In the early hours of the morning, a young woman is murdered in the lobby of her apartment. The movie begins just afterwards, as the police arrive to cordon off the street and interview the surrounding neighbours, who all claim to have seen and heard nothing. Their investigation soon stalls, as does that of a hard-nosed reporter (Nicole Garcia), despte being convinced that there’s more to the crime than initially meets the eye. It’s only when introverted harbour pilot Pierre (Yvan Attal) admits to his girlfriend Louise (Sophie Quinto) that he heard screaming but did not call the police that a whole new insidious element to the crime is revealed, one that implicates thirty-eight people in the death of an innocent woman.

Belvaux’s shooting style, especially in the opening and closing sections of the film, does a wonderful job of building an atmosphere of cynicism. His cold crisp cinematography recalls the serial killer films of David Fincher, and the change in setting – from sixties era New York to present day in the French industrial port city of La Havre – leads to imagery that only contributes to the sense of gloom and melancholy. The score, dominated by single twanging guitar chords, does likewise.

Sadly, as the story starts to unravel, the audience finds themselves increasingly involved in the lives of characters they have little reason to care about. As Louise struggles with indecision about her relationship, it leads to argument after argument about what Pierre did, or rather, what he did not do. Obviously audience members are meant to ask themselves what they would do in the situation, but the scripts constant in-your-face moralising quickly becomes off-putting. We don’t care whether Pierre and Louise breakup; similarly, the investigation of the journalist holds little interest because she’s simply not an interesting character.

At a certain point it looks as though 38 Witnesses is going to change direction and focus on who actually committed the killing. Thankfully it resists this urge, and instead delivers one of the most fantastic closing sequences in recent memory, in which the witnesses are forced to re-experience the horrors of their inaction. But even that isn’t enough to resuscitate one’s interest entirely. There are compelling questions at the centre of this film. Unfortunately, they’re wrapped in a lot of teary shouting and unexciting melodrama.

—

38 Witnesses was reviewed as part of our coverage of the 41^st International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR).

You can read all of Tom Clift’s coverage of the festival here.

Room 514 (IFFR Review)

Still Life [Stillleben] (IFFR Review)

Ace Attorney (IFFR Review)

Alps (IFFR Review)

When the Lights Went Out (IFFR Review)

It’s an easy mistake to make. Indeed, opening shot – which begins amidst the whirring cogs of a gigantic clock which then slowly fade to reveal the lights of Paris by night – is so utterly breathtaking that it alone might be enough to permanently dumbfound the less discerning. In the same singular take, Scorsese’s camera zooms through the streets and across the bustling halls of Gare Montparnasse railway station before settling on another clock-face. And behind this clock-face lives Hugo (Asa Butterfield; The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas). Once the son of a clockmaker (Jude Law; Contagion), the sudden death of his father in a museum fire left Hugo orphaned, with nothing to remind him of his old life other than a human sized mechanical figure – called an Automaton – the he hopes might contain a message from his father.

What surprises most about Hugo is how lacking it is in both stakes and momentum. Despite the fact that our hero spends a lot of time running from the cruel-hearted station inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen; Bruno), there is hardly any sense of peril to this film, and zero sense of conflict. When the secret of the automation is eventually uncovered, the story swings abruptly off in another direction, resulting in awkward pacing problems and a climax that feels forced and underwhelming. All the while, the unrelated exploits of minor characters – such as the romance between a café-owner and her chubby patron – recalls Amélie so distinctly that it would be distracting even if I wasn’t one of the few people on earth who considers that movie overrated as well.

As Hugo himself, Asa Butterfield’s line delivery is stilted and awkward; as the wide-eyed owner of a heart-shaped key that will bring the automation to life, Chloe Grace Moretz is even more disappointing. After three times impressing us as girls wise far beyond their years in Kick-Ass, Let Me In and (500) Days of Summer, perhaps she’s just not capable of simply acting her age? But neither child is as cringe-worthy as Sacha Baron Cohen, whose high-voiced performance – meant to be funny – is quite simply unbearable to watch. Ben Kingsley (Shutter Island) on the other hand plays the toy-shop owner, an elderly man whose past is connected to the birth of an art form, with a quite sadness and dignity. The other highlight is Michael Stuhlbarg (A Serious Man) who enters the picture in its second half as an enthusiastic film historian whose presence is vastly endearing.

