Category Archives: Reviews

Review: Stuck in Love

Screen shot 2013-06-13 at 15.31.55(Dir. Josh Boone)

Following in the footsteps of Josh Radnor’s Liberal Arts (2012) – a soft-core ditty that met Woody Allen-esque cross-generational romance with an insatiable attempt to make literature sexy, director Josh Boone makes a similar stab at making the romantic tribulations faced by a family of writers remotely interesting in his feature debut Stuck in Love (2013). Binding together a cast of able and likable stars, writer-director Boone takes a comparable approach to storytelling made popular by such long-form TV ‘dramadies’ as The OC (2003-2007) and One Tree Hill (2003-2012) in that he draws as much emphasis on his teenage characters as he does on their parents by mapping their various frictions and allegiances. Yet, as tenderly rendered as these imbalanced relationships are, they engulf a film that resembles an overly long novel whose dense pages far outweigh its meagre spine.

 The reliably affable Greg Kinnear plays Bill Borgens, the head of this outré precocious and rigorously well-read family. He is stifled by a bout of writers block founded on his obsessions with his ex-wife Erica (Jennifer Connelly), who left him three years ago for a younger, tighter man who owns a gym (and whose sole characterisation is a rippling torso). The two share different relationships with their ferociously independent daughter Samantha (Lily Collins), who arrives home from college with the news that her first novel is being published. Bill – who endures excitable sporadic sex with a married neighbour (played by Kristen Bell) – is delighted by the news whilst Erica uses it at yet another opportunity to reach out to her estranged daughter, to frosty avail.

Meanwhile Samantha’s younger brother Rusty (Nat Wolff), an ardent Stephen King devotee who aspires to be just as successful, attempts to win over the girl of his schoolyard dreams but faces an uphill battle with her chequered history with substance abuse. As Samantha begins to challenge her stern views on love and companionship – brought about by the pangs of her parent’s separation – by considering the advances of fervent romantic Lou (Logan Lerman) (a fellow King enthusiast), the romantic situations surrounding her begin to blossom, paving the way for various life lessons to be learnt and emotional barriers lifted.

Clearly attempting to be a turning point for the sort of contemporary teen-specific film that bathes in sex and frivolity, Stuck in Love has far too much going on in its variety of spikily plotted sub-narratives to make it anything other than annoying and unfocused. Boone shows a knack for teasing out the charms of his attractive cast but fails at juggling his characters and their occurrences, sacrificing an initially light timbre to wildly melodramatic and soft-edged tonal turns that amount to formulaic conclusions and generic, even totally predictable, resolutions. Similarly overegged are the director’s desires to create a notch on the belt of timeless romantic-comedy-drama by attempting to do something a little different, but his over-soundtracked film and its Über-cultured, ultra-modern inhabitants prevent it from being just that. Scenes of characters fawning over Bright Eyes CDs and sobbing to Elliot Smith’s Between The Bars in the pouring rain are as close to a director forecasting what’s cool and what’s not as cinema gets, even if his pop-culture proclivities are a little dated.

Speaking of cool, and re-referencing Liberal Arts, books are working their way back into cinematic consciousness as examples of the attractiveness of individuality and the importance of articulacy. And though Boone contrives obvious oppositions to the static process of simply reading a book (seen with Bell’s fitness fanatic bigamist and Erica’s six-packed and brain-dead gym bunny), he ceaselessly reminds you that literature is imaginative and fashionable despite his film being anything but.

Review: The Iceman

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(Originally posted at The Hollywood News)

Director: Ariel Vromen

Starring: Michael Shannon, Winona Ryder, Ray Liotta, Chris Evans, David Schwimmer, James Franco

Running Time: 105 mins

Certificate: 15

Synopsis: Inspired by actual events, The Iceman examines notorious American hitman Richard Kuklinski, who, in 1986, was convicted of murdering over 100 men for various crime organisations around the New York area. The twist to Kuklinski’s reign as an untarnished assassin is that he was a devoted provider to a family who had no idea about his profession.

Charting the rise and subsequent fall of Richard Kuklinski, one of the most notorious and prolific contract killers in American history, Ariel Vromen’s latest, The Iceman, sees the director realising actual events through various genre prisms and conventions, telling the true story of a man torn between a devotion to his family and the pangs of a frustrated inner psyche. Playing Richard ‘The Iceman’ Kuklinski is Michael Shannon, who, after a string of deeply conflicted characters – from Jeff Nichols’ superb Take Shelter (2011) to TV’s Boardwalk Empire – brings his proclivity for stone-faced intensity to a character few others could justifiably convey. Surrounded by an abundance of excellent support, Shannon carries the film and saves it from the run-of-the-mill biopic it teeters on becoming, delivering a performance of blinding magnitude.

