ThisFilmIsOn

You know things in life aren’t going well when you are continually followed by the really sad version of ‘Christmas time is here’ from the A Charlie Brown Christmas. Its also safe to say life has gone a little titty fucking up when you’re holding back tears for fallen peeps in The Wire. But if you find yourself being cheered up by a Mike Leigh film, well, throw in the towel my friend because a trip to beachy head is your only solution. That or go asphyxi wank style but this option can be upsetting for the family memebers left behind.

Poppy is a primary school teacher who not only views the glass as half full but also brightly coloured, adorned with flourescent glitter and holding in it the Elixir of life itself. In other words she’s an optimist. The film is a window into Poppys worldview as time and time again her optimism is challenged when she meets angry driving instructors, emotional Flamenco dancers, crazy tramps and a potential love interest in Social worker Tim.

Set in a London not often seen (for its through the eyes of Poppy and not gibbering Daily Mail readers or Terror news items) Happy-Go-Lucky is a film about nothing and everything. Nothing, as in there is no classical narrative thread, and everything, in that there is no finer goal in life than to be happy. As Poppy keeps herself entertained, and those around her, there is a certain dread as to what may shake her enthusiasm.

Relative newcomer Sally Hawkins is an absolute joy as Poppy, complete with filthy laugh and a carefree manner that I doubt you can act if you don’t already have it. Workaholic Eddie Marsan is also on good form as the rage and saliva spitting driving instructor, even if at times his polar opposite to Sally is a little too polar, i.e think puppy hugging lovely person versus hate filled kitten drowner. So when life in all its unpleasantries is getting you down have a little think about Poppy, cancel the trip to beachy head and untie the noose from above the streams of porn you’ve laid out. More Poppies please.

Las Vegas should thank its agent at next years Oscars, for movie after movie seems intent on showing the gambling haven as a paradise of the 21st century. Be it Fear and Loathing, Swingers or the four Ocean’s film, its huge, as bright as the sun, as garish as 80′s pop videos and usually really, really cool. 21 may as well have a rolling news feature at the bottom advertising flights and hotel rooms because all I could think for the duration of the film was, ‘Vegas, Baby, Vegas!’

Based on the true story of a bunch of MIT students who worked a way of beating the odds and took millions from the Vegas casinos, 21 goes for the loser turns to winner take on the tale. Ben Campbell (Jim Sturgess) is a dweeb of the dweebiest proportion, a maths genuis that has no way with the ladies and spends his 21st birthday with his mum. Until, that is, he’s invited to an afterschool off the books mathclub by his teacher (the increasingly predatory Kevin Spacey). Here he learns to count cards and accompanied by his new cooler friends takes on Las Vegas.

The ‘man I wish I was doing that’ rush that you get from certain films is present in every sprocket. This is made more so by the fact that the main character never really puts a foot wrong for the first half of the movie. The counting cards tactic isn’t illegal, it works and only some talented people can do it, so if you possess this gift why the hell wouldn’t you use it to make a quick buck. Add in an attractive Kate Bosworth and as much comped shit as anyone could want and you’ve hit the jackpot. Its a movie though, so we need some rocks being thrown but such is Jim Sturgess’ manner throughout you half expect him to catch the rocks and start juggling them, which he does. A star in the making.

What could have been another run of the mill ‘gambling is cool but bad’ morality tale is instead a coming of age ride which is fun, a little dangerous and, yes that word again, cool. This is thanks mainly, but not exclusively, to a well worked script that has been pawed over time and time again until it ticks all the boxes. And you’d hope so as its a Triggerstreet film (a website devoted entirely to the craft of screenwriters). You never know, the formidable box office take for a film with no huge bankable star, not based on a comic book or a sequel, might just make Hollywood sit up and value a decent script. I wouldn’t bet on it though.

Regrets, I’ve had a few but then again too few for anyone to really give a monkey toss. I’m ad-libbing Frank for good reason, Flashbacks of a Fool is steeped in regret but the regret is non transferable to the audience, i.e we don’t really give a monkey toss. This leaves the film only vaguely entertaining and in the year of 2008, cinema makers must do a lot better than be vaguely entertaining if they wish to satisfy this bitter man.

