Films seen May

Mindhorn (2017 – Sean Foley)


Which is a film that is not Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013 – Declan Lowney).  It’s a film that repeats many of that much better film’s beats, but you just don’t care here.  Without a history of multiple television series, Richard Thorncroft is just another man, and only the broadest of jokes land.  And there’s a point where the plot just takes over from silliness and jokes, which in all these films, Alpha Papa included, feels sluggish and wearisome.  At the end of the day, you can’t escape the feeling that you’ve wasted your time watching this film.


On the weirdly shaped Screen 1 at the Odeon Covent Garden.  Good sized screen.  Ticket cost £10.50.



A Canterbury Tale (1944 – Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)


For a large part of the film you forget quite why you love it so.  It’s all a bit aimless, and beyond the pleasure of seeing the part of the country you live in and around as it was during the war.  And then you remember as the final twenty minutes are this elegiac journey of recovery for our four protagonists.  It is such a perfect sense of grace… one that is ever-so-slightly bittersweet with the foreknowledge that many of these characters may be dead within a few months.

There was a moment watching this film, as the black and white beams of light shone through a half empty theatre on a grey Saturday afternoon that I felt a similar sense of grace.  For a few moments I felt I gained an insight into what cinema must have meant in 1944; how essential it was to wisdom and comfort and calm.

I reminded me why movies are my religion and cinema is my cathedral.


The screening was meant to be in 35mm, but got switched to digital.  Almost didn’t go as a consequence, but I was up in town anyway.  Screened on the lovely NFT 2 at the BFI Southbank.  Ticket cost £12 or something.  Shown w/ Westward Ho! (1940 – Thorold Dickinson) – a short film about the evacuation of children during the war.  Got a little frustrated when I got the BFI as it was heaving… later I realised Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg were all there for a screening, so I retrospectively forgave everyone.



Alien: Covenant (2017 – Ridley Scott)


The film breaks down into four sections:

  1. The opening receive-a-distress-call-and-decide-to-investigate section, which when the film is over, you can’t quite believe you had to sit through. It takes half-an-hour to do what Alien (1979 – Scott) did in five minutes.  Characters are drawn with the thinnest of personalities (Danny McBride wears a hat…) and James Franco’s cameo is entirely distracting (I hadn’t realised it was him being burned up in the cryogenic pod at the start, and I saw it on a screen as big as a house.)

  1. The second section sees the crew land on a planet and investigate the crashed engineer ship from Prometheus (2012 – Scott). Visually it’s quite beautiful, and it’s bringing a woodland aesthetic to a series that had never explored this terrain before.  There’s a growing (if somewhat obvious) sense of unease and a fantastic attack in a wheatfield.

  1. A section set in the engineer’s city where Michael Fassbender hams it up as David – which feels as if it is drawn from Vincent Ward’s abandoned version of Alien3. It’s easy to denigrate this section as slightly flaccid, but it relies on the understanding that:
  • David was the morally uneasy protagonist of Prometheus rather than Noomi Rapace.
  • All Alien films depend upon a nightmare logic, where characters make terrible, and stupid, decisions in the face of danger.

David is clearly coded as H. R. Giger, fantastical and slightly psychopathic, but it’s hard to believe in a sincere conflict between him and Fassbender’s dual portrayal of Walter, who is a blanker slate.

  1. The final section plays as a hyped-up hybrid of the Alien hunting scenes from Alien and the final conflict in Aliens (1986 – James Cameron). It is wearisome on reflection.

So Alien: Covenant feels like a meal reheated in a microwave, and the opening and closing half hours lack any real invention.  But… but… I liked it.  I just have to accept that I adore these films in the way that some people adore Marvel movies.  Was it better than Prometheus?  Yes, but I quite liked Prometheus?  Do I really need gaps in narratives filled in?  No; I’d prefer a more original idea that uses the Alien.  Was this film initially overpraised in some quarters and then over-criticised by others in reaction?  Yes, but isn’t that true of all cultural commentary nowadays.

