Celludroid [2012]

As master plans go, it’s certainly an ambitious one. After steadily regaining the production and distribution rights to its own properties, Marvel Studios’ super-sized gambit has finally come into fruition and has promptly set about laying waste to multiplexes the world over. Despite a somewhat clunky UK title, Avengers Assemble is the culmination of over 4 years steady ground work by the entertainment colossus, and as such can honestly be considered one of the most ambitious (not to mention risky) undertakings in recent cinematic memory. If it bombed, it ran the risk of not only inciting the boundless wrath of its fiercely loyal fan base, but also of singlehandedly liquidating any credibility and momentum that Marvel has earnestly sought to build from the ground up. No pressure then. 

In director Joss Whedon, Marvel head honcho Kevin Feige could not have entrusted such a huge gamble to more well suited pair of hands. It’s for this very reason that Avengers Assemble succeeds in not only achieving its already achingly vast aspirations, but almost utterly obliterates them in a gleeful wave of unadulterated carnage and razor sharp panache. First hinted at in the post-credits scenes of Thor and more widely used for dastardly ends by Hugo Weaving’s Red Skull in Captain America: The First Avenger, its once again ‘blue-glowing-cube-of-doom’ the Tesseract that serves as the engine of timely war this time around, controlled by a wryly unhinged Loki (Tom Hiddleston on excellent form), last seen plummeting into a celestial abyss in Thor.

With the untold might of an intergalactic army behind him (you’ll find no spoilers here), Loki finally forces  Nick Fury’s (Samuel L. Jackson) hand in engaging a certain initiative first threatened in 2008’s Iron Man. As expected from Whedon, the man responsible for birthing Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Firefly and its sister film Serenity, a lot of the joy can be found in the wonderfully well judged interplay between its central super squad. The heart and soul of Marvels master plan was always going to have to be about exploring how such a disparate collection of planet-sized egos and city-levelling powers find a way to co-exist long enough to win the day. Thankfully Joss Whedon provides an answer: very, very badly. And painfully. 

Whether it be Chris Evans’ Captain (far better used than in his solo effort) plugging a heady mix of man-out-of-time comic shtick and shield-flinging derring-do, Chris Hemsworth’s cod-Shakespearean Thor (hilariously forsooth-ing his way into battle before laying waste to pretty much everything) or Robert Downey Jr’s ever droll Tony Stark managing to simultaneously piss off everyone whilst still pulling off being an intensely likeable man of iron, the key word here is friction. And Whedon is more than capable enough to know that this is where the real fun is. That and providing almost incomprehensible volumes of slickly delivered ass-whoopings of course.  

This, naturally, leaves us with the Hulk in the room. Much has been made of Mark Ruffalo’s inheritance of the role of one Bruce Banner (itself passed on to Edward Norton from Eric Bana) and it’s a subject that has left many a fan wondering quite how Whedon was planning on implementing such a notoriously complex and awkward character. Thankfully, it’s a turn that is quite frankly leagues ahead of what anyone could have hoped for. Ruffalo promised a far more accessible interpretation of both Dr. Banner and his big, green alter ego, and whilst this is very much true, Ruffalo doesn’t skimp on either the deep seated vulnerability or tortured humour that makes the character so appealing in the first place. 

Any potential issues of how the Hulk’s obviously over-powered talents would slot in with the more reigned in capabilities (relatively speaking) of his cohorts are answered in a series of confrontations that range from the inspired to the pant-fillingly funny. Jeremy Renner’s Clint Barton (AKA master archer, Hawkeye) and Scarlett Johansson’s Agent Natasha Romanoff are both excellent in supporting roles that both ground the team on a much more mortal level and whose friendship provides the backdrop for a much darker plot tangent. Hell, even Clark Gregg’s Agent Coulson even manages to grab a few precious moments in the spotlight. Was Avengers Assemble ever going to be recognised as one of cinemas greatest triumphs? Of course not, but quite simply this is what happens when a great idea is bettered by even greater execution. Relentlessly entertaining, unbelievably well made and astonishingly focused, this is as good as you were hoping for and then some. 

