15 January 2007
An Honourable Mention
Even though I'm not in the business of reviewing TV series, I was sufficiently impressed by the Japanese TV anime series Paranoia Agent to give it an honourable mention. I'm not going to say much about it, because then I'd be reviewing it, and like I said, I'm not in the business of reviewing TV series. I will say this, though. I was originally going to see it at the Leeds Film Festival back in November (they were showing all 13 episodes in 4 separate screenings), but as the first episode began, two things became distressingly apparent: (1) they had chosen to screen a version dubbed by American voice actors, rather than showing the subtitled version; and (2) they had somehow managed to screen the 1.78:1 image on what appeared to be a roughly 4:3 screen without any letterboxing (i.e., the picture was stretched vertically to fill the entire 4:3 screen). So ... I walked out, put it on my DVD rental list, and soon had the pleasure of watching it in the comfort of my own home in all its subtitled 1.78:1 glory!
05 January 2007
Brick
(Rian Johnson, 2005)
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's noir-style Chandleresque detective bullshit. Consequently, I've found myself in the position of loathing several generally well-regarded films. One example (which enjoys a status of almost Biblical proportions among screenwriters) is Chinatown. I've made two attempts in my life to sit through this ponderous film, and in each case failed to last more than about twenty minutes before experiencing the onset of a particularly acute sense of rigid boredom. (No further attempts are likely to be scheduled.) Another, more recent, example is Sin City, which I endured in its ridiculously overstretched entirity only because I'd paid cold hard coin to see it in a cinema. Sure, it looks nice; but all it really amounts to is yet more dreary old bollocks about dangerous dames, world-weary private dicks, shady characters inhabiting dockland areas, and enigmatic one-word clues hand-scrawled on the backs of nightclub matchbooks.
Now, given that the aim of Brick is to transpose genre conventions such as these into a contemporary high-school setting, I was, as you can imagine, extremely wary about the prospect of watching it. To my astonishment, it works brilliantly. Yes, there is a potential stench of contrivance about the way that familiar high-school character types are played up as slick-talking detective-genre types (loner kid = world-weary private dick; rich bitch = dangerous dame; school bully = shady thug; etc., etc.). But the unreservedly surreal results of this transposition entirely freed me from any presupposition that I ought to be taking things seriously (which is the main thing that annoys me about detective stories in the first place); especially when we're introduced to gangland drug overlord, The Pin; who is, in fact, a disabled kid who lives in his mum's basement.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt (aka Tommy off of TV's Third Rock from the Sun) plays an absolute blinder in the lead role, and the script and direction are crafted to perfection. This film has atmosphere dripping out of every orifice. Watch it.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's noir-style Chandleresque detective bullshit. Consequently, I've found myself in the position of loathing several generally well-regarded films. One example (which enjoys a status of almost Biblical proportions among screenwriters) is Chinatown. I've made two attempts in my life to sit through this ponderous film, and in each case failed to last more than about twenty minutes before experiencing the onset of a particularly acute sense of rigid boredom. (No further attempts are likely to be scheduled.) Another, more recent, example is Sin City, which I endured in its ridiculously overstretched entirity only because I'd paid cold hard coin to see it in a cinema. Sure, it looks nice; but all it really amounts to is yet more dreary old bollocks about dangerous dames, world-weary private dicks, shady characters inhabiting dockland areas, and enigmatic one-word clues hand-scrawled on the backs of nightclub matchbooks.
Now, given that the aim of Brick is to transpose genre conventions such as these into a contemporary high-school setting, I was, as you can imagine, extremely wary about the prospect of watching it. To my astonishment, it works brilliantly. Yes, there is a potential stench of contrivance about the way that familiar high-school character types are played up as slick-talking detective-genre types (loner kid = world-weary private dick; rich bitch = dangerous dame; school bully = shady thug; etc., etc.). But the unreservedly surreal results of this transposition entirely freed me from any presupposition that I ought to be taking things seriously (which is the main thing that annoys me about detective stories in the first place); especially when we're introduced to gangland drug overlord, The Pin; who is, in fact, a disabled kid who lives in his mum's basement.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt (aka Tommy off of TV's Third Rock from the Sun) plays an absolute blinder in the lead role, and the script and direction are crafted to perfection. This film has atmosphere dripping out of every orifice. Watch it.
