terraplane Reviews

A Gentleman in Moscow: A Master of Circumstance (2024) Season 1, Episode 1

Box ticking, quota filling rubbish

[1/10 · 3 April 2024]

If you make a movie set in Russia in the early 20th century, why would you include black and asian characters? I ask this because these people were practically unknown in Russia and Moscow at that time, and to a large degree, still are. The character of Mishka, supposedly a friend of the count, could not possibly have been black, especially not a black man with dreadlocks. It is laughable to suggest that a black man with dreadlocks would move in high society in Russia at that time. As for Marina, the same applies. Black seamstresses did not exist. All of this to keep the quotas in line with what a minority of ghastly liberal Guardian readers think is correct. This sort of excruciating political correctness is just insulting. Look what happened to Anne Boleyn with Jodie Turner-Smith as the ill-fated queen of England. It failed on every level. Cultural appropriation works both ways, so why is this rubbish not being called out?

The actual movie looks like a sort of BBC Dickens adaptation done on the cheap. The script is stilted and goes nowhere fast. The shaky camera work is irritating and stupid. A complete waste of time and money that could have been so much better because the book is actually a good bit of stoty-telling.

Good Omens (2019– )

Two brilliant performances can't save this dud.

[4/10 · 30 September 2019]

This entire series could have made a good 90 minute movie. Stretching the rather thin story out to six episodes has left us with far too much superfluous padding and many of the scenes in episodes 4-6 could be shortened or cut altogether. The other big problem - and in this case it is a huge problem - is that the double act of Michael Sheen and David Tennant is so brilliant that whenever they're not on screen the movie falls apart. The two characters of Aziraphale and Crowley are simply in a different league to the rest of the duffers in the cast - with the possible exception of Miranda Richardson who hams it up nicely as Madame Tracy. The scenes with just the children are like something from a cheap children's TV show and need drastic editing, while Jack Whitehall is a complete dud, along with Adria Arjona, who probably got the part because of her resemblance to a certain member of the British Royal family. The script appears to have stolen liberally from any number of sources, notably Monty Python. There are bits lifted directly from Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, The Leaping Nuns of the Order of St. Beryl become the Chattering Order of St. Beryl, for instance. Bits of The Omen and The Exorcist are brazenly cut and pasted into the script, and even Mary Poppins gets tugged into the caper (check out the umbrella handle). These stolen moments are all very amusing for film buffs to sit and spot but they also reveal the paucity of original ideas emanating from Neil Gaiman's shallow imagination. By the time Armageddon finally arrives - or not - the movie is long past it's sell-by date and just hangs around like a fart in an elevator. Without Sheen and Tennant Good Omens wouldn't even get a DVD only release. Watch the first three episodes for Sheen and Tennant then ignore the rest.

Baden Baden (2016)

Bad Bad

[3/10 · 22 September 2016]

I sometimes wonder how certain movies ever get made. This is a case in point. The script is very much less than the sum of its parts and the acting veers from risible to very good. The very good being Claude Gensac who plays Ana's Grandmother and Lazarre Gousseau, who plays Gregoire. The implausible story just doesn't go anywhere and the movie is like watching a random episode of TV series. It starts and finishes with no explanation as to what is going on or why. All we know is that Ana is a bit of a loser who doesn't have any kind of idea about anything and cares less about it all, except for Grandmother who she runs to when she has nowhere else to go. She decides to install a new shower while her Grandmother is in hospital but where does she get the money? She has no job and not much in the way of brains it would seem. There are various dead-end threads that wave around in the breeze, like Boris the supposed artist whose mother lives in a very expensive apartment. He's a rotter and she has some history with him but that's all we know. Likewise the former boyfriend Simon - the unlikely named Swann Arlaud - with whom she shares a shower in a motel and her body on regular occasions. The only nice guy is Gregoire - Lazarre Gousseau - who helps her with the bathroom but she doesn't go for nice guys, as he discovers.

The end of the movie is unbelievable. I don't think I've seen anything like it. Ana goes off with yet another bloke who she doesn't even know and who doesn't really want to know her, they sit in a field next to Le Corbusier's Notre Dame du Haut (we don't know why) and then...It just stops. I can only imagine that either they ran out money or just gave up and went home. There must be better scripts out there than this, surely? I wouldn't recommend you to spend your time with this dismal effort, it's just not worth it. The movie should be called Bad Bad instead of Baden Baden.

Renoir (2012)

Everything is brown...

[2/10 · 4 April 2016]

Renoir painted some of the most beautiful pictures of the impressionist era. His paintings have light, they have vibrant colours, they have soft muted colours, they are coveted by collectors, galleries and especially auction houses who sell them for vast amounts of money. This dismal movie has none of these attributes. It is shot using light brown filters in the mistaken belief that this somehow looks like a Renoir painting. It does not. What it does is destroy the natural beauty of the South of France and turn the entire thing into a symphony of sludge. Not only is the movie brown, it is also makes a mockery of Renoir himself by portraying the great artist as a man of little intelligence. The script has him swearing at every opportunity and generally acting like a peasant. The script is hopeless, the characters are almost all rendered as unpleasant in one way or another. There is nothing in this movie to commend it. Do yourself a favour and go to an art gallery and look at his paintings or buy a book instead of wasting 2 hours of your life on this excruciating failure.

White Clouds (1968)

The lost masterpiece of Soviet cinema

[10/10 · 6 January 2016]

