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Hoard (2023)
Curiouser and curiouser
At the London Film Festival, the makers of The Taste of Mango, a very moving documentary, directed by Chloe Abrahams, gave us all a rather cute mango pin as a keepsake. Started to think a souvenir from each film would be nice idea. Then I saw Hoard and thought, perhaps not!
Luna Carmoon's first feature, Hoard has been nominated for, and won, several awards. It doesn't flinch from the unpalatable and that's partly why it succeeds. Mind you, it's not for the faint-hearted, not to say it's gory - it's not Saw, but there are moments that will make you cringe or want to look away. But I think it's this way because it comes from the director's heart. She doesn't want to sugarcoat it. The lives are the lives of those of us who exist on the margins, outside convention, making up our own rules, creating our own codes.
Two of the films I saw at the Festival this year have had uncanny parallels to my real Grey Gardens* life.
My name is Chantal and I'm a hoarder.
Hostage to a frugal upbringing and a vivid imagination, my sister and I (just to make us even odder, we're twins) were the original recyclers, finding a new purpose for everything. More likely to collect from skips than add to them. I remember that immortal line of Dad's: 'Don't let Lyn look in the skip!' But then who puts teddies in skips? Lots of people it turns out.
But, after seeing Hoard, I hereby vow never to save another bit of used tinfoil. You know when you're thinking of collecting shiny, translucent, coloured sweet wrappers from certain makes of chocolates to use to make Christmas decorations, don't. It's a slippery slope and I'm already quite near the bottom. I will not pick up every lost toy in the street. -- A month on I've taken a two-bus journey to pick up a teddy-bear that had been appearing on Freecycle for a month. A week on from that and sister has brought home a teddy as tall as I am from another skip. And don't even mention the panda! And that's not even the one I ended up taking to a friend's wedding because he was the last toy left at a jumble sale. -- I blame my inclination to empathise with the inanimate as well as animate. It is incredibly difficult when you can see an alternative use or place for something and even harder when you don't because then it's down to you to adopt whatever mislaid, discarded item you come across. Of course, I know why I identify with the lost and/or unwanted. But knowing that doesn't stop me.
The chaotic home environment in Hoard, as well as looking frighteningly like our house reminded me a little of the TV version of Jacqueline Wilson's The Illustrated Mum, brilliantly brought to life by Michelle Collins, Holliday Grainger and particularly, Alice Connor. This is a bit more than that and possibly a bit too much.
Before I go further, I have to admit that I have come back to review this a long time after seeing the movie as life got in the way (a cancer curveball) so I don't remember every character or plot point.
In Hoard, the mother, Cynthia (Hayley Squires, brilliant) and daughter, Maria (Lily-Beau Leach) are everything to each other but Cynthia is a hoarder who sometimes loses touch with reality, or rather her reality is different from everyone else's.
The world inside the home is in some ways, make-believe and magical but in others, a minefield. And as the child, Maria, grows older, the glitter starts to look tarnished and the home environment seems to be more a tawdry collection of other people's rubbish than an enchanted kingdom of found treasure. It's also a lesson in how bit by bit, a situation worsens and you adapt to things like having to kick through piles of newspapers as you come in the door (at this point, whisper to sis, 'Better tidy up when we get home'). The disadvantages of this way of life start to outweigh the advantages.
Hoarding is not the only issue here. Nor is it ever. It's a symptom. There's love too but it's a selfish, excluding kind of love. We were too stupid as children to realise that 'us against the world' was not a battle we could win. Maria starts to understand too, that her life is not like other people's and, just perhaps, it's not as good. Sometimes children need stability and normality as well as excitement.
You sense that something's gotta give. Social workers become involved and Maria is removed from her mother's care and placed with a foster family, in which Samantha Spiro handles with aplomb the thankless task of being the responsible mother figure, Michelle.
Teenage Maria (Saura Lightfoot-Leon) has a wild friendship with kindred spirit, Laraib (Deba Hekmat). This madcap sorority of two seems to work although you sense that things could spiral out of control quite quickly.
Then a former foster son turns up, Michael (Joseph Quinn) and sets the cat among the pigeons. His involvement with Maria seems to turn into a pissing contest (though luckily only metaphorically as Michael would be an also-ran, you'll find out why when you see the movie) where they try to out-extreme each other. What was it they were spitting on and then licking up? Yuck.
Joseph Quinn** I first noticed in Howard's End. Now normally I'm annoyed when the BBC wastes my licence fee on an adaptation that has already been pretty successfully realised as a film but I was totally won over by his portrayal of Leonard Bast. The exquisite torture of his embarrassment, his injured pride, over the lost umbrella. He was also in one of my favourite plays, Wishlist, playing second fiddle to the amazing Erin Doherty. And of course, there was Dickensian, in which he managed to invest his portrayal of Arthur Havisham with so many layers, that, although we should have despised him, we still felt sympathy with him.
The trouble with the Maria/Laraib, Maria/Michael relationships is that they're a little too similar. Saura Lightfoot-Leon is a find and she invests each step closer to looney with amazing, convincing gusto that makes what seems incredible, credible. She and Michael have a weird sort of magnetic attraction, that the actors make real for us. My caveat would be that sometimes it's hard to unravel the motivation for the action. But, you know, life's like that, families are like that. People do things and sometimes we never learn why. And sometimes when we do, we wish we hadn't.
Meanwhile, Cathy Tyson stole onto the screen to steal every scene as as Michelle's lascivious friend.
It's a wild-ish trip but one worth taking.
* Saw this a few years ago. A documentary on some eccentric relatives of Jackie Onassis. Sort of compelling.
