Matthew Vaughn directs Claire Danes, Charlie Cox and Michelle Pfeiffer in this fantasy romance where, to prove his love, a young adventurer kidnaps a fallen star who has taken human form, only to discover far greater forces want her dead.
Midnight Run meets Terry Prachett. Or the closest anyone has ever got to making something as funny, romantic and wonderful as The Princess Bride. It is just a little too busy to get all the way up there, to that high standard. Awful CGI and some distasteful British comedy actors weaken the gumbo. Yet the central buddy movie turned romance arc and a pitch perfect Michelle Pfeiffer as an evil witch really keep the more random elements at bay. It is fun and lovely and I’d watch it again in a heartbeat. When Disney make live action remakes of their fairytales matching the entertainment value of this should be their benchmark.
Gary Sherman directs Season Hubley, Gary Swanson and Wings Hauser in this thriller where a sadistic pimp chases a high class call girl over an L.A. night.
“Pimp stick.” “Around the world.” “Half and Half.” This looks sleazy as fuck, and the screenwriter has certainly walked the mean sidewalks of the Hollywood prostitution scene long enough to learn all the current lingo. The on-location night shoot and the unstoppable brute played with relish by Wings Hauser give this a similar vibe to The Terminator. And it often has the well researched, deep dive feel of Cruising. It is nowhere near as thrilling or illicit as either of those Hard R classics though, and it has a habit of lurching into both melodrama and farce whenever the chase dynamic is put on the back burner. Season Hubley doesn’t really convince as a sex worker either, contrivances like her suburban lifestyle do let this down. Not a terrible little one-watcher though.
Eshom Nelms and Ian Nelms directs Mel Gibson, Walton Goggins and Marianne Jean-Baptiste in this Christmas-set thriller where a “real world” Kris Kringle has to contend with a hostile takeover from his military contractor and an assassination attempt by a hitman with a personal beef.
A real disappointment given the cast and set-up. You can tell the Coens have been an influence but it is just too subdued. So many potent plot threads are left unravelled. Barely kicks into gear during the last ten minutes. Fatman is no The Night The Reindeer Died.
Terry Zwigoff directs Robert Crumb, Charles Crumb and Aline Kominsky-Crumb in this documentary portrait of the controversial indie comic book artist, his candid sexual tastes and his highly dysfunctional family.
Even as they are carefully and humanely revealed to be people you’d actively cross the street to avoid, Zwigoff’s essay on the Crumb brothers manages to make the shut-ins and sexpests endearing within the remove of a camera and editing booth. Robert Crumb’s own proclivities, immortalised in his scratchy, deceptively detailed art, probably wouldn’t find a publisher these days if it was not for his long founded reputation. Even the most open minded viewer in 2022 is going to see some of those counter culture strips as beyond the pale. And while you know Zwigoff sides with his “outlaw” friend, he’s smart enough to include those who question and object to his bad taste subjects. Genuinely a fantastic documentary – hold your nose and jump into a world of squalor, desire and obnoxiousness. And talent!
Julie Delpy directs herself, Adam Goldberg and Albert Delpy in this unromantic comedy where a couple visit Marion’s French family home and pressure builds on their mismatched pairing.
Kind of a more freeewheelin’, looser and sillier take on a Before movie. Lots of walking and talking… and cafes and talking… and landmarks and talking, interrupted only by quirky locals. Delpy’s presence in both series lends cache to this less polished variation. However her character is indisputably an absolute nightmare, while her view on everyone, her parents (who play themselves) excluded, is so bitter. Meaning a lot of goodwill flies out of the window long before a third act reconciliation is attempted. Not without its moments, and why shouldn’t Delpy dabble in the format she co-authored?
Darren Aronofsky directs Natalie Portman, Vincent Cassel and Mila Kunis in this psychological horror where a fragile ballet dancer pushes herself beyond the brink of sanity to take the lead role in Swan Lake.
A sumptuous, expert rattler. Aronofsky bombards you with shocks and waves of unreality so that you can barely assess your own rationality, let alone the waif-like Portman’s. Portraits come to life, doppelgängers eat you out, and bodies mutate in an escalating crescendo of loopy terror. This is also an incredibly erotic movie, unlike anything else in the porcelain doll Portman’s career. Watching the virgin fall makes for compulsive adult popcorn, and the creatives jointly pitch this aspect exactly right. We tiptoe along the fine line between identification and exploitation, never wobbling over onto either for more than a step. It is a very easy movie to gush about as it is so ravishing, so flawless and while the minuscule sum of my ballet knowledge stems solely from Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes, I’m guessing Black Swan is a pretty accurate process movie to boot. I love a film that takes you through the intricate workings of a particular job or a facility. This gives you an insider look at a dance company’s life cycle; from auditions to rehearsals, to fundraising to opening night. The hours put in, the repetition, the rivalries, the risks and the victories. The pressure! We see pumps torn, re-sewn and scratched up for traction, bodies flexed and gussied to attract the gatekeeper’s eye. You feel plunged into a very unique pool and the detail below the surface convinces for the entire runtime – bedlam and dark fantasy included. With Barbara Hershey and Winona Ryder in support, this is exemplary. A pinnacle of classy horror cinema.
