Saturday 27 April 2024

For what it's worth...



UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of April 19-21, 2024):

1 (1) Back to Black (15)
2 (2) Civil War (15) ***
3 (3Kung Fu Panda 4 (PG)
4 (4Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (12A)
5 (new) Abigail (18)
6 (5) Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire (12A)
7 (6Dune: Part Two (12A) **
8 (7) Monkey Man (18) ****
9 (27) Varshangalkku Shesham (12A)
10 (8) The First Omen (15)

(source: BFI)

My top five:


DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (new) Dune: Part Two (12) **
2 (28) Dune: Part One (12) **
3 (4) Oppenheimer (15) ****
4 (3) Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (12)
5 (13) Argylle (12)
6 (2) Wonka (PG) ***
7 (6) The Holdovers (15) ***
8 (new) Dune: Double Pack (12) **
9 (5) Barbie (12) ***
10 (1) One Life (12)


My top five: 
1. Fallen Leaves

 
Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. Trading Places (Friday, Channel 4, 1.25am)
2. Cape Fear (Wednesday, BBC1, 11.40pm)
3. The Shop Around the Corner (Saturday, BBC2, 2pm)
4. Step Brothers [above] (Friday, Channel 4, 11.05pm)
5. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Saturday, Channel 4, 11.35am)

Double faults: "Challengers"


It is happening again. Every word printed under the sun is telling you the new Luca Guadagnino film Challengers is the greatest thing since sliced focaccia, and the film those words have been attached to turns out, like the majority of Luca Guadagnino projects, to be all of the following: tanned and sheenily watchable, not unhealthy for the wider cinema in its approach to the body and to the libido in particular, assiduously photogenic and saleable, and yet naggingly surfacey, fundamentally piffling, recording only a series of poses struck as they would have been in the filming of any tennis-themed promotional spot for a fashion, jewellery or fragrance line, its feet stuck on the baseline where sensuality tips over into outright decadence. In everything from its erratic understanding of oncourt code violations to a climactic whirlwind apparently fashioned from every last fast-food wrapper discarded through history on an American sidewalk, it is both too much and entirely unpersuasive: hot air at best, an overinflated, overpraised heap of nothing elsewhere. Who is the worst of this generation's so-called "great" directors, Guadagnino or Denis Villeneuve? It will all boil down to what you are most willing to endure in a cinema: the latter's flatly incontrovertible dullness, ambience as a substitute for character and life, or the histrionic hyper-exaggeration of the former, borne out once more in the tiresomely flailing limbs of Challengers' central, Jules et Jim Courier 
ménage à trois.

In one way, it's apt the film's organising slugfest should very nearly be decided by a time violation, given Guadagnino's tendency to overshoot everything, even the routine exposition setting up who's playing who and where. I suspect this is what people are misreading as Movie Art, but it's really just artfulness: you soon begin to miss the way a Hawks or similar could tell a story like this inside 100 minutes, with brisk wit rather than endless huffing-and-puffing. Il Maestro shoots the tennis in intensified single shots, so there's never any sense of court coverage or back-and-forth, the sudden variations of movement and pace that make watching actual tennis such an absorbing pleasure. His grabbiness reaches a nadir in the POV shots of the finale, complete with pumped fists entering the frame: it looks terribly naff for something being praised to the rafters as angular style, like a Lucozade advert you might have glimpsed in the breaks during Surgical Spirit on ITV in 1992. What back-and-forth there is here is built into screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes's ADD-inducing structure, which opens in 2019, flashes back two weeks, returns to the present, flashes back thirteen years, and proceeds in much the same haphazard way thereafter. It takes a full forty minutes just to get its central threesome in the same room, which in itself suggests something about the way our screenwriters have lost the ability to merge backstory and action with the deft hands of a Boris Becker drop shot. Instead, Challengers incessantly jerks its audience around for 131 minutes: it's Surf Dracula, done as a tennis movie.