The Iceman follows Kuklinski during a period that spanned from the 1960s through the late 1980s, and goes about attempting to examine how his attempt to exempt his family from a secret profession ultimately leads to his undoing. The film starts with Kuklinski – a mild-mannered, stoic blue-collar porn warehouse drone, courting and eventually marrying his first and only love Deborah Pellicotti (an outstandingly on-form Winona Ryder) and quickly establishing a family he is determined to keep as far removed from his volatile childhood (under the rule of an abusive father) as possible.

However, when local mob boss Roy Demeo (Ray Liotta) coaxes Kuklinski into embracing the darker sides of his outwardly passive demeanour whilst exploiting his knack for remorseless assassinations – to lucrative results, Kuklinski begins on a downward path he finds increasingly difficult to walk away from. As the fraught lines between providing for and protecting his family and sculpting his career as a prosperous hitman become evermore difficult to balance, Kuklinski learns that having everything comes at a fateful price.

Brought to gritty life by cinematographer Bobby Bukowski, Vromen’s film is an impressive distillation of a man caught in the crossfire between intense unrequited rage and a palpable commitment to keeping his assembled version of the American dream alive, unspoilt by the sins of his parentage. In a role seemingly tailor-made for his style of brooding hostility, Shannon deftly handles the tonal shifts between pent up aggression and genuine sentimentality, portraying Kuklinski as a man governed by what he deems is the right thing to do for his family. Each side of his persona – the loving family man and the compassionless killer – are equally compelling, yet Vromen ultimately fails to find and identify a through line to fully join the two together, settling for a result that is more imbalanced and hurried than overly memorable.

Effectively a film of two distinct halves shared between a conformity to the forms of two genres, The Iceman works best as a thriller about a submissive man consumed by his thirst and simultaneous penchant for criminality. Yet, as it stands, Vromen’s film is a strongly acted, Goodfellas (1990)-esque portrait that is as plagued by the various cliché’s of the gangster genre as its protagonist is by a dark and frighteningly rendered appetite for flurries of violence.

Review: I Give It a Year

Screen shot 2013-06-06 at 21.05.21Screen shot 2013-06-06 at 21.05.07

(Originally posted at CineVue)

Ever since the Working Title stable made a decision to fund acclaimed, lucrative comedies that were as romantic as they were inherently British, the desire to replicate such successes has rendered the UK’s grasp of the genre somewhat wanting. However, Dan Mazer’s timely I Give It a Year (2013) looks to reinstate our nation’s taste for domestically tinged romantic comedies by offering – like Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (2004) before it – the antidote to such stale proceedings by effectively exploring the subsequent travails of the happily ever after idyll. The film attempts to give answers to the question: what happens after you say “I do”? by circumnavigating stale convention, but finds itself trapped within its own conformism.

Rafe Spall (in his first leading role) and Rose Byrne play Josh and Nat respectively, a couple who, after an all too brief seven-month romance – signified by an all too brief one minute opening montage – upgrade their whirlwind relationship and tie the knot. Once the couple’s notions of wedded bliss begin to dwindle and the honeymoon period draws to a weary stop, the cracks in their spontaneously thrown together affair begin to show; conflicting traits and career path’s swell whilst dissimilar lifestyles exacerbate their already ingrained problems.

Flitting back and forth between the numerous pleasures and pitfalls of their first few married months and, latterly, sessions with a cantankerous relationship councillor (an over the top Olivia Colman), the film charts Nat and Josh’s questioning of whether they did indeed make the right decisions. Their nuptials are further challenged by attractive alternatives in the form of Josh’s kooky humanitarian ex-girlfriend Chloe (Anna Faris) and Nat’s suave American client Guy (Simon Baker), whose respective suitability test the couple’s devotion and ultimately force them to decide between passion and dependability.

Peppered with a similar amount of gross-out gags, garishly shaped supporting characters and the supposedly satirical humour Mazer injected to his previous projects Borat (2006) and Bruno (2009), I Give It a Year is a triumph of mediocrity accentuated by an unrequited desire to do what the debut filmmaker is unable to achieve. In attempting to seek the supposedly unseen truths behind an uncomfortable dichotomy between the perfect marriage between two people who aren’t necessarily perfect for each other, Mazer has optimistically crafted an imbalanced film fuelled by incompetent filmmaking and sloppy characterisation. Both the portrayal of Josh and Nat and their relationship is rushed and underdeveloped, so when their affections become intercepted by equally listless characters, the film feels more passive than natural and honest. As narrative convolutions begin to stack up, Mazer continues to lifelessly counter the established permutations of the genre despite eventually giving in and welcoming a contented climax, no matter how awkward and hasty it appears to be. The genre continues to struggle, and I Give It a Year won’t be reigniting its diminishing flame any time soon.

