Review: A Haunting In Venice

A Haunting In Venice
Cert: 12A / 103 mins / Dir. Kenneth Branagh / Trailer

There are few images which evoke a perfect combination of civilisation and tranquility like the waterways of Venice, so it's not altogether inapt that we drop in on that city in a post-war setting as the celebrated detective Hercule Poirot is trying his best to adapt to a life of gentle retirement.

As for the haunting? Well, he's trying, that is, against the wishes of a subconscious still struggling to deal with psychoses from the world war before the recent one, followed by a civvy-street occupation that's involved being perpetually surrounded by All Of The Killing. It's no surprise that our hero's sense of reason is on the verge of collapsing. When Poirot attends a Halloween party in a palazzo reputed to be home to dozens of vengeful spirits, it makes for an uneasy evening. And when a visiting medium is murdered following an after-hours seance, well - that makes for a typical one...

STRING

And so to the third in this (frankly) troubled string of Kenneth Branagh's interpretations of Agatha Christie's Belgian sleuth. I won't waste space here listing their particular failings, only to say that I approached this film with slightly more dread than was probably intended by 20th Century Studios. I don't necessarily consider myself as a Christie Purist™, but I also don't enjoy watching demonstrably inferior versions of the stories I love.

So I was more surprised than anyone when I found myself rather enjoying A Haunting In Venice. The story is a (very) loose retooling of 1969's Hallowe'en Party, but uses this more as a broad inspiration rather than source-text. And because of that distance between the novel and the screenplay, this has far more of an identity than the previous entries. There are far fewer 'small' inconsistencies to get caught up in when you're watching events unfold essentially for the first time.

EVERYTHING

Hildur Guðnadóttir's score, Haris Zambarloukos' cinematography and overall production design are firmly on the film's side, all managing to make an isolated, decaying multi-storey mansion still feel atmospherically sumptuous. And speaking of atmos, the sound editing appears to have been taking lessons from the school of Blumhouse for its deathly silences and subsequent jump-scares. That said, in terms of actual chills this is still more effective than most of the straight-up horror flicks of recent times.

Performances of the comparatively (and thankfully) pared-down ensemble cast are solid all round, even if they feel a little televisual in their melodramatic angst. Although with the very best will in the world Branagh's central turn is the weakest aspect of the whole thing (it's like he's hoping the audience will just accept him as Poirot through repeated exposure, rather than any persuasive craft on his part). We're three movies in and the man still sounds like he's auditioning for 'Allo 'Allo.

And if that's not enough to raise a smirk, there are enough high ceilings and falling chandeliers here to suggest that the palazzo isn't actually haunted, it's just got the Trotter family running about in the attic...

ONCE

Ken's Poirot movies have always worked best for audiences who are able to 'un-remember' previous versions of the story that's being told. A Haunting In Venice is no exception, and wisely assists the viewer by largely being its own - very respectable - thing. If this series is to continue (and it will, whether we like it or not), the way forward will be writing wholly original stories using familiar characters. Absolutely no shame in that, and far more scope for creativity.

Apart from anything else, you really have to admire the chutzpah of budgeting for a Venice location shoot and basing your PR around that, then having 95% of the movie take place indoors, at night, while it's raining too hard to see the scenery in the occasional cutaway exteriors.

Ken got his holiday, I see...

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: Crazy Rich Asians

Crazy Rich Asians
Cert: 12A / 121 mins / Dir. John M. Chu / Trailer



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.

Review: Morgan

Morgan (thematic spoilers)
Cert: 15 / 92 mins / Dir. Luke Scott / Trailer



Before the film has even begun properly, there's the feeling that Ridley Scott's company-name could be on the production credits for Morgan largely because his son, Luke, has directed it*¹. And there's the additional feeling that names such as Paul Giamatti, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Toby Jones, Michelle Yeoh and Brian Cox are in the cast credits largely because of Ridley's aforementioned attachment. These feelings do not desist throughout Morgan's 92 minute run-time...

When a top-secret tech-project to genetically engineer a new breed of enhanced human (Morgan, Anya Taylor-Joy) begins to go violently awry, the funding-body despatch a risk-analyst (Lee Weathers, Kate Mara) to survey the situation and report on its continued viability. When Lee finds her ice-cool reputation has preceded her and the core team have become emotionally attached to their test-subject, matters begin to escalate, irreversibly...

And as you may have gathered, the film is one-part Silence Of The Lambs, two-parts Blade Runner and about ten-parts Species*². Visually, the shadow of Prometheus hangs over the whole film's lush green landscapes and desaturated performers. In fact, with characters as archetypal as the ones in this film, I spent more time picking out thematic references to other movies than I did wondering what was going to happen next. I'd like to say that there's a better movie to be made here, but the main thing holding it back is its own story, so I'm not sure that's the case.

In front of the cameras, Anya Taylor-Joy is great (although she always is), but Kate Mara never quite seems to gel with her role, and while that could be deliberate in this film*³, I don't think she's found her ideal role yet (because Fantastic Four certainly wasn't it, although that also wasn't anyone else's, either). Rose Leslie puts in a good supporting turn as the behavioural researcher who shares the strongest emotional bond with Morgan, but there's not really anywhere for her to go with it. The secondary cast are reliable enough, but you get the impression that those bigger names have been called in for a morning-or-two's filming (Cox especially), as the story tends to narratively compartmentalise anyone who's not Morgan or Lee.

