I've got a spreadsheet where I list all the films I've watched*1, link to reviews, categorise them by score, BBFC rating, genre etc. One of those genres available in the dropdown is 'True Story'. Corin Hardy's The Nun opens with a caption-card reading "The following occurred in Romania, 1952". Now, The Nun wasn't categorised in my spreadsheet as 'True Story' before I sat down in screen 5, and it sure as fuck isn't afterward, either. If anything, an early sequence in which our eponymous villain glides slowly down a corridor sees a crucifix on the wall slowly turning upside down the closer to it she gets. As The Nun™ draws parallel to the now-inverted cross, it bursts into flames, and I realised these particular real events have apparently been screenwritten by a 17yr old Cradle Of Filth fan…
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The Nun is the fifth movie in the Conjuring universe. It is the very definition of A Studio Horror, in which an ancient demon is summoned into the body of a middle-aged woman in an Eastern European convent, and is so furious at this that it then goes a bit mad and kills pretty much everyone at every opportunity. For obvious reasons the Vatican isn't too happy at the ruckus being caused, so they send Father Burke (Demián Bichir) to investigate with a collection of suitcases, accompanied for reasons which really aren't made clear by prospective good-nun Sister Irene (Taissa Farmiga*2). Hell on.
It's the kind of film where a French-Canadian farmer living in Romania answers the door to a pair of strangers by speaking in English. The range of accents here is astounding.
The film's basically fine if that's what you're into. But as is so often the case, you'd have to be pretty new to the genre to be wrapped up in anything it has to say. At this point in the ongoing Conjuring saga, the storyline itself is almost completely linear. But wearing the continuity badge upfront like a press-pass, at least that's expected. If anything, I'd much rather have this movie be middling as part of a series than standing alone thinking it's better than it is. The Nun is well enough assembled, but in a way that suggests no-one involved believed they were making something unique, so just didn't try. The wardrobe and set-dressing are nothing less than meticulous, yet I still didn't believe for a single frame that this was taking place 66 years ago*3.
Oh, and when the power is pulled from a radio, the music will just cease, it doesn't drop in speed and pitch like a turntable. Not even in 1952. Although I'm also aware that nothing else in that particular sequence makes sense either.
The Conjuring series has been up and down like a rollercoaster, but this is an absolute ghost train of a movie. With dusty tombs, papal crisis meetings, an Act II backstory exposition reel and more jump-scares you can throw a crucifix at, it's more a tribute to the genre than a pastiche, but still made with a knowing glint in its eye. And with its motifs of guilt and possession in a Romanian setting, The Nun owes as much to Bram Stoker as it does William Friedkin.
Oh, and when farmer Terry is walking around the catacombs with the flaming torch in the film's crescendo? The audience can see where the inbuilt gas jets are, mate.
Still, the bits with the pentacles made me laugh. I mean out loud*4.
The Nun is much like the cave on Dagobah.
"What's in there?" "Only what you take with you."
*1 Not that regular readers will be surprised by this, obviously [ BACK ]
*2 And for the record, Taissa Farmiga is a very capable and competent central performer here (given the state of the screenplay), who is the younger sister of Conjuring 1 & 2 star Vera Farmiga, and who looks and acts very much like Vera Farmiga, and whose point in the story's timeline suggests that her character could just be a younger version of the character played by Vera Farmiga, and whose experiences in the film point towards a third-act reveal surprising approximately no-one that 'hey this is really Lorraine from the Conjuring films!', especially since Vera Farmiga appears in the film's bookend scenes, but then that doesn't happen and you have to wonder why the actual fuck Taissa would be cast if the family resemblance wasn't going to be a thing because otherwise it's just really distracting. [ BACK ]
*3 While watching The Nun, It crossed my mind (because it's the sort of film which allows the viewer's train of thought to wander well off the tracks) that I have no problem believing in Santa Claus when I'm watching a great Christmas movie. Just between the opening titles and closing credits, obviously, and just as a dramatic conceit to tell the story. So why am I so cynical when it comes to supernatural horror? Why can't I just switch off and be 'in the moment'? I suspect it's something to do with caption cards claiming some sort of documentary heritage, but I'm snarky at movies that don't have these, too. Answers on a postcard, please. [ BACK ]
*4 No real code-breaking in this, since I was sat in my local's massive screen 5 on my own for the entire movie. Which I didn't mind at all, as you can imagine. That said, the only worry I had was that I'd look round at one point and there'd be someone dressed as a nun sitting four about seats away. Anyway, that didn't happen. Although if I ran a cinema, I'd make sure one of my staff members was doing that with every screening. [ 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.
