REVIEW: The Double

Richard Ayoade's new film The Double has been dubbed a "black comedy", which might be a mistake. I found it more nightmarish than funny - although it certainly has its moments. Adapted from a Fyodor Dostoyevsky novella, it centres around nebbish office worker Simon James (Jesse Eisenberg) who, having gone unnoticed by his office colleagues for seven years, encounters his doppelgänger James Simon (Eisenberg again). James is identical to Simon in appearance but the complete opposite in personality - where Simon is timid and apprehensive, James is extroverted and assertive. While the two initially get along, James soon begins to take over Simon's life, even going behind his back to start a relationship with Hannah (Mia Wasikowska), the object of Simon's romantic intentions. The two are inevitably dragged into a conflict with one another, which escalates into violence and madness.

I found the first thirty minutes of this film difficult to watch. The world Ayoade has created is effectively atmospheric and claustrophobic - the bureaucratic nightmare of endless cubicles and whirring 1980s computers reminded me, in the best possible way, of Terry Gilliam's Brazil - but I found it frustratingly Kafkaesque without the absurd and amusingly sincere prose, more downwardly depressing than satirical. But the film picks up when the promised "double" appears. Eisenberg joins the ranks of Naomi Watts (Mulholland Drive) and Jeremy Irons (Dead Ringers) in giving two great performances in one film, somehow maintaining excellent chemistry with, ah, himself. He's perfectly cast, too, since throughout his career he's alternated between playing shy and socially awkward characters (Adventureland, Zombieland) and cocky and brash characters (Now You See Me, The Social Network). And as the film hurtled towards its final frames, each character's lives disintegrating in some way, I found it interesting how the two Eisenberg personalities began to meld, our perception of character becoming unhinged as Simon became darker and more confident, lending an element of mystery to the memorable final shot.

The problem I had was that I didn't engage with the film on an emotional level. I was a fan of Ayoade's previous film, Submarine, which not only was a funnier film but much warmer, too. I suppose I can't fault The Double for not being like Submarine enough; it's a different film, and actually demonstrates a surer understanding of directing on a technical level (the use of a subway train as an aural motif is genius). And Ayoade once again sides with the underdog, which is something I will always love about British cinema. Yet I ultimately found the film depressing, which may be an inevitable by-product of adapting a psychologically complex Russian novella written in the 1800s but, aside from a few touches - Paddy Constantine's cameo in a parody of 80s sci-fi shows is a hilarious highlight - seems distinctly more cynical than I expected.

★★★

REVIEW: Calvary

Is Calvary one of the greatest films to come out of Ireland? Maybe. John Michael McDonagh is certainly one of the country's greatest directors, as is his brother Martin McDonagh. Talk about a talented family. Both made astonishing feature film debuts with The Guard and In Bruges respectively - the former an exceptionally funny and lively hybrid of violent crime drama and domestic British comedy, the latter an equally amusing but much darker tale of redemption (with a blisteringly good performance from Colin Farrell). Yet while Martin McDonagh went to Hollywood to write and direct the disappointing Seven Psychopaths, John Michael McDonagh has stuck around with Calvary, set in his native Ireland and concerned with issues much closer to home.

The shocking opening scene sets the tone of the piece. Brendan Gleeson's priest, Father James Lavelle, listens to a man in a confessional booth, who describes how he was abused by a priest at a young age ("I first tasted semen when I was seven years old") and that in seven days he will kill him despite, or perhaps because, he is a good man. Lavelle thinks he recognises the man but refuses to go to the police, instead going about his daily duties of attending to members of his flock. We see a glimpse into the priest's life as the days count down, and his experiences with the characters of the local village prompt him to grapple with his own mortality.

