In Cinemas: The Hunger Games

May the odds be ever in your favor.

Opening to huge success in America, The Hunger Games is the type of film Hollywood loves to make, coffers swelling as box office receipts flood in. Adapting Suzanne Collin’s book, The Hunger Games is never as good as it could and really should be. Despite the hoopla over it, the end result of Gary Ross’ direction and co-writers Billy Ray and Collin’s script is a sanitised version of the book that lacks a satirical bite.

The Hunger Games (a name that’s never explained*) is a gladiatorial contest shown on television where each of the twelve districts ‘offers’ one male and female between the ages of 12 and 18. This acts as remembrance of the conflict that almost destroyed the nation of Panem and as a sign of The Capitol’s strength (think classically styled Rome). During the reaping of the 74^th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen’s sister, Prim, is called out to be the district’s tribute; in an act of sacrifice Katniss volunteers in her place. She and fellow tribute Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcheson) will be up against 22 other competitors who will be vying to kill them.

I have bones to pick, so many that this could turn into a rant rather than a review. I’ll try to whittle down my grievances without spoilers but in short the film is a shadow of the book. It condenses and expands the games and roles of several characters but it simplifies the source, stripping it of its complexity and, perhaps in its worst move, de-emphasises the violence on screen throughout – violence shouldn’t be glamorised but it should go hand in hand with the point you’re trying to make. I’m not sure what Gary Ross’ point is.

The first hour is okay, wasting little time in setting up Katniss and the world of District 12. It’s when the games start that the changes become apparent and few of them enhance the story, again simplifying it and reducing the tension.

A prime example is Donald Sutherland’s President Snow, a presence felt but not really seen has been padded out to give the viewer a villain it can heckle. Its changes like this, attempts at making the film more accessible, that turns it into a more conventional and palatable one, softening its edges and distilling the viewers’ ire into one character instead of the Capitol and its people.

Its lack of complexity stretches to its characters, all of whom aren’t given the depth they deserve. The film opts for Katniss perspective but rarely questions her (a pacifist character who kills in self-defence). The other contestants feel thin, barely glimpsed and lucky to get a word in. The career districts (1 and 2, I think) are turned into villains, the kind that would end their sentences with a malevolent cackle or ‘nyuk, nyuk’ type of laugh. It’s a shallow treatment of their characters, stripping them of their base humanity, asking the audience to take sides and turning a moral grey area into an easier to digest black and white one.

I haven’t even started on the shaky cam aesthetic. The effect of the contestant deaths has (rightly or wrongly) been reduced so you can’t quite tell what’s going on. Imagine your older sibling holding their hands over your eyes when you were kid to shield from seeing stuff you shouldn’t be seeing and that’s the exact effect Tom Stern’s cinematography has here. Ross and Stern’s choice of handheld is annoying and it upsets the geography in favour of immediacy and a false sense of immersion. Confusion reigns.

What’s good about The Hunger Games? Jennifer Lawrence’s performance is good (not phenomenal, just good) guiding the viewer through a world that’s strange and, at times, threatening. However, while her version of Katniss may not have the annoying inner monologue/constant anxiety, paranoia and indecision her counterpart in the book has, she’s a less complicated character that’s (understandably) fighting to get back to her family but seems less annoyed at being used as a pawn with her anger shown once and dissipating pretty quickly.

Elizabeth Banks as Effie Trinkett is spot on, her gaudy appearance and optimistic attitude a sign of just how far removed the Capitol is from reality, unwilling to acknowledge the barbarity of the games. The same applies for Stanley Tucci’s Caesar Flickerman. The rest of the cast fare a little less, Lenny Kravitz as Katniss’ stylist Cinna has a few moments; Harrelson’s Haymitch is not quite the boorish malcontent he is in the book, Gale (Liam Hemsworth) is on the periphery for the whole film and Josh Hutcheson’s Peeta is a character whose head you never really get into.  The same goes for the relationships in the film: the book pads them out, here the film races through, giving few reasons to be emotionally invested in the outcome of…well…anybody.