What you’re left with is a film that is the fourth or fifth best entry in a very good film series.


Treated myself to the IMAX screen at Bluewater Showcase.  It’s not the biggest IMAX screen in the world, but it’ll do.  Ticket cost £15.



Malcolm X (1992 – Spike Lee)


Which is a long film and I’m not convinced by how much time is spent exploring Malcolm X’s childhood and early adulthood.  But I get why Lee did it.  The thrust of the narrative is that for a man who was mostly presented as aggressive and obstinate, Malcolm X responded greatly to the world around him, and would regularly modify his views.

I’d seen it before, but was glad to luxuriate in the big screen.  This film feels most alive when Lee indulges in his visual inventiveness, tracking shots and extraordinary Nelson Mandela cameo conclusion in particular.


Shown on 35mm on the Sigourney Weaver screen at The Picturehouse Central – beautiful screen.  Ticket cost £8 and they helpfully changed my seating when requested.  It was an organised event and there was a panel discussion afterwards, but I couldn’t hang around as I had to go see…



Brainstorm (1983 – Douglas Trumbull)


So it’s a pretty silly movie, and one where the main appeal stems from the ‘directed by Douglas Trumbull’ credit.  Which seems appealing, until you remember that he only really directed one other film, Silent Running (1972), and that’s a film that rarely rises above ‘okay’.  And you remember, it’s his effects work that you love.

Brainstorm doesn’t feature half as much effects work as you’d like.

But it is enjoyable, and having only seen it on a letterboxed blu-ray previously, it was revelatory seeing it in 70mm.  The aspect ratio changes are so integral to the plot (and you notice on the big screen the moments where Trumbull makes reality break down in a way you never could on telly), and when it is fully anamorphic, it is astonishing.  One of those cinematic experiences I’m really glad I had, and one where seeing a film in a cinema really deepened my appreciation of the film

I have a lot of 70mm showings booked for the next few months.  Excited!


On 70mm on the downstairs screen at the Prince Charles.  New seats; very comfy but you can’t sink into them in the way you used to.  Ticket cost about £10 (I’m going to get membership soon).



Colossal (2017 – Nacho Vigalondo)


I think this was one of the ones we were meant to be excited about, revelatory performance from Anne Hathaway and all that.  But Christ.  It was dull.  And seemed to work to its own very specific logic for creating an avatar, which was kind of baffling.  I liked it for its deconstruction of two ‘nice’ guys, both out to save a woman whose only major fault was an itchy head.  But when those two guys are played by Jason Sudeikis and Dan Stevens, you are only waiting for them to be physically injured.  And it was a tedious wait for that to happen.

See, I wasn’t desperate for an Anne Hathaway renaissance.  I’ve being saying she was good in Rachel Getting Married (2008 – Jonathan Demme) for nearly a decade now.  And she was good in this film… it’s just it was so monotonous, that makes me doubt my feelings towards that film.  Colossal undermined my very certainty in my established critical opinion.  Just not in a good way.


Screen 4 at the Odeon Covent Garden.  Ticket only cost £6.50.



The Spy Who Loved Me (1977 – Lewis Gilbert)

For Your Eyes Only (1981 – John Glen)


When watching the two of them back-to-back, it’s clear the latter is a better film, but the former is more enjoyable.  There’s a seriousness to For Your Eyes Only that predicates the most satisfying entries in the series, such as the Timothy Dalton and first two Daniel Craig films.  But after nearly four hours of Bond in action, the comedy Maggie Thatcher scene killed.  The Spy Who Loved Me is sillier and rife with uncomfortable sexual and racial politics, but indicative of the real strengths of the Moore Bonds; the effortlessness with which they entertain an audience.  There is no ambition to bring ‘depth’, no unsatisfying attempt to delve into backstory, just a particular mix of ambitious stunt work, a winningly charming central role, and a sense of humour that captures the whole audience.

