Interstellar (2014)

InterstellarIn the future, after the entitled excesses of the 21st Century, the Earth is struggling to support the human race. With little demand for engineers and explorers most people now work as farmers — including ex-pilot Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) and his makeshift family: father-in-law Donald (John Lithgow), son Tom (Timothée Chalamet) and daughter Murph (Mackenzie Foy, named after Murphy’s Law). When a downed military drone leads him to NASA, now underground and incognito, he is recruited for a last-ditch attempt to save the species, if not the planet. Crops are failing, and in order to prevent his children from either starving or suffocating he must find them a new home — a new world. Together with Amelia (Anne Hathaway), Romilly (David Gyasi), Doyle (Wes Bentley) and robot TARS (Bill Irwin), Cooper charts a course for Saturn, and a recently-formed wormhole to another galaxy.

Having ended his trilogy of Batman-inflected treatises on fear, chaos and pain with The Dark Knight Rises, Christopher Nolan’s latest think-piece looks to the stars. Interstellar, which began life as a Steven Spielberg project before being rewritten by Nolan and longtime brother/collaborator Jonathan, asks whether love might be a force akin to gravity — capable not only of transcending life and death but dimensions too. At first it seems like something of a change of tact for Nolan, a director better known for debunking spells than casting them, but when the film introduces a ghost, a wormhole and a race of inter-dimensional beings known as ‘Them’ or ‘They’ you can’t help but take the bait and join Cooper in “wondering at our place in the stars”. Sadly, any mystery is short-lived.

However, for the first act at least, there is real promise. Nolan’s vision of a planet blighted by pestilence and choking in dust is an effective one, and small scenes showing life in such an environment — plates and glasses being placed upside down on the table to keep them clean; a school curriculum deriding NASA’s space programme as a hoax in order to discourage students from pointless distractions — are intriguing and well-observed. Perhaps inevitably, it’s this section of the movie that feels most Spielbergian in tone: the family dynamic is interesting, their adventures exciting and their interactions entertaining. When the family’s Land Rover leaps into a cornfield in pursuit of low-flying drone it’s more likely to evoke ET or Jurassic Park: The Lost World than anything from Nolan’s own filmography.

That all changes when Cooper arrives at NASA. He is quickly stripped of his children and his humanity; lectured on Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity by Michael Caine; and launched into the vacuum of space with the physicist’s daughter, two personality-free scientist and a Stanley Kubrick homage. The film’s humour setting is dialed down while its honesty setting is ratcheted up; with Nolan once again valuing realism at all costs, even when he’s being decidedly unrealistic. The ship — Endurance — may be about to fly into a wormhole but it must do so in absolute silence, darkness and inactivity, as its passengers enter stasis for months, if not years at a time. The film loses all momentum immediately, and for the next hour Nolan stops and starts his narrative as the characters travel to a series of gimmicky planets earmarked as potential homes (or, at least, “rocks for humanity to cling to”) by previous missions for additional exposition.

It’s not just a sense of limbo that Interstellar shares with Inception, either, with Nolan returning once more to the subject of time. As in different levels of dreaming, and as per Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, time operates differently across space. Their first destination is Miller, a planet upon which time slows to a crawl, and it’s hard not to feel a sense of deja-vu as the characters discuss temporal differences between locations at length. The stakes, in this case, are reversed: Cooper doesn’t risk losing years of his life but missing decades of his childrens’, but they are familiar nonetheless. As it stands, Miller is a bit of a waste of time, and as impressive as its mountainous waves may be they add exactly nothing to either character, theme or plot — save to necessitate the recasting of Cooper’s children as adults, so that Tom is now played by Casey Affleck and Murphy by Jessica Chastain.

