Birdman

*****

Bravura film-maker Alejandro González Iñárritu is not an obvious fit for comedy. However, Birdman is not obviously comedic. In this, his fifth feature, the director follows the palpably-dark Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel and Biutiful with something completely different.

Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) is a washed-up Hollywood actor famed for playing the titular Birdman in a successful superhero franchise. Desperate for credibility he mounts a Broadway production of a Raymond Carver story, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. Writing, producing and directing duties - while also starring in the play - means biting off a little bit more than he can chew. A post-rehab daughter assistant (Emma Stone), a difficult co-star (Edward Norton) and a vicious theatre critic (Lindsey Duncan) all help send Riggan into a downward spiral. And I haven’t even mentioned that voice in his head. His disastrous previews, building up to the night’s opening, result in meltdown.

Stylistically, the film rests on one breath-taking central device: it is, effectively, done in one take. It’s not, of course. The magic of today’s technology means the director could fake it. But then Hitchcock didn’t really shoot Rope in one take either. My point being that even with the trickery this is still muscular film-making from Iñárritu. The long takes are extraordinary. Considerable chunks of plot occur within them, pushing the action forward at speed. Incredible technical precision from the actors was required to make it work and everyone one of them delivers convincing performances.

As an actor of some worth (one of whom this reviewer is rather fond) and having donned Batman’s cape and tights, Michael Keaton’s casting is both perfect and deliciously post-modern. Edward Norton is a wonderful nemesis – a nightmarish embodiment of an actor at their worst. In terms of humanity, that is. His acting is good, his personality is not. Zack Galifianakis reins in his comic chops to good effect. Brit actress Andrea Risborough proves further mettle, Naomi Watts displays incredible vulnerability and Emma Stone delivers an absurdly mature performance for one so young.                                                                                                                        

The film is underpinned by a radical, percussive score from Antonio Sanchez. The jazz-style use of only drums and cymbals provides an erratic heartbeat for the film, emphasising Riggan’s increasing levels of anxiety.

Co-writing duties (which helped him, deservedly, win a Golden Globe on Sunday) demonstrate Alejandro González Iñárritu's entrenchment in this work. He's delivered an uncompromising work that's fantastically bonkers. I'm not sure I fully understood it in the end but I still loved every bit of it. Make sure you catch it on the big screen.

Frank

****

To quote the film itself, “How to describe Frank?” Well in a nutshell, Frank is about a guy who unceasingly wears a big papier-mâché head. Needless to say, this will not be to everyone’s taste.

Frank (Michael Fassbender) is the lead singer of Soronnprfbs. Aspiring songwriter Jon (Domhnall Gleeson) crosses paths with the band when they play his hometown. More specifically, when their keyboard player attempts to drown himself Jon steps in to play keys at their next gig. He is then whisked away to rural Ireland to record the album. After enthusiastically promoting Soronnprfbs on social media, John secures a gig at SXSW festival in Austin, Texas.

The film is dedicated to Chris Seivey, the man behind the mask of Frank Sidebottom, the frontman for The Freshies, an incomparable character who made countless appearances on British TV throughout the eighties and nineties. The story is inspired by screenwriter Jon Ronson’s actual experience of playing keys for Sidebottom’s band, after replacing Mark Radcliffe.

For the uninitiated, if you expect to find any details or explanation of Frank Sidebottom you won’t find them here. The entire Frank persona has been given a complete overhaul. There are, for example, no Northern colloquialisms since Frank, in this cinematic incarnation, hails from the USA. There is no mention of the name ‘Sidebottom’. The character is simply ‘Frank’. And thus, the film is a very peculiar concept. However, Frank Sidebottom himself was a very peculiar concept. So it’s actually a fitting tribute.

