Review: Captain America: The Winter Solider

Year: 2014
Directors: Anthony and Joe Russo
Screenplay: Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely
Starring: Chris Evans, Scarlett Johansson, Sebastian Stan, Anthony Mackie, Cobie Smulders, Frank Grillo, Emily VanCamp, Hayley Atwell, Robert Redford, and Samuel L. Jackson.

Synopsis is here 

I do say to myself that I’m tired of this current stream of comic book movies. I still find it astonishing how some of my friends keep themselves psyched for each upcoming entry. I guess they do well to avoid the teaser teaser trailers and constant click bait articles which break down said trailers shot by shot.  Of course you ignore these things as much as a mainstream film fan can, one can still suffer from comic book fatigue. Evidence can be found in the hammer headed -marketing campaign that The Amazing Spiderman 2 is leading.

I complain about these things and yet due to this blog, the current film environment and that fact that I'm full of self hatred, I find myself settling down with popcorn to watch these things. I have become more partial with the superheroes. I abstained from Thor: The Dark World, for no other reason than I'm not especially interested in that strand of the Avengers (Loki excluded). Yet I found myself hitting Captain America: The Winter Solider on the opening weekend. Reason being, I simply want to see what they do with Steve Rogers thread.

Captain America: TWS pleasantly reminds me why I find myself coming back to comic book franchises.  This is a solid extension of what has come before with its head firmly placed with where it wishes to go. The basics still remain; Roger's is still the slick haired, Boy Scout action man, whose heart is so securely in the right place, you'd need power tools to wrench it loose. Yet there's a stern sense of growth. Evans deals comfortably with Rogers as a man who is a step out of touch with the world, but with the willingness and ability to adapt.

Observing at how the screenplay deals with an extraordinary man thrust into a modernised cynical world, makes me consider just how crooked the likes of Man of Steel feels against this. True the Marvel studio has had time, but it only takes a few scenes to see the deftness of touch. One scene based inside Washington's Smithsonian Institution balances Rogers as the relic he was and the hero he is. It's executed with a grace that displays a sense of assurance the Russo brothers clearly have, considering these are directors whose recent history is been more successful with smaller screen comedies (Arrested Development, Community).

The film still suffers from conflict. The presence of Robert Redford, paranoid mood and knowing establishing shots of the Washington monument do suggest 70's thriller the film aims for, but once the action kicks in, the tone sometimes gets swallowed up by Marvel's action style. While we gain more physicallity than we've seen in previous entries, most of the action itself still feels pretty typical of what we know. Less Parallax View, more powerhouse punches, although it's hard to think of the target audience noticing.

Joe Johnson created a Captain America with a similar tradition to the likes of The Rocketeer (1991). The first film's buccaneering style and compositions feel more comfortable with the comic book source. It's difficult not to feel that that The Winter Solider does sometimes feel at odds despite its larger, more confident set pieces.

 The Winter Solider still maintains some neat touches. In a film that talks about the enemy within, it's interesting to see Rogers have a book on George Bush on his shelves. Early talk about R&B singer Marvin Gaye starts off as an amusing aside, but reminds us of the artist's socio political leanings as well as his death by the hand of his own father. Consider this when we discover the identity of The Winter Soldier.

The uncomfortable notion that no one can be trusted is becoming key to this incarnation of this Marvel universe. The Winter Solider toys with the strand as effectively as the other entries in the universe. Unlike Iron Man 3 however, there's less awkwardness in the carrying out of the theme, revelations feel less like pulled rugs, while red herring play out more than adequately. A small yet effective piece of editing seems to turn attention to a character that isn't surprising, but hints at a dormant conflict that would throw up interesting outcomes.

I found it hard not to think of more Paul Greengrass more than Alan J Pakula. Evans has the kind of conflict of interests that bother Matt Damon and while he takes on the unassuming role well, the superhero aspects make him a little less affecting than the likes Gene Hackman, Warren Beatty or Donald Sutherland. That said, these films have a different agenda than their influences, or fan canon for that matter. People like me need reasons to keep coming. If Marvel keep generating curiosities such as Captain America: TWS, I guess I'll keep spending.

Review: We Are What We Are

Year: 2013 (U.K Release 2014)
Director:  Jim Mickle

Screenplay:  Jim Mickle, Nick Damici

Starring:  Bill Sage, Julia Garner, Amber Childers, Kelly McGillis

Synopsis is here

It is more than a little strange seeing the 2010 Mexican horror; We Are What We Are, as a U.S remake. Mostly because of just how odd the original actually is. For a film about a family of cannibals, it’s not particularly that interested in the eating. Essentially the film is more about the disintegration of a family unit in abject poverty.

If you came out of Jim Mickle’s vampire road movie Stake Land feeling a little spoilt, then one can see you finishing this a tad disappointed. A fellow writer friend of mine stated that Mickle’s reimagining has an agenda to and the film clearly admits this with its gender switching antics and more explicit touches on religion.  You can sense the film’s wryness with its cast, which harks back to Red State and Martha Marcy May Marlene. Yet the original was a leaner beast that wore its ragged edges proudly. While Mickle’s U.S version is a more polished creature, it’s a tad more conventional one with it.