If you're a die-hard stan of any of these players - as the younger reviewers seem to be - then you may emerge happier. In the course of 131 minutes, you'll witness two or three carefully choreographed, intimately coordinated makeout scenes; these knowing winks to a sex-starved audience are broadly as sexy as Tim Henman, because Guadagnino is trading in that coyly teasing, kit-on sex most commonly used to sell us on khakis and cola. If you come this way anticipating raw, authentic passion, forget it: the fact Challengers is being framed as some sort of boundary-testing erotic breakthrough strikes me as speaking only to the limited imaginations of most film critics. More regrettably, the Guadagnino "touch", such as it is, just opens up more time to ponder the aspects of writing and casting that make little-to-no sense whatsoever. Maybe I missed a memo along the way - maybe it was among the papers swept away in that whirlwind - but there is surely no way Zendaya, seventeen years young at last count, can reasonably be playing mother to even a small child: she still looks like she hasn't had breakfast yet, let alone a baby. (The movie guiltily admits as much by disappearing the kid after the opening fifteen minutes, the better to proceed with Uncle Luca's Polysexual Fun Times, no strings attached.) The boys, meanwhile, are exactly that: klutzy, sniggering nerds, rather than the whey-fed jocks they would have become on the actual tennis circuit. Not for the first time, a major American studio release points up what happens when you abolish the star system and elevate kids who've barely lived to positions of movie responsibility for which they hardly seem qualified. 

Even with its exasperating chicanery and insultingly rote characterisation (unimpeachably sensible head girl, silly-billy boys), Kuritzkes's script might have been pulled into functioning shape by the right personnel, by which I may mean credibly adult humans. As it is, it's just the kind of juvenilia that has to beg for an audience's indulgence: a Superbad-level sex comedy, with bust-ups like high-school tiffs, removed of anything truly amusing and replastered with logos and abysmal EDM meant to counter an inherent lack of propulsion and charge in the material. (The score is credited to Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross: both should have their Goth cards revoked.) Guadagnino, the Boris Johnson of cinema, proceeds with the relentless wiff-waff of any other hype man: Challengers builds to an inconclusive crescendo, offering empty highs but only a tentative result. Clearly, that's been enough for the more excitable first responders, but I can't in all honesty be that thrilled by a movie that so conspicuously bears out a crisis in screenwriting, a crisis in what's left of the star system, and that its maker would be better off throwing in his lot with the blue-chip brands he clearly longs to promote than trying to tell an involving or meaningful story. I wonder whether what's really being reviewed here is our collective memory of a time when the movies would have aced this sort of thing; but now they struggle to get past the first round of basic critical thinking, and go on almost as long as Mahut-Isner.

Challengers is now playing in cinemas nationwide.

In memoriam: Eleanor Coppola (Telegraph 22/04/24)


Eleanor Coppola
, who has died aged 87, was an artist, writer and director whose eye for the chaos and carnival of cinema shone through one of the foremost films about filmmaking:
Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse (1991), an Emmy-winning documentary fashioned by directors Fax Bahr and George Hickenlooper from the reels of footage Coppola shot behind the scenes of her husband Francis Ford Coppola’s legendary Apocalypse Now (1979). 

Filming partly to gather marketing material for United Artists, and partly to alleviate boredom instilled by a notoriously attenuated shoot in the Philippines, Eleanor caught scenes as dramatic as Apocalypse Now itself: a budget spiralling out of control, monsoon-strafed sets, and serious breakdowns in communication between the actors and their self-doubting director. “I tell you from the bottom of my heart that I am making a bad film,” Francis was heard lamenting. “We are all lost.” 

Such scenes articulated a heightened if fraught marital intimacy. Roger Ebert noted how Hearts of Darkness “strips [Francis] Coppola bare of all defences and yet reveals him as a great and brave filmmaker.” (Coppola himself half-jokingly retitled the documentary “Watch Francis Suffer”.) In his gossipy New Hollywood history Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, Peter Biskind suggested the shoot brought pre-existing tensions between Eleanor and the straying Francis to a cyclonic head. 