Hollywood mega star in decline Joe Scott (think Mickey Rourke circa 1992 but with less smack) is a coke line or a lost role away from rock bottom. When he hears the news of an old friends death he begins to ponder on his youth long gone. In a flashback that takes up the main breadth of the movie we see how Joe was shaped into the man he is today. Well, actually, we don’t and thats the problem with the film.

Like a Radio 4 version of a biography of an actor who doesn’t actually exist, Flashbacks lacks the drama needed to pull you in for the full two hour running time. If it was a real celebrity tale of how their life was turned by a moment in their youth it would probably have done huge business as is the cluster fuck surrounding A-listers these days, but sadly as its fiction no-one really gives two shits, which is a shame because its all played very well.

It was a bit of a love project for Daniel Craig and you can see why as its one of the most ‘actorly’ films you’ll see in a long while. As the young Joe, Harry Eden does a wonderful job as the insecure teen whose raging hard on will be his downfall. But despite all round tiptop performances the drama isn’t dramatic enough to keep us hooked. Oh and if its supposed to be his flashback why do we have detailed scenes of instances that he isn’t present for. That always pissed me off in Saving Private Ryan too.

I know he’s barely in this film, playing second male lead below a relatively unknown actor, but what is about Russell Brand that has people falling over themselves to work with him? He was a television presenter less than 12 months ago and now he’s a fully fledged thespian with 3, count em, 3 films showing this year. All he’s done from 2003 onwards is impersonate Captain Jack Sparrow from the Pirates movies. The question that this film raises ‘Is who the hell is the real Russell Brand?’ I want answers. I want to know if my hatred of this man is justified. I want the truth, even if I am unsure of my truth handling abilities.

Back to the film… for now. When Peter Bretter (screenwriter and lead Jason Segel) gets callously dumped by his longterm girlfriend the titular (damn I use that word too much) Sarah Marshall he does his best to forget her. But he just can’t if he coups himself in his flat all day. No, this man needs to get away, to Hawaii! Thats the way to do it! Unless his ex is there with her new boyfriend, the man/muppet that will make up the base of this diatribe, Rusell Brand. Things are made easier for Peter when hotel sexpot Rachel (Mila Kunis) starts to help him not remember he ever went out with the titular (I think I use it because it starts off with tit) Sarah.

The first and last part of this movie are reasonably entertaining and funny. The comedy is of a very broad nature, almost Carry On-esque at times but if you can’t laugh at a shrivelled wang then what can you laugh at. The cast is incredibly open to having the piss ripped out of themselves with references from Kristen Bell to making the switch to film from TV and Kunis and Segel willing to bare all for a cheap gag. Which brings us unsurprisingly back to our Russell.

Who are you man? You surely can’t be, as it would appear to anyone dipping into your work, the character that you play in this film all the live long day? Firstly your cock would fall off and secondly everyone would just want to punch you in the face repeatedly until you couldn’t use clever wordplay again because your tongue would be a mixture of knuckle skin, mashed up teeth and pavement. But fool on me really because I’m just another mug thats giving you the time of day for acting like a fool everytime a camera is on you. I hope that one day I see you buying some crisps in Tesco and your hair isn’t all done and you just talk politely to people in a normal voice. Or at least you just tone it down a bit and go back to presenting. If you can find his early stuff Naziboy is worth checking out on youtube for all Brand haters he is actually informative and witty, thats Russell not the Nazi. The Nazi is an idiot, obviously… he’s a Nazi.

The challenge is still on. 63 films into the year and I’ve seen all that my multiplex has to throw at me. I do, however, get the sneaking suspicion someone in film buying (the person who chooses what films we get) has cottoned on to my bullheaded nature and is subsequently taking the piss. From a simple 2-4 movies a week I’m now averaging 6, including dirge like this that plays two shows and then fucks off back to the celluloid hell that spawned it.

Ice Cube plays a criminal who just wants to do right by his son. So he robs a church. There you go, thats all you get for the plot.

