Sausage Party (2016)

Well, that sure was... something, I guess? Bad puns aside, I can't imagine a way to make a movie about anthropomorphic food, well, tasteful. Going in, I was prepared for poor graphics, ribald humour and hopefully some halfway-thoughtful social commentary. Clunkily offensive racial and sexual stereotypes, though? Not so much. It's the sort of thing that Parker and Stone can pull off, but their excesses are always backed up by genuine anger and equally genuine heart.

Some big names attached to this one, too, and some small miserly part of me feels let down by the likes of Ed Norton, Kristen Wiig and Paul Rudd. The only good thing I can say about this embarrassing piece of trash is that it prevented me having to watch Burton's Corpse Bride.

(IMDB link)

Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983)

Got a little bit of Disney horror to offer you today, courtesy of Ray Bradbury. This one comes from the company's awkward phase, when they were trying to prove they had more to offer than cosy family animation. Something Wicked actually is pretty cosy, though, at least in the early stages, with its nostalgic imagery and small boys running through the fallen leaves. Soon enough, however, Jonathan Pryce's Mr. Dark comes to town with his Pandemonium Carnival. As is frequently the case, the movie turns out to be less about small boys and more about middle-aged men. It's none the worse for it, though, with fine performances from Jason Robards and a near-mute Pam Grier.

Good stuff, but a quick warning: it may be a little too intense for the smallest ones.

(IMDB link)

Dragonheart (1996)

Completely coincidental, but this one's also about experimental organ transplant surgery. I hadn't seen it in a little over twenty years, chiefly because it was so unrelentingly awful when I saw it at the cinema. There's little to recommend it other than some serviceable effects work, plus a surprisingly menacing performance by David Thewlis as the evil king Einon. Mr. B. commented that this was shit 80s fantasy that just happened to have been made in the 90s, and with the muddy colour palette, generic Scottish setting and near-universally halfarsed acting, I feel this is a fair summation.

(IMDB link)

Fatal Experiments: the Downfall of a Supersurgeon

Fancied something immersive this evening, so I went for the above three-part documentary, which was on Iplayer as part of the BBC's excellent Storyville strand. Annoyingly, however, having watched it, I find the web has bugger all information to offer, not even the bloody director. So, here's the skinny: while the story made for interesting viewing it probably didn't require three full hours of programming, a reasonable chunk of which was re-caps.

The main lesson I learned from the whole thing was that putting plastic windpipes into people almost always causes them to die a slow, horribly agonising death. So, kids, don't go putting plastic windpipes into people no matter how much they ask.

 

The Nice Guys (2016)

There's something profoundly reassuring about Shane Black movies. They're all more or less the same, a comfortingly chunky combination of witty dialogue and satisfyingly thwacky action, with endearing heroes whose masculinity seems to be a direct result of their flaws. The Nice Guys, then, is distilled essence of Black, and possibly the first example of the up-and-coming genre that is buddy noir. Exciting, funny and warmhearted in equal measure, it's a delight from start to finish.

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

I'd argue for this being one of the greatest films ever made, to be honest. What I'm not prepared to brook any argument over, however, is that it has some of the greatest editing you'll ever see. It frequently uses shots like comic book panels, giving us second-long glimpses of motion to provide elegant storytelling without the need for exposition. It's also blisteringly, pants-wettingly funny. The central premise, for those who don't know, is that a nonspecified event causes vast swathes of London to become zombified, but that the tedium of day-to-day life makes this hard to notice until it's all very nearly too late. Notably, Shaun is also the first and possibly the last Edgar Wright film to cast a woman in any sort of meaningful role. Those were the days, my friend, those were the days.

(IMDB link)

Black Mirror: Hated in the Nation (2016)

It's feature-length, therefore it counts, okay? Besides, the sixth and last episode of series 3 of Black Mirror is a truly glorious piece of work, thrilling and chilling and utterly intriguing. As with every episode, it's set in a nonspecific future time that always seems just around the corner. This time, Brooker dabbles in police procedurals, as a controversial newspaper columnist meets a truly grisly end. Her loss is not a major source of grief, but as DCI Karin Parke (Kelly MacDonald) investigates, she learns that this is only the tip of a much larger, nastier iceberg. As the mystery unfolds, Brooker twists the knife, with director James Hawes delivering some spine-jangling set pieces I could only watch through my fingers.

Series 3 of Black Mirror is available on Netflix.

Anomalisa (2015)

More selfconscious weirdness from Charlie Kaufman. Anomalisa is a low-key gem, though, awkward and intense and almost unwatchably melancholy. The story of a successful but lonely man having a brief encounter is nothing out of the ordinary in and of itself, but when it's presented in stop-motion animation it takes on a positively dreamlike quality. In a genius casting decision, only the two protagonists are given unique voices, with Tom Noonan taking all the other roles, whether masculine or feminine, adult or child. The end result turns the mundane into something haunting and nigh-on unbearably sad. Highly recommended.

(IMDB link)

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Hadn't seen this one in around thirty years, so I figured I'd take another look. Having done so, I'd have to say that on the whole, its classic reputation is probably well-deserved - it's a sweet enough story and it looks pretty good even now, so back when it was released over 75 years ago, it must have been positively mindblowing. Of course, you have to bear in mind that the past is a foreign country - one where the acting is hopelessly stagey and puns and repetition are the height of musical wit - but to be honest, it's still a sight more entertaining (and a sight less annoying) than the average modern family flick.

(IMDB link)

Penn and Teller Get Killed (1989)

Let's just file this one under Mistakes Sarah won't make again, shall we? Or, even better, under Mistakes Penn and Teller hopefully won't make again. I'm a massive mark for stage magic in general and P&T in particular, but unfortunately, I'm somewhat less of a fan of Coca Cola's drinks and Donald Trump's buildings, each of which feature just as largely as the titular duo and both of which get better dialogue and more acting kudos. There's a nominal plot about practical jokes and one-upmanship, but it's really just a few mediocre and surprisingly bloodless skits interspersed with slightly embarrassing character nonsense.

(The IMDB loves you so much that Penn and Teller Get Killed doesn't feature on its autocomplete, so I'm going to be an equally loving reviewer and not link you either. Here's something better instead.)

My Dinner with Andre (1981)

Playing fictionalised versions of themselves, Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory make for thoroughly diverting companions as we eavesdrop on what is made out to be a single teo-hour conversation at an upscale New York restaurant. At first, Gregory is passionate to the point of seemingly being chemically enhanced, leaving Shawn to simply listen and request elaboration. As the evening passes and the wine flows, however, the dialogue opens up and questions are raised about life and the meaning of human existence, and what seems at first to be pure whimsy finally reveals itself to be far meatier fare.

This is the End (2013)

Want to know whether or not this one's for you? Go to the IMDB link I've handily provided below and read the cast list. If names like James Franco and Michael Cera bring you out in hives, yeah, maybe steer clear. If, on the other hand, you have a grudging affection for the likes of Jay Baruchel (and is there really anybody out there who doesn't like Jonah Hill?), chances are you'll have a passably good time watching them and their buddies survive as Hollywood becomes the epicentre of the apocalypse. It's hideously self-congratulatory, of course, but something in the mixture of bad taste and bromantic shenanigans really hit my personal sweet spot.