The pair had met on the set of Francis’s first film, the Roger Corman-backed, Irish-shot Dementia 13 (1963), where Eleanor, two years older, was the assistant art director. Eleanor became pregnant soon afterwards; the couple wed the same year in Vegas and remained married until her death. 

After furnishing Francis’s American Zoetrope studio in orange and royal blue when it opened in 1969, Eleanor reportedly inspired the characterisation of Kay Corleone in The Godfather (1972). Despite the turbulence of the 1970s – during which Francis took to introducing Eleanor as “my first wife” – she raised all three of the couple’s children while also proving instrumental to the success of the Coppola wineries. 

In her thoughtful 2008 memoir Notes on a Life, Eleanor reflected on the compromises entailed by marriage and motherhood: “Over the years I stopped whatever I was doing to go on location with Francis and the children. I sincerely tried to be a good wife and mother... For a variety of reasons, I haven’t created a body of notable work in my life when many around me have, and I haven’t yet made peace with that truth.” 

Eleanor Jessie Neil was born on May 4, 1936 in Long Beach, California, one of three children to political cartoonist Clifford Neil and his wife Delphine (née Lougheed). She studied applied design at UCLA before pausing her career as a tapestry maker. 

Yet in later life, after her children Roman and Sofia had established their filmmaking credentials, Coppola found a creative second wind, directing two semi-autobiographical features: Paris Can Wait (2016), in which Diane Lane takes a scenic French break from bigshot husband Alec Baldwin, and the portmanteau Love is Love is Love (2020) in which, asked the secret to her long marriage, a philandering producer’s wife (Joanne Whalley) replies “Don’t get divorced”. 

While promoting the former, Coppola told one interviewer: “I grew up in the Forties and Fifties, [when] a woman’s role was to support her husband and make a nice home for him. I was frustrated that I didn’t have much time to pursue my interests. Young women today have no concept of that. My daughter and her generation […] take for granted that they’re going to do whatever is their calling. There’s not going to be a question of their role or if they have to give it up because they’re a wife and a mother.” 

She is survived by her husband, and two of her three children, Sofia and Roman. Her eldest son Gian-Carlo died in a boating accident aged 22 in 1986. 

Eleanor Coppola, born May 4, 1936, died April 12, 2024.

Saturday 20 April 2024

For what it's worth...




UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of April 12-14, 2024):

1 (new) Back to Black (15)
2 (new) Civil War (15) ***
3 (1) Kung Fu Panda 4 (PG)
4 (2) Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (12A)
5 (3) Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire (12A)
6 (4Dune: Part Two (12A) **
7 (5) Monkey Man (18) ****
8 (6) The First Omen (15)
9 (new) Aavesham (15) ***
10 (new) Bade Miyan Chote Miyan (15)

(source: BFI)

My top five:


DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (4) One Life (12)
2 (2) Wonka (PG) ***
3 (1) Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (12)
4 (9) Oppenheimer (15) ****
5 (5) Barbie (12) ***
6 (re) The Holdovers (15) ***
7 (7) Meg 2: The Trench (12)
8 (new) Wicked Little Letters (15)
9 (6) The Equalizer 3 (15)
10 (10) Kung Fu Panda (PG) ***


My top five: 
1. Fallen Leaves

 
Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. A Hidden Life (Sunday, BBC2, 12.50am)
2. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (Sunday, Channel 4, 11.30pm)
3. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert [above] (Friday, BBC1, 11.35pm)
4. X (Friday, Channel 4, 1.10am)
5. Superbad (Saturday, BBC1, 11.10pm)

Friday 19 April 2024

Risky business: "Aavesham"


