filmexperienced

As that glitters is not gold....and there was an awful lot of bling in Ocean's Eight. Unapologetically leeching onto the Ocean's franchise, as a means to appear of a piece rather than just a rip-off, this sadly derivative offering couldn't quite match the cool of the 2001 original, however it packs a lot of charm to try and paper over the cracks. Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, sister to, you guessed it, Daniel Ocean. Not that he appears, nor do any of the 'main' players from the previous trilogy. The brand new all-female eight vary from classy (Cate Blanchett) to quirky (Helena Bonham Carter) to personality-free (Rihanna). Most are watchable, and they need you to in order to get you to invest in a plot with mostly predictable twists and turns that make for a very pedestrian heist, with little to no sense of danger. By the time very poor excuse for an adversary James Corden shows up, you'll care little that he has no impact other than to annoy. This is versus the originals pretty damn scary Andy Garcia. Whilst this might be a remake / reimagining car crash, it's like flipping an Aston Martin or Lamborghini at high speed - looks amazing, whizzes along but it's not until you reach the end you realise it was all for nothing.

Sometimes, your head tells you that a film is mediocre at best, not one that is going to spark off a debate or be in the critical argument for the near future. Sometimes, your heart tells you that despite that, you are enjoying the film on some level - and whilst I hate to use the phrase 'switch your brain off entertainment', I just did. It might be the well-curated soundtrack, appropriate for the story of a young group of friends and the central characters DJ aspirations. It might be the often-likeable Zac Efron as Cole, whose slightly lower key Star Is Born trajectory is complicated by romantic entanglements and that aforementioned group of friends. It might even be the predictable plotting - spiked with occasional off-kilter moments such as a memorable art gallery trip. Whatever magic makes We Are Your Friends work for me is not easily explainable - so hopefully it'll be seen by a few more people who might be able to enlighten me as to why I keep watching it.

It's often said that how you end your film is how people remember it - the last point of contact being the most memorable. 'In Darkness' then - poisons what was a mostly bland thriller, with an interesting cast, by a horrific ending. Natalie Dormer plays a blind pianist, dour and serious who become involved in 'dark' goings on. Her job, working on film scores, allows for some interesting self-referential and appropriate music cues for the first part of the movie, leading up to the first and focal unfortunate event. Things spiral from there, never straying from a wholly predictable path, made easier to walk by a low-key performance from the previously smug Ed Skrein, plus the always gruff and warm James Cosmo, and a spiky Joely Richardson. Some kind of release valve from the over-serious drama might have helped, a little humour or lightness could have worked to make Dormer's central protagonist more likeable. The direction on the whole is decent, including some well choreographed and edited action scenes, and a love scene that whilst it creaks the seams of believability narratively, works as a standalone change of pace. Ultimately however, any and all good work is jettisoned at the conclusion, which leaves viewers scratching their heads, and second-guessing any enjoyment they may have been getting from the movie. Best advice - turn off 5 minutes from the end and make up your own ending.

Stop spinning the camera Gaspar! No really you're making me sick! Ah, great you've stopped. Oh wait.... what's happening? Spin the camera again! No please I don't want to see! Both starting and ending with a selection of visual tricks that are both frustrating and upon reflection perhaps necessary, Irreversible is a powerful study in the lengths to which people will go to enjoy themselves, and then how far their guilt will take them to make up for their mistakes. The set piece crux of the film, taking place just shy of an hour into the movie and shot with a transfixing, excruciatingly static camera, signals a change of pace for the movie that is revelatory. Indeed, once the visual horrors stop, the characterization is allowed to move center stage, giving context for what you've just seen. It also allows for opening up more questions about what has happened for which the movie has no easy answers. Indeed, I'm off to watch the subtitled director and cast commentary to see if I can get any answers from the director himself - or maybe, as in my initial instincts, I just don't want to know what the horrific answers might be.

Perhaps as subtle as my titling this review 'Seeing Double', Francois Ozon's (Swimming Pool, 5x2) latest would have a billion years bad luck if every mirror in the film was shattered. With some memorable visual constructions, including an unforgettable opening match cut, 'Double Lover' is a mixed bag of slightly over egged Hitchcockian menace, queasy body horror in the vein of David Cronenberg and a cold, clinical psychological element resembling Michael Haneke. Marine Vache plays who I thought could be her character from earlier pairing with the same director, Jeune et Jolie, until the narrative progressed. Described as 'frigid' at one point, Vache's Chloe more accurately represented the temperature of the film, icy with hot spots, both sexually and visually. Concluding with a final, literal shattering shot, the highs and lows of this film are so far apart that it only just crosses the line into recommendation territory, indeed my evil twin might have placed it just below that level.

