Kathryn Bigelow succeeds where Morgan Spurlock failed: Here in the world was Osama Bin Laden!

I remember feeling distinctly icky when I woke up on the morning they announced Bin Laden’s death. Much like Saddam Hussein before him, it was this weird kind of triumphalistic announcement of death that is rarely seen.

Concerns that this film would end with such unabashed glee is soon wiped as the film’s opening sets the scene and tone for the entire movie. Often feeling like a dramatisation of documentary matter, a tremendous job has been done to distill this ten year operation down from a country’s bloody-minded outrage into one woman’s single-minded obsession.

I remember that it certainly seemed, to the world at large, that the manhunt for UBL (as they like to call him) had lost momentum in the late 00s, and that his phantom was proving far too useful to really need him captured. And if this movie is anything to go by, there were times when it was just our hero, Maya, who gave two monkeys where the villain was at.

Whilst there is much debate over the historical accuracy (as is there with Lincoln, Django, Argo, and even the upcoming jOBS), films, first and foremost, are a metaphor for life, and in order to tell a story, with emotion, action, and of course the all important ‘arc’ that is so critically missing in day to day life, then certain sacrifices, rewrites and fabrications have to exist.

So while this film may not stand up in court, it’s probably a good overview, and if you really want to know more, may I introduce you, sir, to the internet, and the library!

Still, twisting this global man hunt into one woman’s quest to bring down the biggest bad in the world, is a incredible narrative trick, that for me, pushes Zero Dark Thirty into Best Original Screenplay territory.

Shot with incredible tension throughout, and in particular the final act capture operation, which, despite knowing EXACTLY how it went down, still proved highly nerve-wracking, and the surprised numbness of all involved is a comfort to see.

Does it condone torture? Well, sort of.

Whilst I’m firmly in the anti-torture political camp, it does make you think that while, when pushed to the extremes of pain, people will say anything to stop the pain, surely there are people, probably like myself, who don’t much care for pain, and don’t believe too much in ‘the cause’, that after one or two waterboarding sessions, do tell all.

Of course, this is ignoring the mass of collateral damage that the practice of rendition reached and still outrageously affects, which does indeed, in my opinion, invalidate the whole operation, but, but… there still has to have been some detainees talking and telling the truth, which means, that it’s highly likely that some detainee information led them to this point.

Lincoln tried to teach us that the ends justify the means, and here we are at the logical conclusion to that. What a one-two movie punch of moral quandary!


Whether or not Kathryn Bigelow is in fact justifying it herself, is another question. Considering the warts-and-all approach to the torture and the scenes with less-than-reliable evidence wreaking havoc to counter that all-important, pure-gold, winning slice of intelligence, I do feel that Bigelow is showing us how it happened, and leaving it up to us to weigh up the morals – you know, grown up thinking time. Spooky, huh!

In some ways, this is the film of the decade. With everyone, from W. to Morgan Spurlock, wanting to know where Osama was for the best part of ten years, this film shows us the real people behind the hunt, and the real people who never gave up.

I’m surprised Bigelow hasn’t got an Oscar® nod this time round, I feel she deserves a heap of credit for this, meanwhile Jessica, whilst she carries the movie, fiercely, does seem like an actress supporting the main star, which is, of course, ‘the story’.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• How to effectively operate a torture, right down to the chilling introduction: “I am not your friend. I’m not going to help you. I’m going to break you. Any questions?”
• Helicopters really should be fully tested before being sent on The Most Important Combat Op… Ever.

WHEN TO WATCH

• The day after watching Lincoln seemed pretty appropriate.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• When you’re on the run from the US government. They probably have rooms full of people watching your heat signature from a drone spy circling invisible above you. Right now. Go on, give them a wave!!

POSTER QUOTE
“One hell of a morally murky manhunt.”

After he was a vampire hunter…

Spielberg, it seems, is on a one-man mission to replace the entire US school system’s history syllabus with a movie library consisting purely of his films. No more textbooks are necessary, it’ll simply be a case of “ok children, today we’ll be learning about Schindler’s List, or as they used to call it, the holocaust.”

