Film Intel

Dogwoof's first Blu-ray

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sat, 18 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

A brief mention today for Dogwoof, a label who had a fantastic year in 2012 and before that, doing things the right way and putting out some great films. Next month will see the arrival of their first blu-ray in the shape of Chasing Ice, a really good documentary boasting this Oscar-nominated song, sung by Scarlett Johansson. Head out, make a purchase, support a good label.

The Master - Blu-ray Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Fri, 17 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Comparisons to Brando are thrown around with abandon but in the scenes with a psychiatrist, a mumbling Phoenix resembles him and his performance is powerhouse.'

What is The Master? It's a question never asked explicitly by Paul Thomas Anderson's film, yet the suggestion that he who rules over Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) may not actually be cult leader Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), is everywhere.

Returning from the war directionless, Quell is the equivalent of the idiot at a party who mixes every drink on the bar and calls it a cocktail. Alcohol, an early candidate for Freddie's master, plays its part in this narrative and in Freddie's life, causing drunk stumbling through a life now blurry of version.

Parents and relatives too seem to hold sway over Quell's conduct. They crop up often in conversation and their authority is eventually questioned directly by Lancaster's son (Jesse Plemons). Meanwhile, mother figure (and actual mother) Peggy (Amy Adams) seems to have more authority than initially suggested, especially come the end, when her near off-stage direction guides the hand of Dodd, now perched between ornate window of judgement.

Anderson's film was mainly recognised for its performances only and certainly they provide the second reason to watch it, behind the ideas he attempts to explore. Comparisons to Brando are thrown around with abandon but in the scenes with a psychiatrist, a mumbling Phoenix resembles him and his performance is powerhouse. Hoffman gives a flustered, strutting pant, occasionally in control but more often than not out of it. Adams reveals a snake-like crawling at just the right moments.

But despite all that, The Master is a crushingly distant film. Anderson plays everything with such a straight face, such a lack of humanity and humour, that the entirety of Quell's narrative seems to take place on the pages of a book, held at a length of several fathoms from the reader's face. The outstanding Jonny Greenwood score takes over from real emotion and the wake from several travelling ships stands in for more interesting metaphors.

It steams on for far, far too long, wallowing in a disconnected ambiguity it proves impossible to identify with.

Classic Intel: 24 - Season One - DVD Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Thu, 16 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'The full realisation of many of 24's better moments, will have to wait for subsequent series, where the writing is tighter and less people have convenient battery drains/memory losses.'

Whilst it may have launched a titan of television, and seen the début of a now iconic character, hindsight is not a kind glass through which to view the 1st season of 24. Often aimless, choc-full of action film clichés television has since worked so hard to minimise, if not eradicate, Jack Bauer's (Kiefer Sutherland) first outing is not quite as polished as it should be.

It begins with items like a mobile phone running out of battery. A simple enough device, which should have expired at roughly the same time Jack's model of choice did. From there, we get deeper and deeper into problematic plot element territory. A key character late on conveniently loses her memory, making it impossible for her to just walk home and out of the plotting. Referring to her, another character actually speaks the line 'she's suffered some sort of... temporary memory loss', thus ecstatically calling to mind Hot Tub Time Machine.

There is though some great decision making here that makes 24: Season One worth taking note of above the fact that it brought Bauer and split screens into our homes. Kidnapped Kim (Elisha Cuthbert) is kept kidnapped till just at the point her constant referrals to 'my Dad's going to rescue me' were becoming annoying. Michael Massee, as Ira Gaines is a terrific first villain, growling out his 'that's right, we're watching you', from the DVD's menu. A late handful of episodes with Elizabeth (Kara Zediker) shows just how well this show can do tension, when it really thinks about it.

The technical elements, including the split screens, work well and with the normal plethora of directors, they come and go in usage levels, making their integration easier. The final third doesn't always feel in control of itself, yet it does manage to pull off a couple of shocks, whilst avoiding the twee manipulation of Patty (Tanya Wright), it seemed to be heading for and marking out Palmer (Dennis Haysbert) as even tougher than the main narrative had already suggested. The full realisation of that element though, and of many of 24's better moments, will have to wait for subsequent series, where the writing is tighter and less people have convenient battery drains/memory losses.

Iron Man 3 - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Wed, 15 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'the film clearly appears to be cherry picking Robert Downey Jr. and Shane Black's best parts, heading towards an inevitably average outcome'

Though better than the second film in the series, Iron Man 3 is still a film desperately searching for the sense of fun its original iteration offered. Marooned in a coma of moroseness, Robert Downey Jr. still offers some value for money as Tony Stark, but somewhere his spark, like that of his metallic charge, is missing.

The pairing of director Shane Black and Downey Jr, who previously combined to such good effect in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, should have fixed that, but instead the film clearly appears to be cherry picking their best parts, heading towards an inevitably average outcome. Black's acerbic wit is toned down here, sarcasm reigns, but Stark has already had that anyway. Meanwhile, Downey Jr. speaks with the uncertain syntax of his Kiss Kiss character. Nerves and uncertainty are things Stark has never suffered with and they don't suit him.

The counter argument to that point though runs that Stark is very much at a crossroads here. Though not the comic book depiction of Stark's alcoholism, he is still a broken man, in other ways. Leaning on a crutch, the weapons used to kick him come in the form of Guy Pearce's slighted nerd Aldrich Killian, Ben Kingsley's terrorist/educator The Mandarin and James Badge Dale's laxidasical killing machine Savin. The latter, now carving a career for himself with notable bit parts, is impressive and his villain satisfyingly evil, whilst the other two take different paths than one might expect when examining the film from the outset. Kingsley, after a key reveal, has a hugely entertaining few scenes, though how well the reveal itself works is certainly open to debate.

Not open to debate is the characterisation of Rebecca Hall's Maya, who is apparently meant to offer herself as some sort of anti-hero-cum-love-interest but gets so little to do her conclusion is pointless and wasted. Not something, by the way, that you can aim at first female lead Gwyneth Paltrow, who has grown in stature from the first film onwards and continues to do so here.

That though, and a terrifically fanboy-friendly finale, is not enough to elevate this up to the levels the first film set for comic book movies. Where Iron Man launched Marvel's Phase 1 with a colossal bang, this announces Phase 2 with a warning: Marvel are going to try some new things, and not all of them are going to be as successful as previously.