Fulfilling his quota of gangster movie and family movie all in one Mr. Cube can relax for the rest of the year safe in the knowledge that his certain brand of poostickery is done. That last line was more of a request. I really don’t want to have to watch Are We Still There? I also don’t want to sit through another film where black people are portrayed as dumb, irritating criminals who love to eat chicken (even if they do include pictures of Dr. King on the wall to remind us that you know some people with dark skin are okay really). Fuck, who directed this Jade Goody?

As Ice and his criminal friend start to turn their lives around via kidnapping and violence there seems to be some nice ideas about a man finding faith while robbing a church but its the kind of moral message that would be more at home on an episode of Quantum Leap. One thing to note as the lights come up is that the Jamaicans that are hoping to kill Ice’s sidekick, in a subplot I’m not going into here, are still on their tail. And most importantly I didn’t recognise anyone from The Wire in it and its set in Baltimore. How dare they.

Wow. I’ve just found out this film was based on a James Ellroy novel and he even had a hand in the script. I’m sorry its just taken me a bit by surprise because the film itself is, at times, desperately unoriginal and horribly predictable. Don’t fear I’m not gonna change my opinion on the film because I’ve learnt this fact, which is nice to know I’m not being a hypocrit, I just feel it needs addressing that you can go into a movie not knowing all the facts. Which is rare. For me. Because I know everything about movies, don’t I?

Tom Ludlow (Keanu Reeves) is an LAPD cop who acts as a one man clean up operation whenever bad men are in town. While he works ‘outside the law’ he only ever murders really bad men, the type that kidnap kids, so therefore he’s okay. But he does drink a lot though which makes him bad. Oooh you can see the fuzzy line already can’t you. When his ex-best friend and straight up cop Terrence is killed Tom begins to search for the truth and uncovers a big bag of deception and general naughtiness from the boys in blue.

I’m not really going to enjoy any police/corruption/drug dealer products where the line is ever so slightly blurred between good and bad while I’m still hooked on The Wire (I’m on Season 3 and counting peeps) but this one kinda insulted my intelligence enough to warrant a reasonable amount of critical bile. Crass sterotypes and pointless girlfriend roles notwithstanding the ‘reverse acting’ (you know where an actor has to act as if he’s acting) by Mr. Whitaker is enough to ask him for his Oscar back.

Its clear Street Kings is a redemption tale from the get go and because of this the predictability-ometer sits high in the red. Once the light clicks in Keanus head, and it takes a fucking while, that all those around him are badder than bad we know that he’ll become a one man justice fighting machine. Its also pretty clear that he’ll be alive by the end, which is a shame. Redemption tales are always better when the lead dies. Or is at least disfigured horribly in some way.

As a friend commented to me, “They don’t make em like that anymore” in reference to the 80′s style comedy but I’m unsure as to whether they ever made them like this. So few people came to watch this bizarre shitfest that at the prime time show the only residents of the cinema were me and the hapless friends I brought along. They’ll forgive me one day. But you never know this may well be the kind of legendary movie that you tell your grandkids about in the same way people talk of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock. Doubtful though.

Strange. Quite possibly the only word to describe the experience of watching this ‘film’. Essentially a stoner movie made up of the kind of sketches Saturday Night Live might throwout for being too directed at college students, I have to confess that I laughed til I cried watching it. The problem is at no point did I laugh ‘with’ the film.

There is a small amount of mirth to be had from the ridiculously dumb narration over stock nature footage. “It is estimated that bears kill over 2 million salmon a year, attacks by salmon on bears, are much more rare,” being the best example. But most ‘Jokes’ go on way past their sell by date, including a ‘dick joke’ that would make a seven year old groan. Add into this people vomiting into a sharks mouth, a turkey (literally) gobbling down a cock and enough bong related humour to make Cheech and Chong blush and you have a contender for one of the most random films since the Python boys hung up their fluffy rabbits feet. Shame it didn’t have any of their wit.