Belye Tuchi - or as it should be called, Bili Khmary - is a movie that has somehow got lost and is now all but forgotten. The title is usually translated into English as White Clouds but it's really closer to something like "the dark clouds are coming" but any translation will be miss the correct subtle meaning. The movie was directed by the Ukrainian Rollan Serhiienko, although IMDb mistakenly lists him as Sergiyenko. He was better known as a documentary film maker and later made the award winning Bell of Chernobyl. His career as a feature film director only produced two movies of which this is the best. Why this film has been forgotten is a mystery. There are rumours that the Soviet authorities didn't like it because it depicts the events and results of the forced collectivisation of Ukrainian farms when all the grain grown by small farms was taken to feed the workers in the state factories in Moscow and other industrialised regions. This brought about mass starvation among the Ukraine people - a memory that still engenders deep resentment in that country. But the film is about much more than that and deals with issues of memory, loss, family and faith in a way that is not always obvious to western sensibilities but very clear to those who have lived within the Soviet system and at the same time a devout Russian Orthodox Christian culture. There are some parallels with a range of European films about the loss of the rural way of life to industrialisation and the inexorable spread of cities as new technologies drove people away from small farms towards huge combines and collectives. Indeed, White Clouds has echoes in the stories of Thomas Hardy and is as moving and beautiful as any of his tragedies. The photography is both startling in its use of experimental techniques, such as the use of Infra-Red film stock in scenes that appear to be linked to memory, and ravishingly beautiful. There are constant references to what any Russian would understand as religious imagery. There is a quite remarkable crane shot near the end of the movie that refers directly to Isaac Levitan's painting "Above the Eternal Peace" which hangs in the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow and is revered almost as an Ikon by most Russians. Some of the long takes and static camera shots are reminiscent of Bela Tarr, and it is quite likely that he saw this film at some point. The quality of the surviving print is OK but not great. Many of the cast were amateurs, some were actually people from the villages in Ukraine where the movie was shot. It is just a pity that such a wonderful film has been all but lost from view. If you ever have the opportunity to see it, you won't be disappointed. I was fortunate to see this wonderful movie with English subtitles at a festival of East European and Soviet films, although as far as I know it isn't commercially available. It is available in the original Russian from some specialist shops.

Before I Go to Sleep (2014)

Wake me up when it's finished...

[2/10 · 17 September 2014]

I feel sorry for Nicole Kidman. It must be depressing having to work with Colin Firth so much. Here they are again, back together after the OK but not quite good Railway Man in a dire take on the Memento/Groundhog Day riff of memory loss. None of the story really adds up, there are plot holes bigger than those in the Ozone layer and in the end it just sort of gives up. I could spend much time on the turgid script or the complete lack of any character development, but I won't. Instead I will simply note that Colin Firth has cornered the market in middle-class, stick-up-the-rectum English bores without actually requiring any acting skills, which is just as well given that he possesses none. Rather like the other hopeless exponent of diffident English "chaps", the execrable Hugh Grant. His supposed acting prowess, which garnered him an Oscar, A Golden Globe and a Bafta for The King's Speech, is nothing more than him being himself. It is a constant source of amazement to me that these two products of the public school system have been able to fool so many people into believing they can act. But acting has always been the preserve of the more affluent types and those who have achieved some kind of fame in other ways, such as modelling or just being the offspring of someone famous.

However...

Kidman does her best with the rubbish she's been given to work with, but in the end she fails to rescue this mess from oblivion. It doesn't bode well for her after the excruciatingly bad Grace of Monaco that she appears in dismal rubbish like this, but at least she has a varied and interesting body of work to prove her credentials. Unlike Firth who continues to prove only that he got very lucky.

It's lucky for us - and Nicole Kidman - that Firth dropped out of Paddington Bear. Who knows what horror may have been unleashed by a bear voiced by a middle-aged English twit.

The Comic Strip Presents: Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door (1988) Season 4, Episode 3

Does anyone know you're here?

[10/10 · 9 June 2014]

You've probably already read the previous reviews of this movie, so I'll refrain from repeating what others have said, as far as possible. This is the best of the Comic Strip offerings by a very large margin and the reason is because it is funny without trying to appear as if the makers are concerned about social issues or any other questionable "point" which was all the rage with the painfully unfunny Ben Elton and his acolytes. Mr Jolly is just about being funny for the sake of it. Stupidly funny, childishly funny, disgustingly funny but - praise the Lord - not "we care and we're going to lecture you about it" funny. Two blokes spend 80 minutes causing mayhem and havoc - very often to each other - mostly in pursuit of any kind of alcohol, including embalming fluid, and get involved with various other lunatics, in particular the eponymous Mr Jolly, played by the great Peter Cook, of the title and a lugubrious gangster called Mr. Lovebucket, who pays Mr Jolly to "take out" his enemies, wears a white cashmere overcoat and apparently isn't a w_anker, and the heroic Nicholas Parsons. For those who don't know him, he was a stalwart of the family entertainment side of television programmes, a man who would never, ever say rude words or wear jeans. I take my hat off to him for having the confidence to put his reputation on the line, as it were, by getting involved with something which is the complete antithesis of his genre and having a bloody good laugh at the same time. As the two lunatics are fond of screaming: "Nicholas bloody Parsons!"

Anyway, the movie speeds along like a turbo charged idiot on industrial strength speed driving a truck full of explosives with no hands on the steering wheel. There is every kind of bodily function and bodily fluid involved as the two insane Escorts hurtle mindlessly towards oblivion and an explosive conclusion. In the words of one of the gangsters: "If it's tonic ye want, it's tonic ye'll get". It's a tonic for those who like their slapstick with added vomit.

In memory of Rik Mayall who died today age 56.

Bright Days Ahead (2013)

The road to ruin

[5/10 · 6 May 2014]

I saw this during a French film festival in London. Both Fanny Ardant and Marion Vernoux were in attendance for a Q&A session afterwards.

The basic story is of an older woman in Calais having a brief affair with a younger man after retiring from her job as a dentist and re-discovering the sexual spark missing from her long marriage, before seeing the error of her ways. All this is set in motion because her daughters buy her a membership package to a kind of club for retired people. And therein lies the first of several problems. I cannot believe that a woman with such apparent vitality as the erstwhile Caroline would, even for a moment, consider joining a club for people who have nothing else to do. I also cannot believe that anyone - and especially daughters - would buy such a risible gift in the first place. Maybe it's a French thing.

Caroline then spends much time either in the company of a bunch of ageing nonentities, who seem to enjoy the idea of hurtling towards eternity via the purgatory of a seniors club, or in the lustful embrace of a younger bloke and his energetic tumescence, while her husband - who still works as a dentist and therefore has a rewarding, if somewhat boring life - appears to have all the charisma of a stunned hamster. But at least he's not filling other women's cavities while his wife is playing the lusty pink oboe instead of playing bingo in the afternoon. The story takes the usual turns and follows most of the usual clichés about such affairs until the film ends with another unlikely scenario. We all get old, we all need something to live for and we all need a bit of a spark in our relationships, but do we need yet another fairly uninteresting film to remind us of our mortality and apparent fragility when time starts to accelerate us ever faster towards our ultimate - and unavoidable - oblivion?

Not really.