(IMDB link)

Elvis & Nixon (2016)

It's the most requested photo in the US National Archive, apparently - the President and the King stood shaking hands. This charming, feather-light piece of whimsy posits what might have happened when the two of them met on December 21, 1970. Some very brief research reveals that some of the unlikeliest parts of the story are true - Elvis really did want to be an undercover FBI agent, and the National Archive holds his letter that says as much. What really makes it all so sweet, however, is the way director Liza Johnson allows the innate fragility of these two very famous men to shine through, depicting them as being every bit as prone to self-doubt and vanity as the rest of us.

(IMDB link)

Captain Fantastic (2016)

Excellent performances all round in this fascinating piece, but most especially from the young performers playing the children of Viggo Mortensen's eccentric survivalist, Ben. The group make for endearing company as they trek back to civilisation to try and carry out Ben's late wife's last wishes. It's all shot beautifully, and director Matt Ross strikes an elegant balance between comedy and pathos. I can't help thinking, though, that a closer examination of the ethical issues at play might have made for a rather meatier watching experience.

(IMDB link)

Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Another beautifully elaborate little piece from Wes Anderson, and one that I'd been meaning to catch up with for a number of years. Arguably there's nothing terribly unexpected here, as two preternaturally mannered young misfits go on the run together in 1960s New England and are pursued by a bunch of Anderson regulars. It's a joy, though, with the sort of warmth and playfulness the director seems to be making his stock in trade these days. It's visually beautiful, and the performances are appealingly quirky, with Edward Norton's sympathetic scoutmaster a particular delight. Perfect viewing for a cosy Sunday evening.

(IMDB link)

 

The Angry Birds Movie (2016)

I have no idea why I thought this was a sensible film choice. Perhaps, owing to my raging PMS, the title resonated in some primal way. Perhaps I was just feeling like a bloody masochist. I'd love to say I was pleasantly surprised and for the first fifteen minutes or so, I mostly was - there's always something mildly entertaining about cute cartoon characters behaving like stressed-out middle-aged jerks. It all goes downhill pretty rapidly, though, with the bland, overly-loud soundtrack and constant grossout gags marking this out as emphatically one for the kids.

(IMDB link)

Sex, Lies and Videotape (1989)

As if I needed another reason to envy Steven Soderbergh. Sigh. This was his first directorial effort and it's a real gem, as compactly-formed and effortlessly polished as a diamond. The title summarises the main themes nicely, as Andi MacDowell's uptight suburban housewife has her mind opened and self-respect nurtured by a stranger with some very unusual preferences. Great performances all round, and the drama is leavened by a fine sprinkling of jet-black comedy. Do what you can to track this one down, and enjoy a fine piece of work by what has to be the most consistently excellent film director alive today.

(IMDB link)

Blackfish (2013)

Gabriela Cowperthwaite's polemic against keeping orca in captivity makes for grimly compelling viewing, telling story after story that the wildlife parks would presumably prefer we didn't hear. There's no real attempt at balance here - to be fair, Sea World, portrayed as the main offenders, chose not to comment - but the evidence presented is very hard to discount. At the forefront of the discussion is Tilikum, a large male whose DNA exists within vast numbers of captive-bred orca, a fact made worrying by his responsibility for multiple human deaths. Cowperthwaite's argument that he was simply driven insane by captivity, however, is a highly persuasive one.

(IMDB link)

Eddie the Eagle (2016)

Really hard to know what to write here, because this one's a real story about a real person who I'm sure has many laudable qualities. Does the real Eddie Edwards deserve better than this trite, simplistic piece of nonsense? Possibly. Do we, the audience deserve better? Fuck yes. It's all so depressingly black and white, with our heroes and villains so many cardboard cutouts - Edwards' right to bankrupt his parents and turn his chosen sport into a freakshow never even comes into question in case it interrupts the vital heartwarming process. Except it's not heartwarming. If you're being charitable, it's incredibly stupid. If not, it's incredibly cynical. Who knows? It could even be both.

Save this one for small children you really hate.

(IMDB link)

Now You See Me 2 (2016)

As with the original, I found myself disappointed that a film about clever people wasn't smarter in and of itself. Still, this one's passably good fun - sure, there's some shockingly bad acting on display from Daniel Radcliffe and Woody Harrelson (mystifyingly, since he plays twins and is largely blameless as one but cringeworthy as the other), but they do seem to be having an awfully, contagiously good time. Morgan Freeman and Mark Ruffalo work tirelessly to raise the tone, but with only partial success. In the end, though, an action thriller about outlaw magicians is so niche that the subject matter itself will probably adequately define whether or not it'll be for you.

(IMDB link)

Jumanji (1995)

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing... Not that I'm comparing Jumanji to the Scottish play, but it doesn't half seem apposite. Apparently people are up in arms that there's going to be a remake, so I figured I'd take a look to see what all the fuss was about. Ah. Robin Williams. The thing is, he's been in a ton of plenty of some a few One Hour Photo, which was pretty bloody good, so why not let the Rock and Amy from Doctor Who have a crack at expunging the memory of this botched mess of a second-rate special effects reel?

Probably not my favourite film so far this month.

(IMDB link)

Goon (2011)

It's not often that I can refer to a movie as a celebration of stupidity and mean it affectionately, but this one probably qualifies. There's nothing new here, mind - it's basically a retelling of the Ugly Duckling, where amiable dimwit Doug Glatt demonstrates a talent for hitting people in the face and finds his true calling protecting his team on the hockey rink. Seann William Scott is tremendously endearing in the lead role, though, and the nifty (if disgusting) sound engineering is pretty effective at deceiving the audience into thinking it's not a thinly-disguised rewrite of every 90s romcom they ever saw.

(IMDB link)

Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016)

Hunt for the Wilderpeople sees Julian Dennison's chubby delinquent and Sam Neill's elderly misfit set loose in the heart of the New Zealand wild country. With Taika Waititi directing an entertaining time is more or less guaranteed, but I have to say it, this is one of the most tonally uneven movies I've ever seen. Serious drama shifts to surreal comedy or flat-out slapstick in the blink of an eye, diminishing the emotional impact of a fundamentally heartwarming story. Dennison is utterly charming, though, and the scenery is so arresting as to be practically a character in its own right.

(IMDB link)

My Scientology Movie (2015)

As seen at Birmingham's excellent Electric cinema yesterday. 

Documentarian Louis Theroux is in particularly puckish form as he explores rumours that Scientology frontman David Miscavige isn't quite the benevolent soul his devoted (and not at all brainwashed) followers would have you believe. The setup is cute - Theroux claims to be producing a drama on the subject, auditioning actors to play Miscavige and notable proponent Tom Cruise and then having them enact scenes scripted by former chief enforcer Marty Rathbun. These make for chilling watching, but there's plenty of light relief available watching Theroux have the time of his life when the real deal shows up to make a scene.

(IMDB link)

Ghostbusters (2016)

...Because anything that pissed the misogynists off so much had to have something to recommend it. This proved to be true, in that it was genuinely the most flat-out enjoyable film I've seen in several months -  unpretentious entertainment that didn't ladle on the pathos in an attempt to be taken seriously. If leads Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy were a little understated, then Kate McKinnon and Chris Hemsworth amply compensated with sparkling comic turns. I was touched by the many warmhearted homages to the (vastly inferior) original, too. Not great cinema by any means, but a truly, unreservedly great time.

