Ah, doctor! Do take a seat. Now, I suppose you're wondering why I called you here with such urgency. Well, it's the curious case of that Reilly chap. Yes, you know him, the moving-picture performer.
His latest cinematograph is causing quite the stir in the city so I've heard, and while many are claiming the work to be a calculated and prolonged insult to the memory of dear Sir A.C. Doyle, I suspect that's too obvious a ruse. No, what's troubling me more is what Reilly hopes to attain, or indeed contribute, by being party to the frittering of forty-two million new American dollars on such a blatant slander. Allow me to explain...
When I sat in my local amphitorium to witness Holmes & Watson, I did so in the company of only four other patrons, and less than a week after the presentation had made its West End debut. An hour into the programme, two of those left. Such is the fickle nature of comedy, one supposes.
Or perhaps not...
CHUCKLE You see, the odd snort and chuckle that the film does have to offer invariably comes from Reilly himself. Although whether this is down to the writing or his recital of those lines is a fleeting puzzle throughout.
Not content with having a comedic baseline of shrieking and basic slapstick, what passes for a script is perpetually in a race with itself to find the lowest common denominator that a 12A certificate will allow in any given scene. Because why stop at hitting the housekeeper Mrs Hudson in the face with a cricket bat, when there's her recurring slut-shaming in the jovial repertoire as well?
Although for all the film's warped gender politics, cheap racial jokes seem low on the agenda (although probably only because the cast is almost entirely caucasian), and The Americas come in for just as much of a heavy-handed societal ribbing as Britain. Small mercies.
BLUES The sloppy ADR is all over the shop, apparently demonstrating that the filmmakers didn't have a script they were happy with during the actual filming process. And much like the heavy-handed historical references, the British accents from the transatlantic players here are atrocious of course. But if these are not an outright deliberate affectation, they're certainly still intended to be part of the overall joke. And this script needs all the help in can get, in that department.
All credit is due to cinematographer Oliver Wood, for using an increasingly inventive series of camera angles to crop out any trace of modern London in the iconic landmark location-shots, all the while having each and every sequence somehow look exactly like it was filmed in mid-2018. Quite remarkable.
MARX While the stylised, slow-motion fight breakdowns certainly doff their hat duly in the direction of the underappreciated Guy Ritchie outings, they appear to be the the only actual Sherlock Holmes material that writer/director Etan Cohen*1 has consumed in researching his piece.
Indeed, there's the persistent feeling that with the grandiose Victorian setpieces, Cohen would very much like to channel a more broadly comic rendering of the works of Alan Moore. Albeit without having actually read any Alan Moore, so it seems.
Ultimately, this is Without A Clue for the Daddy's Home generation. In all honesty, the production does not put in enough effort to earn the true ire of audiences and critics, even if this laziness does not excuse the final, inevitable result.
SPENCER We don't necessarily expect better of Reilly's accomplice William Ferrell at this stage in his career of course, and while the high calibre of the rest of the turnout is frankly baffling, audiences can rest assured that if this film had been made at any other time with any other roster, it would still have been every bit as substandard.
In fact, the general breadth of the cast-list suggests a number of theatrical favours being called in, the likes of which we haven't seen since the days of Burke & Hare. And oddly enough, Holmes & Watson makes a striking companion-piece to that similarly sprawling, cinematic folly. In fact, it often appears the powers-that-be may have employed two casting directors, in order to secure this number of accomplished actors who should know better*2.
ALLSOPP But whereas the array of supporting players could argue their involvement with the project was minimal to the point where they'd have little idea of the general direction and aesthetic of the finished work, our man Reilly has no such thespic alibi. He knew what this was, knew what it was meant to be and damned well continued anyway.
The fact that our subject, representing 50% of the leading actors in this piece, can currently be heard elsewhere in the same cinema as the voice of the affable Wreck-It Ralph and is imminently due to take the reins with a touching turn as one of cinema's most iconic comedians, leads me to deduce that Jonningsworth Cuthbert Reilly is actually a pair of twins masquerading as one actor - desperate to milk both ends of the cinematic spectrum but willing to commit to neither.
Elementary, really. Much like Holmes & Watson's approach to comedy...
Sadly, this represents a persistent trend with the latter-day oeuvre of Mr William Ferrell.
Good heavens, no.
Were one to find this production on display in a machine on the promenade whereby a halfpence is inserted and the operator manually replays the story in faux-privacy, one would still have been overcharged. The only upside to this being of course that it can be easily stopped as soon as the grave error of judgement is realised.
