Showing posts with label London Film Festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London Film Festival. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Review: Seven Psychopaths
Year: 2012 (Viewed at the London Film Festival)
Director: Martin McDonagh
Screenplay: Martin McDonagh
Starring: Colin Farrell, Sam Rockwell, Woody Harrelson, Tom Waits, Christopher Walken.
Synopsis is here:
After taking my podcast co-host on a needless, round about trip of the London West End to find a bank, we took our seats for our final film of the London Film Festival: Seven Psychopaths, the second full length feature from Martin McDonagh.. The reason I had to find a bank was so I could pay for the tickets, the price of the tickets were...more than your usual cinema venture. But when it's the European Premiere and features a talk with the director, you have to consider you don't get such things with an illegal download.
This is not a statement of confession, more a painting of a scene. It's certainly worth paying more to sit with an excited audience and laugh, giggle and guffaw at McDonagh's latest feature. A violent and offbeat tale of writers block, dognapping and gangsters, Seven Psychopaths is Pulp Fiction by way of Adaptation and Barton Fink. McDonagh's himself stated that the only real influences were Peckinpah and Malick (?!) but it's hard not to think of Kaufman and the Coens (The movies is scored by Carter Burwell) as the film goes on.
Frantic and madcap in its telling, Seven Psychopaths slides from flashback to present day to imagination without a moment’s notice. A film about losing focus which is constantly trying to distract with its famous faces and near meta aspects of plot. It can't be too much of a coincidence that Farrell, known for his risqué past, is shown here, as a wannabe Hollywood writer lost amidst a haze of hard liqueur. A man who could do really turn out a good piece of work as long as he keeps focus. It feels like McDonagh isn't just picking him due to In Bruges.
Farrell's role of straight man is sometimes a little caught up in the craziness of it all, which could be part of the fun. However for all its anarchic glee; the tale does like to go off on tangents, feeling frayed at the end, and coming off like Adaptation's brattier cousin. Kuffman's sublime comedy about "the process" has a deft of touch and sympathy that Psychopaths doesn't. Not a deal breaker by any means, but it does make you notice that Psychopaths suffers from some slight overkill. The film is just a tad too into itself to have a boarder scope.
I shouldn't be knocking too hard on the film which gives us the best Christopher Walken performance in years. Once again, Walken shows why he is rewarding in scenes of both menace and mirth, and does so with an ease that allows one to forget that they actually saw him in The Stepford Wives (or Balls of Fury for that matter). It's difficult who steals the most scenes between himself and Sam Rockwell, whose balls to the wall performance climaxes a sequence of utter madness. Not to spoil things, but heads have not exploded that well since Scanners. Woody Harrelson sweeps things up as the films loopy antagonist.
For a film that is as all over the place such as this one (we go from dognapping to taking class A's in the desert with a lot of murder inbetween.) The film is never disengaging, like In Bruge, the films dialogue laddish, often ponderous dialogue sparkles, and the film keeps a certain amount of earnestly, despite it's know it all vibe. Like many festival films the film doesn't linger in the mind much, however, it's clear from the offset this isn't a film made to be heavy or filling. Like a grubby lads stag weekend in Magaluf, there's fun to be had, but you might have to be in with the crowd from the start to be comfortable with the injokes.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Review: John Dies at the End
Year: 2012 (Viewed at the London Film Festival)
Director: Don Coscarelli
Screenplay: Don Coscarelli
Starring: Chase Williamson, Rob Mayes, Paul Giamatti
Synopsis is here:
I told the work colleague who put me on to the novel John Dies at the End, that the film would be way too bizarre for a large scale release of any kind. Not normally so optimistic (a Birmingham City football fan), my friend was as sure as he'd ever been that having Paul Giamatti on the cast list would do everything a film this kooky would need to get released.
It just so happens that watching this at the LFF was a stroke of luck, a short Q and A with the films director clarifies the films U.K distribution issues (unknown). Safe to say that those who got the chance to watch the film at the Hackney Picturehouse (along with the others who may have since it in other one off screenings) are lucky sons of bitches. Unless of course they didn't enjoy the (as quoted by the director himself) batshit antics of David Wong and John Cheese.
Those names should be familiar to those who enjoy cracked. The novel is a mass melding of pop culture and the supernatural, a twisted buddy adventure written in a snappy, quick witted prose that captures a similar anarchic feel that Kevin Smith slackers usually enjoy.
