Eleanor Coppola, George Hickenlooper and Fax Bahr direct Francis Ford Coppola, Eleanor Coppola and Marlon Brando in this candid documentary on the chaos  experienced filming Apocalypse Now.

If you don’t know just quite what a troubled production the classic Vietnam war movie had then you are in for a shocking treat. If you do, then strap yourself in for one of the funniest fly on the wall documentaries ever made. For the first hour it’s Copolla’s topless hubris as his vision and fortune is obliterated by typhoons, Cambodian army manoeuvres or critically ill actors where HoD never fails to find a shot or line that doesn’t raises a chuckle at his misfortune and arrogance. It opens with a statement from his wife saying she see secretly recorded many of his private conversations, full of disbelief in what he had gotten himself into and self doubt in his own talents. This feels like the Watergate Tapes of DVD extras. As bad as things get for the strutting, vain glorious New Hollywood titan we at least have the inbuilt relief of knowing the finished film will be a masterpiece. Yet then Dennis Hopper and Marlon Brando turn up and the fun really begins. Hopper cast on a fourth strike in his final game of his then failing career is drugged out and belligerent. Brando is overweight, money grabbing and employing his famous on set stalling tactics – a monster. A triumph against adversity, topped by Brando bluntly exclaiming to camera mid monologue  “I swallowed a bug.” A making of doc better than most films, a documentary with more big laughs than most spoof documentaries. And a cast even better than Apocalypse Now.

8

Hal Ashby directs Bud Cort, Ruth Gordon and Vivian Pickles in this romance between a quiet young rich man obsessed with death and a vibrant old lady who has lived life her own way.

Popping with quirk and charm this is a lovely little gem. Cat Stevens on the soundtrack, perfect casting, the wonderfully grim fake suicides Harold inflicts on his mother (and us), the constantly dotty bad behaviour of his geriatric new flame Maude. There’s a lot to adore, Wes Anderson clearly did… the DNA of the film is a near perfect match to his oeuvre. The modern hip wunderkind has yet to have such a poignant edit comparing a field of unique daisies to the uniform white gravestones of the war dead though. Pretty brave for a studio film made in Vietnam era 1971. Having said all that praise Harold and Maude is often a slight, trite, predictable experience. The script feels like a first draft of a potential classic rather than the polished and gift wrapped item the amazing leads and the rest of the film crew make it. There’s an obvious blind adherence of the rule of three that means we, the viewer, often get blugeoned by the same sequences on the third run. If Harold fakes a death in front of a blind date once then we have to see two more variations later. If Maude bamboozles a cop hilariously in the first act then expect to see it again and again. I won’t be hypocritical and give a third example. That deadening repetition holds this beautiful little oddity back from greatness. Still for a film with one foot in the grave it is remarkably uplifting in its message.

8

Jeremy Saulnier directs Anton Yelchin, Alia Shawkat and Patrick Stewart in this claustrophobic punk band versus skinheads thriller.

Last time I trembled like this in the cinema I was watching Ringu in the ICA, 1999. Sadako was climbing out of a TV screen and I knew what was about to happen next was going to be dreadful for a character I had invested in. Jeremy Saulnier, building on his intense Blue Ruin, hits exactly the same nerve expertly with this. It is a tight, aggressive little shocker that plays out with a relentless glee. Unlike say, Return of the Living Dead (see below) the protagonists aren’t running around like headless chickens. They are introduced as resourceful but careless – they’ve run out petrol but problem solve the best siphoning opportunity with experienced petty criminal precision. And this characterises the Ain’t Rights once the shit hits the fan as they make smart plays and reckless moves to escape a horrific situation. They are a captivating crew who have trouble being decisive in their new prison, but every time the clock runs out on them the violence that occurs is explicitly awful. The voice through the door plotting against them is none other than Patrick Stewart, who gives up on anything resembling a yank accent and just launches at every line reading with a hammy Yorkshire menace. Head Skin is accompanied by vicious dogs and lower ranking bother boys with hidden agendas. Their wavering against the boss’ ideology will be the bands only thin windows to make their break. So they tool up and go for it… Kubrickian in detailed realisation of the punk scene, Fincher-esque in its cold, practical springing of the trap and John Carpenter amplified in every fibre and shot and edit and line. Borrowing from the best is no crime. Yet this still moshes, glasses and stomps to it own hideously compelling rhythm. Class.