This is quite a change of tack for Lenny Abrahamson - following the darkness of What Richard Did - and testament to the Irish director’s versatility. This film is consistently funny, relentlessly weird and really rather unique. (And it does have a sprinkling of darkness.) Scoot McNairy adds to his already-very-interesting CV by playing Don, the band’s manager. Maggie Gyllenhall does a lot of scene-stealing as the band’s scary theremin player. Domhnall Gleeson’s performance is a masterstroke. This dull everyman, thrown into a very weird mix, is just as engaging as the lunatics that surround him. Which brings us to Michael Fassbender: a mercurial, recently-Oscar-nominated, and not-unattractive talent. Sticking a big papier-mâché head on him is quite possibly the last thing we’d expect. John Belushi – with The Blues Brothers back in 1980 – experienced some resistance to his eyes being hidden, for the entire film, behind dark glasses. That situation pales in comparison. But like Belushi, Fassbender smashes it out of the park and somehow delivers a very captivating performance.

Frank is peculiar, oddball and exceedingly leftfield. If you’re feeling open-minded and/or tired of a lack of cinematic originality, then look no further. 

We Are the Best!

****

After much darker fare, such as Lilya 4-Ever (2002), Lukas Moodysson returns to exceedingly lighter territory with the brilliantly-titled We Are the Best! (Exclamation mark is included.) This is similar in tone to Together (2000) – a film about life in a seventies commune – and sits well as a companion piece to that. As a great example of constructive nepotism We Are the Best! is adapted from the director’s wife, Coco Moodysson’s graphic novel, Never Goodnight.

It’s Stockholm, 1982. Bobo (Mira Barkhammar) and Klara (Mira Grosin) – who are on the brink of their teens – start a punk band. Everyone tells them punk is dead but they persist. They also have no musical experience. Or instruments. They recruit Hedvig who, although straight-laced and Christian, is an accomplished guitarist. They decide to draw her away from Jesus and re-style her to comic effect. They befriend some boys in another punk band. Romantic entanglements ensue and friendships are pushed to their limits. All the while they deal with the trials of childhood – school sports are torturous and parents prove to be an excruciating embarrassment.

The intoxicating effect of musical discovery when you’re young is captured brilliantly. The girls’ passion for punk and for issues, like the nuclear threat, is endearing. When matters of age and gender get in the way, they plough on regardless with a formidable punk ethos. It portrays the exuberance of youth in all of its messiness and often silliness. Their sloppy, unkempt modus operandi is in itself intrinsically punk. They are also portrayed very realistically as children. Hollywood has a peculiar inclination to often paint youngsters as other-wordly savants trapped in the bodies of children. (As seen played by the likes of Haley Joel Osment and Dakota Fanning.) Here, there is no such nonsense. These kids are kids.

Moodysson’s style is clean, simple and very effective. There is nothing showboating about his direction. It is all so natural, it brings to mind John Cassavetes. As with that legendary director, Moodysson's attention to the acting is palpable - he draws fantastic performances from the girls. The film rests on their shoulders and they impress throughout. The film is very funny too. Maybe don’t expect huge belly laughs but it does deliver a consistent stream of lovely chuckles. It is also touching and warm. We Are the Best! is undeniably feel-good but achieves indie grit through its realism. No whiff of cheese here, I can assure you.

Starred Up

****

Have to admit I was not immediately familiar with the name David Mackenzie. On further investigation I was reminded that he helmed 2011’s highly-original Perfect Sense (do check it out). Starred Up has forced me to sit up and take notice of this talented director. I won’t forget his name again in a hurry.

The title refers to the rare process in which a juvenile delinquent is so problematic that he is ‘Starred Up’ from a young offenders unit to an adult prison. The problem with young Eric Love (Jack O’Connell) is his unrelenting proclivity for violence. He is duly processed into the far-heavier-duty prison world and continues to fight both the system and its inmates like it was his true calling. The kicker here being that he’s been assigned to the same wing as his father, Neville Love (Ben Mendelsohn).