(One thing I did notice that the two films share is that Bond is definitively a widower in both movies.  Strange that nearly ten years later, and with an entirely different lead actor (twice) they were still dwelling on plot points from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969 – Peter R. Hunt))


Charity double bill at the Odeon Covent Garden Screen 1 in memory of Sir Roger Moore.  New 4K transfers.  Ticket only cost £7 (for two films!).  Enthusiastic audience too!

Films seen April

Life (2017 – Daniel Espinosa)

Which people try to disparage as an Alien rip-off.  As if that’s a bad thing?

A lovely (though completely faked) single-shot sequence opens a film follows the standard formula of a likeable crew (Reynolds, Wilson, Gyllenhaal) being murdered one by one.  So what – it’s a nominal plot?  There are fascinations of my childhood – dinosaurs, space travel, steam trains – that remain with me to this day.  I love them, regardless of the context.  The conviction of the cast in this film and the claustrophobia of a zero-gravity space station adds a level of true hostility to the proceedings; we rarely get to see utter terror in our lives, so it is exhilarating to see it performed.  But the ending – a glorious, defeatist conclusion, which dooms both our heroes and the whole of humanity – pushes this film into something quite thrilling.  I could do with one of these films a month.

A tiny, shitty screen with broken chairs and an obnoxious audience at the Cineworld Leicester Square (formerly the Empire).  If I wasn’t in a good mood, I’d have properly resented the experience.  Ticket was about £12.

Free Fire (2017 – Ben Wheatley)


Six films in, and he’s no closer to a masterpiece.  The breadth of Wheatley’s career is more something to admire than love (Steven Soderbergh suffers from the same affliction).  There is an almost desperate, and quite cynical, tendency within his films to create something ‘cult’.  He is a poseur trying to be alternative.  Every moment of Free Fire seems designed to be regurgitated by some inexperienced nineteen-year-old in a university halls of residence; and maybe it will be.  But there is nothing in this film that is even remotely dangerous or surprising.  It is an utterly safe film.  It is a tedious trawl through an approximation of ‘interesting’; actors little more than E.R. guest-stars perform paper-thin characters spouting dialogue that is not once amusing or quotable.

I think there is nothing more dull in modern cinema than the choice to ironically re-appropriate a popular, if slightly naff, pop song.  Ben Wheatley probably considers it to be an ‘edgy’ choice.


A small screen at the Bluewater Showcase… which was completely deserted of anyone other than myself.  I suspect they released it on too many screens following the relative success of High Rise (2016).  I’m not sure how the BFI can justify financially supporting a release on this level.  I can never work out in these situations (and for the record, it’s happened twice before – at Ponyo (2008 – Hayao Miyazaki) and Much Ado About Nothing (2012 – Joss Whedon)), whether I’m essentially in a private screening or very, very lonely.  Ticket cost £9 or so.



Raw (2016 – Julia Ducournau)


Which is one of those films where I spent a significant part of its run-time not actually looking at the screen, such was the unpleasantness on display.  That’s not a criticism – I find the deliberate ambiguity that drowns modern art-house cinema far more distasteful than any depiction of cannibalism.  But I can’t love a film like this – all effect, and little substance.


Screen 3 at the Odeon Covent Garden.  Ticket cost £10.



Grindhouse (2007 – Quentin Tarantino & Robert Rodriguez)


We never got the chance to see this movie as originally intended in the U.K. and I occasionally claim that Death Proof is one of my favourite films ever, so the chance to see all three hours or so of this film was most welcome.


Seeing it with an audience was thrilling, and it’s fair to say that for many there the fake trailers were the highlight of the evening.  The ‘missing reel’ moment in Planet Terror absolutely killed; when Tarantino tries the same effect in Death Proof it seems muted and diluted.


