Song of the Sea Film Review

Home is where the art is in this brushstroke of genius. Tomm Moore, who previously directed the similarly themed and under seen ‘The Secret of Kells’, co-writes and helms ‘Song of the Sea’, an absorbing fantasy film with adroitly designed animation from Moore and artistic director, Adrien Merigeau.

Drenched in Irish folklore, the film follows Ben and his younger sister Saoirse. She is the last selkie, a creature who has the ability to live on land as a human and live in the sea as a seal. The two siblings, who have been relocated from their lighthouse-by-the-sea to the murky depths of a city to reside with their grandmother, decide to journey back to their true home. Ben, who resents Saoirse, (her birth resulted in the loss of their mother), soon learns of her propensity to transform into her other self, and in this newly found knowledge, he must work to save his little sister from the clutches of Macha the owl witch and her myriad of minions (owls if you hadn’t guessed).

There is of course so much more to this film than the aforementioned synopsis, not solely in story, although it is worth mentioning Cú, the spectacularly loyal sheepdog, and the kindly gruff Brenden Gleeson as kindly gruff Conor, father to Ben and Saoirse, forever plaintive over the loss of his wife. ‘Song of the Sea’ though, is also rich in visuals and vividly creative. It’s a painting set in motion, a riveting reverie of fantasy combined with the simple reality of suffering. The film is varnished in sentiment, and this is to its credit, as the audience is enraptured by this as much as we are by the pastel coloured images on display. The recurring symbol of circles can be seen throughout, perhaps evoking the spiritual energy that the song of the sea provokes. Also, particularly in Celtic culture, circles were drawn as protective boundaries, which is likely the main reason they feature so dominantly. After all, one of the themes of ‘Song of the Sea’ is unity, it is ingrained in the inner workings of the piece, and the circular symbol of protection embodies such unity, such togetherness. 

Moore, along with his adept crew, embellished his original idea by painting on it a distinct creative style, one that has no obvious counterpart. It has flecks of Sylvain Chomet’s ‘The Illusionist’, but that is about it. In tone of course, it reminded me of some of the Studio Ghibli classics such as ‘Grave of the Fireflies’ and ‘Spirited Away’. On this record, I believe Moore can be a luminary for future storytellers of fantasy film, both in and out of the animation department.

‘Song of the Sea’ was nominated for Best Animation at the 2015 Academy Awards, losing out to ‘Big Hero 6’. For me, it should have swept away that board, as, after seeing it this week, ‘Song of the Sea’ can surely be justified as one of the most inventive and stunningly realised animations of the past decade.

Slow West Review

Slow West rides as a slow western. One might view this as a criticism, but I see it as the strongest asset to a gorgeously ominous tale of relationships, revenge and retribution. This expedition is expeditious in its eighty-four minute duration, yet writer/director John Maclean does not crack the whip on character development, instead he takes his time with his pair of protagonists, who wonder on and off horseback to the old west. One, Jay (Kodi Smit-McPhee), is a debutant to this territory, the other, Silas (Michael Fassbender), is a denizen, but also an immigrant. Jay has migrated from Scotland to Colorado in search of the girl he loves, Rose (Caren Pistorius), who has fled her homeland with her father, due to an incident instigated by Jay’s unrequited affections for her. Silas attaches himself to Jay, and demands money in return for keeping Jay safe on his journey. Silas though, soon has other intentions; for a bounty lies on the lives of Rose and her father, one that Jay is oblivious to.

The western genre has near enough become obsolete in this generation of cinema; it was a fixture of film from the 30’s to the 60’s in particular, a paradigm of stand-offs were regular dénouements. This is not to say that it has been completely lost, over the past year we have seen Hillary Swank in the good-but-not-great ‘The Homesman’, and Mads Mikkelsen in the rather exciting ‘The Salvation’. However, if this was, say 1955, a western would arrive every other week. Films like Slow West offer the possibility of resurgence in a once crowded genre.

Maclean recalls the ambience of Sergio Garrone’s ‘Django the Bastard’ in his oneiric sequences, and, with the assistance of Irish cinematographer Robbie Ryan, beautifully frames a vast landscape, which reminisces Winton Hoch’s own work on ‘The Searchers’ and, of course, Terrence Malick. Maclean’s main focus though is his characters, sweat, blood and tears are extensively realised both in his own dialogue, ‘love is universal – like death’, and the defined features of each performer. Smit-McPhee plays love and heartbreak with assurance and wears his feelings for all to see. Fassbender’s greatness is in his grit, controlled anger and quiet intensity, like a cross-breed of Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood. His grandeur is in his minimalist style, the smallest of traits, and the renegade Silas facilitates these qualities. Ben Mendelsohn as Payne, also after the bounty along with his gang, menaces most in moments of perceived geniality. His affability when bumping into Jay and Silas is of course a façade, which gleefully forebodes the climactic shoot out. Pistorius enchants as Rose in her equanimity, she is perhaps too strong-willed for young Jay. New Zealand too acts as a stunning backdrop for 1870’s Colorado.

Slow West is a highly original, melodic composition. Yet, its influences by great films and great directors are palpable, and it will hopefully influence others to find the old west on the map, and start shooting.

The Third Man Rerelease Review

The Third Man is reappearing in twelve cinemas across the UK this week, including Bristol’s very own Watershed cinema, as part of the BFI’s Orson Welles season, to celebrate a century since the famed auteur’s birth.

In this film, we follow pulp-western author Holly Martins (Joseph Cotton) into post-war Vienna, who has been promised work by his old school friend, Harry Lime (Orson Welles). Yet, as Martins arrives in the Austrian capital, he is informed that Lime has recently perished in a car accident, where two of Lime’s friends were witnesses. Understandable shock shifts to unsurprising cynicism, when Martins learns of contrasting stories regarding Lime’s death, one of which recalls an unidentified third man at the scene of the tragedy. It all becomes apocryphal, thus, aided by his deceased friend’s actress girlfriend, Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli), and whilst ignoring the warnings of Major Calloway of the British Army Police (Trevor Howard), Martins attempts to demystify the mystery around the arcane demise of his old chum, Harry Lime.

Studio interference almost irreparably maimed this picture, with heavyweight producer David O. Selznick requesting that the film be made on studio lots rather than on location. Other potential alterations included Noel Coward being cast as the enigmatic Harry Lime, rather than Welles, and that the film should have an upbeat score, rather than the unforgettable, note-perfect zither sound performed by Anton Karas. Roger Ebert aptly described it as ‘jaunty but without joy, like whistling in the dark’. Luckily, for the legacy of The Third Man, Carol Reed, the director, stood up to O. Selznick, and declined his, shall we say, suggestions. With his creative licence unrevoked, Reed went on to make one of the greatest films ever made, with some of the most famous sequences in the history of cinema.

