Cinetalk

It’s perhaps dangerous to watch a film afresh with such high expectations, but this was what I was doing. And for the most part I wasn’t let down.

The premise of Midnight Run – a bounty hunter (Jack Walsh played by Robert De Niro), tracking down a bail-jumper (Jonathan Mardukas played by Charles Grodin) for a handsome reward is now so old hat to seem over familiar. There are Reality TV shows buried deep in your TV EPG which cover the same ground. Even Tarantino dealt with it in Jackie Brown.

So, it’s perhaps worth putting yourself in the head of someone going to the cinema in the late-80s who wouldn’t be aware that bounty hunters, something which sounds like it’s from the Wild West, are a real thing.

The ground up premise of the movie is that Walsh is given a new assignment which could let him retire – Mardukas has skipped bail and needs to be captured and returned to LA by Friday evening. Do-gooding accountant Mardukas has embezzled $15 million from the mob, and given the money to charity. Walsh needs to capture and return him before the mob, the FBI, and other bounty hunters get to him first. Which he tries to do, with “hilarious consequences.”

The “odd couple” relationship is beautifully played by Grodin and De Niro, and Grodin in particularly has some fabulous lines which he delivers beautifully. But it’s not the laugh riot I’d been led to believe. Okay. I’m going to admit it here: I didn’t find the movie hilarious. It’s funny, at best. Fitfully amusing and very watchable, but not hilarious.

I was expecting hearty gut laugh after hearty gut laugh after hearty gut laugh, and because of that mistaken preconception I found the film ever so slightly wanting.

It’s a tricky thing to balance, the serious violent action and comedy. Martin Brest, who directed Beverly Hills Cop, does a similarly good job, but also throws up interesting questions about the juxtaposition of danger and humour. The criminals also after Mardukas are seriously violent. It’s a weirdly dark tone for a comedy, knowing that Mardukas could be assassinated – it’s not the same kind of sitcom death which Edmund Blackadder avoids every episode in Blackadder II – this is a serious death at the hands of the mob.  It’s an uneasy balance. People die along the way or are threatened with death, which sits slightly unhappily with the bickering humour of the road movie aspect.

But, and I have to stress this, it might just be because I had such different expectations going into watching the movie. So yes, the script, direction and performances are superb. It’s actually still very fresh, despite its premise.

One thing which does date it horribly is the oddly piano heavy score, performed for the most part by a band rather than an orchestra, and sounding like nothing Danny Elfman has composed for a movie before or since. It could almost be outtakes from the Blues Brothers. The score marks it indelibly as a product of its time, as does the incessant smoking. It’s like a late 80s time capsule of a film.

The core of the movie is De Niro and Grodin’s relationship, and the unlikely friendship which blooms between them is brilliantly judged. The story telling is economical and reads truthfully. George Gallo’s script and the story arc are believable and well played. Ultimately I have to say I enjoyed Midnight Run a great deal.

The expectations thing did still get to me though; I still thought it was going to be a comedy, out and out. What the film I saw was, was a road movie about crime. With some funny lines.

That said, it’s a very good and entertaining one.