Rodriguez and Tarantino were reaching for different things in their movies.  Rodriguez saw it as an opportunity to indulge in his trashy impulses, whilst Tarantino, always more concerned with his own auteurship, directed a new project, albeit one which took some of his textural indulgences (black + white sections, chaptered storytelling etc.) to an extreme.  The latter is a better film – not unsurprisingly – but its pleasures are less obvious, and in the double-bill format, the audience is exhausted by the time the final thrilling car chase erupts onto the screen.  You could feel the fatigue in the room.

Sold out showing on the upstairs screen at the Prince Charles Cinema.  Fantastic audience.  Ticket cost £8 (I think…).  35mm showing – though it’s hard to notice here, given the deliberate grottiness of the image.



The Fate of the Furious (2017 – F. Gary Gray)


As I’m currently serialising a series on The Fast and the Furious films, I’ll reserve the majority of my thoughts until I publish the piece in June.

But suffice to say, it was the weakest instalment of an occasionally extraordinary franchise.


Huge screen at the Bluewater Showcase, slightly dampened by the fact that I had a killer migraine whilst watching it.  Ticket cost £9.



The Red Shoes (1948 – Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)


Which I often claim to be my favourite film.  I’m not sure I feel that way right now; like most favourite films, the allegiance towards a director usually means affection shifts from one film to another as time goes by.  Once upon a time, Raging Bull (1980) was my favourite Martin Scorsese film; nowadays Taxi Driver (1976) is more affecting.  I suspect that one day I will find The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) or The Small Back Room (1949) to be more compelling pictures than this.

But for now, The Red Shoes remains one of the most important pieces of art in my life.  To watch it is to understand part of my soul in a way I find quite hard to vocalise.  The same applies for some Tony Scott and Michael Mann films.

And like all art that affects us, like all truly great movies, every time I watch it I find something new within in it.  This time, I seemed to experience it as some great queer masterpiece; Lermontov, with his noticeably highly feminine sunglasses, is a great camp queen.  His interest in Vicky is not sexual; it is ascetic, a temptation to reject the limited satisfaction offered by the heteronormative existence with Julian, and share in his indulgence of the creativity of talent and art.  You can read the closing sequence as a mythical re-enactment of Hans Christian Andersen’s story or the suicide of a woman torn between two men, neither who can satisfy her, and who both want to control and limit her ambitions.  But this time, it was an act of freedom, a passionate moment of emotion, from a woman who was so close to choosing to never experience it again.  Few films are this powerful.


Upstairs screen at the Prince Charles.  Slightly sniffy audience, including one douche who sniggered at any display of emotion in an attempt to prove how sophisticated he is.  There is a special circle in hell for the smug cunts who come to these screenings.  Ticket cost £8.  35mm showing of the most recent restoration.



Alien (1979 – Ridley Scott)


And another all-time favourite film, seen on the big-screen for the first time.  It is a relentless and horrifying and a masterpiece of design, performance and escalating tension.

If we’re talking about the new things we see in beloved pieces of art – for me this viewing converged the mutual obsession of this film, and that of Psycho (1960 – Alfred Hitchcock).  Ripley’s pleading with Mother recalls Norman Bates’ fractured psyche; there is no reasoning with this destructive impulse.  It will dominate our existence.  In this regard, the xenomorph is an inhuman extension of Bates; simultaneously masculine and feminine, unfeeling and relentlessly homicidal.


Seen on the Sigourney Weaver screen at the Picturehouse Central.  It was an extraordinary 70mm print – speaking to the staff afterwards, the quality of the print was almost neon when they got it, but the projectionist team were able to show it as something beautiful.  Truly one of the best cinematic experiences of my life.  Ticket only cost £8.



Mad Max: Fury Road (2015 – George Miller)

Aware that when I first saw this film I was massively hungover, but still loved it (it was my favourite film of 2015), I jumped at the chance to see this again on the big screen.

Now I’m all for arbitrary indulges in movies.  I adore alternate cuts, franchises with different chronologies to production order – you name it, I will go there.  I’ve watched Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981 – Steven Spielberg) in black and white because Steven Soderbergh told us to, I’ve watched all three different versions of Legend (1985 – Ridley Scott) for the sheer hell of it.  So I went to see the Black and Chrome version of this film.