** Has found fame or infamy in Stranger Things, which I haven't seen.
Bellevue (2017)
Better without Anna
This series is ruined by Anna Paquin's terrible acting. It's not worth watching without subtitles because she garbles all her lines in an effort to get through them as fast as possible like a kid in a school play so you never know what she's said. It's hard to follow the plot because nearly all her lines are unintelligible. We're forever looking at each other, asking 'What?' It's a pretty big problem with a series that has a lot of dialogue. She very rarely changes her expression (pissed off/confused) and walks in a really weird way, just as she did in A Walk on the Moon (1999) when she played a truculent teen, stomping around with her arms off at a weird angle. This can be viewed as cute or charming in a child as she was then but is simply annoying and unlikely in an adult. I'm not convinced that she can act at all and the sad thing is that the characters she interacts with are giving it their all to no avail - their efforts are sucked into her vacuum. So kudos to Shawn Doyle, Billy MacLellan, Allen Leech et al for trying to raise her game with no luck at all. And a special mention to the girl who plays her daughter (Madison Ferguson) who handles their scenes together brilliantly. Plus the so-called cryptic notes are straight out of a bad soap.
Who Do You Think You Are?: Jack and Michael Whitehall (2019)
WHO DO YOU THINK IS TO BLAME?
I don't want to be too #MeToo about it but in this latest enthralling episode of long-running series Who Do You Think You Are , featuring Michael and Jack Whitehall, the typical misogyny was sadly at play.
The historian Jane Hammond bemoaned the fate of poor commercial travellers 'exposed' to 'all sorts of temptations while on the road', most of them supplied by immoral and available women. The passage from Dickens's speech attached no blame to the women he mentions but rather lampoons the men's allegedly 'chaste and innocent admiration of its (a hotel's) landlady' and 'fraternal regard for its handsome chambermaid'. But the historian interprets this to mean that the said travellers were 'potentially fraternising with women of dubious moral repute'. Surely it's the men who have dubious morals and who are probably harassing any woman they come across?
And in the case in question the philandering traveller goes on to infect his perfectly innocent wife with syphilis, which sends her mad before killing her.
Let's not again lay the blame at the door of the women, for goodness' sake, as do TV shows such as 'Murderers and Their Mothers' - no one ever blames it on the murderer himself or indeed his father.
Professor Hilary Marlin at least recognises that 'Women were seen as the vulnerable victims of men's sexual misbehaviour', which is more like it.
My Cousin Rachel (2017)
Poor Du Maurier adaptation
I'd only just read Daphne Du Maurier's book and really liked it so I looked forward to seeing the movie.
This film has the distinction of not only being the worst adaptation of a novel that I've ever seen (for how to make a successful adaptation, see ITV's Vanity Fair, which was near perfect) but is also one of the worst movies I've ever seen. To put this in perspective, I'm talking The Killing of a Sacred Deer bad (oh, Nicole! oh, Colin!), I'm talking Wonder Wheel bad (oh, Kate!). It's as if the director Roger Michel took his script from an abridged edition or perhaps the Cliffs Notes of the novel, and even then one with several random pages torn out, so that the gist and thrust of the narrative are lost.
Because of this, the film version lacks the heart, the logic, the mystery and therefore the believability of the original story.
Everything Michel adds grates and jangles with inauthenticity, for instance he has someone who is evidently a lady, played with verve by the always excellent Holliday Grainger (I first saw her in the amazing The Illustrated Mum),* talk about dog 'shit' when a woman in her position just wouldn't have. Then we have a servant say of another: 'You effing p****wit'. It's completely unnecessary.
What's annoying about this is that Du Maurier's book is full of dialogue and description. In the film, everything is exaggerated and/or conflated till it makes no sense. In the book, Ambrose's letters disclose the course of his connection with Rachel, with several mentions of the laburnum tree in the courtyard of Rachel's villa in Italy, under which Ambrose would sit while suffering from some recurring unnamed malady and there are many scenes that show the development of the relationship between Rachel and Philip so that it seems natural.
Everything Michel chooses to omit is vital to any understanding of the story or empathy with the characters, for instance the book conveys the life of Ambrose and Philip as a male idyll, with no real need of a woman's input, happy and carefree. But Michel barely acknowledges this, having the same actor play both roles, allowing the impression that there was something wrong with their bachelor life before she arrived.
I'm sure Rachel Weisz, who plays the eponymous Rachel can act (she usually can) but she fails to make her Rachel either bewitching or sinister but merely seems a little unhinged, one minute shouting (which doesn't happen in the novel and is totally out of character), the next seductive. I'm not at all sure about Sam Claflin. He's incredibly unconvincing as Philip, evincing neither boyish naivety (it comes across as petulance) nor enthusiasm. Together they create a charisma vacuum that sucks the life out of the rest of the film.
The scenes seem to chop and change pointlessly so a single conversation jumps from an interior to two or three exterior shots, giving us the uneasy sensation that the characters are for some reason having the same conversation over and over again in various locales.
Watching the film with the subtitles on makes it seem even sillier as Rachel and Philip are forever 'chuckling softly' over nothing. These chuckles are supposed to indicate the characters' rapprochement but they are without foundation if you leave out the dialogue.
There's an obligatory, shirtless sequence (post-Aidan Turner's Ross Poldark) that, although it has source in the novel, seems a weird thing to include when you plan to leave out so much else and the cinematography showcases the beautiful Cornish countryside much like Poldark. But one of the BBC series' virtues is that it incorporates a lot of Winston Graham's original dialogue thus we get witty repartee and barbed retorts.
Of course, I completely understand that a film might have to concertina and alter a story a bit (the garden design/landscaping element is left out altogether - that's fine) for its own purposes but what we're left with is people behaving really oddly for no apparent reason.
By the end of the novel, the reader is certain that Rachel is poisoning Philip just like she poisoned his cousin, with her eyes firmly fixed on the prize of his inheritance. Michel decides to leave this one absolute open-ended as a 'did she? didn't she?', no doubt to try to pique the viewer's interest but it turns out to be too little too late.
Irene's Ghost (2018)
Profoundly affecting
Ok I have to admit that when the film started, I had a sinking feeling. Oh no, not one of those documentaries along the lines of Nick Broomfield/Jacques Peretti where there's a toneless narration by the film-maker/subject, expressing no emotion at all. Plus I'd expected the film to be American (poor research on my part) because, I've worked out, of the image in the programme of the director and his mother in which they both looked perfect and perfectly happy and so rather unBritish. I'm glad I assumed wrong though because I may have felt less intrigued by a British documentary (see above) and chosen something else and it would have been my loss.
