Both Alex Garland and A24 Films do it again, although this is quite different to most of Garland’s work because it has no sci fi elements to it, at all. It’s not as flat out action thrills a minute as the trailer might suggest but, for me, this wasn’t a problem. Instead it’s an intelligent insight into war and beautifully captures the role of journalism and in particular photojournalism within that.
The UK’s ITV News ran a truly great piece just after the January 6th insurrection of the White House which both demonstrated the importance of on the site reportage to capture what was REALLY going on and, I suspect, provided inspiration for Garland as it’s in the moment, at the heart of the action, drama was compelling. This too.
Of course you can go back to the Spanish Civil War and perhaps more notably, Vietnam, for gripping photojournalism that changed our attitudes to what is going on in the world. Indeed recently two brilliant documentaries have arrived on our screens from the Ukrainian war that are really getting to the essence of this conflict (Twenty Days in Mariupol and Ukraine: Enemy in the Woods.)
For Garland to make this feel real in a contemporary US setting, in an unexplained war between the unlikely combination of Texas and California (the secessionists) versus the rest is quite an achievement. He is helped in this by a stunning central character duo of Kirsten Dunst (a world weary, seen it all before veteran) and a fresh faced (but shooting on monochrome film) upstart played by Cailee Penny (whom we’ll be seeing a lot more of).
Dunst reluctantly takes Penny under her wing after they are thrown together in a cross country drive from NYC to DC in tow with an elderly journo (Stephen McKinley Henderson) and a younger more daredevil Wagner Moura who’d been hitting on Penny in the NYC journalists party hotel the night before the trip. Dunst is magnificent as the weary Lee (get the name connotation?) and assumes a maternal protective role for the increasingly emboldened youngster in her care.
The movie ramps up throughout and it has to be said what the finale lacks in storytelling credibility it makes up for in edge of the seat tension.
My family thought the ending was a bit OTT, but I forgave it because the characterisation was so fantastic and the performances, especially by Dunst, riveting.
I highly recommend it.
(Oh, and there’s the crazy Jesse Plemons scene, almost worth the admittance alone.)
Luca Guadagnino is one of my favourite directors. If you have not seen his epic TV series, We are Who We Are, set on an Italian airforce base, you need to. I also love his Suspiria and Call me By Your Name that brought Timothy Chalomet to prominence.
Guadagnino loves blurring sexuality and sexual preferences and he does so again in this Tennis movie that has its share of jocks but is anything but Jockish.
It concerns the three way relationship between three tennis players, Tashi Donaldson (Zendaya) whose startling young career is abruptly cut short by a knee injury, her husband, Art, played by Mike Faist and her/their lover, Patrick, played by Josh O’Connor. Art and Patrick are private school buddies that simultaneously fall head over heels in love with Tashi at a tennis tournament and spend the next thirteen years fighting for her affection. She, having turned to coaching her succesful but failing husband, is happy to play each off each other (but subconsciously) she knows that they know that he knows what he knows about him and her.
It’s a non-consenting menage a trois that is deliciously wrapped up in bargaining, treachery and double crossing. The scene in which Zendaya intoxicates the two male leads is a brilliant and in part hilarious piece of sexual trickery that is the highlight of the movie.
It’s all set agains a low level tennis tournament that Patrick, now a journeyman, needs to win to improve his rankings and Art needs to win to restore his faltering confidence. Cue magnificent tennis action set to a pounding score By Trent and Atticus (one that will surely find its way onto my Spotify for regular listening), it’s maybe their best yet.
The cinematography is outstanding with a virtual reality feeling. If you’ve never faced a tennis ball at 140mph before, you will have after this. Just make sure to duck when it comes out of the screen at you (I wonder if there is a 3D version?).
It’s great really. Intoxicating, intriguing and unpredictable from start to finish with the final of the aforementioned Challenger Tour match in New Rochelle anchoring the action in what is a great story.
All three actors carry it off with aplomb and I’d strongly recommend it. Good escapist fun.
If M.C. Escher had written a whydunnit he might have called it Ripley.
I say this because the recent Netflix masterpiece starring Andrew Scott and written & directed by Steve Zallion (he of Schindler’s List fame – more on that later) is an Escherian nightmare of wrong turns, about turns, smart turns and climbs that lead to nowhere.
The plot (Patricia Highsmith’s genius cannot be overstated here) is one of the most elaborate and thrilling I have ever encountered. The world’s greatest crime writers thrown in a room together could not have conjured up anything more magical even if Jesse Armstrong had been put in charge of them. It’s not that it’s full of cliffhangers, as such, it’s the sheer chicanery that Tom Ripley demonstrates as he shape-shifts his way through the lives (and deaths) of himself and his unwitting benefactor Dickie (Deekee) Greenleaf that make this story so compelling.
But let’s start after Highsmith and look at what Steve Zallion brings to the party. Well, for a start, the script is terrific. I don’t know the novel so I don’t know if it’s laugh out loud funny – but this sure is. One might grumble at his mild mocking of Inspector Pietro Ravini’s occasional flaws with the English language, especially his pronunciation of Freddie Miles’ (Meeles) name, but Vittorio Viviani bring a wonderful blend of Inspector Clouseau and Poirot to the part that is delicious. His mild OCD is amusing and that is one of the themes that run through the movie.
Zallion can never have had as much fun making a film as here. He plays tricks with the audience from start to finish and his elaborate use of repetition (posting the mail, riffling through notebooks, application of pen to paper, placing of items on bureaux, zooming in on concierges, framing of the post office, police cars, the cat, stairwells, paintings, drinking (or not) wine, ashtray purchasing, mimicking of Caravaggio and Ripley) is bonkers and dazzling.