The film is nicely photographed but ultimately it fails to engage on any level. The story is thin, the characters are not really developed beyond the cliché level and the script doesn't give the actors much to work with.

After the screening Fanny Ardant gave s few fairly unilluminating comments in reply to some hideously embarrassing questions from a bloke who thought that asking her whether she changed the sound of her voice for the film was an example of an interesting question.

Fanny's reply was "I was acting".

Letters to Juliet (2010)

Vacuous tosh

[2/10 · 30 July 2013]

Imagine the scene: Vanessa Redgrave is sitting on the terrace of her lovely Tuscan holiday home with Franco Nero, her Italian husband. The phone rings, she picks it up and answers it: "Hello darling! yes it's a beautiful day. Franco and I were just having a spot of breakfast on the terrace. What's that? A movie in Tuscany about a young girl who finds a romantic letter and decides to write a book about it? Sounds ideal darling. Any chance of a part for Franco, I'm sure there's a little cameo for him. No, he's happy to play anything, he just likes to hang around on set. Still thinks he's a bit of ladies man you know! OK, lovely, send me the script and I'll have a look at it of course, but you know I don't really need a script. I'm from a real acting dynasty you know! Bye darling, love to the wife and kids" Franco picks up a banana and asks:"Who was it Cara mia?" "Oh, just my agent. He's got a movie for us and it'll be filmed right here in Tuscany" "Fantastico! Who else is in it?" "Oh, some American girl and a young Australian chap" "What's the story?" "Something about a letter and a love affair and a pair of star-crossed lovers" "Shakespeare?" "I don't think so, but it's got a bit of Romeo and Juliet in it I think" "So what do I play?" "The long lost lover" "Just like real life" "Not really darling, you were never lost. I just ignored you for a couple of decades" "Mille grazie bambino, I love you too"

and so off they went and made a movie about something or other, with a vacuous American girl and an Australian chap whose idea of acting is to look like Heath Ledger's untalented brother. It's not very good but at least it looks nice. There isn't any acting talent on display and the story is puerile and silly, much like most of the garbage churned out by Hollywood. Vanessa does her old lady act on auto-pilot while Seyfried and Egan struggle with even the most basic requirements of acting. Like having more than one expression. I've seen more expressive faces on postage stamps. It's just a pity that so many good actors can't get a job while simpering twits like Amanda Seyfried and hopelessly wooden dopes like Christopher Egan are making movies rather than doing something more in line with their talents, like tossing burgers.

Salt (2010)

There are no words to describe this abomination

[1/10 · 30 July 2013]

For the record, this abomination should have a zero mark. Even one star is too many. This excrescence is an insult to humanity. Angelina Jolie should hang her hypocritical head in shame for taking part in this stinking pile of ordure and then berating the rest of the world for the plight of starving children, or whatever her pet project is this month. Just think about it Angie dear: this malodorous movie cost in excess of $100 million to make - including, no doubt, many millions for your pathetic "acting talents". Would it not have been so much better to spend even half of this eye-watering sum of moolah on getting clean water and sanitation to some of the world's less fortunate children. Or do you think that adopting a few of them salves your conscience enough for you to continually make enormous sums of money from your somewhat less enormous "acting talent"? Anyway, enough of the Angelina berating (for now). What about the movie? I hear you ask. Well, what about it? It is a waste of time, unless you're a brain-dead nit-wit. That's all I can say about it. There is nothing worth writing about. But Angelina...oh dear Angelina... I suggest you donate every penny of your unwarranted fee to one of your favourite causes and take up a career as a real charity worker, as opposed to a part-time celebrity UN ambassador, or whatever it is you're supposed to be, instead of asking the poor of the world, i.e. Me, to contribute a brass razoo to your bank balance. Be ashamed, be very ashamed.

To Rome with Love (2012)

Cab for Mr. Allen!

[1/10 · 5 July 2013]

The scene opens with a small red haired guy sitting in a movie theatre staring at the flickering images on the screen. The black and white images are reflected in his black framed glasses. His eyes are wide in wonder and awe, he holds a bag of popcorn in his hands but he never eats any. The movie finishes and he remains transfixed as the sparse audience leaves the darkness of the cinema.

"I gotta make this movie in Rome, Fellini made his movies in Rome"

The red haired guy is now a grey haired old guy and he's talking to someone in staccato, stuttering phrases.

"Whaddya mean, I'm no Fellini? Did Fellini ever win an Oscar?"

A woman's voice replies like a patient parent trying to explain to a five year old he has to go to bed.

"And Bergman made his movies in Sweden but you never went there did you?"

"Yeah, I know but Sweden is cold and gloomy"

"So were all your Bergman homage movies"

"Whaddya mean? hey I gotta tell ya, I got great reviews for those movies and.."

"...very few paying customers"

"It's not all about money, Fellini never made any money either"

"That's the only thing you have in common with Fellini"

"Oh, funny! who writes your screenplays?"

"Not you, obviously"

"Listen, I'm going to make this movie in Rome and that's that"

"Enjoy your holiday"

"It's not a holiday, I'll be making a movie"

"With you it's the same thing"

"Listen honey, people will love it, I guarantee it"

"Sure they will, everyone loves to look at holiday snaps"

"Oh! you really gotta start putting this stuff down on paper"

"And you should stop making holiday movies"

"Fellini never had to put up with kind of stuff"

"He didn't think he was Woody Allen"

This is a terrible movie. Don't waste your time. Woody Allen has lost any plot he may have had, as has this movie. It is a hopeless attempt by the once great director to be Fellini and it fails on every level. Apart from the nice photography it is rubbish. It is with a heavy heart that I must write these words about a man that has produced a few of the truly great movies, but I'm afraid I must. Midnight in Paris was bad but this is even worse. Except this doesn't have Owen Wilson, which is the only saving grace I can think of.

