Joseph Losey and Leslie Norman direct Dean Jagger, Leo McKern and Edward Chapman  in this early Hammer production where scientists and the army try to figure out exactly what form a murderous, radiation chomping monster is taking. 

The relatively unique opening hour which essentially has the structure of a mosaic, as various unassociated people are attacked by “the unknown”, followed by a thrilling enough grand finale where the survivors try to blow a roaming blob up before it devours Inverness make this worth watching (if you are forgiving and enthusiastic for this type of bunkum). It was all done better in The Blob or Quatermass, in fact, it proves no real surprise to find the first draft of the script was intended as a sequel to Nigel Kneale’s classier take on the boffin versus the uncanny tropes represented here.

5

 

Jeff Nichols directs Ruth Negga, Joel Edgerton and Martin Csokas in this biography of Richard and Mildred Loving, a regular interracial married couple, whose union came up against the anti-miscegenation in the state of Virginia.

A touching and softly spoken film, made all the more compelling by the fact Negga and Edgerton play the real life protagonists like they are your grandparents – polite, unconfident in the face of authority they don’t understand and just trying to get along with their own little patch of happiness inspite of any injustice that tries to crush them. Loving never attempts to reinvent the wheel but Negga must now be dead centre on every casting directors’ radar,  and Nichols feels more at home bringing his expertise at low key, paranoia heavy set pieces to beautifully framed dramatic endeavours like this or Mud rather than the disappointing genre exercise of Midnight Special.

6

 

Stephen Gaghan directs Matthew McConaughey, Édgar Ramírez and Bryce Dallas Howard in this factional take on a down on his luck prospector who sees himself sitting on one of the biggest gold finds of the century.

A Sunday League equivalent to The Wolf of Wall Street or Goodfellas where the excess seems a little more flabbily middle aged and the rise feels almost as glum as the fall. It is film about untold wealth made in the mood and mode of a near permanent Pabst and chaser hangover, some will find that tone and palette dulling over the fitted as standard loooooong running time. That might not dazzle you but as a showcase for McConaughey this gives the faithful what they crave, bad behaviour and aggressive monologues a plenty. Hell, it could just be MMc wandering from strip lit office to jungle to sleazy jacuzzi reciting “Alright, alright, alright!” and I’d be a happy camper. The always lovely Bryce Dallas Howard additionally does noticeably more with the put upon but faithful girlfriend role than most of her equivalents in these go for broke biopics manage. Gold wins by the sheer quality of its leads alone.

7

Mel Gibson directs Andrew Garfield, Teresa Palmer and Vince Vaughn in this fantastical but true tale of WWII American Army Medic Desmond T. Doss, a conscientious objector who went into bloody battle to save lives with no weapon, despite oppressive opposition from the Army itself over his stance. 

A powerful film – full of sentiment, gruelling violence and messianic connotations as only Mad Mel (the director) seemingly cares to present and combine well. The initial romance and hour of the brutal reaction of the Army brass to break Doss of his convictions, that fly in the face of what the other men in his unit are being trained to relent on, are effective and affecting. But the movie truly becomes a worthy experience once we enter Hacksaw Ridge itself in the kinetic and haunting second half. Fuck Saving Private Ryan! The theatre of war has never been presented quite so hellish, quite so callously gore heavy in a mainstream American piece of cinema. You are shaken by the sheer terror Gibson creates around his hero before he even tries to present the near impossible and near improbable heroism the Doss actually achieved out there. It adds up to quite the endurance testing thrill ride. You’ll walk out feeling pummelled, entertained, inspired and overwrought all at the same time. Which is not to say the movie is without flaw. The Japanese are presented as almost verminous and considering Gibson’s past transgressions on and off screen, this does make you flinch.  Garfield puts in a mannered turn, some end credit footage of the real Doss underlines this is done for veracity’s sake, but the supporting cast fall further on the side of acceptable rather than stellar. Vince Vaughn in particular through no fault of his acting here, but of his back catalogue entire, yanks you out of the story’s reality every time he’s on screen. You can’t help but get snagged as he barks orders or dives into a foxhole, by the nagging thought “Hey, that’s Vince Vaughn from Wedding Crashers!” rather than a Sergeant trying to lead his men. Just flaws however, the whole is very, very good and you get to see a soldier use a limbless torso as a shield to advance and unleash death on a battalion. What more could you want from a film about a pacifist?

8

J. Lee Thompson directs Richard Chamberlain, Sharon Stone and John Rhys-Davies in this Cannon Group cheapie epic that takes a classic adventure tale and amps up anything that resembles the Indiana Jones franchise they can afford to rip off.

