Calvin Law takes on the re-imagining of Tommy Wiseau’s ultimate unintentional cult comedy.

Tommy Wiseau, subject of Greg Sestero’s autobiography and James Franco’s new film The Disaster Artist, remains as enigmatic as ever. He has expressed approval of Franco’s work on the film, both as director and portraying Tommy himself, while also offering great affection for Franco’s performance in the box office and critical failure Sonny; yet the creator of the inimitable The Room, now thrust into the spotlight by The Disaster Artist’s exploration of that task, continues to be coy about whole chunks of his backstory. The Disaster Artist lampshades this private side to the man: Greg (James’s younger brother Dave) calls him out for lying about his age (whatever it is) and the shady sources of income used to fund The Room – and if, like Greg, you go into this expecting to learn about why Tommy Wiseau is who he is, The Disaster Artist will set you right: “Don’t even ask.”

What you will get though, is one of the most hilarious, heartwarming and uniquely uplifting films of the year. A note here – previous viewing of The Room is not requisite. Yes, it will only add to the experience if you have seen it. But if the recreations of its most iconic, unnecessarily green-screen-heavy scenes are new to you, don’t worry. This is first and foremost a tale of friendship, between Greg, a struggling young actor blessed with good looks and cursed with a crippling lack of confidence, and Tommy, a man with no such qualms. ‘Eccentric’ would be an understatement both of Tommy Wiseau and James Franco’s interpretation of him. He’s introduced delivering a completely unhinged, no-holds-barred rendition of Marlon Brando’s ‘STELLA’ from A Streetcar Named Desire. It’s completely terrible – yet you can’t take your eyes off him. His boldness as a performer draws Greg to him, and the two soon hit it off. They move to Los Angeles, hoping to follow the footsteps of their heroes Brando and James Dean, only to discover the harsh realities of the Hollywood casting process. Neither of them finds much success and Tommy becomes increasingly jealous of Greg’s relationship with his new girlfriend Amber (Alison Brie). A throwaway comment by Greg inspires Tommy to take their destiny in his own hands: to write, direct, and star in his own project, about Johnny, who lives in San Francisco, works a top-secret job, and is betrayed by everybody he loves and cares for. Tommy convinces Greg to star as Johnny’s best friend Mark – and so follows a fascinating look into the making of The Room.

James the director proves more than competent – this is surprisingly strong, assured work, which puts paid to any concerns about his less-than-stellar history behind the camera. The handheld camera used in the ‘behind-the-scenes’ sequences feels entirely natural. From the intensity of the first day of shooting the Denny v.s. Chris-R drug fight, to Johnny’s iconic destruction of his bedroom, we feel like we’re watching ‘B-roll’ footage of The Room. Franco balances the comic aspects of these scenes with the more dramatic ones incredibly well. Tommy’s repeated flunking of the ‘it’s not true, I did not hit her’ lines is hilarious, but we also sympathise with the cast and crew who have to deal with it. The navel-grazing lovemaking sessions between Johnny and Lisa are at once crudely amusing and uncomfortable to watch.

Tough he’s more than serviceable as an auteur, it’s in his performance as the one and only inhabitant of Planet Wiseau that James Franco really shines. A star of his stature could have been distracting in the role, but Franco comes pretty close to the real deal here. You soon forget it’s him doing that lopsided grin, the squinty eyes, the weird voice and loopy accent, that unnatural-sounding laugh. You accept the outrageous Tommy for who he is because of James’s uncanny work as the man, capturing the mannerisms and tics, and most importantly the enduring spirit of Tommy Wiseau that has endeared him to so many: a wholehearted belief in himself against the odds. It would be too easy to forget the other Franco in all this, but Dave is also superb in the less showy, but equally important role of Greg. He doesn’t try to impersonate the real-life man, but more than makes up for it with his endearing, energetic work, and particularly his great chemistry with his off-screen brother. You will totally buy this odd-couple dynamic of Greg as the exasperated straight man to Tommy’s increasingly weird and demanding antics.

One notable thing about the film is that, though it admires Tommy’s dedication to making the film he wanted, it does not ignore his less savoury antics. Whether it’s his mistreatment of the leading actress Juliette (Ari Graynor), or his indifference and agitation at the reasonable demands of his script supervisor Sandy (Seth Rogen), we get to see the ugly side of Tommy that Greg described in his autobiography; one particularly striking moment comes when one of Tommy’s ludicrous plot points costs Greg a potential breakout role in a hit sitcom. The screenplay, written by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, sketches Greg and Tommy’s friendship with great understanding and sensitivity, showing how the drive and dreams that brought them together could also so easily tear them apart. This element of the film brings about a great deal of humour, but also helps build it up to a surprisingly heartfelt conclusion. The Francos and co. manage to make this failure somehow uplifting in its own way. Like Tim Burton’s Ed Wood we feel the ambition and effort of our protagonists itself is its own reward, and The Disaster Artist allows us to poke fun at The Room while also admiring it.

If there’s a flaw to the film, it’s that some of the supporting players of The Room don’t get quite enough material to make an impact. Rogen and Paul Scheer as a pair of understandably frustrated crew members are entertaining, Graynor makes a lot out of her simple role, Josh Hutcherson and Zac Efron are hilarious in their big scene together, and Nathan Fielder is the perfect ‘Peter’ – clumsy and really just a chicken, cheep cheep cheep. But most of the other actors don’t get much of a look in: I would have liked to see more of Jacki Weaver, Andrew Santino, and June Diane Raphael recreating some of the most iconic moments of The Room, and Brie’s role never amounts to much more than a simple plot device. But this is a minor quibble really. The ensemble fulfils all their roles more than adequately, with a few particularly entertaining cameos thrown into the mix, and of course it’s the central relationship between the director and his ‘Babyface’ which really makes it work. I went in expecting and was rewarded with brilliant re-enactments of my favourite The Room moments, but what really stuck with me in the end was its story of persisting with your dreams even if they don’t turn out the way you’d imagined. It is a hilarious yet respectful film about a fascinating story, and though you’ll enter the theatre for the laughs, don’t be surprised if you emerge more than a little bit teary-eyed.

9.5/10

The Disaster Artist is out now in UK cinemas. Watch the trailer below:

Calvin Law examines a common television archetype through two cult shows.

(WARNING: spoilers for Stranger Things and Stranger Things 2, Twin Peaks and Twin Peaks: The Return)

In many ways, David Lynch and Netflix could not be more diametrically opposed. Nonetheless, the long-awaited return of Twin Peaks and the arrival of the new Stranger Things begs the opportunity to draw parallels between the two series. There’s an argument to be made that, as much as Stranger Things loves Spielberg, Dante, Carpenter, and Carven, it has its own fair share of Lynchian themes. Outsiders with strange abilities, an otherworld one can be trapped in for a long time, a quirky sheriff’s department, and – perhaps most notably – the intriguing fashion in which it handles its two principal ‘jock’ characters: Dana Ashbrook’s Bobby Briggs and Joe Keery’s Steve Harrington.

Given how indebted it is to nostalgic 80s pop culture references and homages, one might have expected Steve to bite the dust in the first season of Netflix hit Stranger Things. Jocks with mousy hair don’t end well in 80s fare: from Johnny Lawrence in The Karate Kid and Biff in Back to the Future, to Stand By Me‘s redneck hooligans and the hapless secondary characters in any number of horror films, they’re usually obnoxious jerks who at best learn a bit of humility, and at worst die. Keery, however, so impressed the Duffer brothers on-set with his charismatic performance as Steve that they decided to not only let him (Steve, not Keery) live, but make him an essential part of the series’ climax.

In season 2 of the series, Steve not only returns but takes on a much expanded role; he becomes a sort of guardian angel to the kids, like Josh Brolin’s character in The Goonies with even nicer hair. It’s an inspired choice by the screenwriters, and makes great use of a character’s change of heart to turn him into an endearing, goofy, and altogether pretty awesome hero. It’s particularly fun to see him interact with Gaten Matarazzo’s Dustin, as they make a winning team.