While light on solid plotting and true scares, John Dies at the end has the free-wheeling humour and nuttiness that makes the book such a fun distraction. Much of the films spirit is due to don casting the perfect duo to bring the spirit to life. Chase Williamson and Rob Mayes may be unknowns and their rough edges do show, but the assured chemistry that appears between them, drive the film. Paul Giamatti looks a little out of sorts with the whole thing, but then again so did some of the audience (we had two walkouts)
The film does as much as it can to keep hold of Wongs prose, but some of the more adventurous elements are missing due to budget restraints. The loss of them is unfortunate, as is some of the darker more twisted elements of the characters (David is a way more nihilistic character in the book) however the film manages to stay consistently funny throughout, while holding a claustrophobic visual style that reminiscent of The Evil Dead. No bad thing, the film is one of the closet entries to that series, although I'm not sure the hardcore will agree or connect as strongly. It may be dependant on how much they dig juvenile web humour. Guess which camp I'm in.
Those who know Don Coscarelli from Phantasm may feel differently about the film in some of the content. However, this is pure Coscarelli territory in terms of theme. A buddy horror road movie that goes off kilter at a drop of a hat? You wouldn't be surprised if The tall man himself appeared (Angus Scrimm makes an appearance).
JDATE is a compromised vision, but an enjoyable one all the same. A web or TV series could have encompassed most of the craziness, but its cinematic journey never bores, it's far too drugged up on soy sauce to give a damn.
Director: Don Coscarelli
Screenplay: Don Coscarelli
Starring: Chase Williamson, Rob Mayes, Paul Giamatti
Synopsis is here:
I told the work colleague who put me on to the novel John Dies at the End, that the film would be way too bizarre for a large scale release of any kind. Not normally so optimistic (a Birmingham City football fan), my friend was as sure as he'd ever been that having Paul Giamatti on the cast list would do everything a film this kooky would need to get released.
It just so happens that watching this at the LFF was a stroke of luck, a short Q and A with the films director clarifies the films U.K distribution issues (unknown). Safe to say that those who got the chance to watch the film at the Hackney Picturehouse (along with the others who may have since it in other one off screenings) are lucky sons of bitches. Unless of course they didn't enjoy the (as quoted by the director himself) batshit antics of David Wong and John Cheese.
Those names should be familiar to those who enjoy cracked. The novel is a mass melding of pop culture and the supernatural, a twisted buddy adventure written in a snappy, quick witted prose that captures a similar anarchic feel that Kevin Smith slackers usually enjoy.
While light on solid plotting and true scares, John Dies at the end has the free-wheeling humour and nuttiness that makes the book such a fun distraction. Much of the films spirit is due to don casting the perfect duo to bring the spirit to life. Chase Williamson and Rob Mayes may be unknowns and their rough edges do show, but the assured chemistry that appears between them, drive the film. Paul Giamatti looks a little out of sorts with the whole thing, but then again so did some of the audience (we had two walkouts)
The film does as much as it can to keep hold of Wongs prose, but some of the more adventurous elements are missing due to budget restraints. The loss of them is unfortunate, as is some of the darker more twisted elements of the characters (David is a way more nihilistic character in the book) however the film manages to stay consistently funny throughout, while holding a claustrophobic visual style that reminiscent of The Evil Dead. No bad thing, the film is one of the closet entries to that series, although I'm not sure the hardcore will agree or connect as strongly. It may be dependant on how much they dig juvenile web humour. Guess which camp I'm in.
Those who know Don Coscarelli from Phantasm may feel differently about the film in some of the content. However, this is pure Coscarelli territory in terms of theme. A buddy horror road movie that goes off kilter at a drop of a hat? You wouldn't be surprised if The tall man himself appeared (Angus Scrimm makes an appearance).
JDATE is a compromised vision, but an enjoyable one all the same. A web or TV series could have encompassed most of the craziness, but its cinematic journey never bores, it's far too drugged up on soy sauce to give a damn.
Review: Sleepers Wake
Year: 2012 (Viewed at the London Film Festival)
Director: Barry Berk
Screenplay: Barry Berk
Starring: Lionel Newton, Deon Lotz, Jay Anstey
Synopsis is here
Sleepers Wake is difficult to talk about as it does little to offend, but isn't strong enough to provoke. It's premise deals with a grief stricken man (Newton), who has recently lost his wife and daughter to a car crash, in which he may have been drunk at the wheel. While recuperating at his brother in laws hideaway cabin, he bonds with a rebellious seventeen year old girl, also recovering from loss. As they grow closer, they slowly become more aware of the troublesome elements surrounding them.
