ThisFilmIsOn

I can’t help it. Despite my better judgement there is something hilarious, and therefore likeable, about Jason Statham. It may be his Po-tay-toe shaped head, his inability to change his accent for any role or the way he can keep a straight face when delivering some of the worst dialogue known to man. But its probably because I know he’s pissing himself laughing at the fact that people pay him shit loads of cash to do things like fight with his shirt off or drive a car on top of a train. Nice work if you can get it.

Not breaking the Luc Besson formula for a second we have the indestructable, hard-man professional going on a job he doesn’t really want to do. Stath – Check. The innocent, Louise Brooks coiffed girl who can’t speak good English. Natalya Rudakova – Check. And the bad guy who’s a bit creepy, a bit camp and looks a bit like Superhands from Peep Show. Robert Knepper – Check. Add into that some Jason on a BMX, the afformentioned Jason fighting with his shirt off and the Jason with a bracelet that will blow up if he stops moving and its almost as silly as Crank. Except Crank was actually fun.

This film could only work as a silent movie. The action is more than acceptable and at times its even inventive. But by keeping Jason stuck to his car (if he moves within 70 yards of the car the bracelet goes off) the movie grinds to an ugly, dialogue induced halt. Nowhere else this year have I seen the English language so desecrated than when the characters in this film use them to communicate. The fact that the lead actress is actually a worse thespian than The Stath may be hard to believe but its every inch the truth. That someone decided over half the film would be a road movie between the two is just plain baffling. She is easily the worst travel companion since Dodi Fayed.

Transporter 3 will definitely be remembered for two things. First it contains easily the worst scene of the year. Jason and the girl have a go at flirting with each other climaxing with ‘Our Jase’ doing a little strip tease for the salivating Ukranian. The second is the cinematic death of Luc Besson. He’s not directing but the fact that he puts his name on both the script and production makes me seriously reconsider Leon as my mostest favourite film of all time. I know the Transporter films are tongue in cheek shit but couple this with Taken (his only other output this year) and its Sacre Bleu Luc. Sacre sodding bleu.

I was pooping myself so much over watching this torture porn I honestly thought I might not make it into the cinema and thus fail my challenge at the very last hurdle. Thankfully I grew a pair of, what appear to be, balls and summoned up enough courage to sit through 70 minutes of shit movie-making by a sick fuck who has nothing to say but wants to live out his fantasies on the big screen. In 3-D. Twat. In the end it didn’t disturb me in the slightest. Yes it was gornography of the sickest order but when gorno is done as badly as this there really isn’t any reason to worry. Its actually quite nice to bear witness to the death wails of a crap genre. RIP Torture Porn. You gave nothin gto the world.

I would still like to thank Mark for holding my hand and getting me into the screen in the first place. Sorry you had to sit through this awful attempt at filmmaking.

Child performances are a tricky thing. Most are the kind of awful, spew inducing stuff that makes you think the NSPCC should be disbanded. But every now and again you get a Natalie Portman in Leon, the entire cast of Stand By Me or Ariana Richards in Tremors. In other words performances of such greatness you think children may indeed be our future. But to carry a film by yourself before you’re of the age where you get a National Insurance number thats just crazy. Dakota Fannings agent is crazy.

Here Dakota plays Lily Owens a 14 year old white girl looking for a mother she may or may not have shot dead when she was 4. As pitches go its not exactly got ‘box office hit’ written on it. Regardless Lily sets out on her journey armed with a picture of her ma and a label from a jar of honey with a black Virgin Mary on it. The latter leads her to a bee farm where Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys and (the only one who is actually an actress) Sophie Okonedo take in the little girl and teach her the ways of life. And bees.

Dakota does a pretty good job as the lost little girl. She acts Jennifer Hudson off the screen (but so could Jason Statham) and holds her own against the other ‘actresses’. But for all her hard work The Secret Life of Bees does not work as a film. Its so obviously an adaptation that the book comes first and while there are some touching moments it never flows in any way, shape or form. The fact that it feels like an adaptation of some chic lit, ‘sisters are doing it for themselves’ bullshit is even harder to swallow as I’d imagine the source material is stronger than this suggests.

My biggest beef though is the non-diagetic music (get me, I’ve got a BA in film!). When you have a film set in 1964 you have some of the greatest soundtrack possibilities. You can choose from Aretha or Ray or Nina or any other actual artist. Yet the film makers have chosen to put some god awful Jamie Cullum type shit that takes you straight out of the movie and staring vacantly in the soul less music of today. To be fair when they stick on the radio (thats diagetic music folks!) real 60′s jazz, blues and soul comes out but for the big scenes it all about contemporary singers warbling cockspit at you with utter contempt. For this alone I’d not recommend Bees to anyone other than insectophiles.