It's a beautifully made film, with the sweeping shots of the tumultuous coast contrasted with Patrick Cassidy's haunting orchestral compositions. But it's the performances which really make this film work. English actress Kelly Reilly excels as Gleeson's troubled daughter struggling with depression, and Chris O'Dowd doesn't get nearly enough screen time as a potential wife-beater, sure to obliterate everyone's perceptions of the actor as "that guy from The I.T. Crowd". In fact, the only actor I had a problem with was a scenery-chewing Aiden Gillen, essentially playing his Game of Thrones character with an Irish accent. Yet ultimately it's Brendan Gleeson's show; without him the (often stage-like) film would not work since he ties together the loosely connected characters with a towering performance, full of gravitas and sincerity. He's not the archetypal "good priest", he's a man struggling with his demons (he used to be an alcoholic and bar-brawler) who uses faith to find meaning and redemption in the later years of his life.

It's an old-fashioned set of values which he embodies, an image of the church which has become tarnished after years of scandal. McDonagh presents quite an ugly picture of Ireland, where all the locals regard the church with their own brand of hostility and violence can - and does - erupt frequently. And Calvary is a deeply angry film, angry with those who committed atrocities and angry with those who looked away, and the society born out of this tragedy is forever affected by what happened. All this builds to a tremendously powerful final fifteen minutes which, frankly, left me speechless. The greatest film to come out of Ireland? Probably not, if Jim Sheridan has anything to say about it, but it definitely comes close.

★★★★½

REVIEW: Under the Skin

Jonathan Glazer's third feature film comes ten years after 2004's Birth. What he was doing during those ten years is unclear, but quite a bit of it must have been spent trying to convince people that this film would work, an often intangible mix of science fiction and a road movie with horror elements. Sort of. I walked out of the cinema unsure of what, exactly, I had just seen, but I'm glad Glazer succeeded in releasing this film, for a world without Under the Skin would be a far less rich and interesting one.

To even try and describe what this film is about would be a disservice, but one could possible summarise with this; an alien seductress (who goes throughout the film unnamed, but who is labelled as Laura in the production specs) travels around Glasgow and surrounding areas of Scotland in her van, preying on men and luring them to their deaths.

If you've seen the film, you know that barely scratches the surface of what it's about. From its indescribable opening to its hauntingly beautiful climax, the film constantly challenges the viewer to think and respond to it, creating some incredibly experimental and effective moments. A scene on a beach with a family is simultaneously one of the most terrifying and devastating things I've ever seen in film. Another sequence, where Laura wanders through the crowds in a shopping centre, will challenge your perception of the people who pass you every day. I could spend the majority of this review praising the astonishing sound design (you'll never hear the sound of a screaming child in the same way again) or the unforgettable abstract imagery we see throughout, such as a sequence where a man's body literally crumples.

Yet ultimately there are two very clever tricks this film pulls which make it work. One is setting the story in Scotland, a land as equally hostile and outlandish as the alien dimension from which the protagonist originates, and one which grounds the more abstract ideas in an often comically mundane reality. The other is the casting of Scarlett Johansson as Laura, whose status as a big-name Hollywood actress would seem out of place in this very low-budget art house British film. Nonetheless, after seeing Under the Skin, it's difficult to imagine anyone else in the role. Johansson is one of those impossibly beautiful actresses who seems forever out of reach. We can see them in their films and on talk shows but, as a typical British filmgoer, we know that they are part of a completely different world, and we can never truly know someone like that. And that's what makes the character in this film so interesting. Never before has a film so perfectly captured the sense of extra-terrestrial unfamiliarity; Scarlett Johansson is an alien, and her presence prompts a similar response to those of the fine selection of Scottish men her character lures into her lair, that of completely mesmerised awe. The film then proceeds to try and take apart this fascinatingly enigmatic character, by getting both metaphorically and, at one point, literally under her skin. It's a challenge for the viewer to follow Glazer's vision, but one which is incredibly rewarding.

You will leave this film with more questions than answers, such as why Laura decides to kill the men she seduces, or the perplexing significance of the man on the motorbike. To find concrete answers to these questions, however, would be to undermine much of the power of Under the Skin. It is not a film to be explained rationally and logically, but one to be taken in on an emotional level. I've only seen this film once, which may be a mistake - I intend to see it a second (and perhaps third) time, if only to develop my understanding of some of the more obscure elements - but even seeing it once left a truly lasting impression. A modern masterpiece.

