taptoe-09046

THE first film since Ryan's Daughter to be shot in 70mm wastes a good 35mm of it. Toothy Tom Cruise is an Irish farmer bent on revenge against the rotten landowners he blames for his poor father's death, but he is easily distracted by the roving eyes of Nicole Kidman, the daughter of the man responsible. Sooner than you can make an Irishman stew they sail to America (as brother and sister), where Tom finds fame as a bare-knuckle fighter and Nicole sweats it out as a chicken-plucker before they join the Oklahoma land rush, for which, historically, they were three years too late. It might be pretty to look at, but it is far and away the dreariest romantic epic of the decade.

I'm a lover of the noir genre, but there are chasms between this and the recently seen Pushover. Fans of Holden who praise him here should remove their rose-coloured glasses and see the flaws behind them. It's a one note performance, full of anger and hatred that director Mate should have toned down to ensure that the character was in some ways sympathetic. His abuse of girlfriend Nina Foch is borderline assault and most of those held captive have little to do but spat with each other in separate rooms. Lee J Cobb is a fine actor and a calming influence on the overall hysteria, but the half-baked, pseudo-professional analysis of Holden's dream does him no favours. It all descends into a somewhat idiotic anti-climax. Whatever happened to those two ladies in the basement?

What a surprising and unexpectedly thoughtful venture into the heady realms of psychological drama this is, found belatedly on You Tube. Particularly impressive is the performance of Michael Higgins, an actor I did not know who I learned had a long career mostly in supporting roles. Ignore the reviewer who described the film as "empty" and that "not much happens" until the last bit. On the contrary, the film builds tension steadily and methodically. One anticipates this troubled young man is headed for a flip out in the final reel, but even this is handled with sensitivity, if graphically in a single shot. Higgins was singled out by a professional reviewer as providing the only work of substance in the the cast but Lois Holmes (and her screen daughters) is likewise excellent as Florence who is fighting something of a losing battle to keep the peace.

When I was reviewing film in Australia for a modest living, the great joy was watching performances that were not only inspiring but, in some cases life changing. Off the top of my head Meryl Strep in just about anything, Geraldine Page for her electrifying few minutes (Oscar nominated) in the Pope of Greenwich Village, Brian Dennehy's flawless bit as the friendly barman in "10", Leonardo De Caprio in What's Eating Gilbert Grape. These are the memories that flood back in the minutes I have but there are 1000s worth a mention. And that includes the ensemble cast in this absorbing but ultimately confounding exercise in blood and paranoia in which the main characters, Josh and Zach, are let down by events that in the end don't make much sense. The film is reminiscent of Stand By Me, right down to the River Phoenix look alike, Charlie Tahan, whose offbeat mannerisms and thoughtful expressions show maturity beyond his years. Exactly the same can be said for Owen Campbell (Zach) and there's a special mention for Amy Hargreaves as Zach's loving mum who knows that something is not quite right. Super Dark Times was heading for an 8-star rating with ten minutes to go. The great pity is that what is unexplained could so easily have been explained.

When I was reviewing film professionally, to me the great joy was watching brilliant actors bringing their characters to life on the screen. I had my favourites: Meryl Streep, Ellen Burstyn, Geraldine Page and, from left field, the Australian Wendy Hughes. And those magnificent males, Ben Kingsley, Brian Dennehy who were naturals like Spencer Tracy before them. I rarely see their quality anymore, due mainly to Hollywood's current obsession with superheroes, animation in all its forms, pyrotechnics and make-believe technology as a whole. But here's a gift, a genuine, realistic human drama, seamlessly directed by Joel Edgerton with the wonderfully talented Jason Bateman and Rebecca Hall in sublime form. The great performances reveal an emotional range which, let's face it, are beyond Clint Eastwood, Nicholas Cage and Jennifer Lopez, with apologies to their fans. Bateman and Hall are perfectly cast; Edgerton's screenplay carries the edge in his name and the serpentine twists, and turns, kept me riveted throughout. The peripheral performances are likewise engaging. I note that the estimated budget is a mere five million. Really? Rarely has a gift given so much for so little. Highly recommended.