I think not.
Why certainly, if you were to sing the film's praises.
There is one particular moment where a hearty brawl takes place at a dockside, and it sounds for all the world like Private Wilhelm makes an auditory cameo appearance in the background. Although given the subtlety of this blending and the corresponding lack thereof elsewhere in the film, I find this difficult to believe.
Level 1: 'Sheesha Smoking Guest' is in this. Dude doesn't even have a name yet, Solo came out in May. What's the GFFA coming to?
*1 Spare a thought for the justly-celebrated writer/director Ethan Cohen, every time one of Etan's films is released and he has to spend the following two months explaining that no, that wasn't one of his. [ BACK ]
*2 The BAFTA award-winning Rebecca Hall, the EMMY award-winning Kelly Macdonald, the NTA-nominated Pam Ferris, the Golden Globe-winning Hugh Laurie, the BAFTA award-winning Steve Coogan, and RTS award-winning Rob Brydon.
Although let's leave Ralph Fiennes out of this, obviously. His lack of judgment is well documented... [ 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.
The BFG (3D / PLOT SPOILERS)
Cert: PG / 117 mins / Dir. Steven Spielberg / Trailer
In order to explain my greatest bugbear(s) with Mr Spielberg's latest work, I have to drop some pretty big plot-points which will only hold context with you, dear reader, if you're already familiar with the story. They're called spoilers, and they begin thusly…
Some way into the third act of the film, the BFG character indicates on (well, off) a map that 'Giant Country' is located somewhere between Greenland and Norway. Now, it's about 650 miles from London (where the scene takes place) to the northernmost point of mainland Britain, and when our friendly central character earlier abducted the protagonist in the middle of the night (also in London) he then runs (and jumps, when it comes to the path of rock-stacks over the sea) to 'Giant Country'.
Even accounting for his height of 70 feet or so, he's only shown to be running at around 50mph, tops. Even in a straight line, it's going to take around 12-13 hours to reach the top of Scotland (and this journey begins at 3am, as the story explicitly states), never mind the further distance he has to cover across the sea. Let's be generous and say he can achieve twice that speed. It's possible (although unlikely) that the further north he travels, the less chance there is of him being seen by humans (this will affect his route and add extra time, though). At best, It'd still be around 10am (broad daylight) when he gets to the Highland shoreline, with the girl held in a single blanket (but not wrapped around her) and wearing only a night-dress. While the temperature will increase with the onset of daybreak, it'll also get colder the further north they travel, plus she's being whizzed (largely unprotected) through the air at around 100mph (and the faster they go, the colder it will feel to the captive). Let's be honest, Sophie would have died from shock and exposure by the time they reached Carlisle.
And if you can get over that, you'll have no problem accepting a story where, at its climax, The Queen of the United Kingdom sends a military task-force to blindly invade a previously undiscovered country and forcibly relocate the indigenous inhabitants, all on the assurance of one science-defying person that she's never met before and his radicalised recruit. I'm sure that all looked better on paper….
+ + + + + + +
Now, this film wasn't really aimed at me. The reason my inner-cynic was allowed to rampage throughout the run-time was the disengagement I felt, separating me from the events on-screen. It's not that I actively disliked The BFG at all, more that it frustrated and even bored me.
One of my most recurrent problems of the first two acts is that I couldn't tell when the story was actually meant to be taking place*1. The damp, cobbled streets of London, complete with slightly old-fashioned cars and the orphanage with the wrought-iron signage suggested the 1940s or 50s, as did the apparent lack of modern technology on display (although television gets a mention midway through the script). The rural setting of Giant Country is suitably timeless, then an extra strolls across the London set wearing a bomber jacket and baseball cap. This hung around the back of my mind, nagging at me, until a brief snippet of the aforementioned Queen features her making a phone call to 'Nancy/Ronnie', securing the action firmly in the 1980s. While it's admittedly refreshing to see a movie set in that time-period which doesn't have a Rubik's Cube lurking in every other shot, knowing the setting earlier would have at least given me more cultural grounding for the story.
The animation is superb in and of itself, but the stylisation and physics of the giants never quite sits properly in the real-world surroundings. A work-colleague of mine is looking cautiously forward to this movie, but is worried about the Americanisation of one of her childhood favourites. I'm pleased to say that it largely avoids that trap, although the requisite John Williams score feels a little heavy-handed. Very accomplished, of course (and far more engaged with the film than his work for SW:TFA), but it's always "on", filling in the gaps which the film needs to let it breathe.