(IMDB link)

Florence Foster Jenkins (2016)

Sweet-natured fun abounds here, as Stephen Frears tackles the true story of the worst singer ever to appear at the Carnegie Hall. It's a tremendously polished affair, naturally, from the sensible casting of the likes of Meryl Streep and Hugh Grant, to the elegant sets and costumes the target audience is presumably meant to drool over. Bonus points to Frears for ensuring all the main players come across sympathetically - it would have been easy to turn Grant's character into a cad, if not an active antagonist. Not particularly my sort of thing, but your elderly mother will likely love it.

(IMDB link)

Swiss Army Man (2016)

The unholy offspring of Pete's Dragon and Fight Club, this features what might possibly be the first ever instance of a Manic Pixie Dream Corpse* as Paul Dano's lonely shipwreck victim and Daniel Radcliffe's flatulent zombie navigate their way back to civilisation. While the critics are all over this one, I have (minor) reservations - the unending whimsy starts out charming and even exhilarating, but eventually begins to feel like a rejected concept piece for last year's John Lewis Christmas ad. Absolutely worth a watch, but I think I might have liked it better as a short.

<sub>*Only possibly, because although I haven't seen it, I suspect Warm Bodies might hold this particular honour.

(IMDB link)</sub>

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

Predictably dazzling work from Laika studios, whose stop-motion animation has more substance, in every sense, than anything Pixar or Dreamworks can offer. This time they're tackling Japanese mythology with a finely-crafted tale of a one-eyed boy and his magic shamisen. This is as close as Laika have ever come to the mainstream, and on a different day I might have found the heavy sentiment too much. As voiced by Art Parkinson, the titular character is commendably mischievous, though, and Charlize Theron and Matthew McConaughey provide fine support as a pair of allies who might just be more than they seem.

(IMDB link)

I Walked with a Zombie (1943)

This early horror effort from Jacques Tourneur and Val Lewton tries for atmospheric and might have achieved it, in its day. Unfortunately, there's not a lot here that a pessimist like me wouldn't be bargaining on, from the painfully stilted acting to the dodgy sexual and racial politics.  The story plays like a cousin to Jane Eyre, with a beautiful young nurse co-opted to a remote location and falling for the handsome but stern master of the house - it's a classic setup, but sadly, censorship rules of the time don't really allow the cast and crew to run with it.

(IMDB link)

The Sorcerers (1967)

There's much campy, culty fun to be had in director Michael Reeves' second and, as it turned out, penultimate directorial outing before his death, aged 25, from a drug overdose. A terminally ill Boris Karloff stars as the discredited hypnotist who takes over the mind of Ian Ogilvy's disaffected youth. No real scares here (despite the soundtrack's enthusiastic attempts to convince us otherwise), but there's some top-notch psychedelic effects and Catherine Lacey seems to be having a wonderful time as the eventual villain of the piece. A word of warning, however: this film may contain social commentary.

(IMDB link)
 

Telstar: The Joe Meek Story

Seen this one a few times now, but the ending came as a heck of a shock the first time round. Granted, it's based on a true story, but one that happened long before my time, and while I vaguely recalled some sort of bad business when the cinematic foreshadowing started, I found myself watching in abject horror as a fairly jolly drama about the 1960s music business turned into an altogether darker beast. Con O'Neill's lead performance is a little too effortful for my taste, but this is still an entertaining watch, if an ultimately depressing one.

(IMDB entry)

31 films in 100 words (each)

It's October again, and while I was fairly sure this thing had died a death I can't quite resist the challenge of having deadlines to meet again. That said, every good therapist would advise people to set manageable goals, so I'm aiming to max out each of these reviews at 100 words.

I'd love to say I have an interestingly ecletic mix planned, but I don't. I'd love to say I have anything at all planned, in fact, but... you get the picture. Planning on winging it, and hopefully we'll all enjoy the ride.

X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) and Zootropolis (2016)

So, on Friday I took the afternoon off to eat fancy Italian food on a bench by a fountain before hopping over to see X-Men: Apocalypse. I'd been looking forward to it rather more than Captain America: Civil War, to be honest, if only because I'd had such a wonderful time watching 2014's X-Men: Days of Future Past. 

Apocalypse wasn't a patch on either one, not really (and I think I may finally have finally hit my own personal Peak McAvoy), but I was happy enough playing spot-the-character and revelling in effects that varied from okay to positively dreadful. Recommended for fans of bad superhero movies, I guess, but probably not for the diehards or the generally uninterested.

Zootropolis, on the other hand, I'd recommend to pretty much anybody. Yet another excellent addition to Disney's CGI oeuvre, it has the looks and heart I'm gradually coming to expect, but with the surprise addition of a few grown-up braincells. Set in a world of anthropomorphic animals, it explores the tensions that can spring up where predators live side by side with their former prey. 

It's all very allegorical, of course, and not terribly subtle, but it's still a heck of a lot more watchable than District 9. It left me feeling joyous and energised, and as the credits started to roll, I was already planning taking another look in a double bill with Hot Fuzz. So treat yourselves, okay? Your life needs a little more of this in it.
 

Lilo & Stitch (2002) and Captain America: Civil War (2016)

I could tell you about the deep emotional significance Lilo and Stitch holds for me, but it wouldn't be true. I finished watching it for the first time about half an hour ago, and Disney provenance notwithstanding, I thought it was absolutely brilliant. I loved the warmth and anger of it, the messy family dynamics and its unwillingness to condemn any of the main players as evil or irredeemable. Most of all, though, I loved the two heroines, confused, wounded Lilo and her desperate sister Nani, trying to hold it together in the face of a family tragedy but only occasionally managing to get things completely right. It was great, too, to see female characters with realistically-proportioned bodies rather than the usual Disney jobs with waists narrower than their necks. All in all, it was a fantastic piece of animation that richly deserves any and all praise it receives.

Which, I'm pleased to say, makes it the second thoroughly enjoyable film I've seen this weekend. On Friday I finally succumbed to peer pressure and took an afternoon's holiday to go watch Captain America: Civil War, despite having been dreading it for the better part of a year. It's not that I'm saying that The Winter Soldier, the second instalment of the Captain America saga was awful - far from it. It was just humourless and emotionless and generally took itself far too seriously, and made for a miserable couple of hours at the cinema when I saw it the other year. I hadn't been in any great hurry to see more of the same, but then reviewers started talking about its demented likeability and then a friend started putting the thumbscrews on and I really, really fancied walking out of work at lunchtime for a long weekend...

Was it a good film? Not sure. I can't think of anything worse to say about it than that it was a bit on the long side, but then, it was hard for my Inner Critic to hear anything over the deafening squealing of my Inner Fangirl (It's VISION! And he's in MENSWEAR!). People have mentioned the presence of a bunch of superfluous characters, but I'm a sucker for huge ensemble casts, and besides, Tom Holland made for the most perfect Spider-Man I could ever have imagined and probably got more full-on laughs out of me than any other character. There are a lot of laughs, by the way, and tons more chuckles, so by the time it goes all serious in the final act it's abundantly clear that each and every Avenger still adores each and every other Avenger, with the possible exception of Jeremy Renner's defiantly grouchy Hawkeye.