Verdict – Quite simply, excellent. Whedon pulls off the unenviable job of moulding what should have been a big, loud mess into something that positively oozes charm and confidence. Imitators take note: this is how it’s done. 5/5

TD

It seems that ‘young adults’, or ‘teenagers’ as they were known way back when, certainly aren’t wanting in terms of output these days. Love it or loathe it, the unflappable Twilight series is finally creaking its way toward retirement, and with it comes a golden opportunity for a fledgling franchise to take up the mantle in the hope that it can lure away a veritable bevy of those nubile box office takings. As such it is difficult for the more cautious viewer to not simply dismiss Gary Ross’ The Hunger Games as the just the next in a long (long, long) line of fictional teen-baiting adaptations that really don’t serve as anything more than a cynical excuse to shift a few t-shirts to distraught twi-hards. It’s a feeling that shows no sign of abating once you know the set up, an apparently derivative exercise that neither tantalises nor offers up any overt appeal to any filmmaker not just out make a few quid.

Keeping to the same core plot as Suzanne Collins’ source novel, The Hunger Games is a deceptively tepid amalgamation of Nineteen Eighty-Four and The Running Man by way of Koushun Takami’s Battle Royale. Once every year, each of the twelve districts of Panem, once North America, must offer up both a male and female ‘tribute’, aged twelve to eighteen, in penance for a rebellion that was crushed by the wealthy Capitol 74 years ago. These tributes must then shoot, stab, throttle, pound and throw genetically engineered insects (don’t ask) at one another until only one remains in battle to the death. It doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence when the opening 30 minutes are rendered almost unwatchable thanks to some gloriously inept camera work that veers and judders around as if strapped to the head of a particularly excitable terrier. A shame because it detracts from Jennifer Lawrence’s fine central role and effectively mutes any semblance of emotional heft.

Showing that early praise for work on Winter’s Bone was well judged, Lawrence’s Katniss Everdeen, whilst not exactly an exceptionally standout performance, is stoically convincing enough to carry much of the film and certainly interesting enough for you to care what happens to her.  Once the action shifts to the monolithic Capitol, an early undertone of something very sinister, only hinted at by Elizabeth Banks’ jester-like Effie Trinket, unfurls into a full blown circus of horrific excess and grotesque decadence. Citizens here are nightmarish mannequins heaped with hideously lavish fashions whilst displaying a debauched gluttony somehow at odds with their oppressively totalitarian surroundings. It’s a striking image of societal decay that could have easily been comical, here it’s strangely chilling. Scenes of the tributes training for the games are some of the most effective, at once being prepared to murder one another whilst also being preened and showcased to within an inch of their young lives by fawning audiences, ratings obsessed TV execs and passively homicidal game show hosts.

Once Katniss and co actually set about the business of hunting one another down however, it’s sadly all a bit much for director Ross who clearly has no idea how to capture action effectively, gritty, glossy or otherwise. The pacing is sluggish at best, and when tributes do bite the dust, it’s skipped over so lightly and the violence euthanized so readily that you barely have time to register who exactly has just been sent to the big district in the sky, never mind mourn your favourite killer. Not that you’ll be doing a lot of mourning mind, seeing as though twenty two of the twenty four participants are sidelined as largely unmemorable bit parts. Throw in a stirring civil war back drop that is obliquely hinted at rather than given proper dues, and the whole thing comes across as slightly apologetic in the event that a planned sequel gets scrapped. Not that this is likely now though, box office takings alone almost guarantee a further two entries for the franchise. Let’s just hope this series grows some balls by then.

Verdict – An ambitious effort that falls a long way short thanks to some flat direction and real lack of commitment to both deeper narrative and emotional impact. Plus you don’t really see anyone get offed. Boo. 2/5

TD

After the undeniable silliness of Smokin’ Aces and (just about) enjoyable stupidity of The A-Team, it’s once more into the fray for director Joe Carnahan with a surprisingly ambitious effort that attempts to provide poignant philosophical musings on man, nature and God, whilst also offering up scenes of Liam Neeson fisting evil wolves in the snow. Yes The Grey is arguably Carnahan’s most heavyweight entry to date, and as such it’s fitting that Neeson is nominated to lead the charge. The truth though is that The Grey is not quite as daft as the admittedly fun trailers have lead us all to believe. The opening 20 minutes makes for some sober and muted viewing as we’re introduced to Neeson’s John Ottway, a gnarled and broken man overburdened with the weight of his own existence and whose fatigue is attributed to an entirely guessable tragedy involving his wife.

