REVIEW: Star Wars: The Force Awakens

There's something rather liberating about reviewing the new Star Wars. Considering how quickly the pre-sale tickets sold out, and considering the vast amount of money Disney have spent on a gargantuan marketing campaign - where everything from posters to trailers to lunchboxes with Darth Whatshisname's face on it seem geared to turning everyone into raving, hyped-up fanboy - there's an absolute guarantee that nothing I write on this blog will affect any decisions about people going to see it. I mean, it's not like it would anyway (hi Mum), but still - the only way this film could not make a record breaking amount of money is if J.J. Abrams decided to digitally replace every character on-screen with an excrement-covered Jar Jar Binks doing the Macarena, and even then the hardcore nerds would probably watch it at least five times.

I've never even been a huge Star Wars fan. True, when I was five, I wore out my VHS of The Phantom Menace, because I kept on fast-forwarding past the bollocks about trade sanctions to the cool lightsaber battle with Darth Maul, whose hair I imitated in the bath with liberal amounts of shampoo. I watched the originals quite a bit, too, but eventually - aside from keeping a LEGO Darth Vader keyring - grew out them.

Thing is, I figured this actually put me in quite a nice position to actually review the film based on its own merits, rather than post a messy splurge of nostalgia-inflected nonsense. I went into the film quite prepared to dislike it - though, of course, secretly hoping it would knock my socks off.

And the result? Well, rest easy, people. It's pretty fucking good.

In fact, I'd say it's pretty fucking great. The original Star Wars was simply designed as a Western and Kurosawa-inspired knockabout into the furthest reaches of the galaxy, a fun action film that actually gave a shit about its characters and the world they inhabited. The dialogue wasn't great, the special effects sometimes a bit cheap, but it had heart, dammit, and that was enough to transform it into the hulking franchise monster that it came to be.

And while Star Wars: The Force Awakens has to contend with this legacy - having to satiate both its passionate (read: insane) fanbase and the casual audience member - it seldom lets this get in the way of what is, essentially, a terrifically fun knockabout into the furthest reaches of the galaxy: this time, with great dialogue and great special effects, but also a talented cast, both old and new, a canny and incisive sense of humour, and, of course, a whole lotta heart.

The film kicks off, in its opening crawl, by telling us what's gone down since all that ugly business with Death Stars and incest and Ewoks and the like. Luke Skywalker's gone missing, and a bunch of bad guys named The New Order have sprung up from the ashes of the old Empire, who are on his trail. Fighting against them are the Rebels, led by Princess General Leia (no-one seems to have bothered to learn her first name), who are also looking for Luke...I think. Well, they have a map. Or part of a map. I'm not sure how they got it - I just remember Max von Sydow's Lor San Tekka (ugh) being very serious as he handed it to Oscar Isaac's supremely attractive Poe Dameron at the start. Soon, some serious shit goes down as the baddies invade, with a masked bloke named Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) giving us the dodgiest vibes. He gets rid of Tekka and takes Dameron hostage - but fortunately, a ball-shaped robot (named BB8M84LYFE or something) gets away with the cargo.

It's not long afterwards that we meet our new heroes. John Boyega plays Finn, a stormtrooper with a conscience, who helps Dameron escape from the Order's clutches, only to crash-land back on the desert planet they came from. The same planet, coincidentally, that houses Daisy Ridley's Rey - the real heroine of the piece. She's a scavenger, exchanging parts she finds in the ruins of old spaceships for food, and who seems to be waiting for something - or someone. Rey is surprised, however, when she finds herself accidentally adopting the ball-droid-thing, and when she runs into Finn all hell starts breaking loose. Both of them escape danger by hijacking a decrepit Millennium Falcon, and things really start to get moving when they run into everyone's favourite crusty scallywag, Han Solo (Harrison Ford), and his pet walking carpet, Chewbacca (probably a very sweaty Peter Mayhew).

