June 14, 2024

25.10.23 Strained love in a world of opulence. In The Age of Innocence, we see what a versatile filmmaker Martin Scorsese truly is. It’s hard to believe this is the same director behind gritty classics like Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, although here you can see a lighter, more subdued side in the likes of his recent films Silence and Killers of The Flower Moon. Scorsese subtly crafts a slow-burning period piece, allowing the social mores and unspoken rules of 1870s New York high society to simmer under the surface.  At the heart of it all is an excellent performance by Daniel Day-Lewis. In Newland Archer, we see a man torn in half between his safe, social responsibilities and the hedonist abandon of true love with a forbidden woman. A suave character matched up brilliantly with a classy performance, of a man who seemingly has everything, until he doesn’t. Winona Ryder also impresses as she grows into her role as Archer’s wife-to-be Mary Welland, with some powerful work in the latter half of the film involving intimate, showing scenes with DDL. I also really admired Joanne Woodward’s wistful, dreamlike narration which cements the film’s sense of time and place well. She perfectly captures the romantic but complex emotional tones of the narrative as she guides us through Archer’s inner thoughts and struggles. Coming back to The Age of Innocence in 2023 serves as a welcome tonic to some of Scorsese’s longer and more dense films of late. At a tight 2 hours, this one is lush, elegant, and poetic in a way that modern films rarely achieve.  Scorsese succeeded in creating an insular world that feels far removed from today. From the ornate costume design to the sparkling dinner parties, The Age of Innocence is a gorgeous film that holds up incredibly well 30 years later. It’s a transportive viewing experience, which politely requests its audience to slow down and appreciate the details.

10.11.23 The slap that shook the cinematic world, many decades before Will Smith lost his shit and felt it necessary to defend his evil husband. In the Heat of the Night is about much more than the racial prejudice of a narrow-minded police detail in a small Mississippi town; it’s a valid reflection of the post-segregation, anti-black sentiment that was still so rife in ‘60s USA, and sadly continues to exist in some places today.  In terms of sweaty, grainy police thrillers, it just feels so solid, despite being pretty static and unrefined in terms of shot framing. Immeasurably helped by performances from Rod Steiger and even more from Sidney Poitier, In the Heat of the Night did the unthinkable upon first release, flipping ethnic stereotypes of male leads. With one side being virtuous and the other corruptible, the dual leads reflect both the visible and hidden sides of the law. Maybe it lacks the emotion of classics in the same era and genre like Dog Day Afternoon or The French Connection, but Poitier’s Virgil Tibbs is such a confident presence despite the hostility, that it covers up for the simple and unremarkable murder mystery plot. Even the famous ‘Mr Tibbs’ line delivery isn’t all that impressive, although some other moments such as with the plantation owner and Virgil’s thousand-yard staredowns upon Chief Gillespie are memorable and competently crafted.  What impresses me the most is the film’s veneer of social significance and the illusion of depth in its use of studying prejudice. Here lies a film best remembered for its ability to do the unthinkable during the civil rights movement; to make us empathise with the non-white American. This is chiefly down to Poiter’s professional candour and agency as the plot develops. The murder becomes less important than the backdrop. It just isn’t that absorbing and pales in comparison to the likes of Chinatown, Sleuth or The Long Goodbye, (some of my favourites from the era, albeit slightly later in release date). Thus the film relies more on exploring racism in a meaningful, impactful way rather than crafting an intricate ‘whodunit’.   The excellent Poitier and Steiger performances overcame noteworthy flaws, including an uneven script and an unconvincing finale. Still, for a film from 1967 that tackles issues of racism head-on, In the Heat of the Night is a significant and memorable drama. We should never overlook, despite its flaws as a thriller, its willingness to confront racial biases in a groundbreaking way, for its time at least. Norman Jewison’s important portrait of racism in small-town America continues to resonate, with the film providing an important historical snapshot of race relations, fully deserving of its famous one-liners and iconic memes.

