Misbehaviour Cert: 12A / 106 mins / Dir. Philippa Lowthorpe / Trailer
Bolstering the March schedules comes the crowd-pleasing portrayal of the infamous events surrounding the 1970 Miss World contest, touching as it does on misogyny, racism, conformity and activism. Don't worry, it's not as heavy as all that sounds. Which turns out to be a problem, if anything. The main hurdle not quite cleared by Misbehaviour is that the story is about the ongoing struggle against women being reduced to entertainment. A struggle which is, for the most part, reduced to entertainment.
The outstanding cast of Keira Knightley, Jessie Buckley, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Keeley Hawes, Loreece Harrison and a criminally-wasted Lesley Manville arguably handle the story's racial politics with more dexterity than the sexism, but still with surprisingly few sharp edges. Spirited performances from Rhys Ifans and Greg Kinnear wisely resist going full-pantomime under the director's auspices (very much the point, in fact), and are better for it.
Director Phillippa Lowe just about spins the plates of highlighting exploitative behaviour and the fact that the competition does mean a lot to its contestants. It just does this in a way that's not going to challenge or upset its audience*1. In its weaker moments, Misbehaviour feels like a victory-lap for a race that's still ongoing (a point it acknowledges in closing). Awareness is everything of course, and I certainly won't criticise the film's intention, but there's a more biting, urgent and ultimately satisfying movie to be made here. With Lowe at the helm of Rebecca Frayn and Gaby Chiappe's screenplay, the film may not be bound by the patriarchy but it's still very much a part of the cinematic establishment.
This is at its best during quieter scenes, when the script has more to say and can be heard more clearly. There's some fantastic character-interplay between Knightley and Buckley, then Harrison and Mbatha-Raw. Gugu is probably better than the rest of the film in fact, although that's not unusual. But at the end of the day it's a textbook Pathé Films offering with Nina Gold casting and too many musical montage sequences; this has West End Stage Adaptation written all over it...
Misbehaviour is good.
Is good enough?
It's a bit Made In Dagenham, a bit Kinky Boots, a bit Pride.
*1 Unless my wishing for a grittier interpretation of the story is the challenge, of course. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Dolittle Cert: PG / 101 mins / Dir. Stephen Gaghan / Trailer
So we get through the ads and trailers and more ads, the film is about to start and then nothing. Blank screen, silence. After about 30 seconds, I'm on my feet and off out to the foyer to let the staff know there's an issue in Screen 3 (because I'm that guy and I'm fine with that), and to their absolute credit we were up and running again within a couple of minutes. My point is, long after the anonymised online ordering of my ticket for the new Robert Downey Jr talking-animals-film, I could have taken this glitch as an omen, a sign, a get-out-of-the-cinema-free card. But fate tried to intervene and I brushed it aside. I went out into the foyer and actually, physically, verbally asked to watch Dolittle. It's not even like this hasn't happened before.
Reader, I am directly to blame for everything that followed...
Dolittle is a studio boardroom's idea of fun. An adventure without being exciting in any way, a comedy without jokes, old-fashioned without nostalgia, twee without charm, humourless without grit, depressing without weight, mawkish without any genuine emotion to call upon, energetic to the point of incoherence, white-Hollywood's attempt at diversity when left to its own devices, the kind of misguided faux-imperialist bullshit suggesting Tarzan had a one night stand with Pirates Of The Caribbean and this screenplay was dumped on the steps of a local orphanage shortly after, populated by a star-studded voice cast who each appear only to have seen their own lines and which still sound as if they're ad-libbed like the resurrection of Johnny Morris through a combination of CGI and witchcraft, all led by Robert Downey Jr trying to coast on charm through his own appalling decision-making*1 and managing to stumble over his own vocals as the central character seems to hail from the small Welsh village*2 of Barnsley-upon-Ganges...
If this is life-after-Stark then the MCU isn't all that's going to suffer.
Down with this sort of thing.
And also with this actual, exact thing.
Part of me is delighted that The Call Of The Wild is playing in cinemas at the same time as this atrocity, like an instant antidote. But a larger part of me is embarrassed on that film's behalf..
*1 And I can't believe someone actually green-lit the decision to give RDJ the Iron Man 'helmet-shot' as he dons the deep sea diver's outfit, as if that's not a calculated insult to the actor and audience alike.