According to Nolan, interstellar travel is as mundane as Gotham in The Dark Knight trilogy or Ariadne’s dreamscapes in Inception — same men, different suits. The problem is, however, that when the film finally plays its hand and Nolan is forced to ask for a suspension of disbelief from his audience it is much too late. After two films spent establishing Batman as a pragmatic character it is no wonder audiences balked when in The Dark Knight Rises he was finally called upon to do something genuinely superheroic, and so it is with the third act of Interstellar. We may not in fact be dealing with ghosts, wormholes or inter-dimensional beings but the reality is no less ridiculous — perhaps even more so. In Spielberg’s hands it might just have worked — after all, it wouldn’t be the first of his films to hang on the precept “life will find a way” — but in Nolan’s it doesn’t; it seems sentimental and simplistic. It’s a gear-change that jolts you awake, and when the core concept crumbles you realise that it’s all he ever really had in the first place. Nolan loves ideas so much he’s now naming his characters after them.

That said, Intersteller is still a thought-provoking and ambitious movie. It has often been said that the director is as gifted at writing women as he is at telling jokes — yet Anne Hathaway’s Dr. Brand is a surprisingly engaging character. There is a lot about Nolan’s latest that feels contrived and convoluted — not least a lesson on love given by Amelia herself — but Hathaway’s performance resonates regardless, and her motivations and sacrifices have all the more impact for her emotional honesty. The best scenes are felt rather than explained — the indignity of a parent-teacher meeting; awe as a space ship clips a frozen cloud; desperation during a rescue mission — but you lose hours in stasis in between. It hardly matters that it’s scientifically accurate, until it isn’t.


The Babadook (2014)

The BabadookIt’s been six years since her husband died on the way to the hospital for the birth of their son, but single-mother Amelia (Essie Davis) is still struggling with the loss. Her son Samuel (Noah Wiseman) is too, acting out and manifesting his fears in a succession of bogeymen. One night, when she lets him chose a bedtime story, he returns from the shelf with an unfamiliar and apparently unfinished picture book called The Babadook. It tells of a costumed creature that imposes itself on anyone unlucky enough to let it in. Sensing her son’s discomfort and in denial of her own she tears the book to pieces and throws it into the bin, only for it to be returned to her days later. Not only has someone fixed it, they’ve finished it.

The horror genre has been in a bit of a sorry state of late. Remakes, spin-offs and meta-analyses have proliferated to the point that Ouija — an adaptation of the Hasbro game of the same name — is among the more original horror releases of 2014. In recent years vampires have been romanticised, zombies have been humanised and poltergeists have been homogenised. Where once horror was used to explore diverse, deep-seated human fears and frustrations it is now used largely to titilate and surprise. Not so with The Babadook, a film which is much less concerned with entertaining its viewers than it is making them think, engage and feel. Refreshingly, director Jennifer Kent is at least as focused on her characters as she is on her audience.

The Babadook is not about blood and guts but is rather a study of fear. Like The Ring or Triangle, two other horror movies starring Australian actresses, it’s about the often strained relationship between a single mother and her child. Amelia is both suspicious and resentful of Samuel — he’s difficult, delusional and quite possibly dangerous — but she’s also in many ways responsible. Samuel has picked up on his mother’s anxieties, and unable to understand them he has projected them onto imagined threats, long after better adjusted children have left ghouls and goblins behind. It’s a self-perpetuating cycle of distrust and perplexing to everyone outside of the loop, resulting in the pair becoming increasingly alienated from the support group they so desperately need. Not that you blame Amelia for having concerns — Samuel is a terrifying creation, but he is her creation.

What’s less certain is whether Mister Babadook is too, or whether he’s entirely outside her control. It’s mentioned in passing that Amelia used to be a children’s writer, and there’s every possibility that she produced the book herself, whether on purpose or not. The Babadook might not be a personification, but simply a person. The other option is that she is somehow facilitating it; that the creature senses her fear and is now feeding on it. (Is Samuel worried that his mother might let the creature into their house, or into her soul?) It’s not a question of whether she is responsible for what is happening, but of the level of her accountability, and it is testament to Davis’ poignant performance that you sympathise with her regardless. Ultimately, however, Mister Babadook’s true nature is as irrelevant as his chosen form: whether realised as an illustration in a picture book, a shapeless shadow haunting the family home or a cloaked figure stalking Amelia when she leaves her house he remains an oppressive presence throughout and a palpable threat to the characters we have grown to care about.

