mckn
Lifetime Total
1+
IMDb Member
18 years
Reviews
The Tree of Life (2011)
Beautiful tree – plastic roots.
Terence Malick is a director who allows the camera to do a lot. He works with cinematographers who are able to capture exquisite images, so much so that his films become a type of visual poetry. Combining this talent with a powerful story is the epitome of filmmaking talent – which is why, after watching The Tree of Life, I am disappointed and even angry.
On the plus side, we have superb acting. The story of a family dominated by a loving and increasingly frustrated and paradoxically abusive father is told in an understated and extremely effective way.Pitt has never been better. We feel for all involved, particularly when tragedy strikes.
The problem is that the simple and so effective story is hidden behind an intrusive stew of religious and evolutionary images in which Malick allows his CGA folk free rein. The DVD I hired told me to turn up the volume: a first for me. Ten minutes in I understood, because most of the speech is whispered, with the occasional window-rattling burst of sound.
Early on, for about ten minutes I seemed to be watching a dirge music video or screen saver, which was beautiful but fairly pointless once one had appreciated the spring leaf/ volcano violence ambivalence. Somewhere we went into space, and then launched into an evolutionary sequence which ended with one form of dinosaur planting its foot on another. I was hoping that this was going to continue, as a counterpoint to everyone's whispers to "God" who appears as a reddish waving curtain (I think).
No, we were back to the whispers.
Then the film picked up, and for the next reel or two I was riveted by the family dynamics, the acting and the beauty of the photography.
Why am I angry? When the film actually appeared to be going somewhere, we were back to the planets and some dire beach where the dead or dead in spirit woodenly move in random directions greeting each other or even worse, versions of each other. Sadly, they actually looked silly.
I cannot help but feel that Malick has been seduced by the images at the expense of the story and even the characters involved(something from which even Bergman could suffer). When the symbolism takes over the film, it's self-indulgent, pretentious and something of a cop-out - which is a pity as much of the film shows that Malick is way better than this.
If, during a wonderful performance of King Lear, everything shut down and people with beautiful pictures of lightning, and some with fireworks and others with artistic pictures of stars and swamps cavorted about the stage for fifteen minutes to tell me what to feel, I would feel patronized beyond belief.
Enough said.
Still, overall, it's a visually stunning film to watch.
On the plus side, we have superb acting. The story of a family dominated by a loving and increasingly frustrated and paradoxically abusive father is told in an understated and extremely effective way.Pitt has never been better. We feel for all involved, particularly when tragedy strikes.
The problem is that the simple and so effective story is hidden behind an intrusive stew of religious and evolutionary images in which Malick allows his CGA folk free rein. The DVD I hired told me to turn up the volume: a first for me. Ten minutes in I understood, because most of the speech is whispered, with the occasional window-rattling burst of sound.
Early on, for about ten minutes I seemed to be watching a dirge music video or screen saver, which was beautiful but fairly pointless once one had appreciated the spring leaf/ volcano violence ambivalence. Somewhere we went into space, and then launched into an evolutionary sequence which ended with one form of dinosaur planting its foot on another. I was hoping that this was going to continue, as a counterpoint to everyone's whispers to "God" who appears as a reddish waving curtain (I think).
No, we were back to the whispers.
Then the film picked up, and for the next reel or two I was riveted by the family dynamics, the acting and the beauty of the photography.
Why am I angry? When the film actually appeared to be going somewhere, we were back to the planets and some dire beach where the dead or dead in spirit woodenly move in random directions greeting each other or even worse, versions of each other. Sadly, they actually looked silly.
I cannot help but feel that Malick has been seduced by the images at the expense of the story and even the characters involved(something from which even Bergman could suffer). When the symbolism takes over the film, it's self-indulgent, pretentious and something of a cop-out - which is a pity as much of the film shows that Malick is way better than this.
If, during a wonderful performance of King Lear, everything shut down and people with beautiful pictures of lightning, and some with fireworks and others with artistic pictures of stars and swamps cavorted about the stage for fifteen minutes to tell me what to feel, I would feel patronized beyond belief.
Enough said.
Still, overall, it's a visually stunning film to watch.