I'll stop my dreadful recollection of the plot there. (See what happens when a review doesn't matter?) What I will say is that both John Boyega and Daisy Ridley are two of the best things can could possibly happen to this franchise. I've thought Boyega was destined for great things ever since his electrifying turn in Attack the Block, and he's superbly charismatic as the reluctant but kind-hearted hero, revealing a real knack for comedic timing. But Ridley's the real revelation: emerging from tiny roles in Silent Witness and Casualty, she gives a star-making performance of both confidence and vulnerability, that cuts through the special effects and requisite nostalgia indulgence to land a real emotional wallop. It's incredible that in something this huge in size, an unknown British actress would be allowed to play the starring role - with a British accent, no less. Though perhaps that's the point: Abrams wants to give us an underdog that immediately resonates. Whatever. I loved her.

I also loved the wrinkled resurgence of Han Solo and Princess General Leia, though perhaps my love for them was tested at times. I know that some fans treat the original films as seriously as the Bible, but when every other line is a reference or in-joke to some bollocks that happened thirty years ago, it becomes a little frustrating, and, complete with the reappearance of characters like fucking C-3PO, threatens to tip the film over into fan-fiction territory. However, there comes a point where that, um, ceases to be the case - where the film takes off and becomes its own, independent entity that restored my faith - so perhaps it's just me being a grumpy bugger.

Having said that - and it's really hard to talk about this without getting into spoilers - I'm not sure how much new stuff we're really seeing here. For every wonderful and original scene, there are a bunch of things just nabbed from other Star Wars films, given a visual update and a minor twist, then sent on their way. They even kept the Window Movie Maker-esque transitions. (Has a horizontal wipe ever actually looked good?) I realise that they're sort of references, or, as George Lucas might like to say, a bit of "rhyming poetry", but, I mean, there's an undeniable sense of déjà vu ingrained into the film's structure, that seems to work against its purpose as the spark of a brand-new franchise.

Again, whatever. It's still balls-to-the-wall fun, which successfully replicates the conditions that had us fall in love with the old films in the first place. I think what impressed me most wasn't the exciting action, but the real weirdness of the content. Seriously, Star Wars was such a weird film, with some of the gummiest aliens in existence and some really unusual bits of humour and plot development. Like this, Star Wars: The Force Awakens doesn't feel like a billion-dollar success story, it feels personal - unlike Star Trek, you get the sense that J.J. Abrams really gives a shit, and sets out to tell the best story he can. And it's a good 'un.

★★★★

REVIEW: Grandma

Grandma shouldn't really work. The plot is standard Sundance fare: a young girl (Julia Garner) needs an abortion, so instead of talking to her strict mother (Marcia Gay Harden) she seeks out her hippy lesbian grandma (Lily Tomlin), someone who's fierce and feminist and talented, but whose instincts, shaped by a lifetime of hurt, are to lash out at those close to her. They go on the road in search of money for an abortion, and in the process young learns about old, old learns about young, yada yada, you know the score. During its running time it goes through a veritable checklist of exhausted indie tropes: shots of light filtering through trees, a strummy guitar soundtrack, an overdone plot thread about a dead loved one and, to top it all off, some of the most pretentious chapter title cards I've ever encountered. Seriously, they're just nonsensical words like "dragonfly", "the ogre", "coffee", "toilet", "irritable bowel syndrome", that serve no narrative purpose whatsoever.

It could have all been terminally annoying. But it's not - the film just about works - and I think the chief reason why is, well, its star, Lily Tomlin. She's been working in the industry for over 40 years but that hasn't dimmed her senses at all: she's as sharp as a button, steely, unsentimental, and with a knack for turning the most banal dialogue into something entirely natural, imbued with wit, warmth, and genius comedic timing. It's a pleasure to watch her work, and it's great that a film has been constructed to have her in the starring role - something she hasn't been able to enjoy in a long time.

In fact, Grandma's chief pleasures come from watching its actors work to elevate the material they've been giving. It's a cornucopia of character actors given free-reign: Sam Elliott, typically cast in roles that exploit his sexy, sexy voice, impresses the most as an injured old flame, but Marcia Gay Harden convinces as a frustrating work-addict mother, and it's nice to see Judy Greer break out of the rut of empty maternal roles she's been stuck with for the past year. There's also something to be said for the healthy way it depicts sexuality and femininity - it's all treated as perfectly natural, and not in a preachy, Roland Emmerich kind of way, which seems to indicate that film might finally be catching up to its television counterparts. (Laverne Cox, primarily known for her role as Sophia on Orange is the New Black, also pops up here as a tattoo artist.)

