Luckily, I didn’t need to study my calendar to know it was still January as The Rule-of-4*1 held strong throughout my viewing of Guillermo del Toro’s surreal, fantasy-romance, The Shape of Water. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Working as a cleaner for (ostensibly) an aeronautics company in 1950s America, the quirky Elisa (Sally Hawkins) becomes aware of a subject in their subterranean research-laboratories - a humanoid sea-creature, supposedly of Mexican origin. Our heroine develops a relationship with the mysterious mute stranger and finds herself falling in love, and as her employers’ methods and motives become clearer, she hatches a plot to liberate him with her friend and neighbour Giles (Richard Jenkins). But the path of true love never did run smooth, and more than one agency is interested in this aquatic asset…
Now, if you’ve read the word “quirky” in that first paragraph and thought ’oh right, I see...’, then you’ll have some understanding of my reaction watching the film. If the Q-word is going to be a problem for you, good luck with The Shape of Water. As the central character, there’s scant escape from Elisa's enforced oddness, and even less relief from del Toro’s apparent self-indulgence in bringing his and Vanessa Taylor’s screenplay to life..
Don't get me wrong, there is much (much) to admire in here. A solid story, great performances and fantastic visuals and creature-effects. But on a character-level, the film feels shamelessly overwritten, like there’s been no editorial process, or anyone leaning in with ’should we maybe tone that down a bit?’*2. For the most part, the personalities of the characters we meet stay fixed throughout, with little in the way of development*3. Ultimately I couldn’t overcome the neatness of the story*4, even if it is framed as a fairy-tale*5.
I imagine you'll love it.
The Shape Of Water is basically a greatest-hits medley of Amelie, E.T. and Nightbreed.
*1 Whereby every movie I've seen in this first month of the year (which hasn't had a Disney stamp on it), whether that be an allegorical tale of miniaturisation, the study of a nation uniting against fascism or just Liam Neeson punching people on a train, has been met with a resounding shrug of my shoulders and a final awarded score of 4/7. Only Coco (which is technically a movie from 2017) and Star Wars (which is definitely a movie from 2017) have punctured my bubble of misanthropic apathy in January.
[ BACK ]
*2 Because it's not enough for the young guy in the café to be revealed as a homophobe, he also has to be shown as a massive racist IN THE SAME SCENE. This guy is all the wrong, DO YOU SEE? That section in particular feels like sketching a nicely rounded character-subplot, then throwing it in the bin because you're worried it's taking too much away from the rest of the picture. [ BACK ]
*3 With the slight exception of Michael Stuhlbarg's research scientist. Although what we learn about him still doesn't really change the character's behaviour or the audience's perception of it. [ BACK ]
*4 The early stages of the relationship between Elisa and the creature seem almost skipped over, whereas other movies would have gone on a detour of cross-species exploration. Here it's just 'would you like a hard-boiled egg?', 'oh, yes please.'. We have to assume the beautifully utilised sign-language has been picked up rapidly as we go from a one-word basic to pretty much full communication with next to no on-screen progress. And this is also apparently taking place in a top-secret laboratory which is not under CCTV surveillance (otherwise Elisa would have been removed instantly, lunch-break or not), while the loading dock in the back yard gets its own constantly monitored camera-feed. And don't even get me started on how smoothly Dimitri's own plans for the creature are altered to seamlessly fit in with Elisa's, apparently with little or no actual discussion. I have no problem believing a sea-monster exists, but do not mess around on the admin, Guillermo. [ BACK ]
*5SPOILERS: Highlight-to-readAnd the guy next to me (an adult human old enough to have seen other films) did a little gasp of realisation at 'that reveal moment' with the scars on Elisa's neck. It was all I could do to not take him to one side during the closing credits and be like "Seriously, though? Mate, that's been relentlessly telegraphed since the beginning of the film. It's an early-tell which explains the rest of the film before it's happened. The film's about water. You don't need a masters-degree in H.P. Lovecraft to see where that was going…"[ 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.
Roll up, roll up, who wants to see the USA get taken down a notch or two? Again? With the two movies so close to each other in just about every aspect (Olympus has just hit DVD in the UK), you really can't help but compare them. In many ways, WHD is the more enjoyable film (it's certainly less sadistic and xenophobic), but the lightness of tone comes at a price; other than 'some people in America don't like how America currently is', the film struggles to find any real message. It's often the case that a dumb action flick doesn't need a message, obviously, but with a symbol as iconic as Mr President's crash-pad, it's difficult to reduce it to expensive rubble unless you're trying to say something.
The highpoints of the film are the scenes with Jamie Fox and Channing Tatum. They have great chemistry together, and play the President/Minder relationship more like a buddy-cop setup. However, everything outside of their wisecracking action sequences veers between 'gleefully disposable' and 'absolute bollocks'. You really just have to accept the ludicrous aspects of the Die Hard Lite plot, its one-dimensional antagonists, and the thought that the global media may actually broadcast, on television, the full name and photograph of a hostage responsible for sneaking siege footage online, while that hostage is still in the building.
