flash of fictional nonsense, Churchill travels on public transport and speaks to an assortment of ordinary Londoners, in spite of his well-documented classism and racism. To add insult to injury, director Joe Wright ignores the time constraints of travelling a single stop on the underground. This means that he can use as long as he wants to get exactly what he needs from this entirely invented scene – namely, a situation in which Churchill gains popular public support for his famously rousing ‘fight them on the beaches’ speech.
It’s classic bait and Gary Oldman will compel many an Academy voter with his virtuous closing oratory. It’s just a shame that historicity has been murdered along the way.
If you’re not sure how to get your Oscar, you can always latch onto the ageing Academy elite’s desire to appear woke and relevant. Manchester by the Sea achieves this by presenting itself as a dissection of the flavour of the year, toxic masculinity. On the surface, it appears to do this through placing its Casey Affleck bait on a big emotional plate. The protagonist alpha-male janitor has committed an awful act in the not-so-distant past that he is forced to face again when his brother dies and leaves a son in need of a caregiver. We have an aggressively masculine man. We have said man being placed in an atypical caring role. We have plenty of potential for this man to erupt into tears and take the audience on his pathos-driven journey. So far, so good.
Unfortunately, through focusing so deeply on its protagonist’s supposed emotional heroism, the film kills any chances of properly deconstructing what might give rise to his toxic masculinity. In fact, it goes some way to firing up gender stereotypes by giving women entirely one-dimensional characters. Fancy being an alcoholic, hysteric or sexual plaything? Probably not, but that’s your lot as a woman in this film.
Manchester by the Sea also displays the Academy’s utter hypocrisy and conservative judgement of character. In 2010, Casey Affleck faced sexual harassment allegations that he settled out-of-court and which were subsequently kept quiet by his Oscar campaign team. On the other hand, Nate Parker, the director of one-time Oscar hopeful Birth of a Nation(2016), had historically been found not guilty of sexual assault, a case that was repeatedly brought up by media. Affleck’s alleged dark past was kept under wraps, while Parker’s was out for all to see.
Affleck won his Oscar, while Parker’s hopes of a nomination faded away. In the eyes of the Academy membership, it’s fine to behave badly, as long as you keep it hidden. Even better, if you can bait them with some lip service to the issue of the day, the Academy will forgive, forget and reward.
In a fleet-footed rush of sunshine vibes and happy endings, La La Land tap-danced across our screens in late-2016, shuffling and twisting its way through numerous awards. Seven Golden Globe nominations, seven record-breaking Golden Globe wins. An impressive 11 Bafta nominations, followed by a solid haul of five Bafta wins. And, of course, those record-tying 14 Oscar nominations, with a not-too-shabby six Oscar wins. In fact, the Academy loved the film so much that they almost awarded it Best Picture in place of the more deserving Moonlight (dir. Barry Jenkins, 2016), in a classy Oscar gaffe.
La La Land had serious appeal on both sides of the Atlantic. Plus, its performance in the Academy Awards was pretty remarkable for a film made on a $30m budget. Titanic (dir. James Cameron, 1997) may have the joint-most Oscar nominations and wins, but it also had $200m behind it – approximately ten times Damian Chazelle’s budget, if we account for inflation. So how did La La Land manage the masterstroke of widespread Academy Awards success on limited funds? Quite simply, through throwing out the classic Oscar bait of self-referencing the Hollywood film industry in all its dream-fulfilling glory.
From start to finish, the film has no qualms about projecting its loud love of Hollywood, thereby killing off any possibility of self-criticism. It sets the scene with old-school Hollywood title cards. Next, the proud declaration that it’s “Presented in CinemaScope”, a tribute to the mid-20th century musicals that the film riffs on (although notably, it wasn’t actually shot using CinemaScope lenses – it was shot in the same 2.55 aspect ratio). The film is then littered with Casablanca (dir. Michael Curtiz, 1942) references, classic musical numbers and a treacly narrative of the City of Dreams coming good on its promise. In case the previous two hours weren’t clear enough, the film ends with the statement “Made in Hollywood, USA”. In summary, La La Land reminded the Academy voters of how they want their industry to be perceived, even if the reality is about as real as two tap-dancing romantics literally floating through the Griffith Observatory.
