Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary

Agnès Varda directs herself, Mathieu Demy and Rosalie Varda in the documentary autobiography where the New Wave filmmaker revisits key moments in her life and recreates them on beaches.

A delightful little oddity that opens up the enviable life story of the quirky and talented Agnès out to us further. Much better than reading a dry book of reminisces. She gets a little distracted and bored of the beach conceit by the end, it feels abandoned. This is the first of her projects I probably wouldn’t rush to rewatch. Reminded me and Natalie last time we were in Paris we visited her husband Jacques Demy’s grave… next time we go they’ll be reunited there.

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Guy Ritchie directs Will Smith, Mena Massoud and Naomi Scott in this live action reshoot of the Disney animated classic adventure romance about a boy, his monkey, a lamp, a genie, their carpet and a princess with a tiger.

Natalie loved this. I felt it was meh. It seemed redundant, only recapturing the magic when replicating A Whole New World’s wondrous magic carpet ride and “Prince Ali”‘s cast of thousands entrance into the city. Everything else feels fleshed out but flabby. Will Smith does a respectful job of mimicing Robin Williams, but you just wish he got to colour outside the lines more, make the Genie his own. Likewise Jasmine gets more dialogue, a human sidekick, a belter of a song… yet these moments feel wedged in rather than natural embellishments. On the whole, it is a serviceable pastel-hued blockbuster but one that left me hankering for the bolder colour palette and slick nimbleness of the animated original.

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Robert Rodriguez directs Josh Hartnett, Elijah Wood and Laura Harris in this teen sci-fi horror mash-up where a group of high schoolers realise their school is being taken over by alien bodysnatcher parasites.

This was right up my alley as a teen. A movie referencing pretty much everything I was into from Invasion of the Body Snatchers to The Terminator. It essentially is an unashamed blend of The Breakfast Club and The Thing. I knew the horror wasn’t all that scary, the action never really reached an apex but I liked it. The Faculty was knowingly unoriginal, reconstituting familiar thrills so the fanboys and the uninitiated could have a fine night at the multiplex alike. I never picked it up again. I felt it might suffer under the scrutiny of a revisit. Yet 20 years down the line I had a Friday night blast again. It is probably Rodriguez most anonymous film but he homages with a passion. The cast is tip-top for trash – this made Hartnett a star, Clea Duvall and Laura Harris impress, the excellent Bebe Neuwirth gets a rare movie outing, everyone else rests heavily on their genre back catalogue. It really is a movie of simple pleasures, repackaged simple pleasures, like a covers band working out a smile inducing toe tapping playlist.

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Chad Stahelski directs Keanu Reeves, Halle Berry and Ian McShane in this direct continuation of the ultraviolent John Wick story, where the retired hitman finds himself on the run from the High Table.

More of the same… maybe a little too much more. The opening salvo of non-stop action for the first half hour is breathtaking. Whereas the final half hour of action maybe contains a beat down too far. Tries the patience just a little. That’s a minor gripe as very few current franchises are delivering mayhem as elegantly choreographed as this, a universe with a satisfyingly defined vibe and giving creaky action stars and character actors a pension plan. Roll on John Wick 4, hopefully with even more charming dog acting and Keanu getting cutely puffier around the jowls.

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Haifaa Al-Mansour directs Elle Fanning, Bel Powley and Douglas Booth in this biopic of the young Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, who caused a scandal moving in with the married Percy Shelley and wrote horror classic Frankenstein after a series of tragedies.

My second duff period biopic in a row after Tolkien. This one has oodles of story, what with love quadrangles and creative agency competing for attention, but is just too dour and unfocused to give that potential any pizazz. Shame as it often looks damply beautiful and both female leads are capable of so much more.

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My Top 10 Biopics

Luis Buñuel directs Fernando Rey, Carole Bouquet and Àngela Molina in this slightly surreal farce where a young woman prick teases an ageing lothario into submission.

It is almost as if Buñuel wanted another crack at the plot of Tristana. This is the better movie. More assured, more playful, less predictable. His conceit of casting two actresses in the lead female role is capricious but works. Whether you read it as Conchita’s duplicitous personality being literalised or Buñuel snubbing his nose at star actresses by demonstrating their dispensableness, one thing is for certain… Carole Bouquet rocks in her alternating sections. The surrealist even gets past his dated lampooning of the bourgeoisie… the framing device on the train where the middle class passengers listen in on a tale of sexist control, abuse and cuck pity with no judgement skewers them far more than “shock” imagery of the same norms dining in on loos or wearing gimp suits.

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J. C. Chandor directs Ben Affleck, Oscar Issac and Charlie Hunnam in this action heist where a team of former special forces operatives decide to rob a drug kingpin’s jungle retreat.

What starts off as Heat in a rainforest slips into The Treasure of Sierra Madre on a mountain. There’s a certain undeniable fun in watching the best and the bold dumping and burning millions in cash to get out of cliffhanging scrapes. This is Chandor’s biggest film, housing far more action than his traditional slowburn intimate dramas. The sheer scope of the production threatens to eclipse David Lean at times. The leads are a bit too ill defined and their weapons handling and breaching tactics don’t really convince. For a film as stone cold and gung-ho as this, that is a major stumbling point. When an action movie’s highlight is watching Ben Affleck disgusted at his inability to sell a condo as a civilian you know somehow the balance has been slightly ruined. Some of that character work should have been saved for the chase rather than fully front loaded. Watchable enough.