Now that #CoulsonLives, what's at stake for superheroes?

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Tue, 14 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

The recently-launched promotional campaign for Marvel's new television series, Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D, features a remarkably healthy-looking Agent Phil Coulson, especially considering the last time we saw him he was, well... dead.

Coulson, of course, exists in a world where heroes and villains frequently find the power to rejuvenate, exist in alternative realities and, erm, fly with aid of oversized DIY tools, so his resurrection perhaps isn't a huge surprise in and of itself.

It becomes more surprising though, when you consider that good old Phil's death was really the emotional apex of Marvel's The Avengers. As a character in that film kind of put it; the assembled mass of superhero brawn was never going to work if the team didn't have something to avenge. Now they apparently don't. Have they just instantly become useless and dysfunctional again?

Of course, there's no concrete data around exactly how Phil is up and walking again just yet, and Marvel's storytellers could well have weaved in something which means he's here, but not quite as we knew him (replication, anyone?), or just attempt to set the entire thing pre-Avengers, but the mere presence of Coulson's image shows just how reluctant superhero films are to up the stakes, sacrifice a loved one, experience even a tiny smidgen of loss.

Coulson, who had amassed a bit of a fanboy following, wasn't exactly the perfect character to get rid of as it stood anyway - he's not 'super', so yeah, he should have been easy to kill for a super-villain like Loki - but at least he still showed Marvel were willing to go into new emotional depths. Now he's back. What exactly are Marvel going to find for us to lose in forthcoming films and will it matter, knowing as we do now that a click of the fingers, a plotting excuse of some sort, can resurrect anyone and everyone?

In a world predicated on the fact that humans have become all powerful beings of near or actual invincibility, how long before someone realises that they need to become human again?

This of course ties nicely in to a point I've been making for a while, namely that Captain America is by far the most successful of Marvel's Phase One films. A large part of the reason for that? There's real loss in it, something at stake, something to care about.

The 'resurrection' of Bucky might imminently be about to change that fact but the exit of Peggy Carter from Cap's life, and he from her's, is real and really touching. Just look at Tommy Lee Jones' saggy face in the scene where Peggy says goodbye. You can tell there's a tear brewing even there. There was on my droopy face too.

Increasingly, as the heroes get more powerful and more numerous, the key question, as Jim Gordon put it, is one of escalation. There's no point in the villains graduating to automatic weapons if they don't then manage to use them to kill someone.

Coulson's revival, in whatever form of excuse is given, makes inter-dimensional terrorist Loki about as useful and as deadly as a kid with a super-soaker, and The Avengers emotional apex less tear-inducing than Tommy Lee Jones staring at a woman on a radio.

Loss is a part of fiction needed for us to relate, sympathise and connect. Except if you can fly. When apparently it no longer matters.

Update: The Playlist has a story on how they believe Coulson will be returned to us. And it's lame. Very lame.

End Of Watch - Blu-ray Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Mon, 13 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Putting a camera in Brian's hands does very little extra for the film and switching between that and 'normal' modes of directing doesn't make a whole load of sense.'

David Ayer may have been the writer behind Training Day, giving his latest directorial offering, End Of Watch, a great deal of positive heritage, but he is also the writer of S.W.A.T and the director of Street Kings, neither of which are hugely successful cop dramas. Which Ayer, the obvious questions runs, is going to show up in his latest?

The answer is, inevitably, a touch of both personas although, happily, the Training Day side is on top for the most part. End Of Watch is a strangely modern affair, with the central conceit being that Brian (Jake Gyllenhaal) is absolutely stacked with technology in a bid to film his life as an L.A. cop. Alongside this sits Ayers' sometime-absent fondness for gritty realism. Occasionally the two jar off each other (whenever the Latino gang members, or anyone who conveniently happens to be filming themselves, show up) but most of the time this is a fairly happy marriage.

That statement though ignores the obvious weirdness you have to deal with when being faced with a character constantly filming themselves, then stopping and another camera beyond the fourth wall taking over. End Of Watch keeps up its conceit of Brian's filming habit only when it absolutely needs to, with Ayers' own cameras taking over when an extra angle is needed. You wonder why he couldn't just shoot the whole thing in shaky-cam, if that was the effect he required. Putting a camera in Brian's hands does very little extra for the film and switching between that and 'normal' modes of directing doesn't make a whole load of sense.

In conjunction with partner Michael Peña, Gyllenhaal treads what feels like a realistic beat throughout, Ayer playing to his realism-inclined strength and building a world of hoodlums and varying degrees of cop personality. The plot, when you step back from it, is a little flimsy but the idea of just following these two for a few months is attractive enough once the director lulls you into it. The one complaint is perhaps that the hero worship for these two, and probably cops in general, perhaps goes a little further than the film can comfortably sell you on. Being law enforcement superheroes is one thing but literally rescuing a family from a burning building? Perhaps one act of deifying too far.

Trailer Of The Week - Week #20 - Now You See Me

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sun, 12 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

Lost somewhere amongst other bigger, superheroier Summer films, Now You See Me has a trailer that still manages to promise some relaxing thrills. Sure, perhaps it looks a bit smug, but the cast list is hard to ignore (Mélanie Laurent! Lucius Fox and Alfred together again!) and the preview does enough to tease a pleasant mix of Thriller and magic show.

Trailer Of The Week is a regular Film Intel feature which picks a different tasty trailer of delectable goodness every week and presents it on Sunday for your viewing pleasure. Sometimes old, sometimes new, sometimes major, sometimes independent, sometimes brilliant, sometimes a load of old bobbins: always guaranteed to entertain. If you want to make a suggestion for Trailer Of The Week, see the contact us page.

Blood is thicker than...

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sat, 11 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

I heard Bettany talk enthusiastically about this a little while ago but the early word isn't good, it's out in the UK on May 31st and there's still no publicity to speak of. Still, that cast is great and hey, nice poster!

Masters Of Cinema #57 - The Murderer Lives At 21 - Blu-ray Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Fri, 10 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

There's a sense of weighty historical context with Henri-Georges Clouzot's L'Assassin Habite Au 21 (The Murderer Lives At 21), which it's execution doesn't always seem to justify. Though clearly a film of some import - contextually or otherwise - it is fairly easy to imagine oneself transported to the land of daytime TV, watching the unfolding mystery of Murder She Wrote, or a 1970s Agatha Christie adaptation. That Clouzot's film's origins are rooted in a mystery novel by Stanislas-André Steeman is no great surprise.