The central motif of climbing stairs is extremely interesting. I have two theories on this. 1) it represents class climbing – Ripley is a wannabe, a charlatan and a grifter. He aspires to greater riches and stature and is deeply uncomfortable in society situations such as at Peggy Guggenheim’s party in Venice where he is in real danger of being found out for not being one of ‘us’. He’s always climbing to attain his goal. 2) it represents the futility of the whole police hunt, the whole story, as Ripley outwits every character (even the reasonably savvy Marge) by shifting the sands, rearranging the staircases so that we reach that ‘going nowhere’ outcome that Escher so brilliantly portrays in his paintings.
And lastly there’s his choice of monochrome to create a film noire, but also a work of art. Art is a central metaphor of the series. Caravaggio’s work, his homosexuality and his murderous past are all reflections on Ripley’s own story. Ripley loves Caravaggio with a passion because he admires not just his work but his lifestyle. The fact that Greenleaf’s wannabe painterly skills are appallingly lacking is just a bonus.
The cinematography has to be seen to be believed. Mostly spot on (it’s occasionally a touch overexposed) by Robert Elswit (He’s PT Anderson’s go to guy and won an Oscar for There Will Be Blood – bosh!). It drives the mood and the beauty, aided by a strong soundtrack, and has its moment in the sun when he stunningly, and frankly hilariously, references Schindler’s List with a single step of blood red cat paw prints. One second of red in eight hours of monochrome. You know the scene I’m talking about in both productions, right? Episode 5 if you missed it.
And then theres the acting. Johnny Flynn I could take or leave, Dakota Fanning played her irritating role to perfection (entitled little Sylvia Plathesque romanticist that she is). I’ve talked about the marvellous Vittorio Viviani, but the stars of the piece are the deliciously camp and truly dislikable Eliot Sumer who gets his just desserts as Freddie Meeles and, of course, the joy of Andrew Scott.
What can I say about Andrew Scott that hasn’t already been said? In the last five years he has risen from nowhere to challenge Steven Graham as Britains top actor. I think he has more range than Graham but both are a delight every time they hit our screens.
In this Scott OWNS the screen. His arch, sometimes befuddled playing of the unintended villain that is Tom Ripley is extraordinary. He falls into his murders rather than premeditates them so that makes him OK, right? And we are desperate for him not to be caught, because Scott has intoxicated us with his charm, his humour and his intelligence, all hidden behind a relatively blank canvas of a face. In moments of stress you can see the brain ticking, by micro-movements of Scott’s demeanour. This is acting of the highest calibre and Ripley, not the victims, is our hero.
We love Andrew Scott, therefore we love Tom Ripley.
You might have guessed by now that I loved this. A straight 10/10.
He is a one man opposition party to whoever runs this country, but most especially when the Tories are wreaking havoc.
In this film he has a triple attack on racism, poverty and immigration.
As usual, he employs a cast of largely amateur actors, real people, in the North (Durham area this time) and they have grievances.
A run down pit village is being repopulated with Syrian refugees and the largely unemployed and bitter ex mining community do not like the fact that these “Rag heads” are getting access to their benefits and attention of local government and volunteers.
The action centres jon an almost decrepit community pub called The Old Oak. Its manager, our hero, TJ Ballantyne (played by ex-fireman Dave Turner, a Loach regular), is struggling to keep the pub afloat with a small band of bitter and twisted ex miners as locals, racist to the core they resent TJ’s apparent favouring of the new Syrian community that is adding richness to their village.
The movie plays out in a fairly typical Loach cadence. Highs and lows, humour and pathos, atrocious behaviour and acts of great human kindness.
The script is good (by Loach’s regular Paul Laverty) if a little predictable and sometimes a touch fantastical, but that doesn’t matter. Loach’s objectives are clear and the haters will say it’s just left wing propaganda. In a way it is. It needs to be because no-one else is doing it. But Loach draws such humanity from his mixed ability cast that you simply cannot fail to love it.
It sits alongside a canon of work that is remarkable: I Daniel Blake (his rant against the benefits system), Sorry We Missed You (his rant against zero hours contracts), Looking For Eric (Cantona as a postman), Sweet Sixteen (the movie that launched Martin Compston’s career), My Name is Joe (Bitter and brutal observation on alcoholism with Gary Lewis in career-high form), Raining Stones (his polemic against the underground labouring/work system), Riff Raff, Poor Cow and, of course our beloved Kes.
What a director. This is just another solid, enjoyable, moving piece of work from a national institution.
My Aunty Margot is a bit of a legend in sport and in teaching but today, after a long period of ill health, she was joined by family and her beloved congregation at St John The Baptist RC Church in Corstorphine to be bestowed the Archdiocesan medal by the Archbishop Leo Cushley. This is a rare honour and reflects her devoted attention and dedication to the church. It goes back a long way and is a really lovely recognition of a great, great woman. i was honoured to be there with Jeana, Jane, Emily and many of my extended family.
We all had a ball and were fed a King’s ransom of food afterwards by an adoring church community. What a lovely day.
By some pretty bonkers coincidence I was handed a hymn book that had a tribute to my Grandmother, Peggie, Margot’s mum.
Four movies into his very slowly expanding movie CV (Sexy Beast, Birth and Under The Skin) Jonathan Glazer once again lands a punch that no-one could see coming. I mean, how could they?
It’s been ten years since the sublime and shocking Under The Skin (from a source novel by one of my favourite authors, Michel Faber) now he’s done it again with a novelistic source from Martin Amis. Having read a little about this it would seem that the movie and the book are barely related. Same theme and location, yes, but story-wise very different.
For a start it would be a push to say the movie’s narrative led. There is a slight thread holding it together but this is really an exercise in stylistic horror like you’ve never seen before.
The psychology of the holocaust has long fascinated me. How could an entire country apparently sign up to a dictator’s whims when his charisma, to me, seems so indecipherable. But worse, how could so many of his followers carry out such atrocities seemingly without question?