Then there's the initial focus on the adorable poppet of a daughter and the assertion that it was only when Iain Cunningham had his own child that he became determined to unravel the mystery surrounding his mother, Irene. I have a problem with the notion that only when you become a parent do you acquire empathy with, compassion for or curiosity about your own parents.
'And watching my own child grow through her early years helped me see the impact my loss had on me. A three-year-old has a huge capacity for love.'
This implies he's more concerned with how the loss of his mother affected the child he was, although it's probable she only existed as a vague idea in his head as he was very young when she died, than what caused her disappearance. His father did what he thought was best for both of them at the time, he remarried and his wife, June, became to all intents and purposes, Iain's mother so let's hear it for June, may she rest in peace.
With these misgivings, it's remarkable how soon and how easily the film won me round.
Iain starts his brave undertaking by interrogating his relatives, encountering some initial reluctance particularly on the part of his father. Undeterred, he sets about knocking on doors, following clues and meeting his mother's friends, who share many fond and sometimes quite detailed recollections of Irene and their collective past, for instance, of her sitting on a gate singing 'King of the Road' by Roger Miller. Their memories bring her alive. It appears she was well loved and one friend in particular, Lynn, is demonstrably glad of the chance to reminisce about the best friend who no one ever mentions now, who she lost so long ago. There's a very real sense of sadness and confusion over what happened and why. The extreme close-ups on the interviewees' faces mirror and exacerbate for the viewer the discomfort they feel in talking about an awkward subject.
Gradually we come to realise that Irene was hospitalised after the birth of her son, then allowed out for a while (when the gloriously happy picture was taken) then rehospitalised when her illness recurred. There's an unspoken consensus that it was some physical complication during childbirth that led to Irene's death, a heavy burden for a child to carry and so a very good reason to keep a secret. Iain gains some insight when he finds his baby book in amongst some old boxes of photos. There are strange scrawlings about God, baby, etc., not exactly the pride and joy a new mother might express. This suggests that there was something awry with Irene's thought processes.
We learn that when Lynn went to visit Irene in hospital (which she didn't first time around because she and other friends were led to believe that Irene was in a coma, the truth being unsayable), Irene didn't recognise her and had started seeing things that weren't there, becoming paranoid and loud, acting out of character.
Even when Irene is at home, she doesn't feel the same, saying 'I'm not Irene, you know, I'm Irene's ghost.' And there's no doubt that to her family she must have seemed like a different person.
As was common in those days, any hint of mental instability was hushed up. It turns out that Irene suffered from post-partum psychosis (as it is called today) that led her to behave in a way that would have been quite frightening to all who knew her.
When the psychosis returned, she was readmitted to hospital and died soon after. Her death certificate records the cause of death as 'cardiac arrest'. No one seems to question - maybe it's too difficult (and certainly too late) to consider - whether the electric shock treatment she was given affected her heart.
So Iain's persistence pays off and the film's slow reveal helps us to comprehend the true horror of what happened to Irene.
It's quite probable that Iain's father felt guilt, fear, confusion and helplessness when faced with something that no one really had any idea about (not even the doctors), that even today carries a stigma, that people felt could (and should) not be talked about.
Symptoms of post-partum psychosis usually start suddenly within the first two weeks after giving birth. More rarely, they can develop several weeks after the baby is born and include hallucinations, delusions, mania, depression, loss of inhibitions, paranoia, restlessness, confusion, out of character behaviour.
The film, as well as being an investigation into the mystery behind Irene's death and her complete eradication from their family history, also acts to rehabilitate her memory, so that she can take her place in the lives of her descendants, as a vital, normal, caring young woman who suffered an illness that inevitably hastened her end but need not define her.
Irene's Ghost is profoundly affecting. Many of us were in tears by the end. And you can't say better than that. Art should move you. I hope that the producer, Rebecca Mark-Lawson is able to procure a wider release as this sensitive film raises awareness about a devastating condition that is still not in common parlance. It deserves to be seen by as many people as possible.
Dark Storm (2006)
A Disaster but Kind of Fun
A movie starring a lesser Baldwin (Stephen, they're all 'lesser' to Alec since he's been around the longest) who spends the whole film looking vaguely pissed off, or as if he's trying to do mental arithmetic (like Joey, Matt LeBlanc, in Friends, was advised to do to show emotion), an expression that probably originates from his manful struggle to spout scientific gobbledegook like 'I've never seen so much dark matter in one place' as if it actually meant something.
He plays that disaster movie cliché, the one sensible person in the possibly (inevitably) catastrophic scenario battling whatever constitutes the powers that be (the mayor/the government/the corporation/the other scientists), questioning their refusal to act in the face of this certain calamity, usually for reasons of the bottom line, insisting that the town/beach/world be evacuated while there's still time (time is always of the essence) because there's going to be a tidal wave/earthquake/tornado/shark attack/solar flare/alien invasion (delete as appropriate).
He will probably be the one to deliver possibly the most used line in any horror/thriller/scifi movie: 'Let's get the hell outta here!' as if anyone would contemplate staying put while the sky falls in.
To top it all, he's absorbed some 'dark matter' himself, as you do, been electrocuted then struck by lightning. No wonder he looks a little peeved.
The plot is nonsensical but the film's a trip. See the image on the front of the box - that's the expression Stephen Baldwin wears throughout. Perplexed. Or maybe that's just his 'intelligent scientist' face.
Three Peaks (2017)
Excellent three-hander - there is a spoiler but I warn you before you get there.
You know a film is good when you're still talking about it several days later. So it was with Three Peaks, directed by Jan Zalbein which I saw at the London Film Festival. However, I was still a little worried that the film might be a dud simply because it was a three-hander, featuring a child. Occasionally, and this is particularly true of British cinema, you get a child in a movie who cannot act at all, for instance, the kids in Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe et al.). We Brits seem to demand nothing of child actors (beyond speaking their lines in the right order) and consequently we get nothing (or less in the case of Harry Potter) while the US has a history of high expectations and correspondingly high achievers from the 1970s to the 2000s, from Tatum O'Neal in Paper Moon, Justin Henry in Kramer vs Kramer, the ubiquitous Jodie Foster, Henry Thomas in ET: The Extra-Terrestrial, through Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense and AI: Artificial Intelligence to Jacob Tremblay in Room, not to mention Dakota and Elle Fanning in almost everything else. I'm relieved to say this is not the case with Three Peaks. Arian Montgomery, who plays eight-year-old Tristan, is a revelation. Entirely believable in every scene; you immediately empathise with his stepfather Aaron's desire to connect with him.
