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.
Everyone's favourite impeccably mannered Peruvian is back, in a follow-up adventure to his 2014 debut, this time on a quest to by beloved Aunt Lucy a vintage pop-up book of London for her birthday. But when a washed-up actor steals the antique, framing Paddington as the culprit, the bear finds himself in prison and has to clear his name.
Ben Wishaw's voice-work for the title role is seamless and utterly delightful once again, but director Paul King conjures standout performances from Hugh Grant as unstable narcissistic thespian Phoenix Buchanan, and Brendan Gleeson as impatient incarcerated chef Knuckles McGinty. Grant is in full comedic flow, happy to embrace the role and poke gentle fun at his own career (indeed, profession), whereas Gleeson succeeds by playing his part completely straight, as if he were acting opposite a human rather than a CGI bear. To a slightly lesser degree, the entire cast*1 do this of course. Indeed, like last time, the genius-stroke of the film is that everyone treats Paddington as a three-dimensional character (whether they're 'on his side' or not), rather than being freaked out by an actual talking bear*2. It's this sincerity which is passed down to the audience, and the central character becomes inherently believable.
Paddington 2 is a fantastic, fun adventure; but it's predecessor was more than that. The sequel's story itself is a little more pedestrian and doesn't carry the same social or emotional weight as the first movie (Peter Capaldi's reprise in particular feels like a tacked-on callback, and some of the first-act incidental scripting is nothing short of cringeworthy for a film that's so naturalistic everywhere else). While there are moments of brilliance in the film, these come more from setpieces and comic timing than The Message. But the heart of the film is still a young person who manages to find the good in almost everyone, a valuable example for audiences of all ages.
Paddington is the bear we need, even if he's the one we probably don't deserve...
*1 A roster which is, it really must be noted, absolute textbook Nina Gold casting, with the notable omission of one Bill Nighy. So I'm just going to assume that curmudgeonly Bill absolutely hates Paddington Bear until he explicitly states otherwise. I think that's fair..? [ BACK ]
*2 And it's a credit to the finished product that I was sucked in to the point where I started picking apart the logic in the climactic train-chase. At one point, two separate steam trains are running on parallel tracks out of Paddington Station towards Bristol (leaving from different platforms), then seconds later they're on the same line (the only line, so lord knows where this stretch of track is meant to be). Who's controlling the track-points? What about all the red-signals they're clearly barging through? Skipping over the viaduct which doesn't exist on that line (that section was filmed in Yorkshire) and the fact that a high-speed chase would have to go through Reading station full of commuters at around 7am, young Paddington ends up trapped in a separated carriage underwater. We see the water level rising and the bear keeping afloat as he rises toward the roof, then the camera cuts to Sally Hawkins' Mary, who's swimming down to rescue him. Only as she approaches the padlocked carriage door with the 10" gap and a bear on the other side, the water has suddenly filled the box completely (as it would with that gap) without us seeing the air escaping before the carriage had even hit the river-bed. Will no-one think of the physics? Will no-one think of the signal controllers having the worst fucking morning of their lives as lights and klaxons go off all around them? It was then I remembered that I wasn't watching a documentary. So well done, Paddington 2. [ BACK ]
*3 And much like in the first Paddington movie (at the time, at least), isn't credited on IMDB for the appearance. Although he does at least get his writing-entry. [ 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.
If I was directing a film which takes place (at least partially) in Brooklyn in 1952*1, I'd probably try and make sure the budget stretched to getting Hayley Atwell to pop in for a day, just for one scene, to be in-shot in a military and/or governmental type uniform. She wouldn't have to have a speaking line, but if she did it would be something completely innocuous; just to have her there in the shot so that people could say "Hah! Agent Carter! Unofficial MCU Canon!". It'd be un-noticeable enough not to distract the audience members who know nothing about Marvel, but generate extra publicity and sales for the film too, giving the story a broader context and sense of familiarity. And yet for some reason, I'm still waiting for Ian Hollywood to ring me and offer a directing job. His loss.
