My Movie Muse

Spirited Away (Hayao Miyizaki, 2001) Winner: 2002 Academy Award for Best Animated Feature

2011-02-04T03:20:00.000-08:00

Almost certainly the best-loved and most accessible films within the Studio Ghibli canon, Spirited Away, through its triumph at the 2002 Academy Awards (so far the only non-English animated feature to win in the category) awakened the Western world to the presence of Miyazaki's work and Japanese animation as a whole. Before long, the entire Studio Ghibli collection was being dubbed and released on DVD, to be seen by a much wider audience. And rightly so. The films of Studio Ghibli, and Miyazaki in particular, deserve to be viewed by as wide an audience as possible. And with it's rich detail, wild imagination and dark, complex themes, Spirited Away stands as one of the grandest achievements in the world of animated cinema. Far less violent and disturbing than other Ghibli classics such as Princess Mononoke, but more adult-friendly than the cutesy My Neighbour Totoro, Spirited Away tackles themes of youthful alienation, dislocation and loss of innocence, channelled through a magical folklore-ish narrative.

The story sees young girl Chihiro, miserable about moving to a different town, separated from her parents in a strange abandoned themepark. Upon relocating her parents and discovering they have been transformed into pigs by dark magic, Chihiro realises she is in deep trouble as night falls and the themepark comes alive with bizarre spirits. Discovered by morally-ambiguous Haku, Chihiro is put to work serving spirit-guests in what turns out to be, not a themepark, but a bathhouse. Encountering various odd and freakish characters, including devious witch Yubaba and her grotesque giant baby; a spider-like boiler room operator called Kamajii; and a silent, stalking shadow figure appropriately named No-Face, Chihiro eventually earns the respect and friendship of her spirit captors and sets out on a surreal journey to rescue her parents and unveil the true identity of the mysterious Haku.

The Japanese equivalent of Alice In Wonderland, Spirited Away is a classic in its own right. A refreshingly imaginative take on the coming-of-age story, Miyazaki's film, with its memorable characters, gorgeous illustrations and complex yet coherent narrative, is truly an Oscar-worthy film. Yet with only one of the four Ghibli films produced since Spirited Away receiving an Academy Award nomination (Howl's Moving Castle in 2006), let us hope that Miyazaki's western success is not forgotten as quickly as it was recognised.

Academy Award Special

2011-02-03T04:59:00.000-08:00

The Oscar. The most prestigious award in the cinema industry. Win one, just one, and a filmmaker can rest easy. Their name will forever be associated with the world of cinema legends. Gone With The Wind, Casablanca, Ben-Hur, The Godfather... well, it's easy to see why such a big fuss is made over the Academy Awards. But who will triumph this year? Will it be Tom Hooper's crowd-pleasing biopic The King's Speech? Or will it be Darren Aronofsky's fever-dream masterpiece The Black Swan? Or perhaps one of the underdogs; light-hearted indie The Kids Are Alright, or the critically-lauded Winter's Bone? Or how about Toy Story 3 to make it really controversial? Nothing is certain. Yet by the end of the month it will all be over and another picture will join the likes of Slumdog Millionaire and The Hurt Locker under the title of modern classic. So, in this time of excitement and uncertainty, let us look back upon some of the previous winners and remind ourselves of just what made them worthy of such prestigious immortality...

1. The Blair Witch Project (Daniel Myrick & Eduardo Sanchez, 1999)

2011-02-02T07:24:00.000-08:00

An utterly revolutionary film, not just within the horror genre, but for the film industry as a whole, Myrick and Sanchez's ultra-low-budget mockumentary proved that you don't need a big budget to achieve big scares. Or big bucks...

Made on a shoestring budget of roughly $500,000, The Blair Witch Project grossed almost $250 million worldwide, creating mass hysteria due to its revolutionary marketing techniques and becoming one of the most effective and influential horror flicks of all time.

While much attention is paid to the filmmakers' approach to marketing (heavy emphasis on internet hype, "missing" posters of actors produced to further authenticity etc.), and rightly so, the film's content must not be understated when assessing Blair Witch's impact. Myrick and Sanchez manage to craft an entirely convincing legend to fuel their "documentary", using interviews of local Burkittsville residents to piece together the mythical Blair Witch, incorporating fabricated figures such as Rustin Parr, a 1940s child killer and Elly Kedward, a 16th century sorceress. The legend is pieced together by a trio of amateur documentarians, led by bossy matriarch Heather Donahue, who use the interviews as an introduction to their documented expedition into the dense woodland surrounding the town in an attempt to dismiss or confirm the existence of the purported witch.

Surprisingly, the interviews with locals, filmed entirely in an amateur manner, are considerably unsettling - a tribute to the strength of Myrick and Sanchez's made-up legend. And as the trio venture deeper into the forest, away from the smiling locals, the feeling of unease becomes more and more apparent. However, even after the protagonists leave civilization behind, becoming lost in the woods, surprisingly little actually happens. It is therefore a solid argument for inference over the explicit that horror can be drawn from simple sources such as a mound of stones mysteriously placed outside the trio's tent, strange stick figures suspended from trees and unidentifiable cracking noises in the night. Indeed, such small events, when placed within such an authentically realised and effectively-paced narrative become strikingly believable and utterly chilling.

And while it could be argued that the fabled Blair Witch may be one of the scariest monsters in cinema history, the true nature of the trio's tormenter remains unknown. Indeed, the figure itself is never caught on camera, raising the question of whether supernatural forces really are at work or if it is merely a clan of Deliverance-style yokels lurking in the shadows. The fact is, it really doesn't matter. Witch or not, the creature producing guttural noises outside the tent, leaving slime on the camper's belongings and luring them towards an abandoned cottage is a force of sheer horror.

In one of the most disturbing climaxes in film history, we follow Heather through the lens of her camera (on night-vision mode) as she and Mike search the derelict cottage for missing friend Josh, who disappeared without a sound two nights earlier. The terror reaches feverish levels as, through the nauseating handheld camerawork, we can see children's bloody handprints on the walls - an obvious reference to the story recounted by a local earlier in the film, about a notorious child-killer who dwelled in the forest. And what was it about him taking them into the basement and standing them in the corner?...

In the final moments, we hear Mike declare, "He's downstairs! I can hear him downstairs!" As Heather and the camera rush down into the basement to investigate, we catch a brief glimpse of Mike, his back to us, standing motionless in the corner of the room. A sudden scream from Heather and the camera drops, recording the silent gloom for several moments, leaving the audience unsettled and disorientated before shutting off and definitively ending the film. It is a bleak end to an utterly harrowing experience.

A triumph on every level, The Blair Witch Project stands as a shining example of industrious filmmaking, blending realism, effective storytelling, subtle narrative devices and naturalistic acting to create an entirely convincing and entirely horrific mockumentary. Paving the way for other acclaimed horror films such as Cloverfield and REC, Blair Witch may very well be the scariest horror film ever made.

6. Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979)

2010-12-10T06:01:00.000-08:00

Though perhaps more sci-fi than horror, I feel justified in placing Ridley Scott's grim outer-space venture on this list due to its incredible implementation of intricately crafted atmosphere to create a sense of claustrophobia, isolation and, most of all, terror. While monster flicks tend to have little lasting horror in them, Scott's creation is as terrifying now as it was when it was released for the first time over thirty years ago. As an almost invincible, terrifyingly calculated predator, the sleek extraterrestrial in Alien is undeniably one of the scariest beings to ever stalk the screen.

However, while the design of the monster is utterly perfect, it is the direction more than anything else that gives Alien such horrific credibility. The spaceship in which Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) and her crew reside stands in stark contrast to the pristine, white minamilist designs familiar to audiences of Star Trek and Lost in Space. In his vision of a spaceship, Scott creates cramped, bleak conditions. Long, empty corridors are choked with buzzing wires and hissing pipes. Light is minimal and ambient noises constant. The set design evokes the claustrophobic atmosphere of a sewer or a mine. Indeed, floating through dense, pitch black space, confined only to the cramped ship, the characters in Alien may as well be trapped underground.