Steve is a great example of making an unlikeable character gradually likeable. That brings us to Bobby Briggs. At the start of Twin Peaks, Bobby, Laura Palmer’s ex-boyfriend, is – for lack of a better word – a bit of an ass. He’s callous, uncaring, indifferent, obnoxious to pretty much everyone, and doesn’t seem to care much for Laura or her demise. One of the most brilliant parts of Twin Peaks is its ability to take apart soap opera caricatures and makes them vivid, realistic human beings. We begin to see the more tender side to Bobby over the course of the series; we see his hopes, his worries, and in a brilliant scene between him and his onscreen father (the magnificent Don S. Davis), the potential to become a better person – which he certainly fulfils in The Return. It may seem a bit odd at first to see Bobby Briggs in a position of authority, but as a deputy in the Twin Peaks’ sheriff’s department, we see he has grown from young punk to a wiser man. Steve and Bobby are two fantastic examples of how the medium of television can be used to create such complexity in its characters; whether over two years, or twenty-five, so much can be done with care and attention to detail.

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Calvin Law reviews the festival’s closing film.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri differentiates itself from the rest of Martin McDonagh’s work by being arguably his least self-referential film to date – no arguments over what constitutes a shootout here. It is a dark and brooding film, taking on a difficult subject matter; and I’m glad to say it succeeds completely. Three Billboards is a film driven by anger begetting greater anger, never one-note in tone, and the palatable fury is as hilarious and poignant as it is biting and incisive. Though he skips the references, McDonagh’s familiar style remains evident in the film’s absurdist comedy, surreal dream-like sequences, and self-aware digressions on language (a hilarious argument about the correct terminology for police torture is particularly memorable).

We follow Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand), a small-town lady with a heavy burden on her soul. Nine months after the rape and murder of her teenage daughter, with no culprits or leads in sight, Mildred decides to take the law in her own hands – so to speak. Renting three long-dilapidated billboards on the outskirts of the county, she calls out the police force for their incompetence and lack of concern regarding her daughter’s case. This puts her at odds not just with the local authorities but with the entire community of Ebbing, Missouri who revere them, especially Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). What begins as the discontent of locals and irritation among the cops escalates between Mildred and the anti-billboards movement, led by the racist, unpredictable man-child Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell).

As the local priest puts it, the townspeople are all with Mildred on finding the killer of her daughter, but ‘no one is with you on those billboards’. Not that Mildred cares. Like Marge Gunderson in Fargo, Mildred desires justice, and she is far less concerned for the feelings of others. One of the trickiest hurdles the film faces is to make our intentionally abrasive, cold protagonist engaging rather than off-putting. McDormand’s lifetime of collaborations with the Coen Brothers – who also have a penchant for writing difficult but sympathetic main characters – have more than prepared her for this challenge. In her juiciest role in a while, McDormand takes it by her biting wit and acidic tongue, and devours it with aplomb.

McDonagh’s script is as brilliant as you’d expect, as much a wordsmith with the Midwestern dialect as the Irish and Los Angeles tongue, and delivered perfectly by McDormand. Whether comparing the Catholic Church to street gangs, gamely chatting with a lovelorn suitor (an endearing Peter Dinklage), delivering justice to obnoxious teenagers in the most painful way, or dealing with a particularly threatening dentist, she’s a hoot. But in her heavier moments she is harrowing. The film requires her, within single scenes, to shift from drama to comedy to that fine line in between. You never feel a whiplash as this ball-busting paragon of justice morphs into a concerned motherly figure. She’s up for every challenge, every step of the way.

The rest of the cast have the equal challenge of not being overshadowed by its central performance, and acquit themselves beautifully in support of her. It helps that McDormand has always been the most generous of character actresses, and strikes up great chemistry with her onscreen son Robbie (Manchester by the Sea‘s Lucas Hedges), and Caleb Landry Jones, who gives an unexpectedly heartwarming turn as enthusiastic advertising executive Red. Dinklage, John Hawkes as Mildred’s vitriolic ex-husband, and Clarke Peters as a city cop all make the most of limited screentime. Even the likes of Kerry Condon, Samara Weaving and McDonagh regular Željko Ivanek make an impression with some memorable, hilarious moments. Of the ensemble, it’s Abbie Cornish who gets the short end of the straw in a somewhat thankless role as Willoughby’s wife, but she’s perfectly fine as well.

It’s Harrelson and Rockwell, of course, who are the stars of the supporting cast. Harrelson is a comic gem and a heartfelt presence as a man willing to do whatever it takes to find justice, equal parts annoyed and admiring of Mildred’s efforts. Rockwell is tremendous, playing up the uncouth redneck cop’s racist leanings and violent antics to darkly comical effect, and ultimately takes his character in an unexpected direction. Like McDormand, he’s giving career-best work here, and come awards season I hope both their names are in contention. As always, McDonagh allows actors to act out scenes in an almost theatrical style, while leaving enough stylistic touches to make it great cinema experience. Great musical sequences – a blend of Carter Burwell’s lovely score and Motown tunes – stick in your mind afterwards, accompanied by an unforgettable tracking shot culminating in a shocking act of violence.

The ending, without spoiling anything, seems designed to be divisive. Rather than showing and keeping the narrative going, we end on an ambiguous note. Honestly, I think it is one of the film’s most admirable choices. There are no easy answers for Mildred, and the audience is never given the expected way out, which is part of the beauty of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. It is a strange and unusual journey we follow Mildred on, and all one can do is express the sentiments of one of her few loyal friends: ‘you go, girl’.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri had its UK premiere at London Film Festival on October 15th. Watch the trailer below.

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Calvin Law reviews John Carroll Lynch’s debut feature.

‘Realism’, a word discussed between characters in the opening scenes of Lucky, has a double meaning in this film. It is the acceptance of a situation as it is – in this case, not the fear of death, or the joy of life, but the simple acceptance of both. It is also the means with which one captures something true to reality. Lucky sums up both meanings of the word beautifully, through a fantastic turn by the late, great Harry Dean Stanton as the titular Lucky: a wisecracking old man who lives alone, and enjoys cowboy hats, crossword puzzles, and a fixed daily routine. In classic Stanton tradition he is also a heavy smoker and wonderful singer. As the film proceeds, we get more and more insight into this aged and continually ageing title character. Stanton never makes him too cuddly, doesn’t shy away from his irascibility, yet is absolutely endearing and lovable, heartbreaking and hilarious throughout. This being one of his two swansong performances of 2017 – alongside his terrific reprisal of Carl Rodd in Twin Peaks: The Return – only serves to amplify the poignancy of going through Lucky’s journey of ‘realism’. It is more than just a fitting finale to Stanton’s career; it’s up there with his last leading role in Paris, Texas (1984) as career-best work.

We’ve all been very fortunate – indeed, very lucky – to have had the privilege of Stanton onscreen for the last sixty or so years. Starting off as a bit player in a string of Oscar-winning pictures from Cool Hand Luke to In the Heat of the Night to The Godfather: Part II, he soon became a mainstay in all sorts of genre films, enlivening the screen with even the most minuscule role, and when given a bit more to do, would excel to an even greater extent. Nowhere was this more evident than in his collaborations with auteur David Lynch, where he could break your heart with a few words and glances (The Straight Story), and when given a more prominent role like the loyal private eye in Wild at Heart was simply brilliant. Lucky is another collaboration with Lynch – with two Lynches, in fact. David co-stars as Lucky’s friend Howard, in desperate search of his tortoise President Roosevelt (don’t ask which one). Respected character actor John Carroll Lynch (the chilling Arthur Leigh Allen in Zodiac) takes on first-time director duties, and he does an excellent job. Many would falter with the well-worn formula of elderly man confronted by an uncertain future, helped along his way by a quirky neighbourhood, but John Carroll Lynch does a superb job of putting his own distinctive mark on this sub-genre.

Comparisons have been made to Jim Jarmusch with Lucky, particularly to Stranger Than Paradise and Paterson, and there is indeed a ‘slice of life’ touch brought to the film. We watch Lucky go through his day-to-day routine: he keeps in shape with some morning yoga, then goes without fail to his local diner and banters with the manager Joe (Barry Shabaka Henley), then in the evening goes without fail to the local bar and banters with Howard and the couple in charge of the place (James Darren and Beth Grant). These scenes are broadly comic to begin with, and the screenplay by Logan Sparks and Drago Sumonja dropping down some juicy barbs for Lucky. Whether it’s sarcastically making puns through his crossword puzzle, or derisively mocking game show contestants on the television, Lucky is a joy to watch, a man simply content with life till a fall at home.