Eventually — spoiler alert! — Hugo is revealed to be a movie about the birth and history of movies themselves, and particularly the work of Georges Méliès, the silent film pioneer. Unfortunately Scorsese – so caught up in his adoration of Méliès – wades far too deep into romanticism. Time and time again characters speak about the magic and wonder of going to the movies, to the point that the effect becomes diminishing – self sabotaging even. Similarly, as much as I, a student of cinema, enjoy catching glimpses of classic films like The Great Train Robbery and Trip to the Moon when they flash across the screen, they don’t serve a whole lot of narrative point. Indeed, the second half of Hugo frequently feels less like a story and more like a lesson in film history.

Scorsese regains some ground with his visual filmmaking. Hugo is by far the directors most CG laden project to date, and new technologies have allowed him to craft some absolutely sumptuous images: alongside the opening, a time lapse shot of a building disintegrating under the elements is one of the most memorable sequences of the year. Unfortunately, it is diminished by the 3D. People have called this the best use of live-action 3D since Avatar, and they’re right. But it doesn’t matter. I will repeat this mantra until the day that I die: 3D filmmaking does not replicate how the eye sees three dimensions. 3D films look less like reality than 2D films. With the exception of certain animations, 3D films are NEVER WORTH PAYING FOR.

As I wrote in my review of this years likely best picture winner The Artist, 2011 may well be remembered as the year that Hollywood’s obsession with its own history reached new and unprecedented heights. Movies about movies are in vogue at the moment, although the disastrous box-office takings of this film suggest that viewers don’t care for the trend in the same way that critics and filmmakers do. In any case, where films like The Artist, Super 8 and even Hobo with a Shotgun all trump Hugo is in their narrative. Those films all pay tribute to a style of cinema – be it silent movies, Spielberg movies or gory, nasty Grindhouse movies – that their directors love and cherish. But they also tell a compelling story. Hugo simply does not. Scorsese’s latest is well-meaning nostalgia, but hollow.

Competition: Win HUGO tix + the bestseller it’s based on!

The Artist (Review)

The 10 Best Films of 2011

New Movie Releases 30/09/10: Dinner for Schmucks, Legend of the Guardians

Our picks of the 2012 Rotterdam International Film Festival (IFFR)

When Bernard reveals his father’s secret, the characters – mother, son, sister and father himself – quickly splinter off and wander aimlessly, alone. It’s meant to demonstrate how each member of the family deals with the revelation, and yet each reaction seems more or less the same: shock, disgust, sadness. In individual moments, first time Austrian director Sebastian Meise uses silence to incredible effect, but as the quiet stretches on and on, you increasingly want the characters to speak, to argue, to weep. In brief conversations the actors are shown to be strong and willing, but their director never lets them really demonstrate their talents.

Towards the end of the film the siblings come to a kind of reconciliation, and it seems at last that Meise will get around to exploring the effects of their fathers actions on the family as a unit whole. But then, abruptly, the movie simply ends, and the audience is left with no explanation or catharsis. Which is, I suppose, the intention: the movie is called Still Life after all. But one never finds much point amongst the stillness.

—

Still Life was reviewed as part of our coverage of the 41^st International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR).

You can read all of Tom Clift’s coverage of the festival here.

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Interview: Jonathan Teplitzky, writer/director of BURNING MAN

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (Video Review)

The Hangover Part 2 (Video Review)

But then came the rote sequel Evolution (2006), followed by the pointless prequel Rise of the Lycans (2009). Somewhere in between Twilight happened, singlehandedly destroying centuries of vampire mythology with a single sparkle.  And now we have Underworld: Awakening, a 3D sequel that proves, yet again, that whatever cultish charms the original had, it’s all but ashes now.