But this movie goes a step further still. How could the families of these monsters knowingly reap the benefits of this accursed man’s activities?
Sandra Hüller (who might win best actress at the Oscars for the incredible Anatomy of a Fall) stars as that very woman (Hedwig Höss). Living a life of privilege in an unattractive house with a cultivated, but not exactly stunning, garden in the lee of Auschwitz. Her husband, the camp Kommandant, played by Christian Friedel, is a snidely little creep who sleeps in a separate bed (his work done having sired five children to his despicable wife). At night he takes his pleasure with the Jewish housemaid, who’s always one dropped crumb away from the gas chambers that brood ominously just across the garden wall. Höss’s more than happy to remind her of that.
Höss takes her pick of fur coats, new blouses, diamonds concealed in toothpaste tubes as the apparent spoils of genocide filter regularly into their home. They party, they feed sumptuously, they swim in the river, they cough up the ashes of dead Jews – only a small blot on an idyllic lifestyle
Höss’s mother arrives, but soon leaves in disgust at this heinous way of living.
A young girl sneaks out at night to hide apples for the Jewish labourers – a death defying act that is momentously captured on night vision film. This stunning technique turns her into a lurid white spectre against what looks like a nuclear background, to the sound of an outrageous soundtrack by Mica Levy. Underscoring the score the Kommandant reads Hansel & Gretel to his younger children (it’s no coincidence that the evil witch is burned in the oven – although the story “cooks” her to soften the blow). Who this mysterious figure is is not revealed, but perhaps it’s the Kommandant’s oldest daughter. The one with a conscience. The only one. The Kindly one.
It’s truly remarkable moviemaking.
The star of this colossal piece of work though is Johnny Burn, the sound designer, who brings Auschwitz to life without ever really seeing it. other than its rooftops.
On a side note. I’ve been to Auschwitz (which is actually three death camps not one) and the one that features in the movie, Auschwitz III is now a museum. These days it’s impeccably manicured and the buildings are entirely surprising, two or three story high red brick constructions that could be schoolhouses if we didn’t know better. It’s very disarming. The muddy, filthy wooden huts we all remember from the movies and the newsreels are in Auschwitz I, a short drive away. So this clean, Teutonic death factory is disarming and Glazer captures that strange orderliness of the setting as we often see the well-kept rooflines of the houses beyond. (Albeit with smoking chimneys and glowing fires)
What Burn does though is pull the rug away. The air of semi-respectability that we are seeing is subsumed by endless industrial groans suggesting boilers (certainly machinery we don’t want to think about too much) working at full blast. Gunshots echo out, but subtly in the distance, muffled shrieks, distant dogs barking, at one point a cold blooded murder. The steam train arriving with fresh cargo.
It all adds up to make Auschwitz a looming threat, playing out a murderous background soundscape, like a satanic orchestra, whilst in the foreground we see a sort of Utopia at play.
The movie is shot as a series of beautiful tableaux, often reminiscent of classical paintings, but interspersed with empty screens, red or black, and the mind-boggling night vision work. (it’s searingly black and white, not green, as you’ve come to expect). This creates a sense of tranquillity and opulence, and yet it’s backgrounded by the worst atrocities ever committed in Europe.
Jonathan Glazer has created his masterpiece. Few would imagine he could top his first three movies and yet this comes from a place that only he can truly understand. It’s not clear why he’s made this movie. It’s not actually telling us anything new and yet it feels like the most original take on a familiar tale we will ever come across.
Why this has so many Oscar nominations is beyond me. Admittedly it’s a poor year, although the winner will be a good one. This will not be that winner.
Paul Giamatti dials in his performance as a grumpy (actually not THAT grumpy) teacher of Greek History in a second rank American private school.
He has to look after a bunch of kids during the Christmas/New Year holidays alongside the school cook.
Most of the kids f*ck off and he’s left with one sensitive sixth former (looking suspiciously older) and, of course, they all bond.
It’s such a movie of tropes that I found it tiresome from the get go and entirely predictable.
Nothing is BAD about this movie, but nothing is good either. A Beautiful Mind and Dead Poets Society are both better exemplars of the genre and I didn’t especially love either of them really.
If movies by numbers is your thing then this is your movie.
I so wish I liked this movie more. It’s gorgeous and thoughtful and wonderfully acted, by Andrew Scott in particular. It’s a touching subject about grief, loneliness, the act of coming out, death and suicide.
But I’m afraid it’s just really boring. It’s way too darkly shot – the cinema projector simply couldn’t cope with how black it is and consequently you could actually see the projector’s bulb fighting to get on top of the opaqueness of the subject matter. Clare Foy looked out of place and Paul Mescal must dream for a role that doesn’t require endless shagging.
I nodded off several times as Andrew Scott struggled with his endless, tiresome grief over the death of his parents (like 20 years ago FFS) who are actually still alive, or are they ghosts, or is it a dream?
Actually…who cares in the end. My wife wept a bit. I did not. And I’m a sap.
I relocated it from the artwork studio of Hall Advertising in Drumsheugh Gardens, Edinburgh.
At one time an artworker skilfully used it, or one of its bedfellows, to cut my tie in half after it descended upon a piece of flat artwork he was tending to.
Everybody laughed.
Even me.
(It was a life lesson in getting out of the way when you’re not needed. It might even have been a lesson in micro-management.)
It sits in a cup full of Sharpies on my office desk at home and it gets used quite a lot.
Not to incise cadavers, remove stitches, perform open heart surgery, mind you. The aim of Swann Morton, its manufacturers (and possibly designers).
No, I use it to open parcels, shape paper for CD covers inserts, scrape plaque(tartare) from my teeth, slice sellotape, render blue, brown and green/yellow wires ready for electrical plug management. Little things that would be less satisfying with scissors.