Hatton Garden heist. True story. Dear lord. Shoddily constructed, poorly dialogued, badly acted, no direction, editing's all over the place and the soundtrack's like someone going through a pile of CDs they picked up at a car boot sale. Features more f-bombs than you can wave a BBFC examiner at, and five c-bombs (all of which are unnecessary in terms of context, emphasis and dramatic intention) yet still manages to cruise in with a 15 certificate like Guy Ritchie rebooting Last Of The Summer Wine. This crime caper is so intrinsically lazy I'm surprised they managed to finish making it. Although given the state of the final scene I think it's more that they just gave up.
Who is this film for? What's its message? If Michael Caine's criminal mastermind is the 'king of thieves', why does he feel like a secondary character in his own film? Nobody knows. Considering the budget percentage attributed to Nina Gold's address book here, it's really not good enough.
The audience I was with quite enjoyed it.
Well I haven't seen them myself, but I imagine this is fairly similar to the two other movies which already exist depicting the same heist, and the four-part TV series.
The actual robbery itself only happened in 2015, for fuck's sake. Come back this time next year and it'll have been turned into a jukebox musical to tour provincial theatres.
End of aisle. 'Gifts for Father's Day'. £3.
As above.
Well let's just say that the cast are firmly on minimum-effort autopilot, a situation director James Marsh has absolutely no intention of remedying.
Oh hell yeah.
There isn't.
Level 1: That X-Wing pilot from out of The Force Awakens is in this.
You know the one. You do. You know him.
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.
There are some movies where if the projector broke down 15 minutes before the end, you wouldn't be too bothered. It's not that you could figure out where everything was headed, more that the inevitable conclusion would mean as little as everything you'd already seen on the way there. You'd just pick up what's left of your popcorn and head out, safe in the knowledge that at least the extra quarter of an hour could be spent further dissecting the movie over a pint on the way home.
Anyway, I saw all of Crazy Rich Asians on Saturday night. And it didn't matter.
We follow Rachel Chu (Constance Wu), a young lecturing professor in New York as she discovers that her boyfriend of the last year, Nick Young (Henry Golding), is from an extremely wealthy family in the far East. As their relationship has grown, Nick wants to take Rachel home for his best friend's wedding, and to meet the family. But Nick's mother Eleanor (Michelle Yeoh), while a strong-minded businesswoman, harbours a grudge of Americans and their gaucheness. To make matters worse, the younger element of Nick's extended family and friends in Singapore display even more louche decadence than their counterparts in the US.
Can Rachel win over Nick's traditionalist family and hedonistic contemporaries? Can Nick find the balance between independence and traditionalism? Do I even need to be asking these questions?
No, I don't. Imagine securing the production and mainstream distribution budgets for an Asian-led comedy which (to its credit) doesn't treat itself as a self-aware novelty, then turning out something as insipid as this. And sure, the Guardian-reader in me wants to give Crazy Rich Asians a pass because it's bearing the standard for a demographic shift the industry badly needs, but if this movie was a vehicle for Katherine Heigl, Anna Kendrick or Channing Tatum I'd be all over it like Jason Voorhees at a summer-camp all nighter. So no quarter I'm afraid…
A two-hour advertisement for the Singapore Tourist Board, Peter Chiarelli and Adele Lim's screenplay is the dictionary definition of On The Nose, apparently comprising 30% plot-driving details and 70% autopilot platitudes. It's based on Kevin Kwan's 2013 novel, like that's some sort of get-out-of-jail-free card. Either way, the end result is thoroughly superficial and with no ambition other than the ancillary sales of a jukebox soundtrack.
To make matters worse, the movie feels like it's being directed by someone who's only ever watched romantic comedies from the 1990s. We're treated to a burgeoning romance between two impossibly attractive and morally flawless lead characters, followed by disapproving in-laws, bitchy/boorish contemporaries, a musical makeover montage and a third-act dash to the airport capped off with a round of applause from a bunch of strangers.
If the point of this is to show Western audiences that Eastern culture has become as bland and annoying as their own, then well done, I guess?
Credit where it's due though, the wedding-sequence is stunningly shot. It's just a shame that the rest of the movie hasn't earned that. I also loved the Mandarin-language cover of Yellow, by Katherine Ho. It's not lost on me that the best Coldplay song is no longer by Coldplay, and the world feels better that way.
Movie producers: As I was pressed to observe recently, the studio comedy system in its current form largely sucks. Sure, you can be part of that, it seems like easy money. That's because there's no artistic merit involved. Your work defines your reputation. Don't assimilate, innovate.
Because it's coming to something when one of the comedic highlights of your film is Ken Jeong, which puts Crazy Rich Asians officially on the same shelf as the third Transformers movie and the second Hangover…
Pretty much very rom-com between the mid 90s and the point a few years back where they started putting dick-jokes in them.