Despite being a not-unpleasant distraction from bonafide remakes and sequels, Morgan is never going to be more than a straight-to-video sci-fi/psych-thriller with nice cinematography and an interesting cast-list (cf Solace). The film's not going to win any awards or further the career of any front-of-house stars, because it has only one card to play, namely "Silly scientists meddle with things they don't understand; poetically-licenced carnage ensues", which is a trope as old as cinema itself.

Just ask Ridley Scott…

Any of those sci-fi films where someone makes a thing and instantly loses control of the thing having never had control over the thing to begin with.



Not particularly.



Not particularly.



Cast; no.
Director; I hope not.



Probably not.



There isn't.



Level 1: This film stars Jonathan 'Jebel' Aris.
That link will have more relevance after Rogue One comes out...




*¹ And sure, nepotism's a cheap call, I know. But at the same time, when the producer of your science-fiction thriller is not only the director of Aliens and Blade Runner but also your dad, it's a call you've got to be ready for.
'Scott Free' did not pick up this film because it's a ground-breaking piece of cinema.

*² While it might seem lazy to just compare Morgan to a bunch of other movies, rest assured that it feels worse when you realise that's what screenwriter Seth Owen has done, too.

*³ It's also worth mentioning that the film's Trump Card™, when it's finally played, has been so solidly telegraphed for the last hour and a quarter that it's surprising no-one. And it hasn't been telegraphed by the screenplay, but by Kate Mara's interpretation of it. Brian Cox (the actor, not the physicist) sits filming a revelatory coda in a separate set thinking he's b!owing the audience's minds, when they're actually just nodding along in agreement...



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: Mechanic - Resurrection

Mechanic: Resurrection
Cert: 15 / 99 mins / Dir. Dennis Gansel / Trailer



In the opening montage of Dennis Gansel's action-sequel, the barometer on The Stath™'s house/boat reads 'fair'. Many other directors would have had it set at 'stormy' and lingered on the shot a microsecond longer. As it turns out though, the prediction is cinematically accurate, as everything which follows is moderately enjoyable and without a single hint of actual drama.

Don't worry if you haven't caught up with the first movie, it isn't even referenced other than a clip played on a character's mobile phone (not even kidding). Reassuringly stupid, Mechanic: Resurrection plays out like an action-movie parody advert for a deodorant or a premium lager. Anything outside of the action sequences and fight-scenes veers between distinctly-substandard and spectacularly bad, but at least the film doesn't rely on the cheap xenophobia that so many of its genre-buddies use in lieu of villain-building.

Two questions come to mind as the viewer ploughs through Mechanic: Resurrection. 1) Jason, is this because they rebooted The Transporter without you? and 2) Jason, did you write this? This troubled yet sensitive yet lethal character who succeeds at everything and doesn't have to change a single iota throughout the film's running-time? As with all the best reluctant heroes, this film sees The Stath™ go into self-imposed hiding before getting back into trouble around four minutes later when he interferes in somebody else's business. Next thing you know, he's blackmailed into doing a series of jobs and all's right with the world. A sort of GTA inspired mission-pickup plot device showcases The Stath's™ assassination techniques as being far more entertaining and inventive*¹ than the script could ever hope to be.

The thing which probably bothered me most is that throughout the film, The Stath's™ face-fuzz routinely alternates between 'heavy stubble' and 'short beard'. Back and forth, for the whole damned thing. Although I imagine short facial hair over the course of a feature-length shoot is the bane of film editors everywhere. And to a lesser extent, it didn't go un-noticed that the cut/scabbed lip Jessica Alba arrives with, heals completely and without trace after she goes swimming in the sea ten minutes later. The health benefits of salt-water clearly lost since Victorian times, it appears. Neither of those are deal-breakers, of course, but if I pick up on things like the make-up department's continuity gaffes, it means that the film is singularly failing to hold my attention.

And as the film enters its third act, a third question coincidentally occurs: Has Academy Award winning actor Tommy Lee Jones' dramatic-currency devalued so much that he's prepared to don rose-tinted Lennons and a soul-patch as a second-tier bad guy in what is essentially a straight-to-video action sequel?

Evidently so…

Often terrible, often hilarious, but Mechanic: Resurrection is genuinely more fun than the last Bourne outing…

Jason Statham in that film he did after the Guy Ritchie ones..



Well as big and loud as the film is, it was clearly designed for the small screen...



Just about, but its intentions were hardly ground-breaking...



No.



No.



Inexplicably, no.
Perhaps the sound editor wanted to preserve the documentary-level realism of the piece, instead?



Level 2: The Stath™ was, of course, in Expendables 3, as was Harrison 'Solo' Ford.
All roads lead to Han, today.




*¹ Oh, and if there's news report footage from a bystander filming the skyskraper-swimming-pool spiralling water out before it breaks, then there's got to be footage of The Stath™ swinging around underneath it at the same time, as he didn't make his escape until the whole thing shattered. So much for his 'making it look like an accident', which was the very reason he was hired. You had one job, The Stath™. One.


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.