Man, this film is satisfying. It’s a visceral experience cobbled together from all the dark, sick shit you’ve ever seen. Remember goatse? Remember one man one jar? Remember lemonparty? Remember when you accidently saw someone’s head get cut off after clicking on that weird looking gif? Those images you saw that you can never get out of your head, the ones that made us lament on what a sad, lost, desensitised generation we’d become? We’ve seen a lot of the bad that comes out of the deep pits of the internet; the alt-right recently being a disturbing example of just what happens to men who have grown up contributing to and lurking on message boards (you know I mean 4chan) filled with racist, sexist and homophobic humour. It would be easy to demonise these forums, producing the meme-magic spouting supporters of Trump, the white men who could never get girlfriends and those whose teenage angst has turned into full-on bitterness in adulthood.
Have you ever been to see a film that everyone in the screening seemed to think was really funny and engaging, while you just sat there bemused and thinking: “this is a bit shite”? Well, that’s how I felt watching Ben Wheatley’s divisive sixth feature Free Fire.
As I looked around the audience in hysterics, I thought, “Is it just me? Am I just a stick in the mud?” I may have laughed once or twice, but it occurred to me that if you crack a hundred jokes, at least two of them are bound to be funny.
If you look at it solely from the perspective of the mention of the ‘revenge thriller’ in its synopsis, you’d think that this four-hour long, black-and-white Filipino film had very little going for it. In reality, it’s a shining example of how the idea of retribution on screen flourishes in the hands of female protagonists.
There are real life magicians working today who have performed lesser feats than what Damien Chazelle has done with ‘La La Land’. Like, actual magicians. The kinds that pull rabbits from top hats and all that.
Even those who adored the director’s miraculous, perfectly paced debut ‘Whiplash’ were a little apprehensive at the thought of his follow up being a fully fledged musical. An appreciator of fine composition, both musically and in film, Chazelle has stuck to his guns here, presenting us with a rare, lovingly made movie that the messed up modern world has been calling out for.
Miles Teller is an undeniable talent, albeit one still waiting to match the greatness of the film that made him a star. Back in 2014, Damien Chazelle’s ‘Whiplash’, a ‘Raging Bull’-inspired musical tour de force in which boxing gloves are swapped for drumsticks, won the young actor the respect of both critics and fans alike. For a while, he’s been tied down by young adult fiction franchises and been left bobbing in the shallow end of Marvel’s comic book universe – neither of which making much use of his expertise. Two years later, Teller was still waiting, until his attachment to Ben Younger’s, Scorsese produced boxing flick ‘Bleed for This’ had his supporters chomping at the bit to see him succeed again.
Past Life, Avi Nesher’s highly anticipated follow up to 2013’s The Wonders, is a moving moral fable about how we face and process the demons that can define our lives.
The year is 1977, and Sephi Milch is a young woman studying vocal performance and composition in a Tel Aviv university. A trip to West Germany leads her to a shaking encounter with a woman who, recognising her last name and language, labels her father a murderer. Unaware of what could have led to this, she alerts her outspoken older sister Nana of what she has heard, and together they band together to visit scenes of his wartime past in an attempt to uncover the truth.
In Pablo Larraín’s Jackie, The White House frames Jacqueline Kennedy the way castles frame their queens. The definitive First Lady of the 1960s, who also earned herself the title of a fashion icon, made that place her home; her appreciation of fine decor and relics appearing in almost every room. It makes sense then, that Larraín’s eagerly awaited biopic of the icon feels like the kind of film Kennedy herself would make; astute, swooningly good-looking and blessed with an extraordinary leading lady.
If anybody could add innovation and colour to a film by Illumination Entertainment, chances are that person would be Garth Jennings. The British director, who previously helmed the ‘Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy’ remake and the charming ‘Son of Rambow’, has a tendency to make movies packed with both warmth and wit. We haven’t seen anything new from him since the latter hit our screens back in 2007, but he marks his big screen comeback with ‘Sing’, the latest inevitable box office smash from the studio behind ‘Minions’ and ‘The Secret Life of Pets’.
There’s something sort of ominous about the way the alien spaceships in ‘Arrival’ simply hover over earth in relative silence. Perhaps, after years of directors choosing to depict unknown entities blasting the living daylights out of our landscapes, it’s even more intimidating to see them sit still and do nothing as we wait for their unpredictable reaction. That is, in a way, what makes Denis Villeneuve’s follow-up to the widely acclaimed Sicario so special. We’ve come to expect our science fiction films to have grandiose set pieces and stunning CGI, while Arrival burrows itself under your skin by swapping out violence in favour of conversation.
Rooney Mara is one of those rare actresses who almost never puts a foot wrong. Kicking off her mainstream career as the female muse of David Fincher in both ‘The Social Network’ and ‘The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo’, she has delivered a string of exemplary performances that paint her as one of this century’s strongest talents. Perhaps that’s why it’s so sad to see her skills reduced to a sappy, ineffective rubble in ‘The Secret Scripture’, the latest film from ‘My Left Foot’ director Jim Sheridan.