Birdsong (2012)

A crime against acting

[2/10 · 29 January 2012]

To give a flavour of the pace of this turgid production here is an example of the script: When (five seconds of silence) do (five seconds of silence)you (five seconds of silence with staring eyes)have (five seconds of blank faces and silence) to (more silence)leave (the silence between words is boring by now)for ( silence and staring with additional meaningful looks)the (silence punctuated by annoying piano arpeggio stolen from Arvo Paart's Spiegel im Spiegel) front (piano, staring, silence.....etc,) etc....all of which is delivered in a series of mumbles that make Marlon Brando seem like Olivier in Henry the Fifth by comparison. And the acting! Oh, the acting! In short, where is it? Eddie Redmayne goes through the entire 3 hours with nary a hint of emotion. Whether he's in the throes of battle or soft-focus intercourse, his expression remains that of a lobotomised wide-mouth frog. He would make a very good double act with the other non-entity of the moment, Douglas Booth, the pneumatic-lipped drip who gave us a magnificently one-dimensional performance in Great Expectations. A more superficial pair of perfunctory performers I cannot imagine... However, I digress...rather like the author Sebastian Faulkes and the scriptwriter whose name escapes me...fortunately. There seems to be a fad at the present time for all things steeped in ersatz history, Downton Abbey being the most obvious contender, which itself was nothing more than a complete re-hash of Upstairs Downstairs. Perhaps there is a longing for those oh-so-romantic Victorian and Edwardian days when men had moustaches, women were merely decorative and children died of malnutrition and a multitude of diseases. Ah, but the romance of war, let us not forget those glorious days when thousands of men were sent to their very avoidable deaths every day by Generals who cared nothing for the damned Germans and even less for their own soldiers. It was all done with the best intentions, in other words the preservation of their rapidly disappearing lifestyle and fortunes, or to put it another way, the British way of life. And this is just the sort of fallacious hypocrisy that productions such as Downton Abbey and Birdsong seek to exploit and present as historically accurate with their sepia tinted whimsy and risible story lines. It wouldn't be so bad as long as the acting was up to scratch but it isn't. The only saving grace of this production is the photography, which is quite beautiful most of the time. And as a previous reviewer has so accurately written, tortoises and marathons do not an entertainment make.

RoadMovie (1996 Video)

Total performance Art in full, glorious flow.

[10/10 · 23 August 2011]

In 1995 R.E.M. released an album of mostly crunching rock songs called "Monster". It was put together with the express intention of touring it as a full-blooded rock and roll band rather than the acoustic/electric songs on the previous albums "Out of Time" and "Automatic for the people" which the band had found difficult to tour with, even though the songs themselves were some of the finest they'd ever written. This concert movie is the record of that tour. Put together from three separate performances, it shows R.E.M. at the height of their powers. From the dark, stuttering crunch of the opening "I took your name" and the shimmering, flickering backdrop of images, the concert is a total performance. Meshing music, image and art - along with Michael Stipe's shape shifting presentation of himself as a performance artist. Some may find the editing of different performances into a single song awkward and jarring, but for me it adds to the art of the performance as a whole piece. Rather than a straight concert show we are given a work of art in itself. Ever changing, ever surprising, never boring. Then there's the music. The songs from "Monster" growl and rasp with heavily distorted guitars, sometimes shuddering with tremolo as on "Crush with eyeliner" or just over-driven to the max on "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" and "The Wake-up bomb". But the finest performance for me is the heartbreaking and yet sublimely uplifting "Everybody hurts". Michael Stipe's voice soars heavenwards as Peter Buck hits the power chords of the chorus. Watch out for the moment when the magnificently Nudie-suited Mike Mills - playing piano instead of bass - kicks away the stool and stands up to hammer the keyboard. A real rock and roll moment.

This is one of the great rock concert films, far superior to the later "Perfect Square". Highly recommended to anyone with an interest in music and movies.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

Three idiots on a train

[3/10 · 23 August 2011]

I wanted to like this movie...really I did. But it's a bunch of nothing happening as three idiot brothers travel across India on a clapped-out train, ostensibly to see their estranged mother. Having sat through this terrible movie, I can understand why their mother ran away from them. They spend the entire journey arguing like kids and being stupid, whilst the sumptuous colours and sights of the Indian sub-continent slide beautifully by. The script is agonisingly banal and the characters are shallow; it's impossible to feel anything other than antagonism towards them. I have rarely felt such antipathy towards characters before, but by the 30 minute mark I was ready to throw shoes at them. It's not just that I found them annoying but also because I was losing the will to live. But I soldiered gamely on until the end in the name of stubbornness. Owen Wilson was once again execrable and confirmed my belief that he cannot act at all, while Adrian Brody at least has a body of mostly excellent work to prove his credentials. It's a bad movie, don't waste your time with it. Watch Rushmore or The Royal Tennenbaums instead. This is a complete dud.

Satantango (1994)

Life cannot be edited

[10/10 · 28 February 2011]

Some words commonly used in reviews of this movie: "It has no plot" "Nothing happens" "It's very long" "It's too long" "Beautiful" "Brilliant" "Masterpiece" "Boring" etc, etc...

Every word you read about this movie is true. Including the ones that criticize it.

It's not a matter of opinion so much as a matter of fact.

Every opinion about this movie is acceptable, there is no right or wrong. Which is something that cannot be said about most other movies.

The story of Satantango can be interpreted in many ways, you can make up your own mind.

Is it ostensibly about the aftermath of the fall of the Soviet Union, when people in unprofitable collective farms found themselves left without a future, when the milk of human kindness stopped flowing from the abundant teat of the Communist State, when empty ideology finally gave way to grim reality? Possibly. The metaphors abound if you want to look for them.

Or maybe it's just a boring story of some boring people in a muddy village who get conned by a bloke they thought was dead, filmed by someone who didn't know when to shout "Cut!"

Why should you watch this very long black and white movie, where nothing much appears to be happening, about a group of forlorn and hopeless people living in a broken down village in the middle of nowhere, where it's either windy or raining all the time, waiting for a mysterious and slightly sinister con man to take their money in the hope of a better life?

Well, it really depends on you.

Few movies can match Satantango for beautiful photography and majestic cinematography. The camera either moves in glorious long tracking shots; slow, circling crane shots and long steadi-cam walking shots or it records long takes from a fixed tripod as the action, or sometimes lack of it, takes place. The few movies that can match it are mostly made by Bela Tarr.

Those that say nothing happens are watching from the narrow brief of what happens in other movies, which is that they exist to entertain. Satantango is not one of these.

Just as in Tarkovsky's movies, to which Bela Tarr's movies are closely related, time is just as an important dimension as space. Real time, as opposed to edited time fragments chopped together to present a story in non-linear real time representation. In other words, a movie edited to present a complete story in 90 minutes. A beginning, a middle and an end. Satantango is not a complete story. What it portrays begins before we start watching and continues after the cameras stop recording it. We are merely observing the minutiae of everything that happens, just as in real life we observe every moment of our life passing, it cannot be edited.