Employed by an unnamed oil company to hunt the wolves that threaten a drilling team in Alaska, Ottway finds himself on a flight back home with some invariably salty snow-dogs when the aircraft loses altitude and promptly smashes into the frozen wastes. In a refreshing break from tradition, our protagonist’s ‘very particular set of skills’ in this instance consists of nothing more than a good degree of common sense and wily guesswork. As such Ottway’s grizzled exterior hides a substantial vulnerability when attempting to lead his team of rag-tag survivors to unspecified safety. That’s not to say that Ottway is helpless, this is a Liam Neeson film after all.  Here it is perfectly acceptable logic for a character to react to seeing a snarling wolf chowing down on a dead air hostess by sprinting at it,  raising his fists and growling “get off her you mother fucker”. And therein lies The Grey’s biggest issue, it features just a few too many scenes of utterly preposterous characters and behaviour to be taken completely seriously.

They jar awkwardly against the more highbrow, Oscar baiting ambitions and just serve to make clear what a different kind of film this could have been had Carnahan opted to cut back on the lofty ideas and just let his cast go bat-shit crazy in the woods. After all the most well intentioned highbrow aspirations toward the brutal reality of survival tend to get swing-kicked off the nearest mountainside when you decide to present your lupine antagonists as yellowed eyed, snarling demons that demonstrate an almost preternatural tendency to stalk, hunt and render our hapless heroes into a thick meaty paste. On the flipside this does render PETA’s exception to the wolves’ portrayal as violent monsters almost completely redundant, as this is a bit like demonising Spielberg for making his shark a bit of a toothy bastard. Neither have much of a factual bearing outside of their entirely fictional context, but anyway.

To say that The Grey should have been sillier is missing the point, there is much to enjoy here to keep you more than adequately engaged. Whilst some of the more overwrought material about the savagery of nature and the absence of God can be a bit stifling, the tone is on the whole well-judged and offers a suitably bleak and heartfelt experience. After an initial first act fumble, the other survivors are revealed to be more than just wolf-fodder and turn out to be remarkably well fleshed out characters once the ranks are suitably thinned out. More than one scene is sure to leave you breathless and one involving the cynical Diaz (Frank Grillo) takes the decision to shy away from anything explicit, and is brimming with confident power as a result. Ultimately, The Grey is nearly brilliant. Not a missed opportunity by a long shot and certainly enjoyable, but it does come across as little indulgent at times and perhaps a toning down of the more witless ideas could have properly refined the potential of what The Grey does well.

Verdict – A curious mix of smart and occasionally ridiculous, The Grey thankfully plumps for the former on most occasions and is highly watchable as result. Plus you get to see Liam Neeson attack some wildlife.  3/5

TD

For a generation of young gore hounds, what appeal is there these days for a seemingly pokey Victorian ghost story, made by a studio most famous for plastering Christopher Lee in chalky face paint and lipstick, and whose only real star power is brought by a certain former boy wizard. Adapted from the short novel, confusingly written in 1983, and also from the highly successful stage play, incidentally one of the longest running in West End history, James Watkins’ The Woman in Black is certainly a throwback to a time where scares and outright creepiness were valued higher than the gib flinging antics of contemporary shockers. Pretty much hacking the events and order of the source material into ironic little pieces, this latest iteration does well in comfortably standing tall with the best versions of the story released to the public to date. Proceedings get underway with widowed solicitor Arthur Kipps (Daniel Radcliffe) sent off to the mist-shrouded coastal town of Crythin Gifford to wrap up the affairs of the last recently deceased resident of Eel Marsh House.

Unsurprisingly, said manor is infested with the titular narked off spook, and all manner of heebie-jeebies soon arise to which it is left to young Mr Kipps to slowly pad his way around the premises, opening locked doors whilst slowly unravelling the mystery. If this sounds a little on the creaky side, that’s largely because it is. Watkins is stoically unapologetic in ensuring that his film never for a moment steps off the beaten path of haunted house lore. All present and correct (and in no particular order) are: pale-faced children, tight lipped/hint dropping villagers, hollow and creepy faces appearing at windows and probably the most unnerving collection of turn-of-the-century toys you’re ever likely to come across. It’s safe to say then that The Woman in Black holds no real surprises for anyone with even a passing interest in popular culture. The story is solid but unspectacular, the scares are largely effective but usually telegraphed and the acting is nothing that wouldn’t be out of place in an ITV drama on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

So why then the 3/5 score? Well what Watkins has judged extraordinarily well is just how deeply his film manages to crawl under your skin and anchor itself there for a good while after. The house itself is a small marvel of set design; all deep bruised colours and seething malevolent menace. The stunning lighting also just goes to show how well-done traditional crafts of film making can transform what should be a tired, lethargic creep-around into something that’ll have you looking uneasily over your shoulder long after you’ve left the cinema. In fairness to Daniel Radcliffe, and even he’ll probably admit he’s not the most gifted actor the world’s ever seen, he’s required to do little beyond walking wide-eyed into empty rooms or reacting against often nothing more than the darkness of your own imagination. This he proves here he can do confidently and with aplomb. The ghost herself, like all great movie monsters, works best when she’s either unseen or glimpsed only in the corner of windows or the shadows of doorways. Watkins evidently recognises this and wisely opts to keep her largely out of shot whilst remaining a persistent threat.