Perfection is supposedly unattainable, though The Third Man resists this claim. How can it be bettered? Graham Green’s script, of which the dialogue is channelled flawlessly by the actors, is brilliantly written, the words chime corruption and, in Holly Martins case, uncertainty. Robert Krasker’s black and white expressionistic cinematography, which won the film’s only Academy Award, nourishes the mise-en-scene and forebodes the ominous events ahead. The Third Man does not paint itself with an oneiric brush, which is conventional to most film noirs. Instead the bleak reality is refulgent, even in Krasker’s unlikeliest shot of a cat circling round the shoe of a stranger nestled in the shadows; the revenant Lime. The ‘sewer chase’ climax is a riveting sequence, superbly edited by Oswald Hafenrichter. Many of the performers appear in their finest roles, with a never better Cotton proving that the ‘lead’ suited him. The sardonic Howard would in normal circumstances steal the limelight, had the light not shown Welles as Lime. I am sure that was purposeful. He, along with his self-scribed monologue that satirises Switzerland, which acts as his justification of his own insouciance toward his shady crimes, is THE THIRD MAN. Not just the character, but the film. That is not to discredit the other key players, who I have credited profusely throughout this review. Welles, who meets the camera for barely twenty minutes, is iconic. Arguably, this trumps Kane as his most popular onscreen appearance. It might also trump hearing him voice Optimus Prime in Transformers: The Movie.   

The 4K makeover will embellish its look and sharpen each and every frame. Its resolution will exemplify its status as a classic. Well worth seeing at the cinema. Catch it if you can, from today.

Jurassic World Review (RAWWWWWR and all that jazz)

Let’s get this out of the way; Jurassic World has Indominus Rex sized flaws. However, it rectifies the mistakes of the previous sequels, as it harks back to the Jurassic Park of 1993. It roars for the original, yet it hatches its own originality. This summer we walk with (and run away from) the extinct once more, and it is mighty fun.

                                                

The Indominus Rex is our genetically modified dinotagonist. That’s right, I present to you a hybrid of ‘dinosaur’ and ‘protagonist’. If they can mix up science over on Isla Nublar then I can mix up language in this review. It is a seriously ‘clever girl’ with rather unfortunate abilities, bequeathed to it by scientists, who were delegated the Frankenstein experiment as dinosaurs alone just ‘aren’t that exciting anymore’. It has not yet been revealed to the tourists of Jurassic World, a twenty-first century prehistoric theme park, built on the remnants of Jurassic Park.

This blend of animal traits, which includes a capacity to alter blood temperature, allows the film’s threat to coax itself out of solitary confinement. The Indominus Rex kills ‘for sport’, and as it rages through the restricted area of the island, on towards Jurassic World, danger is afoot, and the action starts to speak much louder than words.

I haven’t even mentioned our cast yet, led by Chris Pratt, as Owen Grady, who in this role tries on the shoes that he’ll surely fill in a soon-to-be-announced Indiana Jones franchise. Allegedly. He has a totemic relationship with Velociraptors and rides a Triumph Scrambler. Pratt’s charisma is crisper than high-definition. The actor is armed with charm, which translates in his flirtation with Jurassic World’s operation manager, Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas-Howard). His belittling of her is refuted by her actions amidst the action, especially when the film reaches its climax. Dearing’s nephews, Zach (Nick Robinson) and Gray (Ty Simpkins), are treated with a VIP visit to the island, and almost treat themselves to the roaming science project.

Dallas-Howard is fine as Dearing, not quite endearing, but fine. She does not stumble in her high heel athleticism and proves a match for Grady, which is no mean feat. And she is NOT Jessica Chastain, for your information. Both Robinson and Simpkins portray their sibling dynamic very well indeed; bicker, attitude, bicker again, more attitude, then a rush of loyalty. Simpkins rips off the ‘annoying kid’ tag he wore in Iron Man 3, and Robinson faultlessly authenticates the late teen phase. If Jurassic World continues to fly high at the Box Office, it will live up to the title of Robinson’s previous film, Kings of Summer. The blockbuster is alive with characters, well, some perish of course, but many are introduced, though aren’t fully realised in the script. Vincent D’Onofrio, Omar Sy, Irrfan Khan, the returning BD Wong, Judy Greer and Jake Johnson, are arguably all surface with little substance. 

The flaws are as palpable as the product placements (I’ll get to that). They all trickle down from the biggest of all which is, after everything that has happened in the last twenty-three years, how is a park like this still running? At least Alan Grant has finally got the picture, and declined a ticket this time around.

Jurassic World is a haven for product placement; Beats by Dre, Starbucks and Mercedes are three of about three hundred advertisements that the camera gamely points at. In fact, I would place a wager that product placement made more of a killing out of this movie than the Indominus and Mosasaurus combined (the Mosasaurus was the big sea creature, which isn’t technically a dinosaur, another flaw). Nonetheless, is the product placement a bit tongue-in-cheek? A Washington Post article explains:

“The dinosaur park is strapped for funding and takes on corporate sponsors: Its star dinosaur exhibit becomes ‘Verizon Wireless Presents The Indominus Rex.’ A side character jokes they should have gone even further, naming a dinosaur ‘Pepsi-saurus.’”

The theory makes sense, and it also quashes my point about the biggest flaw of all (although there are still minor and major details that make more noise than a Velociraptor mating call). But my final argument is: who really cares? Colin Trevorrow, the director of Jurassic World whose prior picture, Safety Not Guaranteed, was a darling of Sundance not so long ago, teases us and enthrals us. He maps the screen with Spielberg DNA and scatters it with a touch of Trevorrow class. The humans make us laugh and the genuinely terrifying monster makes us scared. These subjective reactions were much more important to me than a perforated script and an advertisement flooding.

 

There was one scene I had a problem with, when Claire’s British assistant was torn apart by Pterodactyls and ravaged by the Mosasaurus, a silly segment that echoed Piranha 3D. Still, Jurassic World may have closed for now, but I am sure sequels will force it into re-opening. Biting entertainment.  