Grandma ultimately emerges as a rather sweet (if slight) picture, one that, at moments, threatens to plunge into sentimentality, but never does, and that lambastes the lazy process by which Hollywood has frequently marginalised its actors into tired, clichéd roles. Instead, it tries to find their humanity - and this alone, I think, is enough to redeem its flaws.

★★★

REVIEW: Carol

A furtive glance. A distinctive perfume. The touch of a hand upon gloved fabric. A song playing on a car's radio that fades away the more you focus on the other person sitting in the driver's seat, the colour of their lips, the curve of their neck... These are the details that Todd Haynes focuses on in Carol, an utterly spellbinding adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's groundbreaking novel that actually evokes the experience of falling in love, with intoxicating, disorientating precision.

We begin by rising out of the gutter into 1950s Manhattan, a world of smoky streets, smart suits and muted green colour. It feels weird to begin a review by praising costumes and set design, but good grief, this has to be one of the most perfect evocations of the period ever committed to celluloid. Carol initially weaves its spell with detail, by giving us people that could have stumbled straight out of an Edward Hopper painting, and who talk and act like you'd imagine people in the 50s actually would. It's all the more effective when we meet our protagonists: we follow a man who goes over to a table in a restaurant, where two women, Therese (Rooney Mara) and Carol (Cate Blanchett), are having tea. He clearly interrupts something important: Carol rises to leave, but not before delicately placing her hand on Therese's shoulder.

The rest of the film then travels back in time to explore the enormous significance of that gesture. We see Therese, working at a toy department, spot Carol from across the room. She speaks with a masculine authority that shocks (and excites) the timid Therese, so when she leaves her glove behind and insists on them having lunch, it's hard to see it as anything else but the initiation of a relationship. Therese wastes no time in falling directly into a heady affair - visiting her house at Christmas, then embarking on a lengthy road trip across the country - but around the edges are constant threats to their happiness, namely Carol's jealous husband Harge (Kyle Chandler), who is trying to acquire sole custody of their daughter.

What's so remarkable about Therese and Carol's journey is that it quietly defies expectation at every turn. The two women don't kiss or have sex until (spoilers) at least an hour into the film, but we see their relationship change and adapt, intensify, through little more than subtle body language. This is largely thanks to the inarguably superb central performances that require little explanation: Blanchett and Mara match each other perfectly, using elements of their star image - Blanchett's regality, Mara's doe-eyed innocence - and building on it, subverting it, realising the heart-wrenching vulnerabilities of their characters with godlike grace all the way to their natural, mutually-respectful conclusion. But there's also a great script here: Phyllis Nagy (who was, coincidentally, a friend of Highsmith) paces out the story with great stretches of silence, where nothing - but, of course, everything - happens.

It shouldn't come as a surprise how much I love this film. Thus far, Todd Haynes has realised two masterpieces: 1995's Safe and 2002's exquisite Far From Heaven, both of which feature Julianne Moore doing career-best work. Of the two, I think it's Far From Heaven that can be seen as Carol's companion piece - while Haynes has done away with the imitation-Sirk aesthetic, they're both films about the incredible bravery of its central, feminist characters; and, of course, they're about the appalling hypocrisy of the period, lambasting those who find themselves perturbed by what they consider "different".

But the key difference in Carol is that there's more hope, not just for its characters but for its audience. Almost every frame of the film features at least one female character who happens to be a lesbian, but it never feels compelled to patronize, to explain their relationship through the norms of heterosexual film language. Their relationship just...is. Haynes and Nagy lay the foundations for a state of new normal, and if it takes (i.e. makes money) then, well, it should spell out great things for the future of film romance.

When it comes to investigating what makes Carol so special, you could quite easily break it down into its base elements: Edward Lachman's beautiful photography, the sad melodramatic touches of Ozu and Kazan, the fragile score by Carter Burwell. But, at the end of the day, I think my love for it is more irrational, as untidy and stomach-churning as the affair itself. Really, I can only say: what a film.

★★★★★

THE BOAR: The Joys of Watching Shia LaBeouf Watch Shia LaBeouf

In case you missed it, I recently wrote an article for The Boar about naff-actor-turned-artistic-weirdo Shia LaBeouf, and his recent stunt where he decided to watch all of his movies, back-to-back, in some cinema in New York. Quite funny stuff, especially when the internet decided to respond as only the internet knows how:

Until next time, folks.