After her absence from the prequel, Beckinsale is back in black as Selene, a vampire who previously betrayed her species by falling in love with a hybrid named Michael (Scott Speedman). As the title implies, humanity has finally awakened to the existence of Vampires and Lycans and has systematically begun to exterminate them, prompting Selene and Michael to try and escape the city. Admittedly, I found myself rooting for the humans during these early scenes, as for all the excuses mankind have used to justify the culling of a subspecies, I think “because they drink our blood and maul our faces!” is one of our better ones. Either way, it’s not long before the film reverts to just being about vampires and werewolves again, with humanity back to believing that the purge was successful and the two no longer exist.

While I admit there is slightly more plot to it than that, I hope you’re not seeing this movie for the story. The end credits, if you make it that far, reveal that the film is the work of Swedish duo “Mårlind & Stein”, which sounds more like an accounting firm than a pair of filmmakers. I suppose that would explain their cold and clerical direction, profit-raising addition of needless 3D and a screenplay about as creatively written as a tax return. Perhaps these are the same guys who do the bookkeeping for Paul W. S. Anderson’s similarly awful Resident Evil series?

Clocking in at 88 minutes, at least it’s over quickly. The writers come up with any old excuse for Beckinsale to flip around the room in her black leather outfit, which is seemingly as indestructible and flexible as she is. It clings to her slim figure like Glad Wrap, so I shudder to think where she keeps her endless supply of ammunition and grenades. Doesn’t it get sweaty in there? Come to think of it, do vampires even perspire? According to Google, the answer is no, no they don’t.

These are the things you ponder when, for the umpteenth time, someone is sliding down a corridor in slow-mo like it’s 1999. The film even has the nerve to steal that silly scene from The Matrix Reloaded where Neo kick-starts Trinity’s heart by squeezing it with his bare hands. Honestly, if you’re going to steal stuff from The Matrix, at least steal the good bits.

Still, Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2 is coming out later this year, right? So at least this will only be the 2^nd worst vampire vs. werewolf movie of 2012.

Underworld: Rise of the Lycans (Review)

Cinema Releases – January 22, 2009

Win a TWILIGHT – NEW MOON Prize Pack!

Jonah Hill considering directorial debut with ‘The Kitchen Sink’

Resident Evil: Afterlife (Review)

For the record, I mildly enjoyed the Oscar-winning original, which despite being similarly hyperactive, still had the good sense to stick to a cohesive story. Unwisely, this sequel tries to tell about seven stories in one, all so heavily abridged by the strict time constraints of a children’s movie, they feel more like a collection of entangled shorts. The overarching plot involves Mumble (voice of Elija Wood; 9), the penguin protagonist from the previous film who has now had a bub of his own, Erik (newcomer Ava Acres). Much like his dad, Erik doesn’t quite fit in amongst the other Emperor Penguins, who spend their days singing and dancing to the likes of Queen and Justin Timberlake, as penguins often do. Erik can’t tap dance like his father and he can’t sing like his mother (voiced by pop star Pink), so he packs his bags and leaves the colony to find his calling elsewhere, quickly becoming enamoured by The Mighty Sven (Hank Azaria; The Smurfs), a rare flying penguin from the North. But while Erik is off finding himself and Mumble finding Erik, their colony is landlocked by a moving glacier – damn you, global warming! – leaving it up to the father and son duo to rescue their brethren before they all starve to death.

But wait, there’s more! There’s also a subplot involving the sensual Ramon (Robin Williams; Old Dogs), a pudgy Adele penguin looking for love; the gruff Bryan (Richard Carter; Happy Feet), an elephant seal looking to get his pups home; preacher Lovelace (also Robin Williams), a Rockhopper penguin hoping to reconnect with his human rescuers; and Will and Bill the krill (Brad Pitt and Matt Damon), two crustaceans who leave their swarm on an existential whim.  Their journey, despite being derivative of Scrat the squirrel from Ice Age, is easily the most enjoyable of them all, perhaps because it’s the only time the team of writers balance out the inherent childishness of the premise with some witty adult humour. Forget Happy Feet 3; give us Bill and Will’s Excellent Adventure instead.

Looking at Happy Feet Two from a glass-half-full perspective, it’s impressive that the film is energetic at all — let alone feverishly so — when you consider that penguins aren’t exactly the liveliest creatures of the animal kingdom, nor is Antarctica a continent bursting in colour. Also, taken in moderation, it’s hard to deny the splendour of the animation, from the sweeping shots of a thousand penguins marching across the icy arctic plains, to the way each individual granule of snow glistens beneath their webbed feet.