Freaks Re-release Review

Oh horror. Horror, horror, horror. It’s a conflicted genre. Many of the scariest films of all time aren’t really horror films at all. The Exorcist is a mystery/thriller, Psycho too, Alien a sci-fi, The Blair Witch Project a mock-doc and as for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, well, that’s a family indie dramedy isn’t it? Ok so maybe the horror machine does produce some effective horror labels. And yes I do admit that films can grow up in a family of genres.

So then, what is Freaks? Tod Browning’s deformed dystopia of a particular family of sideshow acts travels back into cinemas this week, and still shocks with its insidious direction, eighty-three years after its initial release. Freaks is a sexually charged love story, a fantasy that weeps in its nightmarish reality and above all else, a genuinely horrifying experience. On my inaugural viewing of it (I was twelve and malleable to an extreme reaction), the infamous dénouement resulted in a face spasm, which left me looking like Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. On what must be my seventh or eighth viewing of it now, I perceive it as an uneasy watch, hauntingly authentic, and an unmistakable masterpiece.

The film is gleeful in its aesthetic of the macabre. It bathes in its odd, darkly comic presentation of fear and loathing in a carnival space. Browning paints his picture from a personal palette. He spent a period of his teenage years attached to a travelling carnival. Perhaps the memorable outbreak of ‘one of us, one of us’ around the half-way mark, is an ode to the director, even if it is also a precursor to a rather unfortunate ending.

Browning does nudge the audience with his dalliance in exploitation; he wants his voyeurs to respect the “freaks”, but he hardly makes them look respectable. This has often been aired as a criticism, yet it is almost certain that some sideshow acts of the period were mistreated, thus, the plot’s vengeance tale is understandable.

Freaks captured the horror beat. The film’s writer, Clarence Aaron Robbins knew when to tread carefully, and when to inject trauma. He was a harbinger of great horror story-telling, and he managed to pour the correct dosage of fear and fright into the narrative. The film offered and continues to offer a profound influence to film-makers emblazoned with the horror crest. David Lynch, a distinctive and stylised director, owes more credit to Freaks as an inspiration than any other film committed to celluloid.

Freaks left an indelible mark on me, one that cannot be removed. It confidently stomps into the horror paddock and it is truly, one of the most iconic films of the genre, ever made.

San Andreas Review

Dwayne Johnson wrestles with an earthquake that rocks the West coast.
 

California is the soon-to-be shaken setting for San Andreas, where anyone adverse to suntan has a lot more to worry about than the prickly heat. As helicopter pilot Ray Gaines, an appropriate name for The Rock’s character, who seems to surpass only himself in size as each of his films sweep by, the former pro wrestler turned heavy-set movie star throws thrills, as well as himself, into the tide of this silly disaster flick.

San Andreas’s waves of quality undulate on the Richter scale. Any sign of a strong story-line falls to the ground with the first of many skyscrapers. The unstoppable force of CGI takes control, and threatens Johnson’s top billing as the star of the movie. However, just as Johnny Depp is the new face of Dior, The Rock is the new face of the (sometimes 3D) action genre. I would not say he captivates as Ray, though he is rather watchable as a much-more-than-capable rescue pilot intent on finding his daughter Blake (Alexandra Daddario), who is sitting pretty high up in one of those vulnerable skyscrapers, that is until disaster deals a tsunami. Ray, assisted by his ex-wife Emma (Carla Gugino), who he saves from the devastation of Los Angeles and whom he is still enamoured by, races into risky tectonic territory to locate his estranged daughter. This, whilst avoiding emphatic aftershocks.

I am usually unshaken by this particular film template; the format is prosaic and it is prone to containing an airless plot. Having said this, I cannot ridicule San Andreas too much (it’s had enough aftershocks as it is). The ridiculousness is refined by good performances from Gugino and Paul Giamatti, who plays a seismologist armed with a fistful of clichés such as, ‘you need to get out, if you can’t, god be with you’. Giammati’s speech and gestures tremor even more than the earthquakes, though he doesn’t quite cause as much damage. He is consistently a likable figure on film, his awful cameo in the The Amazing Spiderman 2 being the exemption. Yet, there is no one more likable here than The Rock. His oeuvre lacks a masterpiece, and San Andreas isn’t one. Though, his presence is enough. It wasn’t enough for The Tooth Fairy or Race to Witch Mountain, but here he steadies what could have been a sinkable ship.   

San Andreas does hark back to 70’s blockbuster fare like Earthquake (of course) and The Towering Inferno. There was a pleasurable trashiness to 1974’s Earthquake in particular, and this is certainly true of this film too. The spectacularly realised CGI is where the comparability with these 70’s disaster movies ends. The impressive special effects blitz is more ominous than the inclination that what we are viewing could actually happen in reality. Due to this, it has similarities also with more recent films that dine with natural disaster, like The Day After Tomorrow and Deep Impact.    

Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson has muscled into the top of the Box Office, and deservedly so. Dumb and fun, just don’t take it too seriously. 

Top Five Review

It’s a high-five for Top Five, Chris Rock’s self-referential, day-in-the-life account of former alcoholic comic, Andre Allen, who cannot catch a break in being taken seriously. Rock writes, directs and stars as Allen, whose pursuit to be a respected and relevant actor has put some stand-up talent to bed.

In 2001, Chris Rock was labelled by Time Magazine and Entertainment Weekly, as ‘the funniest man in America’. Since then he has gone on to film projects that have hardly been critical darlings, the likes of Grown Ups and Head of State spring to mind. One might say then that Top Five’s protagonist mirrors Rock himself, someone who has never quite had the prolificacy in film as he has had in comedy. With this entry into his filmography however, he produces an authentic and, at times, hilarious depiction of the deformed, dysfunctional, deranged world of celebrity. Rock integrates his trademark gusto and high-pitched delivery, peppered with profanity, into the performance. Oh, and he jettisons in the N-word wherever possible, a predominant feature of his stand-up routines. Rosario Dawson, as a New York Times reporter who interviews Andre Allen for the entirety of the feature, grabs herself some good-ish material. Rock also over-indulges us with an array of cameos, including Adam Sandler, Whoopi Goldberg and Jerry Seinfeld, who bring the funny late on.

Certain critics might be repelled by some gross-out sequences, yet these will appeal to a broader audience, graduates of such films like American Pie and There’s Something About Mary. Also, there may be a sprinkling of the derogatory, but the substance and satire of Top Five will engage with the cultured crowd too. The wondering around the city and sporadically intelligent musings reminisce Linklater’s ‘Before’ movies, as well as Rock’s own picture with Julie Delpy, Two Days in New York. Although not all the jokes induce a laugh-out-loud reaction, some are quite middling in fact, this is Rock’s best cinematic outing to date. And like I said, it merges intellect with the, well, disgusting stuff. Think French New Wave meets the Farrelly brothers.