Tell me it's a mess and I'd probably agree, but dammit, can you think of anything truly enjoyable in life that isn't at least a bit messy? Admit it - you can't, can you? 

My rating:
Inner Critic: ***
Inner Fangirl: ***************************** (plus about a million more)

 

Deadpool (2016)

Mind if I'm honest with you for a second here? I don't know what the hell I'm going to be writing about today. Earlier on I saw Deadpool, which was actually a pretty fun ride except, unfortunately, for the character of Deadpool himself, played by my absolute favourite actor ever, Ryan Reynolds. My gut instinct is to say that this maybe isn't Reynolds' fault, except that, hang on a sec, it's apparently been a pet project that he's been wanting to get off the ground for ages, so nope, sorry, not gonna let him off the hook.

Anyhow, I felt incredibly grubby afterwards so I wanted a palate cleanser, something sweet and funny and clever and almost certainly made without the involvement of a major US studio. This brought me back, as it often does, to The Day of the Doctor, a feature-length episode broadcast in 2013 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the BBC's iconic sci-fi show Dr. Who. 

By this point, I had over three hours of material to think about, and that's where I am now, irritable and overstimulated and wondering vaguely whether I'd have a decent subject to write about if only I went and found something else instead. My gut says no, so here I am, with Deadpool lingering in my mind like the wet patch after an ill-advised and possibly syphilitic one night stand.

I think what's driving me loopy here is that I could have really enjoyed it if only the lead character had been less like the wank fantasies of a future school shooter. Heck, I enjoyed the titles immensely, with the way they neatly skewered the tropes that sometimes bind comic book movies just that little bit too tightly. I certainly wasn't against all the fourth wall breaking, either - it felt inventive and playful, and god knows that's something the genre could do with more of. 

The sidekicks were far more endearing than we've seen in any Marvel movie other than Guardians of the Galaxy, too, with the CGI Colossus (voicework: Stefan Kapicic) positively adorable, a lump of sentient steel with the heart of the grandmother you always wanted but would never have owing to some serious advocaat issues.

None of this, however, can manage to compensate for Deadpool himself being, bluntly put, a raging cunt. Showing him putting the frighteners on a teenage girl's stalker doesn't establish his good guy credentials, particularly when said stalker is clearly a teenager himself and no match for a dishonourable discharge (pun only partially intended) from the special forces. Granted, Deadpool himself is constantly reiterating that he isn't the hero, but 1) It's his damned movie, 2) None of his actions incur any real consequences, 3) There's apparently a sequel in the works, and 4) Not a single one of the prolonged torture sequences he endured included the bloody laryngectomy he clearly so desperately needed in order to be less eminently slappable. Actually, no, scratch #2, his girlfriend Vanessa (Morena Baccarin, also moderately endearing) does slap him at one point, but y'know what? Female on male domestic violence also isn't okay.

Other things that also aren't okay? Using a character's pansexuality as a selling point for how transgressive and revolutionary a character is and then making them the sort of camp, vaguely predatory nominally bisexual creep that your friendly neighbourhood homophobe holds up as an example whenever they're on a particularly violent paranoia jag. If you kiss someone while you've got them pinned up against the wall and you're threatening to kill them? That's not sexual attraction, it's just a slightly rapey power trip and again, calling yourself an antihero doesn't make it cool, it just makes you a cunt managing, against all the odds, to out-cunt yourself in a cunting competition.

So, guys, there you go - why not spend a fun afternoon watching Deadpool sometime soon? Then it can turn you into a happier, classier person. Just like it did me.

Hercules (1997)

Had to write about this one when I saw it in the listings yesterday. It's the one Disney film that got its hooks into me completely, at least for a while - the only one where I know all the words to all the songs, and the only film I've ever seen more than once at the cinema. For a time, it was a sanity valve through the nastier parts of an abusive relationship, and even now, nearly twenty years on (how did that happen?) I'm not entirely sure that what follows will be entirely objective.

So, here's the basics. Disney's Hercules sees the House of Mouse tackling Greek mythology, albeit without too much regard for the source material. Despite the trappings, what we basically have is a retelling of Hans Andersen's The Ugly Duckling, as the infant god Hercules finds himself trapped in the mortal realm due to the schemes of the villainous Hades (voiced by James Woods). As he grows, however, it becomes obvious that Hercules (Tate Donovan) has kept his divine strength, making him a gawky liability in his rural hometown. Eventually, his adoptive father is forced to tell him the truth, and he sets out on a journey to regain his godhood, aided by jaded satyr Philoctetes (Danny de Vito) and followed at every step by the sultry Megara (Susan Egan). Their progress, meanwhile, is charted by a  gaggle of elegantly-dressed muses, whose songs provide exposition at convenient twenty-minute intervals.

Tonally, this is one of Disney's lighter efforts, pitched somewhere between Tangled and The Emperor's New Groove. Sure, the message is there about being yourself as hard as you can, but there's a lot of horseplay to leaven it all, much of which comes courtesy of Pegasus, the comedy flying horse. The voice work is good on all counts, particularly James Woods and Danny De Vito, both of whom impersonate themselves with considerable gusto, and the songs, written by the team who did Little Shop of Horrors, are a sort of gorgeous cod-Motown affair that really floats my boat so long as I remember the first rule of Disney animations and don't listen to the lyrics. The visuals, meanwhile, are heavily inspired by the works of Gerald Scarfe, resulting in a look at once looser and spikier than the usual house style.

I've revisited Hercules a few times since the 90s, but not all that often - it takes me back to a point in my life that I'd rather forget. Trying to look at it through unclouded eyes, however, it actually stands up relatively well. I know people will have you believe that the studio's modern classics are from the Little Mermaid/Beauty and the Beast/Aladdin/Lion King era; they may be right, but Hercules is carried with broader brush strokes and a lighter touch that make it far less eminently mockable. Back in the day, too, it felt courageous of Disney to offer up a heroine who wasn't a total ingenue - Megara is very much in the Katharine Hepburn/Barbara Stanwyck mould, and that was probably what guaranteed the film its place in my heart at the time. 

Probably not the greatest thing Disney have ever done, but it still suits my tastes better than most of their output from any era.

 

ParaNorman (2012)

...This is what I love about Laika entertainment: even when they produce a film that falls short of their usual standards, it's still miles better than pretty much all its contemporaries. Even in a year of animation that included Wreck-It Ralph  and The Pirates! In an adventure with Scientists!, ParaNorman probably still squeaks a win in terms of sheer quality. It's not as good as Boxtrolls and pretty much nothing's as good as Coraline, but watching it today for maybe the third time, I was struck by quite what a wonderful afternoon's entertainment it was.

I think part of the apparent drop in quality is the film's relatively subdued tone; where Boxtrolls was raucous and Coraline was menacing, ParaNorman's atmosphere is largely one of melancholy. The characters tend towards the slumping and red-eyed, as though they've either just been crying or are trying hard not to. 