There’s a reason that the likes of Barton Fink (dir. Joel Cohen, 1991), Adaptation (dir. Spike Jonze, 2002) and Mulholland Drive (dir. David Lynch, 2001) don’t make the Academy membership ecstatic. A little bit of back-slapping can go a long way.
British auteur Christopher Nolan is known for making big-budget ‘intelligent’ sci-fi with a twist (Inception, 2010; Interstellar, 2014). In recent years, Quebecois director Denis Villeneuve has also ventured into the English-language sci-fi arena. His first major effort, Arrival,certainly teased the Academy into a number of nominations and a Best Sound Editing win. At first glance, it might not appear to be typical Oscar bait. Yet beneath the surface it represents a growing trend: that of the smart sci-fi flick.
The Academy are traditionally loathe to reward genre films, meaning that science fiction has generally been underrepresented at the Oscars, despite its clear merits. Since the 2009 expansion of Best Picture nominees from five to nine, sci-fi has crept onto the nomination lists. Considered and leftfield pieces of filmmaking, such as District 9 (Neill Blomkamp, 2009) and Her (Spike Jonze, 2013) have been nominated without any ultimate success. On the other hand, Arrival generated considerable buzz. Why might this be? While District 9works as an apartheid allegory for racial oppression and Her delivers a depressing verdict on an increasingly disconnected society, Arrival throws in some good old-fashioned Manichaean stereotyping of other superpowers (in this case, the Russia and China) in order to broaden the appeal of its (mostly) clever story.
The plot of Arrival revolves around 12 extra-terrestrial vessels that land in Australia, the Black Sea, China, Greenland, Japan, Pakistan, Siberia, Sierra-Leone, Sudan, the UK, Venezuela and, the setting of the film, the US. Large parts of the film are dedicated to diplomatic communications between these countries, during which cultural stereotypes abound. The Brits say “you cheeky bastard”, the Sudanese wear shemagh while running around and praying, and the Russians are military aggressors who immediately cut off multilateral negotiations. Interestingly, inter-country conflict is not described in the film’s source text, Ted Chiang’s novella Story of your Life. This suggests that there was a specific reason for its inclusion. This reason becomes clear in the final act where China threatens world peace with their final spaceship solution, but are ultimately won over by an American nonviolent intervention.
History tends to suggest that the US has a violent history of military interventions. We don’t know what Villeneuve’s political beliefs are and he’s entitled to keep them close to his chest. Regardless, it’s no surprise that a sci-fi film in which the Russians and Chinese are the baddies and the Americans peacefully save the day played so well with an Academy membership that is largely old, white and male.
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5. The Revenant (dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2015) – kills off other artistic achievements:
Alejandro González Iñárritu’s back-to-back Best Director wins for Birdman and The Revenant are impressive enough, until you realise that his Director of Photography, Emmanuel Lubezki, won his third consecutive Best Cinematography award for this 2015 violent revenge epic. Lubezki shot the entire film using natural light and this is reflected in the breathtakingly gorgeous landscapes that intersperse the narrative. The film also opens with a beautifully choreographed action sequence. Clever camera trickery gives the impression of a single take, as mounted native Arikara warriors attack the group of European fur trappers. And let’s not forget Ryuichi Sakamoto’s subtly savage score.