The Hours
(Stephen Daldry, 2002)
This is strange. A biopic of the final days of Virginia Woolf intercut (rather overenthusiastically, it has to be said) with two entirely fictional stories apparently bearing no more meaningful a relation to Woolf than that they involve certain themes (e.g., lesbianism, illness, suicide) relevant to both her life and her novel, Mrs. Dalloway. The question is: why? A straightforward biopic of Woolf wouldn’t necessarily have been as interesting (especially in terms of narrative structure) but would at least have been possible to interpret. Similarly, a biopic of Woolf intercut with a screen adaptation of Mrs. Dalloway could have formed a more coherent whole (and offered some structural complexity, especially in those scenes where we see Woolf making decisions about the direction of the novel’s plot). But a biopic of Woolf intercut with two distinct yet thematically similar fictions? I understand the idea, but I really don’t see the justification for it. It just seems so arbitrary, like if Oliver Stone had intercut The Doors with an independent fictional piece about a man who happens to enjoy drug experimentation, writing quasi-mystical poetry, and getting his cock out.
The Hours is a decent, well-made, well-acted film. It just left me with a bad aftertaste; the sour flavour of unwarranted randomness.
The Hours @ IMDb
This is strange. A biopic of the final days of Virginia Woolf intercut (rather overenthusiastically, it has to be said) with two entirely fictional stories apparently bearing no more meaningful a relation to Woolf than that they involve certain themes (e.g., lesbianism, illness, suicide) relevant to both her life and her novel, Mrs. Dalloway. The question is: why? A straightforward biopic of Woolf wouldn’t necessarily have been as interesting (especially in terms of narrative structure) but would at least have been possible to interpret. Similarly, a biopic of Woolf intercut with a screen adaptation of Mrs. Dalloway could have formed a more coherent whole (and offered some structural complexity, especially in those scenes where we see Woolf making decisions about the direction of the novel’s plot). But a biopic of Woolf intercut with two distinct yet thematically similar fictions? I understand the idea, but I really don’t see the justification for it. It just seems so arbitrary, like if Oliver Stone had intercut The Doors with an independent fictional piece about a man who happens to enjoy drug experimentation, writing quasi-mystical poetry, and getting his cock out.
The Hours is a decent, well-made, well-acted film. It just left me with a bad aftertaste; the sour flavour of unwarranted randomness.
The Hours @ IMDb
04 January 2007
Dark Remains
(Brian Avenet-Bradley, 2005)
A young couple mourning the recent murder of their child seek solace and relaxation by moving to an isolated woodland cabin. Close to their new home, they discover an old abandoned … ah, let me see, what was it now? … an old abandoned ice cream and cookies factory? … no, wait, that wasn’t it … think, think … what was it? … an old abandoned workshop in which a nice old lady used to handcraft little knitted woollen jackets for puppies to wear in winter? … no, no, that wasn’t it either … fuck me, what was it? … ah, yes! I remember now … an old abandoned prison / mental asylum … of course it was! … how it could it not have been!
From this threadbare set-up, a crude form of plot is gradually hacked out, but the exposition is badly handled, and the need to bring a sizeable cast of secondary characters into play somewhat undermines the original premise (wasn’t this supposed to be an isolated retreat?). So far, so shit. The only positive thing I can say is that it’s nice to see some J- and K-horror influence in a Western horror film (without it being a commercially calculated US remake of an already established East Asian success). Ghosts appear, subtly and for fractions of seconds, in the corners and backgrounds of shots; and when they come straight at their victims, they move at high velocity. So there are, to be fair, a few decent scary / freaky moments. Scariest of all, though, is the casting decision that landed such an uncharismatic pair of planks in the two lead roles.
Dark Remains @ IMDb
A young couple mourning the recent murder of their child seek solace and relaxation by moving to an isolated woodland cabin. Close to their new home, they discover an old abandoned … ah, let me see, what was it now? … an old abandoned ice cream and cookies factory? … no, wait, that wasn’t it … think, think … what was it? … an old abandoned workshop in which a nice old lady used to handcraft little knitted woollen jackets for puppies to wear in winter? … no, no, that wasn’t it either … fuck me, what was it? … ah, yes! I remember now … an old abandoned prison / mental asylum … of course it was! … how it could it not have been!
From this threadbare set-up, a crude form of plot is gradually hacked out, but the exposition is badly handled, and the need to bring a sizeable cast of secondary characters into play somewhat undermines the original premise (wasn’t this supposed to be an isolated retreat?). So far, so shit. The only positive thing I can say is that it’s nice to see some J- and K-horror influence in a Western horror film (without it being a commercially calculated US remake of an already established East Asian success). Ghosts appear, subtly and for fractions of seconds, in the corners and backgrounds of shots; and when they come straight at their victims, they move at high velocity. So there are, to be fair, a few decent scary / freaky moments. Scariest of all, though, is the casting decision that landed such an uncharismatic pair of planks in the two lead roles.