But a huge part of the appeal of this film was the extraordinarily vivid colour palate.  It seems masochistic to deny ourselves that appeal.

Downstairs screen at the Prince Charles Cinema.  Ticket cost £10.  Despite my misgivings about the visuals, the soundtrack sounded phenomenal – they really have an excellent audio set-up down there.

Win it All (2017 – Joe Swanberg)


I think it goes without saying that anything I watch at home is going to have less impact than something I see on screen.  There’s too many distractions, too many opportunities to look away from the visuals, and turn to the phone or laptop.  The cinema is my church; home is my prayer (the mind wanders from what it is meant to do.)

… but I really liked the onscreen text of this film.


Watched on Netflix.

Films seen March

Logan (2017 – James Mangold)


Probably the best superhero movie.  Which isn’t saying much, given the tepid product that that genre produces.  So it’s fine.  And there’s nothing much more to say about it other than it becomes one of those films that you have to over-exaggerate your enjoyment of in order to appease people in polite conversation.  But you can’t really stand at a photocopier and say “…well I liked it more than X-Men: Apocalypse, I suppose…” or “…it kind of made its point in the first five minutes, and then repeated it for two hours…”.  Nobody wants to hear that.


A large screen at the Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket cost £9, but half of that was covered by a voucher.



Elle (2016 – Paul Verhoeven)


Featuring the best movie cat since Nymphomaniac (2013 – Lars von Trier).

Somehow this film managed to be both a perfect depiction of how misogyny and rape are a part of the everyday for women, but also an apologetic for a cinematic fantasy of women ‘coping’ with trauma.  I loved how uneasy it was.  The film was brutal and funny and fierce and featured a deliriously good performance from Isabelle Huppert.  Proper, serious filmmaking.


Screen three at the Odeon Covent Garden.  A good screen, a good showing, a little ruined by the house lights not being completely switched-off.  I am very close to becoming a person who complains about that.  Ticket cost £10.95



Personal Shopper (2016 – Olivier Assayas)


I’m going to write about this film at length in the coming weeks, but suffice to say, I loved it.  This film has crawled under my skin in a way that only the best films do.


Screen three at Curzon Soho – the screens other than screen one at that cinema are bullshit, but this screen isn’t too bad if you sit right at the front.  Ticket cost fifteen-fucking-quid!



The Lost City of Z (2017 – James Gray)


At what point did Christian Bale turn down a part in this film?  Because you can’t quite escape the feeling that watching a film with Charlie Hunnam and Robert Pattinson in is a cheap knock-off of some potentially better film.  They are actors who perpetually feel like your four or fifth choice for a part.  James Gray makes a lot of very good films, but none that you love, and The Lost City of Z continues his proficient, if somewhat emotionally distant streak.  It’s magnificently beautiful in places (and actually in cinemas, which is somewhat of a miracle given his past form), but frigid and unmemorable in others.

However, no one is able to match Gray for final shots.  Here, it is extraordinary.


Screen one at the Greenwich Picturehouse.  You can’t sit right at the front as you have to crane your head a little too much, but a few rows back is perfect.  Ticket was free because of some promotional thing!  I would have made a point of seeing it in 35mm when it is released, but you can’t argue with a free screening.



Get Out (2017 – Jordan Peele)

You can keep your perfect blend of horror movie tropes and racial politics, for me the most horrifying aspect of this movie was the Microsoft product placement.  They use bing as a search engine!  What nightmare are they living in!

It’s an extraordinary film that makes me feel like I’m committing cultural appropriation by even liking it.  But the opening sequence and last few minutes (when the ‘police’ car turns up) were stunning moments of recasting the true horror of our modern world.  It made me catch my breath.  The eventual explanation of what is going on is truly inane, but it’s a terrifying, interesting and funny film.  One we’re probably going to talk about for years to come


The studio cinema at the Bluewater Showcase.  Good sized screen which used to be very chic, but now is looking a little shabby.  Plenty of leg-room though, and it still feels like a treat.  Ticket cost £9.