A medical checkup turns up nothing of concern despite his endless smoking, yet this minor accident puts his whole existence into perspective. The lifelong atheist Lucky begins coming to terms with what it means to come near the inevitable end. It is here the film takes a tonal change from broad comedy to poignant examination of morality. Remarkably, it remarkably does so without losing the humour and earnestness of its opening sequences. Though Lucky takes on some depressing topics it’s never a depressing film. Whenever a long speech is given on a heavy topic, it is delivered with grace, humour, and – above all – realism. When Lucky comes to verbal blows with a lawyer (Ron Livingston), it is subsequently resolved with a good-natured and hilarious diner scene containing just the right amount of emotional investment. When Howard makes a speech in honour of his tortoise, we are allowed to both laugh at and with him, while also sympathizing deeply with his plight. It’s a tricky balancing act the film nails to perfection.

The cinematography, painting the off-the-grid desert town in vivid detail, is only the standout among uniformly strong technical elements, and the ensemble cast as a whole is stellar (David Lynch and Tom Skeritt – in a wonderful cameo as a former marine – are highlights). The script is refreshingly free of cliche, knowing just when to stay away from the more soppy waters. But really, this is a showcase for its leading man through and through, and what a showcase. Whether it’s a gut-bustingly funny trip to an animal shelter, a recurring gag of Lucky trying to smoke indoors that culminates in a surprisingly tender moment, or an outstanding sequence where he attends a Mexican birthday party and bursts out into song, it’s a fantastic journey we take with Lucky, and a tender and fitting farewell to Mr Stanton.

9/10

Lucky premiered at London Film Festival on October 9th. Trailer below.

Calvin Law revisits Tom Ford’s 2009 debut in anticipation of tomorrow’s FilmSoc screening.

Through his first two features, renowned fashion designer Tom Ford has proved to be – for lack of a better word – a stylish director. Whether or not he’s a good director has been a point of division. Some think his talents befit the medium of cinema, creating aesthetically pleasing visuals to match stylized narratives; others contend that his beautiful aesthetic fails to make up for often hollow and meandering narratives. I’m somewhere in between in this regard. I found Nocturnal Animals a failure on a storytelling level, failing to create any naturalism with its Lynchian dialogue and performances, and its visual style completely ill-fitting to the heavy and often gritty themes it was trying to convey; A Single Man, perhaps less ambitious, is far more assured a film.

There is debate over whether Ford is the right person to tell this particular story, which covers a day in the life of middle-aged English professor George Falconer (an Oscar-nominated Colin Firth), during which he decides to commit suicide that evening. Through recurring flashbacks we learn about his long-term relationship with Jim (Matthew Goode); in the present we watch him go about his day, interacting with his students, neighbours, and best friend Charley (Julianne Moore). Now I’ve read of reservations from those who believe that the film, though depicting a gay character dealing with grief and societal issues surrounding his sexuality, diminishes the importance of LGBT culture through its stylized approach and lack of representation. Well, though the film’s focus is indeed rather limited, and fairly glossy in its approach to sexuality, I’d say that is perfectly fitting to the story of a very emotionally repressed man who despite a fairly luxurious lifestyle finds his existence truly empty without his partner. A grittier or more earthly approach would have removed it of its distinctive style and made it too ‘slice of life’; the stylized approach, this time round, helps enhance the narrative. It is at the end of the day, a portrayal of a single white male’s grief, but that shouldn’t be held against it: I think it tells this sort of narrative fairly well.

Of course, A Single Man is certainly no Moonlight, Carol, or even a Brokeback Mountain or The Kids Are Alright when it comes to LGBT film. As I’ve mentioned, it is a fairly simplistic film on the whole. Besides the nice cinematography, the other standout element is Colin Firth’s performance, which was rightfully acclaimed; it’s probably his best performance to date. Julianne Moore is also solid in her single scene with Firth. Otherwise the performances are bland script-reads by pretty people (including Nicholas Hoult, who’s since proved himself to be way more impressive than his dull turn here would indicate). And yes, as a Weinstein distributed film it features pretty much every Oscar-bait trope in its pursuit of the Oscars. It’s showing this Tuesday at the UCL Film Society screenings – check it out then and make of it what you will.

A Single Man will be screened in UCL’s DMS Watson Building, Room G15, at 6pm.

> All details on the Facebook event.

UCL Film & TV Society hosts a weekly screening from a diverse programme of relevant and interesting films. Check out our Facebook page to discover what’s showing every week. (NOTE: society membership is required for attendance; info on website.)

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Calvin Law examines Michaël R. Roskam’s crime romance from LFF’s ‘Thrill’ strand.

The third collaboration between Belgian cinema heavyweights Michaël R. Roskam and Matthias Schoenaerts, Racer and the Jailbird, subverts the proverb ‘third time’s the charm’. Director and star first collaborated to create a powerful, haunting character study in the gritty, Academy Award-nominated Bullhead, and moved seamlessly to the United States with the low-key and atmospheric Brooklyn-set The Drop. By contrast, this romantic crime-drama is chock full of irreparable structural problems, and crumbles into an inconsistent tone it never recovers from.

Having said that, the film is worth watching, if only for its opening half. Roskam establishes an atmospheric slow-burn while setting up the morally ambivalent world of Brussels, and the relationship between Schoenaerts’s Gigi – a bank robber masquerading as a vehicle dealer –  and young race-car driver Bibi (Blue is the Warmest Colour star Adèle Exarchopoulos). It’s in this first narrative sequence, entitled ‘Gigi’, that the film excels. The romance between the two characters is fast and snappily handled, built up with casual flirtations and forward advances. The mood and setting of these scenes, from Bibi’s luxurious apartment to the beloved racetrack where her adrenaline-pumped driving is captured in stunning detail, are edited perfectly; the same is true of the shadier sides of Gigi’s rapport with his less than savoury friends, and the bluntly-portrayed crimes they carry out. When Gigi reveals the darker side of his life to Bibi, it’s through a casual post-coital joke; when pulled over by the police for speeding, Bibi’s reading of Gigi’s uncomfortable body language speaks more volumes than any long monologue could do.

This first act is a great short film in itself, exploring the blossoming passion between the lovers and the growing stakes and risks involving Gigi’s gang. It gives a real weight to the tensions that arise between Gigi and Bibi over the former’s dishonesty and the latter’s fragile innocence. All this culminates in some breathtaking scenes, like a steamy pre-race lovemaking session that’s beautifully lit and shot, or a mesmerizing one-shot heist sequence on the motorway. Unfortunately, the film effectively reaches its climax around the midway point, leaving it to flounder in the remaining time – and it’s a long film, running over two hours. The subplot between Bibi and her loving but concerned family goes nowhere. Another involving Albanian gangsters and a sleazy suitor to Bibi feels like something out of a Belgian Guy Ritchie movie, at odds with the style established beforehand. The film throws all nuance out of the window with the repeated use of heavy-handed symbols and motifs. Gigi’s fear of dogs, for example, contrasts his criminal dishonesty with the supposed ‘honesty of dogs’, and sets up a ridiculous later plot development. Most frustrating is the way the development of the central romance descends into cheesy soap opera melodrama. It feels like the film is trying to produce an emotional wringer, but ultimately the conclusions we reach are hollow.

Thankfully, there are several elements which keep the film engaging to an extent, even with such problematic structural flaws. On the acting front, Schoenaerts is great as always. Gigi perhaps lacks the complexity of his brilliant turn as the bullish farmer in Bullhead, or as much fun as the slimy crook in The Drop, but he’s charismatic, handles the character’s arc and growing decency very well, and nails every pivotal emotional scene. Exarchopoulos is on the whole very good, and exceptional in any scene she shares with Schoenaerts, an alluring and endearing figure we really grow to love. She’s dealt an unenviable hand in the later stages of the film, though, where her character is forced to go through some questionable developments. Everyone else is more or less just a blank face in the proceedings; it’s very much a two-man show. The technical elements are also consistently good throughout, even if the way they are used becomes less and less compelling as the film goes on.