Even as an impressionable child I knew this couldn’t hold a candle to Raiders, or even Romancing the Stone, but it has matured surprisingly well. OK in dialogue, plotting and invention the script lacks ambition, I even doubt the writers can spell ‘ambition’. But they knew what pages of the Temple of Doom shooting script to photocopy and what pages of Haggard’s original novel to cut and paste in, so… well done them. The low budget antics of the shoot only really show themselves up in the early interiors and once we hit the locations (and the ‘just happy to be there’ cast of thousands locals) the scale and dangerous looking practical stunt work is now quite comparatively epic in scope if not imagination, especially when you consider the money squandered on passionless greenscreen and graphics these days. I’m not going to make the argument that this is a good film but it is a consistently undemanding fun one that frames its artless cliffhangers, just the right side of racist exoticism (and only “just”), a hungry young starlet in the shape of Sharon Stone and a game villian perpetuated by Rhys-Davies well enough that you admire the romp rather than execution. You won’t have a blast but this kicks up enough dust to kill an evening pleasurably.

6

Don Cheadle directs himself, Ewan McGregor and Michael Stuhlbarg in this funky, experimental sideway glance at the jazz icon’s life.

Put it this way, if you are expecting this to be a straight, solid, estate approved biography like Ray, Walk the Line or Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story then you are in for a shock. Cheadle does pay homage to landmark moments in Miles Davis’ rise and fall via discombobulated flashbacks – these are many and give you a good broad strokes and keynotes representation of the jazz pioneer’s chaotic reality. But it’s the framing device that takes up the bulk of the running time and causes as many distracting problems as generates much of the heat. A fictional wild weekend caper movie that owes far more to Midnight Run or Shane Black as it does one of those £3 paperback biographies you can buy in Fopp. As a gun wielding, fist throwing Cheadle and McGregor (a made up Rolling Stones journalist tagging along for a scoop) chase down some missing session tapes that might just inspire the coked up and reclusive Davis out of retirement, you can’t help but feel this aspect either should have been dialled back or embraced fully ( a la Bubba Ho-Tep) for at a more consistent movie. I respect the risk taken but you do feel hoodwinked when you check Wikipedia and discover just how much of the narrative is utter bobbins. Cheadle the star though shines, making the unpredictable, often admirably dislikable, Davis a captivating and credible protagonist.

6

Kenneth Lonergan directs Casey Affleck, Lucas Hedges and Michelle Williams in this superlative drama following a loner who returns to his hometown, where he is reviled, to take care of his teenage nephew after his brother dies. 

No one does bottled up feelings quite like Casey Affleck. His soulful, almost permanently wet eyes and his awkward scratchy voice just ache with repression. And now he’s gonna get the Oscar for it. Trust me… it has to happen for this amazing work. He’s always been outstanding, quietly stealing great movies like Gone Baby Gone, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and even his more mouthy, aggressive early small role in Good Will Hunting. This film shares some of that working class male weepy classic’s booze ridden melancholy, it is also surprisingly similar to the plot of his earlier little seen Lonesome Jim, though that venture was twee-er in it indie intentions. This movie explores the devastating affects of old love, tragedy, guilt and responsibility when it is inflicted on those who don’t talk through their remorse, don’t grandstand. Without saying much, it is epic in its emotional scope. Affleck bares these burdens stoically but in a way recognisable for those of us who didn’t grow up in a Woody Allen movie or an episode of Friends. And for all the misery it processes, it is an entertainment. Wryly funny, surprisingly sexy, craftily assembled. It gives room for Michelle Williams to do her equally always impressive acting thing (a short wounding burst near the end from her will break your heart and all it is, is an invitation to lunch) and introduce you to a name making turn from Lucas Hedges as the cocksure ward. I walked out of this and said to Natalie “That’s a great fucking movie.” And my second trip on a weekday afternoon only cemented that. Powerful stuff.

9

Mick Jackson directs Rachel Weisz, Timothy Spall and Tom Wilkinson in this recreation of the libel court case brought against a Jewish historian from a holocaust denier. 