Its hard to believe as Michelle picks out the curtains for the White House bedroom and Malia and Sasha choose their puppy that there was a time when people would at the very least, stop, point and stare at a fellow human being because they have a different skin colour. Its nice to know that we have films like The Express which help us remember that we can actually change stupid peoples minds and achieve something a little closer to a human race.

The Express is not the story of shit newspaper obsessed with Princess Diana and other dead white girls but rather the story of Ernie Davis (played by an impressive Rob Brown) one of the first black college football stars. A man who not only achieved sporting greatness but also, with the help of his teammates and coach, set some of the first plays toward tolerance. While it seems slightly weak that he did it by running with a pigskin, he did what he did best and never gave up. Thats a pretty good goal for anyone.

Its worth noting that you don’t need to know a single thing about US Football to enjoy the film. In fact even if you’re not keen at all on the idea of lots of grown men ‘tackling’ each other for a chance to hold onto a weird shaped ball (and I am not) there is so much more to be enjoyed (but I will admit there is a certain grace in the running back skipping around the opposition like a Gazelle on speed). Instead the real drama is off the pitch and in the changing room with Dennis Quaid showing how and why he’s still going after many years in the acting world.

I’d even be happy to see him nominated for some supporting awards later in the year, people have one for less. The film as a whole is also prime for Oscar Season considering it contains not only triumph over adversity, racism beaten, sporting acheivements but also ‘disease of the week’ too. I can’t see it getting there though for there are faults, the top of which is the myriad of subplots (including doting grandfather, negro polar bears and the start of the NAACP) all fighting to get a look in. But its easily as accomplished (and cliched) a biopic as Ray or Walk The Line and if Ernie Davis was a more familiar name it might have gotten the praise they both had.

He’s a mushroom cloud layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker. He couldn’t get Jurassic Park back online. He declared the party was over for the Clones and he doesn’t take kindly to slithery bastards on aircrafts. He is Samuel L. Jackson and he’s a great big bloody film legend. He stars in about 50 movies a day, including some real todge, (SWAT anyone?) but one thing is guaranteed – whatever cash you put down to see a Sam movie you always get your moneys worth from the man. Lakeview Terrace is no exception.

Here he plays Abel Turner, a P in the LAPD, so fantastically racist against honkie the mere thought of an interracial couple turns him into whatever the equivalent of a Klan member for non-Texans is. When the lovely and black Kerry Washington moves in next door with her whiter than snow husband Patrick Wilson, Abel gets angry. Slight intimidation and bullying soon turns into something much worse as the Neighbour from Hell declares all out war. Race War!

To call this film a slow burner or a pressure cooker of a film would be using two of the worst cliches in the book but I’m going to anyway. Its a pressure cooker of a film that takes a long, long time to boil the meat at the heart of the film. The meat being Chicken Versus Beef. Yet if this was a restaurant you’d be complaining after an hour that you want your food now because the appetisers aren’t filling enough. In other words this film needed to be shorter or at least have gotten to the good bits earlier. (I never use enough food analogies in my reviews, now I know why).

It seems an odd choice for a Neil LaBute film yet after the disastrous remake of the Wicker Man this seems a fairly safe bet and this is a solid piece of filmmaking. But as said earlier the reason you’ve put your money down is for Mr. L and whether he’s lecturing his kids on Shaq Vs Corby or making Patrick Wilson shite himself with an award winning stare the film belongs to him. I just wish there was a bit more shouty Sam and a bit less build up because as a thriller there aren’t nearly enough thrills.

Its coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down the trees, putting up reindeers, singing songs of joy and peace. Yay! That means its time for this years ‘subversive’ Christmas movie. You know the type, Bad Santa, Fred Claus, Die Hard, the kind of film that says yahboosucks to all things yuletide and then crams down the holiday cheer in the last act and says ‘love your family’ and ‘aren’t kids just great’. Okay Die Hard doesn’t really do that but it does have Alan Rickman saying “Ho Ho Ho, I haff a machine gun”. So it deserves a mention.

The bah humbug couple in quesion are Brad and Kate (Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon) who hope to get away to Fiji for the holiday season only to be caught on TV at the airport when fog delays their flight. When their ‘rents see they are still in America they feel dutifully bound to visit them. The problem is both sets of parents are divorced, so one family meet-up is doubled then doubled again, hence the Four Christmases. These Hollywood writers are well clever.