Maybe that's the key to Satantango.

Life cannot be edited.

Or maybe I'm just another pretentious reviewer who loves beautiful black and white movies like this one.

You decide.

Hope Springs (2003)

Some frogs should remain frozen in the mud forever.

[1/10 · 25 February 2011]

We've all got them...those DVD's that sit for years on a shelf, those unwatched things that just sit there amongst the great and the glorious, innocuous plastic boxes that remain unopened and virginal, their cinematic delights undiscovered and dormant. But while we by-pass their mysterious entertainments in favour of their more attractive brethren, these runts of the DVD litter bide their time, like frogs hibernating in frozen mud, waiting for us to open their plastic sarcophagi and release them from their slumbers...

So it was with this movie.

If I say to you that it was probably the worst movie I have had the misfortune to endure for many a moon, I would be guilty of deception.

It is worse than that.

If I said that it was definitely the worst movie I have watched since "Have you heard about the Morgans", you may get the idea that I am, in some respects, a person whose opinion should be treated with scorn and contempt - with much justification I might add - on the very reasonable grounds that anyone who watches both of these movies is almost certainly of unsound mind and is probably compelled to howl at the moon in perpetuity.

But before you reach for the silver bullets, let me at least try to prevent you from wasting a single second of your precious life on this execrable pile of steaming dung masquerading as "entertainment" by attempting a thorough analysis of what went wrong, an accident investigation report, if you will.

What, you may reasonably ask, is Colin Firth - this year's hot tip for Oscar glory courtesy of The King's Speech, doing in this movie? Well, he's doing his usual stick-up-the-rectum Englishman act. Only this time he gets to see Heather Graham's only apparent talents, namely a fine pair of naked breasts. Which we don't actually get to see. Because the director keeps the camera firmly above the nipple line. Shame.

Now I don't know about you but I'm a little puzzled as to exactly how Mr. Firth has managed to make a living in the acting business on account of the fact that he can't actually act. Except for portraying the same boring character, which he repeats in every role he presents for our entertainment.

In short, he is a duffer, a blank-faced, uptight English twit.

Which means he is almost certainly just him being himself and not acting at all.

Rather like that other purveyor of English diffidence, Hugh Grant. Those of a sharp eye may have noticed that these two scions of the acting fraternity are the very same rascals responsible for the two lamentable movies I mentioned previously.

Is there a pattern emerging, I hear you ask.

Yes.

Not only do Colin and Hugh blight our screens in the two worst movies of the century, as previously discussed, but they also appeared in tandem in the two Bridget Jones movies. A bad omen. But there's more. Mary Steenburgen, who couldn't act her way out of a paper bag, also appears in both of these abominations. Playing the same small town American character in both. Is this a conspiracy?

No.

And then there's the script. Or lack of it.

Supposedly adapted from a novel entitled "New Cardiff", it is utter bilge. It probably appealed to Mr. Firth because he thought it an ideal showcase for his feeble talents. That and the fact he got to have a good look at Heather Graham's rather talented breasts. Nice work if you can get it.

And so we come to Minnie Driver and her peculiarly shaped head.

I have to admit that she possess a very memorable face. She looks like someone has planed the angles of her face from a lump of wood. Which is very apt, given her wooden acting talents.

This movie is no good. It is a bad movie. Don't watch it.

If you see it hibernating amongst your DVD collection, carefully remove it and put it in the nearest dustbin or better still, commit it to the flames of the nearest bonfire. If you have no bonfires in your neighbourhood due to it being in a smokeless zone, burn down your house after carefully removing everything of value except this worthless article. Then claim on your insurance and have your house re-built.

Refuge of Dragonflies (2008)

Poets and poetry

[28 March 2010]

Taking characters and themes from an iconic literary work and moulding them into a parable, performed as an ensemble piece of modern-day street theatre and presented as a short movie, is a risky venture that could go horribly wrong without a great deal of skill and talent. "Refuge of the Dragonflies", based on two chapters of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"-Victor Hugo's great novel set in medieval Paris-is a bold and ultimately successful adaption.

Poetry comes in many forms and poets work in many ways. Michael O'Rourke has imbued his movie with a beautiful array of images, words and music that only someone who understands poetry could produce. The knowledge and love of poetry, music and literature shows in every shot. Even the character of Moondog is an homage to the blind poet and musician who lived on the streets of New York. The photography in this short movie is shot through with lovely shimmering images, the night shots are beautifully lit. The original music adds yet another haunting dimension. The acting is excellent too, the cast of new actors deliver convincing characters. It's obvious that a lot of work has gone into making this movie.

So far, so good.

But in amongst the poetry and beauty, there is a darkness, another drum beating. In the streets of every city there is an edge, a fear, an oppression. There is violence, cruelty and death. There are those to whom life has such little value that they think nothing of snuffing it out in the blink of an eye. Life hangs in the balance, just as the poet does at the hands of his tormentors in the Court of Miracles, the racial tensions and tribal warfare of America's street gangs brought into sharp focus. And perhaps a subtle reminder that liberty and justice is not for all. Indeed, the movie abounds with metaphors.

Even the Church represents darkness with Frollo, driven by his lust, attempting to rape La Esmeralda and the brute Quasimodo being unleashed on the poet.

But can poetry ultimately bring light to darkness?

The dragonflies are safe in the arms of La Esmeralda for now, but the future is uncertain.

Can love triumph over despair?

The poet and La Esmeralda leave us with a poetically enigmatic conclusion.

Which, like the best poetry, is just as it should be.

Apocalypto (2006)

White man speak with forked tongue

[1/10 · 15 February 2010]

First, this movie has nothing whatsoever to do with the Maya. Second, it has nothing whatsoever to do with history. Third, it has nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment.

So all in all, it's a loser.

And no wonder, seeing as it was made by the arch history re-writer of Hollywood.

We all know Mel is a Christian, (although judging from the rather un-Christian events of his recent past, he might just find St. Peter slamming the pearly gates in his face when his creator decides to call his number)and it comes as no surprise to find uncle Mel showing us the error of the savage's ways and Christian salvation at hand in the final scenes.

But I digress.

