Review: Ismael's Ghosts

Ismael's Ghosts / Les Fantômes d'Ismaël
Cert: 15 / 135 mins / Dir. Arnaud Desplechin / Trailer



Well, fair play to them; the twelve other people in the screen 1 on a Saturday afternoon certainly pretended to appreciate the fuck out of the subtitled French character-drama, Ismael's Ghosts.

We follow our eponymous protagonist (Mathieu Amalric), a enthusiastically deranged film director, failing to come to terms with the disappearance of his wife Carlotta (Marion Cotillard) two decades earlier, and with a longstanding resentment of his diplomat brother Ivan (Louis Garrel). Through all of this, Carlotta's father (László Szabó) also seeks solace from Ismael, and the two become trapped in a loop of non-closure. Ismael struggles to maintain a constructive relationship with Sylvia (Charlotte Gainsbourg) his equally troubled girlfriend of two years, and the delicate balance of their home-life is thrown into disarray when Carlotta suddenly returns, seemingly without explanation. What follows is an interweaving character study of grief, regret and forgiveness.

And I don't think it's as interesting as I've made it sound.

The aforementioned dozen viewers stroked their chins throughout, but even with a crowd that size I could feel tension in the room. Despite having a plethora of plot-points thrown at me from the word go, I stopped trying to figure out what the hell was actually going on at around the 80-minute mark. Perhaps I was missing some small but crucial element by following the subtitles, perhaps it's a broader, cultural thing*¹.

Considering the movie is meant to be about the different facets and foibles of Ismael, we spend an awful lot of time seeing everyone else's point of view. Quite often, Ismael's Ghosts is like watching a couple arguing in a restaurant. You don't want to stare, you can't look away, and ultimately you just wish they'd do it somewhere else. There's a quietly compelling emotional drama in here somewhere, but it's struggling to be heard above the unlikeable characters. It's like a film made by an uneven succession of directors, each of whom had something different in mind.

And in the middle of the self-satisfyingly bold confusion comes a song by Bob Dylan, almost literally the guy who pulls out the acoustic guitar at the party you're diplomatically wishing would just end.

I don't have the energy or inclination to hate Ismael's Ghosts, but I have no idea what it's for.

Oh, I have no idea.



If anything, it's a Sunday evening DVD at best.



If you know what you're letting yourself in for, sure.



I have no idea.



Possibly.



There isn't.



Level 2: Charlotte Gainsbourg is in this, and she was in that 21 Grams along with Benicio 'DJ' Del Toro.





*¹ Try as I might, I can't seem to get on with contemporary French cinema. Which is a shame, but there we are; can't just pretend to like something to look cool. Well I can't, at any rate. ^{[ 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.

Review: Assassin's Creed

Assassin's Creed (2D)
Cert: 12A / 115 mins / Dir. Justin Kurzel / Trailer



Imagine, if you will, a video game where levels are about four-to-six minutes long, and each one is punctuated with a thirty-minute interlude of plot-exposition and needless padding. I've only played through one Assassin's Creed game, but I don't remember it being like that*¹...

Attempting to adapt a massively successful game-series for the big screen is Justin Kurzel, crouched in the wings as his cast stand around in a circle watching Michael Fassbender remembering things that didn't happen to him. I don't really need to explain more as a) if you don't know the premise to begin with you're unlikely to be watching the film, and b) the film spends most of its time explaining things which make no sense, anyway. Oh, this takes itself far too seriously.

The problem, once more, is that game-logic is not film logic. While players are willing to sit through overly-long introductions and training sequences in anticipation of unleashing carnage with a controller, the same patience doesn't apply when you're only waiting to watch someone else playing the game.

When we do finally get to the action, the implementation of shakycam, fast-cut editing and smoke machines (no, seriously) serve as a cover for freerunning stunt-doubles and the violence (in a film about murderers, remember) being nerfed down to 12A-compliant levels*². Threading through the film is the un-subtle suggestion that the harmless expression of pent-up violence is a good thing, and that attempts to subdue that are akin to the forced removal of free will. That idea would be bollocks enough on its own, but in a film which is basically an advert for a gaming-franchise, it's nothing short of shameful.