DVD Review: Breaking Bad Season 5 – Part One

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(Originally posted at CineVue)

Mere months away from the final batch of episodes of Vince Gilligan’s critically acclaimed televisual juggernaut that will round off the show’s judicious lifespan, fans now have the chance to reacquaint themselves with the first eight in Breaking Bad – Season 5. Following on from the suspense-laden, action-packed fourth season, which saw Walter White (Bryan Cranston) and Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul) struggling to overcome the extenuating forces stopping him from becoming the undisputed kingpin of his local crime underworld, SeasonFive – part one sees Gilligan diligently slotting every miscellaneous element into place before an almighty send-off, all the while delivering a prelude that is just as exhilarating and cunning as season’s before it, perhaps even more so.

After overcoming the sinister grip of meticulous criminal kingpin Gustavo Fring last season, whose Machiavellian hold over the duo’s methamphetamine drug syndicate proved to be his ultimate undoing, Walter quickly begins establishing himself as the ruthless new head honcho of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Cementing his transformation from well-meaning chemistry teacher and family man to full-blown drug lord, Walter partners up with various sources – including shady handyman Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks) – and fully subsidises a supremely lucrative venture that once started as a means to a protective end for his family.

Now his cancer is in remission, Walter begins to lose sight of his original motivations yet continues a venture into the capitalism of narcotics fuelled only by greed and the thirst for power. However, the fruits of his nefarious, and increasingly homicidal, schemes are threatened by a new development in the investigation led by his relentless brother-in-law Hank (Dean Norris), a DEA agent circling closer to his long sought-after prey. As explosive events conspire to challenge his ascension, Walter begins to recognise the difficulties and unease that comes with his wearing of a most perilous of crowns.

Thriving within what some are calling the latest “golden age of television”, where a handful of shows channel and challenge their more filmic equivalents, Breaking Bad has remained a fixture for audiences with a hankering for phenomenally handled and acted drama. These preliminary episodes represent the show at its towering best, offering breakneck narrative advancement with the sort of visual flairs and complex story arcs many shows merely dream about replicating. It’s all too rare for a show as packed with incident and events as this to remain fresh and inventive, yet this is testament to Gilligan’s careful maintenance and delineation of a well-constructed story peppered with engaging, deeply realised and relatable characters.

The acting is, as usual, astounding; from Cranston’s colossally frustrated Walter to Aaron Paul’s moralistic yin to his partner’s unsettling yang, and there isn’t a weak episode in the bunch, filled as they are with scenes of relentlessly high stakes plot development. A scene of Walter and his increasingly frightened wife Skylar (Anna Gunn) gazing at the mounds of illicit cash his empire has amassed is as powerful as anything the show has conjured before, detailing both the lengths this man will go for the preservation of his family and the enticement of megalomania.

Packed with in-depth special features, Breaking Bad – Season Five is a bracing preface to – based on this evidence alone – a final portion that will be a monumental event and an almighty cause of sorrow for fans the world over.

Review: Beware of Mr. Baker

Legendary Cream drummer Ginger Baker, left, with BEWARE OF MR. B

(Jay Bulger, 2012)
(Originally posted at Take One)

Taking its name from a warning sign adorning the driveway of a particularly cantankerous British rock ‘n’ roll legend, Jay Bulger’s all-encompassing documentary Beware of Mr. Baker (2012) peers behind the dark glasses and gruff facade of one Ginger Baker: wunderkind drummer, world renowned agent of disaster and, most significantly, the destructive member of a variety of bands, namely Cream. Notable in his infamy, Baker is a figure tainted by a catalogue of ill-fated decisions and a history of substance abuse, and here is the focus and subject matter for Bulger, who makes his impressive filmmaking debut.

Starting in the present day, which sees Baker breaking the nose of his chronicler – and, arguably, one of a few of his confidantes – in a characteristic outburst of rage, Bulger’s film then journeys backwards and plunges into Baker’s early life and the wild and destructive career that has lead him to, at the time of filming, living a secluded life in South Africa, having journeyed there to sample the life-changing tribal drumming techniques practised there. Studying his troubled childhood, his beginnings as a gifted but untapped musician and the subsequent ascent into the gritty echelons of London’s jazzy, pre-rock ‘n’ roll scene, Bulger utilises a number of techniques to depict the inspirational-cum-tragic tenor of his subject, whose quick submission to the enticements of drugs irrevocably changed his life.