But nothing about Happy Feet Two can be taken in moderation. It’s a film that only deals in excess, so unless you’re a deliriously happy person with a serious foot fetish, you’d best give Happy Feet Two a miss.

Rio [2011] (Review)

Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa (Review)

The King of Ping Pong [Ping-pongkingen] (Review)

Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole (Review)

Trailer Talk: X-Men: First Class

The niceties of the plot follows eight-year-old Sally (Bailee Madison; Brothers) who has been sent to live with her father (Guy Pearce; The Hurt Locker) and his new girlfriend (Katie Holmes; Batman Begins) in a Rhode Island manor that the two are restoring. Little do they know, however, that in the basement lurks ancient imp-likes creatures that call out for Sally in the night and hunger for the teeth of children. The script is filled with familiar two-dimensional characters; the curious little girl, the disbelieving parents, the grizzled groundkeeper and even the librarian with an absurdly coincidental knowledge of obscure arcane texts. Bailee Madison does a decent job in the lead role, but Holmes and Pearce — the latter of whom I am usually an enormous fan — never once seem like they’re doing anything other than reading from a script.

Del Toro’s influence is all over the film, from the obvious fairytale inspirations right down to a scene involving a Polaroid camera that was done much better in the recent Spanish horror film Julia’s Eyes, which del Toro just happened to be the Executive Producer of. But Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark has none of the uniqueness of design or execution that we have come to expect of the Mexican filmmaker. Instead, his North American protégé attempts to evoke suspense and terror almost entirely via use of Marco Beltrami and Buck Sanders’ score, one that intrudes into practically every scene, distracting from rather than contributing to any real sense of ambiance.

The other major issue is the creatures themselves. For the first half of the film they are confined to whispering generically, something that is meant to sound creepy but ends up just seeming silly. As un-scary as they sound, however, that is nothing compared to how these diminutive demons actually look. Think something akin to five inch pieces of snarling, scurrying snot. The mediocre digital effects used to bring them into the world doesn’t aid matters, but even the best CGI in the world couldn’t make the sight of Katie Holmes struggling to fight creatures one-fifteenth of her height anything other than laughable.

By the time the movie comes to an end, it is not a question of whether the dark is something worth being afraid of, but whether or not it will actually put you to sleep. Not in the least bit scary, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark is a disappointing dud.

Competition: Win tix to see DON’T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK!

Australian Box Office 6/11/11: We still love to be ‘In Time’

Australian Box Office 30/10/2011: JT not just NSync but In Time for top spot

When the Lights Went Out (IFFR Review)

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (Review)

Just to be clear, it’s hardly unheard of for the occasional promotional still or trailer to differ from the final cut, especially since movie marketing and movie making are two distinct entities. But we’re not talking about one or two scenes missing, we’re talking about most of the trailer missing. There are scenes that have been entirely rewritten, characters that have been completely cut and a handful of gravity-defying scares that are nowhere to be seen. And as for the promotional stills, I can’t seem to find a single image released by Paramount that is actually in the damn movie. In other words, the film being advertised is not the film moviegoers are paying to see.

I doubt I would have brought this issue to the fore of my review if I didn’t think it went a long way to explain why the film you can currently pay to see is a bit of a mess. If you’ll recall, the first Paranormal Activity worked primarily due to the novelty of the concept and innovative low-budget execution, which was enough to overshadow the thin narrative, repetitive structure and unconvincing characters. Two movies later, that novelty has just about worn off, yet the formula remains unchanged. Consequently, the flaws of the series are now more patent than ever, what with this third instalment better resembling a string of ghostly YouTube videos played back-to-back than a structured movie. The film is so formless, one is left to ponder whether Christopher B. Landon’s screenplay was really just a bulleted list of “Scary Scenes” that the filmmakers proceeded to film indiscriminately, blindly hoping that if they shot enough of them, they’d have sufficient amounts of footage to cobble together a 90-minute movie. That would, at the very least, explain why there are so many scenes from the trailer inexplicably exercised from the final cut. It would also explain why the movie isn’t very good.