Films seen February

After Hours (1985 – Martin Scorsese)


My monthly cinema treat was a showing of this on 35mm at the BFI.  It’s one of my favourite Scorseses – his immediately lightweight, Hitchcockian one man’s descent into unreality film made in the wake of the collapse of his initial Aiden Quinn/Sting version of The Last Temptation of Christ.  It’s a delightful film, one that explores how fear, sex and prejudice can cause people to do very strange things and its always been quite refreshing to watch a movie that says you shouldn’t step out of your comfort zone.  You shouldn’t be impulsive and disrupt your carefully constructed life.


35mm screening at the BFI in NFT 1 – which is a pretty crappy theatre for what it is.  Ticket cost about £11 and was preceded by his early short What’s a Nice Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This? (1963)



Prevenge (2016 – Alice Lowe)


Written about, in a round-a-bout way here:


Seen on Screen 1 – a perfectly decent small screen – at the Odeon Panton Street.  Ticket cost £11.  Someone needs to write a book about the stinky old bad ladies that come into London screenings and eat curries.



Moonlight (2016 – Barry Jenkins)


It was a wonderful film, but I can understand why it is not loved in the same way that La La Land appears to be.

Much of this had to do with having three different actors play the lead role, ensuring that we didn’t build a connection to the film in the way that we could have.  Most independent cinema doesn’t always appreciate the value of charismatic central performances.  And everyone is quite correct when they say that Naomie Harris’ performance is a bit out of sync with everything else going around it.  There were cheers from the crowd when the bully was hit with the chair.  It is also a film completely directed by a heterosexual man, such is the passivity and tastefulness of the sex act.  We needed a blow-job at the very least…

But (and I have tried to check my privilege on this) I think this is a film not about homosexual and black experience, but of childhood trauma.  The repression (both verbally and sexually) that the character experiences later in life, stems from the abuse and lack of acceptance that he suffered when he was young.  2/3 of the film portray him as a child; quite why this element has been drowned out in all the chattering, I’m not sure.


Seen in a packed screen at the Odeon Covent Garden – it’s one of my favourite London cinemas as the screens are all of a good size and the tickets often only cost – as they did here – £6.



John Wick Chapter 2 (2017 – Chad Stahelski)


Keanu Reeves is in this film doing a performance that is almost note-for-note the same as Casey Affleck in Manchester by the Sea.  Except with more guns.  Only one of them was nominated for an Oscar…

By that, I mean he is a highly traumatised individual completely out of touch with those around him.  Reeves is always an intense screen presence, relying on small emotions and inflections to convey meaning, but here he is deliberately offset against campy, stylised actors such as Lawrence Fishburne.

The action scenes were terrific, especially once we passed the 1 hour mark, where it was moment after moment of unrelenting pressure.  The film moved away from the electro-synth pop of the first film, which suitably complementing the neon lit, pitch black lighting scheme it employed, and the opening car chase was a bit weak, but generally this was a thrilling experience and it made me genuinely excited for a third entry.  This is the new Fast & Furious – and initially dismissed action movie that ultimately becomes one of the most thrilling franchises on the screen.


Seen on a huge screen at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket cost £9, but I had a voucher.



Fences (2016 – Denzel Washington)


Which never lets you forget that it is a play – even the blocking of scenes (hushed whispers in corners) seem to have had little embellishment from a bettered wooden floor in some creaky theatre.  Washington wisely employs a strong use of close-up, knowing that this is one advantage this medium has over the other, and it goes without saying that the performances are whole-heartedly excellent.  Washington is perhaps more adventurous on the stage that on the screen in his choice of characterisation – his patter, charm and arrogance are the same, but he is playing a thoroughly unlikable character here in a way he would never do in most movies.