Now, I don't know about you, but I like my movies to have either a story, a point to make, have good photography (as opposed to just looking nice) and be well acted. In short, a reason to exist. This piece of junk has none of these things.

So what have we got?

A sort of jungly slasher chase movie with added subtitles to make it look quasi-intellectual. How did this risible artifact of Gibson's febrile intellect ever get made, I hear you ask. The answer is Icon films. Owned by Gibson and Bruce Davey, and responsible for such gems of modern cinema as The passion of the Christ, this is the only way such a mess of a movie could ever see the light of day.

It purports to tell the story of the end of the Maya civilisation, or some such nonsense, depicting the Maya as a bloodthirsty, murderous bunch of jungle dwelling psychos who apparently sacrificed thousands of young men to satisfy their Gods.

Which is all very interesting, except they weren't and they didn't.

But let us not quibble over mere details like truth. Gibson already has a criminal record in this area. Remember the travesty that was Braveheart.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the storyline and the action held up to scrutiny, but it doesn't. I don't care how long you've lived in the jungle, you can't run for a whole day at full speed through the tropical rain forest in bare feet after an arrow has passed through your body. It's just plain stupid and an insult the audience's intelligence. Unless you're the kind of person that thinks Die Hard is a documentary. And that's the next thing. The photography is shocking. Parts of it look like a cheap TV movie shot on video while other parts look like out-takes from The Mission. Which is not surprising given that it was shot on a mixture of film stock and HD video.

I can't quibble with the acting, inasmuch as most of the cast have never acted in a movie before.

And so we get subtitles which have two functions. First, few, if any, of the cast probably speak English and second, it gives senor Gibson a chance to try and kid us that they are actually speaking ancient Mayan. Which they ain't. Furthermore, the subtitles themselves are farcical. The "translation", if you will, is no more than an attempt to "Americanize" the script with daft phraseology that is totally at odds with the people supposedly speaking it. Shakespeare it ain't.

Watch it if you must but don't be taken in by the notion that this is anything more than another attempt by Mel Gibson to take your money under false pretences. As the original title said: Mel Gibson's Apocalypto.

If he carries on like this, the apocalypse will come sooner than he thinks.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

Holy S**t!!

[1/10 · 15 February 2010]

Imagine the scene: Bruce Davey sits in the dunny of his outback ranch reading a well-thumbed copy of Halliwell's film guide. His mobile phone rings:

"G'day Bruce, how's it going'!"

"G'day Mel, can't I get a bit of peace and quiet, I'm just having a dump here!"

"Be careful mate, one of them funnel web spiders might bite ya balls!"

"Too right mate, I made sure I poured half a gallon of paraffin down the dunny first"

"Well don't drop ya fag end down the pan Bruce, you'll blow your ass half way to Sydney"

"Yeah, don't worry, she'll be right mate. Now, D'ya want something or is this a social call?"

"Bit o'both sport, bit o' both. Now I got a cracking pitch for ya"

"Oh yeah? Well listen mate, lemme finish up here and I'll be with ya"

"OK mate, well hurry up 'cos I got a couple o' ladies' here"

Bruce grunts, rips a page out of Halliwell's guide, wipes his ass and sighs with satisfaction.

"Right mate, I'm all done. So, what's the pitch?"

"Well there's this bloke see, mysterious kind o' fella, stranger in town sort o' thing and he's been upsetting the powers that be with his speeches. Y'know the kind of the thing. Encouraging the locals to rise up against the oppressors and stuff"

"So he's a bit of a political activist then?"

"You could say that"

"So?"

"So, this fella has a gang of blokes that sort of help him spread the message but one of 'em has bin bribed into working for the state"

"And?"

"And so he's double-crossed by this bloke who needs the money and the state condemns him to death for insurrection"

"Like an Insurance scam you mean??"

"No ya dumb ****, insurrection, like revolution"

"Oh, right yeah, good on ya mate"

"So, we now have this bloke being tortured and beaten for two hours. I mean like real, real close ups of bloody flesh and gore. I mean like you see this bloke's skin being shredded and flayed from his body, I mean like a really, really brutal, bloody mess"

"Sounds a bit off mate, if ya don't mind me sayin'"

"Listen Bruce, this will be the most realistically brutal slasher movie ever made"

"So what happens next?"

"He dies"

"Well I can't say I'm surprised mate but it ain't much of a story, if you ask me"

"Ah yeah, but it's how he dies mate, that's the story"

"I don't follow ya, am I missin' somethin'?"

"Well these blokes that've been beatin' the crap out of our hero, they nail him to a lump of wood"

"You're kidding me"

"No Bruce mate, I kid ya not. The movie ends with the bloke being nailed to a big lump of wood and left to die"

"Strewth mate! I think you've bin out in LA too long. Have ya bin hitting the sauce again?"

"Listen Bruce, this is the greatest story ever told, it'll make us millions"

"Listen mate, I know ya like a bit of gratuitous violence, but this is ridiculous. Where's the audience for this kind o' stuff? It'll never get a cinema release"

"Christians"

"Christians? Whaddya mean, Christians?"

"How many Christians in the world Bruce?"

"Well...I dunno mate. I mean, there's you for a start, but I don't know a lot o' those kind o'people, I'm a movie producer fer Chrissakes!"

"There's more than two billion of 'em Bruce and they'll all wanna see this movie, I guarantee it"

"Listen mate, I reckon you need a lie down and maybe get a blow job to clear ya head a bit. This here slasher movie you're describing sounds like the least likely kind o' movie a Christian would wanna see. I mean, you know how sensitive these people are, show 'em a pair o' nipples and they wanna burn ya at the stake"

"Ever heard of a book called The Bible mate?"

"Well, sort of. Which one d'ya mean?"

"There's only one mate"

"Nah mate, I reckon ya wrong there. There's Halliwell's guide, that's the bible of movie goers, then there's the sports illustrated for sports fans, not to mention The Sydney Morning Herald..."

"Strewth Bruce, you're a real dumb **** sometimes. I mean The Holy Bible, the flamin' good book, loved and adored by billions of God-fearing, self-righteous Christians"

"Oh, THAT Bible, why didn't ya say. But I still don't get it mate"

"That's where this story comes from and that's why billions of Christians will flock to see it"

"You sure about this?"

"Listen mate, I've had a word with His Holiness in Rome and he's given me the all-clear"

"So you really think these Christians will wanna see a slasher movie?"