This film is about identity, love, parenthood, fractured families and the effect the last has on all involved. It depicts the predicament of the new man in a mother's life, illustrating how he performs the father role in all but name, depended upon, even taken for granted by the child, sharing in all the labour and reward of raising the boy and, from the opening scene, it seems, completely accepted. And we also see it from the boy's point of view, in which Aaron is the interloper in his family, having usurped his father (whose presence is established by regular phone calls), all complicated by Tristan's own guilt for occasionally preferring Aaron to his father.
Alexander Fehling, who was very good in Homeland, in which, coincidentally, he also had to play father figure to someone else's child, the daughter that Carrie (Claire Danes) has with Brodie (Damian Lewis) although his role is secondary to the main storyline (for more on Homeland, see secretsquirrelshorts), is the easy to identify with Aaron, who has to negotiate the tightrope of this awkward situation, in which he is asked to be a father but never be called a father, in which he plays second fiddle to the whims and wishes of a wilful and demanding but sometimes incredibly charming eight-year-old, and has to handle the pressure put upon him by Lea (played by Bérénice Bejo, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a young Natalie Wood) who wants to be fair to her child, his father and her new man. Aaron is frequently tripped up (dangerous on a tightrope), courted and betrayed by both.
The rather cosseted Tristan continually tests the boundaries, crossing the line between mischief and malice. He can be deliberately and casually affectionate and just as deliberately and casually cruel. Realising that he's a king in his court, he wields his power accordingly, bestowing and withdrawing his trust randomly, so that poor Aaron is forever placating him in order to gain his favour, scavenging for crumbs at the table. But what the boy gives with one hand, he takes back with the other, pulling him towards him as he pushes him away. Loved and resented in equal measure, with Tristan revealing himself to be capable of minor violence, Aaron is in a quandary. Should he come down hard or brush it off? He opts to ignore it.
Aware that he holds all the cards, Tristan toys with Aaron, who's begun to see him as his own son, and undoubtedly loves him, by calling him 'Papa' just to see how it feels and what the reaction will be - poor Aaron is beguiled and grateful, happily reporting it to the mother only for her to disapprove - he should have made it clear that he's not Tristan's father because Tristan already has a father and this might confuse him. The unfortunate Aaron is in a no-win situation here. If he had said 'Don't call me Papa' I can well imagine the tantrums that might have resulted. From mother and son.
Repeatedly offered an ultimatum by Tristan, as their circumstances become more desperate, and the man's situation more precarious, Aaron, like the people who attended the film's screening cannot conceive that a child would resort to something much more dangerous and violent in order to force a return to the status quo. It's shocking but suddenly, because of the way it's played, also totally credible.
(Stop reading now if you haven't yet seen the movie)
The ending is cleverly ambiguous. At one point, I was reminded of the scene in Before the Fall (Napola) when the character runs out of options and chooses to sacrifice himself. The director realised that such an outcome might prove unpalatable to some audiences (and such it proved at the LFF, where they chose to believe in the innocence and innate goodness of the child despite all evidence to the contrary). We were allowed to come to our own conclusions. We were allowed to hope.
At the time of viewing, Three Peaks had yet to acquire a UK distributor, which is a real shame. It definitely deserves to be seen.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Credit the cat!
Other reviewers have suggested that people don't like this film because there's not enough action and pointed out that it's not an action movie. If I wanted to watch an action movie, I wouldn't pick one about a singer-songwriter wandering about 1960s New York. One guy does his girlfriend a disservice by implying she's simply too low-brow to appreciate it, that it doesn't have enough action for her. It's not that she only likes action movies, it's that she doesn't like bad movies. People have written that it's darkly comedic. It isn't. There's nothing funny about this movie. The protagonist, admittedly he's not supposed to be likable, is aimless in a charmless way and really rude to his two benefactors, simply for the chance to flex his artistic temperament. As usual, the Coens have stuck in John Goodman as a completely over the top caricature. They like to stretch credulity. He must surely tire of these roles (like in Death Sentence) but it's all money in the bank I guess. Carey Mulligan does her usual hard-to-like girlfriend act. Justin Timberlake is worth watching as a wholesome folk singer and Garrett Hedlund is wasted as the enigmatic Johnny Five.
The Coen brothers still think swearing is hilarious when it hasn't been funny since the beginning of Four Weddings and a Funeral. And Hugh Grant was charming.
The cat is by far the best thing in it and doesn't even get credited in the cast. Sensibly, he spends all his time trying to disassociate himself from this ideas vacuum of a movie and disappear from the frame. The cat should get an award, the rest was awful.
Versailles (2015)
Enormous fun
'Appearance is everything' (Louis XIV) Many have compared Versailles unfavourably with Wolf Hall. I found the latter turgid in the extreme, in plot, dialogue, character, action. Its whole ambiance was drab and dark and I was left thinking that there was no budget for anything but obscure interiors, whereas Versailles is like a glitter-ball, its many bright facets attracting my attention: its undeniably pretty cast, the sumptuous costumes, magnificent settings and the stunning, beautifully crafted opening credit sequence, which has deservedly won awards, with its perfect marriage of images, music, typeface (just the way the title comes together makes my heart beat a little faster) - every time it comes on I have to turn the volume up. Every time. Louis XIV is often shown being dressed by his entourage, occasionally seeming mesmerised by his own reflection. But the whole shebang is an essay in grandiloquence, worthy of Louis himself, with the first season reportedly costing £20 million.
Then there's the adroit characterisation and fantastic acting from the leads (George Blagden, one minute masterful, the next vulnerable, plus he can sashay in a sash, as Louis XIV; Alexander Vlahos as his petulant brother, Philippe; and Evan Williams's turn as the saucy, mischief-making Chevalier). So I agree that Versailles is no Wolf Hall. And all the better for that. It's way more engaging and much more fun.
