Reviews

Boogie Nights is a powerful, well constructed tale of human emotions and misery that just happens to be set in the porn industry. Just like Paul Thomas Anderson's other well known movie Magnolia, he proves once again with this film that his work has a very unique, trademark feel to it - all the more impressive when there are definite nods to the films of Scorcese for example. PTAs films are full of human life - just like Magnolia, here he creates a spectrum of characters who are all likable and real, and the strength of their creation is what sees pretty much faultless performances from the entire ensemble cast. But he is not afraid to show us the highs and lows of each character, and this is what engages the audience. Mark Wahlberg is very good as Dirk Diggler, and Julieanne Moore exceptional as the maternal figure fascinated by him. But Burt Reynolds as the unofficial father figure of the cast was both a delight and a surprise, and John C. Reilly also sizzled in every scene. There is some obvious symbolism - when Wahlberg and friends travel to Alfred Molina's apartment to rip him off in a drug deal, his padlocked gates close behind them as they enter his house - clearly a reference to the gates of hell. And the overwhelming impression of the concluding scenes, when Reynolds wanders around his vast porn-funded house checking in on all the hangers on and cast members he has assembled over the years - but with a warm sense of fatherly love - was very poignant and clever. It's impossible not to like the cast - and although there are some very shocking scenes that lack huge subtlety, this is film making at its best and deserves a lot of recognition.

On paper, Outside Bet looked a sure fire hit. A group of redundancy haunted friends clubbing together to buy a racehorse with a heart warming love story thrown in and a blatant yet shameless 80s soundtrack, similarities with The Full Monty were inescapable. Yet the end result is a hollow, uneven mish mash of cliché and disbelief, and the film cannot escape the confines of it's cardboard cut out characters. There is plenty of charm throughout and the picture desperately wants to be liked – perhaps too desperately – but even if you view this as a modern fairy tale and don't worry about the glaring horse racing inaccuracies, there are still numerous scenes that are just too contrived to be believable. Firstly, a complete stranger enters the local pub and asks the regulars if they want to buy a racehorse – that he tells them is convinced is good (try walking into a pub and asking if anyone wants to buy a really poor racehorse) – whilst at the same time sheepishly admitting that there may well be some illegality surrounding the ownership of the equine. Yet despite this main character Mark (Calum NcNab) goes along to see the animal – which seems to be trained in an open field on a rugby pitch – and after seeing it jump over a couple of poles is convinced he's looking at a winner. Move over Doctor Dolittle. Whilst there is a scene that attempts to acknowledge that a racehorse also costs much more than just an initial outlay (training fees, entry fees etc.) Mark reminds us that on the credit side, there is of course, prize money. No matter that British horseracing (especially in the 1980s) had some of lowest prize money in Europe and that virtually 80 per cent of racehorse owners suffered annual losses on having a horse in training (which remains the case today). But again, perhaps the racing side of the film is not meant to be taken seriously, and is just a backdrop to character development – even though this isn't exactly forthcoming. Maybe The Full Monty and Brassed Off have a lot to answer for – character dimension these days seems to be about having a few scenes where they talk about their past and we learn about some of their intricate details (Bob Hoskins and wife Rita Tushingham saving up for a caravan for example) and away we go. There is also a major attempt to bring some gritty despair into the plot – the men are linked by employment in the typesetting / printing industry and the Wapping strikes that blighted this era on the coat tails of the miners dispute means most of the characters are facing redundancy and an uncertain financial future. But this makes the fact that they all eventually cough up £1000 each to own a share in the horse (ridiculously called The Mumper) even more preposterous. I don't know of anybody facing a financial straightjacket that would willingly plough a huge sum of money into a racehorse – even if central character Mark is convincing and tries to 'talk them into it'. Then there is the racecourse action. The races themselves look like caricatures of Victorian races and the film suffers from the same fate as virtually all other British flicks that attempt to show sport – it just isn't realistic. The Mumper's second race sparks even more hilarity for the viewer as virtually all of the syndicate take out their life savings to have a bet on the horse. They gleefully hand over their money without a care in the world. And let's not forget The Mumper is a 20/1 shot – so the likelihood of any return on such massive bets would be very low indeed. To add insult to injury, the friendly bookie happily takes the bet – despite faced with a quarter of a million pounds payout – he grins like a cheeky rogue and doesn't bat an eyelid. I can tell you not one British bookmaker would accept a bet like that at those odds. It's a shame because the film should have been much better – with a sterling cast of the likes of Hoskins, Jenny Agutter, Dudley Dutton and Phil Davis, we should have been lauding this as a whimsical British success story, but they are underused and that points straight to a weak script and a story not properly fleshed out. The tragic side issue is that Hoskins of course would retire from acting due to illness shortly after the release of this film, and although he is subdued in places, he still remains as watchable as ever. Like a friendly puppy, this film is impossible to hate because it clearly has a desire to please, but like all loving puppies, wait and see how you feel when you furniture is chewed up and your carpet ruined. It tries to drag too many feelgood elements together that have worked so well for other filmmakers, without having an identity of its own.