And rather smartly, and with much educational delight, Spielberg has now DONE the American Civil War. 

Following in Sorkin’s West Wing footsteps, herein lies a portrait of a witty, captivating and smart commander-in-chief, whose very presence and personality (and heavy reliance on historical yarns) is enough to charm even his mightiest foes.

It is this force-of-nature performance from Daniel Day Lewis that is the cornerstone of this film – his Lincoln is so familiar and perfect, that it’s as if we know the real Lincoln with which to compare it to, although, judging from every other portrayal of a president we actually ‘know’ – from Nixon to W. – they always fall far short, so perhaps it’s us NOT knowing Lincoln that makes the performance so real.

Watching this political war wage in the Senate as the blood of thousands of Americans lay slain on the battlefield, reveals both the absurdity and importance of political debate and leadership – for it is for these politicians that those men are dying and it is by them that they shall be saved.

To see such a fundamental right, one even more fundamental than race equality, the right to freedom itself, being passed by so few votes, gives comfort to those fighting the modern day civil rights battles of marriage equality and of universal healthcare, that when they finally do come before a governmental vote, that passing by a slim margin is not a close call, it’s the benchmark of history.

Jammed packed with familiar, if somewhat bearded, faces, it’s a role call of Hollywood’s wizened old men, and none more so than the unstoppable Tommy Lee Jones. With a face so wizened that no beard was needed, and so weather-beaten that it deserves its own Oscar® for Best Face, he stands for everything we believe in, in a world that doesn’t. A shame then, that there aren’t more scenes for him and Day Lewis to tussle over: these are mighty men with silver tongues.

Spielberg’s over-zealous Director of Photography, Kaminski, who so offended me with his lighting of War Horse, is fortunately kept on a shorter leash here, only tarnishing the odd outside shot with his over-lit unnatural glow, and inside, for the best part, concentrates his efforts on allowing Lincoln’s anatomically perfect jaw to silhouette beautifully against the lamp light.

Lincoln feels both important and powerful, painting a portrait of this great man, and the incredible power and effort it takes to shape society for the better. Enjoyable isn’t quite the word to describe it, perhaps ‘obviously powerful’ would be a better description when compared to the other, more subtle, Best Picture nominations such as Amour or Beasts of the Southern Wild. It doesn’t quite make up for Spielberg’s PonyShambles that was War Horse, but it has certainly begun to repair his station in my mind.

Lincoln is no doubt Spielberg’s love song to one of America’s greatest presidents but also, and perhaps more relevant, his open letter to the current President, stating simply: the ends always justify the means.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Sure Lincoln was great, and Obama rocks, but President Bartlett is still my favourite President ever.
• President Palmer also comes a close second, although, judging from what little he actually achieved in office (other than give Jack Bauer a license to kill and the keys to the country) he wasn’t really that good at it.

WHEN TO WATCH

• If Django Unchained left you lusting for something a little more wordy, and a little less bloody, then look no further than Lincoln.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• If the words “Spielberg” and “civil war” make you think you’re going to get another epic war movie, then best go watch Saving Private Ryan again.

POSTER QUOTE
“The West Wing. With Beards.”

There will be blood. And lots of it.

Beyond the blood, which may or may not be your bag, therein lies a juicy film. This inventive, bedeviling tale lays right up there with Jackie Brown at the top of my Tarantino list.

Foxx may be the man, but much like Inglorious Basterds, this is Christoph Waltz’s film.

Delicious as he was in the WWII epic, seeing him play the good guy is a joy, and a chance to see him emote regret, pain and disgust – a reflection, perhaps, of America itself coming of age in the last years of slavery – is a chance to truly love Waltz.

That this hero is a German and the villains all white Americans is a fantastic inversion of Inglorious’s more traditional good guy / bad guy divide.

And no one deserves to be killed more than racists, right? So with few exceptions, each blood splattered corpse makes you leap for joy, as you can safely say that the dispatching of these nasty men (at the business end of Foxx & Watlz’s firearms) leaves the world a better place.