Matt Reeves directs Robert Pattinson, Zoë Kravitz and Paul Dano in this horror and noir themed take on the famous masked vigilante superhero from DC Comics.
For the initial 90 minutes I was in. A shameless homage to the directorial style and influence of David Fincher done so well that even a super fan like me could not see the forgery for the fear. What if Gotham was the anonymous hell city from Se7en? What if The Riddler was the Zodiac? What if Bruce Wayne had his poor little rich boy world tore apart à la the psychological mind fuckery of The Game? No Fight Club? No Project Mayhem? Wait for it… Wait for it… Journeyman director Reeves has assembled an incomparable team for his three hour tribute mash-up. Cinematographer Greig Fraser really emphasises the piercing neon signage, distress flares and investigating flashlight shimmering off bodily fluids. Michael Giacchino repurposes everything you’d expect from a Batman blockbuster score but slows it down to a fading heartbeat that then builds often to a stunning death knell as excitement peaks.
It ain’t all perfect nightmare though. Something happens after a muscular Batmobile chase, which is possibly the best car smash sequence since The Bourne Supremacy’s crunching finale. The dank atmosphere and cruel plotting loosens a bit. The solution to the ultimate mystery is the most obvious one. We sit through four lengthy monologues from characters we don’t care about or trust the content from. One after the other. A few too many scenes feel like The Dark Knight cosplay; an interrogation room showdown that leaves the silent Batman thumping and caterwauling like a toddler… that’s so 2008! The Big Bang ending doesn’t logically work as a cataclysm and needed just a few more big picture shots and moments of grand scale peril to bed in before the shooting starts. Too. Much. Epilogue. None of these takes feel like the definitive version of the infamous characters, though a ghoulish Dano and brooding Pattinson do admirably try hard.
It is fascinating how Reeves plays around with the established mythology to add a healthy interrogation of the Bruce Wayne / Bat tragedy. The action, when it happens, has a real world thump and impact. The Batman’s bolt upright and imposing posture intimidates, his punches land with a muddy squelch. I really liked so much of this. The Batman felt tailor-made for me, the adult comic book fan. I want more from this Mindhunter Gotham… I just don’t know if I’ll relish watching Cop#3 monologue for five minutes on a rooftop or a superfluous Alfred fackin’ Pennyworth each time I revisit this opening chapter? Still you could never see Marvel make something so family unfriendly. Good… Bye!
Richard Loncraine directs Michael Palin, Maggie Smith and Denholm Elliott in this Edwardian set comedy where a handsome reverend must bring the word of God to the whores and toffs of London.
Convincing period atmosphere. Neat how Palin’s good hearted believer quickly becomes a trick, pimp or pro from scene to scene. The central hook is that his mission for fallen women essentially becomes a knocking shop while he, through no fault of his own, fucks everyone but his fiancée… yet this takes up so little of the plot you do wonder if the creatives got distracted by every idea except their perfect main gag?
Paul Feig directs Sandra Bullock, Melissa McCarthy and Demián Bichir in this buddy cop comedy.
Cold. The sad thing is this was made by people who grew up watching 48 Hrs. and Beverly Hills Cop and Dragnet and still couldn’t try and match what worked so effortlessly there. Also: 2 fucking hours long!
Bernardo Bertolucci directs Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider and Maria Michi in this erotic drama where a grieving hotel owner and a far younger free spirit start an anonymous affair.
Pretentious, hokey, dull and wobbly. That could just be Brando’s performance. He’s definitely trying something here and that rarely gels with the amateurish Schneider’s appealing if wonky lead. Their best scene together is him giving her a bath… it has true tenderness and a sensual charge missing among a lot of the other, moodier fuck sequences. The quality of the outdoors scenes is also all over the shop. I get what Bertolucci is trying to say here about desire, connection, ageing, time, loneliness and grief… but Don’t Look Now does it all with more thrills and less blatant metaphors. A couple more decades and I’ll be Brando’s age and no doubt try this a third time.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 