I use it most frequently in the lead up to Christmas.
I have on occasion sliced small packages of skin from my fingers. But I forgive it.
First off, I have to state that I adore Yorgos Lanthimos. I adore Emma Stone. I adore Mark Ruffalo and I adore Willem Dafoe.
That’s it then. Slam dunk. Movie of the year. (Or is it?)
I also have to say that I am a great admirer of Alasdair Gray who wrote the source novel in 1992 and won the Whitbread Prize for his efforts.
The novel is described as a post modern take on Frankenstein in which Dr Godwin Baxter (there’s a pun in the name) creates a very different and lovable monster that he essentially adopts – Bella Baxter – a beautiful young erotomaniac brought back to life with the brain of an infant.
Bella is played with outrageous abandon by Stone and as the (long) movie unfolds, she evolves from a ‘beautiful retard’ that can barely speak and has dysfunctional locomotion (plus is keen on a terrible twos tantrum on a regular basis), to a fully fledged young genius and palatable member of Victorian(?) society.
But the journey she takes is eventful, colourful and stunning as she visits reimagined Paris, London, Lisbon and Alexandria in houses (and brothels) that merge Willie Wonka with Wes Anderson and a bit of Jules Vernes thrown in for good measure.
Three suitors attempt to unravel Bella’s being with varying degrees of success but the stand out is Mark Ruffalo’s outrageously posh gigolo Duncan Wedderburn. Rufallo’s sublime English accent more than makes up for Dafoe’s in and out Scots Frankenstein and he steals the show repeatedly as he seduces Bella before falling on hard times.
Stone is remarkable, but I was troubled by the sexual politics at play here. In a book written by a man and a movie directed by a man the male gaze is on Stone throughout and her route to success is through prostitution. I’d be interested to know what my female friends think of this strand of the movie. Is it objectification or is it liberalised feminism boldly and proudly on show? I found it hard to decide at the time, although surely the latter is Lanthimos’s objective.
It’s a tough movie to capture the essence of. The story is actually a little thin and quite unremarkable, but the styling and much of the script is extraordinary, truly extraordinary. If, for nothing else, the succession of mutant hybrid farm animals – a duck with a full sized pig’s head for example. And all of the central performances are notable (especially Ruffalo).
But, I think it’s a movie to admire, not to love. But, as a piece of art, it’s sublime.
I’ve now seen all three of Mia Goth’s extraordinary A24 movies this year. In each one she has singlehandedly carried the movie to ridiculous heights of greatness.
All three are billed as horror (X as a slasher, Infinity Pool as an unhinged psychopath study and Pearl as another psychopath gestational study).
All three deepen A24’s reputation as the distributor of the year/decade, the greatest signifier of quality in moviemaking right now.
All three mark out Goth as the leading horror female actor in history if not, increasingly, one of the great female actors of her generation full stop.
It’s Pearl that that confirms this most potently as her performance is jaw dropping throughout.
It’s the origin piece for X, but the two movies could hardly be less similar, even though the central character is the same person (60 years apart) and shot on the same farm location in Kansas.
This tells the tale of young married Pearl with her husband labouring in the European trenches of WWII, her father a wheelchair stricken quadriplegic – a victim of the Spanish Flu which is a clever reference as it was written by Goth and Director Ti West during lockdown – and her raging mother, a German immigrant trapped by her crippled husband in rural America and resentful to the back teeth because of it.
Goth (Pearl) wants to escape this and become a dancer but is thwarted at auditions for not being blonde enough. This triggers her inner psychopath and whilst we don’t get a rampage on the scale of X we do see her nascent evil emerge.
It’s Goth’s startling performance and Ti West’s dazzling direction that marks this out as a horror of sheer class, although in truth it’s not really a horror at all: not a single jump scare and very little in the way of butchery.
Two scenes stand out, both featuring Goth, a long monologue to her friend and the closing credits which are reminiscent of Sinead Connor’s classic pop video.
This is movie making at its finest and a must see in my opinion.
My student daughter Ria has our old Golf. It’s a 58 plate with 160,000 miles on the clock but it’s diesel and is still running well (so far so good).
She recently received a product recall message from VW UK to take her car in for the ABS to be adjusted as it has presumably come to light that it is defective/dangerous. She duly obliged and took it to a Dundee VW dealership on 30th October. She was not offered a courtesy car whilst VW fixed their defective manufacturing.
It’s now the 2nd of December and despite multiple pleas to both the dealership (who I would argue are innocent in this but are the customer face of VW) cannot, or will not, give her a courtesy car which she needs on a daily basis to travel from Perth to Dundee to study. The car will now not be repaired until AT LEAST the 24th of January because VW cannot source the replacement part to fix their defective product.
And yet they STILL refuse to give her a courtesy car (even some old banger that’s going to the auctions would be acceptable because they “don’t have one available” What? The might of VW, Audi, Skoda and Seat can’t between them muster a single banger to lend her while they sort out the problem that have created themselves?
It’s not fair and it’s surely unacceptable if not illegal.
Well, this is by a distance the best movie I’ve watched this year. It actually feels more than a movie experience as it’s so writerly, almost so theatrical that it becomes much more than the sum of its parts by the time you emerge from two and a half hours of spellbinding storytelling.
It’s a French courtroom procedural at its heart.
But it’s a marriage breakdown story at its heart
But its a tragedy at its heart, as the son of our main protagonist loses his sight as a result of his father’s momentary lack of attention (in this respect it reminded me of The Child in Time by Ian McEwan in which a simple lapse of concentration leads to a lifetime of anguish).
This is to prove pivotal at the climax of a densely multilayered script that keeps you guessing from start to finish. Not that it’s a whodunnit.
