The Greatest Trick

Andrew Niccol is one of the most interesting writer/directors working today. Best known as screenwriter of Peter Weir’s masterpiece The Truman Show, he also is responsible for such excellent films as the hugely underrated Gattaca and this, his latest, Lord of War.

It begins with arms dealer Yuri (the ever great Nicolas Cage) intoning “1 in 12 people own a firearm. My problem? How to arm the other 11.” We then see the life of a bullet from factory floor to being fired into someone’s head, from the bullets point of view, which sets the film up as at once a savage black comedy, and a riveting condemnation of the arms trade.

It is to Andrew Niccol’s great credit that Lord of War pulls no punches. Despite going to great lengths to explain why Yuri does what he does, one is constantly appalled by him. In the vein of great tragic characters, he gains the world but loses his soul. Although events in the story set him up to perform a redeeming act he never does, making for a powerful but necessarily bleak viewing experience.

That’s not to say it isn’t entertaining. The most serious message falls upon more receptive ears if entertainingly presented and the film engages the viewer throughout. Although it is possibly a little overwrought, and does descend into melodrama at the end, it nevertheless succeeds in being a thought provoking, and probably all-too-accurate portrait of arms dealing. I also must add cautions for (contextual) bad language, sex, and obviously violence.

Simon Dillon, October 2005.

There is really not much point in writing this review because I’m sure you are all going to see it anyway. Suffice to say, The Curse of the Were-Rabbit is great fun. Nick Park revisits his obsessions with bizarre animals, cheese, gadgets, Lancashire et al, and drags them out to feature length.

Like the short films that preceded it, Were-Rabbit all has a wonderfully hand-crafted look and feel, with Wallace and Gromit’s plastecine figures showing actual fingerprints from time to time. There are several amusing movie homages (most notably An American Were-wolf in London and King Kong), and some interesting twists, not to mention wildly inventive action scenes. The vocal talents of Ralph Fiennes and Helena Bonham Carter add to the fun, and some mild risqué humour that will fly over the heads of children will amuse adults. In short, it’s a fine family film.

That said, I must confess that I preferred the short films, particularly The Wrong Trousers (for me that sinister penguin will never be topped).

Simon Dillon, October 2005

A History of Violence is the latest film from controversial director David Cronenberg. Based on a graphic novel, it’s a highly unusual thriller which attempts to mix a standard mistaken identity plot with deeper, darker ideas about violence as some kind of contagion or infectious disease.

Viggo Mortensen plays mild-mannered small town café owner Tom Stall. He lives peacefully and obscurely until one day he is forced to defend his customers from murdering thieves with deadly force. As a result he is proclaimed a hero by the townsfolk and news media, which brings him to the attention of mysterious mobster Carl Fogerty. After seeing Stall on the television, he turns up to inform him he is a really a vicious mafia hit man named Joey. Stall’s wife and children are amazed at this apparently untrue claim, assuming Fogerty simply has the wrong man. Stall also maintains his innocence, but is he really who he seems?

It seems stupid to criticise a film entitled A History of Violence for being overly violent, yet ironically, this is my biggest gripe. The images of blood and guts on display wouldn’t look out of place in Saving Private Ryan, yet here they seem gratuitous. I have often argued that gore on this kind of level in nearly all cases provokes one of two responses – either revulsion or amusement – depending on how desensitised the viewer is. If the reaction is revulsion then the viewer no longer engages emotionally with the film and falls deaf to its message (in this case very thought provoking). On the other hand if the reaction is amusement then the same is true again. Several audience members were laughing towards the end as people were killed in increasingly vicious and ludicrous ways.

The film is also let down by a couple of sex scenes that whilst not entirely gratuitous (the contrasting moments were making a point about Stall’s descent into increasingly violent behaviour), still managed to leave me thinking the film would have been more powerful if more had been left to the imagination. In this kind of context, less is always more with sex and violence. A good example is the peerless thriller Se7en which manages to be horrendously disturbing without resorting to a single act of onscreen violence (except one at the very end, which the audience hears rather than sees).