Sleepers Wake treads familiar territory. The idea of an older man being blindsided by such youth is one that has reverberated ever since Vladimir Nabokov penned Lolita. Here the character is terrified of the dangers but is slowly seduced by more primal urges. Lost in a waking dream, our protagonist's view is blurred by the recent events, illustrated by a liberal use of rack focusing, we view things like he does, fuzzy and unfocused. Only gaining a certain sense of clarity when Jackie (Anstey) pours into the frame.
Anstey's Jackie is the most pivotal role. A complex, full figured bundle of hormones, grief and youth. Lashing out at everything and everyone in equal measure, she is the films strongest performer. A daring performance that doesn't sit comfortably with the viewer throughout. A girl who has confused her needs of a father figure, confidant and lover due a tragic and complicated family dynamic.
It is Anstey that cements the central relationship, and we often feel the tension. However with this said, we do not feel it elsewhere. Many secondary characters and their revelations feel underwritten and the events that take place have a perfunctory feel to them. We garner what will happen very quickly and the directors visuals and storytelling leave little to the imagination.
The films performances do what they need to do, and when the film delves into primal metaphors, we gain the hint of something of a bit more more poignant. But Sleepers Wake in no way surprises or truly satisfies. It is film that fades away quickly with each passing moment.
Director: Barry Berk
Screenplay: Barry Berk
Starring: Lionel Newton, Deon Lotz, Jay Anstey
Synopsis is here
Sleepers Wake is difficult to talk about as it does little to offend, but isn't strong enough to provoke. It's premise deals with a grief stricken man (Newton), who has recently lost his wife and daughter to a car crash, in which he may have been drunk at the wheel. While recuperating at his brother in laws hideaway cabin, he bonds with a rebellious seventeen year old girl, also recovering from loss. As they grow closer, they slowly become more aware of the troublesome elements surrounding them.
Sleepers Wake treads familiar territory. The idea of an older man being blindsided by such youth is one that has reverberated ever since Vladimir Nabokov penned Lolita. Here the character is terrified of the dangers but is slowly seduced by more primal urges. Lost in a waking dream, our protagonist's view is blurred by the recent events, illustrated by a liberal use of rack focusing, we view things like he does, fuzzy and unfocused. Only gaining a certain sense of clarity when Jackie (Anstey) pours into the frame.
Anstey's Jackie is the most pivotal role. A complex, full figured bundle of hormones, grief and youth. Lashing out at everything and everyone in equal measure, she is the films strongest performer. A daring performance that doesn't sit comfortably with the viewer throughout. A girl who has confused her needs of a father figure, confidant and lover due a tragic and complicated family dynamic.
It is Anstey that cements the central relationship, and we often feel the tension. However with this said, we do not feel it elsewhere. Many secondary characters and their revelations feel underwritten and the events that take place have a perfunctory feel to them. We garner what will happen very quickly and the directors visuals and storytelling leave little to the imagination.
The films performances do what they need to do, and when the film delves into primal metaphors, we gain the hint of something of a bit more more poignant. But Sleepers Wake in no way surprises or truly satisfies. It is film that fades away quickly with each passing moment.
Review: A Liar's Autobiography - The Untrue Story of Monty Python's Graham Chapman
Year: 2012 (Viewed at the London Film Festival)
Directors: Bill Jones, Jeff Simpsons, Ben Timlett
Screenplay: Graham Chapman, David Sherlock
Starring: Graham Chapman, Philip Bulcock, Terry Jones, John Cleese, Michael Palin, Terry Gilliam, Cameron Diaz
Synopsis is here
Much like the abstract documentary such as Kurt Cobain: About a son, or the autobiographical American: The Bill Hicks Story, A Liars Autobiography plays old audio of its subject (Monty Pythons Graham Chapman) and sets it to new footage. In this case A Liar's Autobiography is similar to the Hicks documentary, with 17 animation teams have bounded together to create a different visual look for nearly each scene.
The outcome is rather idiosyncratic. The film irrelevantly glances over many aspects of Chapman's life; cheerfully documenting his schooling, the formation of the python name, the realisation that he was homosexual and his addiction to alcohol. The tone is light, breezy with just a touch of crassness about it, joyfully detailing Chapman's delight in indulging of the carnal pleasures. A playful hotel scene highlights Chapman's excess, as he takes a lift downstairs only to bump into a fan and stroll straight back up to have sex with them. Moments later, after heading down the lift again, he spies a younger fan (of age still) and engages with sex with them, with their mum on the telephone, seemingly none the wiser. It's hard not smirk, if not laugh out loud like I did.
