The Greatest Trick

My father, who tutors students in English, was recently shocked to discover one of his sixteen year old pupils did not understand a reference to Adam and Eve in a poem she was studying, because she had never heard of them. This is just one isolated example of increasing Biblical ignorance and for this reason alone, films like The Nativity Story are to be welcomed with open arms. Even though it is no groundbreaking masterpiece like Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, it is an intimate and well told picture in which the true meaning of Christmas is faithfully reemphasised.

Opening with the massacre of innocents in Bethlehem as Herod orders the deaths of babies two years and under, the story then flashes back to a year earlier, and the familiar events leading up to the massacre are simply but compellingly told. The cast all put in decent performances, especially Keira Castle-Hughes as Mary, finally an actress who is the right age. Best known as one of Natalie Portman’s handmaidens in the Star Wars prequels and for her role in Whale Rider, this could well prove to be a career defining role.

Oscar Isaac is appropriately noble and supportive as Joseph, a kind but simple man suddenly overwhelmed by the significance of events taking place in his family. The excellent Ciaran Hinds gives Peter Ustinov a run for his money as the villainous King Herod (Ustinov was Herod in Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth). Elsewhere, the shepherds are represented by Ted Rusoff, who has a small but memorable role. The wise men – Nadim Sawalha, Eriq Ebouaney, and Stefan Kalipha – provide unexpected comic relief, and there are memorable bit parts from Shaun Toub as Mary’s father, and Alexander Siddig as the Angel Gabriel.

Although the film doesn’t go so far as to have dialogue in Latin, Hebrew and Aramaic (like the Passion), the entire cast look and sound Israeli, and everything appears grittily authentic. One would have expected such realism to clash with the fairytale-like tone of the story, yet it doesn’t, probably because this “fairytale” is true.

Director Catherine Hardwick could hardly have picked a more different project given the subject matter of her two previous pictures, and she does the job well. With the help of cinematographer Elliot Davis she creates a number of memorable images including the emergence of the star over Bethlehem and some particularly nice shots of the journey to Jerusalem that will lose much when reduced by television.

Speaking of the journey, one thing Mike Rich’s screenplay does very well is show just how gruelling and dangerous such an expedition would have been for Mary and Joseph. They are constantly in danger from hunger, rivers, and even the occasional poisonous snake (a not-so-subtle metaphor for the devil). One interesting scene has them arriving in Jerusalem, where Joseph remarks that it is a holy city, only to find thieves, fortune tellers, and market sellers everywhere; an interesting foreshadowing of John chapter 2 where Jesus cleared the temple.

I still prefer Jesus of Nazareth (the first episode dealt with the Nativity), but this is a good, solid picture, and the critical moment when Jesus is born is undeniably powerful and moving. Despite the presence of Herod’s massacre (most of which occurs offscreen), the whole family should enjoy this when it comes out on the 8th of December. It’s also a film Christians can recommend to their non-Christian friends. Biblical ignorance may be at an all-time high, but in a world where the meaning of Christmas is lost in an ocean of tinsel and Boxing Day sales, The Nativity Story couldn’t have come at a better time.

Simon Dillon, November 2006.

A visibly shaken Bond stands at the bar and asks for Vodka Martini. The barman asks whether he wants shaken or stirred, to which he replies irritably “do I look like I care?”

That, in essence, sums up this new take on James Bond. The rulebook has been torn up and the series has been radically overhauled. Loosely based on Ian Fleming’s first 007 novel, it takes the character right back to before he was a 00 agent. Bond Begins, if you will.

The first shock is there is no gun barrel opening. Instead the audience is treated to a stark black and white prologue in which Bond completes the two kills necessary to obtain 00 status. It is only then, after a brutal fight in a public toilet, that the gun barrel appears, which leads directly into the main titles as the film bursts into colour. And here comes the next change; the brilliantly designed credits do not contain dancing girls, but nevertheless feel uniquely and unquestionably Bond.

From thereon, the plot concern’s Bond’s first assignment as he investigates terrorist banker Le Chiffre and ends up playing him for a game of high-stakes poker at Casino Royale in Montenegro with a view to bankrupting him and consequently the people he supplies. To say much more about the twists and turns of the plot would be unfair, since for the first time in almost twenty years, this is a Bond with a truly memorable story.

But how much of a departure is it? Where Bond films previously strayed from the formula, the results produced near-brilliance in one case (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), and a decidedly mixed bag in another (Licence to Kill). But neither film was well received by the public.