Love Ranch (2010)
Focus on character, not history, wins the day
Picture a caricature of everything that America, at some level, holds dear, yet despises. Think bling, brash, frantically optimistic and determinedly selfish, and you have the main character typecast by a weathered Joe Pesci. Add to the mix an insecure, yet intelligent and reasonably efficient brothel "madam" who is trapped by economics and an irresponsible, hyperactive, and deliberately delusional husband, and. you have a marriage which must resonate across the globe.
The film opens with an ironic and trite hope for the future. Auld Lang Syne is sung at a New Year's Eve party, which Robert Burnes, no stranger to joys of the flesh himself, would possibly have avoided. A stark naked man who has transcended the bounds of good taste, and possibly the law, is driven by the "Madam" (Helen Mirren) into the waiting furniture wielded by her husband, Pesci. The tame police in attendance remove the problem and the party continues.
Gradually the dynamics of the Pesci/Mirren relationship are revealed. She actually likes her charges and comforts herself in the knowledge that she is keeping them off the streets.
He struts around like a dove with an over-inflated breast, a disgustingly showy car with the vanity plate "LUV SEX", and the nickname of "Mr Good Times". He is a man whose very posture suggests violence, and he has only to threaten to smash the home telephone, her link to the outside world, to ensure that her timid attempt at rebellion turns into a whimpering desire to please him.
Pleasing him in the only way he understands is not that easy as she is older than the available nymphets and is very aware that his sudden business calls are not to any office block. The marriage of financial and social convenience could, theoretically, have lasted for years, as many convenient couples will attest, but reality has the unpleasant habit of intruding. A visit to the doctor and plastic convenience is stripped away. The selfishness of her husband is expertly conveyed in his answer to her questioning his love for her. "I *** love you," he says, "I could have never found a woman as loyal as you to take my s***." It says everything that he is totally unaware of the egocentric nature of his declaration of love.
Later, when their world is falling apart, and she is experiencing loss, and almost claustrophobic grief,he rails at her that she doesn't know what the **** he went through all night.
The tragic moment which announces the end of the film is justified by the quality of the acting. Yes, this could happen, and be a small article on the front page of the morning newspapers, but the film has made its point before the actual violence. It is all about self, the need for self-validation at the expense of others, the need to be desirable, the need to be in control, and even the need to be physically dominant while all these have inevitably and irrevocably been taken away by time.
It is a film worthy of a second viewing, if only to enjoy the performance of Pesci (which he has reprized from Goodfellas) and the revelation which is Helen Mirren. That she could go from the ultra- British role as the Queen to this, without a trace of genteel accent, but retain all the pathos of a woman who wants to love her husband and her life, is remarkable. Even the director gives her credit in an in- joke. When her husband dons a hat in keeping with his personality, she asks him who he thinks he is, 'Clint Eastwood'. He replies: "Who do you think you are? The Queen of England?"
Eminently watchable, character-driven, and filmed with an understated slickness, this is a film which might, regrettably, not set the box office alight, but which is very worth viewing for so many reasons. True, there are elements that echo events in some well-known films, which my spoiler-conscience prevents me from naming, but it is safe to say that this film strips the sentimentality from such and is the better for it. Taylor Hackford, I look forward to your next.
The film opens with an ironic and trite hope for the future. Auld Lang Syne is sung at a New Year's Eve party, which Robert Burnes, no stranger to joys of the flesh himself, would possibly have avoided. A stark naked man who has transcended the bounds of good taste, and possibly the law, is driven by the "Madam" (Helen Mirren) into the waiting furniture wielded by her husband, Pesci. The tame police in attendance remove the problem and the party continues.
Gradually the dynamics of the Pesci/Mirren relationship are revealed. She actually likes her charges and comforts herself in the knowledge that she is keeping them off the streets.
He struts around like a dove with an over-inflated breast, a disgustingly showy car with the vanity plate "LUV SEX", and the nickname of "Mr Good Times". He is a man whose very posture suggests violence, and he has only to threaten to smash the home telephone, her link to the outside world, to ensure that her timid attempt at rebellion turns into a whimpering desire to please him.
