The Greatest Trick

As tales of dystopian futures go, Children of Men has one of the most intriguing and disturbing premises I’ve seen for quite a while. Based on the novel by PD James (which I’ve not read), the tone is partly satirical, and at first vaguely Orwellian, but it ultimately evolves into something altogether different and quite unforgettable in its own right.

In the year 2027, the human race has become infertile. Those from poorer countries have fled to the UK, causing a huge upsurge in immigrants and far-right nationalism. This culminates in the government ordering the deportation of all immigrants, and as a result anarchy threatens to engulf Britain. Bizarre religious groups and violent terrorists cause chaos demanding equal rights for immigrants, and the population are so bereft of hope that the government are issuing suicide kits for those who can’t take it anymore.

Former activist Theodore Faron (Clive Owen) finds himself sucked into a plot involving his ex-wife Julian’s attempts to protect a girl called Kee who has miraculously managed to conceive. But soon it becomes apparent that the political organisation Julian belongs to wishes to exploit the child for their own ends in their plans to overthrow the government. Thus, Theo finds himself on the run with heavily pregnant Kee, trying to smuggle her out of the country. Kee wants to find a mysterious group called the Human Project, who may or may not actually exist, but supposedly have the ability to protect them.

Performances from the entire cast are terrific. Claire-Hope Ashitey is a revelation as the foul-mouthed, long suffering Kee. Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Luke is frightening as murderous terrorist leader Luke. Julian Moore’s limited role as Julian is surprisingly effective and even Michael Caine turns up as ageing hippy Jasper; a throwaway role, and one that ultimately rises above cliché.

However, this is Clive Owen’s film. His brooding, haunted performance is probably the finest of his career to date. An essentially decent but broken man, his transformation from washed up bureaucrat to Kee’s unlikely protector is riveting to watch. Particularly in the latter stages of the film, where he and Kee find themselves in a terrifying refugee camp in Bexhill akin to a Middle East war zone, Owen is quite remarkable.

Needless to say, Children of Men offers much food for thought. Graffiti sprayed on walls reads “THE FUTURE IS HISTORY” and in the opening scene, it is announced on the news that the youngest person on the planet, aged 18, has just been murdered. People mourn him the same way they mourned Princess Diana, and refer to him as a “little baby”. Such ironies are fascinating given our current celebrity obsessed culture, and it doesn’t take a great leap of imagination to picture a population idolising the youngest person in a dying world. In another beautifully ironic scene, Theo meets up with a friend in government who has rescued great works of art from nations in collapse. Theo points out that in a hundred years, there will be no one to appreciate them so why did he bother?

Politically the film is somewhat ambivalent since it condemns both the fascist government and the various religious and terrorist movements. It is difficult to read in terms of traditional left or right wing, because the immigrants have among them both helpless innocents and dangerous murderers who set off bombs. There are fascinating religious overtones too, with Kee and her child ultimately being worshipped as some kind of saviour amid the warfare of the immigrant camp. Such religious delusions become understandable – particularly following a scene in an abandoned school where the full implications of a childless planet suddenly come into sharp focus.

Directed with considerable flair by the eclectic Alfonso Cuaron, the imagery of Britain self-destructing is disturbingly plausible. The edgy, hand-held camera adds a raw, terrifying immediacy, and certain set pieces – particularly the ambush scene at the Act one climax and the horrifying street battle inside the refugee camp – are as shocking, bloody and unforgettable as the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan.

Speaking of blood, it’s only fair to warn that this is a somewhat gruesome film, with plenty of violence and a plethora of swear words. But given the authenticity and style of the film, I can understand why such contentious content was deemed necessary. Less forgivable is the implied anti-Christian worldview, not so much through directly attacking Christianity, but by showing occult and/or New-Age rituals to be a peaceful contrast to the extremely warped cults that Christianity has supposedly evolved into.

Although it has moments of fine satire and black humour, Children of Men is a pretty bleak experience – so bleak that Alfonso Cuaron felt the need to mix the sounds of children playing into the music from the end credits. After two hours of a world without children, playgrounds and toys, these sounds are a blessed relief, and also hint at a potentially happy ending beyond the ambiguity of the final image.