Roskam’s daring as a director is to be applauded regardless of this humble reviewer’s opinion, but he utilized this individuality to far greater effect in his last two features. Racer and the Jailbird gets plenty of things right, but doesn’t quite stick to them throughout. It’s easy to see where this film goes wrong; look no further than Derek Cianfrance’s The Place Beyond the Pines for another crime drama which finds something truly special in its opening act, but drops the ball with misguided ambition. It has its fair share of excellent moments, but the grand sum of it is ultimately a disappointment.

Rating: 6.5/10

Racer and the Jailbird has its UK premiere on October 4th at London Film Festival. Watch the French language teaser trailer below:

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Calvin Law takes a look at David Gordon Green’s drama based on a real life recovery tale.

Since his terrific performance in Nightcrawler, Jake Gyllenhaal’s career has followed an interesting trajectory. Always intriguing and unpredictable in his choice of roles and films, he’s taken it up a notch in recent years, dabbling in all sorts of genres in both leading and supporting turns. These efforts have had mixed results: his Raging Bull-esque transformation in Southpaw and depiction of a grieving misanthropist in Demolition were admirable efforts in deeply flawed films, while his problematic work in the Nocturnal Animals and his daring performance as a gratingly insane mad scientist in Okja were, for your humble reviewer, some of his least impressive performances to date.

With Stronger, Gyllenhaal delivers his most naturalistic, understated performance in quite some time. He stars as Boston Marathon bombing survivor Jeff Bauman, who lost both his legs above the knee to the 2013 terror bombings. It’s his best work since the iconic Lou Bloom of Nightcrawler. And Stronger has much to recommend it beyond an acting showcase for its leading man. Though largely sticking to the expected ‘inspirational biopic’ beats, director David Gordon Green tinkers with this formula just enough to make it stand out as a particularly affecting and sensitively-made film.

Based upon Mr Bauman’s autobiography, Gyllenhaal presents our protagonist as an irresponsible but likeable-enough Bostonian who works at Cosco, has a nice rapport with his boisterous family (including Miranda Richardson and Clancy Brown as his parents), loves his local baseball and hockey teams the Red Sox and Bruins, and is trying to prove his worth to ex-girlfriend Erin (Tatiana Maslany). This leads an eager-to-please Jeff to cheer for a competing Erin at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, where he briefly sees one of the bombers who causes the explosion that costs him his legs. As we watch his coarse but deeply caring family lash out at Jeff’s well-intentioned boss, and a guilt-stricken Erin tearfully walking along the hospital corridors, we get an unglamorous, ugly portrayal of the fallout from tragedy. The film doesn’t shy away from the brutal pain Jeff endures both physically and mentally – a scene involving the removal of bandages from his stumps, the subtle framing and camerawork focusing on Gyllenhaal’s expressive eyes, forms a particularly haunting sequence. The unfussy yet heartfelt fashion in which the film depicts these initial struggles of Jeff and his loved ones adapting to their new situation are among the highlights of the film; and screenwriter John Pollono avoids putting the audience through the emotional wringer, lacing the hardships with wisecracks from Jeff about his condition, and a heartfelt connection between Jeff and Erin.

The relationship between Jeff and Erin is one of the most essential elements of the film. Though the story course is somewhat predictable, it always feels organic and integral to the central theme of healing and rehabilitation. Maslany, someone I’m very eager to see more of based on this, is great in a role that requires she carefully tread the line between being a source of comfort and a source of motivation to get Jess out of his slump. It’s a tricky balancing act, but she succeeds completely, and enlivens any scene she’s in with her encouragement. Gyllenhaal, so effective in conveying the physical strain of his character’s struggle, is brilliant at showing how this aimless young man’s frustrations and breakthroughs weigh on him. The film handles the dynamic of a couple struggling to re-adapt new circumstances far more effectively than, say, The Theory of Everything by refusing to brush over the main character’s own flaws and self-imposed hindrances. They’re sweet and endearing as a couple, but the cracks in the relationship are equally well-developed, and you really get a feel for what both characters are going through times both good and bad.

Elsewhere, the film focuses more directly on Jeff’s process of recovering and assimilating into his new living situation. Green does his best to step away from most of the cliches of the usual story beats, but can’t quite escape from slightly hokey moments involving Jeff’s family members as comic relief characters. The pratfalls of his booze-loving, extremely loyal family are funny at times, but can become too overt and clash with the more understated humour elsewhere. Nothing against the supporting cast themselves, though, who do uniformly solid work, and Miranda Richardson gives an admirable performance as a mother struggling with her son’s condition in her own flawed but loving sort of way, even if a few of her drunk scenes are a tad overplayed. It’s telling that the film’s strongest sequences in showing Jeff’s journey towards learning to walk again are often the most underplayed scenes, by both the direction and Gyllenhaal’s performance.

Green is an interesting choice to helm this story, of an American hero who most of the time, wants very little to do with his own “heroism”, for every wave of glory and praise reminds him of the terrible day. Having helmed the very low-key character study Joe several years back, Green seems to have retained that knack for conveying character in small unique ways. There are bigger moments, of course – two appearances by Jeff at sporting events provide a well-executed contrast in his gradual arc of self-acceptance – but some of the most memorable sequences in the film are the small, intimate scenes, whether its Erin sadly looking over Jeff’s sock drawer, or Jeff holding a surprisingly poignant conversation with his rescuer Carlos (a moving Carlos Sanz).

Come awards season, look to Stronger making a strong push for the acting categories; having gotten strong notices across various family festivals, Gyllenhaal and Maslany seem to be strong contenders for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actress, with the former in particular looking primed to follow up with his first Oscar nomination since 2005’s Brokeback Mountain. Don’t expect the film to get too much attention elsewhere – though the technical elements are all very well-done, the editing in particular helping to create a vivid sense of Jeff’s mindset, and one cannot fault the subtle special effects and makeup work. But none of these stand out as much as the acting, while Green’s direction and Pollono’s script may be a bit too unassuming for the Academy’s taste. They all contribute, however, to one of the most pleasant surprises of the year so far: a film both funny and moving that manages to subvert some of the trappings of its genre, and executes well-worn story beats immaculately.

8/10

Stronger premieres nationally at London Film Festival on October 5th. It is set to hit UK cinemas on the 8th of December. Trailer below:

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the BFI’s 61st London Film Festival (4-15 October), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Calvin Law reviews Matt Spicer’s hip comedy-drama.

Matt Spicer’s Ingrid Goes West wholeheartedly embraces itself as a film of our times, with the popular social media app Instagram being used as the narrative’s focal point: it is the all-consuming passion of our titular protagonist Ingrid (Aubrey Plaza). Confusing likes and hashtags for genuine affection, the mentally unstable Ingrid moves to Los Angeles and starts a friendship with ‘insta-famous’ darling Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen) that soon spirals out of control. Contrary to what the trailers have sold it as, Ingrid Goes West is not so much a goofy satire of the world of social media, as it is a surprisingly bleak dark comedy, and character study of a troubled and self-image obsessed individual.

The success of the film hinges upon its lead performance, and Plaza, fresh off a very daring performance in FX’s sci-fi series Legion, absolutely delivers. Her Ingrid is not the most approachable character to begin with, pepper spraying one of her Instagram idols for not inviting her to her wedding, and manipulating and stalking her way into Taylor’s life. It should go without saying that the Parks and Recreation alumnus absolutely nails every comedic beat of her rather odd character. The jokes involving her Instagram obsessions, from indulging in photogenic but unappetizing salads to taking snapshots of every aspect of Taylor’s daily routine, are perhaps predictable, but they’re consistently hilarious. As the film takes a darker turn, that she manages remain a consistently likable character is remarkable. Even when her goals and the means to achieve them are more than questionable, you still root and even sympathize with her.

Plaza’s superb performance is what really helps set the darkly comedic tone of the film together, but it slightly falters in other parts. Olsen’s prototypical vapid airhead, who wants everything to appear #amazing and #instabest, and her artificial sweetness is well contrasted with Ingrid’s less assured fabrications and more open emotional honesty. There could have however, been more nuance in exploring Taylor’s obsession with surface perfection, and the cracking apart of a hollow friendship. Creating a sort of All About Eve-esque conflict between the two characters that exposes the ugly imperfections of Taylor to Ingrid could have been fascinating, but the film opts to put a spanner in the works of their friendship with Taylor’s jerk kid brother and drug addict Nicky (Billy Magnussen). The growing rift is still effective and convincing, but the potential seems there for more for Spicer and David Branson Smith’s script to explore, as does the subplot involving Taylor’s husband Ezra (Wyatt Russell) and his discontent with their social media-heavy lifestyle, which never really goes anywhere interesting. The most interesting side character in fact, is Ingrid’s landlord and eventual love interest, Dan (O’Shea Jackson Jr.). His love of all things Batman sets up some of the film’s best one-liners, and Jackson’s chemistry with Plaza establishes a stangely poignant warmth a film that is otherwise, intentionally lacking in heart.