Where Wolf Hall had the lugubrious, dour (or badly constipated) Mark Rylance barely altering his expression throughout (watch it for yourself), in Versailles, Louis XIV's face is never the same, each subtle nuance of emotion registered in a sometimes infinitesimal alteration, only fleetingly visible. Blagden conveys more in one scene than Rylance did in a whole series, from a demure tilt of the head to a melancholy glance, a forgiving smile to a sudden rousing of rage.
'Are you with me, brother?' The dynamic between him and Philippe is complex and intriguing. They strike sparks off each other, their exchanges flare up like fireworks and are as suddenly extinguished but come replete with arch looks and sometimes not-so-subtle innuendo about exposed flanks and well-timed thrusts. More of a seesaw than a power struggle as they peacock around the court, with Philippe, when rebuked for his excessive expenditure, retorting: 'You build your palace. I wear my clothes.' And called to account for his shoes in particular, he explains 'You haven't seen the shoes.' Even when he's sent to war, there's time to agonise over his outfit: 'How does one dress for war?'
Conflict is rife as both brothers are imperious, impetuous and believe they're entitled to behave as they like, which often translates as badly (Louis is obliged to consider his position longer because he's King, as he's fond of reminding everyone although mostly to no avail). He randomly wields his power like an omnipotent toddler. Louis' affair with Philippe's wife doesn't help. Then there's the war, the striking builders (it's France after all), the discontented nobility, the whingeing mistresses, mysterious masked conspirators, not to mention the seditious machinations of Chevalier. Poor Louis. No wonder he feels benighted and doesn't know who to trust.
The court is decadent, Louis is promiscuous. Philippe is bi. Chevalier is easy. It's possible to extrapolate innuendo from relatively harmless-sounding dialogue. Louis is conversing with a friend from his youth. They admire his mistress-in-waiting (with Louis flattery will get you everywhere and she's wise to this) and Louis warns: 'She you do not touch' then 'I have a position in mind for you' and we have to wonder if he's suggesting a threesome.
So, are there too many sex scenes? It is racy and raunchy but that reflects the real relationships in the court, ramped up for the purposes of the drama. And a little controversy can't really hurt. But, let's face it, it's British TV, it ain't that explicit.
The past reimagined via the present It's a vision of the past tempered by a lens from the present. There's evidence of a postmodern self-awareness in a shot of the ever fashion-conscious Philippe checking himself out in a mirror before he begins his battle charge. It looks, deliberately I'm sure, exactly as if he were taking a selfie.
So, what's the caveat? The dialogue is sometimes rather clunky and plain wrong. Here are some toe-curling examples: Chevalier is described as 'beyond reproach' . Beyond reproach is the exact opposite of what Chevalier is. The writers mean 'beyond the pale'. A visiting royal declares 'Versailles is more beautiful than I can imagine.' I think he must mean 'than I could have imagined.'
Then there's the use of modern-day vernacular such as 'Are you with me, brother? Do you have my back?', which reminds me of that line from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, 'Must you walk in back of me?' or the faut pas in Titanic when Kate Winslet gives someone the finger. Some of it is meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but there's a general tendency to sacrifice authenticity for a quick quip. George Blagden shows a particular talent for delivering some of the dodgier lines, such as 'That's a lot of s**t' when he sees a cartload of manure. He still manages to emerge regal. Anyway, I volunteer to do a quick read-through of the script to avoid at least the first kind of mistake.
But, for all that, Versailles is involving, beautifully realised and incredibly watchable, with irresistible tableaux and curiously appealing characters. I won't be missing an episode.
Unedited version at secret squirrel reviews blog.
Close to the Enemy (2016)
Waste of time and money
Unlike your reviewer, Dan, who I totally agree with, I didn't make it to the half hour mark. I only lasted twenty-five minutes. In my defence, each minute felt like an hour. Jim Sturgess is particularly awful, putting on an accent and a tone that are horrible to listen to, phony and irritating at once, as if he were copying a Cockney doing a bad imitation of a toff. His voice in this is completely unbearable – and as he was heavily featured in most of the first twenty-five minutes, you'll see why I had to give up. There are so many actors out there who could achieve a posh accent or already have one (George Blagden, Alex Vlahos, Johnny Flynn to name a few) that it seems stupid to cast one who can't deliver (although maybe anyone who could, read the script and said 'No thanks'). It's not all his fault though as I often persevere longer with dramas where there's one annoying character, if the script, plot, other characters hold my interest. This is not the case here. I've enjoyed Poliakoff in the distant past (certainly not recently) but perhaps he's had his day. It annoys me that the BBC has spent our money on something else so turgid and tiresome.
Law & Order: Skate or Die (2009)
A tour de force
Loved this episode. Brian Gant as Jonah Appelbaum aka the Bipolar Roller, steals every scene he's in with a swift and wicked sleight of hand. Jeremy Sisto thinks he's got a handle on it, blinks and it's gone, folded and put away in the pocket of Jonah's purple striped hoodie. He's totally mesmerising, incredibly believable (if that's not oxymoronic) as the roller-skating, sweetly psychotic anti-hero of this piece, disarming his interrogators and viewers alike. The part is very well written and beautifully realised with a skill so consummate, it seems there's nothing as ordinary as acting involved.
Kudos to whoever plundered the rainbow to create Jonah's outfit, which can only be called an 'ensemble', manifesting such diligent attention to detail, from accessories (the gold lamé scarf and the jewellery), to the aforementioned hoodie, resulting in an effect that perfectly complements Jonah's psychedelic trip of a personality.
Gant invests Jonah with so much idiosyncratic charm, such gusto and unexpected athleticism as he alternates between intense focus and utter distraction, somehow making it all seem so natural that if the plot hadn't worked out the way it did, I would fully expect to see the Bipolar Roller next time I come to New York. Meanwhile, perhaps items from the clothing line will be in the shops soon.
Joy Division (2006)
More Tom Schilling please, less of the other guy
Perhaps I should have been warned by the banner across the top of the box 'THE PAST IS A PLACE YOU CANNOT ESCAPE' (so profound - not) and the fact that the only praise longer than one word they have is from something called Boys Toys, who proclaim 'SEARING WARTIME SET-PIECES'. The latter at least is true.
