Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary

Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez direct Heather Donahue, Joshua Leonard and Michael C. Williams in this seminal found footage horror.

One of the greatest horror film ever made (I still remember being freaked out after a Halloween screening when I lived on the outskirts of town and then had to walk up an unlit farm path to get home) which does rely on your ability to imagine what is occurring in out of frame and get over just how annoying its threesome of filmmaking slackers are. Only really a satisfying experience if your mind fills in the blanks but the darkness and VHS grain add plenty of blanks to fill. Horror inception takes place in the slow build of the first act as ghost stories told by vox pop interviewees (credit due to BBC’s Ghostwatch), as does the fact a dozen viewings later I’m still not sure what was in that parcel left out side the tent… but I do know I still don’t like it one little bit. The ending is a PHD in subtle terror, the build up is what you make of it. Smartly conceived and finely executed. An inspiration to low budget filmmakers everywhere.

9

Steven Spielberg directs Mark Rylance, Ruby Barnhill and Penelope Wilton in this faithful adaptation of Roald Dahl’s children classic about the friendship between an orphan girl and giant who blows dreams through children’s windows.

Spielberg’s 30th feature feels rather anonymous. It is not obviously a work by him – even though it features all his now classical framing, lighting and work with colour; a fine lead child performance coupled with an awe inspiring, perfect one from current muse Rylance; and that near the knuckle family friendly peril that his name became a brand on. If Dahl and he share anything it is their ability to take a child’s through their new worse fears and after confronting them on that rollercoaster, let the safety barriers come up and the relief wash over the reader / viewer. Here the fear of being snatched out of bed and eaten by giants is masterfully realised and toyfully concluded. This moves onto the wonder of The BFG’s extensive dream operation and conversations betwixt Sophie and he about Giant Country, friendship, lonliness and guilt.  This was always going to be a sticking point for any true big screen reinvention of the childhood favourite. A lot of the book is merely a long if charming chat in a cave. This running time gobbling middle sequence has some of the best moments – anything involving dreams or Rylance ability to convey both amiability and deep sadness in one look is truly the stuff of magic. And once we eventually shift into visits to the Queen, whizz popping corgis and helicopter attacks the film moves up a gear but some of that quality uniqueness is left behind. Yet for all that silly and satisfying spectacle that wraps the tale up, it is the chat heavy, one location trapped, middle section that wins your heart if not the box office.

7

James Parrot directs Stan Laurel, Oliver Hardy and Thelma Todd in this short where the boys have to (like HAVE TO) pretend to be the owner and servants of a mansion.

A daft little time waster, more farce than slapstick. Great talkie era cast of faces and some expectedly nice moments from Stan.

7

Adam Wingard directs Dan Stevens, Maika Monroe and Leland Orser in this unusually winning mix of a 90s yuppie family in peril flick and The Terminator. 

A very simple B movie that celebrates it low budget limitations and lack of pretension to glorious effect, recalling early Carpenter, Cameron and Craven. The three key elements that elevate this are 1) a star making central performance from Dan Stevens as the charming yet unstoppably dangerous nice boy who ingratiates his way into the family unit. 2) A sizzling turn from this generation’s deserved scream queen Monroe, as the daughter who sees what her family cannot. 3) Wingard’s colourful, efficient and kinetic direction. Just lots of bottom shelf of the video rental shop pleasure that proves sexy fun for all the family.

8

 

Craig Gillespie directs Jon Hamm, Bill Paxton and Alan Arkin in this true story of a down on his heels sports agent who goes to India to discover untapped baseball prospects.

A lightweight film that is lacking in enough of both humour or drama to make it worthwhile, despite being decently crafted. I’d use the faint praise inoffensive but the second act in India is cliched, while the third act, some how giving everyone far too much screentime yet still managing to overlook the fish-out-water Indian characters shipped over to ‘Merica as commodities. They somehow affect the honkies lives for good but we never see the scenes when their actions, words or existence prove to be the catalyst. The results just… happen. A waste of Hamm who is far better than this watery soup of Moneyball, Jerry Maguire and a Patak’s sauce jar. And considering how much I love those five particular ingredients (even water) the below score should make clear just quite how watered down we are talking.

