The Post Cert: 12A / 116 mins / Dir. Steven Spielberg / Trailer
Well, we're still in January so Worthy Chin-Stroke Film Season continues with Steven Spielberg's telling of the Pentagon Papers affair of 1971, in which the US government tried to stop the press (chiefly the New York Times and titular Washington Post) from publishing documents claiming they'd lied to the public over the Vietnam War. A srs-stry requires a srs-cst of course, and Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks have been drafted in to do the heavy lifting. Cue two hours of polyester shirts*1, hand-held camerawork and actors talking over each other to give the impression of fast-paced chaos.
And it's fine.
While I appreciated the overall exposition as someone who wasn't alive at the time of the film's events, the script feels a little over-written in some places (yet wilfully obfuscating in others). And although the visuals of the movie are undeniably on-point for the 1971 setting, and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski captures the documentary-feel of the storytelling, this always felt like a modern-day facsimile of the era, rather than an immersive environment. Although I suspect Linus Sandgren's outstanding work in Battle Of The Sexes has rather spoiled it for everyone else, now (speaking of such matters, dear lord Tom Hanks does a lot of manspreading in this movie).
Another of the director's regular collaborators, John Williams brings a score which is great at the pomp and urgency of the proceedings, but occasionally becomes too sweeping and lyrical for the story it's attached to. Although the same can be said of Spielberg's direction, to be fair.
But the film tells its story with the conviction of a committed cast and crew; I can't fault it for that. There were, however, two main stumbling blocks preventing me from enjoying it more...
Firstly, I couldn't forget that I was watching Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks, not newspaper proprietor Katharine Graham and editor Ben Bradlee. This is isn't necessarily a new problem of mine with Mr Hanks, but Streep usually manages to disappear into her roles, becoming the character completely. And it's not like she's has nothing to work with here, I was just always aware that I was watching an actor, acting. The problem could well be the star-wattage of the cast - Streep or Hanks on their own have more chance of blending into a scene with their supporting players, but together their light just shines more brightly than any film they're part of.
Secondly, I couldn't forget that the while the presented issues concerning press-freedom may well be very prescient in 2018, it's also a far more complex situation now. Freedom of speech is more than a right, it's a responsibility, and the needle sways both ways in 2018. Now admittedly, that's not what The Post sets out to cover, but it was in my mind throughout. And while I also don't particularly like dragging my own politics into what is supposed to be a casual movie-review blog*2, the film's stars took what can only be described The Bare Minimum Amount Of Prodding to wade into current events while promoting the film. All The Politics isn't something you can really brush aside with this movie as that's precisely what it's about.
So, all in all, The Post is basically fine. I found the story itself interesting, but got little more out of the feature than that. A well-assembled documentary would have been just as good from where I was sitting. Your mileage will vary.
Oh, and we get the fourth Insidious movie in 2.35:1 aspect-ratio, but Steven Spielberg's delivers his awards-nudger 'tv-sized' 1.85:1? Have a word, mate…
Well, pretty much everyone else seems to think so.
Unless your thing is historical politics or Spielberg, this is a rent/stream.
It's not.
I wouldn't think so.
Hang on, you've put a Vietnam jungle battle-scene at the beginning of the film and there's still no Wilhelm? Insane.
Level 1: As noted, this film's got the one and only John Williams on score-duty…
*1 The period-detail of sets and wardrobe is reliable enough in all the right places, although at one point Hanks' wife (played by Sarah Paulson) lifts a framed photo from the side cabinet in their lounge, showing the couple reclining on a sofa with John and Jackie Kennedy. "That picture makes me sad", she says, to which I inaudibly replied "Yeah me too, love. It looks like it was put together by the intern using MS Paint. Why can't film production companies employ dececent graphic artists to put together faked historical photos in movies? They're the one thing other than the cast that the camera always lingers on, put some bloody effort in."[ BACK ]
*2 Although y'know, as I've linked to articles at the New Statesman and the Guardian, you can probably guess which side of the fence my own deckchair is on. It's not that I'm not on the side of The Post, I absolutely am. I'm just more worried that The Post isn't always on the side of The Post, and hasn't noticed. [ 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.
I promise you, dear reader, that I take no delight in reporting a significantly low attendance for the Cineworld exclusive advance-screening of James Franco’s The Disaster Artist. As a story which charts and recreates the creation of a notoriously bad cult movie, it’s already quite a niche piece of work. No bad thing, given its subject. But as such, the film rests is theatrical hopes on two key factors: a) That the viewing audience has seen Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, and b) That the viewing audience don’t mind being reminded that they’ve seen Tommy Wiseau’s The Room*1. As the Venn-diagram of that demographic crossed with Unlimited Card holders in the South Oxfordshire area showed, audiences will be ‘select’ for this feature, and intentionally so.