The Hunger Games is not a facsimile of the book, losing a lot of the complexities and overall Orwellian mood the book evoked. Judged on its own, its average, suggesting very little about our own culture and barely exploring its ideas/characters.  I’m genuinely surprised at the praise that’s been falling at the film’s feet, whether you’re an avid reader of the books or someone completely fresh to it, The Hunger Games never really suffices as an intelligent adaptation. Disappointing.

5/10

*The Hunger Games are called so because the winner gets extra food and money for their district, incentivising the games for each district.

In Cinemas: 21 Jump Street

Hey Korean Jesus.

Based on a tv show that never made its way to British shores, 21 Jump Street has a bit of an unknown factor about it. However, what uniqueness or novelty 21 Jump Street had in its premise of cops working undercover in high schools disappears under a wave of familiar 80s action tropes and a predictable script. If you’re looking for a good two hours at the cinema then 21 Jump Street fits the bill, but beyond the jokes there’s little here that’s fresh despite the film’s attempts at subverting expectations. Odd.

Tatum’s Jenko and Hill’s Schmidt first meet in high school where Jenko is a dim but popular jock who teases Eminem-but-fatter-looking Schmidt. When they reunite at the police academy they put their differences aside and become best friends. Believing their life as cops will be full of car chases and shoot-outs, they’re stationed to park duty and given bicycles instead of patrol cars. When a drug-related bust goes wrong they get their asses sent to 21 Jump Street, a program that recruits officers to solve crimes in schools. Their first case is to bust a drug ring that’s supplying synthetic drugs to teenagers.

The biggest problem with 21 Jump Street is its story. The performances, humour and action within are quite good but the script doesn’t deviate from the standard comedy textbook. 21 Jump Street is a case of cleaving to the tried-and-tested formula of comedy scripts, with directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller (Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs) embroidering the situations with a wacky sense of humour and energy but Michael Bacall’s script has the characters go through terribly predictable arcs.

Even though it reverses the roles of Tatum and Hill once they go undercover, the direction of the story never surprises (I suppose there’s some sort of comfort in that) and characters react to the big emotional beats in a manner that’s similar to every other comedy for the last fifteen years. You’re absolutely sure of the outcome and the film never once tries to dispel that surety.

It has moments that work really well, especially when Jenko/Schmidt try to gain some cred with their retro humour. Even though it doesn’t seem as if they’ve been out of high school for long (they probably have, I just have no idea how the American school system works). Schmidt/Jenko’s sense of humour and worth in the social strata of high school are totally upended on the first day. They’re out of their elements and part of the film’s charm is seeing how they adapt and struggle to their new lives. Both characters get to see the other side of school life that they weren’t privy to before and, as you do in school, learn a few things they didn’t know before.

Tatum shows more of the comedic chops he displayed in The Dilemma; giving Jenko a dumb jock presence that’s affable (his meltdown at a music recital is sort of brilliant). Hill gets saddled with a role that inflates his character’s ego and as a result turns him into a bit of dick, with screenwriter Bacall looking to drive a wedge between Jenko and Schmidt that feels very contrived and unnecessary. The rest of the cast are good, special mentions should go to gym teacher Rob Riggle who knocks it out the park with his acerbic performance and Ice Cube as the belligerent Captain Dickson.

So while the gag rate is comfortably high (with more jokes hitting than missing), 21 Jump Street could have done with a better, less transparent story. It’s the off-kilter humour that saves the day, giving the film a tone that’s not bound to realistic expectations. (Who on earth can shake of a stab wound? Or not even refer to it in the rest of the film?) Surprises are few and far between but 21 Jump Street is just about crazy enough and enderaring to ensure that its jokes hit their intended mark.

6/10

In Cinemas: Safe House

Remember rule number one: you are responsible for your house guest. I’m your house guest.

