Review: True Grit

Year: 2010 (U.K release 2011)

Director: The Coens

Screenplay: The Coens

Starring: Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Hailee Steinfeld, Josh Brolin, Barry Pepper

Synopsis is here

You never know what your going to get with the Coens, two of the most idiosyncratic directors of Americana. After my friends left True Grit (Based on the original novel and not the John Wayne movie), their response was strangely muted. With all the praise and props that the film's been getting they expected why more than they received. I can understand why. This appears to be the Coen brothers at their most conventional. One of my friends labelled it as "safe" which I don't agree with, but understand where he's coming from. What I admire about True Grit; is it's lack of irony or self -awareness. Something that The Coens do well. However; considering this film comes off the back end of A Serious Man, maybe the lack of irony is in itself an ironic gesture. Asking the brothers however will of course get you nowhere.

I admired True Grit and it's charms. It's a very simple and direct western with does what it says on the tin. Yes I'm a tad surprised at the amount of award plaudits it's received but such things shouldn't distract from what it is an entertaining movie coming from two directors just coming of a peak of creativity. Some may have been expecting another No country for old men, others may have been expecting something very overtly stylised (The Hudsucker Proxy perhaps). The Coens have merely created a formidable product. There's no creaky moments or real weaknesses (you could say it's a little slow at first) but there's not too much that stands out as "Coen", save the verbose dialogue (they have a knack for this detail) and one or two oddball characters that crop up within the story.

For the most part The Coen's stick to the point keep it's message clear and it's eye not only on the prize but it's characters. I'm quite surprised that despite the films rich pallette Roger Deakins' cinematography appears more focused on the grizzled and/or ugly faces that inhabit the vistas than the surroundings themselves. With this said  however this may have been because I was more carried away with the performances and how the prose was delivered than anything else. I have yet to see the original movie (brought but time has really got away from me) but much has been said about the performances by the 21 year Kim Darby and John Wayne who won his only Oscar for Rooster Cogburn. I'm very interested to watch and compare these performances to their modern counter-parts as I found very turn to be an effective one.

Bridges gives us a humorous, rambling, curmudgeon whose head is turned by the straight-forward and blunt talking Mattie Ross. Damon has finally cemented his place my hall of favourite working actors with yet another efficient performance but it's the compelling display by Hailee Steinfeld that is the revelation to me. It's a study and adult performance from such a young face and it deserves praise. It's easy to enjoy Bridges aimless talk and Damon's bravado but Steinfeld not only provides the counterbalance to the male posturing but as the viewpoint for the whole movie, she is brilliant. I was with her headstrong ways from the start and willing to follow her throughout the story. The relationship that grows between the three characters is a strong and natural one and while their motivations often slip or drift my appreciation for their admiration grew stronger.

True Grit is an entertaining piece which is more low-key than I expected. Never the less that doesn't deter the well of emotion I felt in the films last moments. The Coen's have provided a "normal" piece by their standards but one with some sly dry wit, a wonderful look, nice turns and a storyline that doesn't betray it's emotional duties later on.

Review: Biutiful

Year: 2010 (U.K Release 2011)
Director: Alejandro González Iñárritu
Screenplay: Alejandro González Iñárritu
Starring: Javier Bardem

Synopsis is here:

Films like Biutiful remind me why many dislike foreign language films. It is not necessarily down to the subtitles, although the amount of remakes say otherwise. It's stumbling upon a film that decided that it wants to "move" you with it's profound sadness and despair. I'm fine with films that wish to be downbeat and I'm completely ok with all out depressing; but Biutiful is so somber, so tragic and so absurd it almost comes off a little silly.

Biutiful with it's misspelled ironic title lays everything on too thickly. We are told from the start that our protagonist Uxbal (Bardam) has a few months to live and the film decides to go down from here. There doesn't seem to be any wish for us to really feel for this characters plight, only know that shit happens, when it rains it pours and Job had it bloody easy. Everything is drenched in a melodramatic gloom from the seems to be no escape, redemption or joy. Once again I don't need joy in a film to gain something from it but halfway through I was almost begging Uxbal just to top himself and relive everyone of the misery. We're given mistrusting brothers, bipolar, estranged spouses who work as prostitutes, depressed, troubled children and I haven't even got to the exploited workers...safe to say their story isn't a bundle of fun.