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Jacques Tourneur directs Frances Dee, James Ellison and Tom Conway in this classic voodoo horror where a young nurse tries to keep a level head in an island rife with sleepwalking coma patients, cursed families and exotic witchcraft.

Jane Eyre with a West Indies lilt. The supernatural is amped up, colonialism wryly commented on. For a film chock full of dark, portentous threat it is very picturesque- even the looming cane fields at night are equal parts spooky and wonderful. A very solid early horror where Frances Dee impresses as the overly curious protagonist. Side note: every scene feels like a sexual seduction unfulfilled. Someone could make very classy porno from the source material just by extending six of the horny, repressed set-ups into full on bonking sessions.

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Jim Mickle directs Michael C. Hall, Sam Shepard and Don Johnson in this adaptation of Joe R Lansdale’s crime novel where a mild mannered family man gets dragged into a twisting tale of revenge and vigilantism after shooting a house breaker in self-defence.

This is the real deal. It wowed me at the cinema and it wowed me again as I rewatched and relished all of its unsqueamish violence and bleak worldview in a hotel lobby on my tablet last Sunday. Maybe I’m biased. I loved Michael C Hall in Six Feet Under and Dexter. I spent my late teens devouring Joe R Lansdale’s hardboiled, horror inflected, blackly humorous novels. The ominous 80’s inspired synth score and symbiotic moonlight illuminated filming style doesn’t hurt either. It doesn’t add up to much more than a slow Death Wish wannabe but it works, hits the spots, sates cinematic cravings I have. I want to give it a higher score but something holds my hand. Steadies me from crowning it an out-and-out B movie classic. Maybe after a few more watches it will elevate into a true neon blue favourite. If this is your thing, then this is our thing. Everyone else can keep on moving. The gory yet measured Jim Mickle’s best film.

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Marcus Nispel directs Jason Momoa, Rose McGowan and Stephen Lang in this reboot of the action fantasy franchise where the undefeatable warrior goes up against a slaughtering king and his mad witch daughter.

Marcus Nispel was a name I knew well before he even got to direct a movie. Although all traces of his original controversy have seemingly disappeared from the immediately searchable Internet, he was infamous at the turn of the millennium for being the music video director who got fired from Arnie’s End of Days. He sent out a ridiculous, lengthy, dictatorial memo on the first day of production that made him the laughing stock of Hollywood. Instead of the desired result of Nispel being treated with absolute power on set (and getting his vegetarian platter on time), journeyman Peter Yates was instead hurried over as new director of what was originally feted as Marcus’ big budget debut. Beyond trivia, the gossipy storm in a teacup that slightly held back his career, has always stuck with me. End of Days ended up being a forgettable workman-like production, watchable thanks to Arnie but toothless given its potential.

Of all the post True Lies projects Schwarzenegger took on… End of Days on paper had the potential to be the stand-out. The Terminator Versus The Devil himself… horror imagery nuked with the megastar’s explosive brand of carnage. And I’ve always held the nagging belief that if Nispel had directed it then something special would have happened. A bigger hit… possibly? A different creative direction for Arnold? Definitely! Who knows how far reaching the fallout could have been if Nispel had made a classic out of End of Days. No Governator… perhaps. A reinvigorated Arnie who is still even now a box office force to be reckoned with… it is not unimaginable. Violent, hard R-rated, FX driven actioner still a viable box office genre to this very day? It is quite the “What if?” This Arnie fumble and Verhoeven’s Crusades not being greenlit in quick succession are one of genre cinemas unrecognised turning points. And all down to a hubristic memo.

Nispel eventually bounced back. He made his name on slick, visually distinctive horror remakes. The scale and originality wasn’t there but they made money and didn’t kill off any branded properties for the fan bases. Though still a remake, and of an Arnie franchise to boot, Conan felt like a bigger stab. Epic fantasy like Lord of the Rings, violent action against stylised monsters (like those in Nispel’s slasher reboots), a lived-in yet airbrushed world that felt like a sun faded comic book come to life. The critics hated it, the audiences shrugged. And I’ll concede this Conan has its problems. Momoa looks the part but feels lost in the shuffle. The action becomes a bit deadening in the final stretch.

Yet there’s something about the brutal, ambitious production design that I really liked. It is big, nasty, stimulating. There’s always something eye catching to look at in this world… the location work lending it an authenticity and sweep. Narratively it moves and acts like a mega budget tentpole release… it was made for $90 million, it looks like the money was spent well. Lang and especially McGowan make for memorable, hissable villains. This is Rose’s last big film and based on her work in Scream, Planet Terror and this, the Tinseltown meat grinder really did fuck her over. She should have been a bigger star, she would have been the definitive Red Sonja. And while it all does lack Arnie, everything around it is better than his pair of dated sword and sorcery cash-ins. You might have nostalgia for them, or miss their camp cultish appeal, but this Conan is the better, classier production… even the CGI is well utilised. Give it a shot, it is a stronger film than it has any right to be… and the driving force behind this: Marcus Nispel.

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