Far From The Madding Crowd Review

This irresistible love story, which follows Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan), an attractive and independent young woman who is courted by a triumvirate of imperfect men, has charmed many for generations. The novel has been adapted before of course, most famously in 1967 by John Schlesinger, with Julie Christie in the lead role. That particular version is known to be one of the great literary adaptations of British cinema or to put it another way, difficult to surpass.

Nonetheless, Thomas Vinterberg’s adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s fourth novel is a luscious revival that sweeps across the Dorset country side, with each frame indulging us in such bucolic beauty. His magisterially directed update resembles a finely acted and sharply paced period romance. It shaves fifty minutes off of the running time of Schlesinger’s classic, and the film feels sufficient in substance, not at all flabby. David Nichols screenplay, the novelist behind Starter For 10 and One Day, laces authentic characters into the boot of the narrative, rightly shunning the melodrama that exists in the original source material.

 

Carey Mulligan is excellent as Bathsheba Everdene; the character’s resilience and integrity are effortlessly distributed through Mulligan’s steely gaze and confident poise. She exhibits flourishes of playfulness too, offering the role a fresh and fun dynamic.

In regarding the somewhat unsuitable suitors, both Matthias Schoenaerts, as the stolid Gabriel Oak, and Michael Sheen, as the lonely William Baldwood, give terrific performances. Schoenaerts echoes Brando with his quiet, rumbling intensity, and Sheen rallies audience empathy for his tremulous tone and unshakable longing for Bathsheba. Tom Sturridge succeeds in being unlikeable as the supercilious Captain Francis Troy, though stumbles in being anywhere near as captivating as Terrence Stamp was in Schlesinger’s picture.

This in no way harms the film, which is, as I have mentioned, a luscious revival. Many will say it lacks an earthiness to it, but what we have here is a tonal palette of nature and class. Far From the Madding Crowd does not abscond from its roots, but it does extend its reach out into the modern world, where it conveys a plucky and grounded heroine atop of the hierarchy, not adverse to getting dirt under her fingernails. This is the best British period piece since Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice. Seek it out. 

The Good Lie Review

‘If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.’ This African proverb surfaces as the final frame of The Good Lie, directed by Phillipe Falardeau, fades. It is a saying that can transcend through all walks of life, yet it is most poignant in this film, as it encapsulates a walk for life.

We follow a band of young Sudanese refugees, who trek from their homeland towards Kenya, across stretches of mostly dry terrain, in search of asylum. These are fictional characters embedded into a factual crisis. In 1983, political unrest fomented a Second Civil War in Sudan. The spine of the nation was ruptured, and this resulted in a long and violent conflict that saw many people perish, around two million. Amidst this horror, we observe a diminished tribe who trudge onwards to survive, a hope that preserves, despite numbers being clipped by rebel militia and incessant sickness.

Thirteen years after their arrival in the Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya, the four who evaded capture, disease and starvation, Mamere (Arnold Oceng), Jeremiah (Ger Duany), Paul (Emmanuel Jal) and Abital (Kuoth Wiel), are granted a passport to the United States. However, as they fly into the Land of Liberty, the three men are forced into an emotional farewell, as they are separated from their ‘sister’, Abital.

The three ‘brothers’ are then homed in Kansas City, Missouri, which is when Employment Agent, Carrie Davis (Reese Witherspoon), carrying an air of insouciance, enters their lives. From hereon in, although attempts to adjust are made, the ‘Lost Boys of Sudan’ find themselves in maintaining their own culture and values on foreign soil.

The first third of The Good Lie is terrific. South Africa doubles for Sudan and its expansive aestheticism is strikingly realised through the lens. The irony of the landscape’s beauty is that it plays host to brutality, terror and threat, always suggested and never explicit. The African Queen is nodded to early on, with the militia take-over of the Sudanese village, reminiscent of the German infiltration of the mission village in John Huston’s seminal classic. A sequence involving dead bodies floating in a stream, along with a Nyatiti, a Kenyan instrument traditionally played at funerals, is the most harrowing. The opening half hour is gripping and taut in its exhibition of innocence ambushed by chaos.

The trouble is as soon as Mamere and friends arrive in America, the grip slackens. Of course it is interesting to see their adaptation to a First World country, and the humour derived from such experiences as their reaction to McDonald’s. It is also wonderful to see Jeremiah’s alienation towards food wastage, a concept we can all agree with. Witherspoon’s Carrie and the underused Corey Stoll as Jack, too play a vital part in developing an understanding of the social milieu of the three former children of war. There is just a slight tonal imbalance that provokes certain parts of the American section to stumble. Having said this, at least the film drives in a natural direction, avoiding potholes of mawkish sentimentality.

The Good Lie is an authentic account, propelled by three appealing male leads, two of whom, Ger Duany and Emmanuel Jal, were born into the infliction of the Sudanese Civil War. It is a heart-warming tale of a terrible crisis, translated into a good film that loses its stride in periods, but regains its pace soon after. Well worth a cinema ticket.

Force Majeure Review

A film with chills and thrills accompanied by a fresh air of humour 

Force Majeure: a term designated to someone who, due to unforeseeable circumstances, is unable to fulfil a contract. It can also be defined as an irresistible compulsion or from its translation, a superior strength.

All of these interpretations are intrinsic to this fascinating, yet rather unnerving drama/comedy from Swedish director Ruben Östlund, which focuses on a family holidaying in the French Alps. On the surface, they exude a conventional and relatable dynamic; however, the frost soon bites when an avalanche disrupts their vacation, inciting pain and suffering, without actually hitting anybody.

The family of four consists of lead characters, Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) and Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli), as well as their two young children, Harry and Vera, whose roles primarily involve inhabiting the habitual child-on-a-holiday stereotype; wake-up, complain, brief excitement quelled by ennui, complain louder, go to bed. From the outset, intrusive, lingering camera shots, as well as the recurring explosion of Vivaldi’s Summer Concerto, appear to presage an impending incident. This, of course, transpires to be the avalanche. Tomas, Ebba and their offspring witness this natural occurrence from a restaurant terrace, yet as the initially ‘controlled’ deluge of snow rages towards them, a moment of impulse drives Tomas away from his loved ones. This establishes the film’s conflict and unstitches domestic wounds that proceed to bleed uncontrollably.

