Such is the abundance of reflective surfaces throughout the duration of this, the 57th J-horror of the year, I imagine the makers of Titanic took longer to settle on a definitive title. If you played a drinking game to everytime you saw a mirror or someone mentioned mirrors during this film you'd deader than Dylan Thomas and George Best before the opening credits had ended. Still even if you just played the 24 drinking game of necking a shot everytime Keifer says "dammit" you'd be pissing your kidney out of your cock in no-time.
Keifer "Jack Bauer, Jack Bauer, Jack Bauer" Sutherland plays Ben Carson, an alcoholic, ex-cop who may or may not have been responsible for killing a fellow police (this fact is largely forgotten when the spooky hits). With his wife and kids spending time away from crazy dad he gets a job as a security guard to prove his life is back on track. The job, however, is looking after a burnt down department store where the mirrors are bad. Bad mirrors. These mirrors send Keef a bit mental so as with all lame remakes Keef gotta find out why.
As its pretty much the Sutherland show the weight of a certain CTU agent hangs heavy over Mirrors. As well as the trademark 'dammits' Keef acts by talking in quiet hushed tones one minute, and the next, he's bellowing "I'm not crazy" in a very crazy fashion indeed. But this is pretty much the most enjoyable thing in Mirrors, seeing how Jack, Ben will go. While for the majority of the film he struggles to keep a lid on it by the end he's holding up nuns at gunpoint threatening to shoot thm in their nunny faces if they don't agree to be turned mental. Go Jack!
The idea of mirrors (or any reflective surface) as the bogeyman is quite a neat idea if you're a bit of a wimp like me, because on exiting the film everywhere you go your bound to bump into you. This horror in the everyday deserves a better vehicle though than this mechanical, by the numbers fright fest. As for the multiple endings, well the first is okay, the second is laughable and the third doesn't quite make sense. Leaving you pondering the question Mirror, Mirror on the wall why did I watch this film at all? Worst ending to a review...ever.
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Mutant Chronicles Review
Only twice this year have a caught some zee's whilst movie watching. I know its not exactly professional but I'm watching movies not working as an air traffic controller. What is surprising is the two films I've nodded off to. Not for me the tranquility of a costume drama or some cutesy Disney, oh no, the first was the awful Doomsday a post-apocalyptic vision of the future where claret was thrown around around the set with such repitition it become sleep inducing and the second is The Mutant Chronicles, a post-apocalyptic vision of the future where claret is thrown... you get the idea.
The year is 2727 and the world is fucked (we've got a while then). George Orwell was bang on the money and now the world is divided into a few 'corporations' that fight continuously over the world's last remaining resources. As if things weren't bad enough there is a machine, called 'the machine', which when opened will release weird mutant things to kill everyone with their pointy knife arms. Mitch Hunter (Thoas Jane) is asked by a priest that protects the Mutant Chronicles to go into the heart of the machine and switch it off with a big off switch button. Before you can say Fellowship of the Ring meets Aliens Mitch has gathered a big troop of 'ard people to go save the day.
Inbetween my napping (hey I'd just done a 12 hour shift, give me a break) I was troubled to see how this 'original' piece of cinema was made. When the camera shifted to first person for the fight scenes I realised this is a bollocksing computer game adaptation which automatically makes it shit. Press AB together to shoot a mutant or alternatively play as the mutant and stabby mcstab a soldier in the face by pressing up, up, down, down X. As for the Sky Captain and the World of Tomorow look, when did that bag of spanners become influential?
The eternal question of why some actors turn up in certian films runs through this like a river runs through it. Whatever 'it' is. Ron Perlman (doing a shoddy Irish accent whenever he wants to), Sean Pertwee and Thomas Jane can be forgiven because direct to DVD tosh like this is probably there un-toast and churned milk but Malkotraz?!! Why? You're soon to star in the new Coens and the new Eastwood. You don't have to make a movie every day. Take some time off and play some videogames or something. Altogther now up, up, down, down, X, A, B, stabby, shooty, stabby, stab.
The year is 2727 and the world is fucked (we've got a while then). George Orwell was bang on the money and now the world is divided into a few 'corporations' that fight continuously over the world's last remaining resources. As if things weren't bad enough there is a machine, called 'the machine', which when opened will release weird mutant things to kill everyone with their pointy knife arms. Mitch Hunter (Thoas Jane) is asked by a priest that protects the Mutant Chronicles to go into the heart of the machine and switch it off with a big off switch button. Before you can say Fellowship of the Ring meets Aliens Mitch has gathered a big troop of 'ard people to go save the day.