This is a shame, as the film has some fine performances, particularly from Mortensen. But in final analysis, I cannot recommend it to any but the devotees of David Cronenberg.

Simon Dillon, October 2005

First, just to clear up any confusion, this is not a re-release of the controversial David Cronenberg film of the same name, so don’t be put off!

Racism has been tackled many times in many films, but it’s given a fresh look in this, Paul Haggis’ directorial debut (screenwriter of Million Dollar Baby). Broadly speaking, Crash is about several people of various races whose lives are brought together by a traffic accident. Unfolding in flashback, the events leading up to said crash show how each of the characters are racist in some way. So far, so Spike Lee, but therein lies the brilliance of the film, for just as you begin to dread the inevitable worthy but dull lecture, the story twists in an unexpected direction, adding depth and realism to characters who have both good and bad in them. Not once does it degenerate into cliché, and it’s mercifully free of editorialising.

For example, near the beginning a pair of black youths in a rich white neighbourhood bemoan how everyone treats them with suspicion, then suddenly prove their detractors correct by embarking on a car-jacking. Elsewhere, a redneck LA cop (brilliantly played by Matt Dillon) abuses his power to humiliate an innocent black couple, but this is due to bitterness over the way his sick father is treated with such contempt by the black woman who is supposed to care for him. In another plotline, a rich socialite (Sandra Bullock in a stand-out role) is so paranoid about being attacked by blacks that she refuses to leave her home. An honest black cop (Don Cheadle, as good here as he was in Hotel Rwanda), finds he is unable to investigate a black colleague for murder because the DA doesn’t want to tarnish his reputation as someone who positively discriminates in favour of the black community. And so forth.

It’s a well-trodden idea, with each plot strand seamlessly coming together as in similar works by directors like Robert Altman, but what makes Crash so fascinating is its unique insights into the nature of racism and its causes. One of its most interesting ideas is that the layout of Los Angeles is partly to blame, with freeways separating Black, White, Asian and Arab communities making it impossible for the cultures to come together as a cosmopolitan whole, unlike for example, Washington DC.

As the absorbing drama unfolds, one begins to feel sympathy for almost all the characters, however flawed. There are two stand-out moments of profound emotional tension and intensity that immediately spring to mind. One involves an Arab shopkeeper who decides in a moment of irrational despair to attack a Hispanic locksmith and his family. The other involves Matt Dillon’s character and a woman trapped in an overturned vehicle about to explode. These scenes alone are worth the price of admission.

Admittedly, in a summer of mindless blockbusters, something this deep isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea, and I must also add cautions for swearing and sexual content. Nevertheless, I confidently predict Oscar nominations next year for this moving and thought-provoking drama.

Simon Dillon, August 2005

There is nothing in Cinderella Man that you haven’t seen before in countless other boxing and sporting films. In fact it seems to echo racing drama Seabiscuit more than anything, given its setting in the Great Depression, heroic protagonist who proves a “peoples champion”, and so forth. That’s not to say it isn’t good. It’s very good – outstanding in many parts. Despite being hopelessly sentimental and throwing every possible cliché into the mix, somehow it works.

For the uninitiated, it’s a biopic of real-life boxing legend Jim Braddock who was modestly successful in the ring in the late 1920s. When a broken hand caused his boxing licence to be revoked, he fell on very hard times during the 1930s. He and his family struggled to survive, but he eventually managed to regain his licence, win a number of fights, and ultimately challenged an extremely dangerous heavyweight champion (who had killed two men in the ring).

Ron Howard is never a director I get particularly excited about, but he is a solid and reliable pair of hands, and Cinderella Man is probably his best film to date. Compared to other boxing movies, it’s not in the same league as the astounding Raging Bull or the equally brilliant (if morally abhorrent) Million Dollar Baby, but it’s easily better than Rocky.