Now obviously, Brooklyn [the John Crowley film of Nick Hornby's screenplay adapted from Colm Tóibín's novel] isn't my usual cinematic fare*2, but I was sold on the promise of Saoirse Ronan and Domhnall Gleeson, both of whom I love and both of whom are on typically fantastic form here. Along with Emory Cohen, they lead the story effortlessly; a story which, if I'm being honest, seems to have been mis-sold to the audience. The promo-press seems very much geared towards the 'torn between two loves' doomed romance type of thing, with the implied forlorn glances and wringing of hands. What Brooklyn actually is, is a film about finding home. A very delicate, introspective story of a young woman trying to find her place in the world which transcends age, gender and ethnicity. Anyone who's ever felt alone in a crowded place, even a familiar one, should be able to connect with the film, and with that in mind, it's really not just for the audience that Lionsgate are throwing the marketing at).
It's not all plain-sailing, of course. Reading the novel synopsis after watching the film (I won't link it here; there are spoilers in it, obviously), plot-points and entire themes seem to have been unceremoniously dumped overboard. Even at 112 minutes, the film sometimes feels like it's telling the story too quickly, as if an extra hour or so has been trimmed out here and there. Nick Hornby's actual screenplay leaves a lot to be desired too*3, with some clanging contrivances only rescued by the cast's performance. The secondary characters feel even more sketched in than they should (with the exception of Mrs Kehoe, expanded to perfection by Julie Walters), and any character that has to act in a slightly offish or underhanded manner is practically given a top-hat and a moustache to twirl.
But if it's undeniable charm you want, Brooklyn is where it's at. Thoroughly un-cynical of course*4, but in a film about home-sickness when you're not sure where home is, there's not much to be sneered at…
Just about, yeah.
A rental, then if you enjoy it then buy it when it's about a fiver.
Brooklyn is a film which the principle-cast can happily have at the top of their CVs.
It does, but there's room for improvement ;)
Nah.
Nah.
Brooklyn stars ol' General Hux himself, Domhnall Gleeson.
*1 Not that this is captioned, mentioned or otherwise communicated to the audience until half way through the film when someone dies and we see "3rd July 1952" on their gravestone. And it seems a small point to bring up, I know, but it's symptomatic of the general approach to storytelling in Brooklyn.
*2 Especially in 2015 when I've been actively avoiding certain films which Clearly Aren't For Me™.
*3 Throughout the entire first-act, Ronan's Eilis wears green. This is because she's very naive, do you see? 'Green' is a slang term for naive. This is visual film-making in its purest form. DO YOU SEE?
*4 Okay, with the exception of Eva Birthistle shouting "Fuck off! …FUCK… OFF!" through a cabin door on a tatty cruise-liner, which did have me guffawing.
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 won't lie to you, when I first heard that a live-action Paddington film was being made, my heart sank a little, and seeing the prospective cast list did nothing to change my mind. Thankfully, the first full trailer gave me a little reassurance that things were on the right track, and I'm happy to report that it's an excellent snapshot of the film itself.
After a localised earthquake forces young Paddington from his home in darkest Peru, the young bear finds himself stowing away on a ship, hoping to meet with the kindly explorer who befriended his guardians forty years previously. Bound for London armed only with the knowledge that his aunt and uncle have given him of the world's most polite and courteous city, Paddington finds that the years have not been kind to that reputation...
Paddington may well be the most charming film I've seen this year. Beautifully animated, genuinely funny and heartwarmingly silly. A family adventure film in the truest sense, Michael Bond and director Paul King have written a thing of great beauty, and it's brought to life by a cast who (largely) play the screenplay straight rather than patronise the younger audience (naturally Nicole Kidman's Millicent is more the cartoon villain, but that's what the part calls for). Hugh Bonneville and Sally Hawkins pretty much steal the show as Mr & Mrs Brown, with Ben Whishaw's Paddington being just on the right side of sweetly loveable.
But as I said it's not all saccharine, and the film's trump card is its inherent playfulness (and Hugh Bonneville dressed as a cleaning lady like a latter-day Ronnie Barker, flirting with Simon Farnaby*1). The greatest example of this being that no-one really questions a talking bear. It's commented upon, certainly, but at no point does anyone freak the hell out over it. And when the characters buy it, so do the audience.