The Babadook is quite simply one of the most frightening films of recent memory — the characters are scary, the creature is scary, even the subject matter is scary. But — and this is what really sets it apart — it is much more than that. Intricately crafted and exquisitely played, Kent’s film won’t simply scare you; it will haunt you.


Say When (2014)

Say WhenMegan, 28 (Keira Knightley), is almost indistinguishable from Megan, 17 (Larissa Schmitz). She’s still living with her high-school boyfriend (Mark Webber), still working as a sign-spinner for her father, and still making childish jokes to friends who are now much more concerned with furthering their careers and raising a family than having a laugh. When Anthony proposes at her best friend’s wedding, Megan panics, leaving the party early and going for a late-night drive to clear her head. Outside a local grocery store she meets Annika (Chloe Moretz), an underage girl looking to source alcohol for her close circle of friends. Megan obliges, later calling in the favour and moving into Annika’s father’s house for a week of soul-searching. Craig (Sam Rockwell), curious as to why there is now an adult woman bunking up with his teenage daughter, agrees to let her stay, on the proviso that she stays in the spare bedroom.

Say When — or Laggies, as it seems to be known everywhere else — is the new film from Lynn Shelton, director of Humpday and Your Sister’s Sister. Written by novelist-turned-screenwriter Andrea Seigel, it tells the story of a woman who regresses to childhood when adult life becomes too much. The idea of adults posing as children is nothing new — just look at Never Been Kissed, 21 Jump Street or even Orphan — but Say When is one of the first to play it completely straight. This isn’t a police sting or a murder plot but simply a whim, a vacation, a coping mechanism. Megan does her best to explain herself when Craig pushes for answers but if you’re not willing to accept the premise on face value her attempts to rationalise her behaviors are unlikely to convince you.

Helpfully, Megan’s normal life isn’t particularly interesting, so that once she’s moved in with Annika and Craig you’re so relieved to see the status quo disrupted that you’re quite happy to go along with just about anything. The kids are well-played — Moretz in particular impresses as perhaps the most mature member of her household, while Kaitlyn Dever steals just about every scene she’s in as best friend Misty — but it is Megan and Craig who prove the most compelling. Both Knightley and Rockwell are naturally very likeable actors, and its by virtue of their easy chemistry that the relationship works as well as it does. They counterbalance one another, and Shelton has some fun with this fluidity of maturity — most effectively when Megan and Craig sneak out of the house during one of Annika’s sleepovers for an illicit drink at a nearby bar.

But for the most part it’s the actors themselves that are the biggest draw here and not the characters they’re supposed to be playing. Outside of the central trio very few cast-members are able to overcome the relatively uninspiring material they have been lumbered with, particularly Ellie Kemper who looks completely lost without something witty to say. The film is occasionally amusing — most notably a running gag about spirit guide animals — but nothing that’s going to trouble, let alone tickle your funny bone. You expect Megan to be aimless and confused, but while she eventually tires of her listlessness the narrative remains decidedly inert. Seigel drags Megan to the police station, to the airport and later to prom, but these scenes feel more like pointless detours than necessary developments and Shelton’s direction often feels no more decisive.

As with Begin Again, Say When is further evidence not just of Keira Knightley’s acting abilities but her indie credentials. While she may be able to carry the film, however, she can’t quite rescue it.



Ouija (2014)

OuijaChildhood friends Laine (Olivia Cooke) and Debbie (Shelley Hennig) haven’t played with a Ouija board since they were kids, or at least that’s what Laine has been lead to believe. When Debbie suddenly commits suicide, however, Laine begins to suspect that she might have recently played the game alone — going against the rules. Desperate for a chance to say goodbye, Laine brings together friends Pete (Douglas Smith), Trevor (Daren Kagasoff), Isabelle (Bianca A. Santos) and sister Sarah (Ana Coto) for one final game of Ouija. Though they assume they are speaking to Debbie, however, research into the history of the house reveals that she might not be the only soul still residing there.