The cynical side of me would love to hate this film. Anything billed as “inspirational” or “a triumph of the human spirit” I am predisposed to dislike. Nevertheless, I was bludgeoned into submission by the superb performances of Russell Crowe and Renee Zellwegger. And please please please don’t be put off by Crowe’s presence. He gives a great performance and why people can’t recognise an actor’s talent despite their real-life shenanigans is quite beyond me.

Although it got glowing reviews Cinderella Man bombed at the US box office. Go and see it and make it a hit over here at least.

Simon Dillon, September 2005

Steven Spielberg once said that he would never make a film about evil aliens. He is virtually the only person to have made classic films about friendly aliens, so why the change of heart? Is he responding to the US public’s post 9/11 sensibilities, or did he really want to contribute his own version of HG Welles terrific novel?

To be fair, Spielberg had his version in the works long before 9/11, but following Independence Day, decided to shelve his plans for a decade or so. Therefore, I went into this film determined to try my best not to read anything into it, which ultimately proved impossible. Science fiction at its best is nearly always allegorical, and there are messages here not only about 9/11, but also about the Iraq war. War of the Worlds is a timeless story and despite being rendered fairly faithfully here, it does end up as something of a political statement.

Audiences expecting a return to the type of summer blockbuster Spielberg hasn’t made since Jurassic Park are going to be sorely disappointed. His War of the Worlds is dark, bleak and very, very scary. It’s the closest thing he has made to a full-on horror film, and as such it works brilliantly. There are several things to be thankful for here: 1. No heroes in the military or government defeating the aliens, 2. No landmark buildings blown up onscreen (seeing a local church being destroyed is far more eerie and terrifying), 3. No swaggering slow-mo hero shots a la Michael Bay/Jerry Bruckheimer films, 4. By following the characters plight for survival and telling the story entirely from their point of view, the film gains a dramatic momentum similar to that in Signs, another fine recent alien invasion pic, 5. No scenes of humans bonding together heroically to “fight back”, instead they are at each others throats trying to survive, even to the point of murdering one another.

If your decision whether to see this film or not is based on Tom Cruise’s recent actions, then shame on you. I for one can never understand why people cannot separate actor’s real lives with the quality of their performances and I remain unrepentant in my admiration of Tom Cruise as an actor. He is superb here, playing a selfish, irresponsible father less mature than his ten year old daughter (played equally superbly by Dakota Fanning). Elsewhere there is fine support from Tim Robbins and an underused Mirando Otto.

A typical Spielberg-type dysfunctional family situation sets the action in motion, but fans of the book will not be disappointed. Everything that should be here is, including the tripods, red weed and that ending.

As ever with Spielberg, the direction is faultless and hugely innovative. His restless camera is always running away from the action with his characters rather than dwelling on the destruction, lending a tremendous claustrophobia and immediacy to the story. The (superb) special effects are left very much in the background as a result and this almost documentary style, previously reserved for the likes of Saving Private Ryan, is undoubtedly going to be the way alien invasion flicks are made for some time. Aside from this are several chilling moments, such as when Dakota Fanning witnesses the endless corpses in the river, or the atmospheric and absolutely riveting build-up to the initial attack.

I can’t review a Spielberg film without making reference to John Williams’ music, and here he contributes a largely atonal, edgy, avant-garde score similar to elements of his Minority Report compositions. It worked very well within the context of the film, but is not a soundtrack of hummable themes like ET or Star Wars – an entirely appropriate decision.

If there is a fault in the film, it’s the lack of humour. Spielberg is so determined that you take it seriously, he seems reluctant to inject any fun into the relentless destruction and tragedy. As a result when the audience is taken from crisis to crisis the effect feels repetitive, unlike in Jaws where the witty banter of the characters hunting the shark added the necessary comic relief. Heck, even Schindler’s List had more laughs than this!

But that doesn’t stop this being nigh on the best alien invasion film ever. It’s certainly miles better than Independence Day (a film which, in retrospect, contains barely a shred of artistic interest). However, I must confess after all that death and mayhem I had a strong urge to watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind to cheer myself up.