It is through the sense of isolation and claustrophobia that the horror stems, as well as fear of the unknown juxtaposed with a sense of dreadful knowing. In the scenes where the crew explores an abandoned terrain littered with the skeletons of giant humanoid creatures, this feeling of fearful epistemophilia is paramount. We the audience have no idea what has happened to these creatures, but we are burdened with the dreadful knowledge that it is going to happen again to our protagonists. And the skeleton with the shattered ribcage is particularly foreboding.

Our fears are realised in one of the most horrific scenes of the film. Upon discovering a hive of strange egg-like items, crew member Kane (John Hurt) falls foul of one of the creatures dwelling within the eggs. As he peers into the freshly-opened shell, a repulsive insect-like beast in the shape of a bony hand, leaps onto his face, curling its crooked claws around his skull and refusing to let go. Unable to prise the creature from Kane's face, his crewmates take him back aboard ship with the entity still attached. While this may be horrific enough, it is not until later when the true terror begins and the real monster is introduced.

In a sequence of horror matched only perhaps by Psycho's infamous shower scene, a seemingly recovered Kane interrupts tea-time conversation as he begins to spasm feverishly before collapsing onto the dinner table. It is at this moment that it becomes clear that the face-hugging creature left more than pinch-marks in Kane's body. As he writhes in pain and his friends struggle to hold him down, we see an ominous bulge emerge from his chest. After several seconds of intense confusion and absolute panic, a spray of blood spurts forth as Kane's chest erupts, ending his life and unleashing the deadly creature that will wipe out all but one member of the crew.

So continues the terror as the deadly dual-mouthed, acid-bleeding alien stalks the ship's corridors and ventilation shafts, picking off the crew members one by one. Another of the film's most memorable scenes is the one which involves the death of the ship's captain, Dallas (Tom Skerrit), who crawls through the air vents armed with a flamethrower as Ripley tracks his movements on a monitor. The dread escalates as Ripley spots a blip on the radar that is heading straight towards Dallas' position, to the point that it is apparently right on top of him. Unable to detect anything, Dallas informs Ripley that she must be mistaken. Suddenly, a flash of flame, a glimpse of the alien's glittering jaws, an abrupt scream and another chief protagonist meets his demise. No visual gore or drawn-out violence. Just brilliantly-crafted atmosphere and suspense. Other notable scenes of horror include Ripley's stand-off against crew member Ash (Ian Holm) as he reveals his treacherous plans, proving that the alien is not the only predator on board this cramped spaceship; as well as Ripley's final encounter with the creature in the escape pod, just as we come to believe that all will be well. The sudden, unpredicatable reappearance of the alien remains one of the jumpiest moments in cinema history.

All in all then, it is clear that Alien well and truly earned its position on this list, not merely because its horror remains intact after three decades but also for its ability to transcend genres, its remarkable crafting of atmosphere and its creation of the ultimate silent killer. Michael Myers in alien-form, Scott's monster is as cunning, brutal and efficient a villain as the horror genre has ever seen.

14. The Innocents (Jack Clayton, 1961)

2010-11-17T09:06:00.000-08:00

A masterful supernatural horror, Jack Clayton's The Innocents is often criminally overlooked by connoisseurs of the horror genre. At 50 years old, it is staggering that it should still hold the power to horrify audiences. And yet it does. Indeed, Clayton's ghostly masterpiece lingers with the viewer much longer than the majority of modern horrors.

The Innocents is a screen adaptation of Henry James' acclaimed novella The Turn of the Screw, a chilling tale in its own right, and one that has had more than its fair share of reimaginings. However, The Innocents stands out as by far the most accomplished and effective interpretation of the novel. Its success can be seen as a combination of director Clayton's unique idiosyncratic adjustments to the source material and renowned cinematographer Freddie Francis' incredibly skilful and original approach to capturing the ghostly essence of the narrative. His utilisation of bold, minimal lighting and deep focus frays the edges of the frame and allows us to believe that terror lurks in every dark corner of the film's gothic mansion setting. Clayton aptly disregarded the title of James’ original piece, instead favouring The Innocents as a title, which is entirely appropriate given that the film centres its horror on the debatable innocence of the child characters, questioning whether or not it has been tainted. The change of title is notable also because, although the narrative is borrowed from James’ prose, the film is entirely Clayton’s vision.

The story tells of a young governess (Deborah Kerr - in her forties at the time but managing to channel innocent naivety) who is sent by a wealthy socialite (Michael Redgrave) to care for his two children at his idyllic country estate. The children, Flora and Miles, turn out to be charming, and the maid, Mrs Grose (Megs Jenkins) friendly and welcoming. However, the governess becomes unsettled when she begins to hear voices and see figures watching her, first from atop the tower and later from the far bank of the river. Clayton and Francis' superb filming techniques create ambiguity in the images of the figures, allowing we the audience to question whether the figures exist or are merely in the mind of the over-imaginative governess. The children, however, soon begin to appear secretive and devious and, upon probing Mrs Grose, the governess learns of the fate of her predecessor, Miss Jessel, who began an illicit affair with the valet, the devilish Peter Quint, their descriptions matching those of the figures witnessed by the governess. Why is this news so terrifying? Because both of them are dead. Now feverishly paranoid, the governess sees evil and corruption all around her - a letter from Miles' headmaster, stating that he is to be expelled for being a bad influence on the other boys; the eerie lullaby hummed with a knowing smile by Flora; and a disturbingly adult kiss goodnight from Miles. All suggest to both the governess and we the audience that not everything is as it appears and that dark forces may be at work, influencing and corrupting the children. The governess becomes more and more hysterical; her aggressive, desperate questioning of Flora prompting the girl to scream obscenities and denounce the governess as wicked. After sending Flora away with Mrs Grose, the governess accompanies Miles in a final confrontation with her ghostly demons...

The story alone is fairly unsettling but Clayton's vision of James' prose adds numerous more layers of terror. We, like the governess, are led to believe that ghostly figures could lurk in every shadow, adding to the suspense and heightening the horror. In one particularly haunting scene, a pale, ghastly face glides out of the gloom to stare through the window at the petrified governess. From that point on, we see horror lurking behind every window and are forced to question whether the dark figure in the background is simply one of the mansions many statues or something more sinister.

Sound is also effectively utilised throughout The Innocents and helps to convey the unearthly, supernatural qualities of the narrative. Be it via Flora's gentle lullaby; the shriek of a creature outside the governess' window; the steady tap of a curtain cord swinging against the window pane or the plethora of disembodied voices that plague the protagonist, the skilful manipulation of sound contributes to the feeling of unease maintained throughout the film, until its dreadful conclusion. In a terrifyingly fervid climax, which ultimately ends in tragedy, we the audience are left shaken, burdened with the ghastly images of Quint and Jessel and yet, chillingly, still none the wiser as to whether they were ever there at all.

5. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974)

2010-11-15T10:54:00.000-08:00

Much like Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre introduced the unsettling notion of primitive barbarians existing within backwater America. While previously, American horror movies had highlighted faraway lands such as Transylvania, foggy London and frozen Antarctic plains as places of terror, a new generation of the genre, pioneered by the likes of Tobe Hooper, suggested that real monsters existed in the forgotten corners of contemporary America. The fact that Hooper based his screenplay on the antics of Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, further emphasises the sense of dreadful realism that is infused within the horrific narrative.

With such an explicitly violent title, it is perhaps inevitable that the horror emerges right from the get-go. The film's exposition sees a youthful group of friends pick up a hitchhiker on their way to a family homestead. The hitcher (Edwin Neal) immediately brings an unsettling atmosphere to the film as he garbles about working at the slaughterhouse and begins to slash himself with a knife. When he aims the blade at one of the friends, the group forces him out of the car, leaving him ranting on the side of the road. So far, so creepy. But things really take a grisly turn as young couple Pam and Kirk separate from the main group and set off to find a local swimming hole. Unable to locate it, they call at a nearby house to ask for directions. Unbeknownst to them, within this house dwells one of the scariest cinema monsters of all time. While Pam waits outside, Kirk ventures into the seemingly empty house. Stumbling over a trip wire, Kirk suddenly comes face to face with the lumbering figure of Leatherface, a towering maniac whose face is concealed by that of another person. After cracking Kirk's skull with a mallet, Leatherface drags his twitching body into his workshop. Meanwhile, Pam enters the house, curious as to why Kirk is taking so long. Upon discovering a living room full of bones, animal carcasses and furniture made from human remains, Pam too encounters Leatherface, who nimbly places her, kicking and screaming, onto the end of a meathook.