In final analysis, Children of Men is a remarkable film, and despite its worldview issues comes highly recommended to those who have the stomach for it.

Simon Dillon, October 2006.

This should have been a play, judging by the setting. It should have been a TV movie, judging by the budget. It should have been just a bit better, judging by the cast. But then this is a film of ’should-haves’, missed opportunities and snatched chances.

A guy who’s about to ask his girlfriend to marry him finds a wallet in the street. He phones the only number in it, says where it can be picked up, and discovers a lottery ticket inside. Now, that night is his lottery ticket poker night with his buddies, and though he’s not supposed to, he finds out the winning numbers, and they’re on this newly-found ticket. The stakes are raised when the wallet’s owner (James Earl Jones, a bit weird in this role) turns up at the flat and insists on joining in the poker match.

With a big old MacGuffin like this in the plot, this should have been so easy. Claustrophobic setting, real time, tight cast, instant hook in the ticket to keep people watching. Unfortunately it was written and directed by a presenter of Fear Factor, they cast Matthew Lillard who just does his over-wrought blathering schtick all the way through (frankly dull since Scream), and the plot ‘twists’ are either sign-posted or predictable. And the main character is rather charisma-free. For a first film on a low budget it’s not bad, but it certainly isn’t the kind of film you’d go out of your way to see. Unless you LOVE Robert Forster, who plays a tired cop with the grace and precision of someone who knows he should really be in a better film.

With just a moment’s violence, but a fair amount of cussing, it doesn’t come highly recommended. But if you’ve seen The Last Supper, and fancy something similar-ish (but not as good), you could check this out.

I haven’t seen as prescient a piece of movie-making as this for many years, well, probably ever. Made in 1998, the script’s ability to predict the future is uncanny, and almost certainly not recognised at the time (I remember thinking that it would be a fairly standard thriller, which it is on quite a few levels, and not bothering with it at the cinema). Post-September 11th, the world watched as America in particular led its military and people through some astonishing times, and The Siege, clearly written by someone who has astonishing understanding of governmental/military procedure and human reaction thereto, has captured every major beat of the war on terror, condensed into a few days in the film.

A Muslim leader is captured - America is targeted by terrorists, centring on New York - paranoia is rife - Arab-americans become increasing targets - martial law is established in the city… I’ll leave you to discover the rest, as it’s quite amazing how life has not just imitated ‘art’, but followed it step for step.

The film is far from perfect, and its flaws are mainly embodied in the character played by actress Annette Bening (and, for my money, the actress herself, who I don’t rate particularly highly). She plays an irritating undercover CIA operative, who gets in the way of the investigations going on, and, frankly, the tightness of the plot too. Her last moments in the film are especially reprehensible, and performed with no subtlety whatsoever. However, Denzel Washington, who I’ve always thought of as fairly bland and predictable and safe and nice, plays a character with a bit more spark, but who only develops ever so slightly over the course of the movie. Tony Shalhoub is the one to watch here, with his excellent portrayal of a family-focussed Arab-american caught in the crossfire of this horrific situation, forced to choose between his family and his country, effectively.

There’s not really any reason not to watch it - swearing is minimal, unpleasant violence is implied rather than shown, and the sex scene is a plot device rather than titillation. Having said all that, the film doesn’t quite convince as a whole, due to an occasionally corny script and Bruce Willis and Annette Bening. If you can get through that and want to re-visit US military and social history since 9/11 in extremely potted form, go for it. You could do worse.

I can’t believe I haven’t reviewed anything since Van Helsing (which, let’s face it, was a bit paltry in the words department, even if the sentiment was strong enough for a full review), and we’ve watched a few movies over the summer (not as many as you’d expect, though, considering how free my time should be). So here’s the first. This is a rather odd French action / fantasy / horror / thriller with Jean Reno (always worth a look) which begins with a woman having her brain tested and ends with a gangster shoot-out. Watching it is a little like being battered around the head by every movie genre imaginable and seeing what sticks when the bruises fade. Sadly, not a great deal in the long run.