And on the actually positive side, I have to say that Mark Rylance is on suitably great form, both in his voice-work and motion-capture performance. The real star of the film is Ruby Barnhill as Sophie, though, especially given the amount of greenscreen work she puts in. She's emotive, sincere and never patronising or annoying, which is almost unheard of for this sort of thing. And yet the closer the film puts the main characters (physically), the less they work together, somehow, and neither character seems to really develop.
Have you ever eaten a cake, baked by someone you know (and whose previous cakes you've loved), full of ingredients you like, which looks nice but seems to taste of cardboard and packing foam? That.
While I'm struggling to put my finger on precisely why The BFG didn't work for me, a movie this noncommittal and anachronistic from the director of Indiana Jones, the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and the screenwriter of E.T. should be downright impossible, never mind allowable…
I'm genuinely not sure…
If you're a fan of previous versions of the story, sure.
If it's just the kids that want entertaining during the holidays, Finding Dory comes out this time next week.
For my money? No.
To reiterate: Ruby Barnhill is superb in this movie.
She's set a high bar for herself, but great things await her.
Oh, probably not.
You'll have to explain yourself, though.
There isn't.
Level 1: The film's got Bill 'voice-consultant for BB-8' Hader in it.
Well, a voice/mo-cap version of him, at least.
*1 Unfortunately I'm not very familiar with the story itself. And while that would certainly put me on the back foot if I'd been watching a sequel or spinoff, it really shouldn't matter here.
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.
Okay, from the film's trailer, you'd expect The Gift to be a bit 'Channel 5'. And in a few too many places, it kind of is, although it's still worth a gander for a Saturday night on the sofa. A perfectly serviceable, if unambitious, psychological thriller from Joel Edgerton sees Simon (Jason Bateman) and Robyn (Rebecca Hall) up-sticks from Chicago to Los Angeles in a bid to leave stresses and troubles behind them and start afresh. But a chance counter with Gordo (Edgerton), an old acquaintance of Simon's, starts a chain of events which unearths the past and threatens their future.
Yeah, it is a bit, isn't it? As mentioned above it's by no means a bad flick, just a little tried-and-tested. Jason Bateman's always good value for money, but he's still Jason Bateman™, even when his role gives him a longer leash to roam on than most of his movies. As the discomfort of the film increases, it often feels like Horrible Bosses without the gags. Also holding her head high is Rebecca Hall, whose performance here reminds me of Michelle Forbes in Kalifornia; ie so much better than the rest of the film. The only real stumbling block is Joel Edgerton himself. While he plays the role of Gordo with restraint, his direction sometimes feels a little heavy-handed. But that's also got to come down to his screenplay. While he doesn't put on The Star Shoes™ by any means, I think the film suffers from having him in the Writer/Director/Producer/Actor chairs, and it could have done with a few more creative contributors.
Much like Knock Knock, the audience ends up wanting bad things to happen to Simon and Robyn largely because of the sheer ostentatiousness of the property they live in. Also, Robyn must be the only "designer" in modern cinematic history who doesn't use a Mac (Acer have signed off on the product placement, but Microsoft don't appear to, so we never get to see her actually on-screen working. Although if the bland-quality of her 'lost-dog' poster is anything to go by, that's probably just as well. The film doesn't properly explain it, but I imagine the dog comes home out of embarrassment, having collected all of the posters on the way and put them in the bin).
Importantly, the film's overbearing tension certainly works, as do a handful of orchestrated jumps (Loud Noises™), but the normality which is meant to accentuate these is more stilted and awkward than it should be. A lot of the early dialogue feels ad-libbed; not a problem with the main cast-trio, but the secondary characters suffer with it. The opening act also features backstory exposition which is clunky to the point of cue-carded. But, when it comes down to it, there's a decent story here, and it'll entertain you if nothing else.
Oh, film/promo/newspaper-review type people: that thing at the crescendo of the film? That's not "a twist"; that's "the plot". Please look up the difference.
It's ironic that in order to be the interesting film of its few final scenes, Edgerton's project has to be a well-worn psych-thriller for the first hour and a half. The pay-off's worth it, but only just.
The Gift really wants to be Se7en, but never really gets past being The Hand That Rocks The Cradle...
Not particularly.
It's a rental, tops. A good rental, but a rental nonetheless.
