Review: Hellboy (2019)

Hellboy
Cert: 15 / 121 mins / Dir. Neil Marshall / Trailer



Hang on, I thought we'd all agreed to stop putting King Arthur in movies for the next hundred years or so? It doesn't work. We know it doesn't work*¹. And it especially doesn't work when you open your movie with Ian McShane grasping the mantle handed to him by the departure of dear John Hurt, the faux-gravitas of his acerbic voiceover setting the scriptual bar at a clunkingly low level before stepping into the shoes of Professor Broom, erstwhile father-figure to David Harbour's Hellboy.

Born in the latter days of the Second World War from a crazed Nazi experiment to attain victory by channelling the forces of the netherworld, an infant demon has been raised to adulthood by Broom and the Bureau For Paranormal Research And Defense, now an agent for the organisation where he assists in keeping the world safe from unspeakable terrors. So far, so much like the previous two movies. But this relative harmony is shattered by the return of the Blood Queen, Nimue (Mila Jovovich), dismembered and scattered by King Arthur centuries earlier, but being gradually re-assembled for reanimation by her loyal henchman, Gruagach (Stephen Graham). Because, as with so many resurgent tyrants, she's coming back to ensure humanity's destruction...

IMAGINE

And it's even sillier than you'd imagine, somehow. As noted above, the film does not get off to a good start. Andrew Cosby's screenplay is clunky, preposterous and without a cast who can really carry off most of it. That said, within ten minutes Hellboy is all-in battling an errant demon at a Mexican wrestling match while Scorpions' Rock You Like A Hurricane plays over the top. If that's not a signpost for the weapons-grade silliness to follow, nothing is. Of course, it's at this point that the casual viewer may well think 'hang on, this has gone full 'Dusk Till Dawn' incredibly early - where is there to go from here?' The answer comes in the metaphorical form of director Neil Marshall pointing at a dial and saying "...but this film goes up to 11".

Despite this full-on action being activated from the off, the film's first act suggests that there's not really enough 'new' content here to justify a full cinematic reboot for the franchise (although it was initially slated to be an in-universe prequel). Without Guillermo Del Toro's melancholy touch*², Hellboy becomes Kingsman-meets-Nightbreed. And it turns out the differently-labelled bottle that no one asked for is the tonic we all needed.

SWEET LORD

It's difficult to un-learn Ron Perlman's anti-hero but Harbour makes this interpretation his own in short order, giving a surprisingly rounded turn (for this film) as a character with a demon's body, a hero's responsibilities and very human limitations. McShane barks his way through the script as only he can, yet he's still like Laurence Olivier compared to Milla Jovovich, gnawing her way through the scenery in full pantomime-mode. The plot structure is by now par for the course with this sort of thing, and scripting issues continue way past the opening scene-setting. It's unclear how much of this is inherent to a property which carries its corniness with more sincerity on the printed page.

But when the talking's over and it's time for action, Hellboy is good fun. Bloody good fun (and often very bloody). Perhaps more fun than someone like Guillermo knows how to have, in all honesty. It's a movie made by someone who seems to genuinely not care what the critics think; which is either the ultimate in artistic purity, or a staggering lack of self-awareness. Possibly both.

STAND TOGETHER

Basically a live-action horror cartoon, Hellboy is unapologetically schlocky. Whether this is a good or a bad thing will depend almost entirely on the viewer. Despite the many words which will be written about Marshall's project (including these), it's a film which boldly defies critical appraisal. Acutely aware of how daft it is and just not caring anyway. And is all the better for that. Marshall and Cosby initially do a solid enough job of starting things in medias res, with backstory left for the viewer to pluck from between the heavy-handed lines of conversation.

As things move on however, it becomes clear they're both buggers for an expository flashback, taking 'show-don't-tell' to startling new levels of superfluousness. They also absolutely adore a casual fuck-bomb. Hellboy more than earns its hard 15 certificate on the language alone, the vast majority of which is delivered with a very British facetiousness that may well pass over the heads international audiences*³.

Your humble correspondent went into this with no real baggage, struggled with its unwieldy nature, yet found himself grinning like an idiot by the third act. Mötley Crüe playing over a laboratory shoot-out? Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. Embrace the ridiculousness and it's one hell of a ride. There are industrial amounts of sequel-baiting going on, including mid- and end-credit stingers, but that's okay - a movie's got to at least try and leave its options open.

2019's Hellboy is demonstrably not a great film. And it's still the most gleefully excessive fun I've had in the cinema this year…

Oh, Drive Angry. Fuck yeah.



Well, me and about five other people on the planet think so.



With the best will in the world, see this BIG or don't bother.
As much as I love it, I'm not sure how it'll translate to the small screen.



I can't call that one. I absolutely loved Marshall's Dog Soldiers back in the day, but have to admit that it's not aged well.



Well it's looking that way, isn't it?



Not that I heard, but there's a shit-ton of screaming going on here, so I may well have missed it. Yet at the same time, a movie like Hellboy would wear a Wilhelm on its sleeve proudly, so let's go with 'no'.



Level 1: Well, there's a definite Taun-taun reference when they're at the chip shop, but also General Draven is in this.





