The Marvel train is showing no signs of stopping, with each film growing bigger and bigger as the years go by. Hence, I found it both odd and perfectly logical that the latest film in the series, "Captain America: Civil War" should invert things a little bit. No proper villain to speak of, a great deal of fuss made about the human costs of the building-smashing conflicts that have capped each previous film, and something entirely unexpected; moral relativism. The advertising for this film cannily engages the viewer in a "Team Cap" or "Team Iron Man" debate, but amusingly there is no real side to be picked, just varying shades of grey.
It has a plot that can be described in a few words, or a few paragraphs. It concerns itself with a bill being passed that attempts to regulate the activities of superheroes, in the face of the untold destruction they keep causing. Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) is opposed to it. "If I see a threat, I'll neutralise it", he says. On the other hand, Iron Man/Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr) is for it. An early scene sees him accosted by a woman who presses a picture of her dead son into his chest; in saving the world, she says, he died. Ignoring the fact that the scene plays like some kind of Dickensian Christmas-Past thing, it gets the point across. As far as I can tell, Iron Man has always been the heart of the series, hiding his guilts and neuroses behind a mask of flippant cool, and it makes perfect sense that this kind of thing would haunt him (even if the film fudges it).
As the bill is drafted and put into motion, sides are picked, if a little arbitrarily, and the film lumbers towards the widely touted conflict between the group. A lot of screen-time is given to the relationship between Captain America and his friend Bucky/The Winter Soldier, (Sebastian Stan), who were close during the war, and separately frozen and later revived. Bucky was, unfortunately, brainwashed and so can't help killing things. But Captain sees something there, and takes Bucky's side throughout the film, insisting to everyone that he isn't bad.
If my descriptions of the relationships seem a little half-baked, it's because most people are on board by now, but also because my memories of the previous Marvel films are hazy, and this film relies on an apparently encyclopaedic knowledge of all that has come before. This isn't to say that the film isn't accessible, or indeed fun, because it is both of those things, but it does seem that the more you know/remember, the more you will get out of it.
There are a lot of players involved. Some, like Don Cheadle's "War Machine", are unengaging; others, like newcomer Tom Holland's "Spiderman" (the best screen iteration of the character so far), are note perfect. In the end, though, individual comparisons don't really matter, since this film has the rare distinction of a fight where you're rooting for everyone at the same time. This seems counter-intuitive to the general ethos of the modern blockbuster, where things are painted in black and white, but I'm not complaining. The scrap itself is handled excellently, and passes Mark Kermode's six-laugh test in itself.
Various excellent actors pop up; Daniel Bruhl plays shady ne'er-do-well named Helmut Zemo (what a name!), Martin Freeman occasionally distracts as a slimy politician type called Everett Ross, and William Hurt gently nibbles at the scenery as the Secretary of State.
In the end, it all amounts to whatever you want it to amount to. As a relative outsider to this whole saga, I admired it from the outside without ever feeling immersed or overjoyed; others in the cinema seemed to be having the time of their lives. A serious review of this film is ultimately pointless, since it's got a guaranteed audience who know just what to expect. It's directed confidently, competently, and a little impersonally by the Russo Brothers. The actors involved know what to do by now, and they do it well. In places it is far funnier than I'd expected. As an example of its genre it's up at the higher end. It's fun, watchable, never exactly compelling, but certainly never off-putting.
If you've never seen a Marvel film before, pay a little bit more attention, fill in the gaps, and you'll probably have fun yourself.
Showing posts with label Scarlett Johansson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scarlett Johansson. Show all posts
Saturday, 30 April 2016
Monday, 15 September 2014
Review of Under The Skin (2013)
What is it that makes us human?
I do not mean in a specific sense, but rather in a more general one. What aspect is it, definable or not, that makes us as a species different from the apes, or the dolphins, or perhaps some as-yet undiscovered race lurking out there. I ask this question because Jonathan Glazer's "Under The Skin" has made me consider it. It is a film about an alien, played by Scarlett Johansson, who has come to earth to lure in men and do... Something, we are never quite sure, although it involves reducing them to sacks of skin. Where she has come from, why she is doing this, and what purpose it is serving, are irrelevant. She is both an alien, and alien.