The film should also be taken with a pinch of salt, as easily spotted by the title. Chapman himself declares early on that there is only a hint of truth in what he says, and it's clear that the films melding of both fact and fiction is also trying to lock down the man behind the enigma. Whether the film finds it is down to the viewer.
The films featherweight approach is welcoming but also a flaw. The moments of poignancy are quickly dealt with as not to bum the audience out and the films climax fizzles out, leaving us with nothing to gasp onto afterwards. This is clearly not an issue film, but it's final farewell to its subject lacks the emotional weight it could have had. I found myself left knowing as much about Chapman as I did in the beginning; intelligent, witty and fun loving. I could have watched Life of Brian and gained the same.
Directors: Bill Jones, Jeff Simpsons, Ben Timlett
Screenplay: Graham Chapman, David Sherlock
Starring: Graham Chapman, Philip Bulcock, Terry Jones, John Cleese, Michael Palin, Terry Gilliam, Cameron Diaz
Synopsis is here
Much like the abstract documentary such as Kurt Cobain: About a son, or the autobiographical American: The Bill Hicks Story, A Liars Autobiography plays old audio of its subject (Monty Pythons Graham Chapman) and sets it to new footage. In this case A Liar's Autobiography is similar to the Hicks documentary, with 17 animation teams have bounded together to create a different visual look for nearly each scene.
The outcome is rather idiosyncratic. The film irrelevantly glances over many aspects of Chapman's life; cheerfully documenting his schooling, the formation of the python name, the realisation that he was homosexual and his addiction to alcohol. The tone is light, breezy with just a touch of crassness about it, joyfully detailing Chapman's delight in indulging of the carnal pleasures. A playful hotel scene highlights Chapman's excess, as he takes a lift downstairs only to bump into a fan and stroll straight back up to have sex with them. Moments later, after heading down the lift again, he spies a younger fan (of age still) and engages with sex with them, with their mum on the telephone, seemingly none the wiser. It's hard not smirk, if not laugh out loud like I did.
The film should also be taken with a pinch of salt, as easily spotted by the title. Chapman himself declares early on that there is only a hint of truth in what he says, and it's clear that the films melding of both fact and fiction is also trying to lock down the man behind the enigma. Whether the film finds it is down to the viewer.
The films featherweight approach is welcoming but also a flaw. The moments of poignancy are quickly dealt with as not to bum the audience out and the films climax fizzles out, leaving us with nothing to gasp onto afterwards. This is clearly not an issue film, but it's final farewell to its subject lacks the emotional weight it could have had. I found myself left knowing as much about Chapman as I did in the beginning; intelligent, witty and fun loving. I could have watched Life of Brian and gained the same.
Review: Argo
Year: 2012 (Viewed at the London Film Festival)
Director: Ben Affleck
Screenplay: Chris Terrio
Starring: Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, John Goodman, Alan Arkin
Synopsis is here
Ben Affleck's new crime thriller; Argo, has been racketing a large amount of positive buzz during the London Film Festival and it's more than understandable as to why. Affleck's period piece continues the solid directional work that took place in his Boston crime duo, Gone Baby Gone and The Town. Argo is adult, absorbing and features moments so packed with tension it places other thrillers of its ilk to shame. The films latter set pieces are taut, well paced and excellently handled.
The film takes a short while to find its bearings giving us a first act that highlights America at its worst. The slickly executed opening (displayed through storyboards) sets the scene swiftly detailing the messy part the U.S government had with the Iranian revolution. What's that? The U.S government doing some meddling overseas and getting itself into trouble? Seems awful timely...
Parallels to weighty current affairs aside, Argo completely disarmed me with it's screenplay toting a large amount full of witticisms and one liners. Many of the funniest quips stem from one film producer Lester Siegel (an on form and ball busting Alan Arkin), but the film as a whole, is constantly capturing the absurdity of the entire situation and throws it back at the audience as if to say "you couldn't make this up!" To which you realise you couldn't. To a point. The film fictionalises a near preposterous true story. Smuggling hostages out out a hostile country under the pretence that they are working on a movie? There's a fine line between insanity and genius.