Kinetic cinematography by Bryce Fortner and rapid-fire editing are perfectly suited to the film’s tone and themes, and the 97 minute runtime ensures that it never really loses steam. The film’s ending resolution may prove divisive; Ingrid Goes West resists the urge to make any sort of moral statement on our social media-obsessed world, and may make the final act problematic for some. All in all, though it may not reach the ultimate heights of perfection, it is a solid dark comedy with a terrific lead performance by a perfectly cast Plaza, and some of the year’s funniest scenes and one-liners.

7/10

Ingrid Goes West receives its UK premiere on the 7th of October at London Film Festival. It will be released in UK cinemas on November 17th. Check out the trailer below:

Alongside the first wave of reactions to Alfonso Gomez-Rejon’s historical drama The Current War comes an eagerly-anticipated trailer. Our first introduction to the conflict between two of the electricity industry’s first titans, Thomas Edison (Benedict Cumberbatch) and George Westinghouse (Michael Shannon), the trailer suggests a beautifully-shot and atmospheric biopic, but one in other ways less assured.

To the best of our knowledge, the film will revolve around the war between the AC and DC current systems – hence the self-explanatory title. The two leads look promising (though it’s still strange to hear an American accent roll off the quintessentially English Cumberbatch’s tongue), but the tone of the trailer wavers between a low-key character study of their warring intellects, and a more melodramatic sort of thriller involving more personal attacks at one another. Regardless, it all looks tantalizing, possibly a strong awards contender, and even includes something of a preview of Spider-Man and Doctor Strange interacting way before Infinity War is released – since Tom Holland also stars as Edison’s secretary Samuel Insull. Other major cast members include Katherine Waterston, Tuppence Middleton, and Nicholas Hoult as Nikola Tesla.

UCL students who watched the film crew get down to work at the Main Quad will be pleased to learn the trailer does feature two establishing shots of this particular scene: an electricity demonstration, so it seems, by Edison. (It remains to be seen what precise location the Main Quad will stand in for.) The iconic UCL portico is visible in multiple shots.

The Current War is set for UK release in January 2018. Watch the trailer below.

Calvin Law reviews Kathryn Bigelow’s brutal dramatisation of the Detroit Riot.

Few can capture the sheer intensity and brutality of any given life-or-death situation like Kathryn Bigelow; it’s almost a given that in a film she helms, from Point Break to Zero Dark Thirty and her Oscar-winning work on The Hurt Locker, there will be at least one sequence to pull you into a brutal, relentless point of no return. Bigelow’s latest, Detroit, is no exception. Depicting the escalating tensions in 1967 Detroit – culminating in the infamous 12th Street Riot – it’s an exhausting film, and one the scariest in recent memory. The violence, cruelty and inhumanity witnessed onscreen is never palatable, but is compelling to watch. Here, the unsparing sequence and centrepiece of the film’s narrative is the Algiers Motel incident, where three young black men were beaten and killed by the police and several other victims abused and humiliated by a riot task force composed of Detroit and Michigan authorities.

One might take issue with the choice to portray the Algiers Motel incident in such detail, given how much remains unknown about the events of that night. It’s not my place to determine how accurate or thoroughly researched the film is; screenwriter Mark Boal himself acknowledges that a certain poetic license was needed to fill in the disputed spaces in the narrative. What’s for certain is that however far the filmmakers applied a degree of creative liberty to the facts recorded in contemporary news media, court records and police files, it’s a film that adheres to the underlying truth of the story. Detroit evokes a terrible – and in many ways avoidable – situation made possible by the ugly racial tensions of the time, which in some fashion or form persist to this day.

Though the degree of accuracy in Boal’s screenplay can be debated all day, the thoroughness in its presentation of the history and contexts leading to the Detroit riots of 1967 – kicked off with a short, snappy and stylized animated sequence – is impressive. The script intentionally opts for an initially broader scope, giving snapshots of how the 12th Street riots started: the ignition of brimming tensions in segregated communities of black migrants and a predominantly white police force. It works well to establish the tone of the film, and the blend of Barry Ackroyd’s dynamic, in-your-face shaky cinematography with found footage and news reels gives it a particular authenticity. It is through the escalating crime and violence of the riots that we are introduced to the three principals in the narrative. The first is Police officer Philip Krauss (Will Poulter), chastised for using a gun on an unarmed looter and facing potential murder charges. R&B singer Larry Reed (Algee Smith) has a music hall performance with his group put on hold by the riots. And Melvin Dismukes, played by John Boyega and whose real-life counterpart acted as a consultant on the film, is a young man balancing two jobs as a factory worker and security guard, and also trying to balance the divide between the civilians and police in his area while on duty.

These three, among many others, converge in the Algiers one fateful evening when gunshots emitted from a starter pistol at the motel alert the authorities and Dismukes to the scene. Misunderstandings and extreme police brutality ensue; it’s a sequence that either makes or breaks the movie, and the film builds up to it effectively. The suddenness with which it hits you in the face is amplified by the brief respites we get beforehand of young people enjoying a good time at the motel: Larry charming two white girls (Hannah Murray and Kaitlyn Denver) with his singing, and his friendship with the awkward but kindhearted Fred (Jacob Latimore) are particularly impactful, as are the scenes with other young black men shooting the breeze, and Dismukes befriending white local patrolmen in his area.

From there, the tragedy unfolds – through misunderstandings and police brutality – and culminates in a sequence where Bigelow, the editing, and the cast combine to make the film really soar at its bleakest. The film captures the gamut of emotions from rage to sorrow to fear, without ever forcing any of these emotions upon you. It may seem cliched to say a film immerses one in the moment, but that’s what Detroit does. Through a variety of close-ups and disorientating zooms, some very atmospheric use of dim lighting to amplify the tension in the motel, and uniformly strong performances among the victims – Murray, Latimore, Anthony Mackie (a war veteran who finds himself in a different sort of war zone), and Jason Mitchell (an endearing troublemaker who makes some terrible choices) are particularly outstanding at showing how the night wears them down physically and emotionally – Bigelow continually unsettles without feeling exploitative.

One aspect of the film that could have easily felt exploitative in the wrong hands are the depictions of police brutality. Bigelow and Boal impressively manage to add some nuance, in showing that there were some authority figures with sympathy for the victims, doing their best to help them out of a bad situation. It helps ground the uglier side of the police force depicted here, manifested most prominently in Poulter’s magnificent performance as a man who can best be described as a scummy scumbag. Regardless of whether or not this characterization is accurate – the names of the police officers were changed to avoid further complications – it’s terrific work by a blossoming young actor. Poulter’s no stranger to villains or brats, but his work here as Krauss is a revelation as an individual with absolutely no conscience, seeing himself as a crusader in the war zone, ‘just doing my job’ and exacting justice through his own twisted philosophy. ‘I’m just gonna assume you’re all criminals, because let’s face it, you probably are’ cuts particularly deep. The other two cops, Irishmen Jack Reynor (playing a dim-witted yes man, yet no less of a nasty racist) and Ben O’Toole (playing a lowdown, deviant sort who delights in violence), are very effective too, but this really is Poulter’s show. His twisted belief system and the moments it crumbles down are particularly effective as he shows the terrible man to also be a deeply pathetic one underneath.

There are glimmers of hope in the film, represented best in Smith’s soulful performance both as a singer and actor. The use of his character’s musical abilities may be slightly on the nose at some points, but work extremely well overall as a symbol of his dreams shattering in this environment. Boyega’s Dismukes, though far less a central driving force to the narrative than trailers suggests, stands out in his very own way with a strong, subtle performance as a different sort of victim at the Algiers. Both unwitting victim and alleged accomplice, he becomes a tragic figure who contributes so much to the emotional crux of the final act where the inhumanity of the situation and the indignation of the audience continues onto the courtroom. This sequence may prove to be either too long or too short for some, and features a slightly distracting cameo from John Krasinski as a sleazy lawyer, but it works very well as a downbeat footnote to the proceedings, with just the faintest silver lining in it.