REVIEW: Spectre

Where to start with Spectre? The James Bond films are on what seems to be their seventeenth resurgence into the world of cool - Casino Royale made us forget about Die Another Day, of course, whereas Skyfall did more than simply best Quantum of Solace - it was, for many without rose-tinted glasses, declared to be the best Bond ever. Not only was Sam Mendes' first effort beautifully shot, well-acted, and fantastically exciting, it also had a proper story, that gave Bond the most personality and depth he's had in years.

This presents a bit of a problem with the follow-up. It's the old sitcom problem - you're always having to reset to square one by the end of the day, ready for the next adventure, so how do you incorporate genuine character development while still finding time for explody-runny-gunny-action that will rake in the big bucks?

Bringing back Mendes is a good start. He's laid the foundations for a new era of Bond, so why not let him build on it? Daniel Craig, too, is at the very height of his powers in this role. Still retaining his originality intensity, whilst having recently picked up a dry sense of humour, his Bond has become one of the best: he commands the screen with a confidence that never spills over into cockiness, and the audience is quite prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth.

There's also the central theme of the film, made explicit in the opening title card: "The dead... are alive." Not literally, of course. That would be ridiculous. But, mostly through grainy photographs and videotapes, Spectre tells us that the presence of those we have lost, be they friend or foe, will echo in how we think and act for eternity, or at least until we lose the very capacity to retain memories.

Which means that the opening scene of the film involves an explosive chase through a Día de los Muertos festival. Hey, I never said it was Shakespeare. But the incredible 4-minute-long Touch of Evil-style opening shot kicks things off on an impressive note, and for a while it doesn't let up. While MI6 faces the threat of being swallowed up by a drone-happy multinational corporation, faced by a sneering Andrew Scott (whose name is "C", entendre intended), we once again see Bond go rogue, as he chases up on information regarding a mysterious organisation named "Spectre".

He enlists the help of his old pals; brainy Q (Ben Whishaw), flirty Moneypenny (Naomie Harris), the newly-christened M (Ralph Fiennes); he also encounters new faces, some well-utilised, some not so much. The former consists of Léa Seydoux, a spiky French accomplice who dives head-first into the action sequences, even if she is treated as a damsel-in-distress; and Christoph Waltz, who may be an obvious choice for a villain, but he's one that lights up the screen with his charisma and signature German drawl that simply says, "I'm an absolute bastard." The latter includes Dave Bautista, basically a rehash of Jaws, and Monica Bellucci - who Bond has sex with then discards like a used napkin, in the film's most erroneous instance of dinosaur logic.

It's certainly true that, compared to the grand departure of Skyfall, this is a return to more traditional action-adventure storytelling, one that seems partially geared to ticking off boxes of repetition in fanboys' notebooks. See: a punch-up on a train, a chase between a biplane and a car, a showdown at the villain's lair. But many of the individual ingredients are so well-realised that they're almost destined to become classic Bond. Mid-way through there's a brilliant, excruciating torture scene for the ages, one that, at the screening I went to, made the audience literally jump out of their seats. And that opening I mentioned earlier, replete with an upside-down helicopter sequence, is as pulse-quickening an action scene as they come.

It's deeply silly, it's overlong, it's perhaps a little rote. And it's sorely lacking the heart that Judi Dench brought to the table. But it's still one of the most fun things you can see at the cinema this year. Bond's back, baby.

★★★½

REVIEW: Crimson Peak

This one really caught me off-guard. Having lost faith in Guillermo Del Toro in his slightly questionable Hollywood period - his last feature being the dismally written Pacific Rim - I fully expected Crimson Peak to be a campy phantasmagoria of empty special effects. But it is nothing of the sort: Del Toro is back on form, and he has crafted a rich and disturbing Gothic chiller to be ranked with the best of his work.

The film follows pure-hearted heroine Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska, pale but steely), a woman who has always been haunted by ghosts: she was visited by her mother after her funeral, who simply delivered the warning, "Beware of Crimson Peak." She pores these interests into fiction, yet most loutish eighteenth-century men only see fit to compliment her on her handwriting. Only the handsome English stranger, Sir Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston), seems to understand that a ghost story is about more than its spectral shapes - it is what they represent that matters, a sad or painful past that chains them indefinitely to the world of mortals.