In production since 2008, when in the wake of Michael Bay’s Transformers film a number of other Hasbro properties were optioned for big screen adaptations, Ouija has taken slightly longer to produce than G.I. Joe or Battleship. And it shows, as while the finished film might not win any awards for originality it is by far the best of the lot. Co-writer and director Stiles White keeps things incredibly simple, telling a relatively straightforward story of poltergeists and possession, but while his film might include few twists or turns his obvious filmmaking abilities come as a very pleasant surprise. Ouija is well-staged, handsomely shot and nicely paced. This isn’t just a corporate cash-grab; it’s a half-decent horror film.

Opening with an apparent suicide, and dealing however indirectly with themes of child abuse and survivor’s guilt, Ouija is more than just a focus-grouped ninety minute advert for a global brand. As one of the characters says, Ouija is essentially a children’s game, but Ouija isn’t a children’s film. While far from terrifying, White has nevertheless orchestrated a number of successful jump scares. Having toyed with the board the group go their separate ways only to be accosted individually be the spirit they have invoked. One finds “Hi Friend” scratched into his desk, another finds the words etched on an underpass wall in chalk while Isabelle finds it smudged on her car windshield, only for a phantom hand to reach out from her empty vehicle to wipe it away.

The best scene takes place when the friends — scared by what they have seen — return to Debbie’s house to find out more. Sat once more around the board at the family’s dinner table they press the spirit for more information. The performances are unusually strong for a film of this kind, or perhaps it’s just that the characters are unusually likeable, so that when an empty chair is drawn from the table you jump not because you’re frightened but because they are. Sadly, however, the ensemble lacks a compelling or even coherent threat to rally around. The decision to have the ghosts possess people into killing themselves robs the hauntings of any suspense or urgency, as instead of giving the audience the opportunity to root for their characters writers White and Juliet Snowdon seal their fates instantly with clouded-over eyes from which there is apparently no escape. They genuinely deserve better.

Now that Hallowe’en’s over you may have very little reason to watch Ouija — unlike The Babadook, it plays almost exclusively to the holiday crowd — but that’s not to say that there isn’t still fun to be had. Aficionados might balk, but for everyone else it’s perfectly good fun.


Beyond Clueless (Discovery Film Festival, 2014)

Beyond CluelessAs the Young Adult phenomenon continues apace, it becomes harder and harder to imagine a time when teenagers were teenagers and not high school musicians, ageless supernatural romantics or predestined dystopic Messiahs. For the previous generation, however, things were a lot different. Cast your mind back to the late nineties, early noughties; to curtain haircuts, flannel shirts and acid-wash jeans; to Melissa Joan Hart, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prince Jr.; and to films such as The Faculty, She’s All That and The Girl Next Door. It was a strange, bygone, misunderstood time — after the 80s, but before the 80s were remade for the new millennium — and it has yet to be properly reviewed. Beyond Clueless — which recently had its Scottish premiere at Dundee Contemporary Arts’ Discovery Film Festival — does its best, and for that director Charlie Lyne deserves praise. Or perhaps more fittingly: a slow clap.

Look at any list of the greatest teen movies ever made and you’d likely think that the genre peaked in the 80s with the films of John Hughes, the slasher subgenre and cult classics like Carrie, Heathers and even Back to the Future. These choices, however, often say more about the teenage years of the film critics and film makers curating them than the quality of the films themselves. In Pitch Perfect, for example, it’s not a film from Skylar Austin’s character’s own teenage years that he feels best reflects that period in his life, but one from director Jason Moore’s 80s adolescence instead. A number of films from the nineties have inevitably breached the generational divide, be it Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You or (even more recently) Mean Girls, but for the most part teen films from subsequent generations haven’t received anywhere near the attention they deserve.