Certainly, once detective Wens (Pierre Fresnay) enters the residence at 2l, rue Junot - with its collection of invariably odd, ageing or otherwise disabled inhabitants - we are well into Angela Lansbury territory, as murderous glints are glimpsed and suspects are established with expositional ease.

The earlier moments of Clouzot's film prove to be the more interesting. As the murderer - a faceless man (or woman) who leaves a calling card bearing the name Monsieur Durand on each victim - follows a lottery-winning drunk from a bar, we enter first person mode, stalking the target, whilst drawing our cane-sheathed sword. Remember, this is eighteen years before Peeping Tom and the effect is potent. The streets, which feel set-shot, also have a curiously honed appeal, creating a claustrophobic aura of war-time dread.

That The Murderer Lives At 21 was shot in 1942, during the Nazi occupation of France, gives its street-set scenes of threat a resonance. The history of the film shot in this period is much more complicated than any intangible artistic product though, as a vast section in the booklet, dedicated to understanding the accusations of collusion against Clouzot, attests.

In a separate section of the booklet, Judith Mayne points to another interesting element of Clouzot's film, again focused during the pre-rue Junot scenes. Our heroine, Mila Malou (Suzy Delair), is introduced to us desperate to achieve newspaper fame, so that she might further her career. As Mayne goes on to point out, it is notable that Malou's eventual fame may be deserved, as she solves the mystery on her own terms, but at this early point, it is interesting to note modern-day parallels with celebrity culture and fame obsession.

Though a companion early scene, involving a depiction of the effect of the chain of command, has made it clear that this is a comedy, this element only finds itself brought to the fore when we arrive at 21. Dressed as a priest, Wens now cuts a comedic figure of disguise, Malou arriving shortly afterwards to snicker from the sidelines. The ragtag band of inhabitants-cum-suspects form a sinister crew, but Clouzot undercuts their malice with ridiculous petty arguing, starting with how long one character spends in the bath. That old chestnut. The relationship between the humour and the murder-mystery can be seen shortly afterwards, as said character once again spends rather longer in the bath than intended.

The mixture works well until the down-trodden conclusion, which shoots for 'dirty', at least in the builder's yard finale, but achieves only hi-camp. That that actually fits with certain other parts of the film shows what an odd mixture The Murderer Lives At 21 can be, although its curious blend is never less than entertaining. Contextually or otherwise.

Founded in 2004, The Masters of Cinema Series is an independent, carefully curated, UK-based Blu-ray and DVD label, now consisting of over 150 films. Films are presented in their original aspect ratio (OAR), in meticulous transfers created from recent restorations and / or the most pristine film elements available.

The Murderer Lives At 21 is released in the UK on Monday 20th May 2013

BIFF 2013 - Short Takes on the Shorts (ranked)

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Thu, 09 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

The Livelong Day from David Fenster on Vimeo.

The Livelong Day

Lovely mini-doc about obsessive operators of gigantic model railways, who appeared to me to be as kooky as obsessive operators/watchers/readers/followers of pretty much anything. A great deal of gentle charm here. The full film is included above. 5/5.

Doctor Bucketman

Compelling, entertaining mini-doc about man who has turned playing buckets and pans in subways into musical brilliance. Jovial, light, with fantastic music. 5/5.

Foxes

Cracking if predictable short Horror. Manages to take in the other-worldliness of animals, the Irish recession and some charged sexuality. Screened with The Last Dogs Of Winter, making it part of the best two hours at the festival. 4/5.

THE PERFECTIONISTS (trailer) from Mankuso on Vimeo.

The Perfectionists

Infectiously light-hearted look at a band of precocious, pretentious actors and the odd, occasionally macabre, processes they go through. Would watch a full length with the same characters. 4/5.

Le Souffle Court

Good child trafficking drama concerned with the thin lines between the bad people and the very bad people and wide margins separating them from true innocents. Pretty captivating slow burner. 4/5.

Strobogramm

Cleverly edited, this is essentially about a woman turning a light switch on and off but manages to engage more than that might initially suggest. Enjoyably clever. 4/5.

Notes On Film 04: Intermezzo

Chaplain pratfalls to a background of heavy metal and bright editing. Oddly entertaining and a real wake-up call for first screening on a Saturday morning. 4/5.

Return

Shay returns to try to live with his family after a psychotic episode. Tense and quite touching. 3/5.

Rain

It seemed that almost all of the BIFF shorts this year had great amounts of ambiguity; a predilection to be so vague they didn't bother to tell a story. Rain is one such film, so ambiguous you really can't connect with anything, eventually petering out whilst saying little. 2/5.

A Marriage

Gruff Scandanavian gets beautiful Russian wife and hilariously miss-matched comedy ensues? Not quite. It's not only the protagonist who seems unable to laugh at the situation. 2/5.

Dangerous Light

Lightsaber battles from various Star Wars film with the background taken down to dull levels and the weapons accentuated. Playful but doesn't offer very much and the technique isn't perfect. 2/5.

A Day Or Two

Another grim ambiguous one, this time possibly about relationship breakdowns and how they effect children. Some of it takes place in flashback, some of it on a farm, most of it is deeply disinteresting. 2/5.

Bellum

Has something to say about the war on terror but not entirely sure what. Passingly interesting but no more than that. Too long for the amount of plot it has. 2/5.

Tic Tac

Silent black and white footage of youths jumping around walls, some of which happens off screen. Did nothing for me, mainly because it does nothing, full stop. 1/5.

Film/Spricht/Viele/Sprachen

Annoying advertisement for a film festival with subliminal messages doing their best to give you a crushing headache. Saw it three times? Four times? It didn't get any better. 1/5.

An der schoenen Blauen Donau

A man plays a piano with his crotch. Unlikely to win Oscars. 1/5.

Habitat

An industrial soundtrack and merged together shots of buildings. If it looked pretty, or even interesting, it could be an art exhibit, but it doesn't, so I'm really not sure what you're left with. 1/5.

Four Hours Barefoot

Man commits a murder then wanders around for... well, you get it. Very dull. Won the short film award. 1/5.

A to A

A 3D film about roundabouts. Indescribably boring. 1/5.