Basic story is this. Mum, famous writer being interviewed by a sexy young French literature student whom she maybe fancies because she is bisexual has to abort interview because Dad (failed writer and home carer for the son he blinded) starts to drown out the interview by playing P.I.M.P at full volume on the stereo. Mum seems unconcerned; semi-sighted son takes beloved dog for a walk in the snow. When he returns dad is dead having either jumped or been pushed by his wife from the top floor of the chalet.
We now embark on a slow (reminded me of Michael Haneke direction) unravelling of a pre-trial build up with Mum’s old friend (flame?) before the trial itself shift shapes endlessly as the story unfolds.
It’s set in the French alps where French husband Samuel has forced his German wife Sandra to relocate. She speaks perfectly good French but insists they converse in English.
At the trial the court insists on French (but she drops often into English) and this ambiguity and fluidity of language is a powerful metaphor for the rules of marriage, how relationships are brokered, where the power lies.
At its core sits the simply incredible, often inscrutable, Sandra Hüller who’s barely off screen. She has a script to die for, written by the director Justin Triet and Arthur Harari . In many ways it’s the star of the show because it’s so clever, moving and labyrinthine.
Then there’s a mesmerising performance by 11 year old Milo Machado Graner, the semi sighted son who is the key to the whole story, but keeps his cards well hidden until the breathtaking denouement.
Frankly, the beautiful blue eyed pet dog deserves a mention too. You’ll need to watch it to see why.
All in all it’s a remarkable movie. The Haneke reference is deserved. The performances outstanding. perhaps too slow in the first act, but by the end you’ll be wanting more.
Don’t go for popcorn entertainment. Go for philosophical human insight and intrigue. You’ll thank me – if that floats your boat.
This is the 19th Martin Scorsese movie I’ve seen. It settles firmly into the upper quartile of this remarkable director’s work.
His range is immense and this sits closer to some of his American History documentaries than it does to, say, Gangs of New York or Wolf of Wall Street.
But it actually has its roots in Casino/Goodfellas territory, because it’s a kind of mafia film, in that it explores a very one-sided gang attitude to clansmanship (and in a small part Klansmanship).
It’s actually a story of genocide/ethnic cleansing, as Robert Di Niro’s (rarely better, certainly not in the last 40 years) rich, ranch-owning, Oklahoman one-man dynasty sets out to wrestle away the oilfield rights of the Osage tribe of Native Americans by hook or by crook – mainly by crook.
The Osage are mightily rich because oil has been found slap bang in the middle of their land and Di Niro’s William Hale is jealous and determined to get his greedy mitts on the money.
He does this in a pincer movement. Firstly by marrying his returning WWI war hero, a dim-witted nephew Ernest Burkhart (phenomenally played by Leonardo DiCaprio) into the Osage. His willing wife Mollie (a star turn by Lily Gladstone) is unaware of Hale and Burkhart’s long term ambitions and simply falls in love with him. Truth is, it’s mutual.
Hale’s second strategy in this pincer is the straightforward murders of Mollie’s family and many more Osage besides. There are numerous cold blooded killings that pepper the movie and yet it never feels gratuitous (cold blooded and shocking, yes, but not especially repellent – like it might have been in Tarantino’s hands.)
It’s a study in racism and of greed but that doesn’t mean Di Niro, DiCaprio and Gladstone don’t win you over with their overwhelmingly great performances – expect all three to feature at next year’s Oscars (I expect Di Niro to pick up his 9th nomination, DiCaprio his 8th and Gladstone her first – maybe a first ever Oscar for a woman of Native American descent?)
Gladstone is a silent but steely presence. Much of the film documents her suffering at the hands of Hale and Burkhart, and it’s truly shocking how DiCaprio treats her, despite his undoubted love for her.
It’s widely documented that the film is extraordinarily long (3h26mins without a break is a bladder challenging sit through) but although it features murders galore, it’s no action picture. Do not go looking for any Marvel escapades in this one folks. But it’s manageable, riveting and entirely justified in its length.
One other thing to point out. The soundtrack is an almost imperceptible blues bass thrum by Robbie Robertson that builds tension at an almost inaudible level but is like a heartbeat throughout. Sinister and compelling it quietly drives the story along. Bravo Robbie.
The movie is a savage insight into a part of American history that was not familiar to me and it deserves to be seen by a wide audience. Judging from the low availability of seats in Edinburgh’s cinemas this weekend that ambition at least appears to be coming to fruition.
My 16th day on the Festival and my 50th production this year, but only my first Film Festival show.
It intrigued me because the movie is filmed wholly in Edinburgh, but particularly in the absolutely glorious Leith Theatre.
Nepotism alert! I’m on the board, but that can’t stop me marvelling at its beauty and versatility and it takes on a starring role, albeit in the background.
Anyway, it’s a new (but noir looking) monochrome version of The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde, (the 124th film adaptation of the story) although in this manifestation it’s very much seen from the POV of Jekyll’s lawyer Mr. Utterson.
No gurgling laboratories in this version. No cliched transformation scenes. Although there is a weirdly inappropriate (and wrongly set in time) story about plans to construct “the disgrace of Edinburgh” which was built in the 1820’s, although the movie is set in the 1880’s.
What’s of particular interest is it’s actually a theatrical production by the National Theatre of Scotland that was captured on film over three performances in the aforementioned grand dame of Leith. The director describes it as a hybrid version of the story to reflect the unusual technique.
It’s theatrical in style as a consequence and that has some drawbacks – very wordy and very actorly, but the performances are great and director Hope Dickson Leach imbues it with real style, aided and abetted by a fantastic score by Hudson Mohawk and superb cinematography.
Only the one show and a game of two extraordinarily contrasting halves. The feeble common ground(s) needs no comment I’m afraid, but I was there for the main act.