Hopefully that won’t be the case with Casino Royale. Although it’s different from previous Bonds, many elements that were essential to the early classics are back. For instance, terrific hand to hand fight scenes make a powerful return here, not only in the afore mentioned brutal pre-credits killing, but in an amazing sequence on a building site where every punch, kick and fall is felt. A palpable sense of danger is generated by this and other action scenes in the film, comparable to the great opening fight scenes of, say, Thunderball or On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. It’s as though the filmmakers have finally learnt that elaborate vehicular chases and huge explosions in slow motion actually don’t generate any great sense of jeopardy. Casino Royale is also different in that the gadgets have been pared back to believable levels, the silly one-liners are gone, and so are Moneypenny and Q. But their presence is not missed. Instead the real strength of the film comes from its lead, Daniel Craig.

Craig makes a fantastic Bond; brutal, charming, witty and rough around the edges enough to make us believe he is still human and can be hurt. Frankly, he is the best since Sean Connery, and that is partly thanks to a superb adapted screenplay (co-written by Million Dollar Baby scribe Paul Haggis). On a related note, I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for Pierce Brosnan, who I think could have also been a great Bond had he been given better material.

The rest of the cast are very good. Mads Mikkelson makes a terrific Le Chiffre; an unconventional character whose motivation is purely to win back criminal money he lost on the stock markets before his customers catch up with him and kill him. It’s also great to see Johnny foreigner as the villain again, after four British villains in a row. Eva Green is radiant as Bond girl Vesper Lynd, and as with On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, this has a proper love story. Judi Dench also returns as M, better than ever in the role.

As far as music is concerned, David Arnold does his usual imitation John Barry to pretty good effect, but it’s still not a patch on the master himself. The main title song, You know my name by Chris Cornell, has been largely derided but I actually think its not bad. As for the James Bond theme itself, it doesn’t even appear until right at the very end.

Director Martin Campbell (who had previously relaunched the franchise in 1995 with Goldeneye) does a great job, and invests the picture with a sense of cinematic style that has been lacking for ages (all the Brosnan Bonds looked as though they had been shot for TV). The choice of exotic locations – Montenegro, Venice and the Bahamas – are all used to great effect, and the editing, sound and special effects are all up to scratch. It is a bit too long and uneven, and it’s also quite violent, but none of this fatally flaws the picture. Speaking of violence, although much has been said about the wince-inducing torture scene late in the film, Casino Royale isn’t as brutal as Licence to Kill, which even in its most heavily cut version remains the most violent Bond.

All in all, this is the best Bond for two decades, and will almost certainly be remembered as fondly as the great Connery films.

Simon Dillon, November 2006.

Christopher Nolan is one of the few directors whose films I will always make a point of seeing, regardless of how well they are received. He is presently best know for revitalising the Batman franchise with Batman Begins, but his greatest achievement is still Memento, which I confidently predict will one day be recognised as an all time classic. He has yet to match it.

However, The Prestige comes extremely close. A dark but hugely enjoyable, twisty-turny thriller peppered with superb performances, rich atmosphere, and surprising emotional punch, it’s genuinely unique premise provides a fascinating glimpse into the world of stage magicians in the late nineteenth century. It’s based on the novel by Christopher Priest which I haven’t read, but Christopher and Jonathan Nolan’s excellent screenplay is a superb adaptation, regardless of how faithful it is.

Rival stage magicians Alfred Borden (Christian Bale, brilliant as ever) and Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman, equally good) are locked in a seemingly unending feud one-upmanship and revenge, in which Angier is determined to steal the secret of Borden’s most famous trick, the transported man. Angier is greater showman, and has greater success with the public, but deep down he knows Borden is the better magician. His obsession with discovering the secret of the transported man takes him from London to Colorado Springs in the US, where he meets enigmatic scientist Nikolas Telsa (David Bowie, an enjoyably barmy bit of casting), a contemporary of Thomas Eddison and pioneer in the field of electrical engineering. Telsa offers to build Angier a machine that will genuinely transport him; real magic with no sleight of hand.

Flashbacks reveal just how Borden and Angier came to hate each other, and though they are employed far less confusingly than in Memento, it is still vital to keep one’s brain in gear since often the smallest of details later prove pivotal in unravelling the mystery. However, the greatest pleasure of The Prestige are the scenes with Cutter (Michael Caine in his second great supporting role in as many months after Children of Men). He is the brains behind Angier and designs his ingenious stage tricks. He also acts as Angier’s conscience in his ever escalating obsession, as he turns to increasingly immoral and dangerous methods to gain Borden’s secret. Borden also becomes increasingly unravelled as the film progresses, and seems dangerously schizophrenic. Loving and faithful to his family one minute, having affairs with Angier’s stage assistant Olivia the next, it appears there is nothing he won’t do in his ruthless pursuit of his career, even murder.