Thomas eventually marries Edith - her father, an obstacle, brutally beaten to death in his washroom by a mysterious assailant - and whisks her away to England, and to his dilapidated mansion. As anyone who has ever spent a night in Shropshire will testify, it's a bleak fate being resigned to such a remote corner of the world, with little for Edith do but wander the halls and play fetch with an irritating, yappy dog. The mansion is a real fixer-upper, too - Del Toro brings to life a world where snow filters down from patchwork roofs, moths flutter across its walls, and even blood oozes from the very floorboards. (Apparently it's some abnormally red clay.) Worse still is the prospect of sharing a house with Thomas' sister, Lady Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), who is so icy that her breath practically frosts glass. Nevertheless, Edith sets about discovering the dark mysteries of her environment - one she later learns has been given the unfortunate nickname "Crimson Peak"...

Never a stranger to genre fiction, Del Toro fully embraces the tropes of eighteenth century horror with the infectious enthusiasm of a dedicated fan. Yet never does this get in the way of the masterfully constructed narrative, whose mysteries and tricks are steadily leaked through an enveloping wall of haunted house atmosphere. I described it as a "chiller" earlier in that, in spite of a few moments, for an audience raised on Paranormal Activity and The Conjuring, it's not particularly scary, per say. But Del Toro realises that there's more to a horror film than making the audience jump out of their seats: and instead of relying on basic jump scares, he opts to disturb with bloody set-pieces and monster design, and with some delightfully nasty psychosexual connections between his characters. (Freud would have a field day.)

Some have suggested that the film is old-fashioned, even lacking any kind of surprise in its storytelling. But I found that it went through the motions with such earnestness and beauty that I couldn't help but be swept along by it. Also, I think it furthers the notion that Del Toro is one of the only storytellers around who truly understands ghosts and the stories we tell about them. One could pair this with The Devil's Backbone, a film that contained a wonderful description of a ghost: "A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again ... Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber." Hollywood might not be Del Toro's immediate comfort zone, but films like Crimson Peak show that he hasn't lost his soul amidst the madness - and that he can still tell a ripping good yarn.

★★★★½

REVIEW: Steve Jobs

Aaron Sorkin and Danny Boyle have created one of the best possible films you could make about the late Apple founder - though therein lies the problem. Emerging from a troubled, Sony hack-shaded production history that, at one point, had such talents as David Fincher and Leonardo DiCaprio attached, the result still feels somewhat together, with a typically thorough and compelling performance from Michael Fassbender and an unconventional story structure that places a worthy emphasis on the character development.

One can't help that the project has survived this long based on the strength of its screenplay. Aaron Sorkin is the only screenwriter I've seen whose name on the poster is as large as that of the director and star, and for the fanboys it's suitably Sorkin-esque. Words are his weapons, his scenes of action and emotion rolled into one multilayered entity, and his verbal showdowns here are as good as we've come to expect. Jobs' final conversation with Steve Wozniak, for instance, is a spine-tingling culmination of their frictional relationship, even if it never actually happened. Some might be disappointed by the fact that there's a relative lack of humour compared to his other works: though, of course, Jobs was made infamous by his ill-temper and ruthlessness in the workplace, one that won Joanna Hoffman (Kate Winslet) an in-joke award from Apple employees surrounding her ability to stand up to him.

If I sound lukewarm in this assessment, it's simply that I just don't find the story of Steve Jobs that interesting. Yes, he brought forward a future that Arthur C. Clarke predicted (as we see in a clip placed at the beginning of the film), and yes, he helped make some damn good phones and computers. But I find the arguments about his abilities as an "artist" rather unconvincing. Did he "lead the orchestra", or was he simply a CEO who helped cultivate his own cult of personality? His political manoeuvrings were clever, yes, and the relationship we see with his daughter and mother is somewhat interesting: but at the end of the day, do we care about him enough to overlook his flaws, to get involved in his story? I don't think so. Maybe that's the point - the ending, where Steve's face is lit up by the epileptic glare of several stage lights, certainly indicates that there were many facets and angles from which to view this undeniably important man. But still. Compared to the grand political drama of The West Wing or the demandingly relevant character conflicts in The Social Network, the stakes here just feel too low.

★★★