Much like the footage from the trailer, this still is not from the actual movie.

Serving as a prequel, Paranormal Activity 3 is set in 1988, the dawn of the home video revolution where young sisters Katie (Chloe Csengery) and Kristi (Jessica Tyler Brown) — the protagonists from the previous films — have their first brush with the paranormal. Mum’s new boyfriend Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith), a wedding videographer, is the first to observe the ghostly presence in their new home when he captures something peculiar on camera whilst (inexplicably) surveying the girls’ room. Dennis promptly sets up more cameras around the house in a hope of capturing more anomalies, including a camera mounted atop of a fan oscillator so that it can slowly pan between the living room and the kitchen, an effective gimmick directors Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman (of Catfish fame) get plenty of mileage from.

Although Paranormal Activity 3 makes no effort to combat the weaknesses of the previous instalments, it hasn’t cast aside the strengths of the series either. I applaud the way in which, even with a multi-million dollar budget, the filmmakers once again resist the temptation of CGI and continue to embrace low-fi practical scares, evoking a fear of the unknown rather than the known (which is always more effective). Still, when the most innovative thing about the film is that the camera now oscillates, one can’t help but scoff at the miniscule amount of creativity that has been drizzled into this Halloween cash grab. Beat for beat, the film goes through the exact same motions as the previous two: boyfriend/husband detects a paranormal presence in their house, girlfriend/wife doesn’t believe him, and both pay dearly for it (in this case during a silly climax that the film would like you to believe it was working towards all along, but in truth, never was).

So yes, there are still a few chills to be had, but even the best of them do little to diminish that inescapable feeling of “been there, seen that”. What was once paranormal activity is decidedly normal activity now, and if the franchise wants us to come back for round four, it’s going to have to seriously shake things up. Bring on a new set of characters, tell us a story with substance, take the camera outside the confines of the home, and for goodness sake, show us some footage from the bloody film.

Win a PARANORMAL ACTIVITY DVD Prize Pack!

Paranormal Activity (Review)

Australian Box Office 20/11/11: Twilight Breaking into pole position

Australian Box Office 30/10/2011: JT not just NSync but In Time for top spot

Australian Box Office Report, Nov 11-14 2010

I can’t help but feel that it was more than a little ironic that in an early conversation – one that bears all the awkward hallmarks of something written by a room full of adults with only the vaguest understanding of how teenagers actually talk – a side character chastises Lautner’s character Nathan Price for being “too mainstream”. The reason it’s ironic is because Abduction may very well be the most mainstream, calculated and personality-less Hollywood motion picture this year. In the world of Abduction, every single teenager is in shape, attractive, has access to all the latest Apple products, and, with the exception of one black sidekick character who, naturally, knows how to jack a car, get hold of a gun and makes “the best fake ID’s in town”, is very, very white.

But even with his designer clothes, Adonis-like physique and buddies who embody vaguely troubling racial stereotypes, Nathan is still ridden with brooding adolescent emotion. In a counseling session with his psychiatrist (played by Sigourney Weaver, slumming it), we learn that Nathan “doesn’t feel at home in his own life”. When two suit-clad assassins turn up to his door one night and brutally murder his parents, we start to realize that this might not have been just your typical teenage whinging.

Even so, Abduction is typical – painfully, occasionally hilariously so. Taylor made (pun fully intended) for Lautner’s pre-existing fanatical fan base, the film uses it’s half-baked and chiche-riddled espionage plotline as an excuse to set the screen a-smoulder with never ending shots of the young stars eternally tensing jaw muscles and big, angst-filled eyes. Despite looking the part (or maybe not – how many real seventeen-year-olds do you know who are built this this?), Lautner’s acting muscles are far from as toned as his pecs, as he whines his way through the scripts ultra-serious (and as result, often unintentionally amusing) dialogue with tons of commitment but zero conviction.

Uncovering the shocking truth that his parents were actually just CIA agents assigned to protect him while his real father, an undercover field operate, continued his top secret missions around the world, Nathan suddenly finds himself sans protection, being pursued by two equally nefarious forces. One is a corrupt CIA agent played with competent suit-and-tie menace by Alfred Molina (Spiderman 2), while the other is a merciless European crime lord played with fun if totally stereotypical villainy by Swedish actor Michael Nyqvist (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo).