Her other-ness is constantly made an example of. Early on we see her in a shopping centre, buying clothes, trying to fit in. But her face is distant and cold, and there is no doubt that she's going through the motions; how her face can go from expressive and friendly when she's talking to someone, to completely blank when she's left alone, is testament to Johansson's frankly stunning performance.
She carries on going through the motions. She sets about picking up men for the job she is doing. But something happens; as the film goes on, she begins to thaw a little. A chance encounter with a man (Adam Pearson) who has severe neurofibromatosis in his face results in her questioning her goals, Soon, she is experimenting with the typically "human" things, such as eating at a restaurant.
I have now described the plot up until about an hour into the film. I do not normally go as far as this, but this is a unique film. It could not be less concerned with the dynamics of story and motivation; it is predominantly metaphor and allegory. It has done a supremely genius thing in taking the trappings of your standard science-fiction story and turning them into an exposé of an entire species. This is not hyperbole; I have not seen a film with a higher command over the biggest (and, I suppose, smallest) fundamentals of existence, perhaps since I watched Three Colours Blue for the first time four years ago.
This is a film that understands us. It understands lust; look at how the men are drawn into Johannson's black room. It understands human empathy; look at how people help Johansson up after she falls down. It understands that the sound of a baby crying can unite all people to distress. It understands what it is like to be lonely, crucial since this is fundamentally a film about the ultimate loner. From the very first shot, which is a completely black screen slowly giving way to a small white speck, I assume earth, the film engages the viewer by showing them a picture of their existence from the outside, peering in.
It is, of course, opaque, maddeningly styled, and "arty" in a way that would make some people roll their eyes. I was not bothered by these things, because there was a higher purpose there. It is a film alive in all the ways that film can be, gently joyous, hitting notes of unrefined beauty in a number of key scenes. The cinematography by Daniel Landin is a marvel, and the editing by Paul Watts deserves a mention because he has taken what I assume were shards of film and composed them into a symphonic delight. All this is overlaid by the haunting, unsettling and distressing score by Mica Levi, which, punctuated by harsh violins and staccato, electronic sounding beats, is a masterpiece in and of itself.
Perhaps the most baffling thing, to me, is how this film was once a book, written by Michel Faber. It embodies the concept of pure cinema so well that to imagine it in another format seems... Well, alien. I am completely unfamiliar with the book, but I would be very interested to read it to see how it handles the themes that this film lays out so poignantly and thoughtfully, without ever quite spelling them out.
It is a masterwork. That it is one of the best films of the year is without doubt. But it is also miraculous, and highlights the power of film at its' most potent, to detail the human condition and allow an insight into us all. I'm fairly sure that's why we invented the arts in the first place. Yes, this is a film that goes that deep.
I do not mean in a specific sense, but rather in a more general one. What aspect is it, definable or not, that makes us as a species different from the apes, or the dolphins, or perhaps some as-yet undiscovered race lurking out there. I ask this question because Jonathan Glazer's "Under The Skin" has made me consider it. It is a film about an alien, played by Scarlett Johansson, who has come to earth to lure in men and do... Something, we are never quite sure, although it involves reducing them to sacks of skin. Where she has come from, why she is doing this, and what purpose it is serving, are irrelevant. She is both an alien, and alien.
Her other-ness is constantly made an example of. Early on we see her in a shopping centre, buying clothes, trying to fit in. But her face is distant and cold, and there is no doubt that she's going through the motions; how her face can go from expressive and friendly when she's talking to someone, to completely blank when she's left alone, is testament to Johansson's frankly stunning performance.
She carries on going through the motions. She sets about picking up men for the job she is doing. But something happens; as the film goes on, she begins to thaw a little. A chance encounter with a man (Adam Pearson) who has severe neurofibromatosis in his face results in her questioning her goals, Soon, she is experimenting with the typically "human" things, such as eating at a restaurant.
I have now described the plot up until about an hour into the film. I do not normally go as far as this, but this is a unique film. It could not be less concerned with the dynamics of story and motivation; it is predominantly metaphor and allegory. It has done a supremely genius thing in taking the trappings of your standard science-fiction story and turning them into an exposé of an entire species. This is not hyperbole; I have not seen a film with a higher command over the biggest (and, I suppose, smallest) fundamentals of existence, perhaps since I watched Three Colours Blue for the first time four years ago.