Thankfully for us they’ve thrown most of the best comedy actors at the pretty weak premise and script. So we get Double V doing his usual ‘bit of an asshole/jabbermouth’ schtick, Greasy ‘hit in the face with a frying pan’ With a Spoon doing her cutesy, adorable thing, the mum from Elf being a bit like the mum from Elf and Robert Duvall as an even Hickier Hick than that Hick from that film with that guy who is a real Hick. *Cough*. We also get to see three members of Swingers looking really fat. So fat that if they are still ‘the money’ it looks like they spent it all on pies.

Of course there is no such thing as an unpredictable rom-com so to smack this child for being obvious seems to be erring a little on the side of abuse. While it ticks all the familiar festive fancies such as kids, relatives, board games and nativity plays, you can’t help but wish Brad and Kate had actually gone on holiday instead. Which seems to miss the point. Christmas films are supposed to trick you into wanting to spend time with your family. This year I’m going to stick with George Bailey and Clarence. At least It’s A Wonderful Life makes the homestead look like a place you want to be. Even if it might ultimately force you to commit suicide.

Clint Eastwood’s latest film is about a missing child so you’d be right to be prepared for quite a bleak offering. The level of bleakitude (at the end of the year I’m gonna list my favourite made up words) is something you’ll only be prepared for if you know Changeling contains all of the following. Child murder, police corruption, women beatings, wrongful imprisonment, electro-shock therapy, public executions and a soundtrack courtesy of Leonard Cohen. Okay it doesn’t have a soundtrack by Leonard Cohen but its still not cheery, happy, fun.

Set in the pseudo-glamorous 1920′s, Christine Collins (Angelina Jolie) is a single mom over-working as a telephone operator. When she returns home to find her sprog missing she immediately calls the LAPD. Before you can say “Damn those Portugese police” the kid has gone missing for more time then any parent would hope for, and more importantly passed the time in which any hope may be left that he’ll return. After a few months, however, Christine gets a call saying hooray to the boys in blue, they’ve found him. Except he’s now shorter by a few inches, is circumcised and is definitely not her son.

This is just where the trouble starts. Once the mum starts to kick up a bit of a fuss that she’d kind of prefer, y’know, her own son back instead, a shitstorm of biblical proportions rain down on the funny hat wearing, big lipped MILF. And hats (funny or otherwise) off to Clint for directing the finest performance of Angie’s career. While its a role most actresses would suck a donkey off to get, for the first time in her career Angelina Jolie becomes the character she’s supposed to be playing. Toward the end when she cracks a smile over the fortunes of It Happened One Night it melts away a dislike I’ve had of her for quite some time. Enough in fact that if she takes home the little bald guy early next year I won’t complain.

Ms Jolie may take the headlines as The Man With No Name’s contibution to cinema has almost reached a level of expected greatness that nothing he can do can really impress too much. Well forget his ridiculously awesome back catalogue and worship at the alter of one of cinemas greatest film makers. He tells a story in a way few others do. Not one to go for the showy opening or the jaw on the floor ending prefering instead to play his second act as his best hand. We’re damn lucky that at 78 he’s still making cinema with no signs of stopping. And while this last line may sound like I’m trying to get on the DVD sleeve its still true. Nothing, especially not my opening paragraph, can really prepare you for the emotional highs and lows of Changeling.

Its not a question. What just happened is a sentence of sorts. If it were a question it would have a question mark and then I could make some comment about it being the same thing that I ask myself after watching every single DeNiro movie since Heat. How has the once Travis Bickle, Jake LaMotta and Don Corleone fucked up so coniderably of late. Well you want some good news. He’s pretty damn good in this, and seeing as most Bobby films revolve around whether or not Bobby is good, by extension this film is pretty damn good.

Based on producer Art Linsons scathing attack on the business of film (What Just Happened?: Bitter Hollywood Tales from the Front Line, wait a sec that has a question mark…fuck it) DeNiro takes on the Art-esque role of Ben a movie producer struggling with two failed marriages, a director that wants a dead dog and a company exec that doesn’t and a petulent, fat, beardy Bruce Willis. Oh and his daughter may have been shagging an agent who killed himself, but thats not really important.

So how come DeNiro has made a film this decade thats not only tolerable but actually very good. Well because he’s making a film about something close to his heart (and mine). Namely movies, movies, movies! But will you like it? Probably not. Unless you have an unhealthy obsession will all things celluloid, because all the jokes, all the drama, in fact every bloody thing about the film is about films. Yay!

But then again, good characters and great dialogue (“These drugs are so good you could watch your mother be gangraped and still enjoy the weather”) transcend any boundaries of theme and content and What Just Happened has some of both. And while you might not get who each person is supposed to be in real life without resorting back to the source material unless you’ve been living under a rock you’ll get a kick out of Bruce Willis as Bruce Willis with the best beard this side of the one above this review.