For all the great lengthsAssassin's Creed goes to in showing us the Animus simulation software and hardware, it's never quite explained why all this is needed when a hypnotherapist could do the same job (because you either believe in past-life regression or you don't)? Indeed, the main plot-mechanisms here are a macguffin that Dan Brown would have discarded unused, and a thing called ‘genetic memory’, the narrative equivalent of homeopathy. Michael Fassbender grumbles his way through the script with minimal dialogue*³, Marion Cotillard stumbles awkwardly through her part, and Jeremy Irons just sucks the whole thing up and Thinks Of The Money, with the practiced ease that his co-stars have yet to master.

Justin Kurzel's film is certainly ambitious, but ambition's not enough. Although for all my grumbling, I didn't detest the movie as much as some, and I've certainly seen far worse game-adaptations in the last twelve months.

In gaming-parlance, Assassin's Creed is a literally two-hour cutscene. In cinematic parlance, it's a two-hour trailer for a game.

Best two lines of dialogue in the movie:
Fassbender: ...what the fuck's going on?
Cotillard: ...this is wrong.

Oh, probably Hitman, or something.



Well you'll be used to watching the game through your telly, so...



I hope not.



No.



That would depend on the specifics of our disagreement...



There isn't.



Level 1: This movie features Rufus 'Lt. Casido from off of Rogue One' Wright.





*¹ But the fact that I only played through one would suggest that maybe I'm not the target audience, admittedly.

*² It's perhaps interesting to note that the games in the series are mostly rated 15, yet it's okay for 12yr olds to watch characters bloodlessly killing each other. Okay, then.

*³ Although one thing this film does do brilliantly is casting Brendan Gleeson as Fassbender's father. When we hear his soft Dublin tones in the second act, it suddenly makes perfect sense that his screen-son's American accent should be skittering about like Bambi, pissed on an ice-rink...


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.

Review: Allied

Allied
Cert: 15 / 124 mins / Dir. Robert Zemeckis / Trailer



Ah, that awkward feeling when you realise you're watching Marion Cotillard being outstanding in a film which is only quite good. If anything, it reflects quite badly on director Robert Zemeckis that an actress who was probably pregnant for a lot of her scenes was the one required to do all the heavy lifting. But I'm getting ahead of myself…

Morocco, 1942. Canadian allied-forces spy Max Vatan is airdropped outside of Casablanca*¹ and instructed to meet fellow operative Marianne Beausejour. Posing as a married couple, they are to carry out an assassination of a high-ranking Nazi official. After completing their mission (that's in the trailer, it's not a spoiler), they relocate to London and marry while Max continues working for the Ministry of Defence. But when his superiors have reason to believe that Marianne is a German spy filtering information back to the Fatherland, Max has to ask himself how deep her cover really is, and if he even knows the real Marianne at all…

An odd recipe this, putting Mr Pitt of 'no fixed genre' with thespic heavyweight Cotillard, written by Steven Knight (of Eastern Promises' parish) and directed by Robert 'Back To The Future' Zemeckis. And that list of primary ingredients is as uneven as the film which comes out of the cinematic oven after two hours.

Ultimately, Allied doesn't seem to know what it wants to be, be it a tense espionage thriller or angst-ridden romantic drama. As a result the film ends up convincing as neither, although it is quite a lot of fun in the meanwhile. The action set-pieces are nicely executed, as is the overall sense of creeping tension. Pitt seems to struggle when he's required to show emotion (although I can't tell how much of that is his perma-spy character not wanting to show his true colours), whereas Cotillard more than makes up for it with a performance which is far too subtle for a film like this. While each scene moves the story in the right direction, the film is baggy at just over two hours, often feeling like it's stalling the audience. Elsewhere there's some neat cinematography in the Casablanca section of the film (even if much of it screams 'soundstage'), and the damp, muted colour-palette of London complements it perfectly. We've also got long-time Zemeckis cohort Alan Silvestri on scoring duties, routinely playing his game of 'hide the BTTF opening-line' where everyone can hear it. Bless him.