This is a film that understands us. It understands lust; look at how the men are drawn into Johannson's black room. It understands human empathy; look at how people help Johansson up after she falls down. It understands that the sound of a baby crying can unite all people to distress. It understands what it is like to be lonely, crucial since this is fundamentally a film about the ultimate loner. From the very first shot, which is a completely black screen slowly giving way to a small white speck, I assume earth, the film engages the viewer by showing them a picture of their existence from the outside, peering in.
It is, of course, opaque, maddeningly styled, and "arty" in a way that would make some people roll their eyes. I was not bothered by these things, because there was a higher purpose there. It is a film alive in all the ways that film can be, gently joyous, hitting notes of unrefined beauty in a number of key scenes. The cinematography by Daniel Landin is a marvel, and the editing by Paul Watts deserves a mention because he has taken what I assume were shards of film and composed them into a symphonic delight. All this is overlaid by the haunting, unsettling and distressing score by Mica Levi, which, punctuated by harsh violins and staccato, electronic sounding beats, is a masterpiece in and of itself.
Perhaps the most baffling thing, to me, is how this film was once a book, written by Michel Faber. It embodies the concept of pure cinema so well that to imagine it in another format seems... Well, alien. I am completely unfamiliar with the book, but I would be very interested to read it to see how it handles the themes that this film lays out so poignantly and thoughtfully, without ever quite spelling them out.
It is a masterwork. That it is one of the best films of the year is without doubt. But it is also miraculous, and highlights the power of film at its' most potent, to detail the human condition and allow an insight into us all. I'm fairly sure that's why we invented the arts in the first place. Yes, this is a film that goes that deep.
Thursday, 28 August 2014
Review of What If, Hector and the Search For Happiness, Lucy (2014)
Trying something new here for a change; I've noticed my reviews have tended to be on the longer side, so here I'm going to do three concise reviews of the three films I watched yesterday. There is often the trouble with shorter reviews that you simply can't say all you ever want to say; but then I always think of things I've missed in my long ones anyway. If you can get the general gist with main points, then I'll be happy.
Also, I loathe loathe loathe LOATHE that flashy, gimmicky style of reviewing found in short reviews by people such as Peter Travers, so I will be trying my utmost to not do that.
Also, I loathe loathe loathe LOATHE that flashy, gimmicky style of reviewing found in short reviews by people such as Peter Travers, so I will be trying my utmost to not do that.
What If
Daniel Radcliffe and Zoe Kazan charm the socks off of each other, and us, during this unexpected gem. He is smitten with her, and she's in a five-year relationship; the chemistry is undeniable between them, and... Yeah, you can kinda guess where it's going, but in this case the formula works and doesn't feel formulaic because it is emboldened by characters who come across as entirely real and make us care for them. It is lent an extra twist by Michael Dowse's snappy and twee direction, and the cute animated drawings which come alive at opportune moments. This is one of the best films of the year, and I cannot wait to see it again.
Hector and The Search For Happiness
The distinct impression given by Peter Chelsom's Hector and The Search For Happiness is that of a film evaporating before your very eyes. Nothing about it sticks, from the distant cinematography down to the lazy script, and most crucially Simon Pegg's wasted phoned-in performance as a psychiatrist trying to find the root of happiness (clue: it was there all along). Even Stellan Skarsgard pops up for a bit and looks uncomfortable. How deliciously ironic that a film about a man trying to find happiness ends up being so relentlessly miserable.
Lucy
Luc Besson returns after last year's hideous "The Family" with this phenomenal science-fiction/action film about a woman (Scarlett Johansonn) who, after ingesting an experimental drug, unlocks more and more of her brain capacity. Don't stick around to dissect the (bizarre) script, but do stay for one of the first big-budget studio films of the year that is truly alive; visually fascinating and cinematically beautiful, it has the feel of a personal pet project that's been percolating for years. It all goes off the rails, as per, but I haven't been more transfixed by the proverbial train crash in a long time. Cult material.
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