The first of five semi-autobiographical François Truffaut films – also his debut – that star Jean-Pierre Léaud as Antoine Doinel, a young Parisian boy whose journey from neglected, mis-treated youth to juvenile petty criminal is profoundly moving and wonderfully acted. The opening sequence sets 1950s Paris up as a kind of playground, and it remains as much for most of the rest of the film, with Henri Decaë’s camera wandering the streets in tandem with the latchkey lead. I first watched Les Quatre Cents Coups (sorry, I’ve always hated the badly-translated and comparatively clumsy English languate title) when I was a teenager, but I identify with and have way more sympathy for Antoine now than I did back then. It’s a film that’s ostensibly about a child, yes, but really Truffaut is holding up a mirror to adults, requesting them to think about their own actions and the society they have created. (*****)
Charlie Chaplin’s Limelight is a 1952 film about a washed-up, alcoholic stage performer (Chaplin) and a suicidal but promising dancer (Claire Bloom), who he nurses back to health; to different extents they inspire and encourage one another to tread the boards once more. Chaplin’s own father went through similar travails as his popularity dwindled at the end of the 19th century, though the director always maintained that Limelight was to some extent based on the life and career of stage actor Frank Tinney. There’s something of Charlie Chaplin’s own ups and downs in there, too, with various nods toward his retired Tramp character and former glory days. The film certainly captures the tragic nature of a great performer as he nears the end, with Chaplin’s luvvie Calvero gamely carrying on despite changes in audiences’ tastes, as it’s the only thing he’s ever done. Chaplin only made two more features after this, his last Hollywood film (though it’s set in England), and although it’s a melancholic affair there’s still humour and energy and kindness emanating from the great star’s character. Bloom, here at the beginning of her long film and stage career, is good but occasionally required to be hysterical, and the washed-up star narrative is underlined by the appearance of Buster Keaton – who by 1952 had fallen on hard times – as Calvero’s stage partner. There are some splendid match cuts that take us in and out of Calvero’s dreams, some well-designed sets and, unfortunately, a bit of dodgy accent work that suggests the director had lost touch with his homeland and London specifically. It’s very good, though. (****)
You can see what George Clooney was trying to do with The Monuments Men. On paper it looks like a modern day Kelly’s Heroes, or some other war caper movie from the 1970s featuring an unconventional cast made up of normally serious actors, bankable stars, a couple of non-Americans – to pay lip service to the other nations who were involved in defeating the Nazis – and a few comic players for light relief. Joining Clooney here are Matt Damon, Cate Blanchett, Bill Murray, John Goodman, Bob Balaban, Jean Dujardin and Hugh Bonneville, and their collective job as part of the Allied Forces’ Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives program is to locate all of the precious artwork the Germans looted during the Second World War and locate it before the retreating, nearly-defeated enemy soldiers torch the lot. There was a chance to create an interesting story, here, and Clooney has evidently tried to make something different to the norm, but it all feels so flat and dreary and there’s very little drama. The decision to make a couple of the characters oddly fixated with just one artwork, as if to inject the narrative with some purpose, is a total mis-step. And just look at the charismatic figures within that cast! Not one of them comes away with any credit, though it’s hard to blame them individually; they’re all working with a turgid, dull screenplay. Balaban and Murray draw the shortest straws as they should be the most entertaining; they share lots of screen time and, bizarrely, when they appear it’s so turgid you feel like you’re watching in slow motion. A pity. (*½)
I still think of Peter Berg as being a half-decent 90s actor, as opposed to his new guise as a director of macho, artillery-heavy blockbusters, simply because I haven’t bothered to check out many of the films he’s made. Those that I have seen – Hancock, Very Bad Things – just didn’t seem to work, despite Berg’s attempts to try something a little different within two genres that seemed quite tired at the time. I might start paying a tiny bit more attention, though, having now seen 2016’s disaster movie Deepwater Horizon, which tells of the 2010 oil rig explosion and oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.
There are faults with this film, for sure. The screenplay largely neglects to cover the aftermath, including most obviously the massive environmental impact of the oil spill, save for one scene in which an oil-covered bird runs amok on a ship’s bridge, smashing into windows and machinery; there’s a brief mention of the long clean-up process at the end, which to date has apparently cost BP more than $54 billion, and very little regarding the lawsuits and criminal cases that ensued in the wake of the disaster. The focus here is almost entirely on the men and women who worked on Deepwater Horizon at the time of the accident, with emphasis on Mark Wahlberg’s electronics technician Mike, Kurt Russell’s supervisor Jimmy, John Malkovich’s BP manager Donald and navigation officer Andrea (Gina Rodriguez). Wahlberg’s a good fit for the lead role: here he’s playing a skilled employee and all round likeable guy who acts heroically in the face of extreme danger and just wants to get home to his wife and daughter. Russell is great to watch, as usual, and has a good part here. Malkovich overacts in order to establish quickly that he’s the villain of the piece. Rodriguez doesn’t get as many lines as the men, but is OK.