In critic-turned-director Charlie Lyne’s debut documentary, Beyond Clueless, almost none of these films warrant a mention. The Breakfast Club is referenced, indirectly, but the usual titles are for the most part beyond his remit. As the title suggests, Lyne is taking his audience beyond Clueless, instead aiming to introduce — or re-introduce — them to the little seen or unfairly forgotten films of his own formative years. Divided into five sections, the film begins with a prologue which analyses one of the genre’s foremost cliches: the newbie — a part usually played by the inexperienced transfer student. It sets out Lyne’s intentions perfectly, compiling footage from a variety of teen movies to illustrate his point, but also reflects his own position as something of an outsider. Lyne is, after all, an Englishman commenting on the American high school experience, as seen in American high school films.

Nevertheless, he has a lot of interesting things to say that speak to a much wider audience. His analysis of relatively well-known, if critically overlooked films such as The Craft, I Know What You Did Last Summer and Jeepers Creepers are both insightful and intelligent, as are his readings of Spider-man, Final Destination and EuroTrip. Equally impressive is his catalogue of rather more obscure examples, including The Rage: Carrie 2, Bubble Boy and Idle Hands. He even manages to mine Britney Spears vehicle Crossroads for relevant material. As interesting as these specific examples are, however, Beyond Clueless‘ real potential — and indeed power — is in finding parallels between movies. He achieves this on a number of occasions, roughly once per section, but never better than in the chapter dealing with sexual awakening. Against a montage of swimming pool encounters, featuring everything from Wild Things to Swimfan, Fairuza Balk’s hypnotic narration and Summer Camp’s stirring score conspire to strip away character and context to reveal the truth behind the trope.

While far from exhaustive (or, for that matter, exhausting), Beyond Clueless is still an impressive survey of an underrepresented subset of teen movies. For Lyne’s own generation, however, it is much more than that. It is a reminder, recognition, and hopefully the beginning of something new and long overdue in cinema: nineties nostalgia.


October 2014 – Ba, Ba-Ba-Dook, Dook, Dook

FuryFor me October began in Aberdeen, at the city’s first ever international film festival. Though undoubtedly something of a steep learning curve, as told by a patchy programme, technical difficulties and poor audience turn out, it does seem that valuable lessons have been learned and that steps will be taken to ensure that next year’s event is bigger, better and — hopefully — busier. Over two weekends I saw Candlestick, The Bridge Rising, The Backseat, The Raven On The Jetty and The Way He Looks.

I also used that week to catch up on recent releases, including Dracula Untold, Gone Girl, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Rewrite and The Maze Runner.

This month I was also able to attend my first press day in ages, since June in fact, travelling through to Glasgow to see Love, Rosie, Say When (to be reviewed this week ahead of its Friday release), This Is Where I Leave You, Jimi: All By My Side and Horns. Unsurprisingly, I was one of the only critics in attendance to enjoy Love, Rosie, which I found very charming indeed. It seems that even after four months the world still isn’t ready to admit that I’m right and it is wrong.

It being the month of Hallowe’en, cinemas were naturally awash with horror, and not always in the form of traditional scary movies. Both ’71 and Fury shocked and appalled, each doing its very best to show the true brutality of war. Alexander And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and The Book Of Life, meanwhile, told child-friendly tales of birthday curses and life after death. Those in search of a more conventional fright night needn’t have looked any further than Ouija and The Babadook, the later of which at least is likely to go down as a supernatural suspense for the ages.

There was also Nightcrawler, as you might have heard, but if you want a glowing recommendation of that one you’ll have to look elsewhere.

Film of the month: Fury





The Book Of Life (2014)

The Book of LifePromising a secret tour of her museum, Mary Beth (Christina Applegate) takes a small group of school children to a hidden chamber where she recounts a story from Mexican lore. Years ago in the town of San Angel, two childhood friends were vying for the affections of a young girl called María (Zoe Saldana). Monolo (Diego Luna), a musician from a family of bullfighters, attempts to win her over with music, while Joaquín (Channing Tatum), the orphaned son of the town’s late hero, uses his physical prowess to impress her. Unbeknownst to them, however, their efforts are being overseen by two of the country’s ruling deities — La Muerte (Kate del Castillo), who reigns in the Land of the Remembered, and Xibalba (Ron Perlman), who watches over the Land of the Forgotten.