With his life on the line, Nathan goes on the run with his attractive neighbour played by Lily Collins (daughter of musician Phil Collins), whose pouty lips and ass-hugging jeans play a big part in our hero completely shaking off the trauma of seeing his mother and father brutally gunned down in front of him after, oh I don’t know, half a day? Collin’s performance is no better than Lautner’s, while the film consistently positions her as a helpless damsel in distress (not unlike the female lead in another massively popular teenage property that Lautner is involved in, nudge nudge). Not unexpectedly, Lautner and Collins’ heavy make-out session midway through the film ends exactly before the films status as “family friendly” can be called into question. Although I’m sure if these two teenagers had consummated their passion, it would have been the most photogenic, un-awkward movie sex that you could ever roll your eyes at. I guess we’ll have to wait for Breaking Dawn.

Primarily concerned with the aforementioned teenage drama, there is stunningly little action in Abduction, while what little there is is (surprise surprise) noticeably bloodless, and predominately shot and over-edited to the point that it is practically undecipherable. Arguably the best fight in the film is the first one, in which Nathan and his father (Jason Isaacs; Harry Potter’s Lucius Malfoy) engage in a less than father-sonly sparring match. But the scene is so ridiculous that it’s simply impossible to take seriously. The same goes for the climax, which might have been exciting if you weren’t so busy puzzling over when Nathan suddenly taught himself parkour.

Abduction, like Lautner, wants so badly to be taken seriously. But how can you a film like this seriously when its narrative feels as though it was assembled by a computer program, its dialogue is completely devoid of sincerity, and its leading man only appears charismatic by comparison when he is left standing next to his expressionless Twilight co-stars.

If you are a thirteen year old girl who owns her weights worth in Team Jacob merchandise, then Abduction will be right up your alley. Otherwise, steer well clear.

The 10 Worst Films of 2011

Australian Box Office Report 18-21 Nov 2010: Harry Potter 7 dominates

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (Her Review)

I Am Number Four (Review)

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“Bands change, kiddo.” I’d say.

And upon saying that, I’d probably lean back and sigh and wish that the corresponding cinema event was released a decade or more ago.

Right off the bat, it must be said that I’m With You – the film, not the album — is strictly for the fans. I can’t imagine someone who isn’t a fan of the Chilis being compelled to watch the band perform their new album live in its entirety — the only time this will be happening, the filmmakers are eager to stress. Certainly, I’m With You has its moments in which that old RHCP greatness and intensity appears to shine through. Unfortunately, these moments are rare. Viewed in a larger context of the Chili oeuvre, I’m With You – both the film and the album — is simply adequate, nothing more.

I’m With You is presented as a “Cinema Event”, rather than merely a “Concert Film”. Shot in Germany, the band’s first and only live performance of ”I’m With You” was broadcast live — I have my doubts that it was completely live — in American cinemas on August 31 and then repeated on September 1. Complete with a counter at the bottom of the screen announcing the decreasing minutes to when the band take the stage, the filmmakers go to great lengths in attempting to build a sense of tension and excitement. The band is interviewed, with Kiedis announcing that they’ve just scraped together learning the songs in the nick of time. The band speaks excitedly of the fact that this will be a debut of sorts for new axe-man Josh Klinghoffer. However, unfortunately for Australian audiences, I’m With You won’t be screened until early October. Thus the sense of anticipation, that of a big reveal, felt somewhat muted.

As far as Chili Peppers concerts go, if you’re expecting an intensity equal to that of days of yore, you might consider the gig captured here in glorious high definition as a bit muted. It’s serviceable, yes, and as mentioned before it does occasionally contain glimpses of greatness. Drummer Chad Smith is as excellent as ever, and bassist Flea seems enthusiastic as always, doing most of the audience addressing, even taking a turn at the piano. Front-man Anthony Kiedis, meanwhile, occasionally seems unsure of the lyrics to the new songs, and at times struggles with odd time signatures. Long-time RHCP off-sider and friend Josh Klinghoffer performs admirably as the new guitarist, stepping into the formidable and well-loved shoes of John Frusciante, who departed the band in 2008. One has to feel for Klinghoffer, joining a band once steeped in innovation and potent intensity, but now yielding nothing much in the way of revelations. He’s certainly a talented musician though, and it’ll be interesting to see if some young blood will teach the old dogs new tricks.