I went to see this last night, and left feeling a little disappointed. It's based on true events as main character Neil McCormick and his brother Ivan attend the same school as Bono, with new bands setting up all the time. Bono, of course, goes on to world domination with U2, whilst the McCormick brothers are left desperately trying to seek the big time, whilst at the same time eating cold beans from a tin as their finances and fortunes dwindle away. The spine of the film, however, is that an as yet undiscovered Bono approaches Neil and tells him he would like his brother to join U2. Neil rejects the offer out of hand, but fails to tell Ivan, believing that their band will become bigger and better than U2. The scriptwriters were industry legends Dick Clement and Ian LaFrenais of Porridge, The Likely Lads and Auf Wiedersehen Pet but I was nervous when I saw their names because for my money they are much more suited to character driven 30 minute TV comedy, and their occasional forays into movies have been very hit and miss. They even tried the music-tensions-within-a-band premise a decade earlier with Still Crazy, although that was a decent enough film. The problem is that Killing Bono doesn't quite know where to go. It's billed as a comedy yet it isn't anywhere near funny enough, and too many of the 'laughs' seem staged and deliberate. And there is too much of a dark undercurrent running throughout - I feel the movie would have been better had it not been billed as a comedy and the production team let the bitterness and unfulfilled jealousies of McCormick come out without trying to play it for laughs. Fair enough, it's a good idea that every time he tries to succeed with his band Bono has seemingly got there first (the first big gig he secures just happens to clash with Live Aid!), but the hesitant mood of the movie means we quickly dislike McCormick as our main character - and a film where the lead fails to engage with the audience is very dangerous indeed. Martin McCann does a sterling job as a timid Bono, but as others will no doubt say, the movie had a golden opportunity to fill its soundtrack with an extensive U2 back catalogue which would have helped it along much more. It's likable in places, and the much missed Pete Postlethwaite dazzles in his final role (all the more poignant as he physically looks heartbreakingly ill), but this is no Commitments, which, of course, Clement and LaFrenais also scripted.

Where The Wild Things Are sees Jackass helmer Spike Jonze take the reins and adapt the classic children's book by Maurice Sendak. The story of Max (Max Records), a disobedient and troubled eight year old boy who floats away into an imaginative world where he rules an island full of furry monsters somehow fails to deliver. The acid test for these movies is watching it with the age group it was aimed at (i.e family / children) and whilst the very young may be enthralled by the visual presence on screen (not least the famous monsters) older children and certainly adults will fidget uncomfortably way before the end. Jonze undoubtedly delivers a film with his ubiquitous vision and personal touch, but it's just too relaxed and sags badly in places. There isn't a great deal to hold the attention - the parallels between the monsters' behaviour and Max's own family situation are too fuzzy and not explored enough, and in the end the movie lacks a certain charm where we take it to our hearts and care for it. It's seems almost like a movie made where everyone behind the cameras were smoking joints, and it lacks the magic that could have been so much more in evidence if, say, someone like Spielberg had got hold of it. I didn't find it an enthralling experience, although clearly the movie has divided opinions.

The trouble with movies like Cass is that they are not bad films by any means, nor do they fail to entertain or live in the memory. It's just the memory already seems overloaded with literally dozens of these flashy, flashback, 80s set designer violence dramas that glorify the exploits of the disaffected youth through their frustrations inside and outside football stadiums. Whilst the obvious difference with this film is that the main character must overcome not only tribal football clashes but the added dimension of racism as well, you can see why the book originally written by the main protagonist himself purported to offer such a rich vein of narrative to adapt into a film. But these kind of movies are now so commonplace, they struggle to offer something new that we haven't already seen many times over. And for that reason the slightest slip up can be catastrophic, and any loose direction or production can see a movie like this lurch from the sublime to the ridiculous quicker than it takes to whack someone with a knuckleduster. Nonso Alonsie plays the lead role with passion and controlled aggression, but somehow fails to quite deliver the same menace as the real life 'hero' himself. Witness (Cass) Pennant in his own words in the special features available on the DVD and he is much more able to display a propensity for violence just bubbling neatly under the surface. But the movie is well worth watching, and doesn't outstay its welcome. It's difficult to recall when the conveyor belt was switched on with this genre, it possibly goes back to the 70s with Alan Clarke's 'Scum' but as a viewer one is just waiting for Danny Dyer to pop up at any moment. Instead, we have Tamer Hassan on hand, who is thankfully a reassuring presence, albeit a familiar one. The movie perhaps also deliberately decides to pull back from the glorification of graphic violence, and is all the better for it.