The collective galaxy brain that is the Malayalam cinema has figured out a way of making moviestars out of YouTubers, that species who - in the West, at least - have tended to present on screen as insufferable, airheaded twits. The surprise Indian hit of Eid weekend 2024 - outperforming several glitzier Hindi titles -
Aavesham is a college-kids-gone-wild comedy where the violent hazing rituals so closely resemble Mob manoeuvres it's scant surprise when an actual, grown-up gangster shows up to slap these kids about; the joshing action itself seems to manifest him. A trio of gaming vloggers who trade under the handles Hipster, Mithun and Roshan have been recruited to play boyish engineering-college students whose freshman parties are being stormed by motorbike-revving seniors; their unlikely protector, found stalking the fleshpots of Bangalore, is Fahadh Faasil's Ranga, a posturing hood who's covered his wiry frame in solid-gold bling, and thus suggests some unholy union between Robert Carlyle's Begbie and darts icon Bobby George. Given that Ranga introduces himself at the urinals, performing an aggressive variant of the Now, Voyager cigarette trick, we may justly suspect our heroes are playing with fire: sure enough, Ranga is soon keeping the lads up all night with grisly war stories, and installing them in their own dubious fraternity house stocked to the rafters with booze, cigs and working girls. It's not unlike the way writer-director Jithu Madhavan has slotted digital-age talent into an agreeably disreputable teen-throwback plot: Risky Business or Porky's, if our cherubic young seekers had gone looking to hire muscle rather than ass.

What follows works as entertainment because it anticipates the charges one might expect to see levelled against it: it's not obviously a film trying to get down with the kids by recruiting online personalities, rather a smartly scripted comedy about the perils of playing it cool. Ranga, who we learn posts self-shot dance videos on his Insta account, clearly regards the boys as a means of extending his empire and demographic reach. Yet at best he's a swaggering ponce, at worst a fraud, surrounding himself with an entourage of burly dupes to win the bulk of his fights for him and shore up a legend that is plainly bunkum. He is above all a terrific movie character, and Faasil, funny from the first moment he enters the frame, plays him with the same precision he's brought to more dramatic material, getting laughs whether trying to free a hand from the sheet he's wrapped himself in or conveying Ranga's internal confusion as he makes polite phone conversation with the sweetheart mother of the betrayer he's attempting to cut down with an axe. To some degree, Faasil serves as our onscreen director or ringmaster, determining the course of action and the speed Ranga's goons should go at, then applauding the minions who've just kicked seven bells out of one another, and stoking our enthusiasm for more of the same. After a while, everybody before and behind the camera seems to forget about the college backdrop, but the gangland knockabout is such fun we're as swept up as the kids in the excitement of the title.

For while Aavesham is thumpingly violent - properly rowdy - in a manner not untypical of South Indian commercial cinema, Madhavan knows full well that, removed from reality and reframed in a certain way, violence can be extremely, intensely funny. He twists these frequent free-for-alls into unexpected, amusing, cartoonish shapes, like a performer fashioning balloon animals at a child's birthday party. To its slight detriment, the film calms down in its second half: after the conspicuous fucking around, there is some shruggingly rote finding out. Yet even here, Madhavan's script still succeeds in alighting upon some genuinely original and inspired ideas. Given the scope and volume of that preceding hullabaloo, it's a source of particular amusement when we discover the turf war Ranga is waging against a local rival, Reddy (Mansoor Ali Khan), boils down to a simple matter of image rights. (How 21st century is that?) As for the kids: they're alright! Sure, none of them is burning up the screen exactly, but in an age when that callow wisp Chalamet has been positioned and embraced as a major new screen idol, that might no longer matter. They're comfortable in front of the camera, and convince as nerdy naifs, bickering among themselves as if they were still in their bedrooms, livestreaming Fortnite shootouts - though it's another minor limitation that they've been asked to play this one straight; the non-FaFa scenes aren't quite as uproarious as they could be. Still, a diverting night out - and set in the context of the movies' other efforts to induce cross-platform synergy, Aavesham falls somewhere between object lesson and mini-masterclass.