So The Woman in Black certainly won’t win any awards for inspired originality or creative fortitude, but it is a solid outing for a vein of horror that many assumed to be dead and buried. If not outright terrifying, then the whole package is incredibly unnerving, one of those films that’ll leave you with at least one memory that’s guaranteed to induce a cold, hard shudder. It’s not for everyone, the aforementioned gore hounds will more than likely scoff their little black hearts out, but if the mood takes you then Watkins’ scary story could definitely prove to the antithesis for that Valentine’s joy that seems to be doing the rounds.

Verdict – A compact, traditional and downright unsettling little ghost story. Doesn’t do even try to do anything new but really, that’s half the charm. Well worth a punt. 3/5

TD

The apparent ‘what if’ brain child of a drunken late night ramble, conceived in a heady mixture of warm lager and broken poppadom shards, director Josh Trank’s found footage debut is the first to capitalise on the tantalising concept of welding superhero origins/sci-fi to a method of film making that has been experiencing somewhat of a renaissance as of late. Arriving late to the party in the wake of the equally inspired Troll Hunter, Chronicle really is a mobile little offering that’s blessed with a central idea so astonishingly uncomplicated that it’ll have you kicking yourself for not thinking of it first. Having been introduced to emotionally stunted oddball Andrew and his typically turbulent home life, the action kicks off with a relatively sedate preamble around the humdrum vistas of an American high school, replete with standard assortment of jocks, nerds and beer pong loving yahoos. Things of course take a turn for weird when Andrew attends a rave with Cousin Matt and class president-to-be Steve, and the trio stumble on an unspecified glowy blue thing that grants them telekinetic abilities. This central caveat allows the film to explore exactly what a bunch of boob obsessed teenagers would do with near god-like abilities, namely pissing around in supermarkets and confounding motorists in car parks.

Using a found footage approach usually means that at least one protagonist is left stuck behind the lens for a good portion of the running time, meaning that the seemingly unlimited freedom of movement normally results in a degree of paradoxical rigidity where the camera is concerned. Not so with Trank’s offering. Here our field of vision isn’t just bound to one character, but once Andrew learns to manipulate our handheld friend by remote, we often find ourselves hovering above the action like some kind gas filled eye in the sky.  Without physical restraints, Chronicles is occasionally shot with the kind of unerring fluidity that other more grounded offerings can only dream of. The knock on effect of course is that the action is captured with far more scope than is expected when the proverbial does hit the fan. Equally interesting is the decision not to be bound by any stuffy notion that the footage is in fact found. Absent are the time/date stamps or lazy visual disclaimers normally associated with this kind of thing, the action instead confidently flitting between domestic home video and security footage when need arises. It’s liberating, not in the least bit disorientating and punctuates the crunchy set pieces nicely.

Less well handled is the story itself which, in fairness, doesn’t stray too far out of its comfort zone, and when it does, occasionally lurches about like drunken gazelle. It never fails in any one area, it’s just that Andrew’s inevitable fall from grace is particularly lumpy in its execution. Aside from the underused relationship with an abusive dad, we could have used much more of the escalating and brutal abuses of power rather than clumsy monologues about ‘apex predators’ and other such guff. That said, what Chronicles does it mostly does well. The whole thing has a nicely subversive 80’s vibe to it and whilst it’s not especially innovative with its ideas, its deft execution goes some way to making up for the shortfalls in awkward character development. Allegedly the violence has been toned down from the originally screenplay, a wise choice as although the blood thirsty will no doubt kick up a fuss, Trank makes the whole shebang wholly accessible whilst still making room for some psychic teeth-yanking vengeance. In fact at times the whole thing comes off as Carrie by way of Cloverfield, and if that floats your boat, you could do a lot worse than this.

Verdict – Cool as a breeze and just as fleeting but hell, this minor gem has come out of nowhere to just about deliver on its admittedly stirring promises. Compulsive viewing and just a tad flawed, we could definitely do with more of this kind of thing. 3/5

TD