*¹ Yeah, I just didn't go to see The Kid Who Would Be King, recently. Heard nothing but good things about it, yet every time I sat through the trailer in a cinema I could feel my ulcer loosening its belt another notch. That film looks custom-designed to annoy me and I see no reason to confirm that it fulfils its remit. ^{[ BACK ]}

*² While I don't actively dislike his work, Guillermo Del Toro is basically Tim Burton for film-snobs. There. I said it. ^{[ BACK ]}

*³ One of the film's low-key standouts is where Gruagach - the seven foot tall boar-headed demon with a thick Scouse accent who uses the fuck-word as punctuation - offers Nimue the Blood Queen some actual Jaffa Cakes. Fantastic stuff. This is hands-down the best product placement since Seabrook Crisps rocked up in The Fast & The Furious. ^{[ 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: American Honey

American Honey
Cert: 15 / 164 mins / Dir. Andrea Arnold / Trailer



Because if there's one thing everyone wants more than Shia LaBeouf, it's Shia LaBeouf sporting a mullet and pony-tail combination set, armed with a moral compass that would make D*nald Tr*mp nod approvingly*¹, right?

Trapped in a life that's only just one step up from a trailer-park, Star (Sasha Lane) yearns for more. She doesn't know what exactly, but a chance encounter with Jake (Shia LaBeouf) and a group of disparate young travellers selling magazine subscriptions from town to town sees her take a punt on a new path. But as the pecking order of the collective becomes apparent, Star has to reconcile what she's left behind with what she can meaningfully gain from her new surroundings…

First things first: for a road movie, American Honey sure takes its time. Not its time in getting started, just in deciding where it's going. Like an extended journey with people you largely don't like and none of them have remembered to bring a map but they're loaded with more bad hip-hop than you can shake a stick at. It never bored or annoyed me, but the thought occurred on more than one occasion that a film this damned long should really have more content (for reference, you could watch the rise and fall of Tony Montana and still have a whole minute's change).

And It's a brave cinematographer who makes a movie in 3:4 aspect-ratio in this day and age. Braver still when the entire film is shot on a hand-held camera and jump-cut edited together. This often feels like watching someone's home-video footage, especially in the car-interior scenes, although I don't necessarily mean that as a compliment. While everyone's relatively comfortable on camera, there's a lack of direction to these group scenes both figuratively and cinematically (although not literally, as the people-carrier is moving undeniably forwards, I'll give it that). On top of that, the mumbled dialogue (which often has all the hallmarks of improvised lines performed by non-actors) is one thing, but combine that with an atrocious sound-mix when there's anything other than mumbled dialogue and you'll be praying for subtitles by the half-hour mark.

But on the plus side (for all my moaning before and after this paragraph, it's a fascinating movie), the camera finds the landscape and wildlife of America far more interesting than the cast, and a Peter Pan / Lost Boys theme peeks its head through from time to time*², enough to be intriguing, although it really isn't developed the way it could be.

At its core though, I just didn't really get the film. I didn't feel excluded by what was happening, but there was a cultural gap I just couldn't cross. As well as the characters selling what I'm assuming were entirely non-existent magazine subscriptions, the setup itself was something I found hard to relate to. As much as Star is a sympathetic character, the problem (for me) could be that the closest we have in the UK to these groups is those packs of cause-hopping charity muggers that roam the high-streets with clipboards and annoying personalities. The ones I systematically blank or avoid without fail. This film certainly didn't endear me to the mindset, although I'm not sure it's meant to, to be honest.

I should probably have liked American Honey more*³ (in fact, I know I should), but the aspects I enjoyed were outweighed by the ones I either didn't or just didn't get. Much like the central character's journey, the film ambles along without rules or responsibility. It's something to be applauded in theory, but I just couldn't relax when I was expecting someone to be murdered for most of the movie. Although the film occasionally strays into dark quarters, it never lingers there too long and there doesn't seem to be any moral or narrative consequence of it happening. I'd even fine with the noncommittal ending if it hadn't followed a noncommittal story.

I know I'm missing something obvious and massive, but what's with the recurring insect-theme? Answers in the comments, please.

I think my favourite bit could be the drugged-up weirdo*⁴, sleepwalking around a parking lot and mumbling about the spice-mines of Kessel. As Star Wars references go, it's hard to beat and something we don't even get in Kevin Smith's movies…

All of the unease of murdery road-trip movies, but little of the drama.



It's shot in handheld, 3:4 aspect-ratio.
With the best will in the world, it's not designed for the cinema.



Oh probably, I don't know.



I have no idea.
Sasha Lane is good, though.



Not at all.



Not at all.



Level 2: Well, Shia was in that Indiana Jones movie that no-one except me likes alongside Captain Solo himself, Harrison Ford.





*¹ Yeah, I know that Shia is an Actor and he's Acting. But we both know that Shia's kinda troubled off-the-camera, too. It doesn't make for easy-watching

*² Although with the lead character being called Star and shots of the group jumping through a makeshift bonfire, the film arguably owes less to the Peter Pan mythos than it does to the actual Lost Boys movie itself. Another reason I kept expecting someone to be killed, imminently.

*³ And y'know, I like Lady Antebellum as much as the next guy (maybe a little more, actually), but when you specifically namecheck their song which is also the title of the film in act one, then pretend to resist playing it until five minutes before the end? That shit seems shoehorned, no end.

*⁴ In fact, I assume that she was drunk or drugged-up, but for a lot of the film I couldn't tell who was engaging in substance-abuse and who was just vulnerable and with learning-difficulties. In a film like this it could be either, frankly, and the fact that it isn't really explored at all is worrying in itself...


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.