But all is not what it seems, and it is here that the film tragically falls apart somewhat. The introduction of a science fiction element late in the story unbalances what could have been a superb cautionary tale about obsession and revenge. Instead, the seriousness of the tale is muted, and Nolan’s frustratingly close to brilliant film becomes flawed when suspension of disbelief becomes just a bit too difficult.

However, I would still highly recommend The Prestige as a near-masterpiece. The main performances are excellent, and the smaller roles (Rebecca Hall as Borden’s put-upon wife Sarah, Scarlett Johansson’s exquisite Olivia, and Andy Serkis as Tesla’s assistant) are also worthy of special mention. Wally Pfister’s cinematography is stunning; from a dark and dangerous London to the mystical snows of Colorado Springs, his images greatly enhance the vivid, haunting atmosphere. But it is Christopher Nolan who remains the greatest conjurer; his cinematic sleight of hand provides the audience with a trick they won’t forget in a hurry. It’s just a shame it was such a flawed trick.

Simon Dillon, November 2006.

Let’s get one thing clear straight away: everyone is guaranteed to be offended by something in this film. And most will be offended by several things.

In case you have somehow been oblivious to the furore around this merciless satire from Sacha Baron Cohen (aka Ali-G), Borat (or Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan to give it its full title), is a caricature played by Cohen. He is a monstrous creation designed to fly in the face of every politically correct notion you can possibly think of, and recalls the best impersonations of the late great Peter Sellers, albeit far more offensive. Yet despite being misogynistic, homophobic, anti-Semitic, and worse, Borat has proved hugely popular, possibly because people are sick and tired of politically correct comedy (surely a contradiction in terms in any case).

Borat works for Kazakhstani TV as a reporter, and is dispatched by the ministry of information to the US to report on the greatest country in the world. With a documentary crew in tow, Borat ambushes unsuspecting people trying to provoke reactions in a Candid Camera kind of way, and the results, frankly, produce some of the most insanely hysterical and staggeringly offensive comedy you are ever likely to see.

What makes Borat acceptable amongst some is probably the way this absurdly unpleasant character is used to expose the dark prejudices of Middle America. For instance, in one scene Borat enters a gun shop and asks the owner which gun is best for killing Jews. The owner, without batting an eyelid, replies “that’d be a ’45 or a 9mm.”

Speaking of anti-Semitism, Cohen himself is Jewish. Whether or not that makes it acceptable to create vignettes such as the “Running the Jew” moment at the beginning of the film in Kazakhstan, is open to debate. I myself laughed, whilst feeling faint unease at what is essentially a live action version of a Nazi propaganda cartoon. Later in the film there are more (admittedly hilarious) moments that show Borat’s paranoid fear of Jews, and again, I couldn’t help but laugh. One scene in particular, where Borat thinks two kindly Jewish people who have put him up for the night are trying to poison him, is screamingly funny. Obviously, the satire of Borat is hugely sophisticated but will everyone see it that way?

Clearly not some sections of America, who are duped by Cohen’s alter-ego into saying things on camera they surely now regret. One cowboy at a rodeo tells Borat he should shave his moustache because it makes him look like a Muslim, and then goes on to say how all Muslims and homosexuals should be hanged. Later at the rodeo, Borat says to the crowd “may George Bush drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq!” to rapturous applause. In another scene, a dining club endure Borat’s astoundingly offensive behaviour, thinking that it is due to cultural differences, until the black girl he has invited shows up, at which point they make their excuses and leave. This also, is a very telling moment.

Other sequences in the film are far less sophisticated, such as a monumentally grotesque scene involving two naked men, one of whom is hugely overweight, wrestling in uncompromising positions (with black bars censoring certain areas). One then chases the other out of their hotel room and into a function room where a financial convention is in session. But this was such superbly directed and sustained piece of slapstick comedy that I must guiltily confess I was in physical pain by the end from laughing so hard.

Although some of the sequences in the film are clearly staged (such as a scene at the end involving Pamela Anderson), one nevertheless feels a certain guilt and culpability in watching unsuspecting members of the public being ambushed by Cohen. On one level this is no better than reality TV. Add to that swearing and nudity, and this becomes a film increasingly out of bounds for most.