Here's an edited synopsis: 'In the last days of World War II, a teenager is forced into battle against the advancing Red Army ... he is captured by the Russians and disappears behind the Iron Curtain ... 17 years later, he is recruited ... and sent on a mission by the KGB to London'.
Bought this because Tom Schilling was in it but have to agree with the other reviewers - his bits are excellent, the German back story is the only watchable part, mostly because of his natural, effortless, sympathetic performance and far more credible and moving than the 60s spy episodes. They should have expanded this to movie length and completely cut the 60s section.
This film was written and directed by Reg Traviss. There's a reason this guy's not a household name and this movie could be it. First, he's cast Ed Stoppard (no relation to Tom or Miriam - oh wait, yes, he's their son; nothing like getting a part on merit, and this is nothing like it). His lines are delivered in an affectless tone, reminiscent of Keira Knightley at the wooden beginning of her career, with one of those irritating schizophrenic accents British people adopt to please Americans, often heard in US teen drama, such as Dawson's Creek and One Tree Hill; for the first half of a sentence, they sound as if they're in Downton, for the second half, they sound like they're in EastEnders, i.e. posh then common. No one in England really talks like this. And whereas everything Tom Schilling does is finely nuanced; Ed Stoppard's a blunt instrument and he doesn't have the charisma to carry a weak storyline. It's not entirely his fault as he doesn't have much to work with.
Then, if he started as German, then went to live in Russia, why doesn't he speak English with a foreign accent? It has to be pointed out that Tom Schilling is way more convincing in a second language than Ed is in his first. It would have made more sense (since Schilling was playing 10 years younger than his actual age), to age him a mere 7 years and allow him to play the older version too. At least there would have been a consistency as far as accents are concerned.
The story and script are dire. The 60s spy plot is stultifying (consisting of Ed waiting on a succession of benches to rendezvous with other spies), though they try to spice it up by adding Michelle Gayle (not really known for her acting and this isn't going to help) as a supremely uninteresting love interest. They both like art so they fall in love. It's as bland and as undeveloped as that but no doubt Reg thought it represented a real meeting of minds.
There's a very irritating cameo from Bernard Hill as a disaffected Communist who spouts tripe like: 'Are we the leaders? Or are we the led? Or are we neither?' which must pass for deep in Reg Traviss's world and Ed's too as he responds 'It's a lot to think about'. No, it ain't. Who cares? Worse than all this though is the voice-over, which is another attempt to be deep, with Ed delivering such pearls of wisdom as 'strength through experience to again become strong'. Hmm. This doesn't mean anything. Or 'the unstoppable force of nature swept through my heart'. Neither does this. But Reg is fond of 'unstoppable force'; it crops up more than once.
Don't go thinking this has anything much to do with either the Joy Division of the Nazis or the band of the late 70s. If only.
My final verdict is that there's just about enough Tom Schilling to warrant any fan of his watching this movie.
Ferocious Planet (2011)
Don't poke the alien
This film had us in fits from start to finish. I don't think it's deliberately funny more just a touch tongue in cheek but it's definitely worth watching for its comedic value. Not that it's without a serious moral message. I'll tell you this at the end.
A group of bigshots in a lab to observe an experiment are accidentally moved through time and space by a couple of Irish scientists to the eponymous Ferocious Planet.
The planet bears an uncanny resemblance to a wood anywhere on Earth (with a few cheap sfx such as violet smoke and flashing lights) although this doesn't stop one of the inadvertently intrepid travellers from taking cell phone photos of trees, mushrooms and other flora which look exactly the same as their Earthly equivalent, to document the experience, while continually failing to even attempt to take any photos of huge dinosaur-like creatures that give chase to our merry band and we assume give the planet its moniker as the place itself is no more ferocious than Central Park. As with the latter, it's the natives that are ferocious rather than the habitat.
There is quicksand though and two of the men get stuck in it. The woman says: 'Don't worry. I go to Pilates six days a week.' Who knew that this would give her enough strength to pull two heavy blokes out of quicksand? I'm having words with my yoga teacher as I still struggle to carry my suitcase.
A straight-talking type with a deep southern drawl (a least to begin with), identified as the Colonel, takes control, (the likable Joe Flanigan doing a passable impression of Christian Kane), and points out the obvious: 'We're not safe here.' Someone asks: 'Where do you suggest we go?' Colonel: 'Somewhere where our asses aren't sticking up in the middle of the air.'
Every now and then, it falls to a character to deliver some of the Colonel's backstory, which is entirely unnecessary but is there to prove that, although he's someone who's been wrongly discredited, he is really an all-round good guy. The dialogue is horribly 'on the nose', so: 'It wasn't your fault that hospital was destroyed.'
Here's an absolutely priceless comment from the female Irish scientist or voice of doom: 'According to my calculations, we only have six hours before the aligned conjunction of this dimension with ours suffers quantum collapse.
Once the dimensions fall out of alignment, we're stuck here forever.'
However, whenever the Colonel asks how long they have, which he does periodically, neither of the scientists is able to give him any idea, saying things like 'Two hours? Three hours?' or 'Not long now'. They're rather vague. I wouldn't trust scientists that can't even read a wristwatch myself.
Anyway, time is supposedly of the essence but the characters still take what can only be described as a desultory stroll through the woods as if they really were wandering in Central Park on an extra long lunch break. My sister comments 'I've seen people move faster than this in Morrisons'. If you've ever been in Morrisons, you'll know that its shoppers move at a snail's pace.
Possibly the most hilarious sequence is when the two scientists communicate by scribbling hieroglyphics on a pad, after each scribble, saying stuff like: 'Could it be?' (more frantic writing such as 223-4(x) + å17³²) then 'But' (a few quick pencil scratches) or 'What if' (more frenetic scrawling) then 'It's theoretically impossible!' and so on. This episode stands in for the need for any real scientific explanation of how they got in their current predicament and how they're going to get out of it. Neat.