As Bulger flits back and forwards in time (and indeed to and from archive materials, animated sequences and talking head interviews with an abundance of Baker’s previous acquaintances such as Eric Claption), the hidden truths about Baker slowly begin to seep out; he is, of course, a fiery personality that time is quickly beginning to forget, but he is also a caring and secretly kind man jaded by own his weaknesses. In the later stages of his career, when his affiliation with the short-lived Cream was drying up faster than his bank account, Bulger focuses on his charity and his obsessions with horses and polo, elements that both added to his compulsive personality and monetary downfall. In the more contemporary portions of the documentary, the camera stares, motionless, at a static, bitter and contrary 73-year-old Baker mumbling through anecdotes and spouting vitriolic lines and observations as he puts the world to questionable rights. He is vivacious and infectious, a tortured soul with a fascinating history, and Bulger does an excellent job of capturing him at his chequered highs and miniscule lows.

However much the director’s almost faultless affection for his subject glosses over the darkness, the selfishness and the occasionally unbelievable amount of pain he has caused to the people who admire and love him (especially the family he callously disregarded), Beware of Mr. Baker is a fascinating, comprehensive and sympathetic portrait of an explosively flamboyant figure in British rock history, one that paints an interesting picture of the grimy 1960s and 70s rock climate that chewed up this thumping musical virtuoso and pitilessly spat him out.

Review: Star Trek Into Darkness

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(J.J.Abrams, 2013)

2009 saw bespectacled boy wonder J.J Abrams doing the inconceivable: transposing Gene Rodenberry’s beloved creation into the 21st century and giving it a gleamingly cool polish, reminding the world that it was a sci-fi franchise capable of being very much in vogue. Star Trek (2009) was that rare species of Hollywood blockbuster: a CGI-laden romp with a sense of both humour and nostalgia, but also a teeming desire to not merely rehash old ground but deliver to contemporary fans a fresh and exuberant spin on a dusty format. This was done by incorporating an ingeniously assembled alternate reality, allowing Abrams and writers Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, to freely break away from continuity restrictions whilst upholding certain relevant story elements and, more importantly, fan favour. Four years later Abrams returns to the directorial chair – before propelling off to a galaxy far, far away for the upcoming Star Wars: Episode VII (2015) – for belated sequel Star Trek Into Darkness (2013), which sees him reteaming with Orci and Kurtzman (alongside producer Damon Lindelof, given a writers credit) and embarking on a decidedly more ambitious yet flat and impersonal adventure amongst the stars.

Following up a largely superior first outing, Abrams et al have the unenviable task of trying to replicate its winning formula, which is something Into Darkness excels at through the preservation of a formula grounded by the seamless balancing of action and humour – however much it maintains the first’s schizophrenic attention span, where spectacle monotonously interrupts drama. The other jewel in its imperfect crown is the return of a cast who, rapidly and memorably, grew into their characters first time round. Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto’s perfectly rendered Captain James T Kirk and Spock, respectively, are complemented by the epic, echoey bombast of Benedict Cumberbatch’s awesome villain John Harrison, an ex-Starfleet agent with a malevolent penchant for destruction. His villain forms the overarching driving force for the plot, which sees the crew of the Enterprise battling a particularly overwhelming form of terrorism directed all too close to home.

The preservation and indeed wanton fascination with the relationship between Spock and Kirk is the backbone of the franchise, and Abrams fully understands the bearing this has over whatever story he’s telling within this universe. The moral issues between the two protagonists are both engaging and integral to the emotional core of the film, and they cast a formidable shadow over the generic demands of the genre. An opening sequence – set amidst a perilous observation mission on a primitive, volcano-encumbered planet – has ostensibly little to do with the overarching narrative, yet the decisions made by hot-blooded Kirk (his ship’s heart) and rule despot Spock (it’s logic-motivated head) continue to reverberate throughout the succeeding action. This paves the way for the further fleshing out of the traits and principles that clearly define the large cast of characters, allowing even smaller roles the opportunity to once again leave their mark (though Zoe Saldana’s sultry Lieutenant Uhura is unfortunately pushed to the margins, yet fortunately not made as redundant as newcomer Alice Eve is after a glaringly useless underwear shot).

A blatant refusal to part with the frameworks of Star Trek ultimately robs Into Darkness of overall expansion and implants a sense of arrested development. The outcome of Spock and Kirk’s once again tried and tested friendship is copied almost verbatim from its predecessor, which forced into focus the humane notion that, regardless of race, temperament or perspective, loyalty will out. This is also true of the finale of the opening chapter in this hopefully long-lasting revamp, which saw Leonard Nimoy’s Spock Prime – cleverly interwoven into the current mythology – intoning the show’s phrase by outlining the Enterprise’s five-year mission to seek out and explore new worlds, life forms and ultimately go, boldly, where no man has gone before. It left on the promise of further exotic adventures fuelled by inquisition, yet it’s ultimately a promise that Star Trek Into Darkness – with its backwards-facing elaboration and duplicated nature – struggles to keep.