No.
No.
No.
That's likely.
No.
Level 2: Gemma Chan's in this, and she's in the upcoming Captain Marvel movie with Sam 'Windu' Jackson and Ben 'Krennic' Mendelsohn.
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.
Yardie Cert: 15 / 102 mins / Dir. Idris Elba / Trailer
The problem when you're an actor as accomplished as Idris Elba and you move into directing with a project you're clearly passionate about is… well, expectation. Because people are waiting for great things to follow that BBFC card, and even though that's half the critical battle won, what comes next will be the decider.
Adapted by Martin Stellman and Brock Norman Brock from Victor Headley's 1992 novel, Yardie follows a young Jamaican, D (as in D for Dennis, played by Aml Ameen) making his way up the drug-dealing ladder in 1983 Kingston as he's then sent to London to calm him down. The turf wars of his homeland become the sound-system battles of England's capital, but the difference is only superficial as old scores have followed D across the Atlantic, in addition to the trouble he packed himself…
In short, Yardie is a good film.
In long, it's not a great one, though… Aml Ameen is outstanding in the main role, carrying the charisma of a young Jamie Foxx. I wanted Yardie to be longer just to watch him more and look forward to seeing him lead other movies. Meanwhile, Elba does well to resist the temptation of getting distracted by the story's outlandish secondary characters. Most notably, Stephen Graham's Rico is to Yardie what Sharlto Copley's Vernon is to Free Fire; a loose cannon who amuses and terrifies in equal measure, with a fantastic faux-Jamaican accent which dips into Cockney whenever he loses control*1. Yet he's still used sparingly here; less is more.
The sets and period detail are gorgeous in their urban decay. The claustrophobia of D's life when he reaches England means that the final result looks slightly less than cinematic, but still so much more than televisual. While cinematographer John Conroy has obviously been limited to locales which fit the 1983 aesthetic, East London is presented with the same meticulous affection as West Kingston. Everything in Yardie feels like it's been done on the director's terms, and is more rewarding as a result. It's not so much that it's an 'uncompromising' film tonally, but still one that's been made without compromise.
But it's a film that can't manage to sweep its audience away to another world completely, probably unless they've already got a first-hand nostalgia for the location and era, anyway*2. Yardie never quite manages to find its own voice. While Elba's work has an intimate, if not autobiographical, feel to it, the fingerprints of Guy Ritchie and Matthew Vaughn are plain to see (in the best possible way). An anti-hero trying to find his place among gang wars and infighting, set against the backdrop of a grimy metropolis, this could be the closest to a Grand Theft Auto flick we've had since the game series began. Certainly the closest which also takes its story very seriously.
But that's the problem. Structurally, the tale is so universal that the events could easily be transferred to the echelons of the Mafia, the Yakuza, or yes a GTA spinoff, with barely a beat missed. The only real fingerprint of identity is reduced to a background setting. At the same time, the story here is personal to the point that the stakes never feel that big. It's about D's own struggle rather than that of a movement or an era, and this holds back the flow back because D is a naturally guarded person, he's had to be, so the audience always feel like outsiders.
A crime movie like this is only going to end one of two ways, and you get the impression that either of them wouldn't have had much of an effect on the larger picture. The gang problem existed in both Kingston and London before D got involved, and whether he lives or dies at the end of this, the audience know it'll continue anyway. Similarly, the small family our protagonist manages to start certainly seems to be getting on better in his absence than when he returns in a turbulent cloud of problems. That he cares for them is never in any doubt; whether he's the best thing for them, is. We're interested in D, we just never get the opportunity to really like him. And without that, it's difficult to be rooting for the hero.
There's plenty to enjoy in Yardie. This is a solid directorial debut for Elba, but it feels slightly constrained by working from an adapted novel. But given the man's acting pedigree and now this vision behind the camera, I think Idris is going to be an important filmmaker in the years to come.
Best line:"Take your grandma's suitcase and get to fuck…"
Level 1: That outpost-trader from the Ring Of Kafrene in Rogue One is in this.
You know the one. You do. You know him.
*1 I'm not going to lie, a lot of the Jamaican conversational dialogue went right over my head, even though the gist of the story was still very clear. Elba made a joke in a recent interview about a subtitled version of the film, and while I realise that would be patronising (especially with screenings in the UK), let's just say I'm looking forward to the DVD... [ BACK ]
*2 And for the record, while we're here, I'm not a fan of Reggae, Dancehall or Ska. So while everyone else is all "oh, but the soundtrack!", that was another hill I was having to climb. I mean it didn't annoy me as I know it's integral to the movie, but at the same time I couldn't use the music as an entry-point to build upon. [ 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.