Not particularly.
It probably does, although Edgerton set his bar lower than he perhaps should have.
Not particularly.
There isn't.
The Gift stars, and is directed by, none other than Young Uncle Owen himself, Joel Edgerton.
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.
Transcendence Cert: 12A / 119 mins / Dir. Wally Pfister
There's something faintly ironic about the film industry's pre-occupation with scaremongering about technology, whilst delivering its message in digitally projected high-definition. Almost as if an audience that has nothing better to do on a Friday night than sit in a darkened room not talking to each other, is going to leave the auditorium and eschew the modern ways to live in a cave and grow sunflowers.
Actually, to be fair, that's not the message in Transcendence, if only because it hasn't really got a message, other than Johnny Depp turns into a bit of an arsehole if you plug him into the mains. I suspect that director Wally Pfister had grand visions of making a film about science, conscience, society and the nature of identity; sadly, writer Jack Paglen had other ideas. The latest Depp vehicle limps along for two hours after hamstringing itself in the opening scenes, having character name redacted narrate the story for us from the end of the film (so not only do we know how it ends, but we also know who's around to talk about it). So bang goes any real tension, throughout.
The film's approach to computer science, physics and biology is either staggeringly naive, or willfully stupid, and the occasional nods towards religious symbolism make Noah look positively agnostic. The only person with any real acting to do is Rebecca Hall (which she manages with ease), while Depp, Bettany and Freeman phone in the performances that their pay-checks allow for. At least Cillian Murphy looks relieved his role is a relatively minor one. This is a film which will be on few CVs, I imagine.
An interesting premise is clumsily handled, ticking every box on the techno-thriller checklist, albeit with illegible handwriting. Transcendence never goes so far as to be actively 'bad', but manages to maintain a constant level of 'not that good', which is somehow worse.
If you harbour a vague distrust of computers and have ever wondered if a programmed simulation of Johnny Depp is noticeably different to the real thing, 'Lawnmower Man 3' is the film for you…
The trailer works better than the film, largely because it doesn't attempt to explain itself at every turn.
Nowhere near enough.
Not likely.
This is a '3 DVDs for £10 at Asda' movie.
A little.
.
Didn't hear one.
Did anyone else want to punch some kittens when Evelyn checked into a hotel under the pre-arranged pseudonym 'Turing'?
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.
The Awakening (Spoiler-free)
Cert: 15 / 117 mins / Dir. Nick Murphy
More of a supernatural thriller than an outright horror, The Awakening is the story of an author and sceptic who accepts a job at a boys' boarding school after the first World War (the trailer says 1919, the movie says 1921, what can you do?), after sightings of a ghost have lead to the death of one of the pupils. As the building is emptied for the holidays, hallways echo and voices from the past make themselves heard…
On the plus side, the desaturated colour palette and wisely used camerawork gives the film a beautiful antique, claustrophobic feel reminiscent of The Others. The frights and chills are wholly expected, but delivered with a restrained perfection. As a ghost story, it sets out its stall and sells its wares beautifully. Rebecca Hall, Dominic West and Imelda Staunton all give solid performances perfectly in keeping with the atmosphere.
That said, it seems to owe a lot to stories you've already seen or read. That's not a deal-breaker when it's told as solidly as it is, but the further in to the film you get, the less it has to offer. Don't focus too much on the destination, and just enjoy the ride. As is usual with this sort of thing, a lot of the story's power lies in the first telling, so avoid spoilers if you can. Best watched in the dark.
Yes.
Yes.
Just about.
Pay to rent.
A little.
At some point.
There isn't, no.
Where can I get me one of those torches that seems to illuminate nothing but my face as I'm tiptoeing around the house at night?
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 'catch-up' review. I watched this film at home, not at the cinema. I saw the trailer for this at the cinema, and I would have seen the film there too, but they didn't/couldn't show it. So now iTunes, Amazon, Netflix and Blockbuster get to reap the rewards of my local's advance-advertising, and I'm sure they're delighted. Now you may say "oh come on, they can't show everything down there", and that would be a valid point if they didn't do things like running Taken 2 for six weeks. Was it that successful? No, I don't think so. Twilight? Batman? Les Mes? Sure, go for it; if they're pulling the punters in then keep making that money. But Taken 2? I ask you. Anyway, this is essentially a DVD review, but still of a new(ish) film. There. I'm glad that's sorted.
• 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.
Holmes & Watson