What We Do In The Shadows is, on the one hand, a mockumentary about vampires - namely Viago (Taika Wahiti), Vladislav (Jemaine Clement), Deacon (Jonathan Brugh) and Petyr (Ben Fransham). But mainly it’s about how a group of out-of-step misfits, revelling for far too long in their isolation, learn how to deal with the modern world. It’s quite a learning curve.  This is the kind of group that has a human servant, Jackie (Jackie Van Beek) where other flatshares would have a cleaner.  When Jackie brings along a meal for the group, Nick (Cori Gonzalez-Macuer), things quickly go wrong.  What follows is the process of introducing the group to the Internet, modern technology and the fact that the modern world doesn’t really care about their vampirism so long as they’re not being eaten.  Oh, and werewolves. The film is more satirical than silly, using genuine affection for its characters to make some pointed barbs about how anti-social groups, particularly all-male ones, really can get.  An ongoing face-off with the aforementioned werewolves, led by Anton (Rhys Darby), is a clear snark at ineffectual male gang mentality. Deacon’s continual refusal to turn Jackie into a vampire despite her wishes, meanwhile, speaks to the idea that men know better than women what women need. But mostly, it’s just devilishly funny, leaving no stone unturned in its mission to laugh at every horror cliche going. For a mockmentary, albeit one borrowing heavily from genre tropes, there’s a surprising amount of ‘additional content’ to be found on the DVD and home release.  The standard BTS documentary is here and present, showing how some of the more elaborate sequences were achieved and proving the film’s low-budget aesthetic something of a misnomer. Spoiler: this film owes a surprising debt to Inception. The most fun is to be had in the film’s deleted scenes, though.  With a good ten additional scenes, including a dance-off with flying (because of course), it’s clear to see how the mission for Comedy led to an impeccably streamlined film - at 82 minutes it’s not as if there’s any padding. What We Do In The Shadows lives up to its billing as a great vampire comedy. Really, though, it’s just a great buddy comedy.  Also: if the deleted scenes and insight into the inner workings of making funny don’t buy this disc for you, Jemaine Clement making Vladislav look like a vampiric Nick Cave really should. Turns out, a vampiric Nick Cave looks… well, like normal Nick Cave, really. And that is an incredible thing.

The Grandmaster primarily focuses on the era around World War 2 and follows Ip Man in his middle age years as he becomes a kung fu master and later, a teacher.

The Grandmaster was nominated for an Oscar for Best Cinematography, and it isn’t hard to see why.  All of the Wong Kar Wai hallmarks are here, and it’s a beautiful film.  Some of the more elaborate fight sequences seem more like a dance than a fight.

There are two version of The Grandmaster – the Chinese theatrical cut at 130 minutes, and the version available on DVD which is closer to 105 minutes.  Wong Kar Wai has gone on record saying that the shorter version is the superior one, however it’s a shame that both aren’t available on the disc as it would have been nice to let audiences decide for themselves.

Having said that, The Grandmaster does sometimes feel baggy and overly long, even at 105 minutes.  I loved the blistering fight scenes, but found the story difficult to follow in places.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m not that familiar with the source material, or if it’s the usual way with Wong

Kar Wai films when the story is secondary. There are other issues with The Grandmaster, the use of text to tell the audience a lot of the facts and the voiceover almost make it feel like a TV movie, however the extremely high production values put it at odds with this.

I had been looking forward to The Grandmaster for quite a while, and the fight scenes were fantastic.  However, it falls short when it comes to everything else about the film.

Deyn plays Lily O’Connor, who at the start of the film discovers that her abusive mother has died and upon inheriting a modest sum from the sale of the house, Lily goes to London (it’s never said where the Northern town that a lot of the film takes place in is, but it looks a lot like Blackpool) in search of her missing brother so she can give him his share of the money.  Lily has epilepsy, and is prone to very severe seizures – like the title suggests, Lily says “it’s like an electrical storm in my skull”.

Electricity has a very unusual style, symptoms the kind of epilepsy that Lily has include hallucinations, and director Bryn Higgins chose to shoot the sequences with her seizures from her own point of view.  We see the flickering vision, hallucinations, glimmers of an electrical storm.

I had never seen a film starring Agyness Deyn before, but I knew that she had been a successful model.  Deyn is a real force of nature in Electricity, giving Lily the presence and agency that such a character really requires.  The camera is always with Lily, and she is magnetic.  You can’t help but root for her, there’s a really disturbing scene early on when she slaps her dead mother in the face, but when you know what her mother did to her then it seems like a completely logical action.

The subject matter in Electricity is obviously really heavy, but it’s great to see it handled with such sensitivity and the fact that there’s a credit to The Wellcome Foundation suggests that the point of view seizure scenes are accurate as to what someone with epilepsy would see.

Electricity is a very powerful piece.  I had some reservations going in, but it’s one of the best films I’ve seen in quite some time.  I was unsure whether Deyn would be able to carry such a film, but she is more than able.  I’m genuinely looking forward to seeing what she does next.