Aavesham is now playing in selected cinemas.

Thursday 18 April 2024

On demand: "Archangel"


1990's 
Archangel would have been many folks' first encounter with Guy Maddin, the singular Canadian auteur who ended the 20th century making films as they used to at the start of the 20th century: black-and-white, silent-ish (but with rudimentary overdubbing, music and sound effects), flickering, and full of tricks and tropes abandoned around the time the Nazis rode into Paris. The assertion of the Maddin filmography remains that these self-same tricks and tropes - the irises and intertitles, the flagrantly melodramatic turns of plot - still hold a certain value and power, even/especially when wedded to the most knowingly absurd of plots. Here, in a movie that mirrors the shapes thrown by those anti-war message movies that proliferated (and yet apparently went unheeded) between 1918 and 1939, we're introduced to a one-legged, recently widowed, amnesiac Canuck airman (the squarejawed Kyle McCulloch, later a writer for South Park), who finds new love and, indeed, a new leg after being redeployed to Russia to fight on behalf of the Tsar - the kind of rum narrative confection that passes for stock in Maddin's Acme-like plot factory.

This filmmaker's later works would benefit from more money, longer running times, name performers, even colour, yet it turns out the essentials were here from more or less the get-go. Archangel is Maddinism in its purest form, an artefact from a time when all its maker had to go on were the films that first inspired him and his own imagination. Even when its narrative line meanders and blurs, the composition and imagery (something like a party political broadcast on behalf of the Church on the subject of love; a wreath adorned with the odd, funny legend "dispatched by wounds innumerable"; several of the dirtiest Bolsheviks in screen history; a whole world fashioned from chiaroscuro) remain fresh and thrilling, not bad going considering much of it was first arrived at under George V. Even the dead air and clunkiness has the good fortune of seeming like a deliberate homage to that routinely baked into silent programmers; while the sniggering postmodern irony that would come to define Nineties cinema, and eventually result in Quentin Tarantino, is here offset against an abundant affection for all that the cinema had left behind. (Not to mention an at least semi-sincere message about the ways war disrupts lives and loves.) Nobody save Maddin became a star off the back of it, but it surely remains one of the coolest films for an actor to have on their CV, simply by going so far down its own peculiar path. No other 1990 film so completely captured the shellshocked, long-wintered essence of 1919; whether anybody else in 1990 was troubled to do so is almost a moot point. Sample dialogue: "It was my father's leg - I think she wants you to have it."

Friday 12 April 2024

For what it's worth...




UK box office Top Ten (for the weekend of April 5-7, 2024):

1 (1) Kung Fu Panda 4 (PG)
2 (2) Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (12A)
3 (3) Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire (12A)
4 (4Dune: Part Two (12A) **
5 (new) Monkey Man (18) ****
6 (new) The First Omen (15)
7 (10) Migration (U)
8 (new) Seize Them! (15)
9 (9) Wicked Little Letters (15)
10 (new) Luca (U)

(source: BFI)

My top five:


DVD/Blu-Ray/Download top ten: 

1 (1) Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom (12)
2 (2Wonka (PG) ***
3 (4) Hop (U) 
4 (3) One Life (12)
5 (7) Barbie (12) ***
6 (12) The Equalizer 3 (15)
7 (16) Meg 2: The Trench (12)
8 (11) Migration (U)
9 (6) Oppenheimer (15) ****
10 (17) Kung Fu Panda (PG) ***


My top five: 
1. Fallen Leaves
5. Suzume

 
Top five films on terrestrial TV this week:
1. Nowhere Special (Monday, BBC2, 11.15pm)
2. Monos (Wednesday, Channel 4, 1.50am)
3. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory [above] (Sunday, ITV1, 6.30am)
4. Sorry to Bother You (Sunday, BBC2, 11.40pm)
5. American Pie: The Wedding (Friday, Channel 4, 11.05pm)