Dark Remains @ IMDb
Colour Me Kubrick
(Brian W. Cook, 2005)
Based on the story of Alan Conway, who blagged loads of money and free lunches in early-nineties London by pretending to be Stanley Kubrick. The story itself is fascinating, which means that the slightly sluggish pacing of the film does no real harm. Likewise, the effort put in by Malkovich (as Conway) is more than enough to counterbalance the occasionally awkward script and lack of co-acting talent (for unknown reasons, Jim ‘The Laughing Fascist’ Davidson features in a minor role). The film is peppered with Kubrick references (both visual, and in the soundtrack) which also add nice touches (I love references, but I’m not sure why; maybe it’s the satisfaction to be derived from ‘getting’ them).
Colour Me Kubrick @ IMDb
Based on the story of Alan Conway, who blagged loads of money and free lunches in early-nineties London by pretending to be Stanley Kubrick. The story itself is fascinating, which means that the slightly sluggish pacing of the film does no real harm. Likewise, the effort put in by Malkovich (as Conway) is more than enough to counterbalance the occasionally awkward script and lack of co-acting talent (for unknown reasons, Jim ‘The Laughing Fascist’ Davidson features in a minor role). The film is peppered with Kubrick references (both visual, and in the soundtrack) which also add nice touches (I love references, but I’m not sure why; maybe it’s the satisfaction to be derived from ‘getting’ them).
Colour Me Kubrick @ IMDb
02 January 2007
Gruesome
(Joshua Cook & Jeffrey Cook, 2006)
Take a look at this description of Gruesome (from the 2006 Leeds International Film Festival brochure - see link below review):
"Doomed to relive her own horrendous murder over and over again, Claire realises that she may never wake up from her nightmare unless she uncovers the truth behind what is happening and why. As a psychopathic killer stalks and murders her everyday, Claire starts to lose her mind and her grip on any kind of reality disappears, leaving her in an unrelentless world of torture. Switchblade Romance meets Groundhog Day with a bit of Hostel thrown in makes this film unmissable with a twist to boot."
Now, I don’t know about you, but the idea of a torture-genre version of Groundhog Day sounds pretty fucking excellent to me. Such a concept could allow for multiple layers of tension as the victim struggles not merely with an immediate ‘escape-or-die’ situation, but also with a deeper, more metaphysical ‘solve-or-relive-the-whole-thing’ mystery. Cashed out in the right way, this concept could make for a seriously twisted horror film. Needless to say, then, I went to see Gruesome with high expectations.
Unfortunately, the Leeds Film Festival’s description of the film is factually inaccurate on two main counts. Firstly, Claire does not relive her own murder over and over. She does get killed a couple of times, but not in the same way. In other words: there is no repetition of a single chain of events (and, therefore, no riffing on permutations and offshoots of that chain) of the kind that made Groundhog Day so ingenius and appealing. Secondly, Claire’s situation can in no way be described as a ‘world of torture’. With the (admirable) exception of one instance of facial skinning (the only part of the film that could possibly justify the phrase ‘a bit of Hostel thrown in’), Gruesome trades in a sparse and watery form of psychological, rather than physical, horror. (Look carefully at the quoted paragraph again and you’ll see that Claire’s situation is actually described as an unrelentless world of torture. Presumably this was supposed to read ‘unrelenting’ or ‘relentless’. The term ‘unrelentless’ is actually quite accurate! A Freudian slip perhaps?)
As for the twist, it’s shit, and if you’ve seen Switchblade Romance (or any of a large number of other films that deploy a similar lame-arse-cop-out-masquerading-as-shocking-twist ending) then you’ll know exactly what sort of nonsense to expect.
(So … as it turns out, the idea of a torture-horror version of Groundhog Day is still very much up-for-grabs. If any screenwriters happen to be reading this ... What are you waiting for?)
Gruesome @ 2006 Leeds International Film Festival website
Take a look at this description of Gruesome (from the 2006 Leeds International Film Festival brochure - see link below review):
"Doomed to relive her own horrendous murder over and over again, Claire realises that she may never wake up from her nightmare unless she uncovers the truth behind what is happening and why. As a psychopathic killer stalks and murders her everyday, Claire starts to lose her mind and her grip on any kind of reality disappears, leaving her in an unrelentless world of torture. Switchblade Romance meets Groundhog Day with a bit of Hostel thrown in makes this film unmissable with a twist to boot."