What is truly remarkable about Hooper's film is that, much like Carpenter's Halloween, the majority of the violence is implied, rather than graphically realised. Indeed, while the aforementioned scene is inarguably horrific, we the audience don't actually see the meathook penetrate Pam's flesh, nor do we see a drop of blood splatter from Kirk's skull. And while the character of Leatherface and his methods of murder are entirely gruesome, the true horror within this scene, and the entire film itself, is established through atmosphere. The juxtaposition between the perfectly ordinary exterior of the house and the death-entrenched items within it is one of the most effective elements of Hooper’s film. This factor is furthered in the film's climax in which, after witnessing her brother being carved up by Leatherface, main protagonist Sally (Marilyn Burns), is trussed up and forced to endure a dinner party with the rest of his deranged family, which include the manic hitchhiker; the initially friendly proprietor of the local gas station; and "Grampa", a disturbingly ancient man who is so weak with age he can barely move, except to sup at the blood from Sally's finger. Despite the sense of despair and helplessness of this scene, the film offers something of a happy ending, with a blood-soaked Sally escaping on the back of a pick-up truck and cackling manically as she speeds away from the deranged Leatherface.

Although typically viewed as an exploitation film, and often lumped into the category of "video nasty", The Texas Chainsaw Massacre endures as one of the most effective of all American horror films and also one of the most well-crafted. Although superficially a film motivated by extreme violence - certainly it possesses one of the most explicitly violent titles in cinema history - TCM exhibits raw filmmaking talent through its use of sound - the buzzing of flies and the relentless screams, particularly in the dinner scene, contribute to an incredibly unsettling viewing experience, while the use of setting and mise-en-scene - the somewhat idyllic rural environment starkly contrasted against grisly props such as the human furniture, the corpses in the rocking chairs and Leatherface's blood-soaked workshop - craft an undercurrent of death and stagnancy that flows throughout the narrative. The character of Leatherface also represents a terrifyingly grim masterpiece. He evokes many of the strengths that the figure of Michael Myers possesses - the silence, the masked face, the relentlessness - but he is much more complex than Carpenter's monster. Subtle scenes such as that depicting Leatherface sitting with his head in his hands, seemingly in despair of his murderous urges mark the antagonist as a troubled, complicated monster, and all the scarier for it. All in all, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is everything good horror should be. Multi-layered, atmospheric, bloodthirsty, gripping and rotten to the core.

2010-11-05T08:11:00.000-07:00

7. The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973)

Perhaps the most unique horror film within this countdown, and certainly one of the most original creations the genre has to offer, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man remains a deeply unsettling piece of filmmaking and one of the most acclaimed British horrors of all time. Though best remembered for its horrendously grim finale, Hardy’s film boasts many more chilling treasures than that.

Like many horror films of its era, The Wicker Man places heavy emphasis on lust and sexuality. However, unlike the Hammer Horrors that portrayed such themes via amorous vampires and the like, Hardy’s film channels them through an almost entirely untouched subject. Though a deeply disturbing and macabre topic, the notion of Paganism remains mostly unexplored within the cinematic realm. However, screenwriter Anthony Schaffer’s script boldly introduces the unnerving concept that, on a rural island off the coast of Scotland, dwells a community of Pagans who believe that the only way to ensure the success of their harvest is to present their gods with a live human sacrifice.

Edward Woodward portrays the islander’s offering, Sergeant Howie, a straight-laced religious policeman who, on visiting the island after receiving reports of a missing girl, is unable to hide his contempt and suspicion for the chirpy villagers who deny all knowledge of the disappearance. However, through the deliberately slow pace and commendable storytelling technique, both Howie and we the audience begin to sense danger amidst the collection of welcoming smiles. As Howie encounters various bizarre incidents; his plane is sabotaged, stranding him; a recently buried casket contains the body of a rabbit; a schoolmistress sternly informs her young pupils of the workings of the male genitals, it is clear that something sinister is afoot.

And at the centre of all the mystery and unease is the king of horror himself, Christopher Lee, as Lord Summerisle, the dashing ruler of the islands folk. Summerisle’s blatant disregard of Christian principals and deliberately perplexing responses to Howie’s enquiries infuriate and horrify the policeman, who is forced to continue his search alone and with renewed vigour and desperation. Ultimately, he unravels the mystery too late and endures one of cinema’s most memorable exits.

Though the protagonist’s ultimate fate at the hands of the cunning villagers is indeed horrific, what makes the film so enduringly unsettling is the ever-present atmosphere of unease built up throughout the film. Despite the fact that almost everyone in the film-watching world knows how the film ends, the sense of dread remains all the more intact as we watch Howie’s desperate plight, knowing full well what will become of him. Also, the ambiguous nature of the antagonists adds to the unnerving quality of the film. While we feel blatant fear towards the likes of Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger et al, how are we supposed to respond to the beaming villagers, who ultimately assure Howie that his sacrifice is a great honour? While we feel empathy towards the doomed police officer trapped in the torso of the ominous wooden figure, it is difficult to despise the jubilant villagers as they stand hand in hand singing “Summer is a-coming in.” Is the film not simply playing on our anxieties towards other cultures? Does not animal sacrifice still exist elsewhere in the world even to this day? Such ambivalent elements uphold the film as a masterful horror, one that allows us to carry the perplexing dread with us for a long time to come.

2010-11-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

2. 28 Days Later (Danny Boyle, 2002)

While Blair Witch may hold claim to the most disturbing ending to any horror film, 28 Days Later without question possesses the most terrifying introduction. With a brief prologue succinctly setting the scene – a group of animal rights activists releasing infected animals from a laboratory unknowingly unleash a highly contagious virus – the film proper begins with our protagonist Jim (superbly portrayed by Cillian Murphy) waking from a coma 28 days after the aforementioned incident. Finding his hospital entirely abandoned, he sets out into a truly unnerving environment. The sense of isolation and apocalyptic dread reaches immeasurable heights as Jim wanders the streets of a deserted London, desperately trying to assess, as are we the audience, just what has happened while he was sleeping.

This chilling opening sequence bleeds into the main narrative as we realise that the virus has spread throughout the country, and that only the infected remain. To label these antagonists as “zombies” would perhaps be unjust. A far cry from Romero’s shambling hordes of the reanimated dead, Boyle’s nightmarish vision reimagines zombies as super-fast, utterly relentless killing machines. While Romero’s rotting corpses hobbling around shopping malls may stand as clever metaphors for hot topics such as consumerism and nuclear warfare, the monsters in 28 Days represent something much simpler and much more terrifying. They capture that primal fear of society breaking down and of the total isolation that stems from this notion. And within a post-9/11 world, such fears when envisioned as effectively as Boyle manages to achieve, become all the more horrific.

Indeed, it is the concept and the way it is established within the opening frames of 28 Days Later that is the film’s greatest strength. Inevitably, it somewhat loses steam in the narrative’s second half, when the threat shifts from the vicious infected to the cunning inhabitants of a fortified army base. Nevertheless, nothing can undermine the true terror of the first half which contains some of the most chilling scenes ever committed to the big screen; be it the empty London streets littered with bank notes; the creaky church with the message “the end is extremely fucking nigh” scrawled on its walls; or the plague of rats fleeing the encroaching hordes of infected.

Through such visceral, mortifying images, 28 Days Later stands as an example of complete, unrestrained horror, born from originality and brilliant directing. No colourful masked villains; no clichéd set pieces or hammy performances, Boyle’s film is quite simply a nightmare of unimaginably horrific proportions brought to life with remarkable believability and ruthless brutality. Utterly terrifying.