This is especially true of Norman, our protagonist (voiced by Kodi Smit-McPhee), an object of ridicule in his small Massachusetts town due to his habit of talking to the dead. As far as Norman's concerned, however, this is simply good manners, so he accepts the taunts and spite with quiet resignation and the determination to stay out of the way of the wider world as far as he can. In the face of a zombie uprising, however, he might just be the only one who can stand between the townspeople and a fate too gruesome to imagine. Of course, things are more complicated than that, and the resultant mystery leads him and his family to a greater understanding of human frailty and the need to forgive.

The above may make ParaNorman sound worthier than it is fun, but honestly, nothing could be further from the truth. Writer Chris Butler has constructed a script festooned with affectionate lampoons of horror movie tropes, and laced it with lashings of jokes to appeal to all ages. Of course, there's plenty of the grossout stuff, but some of the throwaway lines sting with the same righteous rage that fuelled the entirety of Boxtrolls. That approach wouldn't have worked here, however, because this is a far kinder movie, soundtracked by my favourite, Jon Brion, in his usual wearily philosophical style.

The film isn't perfect, of course; it suffers from that old chestnut where no fat character is allowed to be taken seriously, which is a shame given the cheerfully egalitarian stance it takes on race and sexuality. Still, as family-oriented animated horror goes, it's one of the best, and almost certainly the best-hearted. One to enjoy.

 

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

Saw this one on Channel 5 last night and decided to write about it on grounds that it was cinematically important. This had, I promise, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my planned choice, Alan Bennett's The Lady In The Van - a film about a lonely, cantankerous old woman who cries whilst listening to piano music that absolutely, utterly and in no way whatsoever struck a nerve.

Anyhow, Disney. They're arseholes, aren't they? Getting better, admittedly, but I still don't entirely trust them not to be lulling us into a false sense of security prior to another world domination attempt. Have you seen Elsa from Frozen? We now have pretty much the entirety of our younger female generation worshipping at the altar of a perfect Aryan princess. I'm telling you, we need to be seriously afraid here.

Another Disney sin is the perpetration of the lie that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was the first full-length animated feature film. It wasn't - that was an Argentinian film called The Apostle, of which there are sadly no remaining copies. For the longest time - up until last night, in fact - I believed the lie, which, I have to say, is pretty much the only reason I turned the damned thing on in the first place.

I watched, though, for the first time in a couple of decades, and I have to say I now find myself in two minds. On the one hand, pretty much everything about it is dodgy, but on the other, it's an awfully handsome piece of work, with painterly backdrops, theatrical composition and silky-smooth motion animation that passes the test of time, if not outright surpassing it. The attention to detail here is astonishing, with dozens of moving items onscreen at any given time, and I couldn't help but admire the sort of effort that had to have gone into creating such a polished piece.

On the other? Well, I could point out that it's hardly a feminist opus, but plenty before me have said that already. True, our protagonist is valued purely for being attractive and doing housework, but can we step back and take a look at our love interest for a second? It's not often, after all, that fictional necrophiliacs are referred to as charming. Once again, I find myself forced to wonder whether the film isn't simply ahead of its time.

Once you take a moment to contemplate the titular seven dwarfs (is that really an accepted spelling of the word?), however, it all gets rather nasty again. If you choose to lay accusations of ableism aside (I was more or less able to accept them as a fictional species but I wouldn't blame you if your mileage varied), there's still the question of how they represent the male gender, namely unwashed children basically incapable of civilised existence without a mother figure to worship.

So, here's a thought: perhaps the film isn't so much misogynistic as outright misanthropic. Perhaps - and bear with me here - it was written by a secret cabal of deranged animal rights fanatics. Look at the evidence: the animals on display are all attractive, clean and kindly, and the only ones who can ever really see through the evil queen's wiles. Heck, perhaps it was the animals who wrote the damned script in the first place.

Sleep well, children, and don't have nightmares.

Watership Down (1978)

For the longest time, Watership Down didn't bother me. To my younger self, it was a beautiful, rather sad book about rabbits that had been made into a beautiful, rather sad animated film about rabbits, and I watched it every chance I got plus a few more times on VHS.

Being honest, I'm not entirely sure when the sheer darkness of it hit me. It might have been once I left university and became sharply aware of how unforgiving the wider world could be, or it might have been after I got married and I was hit with the sudden, dizzying realisation of all I had to lose. Heck, maybe I was somewhere in my mid to late teens and worked out that myxomatosis probably wasn't the most enjoyable way to die. Whatever the catalyst was, however, I felt pretty disgusted with my younger self for not having been traumatised in the way that all the cool kids apparently were from their very first viewing. I still haven't stopped watching the movie every chance I get, of course - the only difference is that now I spend about half of it as a sobbing wreck.

Inventive soul that he is, today Mr. B came up with a creative solution to this: every time he heard me weeping, he shoved a piece of Easter egg in my mouth. It actually worked pretty well, but I have my worries - will this sort of Pavlovian conditioning eventually turn me into a fully-fledged bunny killer in my own right?

That's a worry for another day, though, and a million miles away from the film I've probably watched more often than any other in my life. I've watched it so often, in fact, that I'm not convinced I can write any sort of critique, not when it feels like an extension of my own thoughts and feelings. 

For what it's worth, though, I think Watership Down is a top piece of moviemaking that crams a surprising amount of content into its hundred-minute runtime, occasionally trimming some of the detail from the book but leaving the meat of it intact, including the dreamtime-style mythos that underlies the real-world action. This is what opens the film, in fact, in the form of a stylised short that tells the creation story of El-Ahrairah, first of the rabbits, and Frith, the sun/creator. It's an evocative little piece, and a not-so-gentle forewarning of the violence soon to follow.

With this out of the way, we are introduced to our protagonists - Fiver (voiced by Richard Briers), the nervous, possibly clairvoyant runt of his litter, and Hazel (John Hurt), his sensible, protective brother. The sun is setting, and Fiver has a vision of the fields turning to blood. They must abandon the presumed of their warren, he insists, and Hazel reluctantly agrees to join him. Accompanied by a handful of others, the pair depart that evening, but they have no idea of the dangers they stand to face, much less those they leave behind.

The animation is serviceable, if on the crude side; certainly, it's no worse than anything else from that era. Where Watership Down really shines, however, is on the audio side. The voice cast reads like a Who's Who of British acting talent of the period, with each and every participant playing it totally seriously. The soundtrack, too, is superb, richly textured but restrained, imbuing the piece with a quiet dignity and never descending into the sort of sonic hysteria that seems to punctuate the majority of animated films these days (Coraline is a very welcome exception). The real killer, though, is the film's single song, Art Garfunkel's discreetly devastating Bright Eyes.

In some ways, there's something rather comforting about the way the film doesn't shy away from the messier parts of existence. It deals almost entirely in moral grey areas, where even the worst villains are driven not by malice but by the sort of self-interest that doesn't allow for empathy. The world it paints is a harsh one, yes, but there is always room for mercy.

I know there's always a danger in saying X happened to me when I was a kid, and I turned out okay  - every kid is different, after all, and no two people will ever draw exactly the same things from a shared experience. That said, I can't help but bridle a little at all those reviewers out there saying Watership Down isn't for kids. I think there's plenty there that the smallest ones might not understand at first, certainly, and that it has the potential to raise some difficult questions, but isn't it the role of any caretaker worth their salt not to shy away from these sorts of uncomfortable truths?