Tackling slavery head on, Django Unchained doesn’t flinch from showing it in all its despicable glory, but far from glorifying it, you see it for the inhumane bedrock of a nation, or even empire, that it was. Most certainly a curious prequel to Speilberg’s Lincoln that throws its hat in the Oscar® ring next week on its UK release.

In addition to the unlikely lead bromance, DiCaprio and Jackson’s double act rivals Pulp Fiction‘s Vincent and Jules as Tarantino’s most despicable duo, both reviling and intriguing in equal measure – the anticipation of their inevitable demise is one of the film’s many joys.

Bar the odd pure Tarantino set piece, the gore, by and large, stays on the appropriate side of gratuitous (although, I’m not sure my queasier theatre companions would agree with me here), and the Oscar® Best Picture nomination list is a far better place for Django’s place on it.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Mandingo, in spite of its dubious historical accuracy as a slave bloodsport, is a fantastic sounding word, all the same.
• Hoods, despite their aesthetic draw, might not have been the most practical look for lynching.

WHEN TO WATCH

• When the snow lines the streets and a all beef patty lines your belly, an afternoon of Deep Southern delight awaits.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• Well, if Tarantino ain’t your bag, baby, Django will do nothing to change that.

POSTER QUOTE
“Bloody brilliant.”

The diving bell and the extremely horny butterfly.

Having seen John Hawkes evil his way through Winter’s Bone and Martha Marcy May Marlene, it’s a joy to see him play leading man, albeit such an unconventional one.

Ravaged in his youth by polio, real life poet Mark O’Brien grew up with muscles that wouldn’t work and lungs that needed machinery to pump. Hawkes steps into his iron lung and proves actor enough to not require anything neck down to create a heart-warming and effecting performance.

Saving the ‘physical’ performance for Helen Hunt, she has moves enough for both of them, who pulls off, well, everything. I first saw this film at the London Film Festival where on stage Helen was commended on her ‘brave’ performance. To wit she replied: “Brave? You mean naked, right?”. And boy is she naked A LOT – it’s almost as if she should have been nominated for the Best (not in need of any support) Supporting Actress instead.

Rounding out the A-list cast is the ever watchable William H. Macy, who plays an ultra-lovable priest – no hopeless dispicable loser for him this time.

Despite bashing Silver Linings Playbook for being too much of a rom-com, this is a rom-com with a difference: a feel-good film full of nudity and god.

Hats off.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• 34 year old stuffed rabbits don’t fare well in a modern washing machine. I know this has nothing to do with the film, but it’s not often you have to bid farewall to a stuffed toy that was given to you on the day of your birth. RIP Oliver the Rabbit.

POSTER QUOTE
“ ‘Brave’? I think you mean ‘very naked.’”

Hear that crazy beat.

Bradley Cooper has that quiet coiled ready to rip kinda crazy that would make you take two steps back. Just one look in his challengingly intense little eyes and you forget all three parts of The Hangover, and what’s left is that dude you used to know that doesn’t come round to dinner no more.

One look at De Niro and Weaver as his parents, you can see where he gets his crazy from – every single scene with the three of them together is brilliant. It’s hard to tell if Jackie’s wild eyes are just her make up or some awesome acting going on.

J-Law pops on the scene (along with De Niro’s freak show football buddies) and you find yourself with an awesomely kooky cast (bar the therapist, who, having just watched the final series of In Treatment, offers not an ounce of realism – especially when he just starts hanging out with Bradley). There doesn’t seem to be a single character whose sole mission isn’t to perpetually bury their foot knee-deep into their mouth. Big joyful discomfort!

What with them sweeping the entire Oscar® acting nomination categories, watching any of this gang win a gong would be a joy.

Cooper’s continued struggle through this world is so perfectly pitched and paced… until that is… the dance contest.

Out of nowhere, into this wonderfully observed nutso little film, comes the dance thing. It’s as if the writer had this neat awesome idea, but couldn’t quite figure out where to go, and so dove into the “How to finish a story with a bang” book and threw in the dance contest.