I have one beef with this particular film/live concert/cinema event that stands out and above all other beefs: the running time. Have you listened to an album from start to finish lately? It’s a serious commitment listening to an LP from cover to cover in a single sitting. I still do it from time to time — heck, I still make use of my record player — but I certainly wouldn’t do it for “I’m With You”. I dare say that being in the audience of this concert would have been enjoyable and exciting, as live gigs usually are. However, sitting in a cinema through the overly ponderous opening sequence preamble, then the pre-show interviews, then the unfamiliar 14 songs of the new album grew tiring, and conducive to fidgeting. Perhaps it’s a problem the Chilis have to address, after the incredibly superfluous double album that was ”Stadium Arcadium”. Yes there is enjoyment to be had, but I found that after 90 minutes with no end in sight, I was well and truly restless.

I’m With You is beautifully shot. There are a few “greatest hits” at the show’s close. I enjoyed a great many moments of the concert, admired the talents of four powerful musicians who have been at it since before my birth. Unfortunately, this is the realm of the still die-hard fan. And unfortunately for the 15-year-old me, I’m not one of those anymore. Perhaps a feature-length documentary would have been a wiser choice than this. Watch if you enjoyed the album, if you love RHCP, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’m With You is screening in selected cinemas October 4 & 5.

Michael Jackson’s This Is It (Review)

Back To The Future 25th Anniversary

81st Academy Awards Red Carpet

Anvil! The Story of Anvil (Review)

Glamour of the Globes

Once a rising soccer star, Kim Won-kang (Park Hie-soon) now finds himself dodging creditors and struggling to keep afloat his various failed business ventures – the latest of which is a sports equipment store and youth soccer club in the newly independent nation of East Timor. Knowing that the impoverished local children on his team will not be able to pay for boots up front, he craftily devises a plan to let them pay off their debt one dollar per day, much to chagrin of the local ruffian who also happens to be the older brother of Kim’s star forward Ramos (Francisco Varela). But despite Kim’s initially selfish intentions, he slowly comes to care for the children, and eventually decides to sign them up for the Youth Soccer Tournament in Hiroshima, Japan in the hopes of improving their otherwise miserable lives.

A Barefoot Dream could have been a perfectly serviceable sports movie were it not for the absurdly mawkish execution of writer/director Kim Tae-gyun (Volcano High). In his hands, the already simplistic material becomes laughable, resembling little more than a strung together sequence of obvious jokes and obvious emotional manipulation. Were the formula adhering script not cringe-worthy enough as it was, Tae-gyun uses bright lighting and slow motion photography to further telegraph without a hint of subtlety exactly the emotions his audience are meant to be feeling; the exact same is true of the overbearing, nauseatingly sugary musical score and pop-song saturated soundtrack.

None of the characters in the film possess more than a single dimension, and spend most of their screen time crying, delivering heartfelt speeches, celebrating all too predictable triumphs, overcoming adversity or, in the case of the children, looking far cuter than any victims of malnutrition and third-world poverty have any right to appear. To their credit, the Indonesian child actors are perfectly competent, but their adult counterparts over-act like their lives depend on it. In the lead role, Park Hie-soon streaks his cheeks with tears at the slightest hint of emotion, while I swear his tooth-gritting determinism to teach the children to get along practically spills over into full-blown piss-taking.

I know I’m repeating myself, but it’s almost unbelievable how sappy and soapy A Barefoot Dream really is. In spite of this, it is still arguably better than a lot the more cynical mainstream fare that Hollywood churns out every year. One thing that must be said about the film is that it is so absurdly cloying and full of heart that you can’t possibly feel malice towards anyone involved. It’s obvious that they tried their hardest, and even I, the most cynical of critics, cannot deny being moved just once or twice. Sadly, those moments were immediately drowned out in a golden monsoon of treacle and attainable dreams.