'It's grim up North' is a bit of a cliché, but one Dark River takes a solid dive into, smacking its head onto the shallows it finds. Ruth Wilson (struggling with not a lot) returns to her family farm after the death of her father, to find it run down, full of character-defining bad memories, and a relationship with her brother that goes from bad to worse. Sean Bean (high on the credits, seconds in the picture) lends his name only to a sad trend of slightly boring English set muderables - see also The Levelling. Feeling like a tv-special stretched to feature length, the direction is workman-like and dull - just as North Yorkshire is portrayed. They say the British film industry is booming, with Bradford as UNESCO city of film - but on this evidence the region has yet to have a recent film that showcases the beauty, or the plot possibilities, or even the positivity that could be shown.

Brutal, short and nasty in a variety of ways, perhaps the only subtle element of this feature is Joaquim Phoenix's complex performance. Lingering and dreamlike as it drifts through it's sub 90 minute run-time, hazy flickers of the past slide out of the main character's pores as he pursues his compelling missions into the (very) dark side of privilege. Phoenix's skills with his hammer-of-choice speak to both his internal motivations, and the man he has grown to be, whilst in at least one sequence resembling a lo-fi echo of Old Boy. As the linear plot goes off the rails for anti-hero Joe, an unpleasant to watch film becomes even more so, and with all the fascination of watching the sterling work on the character the need to turn away becomes more and more. Technically proficient, well constructed, exceptionally acted, difficult to watch, and hard to enjoy.

A technical marvel, with lush animation that is unlike anything put on the screen previously - Spider-verse is an overwhelming stew of excess that throws so much at the screen it's sometimes hard to tell what sticks - and which part of it to look at. There are so many characters, so much emotion and so many quick fire gags both in the script and on the screen that a re-watch is surely a must to help put things into perspective. At first glance however not enough time was spent on any one plot line or device in order to give it the weight that the emotional stakes needed them to have - for example the primary villain's motivation, Jake Johnson's ageing Spiderman's love life, and particularly Miles Morales complex family problems, control of his powers, and acceptance of his role in the larger world. Slyly aware of its place within the diversifying superhero market, Spider-verse is reverent to the history of the character, both on-screen and off. Ultimately the fact that no one character stands out may be by design, they are all just cyphers to carry the film's true message - that anyone can be a superhero, or maybe that anyone can take something away from a superhero movie if it has this much in it.

...and neither of them are worth watching. When I saw the 'last' in the title I inwardly started hoping that meant the studio powers that be had decided this, the fourth installment in the lamentable Insidious franchise, would close out the saga of pointless, unoriginal, uninspiring horror movies. Having browsed over to BoxOfficeMojo however, and looked at Last Key's $167.9 worldwide cume, an improvement somewhat over its predecessor, I'm sure we haven't seen the back of them just yet. It isn't like Last Key is the worst of the series either, from what I can remember of it Chapter 3 holds that dubious honour. The switch of focus, pioneered in the last title, to Lin Shaye and her compatriots ('She's psychic. And we're sidekicks.') isn't unwelcome either, bringing with them both empathy and comic relief. Sadly, the other side has nothing to offer these potentially intriguing characters but boredom and Wittertainement-coined quiet-quiet-bang moments, accompanied by poor monster design. The switching between time periods, and over arching mythology weighs down rather than enhances the set-up, and moments toward the end of the movie to tie this back into the larger franchise are unneccessary and add extra minutes. It's the second time Darth Maul popped up where he wasn't wanted in cinema last year. I had planned to follow this with the director's next effort, Escape Room, instead I took the time to contemplate why bad films like this need to exist, in order to allow us to contrast great things against them. So, Last Key I thankyou, for allowing me to enjoy Hereditary more.

Boasting a committed (ho-ho) performance from Claire Foy, my favourite of hers after not quite connecting with her turns in Breathe or First Man, Unsane does a functional if unspectacular job within its asylum-horror sub-genre. Indeed, some of the most frightening details come from the specifics of how Sawyer Valentini - memorably named - ends up in her predicament, and the unspoken implication that this could be happening to many more people as we speak. Confounding at least my expectations by maintaining a solid grip on reality that similar pictures often struggle to resist - this is reinforced by the cinematography. Shot almost entirely on presumably specially lensed and souped up Iphone 7s, you'd be hard pressed to tell versus standard digital photography, giving a utilitarian beauty. Between Soderbergh's work here and Sean Baker's Tangerine, it gives a tantalising sense that any of us could pick up our phones and make a movie - though we just wouldn't have their experience, eye or creativity. Or maybe I should speak for myself. One final note, Joshua Leonard, admirably creepy, Amy Irving, nicely maternal, and Juno Temple - 100% irritating despite a sterling track record with me (Killer Joe, Kaboom as examples) to this point.