Pleasing him in the only way he understands is not that easy as she is older than the available nymphets and is very aware that his sudden business calls are not to any office block. The marriage of financial and social convenience could, theoretically, have lasted for years, as many convenient couples will attest, but reality has the unpleasant habit of intruding. A visit to the doctor and plastic convenience is stripped away. The selfishness of her husband is expertly conveyed in his answer to her questioning his love for her. "I *** love you," he says, "I could have never found a woman as loyal as you to take my s***." It says everything that he is totally unaware of the egocentric nature of his declaration of love.
Later, when their world is falling apart, and she is experiencing loss, and almost claustrophobic grief,he rails at her that she doesn't know what the **** he went through all night.
The tragic moment which announces the end of the film is justified by the quality of the acting. Yes, this could happen, and be a small article on the front page of the morning newspapers, but the film has made its point before the actual violence. It is all about self, the need for self-validation at the expense of others, the need to be desirable, the need to be in control, and even the need to be physically dominant while all these have inevitably and irrevocably been taken away by time.
It is a film worthy of a second viewing, if only to enjoy the performance of Pesci (which he has reprized from Goodfellas) and the revelation which is Helen Mirren. That she could go from the ultra- British role as the Queen to this, without a trace of genteel accent, but retain all the pathos of a woman who wants to love her husband and her life, is remarkable. Even the director gives her credit in an in- joke. When her husband dons a hat in keeping with his personality, she asks him who he thinks he is, 'Clint Eastwood'. He replies: "Who do you think you are? The Queen of England?"
Eminently watchable, character-driven, and filmed with an understated slickness, this is a film which might, regrettably, not set the box office alight, but which is very worth viewing for so many reasons. True, there are elements that echo events in some well-known films, which my spoiler-conscience prevents me from naming, but it is safe to say that this film strips the sentimentality from such and is the better for it. Taylor Hackford, I look forward to your next.
Skyline (2010)
Weaker than the sum of its borrowed parts.
War of the Worlds, Independence Day, Cloverfield, District 9 and so many others have gone before with different success in crafting a convincing human drama. Tom Cruise as the "Dysfunctional but caring Dad" in War of the Worlds was not bad. Shalto Copley in the satire-driven inter-world apartheid saga (an ingenious re-take on Black Like Me with echoes of the historical District 6 debacle) was brilliant, and even the humour and satisfying climax of ID was very entertaining, if improbable.
Enter Skyline, which boasts state of the art effects, the sound effects from War of the Worlds, the bodily transformation of District 9 along with "scrap-heap-appearing" spacecraft, a scene borrowed from King Kong, the growing cliché of things wriggling under one's skin, and precious little character development to the point where the viewer does not really care what happens to any of the survivors, marooned in a high-rise building.
Let us be fair: the effects are amazing, and alone merit the price of a cinema ticket. Technology now makes anything possible on screen and the heroes of the film are the computer wizards which make one believe what is happening.
Not so the actors. The ones who stand out are not around long enough to upstage the others, who tend to aspire to the Fay Wray school of acting. When there is a crisis, the best thing to do is scream, or yell at each other.
I yearn for a plot which will put a really interesting human dynamic first then hit the viewers with special effects which intensify the emotion of the drama. This is not it. The effects are an end in themselves, with the actors being a towel rail on which to hang them. See the film for its technical excellence. Ignore how derivative it is, and it might even generate some hand clutching from your partner. Do not, however, expect it to lead to much intelligent discussion of humanity after the closing credits.
Enter Skyline, which boasts state of the art effects, the sound effects from War of the Worlds, the bodily transformation of District 9 along with "scrap-heap-appearing" spacecraft, a scene borrowed from King Kong, the growing cliché of things wriggling under one's skin, and precious little character development to the point where the viewer does not really care what happens to any of the survivors, marooned in a high-rise building.
Let us be fair: the effects are amazing, and alone merit the price of a cinema ticket. Technology now makes anything possible on screen and the heroes of the film are the computer wizards which make one believe what is happening.
Not so the actors. The ones who stand out are not around long enough to upstage the others, who tend to aspire to the Fay Wray school of acting. When there is a crisis, the best thing to do is scream, or yell at each other.