Hapless expendable no. 1 pokes the alien they've captured, which seems to be dead. This results in his death. Scientist: What the hell happened? Hapless expendable no. 2: He poked it with a pen and some black stuff shot out and hit him in the face. Scientist (reprovingly): Don't poke the alien. (This has to be one of the best lines in a sci-fi movie ever and surely a creed we need to adopt for life but it's still not the moral of the tale.)
Meanwhile, the Irish accent has proved contagious and has spread from the scientists to the rest of the cast. Even the Colonel is speaking with a slight Irish brogue.
So, the moral of this tale would be 'Do not allow Irish people who can't tell the time to fiddle with the space-time continuum' especially one who boasts 'I'm one of the most intelligent people in the world.'
The Eleventh Victim (2012)
No, Jennie, no!
I've said this review contains a spoiler but really the title itself does that, given that they start with seven victims
A film that doesn't really need to bother with stuff like realistic characters, plotting or dialogue, presuming that if we're willing to suspend disbelief enough to accept Jennie Garth (yes you know her – Kelly from 'Beverly Hills 90210') as a hotshot lawyer who seamlessly metamorphoses into a successful therapist, we'd pretty much go along with anything. And not wonder (in a physician, heal thyself, kind of way) why Jennie (let's not bother with character names since she doesn't bother to act), intelligent psychiatrist, doesn't wean herself off the anxiety pills she's been on since her last case but instead has to continually reach for them in a panic at the slightest sound.
Sometimes I think that film as a whole would be immeasurably improved if there were a veto against flashbacks. Jennie obviously agrees with me. Forced to endure acting a series of flashbacks of being throttled, she reasons that it's not worth wasting too much effort on these, opting not to bother to change her expression when strangled. She simply looks a little peeved, like she might have to (but maybe not) miss a hair appointment. She greets most of the events in the movie with this look of mild annoyance and a hair toss. Inexplicably antagonistic to the police, she accuses them of suspecting her of the murder although they haven't shown any sign of this and appear completely bemused by her attitude.
I soon find myself wishing that the serial killer of the seven women would make Jennie his eighth victim (for crimes against acting although I have to hold the director partly responsible) granting us a merciful release from the rest of the movie – another three victims' long (we would have to alter the title to 'The Eighth Victim') and Jennie would not have to spout such lines as 'I think he's playing some sick game with me'. She tries to call the police, saying it's a matter of 'life or death'. Unfortunately, her lack of emphasis means it comes across more like a matter of 'deep pan or thin crust' so she doesn't quite get the response she wants.
With the killer eventually confessing to his crimes in detail, as they almost always do in these movies, Jennie symbolically chucks her tablets away, even though the last time he was caught and in jail, she took them all the time. Where's the logic?
Anyway, hope springs eternal that someone out there will like this garbage so be very afraid, the door has been left open for a sequel. After seeing this though, you'll want to slam it shut. Otherwise – 'The Twelfth Victim' anyone?
Midnight Bayou (2009)
Beyond silly
Attempted to watch but found ourselves mostly fast-forwarding this Nora Roberts 'thriller' that we videoed for our Dad. It was a Channel 5 Saturday night premiere and we'd been burned once already with Willed to Kill. Plus, we'd seen a Nora Roberts movie before so should have been more wary. This was more of the same. Jerry O'Connell, that goofy, odd-looking guy plays the lead looking perpetually surprised – perhaps by the script which has Faye Dunaway (still pretty fine) calling him 'a beautiful young man' but I would say it's a fair guess that this line was not written with him in mind because he is not by a fair stretch of the imagination that beautiful or young. Young in comparison to Ms Dunaway maybe. And I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I'll say no more. If you're ready to accept this though, you might also allow yourself to believe the daft storyline, which involves ghosts, reincarnation and visions of the past all muddled together randomly in a crazy, clashing potpourri. Beyond silly. There's a signposted-a-state-away love storyline that doesn't ring true for a second. A cameo from the gorgeous Alejandro Rose-Garcia as the intriguingly evil brother Julien is enjoyable but we see too little of him. New Orleans is the other draw – I'd never been interested in going there but this has changed my mind – it looks stunning. Unfortunately, neither is enough to warrant your wasting your time on this movie. Scarily unscary.
Willed to Kill (2012)
Could make you lose the will to live ...
Hmm. Don't know about 'Willed to Kill' but watching this may make you lose your will to live. It's the typical serial killer fare but somehow accomplishes the feat of being formulaic and implausible at the same time. Quite an achievement. First of all, it's full of totally lame (and I mean seriously limping) jokes and what the scriptwriters obviously believe is entertaining banter, which is entirely unamusing.
The lead character (a female detective) jumps from one wrong conclusion to another, going off gung ho and half-cocked whenever she has a lead, never telling anyone where she's going and quite often endangering herself and others in the process before finally, approximately two hours after the rest of us, working out who is really responsible.
The protagonist's stupidity is only surpassed by that of her colleagues who are continually pursuing even less likely suspects than she is. As a consequence, you soon lose interest in who did what or why. I think we're supposed to care about a possible romance between the two leads but as it is, they're so badly written, it's hard to give a damn.
Just seen that this movie was actually nominated for an award: Best Writing in a Dramatic Program or Mini-Series. Now that really is a mystery.
Soupçons (2004)
Truth really is stranger than fiction
Made it into my Opinion8 Must-see TV blog. This was an incredible documentary by Jean-Xavier de Lestrade, that follows the ins and outs, ups and downs of a murder trial (the suspect, a novelist Michael Peterson, is accused of killing his wife). Riveting from start to finish, with all the components of a crime/courtroom drama, it was hard to believe that all this was actually happening. Truth really is stranger than fiction. It has since been made into a movie but that's nowhere near as involving as the original film. The 'blow-poke' (poker to you and me), the disappearance of the 'blow-poke', the internet correspondence with an alleged rent boy, the death of another friend of Peterson's in similar circumstances, the exhumation of a body in Germany. I could go on. Getting the inside track on all this was simply compelling: you felt that you were involved in the process; each episode provoked endless discussion in our house, not least on how ramshackle the process sometimes seemed.