There's also a line between a film being an expertly crafted work of tension, and wrecked nerves and a movie falling in on itself. Argo clearly wishes not to take a tumble. The strength lies in the films final rescue of the hostages. Passport checks suck air from the room and lungs, a "location scout " outing may leave nails embedded in seats. Argo does extremely well at making you feel the stakes. If you had a day to learn a new background and career for yourself, would you be able fool armed security? At nearly every point you feel that one mistake could cost a life. What was ludicrously funny before, suddenly evaporates as real fear sets in. This hair brained scheme must work. The worry is plastered all over the sobering face of Tony Mendez. Affleck's portrayal of Mendez is possibly his best performance. His direction of the narrative, bringing this fear home with so little effort, I believe is one of the best accomplishments of the year.
We can't have everything and while Argo's execution of scenes are at times exemplary, the screenplay has more than a little trouble taking on the vast array of characters. The hostages one are depicted as mere cyphers, while some of the other characters who are integral to their safety seem a little sidelined. As does the shoehorned scenes of Mendez's family. The film also drops much of its political intrigue as it becomes more focused on the job at hand, and we're left with a climax which is a overtly sentimental and a little too self congratulatory.
The hard work however, as already been done and Argo does it's job as tightly wound thriller that many feel America just don't make enough of anymore. It's wears its period well, with a great amount of detail and moves with a swift pace that helps the viewer forget just how streamlined the film becomes. By the time I got on the train back home, Agro started to fade a little from view, but for two hours Affleck manages to land you in those crawl spaces and government offices, and does so as if it wasn't his third film.
Director: Ben Affleck
Screenplay: Chris Terrio
Starring: Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, John Goodman, Alan Arkin
Synopsis is here
Ben Affleck's new crime thriller; Argo, has been racketing a large amount of positive buzz during the London Film Festival and it's more than understandable as to why. Affleck's period piece continues the solid directional work that took place in his Boston crime duo, Gone Baby Gone and The Town. Argo is adult, absorbing and features moments so packed with tension it places other thrillers of its ilk to shame. The films latter set pieces are taut, well paced and excellently handled.
The film takes a short while to find its bearings giving us a first act that highlights America at its worst. The slickly executed opening (displayed through storyboards) sets the scene swiftly detailing the messy part the U.S government had with the Iranian revolution. What's that? The U.S government doing some meddling overseas and getting itself into trouble? Seems awful timely...
Parallels to weighty current affairs aside, Argo completely disarmed me with it's screenplay toting a large amount full of witticisms and one liners. Many of the funniest quips stem from one film producer Lester Siegel (an on form and ball busting Alan Arkin), but the film as a whole, is constantly capturing the absurdity of the entire situation and throws it back at the audience as if to say "you couldn't make this up!" To which you realise you couldn't. To a point. The film fictionalises a near preposterous true story. Smuggling hostages out out a hostile country under the pretence that they are working on a movie? There's a fine line between insanity and genius.
There's also a line between a film being an expertly crafted work of tension, and wrecked nerves and a movie falling in on itself. Argo clearly wishes not to take a tumble. The strength lies in the films final rescue of the hostages. Passport checks suck air from the room and lungs, a "location scout " outing may leave nails embedded in seats. Argo does extremely well at making you feel the stakes. If you had a day to learn a new background and career for yourself, would you be able fool armed security? At nearly every point you feel that one mistake could cost a life. What was ludicrously funny before, suddenly evaporates as real fear sets in. This hair brained scheme must work. The worry is plastered all over the sobering face of Tony Mendez. Affleck's portrayal of Mendez is possibly his best performance. His direction of the narrative, bringing this fear home with so little effort, I believe is one of the best accomplishments of the year.
We can't have everything and while Argo's execution of scenes are at times exemplary, the screenplay has more than a little trouble taking on the vast array of characters. The hostages one are depicted as mere cyphers, while some of the other characters who are integral to their safety seem a little sidelined. As does the shoehorned scenes of Mendez's family. The film also drops much of its political intrigue as it becomes more focused on the job at hand, and we're left with a climax which is a overtly sentimental and a little too self congratulatory.
The hard work however, as already been done and Argo does it's job as tightly wound thriller that many feel America just don't make enough of anymore. It's wears its period well, with a great amount of detail and moves with a swift pace that helps the viewer forget just how streamlined the film becomes. By the time I got on the train back home, Agro started to fade a little from view, but for two hours Affleck manages to land you in those crawl spaces and government offices, and does so as if it wasn't his third film.