The other awkward feeling comes in the film's closing moments, when a quiet, reflective coda suggests that the audience have been watching something emotionally engaging rather than just quite entertaining. For all the ducking, shooting, whispering and shouting though, the relationship at the centre of the film just didn't convince me. And that is supposed to be the point of the film.

I want to score Allied more highly, because it is enjoyable. But I know for a fact that in about a week, I won't remember a thing about it…

Well, it wants to be Inglourious Basterds with a heart, but it ends up more like Mr & Mrs Smith with a grimace.



As much fun as it is, there's nothing inherently cinematic about it, unfortunately.



Judging by the last few minutes?
Apparently not.



It's not.



I won't.



There is.
First firearm-related casualty of the movie.
Textbook stuff.



Level 2: This film stars messrs Brad Pitt and August Diehl, both of whom rocked up in Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, a movie which featured a voice-over from Sam Windu Jackson.

I mean seriously, who casts Pitt and Diehl in a WWII thriller together again? Mind you, Daniel Betts is in this, and he starred with Pitt in Fury, another WWII drama. Thinking about it, the problem could just be Brad Pitt…





*¹ Bear in mind, the film Casablanca wasn't released until 1942. This film is set in 1942. At the time it came out, it was another run-of-the-mill, quick-turnaround drama; well-received an'all, but it didn't gain its iconic status until years later. I only mention it because that line in the trailer where Marianne's like "You'll go on the roof. In Casablanca, that's where men go…" is a trope she wheels out every three minutes or so. Like there's something really special about this Nazi-occupied city that all the others in mainland Europe haven't got. "In Casablanca, we don't drive slowly" / "In Casablanca, men don't kiss their wives with their top shirt-buttons undone" / "In Casablanca, we start with the cutlery from the outside but we use the steak-knife to butter the bread". I genuinely expected Max to stop and yell "Oh, are we in Casablanca? I WISH YOU'D SAID SOMETHING EARLIER, I'VE DRESSED FOR CROYDON!"…


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.

Review: Macbeth

Macbeth
Cert: 15 / 113 mins / Dir. Justin Kurzel / Trailer



STURGICALLY REMOVED!
McACTORS TAKE THE HIGH ROAD.
Scotland's Thespians Recalled by Parliament Following Referendum Snub...

In an audacious blow to the British film industry, SNP leader Nicola Sturgeon has recalled all Scotch actors not currently overseas to the north-side of The Wall.

Following the anniversary of the SNP's referendum defeat, a faintly downcast Sturgeon decided that England could cast its own bloody Caledonian characters, if it thinks it's so bloody easy.

Crucially, the ruling doesn't apply to the likes of Ewan McGregor and Gerard Butler, the majority of whose undemanding work comes via the Hollywood studio system, and who send their muckle pay back home to relatives in the top half of the British Isles.

SCOTCH
"If you're going to shoot The Scotch Film outside an English castle, you can fucking well whistle if you think we're going to stump up James McAvoy or David Tennant for it," Sturgeon thundered, sitting on a bench outside Hollyrood Palace in Edinburgh. "Hey, why not use Paddy Considine from Staffordshire, and David Thewlis from Lancashire, eh? They should have no trouble at all pulling the accent off! In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what yon Wullie Shakespeare envisioned, the bleddy Sassenach…"

Despite a number of renegade Scotch character actors defying the bill and playing smaller, supporting roles in the production, the subsequent casting of two French actresses, one American and three English actors to play the film's principally Scotch characters caused the predicted amount of consternation within the industry.

DUCK
Further controversy arose when German/Irish thespian Michael Fassbender was added to the roster in the lead role. In a statement from the front steps of RADA in London last week, Fassbender assured the press and fans alike that the majority of his speech for The Scotch Film is in a register so low and gruff that he adopts His Film Voice™ which, whilst technically English, is devoid of nationality until involved in any conversational dialogue, after which point it's Fassbender As Usual™.

The new film's Australian director, Justin Kurzel, was less than fazed by the reaction. "Traditionally, those Scotch Lairds and the like were all sent to England for a private education anyway, which is why they had English accents like Richard Briers did in 'Monarch Of The Glen'. In our adaptation of the story, we'll just say that Ian Macbeth's private school was situated equidistantly between Dublin and Los Angeles. And Delhi."