Simon Dillon, July 2005

I have, over the years, noticed that comic book adaptations come at various levels. First, there’s the extremely rare “must-see-even-if-you-hate-comics” category that exclusively contains the first two Superman and Spiderman films. Then, below that comes another category which could be entitled “must-see-provided-you’re-a-fan” which would include the X-Men films and the first two Batmans (the ones directed by Tim Burton). Since the lower categories will not concern this review, I will pass over them in silence (except to note that the mind-bogglingly awful Judge Dredd belongs in the lowest – “absolute-crap-no-matter-which-way-you-look-at-it”).

Anyway, to the matter at hand, Batman Begins falls short of the prestigious top group, and also, I think the second. But only just. For me, Batman Begins was a must-see for one reason alone: Christopher Nolan. Since for me he will forever be “the bloke who directed Memento” I will probably go and see every film he ever makes. And certainly Batman Begins is well directed; a gritty, darker-than-ever take on the comic often filmed on real locations (unlike the all-studio sheen of the previous versions) and yet, for all its old-school thrills, I found myself missing the deliciously demented world of Burton’s original with all its fairytale gone wrong nightmarish nastiness.

This version certainly has an outstanding cast – with Christian Bale playing the lead with tremendous conviction. Some see him as an unlikely action hero, but ever since I saw him in the enjoyable Orwell rip-off Equilibrium, I knew he could pull it off. Certainly his Batman is the most true to the comics – played “just the right side of evil” to ensure revenge does not ultimately cloud his judgment. Unfortunately, this makes him a lot less interesting than Michael Keaton’s Batman, who you felt was every bit as crazed as the villains and therefore much more compelling.

Elsewhere, the likes of Morgan Freeman, Liam Neeson, Katie Holmes, Rutger Hauer, and the excellent Michael Caine all lend fine support. As Alfred, Caine in particular impresses, bringing a disarming poignancy to the role. The almost entirely non-CGI special effects are impressive, and the music score is appropriately rousing (but nowhere near as good as Danny Elfman’s version).

Batman Begins is an origin tale and as such is well put together, but I rather liked the way Burton largely ignored that part of the story (with the exception of his parent’s death). Also, there’s no time given to developing a proper villain and I found myself hankering for the Jack Nicholson’s brilliantly psychotic performance as the Joker.

In short, there’s plenty for the eye and ear, and it’s a perfectly fine summer blockbuster, but despite the Nolan’s (mostly successful) attempts to bring genuine depth and complexity to the character, I prefer the less predictable, nastier Tim Burton versions.

Simon Dillon, June 2005

When Star Wars first came out in 1977, it was lapped up by audiences keen for an antidote to the cynical, dark pictures of the post Vietnam/Watergate 1970’s. Writer/director George Lucas had tapped into something long forgotten in mainstream cinema; the triumph of good over evil against horrendous odds, the optimistic notion that man’s spiritual insights are greater than technology, and the importance of myth. It was a smash hit that became the biggest film franchise of all time, spawning two sequels, endless merchandise, spin-offs and decades later a prequel trilogy, not to mention its seismic effect on Hollywood, changing the industry forever.

And now, almost thirty years later, the story has come to a close. Revenge of the Sith is the final entry in the Star Wars saga and ironically it is light years from the simple heroics of the original film. In stark contrast to the mindless special effects spectacles and happy endings of the standard summer blockbusters the franchise inspired, this picture feels more like bleak pre-Star Wars 1970’s Hollywood fare. The film is easily the darkest and most adult of the saga – the first of the series to ever have an age restricted certificate – and more resembles a Shakespearean tragedy like Othello than a traditional fantasy epic. That’s not to say it isn’t action packed and spectacular, but for once, the effects support rather than dominate the story.