Recommended for all ages.

Wake Wood (2009)

Once again, apologies for the interruption in schedule; just trying to get into a routine that works around my other commitments. This morning, that meant embarking on one of my periodic iPlayer raids to see what I could find. Being a chronically early riser, this is a habit I managed to acquire long before starting this blog, which is how I found Wake Wood first time around. I wouldn't say it's amongst the best the genre has to offer, but it was certainly interesting enough for me to be prepared to take another look.

For a self-confessed film buff, I haven't seen many Hammer horror films in my life; I'm not entirely convinced, in fact, that Wake Wood isn't the only one. I know of their reputation, though - lurid technicolour, even more lurid acting and copious quantities of Kensington Gore. That was back in the 60s and 70s, though, and the company lay dormant for a lot of years between then and now. In 2007, however, new owner John de Mol announced his intent to revive the Hammer tradition, and this, an Anglo-Irish collaboration, was their first feature-length effort.

The film opens with an anonymous-looking car trundling through a blandly pretty setting, soundtracked by the sort of tinkly, jangly music that helpfully informs the audience that they are now entering folk horror territory and to keep all their limbs securely within the enclosing wicker effigy. A series of brief flashbacks introduce us to our protagonists - vet Patrick Daley (Aidan Gillen), his wife Louise (Eva Birthistle) and their young daughter Alice (Ella Connolly). They're very much a movie family, bright, successful and loving, until the animal-loving Alice has a grisly encounter with one of Patrick's canine patients. Back in the present, a sign informs the occupants of the anonymous-looking car that they are entering the town of Wakewood, and we zoom in to see Patrick, Louise and an empty back seat.

So, we have a recently bereaved couple starting a new life in a rural setting. Practically writes itself, doesn't it? Of course the locals are going to be friendly but odd, and there'll be strange traditions involving everyone walking down the high street beating on primitive drums. Then,  sooner or later, our heroes will see something they shouldn't - on this occasion, a bizarre nocturnal ritual involving the birthing of a human being from some sort of clay sarcophagus. Because the locals are friendly, they will gradually be persuaded to reveal their shared secret - namely, their ability to bring the recently-deceased back to life for a period of three days.

I should probably come clean at this point and admit that I know bugger all about Pagan horror as a subgenre. I've never seen The Wicker Man and I don't particularly intend to; I'm sure there are other examples out there but off the top of my head, I can't name even one. With all that said, I found myself rather warming to the nameless variety of Paganism espoused by Wake Wood, based on mutual respect and support as it is. Despite the film's supernatural elements, for the most part, the film's horror is derived primarily from the acts of desperation that grief can cause even the most civilised members of society to commit. The denizens of Wakewood town are open, kindly people, and things only start to go wrong when the newcomers fail to grasp the seriousness of the rules that they themselves have internalised for generations.

It's all quite slow-moving and thoughtful for the most part, with a lovely performance by Timothy Spall as Arthur, Patrick's employer. Somewhere around the hour mark, however, the movie loses the courage of its convictions for a bit, and taking a brief and slightly tedious foray into slasher territory before it regains its previous ominous tone.

I have no idea what horror fans look for in a horror movie, so I'll say this: at no point did Wake Wood scare me. It's a nicely haunting little piece, though, quiet and thoughtful and frequently rather sad.

Definitely worth a look.

 

Hail Caesar! (2016)

Okay, it's confession time: much as I love the work of the Coen brothers, much of their work tends to make me feel just a little bit intellectually inadequate. I am used, let's be frank, to being the smartest person in the room, so I've never quite got over my shame at the fact that after around five viewings, I still don't have the first idea what The Big Lebowski is about. No Country For Old Men baffled me too, and I'm still not totally sure what was going on in Miller's Crossing. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy their films immensely, it's just that these days, even their frothier efforts tend to leave me wondering what hidden dimensions I might have missed.

Take Hail, Caesar!, their love letter to 1950s Hollywood. It's a delight from start to finish, ranging from gently amusing to flat-out, laugh-out-loud funny, but part of me still worries that the joke might be on me for missing something obviously allegorical. Goodness knows there's plenty of material there for allegory, as George Clooney's amiable hellraiser Baird Whitlock is stolen from the set of the titular Christian epic to be brainwashed by the Commies, but try as I might, I  couldn't quite work out what it's all supposed to mean.

What it mostly means, in any case, is a rattlingly good time that comes primarily in the form of a series of vignettes linked by the travails of hard-working fixer Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin). We follow him as, for the sake of his beloved Capitol Pictures he attempts to keep any number of different balls in the air. Thus in addition to the situation Whitlock we have him attempting to find a husband for the pregnant star of the aquaballet, DeeAnna Moran (Scarlett Johansson, verging on self-parody), and to placate effete English director Laurence Laurentz (Ralph Fiennes) after the studio insists on casting amiable singing cowboy Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich, in what may prove his breakout role) in his frightfully mannered melodrama.

The Coens keep it fast-moving and playful, with a number of juicy cameos mixed in amongst the set-pieces. I'm always happy to see Tilda Swinton, and here we're given two of her as feuding twin gossip columnists Thora and Thessaly Thacker. My favourite, however, was Frances McDormand, whose single scene is one I wouldn't dream of spoiling for you.

Wonderful fun, then - and if you ever tire of watching George Clooney pretending to be a bad actor, you're almost certainly tired of life - but I can't shake the sneaking suspicion there's something a little deeper going on. Still, this is one I'll always be happy to re-watch.

Unrelated, but have you seen the trailer for the Ghostbusters remake? I know I hold no love for the original, but I think I may have to give this one a shot. If nothing else, I can no longer complain that movies never star anyone who looks like me.

Kung Fu Panda 3 (2016)

I've always had a sneaking admiration for Dreamworks' Kung Fu Panda franchise. In a time when CGI animation has become progressively easier and cheaper to produce, these particular films have always seemed defiantly high-budget. Combining a distinctive visual aesthetic with stellar casts and a rare sense of timing, they remain an easy, effortless joy whenever I sit down to watch.

For the benefit of anybody who's been living under a waterfall wrapped in the skin of something dead for the past decade or so, the franchise is set in something approximating feudal China and centres around one Po (Jack Black) a kung fu-obsessed panda raised by noodle bar owner Mr. Ping (James Hong). Fairly early on in the first film, we discover that, chubby and lazy as he is, Po is in fact the Dragon Warrior, a legendary champion destined to... well, no, that's never made entirely clear, but he's definitely destined to do something, probably involving kicking the rear of a snarkier and more traditionally athletic opponent. There's usually a sprinkling of nebulous mysticism involved, which usually tends to amount to you can do anything you want so long as you stay exactly who you are. Do I approve? Not particularly, but there's enough eye and ear candy that it never bothers me all that much.

The third instalment of the series offers more of the same, pretty much. The usual suspects are all present (although I'm not completely sure whether Lucy Liu's Viper ever actually gets a line), joined by Bryan Cranston as Po's biological father and J.K. Simmons as, inevitably, the calmly threatening antagonist who occasionally goes absolutely bloody ballistic. It does, at least, answer one or two key questions - what the Dragon Warrior is, for example, even if it's never made clear precisely what purpose he's supposed to serve barring winning - but I'm pretty sure they'll be able to squeeze out a sequel a few years down the line.