On the downside, the film's relatively delicate allegory for immigration and integration is pretty much undermined in one scene between Nicole Kidman's evil taxidermist and Peter Capaldi's nasty-neighbour, Mr Curry. It's no biggie, but feels like the one part of the script which wasn't proofread, somehow. There's also a nice bit of product placement for First Great Western in the film too, although I suspect that the scene set last thing at night in Paddington Station was meant to be in the early evening, but they ended up having to wait for the train to come in ;)
You'd have to be some kind of heartless monster to get nothing out of this film; go and see it.
It pretty much is.
I did indeed.
I think it certainly does.
A family outing to the cinema is certainly called for, but you won't lose much if you decide to watch it at home in four months' time.
Maybe a little.
I will, but probably not at the cinema.
There isn't, although there *is* a brief Die-Hard reference. And an Indiana Jones reference. Well, two actually, if you include the fridge. Which I do.
Can we somehow stop Michael Gambon from doing voice-roles, though please? It's one thing when he's on-screen refusing to be anything other than Michael Gambon™, but his 'no job is beneath me' attitude to voiceovers has cheapened his own brand to the point where his Uncle Pastuzo character just sounds like an overly-smug TV advert for HSBC. Or that Sky ad which ran directly before the film.
*1 Yet despite having one of the film's most tear-inducing comedy sequences, Farnaby isn't credited on the film's IMDB page. What gives there?
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.
Effie Gray Cert: 12A / 108 mins / Dir. Richard Laxton
It's happened again. The sales attendant looked me square in the eye and asked "…are you sure?". "Oh, of course," I replied, "I've brought my ladyfriend - at her request, no less - to see the British-made Victorian costume drama Effie Gray. I like 'films' as well as movies, why would this be a problem?". The young man looked at me, one eyebrow slowly raising in gentle accusation. "You do remember Jane Eyre, don't you, sir? We all do…". "Yeah, yeah, Jane Eyre was an anomaly, though. No-one could be expected to like that, even fans of Jane Eyre. And remember Great Expectations? I enjoyed that, didn't I?". I had won. "I was only pointing out that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is on in Screen 1, that's all.". "Yeah, well enough of your cheek, sonny, take my money and give me my tickets. Besides which, I've seen TMNT and have no desire to repeat the process."
So anyway, Effie Gray follows the story of its titular heroine's troubled marriage to Victorian art critic John Ruskin, resulting in Effie procuring a marital annulment and creating a massive scandal at the time. Actually, the film doesn't cover the scandal, just the events leading up to it. And it doesn't cover the courtship, whereby an intelligent, attractive young woman somehow becomes infatuated with a sociopath harbouring mummy-issues who is, at best, 'a bit odd'. So really, the film just covers the turbulent bit in the middle. Except it's not really that turbulent. Not so much stormy, more of a persistent drizzle.
I have it on very good authority (Mrs Blackout's, no less), that the relationship between the two central characters was a lot more strained than Emma Thompson's screenplay would have its audience believe. The psychological abuse that Gray suffered at the hands of her tormentor seems to be mostly reduced to a few crossed words and funny looks, plus a scattering of huffy silences once Pre-Raphaelite painter John Millais arrives on the scene to woo Effie with his beard and wide array of facial expressions. Like many costume dramas set in the Victorian era, the film restrains itself from placing 21st century attitudes onto its characters. Sadly, this seems to rob them of their bond with a 21st century audience. I didn't dislike the film, but I wanted to engage with it more.
Mrs Blackout was less impressed than I.
A strangely muted affair, played with conviction but unwilling or unable to portray the drive and passion of its characters, or of the Pre-Raphaelite era they were ushering in. Viewers familiar with the art history of the period will raise an eyebrow at how delicately the themes are handled; viewers without that grounding will wonder when the story's really going to kick in.
A midnight storm painted in pastel watercolours, Effie Gray holds the attention, but it's no masterpiece.
Yes and no. The trailer left me none the wiser, but to be fair the film largely did that as well.
Afraid not.
I have it on good authority that it doesn't.
You'll be lucky to catch this at the flicks, but it's perfect Sunday night viewing on DVD.
Not at all.
Not very likely, if I'm being honest.
.
Is it a coincidence that Emma Thompson has written herself the part of the only person in the film who isn't at least a partial fuck-up?
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.