DOOBIE
Famously, Fassbender is restricted with a voice-over ban until 2021 after being charged with failing to control an accent in a built-up screenplay during Matthew Vaughn's 2011 X-Men sequel.

"We've trademarked the word 'Scotland' as well," Sturgeon added, "…so good luck!"

In terms of cinematic spectacle, absolutely. The real reason for that largely sarcastic-sounding review above is that I just don't have too much to say about it. I'm really not a fan of Shakespeare (largely because of the dialogue, not the stories themselves), and had to swot-up on Macbeth beforehand, a precaution which served me well.

But this is much, much more than a play which has been fed through the Weinstein's screenplay machine. This is a full thematic adaptation, more film than play but still firmly rooted in the source-text. Macbeth looks utterly fantastic, almost like an art installation with a story being performed around it.



Scholars of The Bard will want to buy this and analyse the connection with its parent-work (and the areas where it stands on its own feet). For the rest, a rental should suffice.



The film is fantastically acted, even if the accents are all over the shop (although rarely in Scotland, funnily enough).



As noted above, it's difficult for me to tell if the themes of the play are transcribed accurately (I know some have certainly been re-interpreted).
But going with my instinct, I'd say yes.



Nope.



Unless it's been well-buried in the opening battle-scene, no.



Marion Cotillard appeared in 2003's Big Fish, as did Ewan 'Kenobi' McGregor.
Who is Scotch.







DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.

• Yes, I know it's 'Scottish' and not 'Scotch', thanks. Except that a) That there Rabbie Burns used to use the word 'Scotch', and he was more Scottish than Ian Braveheart swigging a cocktail of Buckie and Irn Bru at the top of Arthur's Seat whilst hurling foul-mouthed insults in the direction of Berwick, and b) My use of the term 'Scotch', much like the rest of this review, is not intended to be taken seriously. The focus point of any joke here is not the Scottish people, rather the notable absence of them in the film's major roles, and the fact that the castle used for the central location is in England. 'The Scottish Play', indeed. Oh, and Michael Fassbender's accent (again).
So by all means leave that indignant missive in the Comments-section, but I assure you there's no need ;)

• 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.

Review: Rust and Bone

CAUTION: Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.



Rust and Bone
120 mins / Dir. Jacques Audiard

Less is more. I'm looking at you, 127 Hours.



Wow, I should have enjoyed this film more than I did. Really. It's not that I disliked it as such, but there are plenty of things to dislike about it. We spend an inordinate amount of time with Matthias Schoenaerts' Ali, a character so relentlessly unlikeable that I actually didn't want him to be redeemed, and when it did happen, I found it to be unbelievable anyway. I get that he's meant to be emotionally stunted (and in fairness, Matthias acts that aspect well), but the kickboxing*¹ is meant to be his unlocking, the window that allows him to release his aggression and be himself. In those fight scenes, however, he seemed as lifeless as in the rest of the film.

Marion Cottilard's Stéphanie on the other hand develops more evenly, learning to cope with a massive physical trauma and re-evaulating the things that are important to her. Notwithstanding the fact that her character is more engaging and likeable, her story-arc is more interesting as the audience have a greater chance of relating to it on some level. She makes far greater strides*² than Ali, yet seems to get less screen-time (or certainly has less interaction with others, anyway). By the time Ali's story reaches its peak, it all seems tacked on, particularly as we cut straight to a 'and everything was alright the end' scene in which the plot is wrapped up with no further explanation. Unfortunately, it becomes clear that Stéphanie is going to be okay long before that point, and I'd already spent twenty minutes or so idly wondering how they were going to wrap up the meandering non-storyline of her boyfriend.

The annoying thing is, I buy Matthias and Stéphanie as characters, but not their relationship. And that is the central hinge of the film.

Beautifully photographed, full of tension and with the most outstanding special effects work I've seen in recent times, I really wanted to like Rust and Bone more, but ultimately found it a bit directionless. Then again, I'm a heathen.



*¹ Well, I say 'kickboxing', only because they say 'kickboxing', but it's just brawling and grappling in a farmyard.
*² No pun intended. Okay, a little bit.

DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.

• 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.