Safe House exists as a copy and as a result it’s inferior to the films it imitates. Still, it’s enjoyable, even if it is hackneyed and derivative, coming across as a synthesis of 24 and The Bourne trilogy but nowhere near as innovative as those two productions. Safe House’s biggest flaw is that it doesn’t have an original bone in its body and that produces a film that offers few surprises to go along with its brutal fights and big explosions.

Ryan Reynolds is Matt Weston, an inexperienced agent who’s stuck twiddling his thumbs looking after a safe house in Cape Town. When a rogue CIA agent, in the form of Denzel Washington’s Tobin Frost, turns himself in to the US consulate and is subsequently transported to the safe house, all hell breaks loose when a hit team tries to kill him. Weston and Frost escape but the former’s allegiance to the CIA is tested when he’s marginalised by his superiors as he tries to keep Frost under control.

It’s not a hugely original plot, the twist and turns the story takes are all pretty conventional and the roles don’t really test or stretch the combined talents of Reynolds and Washington. Despite the David Guggenheim’s script featuring on the prestigious Black List in 2010, what it excels at is taking all the tropes from action films of the past five years and embedding them into one story. It probably read well on paper, on screen it lacks a certain inspiration of its own.

The lack of interesting ideas spreads to the cast who all perform amicably but are weighed down by clichés and stereotypes. Since there is no overt ‘baddie’ (unless you consider Frost to be one) then it’s no real secret as to where the villain emerges from. The real mystery is why they even bothered to keep it a secret. Washington is, as always, good. His natural charisma creating a character that’s always in charge even when he’s not; always one step ahead of everyone else. Reynolds is okay, holding his own against Washington in the scenes the two actors share but he’s saddled by a rather pointless romance subplot that every action film has to shoehorn in.

The real star of the film is Cape Town, the location lending the film a look and feel that doesn’t feel like it’s a simple copy and paste exercise. The action on the other hands is borrowed wholesale from the Bourne films and implemented in an almost dizzying array of quick cuts. The best thing to say about the action is that it’s not as bad as other films (I’m looking at you Colombiana) but it’s getting to the point where someone needs to get the director, cinematographer or editor to take a sedative and calm down. These frenzied sequences don’t have the effect of putting the viewer in the scene unless they’re having an almighty seizure.

Despite that, Safe House is entertaining, it’s just disappointing that it aims so low and is comfortable in doing so. Director Daniel Espinosa handles everything in the manner you’d expect of big Hollywood action film, a by-the-numbers action film that’ll be probably forgotten.

6/10

Belated Review: Shame

We’re not bad people. We just come from a bad place.

Shame feels like the forgotten child of the awards season and in general just a forgotten film. Receiving plenty of kudos for Michael Fassebender’s performance but losing traction as The Artist, Hugo and Harvey Weinstein took control in the lead-up to the Oscars. It’s a shame then (cough, cough) because Steve McQueen’s second film is an intelligent, emotional drama that pulls few punches in its exploration of sex addiction.

Fassebender’s Brandon (again with another strangely fluctuating accent) is a successful, outwardly confident worker who pretty much bangs (are we still using that word?) any lady that sidles up to him. When his sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) comes over to stay it throws his carefully controlled private life into turmoil as he contemplates whether he wants her in his life while trying to keep his addiction under control.

The immediate problem of Shame is its content. How do you take a subject like sex addiction and explore it without being gratuitous? The film doesn’t downplay Brandon’s desire for shallow relationships or his preoccupation with meaningless pursuits. Brandon’s wants slowly cripple him and the appearance of his sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) speeds up his descent into an immoral abyss. Fassbender is fearless in the role, portraying Brandon as the sort of person who is uneasy in his skin, his confidence in attracting women belying his hopelessness in having a relationship that isn’t predicated on sex.

Shame’s only failing (if it really is one), is that it’s not a film you’d want to revisit anytime soon. It may be artful and graceful in some aspects, but it’s a bit of a misery fest, one that’s introspective and thoughtful rather than mindlessly entertaining. A challenge to watch at times, but one that’s worthwhile.