On a technical level, the film is fantastic. However, all of these achievements have been overshadowed by one single man. The movie will be forever remembered as the one that finally bagged Leonardo DiCaprio his long-awaited Oscar for Best Actor. How exactly did the film achieve this? Quite simply, through an admirably concerted Oscar bait campaign. In the build-up to its December 2015 release, DiCaprio was on top form describing the sheer extremity of his filming experience. From crossing frozen rivers to sleeping in an animal carcass and trekking up hills carrying sodden bear fur, the actor spared no details about his “journey down the heart of darkness.” Even the narrative of The Revenant works as a metaphor for its star’s statuette ambitions. It’s the story of a man who is left behind on multiple occasions, suffers numerous injustices and puts himself through a gruelling regime to claim his late victory.
Ultimately, these efforts paid off. Don’t get me wrong, DiCaprio is absolutely deserving of an Oscar, perhaps more so for his show-stopping performance in The Wolf of Wall Street (dir. Martin Scorsese, 2013). The whole affair is simply a lesson in how to tug on the Academy’s heartstrings and bait them into righting a supposed wrong.
This British movie follows the dynamics of a family as their youngest teen Charlie (Harry Gilby) comes out as male-to-female transgender. Charlie has always been a football prodigy. Strangely, he lashes out in anger once offered an once-in a-lifetime opportunity that could take him closer to the Premier League. His father’s expectations grow, and so Charlie gets increasingly stressed. There are a few clues early on that this isn’t just a surge of hormones in a teenager’s body: the character’s growing alienation and battle with gender dysphoria are clearly documented in several scenes, and the boy soon starts transitioning to her authentic self.
The incredibly humane portrayal of the parents – a preoccupied and yet supportive mother (Elinor Machen-Fortune), and a hesitant and absent-minded father (Scot Williams) – is perfectly aligned with the main character’s inner conflict. Between doctor visits, replacing her old clothes and having to face the world outside, the film does a very good job at balancing Charlie’s personal trauma with the feeling of loss that her parents experience.
It’s suffocating at times to see the family hanging by a thread, and how Charlie feels like it’s all in her hands. Her sister Susan (Patricia Potter) plays an instrumental role in her breakthrough, and lends a much-needed helping hand to her new found sister. Yet, as Charlie gets comfortable in her new skin and playing in the girl’s team, there is still an underlying fear of what people might be thinking, of what they could do.
While a captivating and effective film, the ending felt a little rushed and like something was missing. At times when walking down your school corridor can be as threatening as walking down a strange and dark alley at evening, and since we’re in the middle of an epidemic of violence against trans people, I think that the film closure could have been a little more audacious. Cinema must help us to break down barriers, and to challenge gender stereotypes, to expose teenage angst, and the traditional role of the family, and I think that Just Charlie only partially does that.
Just Charlie will be released on DVD and all major VoD platforms in the US and Canada on January 30th. UK release is still to be confirmed.
A true delight to watch, that’s probably the best way of describing Early Man, the latest animation by 59-year-old filmmaker Nick Park, from Preston. The film was produced by Aardman Studios, from Bristol. Both the man and the studios are behind comedy series Wallace and Gromit and the feature Chicken Run (2001), the highest-grossing animated film of all times.
Fans will not be disappointed. Animation fans. Football fans. Or anyone else, really. This is a movie that will touch your heart with its goofiness, absurdity and sheer cuteness. The clay characters are more energetic than ever. The film is set, as the title suggests, at the “early” days of prehistory, when cavemen still roamed the island of Great Britain. The film takes place “somewhere near Manchester”, it’s announced in the beginning, perhaps in reference to Park’s birthplace, Preston.
A young, clumsy and dishevelled caveman called Dug (voiced by Eddie Redmayne) and his wild boar Hognob (Nick Parl himself) unite in order to save the valley where they dwell from occupiers from the Bronze Age City. This civilisations is far superior from a technological perspective, due to the widespread use of the metal. They have a fortress, houses, rugged gates, cookware and weapons, and they tend to sneer at the perceived inferiority of the cavemen. Their commander is the snooty and dandy Lord Nooth (Tom Hiddleston, sporting a strangely foreign accent).