The story remains largely the same; the authority of a poor, cannibalistic family passes away suddenly and the remaining members struggle to maintain a sense of order. Mickle switches the family loss from a patriarchal one to matriarch.  There’s also an alteration of the children so there’s now two brooding sisters and a younger brother, as opposed to the conflicting brothers and single sister from before. This change is a grander one than expected. No longer do we have the Cain and Abel dynamic that was infused within the original feature. Also by decreasing the age of the youngest child, we no longer have the tense conflicts that were placed up by the three siblings. Mickle and fellow Stake Land writer Nick Damici bring more focus to the world around the family along with the more typical clashes of female puberty and daddy daughter issues.

The changes bring mixed results. While the original film is a more abstract affair, we now have less complicated mechanics. Less is left up to suggestion with Mickle’s film interspersing more back story to bring clarity for viewers who like to dismiss the ambiguous. Mickle maintains the same methodical pace from before, while confidently building a new version of an old world with his regular cinematographer Ryan Samul. The films overcast portrait of Middle America makes a worthy companion piece to the ravaged world of Stake Land. While the adjustments to the source and more emphasis on outside characters trying to figure out the mystery give We Are What We Are a more customary feel, you certainly can’t fault the acting on show. Whether it’s the intense glare of Bill Sage or the haunted visages of both Julia Garner and Ambyr Childers, the film’s performances are quietly captivating.

We Are What We Are remains a largely effective piece that brings a considerable amount of dread to proceedings. Despite being a remake, Mickles film still stands out among the current found footage haunting and sometimes maddening post modern fare. While it lacks the same peculiarities which made the original film what it is, Mickle once creates again American myth with a decent measure of atmosphere.   

Review: The Grand Budapest Hotel

Year: 2014
Director: Wes Anderson
Screenplay: Wes Anderson
Starring:  Ralph Fiennes, F. Murray Abraham, Mathieu Amalric, Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe, Jeff Goldblum, Jude Law, Harvey Keitel, Bill Murray, Edward Norton, Saoirse Ronan, Léa Seydoux, Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Tom Wilkinson, Owen Wilson, Tony Revolori

Synopsis is here

It's probably been said before, but if you've seen Wes Anderson's Rushmore and got nothing out of it, then the later films of this particular auteur may be almost impenetrable.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is no different. It's a kaleidoscope of intricacies and references. If a viewer not well versed in Anderson's quirks then I can easily imagine them glaring blankly at the slightly indulgent nods to art, music and readings. You're certainly in trouble if you don't enjoy dead pan.

Lord knows how I became a fan of Wes. Then again, like Eli Cash, I always wanted to be a Tenenbaum. The Grand Budapest Hotel doesn't reach the emotional heights I found with that particular movie (Wes’ movies often feel like this, Google Eli Cash if you haven’t a clue about what I’m talking about) but for this blogger The Grand Budapest Hotel is a somewhat return to form since the underwhelming Moonrise Kingdom. Yet I say this knowing that, in typical Anderson form, both films will require more viewings to unpack.

This latest entry, much like what we've previously witnessed, is a film brimmed full of mechanics and poise that will drive detractors mad. Yet like its earlier predecessors, The Grand Budapest brings with it that earnest sense of melancholy that Anderson can often provide. While The Darjeeling Litmited  tried to turn an eye on a vastly different culture (and felt cumbersome), The Grand Budapest is a look to the past which is tinged with a light sadness rings true, despite being placed in such an immensely artificial world.
In a fine comic performance; Ralph Fiennes plays M. Gustave, an extraordinarily dapper gent from a bygone time. In one of his wittiest roles, Fiennes delivers an immensely charming portrayal. While he might bed old dears, this is a gentleman who has one foot in a past of traditions that many would love to regain. His lingering desire for meticulous customer service and near sickening politeness is one of the highlights of the film. It’s delightful to see a film in which the protagonist tries (and sometimes succeeds) using an element of refinement.

You expect something so mannered by Anderson. It’s a candid caper where raucous laughter is substituted with muffled polite chuckles. Warmly measured moments swing rapidly to outrageously cartoonish sequences, all to the beat of a metronome.

This is the sort of film where Tilda Swindon plays a 84 year old dear and Willem Defoe gets to remind us how well is his at unnerving viewers, with an ape like gaze which is far from voicing polar bear puppets for frozen food companies. Yet this is also a film that can break ones heart with a snap of its fingers. A boy can relive the horrors of war in one sharp monologue or a pained expression on a middle aged man tells a thousand stories. The film is book ended by sequences which seem odd, yet when a step is taken back, we released that's it's not just about Wes pulling a yarn but empathising that stories whatever they be should be told and kept close in an ever changing world that is falling in the hands of youth. We must share and tell our tales and be polite when we do so.

