Seijun Suzuki directs Joe Shishido, Koji Nanbara and Annu Mari in this pop art thriller about the Number 3 hitman’s lusts, paranoia and rivalry. 

Surreal, sexy, kinky, inventive, nonsensical. This one of those movies that often is wildly unique but also occasionally frustrating. You are never more than a few seconds away from a fantastic shot or an almost parodic, hardboiled bit of business.

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Ruben Östlund directs Claes Bang, Elisabeth Moss and Terry Notary in this art world satire about a vain modern art museum curator whose life spirals out of control. 

At times rattlingly smart, other times a bit obvious and dull. There’s a brilliant five star 90 minutes film here padded out with an hour of OKish extras. Claes Bang is fine as the square – an immaculate middle aged man who raves with his underlings and elderly patrons, while struggling to do the right thing even while doing the right thing. Moss has a brilliant scene involving a tug of war over a used condom. Notary steals the show as a performance artist who wrecks a stuffy ballroom dinner with his wild, aggressive antics. “Help me.” Everyone, but he, says it at some point. Visually there are lots of squares too. The kinda experience that feels as much a psychological test paper, as much as a high brow comedy. You can tell why it did so well at Cannes. The world of impenetrable works, ligging galas and shock tactic media campaigns probably felt very familiar at a film festival known for its pomp, controversies and industry focus over artistic celebration.

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Myles Kane and Josh Koury direct Gay Talese, Gerald Foos and Anita Foos in this documentary following the release of the New Journalism writer’s book about Foos’ life as a motel owner who elaborately spied on his guests.

This underrated documentary is gripping, personality packed and uncovers subtle truths concurrent with its big controversies. Gay Talese is a big flamboyant figure of the late 20th century writing tradition that also gave us Norman Mailer, George Plimpton and Tom Wolfe. Personalities who were self consciously bigger than their subject matter. Impeccably dressed and beautifully spoken, his previous bestsellers made him a talk show regular decades ago. Gerald Foos is a gregarious man, in a happy marriage, who for years owned a motel built specifically so he could spy on his guests, nightly and unnoticed. Both men keep basements full of notes and mementoes of their past, both have a fascination with overseeing the lives of others. Hoarders with god complexes, speculators on what they witness and how it will have value to the general public. Broken mirror images of each other in many aspects. Foos, spotting a kindred spirit on TV, even invited Talese over to peep through his hidden vents with him back in the eighties. Now that the statute of limitations has passed, he seems happy for Talese to expose him and write his story. And from there a mini hell breaks loose. A lot of reviews seem to focus on the criminal aspect of this, the salacious part about a man who watched his guest engage in secret, sometimes violent acts and kept shtum. They focus on the power struggle between Talase and Foos when new, contradictory information comes suddenly to light and reputations are left in tatters. And all that stuff to me is incredibly watchable, inventively recreated and compellingly stitched together. Far too fascinating a pairing to deserve the snide scorn Voyeur seems to have garnered in the press. But where the documentary comes truly alive is in watching two men of the past realise they are now out of time. Both had an inflated idea of where their story would take them. Gay would have another bestseller. Foos would become a celebrity from his notoriety. That doesn’t happen and that is where Voyeur makes it real gains. It is a portrait of two elderly men realising the jig is up. Look at the scene where Foos watches out of his porch blinds, expecting a media circus when his story hits the papers. No such attention arrives. Look at Talese realising his book isn’t selling but his reputation is permanently diminished when he gives the Washington Post one unwise, but mass circulated, quote when reacting to the veracity of Foos’ story. There’s a lot going on in Voyuer… it is an ethical buffet about truth, morality and the media… but at its heart it is the sad tale of two complex men who thought they were above everyone, seeing all the angles, who now no longer understand how the modern world works.

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Paul and Chris Weitz direct Jason Biggs, Eugene Levy and Seann William Scott in this raunchy teen comedy about four inept boys trying to lose their virginity before high school ends. 