Igor Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring by the Pina Bausch Foundation / École des Sables / Sadler’s Wells featuring an African dance troupe of 15 men and 15 women.
All black dancers, the women in white, the men in black on a set of earth that was laid to loud applause in a frenetic 20 minute interval by the stage crew. A show in itself.
Stravinsky’s music outraged the establishment on its premier in 1913 and seemingly Pina Bausch’s choreography did the same when it was revealed to the world in the 1970’s. I cannot imagine why.
It’s febrile and intoxicating as the 30 dancers with the female lead eventually dressed in red like the little girl in Spielberg’s nazi movie, Schindler’s List.
Gradually as the sweat gathers so does the dark brown substrate on the dancers’ dresses as they enact a passage of adolescent rites.
Of course Stravinsky’s music is unparalleled before or since its outrageous premier and is the ultimate soundtrack for dance.
It originated 30 years before Bernstein’s West Side Story but is reminiscent and the dance feels so attuned to the play’s Romeo and Juliet theme although in this case the Sharks and Jets are the rival sexes, rather than warring gangs.
It also feels like Hitchcock’s very best film scores. Psycho particularly, with its menace and endlessly growing tension
What Bausch does with this music is breathtaking. Don’t breathe or you might miss something special. It ranges from confrontation to conflagration with moments of intimacy but mostly of sexual parading, preening and uncertainty.
The final solo by our heroine, now fully clad in red but also semi naked, is a wild dervish dance that’s a fitting finale to a truly wonderful spectacle.
Was the dancing perfect? I don’t know. I don’t have the technical nous to tell you one way or the other. But is it a visceral experience that enthralled a sold out Edinburgh Playhouse? Yes it was. We rose to our feet in unison, awestruck by the beautiful ferocity of a masterpiece.
After a challenging Festival Theatre programme this proved that Edinburgh in August is the place to be for world class art. Truly magnificent.
First up, a trip to see my pal David Eustace’s existential photography and sculpture exhibition at the Signet Library. Life and death captured elegantly and eloquently with symbols of home throughout it. His monochromatic photographs from that famous Parisian necropolis sit as a mournful but peaceful centerpiece of a peaceful collection that really resonates.
Next up, Free Fringe comedy showpiece with three comedians, two funny one not, in the repulsive Three Sisters pub. It’s classic Fringe fare but the Three Sisters is too ghastly for my liking. Worth a fiver though. I made my voice heard by pretending to be from Ostende but was quickly rumbled by the hungover but alert MC.
After a trip to the excellent Noodle Home and a spot of street theatre we rounded the day off at The Festival Theatre for an EIF gig by the full throated Lady Blackbird. A Gilles Peterson favourite she was a bit too Tina Turner for me but had a great band especially her outstanding pianist with a grand piano and the statutory Nord keys to play with. Good but not amazing other than her splendid sprawling version of Come Together.
The day started with something unimaginably beautiful. The latest offering from my favourite theatre company in the world. Ghent’s Ontroerend Goed. I have RAVED about them in the past but this is their high water mark and will not be beaten this Festival.
It can’t be because it is perfection.
This is how the company describe it:
Funeral is a theatrical ceremony, a new ritual that brings people together, whatever they believe, are or think. Because everything isfinite and we are going to have to live with that.
Simply the most moving theatrical experience of my life, bar none.
Many of the audience were moved to tears and when I met the director afterwards I couldn’t speak to him, at first, as I was so emotional.
It’s called Funeral (at Zoo Southside) and to reveal any more would be to ruin it for you. Just trust me and book before it sells out- it’s on the way. It is a religious experience although there is no religion in this particular Funeral.
Of course nothing could match this today. But next up was Tomorrow’s Child at Assembly Checkpoint by Ghost River Theatre. It’s a blindfold experience in which the audience enter the auditorium blindfold guided by a staff member and seated for a 40 minute sound-play telling the futuristic story of birth based on a short story by Ray Bradbury. It’s interesting and technically great, but it’s not a life changer.
I went back to Zoo Southside (incidentally it’s one of the best curated venues on The Fringe and consistently delivers good challenging work and has a lovely Cafe) to see another Belgian play in the Big in Belgium season. It’s based on a famous 18th century Belgian play by “Belgium’s Shakespeare” and tells the story of a large peasant farm working family who are ousted from their land by a money grabbing Baron who owns their property. It’s incredibly bleak but has considerable lack humour, however I felt I was one of the few in the audience that laughed at the darkness.
Called The Van Paemel Family by Valentijn Dhaenens/Skagen, what marks it out as outstanding is its presentation. It’s a pre-filmed piece accompanied by the creator who plays all 13 parts in the family (male and female).
It’s projected onto a gable end and as each character speaks (in Flemish) the subtitles appear above them. It’s a highly accomplished acting and technical achievement and blew me away. Transfixing.
Next up TuTu; a French all male comedy ballet ensemble. Man, they can dance, classically, including en point. It’s hilarious in places but suffers a little from inconsistency. Nevertheless it’s great crowd pleasing fun.
Finally, my second French play of the day at the official Festival. Dusk, performed in French with subtitles and based on Lars Von Trier’s Dogville movie, it was never going to be an easy ride, was it? And so it turned out.
It involves a lot of live filming spliced with pre-recorded footage. Again, it is technically brilliant but I didn’t have a fucking Scooby what was going on.
Interesting, but not one for the comedy crowd. The luvvies loved it. I’ve been found out.
In which Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach recycle their failed 30 minute Black Mirror idea and pad it out to a full two hour shaggy dog tale, of little or no consequence, whilst breaking the hearts of nine year old girls worldwide who flock in their millions to a movie that flies straight over their heads.
