Daniel Nettheim directs Willem Dafoe, Sam Neill and Frances O’Connor in this existential adventure about the hunt for an extinct tiger. 

Two films smashed to parts and rewelded together. One perfect: Dafoe’s expert merc, out in the gorgeously stark Tasmanian wilderness, setting traps, roughing the elements and growing paranoid alternately that there’s something else out there with him / there is nothing else out there with him. One uninspired and cliched: as his closed off anti-hero frustratingly returns to base camp every 12 days to connect with his predecessor’s grieving family. A shame as the film does expose some interesting concerns on both working communities reactions to green activists and grief –  but they get in the way of what we want to see more of; which is an increasingly animalistic Dafoe punishing his weathered body, out snipering rivals and punishing himself down jagged ravines. That is where the movie’s beauty, power and uniqueness lie but an overriding urge to devote a good 45 minutes to him cleaning his landlady’s bath and looking at her malnourished kids’ crayon doodlings dilutes these pleasures.

6

John Sturges directs Steve McQueen, Yul Brynner and Eli Wallach in this classic all star western.

Just a fantastic night in and proof that a remake can exceed the source material. There’s some brilliant big names trying to out cool each other – seriously any film where the ever awesome James Coburn plays the fourth best hero must have some real dynamo performances. But if I had to award a medal at the end it would be to Eli Wallach’s jolly villian – not quite as captivating as his Tuco for Leone , it still is a great genre turn. The action efficient, the script unpretentious, that score, that score and the humour measured out neatly, albeit in a testosterone heavy machismo orientated kinda way they can’t really pull off anymore. Faultless entertainment.

10

Camille Delamarre directs Ed Skrein, Ray Stevenson and Loan Chabanol in this far far too soon reboot of the Jason Statham franchise.

The Europa Corp blend of world weary yet unstoppable lead, cool cars, hot chicks, continental setting and inventive action noticeably fails here. Skrein looks more like Nicholas Hoult after a rough stag party than a force to be reckoned with, even if his Stath voice convinces. The fitted as standard ogling-a-saucy-bird-while-some-exposition-is-spurted-out factor is somewhat diminished by the fact we know they are, to the very last one, all sex slaves since children from the off. This puts a really dampener on all the poolside panties gyrating and Bridgette Nielsen in Beverly Hill Cop 2 lite robberies. And the action feels weakly conceived and half heartedly executed, rationed out too… I can’t remember anything pulse raising occurring in the first half. We are a long fucking way away from Stath’s Frank Martin oiling up for a rumble in a garage slick followed by a car chase followed by another fight glory days when it eventually does get a bit aggro. All in all it doesn’t even match the cheap and cheesy TV spin off, let alone the fun but disposable originals. But there is a incandescently bright flame in all this murky disappointment; Ray Stevenson, camping it up something horrid and having them time of his life, as The Transporter’s dad. I cottoned on to the fact they were going for a Sean Connery in Last Crusade dynamic a few minutes before he started calling Skrein “Junior!” every other scene. Stevenson may never have broke out but he is miles better than this, as evidenced in every single scene he brightens up. Makes you wonder how much fun it would have been if our Jase returned and Ray’s part was redacted to paternal older brother… Or why not just reboot it with his loveable, manly, couldn’t give a flying fuck presence in the lead instead? A palpable wasted opportunity.

4

Quentin Tarantino directs Harvey Kietel, Steve Buscemi and Michael Masden in this independent heist goes wrong thriller.

As calling cards go this is a bold declaration of intent and showcase of talent. The script pops with great exchanges. Its overwhelming distinctive-for-1992 quality netted quite the cast of then unappreciated talents and eye catching faces. There’s never been quite such a well-acted, low-budget genre film. Tarantino’s direction lurks and lingers on these good performances, let’s them shine. And his tricksy structure allows him to slice off as much cliché  as possible so there is rarely a dull moment unless he is purposefully luxuriating in the every day (killing time at breakfast, the washing of hands, stalking Mr Blonde out to his car and back). These mundane pauses, pregnant with threat, before the debates, fights and violence escalate show an author in complete control of pace, character and audience, rather than a one trick pony who merely knows the right movies to sample and the best way to make cool characters sound even cooler. Now having said all that, and it should be obvious I am a Tarantino fanboy, this is not a perfect experience. The various Misters and Nice Guy might be well defined in dynamic but they all do speak in that same voice, with the same concerns and same obscure cultural touchstones. It wouldn’t be until Inglorious Basterds that QT would be comfortable creating dialogue for characters who didn’t spraff away in his unmistakable Tarantino rhythm and argot. And as iconic a piece as it has become, Dogs is not quite Goodfellas or not nearly Pulp Fiction. There no real depth to it, it is a little too tightly wound to exist beyond what is seen and heard. As a writer/director doing loop de loops and nose dives for the spectators, it feels like a practice run and therefore doesn’t quite marvel and charm and thoroughly impress as those outright classics. In fact, by credits roll I felt the more throwaway, derivative types of Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead or 2000’s Ocean’s Eleven now prove more satisfying repeat view capers to these modern eyes. Once you know the secrets and solved the tricks there is very little to it but some funny, hip back and forths – Reservoir Dogs works best nowadays as a very sick comedy… a morgue set farce. But the imperfect debut’s importance cannot be understated; without this no Tarantino, no none of those other rip off films that followed in its wake either. Like Mean Streets, it may have seen better days but it’s scrappy energy and smart experimentation kicked the hatch open so some absolute classics could then escape. Reservoir Dogs dug tunnels like Charlie Bronson.

8

Nora Ephron directs Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks and Greg Kinnear in this product placement heavy merging of The Shop Around the Corner and Sleepless in Seattle.

A handsome enough attempt the rekindle the fire that roared, crackled and warmed in Sleepless in Seattle. The problem here is Ryan seems at best on autopilot and at worst visibly overacting to get herself through the myriad of superfluous scenes with almost endlessly pointless interactions with superfluous characters. She was clearly tired of being America’s Sweetheart but the paychecks kept rolling in. Add to that a rather sour but predominant  “corporate is best, therefore the time of the quality family business is over” message that matches the thinking behind the production but not the politics of the intended audience. Luckily Hanks brings his incomparable A Game which not just cements over the cracks buts adds a lovely colour and an expensive gold leaf frieze. Really though this feels like a stew of leftovers chucked in with no consideration as to whether they compliment each other at all.

5

David Michôd directs Ben Mendelsohn, Jacki Weaver and James Frecheville in the Aussie crime family drama.

Stunning performances and measured direction elevate this above it slightly “been there, done that” plot. Weaver, Joel Edgerton and Guy Pearce all do interesting stuff but it’s Mendelsohn’s stand out dead eyed shark amongst the pack of wolves that wins. If it wasn’t for all the interesting stuff happening in camera then the final half hour’s languid unraveling, when we already know pretty much exactly were all the tragedy is heading, would be a slog.

7