10

Sebastian Schipper directs Laia Costa, Frederick Lau and Franz Rogowski in this Berlin set romance / thriller all done in one late night take.

It starts like a less pretentious, working class Before Sunrise and warps into a very, very dragged out Run Lola Run. The one shot gimmick is effectively achieved, the likeable performances (Lau in particular makes this worth watching) never noticeably slip, the action really rather awesomely never treads water. But after a slow but appealing flirtation and an enjoyable if unbelievable heist, we get left with one hell of a hungover comedown. Characters become unlikable and you keep thinking back to an earlier point where everything neatly came about full circle and just wish the credits had started rolling off there and then rather than half an hour later. As an exercise in plate spinning it is laudable, as a night out at the movies frustrating.

5

U

The Russo Brothers direct Chris Evans, Scarlett Johansson and Sebastian Stan in this conspiracy thriller lite where Cap finds the modern world to be a distinctly untrustworthy milieu.

Strong ensemble character work and some genuinely kick ass action make this standard issue blockbuster fun. Evans stretches out perfectly into his iconic long term home – he’s still a Boy Scout in his small asides, actions and exchanges albeit an indestructible one. Johansson’s Black Widow is given more to do here than any other Marvel appearance, winningly so. Sure, the plot and paranoia isn’t quite up to scratch when held near the 70s genre it apes, the weather is that near constant Marvel bland utopia of never changing 40 degree days and you do wish in the final big battle they might “shut the fuck up” with the jokes and let the well set up stakes of the boom boom speak for itself. But all in all out an efficient romp.

7

Jason Reitman directs Charlize Theron, Patton Oswalt and Patrick Wilson in this dramaerdy about a prom queen still terrifyingly clinging to her high school romance as she approaches middle age.

I’m a big fan of Jason Reitman’s clearly framed, crisply colourful character studies but this particular one does little for me. The Diablo Cody scripted humour rationed out in the early half just isn’t there enough by the end, wasting a note perfect lead turn from Theron as a woman so self centred she sees an ex’s newborn as the green flag to try and break up his happy hometown family. Patton Oswalt impresses as the equally arrested in development geek who still has time for her, and I get the subtly made points about maturing and motherhood, but essentially the end game of the film is for us to have sympathy for someone who has not learnt or grown yet whose shocking behaviour gave up on entertaining us after the first act. If the monster was let loose in a few more scenes later on, then Theron would have scooped up awards a plenty. Good soundtrack.

5

Sam Mendes directs Daniel Craig, Christopher Waltz and Léa Seydoux in this gorgeous but lazy entry into the super spy franchise.

A third watch of this fourth and possibly final entry in Craig’s constantly uncertain reboot of the 007 franchise achieves something no other Bond has… making a rewatchable fourth entry. Thunderball, Moonraker and Die Another Day are all the sequels where Sean, Roger and Pierce respectively blotted their ledgers so in that category this proves a roaring success. The action when it comes is bruisingly OTT and enjoyably sustained. A car chase through the Austrain mountains where a plane is used as bowling ball is the winner but a cracking hand to hand barney through three train carriages and that chaotic Day of the Dead opener share silver medals. Léa Seydoux may not be given the most consistent of characters but in terms of beauty, bottled up charm and sexy, flattering costumes she is a stunning foil for Craig. And we’ve found our funny again. Craig will never be comfortable homaging Roger Moore’s Carry On wacky take on “Oh James!” but there is a knowing emphasis on daft excess and tart retorts that stop Spectre from drying out like a worthy dog’s biscuit. Set pieces, Bond girls and gags. We’re back on track then after the inexpilicably successful Skyfall (A Bond film for people who don’t really like Bond)? Well sadly Mendes is still at the helm and the film still restricted by his overriding ethos of  prestige first, “plots this silly never deserve strong storytelling” interpretation of Ian Fleming’s finest. I’ll give him his dues; he adds a drop of Felini here and pinch of Lean there making Spectre one of the most optically stimulating action films ever, he gets a modern ideal of quality and luxury just right, he ties together all those ignored Casino / Quantum ragged ends and binds them together into quite the sense making boxset and, after his clumsy reintroduction of Q, Moneypenny and especially Fiennes as M previous film, here he now coalesces them into a fun B- team given more watchable business to do than merely send Bond off on his mission then leave him to it. But Waltz’s Blofeld is an inexplicable failure (“Cuckoo!”). It took this third viewing for me to figure out his crime was causing terrorist events so nations’ intelligence services would sign up to his free but controlled surveillance system. I knew he was pushing his snide surveillance system, and he was a wrong un, but the terrorist events all happen off screen, mentioned at best in passing or glimpsed on a hotel TV screen while we are busy admiring Q’s holiday knitwear. I’m quite a switched on viewer but Blofeld 2.0 really came across as a quite generous criminal kook with just a childishly personal grudge against James. Once I realised quite how obscurely his actual plot had been laid out to us, it did not help. A Bond film, one begging for one bonus action sequence by the way, where not once does 007 directly foil or is even present for Spectre’s attacks on cities that prove integral to the plot… ?! Sam fucking Mendes. And people don’t like Quantum of Solace? I give up. Still with time all Bond films eventually blend into one and Spectre has enough chunks of top grade razzmatazz that it settle into the mid tier worthily. Like the series best credit sequence full of octopuses and eyes, it is visually splendiferous but you do wish it danced to a slightly livelier, more fan appropriate tune.

