Landing in cinemas like a Sunday Night TV Drama with a Sunday Afternoon DVD cast is Victoria & Abdul, a dramatised account of Shrabani Basu's 2010 non-fiction book of the same name. It examines the platonic friendship between England's reigning 19th century monarch and Abdul Karim, a low-grade clerical administrator from Lalitpur, India, who was chosen to present to her a gift from the Empire's subjects. Dame Judi Dench stars once more as Her Majesty, while Ali Fazal takes the role of the semi-eponymous Abdul. The two-hour runtime covers approximately 15 years, albeit in a fashion which uses a title-card at the beginning, another at the end with some additional 'old-age' makeup, and nothing between.
You may be sensing my mood by this point. I hope so.
The fundamental problem here is that director Stephen Frears doesn't have that much story to actually tell. Queen Victoria befriends someone you wouldn't normally expect in accordance with royal protocols and the accepted social attitudes of the time*1. Her advisors and family aren't too keen on this. She doesn't give a shit, she's the queen. Scenes. So between the film's trailer and a broad historical knowledge, you already know pretty much what's going to happen*2.
While the film looks every bit as sumptuous as one would expect, Lee Hall's script is literal and heavy-handed, with glib witticisms and low-level slapstick frequently shoehorned into the first half attempting to create a dramatic counterpoint with the chin-stroking and institutional racism of the second. Frears takes a frankly outstanding cast and over-directs them as if the whole thing were a pantomime. Dench and Fazal overcome this by virtue of being the ones with the most to do on-screen anyway (and despite everything I'm saying here, they are both on great form), but not a single line from the supporting cast is left under-delivered*3.
In a similar vein to The Man Who Knew Infinity, there is almost certainly a more emotionally affecting story here, buried under layers of historical commentary and costume drama frippery. The memory and legacy of Abdul Karim would be better (and far more sincerely) served by making a documentary about the whole thing.
…those films where the first half of the trailer is scored with an intricate piano solo, breaking after around 70 seconds into sweeping orchestral mode and a title card reading "the untold and/or inspirational true story".
If you're going to watch this at all, it's a Sunday afternoon DVD.
That way at least the pubs will still be open when you finish.
Probably not.
Definitely not.
Absolutely not.
Although there is a Wilhelm-person, he remains silent.
Level 1: Jonathan Harden's in this (as the aforementioned Wilhelm), and he's in the upcoming The Last Jedi. Don't know his character-name yet, mind, but think he's in the Resistance.
*1 And not to be too much of an angry liberal about all this, but while it's nice to believe that Victoria may have been a decent sort underneath all the pomp and bluster of monarchy, it's hardly as if her progressive social views extended as far Her Actual British Empire; the very thing of which she was In Actual, Real Charge, which was presumably too busy pillaging and enslaving the rest of the world to take half an hour on the loo with a copy of The Guardian... [ BACK ]
*2 SPOILER: Queen Victoria is not currently alive and the film's denouement reflects this. Do not expect to see her dancing through the end-credit sequence. [ BACK ]
*3 Including, I'm sorry to say, one Eddie Izzard, portraying the then-heir Edward 'Bertie' Prince of Wales. With magnificent wardrobe and makeup, he looks the part 100%. Then opens his mouth and delivers his admittedly acerbic lines sounding exactly like Eddie Izzard™. The only way around this of course is by not casting Eddie Izzard in anything where he is required to be anything other than Eddie Izzard™. I am not a casting director, I have no say in making this happen. I love the guy to bits, but still... [ 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.
Man Up Cert: 15 / 88 mins / Dir. Ben Palmer / Trailer
It's not often that I'm enthusiastic about seeing a rom-com with Simon Pegg in it, since his film career outside of Edgar Wright's Cornetto Trilogy has been patchy at best. But the trailer for Ben Palmer's Man Up hinted at something more than 'Hector And The Search For A Patronising Screenplay', largely because Pegg doesn't play the lead character. A central character, certainly, but not the lead. That's an important distinction to make because Man Up really isn't his film; it belongs firmly to Lake Bell as Nancy, a 30-something singleton who's faintly neurotic about being left on the shelf, but not to the point where she won't actively avoid social situations because her fear of making an idiot of herself is even greater. A bit like Bridget Jones, but relatable to everybody.
That said, while Bell lifts the film above the ordinary rom-com (with a flawless accent, it has to be noted), it's something she can only do with Pegg as her support and foil. His character of Jack is more than just the film's telegraphed happy-ending, and in terms of character development, it's Pegg that gets the heavy-lifting. Together, Lake Bell and Simon Pegg are quite fantastic in an astonishingly average film. The supporting cast of much-loved Brit actors all pull their weight, although it often feels like they're over-egging things a little. That said, the film scores bonus points for Rory Kinnear deftly stealing every scene he's in as quietly-obsessive stalker Sean.
All in all, a far better film than it has any right to be.
While it's not exactly breaking the mould of the romantic-comedy, Man Up left me pleasantly surprised, demonstrating that a twee, one-track story can still be touching, likeable and - most importantly - funny.
Come for the farce, stay for the Whitesnake on the soundtrack.
As much as I enjoyed it, probably not.
It's a Sunday-night DVD, although you can probably get away with a rental.