8/10

At Home: The Change-Up

Is it weird I miss your penis?

Comedies are a difficult thing to execute. Not only do they have to be funny on the first watch but they have to hold up on repeat viewings otherwise they’ll have a half-life of a couple of months. The Change-Up is a film that I found to be hilarious on first watch but is less so a second time.

The premise is, initially, bare-bones. Dave Lockwood (Jason Bateman) is a married man with two kids and a stressful, all encompassing job (lawyer). Mitch Planko (Ryan Reynolds) is his best friend from school; a slovenly, lazy man-child who screws anything that isn’t tied down and has a father (Alan Arkin) who looks down on him. One night, after a round of drinks, they drunkenly piss into a fountain wishing they had each other’s lives and ‘Hey Presto!’ that wish is granted the next morning when they switch bodies.

It’s not the most original concept but The Change-Up does take it in a different direction from you twee Disney body-switch films. It’s filthy, raucous and depraved, stretching the low-brow humour of the Bridesmaids toilet scene to a whole film. The Change-Up loves its filth, taking any opportunity to (literally) shit in someone’s mouth. Reynolds plays Mitch as a confident, insensitive man who lacks self-awareness. Bateman’s Dave puts more effort into his work than he does his family. When they switch it causes them to reassess their priorities with both of them realising their rather selfish ways.

If that sounds lofty for a film in which one of the characters sticks a finger up a woman’s ass or Bateman’s screen wife Leslie Mann takes an excruciatingly noisy trip to the toilet then yes, The Change-Up’s sense of humour doesn’t sit too well with its more maudlin moments. It’s a little too syrupy and hackneyed but it is fun if you share its depraved point of view. A second and third watch is where the (gross) charm of the film may wear off completely, if you weren’t already affronted by a baby projectile shitting into Bateman’s mouth.

It’s no surprise to see that this film is from the scribes of The Hangover Part II, the debauched sequel that mined Bangkok for every lazy joke it could. Unlike that sequel this film doesn’t turn its characters into irritating idiots but it does share its affinity for nudity, broad cultural jokes (some funny, some not) and a redemptive storyline that you could see coming from years away, let alone a few miles. If you like depraved antics, then The Change-Up is definitely your kind of comedy. If you want something a little smarter, then head in any other direction.

6/10

At Home: Super 8

Stop talking about production value, the Air Force is going to kill us.

I enjoyed Super 8 when I saw it back in August but I had a few problems with it: notably that monster. It felt estranged from the plot of the film and never felt fully integrate. Re-watching it hasn’t resolved that issue but it less bothersome than it was before. Super 8 isn’t a great movie. It’s a little too self-referential and seems to be a little confused in tying all its emotional strands together but it’s a genial kind of film and in JJ Abrams it has a director with visual flair (and lens flare). It may not always work, but it does work more often than it doesn’t.

Borrowing wholesale from Spielberg’s early 80s output, Super 8 tells a story about Joel Courtney’s Joe, son of the deputy sheriff (Kyle Chandler) and on the receiving end of a tragedy when his mother dies in a horrible accident at the nearby metal plant. The film picks the story up a few months later and Joe’s shooting a super 8 movie with his friends. One night they witness a train crash and find out that it wasn’t an accident. People start to disappear and strange occurrences plague the town as they try to uncover the truth as to what’s really going on.

Like a lot of Spielberg’s work it’s about grief, absent/estranged fathers, a distrust of authority with a touch of the fantastical but I’m not sure the film knows how to put all these elements together to synthesise an emotional ending. Without spoiling it, there’s a specific emotional beat (concerning a locket) at the end that I’m not sure has anything to do ‘alien’ subplot in the film and yet the two are intertwined. The moment certainly apes the more saccharine moments from ET but I’m not sure there’s much meaning behind it.