7

Dan O’Bannon directs Don Calfa, James Karen and Linnea Quigley in this very gory, very respectful spoof of the Living Dead zombie series.

Joining Kundun one night this week in an accidental Ressurection double bill was a flick that had a very palpable effect on my own childhood. The video cover, at least did,  of Tarman and the gang. Rotting faces leering directly at me, just like Freddy hand drawn but menacing, really got at me as a kid. Terrified me enough to keep me away from my beloved videoshop when I was wee and still out and as far away from the horror section even as eventually I got older but brave enough to venture in to the rental palace where my movie loving tastes formed. No longer anywhere near youth and now a horror fan,  I’d retroactively heard good things about Return since and was eager to catch up with it. And this belated watch proved gleeful if not life changing. It is a knowingly daft and outrageous film. The FX, gore and nasty is just about right, albeit never actual terrifying. The humour manages to be constant, inventive but palpably lacks punchlines. All very of its time, amusing but never amazing. The highlight among some spirited performances is Linnea Quigley who quickly loses her punk clothes (all of them) and then her life and then keeps on chomping as a nudie zombie. Touches like her still don’t make Return of the Living Dead any more than a time waster for sure, but at the very least a lovingly made, grungily frantic time waster. If you like ReAnimator or American Werewolf in London and come to it with lowered expectations it hits a spot no longer catered for.

6

Martin Scorsese directs Tenzin Thuthob Tsarong, Gyurme Tethong and Tulku Jamyang Kunga Tenzin in this epic look at the Dalai Lama’s childhood in Tibet before Chinese aggression exiled him.

Difficult one this as Matin Scorsese has produced a hauntingly beautiful film and one with a unique and naturally compelling tale running through it… yet Kundun just does not gel into a satisfying experience. The bold use of colour is trademark Marty, the near constant telling from child’s point of view (or more accurately…  a very peaceful and gentle man’s shared but diplomatic remembrance of his childhood) often feels like mid career Spielberg. Perhaps this is why the film squanders its inherent power. By not wanting to offend or misrepresent its holy living source, the film lacks the forgivable embellishments of captivating storytelling to give it any hook. The stunt cast of non acting descendants do fine but, like the film itself, end up worthy and respectful rather than mature or interesting. You finish up feeling you have not really seen the truth, nor really even the legend, leaving very little to print. A rare occasion where you get the inkling that Michael Bay or Brett Ratner’s Young Dalai Lama Adventures might be a more practical use of your two hours over Scorsese politically neutered, beneficent life of a saint. Marty has just too much respect for the Dalai Lama    as a man alive to make Kundun work for the casual viewer.

6

Tony Scott directs Christian Slater, Patricia Arquette and Gary Oldman in this Tarantino scripted ultra violent love affair between a comic book loner and a neon clad call girl.

True Romance was the poster above my teenage bed, the music we used as our wedding march and the gateway film into my love of movies. If I was to single out one great performance in this I would merely end up listing twenty. I cannot say one negative or unbiased word about Scott’s beautifully hazy direction and Tarantino’s purest and most energetic script. The scene between Walken and Hopper, where a father faces torture, death and betraying a son he has only just reconnected with and instead chooses to insult his way with obscure history and wit to a slightly nobler end, is quite simply the greatest scene in cinema history. I have included a screenshot of Elliot Blitzer’s unfortunate traffic stop as the chosen image instead for this love letter as that visual punchline is one of the funniest in cinema too. Perfection.

10