Anyone who describes this film as a "masterpiece" hasn't seen any true masterpiece made before 1990. Anyone who rates this film without remarking on that intrusive and overbearing musical score has equine hearing or otherwise is prepared to sacrifice crucial dialogue for a curiously inappropriate score that pleads for emotions that the screenplay fails to muster. Not that Kenneth Lonergan, the screenwriter,is at fault. He must have been furious that even the opening dialogue is swallowed up not only by the chugging of the fishing boat, but also by that shrill and un-melodic opening piece. The performances are excellent, but overshadowed by Casey Affleck's unsympathetic Lee, prone to violence after a few drinks, probably homophobic and hostile to many in the cast. It simply could have been vastly improved by more lineal story-telling and sharper editing. When will film-makers learn that music must be background, not foreground, when actors are striving to delineate their characters through words, not music! My hearing, by the way, is fine. Frankly, the most overrated film since La La Land.

When Margaret Pomeranz and David Stratton were reviewing Australian films on SBS they were always generous with their ratings, no matter how manifestly awful the film was. They felt it their duty to support home grown product and clearly preferred compliancy to controversy. The same can be said for some of the Aussie reviewers here who are just as clearly seeing the film through rose coloured glasses. Up front it must be said that Toni Collette and Hugo Weaving are typically flawless in their supporting roles, though I suspect the former had misgivings about one scene in which she feels the need to administer a rather dubious and extreme punishment to Charlie. Levi Miller is the find of the film, showing a maturity beyond his years with a sensitive and endearing multi-faceted performance as the set-upon Charlie, who is privy to Jasper's secret and uncertain what to do wit it. The rest of the acting, including the title performance, is at best uneven, as is the direction. I confess my aversion to "fart" gags in movies. When are fart gags going to be see as unfunny, as is one here, demonstrated by Charlie's dad and out of character with anything the role demands of Dan Wyllie on screen. Collette and Miller aside (Weaving has only one noteworthy scene), Jasper Jones lacks conviction and credibility. I caught up with it on Foxtel's "Masterpiece" movie channel. The best that can be said is that lesser films have been less worthy of the aggrandisement.

Never have a seen a cast or more unlikable characters, apart from Rebecca Romijn's role as Ben's wife, who at least is honest about her infidelity and seemingly sincere about her love for Ben. Well, he obviously has hidden talents because he behaves like a total jerk, overbearing towards his staff, heeding no advice, sullen, morose and unsmiling. Mike Bender wrote and directed and appears as Morty, but it's never clear whether he's Affleck's boss, or the other way around. The scene in which Affleck is beaten to a pulp is ludicrous. If he's been burgled and relieved of his precious journal, who didn't he contact the police rather than take the law into his own hands? Why wouldn't he claim damages for the damage caused to his face, and teeth? Why would Bai Ling take the journal to the Chinese restaurant if she had no intention of giving Affleck the chance to steal it? John Cleese is more caricature than character. He is guilty, as are several others in Affleck's employ, guilty of mugging to the cameras. And the music. Why Latin? It's excruciating to listen to and the movie is painful to watch.

Actually, if you read the lead review for this film, the observations therein are spot on. It is truly awful. If you actually liked the movie, you really should see the wonderful 1984 movie "A Christmas Story", which has a charm and eloquence about it that this has not. Love the Coopers, in fact, is a pathetic rip-off, with an inferior narration, not to mention artificial situations and characters. Jake Lacy's work is indeed the best thing in it. The Olivia Wilde character is painful to watch and to listen to. You just wish the hell she'd shut the (you know what)up! I felt sorry for Keaton, Goodman and Arkin who are experienced enough to know they are trapped in a turkey, forcing the words put into their mouths with desperation and embarrassment. The old man and the waitress thing is really the weirdest relationship in the whole movie...the essence of artificial. Frankly, it was too irritating to see it right through. The writers were really quite cruel to Aunt Fishy. Dementia is not funny.