Ingrid (Ellen Dorrit Petersen) has recently lost her sight and spends her days confined to the flat she shares with her husband Morten (Henrik Rafaelsen). Everyday tasks have become almost impossible for Ingrid to complete, and yet this doesn't appear to stop her from enjoying life. This blindness hasn't prevented her imagination from running riot, and as the characters of Elin (Vera Vitali) and Einar (Marius Kolbenstvedt) become more established the line between fiction and reality starts to blur.

Vogt has previously collaborated with Joachim Trier, director of Repriseand the outstanding Oslo, August 31st, and this might lead you to expect his own work to register with a similar level of bleak intensity. The opening scenes show Ingrid attempting to make a cup of tea, a menial task broken down into a number of stages in an impressive sequence, and sitting around in her flat whilst Morten is working. Blind initially seems to want the audience to sympathise with Ingrid by sharing in her everyday malaise.

What's odd is that Vogt wastes no time introducing these flights of fantasy into the mix. What's stranger is that he doesn't even signal that the fantastical elements have started. Einar's addiction to pornography is narrated by Ingrid and takes over the narrative for a short while, but there is no indication that this is fiction and not just a subplot alongside Ingrid's battle. This is still a film about blindness and loneliness, but it's also about the realms of creativity.

A film about a lack of sight and a rich imagination needs a strong visual style to communicate these things, and Vogt has collaborated with Yorgos Lanthimos' regular DP Thimios Bakatakis to give the flat interiors and Oslo exteriors a distinct look. Ingrid's early claim that she can see her dreams vividly, and that it's only when she wakes up that she remembers she is blind, might make an early montage of dreamlike imagery ripe for repeating, but this is just another example of the difficulty in figuring out what's real and what's created in her brain.

Blind is therefore a purposefully convoluted and confusing film, and that will irritate those who might have been expecting the aforementioned exploration of loneliness. What Vogt does show is that he has a striking aesthetic approach and, in Ingrid, a protagonist who may have lost her sight but will never lose her sense of adventure.

Broadly the equivalent of the BBC, Radio France consists of several stations. France Inter, France Info, France Culture, France Musique, and France Bleu all broadcast from the French version of the BBC radio horseshoe which is Broadcasting House. Radio France is a true concrete doughnut in Paris; a giant circular building within sight of the Eiffel Tower. The documentary takes all those stations in, featuring news gathering, meetings, interviews, sports, gameshows, music and drama.

It is sporadically fascinating. Unfortunately that’s the trouble; it’s only sporadic.

We see abstract musicians recording weird noises, interview subjects recorded as they peel and talk about potatoes, a dramatic work being made take after relentless take, music being recorded, music being rehearsed, game shows being recorded, a request show, interviews with novelists set to music, journalists laughing about murder victims’ bodies being cut up. It is, well, odd.

The most interesting things in the movie are the many characters who have been working for the stations their entire lives. One of them in particular, a music presenter in an office completely surrounded and apparently trapped by walls of CDs, is unique in the film as he is allowed to talk directly to the camera – elsewhere the people working behind the scenes beaver away with varying degrees of self-consciousness trying not to notice they are being watched.

The film is resolutely broad in its subject matter, as of course it would have been if it was made about the BBC. And that’s the problem. In attempting to be an all-encompassing- day-in-the-life it is completely unfocussed. It’s unfair to say it is chosen and organised in nothing but time order, because clearly this material has been carefully selected from an enormous amount of footage. It just seems utterly directionless.

Without any context that lack of structure is strongly underlined; the film becomes a loose connection of scraps – the narrative eye is conspicuous by its absence.

It is entertaining in parts, but fitfully and frustratingly uneven. Without a narrator, or clear outside voice, time does quickly begin to drag. The snippets appear to have been thrown at the screen challenging you to find them all equally enthralling. And they really aren’t.

Also, there is something which will strike you as disconcerting - all the faces on show are middle class and white. As the headquarters of the National broadcaster, it’s something you’d think a documentary maker would at least comment on.

Sarah tirelessly auditions for role after role in between working at fast-food restaurant Big Taters for sleazy, loser-ly manager Carl (a moustachioed Pat Healy). She has friends, none of whom are particularly close except maybe her roommate Tracy (Amanda Fuller). There is Danny (Noah Segan) who lives out of his mini-van and is ‘determined’ to make it as a director and Erin (Fabianne Therese) a wannabe actress who has had minor success and relishes in being well, a bit of a bitch.