2010-11-04T05:37:00.000-07:00

3. Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978).

Channelling the ominous shadow of Norman Bates, John Carpenter's Halloween stands as the pivotal moment in the creation of the slasher film. Truly a horror for the Halloween season, Carpenter's masterpiece provides heebie-jeebies galore as the truly terrifying figure of Michael Myers stalks the sleepy town of Haddonfield on Halloween night, searching for attractive young babysitters to unleash his insatiable bloodlust upon. Regarding the film's voyeuristic villain, Carpenter keeps it playfully simple. Myers is pure evil. Unlike the disappointing Rob Zombie remake, which unsuccessfully attempted to explore Myers' childhood in order to explain his chilling motives, Carpenter's original merely implies that the killer is an insane individual who was simply born to kill. And we the audience may need know no more than that.

A variety of factors contribute to Halloween's legacy as a triumph of the horror genre. Perhaps most notable is its use of music. The strikingly simplistic theme tune, composed by Carpenter himself, remains a sound that, much like The Exorcist's Tubular Bells theme, has become synonymous with terror. Throughout the film, Carpenter's moody soundtrack helps to form multiple layers of fear to build within the audience's mind.

Another praiseworthy element of the film is its direction and ingenious manipulation of light and shadow. Carpenter's frequent use of long shots and steady tracking shots, often accompanied by the husky sound of Myers' breathing, add a voyeuristic aspect to the film, giving the impression that the protagonists are constantly under surveillance by the ever-present menace, while at the same time, drawing we the audience all the more intimately into the horror, as we are forced to observe the oblivious victims through the killer's eyes. Carpenter's direction also allows for the figure of Myers' to be almost constantly obscured, whether he be hiding behind a hedgerow in the distance, hovering behind billowing sheets on a washing line or lurking in the shadows of a dimly lit living room, the audience is constantly aware of the possibility that Myers may lunge from any corner of the frame. As Carpenter commends of Hitchcock's Psycho; "the scariest scene is where Arbogast comes up the stairs...that moment of [the killer] coming out of nowhere is what influenced me for Halloween". It certainly shows; barely a frame goes by in Halloween where we the audience are unable to convince ourselves that Myers may jump out from the shadows at any moment.

A further noteworthy element of Halloween is the fact that, despite the intensity of the horror, the film contains very little gore and a relatively low body count. Within the main body of the film, only three deaths occur, and each are incredibly drawn out, the majority of the horror being established through suspense. And when the killer finally does strike, barely a drop of blood is seen. Similar to Psycho's infamous shower scene and the much-discussed fact that we never see the blade penetrate the victim's body, in Halloween, even when Myers uses his knife to pin Bob to the kitchen door, the majority of the gore is merely implied. Instead we see two ghostly silhouettes - one with a knife hilt protruding from its torso - framed within a mass of shadows, further proof that clever use of lighting and framing can be much more effective in creating an atmosphere of horror than any amount of graphic violence or buckets of fake blood.

Ultimately, Carpenter's Halloween, with its favourable comparisons to classic Hitchcockian horror, it's impressive status as the origin of all slasher movies and the confession from Christopher Lee that his decision to turn down the role as chief protagonist Dr Sam Loomis was the worst decision of his career, must therefore be regarded as one of the most impressive horror films of all time. Its memorably chilling villain, its portrayal of suburban America as a principal setting for terror and its immeasurably effective use of sound, lighting and camerawork all contribute to the creation of a genuine horror masterpiece.

Toy Story 3 (Lee Unkrich, 2010) Cert. U

2010-07-22T12:59:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to believe that 15 years have passed since John Lasseter’s groundbreaking – not to mention risky – venture Toy Story, the film that pioneered the medium of CGI animation, revolutionised the concept of family cinema and secured Pixar as one of the most industrious, respectable and beloved franchises in the world. Indeed, such was the quality and originality of that first film, even after a decade and a half, Toy Story, despite the dozen other great Pixar movies that followed, arguably remains the grandest achievement of the company to date; the benchmark was set in 1995 and has yet to be surpassed. Everything stood in its favour. Practically seamless CGI animation, lovable characters, a witty, sophisticated script, plenty of imagination, an abundance of pathos and stellar performances by two fine Hollywood actors, Hanks and Allen – though their names were never overtly promoted to encourage audience figures, unlike rival CGI flicks such as Shrek. With a short and sweet runtime of just 80 minutes, Toy Story utilised its screentime flawlessly; a shining example of subtle, intelligent storytelling that was not blighted by the various factors that have affected other Pixar films, such as over-the-top vocal performances (Billy Crystal in Monsters Inc. was ultimately irritating), overambitious narratives (both Wall-E and UP suffered from poor second acts, abandoning the quiet, emotive qualities of the first halves in favour of overblown action sequences) and general lack of storytelling prowess (critics largely agreed that Cars did not have the emotional edge of the previous Pixar films). Nope, Toy Story was perfect. However, the sequel, Toy Story 2, which followed several years later, despite unanimously popular reviews from critics and audiences alike, somehow did not deliver to quite the same extent as the original. This of course begs the question; will Toy Story 3 - the closing chapter – live up to the standard set by its originator?

Unsurprisingly, the answer is no. To me, the original will never be rivalled. However, even I can’t deny that Toy Story 3 gave it a fair try. There was something incredibly sentimental and nostalgic about being reunited with these characters for one last time. And I count myself lucky that I was among that generation who enjoyed the first two episodes during childhood; thus providing even more of an emotional connection with the story, as the final chapter sees the colourful pals several years on from the original narrative, with their owner Andy all grown up and ready to move on. This is the notion that drives the story forward – what happens to beloved toys when their owners have no further use for them? Do they get stuffed in the attic? Donated to charity? Or –worst case scenario – shoved in a black bag and left for the bin men? Fortunately for Woody, Buzz and co, they find themselves relocated to Sunnyside Day Care Centre. However, with an anxious Woody desperate to return to Andy, a band of sinister new toys determined to lay down a strict regime, and a destructive classroom of toddlers intent on tearing the gang to pieces, adventure and peril are never far away.

The narrative is so similar to the previous two films that it comes across as rather contrived – elaborate escape plans, seemingly nice toys turned nasty etc. Nevertheless, Toy Story 3 contains enough fresh material and general energy and wit to keep the viewer thoroughly entertained. A fair few new characters are introduced, and all are entertaining – a flamboyant Ken doll is hilarious while a beady eyed wind-up monkey is humorously terrifying – and matched with an appropriate voice artist. And the many reflections upon the original film demonstrate a remarkable level of affection, sophistication and attention to detail on the part of the filmmakers. Such elements as the number plate on Andy’s mother’s car remaining the same; the inclusion of Sid, the original villain, as a grimy garbage man; and a beautiful closing shot that subtly echoes the opening frame of the first movie, all add to the sense of quality and devotion that infuses the film. And the final farewell between Andy and Woody is delivered with such poignancy that it won’t just be the children in the audience who leave in tears at the definite close of this remarkable trilogy.

As a further note, the fact that the film is in 3d makes little difference. While at times it is incredibly effective – there are moments where it seems you could reach out and touch Woody’s hand – on the whole it neither adds to, nor detracts from the overall level of entertainment that the movie offers. Unlike 3d-dependent flicks such as Avatar, this is one film that will be just as enjoyable on DVD.

Overall then, Toy Story 3 is a triumph on the part of Pixar. An appropriately affectionate and emotional conclusion to one of the most imaginative stories ever committed to screen. Not a classic in the sense of the original film, but a remarkable achievement nonetheless and a further reason to look to the people at Pixar as the pioneers of the modern family film and to regard Lasseter as the true saviour of the summer blockbuster. 9/10

Ponyo (Hayao Miyazaki, 2008) Cert. U

2010-07-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

Half a decade after the release of Howl's Moving Castle, Japanese maestro Hayao Miyazaki once again makes his mark upon the Western world with Ponyo, his own unique retelling of Hans Christian Anderson's classic tale The Little Mermaid. The colourful animation follows the adventures of mischievous fish-girl Ponyo (who, unlike the conventional mermaid looks more like Nemo with a cherub's face) as she escapes from the underwater castle of her overbearing father, Fujimoto, and travels to the surface world. There, she is discovered by Sosuke, an inquisitive young boy, who is surprised and delighted when his new pet goldfish begins to speak. Before long, Ponyo gets the taste for human life and magically takes on the form of a little girl, furthering the blossoming friendship between her and Sosuke. However, in doing so she causes a magical imbalance in the world and, with her hysterical father scouring land and sea with his army of sea creatures, ominous storm clouds begin to gather. Thus Ponyo and Sosuke find themselves at the midst of a dangerous clash between mystical sorcery and natural disaster.