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
Review: A Dangerous Method
Year: 2011
Director: David Cronenberg
Screenplay: Christopher Hampton
Starring: Micheal Fassbender, Viggo Mortensen, Kiera Knightley
For my second (and unfortunately last) film at the LFF, I was quite taken back when; for the screening of A Dangerous Method, we were greeted by one David Cronenberg. So surprised was I, that in trying to take a picture of the great man I only got blurry images. I was a little bit gutted as if I had known that there was a chance of seeing the filmmaker I would have set up my camera properly as opposed to the nonsense I took. This is yet again, something else to log down on my list of shame.
Shame is something that rears it's head within the DNA of A Dangerous Method as the pivotal character of the film Sabina (Knightley) is wrought with it. Carried to hospital kicking, screaming and giggling manically; she is brought to the attention of Dr Carl Jung (Fassbender). It is he, who decides to use the method of "talking cure" from his friend and mentor Dr Sigmund Freud (Mortensen) to try and find the foundation of her sickness. This action correlates and intensifies as the young practice of psychoanalysis slowly grows from the relationships formed.
Martyn Conterio; founder of the wonderful film site Cinemart (can you spot the cheap plug), mentioned to me that he considers A Dangerous Method to be the quintessential Cronenberg. I'm not so sure. To me it's clearly one fascinating (and talky) part of a grander overture of his themes (repressed sexuality, the body at fault from the inside), especially in this section of his career, where it is the mind that is diseased (Spider = memory, Eastern Promises and A History of violence = personality and character) and yet there is a dryness in the film that is difficult to shake off. Cronenberg himself stated at the beginning that it is up to us to decide whether we consider the film good or bad. I indeed liked whats going on but considering previous efforts I was surprised how cold the film felt.
Many of the films scenes involves our three leads, hashing things out calmly with analysis and talk (sprinkled liberally with some light S&M), that nearly always end as a revelation or small discovery for each of the characters. Scenes are presented stylishly with many a face in extreme close up, conversing with someone else further back, mimicking Freuds "talking cure". It is obvious that these conversations shared are councilling sessions or as you could consider in Jungs case (much to Freuds disgust) confessionals with characters discussing their moods, methods and reasoning in such an analytical way that you are constantly held at a distance. Sometimes, it's a tad too much.
Cronenbergs film is very restrained, which is fair enough as we don't need exploding heads. However, considering the pedigree of the director at hand, the amount film holds back, diminishes much of the impact that could have had. In comparison to Spider; which did so well in making sure that the main character's surroundings, became his own personal circle of hell, you get the feeling that we could have got even more with this than we receive.
The film's main strengths are in it's casting. Mortensen strangely feels like how I would expect Freud to be despite never seeing a moving image. His cool wit, help defuse some of the film slightly when it wonders into it's pondering a little too deeply. Fassbender is fine here however with word coming from journalists about his second turn with Steven McQueen, and from what I've seen in other features (I love him in Fish Tank) I once again expected the world from him. Here, he is a little distilled. Knightley plays a character that I feel some will find frustrating at first, although she becomes stronger as the film continues on. It's her arc which is the strongest. Some of the films stronger scenes rely of Sabina's hold on the rigid form of Freud and the slightly more emotionally conflicted Jung. This isn't just the female as the prize and Knightley almost straddles both positions of damaged and healer, although her "mania" (all jutted out jaws and arching arms) feels slightly cartoonish at times. This is still a brave endeavour from a girl who is more believable here as a psychiatrist, than a pirate.
For me, A Dangerous Method; much like Crash holds you at such an arms length that it's not as engaging as one would hope for. A late emotional moment caught later on, involving Jung sits awkwardly with the rest of the films goings on. The film feels most at home with a charming little conversation with Fassbender and a quick cameo from Vincent Cassell. The conversation involves sexual liberation by breaking past the social constraints we've built up for ourselves. With Cassell playing the devil on shoulder, the idea that allowing total expression and response from sexual pleasure and bypassing the our human rules harks us back to a young Cronenberg playing with sex slugs in Shivers making similar points with cheaper special effects. Despite the response not being as strong, it's interesting to see how the mighty have evolved.
Note: I really loved how the title itself means more than it lets on and can be applied in a variety of ways. Ebert mentions the same aspect much more eloquently about A History of Violence. Also it was interesting how the title cards were presented to us a similar approach was used in Spider. Nothing major just some observations.