Review: Big Bad Wolves

Year: 2013 (U.K Release 2014)

Director: Aharon Keshales, Navot Papushado

Screenplay: Aharon Keshales, Navot Papushado

Starring: Lior Ashkenazi, Tzahi Grad, Doval'e Glickman, Rotem Keinan

Synopsis is here

If you give it a moments thought, then it really shouldn’t be a surprise that Quentin Tarantino considered Big Bad Wolves one of 2013’s best movies. The words violent revenge film has become almost synonymous with the directors later works. While the description of Aharon Keshales and Navot Papushado’s tense thriller can happily lend itself to that particular sub-genre, Big Bad Wolves like the Israeli duo’s first feature Rabies is far more interested in stretching the limits, shifting the tones and skewing the view of what we westerners are comfortably used to.

The catalyst of the narrative (the disappearance and murder of a schoolgirl) plays on the primal fears that haunt many adults, yet Big Bad Wolves approaches the subject with a caustic wit that may stun an unaware viewer. This seems to be a trademark of the writing/directing duo; who were only too happy to punctuate Rabies with similar coroner like humour. Like its predecessor, Big Bad Wolves is also willing to mine sympathy from uncomfortable areas, creating an environment of uncertainty that leaves the viewer unbalanced. More than once, we’re so sure of the intentions of characters, only for things to flip on their head and make us double take what we saw and how we felt before. Such oddball shifts not only remind us of the constant tonal shifting of Korean cinema, but also give the film a strong layer of texture. While violent, the film is not as explicit it may suggest. But the horror lies in the uncertainly of what appears to be such a cut and dry case. The fear comes from the idea that we may be siding with the wrong people for terrible reasons.

What interests me about Kashales and Papushado’s filmmaking is how willing they to allow their characters to bring, not only their own baggage, but weighty subjects of the Israeli culture to the table. Rabies flirted with bringing personal relationships, gender politics and religious elements, intelligently to the forefront. Big Bad Wolves, the trend, asking one simple question: Where are the women? This is not only a question in the literal sense, a little girl has been taken away (the wordless slow motion opening is sets the tone superbly), but the film queries the film in a more obscure way as we see all three of the main characters conduct all their relationships with women through strained phone calls. These men are amusingly always too occupied with asserting their masculinity and doing other (vicious) things that they let their relationships fracture. It’s important to note just how bad things get for each character as they take less notice from those they love.

While not as generous with the bloodletting as the likes of “Torture Porn” exploitation fare such as Hostel, Wolf Creek, et all, Big Bad Wolves,  brings the aggression and tensions that stem from the country’s history. The film also; unlike the modern films that have before it, smartly questions the nature of torture in a way that’s upfront and witty while maintaining a troubling brutality. While The film’s climax may not completely satisfy, Big Bad Wolves, provides the type of energetic ambition that horror viewers need to see more of.

Review: Bastards

Yeah: 2013 (UK release 2014)
Director: Claire Denis
Screenplay: Jean-Pol Fargeau Claire Denis
Starring: Vincent Lindon, Chiara Mastroianni

Synopsis is here:

I found myself to be quite bowled over with Bastards. This was a feature that I had no expectations for, yet discovered it to be the type of revenge film that I lust for. Its fractured structure and slow burn philosophy to the nature of its straightforward narrative threw me for a loop. It allows its characters to breathe yet the film wallows in such desolate, nocturnal tones it becomes suffocating.

It starts simply enough, a death, a sexual assault, a dysfunctional family and a hinted plot for revenge but slowly (very slowly mind) becomes something twisted and unnerving. Pieces of the puzzle are given to us but Denis’ film is all about its foreboding mood. It wants us in the squalor with the characters we’re watching. We need to be drenched in the same filth as them. When we slot the pieces into place the film wants us to know that the entire picture is ugly.

While the sums of the film’s parts are pretty standard, it’s Denis’ focus on character that sways things. The film plays with the same type of sleazy cynicism that littered Ben Wheatley’s Kill List. The people we watch may hold wealth, but slip into the backside of Paris so well they become near camouflaged. Protagonist Marco Silvestri’s (a brooding and craggy Vincent Lindon) outer shell of affluence betrays a corroded core brought on by his secretive and destructive family. It’s no surprise that we find their once successful shoe company now plumbing the depths of bankruptcy. As the film ploughs on, the liner plot has us guessing how it all slots in, yet the themes point to ideas of business lives being invaded by the personal.

But what really hits you is the tension; a creeping feeling of foreboding and desperation that sits awkwardly with a viewer throughout. Haunting images are glimpsed and loiter in the brain like unshakeable blemishes; an assaulted teen wondering waif-like through the night, a discarded bike we remember in the hands of another character. Denis uses these moments not only to disconcert us but to keep us locked in the films distilled bitterness. By the end of the film I wasn’t just left with the how and why, but a profound sorrow at the film’s dismissal of innocence and it’s perversion of loyalty. Never has a title been so apt.