(Lucky McKee, 2006)
Beware of anyone who tries to plug this film by saying that it stars Bruce Campbell in the male lead. What they are neglecting to tell you is that The Woods is set almost entirely within a girls’ school, and the only male roles other than Campbell’s are those of ‘Sheriff’ and ‘Doctor’. (Campbell’s character is on screen for slightly longer than either of these two, and therefore wins the title of ‘male lead’ on a technicality).
There are some positive things to be said about the film: The effects are quite slick; there’s a nice twist on the typical US high school queen-bitch character; and Campbell initiates a few brief moments of splatstick near the end. But the gore is too little too late; the exposition of the plot is garbled; and the whole thing is about as scary as Harry Potter.
The Woods @ IMDb
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W. Show all posts
20 November 2006
06 June 2006
Wilde
(1997, Brian Gilbert)
The question of this film's quality rests principally on the question of the accuracy of Stephen Fry's performance in the role of Oscar Wilde. If Wilde was a gentle, sensitive, intelligent, yet generally ungraceful, awkward and bumbling sort of chap, then Fry's performance is difficult to fault. If not, then Fry (coincidentally well-known as a gentle, sensitive, intelligent, yet generally ungraceful, awkward and bumbling sort of chap) is merely playing himself, and it was a severe miscalculation to have him cast in the role. Unfortunately, the resolution of this conundrum cannot be divulged here, since my knowledge of Wilde is limited to the basic biographical facts: author and playwright; renowned wit; tried and imprisoned for homosexual acts. I have no inkling whether he was, in essence, the kind of character that Fry portrays. Frankly, I had imagined him to be more of a powerhouse, more of a force of nature, like some kind of turn-of-the-century Oliver Reed (albeit much more pithy, and not quite so drunk). As played by Fry, he comes across as a kind of ... well, as a kind of turn-of-the-century Stephen Fry. For this reason, I watched the film with an acute sense of disappointment. Whether this ought to be blamed on Fry's performance or my own distorted conception of a famous historical figure I cannot say.
There is little worth noting about the film's other aspects. Jude Law, as Wilde's lover Bosie, demonstrates his undeniable talent for playing smug and arrogant, yet fragile and disturbed, characters; but this talent is insufficient to carry a film (further evidence of which, for those who wish to seek it, can be found in Mike Nichols' dismal turd of a film Closer). Wilde chugs along in the placid, efficient and unexciting manner of a three-part Sunday afternoon BBC period drama. True: it goes some way to augment the factual understanding of viewers such as myself whose knowledge of Wilde's life may be a little sketchy. But the majority the film's attention is focused on Wilde's relationships, and remarkably little light is cast on the man as an artist and intellectual. On the whole, this is a difficult film to damn by faint praise; better, then, to damn it by vague criticism.
Wilde @ IMDb(UK)
The question of this film's quality rests principally on the question of the accuracy of Stephen Fry's performance in the role of Oscar Wilde. If Wilde was a gentle, sensitive, intelligent, yet generally ungraceful, awkward and bumbling sort of chap, then Fry's performance is difficult to fault. If not, then Fry (coincidentally well-known as a gentle, sensitive, intelligent, yet generally ungraceful, awkward and bumbling sort of chap) is merely playing himself, and it was a severe miscalculation to have him cast in the role. Unfortunately, the resolution of this conundrum cannot be divulged here, since my knowledge of Wilde is limited to the basic biographical facts: author and playwright; renowned wit; tried and imprisoned for homosexual acts. I have no inkling whether he was, in essence, the kind of character that Fry portrays. Frankly, I had imagined him to be more of a powerhouse, more of a force of nature, like some kind of turn-of-the-century Oliver Reed (albeit much more pithy, and not quite so drunk). As played by Fry, he comes across as a kind of ... well, as a kind of turn-of-the-century Stephen Fry. For this reason, I watched the film with an acute sense of disappointment. Whether this ought to be blamed on Fry's performance or my own distorted conception of a famous historical figure I cannot say.
There is little worth noting about the film's other aspects. Jude Law, as Wilde's lover Bosie, demonstrates his undeniable talent for playing smug and arrogant, yet fragile and disturbed, characters; but this talent is insufficient to carry a film (further evidence of which, for those who wish to seek it, can be found in Mike Nichols' dismal turd of a film Closer). Wilde chugs along in the placid, efficient and unexciting manner of a three-part Sunday afternoon BBC period drama. True: it goes some way to augment the factual understanding of viewers such as myself whose knowledge of Wilde's life may be a little sketchy. But the majority the film's attention is focused on Wilde's relationships, and remarkably little light is cast on the man as an artist and intellectual. On the whole, this is a difficult film to damn by faint praise; better, then, to damn it by vague criticism.
Wilde @ IMDb(UK)
31 May 2006
Wolf Creek
(2005, Greg McLean)
Loosely based on a handful of Australian murder cases (such as the Snowtown Murders, and the Sydney Backpacker Murders), Wolf Creek is a horror story about three friends whose car mysteriously breaks down in the middle of the Outback, forcing them to accept a lift from a man who turns out to be a serial torturer / killer.