An unexpected if imperfect joy, Brigsby Bear benefits greatly from going in cold, all the better to feel the warmth within. With, what was to me a major twist more or less at the outset, Brigsby then re-set as a humorous fish-out-of-water tale celebrating innocence and ignorance of the ways of the modern world. It also championed the indie DIY sensibility of films such as Be Kind Rewind, and the commitment to art as self-improvement which I found in The Disaster Artist, which I also watched shortly after. Sweet and sentimental but not saccharine, Brigsby's only flaws relate perhaps to the plotting and the suspension of belief required about the lengths some characters will go to support Kyle Mooney's James. Surely his is the stand-out performance of the bunch, though the ensemble cast (especially the second set of parents) do great jobs of making their characters rounded, and understandable if not always likeable. A final mention then to Brigsby Bear himself - a tip of the hat to fandom and the way that modern media can become part of our lives in the way that we define ourselves in relation to it. And if that's the case, I'd gladly wear a Brigsby Bear t-shirt to a party.

As pure feel-good cinema nothing this year equaled for me the first hour of this movie. Propelled by Lady Gaga's endearing and naturalistic performance (even more impressive when considered in light of the character portrayed in 'Gaga - Five Foot Two') the wish fulfillment fantasy of being plucked from obscurity to hopping on private jets was a joy to watch. The early climax of 'Shallow', just one of many memorable, yet plot driving tunes, is the clear stand out scene. And while other critics have engaged with the films gender politics, and it's problematic second half, the escapism offered here is irresistible. As the film shifts gears to its downward spiral 2nd half, confusing unhappiness with the films direction with poor directorial orchestration becomes hard to do - an awards show is painful to watch but no less powerful for that. In short - the high water-mark for the omnipresent remake.

Lauded by many as the least 'Transformery' of the live-action Transformers movie, this comment only serves to identify how the brand has become synonymous with the Michael Bay school of film-making. Instead, this movie is really the most 'Transformery' in that it most accurately embodies the spirit of the original Generation 1 Transformers comics / cartoons. From entirely CGI and heavily robotic (i.e. it's a whole planet full of them) opening, which updates and makes excellent use of the 'Arrival from Cybertron' mythos to put the central characters perspective, history and motivations centre stage before having everyone and everything crash, literally, to earth. Sidekick Hailee Steinfield poaches the best part of her charm and performance from The Edge of Seventeen and Pitch Perfect 2 as she stands in for the Witwickys of the world with her new car / machine dog. The fairly forgettable plot whizzes by propelled by a great selection of 80's tunes to go with the other retro stylings, but enjoyment is found in the relationship between men and machines, be that Bumblebee and Charlie, or the smarter than usual Decepticons - who despite at least one character pointing out the implications of their name do a great job of being both smart, and menacing. But it's the details that are the icing on the cake - from the focus on the transformations themselves as disguise, to the Bay inverting almost car crash that shows the humour and sense of fun that Travis Knight has managed to re-inject into this franchise - a beating heart beneath the metal exterior.

In what for most of its runtime almost feels like experimental avant-garde cinema from that most practical of Hollywood film-makers Clint Eastwood, 15:17 to Paris is a sadly mishandled opportunity. Curiously casting the real-life players for his trio of leads, the stage is set for a fascinatingly different take on the dramatic re-creation of a terrorist attack, an investigation of everyday heroism in the vein of Paul Greengrass's harrowing modern classic United 93. Yet, despite his recent form in similar territory (American Sniper, Sully) Eastwood is instead happy to provide a 2018 Eurotrip, though that film may have had the same amount of laughs as this one, though not as many shots of actual European landmarks. Ghosts of Eli Roth haunt the hostels along with the movie's American explorers - before far too late we arrive at the workman-like, but visceral titular train journey. In short - fatally derailed.

Given it's troubled production history and considerable delay (by YA standards) between the second and final installements, one could be inclined to be lenient in any consideration of Maze Runner: TDC (as no one is calling it). Yet, whilst the Divergent series remains unfinished and our imaginations are free to soar to the (limited) possibilities as to how that could have ended, this franchise goes out with a whimper. An incomprehensible plot (go where to do what with who now?) with forgettable characters, who at no point feel in jeopardy, despite the bullet and explosion driven special effects chaos which litters the over-extended run time like brackets litter this review. Indeed, other than Will Poulter (stoic/bored) the pyrotechnics are perhaps the only bright spark in the dark post-apocalyptic world - which wastes both other actors (Kaya Scodelario, Walton Goggins!) and the time of talented individuals who contributed to the production design and the visual effects. The mysterious promise of the first movie is never exhumed from where the even worse Scorch Trials buried it, a missed opportunity for the screenwriters who fail in epic fashion to make you engage emotionally with the characters - meaning the climax to the movie also falls flat. In short, not as advertised a cure for death, rather a blandly lazy way to move yourself two hours and twenty-three minutes closer to it.