However, like a lot of Abram’s films, there’s a snappiness to the editing, some funny dialogue (“I know that you don’t like me and I’m sorry about that”) and there’s a great sense of chemistry amongst the cast. (The kids are terrific, Elle Fanning is the standout.) His mystery box method of telling a story sucks when it comes to revelations but everything leading up to that moment is engaging. The characters are earnest and endearing and going back to Spielberg, Abram’s realises that what sells a film’s milieu is a sense of community and Super 8 creates a convincing one.

It’s when the monster appears and the mystery is revealed that things start to drift a little. What Super 8 was good at in the first-half (its relationships), it ditches for most of the climax which is not unexpected but it is a little disappointing. The visual effects for the monster look, for a lack of a better word, jammy and the father/son, father/daughter drama that drove the early parts of the film is not resolved in an adequate manner; just sort of assumed to be resolved.

So Super 8 straddles the line of being not-quite-Spielberg but is good in its own right. It could have been a belter had it managed to figure why it was doing things instead of just doing them but it’s a solid film.

7/10

At Home: Drive

I don’t sit in while you’re running it down. I don’t carry a gun. I drive.

Inspired (you would think) by Michael Mann’s crime opuses, Drive is economical in its story and its characters, surprising in an age of cinema where bigger is better and loud noises and explosions are more attractive than a deft, moody homage to 80s crime movies like Thief and To Live and Die in LA.

A lot of that is down to Nicholas Winding Refn’s direction and Ryan Gosling’s performance as the distant, enigmatic Driver (joining a list of characters with that name). It’s slow, with little action and small, sharp bursts of bloodletting. Watching Drive in the cinemas I thought it was a little too much style over substance. I still think that’s the case. Nonetheless the style showcased here makes for a dreamy (yup, that’s right), neon lit ride that’s more memorable for the moods it evokes than anything it says, or, in the case of Driver, doesn’t say.

Drive drops the viewer in the midst of night-time robbery and if you know anything about screenwriting, then you’ll know that the first scene invariably sets the mood of the film and the sets up the character. Gosling’s Driver is unflappable and cool, defined by his distinct lack of exertion or trace of worry on his face. He only opens his mouth when he has something of interest to say and that kind of action (or inaction) is a microcosm of the film as a whole. It barely wastes a moment on conveying how Driver’s life implodes after he meets his next door neighbour Irene (Carey Mulligan), how that interaction meshes with her husband Standard (Oscar Isaac) and gangster/businessman Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks).

Brooks is probably best known for his comedic work (Weeds, Finding Nemo, The Simpsons) but he uproots that image here with an uncompromising gangster who, like many other characters in the film, is economical in his actions, choosing his moment to strike and exposing any perceived weaknesses in the people he meets.

Like the cars that Driver mends and, well… drives, Refn’s film feels polished. Several licks of paint in the form of Thomas Newton Siegel’s natural lighting of scenes and some nice electronic, wispy sounds from composer Cliff Martinez in his score (especially in the backstage club scene). It’s like those films made before CGI, y’know, the ones that focused on character and tone rather than suspension of disbelief and cacophonous explosions.

Drive isn’t an easy film to describe or pigeon-hole (a neo-noir? Western? A fairy tale!?) but it is full of fantastically shot sequences (the beach scene is terrific) and a soundscape that’s hardly noticeable until it makes its presence known in an unequivocal manner.  Refn’s previous may have been a little too dull and opaque but here he strikes a more interesting combination of tone and aesthetic. The kind of film you could watch again and again.

8/10

In Cinemas: Chronicle

There’s something wrong with Andrew.

Showing no signs of abating, the found-footage trend continues to find new ways to stay alive whether it’s ludicrously taking it the concept to the moon (Apollo 18), or dressing it up in a familiar guise (The Devil Inside). Chronicle looks to apply the same documentary/YouTube stylings – this time to the superhero genre – but the concept of found-footage in this film seems a little bogus.