Out Of Frame

Shots of empty Greek billboards during a ban on advertising purport to say something about the nation's economy. Perhaps would have been better as a photographic gallery exhibit. Unexciting as any length of film. 1/5.

Mothlight

Stan Brakhage makes films by physically altering the negative. This is one of them but screening it separately to the rest of his short collection perhaps means it loses something in translation. I'm unwilling to write him off but also didn't see enough of his vast array of works to make a judgement. I also missed Dog Star Man, which is apparently his masterpiece. N/A.

Rage Net

Another Brakhage short. N/A.

Trouble With The Curve - Blu-ray Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Wed, 08 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Charmer Justin Timberlake wanders in from a different film altogether, takes his clothes off and jumps into a lake, presumably because that's what happens in Rom-Coms, which this is not.'

Trouble With The Curve once again sees Clint Eastwood, here as baseball scout Gus, trying to escape the problems associated with old age, most notably and worryingly, the apparent need to wear trousers with a waist that culminates just below one's chin. It's a role Eastwood has done numerous times before, especially in the last decade or so, and, though there is some fun still to be had watching him grumble like a Ford GTO through another turn as a grim-faced geriatric, the 'I'm-old-and-I-hate-it-and-everyone' shtick is starting to get tired for many, me included.

What else then does this latest bout of Grumblewood indulgence offer the masses? Amy Adams, for one. A brilliantly written role screenwriter Randy Brown should be proud of, Gus' daughter Mickey (Adams) is a refreshing cliché-free breeze of anti-Rom Com characterisation and intriguing thought-through development, held in sway by Adams, who here gives Mickey warmth and humanisation, as well as the clinical detachment her character calls for. Sound like those two things can't operate together? That's kind of the point. Mickey is a high-flying lawyer with a frosty relationship with Gus, unwilling to commit to serious relationships with the men in her life, but also used to handling them, used to putting in to practice lessons learnt through many days on the road with her father. Perhaps that doesn't sound immediately attractive, but it works. Mickey is as believable a character as Trouble With The Curve has to offer, proving intriguing and unpredictable throughout and lighting the film up whenever the focus is allowed to switch to her.

The other main interest in the film comes from a baseball perspective and in pairing it with Moneyball. Where the latter argued for clinical statistical analysis, Trouble With The Curve takes that film's 'how can you not get romantic about baseball?' line as its starting point and goes from there. Young gun Matthew Lillard may have all of the ideas and the computers at his disposal, but he doesn't have the love for the game that Gus and Mickey have. Where in Moneyball, Lillard's character would have won by proving that OBP matters more than the sound of the ball off the bat, Trouble With The Curve presents the alternative position.

Mickey and baseball philosophy then provide what is otherwise a distinctly average offering with some through-lines worth following but look elsewhere and things begin to take a turn for the less interesting and less interested. There's never been an actor more on autopilot for an entire film than Robert Patrick in this. Constantly staring into the middle distance, occasionally raising an eyebrow, when he does open his mouth he out-grumbles Grumblewood. There's clinical detachment and then there's actually being asleep. Charmer Justin Timberlake wanders in from a different film altogether, takes his clothes off and jumps into a lake, presumably because that's what happens in Rom-Coms, which this is not.

More seriously to the film's prospects of getting somewhere, there never feels like there's much weight resting on Gus' decisions, given that he's scouting an anonymous fictional slugger named Bo Gentry (Joe Massingill). Move the film back a few years, reverse the roles of whether Gus likes the kid or not and call him Chipper Jones and you've got yourselves a decision worth investing in. Director Robert Lorenz also miss-handles a subplot regarding potential child abuse, which ends up feeling like an afterthought, something which such an issue never should.

Trouble With The Curve is out on UK DVD and Blu-ray on 20th May 2013.

BIFF 2013 - Pincus - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Tue, 07 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Pincus hooks up with yoga instructor Anna and, in a bid to win her affections, subjects his Dad to all manner of hippie treatments, the most hilarious one involving being viciously blasted by a didgeridoo'

The delightfully dry Pincus (David Nordstrom) tells the tale of the titular oddly named gentleman and his Parkinson's suffering father (Paul Fenster) as they attempt to co-exist in the condo-disguised wilderness of Florida.

David Fenster's film has a new-age beat to it, as Pincus hooks up with yoga instructor Anna (Christi Idavoy) and, in a bid to win her affections, subjects his Dad to all manner of hippie treatments, the most hilarious one involving being viciously blasted by a didgeridoo. That these appear to have little impact suggests a cynicism in Fenster's film, but it never manifests itself viciously so and it is fairly difficult to dislike Anna, despite her floaty ideologies.

Whilst dodging incense and psychics, Pincus attempts to keep the family building business afloat with a mixture of ineptitude, apathy and the philosophical wisdom of German assistant Dietmar (Dietmar Franusch). From this Fenster's film builds its subtextual ideas of running away from illness as a solution: literally, it is suggested late on, burying one's head in a hole and hoping it all goes away might well be some sort of answer.

The script, also by Fenster, fails to produce plotting that is anything other than anecdotal but the dialogue is lilting, pleasant and frequently humorous, whilst the glib one-liners prove satisfying.

The only surprise perhaps is that this seems to have fairly little to say on illness, beyond the aforementioned nod towards ignoring it. With a central plot ringed around how both Pincus and his father are dealing with the latter's condition, the subtext goes fairly drastically missing and Fenster increasingly searches out distraction in the wildly outlandish. This reaches a head when Pincus and Anna find themselves in a weird Native American-themed photo shoot by a glamour photographer, which has little to do with the plot and isn't as funny as the more gentle comedy elsewhere.

This is though very accomplished Indie-Comedy, a gentle look at living your life in the grip of illness; whether that be yours or a loved one.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - This Ain't California - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Mon, 06 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'With the narrative punctuated by interjections by a former Stasi agent, thoughts turn to just how much it is possible to achieve with a plank of wood and some wheels.'

Much of the conversation surrounding This Ain't California seems to be focused on just how much of the documentary director Marten Persiel has faked. When the film is this good though, the answer almost doesn't matter. This Ain't California is a sometimes-thrilling, occasionally moving depiction of life behind the iron curtain on the East side of Berlin in the 1970s and how a band of skaters found little ways to subvert the dominating control of the state.