Striking a great balance between visceral thrills and thoughtful drama it’s powerful stuff. The film brilliantly captures a young buck’s instinct to lock horns. Eric does little in the way of thinking - he dives in fists first with little thought about the consequences. The transfer is like a promotion for him and he wears it like a badge of honour. This is a new and interesting spin on a tale set in lock-up. I always love the unpalatable (and often ingenious) minutia of a good prison flick and this has plenty. We’re shown in fine detail how easy it is to make a deadly shiv with just a cigarette lighter, a safety razor and a toothbrush. These kind of touches are fascinating and downright nasty.

The onus is very much on O’Connell and he impresses throughout. (He also looks like he’s done some serious working out to cut an authentic prison physique.) I was an instant fan of Ben Mendelsohn after seeing 2010’s Animal Kingdom and here the Australian actor more than convinces as a lifer London thug. Rupert Friend delivers as posho-out-to-do-good prison therapist. The group therapy scenes are unique for their intensity and unlike anything I’ve seen on screen - they involve a series of ferocious stand-offs with an intelligent commentary by each of the participants.

Mackenzie clearly has a nose for a good script. Jonathan Asser takes sole screenwriting credit. I don’t know what Asser’s background is but suspect he’s rubbed up against some right wrong’uns in his time and he’s put that experience to great use. Either that or he’s a master of research. The authenticity of the dialogue is terrifying and the writer displays a very cutting wit.

The film is not without its faults. There are a couple of slightly duff performances – from the prison staff - but thankfully they don’t feature too heavily. (I should add, the cons themselves are all superb.) However, the raw power of the film makes up for any such minor imperfections. Director Mackenzie gives us something tough, lurid and uncompromisingly British. He’s also achieved tremendous production value with a £2million budget. It’s both fantastically entertaining and a thought-provoking watch.

Highly recommended.

Blue Ruin

****

Once in a while a film comes out of nowhere that makes an unexpectedly big impression. This is one such film. Blue Ruin is a taught little thriller that gripped me from the off. Much of its power comes from keeping things simple. The tension is amped up considerably due to the lean narrative. It follows a sequence of dramatic events within a narrow timeline, and all in excruciating detail.

The ragged, heavily-bearded Dwight (Macon Blair) has nothing. He sleeps in his car, lives off junk from the beach in Delaware, and does the odd bit of breaking and entering. He is unexpectedly informed by the authorities that the man who killed his parents is due for release from jail. And with that, he journeys to Maryland in his battered Pontiac Bonneville preparing to become the unlikeliest of assassins.

In this, his second feature, writer and director Jeremy Saulnier delivers an unconventional thriller free from cliché. His startling original script is brought to realisation with fine precision. Saulnier says he set out to strike a balance between arthouse and genre piece, and he certainly fulfilled that remit. The first act is largely silent and has a beautiful melancholy. From then on, the dramatic thrust increases considerably. The action, when it happens, appears in short incendiary bursts. It works as both thoughtful indie and credible genre flick (and hopefully it will appeal to fans of both). Saulnier employed a Kickstarter campaign to complete the film – and the budgetary constraints lend credence to necessity being the mother of invention. Said invention brings to mind the Coens' debut Blood Simple. As with that film, Blue Ruin’s strengths lie in atmosphere and a damn fine screenplay.

Revenge is a classic cinematic more and one of which I’m very fond. Blue Ruin gives us a great take on that. The foundations of Dwight's cunning springs from his homelessness, which is such a fresh concept. Increasingly out of his depth, his survival depends on it. His demeanour – as the action progresses - becomes increasingly that of a wounded animal. The raw survival instinct associated with such a creature keeps him going and makes for a fantastically tense watch. The film centres on this wonderful, understated performance from Macon Blair - himself a childhood friend of the director. It’s a star-making turn and we are certainly going to see a lot more of the actor. Another nod must go to Devin Ratray. Fresh from his entertaining turn in Nebraska, he provides a touch of much-needed comicality amidst the excitement.  

A film like this makes me so excited that there are still stories out there to be told in new and interesting ways, and that there are film-makers, like Jeremy Saulnier, with the guts and determination to deliver.

Make sure you catch it on the big screen for full impact.