I have always been a defender of the Star Wars prequels, which received a mixed reception from fans and critics alike. Yes, they failed to be the generation defining experience the originals were, and The Lord of the Rings films certainly stole much of their thunder. However, they remain first rate summer blockbusters, and this third film, although not up to the impossibly high standard of the original trilogy, it is by far the best of the prequels.

The movie has the best opening shot of the series since the original film, throwing the audience into a gargantuan and spectacular space battle. Jedi Knights Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker try to rescue Supreme Chancellor Palpatine who has been captured by the Separatists (if you’re lost already I can’t be bothered to explain the backstory from episodes 1 and 2). Once the Chancellor is rescued and the crisis resolved, things start to unravel for Anakin, who despite being pleased at the news his wife Padme is expecting, is tormented by visions of her dying in childbirth. The Jedi council are unhappy with Palpatine’s abuse of power in fighting the Separatists and (stupidly) assign Anakin to watch him. Needless to say Palpatine, wily Sith Lord that he is, exploits Anakin’s fears by trying to turn him to the dark side with promises that he will be able to stop Padme dying. You know it’s all going to end in tears, but its compelling stuff nevertheless.

Top acting honours for the film go to Ian McDiarmid in his duel role as Palpatine/Darth Sidious. One of the films strengths is that unlike the previous two, this has a clearly defined and properly scary baddie, and his transformation from slimy politician to full-blown cackling Hammer Horror villain is great stuff. Ewan McGregor is better than ever as Obi-Wan, and despite the occasional cheesy line, Natalie Portman and Hayden Christensen are convincing as the doomed lovers in a way they weren’t in Attack of the Clones.

Visually, the film is more stunning than any previous Star Wars film, its flawless combination of CGI and models surely a dead cert for best special effects and next years Oscars. The sound effects remain outstanding, and John Williams puts his all into the music score with some fine new themes combined with old.

Revenge of the Sith is a film where we know what is going to happen, but it is how Anakin turns to the dark side that makes it memorable. The final duel between friends turned enemies Obi Wan and Anakin is remarkably dramatic and brilliant intercutting of the birth of Luke and Leia with the “birth” of Darth Vader makes it a bleak, depressing but oddly moving experience. In many ways, this feels like the Star Wars film you were never meant to see – darker, more intense and meaner than any of the previous episodes. That said it is also all the better for it, and George Lucas has certainly ended his amazing story in a fine, dynamic style that absolutely must be seen on the biggest screen with the best possible sound system. Those worst afflicted with the Star Wars bug (myself included) are now finally able to have some – if you’ll forgive my use of an obscenity – “closure” and move on. For everyone else, this also comes highly recommended.

Simon Dillon, May 2005

Early in Hotel Rwanda hotel manager Paul Rusesabagina tells a cameraman he is pleased footage of Hutus massacring Tutsi’s will be shown on the news, as the world will take notice. To this the cameraman knowingly replies ‘No, they’ll say “Oh my God how horrible!”, then carry on eating their dinner’. In that moment, you seethe with anger, but also squirm with guilt. Amid the horrors of this film, this most understated of moments is also the most effective.

Based on a true story, Hotel Rwanda tells of the afore-mentioned Paul Rusesabagina who housed over a thousand Tutsis refugees during their struggle against the Hutu militia in Rwanda. Endlessly bribing soldiers and police to prevent their slaughter, he risked his life many times in horrific circumstances. One bone-chilling scene has him driving through mist only to find the road bumpier than usual. When he stops the car to see what’s wrong, he finds hundreds of Tutsi corpses lining the road.

Terry George’s film is not a great work of art like Schindler’s List, but it is hugely important and I would certainly put it in the same league as Gandhi or The Killing Fields. It is gripping, powerful and certainly deserved to be more noticed at this year’s Oscars. Don Cheadle, for instance, in the role of Paul is superb, and Sophie Okonedo as his wife is equally brilliant. Also, Nick Nolte’s outstanding supporting turn as embittered UN Colonel Oliver is his best role in years. One could argue the film pushes too many emotional buttons towards the end to manipulate the audience but this is entirely forgivable. It is to Terry George’s credit that he resisted the temptation to go into Oliver Stone mode with excessive editorialising and simply let the horrors speak for themselves.