Anyone wanting to examine how great cinema used to be need look no further than Doctor Zhivago. David Lean's sprawling epic set in revolutionary Russia is a masterpiece of movie making and has, like most of Lean's work, inspired countless other films through the decades. Adapted from Boris Pasternak's novel, only Lean could get away with a largely British cast and an Egyptian in the leading role playing out the most tumultuous period of Soviet history. Omar Sharif is faultless as Zhivago, and in many scenes his eyes convey each emotion perfectly without a single line being uttered. So canny is Lean that in numerous scenes there is a brilliant piece of visual trickery as a shaft of light falls over those dark brown pupils to riveting effect. There is also a genius scene where Zhivago, by now totally smitten with Lara (Julie Christie) has to part with her for the first time in 6 months after the two had worked in a hospital together. As she departs, he tearfully trudges back inside the now defunct hospital, and in the corner of the screen, a vase of wilting, dying sunflowers perfectly represents the feelings he is now experiencing for his as yet unrequited love. The metaphor is successfully examined again later on when the emerging spring daffodils depict Zhivago's rekindled enthusiasm after a gruelling winter in which all hope seemed lost. Zhivago is more accessible than Lean's other notable classic, Lawrence Of Arabia, mainly because it is of course a powerful love story set against the backdrop of one of the most barbaric times in modern history. The stunning locations are breathtaking, and of course Maurice Jarre's contagious and famous theme became synonymous with the movie itself. A feast of a picture, this is simply timeless perfection, and cinema as a medium has rarely been better.

In the modern cinema of today, dominated by CGI and all manner of visual trickery, Watership Down ought to be blown apart and be put firmly in its place, but viewing the film over 30 years on is a revelation. Dated and basic some of the animation may be, but it's unique style still engages, and cements its place in over cross generations. The adaptation of Richard Adams' book about warring rabbits is deftly handled, and the dark overtones that permeate large parts of the picture is perhaps the main reason the legendary story lives on. Deeply disturbing in places for the younger viewer, it nevertheless is intelligent enough to draw in the adult viewer. Adams' has steadfastly denied over the years that the almost over deliberate use of seemingly allegorical material is anything but a simple piece of elaborate story telling. Yet it's hard not to disagree with his assertion, given the almost sledgehammer reference to religion and persecution amongst certain scenes. The animated English countryside seems to transcend the date of the piece, and throw in the hit theme tune 'Bright Eyes' and this is still a must for adults and children alike, even in today's market place where ultra sophistication production values remain.

This is without doubt Michael Caine's most brutal film, and makes Get Carter look like an episode of Peppa Pig! Caine plays a pensioner living in the heart of a run down tower block estate in inner city London. The estate is under a reign of terror perpetrated by a gang of vicious, lawless feral youths with no redeeming features. From Caine's first scene, we see he is old school: rising at 6.30 every morning, cooking and cleaning up after himself, and still putting on his shirt and tie each day to visit his terminally ill wife in hospital. After Caine's lifelong friend is brutally murdered when daring to stand up to the youths, Harry Brown decides to exact his own form of revenge and rid the estate of the unwanted youths. This premise is hardly new, but debutant director Daniel Barber and writer Gary Young escape most of the clichés that a Hollywood-ised shoot 'em up movie would have revelled in. The film is certainly not the 'best British film of the year' - mainly because it is so harrowing in places - but it is a phenomenally realistic take on inner city Britain and should be shown to every politician, judge, policeman and Human Rights campaigner to make them see just what life is really like in 'lawless' Britain. Caine is excellent as ever, cinemas answer to Ryan Giggs: he just keeps getting better and better. And the youths are so chillingly realistic one has to wonder if indeed they are real actors or just plucked from the estate itself. The film reminded me of 1993's The Young Americans in that it sometimes tries too hard to be young and trendy but at the same time multi dimensional. All the characters are given bits and pieces of dialogue that tells us about them as people rather than having any relevance to the plot whatsoever - for example, witness Caine's conversation with the police about his quest to read books on the strategies of the great chess grandmasters. It's almost as if young writers have an unwritten rule: get your character to talk about 'himself' and you can prove to people your script is not shallow or bland. And of course the suspension of disbelief centres around whether a pensioner can outwit a gang of youths - so of course, our 'hero' simply has to be a marine or ex-SAS, something like that, to make the plot more palatable. There are some highly ridiculous scenes of course, mainly involving the police and the riot in the films final third is utterly pointless and has no place in the film at all (don't police do DAWN raids instead of late at night when all their intended arrests are active and with friends?) Yet despite the inevitable pitfalls, the movie is provocative and real enough, and whilst it's not a movie to chill out with a bottle of wine to, it is nevertheless gripping. And when, in a scene late on where we are led to believe Harry has died, a member of the cinema audience shook his head and cried out 'oh no!'. So, raw, indigestible and slightly silly in places it might be, but you can't take your eyes of Harry Brown (or the wonderful Caine) and it is well worth a look.