The Score

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You could bring a legal case against The Score for misrepresentation. It came billed to me as a “heist-musical”. I was deeply intrigued, having never watched a film combine such genres before. Sadly, it is neither a heist film — taking place after some unspecified ‘score’ — or much of a musical either — people standing in rooms while singing instead of providing the pleasures that such a genre usually dictates. Essentially, a play-set-to-film that features a few songs, it keeps the audience in a constant state of anticipation while delivering little to no payoff. Set in a cafe for most of its runtime, it’s like being promised a gourmet steak but the food arrives late and straight out of the microwave.

Mike (Johnny Flynn) and Troy (Will Poulter) have just stolen £20,000. One of their key dealers isn’t with them, so they have to wait at a secluded café for the drop. Like Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino, 1991), it’s all about how they act while waiting for the final resolution as opposed to the nuts and bolts of the so-called heist. The dynamic is tested when Troy falls for pretty café worker Gloria (Naomi Ackie), threatening their need for a low profile. The remaining 90 or so minutes combines a love story, crime “suspense” and several musical interludes.

Musical music need not carry the plot forward, although it can help to integrate music and story together. It doesn’t necessarily need to be catchy either, as long as it is sung with passion and heart. The songs here, written by Flynn, are created in his usual faux country-mode, using monosyllabic utterances in place of words, layered guitar lines and encompassing themes of love and striving to be free. Shot more akin to Les Misérables (Tom Hooper, 2012) than La La Land (Damien Chazelle, 2016), songs are caught in close-up rather than in a traditional one-shots. Dancing and movement is minimal.

Charisma is sorely lacking, both in the underproduced music and in the undercooked performances. Johnny Flynn seems like a lovely person, but when in the wrong hands, he has a rather underwhelming screen presence. His semi-sardonic personality and self-deprecation, sometimes at odds with his rugged good looks, can be a strength in a film like Emma (2020) — one of the few Jane Austen adaptations that truly bounces off the page — but he is handled poorly here, the viewer unable to determine the arc or heart of his character. Will Poulter suffers similar issues — he can be intense and brooding in anything from the Maze Runner series to Black Runner: Bandersnatch (Charlie Brooker, 2018), but let loose and his energy quickly sputters. Together, the two actors occasionally hit sparks — especially when Flynn is allowed to constantly criticise Poulter’s compulsive actions and when Poulter strikes back — but most of the time they feel mismatched, both indulging their worst acting impulses.

There’s a solid, non-musical short film in all this. But there’s a reason the bus scene in Hitchcock’s Sabotage (1936) didn’t last 100 minutes. There’s only so much suspense that the audience can care for. After my initial disappointment regarding the misrepresented premise, The Score quickly exhausted my patience.

The Score plays in the First Feature Competition at the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 12th – 28th November.

Cats

Ballerina Victoria (Francesca Hayward) leads a troupe of feline singers, dancers and acerbic entertainers through a ceaseless song selection, paraded over a series of matchless designs and acrobatics. Whatever plot the Jellicle Cats face is hard to decipher (the story more or less revolves around a tribe of cats who must decide which one will ascend to the Heaviside Layer and come back to a new life), but that’s a small matter in a kaleidoscopic spectacle, detailed in one long dance through the Edward Hopper tinted town streets and skyscrapers.

Cats might be the bravest, boldest and battiest picture that’s come this barmy year, and the kinkiest too! Everywhere, latex linen suits wade in the viewer’s eyesight, crotch capers carrying the eye-line of the camera’s attention. Sleek, the myriad dancers parade with gutty gymnastic poses, throwing each of their bodies into the multi-colored routines. The songs come interchangeably, frivolously feasting on their nonsensical verse and costumes. Exquisitely produced, the song’s take a sombre, affecting turn during Grizabella’s (Jennifer Hudson’s) Memories, an ageing elegy sung as the spinning camera eyes the falling debris that surround the commune of cats. This is visual art, shades of Metropolis (Fritz Lang, 1927) and Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982) hanging on the architectural designs.

It’s an impressive cast listing, venerable custodians of the stage (Ian McKellen and Judi Dench) parading with the prescient pop artists of the millennial world (Taylor Swift, Jason Derulo and James Corden among the cast list). Parading in delightful nonsense, the catchy collection of cats emerge in the linen gutter filled paths, as others dine with cutlery items larger than the diners themselves. It’s utterly, joyfully offbeat, an illustrated adaptation of the wackiness T.S. Elliot intended for his creations. Behind the furry felines sits Idris Elba’s Macavity, purring in his criminal ambition. Elba’s resume has rarely shown such propensity for pantomime, eager in clawed posts to wander the variegated set pieces with playful rigor.

Through a Camp collection of colourful cuts comes the most exciting and invigorating of dance set pieces. In its own way, it’s the purest translation of musical theatre, expressing the animal atmosphere both the West End and Broadway productions produce. The costumes take centre stage, an overture of textures, colours, carousels and captures, a vehicle of fur for its centre cast. Clandestine changes of colour and choreography take precedence over semblance of plot. Instead, its the glorious engagement of vaudevillian value in all of its seductive permutation. Slick, shiny, sexy, colourful, creative and camp!

Cats is out in cinemas on Friday, December 20th.