David Cronenberg directs Michael Fassbender, Keira Knightley and Viggo Mortensen in the period retelling of the friendship and rivalry between Jung and Freud.
Knightley gets spanked in her fin-de-siécle corset. Who cares if the rest of the movie is a bit meh?
Benjamin Christensen directs himself, William Burroughs and Clara Pontoppidan in this Swedish film essay on the history of Satan and witchcraft and prejudice throughout history.
I’ve struggled to get much out of silent movies at home over these past few years so cheated and watched a shortened re-release from the Sixties with a William Burroughs voiceover. This did the trick and I’m primed to watch the original version next time. Mucho full on demon make-up and visual effects and kinky torture between the lesson plan intentions. Really worth seeking out for horror fans.
Edward Zwick directs Tobey Maguire, Michael Stuhlbarg and Liev Schreiber in this biopic of US Chess Wizard, and paranoid loner, Bobby Fischer’s attempts to win a title during the Cold War.
Well made but uninspiring take on the fascinating Bobby Fischer story. Warming to see Maguire back in a lead role though.
4
Perfect Double Bill: Bobby Fischer Against the World (2011)
Robert Bresson directs Anne Wiazemsky, Walter Green and François Lafarge in this arthouse drama about a mistreated donkey who is handed around various owners over his life of drudgery.
One of those bonafide classics, eat your green, pretentious critics favourites that actually somewhat lives up to its reputation. I really struggle with animal cruelty on screen… even simulated… and this remains just about palatable even if it is prolonged over a feature length. Feels very influential on Von Trier and Haneke, and hyper critical of love, man’s treatment of women and blind religious faith as well as the most blatant theme.
Walter Hill directs Mickey Rourke, Ellen Barkin and Lance Henriksen in this neo-noir thriller where a disfigured criminal gets plastic surgery and goes after the crew who set him up.
And Morgan Freeman. And Scott Wilson. And Forest Whitaker. And why haven’t I seen this movie before? It feels like something I should have encountered much earlier in my movie fandom. The actual state of play is pretty stodgy. Nothing happens that hasn’t been done a load better elsewhere. Yet that cast is undeniably spectacular even if the material ain’t. Especially Ellen Barkin who completely runs off with a very nasty villainess role.
Jacques Tati directs himself, Guy Decomble and Paul Frankeur in this French slapstick comedy where a mailman struggles to deliver his rounds when the fair comes to his village.
Gentle pastoral larks. There are some jolly sight gags and good bicycle stunts. My own highlight was the elderly lady who observes all with her goat in tow. More of her.
Hamilton Luske, Wilfred Jackson and Clyde Geronimi direct Ilene Woods, Eleanor Audley and Verna Felton in this Walt Disney animated classic about the imprisoned step daughter who shall go to the ball.
As long as you are keen on comedy mouse antics (turns out I am) then this is the first Disney Princess fairytale with enough plot to fill a feature length running time. The animation is pretty magical – lots of fine choices that go an extra step than they need to. I’d say Cinderella isn’t actually the best example of any of the key ingredients. Yet the songs, heroine, comedy animal sidekicks (shout out to Gus Gus), villains, mild peril, makeover are all cohesively achieved. There’s no wobbly afterthought or experiment that stinks the room out. The balance on the thing is flawlessly calibrated. I’m going to give Cinderella a 10 as it is a perfect all rounder and the first of “the classics” that on this revisit I instantly wanted to rewatch again that afternoon. Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!
Charlotte Wells directs Paul Mescal, Frankie Corio and Celia Rowlson-Hall in this nineties-set British drama where an 11 year old girl is taken on a package holiday by her estranged but loving young Dad.
Felt very much like a mood movie to begin with. Lo-fi coming-of age but more familiar to Brits of my generation. The fashions and soundtrack choices ring true but don’t feel too in your face or too obvious. Even when they marry up with that scene or emotion perfectly. Yet proceedings casually take a more ominous turn. Something unspoken has clearly unsettled Dad (Mescal is excellent) and though he is trying his best to have a good time, we sense a horrific weight hanging over him. It can’t be his relaxed, thoughtful parenting style. He clearly loves our protagonist and seems to have a healthier if overly aware attitude to her growing up than most parents of this decade. We even see a more standard, aggressive form of discipline (nasty, confidence knocking) take place across the pool. Something that echoes with what we hear about granny and grandad back when he was a kid. We see glimpses of adult Sophie in the future – remembering, yearning for that lost, enigmatic summer. She and we are trying to piece together what Dad was going through. Is he suicidal? Fated to die in some oft teased accident? Bisexual? Cancer stricken? Drowning in debt? Soon to abandon this paternal relationship he seems too young for in many ways? The growing negativity is never truly defined but Wells keeps disrupting the good times with moments of suggested fatal peril and obvious despair. He definitely is doing his best to overcome a depression. In the best scene, his daughter casually remarks that even though she has had a perfect day, she is sad. On the other side of the bathroom door, he spits his toothpaste at the mirror, at himself, in anger. Is he most fearful that he has unwillingly passed his suppressed demons onto her? The ending leaves nothing resolved but strands you with a sense of finality and loss that almost brought me to tears. All through suggestion. About as accomplished as an indie debut gets.
David Frankel directs Bryan Cranston, Annette Bening and Rainn Wilson in this true white collar crime story about a retired couple who figure out a hack in the state lottery and begin playing the system.
Sidney J. Furie directs Barbara Hershey, Ron Silver and David Labiosa in this horror where a single mother is regularly raped and tormented by an invisible assailant.
Based on a true story. Sleazy as fuck. The first act is just a cycle of Hershey being sexually assaulted by the unseen forces in her home, trying to act like everthing is normal to her kids, finding no solace from friends, the police or the medical community… then being attacked again. It is pretty merciless. The Stan Winston puppeted “groped body” cast FX is eerily weird to watch. Then there’s a really left-of-field bombastic finale where university nerds try to freeze the ghost / demons / out-of-body rapist. Then it ends on an unresolved note, suggesting our lead victim is just going to have to endure the unexplained attacks. A bit too grim and blunt to praise, this, at least, is often grindingly unsettling.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 