To be fair the first three minutes are awesome when they pastiche 2001 A Space Odyssey (but we’d already seen it in the trailer). And Margot Robbie is breathtakingly beautiful from start to finish.
Ryan Gosling’s faye Ken is, by contrast, just a bit annoying, (and to be fair, so is Robbie) but neither are as gratingly garbage as Will Ferrell and his bunch of Mattel men.
Other highlights include Billie Eillish’s stunningly gorgeous closing music which gets all existential on us.
The design is, to a point, quite fun but not consistently so and the morale of the story, or the political polemic about equal rights for women, does not fail to land, although it does so in a Groundhog sort of manner.
This is not a good movie. Gerwig, Baumback, Robbie and Gosling have all done significantly superior work. This is quite simply a bunch of talented people having a laugh and getting away with it.
Hats of to Mattel for allowing a lot of self deprecation on their part and to the profits it will have raised for their mighty corpioration.
I watched this documentary at the Omni Centre in Edinburgh 50 years to the day that David Bowie retired Ziggy at The Hammersmith Odeon at the last gig of his Aladdin Sane tour.
It’s a profoundly moving experience in the cinema because this is maybe the greatest ever pop star at the very top of his game, on show with one of the greatest ever guitarists, Mick Ronson , on fire with his orgasm face in full flow throughout.
Not only is it a great gig (filmed almost in full) but it’s also a great documentary because we get behind the scenes footage, mostly with Suzanne Fussey, Ronson’s wife , applying Bowies make up and adjusting his weirdly unwonderful costumes. And a very very brief cameo from Ringo Star.
The crowd footage is particularly naïve, (in a good and endlessly interesting way). Shot in the natural light of the auditorium it veers from entirely revealing to shadowy mystery and this only adds to the overall mystique.
Of course the gig is FULL of bangers from Hunky Dory, Ziggy (naturally) Aladdin Sane and The Man Who Ruled The World, plus a bit of Space Oddity (notably Space Oddity itself).
There’s a wee spot of Lindsay Kemp madness as Bowie mimes his way out of a box. Like a prick. But that doesn’t distract too much.
The man himself is at his peak. He’s simply beautiful and there are no signs of the substance abuse that he indulged in heavily at the time. Instead we get a vocal performance of outrageous perfection and that’s what makes this a religious experience.
Try to see it in the cinema or at the very least at 100% volume on your TV when it comes to Netflix.
I’m not one for massages, but Jeana couldn’t think what to buy me for my birthday and finally, in desperation, remembering a holiday experience many years ago in Turkey that we both enjoyed, she stumbled upon Turkuaz Turkish Baths and Spa.
It’s an unassuming frontage next to a Turkish barber shop and a Turkish takeaway, in a side street in Dunfermline.
And it doesn’t initially scream out “This will be an awesome experience at an extraordinarily good value for money price.” And yet, that is exactly what it is.
For two hours Jeana and I were soothed, scraped, massaged, chilled, chatted to, and in every way possible made to feel a million dollars.
Jen and Katie are Dunfermline lasses, Jen’s married to the owner and both are simply wonderful. Gentle in their administration of their massages and exfoliation but strong enough to dig in to those critical points in my back that most needed release.
On a marble slab in a steam filled room we whiled away two hours of bliss.
I cannot recommend this highly enough.
It’s the only genuine Turkish Hammam in Scotland and it’s a fantastic treat.
You probably know Michael J Fox is Canadian, made Back to the Future and has Parkinson’s disease.
What you might not know is how resilient, brave, funny and charming he is.
What you probably don’t know is he falls over a lot and walks like Billy Connolly doing the Glaswegian drunk man impersonation.
In this documentary that is brilliantly directed by Davis Guggenheim there are two stars.
Michael J Fox who narrates the movie, to camera, with his mangled voice often quite difficult to comprehend and Michael Harte, the editor.
It’s a piece of magical illusion because somehow the directing/editing team have managed to piece together snippets of Fox’s work to sit alongside Fox himself in ‘telling the story’. It has echoes of my all time favourite documentary, 102 minutes that Changed America, in that it’s essentially ‘found footage that’s used to tell the story. It’s remarkable.
But at its core is the sad (not sad) sight of Michael J Fox, that lovable little scamp, at 61 looking like a wreck, but still, somehow defying the hideous encroachment of Parkinsons with dignity and humour.
I’ve been to see all four of the proper Evil Dead movies and also loved Raimi’s Drag Me To Hell, but, of course franchises have a habit of going pear shaped so I approached this with caution.
It starts, as all the others do, in a cabin in the woods but quickly transfers to a creaking 13 story townhouse block in LA, approaching demolition, in which a single mum and her three kids are joined by her pregnant sister.
The 14 year old son discovers the dreaded “Book of the Dead” in an old vault in the basement after an earthquake strikes.
Of course that’s the invitation for all hell to break loose.
The plot, from now on is kind of irrelevant, because we all know it’s simply a battle for survival.
What the movie does with great pleasure is takes the Mum out first and turns her into the manifestation of evil which allows the splendid direction, SFX and script teams licence to play with family values as it becomes mum v the kids.
It’s magnificently and outrageously cleverly gruesome with a few decent jump scares, but Evil Dead is really about veiled humour and this does not let us down.
One final point to make is the volume of fake blood needed to make this movie must have broken all production records. It truly is a blood bath and all the better for it.
Every time I go to a dance performance and review it I claim that I am no expert. But this is my third ballet this year after the rancid Peaky Blinders (Rambert) and Matthew Bourne’s excellent Sleeping Beauty. I also have four dance shows booked already for the Festival in August so maybe I do have a point of view. Well, if I don’t I’m giving you it anyway.
It’s quite a thought taking on a play that has so many famous productions. The first starred Karl Maldon and Marlon Brando and there have been many famous Blanche DuBois’ in the following 3/4 century.