Dug challenges Nooth to play a football match. If they win, they can get their valley back. The problem is that the Bronze people already have a football tradition, and even a football team aptly named Real Bronzio. The cavemen have never played football. But, hey, wait! Cave paintings by their ancestors reveal that their forebears where playing the sport long before Dug, his contemporaries and probably anyone else. So they too must have football in their blood and in their DNA. The problem is that they have since become incompetent rabbit-hunters, who have to scramble frenetically for a single prey (one of the brutes looks a lot like Boris Johnson, which made the rabbit chase look a little bit like the Brexit negotiations). The big question is: how is Dug going to convert his apparently useless tribe’s folk into football heroes?
Early Man has a profoundly British sensibility. A rough sensibility. A stone sensibility. The parlance is your average high street talk, with plenty with “hey, champion” calls. This ancient movie also attempts to emphasise diversity, with a black female and a strong empowered female coach. It celebrates a very British passion (football) without being esoteric. Early Man will teach you that Britishness stretches back to the Stone Age. And football wasn’t invented in the 19th century. It’s a prehistorical game, and indeed very British!
Early Man was out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, January 26th. It is available for streaming in late May. On Netflix on August 20th (2023).nThis dirty movie is suitable for children and adults alike!
American identity is intimately associated with military belligerence. The country thinks, eats and breathes its wars. The establishment thrives in perpetuating military conflicts, even when it has to lie and engage in completely unnecessary action merely for political gain (as Spielberg investigates in The Post, also in cinemas right now). And the average American – particularly males – more than often see their lives inextricably connected to bloodshed and tragedy.
The three males in Richard Linklater’s Last Flag Flying all bear scars of the Vietnam War, where they served together. Sal Nealon (Bryan Cranston) suffered brain damaged, and has experienced a life on benefits, while Mueller (Laurence Fishburne) has a bad leg. The third man Larry “Doc” Shepherd (a deliciously avuncular Steve Carell, pictured below) bears psychological scars: he ended up in jail for two years for a BCD (which stands for a “bad conduct discharge”, or, as he prefers to call it, “best career decision”). The movie takes place in December 2003, nine months after the illegal occupation of Iraq began.
Larry turns up at Sal’s private and pretty run-down watering hole. They soon fetch Mueller as the three men embark on a road trip in order to attend the funeral of Larry’s son, a young Marine killed in Iraq. They go to Arlington National Cemetery, only to find out that the body is in a difference location in Delaware. And so their funereal quest goes on.
This is a superbly acted film with a multi-threaded script meandering gently through issues of race, religion (Mueller is black, and also a preacher), ageing, failed masculinity and the consequences of war for American soldiers and their families. The depth of the dialogue and the performances is remarkably profound. There is a conversation on a train, as the three man take the coffin back to Larry’s home in New Hampshire, that’s particularly moving. You too will brood and laugh over the conversation as the three men reflect about the meaning of war and reminisce about their sexual adventures in Vietnam three decades earlier.
The first 110 minutes of this two-hour film come across as very anti-war. Larry questions the conflict, the lies about weapons of mass destruction and he even refuses to give his son a military burial, instead taking the body back home in order to bury him in his school attire (instead of the military uniform). But then Linklater finds a very strange and unexpected closure to his film, perhaps a change of heart. The unflinching duty to serve the country is the message lurking in the background throughout the entire film, and I got the impression that the filmmaker was going to kill this possibility in the end. But instead the message comes full circle. It’s precisely in having served the country that these men find redemption. And their son, too.
This is a film that attempts to be anti-war, but ultimately slips into jingoism. The director proposes patriotism as the solution to war, but this is a fallacy. Patriotism is the very root of war, and so it can’t be used as a remedy. This proposition is like the “hair of the dog”: a misleading solution that ends up perpetuating the problem (in fact, the canine expression is used by Sal in reference to his own alcoholic predicament). “The last flag flying” is not synonymous with “the last man standing”. A flag is no substitute for a human being.
Last Flag Flying is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, January 26th.