Inbetween my napping (hey I'd just done a 12 hour shift, give me a break) I was troubled to see how this 'original' piece of cinema was made. When the camera shifted to first person for the fight scenes I realised this is a bollocksing computer game adaptation which automatically makes it shit. Press AB together to shoot a mutant or alternatively play as the mutant and stabby mcstab a soldier in the face by pressing up, up, down, down X. As for the Sky Captain and the World of Tomorow look, when did that bag of spanners become influential?
The eternal question of why some actors turn up in certian films runs through this like a river runs through it. Whatever 'it' is. Ron Perlman (doing a shoddy Irish accent whenever he wants to), Sean Pertwee and Thomas Jane can be forgiven because direct to DVD tosh like this is probably there un-toast and churned milk but Malkotraz?!! Why? You're soon to star in the new Coens and the new Eastwood. You don't have to make a movie every day. Take some time off and play some videogames or something. Altogther now up, up, down, down, X, A, B, stabby, shooty, stabby, stab.
Monday, 13 October 2008
Nights in Rodanthe Review
Before I write my reviews I like to think of some witty hook to hang the entire review on. Contrived? Moi? Well, I was all set with Nights In Rodanthe. I'd written this great opening paragraph about going for a poop halfway through the film and how the poop was burning and runny and painful but how I'd enjoyed the poop more than any of the film and so on and so forth. Sadly the film turned out to be average enough for me to save my poop story/lie (delete where applicable) for another day.
You wouldn't believe it wasn't worse than diarrhoea when you hear this premise. Housewife (Diane Lane) isn't sure if she should go back to her husband after he ran off with some floozy. Doctor (Richard Gere) is a bad father and husband who recently, accidently, killed a patient who was in for plastic surgery. (If only it was more common. Not for burns patients and stuff, just really vain people, your Paris's and the like. Anyway I digress.) Housewife looks after friends hotel (brilliantly stereotypical, black, best friend Viola Davis) where she meets Doctor. They do sex.
If the idea of Richard Gere doing any kind of non-rodent related sex makes you cringe, then you should think about also cringing at the rodent related stuff. Weirdos. So why the 'its not so bad' claim? Well mainly because of some quite topdraw acting from almost everyone involved. Diane 'never been in a good film, never put in a bad performance' Lane puts in a great performance. James 'Owen likes me now because I have range' Franco shows his range. And shows why I like him now. Scott 'can steal a movie with one monologue' Glenn turns up, performs a monologue, fucks off again and almost steals the movie. And Pablo 'Nick Sobotka from The Wire' Schreiber plays his son. He's in The Wire. I like The Wire.
So how about Mr. Silver Horse, sorry Fox, Gere? Well I don't like Richard Gere and for the most part, in this film, I didn't want to put him in a giant hamster ball and roll him of a cliff. So score one for this film. But, but, but. There is an extended montage where Gere and Lane send each letters which is so bad I had to go leave the cinema and have a poop. Only I didn't need a poop so I strained so hard my rectum prolapsed and I had to go to hopsital. Still it was better than watching the end of Nights In Rodanthe.
You wouldn't believe it wasn't worse than diarrhoea when you hear this premise. Housewife (Diane Lane) isn't sure if she should go back to her husband after he ran off with some floozy. Doctor (Richard Gere) is a bad father and husband who recently, accidently, killed a patient who was in for plastic surgery. (If only it was more common. Not for burns patients and stuff, just really vain people, your Paris's and the like. Anyway I digress.) Housewife looks after friends hotel (brilliantly stereotypical, black, best friend Viola Davis) where she meets Doctor. They do sex.
If the idea of Richard Gere doing any kind of non-rodent related sex makes you cringe, then you should think about also cringing at the rodent related stuff. Weirdos. So why the 'its not so bad' claim? Well mainly because of some quite topdraw acting from almost everyone involved. Diane 'never been in a good film, never put in a bad performance' Lane puts in a great performance. James 'Owen likes me now because I have range' Franco shows his range. And shows why I like him now. Scott 'can steal a movie with one monologue' Glenn turns up, performs a monologue, fucks off again and almost steals the movie. And Pablo 'Nick Sobotka from The Wire' Schreiber plays his son. He's in The Wire. I like The Wire.