But if anything, it's Emmerich's terrorists that are the weak link. Rather than demonising an entire country (y'know, like the other one did), he gives us corrupt politicians and racist redneck mercenaries. We're aware they already exist, of course, but it seems doubtable that they could bring about a coup as depicted in the film. Also suffering from Underdevelopment Syndrome is Jimmi Simpson's ace-hacker, Tyler, who strolls in like a bizarre cross between Limmy and Reece Shearsmith, exhibits too much personality for his brief scenes and is then treated as a background note. But, don't worry too much about the mechanics (and the often ropey script), just try and enjoy the ride and you shouldn't go too far wrong.
In the midst of a screenplay that doesn't quite know what it wants to be, Foxx and Tatum seem to bring the only genuine feeling to the film. In fact, I couldn't work out if the exterior shots of the massed public had been shot on a soundstage or were just appallingly lit outdoors, everything feels that synthetic.
White House Down is enjoyable enough, but ultimately it's the empty can, rattling away.
Oh, and Roland: that cack-handed reference to your Independence Day movie was shameful. Really.
No, the trailer suggests a gravity which just isn't there.
Sometimes.
I suspect not.
Unless you like seeing your helicopter crashes larger than life, you won't lose much by watching it at home.
Not really.
At some point.
I didn't hear one, but I may well have missed it in the mayhem..
Can we give it a rest now, though? Can we?
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.
Even with the trailer, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect as Cruise is a mixed-bag these days…
…which sums up Jack Reacher; it's part hi-octane action, part crime mystery, part conspiracy thriller. It's not particularly bad in any of those areas, but it feels slightly incohesive with a muddled sense of direction.
Now, if it wasn't for the fact that Jack is an established character, you'd swear blind that Cruise dreamt this up in that crazy ol' head of his. Every aspect of this tough, observational, fiercely intelligent, secretive, sensitive, chest-bearing, man of few words but witty and deadpan when he does say something, and hey… more than a little bit sexy, eh? leading role seems to scream "Hey ladies, you remember me, right? I'm single now! YEAH!"
The bottom line is, I enjoyed this far more than I probably should have. Cruise's Reacher shouldn't be as likeable as he is, Pike's alternately feisty/simpering Helen shouldn't be as sympathetic, Jenkins and Oyelowo as Rodin and Emerson should be more enigmatic and Herzog's Zec should be more detestable. They all fall short of their respective lines at deveral points, yet the film remains entirely watchable.
The plot's as twisty as you'd expect with this sort of thing, but it still runs out of steam long before Cruise does. At 130 minutes, it is too long, and the last half hour or so just seems like stalling rather than wrapping up proceedings to their Inevitable Conclusion™. That said, it never gets out-and-out boring as it's relentlessly cheesy and quippy even when it's resting.
A sequel? Probably. A series? Doubtable. Even at this early stage it's already clichéd; excusable this once, but not sustainable.
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.
When a low-end mobster organises a robbery that leaves too many loose ends, enforcer Jackie Cogan (Pitt) is called in by the big boys to smooth things over. Unfortunately, that will mean ruffling even more feathers…
It seems like, in adapting the original novel for the screen, writer/director Andew Dominik has watched too many Tarantino movies. Brief bursts of visceral violence, with vast expanses of dialogue to expand the characters meting it out; Awkward silences, meaningful silences and threatening silences; Touches of humour, touches of humanity and touches of madness. All are present and correct, and yet something's not quite right. Lots of talking and an 'eclectic' soundtrack does not a Quentin, make.
Whilst all the stretches of conversation are competently written and delivered, I just didn't care either way about many of the characters. This is probably just as well, as toward the end of the film, a lot of them are seemingly abandoned with everything that's gone before cast aside with a brushing-of-the-hands. The worst offender in the show-don't-tell department is Gandolfini's New York Mickey, who arrives like an American version of Doug The Head, hogs the screen in building an interesting character and a great relationship with Pitt's Cogan, and is then discarded. In many respects, it feels like a 150-minute film hacked down to 97, but by the same measure, there are so many pauses that when the credits roll, you feel like you've been sat there for two and a half hours. Not a bad two and a half hours, by any stretch, but there should be more to it.
But. Despite my grumbling, I did enjoy Killing Them Softly. It doesn't get as convoluted as many of its genre-mates, and some of the cinematography here is nothing short of beautiful (I have rarely marveled, or indeed had such time to marvel, at someone being shot through the head). The referencing of the 2008 US presidential-election serves as a grounding for the film's timeline, as well as a reflection on the themes of the disintegration of America, with the nail being hit firmly on the head by Pitt's magnificent final line (which I won't spoil).
Killing Them Softly is another addition to this year's canon of 'Good, but not great' movies. Despite the fine work of everyone on-screen, the potential is there for it to be so much better.
Oh, and while it's nice that the casting director gave Ben Mendelsohn a part where he can drawl in his native Australian, Scoot McNairy seems to have trouble maintaining his American accent when he shares a scene with him. It could be intentional, of course, revealing a psychological weakness in the character of Frankie, but I doubt it, sadly. And while I'm on the subject, why does no-one in a film set in New Orleans sound like they're from New Orleans?
Beautifully filmed in some places, brilliantly scripted in others. It just struggles to do everything right at the same time.
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.