To add this we are given an over proud, criminal Christ figure who believes that his own pain must be hidden because everyone hurts. PLUS HE CAN SEE THE DEAD BECAUSE HE HIMSELF IS DYING. In real life we cannot give to every charity as we must (and do) have a sense of the internal. This is not as selfish as it is true. There's only so much that we can do as people. Iñárritu wishes to not only to drown Uxbal in his many sorrows, plying slabs of depression like slabs of butter on toast but also pivots all this mechanical manipulation on the fact that Uxbal just thinks to highly of everything to seek true solace or help. It's a frustrating principal made even more annoying by the simple factor that Iñárritu labours over this for almost three hours. It's just too much and in the end, the whole film feels like all 26 years of Eastenders Christmas specials slapping you in the face with some of the sixth sense/hereafter/the haunting in Connecticut thrown in. 

With all the self-important misery going on, it's very crucial to be invested in Javier Bardem and it's not hard to see why the man has gained the plaudits. Bardem is a wonderfully human actor and his presence makes all the wallowing semi-bearable. But here it's just not enough because there's just so much suffering and way too much naval gazing. I felt like a was slammed through the wringer before the dreaded cancer strengthen his grip. The worst thing about the whole thing the pointless feeling I gained with the films last moments. Everything feels as it was almost all in vain and you've just viewed this man's last months just to watch him die. Biutiful is a film that has none of the absurd wit placed with A Serious Man, nor does it have the gentle poignancy and retrospect which was infused within A Single Man. Reminding myself of Iñárritu's back catalog I found myself more disappointed. 21 Grams, Amores Perros are not only superbly crafted films (this is also well put together technically) but also more focused and parred down pieces which I both found genuine heart to. Biutiful is not interested in heart unless it features some sort of stabbing.

In a cinematic world where a horror film would be looked down upon having masochistic wish to display psychical pain. Get rid of the blood and the make same amount of grief emotional and you've got yourself an award piece it seems. Quite simply Biutiful, isn't. 

Review: Brighton Rock

Year: 2010 (U.K Release 2011)
Director: Rowan Joffe
Screenplay: Rowan Joffe
Starring: Sam Riley, Helen Mirren, John Hurt

The Synopsis is here:

I haven't read the book (drat) nor seen the original 1947 film (double drat) but considering the critical hubbab that is surrounding Brighton Rock (the tweets I read from some Brit critics weren't great), I found myself enjoying most of it. It's a gangster movie that remains dark to it's core and for the most part has no qualms with muddying it's feet in the murky waters it wades in. It's clearly obvious that book lovers would start shoveling pages of the novel down my throat at the mere hint that I enjoyed this remake/adaptation. However like I always state if it can get my interested in the source then it can't be all bad.

For the most part it's not. The atmosphere is plastered on thick and quickly in this adaptation with opening shots of dark crashing waves and a blaring horns (seriously. Inception, Shutter Island and this? what's with the horns?). The tone is set up quickly as it's opening scenes do as much as they can to unsettle. It's clearly important to Joffe that it's shadows and drained colours do much to seduce us as we need them to help us believe that Sam Riley's babyface hides the mind of a cold blooded sociopath.This is difficult because in order to show his dark nature, Riley resorts to nodding his head down slightly and looking up evilly. At first this is slightly distracting and the bastard inside me just wanted to scream "DUN DUN DUN!" at the screen for my own amusement (and the frustration of everyone else) but I repressed my urges and found that when Riley's Pinkie works best when he shows fear. When Pinkie is truly threatened and becomes the sniveling toerag he truly is the film picks up a lot more. It doesn't happen often, which is a shame, but with this said Riley is watchable enough in many of the scenes. It helps that the bright eyed, Andrea Riseborough is the right balance of vulnerability and nativity. Riley's tough guy act bounces off well against her fragile performance. I also had alot of time for John Hurt and Helen Mirren, but this mostly because it's John Hurt and Helen Mirren.

Coming off writing the moody screenplay for The American, Joffe brings about some interesting moments, including a rabble rousing sequence involving riled up mods and rockers and vespers that had me raise an eyebrow. In fact it's tricky for me to see why so many people had an issue with the era update (moved from post WWII to the last year of capital punishment in the sixties) without seeing the original feature/reading the book. Pinkie is a model of rebellious youth who doesn't want to hang for his actions but will do all that he can to avoid punishment. The combination of this with the rising moral panics involving teens at the time, help illustrate the conflicting issue that we have here at our point now in society. A situation where we feel teens are so fearless that even the harshest punishment won't stop them. Brighton Rock felt a lot more effective with this aspect than the Daily Mail baiting claptrap that was Harry Brown, a film which reveled in stereotypical nonsense. However, I must agree that the religious are less effective. It's hard to believe Pinkie is as catholic as he is against this background.