★★★★★

REVIEW: The Grand Budapest Hotel

How do you talk about a Wes Anderson film without constantly referring to it as a "Wes Anderson film"? Short answer: you can't. Most directors - not always good directors, but most directors nevertheless - will have some kind of visual or thematic flourish which acts as a directorial signature on the work. Anderson has about fifty. His work is so recognisable, so separate from the majority of modern cinematic releases, that in any significant analysis of his films it is impossible to divorce the man from his fiction, and this is no less true in his latest offering.

The Grand Budapest Hotel is both a farce and a reflective depiction of wartime Europe in the 1930s. It tells the story of Gustave H (Ralph Fiennes), a world-famous concierge at the eponymous European hotel, who takes young lobby boy Zero Moustafa (Tony Revolori) under his wing. A whimsical plot unfolds, revolving around the theft of a priceless painting from his old lover (Tilda Swinton) whose murder Gustave is framed for. It's entertaining, considered, and shouldn't be dismissed as "just another Wes Anderson film", although all of the major hallmarks are present; as always, Anderson's shots and compositions are perfect, even obsessive, and the use of warm, vibrant colour here is better than ever. But what struck me most about this film was the deeply nostalgic tone, more so than any other Anderson has made. He uses the 4:3 ratio throughout most of the film, and The Grand Budapest Hotel reminded me of older, classic films of the 20s and 30s - films most of today's audiences would be unaware of - through a wonderful evocation of its period. There's a charming (and deliberate) use of miniatures for some of the exterior shots of the hotel with the cable cars leading up to it, and my favourite scene in the film came towards the end, when the two protagonists chase the villain down a ski slope - the tiny figurines in place of characters during wide shots is an old-school trick, one which reminds you that you're watching a film, but it's made with such charm and verve that you can't help but be swept along by it.

Regarding the tone, the film does a wonderful thing where it manages to be light and fun without being breezy. In the mix of absurd situations and larger-than-life characters there's an undercurrent of sincerity, probably best represented by an excellent performance from Ralph Fiennes. Excluding some scene-stealing support from Harvey Keitel and Jeff Goldblum, Fiennes completely owns this film; like Bill Murray in The Life Aquatic and Gene Hackman in The Royal Tenenbaums, he unites the ensemble under his enigmatic Gustave H. Effortlessly filling the role, at once charming, crude, promiscuous yet lovable ("She was dynamite in the sack, by the way", referring to an 84-year-old woman), the film instantly confirms Fiennes' status as a brilliant comedic actor, his timing perhaps even better here than his expletive-filled performance from In Bruges. He also manages to bring an unexpected amount of dramatic gravitas to the role, balancing the one-liners with the development of an affecting paternal bond with Revolori's Zero. It is this which makes the comedy all the richer, since throughout the film we are reminded of the more serious historical reality of the time (one scene shot in black and white might just be one of the saddest scenes in Anderson's career).

Perhaps the only time the film loses its footing is when it features moments of darker, nastier humour. A shot of a cat's splattered carcass drew more winces than laughter from the audience, as did a prolonged shot of a severed head being extracted from a box - more Se7en than Steve Zissou. Still, this is a minor quibble in an otherwise consistently excellent film, which I would urge you to go and see if only to serve as a whimsical antidote to the typically serious and desaturated world of the mainstream blockbuster. However, a small warning: you will sincerely crave cake afterwards.