The motive of Force Majeure is to trip up a husband a wife on a ski trip, yet more acutely it is to expose the minutiae of psychological issues buzzing in and around a partnership, skewed by Tomas’s irresistible compulsion. Neither Tomas nor Ebba can agree on the former’s reaction to the avalanche, thus their marriage is affected by this, triggering alterations and altercations in their interpersonal behaviour. Sounds serious? I assure you, Force Majeure is a tour-de-force with flashes of farce. Awkward, cringe-worthy comedy defrosts the tension, an example being a twenty-something party-goer informing Tomas that her friend thinks he is the best looking man in sight, then reappearing moments later to update him that she got him confused with someone else. This is where Östlund’s film strides towards its peak. It is at its most comfortable in its uncomfortable stages.

Force Majeure did wonders domestically, clearing up at the Swedish Oscars (the Guldbagge Awards), and it has been embraced by critics and audiences alike. It is an invasively observed tale that pries into a marriage and gleefully deconstructs a man’s masculinity. We are essentially the nosy neighbours to this.

The Seven Best Films NEVER Made

We can't be too selfish, there are many, many, many masterpieces that have made it to the silver screen. Here are a few that haven't.

7: Ronnie Rocket. Directed by David Lynch. 

Even David Lynch, the creative oddity of the cinematic odyssey, must have thought the plot to Ronnie Rocket was a little "out there". The story goes... a detective attempts to enter a second dimension, sanctioned by his ability to stand on one leg, whilst being pursued by the electricity wielding 'Donut Men'. Yes... Take that in. Yet, Lynch's most bonkers concept of all might very well have been his best had it conceptualised. Alas, the opportunity never has materialized for Lynch to tie himself to Ronnie Rocket, and probably never will. If you want to view it as a script, then click here. Fun fact: Around the time David Lynch wanted to make Ronnie Rocket, circa 1981, he was also considered, and later asked to direct The Return of the Jedi. This, though, was a galaxy too far away.

6: Gershwin. Directed by Martin Scorsese.

With a script by Paul 'Taxi Driver' Schrader, this biopic was ready to zip into production right after the last bell rang for Raging Bull. The film was to be a container of elaborate sequences of Gershwin's works, intersected by the man himself discussing his life with a psychiatrist. Scorsese shelved the project, due to complications with rights, as well as a doubt that the film would rouse much interest from audiences. As for who would have played the eponymous character, I think it be obvious who the famed director had in mind. Mr Gershwin has more than a passing resemblance to Mr De Niro.

5: In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu). Directed by Luchino Visconti.

This epic novel of seven volumes, written by one of the stalwarts of twentieth century French literature, Marcel Proust, was, for a period of time in 1969, courted by the magisterial cinema, opera and theatre director Luchino Visconti, when he commissioned a screenplay adaptation by Suso Cecchi d'Amico. In Search of Lost Time is thematically routed to involuntary memory, thus the prose flies and dives in many time periods. The most exciting thought of this potential picture was Visconti's eye for actors. Dustin Hoffman, Marlon Brando, Lawrence Olivier, Alain Delon and Silvana Mangano were all touted. The project however, was too ambitious for studios to back. Visconti had proven credentials to throw a lasso around an opus and bring it down to earth. This particular masterpiece though, never quite found its footing.

4: Batman: Year One. Directed by Darren Aranofsky.

Batman and Robin bombed with everyone, so Warner Bros. went with a new tact post-millennium. They decided to explore a darker Batman, one that is transported away from the tone of the original comic-books, and plunged into the depths of gritty realism. Frank Miller's realism to be precise, as the studio was vehement that his version was to be adapted for the big screen. Darren Aranofsky, woken up after Requiem for a Dream, was the chosen one, however, as he and Miller began to wonder away from the original Batman story ark, Warner Bros. began to realise the risks in their bright idea. They decided to shelve this particular incarnation, though they would later go on to signal Christopher Nolan, whose enforcement of a grittier milieu to Gotham begs the question why Warner Bros. lost faith in Aranofsky a few years earlier. Perhaps the Black Swan director wanted to dance too far into darkness, once claiming to an interviewer that he imagined Gordon as a 'Serpico like character' and Bruce Wayne as a 'Travis Bickle type'. If this had transpired, one wonders how scarred The Joker would have been had he turned up in Aranofsky's vision...

3: The Moviegoer. Directed by Terrence Malick.

Terrence Malick has always been a part-time director and a full-time visionary. He dreamt of The Moviegoer going to the silver screen in the mid-to-late 80's and early 90's. He even got as far as casting; Tim Robbins and Julia Roberts were to play the leads, Robbins coming out of another film related movie, Robert Altman's The Player. Yet, time trickled by, and Malick had other commitments to The Thin Red Line, and when it came to 2005, when Malick had completed post-production on The New World, Hurricane Katrina decimated New Orleans, a fixture of Walker Percy's book. Malick was quoted as saying in a rare public appearance, after this natural disaster, that 'I don't think the New Orleans of the book exists anymore'. This is a great shame, as one of the outstanding works of twentieth century American literature that has not been adapted for cinema, will never be made by one of the expert auteurs of our time.

2: The Blind Man. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock.

To me the most interesting of all of the lost Hitchcock projects, The Blind Man never saw the light of day. Why? Blame Walt. This Hitchcock picture was supposed to be guided into production right after Psycho, a slasher Disney was repulsed by. The Blind Man required access to Disneyland for one of its climactic sequences, and, due to his disdain for Psycho, Disney refused. Hitchcock and Disney had previous together, with a cartoon sequence of Walt's appearing in Hitch's 1936 film Sabotage. Though, Psycho cut through these ties between both men. The film was to star James Stewart, who was still recovering from Vertigo, the film not the fear, which flopped upon release. It would follow a blind pianist who regains his sight after accruing new eyes from a murder victim, via a transplant. Presumably he would go on to have flashbacks of what the eyes saw prior to vacating their rather unfortunate former owner. Hitchcock bathed in the pleasure of suspense, and this had that written all over it.

1: Heart of Darkness. Directed by Orson Welles.

