Bill Condon's latest is a real mixed bag. Simultaneously fascinating and apathetic in equal measure, it's careful not to sensationalise the Wikileaks affair too much, but it also stylises events above and beyond your usual docu-drama fayre. It's nice to be able to sit back and watch from a non-judgemental point of view, but there's very little in here that hasn't been all over the news for the past couple of years. It's difficult to reveal the untold truth about the story when that's exactly what Wikileaks have been doing. There are references to the central characters' private lives, but they end up as window-dressing, serving little purpose other than fleshing out the players which the director doesn't want us to get too attached to anyway.
The main problem seems to be, how do you really tell a story which isn't finished yet? Concerns in the press about the lionisation of Julian Assange with this film seem unfounded to me; he's portrayed as neither a hero or villain here, just a flawed, contradicted man whose reach is bordering on exceeding his grasp. Similarly with Assange's protégé/partner, Daniel, while he certainly seems to have a clearer moral compass than Julian, he's essentially just the eyes of the audience, and most of the film is told from his frustratingly-neutral point of view. Benedict Cumberbatch is comfortably eccentric as usual, and Daniel Brühl is quietly fantastic, keeping everything dialled down to everyman-level like a bearded Peter Parker.
The Fifth Estate is an engaging watch, even if it doesn't remain consistently accessible, sort of like a GuardianistaZero Dark Thirty. It's definitely worth a go, but definitely a DVD. The final scene manages to both bolster and patronise the audience; telling them to keep up the good fight for The Truth™, whilst also reminding them that what they've just watched is probably quite far from that exact thing. In many ways it's the perfect analogy for the 21st century.
Well, I suppose.
Yeah, I guess.
I don't actually know.
DVD, tops.
No.
I don't feel the need at the moment.
There isn't.
This will still be miles better than the 'blockbuster thriller' version that will inevitably come out though, won't it?
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.
So, I wouldn't go so far as to call the novelunfilmable, but when I heard Irvine Welsh's horrifying helter-skelter of a book was being adapted to the screen I remember thinking 'Filth? …Filth, Filth? How the hell are you going to make that?. Fast-forward many months later, and I've got my answer: ^ Like that ^. Screenwriter and director Baird has grabbed the bull by both horns, and translated a version that's very largely faithful to the original, while still having its own light to shine. I don't mean to be one of those book>film pedants, but there really is a lot to live up to here, and the film really does manage it.
James McAvoy is shaping up to be one of this generation's most versatile actors, and he positively embraces the chance to play alcoholic, coke-addled sociopath Bruce Robertson, and a large amount of screen-time is spent in his head, living the world through his hallucinations and splintered world-view. Truth be told, the entire cast throw themselves fully into the fray, because there's really no other way to approach this. As Bruce's habits and their respective tolls escalate, everyone around him gets to twist the proverbial knife, and the adaptation from page to screen meant that even I was wondering how far things were going to go.
I do think certain aspects could have been handled better. Without being spoilery, there's a huge amount of effort expended on making Bruce an unlikeable character, but he never quite earns the pity of the viewer, no matter how pathetic his actions. In order for the film's punchline to work, you really need that pity, otherwise it comes off as flippant, and that's not what I took from the book. I think an extra fifteen minutes or so exploring Bruce's inner psyche with a calmer tone would have worked wonders. But there, I've become the kind of book>film twat I mentioned earlier. Ah, well.
Short version: If you enjoyed the more hallucinogenic aspects of Trainspotting, you'll get a lot out of Filth. Welsh proves once again that you can be flexible with your linear narrative if you throw enough fucked up situations at the reader/viewer and a few crowning reveal shots. Given the scope of the project, Filth is nothing short of magnificent. A version incorporating deleted scenes would be perfect, thank you.
Almost.
I did.
Very nearly almost. It should certainly be commended for what it does achieve..
If you can see it in a cinema, do, but it should be every bit as fucked up watching at home.
Quite possibly.
Fuck yes.
There isn't.
I'd like to see MacAvoy in the new Star Wars films. Tell me why I'm right, please…
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.