There are maddening cliches here: Kate Hudson is handed one of those thankless wife-left-dangling-at-the-end-of-the-phone (well, Skype call) roles, hundreds of miles away from the action when the power on the rig suddenly cuts out; later, as huge fires burn on the rig, a lone, defiant American flag billows in the wind before it is subsumed by the flames; and there’s absolutely no lingering on the trauma experienced by any of the survivors – Mike’s is quickly dealt with in about ten seconds flat before a typical (but understandable) syrupy reunion with his family to round things off. However, despite all of that I was engrossed in the story and the action; the actual mechanics of the rig and cause of the explosion are explained in enough detail that even I – a man who shrieks and runs away at the prospect of a bit of DIY – understood what had happened. And I can’t imagine how difficult it is to recreate this huge, terrifying accident, with all the fires raging and explosions taking place and huge pieces of metal falling in such a cramped space, but Berg and his effects team carry it off with aplomb. So this is another disaster film in which the disaster itself is the real star, but Berg manages to choreograph the chaos so that it’s easy to follow (yet still utterly terrifying), and, most importantly of all, he shows respect towards the 11 men who died on board the rig. (***½)
The narrative in this excellent new film by Katell Quillévéré, written by Quillévéré and Gilles Taurand, drifts from one character to another, all of whom are linked together in some way by a dying patient in a hospital and his heart. You could argue that there are three specific threads: a teenager is left brain-dead after a car accident and his parents must decide whether to donate his valuable organs; the staff at the hospital are tasked with persuading the parents and must successfully transplant, if they are allowed to proceed – an ordinary day’s work, amazingly; and a woman on a waiting list for a new heart remains hopeful despite her faltering condition. Quillévéré never settles on a lead character, following at various times incidental figures as well as those we may see as being conventionally ‘important’, and offering us brief glimpses into all of their lives: time is spent with the boy’s shell-shocked parents, as you would expect, but also with a nurse on her first day in the brain injury ward, the girlfriend of the boy injured in the accident and a couple of people who I assume are medical students, who are tasked with safely transporting organs from Lyon to Paris. The film never has to rely on any strange circumstances or chance encounters to tie all the characters together – instead we see how they all relate to one another and nothing unusual is fabricated in order to link them or bring them into the same space. There are excellent performances and some very persuasive sequences that indicate the strange state that exists between dreams and reality, which are beautifully shot by Tom Harari, and a really lovely soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat that contemplates the images and the delicate nature of the film. All-round excellent performances, too, that ensure Heal The Living is a moving, well-considered, subtle study of life, death, grief and hope. (****½)
An impressive documentary that concentrates on Nina Simone’s personality and politics, both of which were key to her magnificent career as a singer and pianist. It’s full of superb concert footage, with a few car crash moments thrown in, such as the opening sequence showing a clearly troubled Simone on stage in Montreux. The people interviewed for the film were close to the singer, and they give plenty of insight into her life, detailing her activism, the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband (a violent, controlling manager) and the other ups and downs of her recording career and life. The question posed by the title refers to her ‘wilderness’ years, playing little clubs in France and Switzerland, and is answered in a fairly satisfactory way. (***½)
I’ve not got much desire to write lots about a film that has been discussed by thousands of other people already this year, but I finally caught up with sweary, violent X-Men spinoff Logan (that’s Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine’s real name, in case you weren’t aware) and I’m just registering the fact that I’ve seen it and I liked it. It’s a little on-the-nose, sometimes – the Shane footage and the X-Men comics appear to have been clunkily dropped into the screenplay, perhaps to try and push the line that this particular story by James Mangold takes place in a serious, non-fictional world, where heroism isn’t rewarded and endings aren’t happy and consequences of actions are felt – but overall I was pretty taken with Mangold’s ability to make all the downers really feel like downers, which is a rare trait in a superhero movie, and I liked the alleviating moments of humour, too. Jackman and Patrick Stewart have played Wolverine and Professor X/Charles Xavier many times over the years, and they’re clearly comfortable in the roles, but it is nice to see both men stretched a little here, acting in scenes that at least try to be thought-provoking regarding the subjects of aging, illness and mortality. Of course the film has to tick certain boxes and entertain through fights involving humans and mutants with abilities, too; these are particularly violent, well-choreographed and, for once, you do feel that the stakes are high (something that most recent efforts in this oeuvre, with their packed rosters of characters, have failed to ensure). So yes, I’m in-line with the majority on this one… it may have a debt towards James Cameron’s Terminator films, as well as plenty of westerns, but it’s sufficiently different to the majority of modern superhero films to make it worth seeing, and you feel there’s an all-round understanding of the characters that serves it well. (****)