But it is long, and the final scene (which lasts 20mins) seems superfluous in any other context than the generosity as Washington as a performer to allow his fellow actors time to demonstrate their ability.  But his final moments are powerful, and a bolder, more selfish director would have ended the movie there.


Seen on a decent screen at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket cost £9, but I had a voucher.



Network (1976 – Sidney Lumet)


Christine (2016 – Antonio Campos)


There was a time when Network was one of my favourite films.  Which is to say, that it is one of those pictures that I have lived with a long time now – and like all good films of that nature, you notice new aspects on each viewing.  This time, it was the revelation of just how many outstanding monologues there are in this film, far more than just Peter Finch’s and Barbara Straight’s and Ned Beatty’s…

I’ve long moved past the point at which I believed this to be a stunningly prescient insight into the role of the media (Aaron Sorkin has never managed to move beyond that insight.  But then what should we expect from a man who includes the most basic of email circulars in his dialogue.)  Instead, I see it as a deconstruction of the selfishness with which we behave, the way we flit into other people’s lives for work, and sex and approval.  Television has always been so desperate because it chases those fickle gods without pausing for breath.  The film is exceptional, genuinely funny, and treats its audience with a degree of respect.


Rebecca Hall’s performance in Christine is superb, and the one desperate moment where she berates her mother for not accepting her with her weak mental health is superb, and speaks so truthfully to the complete lack of understanding that many display during these periods of ill-health.  Crazy that it hasn’t got more recognition than it has.  Too many good movies around at the moment


Double-bill at the Regent St. Cinema – a really lovely screen.  Ticket cost £16.  Which was all good, but the screening of Network was projected from a Blu-Ray… which was a shame, and I’m not really sure why I should pay for that privilege.



Patriot’s Day (2016 – Peter Berg)


It’s a film you can’t help but be caught up in, such is its celebration of the industriousness and ability of ordinary working people in the face of catastrophe.  And it moves at a fair pace (as did Berg’s film last year Deepwater Horizon).  Like all great adaptations of true life events, it revels in the moments that never made headlines – murderers popping out to get milk, police chiefs hurdling fences to tackle terrorists.  Which of course makes any moment with Mark Wahlberg’s basic, overly emotive and completely fictional character seem all that more absurd in this context.


Seen on a huge screen at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket cost £9, but I had a voucher.

Films seen January:

Silence (2016 – Martin Scorsese)


Written about, in a round-about kind of way, here:


Largest screen at the Greenwich Picturehouse.  Ticket cost £11.  A great start to the year.



Charley Varrick (1973 – Don Siegel)


Pulp Fiction (1994 – Quentin Tarantino)


I’m not sure behind the pairing of these two films in a double-bill, but I like both of them, and I haven’t watched Charley Varrick for about a decade.  There was a good forty minutes of the film where I began to doubt I had ever seen it, my memory repressing most of its mid-section.  It’s a greasy, burrowing, enjoyable heist of a movie, which satisfies those parts of me that enjoys the thrillers of Richard Stark, Ross Macdonald et. al.

It’s also a Don Siegel film from the seventies, so its sexual politics are completely queasy, and the audience loudly laughed at these scenes to show how ‘woke’ they were.  It’s always a risk seeing these films in public.


More people showed up for Pulp Fiction, including a top-knotted couple in front of me, one who danced in her chair and the other who leant so far back that his chair came out of its fittings and crushed my knees.  Pulp Fiction is good; its charms are immediate and I know I will never love it the way that I loved it when I was fifteen.  Tarantino has gone on to produce work with greater tension and a more subtle love of cinema, that this.  But it is a thrilling experience and great to see with a crowd.


Double-Bill on the downstairs screen at the Prince Charles Cinema.  Ticket cost £7.50!!!  35mm showing.