It's also much more. As Persiel opens on the funeral of Panik, one of the documentary's protagonists but reportedly a completely fictionalised person, he tells a biographical tale which starts with violence, passes through rebellion and ends in death in Afghanistan. It's a very human story, a warm look at a character who went through a rebellious streak that was less pointless, more influential, but eventually abandoned his sub-culture roots to become part of the military machine. His story is illustrated by elongated interviews with skaters from the time, now comfortably settled into various middle-aged lives, any of whom could essentially 'be' Panik. To say the character isn't real is only to consider Persiel's narrative at farcical levels of literalism.

With the narrative punctuated by interjections by a former Stasi agent, thoughts turn to just how much it is possible to achieve with a plank of wood and some wheels. A surprising amount, comes the answer. The group's real successes eventually come about due to their joining of forces with their Western counterparts, better equipped and free to move around. United by a love of the sport, the resistance of oppressive forces through a sub-culture is a virulent tale, with plenty to say about the spirit of the East Germans, albeit led by a fictional figurehead.

In the end, Persiel's ninety-minutes feel perhaps a bit too long and his creation of a 'funeral' for Panik does feel like a step too far, although it does, I suppose, hold the position of representing the metaphorical death of the movement. In truth though, the persona of the skaters of East Berlin died out long before, since subsumed into comfortable, unified middle-age. That This Ain't California chooses to remember this through the medium of a long lost fable somehow feels appropriate.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

Trailer Of The Week - Week #19 - BIFF: The Last Dogs Of Winter

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sun, 05 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

The BIFF coverage finally wraps up this week so Trailer Of The Week celebrates the best film of the festival, The Last Dogs Of Winter, a remarkable documentary featuring some amazing footage of polar bears and Qimmiq, a near-extinct breed of Eskimo dog. The trailer builds in some un-necessarily pulsing music but it still gets the point across well. Seek this out for a viewing.

BIFF 2013 - Cargo 200 - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sat, 04 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

'a tautly plotted, interwoven Thriller, sporting one of the most depraved villains of all time'

Aleksey Balabanov's demented Cargo 200 proves to be a tautly plotted, interwoven Thriller, sporting one of the most depraved villains of all time. Captain Zhurov (Aleksei Poluyan) is introduced to us staring blankly through a window on an illegal vodka farm, as the plot fools us into thinking it is interested in Artem (Leonid Gromov) and his journey to see his Mother. Just one of several slight of hands, it is Zhurov that this film is mainly interested in, a police captain with a sideline in kidnap, rape and murder.

Over the course of Cargo 200, Zhurov's blank-faced mania is employed to stunning effect, as kidnap victim Angelika (Agniya Kuznetsova) is introduced to one of his detainees, left alone with his mother and eventually shown in no uncertain terms just why her fiancée will not be coming to save her. It's grim watching, but there is a morbid delight here in seeing just how far Zhurov will go, arguably further than any on-screen villain has been allowed to, if immediate memory serves.

Whilst Balabanov's twisting plot might, at face value, seem well-managed it is actually its balancing that proves to be Cargo 200's main stumbling point. Artem is unceremoniously dropped the minute he becomes less interesting than other characters and several others (Artem's brother) appear only to facilitate forward movement elsewhere. Balabanov clearly wants to keep you off balance, and he does, but there is something unsatisfying at constantly being pointed in a new direction, frequently one which you feel you have been manipulated towards.

It's also, despite all of the plot movement, oddly dull on occasions, particularly whenever Zhurov goes off screen for any extended time. The dour Soviet setting has little exciting going for it and the pace can slow to a huge crawl as much vodka is supped by the protagonists.

That isn't to say Cargo 200 isn't hugely fun in its own odd way, especially for those bored by Hollywood villains who aren't all that villainous, but its grimness stifles it sometimes on several levels and it relies on Zhurov greatly.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - Magpie - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Fri, 03 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

'Price's film sets up a potentially exciting plot which breaks free from the smoke-stained walls of traditional whiskey-swilling social realism'

The first third or so of Marc Price's Magpie proves to be a wonderful examination of just how inadequate funerals are as methods of saying goodbye to loved ones. As absent father Tony (Craig Russell) turns up to his young son's wake, the realisation hits home and in a shock of alcohol-fuelled realisation, Tony absconds with the coffin. In the section, which lasts around twenty-minutes, Price's film has set up a potentially exciting plot as well as broken free from the smoke-stained walls of traditional whiskey-swilling social realism. It's a dynamic opening which should set Magpie on the road to grim acts of emotional cleansing.

The problem is that the further away from Tony's madcap escape the film gets, the more uninteresting it becomes. Comedy sidekick Phil (Phil Deguara) is allowed to take far too much of the focus and, eventually, Craig's (Alastair Kirton) hinted-at problems seem to hold as much import on the plot as Tony's. There are little flashes of the much more interesting version of Magpie, where Tony is forced to confront his absenteeism and alcoholism and some sort of equilibrium is reached with his son's mother Emily (Daisy Aitkens), who not so secretly seems to be quite glad the group have ended up on this morbid road trip.

Instead, Phil's comedic inclinations take hold, the lads have a laddish night in a pub with Emily left in the car and the meaningful aspects of the plot get increasingly lost. The finale seems to reference Children Of Men, a really heady film to nod to, and though the ideas of fatherly protection are present, it seems an odd one to call to mind; Science-Fiction dystopia versus wannabe New Wave social realism.

The performances all come out of what is at times a plotting black hole looking at least fairly good. Aitkens is excellent as a conflicted key component of the main band, whilst Deguara stays just the right side of comically annoying - a fair feat by Price in his direction, given how keen to talk and joke Deguara naturally appears to be, on evidence of the post-screening Q&A. Kirton is less convincing but gets the worst part: a character apparently designed to take your focus away from the more interesting story, whilst Russell's broken every-man is sometimes a bit weedy.

There's some moribund goodness here but anything that's not in the first third is too lacking in relevant narrative drive to be fully memorable.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - Nor'easter - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Thu, 02 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'It can be read as a fairly obvious allegory; with faith shaken in general, quite how can the church go about rebuilding it?'

Andrew Brotzman's Nor'easter is attractively shot, with a moody plot that goes places slowly and with purpose, pausing along the way to consider religion, betrayal and location.