That’s not to say that Chronicle doesn’t try to stretch the found-footage concept but it struggles to retain a sense of believability in its latter half. Chronicle starts off with social outcast Andrew (Dane Dehaan) buying a camcorder to record his life. Bullied at school and at home by his father (Michael Kelly), his home life is compounded by his mother’s severe illness. In an attempt to try and bring him out of his shell, Matt, his cousin and only friend (Alex Russell), takes him to a warehouse party where they run into popular high school student Steve (Michael B Jordan). They find a cave in the woods, come across a weird crystal object; vibrations shudder the walls, the cave starts collapse – fade to black.

They wake up realising they have superpowers, abilities that allow them manipulate their surroundings with their mind. Like most superhero origin stories they find out that their powers can be used for good as well as bad.

There’s a lot to like about Chronicle. While not strictly a found footage film (who edited this footage together?), the docu-like nature and low key setting helps to differentiate it from its more exuberant cousins. It feels real or at least as real as the concept allows it to be, and director Josh Trank does a good job meshing it with a recognisable reality. Thankfully he finds ways of avoiding the shaky cam aesthetic, opting for a camera suspended by Dehaan’s Andrew that glides gracefully across the room as if it’s in zero gravity.

The characters are well defined if a little clichéd: Andrew is emotionally stiff, pushing others away; Matt is the pretentious intellectual and Steve is the popular, charismatic type. Put them together and they make for an interesting combination, rubbing off on each other and forming a close bond. It’s when the shit hits the fan that Chronicle falters.

Chronicle’s faults stem from just how unsubtle and predictable its narrative and characters can be. It’s exemplified in Andrew’s dad: a dreadful father who has a go at his son at every opportunity; verbally and physically assaulting him on a consistent basis. Trank and screenwiter Max Landis are very unsubtle going big and broad (perhaps purposefully so). As a result it becomes rather obvious which direction the story and the characters are going in. Andrew’s brittle shoulders can’t support the misery inflicted upon him and he hits the self-destruct button, unleashing a tidal wave of anger.

Technically the film is both good and bad with some effects looking stunning (not bad for $12 million) and others looking shabby. The final confrontation has echoes of Akira but the staging of it is a little un-engaging; unless, that is, you like seeing characters being punched through a building repeatedly. It’s at this juncture where the found-footage novelty starts to fall apart with Trank struggling to find exciting angles and being able to retain the intimacy that was so necessary in the first half of the film.

Still Chronicle is a more than decent superhero film that’s a) original (ish); b) inventive and c) fresh enough until that third act. After Haywire and The Grey, the early months of the year keep rolling with surprisingly good films.

7/10

In Cinemas: Rampart

I don’t cheat on my taxes… you can’t cheat on something you never committed to.

Two years after their last collaboration, writer/director Oren Moverman and Woody Harrelson reteam for their fascinating crime-drama Rampart: a sombre, rough film that shows a police officer’s life unravel as he adopts a siege mentality when he finds himself under close scrutiny.

Harrelson is Dave Brown, nicknamed ‘Date rape Dave’ (referring to an old case) and he’s a thoroughly unpleasant and prickly character. He’s a contradiction: well spoken, charming and intelligent but also a man who indulges in his Neanderthal tendencies and is adrift from life, anchored in his own ghastly reality that provides justification for whatever actions he commits. When he’s seen beating a man after a car crash it creates a public scandal for the Rampart division of the LA Police force who subsequently leave him out to dry.

Harrelson and the script by James Ellroy and Moverman imbue Brown with some interesting tics: he drinks, he smokes but he never eats and on the one occasion he does, he throws up. Brown’s a sexist, racist, myopic misanthrope empowered by his uniform; an old-school cop out of sync with reality.

Much of the film is about Brown not realising (or accepting) that he’s in crisis: desperately hanging onto his job while staving off the impending implosion of his horror show of a family. Marrying two sisters in succession (Cynthia Nixon and Anne Heche), he has a kid with each one (Brie Larson and Sammy Boyarsky) and they all live under the same roof with Brown insistent that he’ll take care of them; pumping his ego full of false responsibility and adding to his alpha male persona. The real truth Moverman reveals is that his bravado hides the emptiness of his life, a vacuum that’s filled with an onrushing suite of booze, sex and drugs. It’s a deep and complex performance by Harrelson who commands the screen.