The man behind the "greatest film ever made" is also behind the greatest film never made. Welles version of Heart of Darkness dissected the European political underbelly of the 1930's, exploiting the adaptability of Conrad's novella. His screenplay was anti-fascist, and Hollywood studios were hesitant to accept such a story with a subtext that reeked of political aggression, especially in 1939. In addition to this, Welles took too long on an exceedingly long screenplay (183 pages) and the film was predicted to overhaul a $1 million budget. Nonetheless, the most radical notion of Welles was to utilise a first-person camera for the entirety of the picture, a feat that had not been established before. Orson Welles tome-like adaptation ended up in the tomb, which would lead him onto a biopic of a wealthy newspaperman. Citizen Kane was revolutionary in its camera composition, yet if Heart of Darkness had come to light, would it have caused a greater wave in the education of future film-makers? Robert Montgomery attempted the first-person camera technique with Lady in the Lake in 1947, and that shoot was a misfire. Welles wizardry is incomparable however, so we can do nothing but guess the density of Heart of Darkness's potential impact. Still, at least we have Apocalypse Now, which rumbled along the Mekong river, stretching out Conrad's prose, with Francis Ford Coppola proving to be a worthy replacement of Orson Welles. 

The Seven Best Tom Cruise Films

Since skidding down the hallway in an undies/buttoned shirt combo, Tom Cruise has thrilled film audiences around the world. Well not so much with Far and Away. Or Vanilla Sky. Or Jack Reacher. Yet for the most part, the man shifts into cruise control for the duration of any feature he appears in. Here are my Seven Best Tom Cruise Films:

7: Cocktail (1988). Directed by Roger Donaldson. Other Than Tom: Elisabeth Shue, Bryan Brown and Kelly Lynch.
Here me out. There are plenty of silly cocktails; salty chihuahua, flaming giraffe, as well as this particular blend from 1988. Though as ridiculous as Cocktail is, I cannot help but drink it all up. As Brian Flanagan, our headline act crackles in down town New York, flexing his bar-tending skills with his neither prim nor proper mentor Doug Coughlin (Brown), before jaunting off to Jamaica, where his womanising ways are challenged by his affections for beach holidayer, Jordan Mooney (Shue). Cocktail is not critically acclaimed, and if one took it seriously, well then this would taste worse than a dirty pint. The drunken pacing of the narrative is notable, and Coughlin's suicide being thrown into the mixer just so that Flanagan can fine-tune his morals is an abrupt absurdity. Still, this is substantial entertainment.





6: Mission: Impossible III (2006). Directed by JJ Abrams. Other Than Tom: Philip Seymour-Hoffman, Michelle Monaghan and Simon Pegg.
Another film that was a misfire with some critics, and I for one cannot understand why. It is, without question, the best of the series. The tone of the film feels much darker than previous outings, more personal, with a sense that Ethan Hunt could lose everything. Philip Seymour Hoffman's villain may speak in monotone, though he definitely does not suffer from ennui. His intonation makes him all the more dangerous, his lack of emotional capacity harbouring a threat that no life matters to him. The opening scene fires an arrow at Hunt's 'Achilles heel' and that wound is exposed for the entirety of the film. I rate Mission: Impossible III higher than most. It has its faults yes, Monaghan's wife to Cruise's Hunt is rather dull, as well as the Vatican sequence boasting moments of bathos. Yet the thrills spill. This Mission is virtually impossible to supersede as the most exhilarating.



5: Collateral (2004). Directed by Michael Mann. Other Than Tom: Jamie Foxx, Jada Pinkett Smith and Mark Ruffalo.
Clearly Michael Mann has done no better since The Collateral, and I want to say neither has Tom Cruise. Although The Edge of Tomorrow has superb set-pieces and an adrenaline pumped script, as well as Tropic Thunder providing him with a grotesquely hilarious, hot-headed, vocabulary-of-fucks movie producer, The Collateral is Cruise's last great movie. Jamie Foxx earned an Oscar nomination for Supporting Actor as Max, the taxi-driver (the same year he won Best Actor for Ray), but Cruise is just as enthralling to watch as Vincent, the hit-man. His calm and collective persona remains steady, soldiering through the choppy waters of killing his marks, hoarding a body in the trunk of the taxi, and the growing anxiety of his driver, Max. Vincent puts the captiv(e) in captivating, but this film is driven by two terrific performances, and Foxx perhaps has more depth to dive into with his portrayal. Still, Cruise is not afraid of going to the dark side, which is where he goes best.



4: Jerry Maguire (1996). Directed by Cameron Crowe. Other Than Tom: Cuba Gooding Jr, Renee Zellweger and Kelly Preston.

Oh Jerry Maguire. Such an easy film to watch. Laden with comedy, drama and sweet sentimentality. No wonder Tom Hanks was Crowe's first choice for the role. Though, Hanks concedes that the film would not work had the other Tom not been sports agent, Jerry Maguire. Cruise is fantastic in this role, deserving of his Oscar nomination for Best Actor. He journeys on the same trajectory he rode in Rain Man eight years earlier, transitioning from cocksure and arrogant into empathetic and loving. With hyped up support from Cuba Gooding Jr, who received the Supporting Actor Academy Award in 1997, 'show me the money' became the quote of the late 90's. With other memorable lines like 'you had me at hello', which Jerry throws at Dorothy Boyd (Zellweger), not Cuba Gooding's wide receiver Rod Tidwell, Jerry is a character that everyone should love, existing in a film that everyone should watch.




3: Top Gun (1986). Directed by Tony Scott. Other Than Tom: Kelly McGillis, Val Kilmer and Anthony Edwards.

"Highway to the danger zone". That's what Top Gun is, as Kenny Loggins explains in the lyrics of his hit song from the movie. Tom Cruise is effortlessly charismatic as Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, opposite a strong-minded and sizzling Kelly McGillis, who plays Charlie Blackwood. Again, like with most Cruise classics, it is eminently quotable, with one such line 'I feel the need... the need for speed' edging into the American Film Institute's Top 100 Movie Quotes (#94). Top Gun itself is fuelled by its 'need for speed', thundering along with excitement, expletives (mostly the 's' word) and exclamation. Again, with Cruise, he probably did more critically acclaimed fare, Born on the Fourth Of July comes to mind. However, Top Gun is more memorable, and it is the film that cemented Cruise (along with his pearly whites) as iconic. A critical eye will notice the film's dissolution from promising story into shiny, scintillating scenes that compete with each other, trying to appear as the most appealing. But who cares. Narrative aside, Top Gun is a blistering spectacle.


2: Rain Man (1988). Directed by: Barry Levinson. Other Than Tom: Dustin Hoffman, Valeria Golino and Bonnie Hunt.