One million people were killed in Rwandan genocide in 1994, whilst the United Nations so-called peacekeeping force could do nothing to stop it. No western countries came to their aid. Why? Because, as Colonel Oliver says to Paul, “They don’t care. You’re not even a nigger, you’re an African.” In other words, the West didn’t care because there was nothing to gain by their intervention (such as oil). As such, Hotel Rwanda is a brilliant, scathing condemnation of both the West and the UN (a preacher I know calls it the “United Nothing”), whilst also offering a profoundly uplifting tale showing the difference one person can make. Stunningly powerful and deeply moving, Hotel Rwanda is essential viewing.

Simon Dillon, March 2005

There’s a scene about half way through The Aviator where Howard Hughes (a career-best Leonardo Dicaprio) crashes a spy plane he was building for the US military during its test-flight in downtown Beverly Hills. He emerges burning and bloody from the wreckage as a man rushes to him and douses the flames. “I’m Howard Hughes, the aviator” he gasps before collapsing unconscious.

That’s about as much as we learn about the real Howard Hughes in The Aviator but it hardly matters. This is easily Martin Scorsese’s best film since Goodfellas; a riveting, magnificent piece of work which benefits being seen on a big screen.

Really, it would be impossible to make a boring film about Howard Hughes. He inherited a fortune from his father who designed revolutionary oil drilling equipment, and promptly went on to spend it on self-financed Hollywood productions and developing his own aircraft. He directed and produced many pictures including Hells Angels, Scarface and The Outlaw. Hughes was also a womaniser and flirted with Hollywood’s hottest female talent, including Katherine Hepburn and Ava Gardner.

During World War II the US government gave him millions to develop spy planes that were never used (most notoriously the Hercules or “Spruce Goose” which wasn’t even fully built until after the war). Afterwards, he came under investigation for misuse of funds as a result of deal made by US senator Ralph Brewster and Pan Am, who were trying to gain a monopoly on international flights and keep Hughes’ TWA fleet on the ground.

All of this and more is covered by Scorsese’s film, and as a director, he is on top form. He makes great use of colour, from the two-tone technicolour accompanying the 1920’s sequences to three-tone in the 1930’s and full colour by the 1940’s. His encyclopaedia knowledge of Hollywood history and attention to detail are also fully evident. If you’re a major film buff like me, it’s a great deal of fun seeing the stories behind Hughes’ films (especially one hilarious sequence involving discussions with the censorship board about Jane Russell’s cleavage in The Outlaw).

As I mentioned earlier, Dicaprio has never been better. He is energetic, impulsive yet also shy and introverted. Hughes well-documented germ phobia is depicted well, particularly in the latter scenes where, unable to escape the demons of his past, he locks himself in a room for weeks refusing to wash.

Dicaprio is ably supported by the likes of Alan Alda, Alec Baldwin, Cate Blanchett (superb as Katherine Hepburn), Kate Beckinsdale and Ian Holm. There are also several amusing cameos including Willem Dafoe as a journalist bribed by Hughes, pop group No Doubt’s Gwen Stefani as Jean Harlow and Jude Law as Errol Flynn.

Scorsese regular Thelma Schoonmaker edits the piece brilliantly. At 166 minutes long, it almost feels too short. Furthermore, the use of music, production design and cinematography are all first-rate.

To be fair, in some places the picture is self-indulgent, yet this is appropriate given Hughes own self-indulgence. It often feels like a film about a tormented genius made by a tormented genius and perhaps that’s why Scorsese takes it easier on Hughes than the subjects of his previous biopics. Given the director’s obsession with cinema, its perhaps unsurprising The Aviator has gentle echoes of another film about a man born rich who made and spent as much money as he could: Citizen Kane. The Aviator is unlikely to be remembered with such reverence, but still comes highly recommended.

Simon Dillon, January 2005