A macabre Mexican animation produced by the one and only Guillermo del Toro? It’s certainly a tantalising prospect, but sadly one that debut director Jorge Gutierrez sadly — if perhaps unsurprisingly — fails to realise. And indeed, given the expectations that accompany any del Toro’s production, who could have expected him to? It’s not entirely Guiterrez fault, to be fair, with a banal script, bizarre casting choices and a bonkers soundtrack doing little to improve his chances of success. The dialogue is drab, the Mexican accents are inconsistent and every time Monolo picks up his guitar the film grinds to a halt while he launches into a completely incongruous rendition of Radiohead’s Creep.

It was, frankly, never going to work. Not only does the audience have three sets of characters to contend with, but they must first come to terms with a foreign belief system with which most will be completely unfamiliar. Throw in the fact that the visual style changes between one layer of storytelling and the next and you reach a level of narrative complexity that will likely have parents struggling to keep up, never mind their children. Seriously, it’s a story within a story about a world within a world that features characters pretending to be other characters in order to…settle a wager. At one point Monolo — dead, but ‘living’ in the Land of the Remembered — has to journey to the Cave of Souls to ask The Candle Maker (?) to transport him to the Land of the Forgotten so that he might then fight a giant bull and return to San Angel to stop a bandit from stealing a magic medal. I mean, what?

Thankfully, while the animation of the school children might at first seem a little crude, the rest of the film boasts some real visual flair. Styled on traditional wooden toys, the residents of San Angel are well crafted and beautifully animated — the residents of the Land of the Remembered even more so. What’s more, the film has a wonderful energy which means that while you’re not always entirely sure what’s going on it hardly matters, because it’s a joy to watch regardless. Sadly though, for all its exotic splendour, and despite the overwrought madness of the various subplots, The Book Of Life is actually a fairly staid story about essentially stock characters. Much is made of María being a different kind of heroine, a modern and independent woman who refuses to be controlled by the men in her life, but rather than round out her character the film simply sidelines her until a damsel in distress is needed for the final act.

Originally in development at DreamWorks Animation where del Toro has long served as a consultant, The Book Of Life was dropped from the studio’s release schedule over creative differences. Produced instead at Reel FX Creative Studios the filmmakers may have had more creative freedom to realise the film that they intended but at the cost of all the resources and seasoned talent that come with such an experienced backer. Guitterez may be better than Free Birds, the smaller studio’s previous effort, but you have to wonder if maybe DreamWorks Animation canned it for a reason.


Nightcrawler (2014)

NightcrawlerAn obsessive self-starter who will do just about anything to succeed, Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) has been inadvertently undermining his own career for years thanks to his dogged determination. He sells stolen goods to a variety of business owners, but few are willing to hire such a shameless thief on a more official or permanent basis. When Lou observes a freelance news crew covering a car accident on his way home, however, he may have finally found a business that’s not only open to his underhand tactics but which actively encourages them. Going further than anyone else in order to get the best footage, even if it means breaking the law or betraying his friends, Lou builds a relentless but reliable reputation for himself and his budding company.

Jake Gyllenhaal certainly looks the part. The moment you are introduced to Bloom — a gaunt, greasy-haired and slightly bug-eyed creature — you are repelled by him. It’s not just his manner that is off-putting, his way of talking without listening or his over-familiar demeanor, but something in his very nature. He’s a sociopath, through and through, and his lack of empathy and general apathy clearly go beyond the more acceptable neurodevelopmental abnormalities or compulsive disorders. As with everything else, Bloom learns about journalism through the prism of the internet, but it is an incomplete education that prioritises efficacy over ethics and is immediately twisted to suit his needs.