One might question the decided lack of subtext in the film once the Algiers motel sequence kicks into place, and there is the question some have raised about whether Bigelow and co. were the ‘right’ storytellers, or have the right perspective for this sort of the story. That’s a whole different ballpark to my review here. What is undeniable is that Detroit is incredible purely as a film: it packs the right amount of horror and emotional investment into a terrible situation and time, and never takes the easy route out in dealing with difficult matters.

Rating: 9.5/10 

Detroit is released in the UK on August 25th. Watch the trailer below.

Calvin Law reviews Patrick Hughes’ action-filled comedy.

Starring Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson, The Hitman’s Bodyguard features an exciting and inspired onscreen comedic pairing. Despite this, the film is one of the more frustrating action comedy efforts in recent memory. Not that it’s terrible, and there are moments where it genuinely shines, but considering the calibre of its leading men and the potential of its titular conceit, it could have been so much better.

The plot goes through familiar motions from the very start: the titular bodyguard, Reynold’s executive protection agent Michael Bryce, has fallen from grace after — you guessed it — the assassination of a client. Fast forward a couple of years and he’s down on his luck, using his overqualified brains and brawn to help shady corporate executives (including a wasted Richard E. Grant). Estranged from his ex-girlfriend and Interpol agent Amelia (Élodie Yung), the chance for redemption comes to him served on a platter. Help escort a witness giving testimony against a devious Russian dictator (Gary Oldman) to the UN, and Bryce can regain his coveted triple A rated status. The problem is that the witness is infamous hitman Darius Kincaid (Jackson), with whom Bryce has had a fair share of tussles on the job, and who is the polar opposite of him personality-wise. Kincaid is stubborn, reluctant to accept Bryce’s help (he’s never without a vulgar quip or snarky remark to throw the agent’s way), and likes nothing more than a good old fashioned shootout to spice things up. Bryce, on the other hand, always looks for the safest and most secure way of getting out of sticky situations.

Patrick Hughes, who also directed the truly terrible The Expendables 3, once again largely fails to make any impact on the directorial front. Whether it’s a painfully disorientating shootout in London, or a tepid car chase through Amsterdam, the film never quite seems to have a grasp on any of its action sequences. For a film with a surprising fair amount of bloodshed and violence — sometimes to the point of feeling tonally imbalanced (lots of what Oldman’s character does seems a bit too dark for this sort of comedy) — it all ends up feeling rather muted. Beyond the inadequate action scenes, the film also falters whenever it strays too far from its central concept: the whole villainous subplot never goes anywhere, with the king of the villains himself being sorely underused, and its attempts at dramatic weight towards the end fall a bit flat.

Where the film really does excel, though, is also its strongest selling point: the chemistry between Reynolds and Jackson, and the laughs derived from their rapport. Both create some truly hilarious moments out of very average writing. Whether it’s Darius recalling anecdotes of his favourite kills and giving love advice to his bodyguard, or Bryce stressing about his ridiculously over-exuberant client, both actors are just a great deal of fun to watch together. On his own, Reynolds’s fast-talking routine becomes a bit grating at a few points in the film, and the more serious side to his story doesn’t really work. Nevertheless, he’s frequently funny and often hilarious. Jackson is on absolutely top form here, milking every inflection of his foulmouthed catchphrase and making his invincible badass somewhat endearing — with some credit also going to Salma Hayek as his onscreen wife Sonia, an equally violent and foulmouthed convict who has a soft spot for tulips. Their initial meeting scene is one of the few inspired moments in the film’s writing and direction.

Far from being a good film on a technical level, The Hitman’s Bodyguard still sort of works through the strength of its two leading performances, and the laughs generated by them. Don’t go in expecting anything more than two very talented actors playing on their public image, and you’ll have a great time along with them.

Rating: 5.5/10

The Hitman’s Bodyguard is out in UK cinemas now.

Calvin Law reviews the big-screen remake of the famed TV series.

Released in UK cinemas after a week of critical derision and financial disappointment, Seth Gordon’s Baywatch has been followed with considerably less fanfare than might be expected from a Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and Zac Efron double-bill of beach antics. Based on the 1990s’ guilty-pleasure television show, it feels very much like a sitcom episode stretched out into a feature-length film; though for all its flaws , it’s not quite the disaster one might be expecting.

The titular Baywatch is an elite division of lifeguards at Emerald Bay, Florida, dedicated to keeping the beaches safe. Led by Lt. Mitch Buchannon (Johnson taking on the role made famous by David Hasselhoff), who patrols the sands and shorelines with fellow Baywatch veterans Stephanie (Ilfenesh Hadera) and C.J. (Kelly Rorbach), the team is presented as very much the backbone of the community, to the mild consternation of local cop Ellerbee (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II). As the annual trials for lifeguard trainees (one of the most cultivated positions in Emerald Bay, so it seems), three new members of the team are introduced: bumbling Ronnie (Jon Bass), brainy Summer Quinn (Alexandra Daddario), and hotshot Matt Brody (Zac Efron), a disgraced two-time Olympic Gold medalist joining the team as part of a plea deal. Unsurprisingly, Brody and Mitch almost immediately come to verbal blows with one another, and the rest of the predictable plot – which throws them into investigating a drug-smuggling conspiracy –  has them learning how to work together, and Brody learning to work within a team.

The main issue with the film is that the story never really comes together. The investigation of Priyanka Chopra’s devious club owner Victoria Leeds and her syndicate has its individual moments, but more often than not they are comedic skits that take place outside the main plot framework, which is flimsy at best at downright disordered at worst. The takeover of Emerald Bay by Leeds and co. spells doom, and people die, but it’s all done in such an uninteresting fashion that I really did not care by the end. Chopra, to her credit, tries her best to make something of her role, but ultimately this side of things bogs down proceedings more than one would like.

Outside these scenes, which are directed in a workmanlike and bland fashion, the film lights up considerably. Seth Gordon, from what I’ve seen of his filmography, is not much of a director, and – like Horrible Bosses – this film comes to life when he steps back and lets the cast do the heavy lifting. Neither of the two leads stray too far from their usual comic routines, but that works just fine for this film. Johnson is, as always, larger than life and an endearing ball of charisma and energy. Efron, who in my books is an underrated actor, is given an extremely predictable character arc, but is nevertheless consistently funny and occasionally hilarious in portraying Brody’s utter lack of humility and excess of frat boy idiocy. There are occasional moments where the script forces them into corners – Johnson has to sometimes uncomfortably swerve from dramatics to ill-timed jokes within the same scene, and Efron dresses in drag at one point for no discernible reason – but they never let its weaknesses drag them down, remaining a fine comic pairing throughout.

Bass, outside of an early and deeply unfunny bawdy joke, makes quite a charming schmuck and gets some of the best lines. Rorbach’s C.J. elicited quite a few chuckles with her cheekily warm-hearted take on Pamela Anderson’s iconic character. And while Daddario, in contrast, is perhaps a little bland when placed against her co-stars, she has a nice enough dynamic with the rest of the cast and is never distractingly bad. Really, I would not have minded a whole film just centered on the humorous dysfunctional family antics of these characters. The script always seems at its most awkward when it separates its players into fulfilling the motions of the plot. This is perhaps best exemplified by the sequence in Leeds’ club: the scenes involving the team’s espionage shenanigans feel very dull and routine, and it’s Ronnie dancing, Brody and Mitch verbally sparring, and Hannibal Buress doing his Hannibal Buress thing that are the high points.

It’s true that in many ways the film feels like a funny sitcom episode padded with dull plot stuffing to fill out a feature film run time. It’s not, strictly speaking, a good film. Yet I can’t deny that for the most part, I had a good time. The issues with the plot are easily disregarded if you focus more on how much fun and energy the cast are bringing out of the generic script and uninspired direction. And even as the Rotten Tomatoes Tomatometer continues its downwards spiral to rival Efron’s body fat percentage, it’s hard to deny its charms as an enjoyable enough day at the beach. Just don’t look too close at what’s in the water.