So how about Mr. Silver Horse, sorry Fox, Gere? Well I don't like Richard Gere and for the most part, in this film, I didn't want to put him in a giant hamster ball and roll him of a cliff. So score one for this film. But, but, but. There is an extended montage where Gere and Lane send each letters which is so bad I had to go leave the cinema and have a poop. Only I didn't need a poop so I strained so hard my rectum prolapsed and I had to go to hopsital. Still it was better than watching the end of Nights In Rodanthe.
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
88 Minutes Review
There is one question this train wreck of a movie throws up thats worthy of any interest. What would you do if you had 88 minutes to live? Well I would hope that I live within an 88 minute radius of Jon Avnet so that I could kick him square in the balls. Hard. Because for the second time in as many weeks Jon 'best thing on my CV is the producer of the Mighty Ducks Trilogy' Avnet has vomited crap onto my screen. And he's pissed on Al Pacino's chips twice too.
After a series of quite unnecessarily horrible rapes and murders (shot more for titilation than to provoke a reaction of genuine shock) Al Pacino, forensic psychiatrist extraordinaire, puts away the bad guy with that underused skill of 'presenting the facts during a testimony'. The boo hiss, definitely did it, bad guy (Neal McDonough) turns to him once the verdict is read out and chillingly says "Tick, tock Doc". Ooooh time is running out for Mr.Pacino. So 9 years later, thats right 9 full years later (okay, including 3 leap years, possibly) Al gets a phone call telling him he has 88 minutes to live. Thats more like it.
Except its not. Because Al just goes about his daily business for 86 boring minutes until the killer finally shows his masterplan which, despite out hero being 'the greatest headshrinker in the world ever Vol.3', he walks straight into. But attacking this film for one such failing of plot logic would be to miss the point completely. For this is up there with Taken in the 'so unbelievably fucking terrible I couldn't stop laughing' camp of movie. Yeah, sure, Al is as dependable as ever (rarely does he put in a bad performance despite starring in some real turkeys) but sweet Holy Mama this film blows.
The camera work is awful (see the crash zoom in the courtroom. For. Absolutley. No. Reason), the dialogue is laughably bad, it contains some of the worst (and most pointless) flashbacks ever commited to celluloid and it plays the red herring trick in every single scene. This is all supposed to build up to an ending of The Usual Suspects style brilliance but falls short of even being as clever as a typical episode of the Hubba, Hubba, Hubbas in Hoobland. While Taken at least had the guts to be offensive and bad, 88 minutes is just bad. And that kind of offends me more.
After a series of quite unnecessarily horrible rapes and murders (shot more for titilation than to provoke a reaction of genuine shock) Al Pacino, forensic psychiatrist extraordinaire, puts away the bad guy with that underused skill of 'presenting the facts during a testimony'. The boo hiss, definitely did it, bad guy (Neal McDonough) turns to him once the verdict is read out and chillingly says "Tick, tock Doc". Ooooh time is running out for Mr.Pacino. So 9 years later, thats right 9 full years later (okay, including 3 leap years, possibly) Al gets a phone call telling him he has 88 minutes to live. Thats more like it.
Except its not. Because Al just goes about his daily business for 86 boring minutes until the killer finally shows his masterplan which, despite out hero being 'the greatest headshrinker in the world ever Vol.3', he walks straight into. But attacking this film for one such failing of plot logic would be to miss the point completely. For this is up there with Taken in the 'so unbelievably fucking terrible I couldn't stop laughing' camp of movie. Yeah, sure, Al is as dependable as ever (rarely does he put in a bad performance despite starring in some real turkeys) but sweet Holy Mama this film blows.
The camera work is awful (see the crash zoom in the courtroom. For. Absolutley. No. Reason), the dialogue is laughably bad, it contains some of the worst (and most pointless) flashbacks ever commited to celluloid and it plays the red herring trick in every single scene. This is all supposed to build up to an ending of The Usual Suspects style brilliance but falls short of even being as clever as a typical episode of the Hubba, Hubba, Hubbas in Hoobland. While Taken at least had the guts to be offensive and bad, 88 minutes is just bad. And that kind of offends me more.
Friday, 3 October 2008
How to Lose Friends and Alienate People Review
Those going to watch How to Lose Friends and Alienate People to see if Simon Pegg has sold out to Hollywood. The answer is he hasn't. Those going to see it to see if its a faithful adaptation of Toby Youngs book. It isn't. Those looking to see if its a Curb Your Enthusiasm for the big screen, not quite. But, more importantly than any of these, anyone going to watch this film needs to know one thing. Its a rom-com. Going in with this prior knowledge will help your enjoyment ten-fold. And thankfully its a very, very good rom-com.
Sidney Young (Pegg) is an independent magazine writer with a skeletal staff of bickering idiots. When the head of a major American 'high society' magazine (Jeff Bridges) offers him a job Sidney jumps at the chance. Instead of playing by the rules and doing as he's told Sidney's tactless approach to co-workers and stars alike makes him unpopular but noticed. When he becomes close to fellow journalist Alison Olsen (Kirsten Dunst) he begins to struggle over what he really wants. Fame or Intergrity?
The original memoir had Toby Young lusting over supermodels and generally bitching about the shallowness of celebrity while desperately trying to be included in it. While this may have been a lot of fun (and more biting) in a pseudo documentary format to make it as a 'movie' movie Sidney/Toby has to be more likeable. Enter Simon Pegg and writer Peter Straughn who make the lead not only likeable but, at times, an actually bloody hero. Yeah he can be an arrogant cock, he has a terrible case of foot in mouth but he's moral, fair and in a world full of hypocrites these things stand out like a fat chick at an aftershow party.
With some great British quotable lines ("I've got cock on my hand") and great American farce (the dead dog and stripper are pure Curb) How to... works well for almost all the running time. It loses its way narratively when its becomes clear just how its all going to end but with references to Its A Wonderful Life, The Big Lebowski and Star Wars all in the first reel and a stupidly heartfelt romance at its core it ticks many a box for me. Also it has the idea that working on writing with integrity and passion is reward enough. I have to say that personally...Bollocks to that I've watched 146 films this year, reviewed every one and no-one has offered me so much as a sniff at a paid job. My contact details are on this page. Someone please give me a fucking break. Then hopefully my Alison will follow.
Sidney Young (Pegg) is an independent magazine writer with a skeletal staff of bickering idiots. When the head of a major American 'high society' magazine (Jeff Bridges) offers him a job Sidney jumps at the chance. Instead of playing by the rules and doing as he's told Sidney's tactless approach to co-workers and stars alike makes him unpopular but noticed. When he becomes close to fellow journalist Alison Olsen (Kirsten Dunst) he begins to struggle over what he really wants. Fame or Intergrity?
The original memoir had Toby Young lusting over supermodels and generally bitching about the shallowness of celebrity while desperately trying to be included in it. While this may have been a lot of fun (and more biting) in a pseudo documentary format to make it as a 'movie' movie Sidney/Toby has to be more likeable. Enter Simon Pegg and writer Peter Straughn who make the lead not only likeable but, at times, an actually bloody hero. Yeah he can be an arrogant cock, he has a terrible case of foot in mouth but he's moral, fair and in a world full of hypocrites these things stand out like a fat chick at an aftershow party.
With some great British quotable lines ("I've got cock on my hand") and great American farce (the dead dog and stripper are pure Curb) How to... works well for almost all the running time. It loses its way narratively when its becomes clear just how its all going to end but with references to Its A Wonderful Life, The Big Lebowski and Star Wars all in the first reel and a stupidly heartfelt romance at its core it ticks many a box for me. Also it has the idea that working on writing with integrity and passion is reward enough. I have to say that personally...Bollocks to that I've watched 146 films this year, reviewed every one and no-one has offered me so much as a sniff at a paid job. My contact details are on this page. Someone please give me a fucking break. Then hopefully my Alison will follow.
Red Belt Review
Such is the potty mouthed nature of Red Belts screenwriter/director that he's managed to be the inspiration for a joke. It goes like this. A businessman passes a begger and tells him '"Neither a borrower, nor a lender be" - that's William Shakespeare'. The Beggar replies '"Fuck You!" - thats David Mamet'. Now I didn't say it was the funniest joke in the world but it sums up one particular Mametism. Other Mametisms such as regular people being shat on and incredible performances are in spades.
Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mike Terry a martial arts teacher who is not only the most noble guy in the world but also the nicest, most unselfish and quite importantly for a fight movie, the hardest man in the world. When he saves the life of Tim Allen (yes thats right Home Improvement's Tim Allen) in a bar fight his life changes from the quiet, poor, but noble existence into one that brushes a little too close to a Hollywood lifestyle.
This being Mamet the dangling carrot of bogus happiness is quickly taken away and the people being shat on that I spoke of earlier is turned up to full. The shitters this time are the entertainment industry, from pay-per-view fighting to the filmmakers of Hollywood. At times the film reads like Bambi Vs Godzilla writ large. Which can only be a good thing.