23.9.23 With the UK government’s recent meagre statement on benefits, I felt it a timely moment to revisit Ken Loach’s Palme d’Or winning I, Daniel Blake (which I admit to rewatching last month in all honesty!). An unflinching drama following a middle-aged carpenter struggling against a heartless welfare system doesn’t sound like a fun night at the pictures, and while the film’s tone strikes as relentlessly bleak, its emphatic performances and an authentic sense of place in working-class Newcastle make for a provocative viewing experience. In his first film role, comedian Dave Johns brings a kind yet unyielding presence to the role of Daniel. From the opening sequence, where he good-naturedly conflicts with a clueless healthcare assessor off-camera, Johns radiates a relatable everyman quality. With his thick Geordie accent and propensity for gallows humour when faced with endless bureaucratic impasses, Daniel gives voice to any of us who’s battled indifference from faceless, unsympathetic members of government or its infuriating institutions.  Among the numerous well-observed scenes of quiet desperation in I, Daniel Blake, Katy’s visit to a food bank stands out in its emotional precision. Brilliantly played by Hayley Squires, Katy swallows her pride to feed her children, and Squires’ delicate acting and Loach’s judicious direction deliver a portrait of human dignity ground down by the system. Her moment of despair, hidden behind the food bank’s cluttered shelves is one of the saddest moments I’ve seen in any film, aided by the technical components of the scene’s framing, timing, and orchestration combining perfectly to create something unforgettable and heartbreaking. The film depicts a stark contrast between the cold and callous nature of the government and its job centre system, against the warmth, humour and sense of community among the people of Newcastle. Loach has consistently demonstrated his commitment to representing the vulnerable and forgotten members of society, and his latest film The Old Oak is no exception. Also, in his retrospective classics and reward-winners Kes and The Wind That Shakes the Barley, Loach consistently demonstrates his ability to use cinema as a tool for working-class commentary. I, Daniel Blake is probably his masterwork; a powerful indictment of the UK’s neoliberal capitalist system, which offers a reminder of the struggles faced by the contemporary working man. The film is deeply depressing, but it is also extremely important, as it sheds light on the critically inhumane treatment of those on the margins by no fault of their own.

15.11.23 Sing Street is more than just a coming-of-age film about ragtag Irish schoolboys, it’s an odyssey through some of the most popular and loved rock bands of the 80s in a unique and reverential way. It beautifully captures both the exhilaration and heartache of youth, with director John Carney showing great direction in allowing the young actors’ infectious camaraderie to form the soul of this movie.  The film is full of excellent music, balancing huge hits from the past and original numbers such as the incredibly catchy ‘Drive It Like You Stole It’. Although performed by professionals, the film gives the impression that the capable young cast performs their songs with the spirit and talent exceeding their years, which they seem to exude. Some silly moments don’t distract from the joy within, such as the emotional yet farfetched ending, and the paedophile priest oddly reappearing as a hero in the lead role Conor’s daydream. Though the ending ties things up rather improbably, it is an emotionally gratifying one. But there is a touch of sorrow amidst the joy as Sing Street also laments how quickly the fire of youth and creative passion can be extinguished if not nurtured. It playfully revels in the transportive power of music to lift us out of difficult times with nostalgia and catharsis. Yet it also acknowledges the bittersweetness of such moments we gain in our youth and then lose fleetingly with time.  Director John Carney has a knack for getting original songs right just like he did with Once, which seems to be the core strength of his films, and he’s done it yet again here. Sing Street affectionately immerses itself in the spirited musicality of 1980s rock, while meditating on holding onto that creative spark as we age. It’s full of heart and hummable tunes which means I will keep coming back to it again and again.

28.12.23 Distant Voices, Still Lives showcases the talent of the late Terence Davies at his most autobiographical and personal. It’s a delicately composed and poetic film which chronicles the closing of chapters and the opening of others in a Catholic working-class family in Liverpool. Ruled over by a terrifying patriarch, played by the brilliant Pete Postlethwaite, he gives an impressive performance as a violent man most likely suffering from mental anguish, yet still capable of love and tenderness. There is a powerful sense of place, as the same rooms and spaces bear witness to key moments in the lives of families, such as weddings, funerals and baptisms. Perhaps in 1988, audiences could more easily relate to the extended scenes of familial pub singalongs reminiscent of the postwar era. It’s only partially meaningful to me, but more so to my 78-year-old father who joined me to watch most of this film over the Christmas period. Still, it’s very impressive how Davies holds the audience’s attention with these songs alone, which convey a multitude of emotions and meanings in their lyrics. While not as visually dreamlike or vivid as Davies’ masterwork Of Time and the City, Distant Voices, Still Lives possesses a unique beauty all its own 35 years later. The artistry and wrenching sadness are undiminished by time. My dad questioned the title of the film and he was right, as there is nothing distant or still about this film. Through his personal lens and reminiscent, moving style, Davies has crafted a small but powerful Liverpudlian family saga.