6/10

Baywatch is out now in UK cinemas. See the red-band trailer below:

Calvin Law reviews Barry Jenkins’ touching coming-of-age drama – nominated for 8 Oscars including Best Picture.

There’s much to fuel a cynic’s reservations about Moonlight‘s widespread acclaim. That it’s doing so well on the awards circuit could be blamed on a reaction to the #OscarsSoWhite controversy last year. Broadly outlined, the plot – the story of a young black man, Chiron (played at three different stages by Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes), as he comes to grips with his homosexuality – might have in the wrong hands become an overwrought piece of ‘message’-heavy cinema, dictating how you will and should feel about the subject matter at hand. In director and screenwriter Barry Jenkins’ hands, however, this rhapsodical yet very much grounded, surreal and beautiful but also gritty heartbreaking coming-of-age tale is easily one of the year’s best.

Jenkins undoubtedly has something he wants to say. It’s testament to the strength of not only his work, but also that of his production team and cast, that we never feel like we’re being dictated a moral lesson, or directly told what’s being conveyed. So much of Moonlight‘s success hinges upon its faith in the audience. We open with a neighbourhood drug dealer, who encounters a timid and distant young boy and is subsequently introduced to his crack-addicted mother. Jenkins and his screenplay entrust us not to make snap judgement about these characters, and – through naturalistic discourses and interactions between them – gradually unravel the depth to these multidimensional figures.

The drug dealer, Juan, is played with captivating magnetism by Mahershala Ali, a trustworthy character actor and feel-good awards success story. Juan contains both the kindhearted man who assumes the role of a mentor to break child Chiron (Hibbert) out of his shell, offering wisdom and compassion with eloquence, and the darker edge of the criminal; Ali’s portrayal merges apparent contradictions seamlessly into a kind but flawed man. One might take exception to his early departure from the film, but what he does in his limited screen-time is more than enough; it’s a performance all about the subtle, little things, devastating in its nuanced emotional impact. Like last year’s winner, Mark Rylance in Bridge of Spies, this strong nomination for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar delivers a powerful and mesmerizing performance effortlessly, playing with a ‘type’ of character done to death with fresh originality. The other cast member to have gained an Academy Award nomination, Naomie Harris, disappears effortlessly into the role of Paula, Chrion’s emotionally abusive mother. It’s a very big performance, but it works extremely well for the film, and her character’s drug-addled state builds up to quite the heartbreaking conclusion.

Though most of the awards attention, acting-wise, has been focused on Ali and Harris, the film is very much Chiron’s story. The film begins with a distanced focus on Chiron, gradually gaining a more intimate perspective into his life and relationships. Yet till the very end he’s an enigma, fittingly for a film all about self-exploration and figuring out who you’re going to be in the world. The three actors who play our protagonist don’t look much alike, and according to Jenkins never met on set, yet feel completely authentic as the same individual maturing over the ages. They each bring something different to the table – Hibbert is all quiet reserve and timid uncertainty, playing off the warm performances of Ali and the excellent Janelle Monáe as his sweet but firm girlfriend beautifully. Sanders pulsates with repressed anger and passion underneath a stoic exterior, and is absolutely incredible in the scenes he lets loose. And Rhodes, delivering a colder, more incisive variation on the drug dealer with a heart, is machismo posturing hiding a tortured soul, trying to make sense of a past that continues to haunt him.

Jenkins never feels the need to vocalize directly what’s going on with Chiron – the intent of the film is not for you to assume anything about him, but to watch as he finds his way in the world. Joining him on his journey is Kevin, an important figure in Chiron’s life who Jenkins expertly subverts from everything you might expect of a ‘supportive’ friend character. Also played immaculately by a trio of actors – Jaden Piner, Jharrel Jerome, and Andre Holland – Kevin appears more assured and assertive, the extroverted yin to Chiron’s introverted yang, but the relationship that burgeons between the two is not necessarily what you’d expect. We watch as Chiron and Kevin’s friendship blossoms, falters, and picks up again in an awkward reunion many years later. This reunion is one of Jenkins’ crowning achievements of the film, as he balances the silent glances and understanding between the characters with minimalist dialogue that says a lot with little.

Moonlight is very much a symphony in three acts, retracing and linking similar themes in each segment, and establishing a continuity through the central figure of Chiron. The breathtaking score by Nicholas Britell varies itself by each time period while retaining the core soul to his classical movements. Britell, remixing hip-hop with the beautiful orchestral score via a ‘chopped and screwed’ technique, helps enhance the film’s greatest scene: Juan teaching Chiron how to swim at the beach. The score ‘Middle of the World’ is something to behold, as is the cinematography by James Laxton that gives such a surreal vibe, the acting, and the authenticity brought to it by it really being Ali teaching Hibbert how to swim. As beautiful as scenes like these are, they don’t detract from the more hard-hitting sequences – for example, teenaged Chiron’s torment by the school bully unfolds in very realistic scenes, and feels perfectly attuned to the same universe where a swimming lesson has such otherworldly beauty.

As great as all these elements are, the film’s trump card is in the script. The film’s structure works as effectively as it does because, though it is chronological throughout, it starts anew and ‘refreshes’ with each segment. A little bit more about Chiron is learnt in each period, a little bit is lost and gained, but the gaps never feel like gaps so much as natural progressions between spots of time. Anything that happens offscreen feels as vividly drawn as anything we see onscreen thanks to the inherent power of the script and dialogue. And each segment, though distinctive in its own way, gives an overarching insight to its characters so genuine in emotion, but never overly sentimental. Moonlight is an important film, but also a very small and low-key in its importance. It’s a tremendous film, and one can only hope it will set a precedent for low-budget, indie character studies to come.

9.5/10

Moonlight is out in UK cinemas this Friday, February 17; and is available now on the U.S. iTunes store. See the trailer below:

Calvin Law discusses David Mackenzie’s thrilling neo-Western – now nominated for 4 Oscars including Best Picture.

The conceit of David Mackenzie’s latest film, Hell or High Water, seems simple enough: two brothers in Texas hold up banks for money to save the family ranch while outwitting some colourful lawmen. It’s the sort of old-fashioned crime yarn Martin Ritt would’ve spun something out of back in the day, probably with Richard Beymer and Steve McQueen as the outlaw siblings and James Stewart as the wily lawman. Here, however, we have film that, as much as its plot is a throwback to the old-style thrillers, can also be characterised as a neo-noir that paves its own way into the genre. It’s a film requiring a great deal of patience; after opening with a terse, heart-pounding series of heists by the volatile Tanner (Ben Foster) and his younger brother, the more subdued Toby (Chris Pine), the film soon settles into a slow-burn in terms of both its plot development and pace.

Of all the Oscar nominees this year, this may be the most understated film. Arrival, Manchester by the Sea and Moonlight present taut, clinical character studies with outbursts of emotion; Hacksaw Ridge, Hidden Figures, and Lion highly stylized biopics which go for the jugular; and La La Land and Fences draw attention to the loud theatrics and showmanship of their characters, albeit in very different ways. Hell or High Water is the ‘quiet’ sibling of this lot. It is a modern-day thriller filmed in the style of a 60’s period piece, with archetypal characters of that time: the violent criminal (Tanner), the straight arrow turned rogue (Toby), the Texas Ranger on his last case (Jeff Bridges’ Marcus Hamilton), and even the colleague he good-naturedly ribs about his Mexican and Comanche heritage (Gil Birmingham’s Alberto Parker). Treated carelessly, these archetypes could have been simplistic or even offensively outdated; luckily it’s the expert hand of Taylor Sheridan, who penned 2015’s underrated Sicario, responsible for crafting these figures. Sheridan makes them multidimensional and vividly realized. The parallel storylines of the brothers and the lawmen, the main characters Toby and Marcus and their ‘supportive’ partners Tanner and Alberto, are given equal depth. Their tones may vary – the Texas Rangers share a far more humorous rapport than the tense dynamic between psychotically jovial Tanner and stoic Toby – but they never clash, and credit must go to editor Jake Roberts for seamlessly segueing one half to the other.