I shouldn’t like George Clooney. He’s smugger than a stockbroker thats just fucked a prostitute without his wife finding out, while simultaneously dysoning coke from her belly button and solving a suduko in record time. Well, okay, he’s not that smug but he does have an air of grinny mcgrin and rightly so. Women want to fuck him and men want to be him. And men want to fuck him. He has all the best celeb mates and makes genuinely good movies as an actor, writer, director and producer. In fact as a director he’s made two of my favourite films of the decade, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Good Night and Good Luck. So this I was looking forward to with a degree of optimism…

Set at the birth, and some might argue death, of professional (American) football Leatherheads follows Jimmy ‘Dodge’ Connelly a chancer whose life revolves around the love of the pigskin. When he sees an opportunity to expoilt war hero Carter Rutherford’s celebrity for the good of the game he does so, making a sport that was once only popular amongst the college crowd into a huge money spinning mega event. Trying to get a scoop on Carter is Lexie Littleton, a female newsreporter, who soon becomes the object of both mens affections. Can Dodge win the girl and win the game or is his clock running down too fast?

I say I was looking forward to this film with a degree of enthusiasm but after a collegue with similar filmic opinions as mine came out scratching his head about how the same man could make this mess that made Good Night I decided to lower said expectations. And I’m glad I did because it made the film, perhaps not enjoyable, but certainly above bearable on the scale of cinema nirvana to 35mm haemorrhoid. Its main problem is an uncertainty of genre and style.

Too often it flits between old style screwball comedy and modern day dram/rom/com. Renne ‘there are no eyes in my name or my face’ Zellweger has done this before in Down With Love, and while handing in another of my man cards for liking that film, I also have to admit that she plays the role well. But while the former film had the stones to keep the screwball rolling Leatherheads doesn’t and it suffers from that. You’d think if anyone was brave enough to take a chance it would be unflappable George but in the role as director and lead character, there is not enough consistency. Maybe that grin will wain slightly when he reads this. Because he does read my reviews. Every week. I’m one of his celeb mates.

Usually the idea of a remake will have me gnawing at my kneecaps in a fit of frustration at the stupidity of people who can’t read subtitles but here I am looking forward to this movie more than any other in the showery month of April (historically the poorest month for movies). There are a number of reasons for my hypocrisy beginning with the fact that I’ve yet to see the original but more importantly I’ve read a plethora of pre-press from the director Haneke in which he talks about the American view of violence. Therefore where better a place to set your sadistic teen torture fest than the good old US of A.

Taking place in less than 24 hours Funny Games deals with the terrorisation of a white, upper middle class family by two young well educated, completely pyschotic teens. The family consists of Ann (Naomi Watts), her husband George (Tim Roth) and their 10 year old boy George Jr (Devon Gearhart). Oh and a dog, but its best not to get too happy about this if you’re an animal lover. The two crazy bastards, that make Droog Alex somebody you’d be perfectly happy to have round to meet your gran, are Paul (Micheal Pitt) and Peter (Bradley Corbett). I’d like to give you more plot than just what role each plays but the first line of this paragraph summarises exactly what happens over two of the most unpleasant yet thought provoking hours of cinema I’ve witnessed since Irreversible.

Its testament to the film that I would be so thoroughly unnerved from the opening to the closing credits when there is hardly a spot of onscreen violence. Starting with a playful game of ‘guess the classical music’ we are given not one shitting warning that death metal of the worst kind is going to infiltrate all of our senses. Intelligent yet uncompromising shock tactics such as this are played over and over again and each one works at shredding each nerve like wheat from a well known breakfast cereal. One such ‘trick’ is the breaking of the fourth wall and even this is done to not only make us a part of the horror being witnessed but also to horrify us further. At one point near the finale we know just how submissive and helpless we as viewers are.

All the cast are superb but I will single out Micheal Pitt for the highest praise. Clad in virginial white he is the vicious ringleader whose pulse never raises or falls as he kills in cold blood. When asked why he is doing this by the captives he lists a million cliche reasons from too spoilt, to a tough upbringing, to drugs and sexual abuse. What appears to be the real answer, and the one that shows the true evil that may keep you awake at night, to why he is doing this is simple. Why not? Its probably the least amount of fun you’ll have in the cinema this year but for all the fans of Hollywood and its dubious moral compass its essential, intelligent cinema at its best. Unsurprisingly the Daily Mail didn’t like it.