Effortlessly charming, but definitely not one to be thinking about too hard.

Victor Frankenstein (2015)

Apologies for the brief break in service; I'm now gainfully employed on a full-time basis and hopefully I'll be updating this thing at least weekly.

Anyhow, before I get into the nitty gritty of today's film, Victor Frankenstein, I should probably just clarify the following: your enjoyment of this film will be predicated more or less entirely upon your levels of tolerance for James McAvoy's overacting. Can't stand it? Walk away now; there's nothing for you here. If, on the other hand, you rather enjoy it when he gets all earnest and quivery in that slightly deranged way he has when he thinks he's doing serious drama, come in, friends, and read on.

I have to say, Victor Frankenstein contained a little too much quivering even for me. Running an hour and fifty minutes, I feel it could comfortably have lost twenty or even thirty, and nobody would have felt particularly short-changed in the McAvoy emoting department. 

Look, you know what you're getting into when you settle down to watch a pretty, flashy movie about how Dr. Frankenstein met his assistant, Igor, don't you? There'll be attractive costumes, an overly noisy soundtrack, pretentious but punchy dialogue, little to no bloody and gore and no matter how hopeful you might be, the two male leads probably won't get it on at any point. It's a shame, really; Daniel Radcliffe's Igor seems remarkably sane for a former clown/physician, and has the sort of genuinely endearing presence that you can't help thinking would probably have calmed McAvoy's Frankenstein down in the end.

Did I enjoy it? Yes, sort of. Campy but kind of classy, a more judiciously-edited cut could easily become a favourite. Without substance, however, style can only hold my attention for so long, and I won't be in a hurry to come back to this one again.

The Fear of 13 (2015)

I've written about some bad films lately, and some good ones. What I haven't done, however, with the possible exception of Notes on a Scandal, is written about a truly transcendent film. Notes is part of my regular repeat viewing schedule, however, and no matter how great a film is, the visceral impact of it on the second or third go around is never going to be quite the same.

Step forward David Sington's The Fear of 13, then, to remind me of why I love film so much. It's a documentary with a simple enough premise - a condemned man talking to camera, with sporadic illustrative shots - and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end from the very first line to the very last.

Much credit, of course, has to go to our protagonist, the singularly charismatic Nick Yarris, who moves back and forth in time between his misspent youth and the death row cell to weave an utterly compelling narrative. Yarris earned my sympathy very early on, but never my pity - how could I feel sorry for an individual with such boundless inner strength?

I'm torn, to be honest - I could write pages and pages about this one, but not without spoilers, and Yarris took me on such a powerful emotional journey it leaves me reluctant to offer these. I'll say what I believe is necessary, then -  from the visuals to the sound engineering, the production is superb, and I'm not sure I can remember the last time a film grabbed my attention quite so hard, or so consistently.

Even if documentaries aren't normally your sort of thing, this is something you really do need to experience.

The Master (2012)

Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master has been on my to watch list for a fair few years now, so when, yesterday morning, I was seized by the yen for some proper, grown-up drama, it felt like a natural choice. Anderson has always been a director I've admired rather than enjoyed, but if anything was going to change my mind it'd have to be a character study of a very thinly-veiled L. Ron Hubbard, wouldn't it?

Hubbard, or, err, Lancaster Dodd, is a charismatic leader of what is known, enigmatically, as "The cause" - something about the root of our troubles in this life being injuries we may have sustained in previous ones. We view him through the eyes of one Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), a drifter who was perhaps damaged by his time serving in the navy during WW2, or who was perhaps damaged all along. Quell first encounters Dodd whilst on the run from an angry mob, but his borderline-poisonous hooch proves to be exactly what the slightly mystical Dodd requires. The pair form an alliance, of sorts, and it is this that forms the meat and bones of the film.

Confession: I could never truly engage with Boogie Nights or There Will be Blood, and I wasn't able to really get my head around The Master either. Anderson tends to deal in the sort of damaged male characters whose internal logic is a million miles from my own, and his films always leave me feeling vaguely baffled about what, if anything, might just have happened. Quell in particular is an erratic individual who seems to have no real sense of self, and as such, he makes for a tricksy narrator, although technically not an unreliable one.

I don't say this to put anybody off - there's a lot to recommend about this one, after all. It looks fantastic, with the lighting and composition lending a sort of nostalgic glamour to every single shot. There are great performances to enjoy, too, with Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman (as Dodd) both excellent. I also thoroughly enjoyed Amy Adams as Dodd's wife - once again, she excels in a film aimed at an adult audience, tempering her fundamental sweetness with something altogether more sinister.

By the time The Master was over, I was aware I'd seen something very good indeed. I just wish I was able to say with any certainty what it was.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008)

So, the Xbox One arrived last night, and so did my copy of Lego Marvel Avengers. Do you think I'd let this make me neglect my blogging duties, though?

Damned right I would, but I saw a film last night (sort of) and so here's a writeup (sort of).

In the interests of strict honesty, I didn't so much watch Hellboy II, The Golden Army as sleep through it. I've seen it a bunch of times before, though, so I can probably mostly remember what goes on. Ish.

Guillermo Del Toro is a talented director, no doubt about it, but the vast majority of his output has totally failed to set me on fire. Don't get me wrong, I admire him as a visual stylist and especially as a creature creator, it's just that his storytelling tends to shoot for the mythical but land at the banal. I land up cringing when I should be thrilling, and beauty that should delight me lands up winding me up in the face of just how trite it all is.

Superhero stories, though? They're meant to be a bit cheesy, a bit sentimental. Okay, maybe they're not meant to be, but that's how I like them. Giving Del Toro the Hellboy franchise, therefore, has resulted in two movies that have both more or less hit my sweet spot, combining cheerfully soap operatic storylines with a pinch of magic and some truly gorgeous visual touches.

In the second instalment, Hellboy and the gang go up against a renegade elf played by former boy-band member Luke Goss in a long blonde wig and the sort of shimmery makeup that must have made the yaoi brigade wet their collective knickers. There's monsters aplenty, plus a new team member in the form of clockwork scientist Johann Krauss, who is apparently voiced (in what was, when I found this out 20 seconds ago, a genuine wtf moment) by Seth MacFarlane. 

The fate of the world is at stake, but somehow this never seems quite so important as the romantic entanglements. Y'know what, though? I like it that way. One thing I've noticed about this film is that amidst all the special effects, the only scene anybody ever talks about is the one where Hellboy and Abe the fishman get drunk and sing along to Can't Smile Without You. You'd never see an Avenger doing that, which may be why the likes of Ant-Man and Guardians of the Galaxy have felt so refreshing. While these are both fun films, though, their protagonists still can't match Hellboy and his associates in terms of down-at-heel, shambling charm. The BPRD team are genuine misfits, and that's probably why they'll always have their own untouchable place within my heart.

Animal Farm (1954)

Propaganda - it's what's for breakfast, or rather, it's what was on iPlayer last night. I've never been that fond of the 1954 adaptation of George Orwell's anti-Stalinist polemic "Animal Farm", but it remains of interest if only because it was the first feature-length British animation to see public release (the Navy were first in 1945, with Handling Ships, but this was never shown in cinemas and if you search for it on Youtube you'll find quite a lot of stuff you wish you hadn't).