With celebrities such as Liam Neeson, Tina Fey and Matt Damon willing to lend their voices to the English-dubbed version, Ponyo stands as proof of the impact Miyazaki's work has had upon the Western film industry and of the high regard in which he is held by his filmmaking peers. However, despite the large fanbase that Studio Ghibli has found in its Western audiences, Ponyo is unlikely to please everybody. Those looking for a film with the dark undertones and sophisticated themes that are so predominant in the likes of Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, may be disappointed at the sheer innocence of Ponyo. Indeed, it cannot be denied that this is a film for children, with a simple, ambling narrative and adorable characters; an animation that truly upholds Studio Ghibli's reputation as the Japanese Disney.

However, unlike the majority of recent Disney releases, Ponyo possesses qualities that will no doubt enthral countless members of the older generations as well. With Miyazaki's signature attention to detail, the hand-drawn animation is truly astonishing and the soundtrack, unlike previous Ghibli films, is enchantingly orchestral. These two elements combined, at times make for cinematic triumphs. Extraordinary scenes such as Ponyo jetting up to the ocean surface amidst schools of sea creatures to the sound of a soaring instrumental conjures up images that hark back to Fantasia and the vibrant feelings of magic and innocence that such early animated masterpieces represented. Indeed, while it may be said that Ponyo DVDs will no doubt be a more common sight amongst Pixar boxsets in family homes than in the collections of passionate film buffs, Miyazaki's latest is nevertheless, a masterpiece - proof that the 69 year-old, despite his usual penchant for nightmarish apparitions and violent conflict, can still summon up his inner-child with ease and, like a more industrious version of Walt Disney, is able to deliver an animation that is simple and masterful in equal measure.

8.5/10

Where The Wild Things Are (Spike Jonze, 2009) PG

2009-12-17T07:56:00.000-08:00

Although Maurice Sendak's cult children's fable could be read from start to finish within minutes, its dark undertones, vivid illustrations and wildly imaginative plot made it ideal for a cinematic adaptation. However, the means of actually achieving a film that combined the story's strengths as well as remaining loyal to its general warmth and simplicity has proved problematic. Over the years, many directors have expressed an interest in making a film version but all have eventually abandoned the mission, leading to the accepted opinion that Sendak's masterpiece was, after all, unfilmable. That is, until the master of the unfilmable, Spike Jonze, made the decision to tackle this leviathon, this 'Wild Thing'.

Jonze, renowned in his field for producing the seemingly absurd Being John Malkovich with outstanding aplomb, as well as delivering the critically lauded Adaptation and those two great Fatboy Slim videos, Praise You and Weapon Of Choice, was inarguably the right man for the job. If anyone could bring the Wild Things to life, it would be him. That's not to say Jonze escaped the enormous responsibility the project entailed. To turn a twenty-odd page book into a feature length film inevitably demanded some major tweaking and excessive filler material. So to create an acceptable adaptation for the book's cult followers seemed improbable, even by Jonze'a standards.

Fortunately, the fans needn't have worried. After working closely with Sendak, and utilising his unique but ever-likable auteur's touch, Jonze has crafted one of the greatest fantasy features to ever grace the big screen. Visually stunning, with a rich colour pallet and landscapes ranging from golden deserts to lush forests to wind-swept cliff faces, Jonze adequately reflects the fine detail of Sendak's original illustrations. Furthermore, the Wild Things themselves look, quite simply, perfect. Ferocious and teddy-like in equal measure, they exude emotion and charm, due also to the appropriately selected voice-cast that includes James Gandolfini and Forest Whittaker, as well as Six Feet Under's Lauren Ambrose and Little Miss Sunshine's Paul Dano. Sensibly, Jonze opted to use elaborate costumes courtesy of the Jim Henson Creature Workshop, giving the film a warm sense of realism that is lacking in the likes of James Cameron's CGI exrtravaganza, Avatar, the release of which closely follows Wild Things.

However, impressive as Sendak's living monsters are, the true standout star of Where The Wild Things Are has to be the young Max Records. Easily the most convincing child actor ever to feature in a lead role, Records surpasses even the likes of Hayley Joel Osmont. This was another possible problem for Jonze, the story is so heavily focussed on the character of Max that an unconvincing performer would taint the entire film. But Records delivers the perfect performance, wonderfully natural, overflowing with both wide-eyed innocence and wild rebellion, and most importantly, totally believable and utterly engaging.

In terms of narrative, Jonze has got it spot-on. The early scenes, which show Max's difficult relationships with his older sister and stressed-out mum (Katherine Keener), are executed with enough depth and attention to detail to fully establish the charcter's background and state-of-mind, yet remain relatively brief, allowing Jonze to swiftly present us with the spectacular Wild Thing's Island. Although we don't see the jungle sprouting within Max's bedroom (which would have been great to see), Jonze's substitution of a discovery of a rowing boat that transports Max to his dream world is equally suitable and adequately reflects the transition of reality to imagination. Similarly, the fleshing-out of the narrative is sensibly developed and extends the 'wild rumpus' of the original story to incorporate issues of broken families, difficult relationships, adolescence, violence, ambition and pretty much anything else you care to interpret.

Perhaps the only criticism to be made of Where The Wild Things Are is the fact that, although based on a children's story, it is not strictly a children's film. Indeed, while many youngsters would enjoy the sight of the fuzzy wild things hurling each other around and roaring themselves hoarse, it is unlikely that they would appreciate the slow, indie-style pace of the narrative, nor the subtle humour of the dialogue or the many darker elements of the film (the scene in which the Wild Things surround Max and threaten to eat him alive could easily drive a sensitive child to tears and nightmares). However, to cater to a younger audience would be to make the film overly syruppy which would hamper the loyalty to Sendak's original, dark work that Jonze so avidly adheres to. Wild Things, then, may be seen as a welcome reward for the book's original fans who will be nearing middle-age by this time, and who will doubtlessly appreciate Jonze'a stunningly faithful yet utterly original adaptation of what is clearly a timeless classic. 9.5/10

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (Terry Gilliam, 2009) Cert. 12a

2009-10-26T14:01:00.000-07:00

After an absence of half a decade, maverick director Terry Gilliam returns with a spectacular fantasy tale that stands as the very definition of imagination and originality, and a fitting swan-song for the late Heath Ledger. Much like his surreal masterpiece Brazil, Gilliam’s latest outing, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is a jumble of ideas; an epic adventure that blends together fantastical characters, breath-taking landscapes and captivating special effects, with plenty of eccentric charm and a healthy dose of dark, Python-esque humour.

The film follows the members of a mysterious travelling theatre company whose owner, the eponymous Dr Parnassus (Christopher Plummer) peddles his ability to guide the imagination of his customers. Despite his talents, Parnassus runs into trouble after making a wager with the devil (Tom Waits), and must battle to keep possession of his daughter, Valentina (Lily Cole). Aided by his fellow performers and mysterious stranger Tony (Heath Ledger), Parnassus endeavours to seduce five human souls via the power of imagination in order to win the bet. This, however, proves to be no easy task. The devil is sly and deceitful, while seemingly charming Tony fosters secrets of his own...

For the most part, Gilliam rises to the challenge of translating such a wondrous story to the big screen. Many of the film’s set-pieces are fantastic to behold; from enormous trees that shed glass bottles instead of leaves, to hot air balloons constructed from human faces and a forest of ladders that stretch beyond the clouds. The cast too is highly impressive; Plummer excels as the world-weary eccentric Parnassus, while Tom Waits is magnificent as the suave, moustachioed devil, Mr Nick, generating charm and malevolence in equal measure.