Gamine in appearance, Sarah has ‘issues’, she suffers from nightmares, self-harms and is extremely body-conscious. She teeters on the precipice of insanity, is emotionally raw and literally tears her hair out at the roots to ease her anxiety. Her vulnerability does not necessarily make her weak but her hunger to be somebody does, it is easy to empathise with her – that yearning; she could be your sister, or daughter. Hell, she could even be you. Desires, primal or otherwise, push people in all kinds of directions. Then comes the call-back from a successful, if odd, audition for an Astraeus feature (the company taking its name from the Titan God of dusk, creator of winds and wandering stars) and the casting directors’ insistence that she lose her inhibitions has surprising results on the leading lady – “If you can’t ever let go, how can you fully transform into something else?”

Starry Eyes is Faustian in nature, a satirical, abject, allegory about the grim underbelly of Hollywood and the true price of fame (there is even a sly swipe at Scientology too). It is emotive in its execution and (bloody) ambition. An almost melodramatic beginning gives way to a glorious and stomach-churning body horror; Matt Falletta and Hugo Villasenor’s practical make-up effects are visceral, disturbing and quite disgusting, in the best possible way, and displayed amid a synth-heavy musical score which sets the mood perfectly. Alexandra Essoe is astonishing as Sarah, she even at the most grim and a gruesome moment, manages to humanise the character and create a filmic-female that breaks the boundaries of the horror genre’s ‘monstrous feminine’.

There is a moment when ‘The Producer’ (Louis Dezeran) refers to the film industry as a plague; a festering pestilence: “hollow be thy name, shallow be thy name.” - Thankfully, Kevin Krolsch and Dennis Widmyer’s unsettling cautionary tale is anything but.

A man who would be otherwise deemed insignificant by the powers that be, Kolya (Alexei Serebriakov) has built himself a home sitting on prized land.  Unfortunately for Kolya, it happens to be land that corrupt mayor Vadim (Roman Madyanov) has firmly set his sights on.  Fighting against a system so clearly stacked against him as to be comical if it weren’t tragic, it quickly becomes clear that Kolya has no chance, unless he is to resort to the same underhanded tactics.

When Kolya’s lawyer friend Dmitri (Vladimir Vdovichenkov) arrives from Moscow with what he deems cast-iron evidence of Vadim’s corruption, Kolya sees a way out.  What he doesn’t see is the destruction his crusade is enacting upon his young wife Lilia (Elena Lyadova) and son Roma (Sergey Pokhodaev) right under his nose.

As Kolya, Serebriakov cuts a depressing figure from the very first frame.  His face is etched with defeat before we’ve even seen it happen - and the film is a comprehensive exercise in just how much one man can be dismantled by his own inability to walk away from a situation he cannot possibly win.  Lyadova, meanwhile, could have imbued the put-upon Lilia with melodramatic cliche upon cliche; instead, her misery takes on the feel of one of Chekov’s women in the film’s most understated performance (of many).

Vadim, the gangster-esque mayor, seems to have very few redeeming qualities indeed, but in the hands of Madyanov proves a magnetic villain representing almost the entirety of corrupt authority.  One particular scene, where Vadim expresses doubts and is effectively goaded by a religious authority figure into carrying out his original intention, is impossible to look away from owing to the pure conflict radiating from this slimy-looking pork pie with a high-powered tailored suit.

Director Andrey Zvyagintsev opts for silence over carnage, stillness over chaos.  There are rarely hysterics when a quiet response will often say a thousand words more; an early scene where a court official roundly rejects Kolya’s valid complaints with all the emotion of a particularly well-coded robot sticks in the craw.  A later sequence, during which a key character disappears, seems unremarkable until sight is caught of a far-off whale, seeming to welcome that character where they have previously felt unwelcome.  And the endless vistas of the cold, desolate but stunningly beautiful terrain spell out their own case for why this landscape would drive men to such violence.