Also despite the films well depicted setting of Brighton as a dingy, and foreboding place, for some reason the film overall has a very televisual feel. Moments feel a tad too flat and don't bring about the cinematic scope a film like this could have. Brighton Rock is effectively gritty however, the characters and their motives are sometimes darker than pitch, and their complexities still flow through the material enough to make the film (particularly the latter moments) an engaging enough watch. An adult film with an interesting viewpoint, Brighton Rock probably won't overshadow the original film, nor the book. However, until the time comes for me to watch/read those earlier works this will do fine.

Review: Hereafter

Year: 2010 (2011 U.K Release)
Director: Clint Eastwood
Screenplay: Peter Morgan
Starring: Matt Damon, Cecile De France, Byrce Dallas Howard, George & Frankie McLaren,

Synopsis is here

A friend of mine (who lambasted me for liking the polarizing Somewhere despite me telling her that she would hate it) had a facebook status praising Clint Eastwood's latest feature Hereafter. The fact that she actually cried intrigued me as she's not a girly girl. Far from it. In fact one of the reason why we're friends is our deep love for a certain Arsenal F.C (shut it). And while there's many girls who enjoy the professional pigs bladder, my pal isn't what I call a "stereotypical" girl (trying not to Grey and Keys this). She's not one for waterworks and if she is she's not one for telling me.

So imagine my shock that my good friend, whom I've drank many a cider with has fallen for this overlong, overwrought piece of manipulation. It's not that I don't believe in the afterlife. In fact, go ahead! Such subjects are difficult to portray on screen, so I'm always interested in what someones will to try out. However in a film such as this one deals with such subjects what I don't need are cheap shock tactics such as two infamous disasters glossed over, without any tact (that's one more than Remember Me by the way). I also dislike a film which tries to place a hell of a lot of emotional weight on a character so poorly realized by it's child actor that it's slightly embarrassing to watch him emote. What's also frustrating is a film which has moments of interest and yet drowns in one note scenes (the parts in Paris aren't particularly involving) and board moments that are hard pin down as some of the characters just aren't interesting enough to keep one engaged. Eastwood is an old school director who creates simple solid works, here however, I needed more and surprised with how little I got considering it plodding pace and run time.

Yes, I found Hereafter a weak film but as always I do try to look for some good with everything I see. What I liked about Hereafter is the interesting angle that death and/or the afterlife often has believe that pretend to think they know the connection but to those who think they've truly experienced, it feels intensely false to them. Scenes touch on the nasty aspect of selling the afterlife and utilizing false hope. Those moments ring true enough with me not because it's happened to me, but because we see it often then we believe (think Jon Edward and other cold readers). There's also a delicate moment in which Matt Damon's character George; a person who truly sees connections with the afterlife state to another character that he doesn't truly know what's lies beyond. George also doesn't he try to fully grasp what he sees. How can he? This is truly bigger than him. Damon's scene's are the best not only because of this understanding but because Damon is an actor who can disappear into a role better than people like to believe (thanks Parker, Stone and Affleck). Watching how he holds his body throughout the film is the most impressive as it sucks the confidence and pluck that we've seen from him in other features.

I can also forgive the film narrative at points, as it tries deal with coincidence, not logic. Like I said before the film wants to show us that things happen for a reason. Of course as humans we always try to seek out what makes sense. Unfortunately in order to go with these characters you must believe in them and there's just not enough for me. Damon's scenes have the most foundation about them but the other characters are flimsy at best. They don't match up with what Damon brings to the table and I found myself annoyed, frustrated and bored. Cecile De France's performance is flat, while the performances from Frankie and George Mclaren are painful to watch for the wrong reasons. This combined is with the films awkward slump towards the finish line (low key I get but no momentum?) with an brief awkward flash-forward moment which belies some of the more ponderous moments I actually didn't mind.

Eastwood's film follows on from the annoyingly safe Invictus (nice sports movie, naff race movie) as another movie of his I'll not invest any time in another watch. But at least I had something good to say about some of it. My girlfriend hated every minute of it. she's a bit of a girly girl. Different Strokes.

Review: The Fighter

Year: 2010 (2011 U.K release)
Director: David O Russell
Screenplay: Scott Silver, Paul Tamasy, Eric Johnson
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Christian Bale, Mellisa Leo, Amy Adams

Synopsis is here

I'll be starting with some race stuff first. So if this sounds too Chuck D for your tastes, you may wish to  avoid the first part of this or so.