How I Live Now Cert: 15 / 101 mins / Dir. Kevin Macdonald
There are a lot of good things to be said about Kevin Macdonald's How I Live Now, but no matter how much it kept impressing me, the film kept stumbling into what future generations will refer to as The Meyer Trap. There's a good, solid story about a girl trying to overcome serious mental health issues, holding her shit together for the sake of her new-found family while London is destroyed by a terrorist-activated nuclear device. But obviously that won't be enough for today's audiences (literary or cinematic), so let's throw in a hormonally charged love story as well, shall we? Nuclear war and the study of societal breakdown and adaptation is never interesting enough.
But y'know, love it for what it is, don't hate it for what it isn't, and I did enjoy this movie. Macdonald's masterstroke arrives straight away in the form of Saoirse Ronan, whose portrayal of Daisy is played as not quite unbearable at the beginning, and not quite loveable by the end. There's a definite arc for her her character which even her immediate co-stars don't get, and while their performances are equally earnest, it really is Ronan who puts in the leg-work. Some fairly dark themes are explored here, although the worst of these are touched on, rather than tactlessly rammed home.
The love-story aside (which I moan about, but I do accept as part of the film), we also take several segues into vocal-soundtrack territory, which is one of my many bugbears with movies marketed at the female-teen demographic. Because you can't, presumably, be expected to know if a character's sad unless they're looking out of a window while some breathy, acoustically-backed hipster sings about how sad they are. What's that? You've got soundtracks to sell? Oh.
But listen, don't let my whinging put you off (do you ever?); this is a well-made film of a slightly flawed story, and no matter how much I slapped my forehead when the characters walk calmly home through nuclear-fallout-ash, continue to drink and wash with obviously polluted water, move into a ramshackle barn with no apparent supplies other than the fruit from the rained-upon trees, and obstinately resist evacuation from armed forces, I did also let out a small whoop of delight as Daisy let off the two shots from her handgun. Yeah, I'm going to assume she'd worked out how to safely fire and reload it by that point; it was so good, I don't even mind.
How I Live Now is an engaging movie, and from what I've read of the novel's Wiki page, isn't afraid to step out from the shadow of its forebear to tell a more direct story (read: no-one's telepathic in this. Although there is a cow-whisperer. Make of that what you will). It's surprisingly American for a British film, and I mean that as a compliment. You can do a lot worse.
Largely.
Largely.
Almost.
You won't lose too much by watching it at home.
Not really.
I'm really not sure.
I don't think there is. Which is a shame, as it could use one in a couple of places.
Do you think Daisy and Edmond's deformed children will be the result of drinking and washing with radioactive water, or the fact they they're blood-relatives?
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.
I'm not usually a one for a Tom Hanks film (as those of you who know me will attest), but even I've got to admit he does bloody well in this. Once you get past the opening half-hour or so of clunky dialogue and Too Many Ominous Signs, this is an incredibly tense thriller, with Barkhad Abdi stealing a lot of Hank's thunder as head-pirate Muse. The film is meticulous in spending enough time with the Somalian pirates that we don't just see them as anonymous bad-guys, but not so much that we begin to sympathise with them too much.
Once the main plot thread kicks into gear, the acting is solid all round, and Greengrass's direction can't be faulted. The same can't be said for the ground/sea-level camerawork, however, as it's wall-to-wall shakycam; particularly distracting in the nighttime shots where you're struggling to make out what's going on as the action gets hectic. There are some rather nice aerial shots, but ultimately they emphasise how jittery the rest of the film looks. Add to this the constant, frantic scoring in the final act and it almost seems like it's trying too hard. But in the end, it succeeds with a good heart and a couple of moments of much-welcomed dark humour from the Navy Seals.
My gripes aside, Captain Phillips is a gruelling, yet emotionally rewarding, watch. For many, the power will be in the story, so multiple viewings may not hold any appeal (so cinema then), but for those of you who want to see how a True Story™ can be told with the same pacing and tension as a fictional thriller, this will be worth several passes.
Pretty much.
Pretty much.
I think so.
The shaky-cam might make you want to see this on a small screen.
No.
Not for a while.
There isn't. Why not?
I'm not the only one who thought Bespin Cloud Car, am I?
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.