"They will when they see it's the story of their greatest hero. This movie will make us billions, just think of the tie-ins. Not only that, we'll be guaranteed our place in heaven for making this movie"

"Well that's a bonus I suppose"

"One other thing I should mention"

"Yeah mate?"

"It's all in Latin, Hebrew and Aramaic"

"Holy S**t!"

"Exactly!"

Factory Girl (2006)

Superficial superstars

[7/10 · 20 August 2009]

It's not a documentary.

Just in case you read some of the rather hysterical comments and garner the impression that it's supposed to be about real people, it's not. Andy Warhol was never a real person, just a performance.

Guy Pearce presents Andy Warhol as the superficial creature he undoubtedly was. The original art-as-business creator, the very God at whose altar such modern day charlatans as Damien Hirst worship. Pearce's performance is riveting, his Andy Warhol is as empty as his crapulous art; just a two-dimensional diagram of someone who leaves no shadow. A cartoon.

Sienna Miller's performance as Edie Sedgewick is the best thing she's ever done. Caught in the strobe lights of Warhol's strangely sterile world of non-sexual sex and sofas still in their plastic wrappers, Edie becomes the focus of his short attention span for a while. She flashes across the screen like a speeded up Holly Golighty, while Warhol's voyeuristic viewfinder traps her in it's leering stare. The camera loves her and so does Warhol. But we know it's going to end in tears.

Nothing in the movie has much depth, none of the characters are developed beyond what we already know about them and the whole sixties New York scene is represented by a series of iconic "things". The Chelsea Hotel, the Velvet Underground, a soundtrack of songs that sound right but which actually don't fit at all. For instance, "Leavin' here" by The Birds, a British group in which Ronnie Wood was the guitarist, was recorded in 1966 but was never released in America. However, there it is on the soundtrack being played in the factory sometime in 1965.

But no matter.

The movie pretty much captures the shallow, transient and utterly facile world of Warhol in the sixties and in another way it sums up the emptiness and tragedy of the Hollywood dream machine too. But it doesn't ask any deep questions nor does it pretend to be something it's not. It's entertaining and worth watching for two very good performances by Guy Pearce and Sienna Miller.

It's not art, it's just a movie, albeit a superficial one.

Impromptu (1991)

Fabulous music, farcical Chopin.

[6/10 · 29 October 2008]

On the face of it, this is quite a good movie. Judy Davis puts in an entertaining performance as the eccentric and lovelorn George Sand, Emma Thompson amuses herself, and us, as the slightly mad Duchess D'Antan along with Anton Rodgers as her lovably gruff and occasionally outraged husband. Mandy Patinkin, Julian Sands and Anna Massey all turn up for work with a zesty delight, hamming it up like nobody's business.

So far so very good. Everything rattles along charmingly, all and sundry delivering the amusingly droll script with great gusto and professionalism.

And then just as we settle down for 90 minutes of above average entertainment, Hugh Grant turns up and sinks the entire ship with all hands.

If I say that Hugh struggles manfully with an abysmal script, I would be lying. If I say that he presents us with a thoughtful portrayal of the tortured and sickly composer, rising to the challenge like the great actor he is (in some people's estimation), I would be guilty of gross misrepresentation. If I said that our highly regarded (at least by some people I know)and under talented leading man spends the entire movie looking like a terrified rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding juggernaut, cowering with fear every time someone speaks to him and almost expiring with blind panic whenever George Sand is in the same room, my integrity and reputation as an honest man would be beyond doubt.

I don't know who Hugh Grant based his performance on, or if he even took the trouble to research his character, but what he ends up showing us is a kind of consumptive, cowering, idiot who could no more compose, or indeed play, some of the most exquisitely ethereal and beautiful music known to man than I could eat the Eiffel Tower. I doubt whether this preposterous character could play a triangle without quivering in fear, let alone a piano.

But never mind.

The movie is actually an entertaining take on the famous love story, presented by a who's who of (mostly) British actors in a beautifully designed and photographed period piece to a soundtrack of heavenly music. And an unintentionally laughable piano player.

Anyway, it's nice to see Hugh Grant in yet another comedy role.

Any other actor would have portrayed Chopin as a sensitive, soulful and talented composer.

Small Time Crooks (2000)

Shock horror! Woody Allen makes very funny movie!

[9/10 · 24 June 2008]

Of course Allen has made some classic comedies and some downright clunkers. He's made dark and dismal dramas as well as dark and wonderful dramas but this is an out and out comedy. Nothing more, nothing less. What makes this particularly engaging is the lightness of touch and exceptionally funny dialogue, great wisecracks, insults and general stupidity. The usual trademark angst of Woody's character is all but absent here and all the better for it. Tracy Ullman gives a wonderful performance as the aspirational Frenchie, although there are a few too many comparisons to Julie Walters in Educating Rita. Nonetheless, she almost steals the movie. Hugh Grant also shows his nastier side quite well as the art dealer with an eye for a quick buck. There's no message in this movie, just a lot of laughs. If you prefer Woody's Bergmanesque cannon, you probably won't go for this but if you like very funny wisecracking comedies, come on in. Not a classic in the same vein as Play it again Sam or Annie Hall but actually funnier than both.

The Lovers on the Bridge (1991)

Obsession and possession at the edge of darkness

[10/10 · 4 April 2007]

Obsession, addiction, violence and love. Sometimes all four at the same time. If nothing else, this movie is a complete roller-coaster ride through the emotions. It's hard to say whether it's really a love story. Is it love when you want to possess someone to the point where you would rather they go blind than go away? Is it love to want to drag someone down with you to bottom of your own degradation? Is it love when you would take someone's life because they wanted to go home? But then again, is it love when you allow all this to happen and still come back for more? I have my doubts.

This is really a story of obsession and possession between two people who find themselves marooned out on the edge of human existence. They find something like tenderness, something like love by holding on to each other like two children lost in the dark woods. But obsession is ultimately destructive and so it is here. Alex wants Michelle but never really shows any real tenderness. He has nothing to offer except cheap wine and an old overcoat. He is destructive, violent and child-like. The relationship between Alex and Michelle is quite impossible to comprehend sometimes. What this movie does have is passion. But this is real life passion. Real and raw. If you ever see real people like Alex and Michelle, and they do exist, you can see how they cling to each other, how they abuse each other, how they are possessed by their lifestyle, unable or unwilling to fight their way out of their humiliation. So in the end they just drag each further down, drowning in hopelessness.