Director: David Cronenberg
Screenplay: Christopher Hampton
Starring: Micheal Fassbender, Viggo Mortensen, Kiera Knightley
For my second (and unfortunately last) film at the LFF, I was quite taken back when; for the screening of A Dangerous Method, we were greeted by one David Cronenberg. So surprised was I, that in trying to take a picture of the great man I only got blurry images. I was a little bit gutted as if I had known that there was a chance of seeing the filmmaker I would have set up my camera properly as opposed to the nonsense I took. This is yet again, something else to log down on my list of shame.
Shame is something that rears it's head within the DNA of A Dangerous Method as the pivotal character of the film Sabina (Knightley) is wrought with it. Carried to hospital kicking, screaming and giggling manically; she is brought to the attention of Dr Carl Jung (Fassbender). It is he, who decides to use the method of "talking cure" from his friend and mentor Dr Sigmund Freud (Mortensen) to try and find the foundation of her sickness. This action correlates and intensifies as the young practice of psychoanalysis slowly grows from the relationships formed.
Martyn Conterio; founder of the wonderful film site Cinemart (can you spot the cheap plug), mentioned to me that he considers A Dangerous Method to be the quintessential Cronenberg. I'm not so sure. To me it's clearly one fascinating (and talky) part of a grander overture of his themes (repressed sexuality, the body at fault from the inside), especially in this section of his career, where it is the mind that is diseased (Spider = memory, Eastern Promises and A History of violence = personality and character) and yet there is a dryness in the film that is difficult to shake off. Cronenberg himself stated at the beginning that it is up to us to decide whether we consider the film good or bad. I indeed liked whats going on but considering previous efforts I was surprised how cold the film felt.
Many of the films scenes involves our three leads, hashing things out calmly with analysis and talk (sprinkled liberally with some light S&M), that nearly always end as a revelation or small discovery for each of the characters. Scenes are presented stylishly with many a face in extreme close up, conversing with someone else further back, mimicking Freuds "talking cure". It is obvious that these conversations shared are councilling sessions or as you could consider in Jungs case (much to Freuds disgust) confessionals with characters discussing their moods, methods and reasoning in such an analytical way that you are constantly held at a distance. Sometimes, it's a tad too much.
Cronenbergs film is very restrained, which is fair enough as we don't need exploding heads. However, considering the pedigree of the director at hand, the amount film holds back, diminishes much of the impact that could have had. In comparison to Spider; which did so well in making sure that the main character's surroundings, became his own personal circle of hell, you get the feeling that we could have got even more with this than we receive.
The film's main strengths are in it's casting. Mortensen strangely feels like how I would expect Freud to be despite never seeing a moving image. His cool wit, help defuse some of the film slightly when it wonders into it's pondering a little too deeply. Fassbender is fine here however with word coming from journalists about his second turn with Steven McQueen, and from what I've seen in other features (I love him in Fish Tank) I once again expected the world from him. Here, he is a little distilled. Knightley plays a character that I feel some will find frustrating at first, although she becomes stronger as the film continues on. It's her arc which is the strongest. Some of the films stronger scenes rely of Sabina's hold on the rigid form of Freud and the slightly more emotionally conflicted Jung. This isn't just the female as the prize and Knightley almost straddles both positions of damaged and healer, although her "mania" (all jutted out jaws and arching arms) feels slightly cartoonish at times. This is still a brave endeavour from a girl who is more believable here as a psychiatrist, than a pirate.
For me, A Dangerous Method; much like Crash holds you at such an arms length that it's not as engaging as one would hope for. A late emotional moment caught later on, involving Jung sits awkwardly with the rest of the films goings on. The film feels most at home with a charming little conversation with Fassbender and a quick cameo from Vincent Cassell. The conversation involves sexual liberation by breaking past the social constraints we've built up for ourselves. With Cassell playing the devil on shoulder, the idea that allowing total expression and response from sexual pleasure and bypassing the our human rules harks us back to a young Cronenberg playing with sex slugs in Shivers making similar points with cheaper special effects. Despite the response not being as strong, it's interesting to see how the mighty have evolved.