It’s an admirable performance, intense and intelligent, but not a particularly engaging one. Bloom isn’t conflicted in the slightest, which makes his character seem prosaic and predictable. This wouldn’t be such a problem if there was an external source of conflict, but any resistance to Bloom’s progress is superficial and ultimately shortlived. Once you have Bloom mapped out you inevitably look elsewhere for stimulus, and to begin with Rene Russo (and later Riz Ahmed’s apprentice Rick) seems to offer a glimmer of hope, of humanity, of emotional complexity. Both do good work — Russo in particular is electric in the editing suit — but ultimately they prove helpless in the face of Bloom’s manipulations and machinations. There is no tension in Nightcrawler, nothing at stake and nobody to support, and for a film posing as a thriller that is a real issue.

It’s a far cry from The Bang Bang Club, anyway, Steven Silver’s underestimated account of photojournalists in South Africa during the nation’s Apartheid. That film — based on real events — sought to explore the role of journalist on the battlefield, the impact of their work and the toll that it took on their health and relationships. By contrast, all Nightcrawler really has to say is that news crews and their editors are invariably ruthless, devious and unscrupulous — unrepentently so — and it seems woefully simplistic as a result. There’s some style — particularly in a car chase that takes place in the third act — but no substance whatsoever. Having built no momentum and failed to establish a compelling character arc, director Dan Gilroy doesn’t seem to know how to conclude his movie — so he just chooses to end it arbitrarily after the film’s only real set piece.

Nightcrawler should be shocking, and you get the impression that Gilroy does indeed intend to make a point, but as unsettling and occasionally uncomfortable as Gyllenhaal’s performance may be the fact that nobody onscreen seems the slightest bit concerned with his attitudes or actions somewhat lessens the impact. This isn’t drama; it’s a diatribe. And a long one at that.


Horns (2014)

Horns26-year-old Ignatius Perrish (Daniel Radcliffe) is having a hard time convincing the local community that he did not rape and murder his beloved girlfriend Merrin (Juno Temple), a task made all the more difficult by the pair of demonic horns that have recently grown out of his temples. Worryingly for Ig, nobody seems particularly surprised to see them, and rather than provoking fear they have the unexpected effect of prompting seemingly uncontrollable outbursts of honesty. At first he is taken aback by everyone’s candour, and shies away from encounters with friends and family for fear of finding out what they truly think of him, but eventually he begins to realise the full potential of his newfound abilities and resolves to use them to find the true perpetrator and finally clear his name once and for all.

Adapted by Joe Hill’s cult novel of the same name, Alexandre Aja’s Horns isn’t the easiest sell. Part crime thriller, part supernatural romance and part Daniel Radcliffe vehicle, it doesn’t know quite what it wants to be, and runs the risk of being not very much at all. It’s rated 15, and rightfully so, but the film never feel as though Aja is making the most of the higher certificate. Supernaturally, the film seems similarly underdeveloped: it’s never exactly clear what the full extent — or indeed the implication — of Ig’s abilities are, while theologically the film and its themes are almost incoherent. In fact, as with The Woman In Black, it works best as a Daniel Radcliffe vehicle, clearly demonstrating just how far the actor has come since his Hogwarts days — even if he remains a pretty unconvincing crier.

Sadly, the rest of the cast isn’t quite as noteworthy. It’s a strange ensemble, unusually lacking in big names and familiar faces. Heather Graham pops up in a small role, but as unexpected and delightful as her cameo is it doesn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things. For the most part, support comes from Max Minghella as Ig’s best friend and Joe Anderson as his older brother — both of whom may well have had a hand in Merrin’s untimely death. However, while Hill’s book spent arguably too much time exploring the group’s school days Aja’s film essentially glazes over it, meaning that their inter-relationships aren’t nearly as fleshed out as they need to be. Anyone familiar with Juno Temple’s tendency to be the best thing in otherwise unremarkable movies might reasonably expect Merrin to be the exception here, but unusually for the actress her character makes almost no impression whatsoever. She simply isn’t given enough to do.