It goes without saying that this is not an entirely original idea. But novelty (or lack thereof) is not really an issue with this kind of film. The "Stranded in the Wilderness with Psychopaths" theme, established by such classics as Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Deliverance, has been reiterated so many times that it has really become a horror genre in its own right (some recent additions to which include: the poor but not-entirely-terrible mainstream remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre; the ridiculous and uninspired Wrong Turn; the massively underrated League of Gentlemen-esque Calvaire; the disappointingly twist-ended Haute Tension; and, assuming it counts as belonging to the genre in question, Eli Roth's powerfully effective torture-fest, Hostel.) Making a film within this genre is like recording a new version of a jazz standard. The fact that the tune has been played before doesn't matter - what matters is whether the new interpretation does something creative and worthwhile with the old theme.
McLean's variation on this particular theme is (one or two minor complaints aside) outstanding. The first part of the film does an incredible job of generating two essential ingredients: tension and realism. Cool, sombre cinematography in conjunction with an unsettlingly ominous-sounding piano-&-strings based score help to build up - at a slow, measured pace - a powerful sense of foreboding and paranoia (the feeling that you're about to witness something that's almost too much to bear is palpable long before anything unpleasant has actually happened), while credible, naturalistic performances from the entire cast contribute to a solid sense of reality. By the time the horror begins in earnest, the viewer has been optimally primed to feel the shock of it like a punch in the chest (an effect that's hard to mention without referencing Takashi Miike's masterclass in priming the viewer for shock: Ōdishon). From this point on, the film is as gruelling, horrific, and bleak as it ought to be, and maintains high levels of tension with some lone-highway-cat-and-mouse sequences reminiscent of Duel and The Hitcher.
The only significant problem with the film derives from the fact that the point of view of the protagonists is used to define and constrain the point of view offered to the viewer. This is an effective technique insofar as it contributes to an overall sense of claustrophobia and confinement, but it means that when McLean wants the viewer to be able to pause and linger over the surroundings, this has to be achieved by having the characters pause and linger - which, given the situation they are in, is implausible and frustrating to watch. (Other frustrations include the occasional recurrence of the perrenial horror-viewer's complaint: "Surely you'd try to find something to use as a rudimentary weapon at this point?").
Minor criticisms aside, Wolf Creek is beautifully shot and edited, and achieves its horrific effects with surprisingly little reliance on gore. This may be a disappointment to gorehounds, but it really isn't a film about the horror of gore. It's about the horror of pain, of suffering, and of what one human being is capable of doing to another.
Wolf Creek @ IMDb(UK)
Loosely based on a handful of Australian murder cases (such as the Snowtown Murders, and the Sydney Backpacker Murders), Wolf Creek is a horror story about three friends whose car mysteriously breaks down in the middle of the Outback, forcing them to accept a lift from a man who turns out to be a serial torturer / killer.
It goes without saying that this is not an entirely original idea. But novelty (or lack thereof) is not really an issue with this kind of film. The "Stranded in the Wilderness with Psychopaths" theme, established by such classics as Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Deliverance, has been reiterated so many times that it has really become a horror genre in its own right (some recent additions to which include: the poor but not-entirely-terrible mainstream remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre; the ridiculous and uninspired Wrong Turn; the massively underrated League of Gentlemen-esque Calvaire; the disappointingly twist-ended Haute Tension; and, assuming it counts as belonging to the genre in question, Eli Roth's powerfully effective torture-fest, Hostel.) Making a film within this genre is like recording a new version of a jazz standard. The fact that the tune has been played before doesn't matter - what matters is whether the new interpretation does something creative and worthwhile with the old theme.
McLean's variation on this particular theme is (one or two minor complaints aside) outstanding. The first part of the film does an incredible job of generating two essential ingredients: tension and realism. Cool, sombre cinematography in conjunction with an unsettlingly ominous-sounding piano-&-strings based score help to build up - at a slow, measured pace - a powerful sense of foreboding and paranoia (the feeling that you're about to witness something that's almost too much to bear is palpable long before anything unpleasant has actually happened), while credible, naturalistic performances from the entire cast contribute to a solid sense of reality. By the time the horror begins in earnest, the viewer has been optimally primed to feel the shock of it like a punch in the chest (an effect that's hard to mention without referencing Takashi Miike's masterclass in priming the viewer for shock: Ōdishon). From this point on, the film is as gruelling, horrific, and bleak as it ought to be, and maintains high levels of tension with some lone-highway-cat-and-mouse sequences reminiscent of Duel and The Hitcher.
The only significant problem with the film derives from the fact that the point of view of the protagonists is used to define and constrain the point of view offered to the viewer. This is an effective technique insofar as it contributes to an overall sense of claustrophobia and confinement, but it means that when McLean wants the viewer to be able to pause and linger over the surroundings, this has to be achieved by having the characters pause and linger - which, given the situation they are in, is implausible and frustrating to watch. (Other frustrations include the occasional recurrence of the perrenial horror-viewer's complaint: "Surely you'd try to find something to use as a rudimentary weapon at this point?").
Minor criticisms aside, Wolf Creek is beautifully shot and edited, and achieves its horrific effects with surprisingly little reliance on gore. This may be a disappointment to gorehounds, but it really isn't a film about the horror of gore. It's about the horror of pain, of suffering, and of what one human being is capable of doing to another.
Wolf Creek @ IMDb(UK)
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