Now, I don’t know about you, but the idea of a torture-genre version of Groundhog Day sounds pretty fucking excellent to me. Such a concept could allow for multiple layers of tension as the victim struggles not merely with an immediate ‘escape-or-die’ situation, but also with a deeper, more metaphysical ‘solve-or-relive-the-whole-thing’ mystery. Cashed out in the right way, this concept could make for a seriously twisted horror film. Needless to say, then, I went to see Gruesome with high expectations.
Unfortunately, the Leeds Film Festival’s description of the film is factually inaccurate on two main counts. Firstly, Claire does not relive her own murder over and over. She does get killed a couple of times, but not in the same way. In other words: there is no repetition of a single chain of events (and, therefore, no riffing on permutations and offshoots of that chain) of the kind that made Groundhog Day so ingenius and appealing. Secondly, Claire’s situation can in no way be described as a ‘world of torture’. With the (admirable) exception of one instance of facial skinning (the only part of the film that could possibly justify the phrase ‘a bit of Hostel thrown in’), Gruesome trades in a sparse and watery form of psychological, rather than physical, horror. (Look carefully at the quoted paragraph again and you’ll see that Claire’s situation is actually described as an unrelentless world of torture. Presumably this was supposed to read ‘unrelenting’ or ‘relentless’. The term ‘unrelentless’ is actually quite accurate! A Freudian slip perhaps?)
As for the twist, it’s shit, and if you’ve seen Switchblade Romance (or any of a large number of other films that deploy a similar lame-arse-cop-out-masquerading-as-shocking-twist ending) then you’ll know exactly what sort of nonsense to expect.
(So … as it turns out, the idea of a torture-horror version of Groundhog Day is still very much up-for-grabs. If any screenwriters happen to be reading this ... What are you waiting for?)
Gruesome @ 2006 Leeds International Film Festival website
The Last of the Mohicans
(Michael Mann, 1992)
This is overblown sentimental crap. It’s also extremely confusing, insofar as it appears to be set in a parallel universe where the act of driving a sharp blade into or across the skin of a human body results in no noticeable degree of injury or bloodshed (although, curiously, it does seem to make the person struck by the blade manifest a sudden compulsion to throw themselves dramatically to the ground).
The Last of the Mohicans @ IMDb
This is overblown sentimental crap. It’s also extremely confusing, insofar as it appears to be set in a parallel universe where the act of driving a sharp blade into or across the skin of a human body results in no noticeable degree of injury or bloodshed (although, curiously, it does seem to make the person struck by the blade manifest a sudden compulsion to throw themselves dramatically to the ground).
The Last of the Mohicans @ IMDb
Another Day in Paradise
(Larry Clark, 1997)
Clark’s follow-up to his controversial debut, Kids, is a surprisingly mediocre and predictable middle-of-the-road drama about a couple of young drug-fuelled criminals taken under the wing by a couple of old drug-fuelled criminals. It has the feel of a made-for-TV movie and progresses in exactly the way you’d expect from beginning to end. Yawn.
Another Day in Paradise @ IMDb
Clark’s follow-up to his controversial debut, Kids, is a surprisingly mediocre and predictable middle-of-the-road drama about a couple of young drug-fuelled criminals taken under the wing by a couple of old drug-fuelled criminals. It has the feel of a made-for-TV movie and progresses in exactly the way you’d expect from beginning to end. Yawn.
Another Day in Paradise @ IMDb
Anaraifu (aka Analife)
(Kenji Goda, 2005)
Against the background of a constant stream of multiple on-screen images and a hypnotic, pulsing soundtrack, three not-entirely-likeable characters (a rapist; a death-obsessed photographer who's sexually involved with a murderer; and a guy who stalks strangers at a distance by going through their bins) narrate their stories, all of which culminate in rectal injury of one kind or another. Damaged arses in tow, they all end up visiting the same proctologist’s office, wherein they encounter some aliens and sing a song about meeting a bear in the woods. What it all means, I really do not know, but I found it utterly compelling and strangely enjoyable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I doubt I ever will again.
Anaraifu @ IMDb
Against the background of a constant stream of multiple on-screen images and a hypnotic, pulsing soundtrack, three not-entirely-likeable characters (a rapist; a death-obsessed photographer who's sexually involved with a murderer; and a guy who stalks strangers at a distance by going through their bins) narrate their stories, all of which culminate in rectal injury of one kind or another. Damaged arses in tow, they all end up visiting the same proctologist’s office, wherein they encounter some aliens and sing a song about meeting a bear in the woods. What it all means, I really do not know, but I found it utterly compelling and strangely enjoyable. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I doubt I ever will again.
Anaraifu @ IMDb
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