Rachel Weisz is one of the safest pair of hands in modern cinema. Her great performances are numerate but she can even lift weaker blockbusters like The Mummy franchise, The Bourne Legacy or Constantine up to a degree above mere disposable entertainment. Which makes Denial frustrating. An interesting footnote in modern history handled with a calm, measured cinematic matter of factness.  One can’t help but think though given her actions, reactions and how her legal team deal with her, as presented here, that Deborah Lipstadt (the ostensible hero) is a person so annoying, and so lacking self-awareness, that she needs to be essentially muzzled in court so as not come across less sympathetic than a fucking posh, vainglorious holocaust denier! If that was the reality then it comes across insidiously in her representation here but why not lean into the problem that Lipstadt’s personality was a major hurdle to overcome for the legal team to gain further excitement? There’s satirical fun to be had there and a conflict for Weisz’ character to work off of for the running time. Or is it a problem with the script or performances? So as not to appear like Weisz becomes a passive sideline observer to her own trial from the second act onwards they have added blurty lines and idiotic responses that accidentally make her seem like a fucking liability? Either way, a fumble. What could make Denial a better film, and it is still a perfectly watchable one, is some formal risk taking with the narrative. More focus on the antagonist… Spall is not only excellent but his Irving proves quite the proactive and guileful customer. Would it have been in such bad taste to make a film where we follow a opportunistic right winger’s machinations until he is eventually hung by his own petard? The drama only really perks up after Irving lands a glancing blow in court, intentionally just in time for the tabloid deadlines. The movie comes to life in that 10 minutes as the defence team scramble around an enraged Lipstadt back at their offices… I wonder if a more ambitious script resembling 12 Angry Men or The Thick of It set within these after hour moments could have had more grip and grunt, while still easily getting the main points of the case across. The lack of ambition still doesn’t make it any less eyecatching a tale but just imagine if it was a bit more unfettered, a bit more experimental.

5

 

Robert Rodriguez directs Antonio Banderas, Salma Hayek and Steve Buscemi in this border town action western following a murderous mariachi.

Like Sam Raimi did with Evil Dead 2, here Rodriquez takes his $7000 home action movie El Mariachi and enthusiastically grafts on a a 7 figure budget, stars, and the sheen and energy of having more than himself as a crew member to bombastic effect. And for the first hour you get a bullet train paced down and dirty rumble pic -packed with crude jokes, sizzlingly sexy leads, snappy dialogue and cool entrances. It has the pace and funk of a trailer for a great action movie and still manages to be a great action movie. One of the amusing stories around the making of El Mariachi was Robert used all the tallest, toughest looking hombres in his hometown to play henchmen early on in the running time so that by the end it looked like the Big Bad was being guarded by mere young boys and wrinkly old men. Similarly here, the squibs and pyrotechnic frenzy runs out of muscle by the third act… slower, less certain of itself, less satisfying. That stumble holds it back from being a ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ classic. But show me a director who can sprint all the way through a marathon. You get the best use of Banderas ever, great turns from Hayek, Buscemi, Danny Trejo and even…. and I’m genuinely talking about acting here… enthusiastic amateur Quentin Tarantino. What’s not to love? “LET’S PLAY!”

8

Danny Boyle directs Ewan McGregor, Robert Carlyle and Ewen Bremner in this belated catch-up with the ageing population of Irvine Welsh’s Edinburgh skagboy universe. 

An absolute laugh out loud charmer this. Given the talent involved and the original’s untarnished importance to a generation, the weight of expectation should cripple this lesser film fatally. Boyle makes quite clear this is a cash-in, an exercise in nostalgia and sitcommy extension. You wouldn’t and couldn’t enjoy it as a stand alone film. It is a remix of all the old iconic moments imbued with streak of worry line maturity, balding self awareness and hope. Fuck it. It is fun and I can’t wait to bang it on the DVD player immediately after watching the true classic episode one. Renton and Sick Boy have become creaky watered down versions of their less interesting selfs. With the exception of a thrilling visit to a Unionist bar (let’s see how that travels overseas) their main plotline dawdles along, allowing echoes of the past to infect the film, pleasingly so. No… the fight is on between Begbie and Spud for who steals the show. Carlyle gets all the best lines and scenes, only his resolution with his son rings false. While Bremner must be kicking himself that T2  has been released on the far side of the moon for award contention. He takes the buffoonish role he perfected decades ago and amps up the pathos and the bathos to heart wrenching effect. Ya fucking beauty! Now Boyle is the one who you feel could have used this time making a better film, he rarely knocks out less than masterpiece but we’ll give him a pass here. He sticks surprisingly close to Welsh’ literary follow-up Porno, removing only what would truly date or restrict an adaptation. In fact a returning Welsh’ cameo as Mikey Forrester is telling, the fateful drug deal that ended the opening rush in ’96 and he’s the only one who has really benefitted from it. That’s quite the lock up for a fence, full of everything Renton choose to reject in his opening monologue all those years ago.

6