Cribbing scenes from Dirty Dancing and Strictly Ballroom, suddenly we veer straight into standard rom-com fare. Not a bad rom-com, by any stretch, but it feels an unnecessary misdirect.

It’s still a great film, and if it were just a rom-com, it would be an awesome rom-com, but it feels like a cop-out, that it could have been pure indie mental health awesomeness, but as it is, it feels like a lazy mis-step, and for me, writes itself out of the contest for the Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar®.

But ignore this, get in the groove and dance on to the crazy beat.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Parents really don’t like being woken up at 3am for lost videos, disappointing book plots or lost Buzz Lightyear dolls. [note. This last one might have been learnt in real life.]

POSTER QUOTE
“Crazy good.”

There’s a storm coming.

Sometime between Hurricane Katrina and Costner’s Waterworld lies this tiny coming of age tale.

A rag-tag community of hippies, hedonists and booze-hounds, who shun society’s rising-water repellent concrete levy, live in a marshland called ‘the Basin’ – a costal patch destined to flood (think most of England circa 2025) – defying government instruction to leave.

Through the eyes of nine-year old Hushpuppy, the film doesn’t care much for details on the hows, whys and wheres of the above; this is her home, her existence. By softening the edges on said details, we’re left with a film of beautiful poetry, a flow of consciousness that doesn’t rely on the irony of adulthood to carry it.

From the opening scene of a wild party, shot from child-height, the cavorting adults nothing but torsos and legs, this film boldly declares its visual flair, carrying it on through to some fantastically art-directed home-made boats and post-home flotsam when the inevitable waters rise.

Little Hushpuppy carries the entire movie on her juvenile shoulders, a film that feels so perfectly innocent and raw, but whose immaculate charm can only betray the talent and consideration of the team behind the camera.

It’s got the vibe of the underdog, but clocking up a Best Picture, Best Directing, Best Adapted Screenplay and the all-time youngest Best Actress nomination in Oscar® history, this underdog doesn’t feel quite so mangy.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• There’s some pretty scary shit waiting for us in them thar ice caps.

WHEN TO WATCH

• Safely on your houseboat… or wedged behind that levy.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• When the water level’s rising up, and your house is not.

POSTER QUOTE
“This underdog ain’t so mangy.”

Lost at sea.

It had it all – P.T. Anderson, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix and more than one or two swipes at Scientology… what could possibly go wrong?

Well.

The Master has a beautiful and intriguing story that, about two thirds of the way through the film, decides to throw itself overboard, leaving the final third of the film story-less and flapping in the wind – characters, sub-plots and entire scenes left to play out with no discernible story, or indeed, point.

Something of a cinematic Mary Celeste, if you will.

There are some who suggest the lack of a grandiose third-act denouncement herald a brave new subtle era for P.T. Anderson, but for me, it’s a gaping hole in the aft end of this otherwise sublime ship.


And it’s nothing as simple as a ‘bad ending’, it’s thirty whole minutes of film where it all just peters out into pointlessness.

Throughout, my love for Phoenix’s damaged Freddie is delicately earned and superbly maintained – in spite of his litany of flaws and abhorrent behaviour – and his is a master class in character development that is only matched by Hoffman’s Dodd, the charming cult leader, in one of his most polished performances to date.

Both men more than deserve their respective Oscar® nods, and regardless of my disdain for the film, if either were to walk away with their little gold men this year, I would not be disappointed.

All it would have taken to get five stars would have been to have, well to be blunt, an ending. A decently constructed, tense and (even only slightly) resolving resolution (positive or negative, I’m easy, P.T.) and this film could have a bonafide timeless classic, but as it stands, I can’t give it more than three.

The crashing waves of disappointment hit as the credits rolled, the sheer time and emotion I had invested in Freddie and Dodd’s gripping relationship felt squandered. It should not have ended this way.