More worryingly, looking around the room at the attendees I’m fairly certain some of them had come along because it was an advance screening of ‘a comedy movie’ and they had no idea what The Room is really like*2, despite The Disaster Artist’s best efforts to illustrate otherwise.
Adapted from producer Greg Sestero’s book on his memories of making the film, this comedic-dramatisation opens with a series of vox pops from the likes of Kristen Bell, Kevin Smith and JJ Abrams, speaking in reverential tones about the continued sustainability of The Room and its enduring appeal on the midnight circuit. From there we jump back to late 1997 when young aspiring actor Greg meets the outlandish Tommy at a drama class and the two begin to inspire each other, albeit to make a dreadful movie, and progress toward the evening of the film's 2003 Hollywood premiere.
As a separate entity, The Disaster Artist itself is perfectly acceptable. With the James Franco portraying the raven-haired auteur Wiseau and his brother Dave playing Sestero, they manage to lose their usually-annoying screen presences into the roles completely. But in order for this film to work, it does require you, the viewer, to believe that there is some artistic or historical worth in The Room. Even at its most insightful, this is just a fairly good re-telling of something awful; not pointing and laughing, but being supportive and understanding of a demonstrably atrocious piece of work. There’s no doubt that The Disaster Artist is made with absolute commitment*3, but it spent 103 minutes reminding me of the worst 99 minutes of my life…
While every artistic effort may indeed be valid, it does not automatically follow that every result should be rewarded. Stop encouraging this shit.
The Room, to be honest..
If it's your thing, absolutely.
Validate cloying inanity? Yeah.
No.
No.
No.
Level 1: This has got the director of The Force Awakens in it. In one of those 'as himself' roles, but it still counts.
*1 I’ve mentioned this before, I’m sure, but it certainly bears repeating in relation to The Room: I don’t believe in ‘so bad it’s good’ cinema. A bad movie is a bad movie, and other than an example to learn and progress from (for both audiences and filmmakers), low standards should not be encouraged or celebrated. By all means make a cheap, schlocky exploitation film, but make a good one. And I don’t care how much The Disaster Artists paint’s Tommy Wiseau’s failed vision as noble and inspirational – sometimes, just sometimes, if everyone’s telling you you’re crap, it’s because you really are crap. [ BACK ]
*2 The ambling pace with which several viewers made their way to and from the toilet during the film suggested they held no real agenda to minimise the amount of the movie they subsequently missed. Although to be fair, at least they did come back; no walk-outs for this one. [ BACK ]
*3 And the film’s closing side-by-side reconstructions of The Room's iconically bad scenes are self-indulgent beyond belief. Yeah I get it, you can time a setup and mimic over/under-acting, good for you, mate. [ 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.
Whilst being carpet-bombed with products and services for GIRL-THINGS™ for 27 minutes prior to the film, I watched the trailer for The Choice, the upcoming movie based on the Nicholas Sparks novel of the same name. As the promo-reel served not so much as an enticement for the film, but basically the entire thing in a truncated 3-minute form, I found myself thinking "hang on, this looks remarkably like the last trailer for a Nicholas Sparks adaptation I saw. And the one before that. And the one before…" At that moment I realised pretty much exactly how tonight's target-demographic feels when they sit through a trailer for a superhero movie. Just as I wasn't buying the clichéd horseshit about sanding down boats and going for long walks with dogs under emotionally turbulent skies etc, these fine cinemagoers around me don't think "Hey, I like the way they've adapted Iron Man's armour for the new movie; it really evokes the silver-age without being too retro!". Seriously ladies, I can tune out the odd TV and billboard advert that I know isn't aimed at me, but after being force-fed for half an hour the bullshit you're exposed to constantly? I genuinely have no idea how you manage to live in this world full-time. I salute you.
Which is more than Warner Brothers are doing in their cinematic interpretation of How To Be Single, a film which is every bit as patronising and methodical as you'd expect (and, I suspect, as was intended). Recycled chick-flick tropes fill the gaps left by the borderline-incoherent storytelling and erratic editing. Nowhere near as provocative or hedonistic as it'd like to think it is, but thoroughly unable to commit to being contemplative (or even mawkish), either.
At its best, How To Be Single is faintly amusing, if facile and self-indulgent. At its worst, the film is like being waterboarded with Lambrini, your gurgled screams drowned out by a Cosmopolitan-compiled playlist. That the script goes so far as to dismissively reference both Bridget JonesandSex & The City shows just how far above its station the film's ideas are. The cast give good value for money as far as they're able, but they're hobbled by a format which objectifies and belittles them far more than the society it's cocking a snook at. The Insecure one, the Mumsy one, the Needy one and the Fat one*1. You can go out and party as much as you like, girls! As long as you conform while you're doing it. Well played, Warner Brothers, well played.