4

Zack Snyder directs Jackie Earle Haley, Patrick Wilson and  Jeffery Dean Morgan in this faithful adaptation of the graphic novel that explores an alternative 20th Century where right wing superheroes exist uneasily with history.

Like Mike Nichol’s Catch-22, Michael Radford’s 1984 or Mary Harron’s American Psycho, Snyder sidesteps the process of reformatting a massively unwieldy classic piece of literature (assumed unfilmable) and rather cleverly just recreates as many of the important moments that fit together and stringing them on like beads into just about an acceptable running time. Faithfulness is Watchmen’s key selling point. It is faithful to a fault – as every key image and scene is resurrected from the frames and pages like it was a holy text, visual deviation is sacrilege. This means even for the initiated so much is squeezed onto a 150 minute buffet plate it is all becomes fascinatingly indigestible in one or two sittings and the relentlessly dense pace means that certain key players shift from what was essential on page to almost Scooby Doo style villain on screen (Ozymandias I’m looking at you… as it seems fake Richard Nixon gets more field time than this integral member of the Watchman team). The characters have been cast with look in mind rather than chemistry, the direction is focussed on getting each shot flawlessly xeroxed exact leaving little room for personality. The cast just sit lifelessly in perfectly recreated tableaux, like mannequins in burning storefront window. We have no connections with these sketches, care little for their machine emotions or plot dictated concerns, with the exception of a horrifying pair; Haley’s psychotic Rorschach and Morgan’s right wing enforcer The Comedian. These characters explore the violent underclass and the conservative conspiracy to oppress them in a capitalist dystopia. They are also the most fun – both performers approach their monsters with glee and zeal. Nasty pieces of work who excel at ultra violence and are repulsed at the alternate history that has both shaped them and they have shaped. The oh so 2009 CGI enhanced action feels overly embellished and already dated but to be honest adding a scene or two that lasts more than a minute, even if it is some hyper-stylised slow motion fighting, gives the viewer appreciated room to breathe from the plot, plot, plot plot, plot, plot… And in the rare instance where Snyder does sin and navigate away from Moore and Gibbons source material  (big tweaks to THAT ending) we get, in my eyes, an actual massive improvement, a noteworthy update. The hints of sex and kink have been locked onto and blown up as well, satisfyingly so. Often this feels like cape and cowl pornography, and I write that as praise. There have been more engaging and more exciting and more inventive and more masterfully made films in the last seven years, at least a hundred I’d rate over this… Yet I keep returning to Snyder’s Watchmen, keep putting it on. Like the bloody gum hole where a tooth has fallen out, my tongue keeps lapping at it and exploring it.  Watchmen is a fascinatingly reverential monument to a classic comic book, an eye popping prayer, and gory, nihilistic act of devotion. Watchmen is watchable and rewatchable. More importantly, it is fucking cinema.

7

Liu Chia-liang directs Gordon Liu, Lo Lieh and Wong Yue in this martial arts training classic.

A young Gordon Liu shines as the eager movie monk who wants to learn the mastery of Kung Fu so as to share it with the downtrodden people. Bookended by some real world battles and bog standard Shaw Brothers plotting that are all grand and dandy, it is the middle hour that sets this out for greatness. An arduous series of ridiculous tests to perfect Liu’s strength and skills. Essentially the wackiest, most colourful, most original and easily the longest training montage ever. A thing of wonder. As is the iconic opening credit sequence of Liu fighting the elements. Brilliant and essential.

9

Paul Feig directs Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy and Kate McKinnon in this scientists hunt ghosts and save NYC remake.