19.11.23 Come for Jeremy Irons’ remarkable dual performance, stay for the surgical, simmering psycho-sexual tension. Dead Ringers has a muted but disturbing tone that contrasts coolly with its distinctive production design and vibrant use of primary colours to do the storytelling. It showcases how well David Cronenberg handles his usual fondness for violence in a controlled style, crafting instead a psychological drama which confronts his persistent preoccupation with the physical and mental declines of the human soul. It has enough stylistic substance that allowed me to enjoy it for all its unsettling whimsy. Clearly, it’s a divisive film, which has been largely re-evaluated this year due to the release of the Dead Ringers TV show in 2023 starring Rachel Weisz in dual roles as the Mantle twins. Now in retrospect, I feel that the original film is worth checking out for fans of Cronenberg’s more recent work as they will instantly notice his trademarks; the opaque sexual themes, visual potency through mutilation and many semi-dream sequences. Despite this though, Dead Ringers inhabits a clinical, cold atmosphere throughout, which although suiting the nature of the story revolving around the misuse of prescription drugs and the voracious behaviour of doctors as predatory gynaecologists, does make the unfolding of events drag at times. The female roles are also very thinly written and unconvincing in my opinion. A double dose of Irons in a devilishly unsettling concept does make it a decent enough movie, but if you’re not feeling despondent going into it, you will be when it’s over.

14.9.23 2023 could have been a better year for horror films, with Talk to Me being the best of a mediocre selection. But we did have some good news: a sequel was announced for one of my favourites from the genre in the last 30 years or so. Almost 10 years later, It Follows remains one of the scariest films I’ve ever seen. Subjectively, I love its 80s, dreamlike synth soundtrack and style. Every time I rewatch it, I’m also impressed by the mise-en-scene surrounding the alcoholic mother and absent father, which adds layers of intrigue I think many moviegoers fail to notice. Additional layers of subtext regarding promiscuity, sexual assault and even the AIDS pandemic, continue to resonate years later. The film also touches on the anxiety of escaping one’s childhood and the dark past within it, only to realise the baggage finds a way of catching up with you. Always. In terms of technical aspects, I would also argue It Follows has aged incredibly well. The cinematography and innovative camerawork still deliver tension and regular frights with every viewing. We have seen some decent independent horror films in the last decade or so, but none have matched the brilliance of its core premise and how it serves as a metaphor for so many of our own personal demons. Whether it’s guilt, anxiety or regret, the film taps into the paranoia of being followed by an unseen, persistent force. This is compounded by forcing the audience to focus on the middle of the screen, allowing tension to build with every scene. It’s a simple but genius device which I have never seen utilised that well in any other horror film, although I do recognise its original, terrifying use in the door slam scene in 1974’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Years later, It Follows still has a huge impact and gets under my skin like no other horror film. The sequel promises to build on the original’s strengths while exploring fresh territory, and I hope it retains the dreamy world without a clear sense of time. On this rewatch, I reflected on my own experience of mid-adulthood in all its dimensions, in ways both substantial and insubstantial. It comes close to perfection within the horror genre while leaving some mystery about its dark but wistful atmosphere.

13.8.23 Of all the films associated with Aaron Sorkin’s breakneck dialogue, Steve Jobs is by far my favourite. It also makes for a great double bill with 2023’s Blackberry which I watched a couple of weeks before rewatching this in December, as I have been holding back from reviewing this for a while. At its best, this is Danny Boyle’s attempt at a riveting character study, anchored by Sorkin’s rapid-fire screenplay and a superb ensemble. The script crackles with energy which still impresses me, considering the subject matter of a man setting up for a presentation three times is far from exciting at first glance. As we follow Jobs across these product launches, witnessing his complex relationships with colleagues like Steve Wozniak (Seth Rogen) and Joanna Hoffman (Kate Winslet), we soon begin to realise that this icon of popular tech may be seen as a great man despite some questionable morals and suggestions of misogyny and self-aggrandisation. Michael Fassbender is simply brilliant as Jobs, capturing his visionary genius and single-minded drive, yet not shying away from depicting these less sympathetic traits several times over the different flashpoints.  Feeling more like a stage play, the three-act structure allows us an intimate look at Jobs’ life over a decade, although only teasing us with the product launches and instead focuses more on callbacks to the past, key interactions with his daughter, and most pleasing to my taste, pointed discourse with Jeff Daniels as Apple CEO John Sculley. Here we see the script come alive, harkening to an intense stage drama, and Boyle embraces the material with kinetic direction and visual punctuation, like the pulsating electronic score underscoring Act One. For those who connect with the subject matter, the first-rate performances and writing make Steve Jobs an engaging character study from start to finish. Daniels nearly steals the film as Sculley to be honest, going toe-to-toe with Fassbender’s commanding lead performance. Steve Jobs shows us an imperfect visionary who revolutionised everyday consumer technology, but often struggled in his personal life. Sorkin’s script delves into thought-provoking themes about the costs of genius and the complex power dynamics of business and creativity. With its propulsive energy and a powerhouse, near-career best showing by Fassbender (I think his role in Shame is truly his best), Steve Jobs soars right up until the energised, massively satisfying ending. Steve Jobs the man was clearly a man of prescience, but also deeply flawed, and contemptible to some. ‘Poorly made’? Well, Steve Jobs might have been in terms of his morality and parenting, but the film certainly isn’t.