I yearn for a plot which will put a really interesting human dynamic first then hit the viewers with special effects which intensify the emotion of the drama. This is not it. The effects are an end in themselves, with the actors being a towel rail on which to hang them. See the film for its technical excellence. Ignore how derivative it is, and it might even generate some hand clutching from your partner. Do not, however, expect it to lead to much intelligent discussion of humanity after the closing credits.
Pound of Flesh (2010)
Bard or Bawd?
It would be very easy to sneer at this film. There are certainly flaws enough, but one should remember that a number of people spent a number of months creating a film which is not pornography, an action epic or teen horror extravaganza. More to the point, it is not an "art house" film either, so, in my book, some folk had faith in it and it deserves more than a shrug.
The positives: Malcolm McDowell – an actor who has specialised in off-the-wall roles from Anderson's anti-establishment films and Kubrick's "Clockwork Orange" , to the earnest, wife-loving Shakespeare lecturer who is also, with the best of intentions, a pimp.
His classes of nubile young students, who would, in the normal course of events, be screwing spotty undergraduates, are actually occasionally screwing very wealthy, if elderly, men in exchange for scholarships. Is this a problem? It depends on your point of view, and this gives the film its saving interest.
The opening shots leave one in no doubt that this is a film aimed at a "mature" audience. Things go wrong in a way which ensures that we drop into Professor Noah Melville's world at a point when it is about to unravel (His name is a rather forced amalgam of American literature and the Bible).
McDowell is an actor. He carries and almost saves the film. His Melville neither tastes his own wares nor benefits financially. He merely harnesses the "summer seeming lust" to get his students free education. Unfortunately not all of his clients are as high-minded.
Enter the negatives. The film loses its grip and spins into the bushes. A detective (Macfadyen), a cliché of the misunderstood divorced cop with food in one hand and a faint glint in the eye when he remembers why he joined the force before disillusionment and a justified killing, bumbles through a script Shakespeare could not save. If ever a character was created by a committee, this is it. His partner I shall not name because she will want to forget this film, as will several young women whose talents do not stretch to acting. It is a great pity that a thought-provoking idea was allowed to die on the altar of cast budget.
Does the film make one think? Yes, but mainly about how much better it could have been. The director has tried to span too large a ravine between an intelligent college human interest story like Educating Rita, and a poor man's Lethal Weapon. I'm afraid the film falls into the sad category of "nice try".
The positives: Malcolm McDowell – an actor who has specialised in off-the-wall roles from Anderson's anti-establishment films and Kubrick's "Clockwork Orange" , to the earnest, wife-loving Shakespeare lecturer who is also, with the best of intentions, a pimp.
His classes of nubile young students, who would, in the normal course of events, be screwing spotty undergraduates, are actually occasionally screwing very wealthy, if elderly, men in exchange for scholarships. Is this a problem? It depends on your point of view, and this gives the film its saving interest.
The opening shots leave one in no doubt that this is a film aimed at a "mature" audience. Things go wrong in a way which ensures that we drop into Professor Noah Melville's world at a point when it is about to unravel (His name is a rather forced amalgam of American literature and the Bible).
McDowell is an actor. He carries and almost saves the film. His Melville neither tastes his own wares nor benefits financially. He merely harnesses the "summer seeming lust" to get his students free education. Unfortunately not all of his clients are as high-minded.
Enter the negatives. The film loses its grip and spins into the bushes. A detective (Macfadyen), a cliché of the misunderstood divorced cop with food in one hand and a faint glint in the eye when he remembers why he joined the force before disillusionment and a justified killing, bumbles through a script Shakespeare could not save. If ever a character was created by a committee, this is it. His partner I shall not name because she will want to forget this film, as will several young women whose talents do not stretch to acting. It is a great pity that a thought-provoking idea was allowed to die on the altar of cast budget.
Does the film make one think? Yes, but mainly about how much better it could have been. The director has tried to span too large a ravine between an intelligent college human interest story like Educating Rita, and a poor man's Lethal Weapon. I'm afraid the film falls into the sad category of "nice try".