However, it is the performance of Ledger, and of his stand-ins Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell and Jude Law, that inevitably provokes the most interest. As Tony, his last ever role, Ledger proves as engaging and versatile as ever he was, while Depp et al put in solid performances as Tony’s various transformations; a plot-twist employed by Gilliam to salvage the film following Ledger’s untimely death.

Such complexities within the narrative are possibly the film’s only downfall. While the alterations regarding Ledger’s death remain a valiant and entirely necessary effort on Gilliam’s part, other plot ambiguities and overly-elaborate scenes result in a somewhat clunky, rambling tale. Nonetheless, Gilliam-fans will recognise this trait as one of his trademarks and so will not be deterred. Indeed, with a small amount of patience, for many this could prove to be the most impressive, and enjoyable, cinematic outings of the year. 7.5/10

Doubt (John Patrick Shanley, 2009) Cert. 15

2009-03-07T10:25:00.000-08:00

Originally a Pulitzer Prize-winning play by director John Patrick Shanley, Doubt, set in 1964, is a story of corruption and sin in a New York Catholic school. Or is it? The great strength of the plot is that no true facts are ever revealed, such that the audience must decide for themselves what happened and whom is good or evil. Academy Award Winner Meryl Streep heads an incredibly strong leading trio, alongside Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams, all of whom provide stellar performances and who do a more-than-adequate job of carrying the quiet yet powerful script to produce an entirely credible movie adaptation of Shanley’s masterful tale.

Streep stars as school principal Sister Aloysius, a no-nonsense traditionalist who believes that her pupils must be held on a tight leash, for the good of their souls. Offering an entirely different scope on life is Hoffman, as the seemingly good-natured Father Brendan Flynn, a priest who believes that the church must move with the times and be friendlier towards the children in its care if it is to retain its appeal and longevity. Manifested in Flynn’s beliefs is his affectionate relationships with his pupils, in particular Donald Miller, an African-American boy who suffers abuse and harassment at the hands of his white peers. And it is this specific relationship that is at the core of Doubt. A relationship that balances precariously between the affectionate and the abusive, that invites, and indeed demands, audience interpretation, and that fuels the wrath of Sister Aloysius when it is brought to her attention that Father Flynn called Donald Miller to the rectory for a “private matter”. Trapped in the middle of all this is Adams as young nun Sister James, innocent and open to manipulation by both sides. Both respecting and fearing Aloysius, and initially sharing her suspicions of Father Flynn, Sister James soon begins to lose faith in the certainty of her superior’s gross accusations, as her relationship with the accused, and her understanding of his views and methods, strengthen and develop.

Doubt is undeniably a very quiet film. Shanley employs great use of silence, implementing very little non-diegetic music. Tension is built through the silence, which is broken only by the script's brilliantly sharp dialogue, delivered superbly by the film’s universally outstanding cast. And it is the performances that make Doubt a truly impressive film, with the lead actors proving themselves entirely worthy of recognition. One of the most powerful scenes revolves around the discussion between Sister Aloysius and Donald Miller’s mother (Viola Davis). And, fantastic as the leading cast are, it may well be Davis who provides the film’s most astonishing and effective performance as a world-weary mother, desperately devoted to her son, whom she hopes will have a bright future if only he could graduate the school, but whose fate ultimately lies beyond her control and at the hands of Streep’s formidable Principal. Upon hearing Aloysius’s theory that Father Flynn has her son gripped in an indecent relationship, Davis, desperately wanting Donald to remain in the school so that he may graduate, replies, “let him have him then.” Tragic and unflinching, not to mention shocking in the extreme, this line epitomises the controversy and ambiguity that exists within Shanley’s immensely powerful story. A story that presents the devastating consequences of accusation without evidence and that openly challenges and questions the very nature of faith, certainty and of course, Doubt. 8.5/10

The Spirit (Frank Miller, 2008) Cert. 12a

2009-01-13T06:55:00.000-08:00

With co-directors Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino, Frank Miller achieved success in revolutionising the comic-book genre through the stunning Sin City. This masterful piece of filmmaking blended the dark, noir-esque narrative of Miller's comic with abstract, stylish visuals and a fantastic cast, thus establishing firmly Frank Miller's status as one of the new legends of Hollywood. Unfortunately, said status may have been dashed forever due to one of the most unsatisfying, catastrophically misjudged films of recent times. This is The Spirit.

Miller's first solo outing actually begins rather well. Following a mysterious shot of a provocative, girating woman claiming to be the figure of 'death', we are introduced to Denny Colt (newcomer Gabriel Macht) whom we learn is a talented young cop who has returned from the dead as an immortal vigilante known as The Spirit, and whose sole duty it is to protect the city of his birth. Through the opening credits we are presented with the visually-arresting elements that made Sin City so striking (sudden switches to negative, isolation of red objects against black and white surroundings etc), not to mention an impressive collection of names including Samuel L Jackson aka 'the man-who-can-do-no-wrong' (until now) and renowned beauties Scarlett Johannson and Eva Mendes.

Unfortunately, however, it's all down-hill from here. The first key scene involves The Spirit, whilst investigating a shooting in a swamp, coming face-to-face with nemesis The Octopus (Samuel L Jackson), whose evil intentions are as muddy and unclear as the mire in which the pair battle. Jackson is utterly wasted, unable to showcase his talents in such a clumsily shot, badly-scripted mess. Instead he is reduced to popping up behind Macht like a pantomime villain, attacking him with a toilet seat and generally turning the film into more of a farce than it could be thought possible. Indeed, the entire film has the feel of a school play, combining wooden acting, hammy dialogue ('I'm gonna kill you all kinds of dead'), an incomprehensible stroyline and pathetic attempts at comedy - The Octopus' inept henchmen clones (Louis Lombardi) claiming the crown for most irritating and cringingly unfunny characters of any film of the past decade. In fact the only commendable contribution to The Spirit is, surprisingly, the lead man himself, the virtually-unknown Gabriel Macht. His role may be one-dimensional and void of any real emotion, but it is entirely suitable for the story, echoing the deadpan characteristics of the Batman prototype.

However, if Samuel L Jackson could not save The Spirit, Macht's valiant attempt is hardly going to make an impact. In the end, the widely acclaimed graphic novel by Will Eisner is dragged mercilessly through the mud by Miller's clear ineptitude as a solo director. His distinctive visual style is poorly utilised next to Sin City, which makes his solo failure appear all the more humiliating. While Jackson's Octopus attempts to provide an antagonist for The Spirit, it is Miller who ultimately winds up the villain of the piece. Once heralded as a rising star, this hideous mess may already have hammered the last nail into his coffin. His heart may have been in it, but his spirit has long since departed. 1.5/10

Everything Is Illuminated (Liev Schreiber, 2005) Cert.15

2008-11-13T04:34:00.000-08:00

To describe Everything Is Illuminated, the best-selling novel by Jonathan Safran-Foer would be, at best, a tremendously difficult task. To describe its screen adaptation by Liev Schreiber, however, would be close to impossible. Indeed, Safran-Foer's greatly acclaimed literary outing is so eccentrically crafted, so complexly structured, so phenomenally daring, that many might consider it to be unfilmable. How fortunate then that Liev Schreiber's admittedly muddled interpretation not only has a fair crack at it, but succeeds in delivering one of the most refreshing and visually stunning films of recent times.