The DVD extras amount to twenty minutes of deleted scenes, a half-hour behind-the-scenes documentary (of sorts), and an interview with Zvyagintsev.  Quite honestly, for such a formidable film experience the extras fall short.  The deleted scenes are mostly different versions of scenes in the film, with slightly altered dialogue or at the least altered subtitles, of interest only if you’re really. really interested in how dialogue slightly alters character.

The documentary, meanwhile, might be better called a loosely-assembled collection of behind-the-scenes footage, offering little real commentary on the process of making the film.  The best extra on offer here is the Zvyagintsev interview; but, again, beyond what’s in the film it doesn’t offer a huge amount of additional insight.

Maybe that’s for the best.  Leviathan is such a towering achievement that it doesn’t need additional explanation; its intentions as a full-scale excoriation of corrupt power are all too desperately clear.  You don’t need extensive DVD extras to tell you that; but you do need to own Leviathan.

Before Liam Neeson became the guy who promised to find people and then kill them he was Oscar nominated for his leading role in Schindler's List. Penn's acting credentials are arguably even more impressive, two academy awards rest on his shelves for Mystic River and Milk and in the past he has worked with the likes of Terrence Malik and David Fincher. Clearly Penn is a talented actor but on the evidence of The Gunman he isn't about to be Hollywood's next middle aged action star.

We begin in 2006 where Jim Terrier (Penn) is part of a security team protecting mining operations in DR Congo and enjoying the kind of improbably idealistic relationship with young doctor Annie (Jasmine Trinca) that's could never make it past the fifteen minute mark, especially given the amorous glances directed at his girlfriend by co-worker Felix (Javier Bardem). As it turns out the security team aren't just there to keep the peace and Terrier is tasked with assassinating the country's Minister for Mining after which he is forced to leave the country and his girlfriend behind.

Fast forward a few years and Jim is back in the Congo this time working for an NGO and catching waves in his downtime (one of several opportunities for Penn to show off his rock hard abs) when he is attacked by a group of gun totting mercenaries. After despatching these heavies with bone crunching aplomb Jim sets off to Europe to find out why someone wants him dead and what seedy forces were behind the events of 06'.

If you've seen the first ten minutes you'll guess who the big reveal baddy is going to be but unfortunately Terrier still has to punch and shoot his through an entire film to find out for himself. And for a story so derivative of better movies (Bourne being one) it's surprisingly hard to follow. Pierre Morel's has the eye of a tourist (the Paris of Taken was all bicycles and baguettes) so when Jim heads off to London we get glossy helicopter shots of shiny landmarks and even a greasy Ray Winston in an East End pub. Later the story moves to Spain and Gibraltar finally climaxing for no apparent reason at a bull fight in Barcelona, despite the sport being banned in the city in 2011. For Morel shoe horning in a national stereotype clearly took precedence over accuracy.

Back in 2008 seeing that nice guy from Love Actually massacre half of Europe (at least the first time) felt  relatively fresh. Now films about middle aged ex-military bad asses coming out of retirement to sort out evildoers have literally been done to death and Penn, all veiny arms and bulging torso, doesn't have half of Neeson's growly charm. With a writing credit to his name it's tempting to see this as partly a vanity project for the fifty four year old star, who gets to show off his physique in numerous topless scenes while chasing a love interest played by an actress almost twenty years his junior – Jasmine Trinca in a thankless role.

Most of the time Penn is sullen to the point of being bland with a strange habit of taking his sunglasses on and off both indoors and out for no discernible reason. Terrier also has the kind of PTSD only found in movies which results in occasional episodes of blurred vision and distorted hearing always at inconvenient times when he really needs to be doing more shooting and punching. At one point we're told by a doctor that Terrier is damaged goods and definitely shouldn't be doing any action stuff, which as a plot point is almost entirely redundant as we all know he's going to keep doing the action stuff while getting shot at with bullets which do damage irrespective of previous head traumas.

Javier Bardem and Mark Rylance knowingly over egg the pudding, Bardem in particular seems to be enjoying camping up drunken loser Felix but there really isn't enough meat for anyone to work with. Second on the billing Idris Elba only turns up in the final act although he does get to deliver a hilariously heavy handed metaphor about building a tree house, clearly deemed so good that Terrier refers to it again later on. As the story moves from merely tedious to utterly ludicrous there were more than a few sniggers around the auditorium and even some open guffawing at the denouement in the bull ring that everyone had seen coming a mile off.