Mackenzie’s direction establishes an impressive sense of place and time in the Texas midlands. As La La Land and Moonlight more recently showed, it’s possible to turn a modern-day setting into one with a genuine retro feel. The camera pans over vast, desolate and dirty landscapes where the brothers drink beer and shoot the breeze. Marcus, contemplating his retirement and the drudgery of the years ahead, walks out at dawn with a long blanket draped over his shoulders like a cowboy whose poncho has gotten too big for him. Such images contrast with the clean but cold interiors of the banks and casinos. The outdoors provides characters with respite, relaxation, room for thought; the indoors is where money can obtained – by ill means – and spent. When the final act arrives and the film emerges from its quiet shell to release a visceral, no-holds-barred shootout, the effect is enhanced by the aforementioned stylistic choice.

This West is no Wild West, though. There’s no clear Good or Bad, and even the Ugly is subdued. Hell or High Water‘s characters are very subtly developed, and it might take re-watches to truly appreciate what Jeff Bridges and Chris Pine do in their roles: one as a man whose whole life has been driven by the law, and one whose life has driven him against it. Bridges, giving his best performance since the Big Lebowski, may seem initially to be reprising his quirky Rooster Cogburn from True Grit, but his portrayal here is far more complex. Marcus is a fairly easygoing guy, very professional but also very approachable; the rapport he strikes up with Birmingham is endearing. One of his reaction shots late in the film, lasting a few seconds, might be the best acting of Bridges’ career. Pine, an underrated actor who always delivers in his more zany supporting turns and straightforward leading roles, is impressive as the grungy, divorced but far from deadbeat dad, with a sincere conviction that his criminal acts are for the greater good. He and Bridges anchor the film’s central conflict between law and disorder perfectly, with Birmingham as a suitably loveable foil to Bridges. The highlight of the film, however, is Foster. The king of cinematic intensity delivers another compelling portrayal of an unhinged psychopath. Toby is menacing yet strangely entertaining in his anti-establishment ethos. Whether he’s confronting a fellow gambler, taking potshots at the cops, or holding up banks with such unhinged expertise, you can’t take your eyes off him; but the script never loses sight of the fact that above all he is a loving brother, and the relationship between Foster and Pine’s characters is surprisingly emotional. Like Moonlight, Hell or High Water deconstructs the hardened criminal trope by showing that, masculine and tough they may be, these men have souls and affections.

The film isn’t perfect. A few lines are on-the-nose when the philosophizing of our lawmen gets a bit abstract, and a Coen Brothers-lite scene with an abrasive waitress feels very much out of place. The restraint of Mackenzie’s direction, while admirable, makes the film halt at certain points when it should be moving along, particularly in the second act. These, though, are quibbles, considering the incredible third act, and a powerful conclusion which succinctly summarises the film’s themes and manages to provide a fitting end despite the lack of real resolution. As one of Hell or High Water’s final lines notes, ‘It’s gonna haunt you, son. For the rest of your days.’  Fittingly, the film is one that does not strike at you or enforce its message upon you, but one that will haunt you afterwards.

Hell or High Water is out now on Blu-ray, DVD and Digital HD platforms in the UK. See the trailer below:

Calvin Law reviews Mel Gibson’s return to the director’s chair.

You don’t go into a Mel Gibson film expecting nuance or subtlety with regards to religious subtext. This is the man who directed Braveheart and The Passion of the Christ. Christian imagery and references to the gospel are to be expected. And, like those films, Hacksaw Ridge utilizes them for a very particular purpose. In Braveheart it romanticised a Scottish rebel’s plight for martyrdom, in The Passion of the Christ it helped both honour and deconstruct the religious identity of Jesus, and in his latest film – a biographical account of Desmond Doss (Andrew Garfield) – it gives us insight into the very particular mindset of a Seventh-day Adventist Christian who enlisted in WWII as a conscientious objector. A combat medic who went into battle without a single weapon, he ended up rescuing over 75 soldiers in the Battle of Okinawa – a remarkable story to be sure, but one that could easily have become sanctimonious in the wrong hands.

Luckily, Gibson and screenwriters Andrew Knight and Robert Schenkkan know how to strike the perfect balance between honouring the incredible faith and courage that Doss displayed with regards to his religious devotion, and confronting the grittier sides of the story. It is a tale of a man’s earnest pacifism tested by the most extreme circumstances of war, here depicted as hellishly unrelenting. There is a small but harrowing moment in the midst of one of many unforgettable war sequences where an American and Japanese soldier unleash primal screams of unbridled rage, as their flailing limbs interlock in a violent embrace, and a grenade goes off between them. War drives men to the very edge – quite literally here on the titular ridge, a battleground enclosed by the cliff face of Maeda Escarpment in Okinawa. There is no good or bad in killing, only pain and suffering that blurs all such distinctions; Mel Gibson’s latest film depicts war vividly, but refuses to glorify it in the process.

The film builds up to these harrowing sequences with a languidly-paced and enjoyably earnest first half. Garfield, with his sprightly step and goofy but infectious grin, is pitch-perfect as he romances the nurse at a local hospital (Teresa Palmer) and gradually develops a passion for medicine. These scenes are contrasted with the rather more sombre tones of Doss’ home life, where an alcoholic father (a brilliant Hugo Weaving), haunted by memories of WWI, looms over the family. The ominous news of WWII from abroad finally compels Doss to enlist in the army.

It’s in the standard ‘boot camp’ scenes where we see the film finally begin to take shape as a war film. Gibson, far from sticking to the formula, gives these scenes a surprising amount of humour (largely stemming from Vince Vaughn’s abrasive drill sergeant) and just enough characterization to the fellow soldiers. Most importantly, we see Doss’ faith be tested. Knight and Schenkkan’s screenplay sets up Desmond’s endearing conviction in his beliefs to be questioned, not unreasonably, by his fellow soldiers, who are incredulous at the prospect of a soldier refusing to bear arms into battlefield. The film transitions momentarily into a courtroom drama of sorts, and it’s in these scenes we get glimpses into how Doss will respond to adversity on the battlefield: resourceful and intelligent in expressing himself, he has a passionate, soulful desire to help repair a world torn apart by war and violence. Between the strength of Doss’s faith, well-earned over the course of the film, he is an easy lead to root for.

As excellent as the first half of the film is, the second half is downright brilliant in its presentation of the battlefields of Hacksaw Ridge. The trick with war films nowadays is to bring something new to the table: if we want to see Doss earn his devotion to God, we have to see him struggle. And boy does he struggle alongside the other soldiers of the 77th Infantry Division from the very moment they enter Okinawa. Here, as they watch rows of wagons carrying dead, dying and disillusioned soldiers, the stench of death and decay can be felt in every frame. Tension is ratcheted up to unbearable levels and releases into unrelenting bursts of violence, the gore terrifying but never excessive, as we watch valiant men crushed by the enemy forces. Some dive in with courage and hard-boiled conviction, others are realistically portrayed as terrified and out of their element, and many are mown down in great numbers. The chaotic incoherence in many action films nowadays is nowhere to be found here; each brutal death on either side is realized in often brief but incredibly effective fashion. The cinematography of Simon Duggan and the concise editing of John Gilbert create a visual experience of war like few others, the flames and gunfire against the stark gray landscape creating some unforgettable images. Perhaps even more impressive, though, is the sound editing: each gunshot and scream imprints itself powerfully in your mind.

In the midst of it all this is Doss, valiantly diving into the fray to help every man he possibly can. The striking thing about Gibson’s approach here is that he presents the somewhat ridiculous feats of this man in a heightened, romanticized fashion, almost paying tribute to him as some sort of Christ figure – and it feels completely deserved. Doss did actually save all these men, he was every bit as brave as the film portrays him as, and all that religious imagery powerfully illuminates the man’s unquenchable faith. Garfield, in a largely reactionary role in these sequences, is spectacular. His best work of the year was in Silence, but I’m certainly glad he’s getting awards love for his powerful, heartbreaking portrayal of a man shattered by the horrors of war but selfless enough to hold it together for his fellow soldiers, and even help wounded Japanese soldiers he comes across. Don’t be surprised if his repeated invocation to ‘Please, Lord, let me get one more’ rings again and again in your head; Hacksaw Ridge is perhaps the most powerful cinematic event of 2016, on a visual and emotional level.

10/10 

Hacksaw Ridge is released in UK cinemas this Thursday, January 26. See the trailer below: