Barry Lyndon (1975) (Theatrical Re-Release)

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(23/8/16)

“By What Means Redmond Barry Acquired the Style and Title of Barry Lyndon”

Detracting from conventional standards, Barry Lyndon may possibly be Kubrick’s greatest film. Scorsese concurs. It’s certainly one of my all-time favourites from the moment I saw it on home-video, and the eventual theatrical re-release reaffirmed that opinion. There’s rarely other films which are induced with such artistic flare, calibre and character. Other ‘perfect historical movies’ that correlate in such a way are Schindler’s List (1993), Once Upon a Time in America (1984), Mr. Turner (2014), Andersonville (1996) and Lincoln (2012); all collectively culminate themselves in a pool of attire and authenticity, encompassing many different elements from sharp dialogue to opulent costume design. Barry Lyndon is certainly amongst that crowd. Its eloquence and articulate narrative spirals itself to be one of the most underrated yet finest movies ever brought to the silver screen in film history, and if you’re not exactly big or well-informed on period dramas, there’s still vast room for it be appreciated for its cinematic and vibrant achievements.

Barry Lyndon is adapted from the 1844 novel “The Luck of Barry Lyndon”, which is a fictionalised tale loosely derived from the real life self-made aristocrat Andrew Robinson Stoney and his gradual demise during the mid-to-latter part of the 18th century. Kubrick had a knack for adapting novels and implanting his own unique twist with his glorified film-making credentials. What truly exposes the Kubrick flavour is the dehumanisation of our protagonist, which ripples throughout the three-hour epic. Kubrick was never bereft of the ideas of non-redemption and the metaphorical thought of the fall of man, as seen in his other cult movies such as Paths of Glory (1957) and Full Metal Jacket (1987). A man who had the might and endeavour to exploit controversial, unconventional and artsy methods to mainstream audiences and bring it to full fruition was certainly a feat of achievement. He had total artistic control with his work, something rare in 21st century Hollywood, with minimal to no oversight from the monopolised studios. Films today lack that Kubrick touch, but that is inevitably what his style entailed, films that are untouchable.

From the get-go, we are suckered into Barry Lyndon with the immensity of the opening titles; it sounds casual and cliché, but alongside the grandiose music of Handel’s ‘Sarabande’, it welcomes you to something spectacular. The very first shot introduces you to the sheer brilliance of the movie’s aesthetic, with two men preparing to duel after a squabble over horses – an unreliable narrator states that one of these gentlemen is the then Redmond Barry’s father. Barry Lyndon has been humbled as a movie in which every frame ‘looks like a painting’, influenced from the beautiful artwork that was created during the Enlightenment and Romantic eras. You genuinely feel like you are in an 18th century Europe. John Alcott, the cinematographer for Barry Lyndon, aswell as most of Kubrick’s other classics, won an Oscar for his cinematic achievement. Zeiss lenses were used for the shoot, which produces lenses for NASA, and most of the film was undertaken in natural lighting because the f-stop was at a whopping low of 0.7 – this was used to its fullest extent; it could essentially film in very dim environments. For example, there’s a scene where Lady Lyndon is playing cards among others, and the only source of light is from the candles on the table. On conventional shoots, this is too impractical to do as it is too dark and not enough light is fed into the camera. The lower the f-stop, the more shallow the depth of field is, so along with the card scene came the actors who had to stay immensely still to avoid the camera being out of focus. And with Kubrick known for his perfectionist traits, 100’s of takes of the same thing would be enacted regardless of if the ‘perfect’ take had already been done. Alongside this would be the use of zooms. Barry Lyndon has 36 zooms which are projected perfectly. The shots which zoom out show the immensity and scale of the landscape, the shots which zoom in present isolationism. The cinematography compliments both the visuals and the narrative.

This isn’t a painting.

“Containing an Account of the Misfortunes and Disasters Which Befell Barry Lyndon”

Barry Lyndon succumbs to an intermission at around the 100-minute mark. The movie is split into two very distinct halves. The first tells the tale of a vulnerable yet frustrated Irish man of gentry and his adventures through his squabbles with a high-ranking officer, stumbling across highwaymen, fighting for the British during the Seven Years’ War, and working as a double-agent for the Prussian army. The second is one of a different tale which examines a more boastful and egotistical man who exploits his wife’s aristocratic wealth, has a broken relationship with his step-son and follows his eventual demise. This is the element of dehumanisation we discussed earlier. The screenplay is compared to the likes of an old, dramatic Spielberg film, and I wrote in my review of Bridge of Spies (2015) that the dialogue in his movies are so full of “texture, colour and coherence”. The lines in Barry Lyndon replicate this statement, and are presented with such a rich and old-fashioned manner, especially the narrator, in which the sentences are written with such exuberance. This can be exemplified with our protagonist, played by Ryan O’Neal, and Leon Vitali, who plays Lord Bullingdon. It’s a breath of fresh air to hear such exquisite language when enacted formally (Barry Lyndon could easily be adapted into theatre).

It’s clear to think many casual movie-goers will find Barry Lyndon to be a dry test of patience, others will relish the complexities of the loose biopic, both on a microscopic and macroscopic sense. There’s so much depth to this movie that the unbeknownst watcher will have to view it on several occasions to fish out the details you will miss the first time. There was never a time when I felt bored – I was totally immersed. Barry Lyndon is like a stream entering into a river, going down a waterfall, then stopping at the dam. It flows, but three hours isn’t enough for me.

Matthew Alfrey

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Showgirls (1995)

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(13/7/16)

“Showgirls provides an abundance of female nudity, sloppy and bizarre attitudes, and a flirtation with drugs and violence”

“Showgirls” is possibly one of the most outrageous and rambunctious movies I have ever seen. Though it grants itself a very controversial and lurid subject matter, inundating itself with breasts and sly humour, Paul Verhoeven once again promotes one of his own to cult-like status. Regardless of its reputation, “Showgirls” isn’t necessarily a movie which lacks acting or direction. In fact, knowing Verhoeven’s traits, “Showgirls” is yet just another feature from the Dutch director who has essentially exploited the ideas of hyperbole and over-exaggeration, much like Tarantino has. The outlandish sex and dance scenes, as well as the ones of violence, are satires of our real world red-light districts, the sex industries and city nightlife.

I had the very privilege of watching “Showgirls” in 35mm at The Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square, London, during an all-night showing of possibly Paul Verhoeven’s five greatest films (the others being Robocop (1987), Total Recall (1990), Basic Instinct (1992) and Starship Troopers (1997)). “Showgirls” certainly boded as the worst of the night. However, being projected in true 35mm format presented “Showgirls” in a different mood. It certainly felt like I was watching an exploitation B-movie you’d find in a grind-house theatre in the US. It’s not meant to be taken seriously, and given its repetitive nature of nudity and as a fairly dire success story – from stripper to showgirl – my lasting impressions of the film was that it was fun, but nothing more. I cannot conclusively render it a particularly good film, far from it actually, as the very deviant nature of “Showgirls” preys out many unnecessary flaws and hiccups that are even replicated in more mainstream and modern movies such as The Wolf of Wall Street (2013). We will talk about such instances throughout the review.

Brushed over briefly, “Showgirls” follows the story of Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley), a lone drifter who moves up within the Las Vegas dance scene from a stripper in the measly Cheetah’s Topless Club to the opulent burlesque Stardust stage show. The latter is fronted by the popular Cristal Connors, who, despite her crass and dejected comments towards Nomi upon meeting, eventually asks her to audition for the chorus line of Goddess. This is done after Cristal and her boyfriend Zack Carey receive a rather pricey lap-dance from her at Cheetah’s, exhibiting her moves and the greater potential she has when it comes to dancing. In spite of Nomi’s temperamental behavioral problems, the only person keeping her going is Molly Abrams, the first person she comes across in Vegas and the one who offered her refuge in her trailer home. Also somewhat helping her along her way is James Smith, an odd-job worker who obviously has admiration for Nomi but her attitude gets the better of her throughout the movie, and as a result occasionally neglects him. But Nomi isn’t the hero in “Showgirls”, it is Molly. Without her, there would be no deus ex machina, no machine to get the ball going, no sense of inspiration for Nomi to get where she wants to be.

As Nomi gradually becomes broiled up in the new lavish lifestyle of fame, she begins to become more self-centred and arrogant as opposed to when we first see her. She begins to neglect Molly, her only true friend who aspired her to get to where she was. Her transition into megalomania is also coupled with her consequential flings with Zack, the Stardust’s wealthy entertainment director, which ultimately fuels her ego and causes adversity with Cristal. While “Showgirls” provides the relationship and character development, though meekly, it seriously dawdles when it comes to it subject matter. It has the style, but not the substance. It unleashes more of the same repetitive tendencies throughout the picture; the abundance of female nudity, the sloppy and bizarre attitudes, and a flirtation with drugs and violence (a switchblade is revealed only minutes into the movie). That’s why I explained this movie relates to the likes of movies such as The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) for its repetitive nature of more of the same stuff. There’s only a certain threshold you can endure until you become bored of it, and “Showgirls” does just that. Not only does it lack the digression into new plot points to spark fresh motives, the story is, in simplest terms, paper thin. Now don’t assume I don’t love movies that don’t have the most complex stories. More mainstream movies such as Gravity (2013), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) and The Revenant (2015) may not have the most convoluted plots but they certainly have more appraisal when it comes to film-making achievements (and they are all movies I have profoundly enjoyed, even though I regarded The Revenant (2015) as ‘underwhelmingly magnificent’).

“Showgirls” certainly lives up to its exuberant and boisterous reputation. I can certainly see why it received cult-like status many years after it was made when it was released on VHS, but as explained earlier, Verhoeven is the pinnacle of popular cult film-making, alongside Fincher’s earlier filmography. “Showgirls” won’t be a movie I will be watching anytime soon, but it will remain to have a lasting impression on me.

Matthew Alfrey

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Come and See (1985)

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(30/6/16)

“It replicates the endless void of human nature”

Elem Klimov’s rendition of the Byelorussian massacre, which took place during the Second World War, probably renders as one of the most terrifyingly accurate portrayals of war ever brought to film. Various movie outlets rightly deem “Come and See” a periodic war drama, but this suffix can also go alongside the categories of horror or psychological; terms which are ultimately spurred with an invoking sense of trauma and disturbance for the viewer. Spielberg was often noted to present screenings of the film prior to the releases of both Schindler’s List (1993) and Saving Private Ryan (1998), two grandiose Hollywood war movies which ruptured Western cinema as it merited the exposition of brutality and somewhat pointlessness of war – Spielberg certainly monopolized the ‘anti-war’ genre ever since his film-making inception, as did Kubrick for the latter part of the 20th century. “Come and See” certainly compliments those qualities, if not more, and also likens the attitudes of Apocalypse Now (1979) and Full Metal Jacket (1987). Apocalypse Now exemplifies the unbearable destruction of nature and the gradual dehumanization of man through the experiences of Captain Willard (Martin Sheen’s character), whereas Full Metal Jacket focuses on the study of man and their activities, morals, and ethos’. “Come and See” admires and tinkers with such ideas throughout the picture, redeeming certain traits and characteristics that mainstream Western cinema filmmakers wouldn’t even dare to experiment with.

“Come and See” follows the story of protagonists Flyora and Glasha, two young Belorussians who are conscripted to fight for the Soviet partisans after Flyora finds an old rifle near his home. After the reluctance to undertake such a dangerous role, the harsh and forceful demeanor of the partisans subject Flyora to fight for them, henceforth beginning our journey into 1943 Byelorussia. It is from this moment onward where we are seared into a first-hand account of the Nazi German occupation of Byelorussia, depicting the journey of Flyora’s disillusionment with the world and his life, deterring into bouts of denial and near insanity. His surge of combat stress derives from the lack of preparation for war and witnessing the genocide of his own people. It is essentially an Eastern European holocaust. The feature also somewhat delves into instances of pseudo-hallucinations, as if what we are seeing isn’t a reality; just a bad trip, a nightmare. This can be considered when Flyora and Glasha first meet, as well as Flyora’s eventual spasm into denial as a result from stressful events.

The use of cinematography also glorifies this state of verging insanity by using the constant motif of head-shots, which provides us thought to analyse the well-being of our characters. Klimov can certainly leash out his actors and use them to their full extent. For example, Aleksei Kravchenko, the actor who portrays Flyora, often pours resemblance to zombie-like figures as a result from how horrific the environment is. The camera plays in an uneasy and unpredictable manner, noticeably in pivotal moments such as the infamous bog scene, which disturbingly seems everlasting. Coupled with this sort of scene is the use of music, or lack of. Despite not having a concrete score, the music, created mostly by Oleg Yanchenko, presents itself in an unshaped manner, relying itself on horror-esque soundscapes, drones, and ambience. This bodes resonance to the works of Krysztof Penderecki, who is credited for some of the music in The Shining (1980), often spurring up unconventional and avant-garde methods.

It is the fusion of frightening acting, apprehensive cinematography and haunting music which creates this podium of sheer and utter horror of a movie. If I could provide advice to aspiring horror writers or filmmakers, it would be without any hesitation to recommend war films for inspiration as they warrant themselves as perfect examples to study the human mind and condition. “Come and See” does not romanticize war. It doesn’t have a hero, nor a narrative. It replicates the endless void of human nature and questions why such things happen to the innocent and even the barbaric. An interesting moment occurs during a scene which gestures character study and the psychology of distressed humans. It panders on a metaphor, as if certain things should never happen and you wish you could just roll back time to change the course of history. Techniques like this should be relished in today’s cinema as it bears open discussion and thought. I’ve always said James Cameron made films that people want to see, and that Stanley Kubrick made films that people need to see. “Come and See” is without a doubt a film that fits into the latter, regardless of your preference when it comes to subject matter. It’s meant to replicate a feeling of subordination of the human existence – we are merely insignificant beings that are willing to harm one another for our own personal gains and motives during the minuscule time we have on Earth.

“Come and See” wraps itself up to be one of the most defining movies I have seen as of yet. It isn’t politically correct, nor is it afraid to delve into a terrifying context. War films will continue to be born, but “Come and See” will detain itself to be the mother of such things. Soviet cinema is certainly an interesting one as it proves itself different to the Western medium – Tarkovsky, for instance, certainly reinforces this claim. Klimnov also justifies the exuberance of it.

Matthew Alfrey

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Bone Tomahawk (2015)

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(3/3/16)

“Bone Tomahawk grants itself vigorously on subject matter, music, acting, and locations”

Alas, it’s once again another time where I get the opportunity to dissect and become discursive about a genre which is particularly growing on me: the western. For a genre which primarily died out commercially after the 1960’s, having the entitlement of seeing the occasional modern western here and there is certainly a privilege in this day and age. I cherish them – I adore the likes of 3:10 to Yuma (2007) and somewhat The Homesman (2014). Half of today’s cinema goers have little understanding about spaghetti, supernatural, or neo-westerns, and even with Tarantino more or less at the helm of current westerns, that precedent probably won’t change for a while. What makes Bone Tomahawk give that extra curve is that is infuses a deep horror element to it, spiraling from other horror-westerns such as Ravenous (1999) and the more recent The Hateful Eight (2015), which you can see my review of here.

The very premise of Bone Tomahawk entails the story of a group of captives who are abducted in the small yet seemingly innocent town of Bright Hope. Mystery surrounds as to who specifically captured them and why, and consequently, a rescue mission is considered by the town’s sheriff Franklin Hunt (Kurt Russell) along with three others. A feral arrow perched in the town’s jail the following morning is linked to a troglodyte clan, essentially cave dwellers who feast on humans. After speculating that their encampment could be the “Valley of the Starving Man”, the riders set off. As they embark on an approximate 5 day ride, some scenes are swept with those gorgeous riding shots, which focus on the environments and hallowing silhouettes. For it’s limited budget, Bone Tomahawk capitalizes more on the scenery than scene. But that doesn’t mean it’s bereft of substance. Along the way, various tropes and decadents encounter the frontier men as they dwell into the deep West, often encountering raiders and thieves. We begin to understand the surreal lives of our rescuers and are bestowed their situations.

Like the director Steve McQueen, Bone Tomahawk’s subtle use of music produces a distilling yet effective contrast to the audio-visual relationship. Bone chilling strings are enacted as the frontiers ride into the unexpected. As touched upon, for a movie that had an eagerly low budget of just under $2 million, almost everything is crafted solidly within it’s means, particularly the music. However, there were a few traits in the movie I personally thought staggered, such as the editing and lack of tension, primarily as it’s a horror. It felt far too clunky during the culminating action scenes and choreographically feeble, which subsequently zipped me out of the immersion. Granted, only so much could be done due to obvious reasons, but it could have been eluded if certain techniques were adopted (such as fast-paced editing when necessary or perhaps, although already great, more music to build that real sense of scare). Some ideas put forth were just too lacklustre to comprehend. One thing that is commendable is the hair, makeup, and the all round prosthetic element of the picture. It’s absolutely fantastic to which how some stuff was conceived considering it’s a movie which includes festering cannibals.

It’s also impressive to see Russell once again somewhat make a comeback to acting with a surprisingly high turnout of three roles in 2015, two of those being westerns. As always it’s so refreshing to see such an enigmatic actor, but ultimately it was Patrick Wilson whose performance swept me away in this picture. He is the one who goes through the most endurance and emotion throughout, and he executes it wondrously. Admittedly I have only seen him in a few other roles and know very little about his filmography, but his acting achievements in Bone Tomahawk has certainly merited my respect for him. He, in my opinion, is the apex of this feature.

Regardless to say, not much more can be said about Bone Tomahawk. It grants itself vigorously on subject matter, music, acting, and locations, and although it stumbles on a few directorial and editorial faults, Bone Tomahawk would still be a firm recommendation for the likes of independent features and western types. As we have already scuttled over the picture’s achieving budget and it’s limitations, I must once again profess my admiration for how everything ceded together so prudently. Films like this are to express aspirations for those who wish to forefront the movie production process and what can be done in certain circumstances. Bravo, S. Craig Zahler!

Matthew Alfrey

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The Hateful Eight (2015)

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(29/2/16)

“It’s intricacies form the whole Tarantino package, from a welling lore to the innovation of using a 70mm format”

From the rather inconspicuous and chilling opening, aided with Ennio Morricone’s haunting soundtrack, seeing “THE EIGHTH FILM BY QUENTIN TARANTINO” be projected onto my vulnerable eyes for the first time was certainly a shivering moment. There has been so much anticipation surrounding this movie as I have always been leached in by Tarantino’s works, a director who, admittedly, thrives off polarizing controversy, homages to older works (particularly the 70s era), grandiose soundtracks, spaghetti westerns, slapstick dialogue, and exploitation (in some cases, blaxploitation). I knew The Hateful Eight wouldn’t detract from that list, but like Tarantino’s style, he would also explore some new techniques and delve into different subject matters. The Hateful Eight is certainly his most eerie and intimidating work yet, surpassing Death Proof (2007), which follows the tale of eight mysterious people who are caught up in Minnie’s Haberdashery during a blizzard in Wyoming – all for it to be sucked into a frenzy of lies and deception. “One of them fellas is not who he says he is” exclaims John Ruth, played brilliantly by Kurt Russell.

Tarantino has managed to pull off a horror flick without the element of horror. It subversives itself more on mystery of our seemingly hateful characters, aided with the claustrophobic environment of the locked-in haberdashery, the inescapable blizzard, and the original score as touched on previously. Furthermore, our entourage of hateful’s provide themselves with backgrounds that are destined for trouble when mixed with the others. To exemplify, we have an ex-Confederate general, a black ex-Union Major, a bounty hunter and hangman, his bounty, and a sheriff to point out a few. A very interesting narrative is pulled out by Tarantino here as he has essentially amalgamated elements from his debut movie Reservoir Dogs (1992) and The Thing (1982). What is also intriguing is how Morricone has captured similar vibes from The Thing into The Hateful Eight, even using 34-year-old scores from John Carpenter’s movie in this one (a technique that Tarantino often uses). The real horror element in The Hateful Eight is, of course, the disastrous blizzard that has essentially imprisoned the characters. Bereft of it, and suffice to say, The Hateful Eight would have a more feeble yet still entertaining story.

I had the very privilege of watching the film in theatres twice, the latter being projected in Ultra-Panavision 70mm in Leicester Square which, to the best of my knowledge, was the only 70mm projection of it in the UK, certainly in England to say the least. Gazing upon such wide fixtures assuredly propped up multitudes of reverence and admiration, exemplifying the beauty of cinema and what it’s really about. This very rare and exceptional format hadn’t been done since 1966 with Khartoum (1966), with only an assortment of other films which were able to do it such as Ben-Hur (1959) and Battle of the Bulge (1965). It without a doubt created the immersion of going to a special event, such as that of a premiere. Upon arriving, a “Special Roadshow” programme handout was given out, which fulfilled an array of glorious photographs from the production to the technical aspects of how it was filmed, such as the incredible aspect ratio of the motion picture (that being 2.76:1, whereas most films use either 1.85:1 or 2.39:1). Succeeding this was the overture, which presented itself with an impeccable arty screenshot and Ennio Morricone’s spine-bending score, setting up the chaos of what was to ensue. This ultimately got me going for what was to follow; when the lush veils of snowy mountains and howling forests blissfully revealed themselves I was astonished at how wide something could be shot and then subsequently projected. A four horse stagecoach sets off from the right, only for it to take a handful of minutes to reach the other side. There was so much periphery and something I had never seen nor envisioned in cinema in my lifetime. The brilliance of it also is that I could tell it was being projected on celluloid, seeing the occasional blimps of the reel being shone through the projector. This made the experience more warmer and immersive, as I was literally watching film.

Extra scenes were also added in contrast to my first viewing in a standard theatre, which ran at 2 hours 47 minutes compared to the 3 hours 7 minutes you see on 70mm. Though commendable to treat fans with extra footage on 70mm, and granted it sets up some more stable character development and story, my slants about this is idea that the film in itself is too long for the substance of the picture. More fun but frivolous dialogue is thrown about which effectively exhausts the audience, and I was grateful for the 12 minute interval we received to relax from Tarantino’s slapstick writing.

Delving into Tarantino’s frequenters (Samuel L. Jackson, Kurt Russell, Walton Goggins, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, James Parks and Bruce Dern) was once again appealing to witness as the synergy of the bunch oozes miraculously from the screenplay to screen. Newcomers are also welcomed, such as Jennifer Jason Leigh, who has merited an Oscar nomination for her role as Daisy Domergue, Demian Bichir and Channing Tatum. Goggins’ performance is most definitely overlooked as he is the backbone of why the cast interacts so much. He liaisons with everybody; the good, the bad, and the hateful, as does Jackson and Russell in their respective supporting roles.

To rally this up, you will most definitely see this picture knowing Tarantino was the at the helm of the ship, and if you were expecting a grandiose of foul-mouthing, violence, quirky names and anecdotes, you won’t be of disappoint. It’s intricacies form the whole Tarantino package, from a welling lore to the innovation of using a 70mm format. Disregarding the movie’s overall length, The Hateful Eight is summed up as a merge from other greats, humbling Reservoir Dogs (1992), The Thing (1982) and even to the likes of 12 Angry Men (1957). An ideal recommendation for Western fanatics and mystery goers.

Matthew Alfrey

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Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens (2015)

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(4/2/16)

“Abrams has left the audience with such subtle, prudent, cliffhangers”

It takes the utmost tenacity to write a review such as this. I’ve had very profound respect for the Star Wars saga for it’s accomplishments in revolutionizing cinema, not solely sci-fi’s and space operas, but our outlook on going to the movies forever. After 1983, Star Wars had propped up a precedent which gave it’s audience such high expectations, as all three of the originals had done so brilliantly commercially and financially. It’s eventual return in 1999 when the prequel era began found people skeptical of the saga as many found George Lucas’ feeble directing traits tainting the homage to the originals. However, regardless of the fluctuating tendencies this series has ensued, we must remember that the Star Wars saga is merely another ensemble of movies which should not detract a differing view in comparison to any other film just simply because it’s a popular franchise. In other words, this review on Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015) will be perceived in no different manner than any of my other reviews.

Having said that, it was certainly incredibly nostalgic to walk into the movie theatre and once again see the iconic intro titles which, in my opinion, set up a very assertive and comfortable (albeit very safe going) back story. Luke has disappeared, and remnants of the Galactic Empire (subsequently forming the “First Order”) are once again trying to deter all the last remaining Jedi in the Galaxy. Neo-fascism strikes as the ambitious First Order leader Kylo Ren sets out to track down Luke. From then onward, The Force Awakens stomps itself into a romping surge of entertainment. To augment, there is always something going on as the pacing reveals itself to seem effortless, full with action, good acting and a commendable storyline. Alongside this was seeing the brilliance of Tie-Fighters, X-Wings, and the Millennium Falcon dominate our screens once again, serving a respectable and well-needed homage to the original trilogy. Though in light of this, we are also introduced to many more things. We are first welcomed to the planet of Jakku, a more desolate and hostile environment than that of it’s twin planet Tatooine (which we of course, in the Star Wars universe, have grown up with). Jakku undoubtedly has an awe of mystery to it, a place which has evolved into a scavenger dumping ground and one of which infamously has ruins of an Empire Star Destroyer, an AT-AT, and other various squabble, implying a battle once happened there. It is also the place where we are first introduced to Finn, Rey, and Poe. What is brilliant is how Abrams used the precedent of casting near to unknown actors to adopt many of the lead roles, as did Lucas in 1977. It’s a technique to pander to the emotions of our characters who we know nothing about. It’s also a great tool to deviate from the Hollywood establishment to which mainstream audiences have become far too accustomed to and quite frankly bored of recently. I vigorously commend Abrams for his firm approach towards this new franchise and not sucking up to the powerful production companies (even managing to avoid the Disney logo being projected at the start of the film), something Lucas also did with the prequel series. But The Force Awakens took it’s time, and an insufferable amount of work was done.

What I can profoundly commend in The Force Awakens is Abrams’ intention of mainly using practical effects and analog cameras which give the film a much warmer and ‘realistic’ feel, and only using CGI where necessary. Of course a lot of CGI has been used for obvious reasons, but the very concept of the lack of it has not only unlocked our perceptions of the Star Wars galaxy but cinema as a whole. The sets are filmed in real locations, many of the characters are real or have either been motion captured (as opposed to computerizing characters from scratch), and many of the various vehicles look authentic as can be. This precedent would of course of been hard to pull off in today’s film generation, particularly as it’s a sci-fi fantasy flick, but it just proves that a lot can be done bereft of the use of computers and green screens. I’m not against the use of CGI, I’m just against bad CGI, which can be heavily observed more so in the prequel trilogy than in the original trilogy (which primarily used models, puppets and rational thought). My only concern with the visuals is that it looks too good, so when you’re transitioning from Return of the Jedi to The Force Awakens, it will certainly be a change, but alas, change can usually be a good thing.

What The Force Awakens also projects competently is its use of devouring so much more mystery that we will hopefully uncover in the following movies. It doesn’t have the outrageous collection of ridiculous new concepts just to drive a narrative (e.g midi-chlorians and gungans), but more so a very smooth transition from the original trilogy to the new one. Of course we are introduced to new characters, such as Maz (played brilliantly by Lupita Nyong’o, despite the characters’ more geriatric feel), who possesses similar traits and characteristics to that of Yoda. We have Rey’s mysterious background, and also have questions as to what really led Finn into abandoning the First Order. Ultimately what intrigues most of us is Supreme Leader Snoke, a seemingly huge (though this could be debunked in the later films) human-like ‘creature’ that is behind the facade leading the First Order. Abrams has left the audience with such subtle, prudent, cliffhangers which are driving fans to the brink of insanity; “It’s a good question for another time” – thanks for that!

I can express so many different things about The Force Awakens as a result from the scrupulous media frenzy and the fact I work at cinema and have had to talk about it endlessly. But that leaves this review on a nice footnote, one which is an urging recommendation to go and see it. It’s fun, entertaining, and enjoyable for all ages. But what is most important is the fact you can just slither up in your seat and the movie will just play for you. No seriously convoluted plots, no outlandishly annoying characters, just the Star Wars we’ve been wanting to see for a good while.

Matthew Alfrey

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Black Mass (2015)

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(15/12/15)

“Black Mass evidently highlights itself a fitting story that needed to be told, accompanying itself with a warm aesthetic, strong performances and audacious music”

Johnny Depp undertakes the seriously chilling Whitey Bulger in this uneasy Boston-based crime drama. Black Mass unveils the true story of Irish Mob boss “Jimmy” Bulger who reportedly served as an informant for the FBI from 1975 (more directly to John Connolly – an FBI agent played by Joel Edgerton) in a deceptive move to wipe out his criminal enemies and subsequently expand his turf. While the story behind Black Mass was bereft to my knowledge, director Scott Cooper has projected the two-hour piece in such a coherent, linear way, more or less free from convolutions than what you’d usually find in films lingering around this genre (take The Godfather: Part II for example). As with most adapted screenplays, however, appropriate tampering with the true stories usually have to be enacted upon to secure a stronger sense of plot; ones with a firm beginning, middle, and end. Regardless, the premise is brilliant; and it’s beautifully projected onto the big screen.

I recall social media hype sky-rocketing when Johnny Depp unveiled his new, megalomaniac look of the character a few months prior to the release date of Black Mass – the dirty teeth, the aged skin, and of course the balding hair, which without a doubt invokes a sense of foreboding. This is very much same the hype surrounding Matthew McConaughey on the upcoming drama Gold. Depp, however, performed his role successfully, as I actually hated him throughout Black Mass. I seriously hated him (was that the intention?). He’s a severely more dirtier and cheaper version of Jordan Belfort, corrupted with avarice, drugs, and has a feast for womanizing. The whole film turns itself into a warped state of darkness, negativity, and pessimism, so far that there are no protagonists to root for, unlike other crime films (Don Corleone, for example); we are not explicitly supposed to enjoy Bulger’s actions. There’s even one scene where Depp deeply intimidates Connolly’s wife, subsequently leading her to leave him because of his dangerous misdemeanors with blatant criminals despite working for the FBI, an institution which tries to uphold justice at all costs. In spite of this, I personally think more films should use “the main character is evil” technique to add more drive to a movie; it really does lack in today’s cinema.

While the plot is bounded in a coherent manner, it did seem to drag fairly fallibly nearer the end of the film. It’s that whole rinse-and-repeat ex-machina trick that you find in the likes of The Wolf of Wall Street; let’s quickly show some more bad stuff without going into too much context just to let you know that we’re still bad. You kind of wait for the ending to meet its match as there’s no way of escaping what’s going to happen. But it takes far too much time to build up to that climax. I was eagerly anticipating this nearer the end of the second act. Albeit on the other hand, Black Mass introduces solidly to a well-approached beginning and middle which rounds off decent character development and masterful violence. I was actually somewhat surprised that a movie set during the mid-70s and its gradual forthcoming years to have such an awe of decency when it came to set, makeup, and costume design as well as still having a tangible 70s feel when it came to the cinematography. This is something I see lacking into today’s movie’s; I even criticized the aesthetic on my Straight Outta Compton review for looking too modern.

One thing that did stand out was the incredible score which turns out to be from Junkie XL, whose assortment has included the previous Mad Max: Fury Road which was critically acclaimed for it’s soundtrack earlier this year. Despite this, Junkie XL has captured something conceptually magnificent with Black Mass; he understands the narratives and tale of the story, finding dark, often distrusting, trickles of music to build tension and no sense of hope. The outro credits are driven by beautifully crafted pieces of melancholic strings, and I didn’t leave until the first bulk of credits ended because of the fantastic score, as did others also.

Black Mass evidently highlights itself a fitting story that needed to be told, accompanying itself with a warm aesthetic, strong performances and audacious music. But it conclusively staggers on feeble plot occurrences that cannot be justified for user satisfaction. The majority of the movie projects itself solidly, but the somewhat draggy motifs past the halfway mark render it stale and uncomfortable to sit through. While I did enjoy Black Mass come its finale, it’s still a movie I probably won’t watch again.

Matthew Alfrey

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Bridge of Spies (2015)

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(14/12/15)

“Everything is so patient, gifted with great writing, casting, music, and of course cinematography”

Once again Spielberg’s new epic Bridge of Spies has relished the essence of cinematic brilliance, as did his preceding film Lincoln (2012) – which, gradually, has culminated into being one of my favourite movies from the multi-Oscar winning director. I profoundly had an awe of immeasurable satisfaction when watching Bridge of Spies, as Spielberg’s most critically acclaimed movies have tended to be historical dramas which primarily dominate around mid-20th century wartime. Bridge of Spies depicts the true Cold War story of James Donovan, an insurance-based lawyer, who has been assigned the defense attorney of Rudolf Abel, a potential Soviet spy living within the US. Donovan played an instrumental role during the Nuremberg trials 11 years prior to his commitment to the Abel case, therefore warranting him to delve back into war-based jurisdictions. But unlike the expected trial against Abel seeming partial to the US’ favour, given the strong adversarial politics between the two major world superpowers, Donovan aims to give him a right to fair trial as a result of the Constitution’s Fourth Amendment – this subsequently amounts to deep consequences for Donovan from his own front and family. Meanwhile over in Communist-ruled East Germany and the Soviet Union, two Americans are arrested, which gives Donovan the opportunity for an exchange of Abel for the ‘POWs’. Bridge of Spies, however, is not necessarily a courtroom drama, as this only amounts in the first 1/3rd of the movie or so; the driving factor is primarily the exchange mission between the captors, which climaxes on the infamous Glienicke Bridge.

One thing I can truly express my admiration for is how Spielberg – as well as the Coen brothers and Matt Charman (of which I am proud of declaring the fact that he was born in my hometown) – can conceive dialogue. It is so prudently full of colour, texture and coherence. We also see this again with the likes of Schindler’s List (1993) and Catch Me If You Can (2002). A couple of highlighted moments justify this statement including a scene in which the brilliant Mark Rylance, playing Abel, discusses to Hanks’ character James Donovan as to how he reminds him of a man he knew in his younger days who would keep getting up despite being brutally beaten over and over – a “standing man”. Expanding onto this, another scene expresses CIA agent Hoffman’s reluctance with Hanks to give Abel protection and legal respect. Hanks replies “What makes us both Americans?”. While a very wordy film, the wordiness is worth it for a grand and reassuring payoff.

But without great dialogue would also present feeble acting. This film is far from that. Undoubtedly, the most significant performance derives from the utterly chilling Mark Rylance, whose career I first pondered upon following his performance on Wolf Hall (2015). Regardless of his double Globe nominations, this is his year. Like the very wordless beginning to Bridge of Spies, Rylance’s very broad and eccentric English accent and his lack for words still builds up an scrupulous story about the character he represents. The synergy between his and Hanks’ character soak beautifully throughout the course of the film despite the very bleak and dire circumstances of their situations – very much like the Itzhak Stern and Oskar Schindler relationship. Like most of Spielberg’s epics, it is this sort of trait coupled with the harsh environments he uses which cites very bittersweet themes.

Sadly, however, we are bereft of the Williams-Spielberg partnership due to Williams’ health conditions around the time of post-production; but don’t worry – we will revisit John Williams’ in the upcoming Star Wars: Episode VII – The Force Awakens (2015), and you are also treated to a spectacular score from 12-time Oscar nominated Thomas Newman. The soundtrack most definitely does not disappoint, and while saddened we can’t explicitly hear our famous duo, it’s interesting to witness a different composer working with Spielberg. “Standing Man” and “Homecoming” are graced with tremendous impact.

Alas, it admittedly brings me with firm tenacity to actually find anything seriously negative with Spielberg. Everything is so patient, gifted with great writing, casting, music, and of course cinematography. A wonderful film with a wonderful story.

Matthew Alfrey

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Biutiful (2010)

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(19/09/15)

Courtesy of circlecinema.com

“This movie certainly embodies ideas, the metaphysical, and beyond”

Spirituality. Morality. Existentialism. If anyone within movie fandom knows me well, it is that I am a huge admirer of Alejandro González Iñárritu. Having been first exposed to Babel at around the age of 10, and subsequently Amores Perros and Birdman, Iñárritu conceivably defines the essence of social realism. Sadly, despite some uneasy remarks from critics surrounding Iñárritu for bestowing rather ‘uppity’, artsy or pretentious directing traits, Iñárritu has, for me, infallibly provided me with hours of happiness, anguish, culture, and concepts. Biutiful doesn’t deviate from that compilation, and though not for everyone (as a result from its rather lukewarm reviews), this movie certainly embodies ideas, the metaphysical, and beyond.

Biutiful stars the shrewd Oscar-winner Javier Bardem as he plays Uxbal, a single father of two who bestows an obscure ability (power, if you wish) to see and speak with the dead while simultaneously earning fraudulent wages from ‘managing’ and helping illegal immigrants find work in the deep slums of Barcelona, subsequently to make a living. Alongside this, he also has an uneasy on-and-off relationship with his alcoholic ex-wife as well as suffering from prostate cancer, unknown to many; fate ultimately encircles him. Though the fundamental premise of Biutiful may seem to be a movie placed within the fantasy genre, Iñárritu projects the 147 minute odyssey in a manner which entails that of a drama – as you would expect if you have studied Iñárritu’s catalouge – only subtly playing up to the ‘deceased’ undertones throughout the course of the film. Uxbal’s everyday life, such as his unsettling relationships with his brother, ex-wife, and though incredibly loving to them, children, aswell as his work ethic, place more of a monopoly as opposed to Uxbal’s ‘gift’ of communicating with the dead. His ‘gift’ vibrantly trickles in the background throughout the movie, which makes it so much more encapsulating and fascinating with its potential – some families even ask him to attend their family funerals so they can help communicate with their loved ones. Biutiful favours moral absolutism; Bardem’s character, for example, tries to help his illegal workforce by buying them heaters for their basement, or offering up refuge for those that are homeless. Uxbal gradually puts himself on a moral path by attempting to redeem himself by enacting on his own deeds of common decency.

Biutiful ultimately is a beautiful movie, though an incredibly discomforting, disturbing and poignant one. Despite the literally abdominal and detestable world in which we are thrown upon in, coupled with the absence of levity, I still feel there is a touch of hope wavering beyond the physical (very much like Edward Scissorhands). There is so much more beyond to what we actually see, though Iñárritu intentionally plays on these vibes to secure a great deal of ambiguity, thought, metaphors, and rationale from his audience. But it’s also a film that isn’t afraid to show what reality can really be – it doesn’t pander on all the happy things in life, and it brutally depicts a flavour of the real world we are living in.

In terms of peripheries, Iñárritu achieved this sense of anguish by adopting a shaky-cam effect to clout the disarray and unease – Rodrigo Prieto, whose filmography also includes The Wolf of Wall Street, Argo, and Babel, wonderfully fulfills the optics. Bardem’s performance fuels a magnitude of brilliance – he keeps the film magnetic, rampant, and solemn. Iñárritu wrote this specifically for Bardem in mind, a commendable entity whose acting traits have lived up to roles that merit exposition and influence – take No Country For Old Men for example. Gustavo Santaolalla marks another return for Iñárritu as his occasional score crops up in times of desideratum – to the uninitiated, Santaolalla’s Oscar binding career has soared him to critical acclaim with accompanying soundtracks in films such as Brokeback Mountain and Babel. He also reportedly wrote around 27 pieces of music for the film, of which only 4 make an appearance. Though sparse and infrequent, the music applies itself beautifully, occasionally marking itself in times of montage or melancholy.

Though visually a rather linear movie, Biutiful entails themes and ideas which are seriously complex. This is the type of movie you literally think about constantly days after you watch it, regarding that you see it with an open mind and if it corresponds with your viewing criteria. I am utterly fascinated by this movie and wish to observe, discuss, and analyse it more because it’s adopted its own formality and entourage. I am eagerly looking forward to The Revenant, Iñárritu’s upcoming sixth film. But for Biutiful, Iñárritu delivers a soaring spectacle.

Matthew Alfrey 

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Legend (2015)

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(12/09/15)

Courtesy of DailyMotion.com

“I knew when violence ensued because the rather rambunctious fella sitting next to me would shout ‘BOOM!’ or ‘wahey!’ every time a punch was thrown”

Tom Hardy once again makes a swift revival to mainstream cinema as his historical potrayal of the Kray twins advances into the limelight. Admittedly I was bereft of the very existence of these two contentious and dubious figures, though as always it was an enjoyable experience to watch Legend blindly and without any preconceptions. In addition, Hardy is flagrantly warming to be one of my favourite actors as his filmography proves to display a rather versatile assortment – Bronson, The Dark Knight Rises, Mad Max: Fury Road, and Inception have all coloured Hardy across various genres, and he has often been the embodiment of British hard-men, villians, and anti-heroes. Legend reaffirms that embodiment in this significantly violent crime thriller.

First and foremost, commendations must be awarded to Hardy’s most prudent performance(s) as he plays our two frontmen, Ronald & Reggie Kray. What is more appreciated is the driven psychology Hardy had to implement for these roles, as this character-compelled romp follows the story of Reggie Kray and his responsibility to care for his brother after his release from a psychiatric ward for his violent behaviour; this subsequently becomes a precedent throughout the movie. Albeit alongside this theme is also Reggie’s love-life to Frances (portrayed wonderfully by once child-star Emily Browning, who cultivates a very convincing cockney accent despite her Australian roots – however, her career has usually meddled different dialects), their organised crime syndicate in their gang “The Firm”, Ronald’s open bisexuality, and their experiences with celebrities which ultimately outcasts them as notoriety.

Though despite the well projected performances, Legend panders more on style over substance, which of course is never a bad thing, but Browning’s character had to fulfill narration throughout the course of the movie to tell us what was going on. Understandably, a story which willfully lingers over several years will need a sense of dictation, but this movie, whether intentional or not, had no sense of time. It felt as if it was expressed throughout a period of a year, which belittles the whole of premise of the Kray twins as they dominated London’s organised crime scene throughout the course of the 50’s and 60’s. The plot dawdles for some time, becoming discursive as a result from various subplots, and while it’s historically enthralling to view London’s grim East-end during the 1960’s, as well as listen to the obvious hardman dialects, the very length of the film (130 minutes) seems far too long for what is shown. Despite the various talky-talky scenes and the occasional punch-ups in a pub, the film’s third act dragged the most, anticipating a climax that never came.

Upon watching, violence became the obvious theme throughout the picture. I knew when violence ensued because the rather rambunctious fella sitting next to me would shout ‘BOOM!‘ or ‘wahey!‘ every time a punch was thrown or stab of the blade occurred, and while irritating at the time, it became rather humourous afterwards. While Legend does try to play up to various quips and comedic jibes, for me, it’s attempt at the humour element was not potent enough alongside it’s story; either that or perhaps I’m generally just grumpy, or the audacious person to my left significantly lowered my humour tolerance. In essence, I thought it tried too hard to be funny.

While Legend retains some strong, vocal elements such as the quirky speech, decent performances, and gritty nature, it conclusively wraps itself in a frame just above mediocrity. Nothing particularly took me by surprise other than very existence of the Kray twins which has encumbered a profound effect on my recent Google history. But alas, with a film that had daring potential, Legend ultimately renders itself average.

Matthew Alfrey 

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