—

A Barefoot Dream screened as part of KOFFIA – The Korean Film Festival in Australia. KOFFIA runs in Melbourne from September 10th-13th. For more information, click here.

You can read all of our coverage of KOFFIA 2011 here.

Joint Security Area [2000] (KOFFIA Review)

Elsewhere [La tête ailleurs] (BAFF Review)

Room 514 (IFFR Review)

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Warrior (Review)

It strikes me that there is a half-way decent Western buried in here somewhere. At the films outset, Daniel Craig (Quantum of Solace) awakens in the desert with a strange metal device around his wrist and absolutely no memory of who or where he is. A veritable Man With No Name, these first fifteen or so minutes are promising;  two early instances in which our hero finds himself in fist fights constitutes by far the most entertaining action in the film, and also serve as a pertinent reminder to what a great and physical James Bond Craig makes. Unfortunately, requisite plotting soon reveals that Craig is in fact Jake Lonergan, an outlaw wanted for stealing gold from Colonel Woodrow Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford; Morning Glory), a rich and powerful cattleman who doesn’t take kindly to thieves.

Of course just as Dolarhyde is about to exact his revenge, alien spacecraft suddenly mosey into town, blasting their death rays willy nilly and abducting screaming citizens left, right and centre. Suddenly the two men must band together, form a posse and head on out into the wildness in hot pursuit of the extra-terrestrial fiends. Said posse is made up largely of your typical Western types – the straight laced citizen, (Sam Rockwell; Moon), world-weary preacher (Clancy Brown; The Informant!), expert tracker & token Apache (Adam Beach; Flags of Our Fathers), a few grizzled stockmen who double as fodder for alien lasers, as well as a beautiful and mystifying woman (Olivia Wilde; Tron: Legacy).

The performances from the generally stellar cast are generally middling, and reflective of the clichéd, uninteresting characters that the various actors are forced to portray. As with so many films where amnesia is central to the story, I had little interest in uncovering any of Lonergan’s past, especially as it becomes increasingly clear how generic and boring it is. Craig does silent and stoic well – when he talks, the American accent, although not entirely unconvincing,  just sounds plan wrong coming out of 007’s mouth. It doesn’t help that he’s being asked to sell not one but two romantic subplots, both of which are as thin as paper and as passionate of soggy cardboard. Olivia Wilde does a poor job as the more prominent of the two love interests, a character whose part in the story is as unnecessary as it is absurd.

Those hoping to see Harrison Ford in a rare villainous role will also be disappointed; by the end of the first act his characters redemption is already well underway, while Ford looks about as interested in his part in the movie as I was. Sam Rockwell and Clancy Brown at least seem to be trying, but there’s little they can do in such predictable roles. Paul Dano (There Will Be Blood) on the other hand, is incomprehensibly bad – like, worst performance of the year bad – as the snivelling Dolarhyde Jr. Why his father wasn’t happy to let him rot in an alien spaceship is far beyond me.

The aliens are even more insipid, both in their characterisation and design. It’s ironic really; early Westerns depict a revisionist version of American history where the noble white man was the conqueror of the uncivilized “Injun”. Now, in the age of political correctness, Favreau goes to great lengths to include positive Native American characters in his films heroic climax, only to imbue the inter-stellar villains with the same one-dimensional badness audiences would have associated with Apaches and Comanches half a decade earlier. Despite their superior technology, the aliens in this film are depicted as savage, greedy and completely devoid of individual identity – why they are abducting people is never adequately explained – and audiences are asked to root for their deaths at the hands of the morally righteous humans.

Cowboys & Aliens does manage to limp along with some life for it’s first two thirds, thanks mostly to Craig and a couple of individually well crafted scenes of atmosphere (a sequence in an overturned steamboat, blessedly free of alien blasting, is amongst the best moments in the film). But the final climax, following the recovery of Lonergan’s memory thanks to some Indian peyote, is such a cacophony of mindless and uncreative action that it seems to drag on forever. Unnamed characters, human and alien, are killed in their dozens without the slighted emotional resonance or flickering of excitement. It’s not as ugly as Battle: Los Angeles, but it’s certainly just as dull.  And believe it not, it might just be dumber as well.

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