There are times when Rampart doesn’t make much sense; is a little ambiguous in its relationships and meaning. Brown’s relationship with Ned Beatty’s Hartshorn is a little confusing in conveying the reasons for Beatty’s actions. In one scene Moverman seems unsatisfied in keeping the camera still, having it pan dizzyingly across the screen to the point where you may well become cross-eyed. The setting (Los Angeles, 1999) feels arbitrary as the film doesn’t make much use of it and the actual Rampart scandal of the 90s will be lost on some. If you’ve seen Training Day, Dark Blue or any other gritty, bad-cop drama then Rampart will feel very familiar.

It’s down to Harrelson that you feel a tiny bit of sympathy for Brown as he self-destructs and disappears into an amoral abyss; mired in a pit of self-loathing from which he attempts to dig himself out of, threatening to bring everyone down with him. The last shot of the film emphasises a truth that Brown been resisiting throughout the film: Rampart is a searing portrait of a man who doesn’t seem to have a decent bone in his body.

In Cinemas: The Grey

Once more into the fray. Into the last good fight I’ll ever know. Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day.

Initially billed as Liam Neeson hobo-fightin’ against a pack of wolves, The Grey is in fact a character piece, an existential film about man vs. nature and a survival film.  If you go in expecting Taken in the frozen tundra, be prepared to be disappointed…

Haggard and depressed, Neeson’s Ottway finds work as a sniper for an oil drilling team in Alaska. Stranded after their plane crashes in the freezing plains, they find themselves at the mercy of a pack of wolves that see them as intruders in their hunting territory.

Carnahan’s The Grey is a grim but fascinating affair about the human spirit with the spectre of death ever present. What’s keeping these men going is the promise that salvation is just past the next tree line, the next ridge or round the river bend. Carnahan delves into what makes this group of people (and you assume, humanity as a whole) hopeful in unfortunate circumstances. There’s nary a bad performance in the cast featuring a few actors you’ll recognise and some you won’t. Neeson, (thankfully in an Irish accent instead of a full blown American one) leads the cast well, carrying the burden of keeping these men alive with his survival skills and knowledge of the wolves’ behaviour.

Carnahan’s script etches each character with a life that stretches beyond the frosty landscape, with regret and fear becoming the primary emotions once they realise the odds aren’t in their favour. Placing them in a harsh environment means we’re rooting for them to survive; the characterisation gives the viewer a clearer indication of why they’re so desperate to carry on.

There is one drawback to the film. The film’s budget feels a bit paltry. The plane crash is a little rough in terms of the CGI (the build-up to it is quite unnerving). The limitation of the budget is apparent any time the wolves appear on screen with Carnahan wisely not showing them in full but conveying their presence through sound design and some clever visual reveals. It suffices for the most part and the marketing certainly gives the wrong impression of the film.

Completely dissimilar to his recent spate of Euro-trash action films like Unknown and Taken, The Grey is an impressive survival drama that bucks the trend of late winter releases being disappointing (at least in the US).  A pinch of salt should be taken with regards to the type of action on display but Carnahan shows some directing nous in making a heartfelt and gutsy film about the will to survive (cue rendition of Eye of the Tiger). The ending is certain to polarise audiences but like the rest of the film, it’s tough and uncompromising.

8/10

In Cinemas: Haywire

You shouldn’t think of her as being a woman. That would be a mistake.

A fair amount of criticism has been laid at Haywire’s door, taking aim at Carano’s acting ability and Lem Dobbs’ screenplay. That criticism, whether fair or unjust, seems to be ever so slightly missing the point with the film being a bit of a contradiction, a classy B-movie.

The plot could be effectively summarised as thus: Gina Carano works her way through the male supporting cast pummelling them into submission or death, whichever comes first. The actual plot revolves around Carano’s Mallory Kane (cool name) seeking answers after she was left high and dry after a job in Barcelona. That line was as simple as my take but it doesn’t include Carano taking names and putting boots to asses.