Possibly the most interesting thing about Animal Farm is that it was funded by the CIA, who were willing to spend quite a lot of money to ensure the next generation didn't grow up to be filthy commies. To this end, we're granted quite a lot of cutesy duckling action to lure the little ones in before the pig overlords get nasty and the swill really hits the fan. When I was small, I found it all terribly thought-provoking and not a little depressing - sure, it explained how power can corrupt, but it didn't offer any better solutions. Man hands on misery to man.., my younger self thought, but I couldn't shuck the notion that Communism could actually be a really good system if people weren't bastards - something I still believe to this day. True, there's a lot of bastards around, but do we really want to let them win?

Leaving the politics aside, it looks pretty good. Sure, the palette is muted and the animation doesn't have all the bells and whistles we'd expect nowadays, but while it might look dated it doesn't look particularly cheap. The cheapness instead, it turns out, went on the voice acting work, with Gordon Heath narrating and Maurice Denham voicing every single animal. Denham plays it straight, or at least as straight as you can when you're voicing a singing chicken, and the result is decidedly creepy - it is the nonverbal characters such as Boxer the horse who remain most firmly in the memory afterwards.

Tellingly, given the funding source, the film alters Orwell's original sad ending to suggest that revolution might foment once more. All very red-blooded, certainly, but does this really suggest anything other than that the world is determined to repeat its own mistakes in an eternal cycle of hope being torn down by corruption?

If you want to fire your kids up with hope for a better future, this may not be the way to go.

The Heist (2009)

It began, as most things do, in innocence. I didn't have a film in mind to write about today, so I headed over to iPlayer to see what it could offer me. There was the usual crop of popular but predictable Britflicks and subdued romantic dramas, but none of them appealed - none of them ever do. A movie called The Heist, though, starring Christopher Walken, Morgan Freeman and William H Macy? Three top character actors in a movie that proudly proclaimed its membership of my absolute favourite genre? Of course I was going to be all over that - I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

Walken and Freeman are ageing security guards at one of those gallery/museum arrangements you get in every town. They're happy in their work and knowledgeable about what they do - more knowledgeable, we are shown in an early scene, than the younger female museum guides. Viewed as more-or-less loveable eccentrics, they're part of the furniture and receive about as much credit for their knowledge as the average sofa. So far, so interesting; we're clearly watching something aimed at the silver set, but there's nothing wrong with that.

Our heroes' problems begin, however, when a change of management decides to ship some of their favourite items from the collection to Copenhagen. They decide this must be prevented, and to this end, they recruit William H. Macy's ex-army night security man. They do this by blackmailing him with security footage of him undressing nightly in front of the young male statues.

My problems begin, meanwhile, at about the same point, with a dawning, slightly sickening realization that this is a film about older men in love with images of younger women, to the point where they're prepared to risk everything to steal them and take them home for themselves. Leaving aside Macy and his slapstick shenanigans, which are never adequately (or even inadequately) explained, we're expected to sympathise with two elderly men who have an unhealthy obsession with young girls - heck, Walken's character is cheerfully prepared to sacrifice his marriage for the chance to stare at a painting of a frankly rather sad-looking young woman on a beach.  How could nobody have realised how incredibly dodgy this is?

The cast do their best with material that consists largely of shonky slapstick, while the visuals are on the shoddier side of adequate. One thing I normally like about films aimed at an older demographic is that they tend to be pretty easy on the eye. The Heist, however, favours function over form - often a  good thing in a movie of this particular genre, but here the complete lack of artistry just serves to hammer home the director's singular vision. I wouldn't want to meet him on a dark night without a can of Mace in hand.

***
I hadn't actually been planning on watching Role Models last night, but after the Heist debacle I felt I needed something that was at least aware of its tastelessness. I was rewarded, pretty much, with a cheerful comedy that mixed charming performances with a few belly laughs and a touch of genuine heart. I wouldn't exactly call it a paean to feminism, but I really appreciated watching female characters with real agency, who were smart enough and brave enough not to need the male leads to look after them. Paul Rudd, meanwhile, is becoming a name I'm starting to look out for - his low-key charm seems to add a sprinkle of class to everything he touches.

Return to Oz (1985)

Are you in the mood for some kiddie horror? I am. Presenting, then, 1985's Return to Oz, which has apparently terrified more kids than... y'know what? That simile can just remain incomplete for now. I hadn't seen the film in 30 years, give or take, but among my generation it tends to get mentioned whenever the conversation turns to childhood trauma. Oddly enough, while I remember being frightened by it as a child it's not one of the ones that really melted my brain - certain scenes have stuck with me, sure, but not to the point where I had to nerve myself to watch again.

To be honest, I haven't seen the original Wizard of Oz in around thirty years, so I can't really judge how much darker this semi-sequel is than the original. That said, it packs a whole lot of horror cliches into its 113-minute runtime, starting early on when Dorothy, after months of insomnia, is packed off to an asylum for a primitive version of electroconvulsive therapy. Whilst waiting for the treatment, she meets a mysterious blonde girl who appears to be the only friendly face about the place. Later, during a thunderstorm, the girl rescues her by untying her from the gurney to which she's been strapped, warning her that the screams she's been hearing are from other patients who've been damaged by the treatment. Pretty intense stuff, in other words, and that's only the beginning. After falling into a flooded river, Dorothy finds herself back in Oz, but not the Oz she remembers. The once-magnificent Emerald City has been reduced to ruins, and it's up to her to restore it to its former majesty. Standing in her way are some truly terrifying adversaries, but luckily, new and magical allies are close at hand.

What really struck me about this one was how incredibly good it looked. The costume design in particular was gorgeous - sure, shrieking baddies the wheelers scared me witless as a kid, but this time round I found myself squinting at the screen to try and get a closer look at the textures on the coats they wore. It was the same with villainous sorceress Mombi, she of the interchangeable heads, but also of the truly glorious wardrobe. Set and sound design receive similar attention to detail, with the latter perhaps accounting for the wheelers' power to terrify. There's also some flat-out nightmare fuel Claymation from technique pioneer Will Vinton, proving that rocks have not only ears but eyes, noses, teeth and a variety of facial expressions from sneaky to bloodthirsty.

As Dorothy, the then ten-year-old Fairuza Balk holds her own against the special effects, producing a brave and naturalistic performance that contrasts markedly with Judy Garland's more mannered interpretation. Support comes in the form of Piper Laurie's Aunt Em, whilst Nicol Williamson and Jean Marsh play the villains in both Oz and Kansas, harking back to the it was all a dream ending of the original film.

I was actually surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Disney films of the early-to-mid 80s often carry the faint whiff of desperation - profits were down during the period and they were fighting the belief that their output was just too cosy for modern audiences. Their response was to move darker, with the likes of this and Ray Bradbury adaptation Something Wicked This Way Comes. That was another film in search of an audience, I think, but its more literary and lyrical source material left me with a vague sense of irritation about how much seemed to have been left on the cutting room floor. Something Wicked was a failure, I think, if an interesting one, but Return to Oz succeeds thanks to a combination of great production values and a clear directorial vision. Recommended.