In fact, Schreiber brings so much of his own vision into the adaptation, and diverts away from the source material in so many ways (the book consists of two separate narratives, Schreiber focusses only on one) that Everything Is Illuminated, his first feature film, could stand alone as an original piece of work, inviting those who have not read the novel as well as reflecting elements that will be familiar to those who have. Schreiber's narrative tells the story of Jonathan (Elijah Wood, generously branching out into a less-mainstream feature), a young Jewish man who collects memories of each of his relatives. All he has to remind him of his late grandfather Safran, however, is an amber necklace and a faded photograph of a Ukrainian whom Jonathan believes helped his grandfather escape from the Nazis. Determined to uncover the truth about Safran's past, Jonathan travels to the Ukraine in the hopes of finding the girl from the photograph. This leads us to Alex (Eugene Hutz of punk band Gogol Bordello, in an astonishing acting debut), an idealistic young man from Odessa who, along with his senile and wildly anti-semitic grandfather (Boris Leskin), acts as Jonathan's guide. The trio travel blindly (quite literally - Leskin's grandfather, who acts as driver, claims throughout to suffer from total blindness) through rural Ukraine, with little success. Trachimbrod, the village-home of Jonathan's grandfather, appears to no longer exist. That is, until they discover an old shack surrounded by sunflowers and inhabited by an elderly collector called Lista. When asked if she knows where Trachimbrod is, she replies simply: 'You are here. I am it.' What follows is a series of tragic and incredibly moving revelations that quite literally illuminate the trio on-screen as well as those watching in front of it.

Schreiber, best known for his roles in Scream and The Manchurian Candidate, delivers a remarkable debut behind the camera. Though not strikingly unconventional, his directing methods contain subtleties that would suggest a filmmaker of far greater experience. The changes in Ukrainian culture is one aspect that Schreiber conveys particularly well; a revealing pan from a quiet elderly couple to a gang of Westernised youths practising BMX stunts in the park behind them being a good example of this. Schreiber also excels in juxtaposing the bleakness of contemporary Ukraine - concrete tower blocks, barren wasteland and derelict, war-torn buildings - with its undeniable beauty - the sunflower-bordered homestead, the tragic, battle-strewn meadow. Sheer cinematic artistry. Though the talent this film showcases is not exclusive to writer and director. Much is to be attributed to its three-strong cast.

In the lead role of Jonathan, Elijah Wood gives a quiet, sensitive performance, letting his eyes deliver the emotion while the rest of his body remains as stiff and pristine as his clipped lines of dialogue. Contrasting this is Eugene Hutz, whose gangling frame, wide-eyed curiosity and imaginative vocabulary, make for an incredibly memorable character. Despite such contrasts, the chemistry between the two performers is faultless and the characters of Jonathan and Alex establish a very believable understanding, each undergoing dramatic and poignant transformations. Amidst all this stands the incomparable Boris Leskin, a renowned Russian stage performer, whose character of Grandfather, a foul mouthed, prejudiced curmudgeon (think of Alan Arkin in Little Miss Sunshine, only more tormented), undergoes the most illuminating transformation of all. Schreiber takes a bold step by drastically altering Grandfather's revelation, a move that may bewilder fans of the novel. But it is a credible solution to a plot twist that may well have proved impossible to commit to film.

Overall then, a more than impressive directorial debut for Schreiber and another superb piece of work for Wood to add to his already momentous resume. While the complex and sometimes muddled storyline may bewilder some viewers, whether they've read the novel or not, the end result is one of pure, life-affirming joy. Definitely worth a watch. 8.5/10

The Darjeeling Limited (Wes Anderson, 2007) Cert.15

2008-10-08T07:24:00.000-07:00

Wes Anderson has to be one of the most exciting directors of recent times. The few films that he has crafted so far (Rushmore (1998), The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (2004) and, most notably, The Royal Tenenbaums (2001)) have rapidly created an auteur status for the young filmmaker and achieved a somewhat cult following, while still appealing to the general mainstream. Anderson’s films have a very independent feel, revolving around eccentric protagonists and mostly dealing with down-to-earth issues such as strains within family life, and yet they possess an extremely likeable quirkiness that many indie films lack, making them very accessible to the average cinema-goer and attractive to big stars who continue to add themselves to Anderson’s credits.

One such star is Owen Wilson, largely known for his roles in such high-concept comedies as You, Me And Dupree (Anthony and Joe Russo, 2006)and The Wedding Crashers (David Dobkin, 2005), neither of which can be considered as particularly impressive contributions to the actor’s resume. And yet, through Anderson, Wilson presents himself as an extremely versatile and inventive performer. His turn as drug addicted author Eli Cash in The Royal Tenenbaums is hilarious and moving in equal measure, while his role as long-lost son Ned Zissou in Life Aquatic possesses a quiet sensitivity that only the most talented of character actors can achieve. However, the artistic ties between director and actor do not end at casting. The two met at the University of Texas and together wrote Anderson’s very first feature, Bottle Rocket (1996), in which Wilson starred. The writing partnership continued with Rushmore and Royal Tenenbaums, confirming the collaboration as one of the most exciting of recent times. Is it any wonder then that Wilson agreed to feature in Anderson’s latest outing, The Darjeeling Limited? His participation immediately predicts an outing that will prove every bit as engaging as the pair’s past efforts, a prediction that proves itself to be true within the very first frames of this incredibly innovative piece of cinema.

Appearing alongside Wilson is Jason Schwartzman, star of Anderson’s first major film, Rushmore, in which he portrayed a bespectacled nerd. In Darjeeling, Schwartzman plays Jack, a suave, moustachioed master of seduction. Quite the opposite of his aforementioned performance yet just as captivating. The only real newcomer to Anderson’s cast is Adrian Brody, best remembered for his earnest performance in Roman Polanski’s masterpiece The Pianist (2002). Brody, however, proves admirably that he is equally comfortable amid the quirky atmosphere of Anderson’s world with his portrayal as tormented Peter, a neurotic father-to-be who is in deep mourning over the death of his own father. Also making appearances are Angelic Huston who worked with Anderson in Royal Tenenbaums and Bill Murray, another of Anderson’s long-standing muses, who makes a glorious cameo appearance as a floundering businessman. Wilson himself plays the ever-positive Francis, a recovering crash victim who throughout the film appears swathed in bandages, an element that acquires a great deal extra depth due to the star’s recent suicide attempt.

In terms of the directing itself, The Darjeeling Limited is utterly flawless. Anderson utilises his beloved slow-motion technique yet never to gimmicky effect. In fact, the tastefully selected soundtrack and perfect framing combined with the slow movements of the actors produces a strangely refreshing result. Anderson also masterfully employs cross-cutting, hand-held camera and indeed just about every cinematographic technique known, as well as crafting a stunning montage sequence traversing various compartments of a train and revealing the activities of the numerous eccentrics to which we are introduced throughout the film. Never before has something quite so stylish or inventive been displayed on screen.

The narrative, written by Anderson, Schwartzman and Roman Coppola, follows three estranged brothers (Wilson, Brody and Schwartzman) who have not spoken since the death of their father a year previously. Brought together by concerned Francis (Wilson), the three meet up in India, aboard the eponymous train, The Darjeeling Limited, destined for the rural monastery at which their widowed mother (Huston) has become a nun. The exotic setting allows for breathtaking set-pieces and foreign environments ranging from flower-filled temples and bustling market-places to quaint pastoral villages and stunning mountain ranges. And the chemistry between the three leads is such that the subtly comic scenes such as those involving a flawed Indian ritual or a brawl aboard the train, appear that much more hilarious, while the sensitive sequences such as a daring river rescue and a traditional Indian funeral (masterfully inter-cut with a flashback of the trio at their father’s funeral) achieve an intense sense of underlying tragedy. Such is the talent of Wes Anderson. The dialogue, performances and narrative developments contain a warmth and realness that speak volumes to the audience and provide a unique form of entertainment that easily matches, indeed surpasses, that of The Royal Tenenbaums and all of Anderson’s previous films. 9/10

Step Brothers (Adam McKay, 2008) Cert.15

2008-09-17T03:49:00.000-07:00

Will Ferrell just seems to move from strength to strength. Stranger Than Fiction was generally well received by critics, Blades of Glory was an enjoyable piece of mindless fun, while Anchorman, along with Ferrell's alter-ego Ron Burgundy, has become something of a cult comedy classic amongst a lot of young people, with memorably ludicrous scenes and extremely quotable lines. The fact that a friend of mine, after making the comment ‘it’s so hot!’ in a nightclub bathroom, clearly heard a voice from a cubicle reply ‘milk was a bad choice!’ shows just what an impact Ferrell has made on the modern comedy circuit. So is his latest outing, Step Brothers another step towards comedic immortality? The answer, unfortunately, is no. Not by a long shot.