But just as you think the story is going to end in tragedy...well you have to watch it for yourself.

The cinematography in this movie is breathtaking at times, but in a very unconventional way. It is beautiful to watch even though there is precious little that is attractive. Paris looks by turns both shiny and exciting and then dark, grey and filthy. Which, if you've been there, you will know is exactly how it is. There is not a single shot of any famous Parisian landmark either. Only the river Seine and the bridges around Pont Neuf are part of the landscape in this story.

It's really an ensemble piece for two characters; two characters caught up in obsession, possession and some kind of love story. The two lead actors, Juliette Binoche and Dennis Levant produce performances of real emotional power and subtlety. There is nothing coming out of Hollywood to match movies like this, nor are there many actors, if any, who could get close to performances like these. One day the Academy will begin to recognise that acting and movies is not just about box office returns and bestow their awards on movies like this.

Hedgehog in the Fog (1975)

Less is more-eleven minutes of poetry.

[10/10 · 4 January 2007]

Russian, and for that matter, most East European animation, is a world away from Disney's sanitised world where nothing bad ever happens. While Disney strived for animation perfection, where the movement of Snow White's dress is more important than the story, the European and Soviet school of animation was always more about the story.

"Hedgehog in the fog" is one of the best examples of the difference between the two schools of animation. If Disney had made it, the little Hedgehog would probably have been reduced to a Winnie the Pooh type creature and no doubt there would have been a catchy song or two to jolly it all along. All the other animals would have had speaking parts, there would have been jokes and no doubt there would have been a big musical finale when Hedgehog and Bear are re-united around the camp fire.

So it's a good job that it was made by Yuri Norstein instead.

What he made is a beautiful, lyrical and deceptively simple animated story of how a curious little hedgehog takes a detour through the mysterious fog on the way to see his friend, the little bear, gets lost and then finds his way out again. But there is much, much more in this little movie than just that. Like many great works of art it adopts the philosophy that less is more. There is nothing superfluous here. Not a single frame is wasted. The stop motion animation, like the illustrations, has a magical, dreamlike quality. The unsaturated, almost monochrome colours of the backgrounds takes us into the real magical world of fairy tales and fantasy in a way that Disney et al could never manage. Indeed, it is the absolute simplicity of this wonderful little movie that makes it so beautiful to watch. The dreamlike quality of the images is enhanced still further by the haunting musical score. The sparse narration is gravely intoned like a beautiful Russian poem. The words themselves don't really matter, it is the effect of the sound of the voice that is important. It doesn't matter if you don't understand Russian, the story is told by the images.

Images and symbolism, music and dreams, all combine to make a great little movie. Or you can see it just as a simple story if you wish. With Disney and the others you just get the simple story.

There are moments of exquisite beauty that transcend description. When the Hedgehog first walks into the mist, like an awe struck child he whispers that he can't even see his paw! This moment alone is worth the price of the movie. As is the moment when he calls to the white horse. All he says is "Loshad!"(horse, in Russian) but it's the way he says it. Almost everything about this film has the innocence and wonder of a child's view of the world. The inquisitiveness of a child exploring an unfamiliar and slightly frightening world for the first time. A journey into the unknown, like the journey through life. To get somewhere you sometimes have to leave the well trodden path. It ends up in the same place but you see a whole new world on the way. The world is a beautiful place and there are many places to see. There are countless paths we can take and most of them have no maps to guide us. All we need is a little courage, a little fear and the belief that there is always a light to show us the way through the mist. The light of love and friendship.

The final moments tell another story too. Watch the expressions of the bear and the hedgehog as they talk. The bear is so relieved to know his friend has arrived safely but also because it means his life of routine and order is restored. He needs the hedgehog to count the stars and to bring raspberry jam because that's how it has always been. Without the hedgehog his world would fall apart. He is safe within his comfort zone, happy to live his life without change, without challenge, without fear. He's happy to count the stars but would never once think about reaching for them. But the hedgehog is different. Watch the expression, almost of regret, as he listens to the bear. He has seen the world in a different way, he has seen the magical world inside the mist, another dimension. He has felt the excitement of exploring new worlds, the fear of being lost, new emotions, new friends. And as he sits on the log with the bear, he thinks about the white horse in the mist. How is she?

You can draw your own metaphorical conclusions.

But we know that the Hedgehog's world will never be the same again.

Neither will mine.

Thank you to Annushka for the light.

@->>-

Notting Hill (1999)

Ah, the romance of it all...

[9/10 · 29 September 2006]

Do you like a bit of romance? A bit of comedy? A bit of simple feel-good entertainment? Then look no further than Notting Hill. Here's Hugh Grant in the movie that is the perfect vehicle for his awfully-nice-but-a-bit-dim Englishman. And it works beautifully. His character lives in a little world of awfully nice people that never quite make a success of anything but they don't really care much. It's a small world of good friends, enjoying their lives, smiling at misfortune...very British. In fact, it's really quite a small movie, an ensemble piece that Hugh Grant uses to demonstrate his great talent for comedy acting. His characterisation of William is perfectly presented thanks to his natural talent for this kind of role. Of course he has played the same role many times but if that's what the director wants, then Hugh is your man. The supporting cast play their roles to perfection, some of the little cameo parts are as good as you will see anywhere. James Dreyfuss as the effete and just-a-little-bit-dim Martin is hilarious but tinged with the same resignation of failure as all the rest. Rhys Ifans plays the slightly unhinged Welshman perfectly, an extension of the part he played as one of the psychotic, drug fuelled Lewis brothers, bent on revenge in "Twin Town" And what of Julia Roberts? Well, she plays along with all these warm hearted British types, looking a little bit bemused but all she has to do is play herself, a Hollywood star who falls for an ordinary mortal. Which is what she did when she married Danny Moder in real life. Notting Hill is a perfect piece of romantic escapism, watch it with your loved one and enjoy the romance of it all. And when Elvis Costello sings 'She' at the end of the film, well, it brings a tear of happiness to even the most cynical of eyes. Ah, isn't it lovely!

One day I'll watch it with Annushka, but I hope she doesn't fall asleep half way through it :)

Ya tebya lyublu.