Actually no, it's Universal. I can believe that... [ BACK ]
*2 He literally says "boyo" on a couple of occasions without any sense of affectation or irony and I'm pretty sure that's, like, racist?[ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Well that's a trailer for a much stronger movie, right there. I wish Wild Rose was less pedestrian. I freely admit that I know little-to-nothing about Country*1, but the music in Wild Rose - the glue which is supposed to hold the whole thing together - feels processed and sanitised to the point of utter blandness. It's admittedly a pretty good fit for the rest of the film.
DAMNEDEST Now I don't mind 'crowd-pleasing', but director Tom Harper has tried his damnedest to strip any emotional drama out of Nicole Taylor's screenplay and in that respect has succeeded admirably. Harper can't seem to focus on the inner character of Rose, getting caught up instead in the cycle of bad decisions and her abrasive exterior. The feeling seeps through that for a story written by a woman and about the dynamics between three women, the film feels an awful lot like it's directed by a man, somehow. The whole thing just comes off like an ITV drama which bills itself as 'grim' when it's actually just humourless.
In the 'up' beats of the first two acts, the edge is taken off somewhat by the overwhelming certainty that some third-act tears are in the post. But when these arrive, they're neither as heartfelt, harrowing or meaningful as the story really needs*2. The only character who feels real in all of this is Rose herself; desperately flawed and unmistakably human. Unfortunately, she's not enough to carry the rest of the film. Jessie Buckley is magnificent in the title role of course (although this is probably because Jessie Buckley would be magnificent reading a takeaway menu), at once both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Again.
CLASHEDEST But Wild Rose isn't as edgy as it would like you to think, and although the story can barely conceal its fairytale roots, it's not as inspirational either. Despite the desaturated suburban backdrop, this isn't Twin Town and it certainly isn't Trainspotting. At best, it's Billy Elliot without the joy*3. Buckley is so much better than the rest of this film it's not true*4. At least the week's other musical outing tells you upfront how cloyingly smug it's going to be.
Wild Rose is fine if you like that sort of thing, although I do think that sort of thing has been done much better elsewhere.
And mate, Rose is not going to be allowed into the USA on some unaccompanied, non-committal sightseeing holiday when she's just got out of prison for narcotics distribution, for actual fuck's sake...
Think of The Commitments, without the iconic soundtrack or the self-indulgent moping.
*1 It's notable that every mention of "Country and Western" in the script receives a petulant tut and eye-roll from the central character, yet when her prison friends shout "yer goin'a be the next Dolly Parton!" (the most clunkingly civilian of Country references next to Willie Nelson, and made by people she's known on a daily basis for two years), Rose doesn't tell them to fuck the fuck off. The fucking hypocrite. [ BACK ]
*2 Spoilers, but: Rose goes to That London (a trip paid for by someone else) with no real plan and returns after achieving nothing. Then Rose goes to Nashville (a trip paid for by someone else) with no real plan and returns after achieving nothing. Rose then decides that the best thing to do is just come back home and not get ideas above her station. Because Rose realises the moment she sets foot outside of Glasgow, she's no longer special. Now, a more focused film would have relayed the message that Rose working her way up from the clubs in suburban Scotland holds more artistic integrity than just bursting into a room, starting singing and hoping to instantly get signed to a label like the lazy winner of some horrific talent show eager for adulation without effort. And that seed is there in Wild Rose, but it's implied more than stated. Which is a shame because almost everything else here is bellowed at the audience without even a hint of subtext. The craft is buried beneath the attention-seeking noise. Again, a pretty good fit all things considered.[ BACK ]
*3 Up to and including, of course, the presence of National Treasure™ Julie Walters, doing her very best here to act like National Treasure™ Julie Walters, in a film which benefits in absolutely no way from featuring National Treasure™ Julie Walters doing a Scottish accent that seems to move about 30 miles between each scene. [ BACK ]
*4 Oh, and Whispering Bob Harris is in this. True story, Bob lives in one of the villages round my way and I saw him in my local Sainsbury's one night about six years ago. Bob asked a staff member where the tonic water was when he was standing in front of the tonic water. Bob then placed the contents of his basket onto the conveyor and then just left the empty basket on the conveyor. Bob left his card in the card machine after entering his PIN and went to walk off with his shopping. And as batshit crazy as all that sounds, at least it was a performance I could believe in. Bob plays 'himself' in Wild Rose and it's absolutely, toe-curlingly atrocious. I like Bob, but what the hell is he doing here? [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Beast Cert: 15 / 104 mins / Dir. Michael Pearce / Trailer
Ah, this is what the Spring months are about. Creeping in under the radar, between the awards-botherers of January and the superhero spandex which will come out of the wardrobe for May, are the smaller more interesting flicks that many moviegoers will miss*1. We've had monsters, psychopaths and ghosts, so the idea of a claustrophobic murder mystery set in suburban Jersey fits right in...