★★★★

FEATURE: Best Picture Rundown

Here are some of my thoughts on the recently announced Academy Award nominees for Best Picture:

American Hustle

Along with The Wolf Of Wall Street and maybe Her, this is one of the most enjoyable films nominated for Best Picture. Set during the 1970s, the film goes beyond the awful period hairstyles to become something much smarter and self-aware (the first scene involves Christian Bale's character glueing on his wig). The playful plot is good, but the real draw here is the performances. Bale is good, Bradley Cooper even better, but the film belongs to the women; Amy Adams shines as she reigns superior over the two male leads, and Jennifer Lawrence steals every scene she's in as Bale's disastrously insensitive wife. However, I felt the film dragged to much at times - the screwball nature of the heist demands a quicker pace, although I appreciated the extended focus on character. Perhaps undeserving of its 10 nominations, and unlikely to win Best Picture, this is nevertheless a solid and recommendable film, if not quite a masterpiece.

Captain Phillips

Out of all the people to dramatise the story of the 2009 hijacking of the Maersk Alabama by Somali pirates, Paul Greengrass was probably the best man for the job. Much like United 93, Captain Phillips is a documentary-like approach to a true story, which goes to great efforts not to distort facts for the purpose of creating Hollywood heroes and villains. The preparation of Phillips (Tom Hanks) and his crew is contrasted with the recruitment of the Somalian pirates - similarities between both sets of men can be found which neither would be willing to admit. Yet the undertones of globalisation are simply one layer of a complex, intelligent story, in what I would consider one of the best films in Greengrass' career. It's a shame the director hasn't received a nod, and even more appalling is the omission of Tom Hanks in the Best Actor nominations - without spoiling anything, his performance in the final 10 minutes of the film is some of the finest acting I've seen all year. Although it was nice to see the excellent Barkhad Abdi nominated for his role as the pirate chief.

Gravity

Gravity is the best film I saw in 2013. It's become a cliché to say such a thing by this point, but it doesn't make it any less true. The film was impressive not only for its technical accomplishments - and these cannot be understated, the special effects on display here are simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying, with the best use of 3D to date - but also for weaving in an exciting and strangely moving story about human survival. This is in part due to a career-best performance from Sandra Bullock, who pleasantly surprised me in her ability to completely carry a film by herself (it's hardly a spoiler to say that George Clooney doesn't stick around for long). She excels as the graceful humanity of the piece, the anchor the audience desperately needs to make sense of Alfonso Cuaron's uncompromising vision - the two talents complement one another perfectly. Without her I would not have been moved to tears by the end, although this can be attributed to sheer emotional exhaustion (never has a cup of tea been more welcome). It's certainly the film which deserves to win Best Picture, but, without wanting to sound too cynical, this seems unlikely - much like The Social Network and Avatar which came before it, the award will probably go to a more traditional Oscar-worthy film like 12 Years A Slave. Of course, one can always hope.

The Wolf of Wall Street

Martin Scorsese continues the loosely-connected series of films he began in 1990 with Goodfellas and continued in 1995 with Casino with The Wolf of Wall Street, the adaptation of controversial Wall Street broker Jordan Belfort's autobiography of the same name. All three films essentially follow the same story structure; a naive young man gets drawn into a criminal life of wealth and luxury, often represented by the consumption of drugs and incitement of violence, before everything comes crashing down, and he has to reluctantly give up everything and turn his friends over to the law. Yet while you could accuse Scorsese of sticking to familiar territory, I don't think we've ever seen this story told with such confidence and glorious bad taste. I went in to this film with an open mind and was still floored by the places this Hollywood picture dared to go - within the first ten minutes or so we've seen Belfort receiving oral sex in his Ferrari and blowing cocaine into a prostitute's anus, and during a sequence where Belfort gets high on pills (called "Quaaludes") he describes how his body has entered the "cerebral palsy stage". It's easily the most riotously funny film of Scorsese's career, complete with solid performances from Leonardo DiCaprio and, perhaps more surprisingly, Jonah Hill as his partner-in-crime. It's received some accusations of glorifying Belfort's real-life crimes, most notably from the daughter of a Stratton Oakmont employee who accused the film of making celebrities out of fundamentally bad people, but I don't think this is fair. DiCaprio's character receives little reprehension for his crimes because that's what really happened - the Wall Street brokers did get away with it, leaving destruction in their wake, and I saw the film as a fierce indictment of that kind of lifestyle. However, I did feel that the film was too long (at a very indulgent 179 minutes), and that the last forty minutes or so required some tightening up. And while this didn't particularly bother me, some people have a problem with the film's choice of style over substance - we never quite get under the skin of these characters like we did in Scorsese's previous efforts. It's still a very good film, one which likely won't win a single Oscar for being "too edgy" but makes a splash nevertheless.