Phoenix and Hoffman offer such incredible performances that demand attention in a film that, sadly, does not – it’s hard to recommend.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Philip Seymour Hoffman was always on my legend list, now Joaquin Phoenix is too.
• Casting Jesse Plemons (sweet little Landry from Friday Night Lights) as Hoffman’s son is a stroke of genius.

WHEN TO WATCH

• Um. Well, students of acting will get a lot from this film.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• When you fancy leaving the cinema thinking “Well, that was quite the epic yarn!”.

POSTER QUOTE
“MISSING: Decent Third Act. Reward: $$$ – Call.”

So. Damn. Tense.

Oscar® loves Hollywood, and whilst last year’s Best Picture nominee list was bogged down with schmaltzy movies-about-movies, Ben Affleck has risen to the challenge and made a movie-about-a-movie that never was, and a period piece that doesn’t once linger in nostalgia – ok, maybe just a little at the end with the Star Wars figurines, but hey, I won’t hold that against the film.

A classic heist movie with the added dimension of ‘true story’ hostage terror to twist in some genuine jeopardy gives Argo a freshness that grips. The true story itself being a moment of sheer governmental genius and a rare opportunity for a full on Hollywood-CIA love in, which at the best of times, normally paints the CIA as shady evil men in black.

It’s as pretty as it is tense, in everything from styling to wigs, to sets, to cinematography to the opening Warner logo, this movie is determined to look like it was made in the 70s, and it really does.

Even modern old Ben Aflleck, dons a deviously convincing 70s beard, and the only element that leapt out like a sore twenty-first century thumb was Hollywood Producer, Alan Arkin, who basically felt like he was playing his contemporary self.

A bit of a shock then that he has a Best Supporting Oscar® nomination. Confusing really. He doesn’t really stand out from an otherwise stellar cast as anything other than dialing in another Alan Arkin^TM performance. Especially when he’s stood next to John Goodman who is, you guessed it, dialing in yet another John Goodman^TM performance (I’m beginning to get the impression Goodman is going to be stealing Sigourney Weaver’s crown as this year’s cameo queen).

Also, while we’re being picky, they could have dropped the last couple of scenes – the ending does go on a bit. Just saying.

But. Minor co-star and long ending quibble aside, this film is excellent, and I really couldn’t recommend it more.

Especially as the Iranians, so beautifully painted as the bad guys, are provided genuine motivation for their anti-American sentiment when the intro of the film is basically Ben Affleck holding his hands up and saying: “hey guys, we actually created this mess in the first place.” The kind of message that is liable to earn you death threats from middle America, unless, that is, you can wrap it up in a two hour ‘America, Fuck Yeah’ essay, which this, ultimately, is.

And, hats off to the screenwriter for one of my favourite lines of recent dialogue:
Tony: Can you teach someone to be a director in a day?

John: You can teach a rhesus monkey to be a director in a day.

Which, honestly, is true.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Having Dire Straits on your movie soundtrack can only ever be a good thing.
• I should look into getting some rhesus monkeys on my crew books.
• Getting a former president to end your movie with: “I’m President Carter, and I approve this message” is pretty kick ass.

WHEN TO WATCH

• When considering whether you really want that job in the foreign service. Yes, it may be pushing paper 98% of the time, but then there’s that good old 2% where you might find yourself blindfolded, kidnapped and made to dance like a rhesus monkey.

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• When you’re down at the Tehran Picturehouse. Might not go down so well.

POSTER QUOTE
“Has awards written all over it.”

The first shot had me worried, which is never a good sign.

A figure steps into a backlit corridor, pauses, then advances to the camera, stopping, close in, in a pool of light – it’s Bond. It felt far too contrived, and suddenly I was worried the film was going to suck.

Fortunately, this fear was short-lived as Mendes masterfully directs a superior Bond tale. As with all Bonds, the story is largely irrelevant, the locations global and the action explosive, all that we’re left to rate is the Bond, the girl and the villain, and a brand new Q!