15.9.23 One of my favourite horror films from the last decade, Speak No Evil is an incredibly dark and chilling satire. With a simple yet contemporary premise, it just gets nastier and nastier with every moment as it doom descends into misery. Focusing on two families coming together through a holiday meeting, the film clues us into increasingly menacing turns. The fear comes slowly, and then all at once, thanks to director Christian Tafdrup’s ability to up the tension through silences, still camera shots and actors displaying a smart balance between holding things together and losing their shit completely.  Every moment glides from squirmy to downright sinister until the film reaches a distressing yet fearless climax The power of Speak No Evil stems from the ordinariness of its setup and the smart performances of its talented cast. Morten Burian and Sidsel Siem Koch are highly believable as the central middle-class couple struggling to reconcile their growing discomfort with their newfound ‘friends’ against their ingrained social politeness. Witnessing them trying to rationalise the obvious red flags and ignoring gut feelings makes the skin crawl, whilst being very entertaining. Fedja van Huêt is superbly menacing as the Dutch father, and as his character’s transgressions become bolder, the couple finds themselves socially paralysed, in fear of saying something offensive. Through the cast’s balanced interactions, Speak No Evil reflects the perils of parental politeness and going along with behaviour from others which you aren’t sure is deviant. We watch in horror as social niceties override primal intuition, inching the characters toward unfathomable jeopardy. While grounded in a relatable premise of two families uniting in a moment of happiness, the film morphs steadily into a nightmare that rattles the core. With its cunning commentary on social mores and willingness to plunge into the depths of depravity, Speak No Evil leaves a mark. Bold and ruthless filmmaking.

10.8.23 First watch: 4 stars With the stock of Michael Keaton having gone up so much, as well as the novelty and camera shenanigans within Birdman losing impact, it has waned as a compelling story on rewatch. Now 10 years old, the film doesn’t feel quite as fresh, with a loss of validity now Keaton has returned as Batman in 2023’s The Flash. It remains an ambitious and technically impressive film that explores celebrity culture and ego smartly, through the post-Hollywood life of Riggan Thomson, a washed-up actor striving for a comeback. Keaton delivers a great physical, meta-performance as Thomson, an actor known for playing a superhero in the 1990s, now trying to reinvent himself. With art imitating real life, Keaton captures Thomson’s desperation and delusions of grandeur, though moments of clarity are few. Emma Stone as Thomson’s snarky daughter and voice of the audience seems like the only reasonable person in the whole cast of up-their-arse Broadway performers. However, the propulsive, jazz energy created by the score and the single-shot style has become exhausting and overly showy on repeat viewings. While an impressive stunt, the constantly roving camera calls unnecessary attention to itself. Although the gimmick suits the story of Riggan’s unravelling mental state, it does the unfortunate thing of reminding the viewer of better films with long takes, such as in Goodfellas, Children of Men and Touch of Evil. Another more unfair sleight is to say how the jazz score also reminds us of Damien Chazelle’s superior work, namely Whiplash.  Not a bad film by any stretch, Birdman just relies too heavily on technical chicanery and self-awareness now weakened by Keaton’s rise. Once you see past the camera tricks, the story feels hollow. The performances deserve praise but cannot sustain the ambitious conceit alone; what once seemed bold now appears a mildly enjoyable black comedy unable to support its weight. Birdman remains a unique entry in Iñárritu’s filmography, but its flaws have become more glaring.