You've Got Mail (1998)
Charmless
YOU'VE GOT MAIL - If you have, I advise you to go and read it. Even if it's one of those e-mail jokes you've been sent ten times before, it'll still probably be funnier than this movie. It's hard to believe that the team that made Sleepless in Seattle could go so badly wrong. Don't get me wrong - I expected clichés and contrived situations. I realised that it'd all turn out alright in the end. But I still thought there might be the occasional funny line or winning moment along the way.
Instead Meg Ryan has somehow got the words charming and imbecilic confused. She meant to play one but played the other. Tom Hanks - he does a very good impression of . . . Tom Hanks. It's obviously not written by anyone who actually uses e-mail and the plot line is as thin as a piece of thread. This is romantic comedy by numbers but in this case, they just don't add up.
OK, the dog is good, and so is Parker Posey as Tom Hanks's career-crazy girlfriend but both are sadly under-used. Believe me, this film has no redeeming features. Even the music is terrible. Watch at your peril.
The Killing (2011)
Watch the original
Don't waste your time on this incredibly bland remake. Rent or buy the magnificent and compelling original. The only elements to retain the integrity of the Danish series are the music, Sarah's trusty sweater and the round-up of characters at the end of each episode. All the relationships have been simplified to happy couples and the reactions standardised. The family in the original drama was conflicted, not perfect. Why do Americans think they can make something better by homogenising it? I seriously hope they're not planning to do the same thing to 'Spiral', the excellent French crime drama. I only managed to watch one episode of this new Killing as wasn't totally convinced that Mireille Enos can actually act - no expression in her voice and always has the same look on her face. But perhaps she was trying to convey impassivity and dedication to the job. I think she could look a little more interested – otherwise why should we? All the US version manages to kill are the subtle nuances of the Danish version. And it does this pretty conclusively.
The Thirteenth Tale (2013)
Far-fetched and ultimately pointless
Beware - this isn't scary or creepy. The plot is totally implausible, the characters not fully delineated. Evil sister. Good sister. Spare sister. Hackneyed tropes abound, e.g. the ethereal children's voices singing, guess what? - Ring Around the Rosies, that staple of spooky children movies. The scenery and locations are stunning and beautifully filmed. It looks like an expensive production but it's all very much style over substance.
Olivia Colman has nothing much to do and so does nothing much. I've never considered Vanessa Redgrave a great actress but I have to give her credit for saying this line with a straight face: 'If you don't tell your stories, they die and come back to haunt you.' I'm tempted to say 'So what?' It's complete nonsense. Just like this drama. Should have stopped at 12.
Her Minor Thing (2005)
Small-town charm
This little independent film boasts an amicable and attractive cast and good intentions. Its premise is a little silly but basically sound. Jeana (the stunning-looking Estella Warren) is a virgin, and reveals this fact to current squeeze, TV presenter, Tom (Michael Weatherly, of NCIS), who accidentally broadcasts it to the nation. Disillusioned with her shallow beau and men in general, Jeana initially rejects sexy, down-to-earth photographer, Paul (Christian Kane, of Angel, Leverage). Anyway, cue much confusion during which Jeana fails to realise that Tom has split up with her, they attempt to reconcile and she starts to fall for Paul.
The cast members (Christian Kane, in particular, proves hard to resist) do an excellent job and give their all but unfortunately, the material is too slight. It's entertaining enough but there are no real laugh-out loud moments although the director, according to crew/cast interviews, Charles Matthau (Walter Matthau's son – Jeana and Paul watch a Walter Matthau film in the course of the movie) is a very witty guy. This humour doesn't fully translate to the film. It was definitely watchable and occasionally charming.
Source Code (2011)
Pointless
This film is like a long version of Craig David's 'Seven Days' video, without the humour, the music and Craig's smile. Painfully slow and mind-numbingly dull, with a daft, ill-thought-out premise that doesn't quite hold water, it's billed as a futuristic thriller although it's about as thrilling as watching paint dry. Neither is it particularly dramatic so it's hard to know how to categorise it. It's another poor career move by Jake Gyllenhaal after the dreadful Prince of Persia, which, with its confusion of accents and the wooden Gemma Arterton, not to mention the hackneyed concept of an antagonistic couple forced to spend time together, was about as believable as a Carry On movie. The female leads in this have little to do. Although time is supposed to be of the essence in the plot, the cast and crew are happy to waste ours and theirs on this pointless drivel.
Cold Case: Honor (2005)
Very affecting drama
Before 'Honor', I could take or leave Cold Case. The stories were sometimes interesting but I didn't originally identify with the regular cast, finding Lil's (Kathryn Morris) unrealistic hair and unearthly pallor a bit irritating although I've come to appreciate her and Scotty (Danny Pino) over time. I loved the use of music from the era of the original crimes to set the scene, something which is particularly exquisite in this episode.
In fact, 'Honor' far surpassed the others I had seen in this and everything else, partly because of the nature of the tragedy and partly because of the faultless, immensely simpatico performance of John Allsopp as the damaged Vietnam vet, Carl Burton, heart-wrenching from the first notes of Elton John's 'Rocket Man' as he tries to reconnect with a son who doesn't recognise him, to the last strains of Gordon Lightfoot's 'If You Could Read My Mind' (was music really better in the 70s?), the final, moving salute and Carl's incredibly sad eyes. Now I can't listen to that song without becoming emotional. But this is what good TV should do, be put together so perfectly that it can affect you in this way.
Cold Case (2003)
Review of episode 'Honor'
Before 'Honor', I could take or leave Cold Case. The stories were sometimes interesting but I never really identified with any of the regular characters. I always found Lil's unrealistic hair and unearthly pallor a bit irritating although I loved the use of music from the time of the original crimes to set the scene, something which is particularly exquisite in this episode. 'Honor' far surpassed the others I had seen in this and everything else, partly because of the nature of the tragedy and partly because of the faultless, immensely simpatico performance of John Allsopp as the damaged Vietnam vet, Carl Burton, heart-wrenching from the first notes of 'Rocket Man' as he tries to reconnect with a son who doesn't recognise him, to the last strains of 'If You Could Read My Mind', the final, moving salute and Carl's incredibly sad eyes. Now I can't listen to that song without becoming emotional. But this is what good TV should do, be put together so perfectly that it can affect you in this way.