On the microcosm of an island in America's snowy north, a priest (David Call) wrestles with a township who's faith has been shattered by the acts of the former holder of his post. It can be read as a fairly obvious allegory; with faith shaken in general, quite how can the church go about rebuilding it? As the plot proceeds towards the middle the allegory gets more obvious, though the plot never quite manages it as well as you perhaps think it could.

Re-establishing faith on the back of a significant event but then pushed well and truly into the mire, Erik (Call) initially rejects a call to action as the obvious response but, slowly, as the machinations of the plot take hold, he is dragged into taking a proactive approach to taking care of his flock. The conclusion this leads to, as Erik comes into conflict with parishioners and authority figures, suggests Brotzman's message as a cautionary one: involve religion too greatly and problems may ensue, which doesn't quite live in harmony with the allegorical first two thirds.

That this happens in permanent snowy situ is one of the film's greatest strengths. Ian Bloom's blue-and-white friendly cinematography lends the whole thing an otherworldly feel, as Erik gets further and further lost in the landscape. Some hints towards horror (where exactly has Josh (Liam Aiken) disappeared to and why can no-one find him?) are made possible almost solely by the bleakness and sense of place the film creates.

The big problem hiding beneath or beyond the muddled subtext and the surface-level beauty proves to be the performances, which are frequently so bad they actively detract from what's going on. Call, who looks distractingly like Henry Cavill, is no better than fine and although Aiken is decent, beyond that the support is weak, with Richard Bekins in particular struggling noticeably. It eventually undermines the authentic Northern Noir atmosphere Brotzman has clearly worked towards, though there are clear signs here that something good awaits.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - 1913 Massacre - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Wed, 01 May 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'The actual events of the day seem destined to be hidden forever, woven deep into the stories people have taken refuge in repeating and believing.'

Slight of runtime, it's surprising just how many interesting themes and ideas Louis Galdieri and Ken Ross' documentary manages to consider during its sixty-six minutes. Centring around the town of Calumet in Northern Michigan, Galdieri and Ross' film ostensibly tells the depressing history of a 1913 tragedy where a stampede, started by a fake cry of 'fire', led to the deaths of seventy-three people.

With this as the backdrop, 1913 Massacre considers ideas around the notion of stories; specifically their power and their usefulness in our daily lies. Time and time again the directors talk to people who insist the site of the massacre had doors which opened inwards, making it impossible for the crush of people against them to make their escape. Yet pictorial evidence suggests the contrary was actually true. A woman who seems to have knowledge of the tragedy suggests she'll never reveal how it actually came about, instead sticking to well-trodden lines. The actual events of the day seem destined to be hidden forever, woven deep into the stories people have taken refuge in repeating and believing.

A further layer is added to this by the presence of the titular Woody Guthrie song, which relates the story of the tragedy into popular culture. Returning to the town, Woody's son Arlo performs the song at the local town hall and the documentary makers examine its effect on the locals. Again, the impact of stories is shown in a mixed light; tears are shed during the concert but some town residents question both its impact on the community and its factual validity.

The film eventually reaches a powerful emotional zenith, as Guthrie recounts his interactions with the people of the town. The heart then is here, provided by numerous interviews and the testimony of the singer. What's lacking is perhaps some additional insight behind everything. There's a noticeable absence of resolution, with the memorial already erected and the events long since past, 1913 Massacre lends itself to the notion of a revisit in search of answers. The lack of them doesn't leave the film empty by any means, but it does create a noticeable hole the directors struggle to fill in alternative ways.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - Babylon - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

Babylon clearly trades significantly on its opening declaration that 'the directors have elected not to resort to subtitles'. Shot in a Tunisian refugee camp, where a mixture of Arabic, French, English, Bangladeshi and many other languages can be heard, the presence of the word 'resort' in that sentence seems to suggest that the directors consider subtitles an unnecessary burden; a hindering weight on audiences' ability to read films. Pre-titles explaining their absence though, appear to be OK.

Whilst Babylon seems keen for us to discus its party political decision on subtitles, that choice actually holds little sway over the quality of the film. Meandering through the camp, very occasionally stopping to ask questions of the residents, the three directors (Ismael, Youssef Chebbi and Ala Eddine Slim) paint an ill-focused picture. No individual is followed to a significant extent, few narrative threads are found; the film plays as a video document of the camp, rather than a documentary.

That state of being touches on questions of ambiguity which have followed many of the films on this year's BIFF programme. Whilst not as aimless as something like Travelling Light, Babylon does struggle to justify why it is not merely newsreel footage, awaiting a significant edit. In fact, with multiple images of press photographers clamouring around the director's camera for their own shots, the news is exactly where most of this belongs. The lack of subtitles would not seem so noteworthy if Huw Edwards were there to contextualise the visuals.

Documentary has become a pretty broad genre and for good reason. Film-makers operating within it know they cannot now merely afford to shoot just talking heads in studios. But Babylon finds a new problem, a problem similarly found in the aforementioned Travelling Light and An Anthropological Television Myth; namely the problem of not doing enough with the footage you collect.

The three auteurs present their collected record here with so little guidance, so much lack of interest in following narratives, story, polemics or history, that when events do happen - what looks like a near-riot late on - it becomes hard to care about the particulars, so unfamiliar are the players and situations.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - Travelling Light - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'I like ham, for example. Would I be able to film fifty-seven minutes of staring at various hams and then go on to call it a film? I somehow doubt it. Passion is expressed through film often but rarely in this way. There's a reason for that.'

As reviews of An Anthropological Televison Myth and, to a lesser extent, Babylon and Citadel, will also attest; BIFF has had a love affair this year with abstract documentaries (and shorts, but that's another story). These set of three are all guilty to some extent or another but Travelling Light has the dubious honour of being the film that finally frayed my patience with the sub-genre. No matter how you cut it, I just cannot see a positive argument for a film composed almost entirely of looking out of a train window.

Shot on a train journey from Penn Station to Pittsburgh, Travelling Light has a stated passion for the railroad. On this logic you can understand the thought process behind pointing a camera at a window and recording your revered view but take said logic a few steps further and things become a little hazy. I like ham, for example. Would I be able to film fifty-seven minutes of staring at various hams and then go on to call it a film? I somehow doubt it. Passion is expressed through film often but rarely in this way. There's a reason for that.