Oh, and take a good look at that poster. It's the only time you'll see those four actresses in the same room. I'd initially wondered why the IMDB page for the film lists Alison Brie far, far apart from the other stars (in the Rest of cast listed alphabetically section), especially as it's apparently in 'credits-order'. This is because while Brie's character and Dakota Johnson's character share a mutual friend, Alison's story-thread has not-fuck-nothing to do with the rest of the film. It feels like some side-anecdote which the movie keeps forgetting to tell or wasn't edited out properly.
Bizarre, unfocused and every bit as slapdash as the rest of the production...
"Maybe we're been making all the wrong moves? Maybe we've been focusing on the wrong stuff and now it's too late..?" says Johnson's Alice in a third-act moment of realisation.
I imagine the editing-team remarked much the same thing, just before they handed in their final cut of the film…
Being patronised by film studios suggesting your love-life (or lack thereof) is somehow not dramatic enough.
It's not really designed for that format, to be fair.
Well I didn't utterly despise the film, despite its best efforts, so no.
I should hope not.
A little bit.
I mean, probably not a lot.
But yes.
There isn't.
Level 2: Rebel Wilson is due to appear in the upcoming Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie alongside Celia 'Bravo 5' Imrie and Gwendoline 'Phasma' Christie.
*1 I like Rebel Wilson. I want to like her more, I really do. But her ongoing choice of roles is frankly atrocious.
Take a long look in the mirror, Rebel. Or just watch Grimsby. Either/or.
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's a secluded storeroom somewhere in the San Fernando Valley, you just know, containing millions upon millions of feet of celluloid featuring Will Ferrell improvising dialogue centered around the word dick. Almost every variation and combination of words in the English language (and some made-up words, too) are put into a seemingly endless juxtaposition of form whilst Ferrell makes The Dick-Word™ the focal point of each line. And yet the two-minute ad-libbed jump-cut assortment we're treated to in Get Hard was considered the best of the bunch.
Get Hard features the aforementioned Ferrell as a successful but gullible stockbroker who's framed for fraud and embezzlement and faces a ten year prison sentence in San Quentin*1. When he mistakenly assumes that a car valet manager (Kevin Hart) has been to prison purely because he's Afro-Caribbean, the struggling business-owner has an idea that just might help them both out of a hole…
So, yeah. Look at that poster. Almost everything you need to know about Get Hard is contained within that frame, and any straggling doubts will be more than mopped up by the trailer. The plot. The methodology. The grinding, faux-awkward tedium of it all. The film is, as expected, an hour and forty minutes of The Black Jokes™, with a brief detour into The Gay Jokes™ to break up the monotony of it all. Hell, director Etan Cohen even manages to combine the two on some occasions. Now in all fairness, it's not that the script is completely bereft of chuckles (or that insincere goodwill which papers over the cracks in this sort of film), but the laughs are telegraphed, laboured and in questionable taste. The language alone earn the film its 15 certificate, but there are also the obligatory dick-shots, just to needlessly reinforce the point.
The odd thing is that the 'tennis court scene', featuring Kevin Hart alternating through an escalating altercation between three imaginary convicts is a rare moment of fantastic writing and performing. When Hart's not shrieking and doing jokes about being short/black/gay, he's rather good, which seems to say more about his choice of roles than his ability in them. Much as Ferrell is proving here, Hart will be stuck at this level unless he can shrug off his image as a market-stall knockoff of Chris Rock.
But as much as I thought the film was lazy, predictable, cliched and reinforced far more stereotypes than it challenged, it ultimately seemed to hold itself in more contempt than its audience. So still better than anything Adam Sandler's done in recent years, then.
By no means a 'cinema-film', even though Get Hard is acceptable fare for a Saturday night with friends and beers, this still doesn't make it good enough. Will Ferrell seems to have peaked and then got stuck halfway down the other side of the comedic mountain, somehow. If this film had been made ten years ago it might have been more forgivable.
But it wasn't.
And it isn't.
Anchorman 2 was the warning shot; Get Hard is a gaping wound...
Oh, be sensible.
Either TV, or wait until you see it for £3 in Asda. If you must.
I should hope not.
I should think not.
Probably not, remarkably.
I didn't hear one, and there are a couple of prime opportunities.
Get Hard stars Craig T. Nelson, who of course provided voicework for 2004's The Incredibles, along with Sam 'Mace Windu' Jackson and John 'Major Derlin' Ratzenberger.
*1"San Quentin? Whoa! You gonna get fucked! …They may as well call that place San Fuckin'!". That's what the 6 (SIX) writers came up with when wanting to refer to homsexuality in one of America's most fearsome prisons. San Fucking. I mean, it's hardly Oscar Wilde, is it? Which is faintly ironic, when you think about it.
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.