Step Brothers, also starring John C. Reilly a.k.a. Dewey Cox, features the two comic stars as a pair of loutish, unemployed thirty-somethings who mooch off their single parents, dad Robert (Richard Jenkins) and mum Nancy (Mary Steenburgen). When, during the film’s opening, the two parents meet, hook up and decide to marry, Brennan (Ferrell) and Dale (Reilly) are forced to confront one another and accept their roles as step brothers. Such a plot-line seems perfect for low-key comedy, with the two spoiled slobs being forced to get used to one another’s presence and habits. However, a major flaw in writer/director Adam Mckay's formula is that Brennan and Dale aren’t just immature. They’re presented as hyper-active kids in adult bodies, mugging at the camera and hurling things around. This approach immediately dumbs down the film’s material and makes Ferrell and Reilly's attempts at humour much more difficult to appreciate.

To me, Step Brothers seems like a children’s film, but packed with enough swearing to give it a 15 certificate. I’m sure a young audience would greatly appreciate the sight of Ferrell and Reilly clowning around, pulling faces at the dinner table and getting bullied by school kids. But this kind of juvenile humour is totally lost on a sophisticated adult audience for whom fart jokes and slapstick have a very limited appeal. Not even the dialogue can save this film from what it immediately brands itself to be. The witty, part-improvised ramblings that made the films of Judd Appatow, such as The 40-Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up so popular, fail to appear in the Step Brothers script. Instead the writers seem to think that by randomly placing the word ‘penis’ within a sentence, laughs will be raised. They aren’t. The remarks that escape Ferrell and Reilly’s lips are more along the lines of; 'I feel like a lightning bolt just struck the end of my penis' and 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but I'm gonna kick you repeatedly in the balls'. That’s about as witty as it gets. Not that there aren’t some funny moments in the film; a sleepwalking scene raises a few smiles and a bunk-bed accident is nothing short of hilarious, but mostly the jokes are completely unsuccessful.

Also, the narrative never really seems to know where its going. The film loses steam when Brennan and Dale decide to become friends instead of enemies, though they continue to misbehave, causing stress and desperation for their parents. The mother is inexplicably patient and understanding with the destructive pair for the entirety of the film, while the father all but disowns them, though, equally inexplicably, takes an immediate shine to Brennan’s older brother Derek (Adam Scott) a high-flying businessman who is presented to us as a totally one-dimensional character with no positive qualities whatsoever. Slightly confusing but, sadly, it gets much worse. After the destructive duo accidentally destroy father Robert's beloved yacht, the two parental characters decide to separate and find their own personal space, leaving Brennan and Dale to fend for themselves. During their first night home alone, they randomly attack one another, a conflict that escalates to the point that Dale drags a seemingly dead Brennan into the garden with the intentions of burying him alive. Until Brennan wakes up, knocks Dale out with a shovel and then starts to bury him alive. Dale later bursts out of the ground, having apparently been fully buried for some time, and the fight continues. The whole sequence makes literally no sense.

Thankfully, the pair eventually decide to settle down, go their own separate ways and, at long last, grow up. Brennan ends up working for his arrogant brother Derek in events management, while Dale becomes a successful caterer. It all seems like a happy, sensible ending to a juvenile, nonsensical film, until the pair meet up at a wine-tasting festival organised by Brennan and catered for by Dale. The parents Nancy and Robert, also show up but, bizarrely are not impressed by the success of their children. Instead they seem to bemoan the fact that they have forced them to act their age and long for the old, juvenile versions. Cue a cringingly over-the-top resolution that sees Brennan and Dale cast away their hard-earned success and become wild, annoying slobs again, dragging the entire narrative mercilessly back to square one and thus making the entire film completely and utterly pointless.

Overall, a disastrous mess with none of the fun or wit that made Ferrell as popular as he is. Tedious, juvenile and ridiculous, not to mention deeply unfunny. Without a doubt, one to avoid. 2.5/10

Hellboy II : The Golden Army (Guillermo Del Toro, 2008) Cert.12a

2008-09-15T03:40:00.000-07:00

After the massive critical success of Del Toro's recent masterpiece, Pan's Labyrinth, and the promises that this sequel to the boisterous fantasy-thriller Hellboy will be the most impressive English-language movie the director has produced so far, Golden Army is a film that you desperately want to be impressed by. And in many ways, Hellboy II is every bit as impressive as Del Toro's fans could have hoped for. The lavish sets, rich colour pallet and imaginative creatures reflect everything that made Pan's Labyrinth such a wonder to watch. However, in a number of ways, it could be argued that Del Toro's latest offers nothing but disappointment.

One of the great assets of Hellboy as a superhero movie is that it remains mercifully tongue-in-cheek. Unlike the well-known Marvel heroes such as Spiderman, Hellboy never takes itself too seriously, Del Toro treating it exactly as it is; a piece of mindless entertainment. Thus, when the film opens with a miniature red devil in pyjamas watching an episode of Howdee-Doodee (a cringingly twee image), we can't really identify it as a flaw because it was never intended to be anything other than 'a bit of fun'. We certainly have no reason for complaint when this scene is followed by a hugely imaginative sequence in which the events of a great legend, as told by John Hurt, unfold in young Hellboy's mind. The story of man versus elf, which shortly becomes the main narrative, is portrayed in the form of wooden puppets reminiscent of Howdee-Doodee, the character that Hellboy has just been watching. The sequence, a bloodthirsty one, is void of any real violence due to this substitution. It conveys childish innocence and, crucially, means that the captivating fantasy creatures are not properly seen until later in the film.

This is undoubtedly a smart move as the most obvious improvement Golden Army holds above the original Hellboy is its vastly increased cast of striking and grotesque beasts. So to delay their emergence is to keep the audience glued to the screen in anticipation, which does not go unrewarded - the characters introduced throughout Golden Army are some of the most majestic and nightmarish creations to ever be portrayed onscreen. The elves, headed by the villainous Prince Nuada (Luke Goss), look as though they are made of cracked ivory - delicate yet deadly; Johann Krauss, a new protagonist voiced by Family Guy's Seth McFarlane, is a mechanical humanoid housing the spirit of a witty German professor; the Angel of Death, much like the monstrous Pale Man from Pan's Labyrinth, has an element of obscene beauty about it; and the much-loved Abe Sapien (Doug Jones) enjoys a greatly increased role. Even the Tooth-fairies, harmless-looking pixies that swarm and devour their prey en masse, have a darkly comic appeal reminiscent of the flesh-eating scarab beetles that made The Mummy so memorably disturbing.

But impressive creatures alone cannot save what is ultimately a flawed and clearly rushed narrative. Del Toro attempts to juggle two separate stories; that of the elf prince Nuada's onslaught against the humans, and Hellboy's (Ron Perlman) internal struggle for acceptance with his pyrotechnic wife (Selma Blair) and the human society he battles to protect, with little success. Stunning characters such as the Angel of Death are pushed to the sidelines and given the bare minimum of time onscreen, the final battle between good and evil ends before it truly begins and the ultimate 'twist' that sees the downfall of Nuada is far too predictable. Hellboy himself remains boorish and arrogant, making him a thoroughly alienating protagonist and Del Toro blatantly overdoes it on the aforementioned 'tongue-in-cheek-ness', grasping for comedy at every opportunity. Thus such scenes as Hellboy and Sapien drunkenly singing Barry Manilow's 'Can't Smile Without You' in between sequences of battle and carnage, appear horrendously misjudged.

All in all, a disappointing outing, especially with regard to the excitement that preceded it. However, despite its flaws, of which there are many, Hellboy II : The Golden Army, remains a visually impressive piece of work, containing every imaginative element that has helped Del Toro to achieve his much-deserved auteur status. An improvement on the original Hellboy, we can only hope the saga will continue to improve. 7.5/10