A documentary should be many things but amongst them you can commonly list; educational, entertaining, enlightening and revealing. Travelling Light is none of those things. We've all been on a train at some point and most of us, I would suggest, probably still quite like them, at least in a functional way. I am unconvinced of the need then for Travelling Light's attempts to remind us just how 'great' a train journey can be and if that need is there, this is not the way to do it.

Now, search hard enough and you can find positive spins on Travelling Light, noticeably this piece. The only evidence to the contrary I can offer, aside from my own opinion, is the reaction of the BIFF audience. Of twenty-four people in attendance, there were four walkouts (the highest I saw at any screening), two different individuals were noticeably asleep at some point, whilst two more were so un-engaged they had their mobile phones out, rare for a BIFF audience. My personal tipping point was the moment where the camera operator can be heard declaring yet another shot of the train window as 'oh my God, look at that, that looks awesome', at which point presumably he was gazing so much up his own navel that he promptly disappeared into it.

At another point we see a man, sitting on the train, singing softly to himself. I assumed this was because he was bored by the innate dullness of his journey. I heartily sympathised. The end was a personal mercy. Had it not arrived when it did I may have been forced to commit seppuku with my bic.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - La Playa D.C. - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Brushes with young hoodlums, low-ladder bottom-dwellers, shows them to be exactly that. There's no glamour in the illegality here, nothing pretty.'

Juan Andrés Arango Garcia's first feature, La Playa D.C. heralds the arrival of both a new visually skilful director and one who has already at least partially mastered the necessaries for telling a brave story. Where other down-and-out tales would focus on criminality, descending into a gangster-led land of glamorised criminality, Garcia's greatest strength is his ability to step past all of this and instead find a very human story, amongst lives of crime and lack of privilege.

Anchored by the performance of Luis Carlos Guevara, La Playa D.C. also stands out by just how naturalistic Garcia's actors appear. Tomas (Guevara) has the right level of blank-faced every-man energy to identify with, whilst brother Chaco (Jamés Solís) bounces with much louder costuming. Solís, in fact, turns in the best performance. A reluctant helper in Tomas' quest to save younger brother Jairo (Andrés Murillo) from the drug dealer he is indebted to, Chaco's selfish streak sees him form into a roguish anti-hero, a nice antidote to Tomas straight-laced honesty.

Whilst character forms the backbone, Garcia's content is what is more refreshing. Brushes with young hoodlums, low-ladder bottom-dwellers, shows them to be exactly that. There's no glamour in the illegality here, nothing pretty. By contrast, Tomas natural skill with drawing, which leads him into a straight-laced job styling ornate designs into Bogota-resident's hair, shows where his future could lead. In any other film, resigned to consign the inner city youth to drugs and gangstering, the opportunities Tomas has would be taken away, but La Playa D.C. decides to at least hint at positivity, come its closing frames.

There are some errors here, mainly of a story-led variety. Tomas briefly starts a relationship with a girl from a neighbouring hair salon, and for a time it provides warm distraction from the main plot. They don't spend enough time together, however, and she is quickly dumped by the plot and, apparently, Tomas for the sake of the brotherly love plot. The background too, involving something to do with guerrilla warfare and the brother's father, is muddle and unclear. Elsewhere though, this is a strong offering and an exciting premise to what Garcia might offer in the future.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - Citadel and An Anthropological Television Myth - Cinema Reviews

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'the inmates of San Pedro jail in La Paz, Bolivia, exist in an odd neverworld they cannot escape from. They can, however, nip round the corner to enjoy a home cooked meal at the local cafe.'

Screening together, Diego Mondaca's Citadel and An Anthropological Television Myth (co-directed by Alessandro Gagliardo, Maria Helene Bertino and Dario Castelli) are also worth considering together, in order to show exactly just what can go right and wrong when documentaries go for the extremely abstract.

The good, represented by Citadel, is an extremely potent sense of place, situation and distinctly odd confinement. Imprisoned in a penitentiary that's more local village than Cell Block H, the inmates of San Pedro jail in La Paz, Bolivia, exist in an odd neverworld they cannot escape from. They can, however, nip round the corner to enjoy a home cooked meal at the local cafe. Football tournaments are played in the square, prisoners build and sell model cars to other prisoners to fund their evening meals, family members without sentences come and go to support their loved ones. It's bizarre but also quite beautifully realised by Mondaca, who presents the scene without self-comment and with but a few words from the inmates.

There are problems with Citadel too, mainly stemming from the fact that it presents San Pedro as an idyll, where clearly there must be harsh realities to living there, but these problems are but a fancy when compared to Television Myth.

The Italian film takes footage from a independent Sicilian TV station that operated in the mid-1990s and... does absolutely nothing with it. There's no order, no consistency of message, no recognisable anthropological study. Comments on the mafia are posted next to news of a child killed in a fall, silent footage of a funeral screens next to ultra-exciting content of a T-junction. Someone has done some great research here and found some absolutely killer background footage, which could form the backbone to A History Of Sicily or The Sicilian Mafia In The 1990s. Instead it's all dumped here - anonymous, abstract, functionless - with little to tell. Three directors worked on this film. It is impossible to tell what any of them did.

The two films both, to some extent, show the dangers of documentaries that have such a desire not to lead their audience by the hand that they actually don't bother to lead their audience anywhere. Citadel captures such an interesting subject that its inadequacies aren't foregrounded but Television Myth is so bleakly uninteresting (unless you lived in Sicily, circa-1993) that it makes you pine for talking heads and Alan Yentob.

Citadel

An Anthropological Television Myth

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

Alex Cross - Blu-ray Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Perry's transformation to badass killing machine has all of the authenticity of Howard The Duck doing likewise'

For those of us who are rather fond of the Morgan Freeman Alex Cross films, Kiss The Girls and Along Came A Spider, it would be convenient for Alex Cross to be utterly awful and without merit. This is a different take on the source material to the Freeman films, a less cerebral adaptation where Cross himself is dumbed down to be less super-smart boffin, more action-man incarnate, with Tyler Perry swanning smugly along in the lead. It is, even before you've seen it, an easy film to hate.

It feels strange then to be reporting disappointment that Alex Cross isn't awful. Despite the ill-wishes towards it by many, for varying reasons, Rob Cohen's film simply is not completely without merit. Ignoring all around it, ignoring that even this adaptation would have been better with original role incumbent Idris Elba, ignoring how good a final Freeman version could have been; Alex Cross survives on its own limited merits. This is a poor action film, and then some, but one featuring no redeeming features? That would be doing Matthew Fox a huge disservice.