Note: I really loved how the title itself means more than it lets on and can be applied in a variety of ways. Ebert mentions the same aspect much more eloquently about A History of Violence. Also it was interesting how the title cards were presented to us a similar approach was used in Spider. Nothing major just some observations.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
Review: Carnage
Year: 2011
Director: Roman Polanski
Screenplay: Roman Polanski, Yasmina Reza
Starring: Christoph Waltz, Kate Winslet, John C Reily, Jodie Foster
Synopsis is here:
The film is simple. Two couples meet to civilly discuss a violent incident involving their children. Both couples dislike each other as well as their own relationships but seem compelled by their hate to remain in the room they are in. There is nothing stopping these people to leave the house (one couple almost make it twice) and yet they remain to take chunks out of each other. Their conversation devolves into childish squabble at a swift pace, covering all sorts of uncomfortable areas and philosophies. Awkward glances transform into emotional sideswipes, forced politeness descend into racial slurs. Much like Bunel's "The Exterminating Angels" Polanski gives us a brisk 80 minutes to remind us that our so called civility that we love to utilise to lord above other people (or animals) is fragile veneer nearly always willing to crack when the right pressure is applied. The film is a claustrophobic black farce with four characters who make the bastards in Closer look like Care Bears. Polanski hasn't had this fun in ages.
This is the Polanski of old, back in the apartments (see Repulsion or The Tenant) while liberally sprinkling in that enclosing feeling that haunted the images of Knife in the Water. As Polanski turns the screws you can literally see the walls crumble around these characters, so relentlessly absorbed in their own little worlds that they come across as just as childish as the kids they came to talk about. The mud is slung thick and fast and the dialogue rolls off the fork tongues with devilish glee. Polanski remains uncomplicated visually as the actors do the heavy lifting.
Craftily casted, all four performances are finely tuned, with all managing to gain laugh out loud moments, be it the bash faux homeliness of John C Reily or the droll one liners of a carnivorous Christoph Waltz. Winslet as the cold, status fuelled wife of Waltz gets the best moment of physical comedy (I didn't expect such a moment from a Polanski film) while Jodie Foster lets loose as a passive aggressive bleeding heart liberal whose whiney protests for peace through culture brought some of the most amusement from myself.
My opinion of the film is simple. One of the two films I've seen this year at the London Film Festival (work commitments have slimmed my viewing) is a tightly wound, hystercal black comedy, from a director who even nearer 80 has not lost his sharpness when it comes to the middle class climbing up the walls of their closed in apartments. I'm not sure I've laughed harder at times this year.
Director: Roman Polanski
Screenplay: Roman Polanski, Yasmina Reza
Starring: Christoph Waltz, Kate Winslet, John C Reily, Jodie Foster
Synopsis is here:
The film is simple. Two couples meet to civilly discuss a violent incident involving their children. Both couples dislike each other as well as their own relationships but seem compelled by their hate to remain in the room they are in. There is nothing stopping these people to leave the house (one couple almost make it twice) and yet they remain to take chunks out of each other. Their conversation devolves into childish squabble at a swift pace, covering all sorts of uncomfortable areas and philosophies. Awkward glances transform into emotional sideswipes, forced politeness descend into racial slurs. Much like Bunel's "The Exterminating Angels" Polanski gives us a brisk 80 minutes to remind us that our so called civility that we love to utilise to lord above other people (or animals) is fragile veneer nearly always willing to crack when the right pressure is applied. The film is a claustrophobic black farce with four characters who make the bastards in Closer look like Care Bears. Polanski hasn't had this fun in ages.
This is the Polanski of old, back in the apartments (see Repulsion or The Tenant) while liberally sprinkling in that enclosing feeling that haunted the images of Knife in the Water. As Polanski turns the screws you can literally see the walls crumble around these characters, so relentlessly absorbed in their own little worlds that they come across as just as childish as the kids they came to talk about. The mud is slung thick and fast and the dialogue rolls off the fork tongues with devilish glee. Polanski remains uncomplicated visually as the actors do the heavy lifting.
Craftily casted, all four performances are finely tuned, with all managing to gain laugh out loud moments, be it the bash faux homeliness of John C Reily or the droll one liners of a carnivorous Christoph Waltz. Winslet as the cold, status fuelled wife of Waltz gets the best moment of physical comedy (I didn't expect such a moment from a Polanski film) while Jodie Foster lets loose as a passive aggressive bleeding heart liberal whose whiney protests for peace through culture brought some of the most amusement from myself.
My opinion of the film is simple. One of the two films I've seen this year at the London Film Festival (work commitments have slimmed my viewing) is a tightly wound, hystercal black comedy, from a director who even nearer 80 has not lost his sharpness when it comes to the middle class climbing up the walls of their closed in apartments. I'm not sure I've laughed harder at times this year.
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