REVIEW: Only God Forgives

It's not that I dislike Ryan Gosling. I really don't. He gave an intelligent leading performance in The Ides of March, he had good emotional range in Blue Valentine, and he was perfect for the lead role in The Place Beyond the Pines.

And yet... I can't help but feel irritated after watching Only God Forgives, Nicolas Winding Refn's fourth English language film. It's second only to Valhalla Rising in terms of sheer unpredictability and experimentation from an already daring director, and I was interested how Refn and Gosling would work together following the monumental success of Drive. But after seeing this film, I'm not only disappointed by the flat script and characters, or the pretentiousness of the execution of Refn's interesting albeit underdeveloped ideas about masculinity and violence. I'm disappointed in Ryan Gosling, who is yet again playing the same character he's been playing for roughly six years.

You know the score. He's a young actor, famous for his smouldering good looks and puppy dog eyes, who seems intent on changing the image surrounding him as a suave lady killer by playing violent or damaged characters. Only problem is, he doesn't quite have the acting chops to pull it off. Sure, he can played the psychotic well enough. He has this curious ability to maintain an absolutely blank expression all the time, even when he's relentlessly stomping on a man's head in a lift. It worked in Drive because he was supposed to be this emotionally blank outcast, who only begins to develop feelings after meeting someone he truly cares for - all developed largely with longing looks, admittedly, but it was effective enough. However, in Only God Forgives, Gosling is given a much more demanding task - to condense his entire character into a single expression or look. And Ryan Gosling is not a man who can act with a single expression or look. As he stares intently at a prostitute he has taken for a lover, he could be thinking, 'I'm so alone', but he could equally be thinking 'I fancy some bread and cheese.' Or 'I hope she's not a ladyboy. What with this being Thailand and all.' Kristen Scott-Thomas at one point says 'I don't understand you.' Join the club, love. Only God can tell us what he's trying to say.

And then there's the violence. I understand the film was actually booed at the Cannes Film Festival for it's excessive screen violence. Admittedly, it can get a bit raucous in Cannes at times, but it's easy to understand why this film has garnered such controversy. A particularly rough scene climaxes on a close-up of a man having his eye removed with a knife. A supposed officer of the law splits a man open from neck to waist with a samurai sword, and the camera lingers on his bleeding carcass for what felt like ten minutes. Refn clearly has a fetish for violence - his previous films haven't exactly been family friendly - but he reaches new highs (or lows) with depraved, senseless acts shown in this film. Understand that I am not opposed to violence itself - a film's quality should also not be affected by the controversy it generates - but the director should have something to say with violence, even if it is only 'the audience wants to see this man punished' or 'this character needs to be shown to be strong and able to defend himself'. And the film does have some things to say with nastiness - a particularly brutal and well-choreographed fist fight is a high point - but more often than not it is a stylistic choice, the brutality a part of the environment itself. Atmospheric, yes, but art? No.

The film has two saving graces. One is the excellent soundtrack, with a strange yet effective infusion of oriental music and signature Refn electric synth vibes. The other is Kristen Scott-Thomas' terrifying portrayal of Gosling's evil mother, who thankfully saves the character from descending into a pantomime level Lady Macbeth, instead bringing an intimidating stage presence to the role. I would write wonders about the astonishing bright-neon look of the film, proving to be Refn's most visually resplendent picture yet, but he's been receiving similar praise for sixteen years, so I don't feel this nets him any additional favour.