Playing a clever, vicious antagonist to Perry's bulked policeman, Fox is as transformed as Christian Bale in The Machinist. A combination of slimmed-down weight and bulked-up muscle, he cuts a violent figure, stalking scenes with a convincingly cold grimace. It's a lesson for any actor in just how different a screen presence can be achieved with drastic alterations in body mass.

Shame that Fox went to so much trouble for a film that is still, all of the above considered, well under par when compared to better offerings in the franchise's new Action genre home. Roughly dividing into two halves, the first sees Fox stalking whomever he chooses whilst the second has Perry and partner Ed Burns chasing him. If that seems simplistic then that's because it is. There's no depth here; of character or otherwise, and by the time the final, final, paper thin reveal comes, you won't care why everyone was really trying to kill everyone else, nor be given reason to.

Perry's Cross is smarmy enough to stop a severely injured woman in the first handful of scenes, just so she can tell him how wonderful he is, whilst his transformation to badass killing machine later on has all of the authenticity of Howard The Duck doing likewise. Rent-a-sidekick specialist Norton gets nothing and shows no desire to do more and Marc Moss and Kerry Williamson's script goes into cliché overdrive about halfway through, including the millionth time a policeman has been offered a drink whilst on duty and refused because, erm, he's on duty.

If it were just another poor action film, Alex Cross would be a sad enough experience to beholden, despite the interest generated by Fox. It's not though, it's a new entry in what used to be a clever franchise and this is a worrying new trend for Hollywood, whose mantra here is to take an intelligent character and then go out of their way to make him dumber.

Alex Cross is released on UK Blu-ray and DVD on Monday 6th May 2013.

BIFF 2013 - Much Ado About Nothing - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'Whedon is on form here, clearly in touch with the material, playing up its camp side whilst grounding much of its slapstick-friendly comedy with contemporary references to stars you like.'

Much Ado About Nothing is a very hard Shakespeare play to ruin. Take a look at Kenneth Branagh's 1993 version. It does nothing spectacular, keeps the dialogue, the setting and the balance and ends up a remarkably light, eminently funny production. More than that, it is actually excellent, one of the best Shakespeare adaptations ever completed and much of that is down to the original play, which is an absolutely wonderful, non-dry delight of a comedy.

By contrast, film history is littered by unsuccessful bard adaptations that tinker too much with setting, script or character, with Julie Taymor's The Tempest being a notable recent example.

Into that mixture of an un-ruinable play, enter Joss Whedon, who promptly moves the setting to contemporary L.A. and therefore makes it ruinable again. If ever a film could go to one extreme either way, this is it.

Happily, Whedon is on form here, clearly in touch with the material, playing up its camp side whilst grounding much of its slapstick-friendly comedy with contemporary references to stars you like. Nathan Fillion declares himself an ass more times than you can count and each time is hilarious. Clark Gregg is moodily patriarchal, with an attractive streak of alcoholism and he plays nicely against the less recognisable but equally fun Reed Diamond, who is perfectly cast and has to go through every Shakespearean emotion going.

Whedon's decision to shoot this in his house over the course of less than two weeks also plays into the hands of the material. Just like Branagh, Whedon knows he need not do much here. Insert some visual gags, keep things simple: deliver a hit. He does and it is.

Even in a production this modern though, there is no getting around what occasionally can be construed as for-stage tweeness. Like an episode of Eastenders, someone who shouldn't be is always listening in to someone, somewhere. On stage you can believe it, in Branagh you can believe it; here, with Amy Acker hiding beneath a breakfast bar listening to two other characters talk, it's stretching it.

Acker though - faultlessly charming - and fellow reluctant lover Alexis Denisof ensure this is a successful take, with warmth and the kind of generosity to each other that the source encourages. This is still, currently, un-ruinable, at least until the next time someone attempts to move it hundreds of years into the future and across a continent or two.

Much Ado About Nothing is on general UK release from 14th June 2013.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.

BIFF 2013 - I Have Always Been A Dreamer - Cinema Review

noreply@blogger.com (Film Intel) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

'The people interviewed feel like they should have something interesting to tell but their stories tend towards the meaninglessly anecdotal.'

Sabine Gruffat's I Have Always Been A Dreamer has the look of a film produced by a film-maker who will go on to do great things. Gruffat's documentary, which loosely ties together the fates of Detroit and Dubai, has some interesting photography, a pleasant inclination not to overburden the viewer with heavy narrative explanation and, most importantly of all, Gruffat herself, who proves an engaging and intelligent presence whenever she speaks or appears on screen.

Somewhere though I Have Always Been A Dreamer fails to engage. At seventy-eight minutes it's actually short, yet it feels like it's twice that. The central conceit should make for a potent opinionated piece, yet it never really convinces enough to engage. The people interviewed feel like they should have something interesting to tell but their stories tend towards the meaninglessly anecdotal.

It's an odd mix, occasionally made odder by Gruffat's predilection for presenting onerous shots of passing buildings, apparently filmed from a car window. Whilst the images provide the visual parallel between the two cities - each, Gruffat argues, at differing stages of the same arc of decline - they don't really offer much by way of excitement or engagement. They rather appear like a curiously boring tourist video, ignoring the hotspots and focusing on blank facades. Perhaps that's part of the point but, either way, it's not great to look at.

Then there are the interviews. Each subject is forced to stand in front of the camera as Gruffat takes their portrait. For some reason, she keeps each one there for just long enough that they start to feel awkward. It's a weird conceit, not linked at all to the message in her film. The detached narratives they provide whilst this happens are dreamlike and occasionally pleasantly lilting but too often, they offer little.

That also goes for Gruffat's argument which, though a nice and probably at least partially accurate idea, never receives the backing of concrete data or extended focused argument. The owner of a barbershop-cum-museum in Detroit no doubt has some unique memories, but does he contribute much to our understanding of how his city parallels Dubai? Not really.

Promising and occasionally intriguing but also far too dull. It would be fantastic to look back on this after Gruffat's next film and point out all of the good elements she took on to become great things.

The 19th Bradford International Film Festival ran from 11th to 21st April 2013 at the National Media Museum and other venues near to the city.