Perhaps the most recent film I will feel nostalgic about. I remember it being one of the first movies I went to see after moving to Edinburgh (at the ABC Lothian Road) back when I could only really afford to go see one film a month. That barren period, while waiting to find a job, saw me ration myself to just Big Daddy, Fight Club, The Sixth Sense and this over the end of 1999. So all absolute classics then… apart from The Sixth Sense. But here’s the thing, each time I rewatch American Pie it holds up remarkably well. Partly it marks the end of my teen years in an idealised way. Those check shirts and that post punk soundtrack of Harvey Danger / Barenaked Ladies / Blink-182 are very familiar. The weird mix of pent up frustration and romantic yearning shown in the lads was rarely depicted on screen then and feels truer than a lot of more serious teen dramas. So an emotional connection probably elevates it. And Pie has its flaws; there is a visual flatness that feels unambitious even for a teen comedy, one or two scenes have dated horribly (I guess broadcasting a girl stripping on the internet without her knowledge didn’t have the permanency or emotional harm attached to it as revenge porn does these days). But even in those awkwardly ickier moments, the joke is eventually turned on the boys. They end up either improved or the butt of their crass actions after every single transgression. And they are purposely a likeable, sensitive bunch… a million years more emotionally mature and aware than the soulless lunks who smirked and winked and groped through the Eighties equivalents (see Porkys, Police Academy, Ski Patrol etc). American Pie’s real strength is in a strong cast. Biggs has a natural gangly slapstick desperation that he sadly grew out of. Eddie Kaye Thomas is memorable as the pretentious long game player. Seann William Scott isn’t even part of the core group and he kills as the utterly comfortable in his own skin arsehole jock. The girls are given more to do than just be mindless conquests… maybe not quite the shading gifted to the lads… but Alyson Hannigan and Natasha Lyonne get moments and lines that suggest a concerted effort has been made not to have them all be mere nubile trophies to be won. Most importantly though, there are more than a half a dozen killer set pieces. Sure, some are dumbly gross (the infamous pie fuck nowadays actually feels rather tame) but many have an internal tension and patient build-up that show expert timing and a crucial understanding of how to milk a good gag. Just watch the scene where a beer and spunk cocktail is unwittingly passed back and forth, bought to the lips and interrupted constantly by Scott and his nervy prey. All it lacks is the overkill of the ominous Jaws theme to emphasise the prolonged horror unfolding. American Pie is packed deep with such strong sequences making it still a laugh-out-loud hoot while also now a warm and sweet blast from the past.

8

Chris Baugh directs Nigel O’Neill, Józef Pawlowski and Susan Lynch in this Northern Irish revenge thriller where a mild mannered farmer tracks down the criminals who murdered his mammy.

A bog trotter Taken. Actually very gripping, following a similar pattern to The Foreigner… yet tighter, on a tenth of the budget and with none of the star power. There are enough pleasing moments to make this a gritty beer and crisps Friday night filler. Nigel O’Neill (perfectly costumed as a middle aged Irish mammy’s boy) and Susan Lynch impress in parts that feel bigger than their cookie cutter shapes initially suggest. There’s no real complexity to all this revenge violence, it’s just nice to see an independent genre film satisfyingly surpass its own slim ambitions.

6

Roar Uthaug directs Alicia Vikander, Walton Goggins and Dominic West in this action adventure where a young heiress tries to solve the mystery of her father’s disappearance on a ‘lost’ island.

There is a 3 second moment where Alice Vikander bodychecks a small Hong Kong bag snatcher. Using her full 12oz weight to bring him to the ground. This is less believable than all the chasm leaping, bullet dodging and sexy grunt enducing collisions with rock, metal or trees. I wasn’t bored while watching Tomb Raider, it moves at a tremendous clip, but equally I can hardly remember anything but that fantasy take down a few days later. I’m certainly not desperate for a second instalment or reboot.

5

 

Yuen Woo-ping directs Jackie Chan, Hwang Jang Lee and Yuen Siu-tien in this martial arts classic about an orphan who learns a forbidden fighting style. 

Martial arts movies are still a novelty to me. I’ve seen about thirty in my life, so I’m no expert. But I know a good un when I see one. Chan is unashamedly entertaining in Snake in Eagle’s Shadow. Lending his fluid movements, his impressive strength, his laid back physical timing and his boyish exuberance to a classic tale of training montages, wise masters, despicable villians and demented duels. The soundtrack is a seventies collage of stolen samples and the sound effects play like you are dubbing them in with your mouth on the sofa . There’s nothing wrong with that. It adds to the thrills. Adds to the charm. A comedy sequence involving footprints and a cloth has to be seen to be believed. A brilliant sustained visual gag. Old school perfection.