There are faults, however. Plotholes seem to abound toward the end including some huge leaps of faith on the part of the audience and Mamet still can't write women that aren't fucked up or duplicious but as a Never Back Down for people with half a brain Red Belt works just fine. As for Chewies performance I'd be more than happy to see him in a tux come Awards season next year.
Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mike Terry a martial arts teacher who is not only the most noble guy in the world but also the nicest, most unselfish and quite importantly for a fight movie, the hardest man in the world. When he saves the life of Tim Allen (yes thats right Home Improvement's Tim Allen) in a bar fight his life changes from the quiet, poor, but noble existence into one that brushes a little too close to a Hollywood lifestyle.
This being Mamet the dangling carrot of bogus happiness is quickly taken away and the people being shat on that I spoke of earlier is turned up to full. The shitters this time are the entertainment industry, from pay-per-view fighting to the filmmakers of Hollywood. At times the film reads like Bambi Vs Godzilla writ large. Which can only be a good thing.
There are faults, however. Plotholes seem to abound toward the end including some huge leaps of faith on the part of the audience and Mamet still can't write women that aren't fucked up or duplicious but as a Never Back Down for people with half a brain Red Belt works just fine. As for Chewies performance I'd be more than happy to see him in a tux come Awards season next year.
Brideshead Revisited Review
"If you were to ask me know who I am, I wouldn't be able to tell you." So says Charles Ryder at the start of this, what I thought was the 57th adaptation of the Evelyn Waugh novel but is in fact the first big screen transfer. Well as opening lines go its a pretty fucking good one and in my recent fragile minded state set me up to what I hoped would be a deep character study of a man unsure of who the hell he is. Unfortunately what turned up on the screen was a lame unrequited love story that finally caused me to use the word boring to describe a period drama. Something I try desperately not to do.
On his first day at Oxford University Charles Ryder (Matthew Goode) befriends Sebastian Flyte (Ben 'Always be Pingu to me' Whishaw) after the latter pukes through the formers window. When proper toff Seb takes wannabe toff Charles to his big ol house in the country, Brideshead, Charles begins to fall in love with the place. And while he's not adverse to getting pissed, snogging and skinny dipping with the obviously gay, obviously infatuated Sebastian, Charles is also not adverse to trying to fuck his sister.
Which is where the film lost me because Matthew Goode does a fine job in making Charles Ryder an extremely sympathetic character in the beginning. When he's being attacked by Sebastians snobby friends he's quite fragile and likeable. At no point does it seem like he's that bothered by the idea of jumping up a class, he's just having some fun with a friend who happens to be well-off enough to drink as a profession. But his decisions later on seem like an uncaring arse who would fuck anyone over to get what he wants.
As the film tries to justify these actions by making his wife a bitch and Sebastian a mess it loses Charles character any clarity. If it just let him be a guy who doesn't always get things right and someone who, really, doesn't know who he is it could have been a lot stronger especially given the qualiy of actors involved. With the crazy Catholicism obessesed mom in the form of Emma Thompson and an aloof father figure in Gambon, the dysfunctional Flyte family could well end up on a 1930's Trisha. But as with Trisha I'd really rather watch something else.
On his first day at Oxford University Charles Ryder (Matthew Goode) befriends Sebastian Flyte (Ben 'Always be Pingu to me' Whishaw) after the latter pukes through the formers window. When proper toff Seb takes wannabe toff Charles to his big ol house in the country, Brideshead, Charles begins to fall in love with the place. And while he's not adverse to getting pissed, snogging and skinny dipping with the obviously gay, obviously infatuated Sebastian, Charles is also not adverse to trying to fuck his sister.
Which is where the film lost me because Matthew Goode does a fine job in making Charles Ryder an extremely sympathetic character in the beginning. When he's being attacked by Sebastians snobby friends he's quite fragile and likeable. At no point does it seem like he's that bothered by the idea of jumping up a class, he's just having some fun with a friend who happens to be well-off enough to drink as a profession. But his decisions later on seem like an uncaring arse who would fuck anyone over to get what he wants.
As the film tries to justify these actions by making his wife a bitch and Sebastian a mess it loses Charles character any clarity. If it just let him be a guy who doesn't always get things right and someone who, really, doesn't know who he is it could have been a lot stronger especially given the qualiy of actors involved. With the crazy Catholicism obessesed mom in the form of Emma Thompson and an aloof father figure in Gambon, the dysfunctional Flyte family could well end up on a 1930's Trisha. But as with Trisha I'd really rather watch something else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