Aja disappoints too, with an adaptation that doesn’t quite do Hill’s novel the justice it deserves. It’s a funny book, and yet despite the precedent set with his 2010 Piranha reboot the director sadly fails to capture, let alone develop, its sense of humour. Like Piranha, meanwhile, it struggles with what is clearly an insufficient budget. The horns themselves look fine, as does much of the prosthetic work, but whenever CGI is used the effects are nowhere near as convincing. Even the tree house used by Ig and Merrin looks fake, somewhat undermining the (effects-heavy) finale. In contrast, the location used for the town’s timber chute has been beautifully realised and is really quite stunning. Every scene set in its shadow feels grander and more epic, lending one particular set piece more weight and scale than any other.

Ultimately, Horns is flawed but still reasonably good fun. If you’ve already seen The Babadook, and don’t really want to take a chance on Ouija, then it’s a perfectly respectable choice of Halloween film.


Fury (2014)

FuryIt’s 1945, and after years of fighting across Europe and beyond the Allies are preparing for their final push into Nazi Germany. Despite being a typist who has never been inside a tank before, Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman) is ordered to join 66th Armored Regiment, 2nd Armored Division as an assistant driver on Fury, an M4A3E8 Sherman tank under the command of Staff Sergeant Don Collier (Brad Pitt). His new comrades — Boyd Swan (Shia LaBeouf), Grady Travis (Jon Bernthal) and Trini Garcia (Michael Peña) — have served together for years, and are initially reluctant to entrust their lives to an administrator who refuses fight alongside them. When a landmine leaves them stranded and alone at a German crossroads, however, they have no other choice but to put their differences aside and work together.

Few historical events receive quite as much attention as the Second World War; perhaps there is just something about Adolf Hitler and his totalitarian tyranny that’s unusually cinematic, but what’s truly remarkable is how filmmakers are still finding new stories to tell. Writer-director David Ayer has not only chosen a relatively novel setting for his film (there aren’t too many tank-set war films out there) but he has populated it with characters that give an equally unusual perspective on the challenges that they face. There is not a hero among them, nor a single named antagonist, just five lost, scared, overwhelmed souls struggling against unimaginable odds and their own human natures.

The cast is outstanding, and even though Peña and Bernthall may have the least to do they still make an enormous impression in their allotted screentime. Much will be made of LaBeouf’s performance, and rightfully so, as he not only distances himself from his earlier roles but eclipses the controversies that have dogged him offscreen with his take on a moustacheod Christian soldier who is duty-bound not only to kill for his country but to pray for those who have fallen. As everyone else celebrates their own survival Swan kneels over the still suffering German casualties to pray for their salvation. While not quite as transformative, Pitt also impresses as SSgt Collier — there may be parallels to his character in Inglorious Basterds, but there are plenty of differences too — and its a shame he and Swan don’t have more scenes together.

Ultimately, however, the film belongs to Logan Lerman, an actor who has already distinguished himself through roles in The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Noah but who here takes his performance to a whole other level. Nobody has ever looked as afraid, as confused, as utterly lost as Norman Ellison upon his introduction in Fury, when he is almost immediately ordered inside the tank to wash away the remains of his predecessor, and things only get worse for the former typist when his reluctance to fight leads indirectly to the death of his commanding officer (Xavier Samuel). As I said, there are no heroes in Ayer’s film and that includes pacifists — there are only human beings, in all their inglory. While Fury might be horrifying and unrelenting — both on the battlefield and at a dinner party that would likely put the Riot Club off their food — it is far from inhuman, and it’s largely thanks to Lerman that you don’t leave the cinema feeling completely and utterly despondent.

Fury isn’t perfect — though it does go some way to realising the true horror of war it isn’t entirely free of cliche or contrivance, particularly in the final act — but it’s still an admiral effort on Ayer’s behalf and quite possibly his most accomplished film to date. There are ghosts in his machine, and they will haunt you for days after the credits — and the tank — have finished rolling.



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