I love Ghostbusters but not this. I love Bridesmaids and looked forward to this even more so as a reunion of three key players… and was even more disappointed. As Wiig and McCarthy often seem unusually subdued, leaving the new to me McKinnon (aggressively quirky) and Leslie Jones (hitting her lines the most effectively) to try and steal the show. The problem is there aren’t really enough decent jokes attempted for a comedy of such length yet there are a lot of scenes of pointless improv back and forth that never produce the gold being inelegantly panned for… Doodles that are included anyway as Feig seemingly hadn’t bothered to film even one take as scripted first… just in case… as back up. It is telling that the two elements that work the best; Chris Hemsworth’s himbo receptionist and the frankly brilliant spectral effects work – are the scenes where the script is being stuck to the most out of necessity. No one would suggest the sexy Aussie lunk or CGI are funnier than Wiig any day of the week but their screentime hits well thought out punchlines rather than fannying about waiting for something better to be magicked up. There’s some really awful cameos too, not just from the original cast, and yet Slimer and Andy Garcia make you smile whenever they are on screen. It just all feels like a neutered, uncertain production openly responding to its own online rep, including endless exposition to discredit the backlash about Jones’ streetwise delivery and anti-mansplaining. Obvious time wasted when Ghostbuster XX really should be trying to match the zinging one liners and unforced comradery of the original. That’s all it really needed to run with to justify its existence. The talent involved are superior to this passable party bag of acceptability.

5

 

Kenneth Brannagh directs Chris Pine, Kevin Costner and Keira Knightly in this younger skewing reboot of the Tom Clancy realpolitik spy series.

Pine hits the spot in a role that bigger stars have had a decent stab at and Costner adds a bit of charming grit to the mid budget chases and hide and seek sequences but it all seems a bit too throwaway. There should be good value in allowing the kind of intel worker who finds Jason Bourne on his monitor bank or gives James Bond his exposition to be thrust into the action mix and having to explain his mission weekends away and scars to the missus. Yet each film in this ever reseting franchise, even the mighty Harrison Ford’s pair, are merely above average rather than spectacular endeavours. The script does such a strong job of realigning Clancy’s patriotic Everyman (who is luckily military trained, has access to all the CIAs resources and just happens to be a finance whizz to boot) to the 2010s that we are disconcerted once he gets to face off with the villain that no similar effort is put into the derring do. For example a heart in mouth sequence where Knightley’s citizen and long-term life partner is grabbed and threatened with a particularly full on torture gets resolved clumsily within easy minutes. Like every kinetic sequence up to the last ticking time bomb it all feels dunked in by the second unit to sweeten the tea rather than essential. So we are left with a film that sparkles with it’s character work (espionage is likened to an affair often, even in the untrustworthy husband films the characters casually watch in their downtime like Sorry Wrong Number and Rosemary’s Baby) but only vaguely amuses with its action. A glossy time waster rather than a world changer, but interesting enough that you wish they had another crack with this crew rather than hitting CTRL-ALT-DELETEing on the property for a fifth time.

6

David Yates directs Alexander Skarsgård, Samuel L Jackson and Margot Robbie in this old school with new tricks update of the adventure series.

Ignore the bad write-ups as this is a great adventure romp containing much to recommend it. Tarzan rips and roars along at a fair old crack with smart storytelling decisions, beautiful vistas, convincing stakes, enjoyably broad characterisation and just about as good an ensemble as you can get in a blockbuster these days. Jackson stands out as the American hero hoping to expose colonial ills with his rifle and swagger, who soon finds himself amusingly playing second fiddle once the race through the wilderness begins. With this, Django Unchained and Kingsman it looks like everyone’s favourite bad mutha fucker is fully back on form. Considering he steals the show from current highlights Robbie and Christopher Waltz doing what they equally do best is a testament to just how strong Jackson is here. If there is one fault it’s that the action is a bit unsustained. Not in any way unimpressive but maybe a faithful attempt to replicate classic cliffhangers instead of set pieces means the resolution to each action beat comes a little too quickly each time. Now, professional people’s main beef with Tarzan seems to be the colonial concept of a posh white demigod lording it over the African wildlife and locals just is a little too racist to pass muster these days. You could look at it another way… Tarzan is the near mythical tale of a man who respects and becomes a cohesive member of a foreign society that is not his own but he embraces wholeheartedly – an immigrant who thrives despite his otherness. I was the only white person I noticed at a busy showing in North London on a Tuesday night. While I can’t speak for everyone who shared the great big screen experience we did, we all seemed to gasp, cheer and laugh at the same gags, stunts and camera acrobatics. And on the way out the (very vocal) conversations I overheard were not about Alexander Skarsgård’s pale skin but his very impressive muscle tone. Maybe it’s a case that critics really should watch films with the public they are reviewing for, rather than with each other for free at a lifeless press screening. They might have PC chin scratched the average movie goer out of one of the better blockbusters of the summer.

8