Dustin Hoffman won the Academy Award for Best Actor in 1989 for his deeply felt and wholly authentic portrayal of Raymond Babbitt, an autistic savant. In the subsequent years, critics, when discussing Rain Man, have always been quick to shine as brighter light on Tom Cruise's performance as they do on Hoffman's. Cruise is truly exceptional as the egotistical younger brother to Raymond, who has just become aware of his older brother's existence. This is due to Charlie learning that, after his estranged father's death, the bulk of his $3 million estate has gone to an unnamed trustee, which illuminates to Charlie that he has an unknown relative. The conversion from how Cruise, as Charlie, treats Ray in their first few days together, to how he minds Ray's fugue state in the film's most dramatic sequence is so very poignant. To see Cruise 'act' the deflation of an immeasurable hubris, to see him thaw empathy out of his original frosty self is miraculous. The film itself: a fine example of the effects of mental illness.


1: Magnolia (1999). Directed by: Paul Thomas Anderson. Other Than Tom: Julianne Moore, Jason Robards and Philip Seymour-Hoffman.

The nucleus of Magnolia's magnificence is a sensational script, where PTA expertly constructs and connects a character road map of coincidence. We see an array of disturbed people episodically interlinked with each other, and how their lives eventually bridge together. The end of Magnolia sprouts questions of life that stretch beyond the ambit of this one film, the predominant query, is the impossible possible? Magnolia itself has had pages of essays dedicated to it, so instead, let's talk about the eponymous hero of our blog post. Tom Cruise, as Frank T.J Mackie, gives, for me, one of the greatest performances of the 90's. Here I am killing two birds with one stone, because this is not just Cruise's best film, it is his best role. As sadistic sex 'god' T.J Mackie, he steals every scene he inhabits. Magnolia is a masterpiece. It is not a "Tom Cruise" movie. It is an ensemble piece. Yet Cruise stands out with the biggest... character. A supporting turn that lingers in the mind longer than any lead role he ever had. His very best. 

And The Oscar Goes To...

The 87th Academy Awards take place on Sunday, and will be hosted by Neil Patrick Harris at the Dolby Theatre in Hollywood. I have compiled a list of who I think will receive the Academy Awards on Sunday evening. All of the nominees can be found here: Oscar Nominees.  

Best Picture: Boyhood

For all the cynics who claim Boyhood has been the mainstay of this award season purely for its 'twelve years in the making' tag either have not watched the film or, if they have seen it, have not engaged enough with it. This soulful journey from childhood to the cusp of adulthood exemplifies the ordinary as extraordinary, and is utterly beguiling throughout. If not Boyhood, I would much prefer either The Grand Budapest Hotel or Whiplash be given this accolade, rather than the overwrought Birdman, which is a more probable contender to foist the award away from Boyhood.

Directing: Alejandro González Iñárritu for Birdman

The most flashy direction, and therefore the frontrunner for Director has to be Iñárritu for Birdman. He has just won the Director's Guild Award and, one would think that this category is his to lose. There is a chance Richard Linklater could take this. Alejandro González Iñárritu probably will.

Actor in a Leading Role: Eddie Redmayne for The Theory of Everything

Michael Keaton is still the odds-on-favourite for Birdman, but I feel Eddie Redmayne will receive Actor in a Leading Role. His performance of Stephen Hawking is a deteriorating transformation, amplified through the minutiae of mannerisms, mood and movement. Most affecting and meticulously handled; for sheer loyalty to the demands of this role, Redmayne deserves this.

Actress in a Leading Role: Julianne Moore for Still Alice

Julianne Moore deserves an Oscar. That much is obvious. For Still Alice, a film about how the titular character copes with being diagnosed with onset alzheimers at the age of 50, Moore relaxes into an unnerving state, conveying the frustrations and tribulations of the illness, whilst attempting to be a mother, a wife and a teacher. As Alice's memories fade into the abysses of her psyche, the result of Moore's complete performance devastates.

Actor in a Supporting Role: JK Simmons for Whiplash

Like Javier Bardem for No Country For Old Men. Like Heath Ledger for The Dark Knight. Like Christoph Waltz for Inglorious Basterds. A shockingly memorable, nefarious antagonist, performed with a mixture of glee and horror, warrants an Oscar. JK Simmons, as Terrence Fletcher, will win this award.

Actress in a Supporting Role: Patricia Arquette for Boyhood

For her own nuanced expedition throughout the twelve years of Boyhood as the mother of Mason Jr and Samantha, Patricia Arquette will be accepting an Oscar this Sunday.

Adapted Screenplay: Whiplash by Damien Chazelle

The probability lies with either Graham Moore for The Imitation Game or Anthony McCarten for The Theory of Everything, though I would love for Damien Chazelle to take this. His script is so raw and original (ironic, seeing as though it is up for adapted screenplay, due to Chazelle adapting Whiplash from a previous short he made). A surprise could be in order, and it could happen here.

Original Screenplay: The Grand Budapest Hotel by Wes Anderson

A dead cert for me. The Grand Budapest Hotel was Wes Anderson at his eccentric best. A stylised, Anderson-personified, cracking script brimming with crackling dialogue. 

Animated Feature Film: Big Hero 6

A tough one to call, as the real winner did not qualify (The Lego Movie was shunned by the Academy). Big Hero 6 and How to Train Your Dragon 2 were both entertaining, but the original concept and sentimentality of the superhero story might see it soar come Oscar night. It is worth mentioning Song of the Sea also, and its gloomy, pastel animated background. This contrasts gloriously with the lighter digital animation of the foreground characters and continually evokes the tragedy of the story. In other words, Song of the Sea has plenty of potential in this category. 

Foreign Language Film: Ida

Ida was beautifully shot (it might have an outside chance of taking cinematography away from Birdman), with an absorbing story, tactful direction and honest performances. Either Leviathan and Wild Tales could claim victory here, though I feel Ida will be crowned the Foreign Language Film of the year. 

Cinematography: Birdman

Costume Design: Into The Woods

Documentary Feature: CitizenFour

Documentary Short Subject: Our Curse

Film Editing: American Sniper

Make-Up and Hair Styling: Guardians of the Galaxy

Music Original Score: The Theory of Everything

Music Original Song: "Glory" from Selma

Production Design: The Grand Budapest Hotel

Short Film Animated: A Single Life

Short Film Live Action: Parvaneh 

Sound Editing: American Sniper

Sound Mixing: Whiplash 

Visual Effects: Interstellar

More articles will be coming soon, including the Seven Best Tom Cruise Films and a commentary on film critics. Enjoy the Oscars folks!

Mini Movie Memo (and then an afterthought...)