I haven't seen Lake Bell's earlier work, but this is certainly one of Pegg's better non-Cornetto roles, yes.
I think it does, although it's best to remember that it's never trying to be anytning more than an amiable rom-com.
Nope.
Nope.
Man Up stars none other than the perennial prequel-basher himself, Simon Pegg, who voice-starred in the prequel-era animated series Star Wars: The Clone Wars as fearsome ESB bounty hunter Dengar, who falls off a moving train during a light scuffle, rubs his head comedically and says "Ah, poodoo!" in a broad Cockney accent.
I wish I was making that 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.
Now, I initially felt a little lost in the first act of this film, because I haven't seen Son, Second Son, Third Son, Fourth Son, Fifth Son, or Sixth Son, and that's a lot of ground to cover for someone late to the franchise. And that may well be a hoary old joke to begin the review with, but please believe me that it's more original than anything in the script for Seventh Son…
Jeff Bridges plays Gregory, a sort of alcoholic Witchfinder General channelled through Yoda and Danny Trejo, who acts surprised when the witch he imprisoned in a mountain breaks free, largely due to the fact that she's a witch. He couldn't bring himself to kill the witch because of Plot Reasons™, and so is going to spend the next hour and a half of your life attempting to do just that, aided by his new sidekick apprentice, Tom, a seventh-son-of-a-seventh-son psychic and child of a witch. Who also has a thing for witches. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, murky visuals, ghosting-3D and a script so laboured you could set your watch by it don't really help matters. The problem isn't that the film is bad (although coincidentally, it is), but that with each hackneyed plot-progression and pixel-heavy setpiece, it becomes more and more bland. It's all snarling and pouting with no spirit or conviction; like a mythology assembled by a marketing committee. The limitations of the 12A certificate deprive Seventh Son of the heft (read: violence) that the story really needs, but it's no excuse for that story being so profoundly uninteresting. The film is like a 100-minute cutscene from a very average video game that you know you won't bother playing to completion.
So whatever Jeff Bridges is trying to pull off, it's at least clear that he's having a good time doing it. Julianne Moore, on the other hand, is practically holding up a sign reading "Look, I'm in this for the money", as is Olivia Williams. It's down to Ben Barnes and Alicia Vikander to give surprisingly straight turns as the titular Seventh Son and his sorcerific love-interest. But even then the pair are constricted by the dialogue they have to deliver. Dialogue which can be neatly divided into three categories: Exposition, Cliché, and Exposition And Cliché. There's no real character development because there are no real characters. The most mysterious thing about the screenplay is how Steven 'Locke' Knight was happy to have his name attached to it.
By the time you've added in a very curious range of accents (considering the film takes place within a 100-mile radius), and an array of costume changes for the female characters which appear to have been executed with a view to selling action figures, Seventh Son isn't so much a fantasy film, more a cover-version of one.
You know you're in seriously camp territory when a gang of ruthless assassins all wear leopard-print capes.
If Lord Of The Rings is a mythological banquet, Seventh Son is chewing-gum…
Is it bollocks.
Wait until it's in a format you don't have to pay directly for (TV, Netflix etc).
Well the film industry's in real trouble if it is…
If its aim is to prove that Julianne Moore's acting skills are far better than her judgement in choosing roles, then yes it does.
*looks over spectacles*
I didn't hear one (although the volume in Screen 1 was set to 'deafening' tonight), and there really is no excuse not to cram one into this sort of thing.
Alicia Vikander starred in Son Of A Gun alongside Ewan 'Obi-Wan' McGregor.
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.
Sex, bullying, guilt, murder, incest and repetition; Hollywood™! Nothing is off the cards in David Cronenberg's tale of tinseltown corrosion that makes Birdman look like a comedic romp by comparison. Glibness aside, Maps To The Stars is pretty much the perfect companion-piece to the Iñárritu flick about mental collapse in a semi-fictionalised film industry, but walks in much darker shoes.
Mia Wasikowska, Olivia Williams, John Cusack, Robert Pattinson and the young Evan Bird are all outstanding under Cronenberg's taut direction, but it's Julianne Moore who really shines here (ironically, given the nature of her role as a psychologically wrecked actress approaching the end of her Hollywood 'shelf-life'). Julianne gives the grief, desperation and vulnerability that do full justice to Bruce Wagner's screenplay. I only wish the story-strand with Moore and Sarah Gadon, playing the young-incarnation of her mother, had been given more screen time. That said, there's a hell of a lot to get through in this tangled web, and it's not easy-going at the best of times.
In other hands, the film could well have turned into a self-fuelling darkly comic parody, but there's little to smile at here, even if there's much to admire. Maps To The Stars won't be for everybody, but that's always been Cronenberg's style. Inaccessible yet intriguing, you'll need a fascination with the twisted machine that is Hollywood to see it through to the end, but it's one hell of a ride.
Not a film you'll want to watch with your parents in the room.
I haven't. It was a bit too genre to come to my local, and only on for one week in London so I didn't get the chance.
I am. A little drained, but glad.
I'd recommend it to people who like tales of inwardly-spiralling self-destruction, yes.
There isn't. It's not really that kind of film, to be fair.
The film briefly features Princess Leia herself, Carrie Fisher.
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.