Towards the end Rylance's character Cox says to Terrier, “For someone who doesn't want to do this anymore you're kill list is pretty high”. That this line is apparently delivered without irony sums up The Gunman's problem; it's completely unaware of its own preposterousness and thus misses every opportunity to send itself up, playing everything with such po-faced seriousness that it forgets to be fun.

So then, that bingo card:

He barely speaks louder than a low growly whisper? Check.

He has a complicated past? Check.

He’s one man against the rest? Check.

He has a son/ daughter who is in trouble and needs protecting/ rescuing? Check.

He has Special Forces training, but now exists in a world where it’s an irrelevance? Check.

He agonises over certain kills? Check.

He is completely profligate with other kills? Check.

Full house!

It’s a film of action movie cliché upon action movie cliché upon action movie cliché. A film of cliché which, nonetheless, is perfectly watchable, with decent performances. I have to admit I enjoyed my time in the cinema. But my God it is nonsense.

There is even a fight in a rail freight yard, just in case you haven’t ever seen an action movie with an urban location before.

This sequence, incidentally, is one of the most ineptly constructed chase and fights I have ever seen in a movie. It is badly edited and shot without the director seeming to know what direction the camera should be pointing, so the action repeatedly “crosses the line” and you have no idea which direction people are actually facing and chasing. Consequently it makes little sense.

The central conceit of the movie is that Neeson’s character is a one-time assassin for the Irish mob in New York, named Jimmy Conlon. That mob is now run by his old friend Shawn Maguire, played by Ed Harris. Surprising nobody, those two close friends have a spectacular falling out. And after a convoluted set of circumstances Conlon has to protect his son from harm. By running all night.

There are some serious acting chops in this movie. Harris is grizzled and carries weight behind his tired eyes despite the dialogue he has to say. Vincent D’Onofrio does sterling work as the Detective on their case, and Nick Nolte’s beard steals all the scenes he is in as Conlon’s brother.

Stand out performance comes from Joel Kinnaman as Conlon’s son Mike. He is tremendous, proving his thoroughly decent leading turn as the rebooted Robocop wasn’t a one off. It’s a shame he doesn’t really have much to do, but what he is left with, he does well.

Women don’t get a look in; the few female characters tend to do a bit of reacting to events in the background and off screen. And that, in this day and age, is really unacceptable.

The main crying shame though is Neeson. This man is a tremendous acting talent and the fact he’s been reduced to this kind of whispering out-of-the-box tough guy role time and time again belies what he’s capable of. He’s perfectly fine in this, but these days he could be doing it in his sleep. The movie passes the time perfectly well. It’s pure “turn your brain off” entertainment. It’s well done for what it is. Unfortunately, you can tell it thinks it is much, much more. It’s just an empty calorie of a movie. Once you’ve left the cinema it’s gone from your mind immediately.

Nothing resonates.

And I dare you not to laugh when Neeson as Conlon with all seriousness stares at his son and tells him if he wants to live, he has to run. It’s like a pastiche of every other movie he’s been in recently. Away you go. Bingo cards at the ready.

The film opens in 1988 and follows high school student Kat Connors (Shailene Woodley) as she deals with the sudden disappearance of her mother Eve (Eva Green). Kat attempts to get answers out of her reticent father Brock (Christopher Meloni), whilst also exploring her sexuality with schoolmate Phil (Shiloh Fernandez). These present day events are interspersed with flashbacks from Eve’s life before she went missing.

The film is heavy on narration, especially in the opening scenes when Kat details her mother’s life prior to having a child. This can often backfire in book adaptations, since it seems like the film isn’t offering the audience anything visually interesting to go with the words, but Araki justifies the use because it clarifies Kat’s subjective version of events. There are some occasions, however, where Araki lifts some awful lines of dialogue directly from book that serve no other purpose than to irritate.

Araki’s approach to period detail is interesting. The aforementioned soundtrack is really impressive, the director managing to delve into the 1980s jukebox to find perfect cues for a variety of moments. On the other hand, when he navigates the flashback scenes it often seems as though we’re watching Eve ten minutes ago rather than in a different decade. Whether this off kilter representation of the American past was intentional is unclear, since Araki is always playing in his own register, but it certainly seems at odds with what he is doing in the musical department.