After the screening, I found myself wondering: In a sport dominated by (notable) Black champions; I found myself watching another Caucasian boxing movie. This isn't a really a gripe about The Fighter a such, merely an observation. Tyson had that T.V movie and an interesting (and quite conflicting) documentary, Cassius Clay has had a shedload of coverage (for obvious reasons) and I'm sure there may be few other lesser considered features. However, considering the drama that could be brought from many of these athletes (many more known than Micky Ward), I'm fascinated that we haven't seen more black boxing movies. Especially ones that could easily follow a similar rise and fall arc that The Fighter.

I was entertained (but not surprised) that I got home after the film to read Joe Queenan's interesting follow-up article to his Rocky Balboa piece mirrored and articulated my own musings. I was even more entertained by another article from The Montreal Gazette which noticed in depth that this years Oscars is pretty much an all white affair. It also highlighted the lack of agents and executives working top level within the media. Forgive me for the incoming cliche but considering "how far we've come", it's still quite telling that despite this alleged politically correctness gone mad nonsense , it's still easier for Micky Ward and Dickie Eklund to get a movie while Sugar Ray Leonard obtains a cameo. I'm surprised that someone like Sugar Ray Robinson considered the greatest by the greatest himself; Muhammad Ali, is presented as only a physical manifestation of the inner demons of Jake La Motta in Martin Scorsese masterful Raging Bull. But like I mentioned to my father, Will Smith can't play them all.   

Inner demons play a large part of David O Russell's solid feature The Fighter. Micky Ward's half brother Dickie (Bale) wears his fight with the aforementioned Sugar Ray Leonard so close to him that it seems to blight more than anything. So much of a heavy weight (pun not intended) is this fight, amongst other things seem to almost help push the pride of Lowell into the mind numbing highs of crack. This internal conflict with Dickie becomes an outer conflict with his brother Micky (Walhberg) whose boxing career is at a critical point. Seen as a stepping stone for better fighters, how can he progress when his trainer is not only an addict but his brother. Things become more complicated when we realize that Micky's mother (Melissa Leo) is also his manager. Pushing him into bum fights and isolating outside influence. Blood is of course thicker than water, however it's clearly obvious that here, it's beginning to clot and family ties are now pulled to breaking point.

O Russell's film works best in these scenes, they are tense, surprisingly funny and tug well emotionally. Many who come from a big family may know of that awkward position that certain members love to play. The idea that family is everything means nothing when it's obvious that control means more. The personal punches hit as hard as the body blows and O Russell captures paints the picture more vivid then I'd expected. The two  reasons I think this works are one: the enveloping gaggle of sisters that crowd around that patriarchal and dominant mother (an impressive Leo). They who watch constantly and chime in like Greek choir of sass. The second is of course the googly eyed, mesmerizing  performance by Christian Bale a man whose outside life and method tactics often obscure the fact that he is a damn fine actor. It's a showy display that feature knowing Oscar baiting moments but alot of that is due to the material more than anything else. Bale nails his scenes and I wouldn't be surprised if the bald gold man goes to him.


Bale and Leo are extremely effective in the role, but maybe a little too effective. You see for a film called The Fighter it's a little shocking that the actual fighter himself is so passive. Wahlberg has also been a topsy turvy actors for me and there's no change here. As opposed of imprinting himself on the scene, Wahlberg like in other films I've seen with himself, fades to the background. Like Boogie Nights, when sharper actors enter the screen Wahlberg seems to shadow them more than anything. Amy Adams however, shows that she can do the tough cookie role well enough to keep a viewer at attention.

As a whole the The Fighter is a uniformly directed piece with some nice visuals and neat touches. The decision to give the fights that TV style look as opposed to regular film is an effective touch, while the fight set pieces themselves are punchy (pun again not intended), with blows that hit hard. They are defiantly not Rocky 4 beat downs. But with all this said, the cogs are consistently turning in The Fighter. you can always nearly always tell what it's thinking. Where it's going and how you should feel. Wahlberg's Micky is a tad to bland to really get into as all the charisma is with his brother and I'm not surprised at the fact that the screenwriters also had a hand in films such as 8 Mile (Rocky but rap) and Air Bud (safe family pleasing affair). From the music ques to the moment we see Dickie going cold turkey there's a touch of the "oh ok"Aronofsky as executive producer, this does become an entertaining companion piece to The Wrestler. No fireworks but no pulled punches either.