Be wary of billionaire heirs 

I have a great reverence for sport movies that focus away from their sport. Of course, Foxcatcher has wrestling in it, but it isn't defined by it. Instead, erupting from the core and spreading to the peripherals, themes of greed verses resentment and power grappling with vulnerability showcase the darkness of this picture. Predominantly, these thematic roots grow on Foxcatcher Farm, and it is this setting, reminiscent of the Bates Motel from Psycho, where the bulk of underlying madness unfurls and exhibits itself. The story follows two Olympic wrestlers and winners of gold meddles, Mark and David Schultz, who become beneficiaries of billionaire heir, John Du Pont, where he allows them to use his farm to train for the next Olympics, and to house a state-of-the-art gym, in return for Du Pont to act as the Head Coach of the USA wrestling team. Things are not all as they seem though, as the character of John, a socially awkward ermine like creature, becomes enveloped my an insane power that inflicts tragedy upon the Schultz brothers and their family. Everything about Foxcatcher is bleakly captivating, from purposefully awkward dialogue to cold, trenchant direction from Bennett Miller who has just been nominated for the Academy Award for Best Director. One of his prior films, Capote contained an intrinsic theme of isolation in oneself, which is prevalent to Foxcatcher, and is handled as gracefully as it is bluntly by the helmer. The source of this film's power though exists within the acting. Steve Carell, ripping off his habitual comedy label, performs a chillingly authentic portrayal as John Du Pont, where slowness and restraint are key to exemplify insanity. He is up for Best Actor at the Oscars. Mark Ruffalo is terrific and sincere as David Schultz. He is up for Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars. And then there is Channing Tatum, as David's younger brother Mark Schultz. He is not up for an Oscar, yet for me, this is his film. He is brutally honest and dives into deep cavities of emotions whilst being, for the most part, reticent in allowing them to boil over. The Academy's choosing of backing Carell and Ruffalo is just, as they are both brilliant, though Tatum should be celebrating with them. It is comparable with The Fighter three years ago when Mark Wahlberg was snubbed and Christian Bale and Melissa Leo won the plaudits. No matter. It is right that people remember performances, not awards, and that is why Tatum's show as Mark Schultz here won't be forgotten. People will be exhilerated by Foxcatcher; a stark, dark tapestry of tragedy that demands your attention.

Beyond Clueless: Charlie Lyne's Enduring High School Crush on the Teen Movie Genre

The Cube in Bristol, a tuck-away microplex located in Stokes Croft, played host to a screening of the crowd-funded documentary Beyond Clueless last Friday. I went along to attend the showing, which was followed up with a Q&A with director Charlie Lyne.

Beyond Clueless focusses on teen movies of the 1995-2004 period, starting with Clueless and graduating with Mean Girls. The doc is written up as a film essay, analysing the conventions, paradigms and themes of the teen movie clique, but most imperatively, it illustrates Lyne's enduring high school crush on said genre. Talking heads are exempt from this homage, with a more unorthodox knitting together of scenes, which manufactures into a layered quilt of clips from 250 or so movies. Fairuza Balk, star of The Craft, the subject of the prologue, narrates us through Lyne's script. She conveys through her bewitching tone that the mid-to-late 90's and early-to-mid 2000's engineered a, albeit cliché heavy, teen movie rebellion. Everything on show, from conformity to control to cold-blooded murder, is theorized and scrutinized by Lyne. However, when clips from critically panned movies such as The Rage: Carrie 2 and Josie and The Pussycats turn up to class, it does become difficult to be a constantly earnest student of Lyne's analysis. Having said this, many of his points are both interesting and valid, including his comments on the shifting plates of social hierarchy, present in She's All That and Slap Her, She's French, as well as his observation of the pitfalls of strict parental repression, encapsulated by Bubble Boy. Lyne's expose is nowhere near as tenuous as some of the movies he is exposing, and in being open-minded, I found myself conforming to many of his thoughtfully researched suggestions.

Let us briefly cease the analytical chewing and mark presentation. A dizzying, spell-binding soundtrack by pop duo Summer Camp clicks instantaneously with the subject matter, and powerfully accelerates the film's running time around the track. Doodles drawn by Hattie Stewart act as a whimsical aesthetic, covering Beyond Clueless in graffiti throughout and gratifying Lyne's own teenage nostalgia. Fairuza Baulk narrates with conviction, although once or twice an uncertain intonation creeps in, like when describing Euro Trip's homoerotic subtext, as if she is unsure of its own credibility. Reverting back to the director, his amalgamation of teen movie tragedy with teen movie comedy is very insightful, as it shows us the similarities in imposed character traits. For instance, Elephant, set in the day of a high school shooting, and concentrically a severe rebuke of the lackadaisical gun laws in America, involves body conscious teens, nerds and jocks. This same layout of characters exist in American Pie and 10 Things I Hate About You. This may well be Lyne's criticism of the pseudo-reality structure of these films, which procreates stereotypes from preceding teen movie incarnations. Or then again perhaps it's not a criticism. You see, this is no burn book. Lyne is clearly enamoured with the genre, being respectful of the good and the bad of it, and being mindful of the fact that the good is most definitely outweighed by the bad. He is glorifying a lot of terrible teen movies, and I like so totally don't care.

The Q&A was a revelation. Charlie Lyne, a charming and witty cinephile, is a likeable film critic. They are sparse in number, and it was refreshing to see someone who has reviewed for the BBC Film Programme and his very own Ultra Culture, to swim across the channel to the risky world of film-making, which saw him kick-start his crowd funding campaign on Kickstarter. He was self-deprecating; on answering a question about why he made the movie, 'nostalgia mostly, and also I wasn't the type to go out in my teenage years to get pissed, I lived my social life vicariously at home watching old VHS tapes.' A confession that he was proud of, and that he should be. In addition, his getting hold of Fairuza Balk was a brilliant anecdote, 'Fairuza was top of our list. She owns her own candle company now, and the only way I could contact her was through the complaints section. Luckily she replied three minutes later and was excited by the pitch that I gave her, and she ended up coming aboard.' A very nifty way of getting hold of a narrator. The complaints department. The most intriguing answer came from the question, 'why the unconventional method without talking heads?' Lyne responded with enthusiasm, 'it's a love-letter to the genre, embracing the mad, overwrought aesthetic of that world'. This to me made a lot of sense after watching Lyne's film, as at its nucleus, Beyond Clueless is a celebration of the good, the bad and the ugly of the teen movie from 1995 to 2004. Plus, talking heads could disparage his beloved genre. And he wouldn't want that now would he.

There are a few, casual moments where it needs to tuck its shirt in, yet overall, Beyond Clueless wears its uniform well.

Beyond Clueless is released Friday 23^rd January