Shailene Woodley’s naturalistic performance in the lead role is another thing that might seem out of place within Araki’s aesthetic if it weren’t for how specific her take on youthful naivety is. It ends up working in the film’s favour in never acting condescending towards Kat. The performance that stands out, for better or worse, comes from Eva Green. Considering that she spent the last year getting great notices in critically reviled films, it’s odd to see her so stilted here. She never seems to quite master Eve’s supposed ethereal nature, something which Kat constantly alludes to, and yet Green is still always worth watching.

The film’s final act is disappointing to say the least. Araki’s been provided with source material that seeks to solve the mystery of Eve’s disappearance, and yet he seems so disinterested in that for the most part. The story that Araki really wants to tell is about how this event impacts on Kat, particularly in relation to her sex life and perception of her mother. The film therefore has to be repurposed in the last half hour and this is done in such an awkward fashion.

White Bird in a Blizzard works much better as a drama fleshed out with comedic moments than as a thriller. It’s in the former setup that Araki utilises his unique style to study a teenager’s life in detail. Going down the latter route, however, requires him to be a bit flashier and a lot less considered.

Janet Leigh is also amazingly and believably real. Other performances in comparison are maybe a little stagey, but this is fine within the context of the story, and in the case of Angela Lansbury’s character, completely necessary. Lansbury is great in this too playing the kind of powerful matriarch around which dynasties are formed. Laurence Harvey is the leading man around which the story centres, and he is solid leading man material. On one level this hokey psychological thriller (playing on fears of enemy agents using hypnotism) is a kind of sub-Hitchcock story. But it is incredibly well done. The extra political element is where it becomes very interesting – the battling senators, and Angela Lansbury being the power behind her idiot candidate husband. An early scene where the premise of the hypnotism and brainwashing is explained by seemingly taking place in two different locations in one single shot - it is a virtuoso piece of filmmaking which almost wants to make you stand up and applaud its inventiveness. It is even more remarkable when you remember that it was filmed in 1959 and CGI effects weren’t available to paper the cracks. It is quite breath-taking. The Blu Ray transfer helps too; it looks great. To say too much more than I already have would be to spoil the plot – all you need to know is that it involves American soldiers returning home after being brainwashed during the Korean War, some opposing politicians and Presidential nominations. It is tense and properly thrilling, the story rattles along at a rate of knots, with some fabulous twists and turns. There is something very uneasy about following a story in which so much is hung around brainwashing – you genuinely don’t know who to trust a lot of the time. All in all this is a tremendous watch. It is a proper classic and rightly deserving of its status as such. Highly recommended. 

I really wanted to like this a lot. On paper it has so much going for it. Yes, it is beautifully shot – by far the most elegant and cinematically beautiful movie Mike Leigh has made so far. The aping of Turner’s paintings in the colour choices and framing is perhaps an obvious choice to make, but it is one which works very well. It looks stunning. The idea of Mike Leigh including CGI in a movie is perhaps the most surprising thing about it, but yes, there’s a steam powered ship sailing on the water which looks utterly fantastic. It is a painting come to life. And yes, the performances are pretty much uniformly wonderful – with particular praise due to Timothy Spall in the titular role, Marion Bailey as Mrs Booth and Paul Jesson as Turner’s father. It’s just that, unfortunately, it’s quite a dull film. Various scenes occasionally stand out as fascinating – and there is a surprising amount of humour. But there is no real narrative hook. Things amble along, quite long windedly, and then stop. If any character has developed or learnt anything we as the audience are left in the dark – Turner is as seemingly grumpy and belligerent as he passes away as an old man, as he was when we first meet him. For a biographical film Mike Leigh’s famed improvisation technique allows events to take place around and to the characters out of necessity, which unfortunately also allows the characters to not drive the story; events happening to them does instead. For a story about someone being famously rude, there is very little confrontation. And that does, despite the quality of the acting and visuals, mean that the film eventually outstays its welcome. It’s 147 minutes long and quickly feels it.