9

 

Tim Miller directs Ryan Reynolds, Morena Baccarin and Ed Skrein in this X-Men spin-off about a disfigured, fourth wall breaking, mutant assassin, who can regenerate, trying to gain his sleazy life back. 

There are two really good jokes in Deadpool. Both visual. This one pictured above. And an earlier montage depicting a year of holiday sex. Crackers. But two good (really good) in a film that feels like a relentless meme, gif and Unilad clip feed. So much joke-resembling shit is thrown against the wall that it becomes deadening. Relentless, annoying shit. Callbacks, meta, references, toppers, zingers, insults, scatalogical, nonsensical. Just constant but constantly underwhelming. And what frames it… a mediocre X-Men flick which spends an hour on the same freeway high rise give or take a few flashbacks and then scrabbles to a clanging finale with no peril. A finale, that if you took the wrecked hellicarrier and the superpowers out of it, smells a lot like one of those dockyard / warehouse shootouts from 1980s Miami Vice. And what is it pinned to… a Ryan Reynolds star turn. We’ve been giving him these for years. This is the first time anyone has willingly bought a ticket for one for over 12 long years of smarmy vehicles. So what do we really have… a Ryan Reynolds film with better marketing? An R rated superhero with lots of PG-13 dick jokes and “violence” that will taste like warm beer to any Verehoeven / Schwarzenegger / Die Hard raised hard liquor kid? Am I being overly mean to a silly tongue-in-cheek surprise smash? No. Not really any more than is deserved. But Deadpool opened to average reviews. And I think they were on the money. Not its current overinflated, box office justified, rep. Deadpool is nerd culture for people who think having The Big Bang Theory on in the background makes them a geek. For fantasy fans who have watched all of Game of Thrones and the spoiler theory Youtubes. You deserve your mediocre, puerile films. But know this. Those scenes where Deadpool wanders about street corners in a hoodie looking sad, unable to approach his girlfriend as his skin…is… a…bit…gnarly. They are serious about those. You are supposed to feel sad. That’s about as scabarous as a Masters of the Universe moral. Stay in school, kids.

5

Stanley Kramer directs Sidney Poitier, Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn in this drama about mixed race couple trying to gain parental approval for their whirlwind romance in sixties America. 

Another difficult film to review. It is trying to be forward thinking yet was made in a period of such social flux so that it probably felt dated as soon as the film stock was being developed. It is a film where the young couple is so perfect, the hesitant parents so decent, that the drama is tensionless. It is film where the parents’ main objection is the world’s negative reaction to the couple’s difference rather than any hatred to the ‘other’ in itself. It is film where after the final bow tieing ‘that solves everything’ big speech, the black maid is told to serve dinner. Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner probably has very little to say for today’s audience, even about attitudes in 1967. In reality it is an idealised view of pragmatic liberalism at the time, rather than race relations of any period. Sensitive to danger yet inoffensive in itself so as to be a toothless fantasy. Is it a waste of time? No. You get some lovely star performances and support turns. Poitier handles all the awkwardness, scripted and unscripted, with a classy elan. And bride to be / apple of their eye Katharine Houghton is cute enough to be worth the fuss. Even when she coquettishly says ‘negro’ for the 57th time. Will Get Out feel this dated 50 years down the line?

6

Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg direct Anthony Weiner, Huma Abedin and Sydney Leathers in this documentary closely following NYC mayoral election campaign  of a former congressman, coming back to politics from a sexting scandal.

A difficult experience to review. The level of access and quality of footage in astounding. The portrait painted in this fly-on-the-wall investigation is actually quite sympathetic. Weiner is a diligent and passionate politician, who engages with issues and the general public with a frank easiness. He is exactly the kind of bulldog you want in the chambers of power defending your healthcare or your rights. It may all ultimately be to feed his ego but he is an intelligent and unrelenting representative for liberal, democratic politics… But his predilection for sending sex images of himself and flirting online with other women ruins his reputation twice. We see him betray his wife and hurt her publicly… twice. An intelligent, arguably more successful woman silently screaming at the horrible position her husband has put her in… again. As credits roll I was willing to give Weiner a pass. I would vote for him even if he engages in behaviour which it clearly is foolish for someone in his position to do. But then you go on his Wikipedia page, find out what has happened in the aftermath, and you are left bereft. The guy is a disaster. Let him regain some semblance of a life as far away from media scrutiny as possible.

6