Anna is having mental problems - flashing horrific images, gaps in her memory - and the doctors treating her aren’t doing much to help. She becomes convinced there’s more to her problems, and goes on a mission to find out. Concurrently, a young but successful police detective is investigating a series of very unpleasant murders with a pattern - all red-heads, killed brutally, and with links to Paris’ immigrant Turkish population. Which is where Jean Reno comes in as the ageing cop who has worked the Turkish turf for many years, and understands their ways and culture somewhat better than many others. A bit too well, in fact. The stories eventually collide, and when they do a whole new direction for the movie is discovered.

Really, there are two perfectly good films here, but director Chris Nahon has just tried to pack so many of his good ideas into one script that it comes off feeling messy and overblown, and without firm direction. It’s also something of a travelogue through some of Paris’ lesser-known sights, including the cemetery at Pere Lachaise where a crucial scene takes place. The horror elements at the start are effective and disturbing, and the murder mystery is serviceable too. But when the film delves into memory replacement, conspiracy theories and guru-worship, it’s all a bit too much. Jean Reno is fine, if unremarkable, and the rest of the cast do their best with the script, but it’s possible that they didn’t really know which direction they were going to be going on the next day’s shooting.

If you’re sensitive to unpleasant violence you would do well to avoid, and honestly this one’s probably only for the Reno completist. Everyone else should catch up on other priorities.

Seven year old Olive has a dream of winning the Little Miss Sunshine contest. When a set of fortuitous circumstances allow her to enter, her mother Sheryl pulls out all the stops to get her to California in time for the competition. But the journey is destined to be bumpy as the rest of her family give new meaning to the word dysfunctional. Olive’s father Richard is a failed motivational speaker who projects his frustrations by inflicting his “nine-steps-to-being-a-winner” nonsense on everyone, especially Olive. Her gay uncle Frank, an exceptionally intelligent scholar, has attempted suicide following an unsuccessful romance with one of his students. Her brother Dwayne, a fanatical follower of Nietzsche, has taken a vow of silence until he is able to fulfil his dream of becoming a pilot. Finally, Olive’s grandfather is a ne’er-do-well with a penchant for pornography and cocaine, but loves his granddaughter and enthusiastically coaches her in her talent contest routine.

Once on the road, the laughs come thick and fast. There are too many to mention, but stand-outs include Grandpa’s less than moral advice to Dwayne about girls, an unfortunate reunion for Frank in a petrol station, a superb moment involving a highway patrolman, and another scene in a hospital that’s too good to spoil.

It’s also an excruciatingly painful and bitterly sad story, as various family members have hopes and dreams shattered throughout. By the time they arrive at the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant in California, they have reached rock bottom. If this were a typical Hollywood film, this third act would be the point where Olive triumphs against the odds in a punch-the-air, cheer out loud showdown, winning the contest and solving her family’s problems.

But thankfully, this isn’t a typical Hollywood film. Instead, for his finale, screenwriter Michael Arndt opts for a blistering, scathing satire on the Little Miss Sunshine competition itself, and by extension American beauty pageants in general, in which they are exposed for the paedophile parades they have gradually deteriorated into. The moment innocent and sweet little Olive stands next to a group of other seven-years-old girls who have had their childlike looks destroyed by big wigs, grotesque make-up, and fake tans, the full horror of this monstrous competition is unleashed. When the leering compere introduces Olive for her dance routine, nothing will prepare you for what happens next. It is simultaneously one of the most hysterically funny and achingly sad scenes in recent memory.

Directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris coax standout performances from their entire cast – from Greg Kinnear’s Richard to the always excellent Alan Arkin as Grandpa. Not to mention another wonderful turn from Toni Collette as Sheryl and Abigail Breslin’s enchanting Olive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Oscar nominations were forthcoming, for the acting, screenplay, and possibly even best picture. The only caveats I have are that the script is laden with (admittedly funny) profanities, and that there are some unnecessary anti-Christian elements (at one point, Dwayne wears a T-shirt that says “Jesus was wrong”). This is a shame, as the main message of the film is overwhelmingly positive. Little Miss Sunshine highlights both the dangers of making children afraid of being a “loser”, whilst powerfully affirming that it’s alright to fail, the important thing is to try.

Simon Dillon, September 2006.