Carano’s acting is appropriate and Soderberg looks to circumnavigate Carano’s shyness and lack of experience by reducing the dialogue (especially exposition), leaving Mallory a pissed off monosyllabic, monotone soldier of fortune. The action takes advantage of Carano’s expertise as an MMA fighter with Soderberg’s approach to it a reaction against the clumsy, claustrophobically tight composition and silly angles modelled after the excellent Bourne series (and I love the action in the Bourne films, less so its impersonators). The editing is easy to follow, the moves performed intelligible giving the impression that the action is not being cheated or faked. The performers go toe-to-toe: smashing hotel rooms, a diner or anything else that gets in their way.

In Soderberg’s hands Haywire is effortlessly classy production with David Holmes’ bouncy, jazzy score setting the mood when heads aren’t being cracked. Characteristically for Soderberg the film does come across as a touch cold, lacking the ebullience of trashy action movies. One criticism of the film I can agree with is Lem Dobbs’ script which purposefully courts the B-movie dialogue of Commando (“you better run!”) but also seems very reluctant in clearing up the main plot. Told in a non-linear fashion for a fair chunk of the film’s runtime, it’s too mysterious, withholding information that makes the film dense and unclear. The unravelling of the plot at the end does not carry with it the cachet of a revelation, more frustration as to why it was not relayed to the viewer earlier.

Still, while Haywire flirts between being fun and overly complicated it ends up being fun enough that its flaws can be overlooked. Carano oozes physicality, chewing her way through the cast and using their bones to sharpen her teeth. In a year where big budget female driven films are appearing left, right and centre in the next few months, they’re off to solid start.

7/10

At Home: The Guard

I’m Irish. Racism is part of my culture.

John Michael McDonagh’s The Guard opens with teenagers drinking and driving, ending up as another road statistic when they crash their car killing all onboard. When Sergeant Gerry Broyle (Brendan Gleeson) casually walks up to the overturned car, pauses to survey the scene before rifling through a dead kid’s pockets for drugs exclaiming “what a beautiful fucking day”, you know you’re in for an unorthodox film.

So it’s with some disappointment that despite the fantastic notices this film has been receiving on both sides of the Atlantic, The Guard is a good, almost-nearly-not-quite-great film that as much as I may like it’s brand of comedy, is a little lightweight.

It’s a strange, deranged film about Gleeson’s Broyle who teams up with Don Cheadle’s FBI agent to investigate an international drug-smuggling ring. Broyle is a man of many contradictions, tastes and talents making for a character that’s hard to decipher (for both the characters and the viewer). When Cheadle’s Wendell Everett says he has no idea if he’s clever or just plain dumb, you’re right there with him. Gleeson is terrific, wide-eyed and inquisitive as well as sardonic and ignorant, creating a divisive character that’s very watchable.

At times The Guard is a witty deconstruction of the American buddy cop movie with its unlikely match-up, trans-Atlantic culture clash and poking of the genre’s tropes.  There’s an affecting emotional apex to the film in the form of Gerry’s relationship with his mum (Fionnula Flanagan) that’s (purposefully?) a little out of place by being so sweet. However, despite the humorous stereotyping and memorable lines of dialogue the film tries too hard in places to elicit laughs, exemplified by the appearance of the drug smugglers (insouciantly led by Mark Strong) who, while funny, are also fairly inept (that’s part of the joke but where’s the challenge in solving the crime?). The best jokes in the film are the ones revealed at the last moment (like a scene at a diner); The Guard has a tendency to lay its cards on the table too early and then ramble about how good its hand is.

Regardless, The Guard is indecent and proud of it, wearing its un-PC dialogue as a badge of honour connecting it to the other McDonaugh brother Martin’s In Bruges.  It’s brilliant in mining for depraved laughs but it perhaps tries to force the issue a few too many times.

7/10