Q, always the comedy character, is the Robin to Bond’s Batman – the first thing killed when the series is re-imagined, then three films later brought back to please the fans. And much like the Dark Knight’s new Robin, the Craig-era Q is geek-chic-tastic.

Craig continues his gruff-Bond act, competent, sure, but after two movies, what’s new to add? Judi continues to prove she’s a hard arse M, and I struggle to remember if a half century of male predecessors were ever quite so brutal?

So the girl? Well, shockingly this entry in the cannon seems to jettison the usual “one girl dies, one girl wins Bond” rule. We have the dead double-crossing beauty, sure, but then, well, I guess in this case, Dench doubles up as M and the Bond girl. Hot!

So that leaves us with the campest Bond villain since Mr Wint and Mr Kidd graced our diamond studded screens – Javier’s silver-tongued Silva is a joy to watch; his long-shot walking introduction is delicious and he chews each set as if it’s a delicacy – best villain in a generation!

Its neat little full-circle ending, which I’d imagine most of you have seen by now, offers a cute knowing nod to its fifty year history, but does it signify an end to doing things differently? Will the next Bond be a Moore in Craig’s clothing? Who knows, we’ll just have to wait and see until…

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• The internet can get ever so upset by the wrong number buses appearing on the wrong streets.
• Why bother shooting in Shanghai when you can set up in London’s Liverpool Street and just pretend?

WHEN TO WATCH

• When isn’t the time to watch Bond? Pure beautiful brain goo.

POSTER QUOTE
“It’s Bond. Enough said.”

Travel Insurance. If I could offer you one tip for the future, Travel Insurance would be it.

Digging deep and pulling out all the stops, this is emotional porn of the highest order – by far my favourite of all the porns!

I can’t ever recall a time when I’ve sat in the cinema sobbing – actually sobbing – let alone four times in one film. My floods of tears are a testament to the raw storytelling and editing moves these filmmakers made to really go for the gut.

I’m sure the choice to go with a nice middle class family that “looked just like me” is a reason for that, and whilst I would truly love to see one day a film on such scale told about one of the many hundreds of thousands of local families, this one is well and truly about “us.”

Tears equal stars for me, and so this gets a resounding emotional five – I know, if I waited a week and wrote this review, I’d probably judge a little harsher, but if you want to get me to spend two hours thinking about the devastation forced upon ALL families that the Tsunami hit, then this is the way to go.

Ewan, Naomi and their three little cute-as-buttons boys are picture perfect as our family in peril, and every scream, scratch, hug and tear will break your heart. And while Naomi sure earns her Best Actress Oscar® nod, I kinda feel her dutiful son, played by the sure-to-be-a-star Tom Holland, might have squeezed in to the Best Supporting Actor list nicely.

Milking the Thai sun for all its worth, the cinematographer is clearly obsessed with lens flare; and if you’ve ever seen my films, hey, you’ll know I think there’s nothing wrong with that at all.

To their credit, the filmmakers avoid sensationalising the disaster unnecessarily, by focussing their wave-crashing machinations exclusively on the exclusive family resort, so that all of those fantastic-looking shots of boats cresting buildings, shacks falling and cars surfing are all tastefully left to one side, as we simply see the (still frighteningly tense) things that Naomi witnesses as she’s tossed asunder in the torrential waves.

The recreation of the submerged moments of human carnage in the aqua-debris are deeply intense, leaving you shocked anyone at all could survive the human blender that was the sea.

Ugh, if only all Oscar® movies needed this many tissues!

WHAT I’VE LEARNT

• Whether it’s Tsunami-sized natural disasters, or a simple cheekbone-fracturing frozen-road slippage, Travel Insurance is the ONLY way to go. Go on, splash out, get Platinum cover – you won’t be bitching about the tiny premium when they send you a private jet to get you the hell out of there.

WHEN TO WATCH

• One of those beautiful movies that you need to save for a day you REALLY need a cry. Open your heart, and you shall weep!

WHEN NOT TO WATCH

• Whilst lazing on a nice Thai beach.

POSTER QUOTE
“Emotional Porn of the highest order.”