Manchester by the Sea (2016 – Kenneth Lonergan)


Which everyone else says is devastating and I say isn’t miserable enough.  I loved seeing a film that didn’t seek easy answers and presented trauma for what it is… something you can never recover from.  The utter devastation that hangs in the air of this film and the complete horror of having to revisit a life you had abandoned and repressed is a totally draining viewing experience.  It also presents teenagers for what they truly are; unknowable, strange creatures who perform in a way that seems alien to us.  Sexual harasser Casey Affleck is superb, but Michelle Williams destroys in her small moments on screen creating a person who is carrying as many ghosts with her as him.  We all knew she was this good when we watched her on Dawson’s Creek…


Small cinema, but decent sized screen, at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket cost £11.25, but I was given a large number of vouchers for the cinema for Christmas, so technically, it was free…



La La Land (2016 – Damien Chazelle)


After that fucking opening number on the motorway I was ready to storm out.  ‘Bullshit,’ I thought, ‘Complete bullshit.’  But my inability to ever take a stand for anything I feel dominated, and so I settled down in my chair to endure the next two hours.

And it won me over.  For no truly radical reason – the faults of the film are there on the surface.  Emma Stone and Ryan Reynolds can’t sing or dance with any great deal of proficiency.  Part of the problem is, along with the inevitable over-praise, that this is a film designed to be churned out rather than become prestigious.  It is a factory formula musicals, but the factories have closed, and no one wants to see even the one or two musicals that come out each year (except when we do and its Moulin Rouge or Mamma Mia…).  This film is meant to be everyday populist cinema in the way that those ruddy Marvel movies are sold to us.  So we lack the leading men and women who would be trained to carry off these films.  Stone, particularly seems to realise this, and works her hardest to charm the screen (flirting along to eighties cover bands by the pool) and add weight to moments that would be pedestrian otherwise (breaking up over dinner.)

But it’s a film about the paths not taken and the romantic dreams we have of those relationships that never reached fruition.  It’s a nostalgia we can only indulge in when we are young, so few are the moments of our lives.  But it would be dishonest to say that the film didn’t affect me deeply, and gave me a melancholia that hung over me for the rest of the weekend.


Large screen at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket was £9.50/free.



Hacksaw Ridge (2016 – Mel Gibson)


Which is the cinematic equivalent of a Coldplay concert… shallow, occasionally amateurish, but ultimately able to push the right buttons.

I mean, I hate Andrew Garfield.  Hate.  Too earnest.  No charm.  Very ordinary.  And here I am having seen two films of his in a month.  In which I thought he was good.  Acting is important because wisdom is the recognition and understanding of another soul, and acting, along with literature, are one of the few synthetic things that can evoke that wisdom.  Garfield is beginning to display that quality of great actors – the ability to convince you of a person who is utterly unlike you.

A day later, and the memory of the music has faded and I can see the film for what it is.  It is an unsanctimonious, honest depiction of how war turns boys into murderers, and what it must take to mentally resist that indoctrination.  A far cry from the sanctimonious condemnation of Gibson, such is the lack of sympathy for those in recovery that inures our society.  Morals are easy when they’re held at a distance…


Medium-sized screen at Bluewater Showcase.  Ticket was £11.25/free.

Great American Directors – Martin Scorsese


Every now and then I check in on Quentin Tarantino’s career.  He is, after all, a man who likes to talk about his career (in highly self-aware terms) as much as he likes to make movies.  Every month or so, an article appears on some inane movie website where Tarantino has once again claimed that he is only going to make ten films (he uses a tricksy piece of maths where the Kill Bill films – which I definitely paid to see twice – counts as one film.)  His rationale is that directors do not make good films when they are old.  Broadly speaking, there’s an element of truth to it, but specifically (and by specifically I mean look at the late period careers of Bresson, Malick, Kurosawa et. al. who were all producing some of the most interesting work as they got older) it’s a limited argument.  And no place is it more limited than in the career of the director who Tarantino owes the most to (violent, masculine, camera movement, populist auteur)… Martin Scorsese.

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