Dallas Buyers Club

****

Here Matthew McConaughey loses 46 lbs for the role. Some may see this as Oscar-baiting. Well, I see it as the guy doing an extraordinary job. And then some. He looks fantastically awful throughout and the film reaps huge benefits from this commitment. It is not simply McConaughey’s film, I should add. Director Jean-Marc Vallée does an exceptional job and the writers Craig Borten and Melissa Wallack deliver a cracking script.

The year is 1985. Electrician, rodeo cowboy and party animal Ron Woodroof is diagnosed with AIDS and given 30 days to live. Refusing to accept the diagnosis, Woodroof sets about finding alternatives to survive. Questioning the hospital’s policies, especially their use of AZT - a drug that damages all cell life - he seeks help from a doctor in Mexico. He then buys uncontrolled (and far-more-effective) substances from across the border and distributes them to AIDS patients in the US. Woodroof’s laser focus on drug research combined with his street smarts make him a tough opponent of the FDA (Food and Drug Administration). And along the way he is forced to confront his rampant homophobia.

Dallas Buyers Club has a heady atmosphere. The sex and drug scenes involving this epicurean cowboy have a lurid tenseness. It’s refreshing to see hedonistic excess not confined to the Eastern or Western edges of the USA. (A lot of that obviously happens in the middle, too.) Director Jean-Marc Vallée directs with aplomb. He throws everything at this film - it is alternately humorous and horrific - but ties it all together with an evenly-toned work. Woodroof’s arc is redemptive. Suddenly a victim of the ‘gay plague’ he warms to those in a similar morass (namely gay people) and redresses his previously-held bigotry. But it’s not sugar-coated. While supplying incredible help to those with HIV he still retains his inexorable Lonestar Outlaw persona.

It has a wonderful odd-couple pairing at the film’s centre - namely that between the homophobic Woodroof and the transgender Rayon (Jared Leto). As well as plenty of pathos there is much comedy to be found in this double-act. McConaughey is marvellous in the role. His unrelenting swagger in the face of such extreme adversity makes for a great watch. And the film’s rock ‘n roll ethos makes it one of the coolest ‘Issue Movies’ of all time.

All Is Lost

****

Following the extremely wordy (and superb) Margin Call JC Chandor proves his versatility with a near-wordless film. All is Lost is astonishing in a number of aspects - the absence of dialogue, the boldness of the story's simplicity, and a muscular performance from septugenarian Robert Redford. Simply credited as 'Our Man', Robert Redford battles nature all alone as his yacht gets into serious trouble somewhere in the Indian Ocean. The situation grows increasingly worse and, as the film's spectacularly-bleak title suggests, things do not look good. Drawing on every ounce of his resourcefulness and seamanship, Our Man never gives up. I came to this with more than a few preconceived ideas. The title itself felt like a giveaway and almost prevented me from actually watching the film. (I couldn't help thinking I knew what was going to happen.) However, every single second of this made for thrilling viewing. The writer-director keeps things fantastically alive. Just when you think it can’t get any worse it does. Each and every one of the curve balls thrown at Our Man surprises and astounds. The scale of the spectacle is much grander than I’d expected too. The thrills and spills provided certainly allow this to be described as an ‘action film’. (It’s just one with brains.) Redford is phenomenal in the role. Internal performance has been key throughout his career. His star-making role of The Sundance Kid was a quiet one (in contrast to Newman's verbose Butch Cassidy) and this also brings to mind Jeremiah Johnson, in which he plays a man also very much alone, out in the wilds. His performance in All is Lost - following a long and lustrous career - is the zenith of that internalisation. There are no tricks or winks to emphasise the actor's presence. (And no talking to himself à la John McClane.) He's just phenomenally and authentically there, which makes for such engaging viewing. The role forces so many physical demands on Redford that, admittedly, there may not have been a huge amount of acting necessary. Single-handedly sailing the stricken vessel for real (and all the while soaked to the skin) clearly worked as a motivational tool for the actor. With the current state of cinema it's amazing that it actually got made. If this is a reaction against the infantilisation of Hollywood then long may this trend continue.