I can't recommend this film. On the surface it appears to be a stylish, accomplished picture, filled with beautiful imagery yet with the atmosphere of a hallucinogenic nightmare, drawing the viewer in to the seedy criminal underworld of Bangkok. It's meditative, with pretentions to important, abstract ideas. Yet dig deeper, and you'll find almost nothing of substance.

★½

REVIEW: Now You See Me

Now You See Me joins the ranks of films such as The Illusionist and The Prestige as films about magic and deception, whose intentions are to deceive and manipulate the audience's expectations with a clever narrative. However, while The Illusionist and The Prestige are the proud destriers and palfreys in the stables of storytelling, Now You See Me is the lame rouncey, trying to keep up with the big boys but instead falling at the second hurdle, breaking both its legs and dying a miserable, drawn-out death. Alright, perhaps that's a little harsh, but (all Middle Ages horse references aside) while Now You See Me is a very stylish film, it lacks any of the depth which made previously mentioned films about magic so compelling.

The film starts promisingly enough by introducing four (seemingly) main characters into the mix - Jesse Eisenburg's fast-talking street magician, Dave Franco's cruise ship hustler, Isla Fisher's sexy stunt artist and Woody Harrelson as Woody Harrelson - who are all drawn together by a mysterious calling card. Yet before we've even learnt these characters' names, we're whisked away one year into the future, where the magicians (dubbed "The Four Horsemen") put on a flashy, CGI-filled show where they rob a bank. Due to the fact that this is generally frowned upon by conventional authority, the foursome is arrested, and in comes Mark Ruffalo's cliché cop who just doesn't have time for magic. "Great", we think. "This guy's going to be made fun of throughout the film for his blind arrogance and refusal to accept that the clever magicians are thinking ahead every now and then. I can't think of anyone more deserving."

And then you realise - horrifyingly, I might add - that Ruffalo is the protagonist of the film. Yes, that's right, you're supposed to be rooting for this guy to change his silly ways and open his mind to magic. To rub salt into the wound, Ruffalo is assigned a French Interpol agent - played by the usually rather good Melanie Laurent - as his partner. Again, that's correct - Ruffalo must now also learn to get along with this strange, foreign person too if he's to ever catch the culprits. Oh, Mark, why won't you listen to her telling you about some ridiculous secret magic cult called, of all things, The Eye? Why won't to recognise that some magician who drowned all those years ago is relevant? Why Mark, why?

Well, to be fair, he might listen if Laurent's character wasn't so dreadfully annoying. The writers of this film seem to have never met a French person before, so Laurent is forced to spout all manner of ridiculous dialogue. At one point, while arguing with Ruffalo she literally quotes a proverb about mountains. In French. Which she hastily translates to avoid American audiences falling asleep. And the "romantic" scenes are simply dire. "I guess this is it" mumbles Ruffalo as money flies around them. "Is it?" croons Laurent as they delicately kiss. My word, I can already hear the Oscars rolling in.

The problem I have with this film is that it all feels so fake. If these magic tricks are so plausible then why is CGI being used everywhere? How the hell did four simple tricksters manage to persuade rich, selfish businessman Michael Caine to fund them? Why is Morgan Freeman wearing a stupid hat? Another problem is the characters. I've already expressed my distaste for the aforementioned stupid buddy-cop duo, but the characters of the Four Horseman get on my nerves as well. Considering how prominently the ragtag group of magicians were featured in the advertising for this film, you would have thought that they'd at least have some personality traits attached to them. But no, Eisenburg is an arrogant dick people somehow find attractive and charming, Franco fails to persuade us he is anyone else but James Franco's brother, Fisher's most notable personality traits are her breasts and I'm not even sure they gave Woody Harrelson a script. Oh, and to top it all off, there's a final act twist so ridiculous I laughed aloud in the cinema (which earned me some distasteful looks to say the least).

It's by no means terrible - ignore the nagging voices in your head and you might have fun - but everything here has been done before and better, so go watch The Prestige again or something.

★★