Writer/director's Michael Pearce's Beast is just that. Following Moll (Jessie Buckley), an introverted young woman living on the island with her domineering mother (Geraldine James) and a father in the early stages of Alzheimer's (Tim Woodward), we see her meeting and falling in love with a local handyman and poacher, Pascal (Johnny Flynn). A spate of abductions and murders of young girls has the islanders on-edge, and while nobody dares to point the finger directly at Pascal, he does have a chequered history. Moll, still struggling to come to terms with events in her own past, is torn between the guilt of a family life which is suffocating her, and freedom with a man she knows no-one will trust.
The first thing which hits you about Beast is that it's quite televisual, in a sort of Sunday night, 10pm sort of a way. But you also know that if it had premiered on television, you'd be wondering why it wasn't on at the cinema. The photography here is gorgeous, capturing the vibrant, bleak and poetic landscape in the same way as it does with its cast. From her very first scene, Jessie Buckley's Moll is both unstable and haunting, almost matched by Johnny Flynn in a role which brings to mind a younger, more suave, but still thoroughly unhinged Sean Harris. And while we're on the cast, Geraldine James is also every bit as terrifying as her part requires. Sympathetic characters are thin on the ground, here.
Cinematographer Benjamin Kracun captures a weird, timeless quality on the island, assisted by Jim Williams lingering score. The interior settings often look to be of the late 1970s, but not in a pastiche, Life On Mars sort of way. This just looks like a community which has become left behind without any of the residents noticing. And while there's nothing specifically setting the events in any fixed timeline, the TV reports and news-crews (and the police's use of digital voice recorders) seem to place this in the 21st century, yet we don't see a single mobile phone for the duration.
While the film drops certain clues and easter eggs with regards to the characters' pasts, Pearce doesn't spend too much time tying everything together. Ultimately, this is about shame, remorse, unresolved psychological issues and abusive relationships. It just happens to have a murder-case at the centre of it all.
To say more would be to unpick the plot, and this is really a character-piece. Beast is worth your time for its performances alone; the landscapes are a bonus...
I suspect this will get a fairly limited release, but if you can, sure.
As enjoyable as it is, this will probably be a streamer. Not a huge amount of rewatch value unless you're in love with the Jersey landscape..
Difficult for me to say, but it's solid work all round.
Doubtful.
There isn't.
Level 1: Battle-of-Scarif Rebel pilot Blue Three is in this.
*1 Certainly if tonight's numbers were anything to go by. As an exclusive Unlimited Screening, the only real commitments members face to attend are travel costs and time itself. And the fact that the recent advance showing of Ready Player One was filled wall-to-wall is an indication that most card-holders will make the journey when it matters to them. I can only imagine that with a title like 'Beast', the occupants of tonight's empty seats either assumed the film was a flat-out horror and hadn't bothered, or they'd watched the trailer and realised it was something altogether more weird. Then hadn't bothered. Hey, I don't mind. While I want my cinema to do well, fewer people in the room means - statistically - less chance of me being annoyed with them. Speaking of which, bonus shout-out to the guy in seat G9 directly behind me, who booted the back of my seat every time he fidgeted. Approximately once a minute for the first half-hour… [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Bolstering the March schedules comes the crowd-pleasing portrayal of the infamous events surrounding the 1970 Miss World contest, touching as it does on misogyny, racism, conformity and activism. Don't worry, it's not as heavy as all that sounds. Which turns out to be a problem, if anything. The main hurdle not quite cleared by Misbehaviour is that the story is about the ongoing struggle against women being reduced to entertainment. A struggle which is, for the most part, reduced to entertainment.
So we get through the ads and trailers and more ads, the film is about to start and then nothing. Blank screen, silence. After about 30 seconds, I'm on my feet and off out to the foyer to let the staff know there's an issue in Screen 3 (because I'm that guy and I'm fine with that), and to their absolute credit we were up and running again within a couple of minutes. My point is, long after the anonymised online ordering of my ticket for the new Robert Downey Jr talking-animals-film, I could have taken this glitch as an omen, a sign, a get-out-of-the-cinema-free card. But fate tried to intervene and I brushed it aside. I went out into the foyer and actually, physically, verbally asked to watch Dolittle. It's not even like this hasn't 