The story is nuanced and deeply culturally and tonally nuanced given that the whole deep south aspect of it drives many of the most famous performances. So, to translate this into dance and to tell such a complicated tale seems almost unthinkable and yet that is unquestionably achieved, along with the opportunity to showcase really seductive and wonderful Corps du Ballet work – the scene when the female corps come on stage en point is simply breathtaking. Both the opening, in which DuBois’s past literally crumbles in front of our eyes, and the finale, with the Corps dressed all in black with red flowers in their months, are just two of many visually stunning moments.
Great work by director Nancy Meckler and choreographer Annabel Lopez Ochoa.
I’ll stop there because I’ve already overstepped my technical mark, but if you get the chance to see this on the rest of its tour I’d strongly recommend that you do.
For a start there’s the fact that Brandon Cronenberg is falling in his illustrious father’s footsteps as a body horror director of considerable note.
Then there’s the fact that it stars Mia Goth. I’ve only recently discovered her but I want to see her back catalogue. She was incredible in X and she is a stunning screen presence in this.
As horror’s leading lady she is approaching modern day Karlofian proportions. If you don’t know her and you have an appetite for non-mainstream interesting performers, she’s the one for you.
Alexander Sarsgard is fantastic too, as the put upon, abused, confused writer who’s one terrible novel is the hook by which Goth’s character reels him into a cauldron of horror that becomes more and more Kafkaesque as each reel unwinds.
The movie’s a druggy, hippy blast. A sort of R rated The White Lotus. Although even the White Lotus doesn’t pull its punches.
In Infinity Pool consider no punches pulled. It’s full on and brave. Really brave.
It’s also folk horror so sits alongside Midsommer and The Wicker Man. Like them? You’ll love this.
A bit long, I’ll admit.
My other reference point in this, and a good one I think, is Austrian Director, Michael Haneke’s, Funny Games. An unsettling horror that oozes class.
That’s what this is and I highly recommend it.
Ignore the 1/10ers who don’t know what they are talking about.
This is not of general interest I would have to say.
It’s long, rambling, full of obscure B movie, C Movie and D movie references.
It’s about exploitation, blaxploitation and trivia that won’t make you look any cooler in your local bar if you could even remember it.
It’s a reference book with little or no real reason for existing.
A very, very large % of the population – about 99.83 I’d say – would consider this utterly self indulgent wank.
And they’d be right.
Even 88.9% of Tarantino fans will hate this.
100% of the moral majority would bristle at it.
It’s full of long lists of actors, directors and critics I just don’t give a damn about.
But.
I’m glad I read it.
When he’s not listicalling he can be thrilling with his put downs.
Most of the films he chooses to “review” (or speculate upon) he derides, yet they are his favourite films. ( Taxi Driver, Paradise Alley, The Funhouse, Bullit, The Getaway).
He has a fucking OBSESSION about The Searchers and its influence on nearly every movie in this textbook.
It’s a thing of great paradoxes. The films he loves he slates quite often.
What’s even more amazing about it is that my son bought it for me. Tom is emerging from a 28 year cocoon of non-reading to alight upon shit like this.
He liked it. Sort of. I liked it. Sort of.
You know what? It’s a male-bonding, sonofabitch, kinda wanky motherfuckery that you might just like.
This snuck under the radar and has not been given the credit it deserves.
I’m amazed it wasn’t firstly a stage play before it’s movie theatre incarnation, and should be now because it will thrill in a theatre.
Of course, in a theatre it won’t have Nancy, played by Emma Thomson, or Leo, played by Daryl McCormack, and that might be its outdoing because this movie relies on them absolutely and the viewer is rewarded with an acting masterclass.
It’s electric from the opening moments and these two characters are critical as they have 98% of the movie’s screen time.
It’s billed as a romcom and it does indeed have some funny moments and arguably some romance. But it would be far better described as a psychological thriller (not in the slasher vein, but in the real sense in that it’s about the psychology of sex and relationships, and it’s thrilling).
It’s thrilling because Emma Thomson is gobsmackingly great in the title role of a bereaved late 50’s woman who married as a virgin and entered a marital sexual relationship that was as erotic as preparing a shopping list (indeed I imagine that’s what she did during her conjugals).
Anyway, the husband is now dead and Nancy has embarked on a journey to discover what thrilling sex with a handsome, cool as hell, young, black Irishman might be like.
Well, she finds out, slowly but surely, as Leo and Nancy’s professional relationship unfolds (professional because Leo is a sex worker, albeit a nuanced, subtle, listening type with a great line in fear reduction).
The tension is palpable throughout the movie as Nancy and Leo gradually deepen their relationship and talk about the untalkable in a script laced with pathos, dignity and a rare quality of writing.
It’s very emotional. It’s very compelling and it’s very, very good.
This beautiful documentary is nominated for the documentary Oscar, and I can see why.
It’s a unique study of urban wildlife in one of the world’s most densely populated, troubled and polluted cities, yet it teems with wildlife.
We see rats, wild pigs, cattle, camels, frogs, snails and owls, as well as the movie’s avian heroes, Black Kites.
These revered birds are finding life tough in modern day Delhi, and as they fall, ill broken, from the sky in increasing numbers two brothers, in a makeshift domestic avian hospital, nurse them back to health and freedom in increasing numbers.
It’s a slow reveal that some may find tedious.
Others, like me, will revel in its delicious unfolding of life, in abject squalor, in a Delhi slum. (And yet, I kept getting the feeling that this was a middle class neighbourhood we were witnessing/exploring).
The brothers, and their extended family, live in such a hovel that it’s difficult to comprehend the work they do, or how they do it on such limited resources, on top of a day job, and the value this brings.
It’s a wonderful exploration of nature as you have never seen it before, and deserves all the credit it is getting.
gibberish 