As I said at the start, this is a film with something to offend everyone. What offended me? It was a sequence where Borat goes into a Pentecostal church and pretends to get saved. That, I am sure, is a moment that grieves the Holy Spirit. So for that reason above all, I cannot in good conscience recommend this film to anyone, despite having found much of it hilarious.

Simon Dillon, November 2006.

First, I’d better come clean and admit I’m rabidly pro-monarchy, so naturally I approached director Stephen Frears’ film about the time following the death of Princess Diana with a certain degree of trepidation. I feared I would find all manner of cheap shots sucking up to the public perception of the time that the royal family were somehow showing insufficient grief at the untimely demise of a woman who was – frankly – no saint.

Thankfully, I needn’t have worried. The Queen is an absolute delight. Helen Mirren’s performance is Oscar worthy; noble, dignified, witty, wise, and melancholy. She provides a flawless portrait of a royal whose universal popularity was, for a few days in September 1997, somewhat dented by a people who could not understand why she was not out mourning in public. Yet this film clearly shows her devotion to her grandchildren first, plus her general selflessness and insistence on a stiff upper lip that inexplicably caused this public feeling (fuelled no doubt by the harsh tabloid headlines of the time).

Although Mirren rightly dominates the film, there is excellent support also from James Cromwell as the Duke of Edinburgh. I for one was pleased the filmmakers didn’t resort to cliché and depict him as a buffoon, but instead show him as genuinely caring and supportive of his wife (without skimping on more brash, un-PC elements of his character). Elsewhere, Michael Sheen reprises his role as Tony Blair (he also portrayed him in the Channel 4 TV one-off The Deal) to great effect, Sylvia Syms makes an excellent Queen Mother, Alex Jennings is disturbingly convincing as a Prince Charles worried about being shot, and Helen McCrory and Mark Bazeley are wonderfully odious as Cherie Blair and Alistair Campbell respectively.

Speaking of which, one of the many delights of this film is the way in which New Labour are (rightly) portrayed as scheming, manipulating, deeply unpleasant people in stark contrast to their dignified counterparts in the palace. Showing the royals truly do belong to another era and set of values, even the set design reflects this. In one scene where Tony Blair talks on the phone to the palace, behind the Queen are pristine mahogany shelves with beautiful old books, whilst Blair has behind him an obviously flat-pack bookshelf with all modern books. It is such an absolute joy watching him being put in his place by a real leader that I sincerely hope similar scenes occurred in real life.

Yet Tony Blair merely comes off as opportunistic in contrast to Alistair Campbell and Cherie Blair, who both get a well-deserved kicking. Renowned for her outspokenly republican views, Cherie spouts off all the usual nonsense about the royals not paying tax and costing a fortune – neither of which is true, since they do pay some tax, and the revenue generated by them for the economy plus their charity work more than covers the cost. In addition, the film cleverly refutes any question of the royal family being overly indulgent by showing the Queen’s insistence on eating left-overs, reluctance to charter royal flights, and so forth. As for Alistair Campbell, we see him capitalizing on the public’s grief over Princess Diana by trying to make Blair and New Labour as popular as possible at the Queen’s expense. His relentless cynicism is such that even Blair rails against him in the latter part of the film.

I must also commend the filmmakers for sensitively choosing not to show Prince William or Harry in anything other than long shots, and to not give them any dialogue. Whatever one’s feelings for Princess Diana, she was their mother and as such to portray them as anything other than children who have experienced a horrible tragedy would have been wrong. It is this view that is also taken by the Queen who tries to protect them by ordering the television be taken out of the nursery and making sure they don’t see newspapers.

A lovely scene late in the film shows the Queen walking alone in the Balmoral grounds where she comes across a stag that is being stalked by hunters. Moved by the animal’s plight, she tries to shoo it away. Her sympathy is clearly intended as a metaphor for the way she feels stalked by the press and politicians who think she should be showing more grief. The stag itself later becomes symbolic of Diana, as it wanders off onto a neighbouring estate and is killed.

In the moment before she first sees the stag, the Queen begins to cry quietly, but Frears rightly does not show her face. Directorially, this is the correct decision, as the Queen believes in grieving privately, before soldiering on. Her simple dignity is ultimately shown to be at odds with the modern world, and the Queen wonders about abdication because she might be out of touch with her subjects. But some advice from the Queen Mother reinforces that God has made her Queen for a reason and that she has a responsibility to her subjects to remain on the throne until she dies. Despite the cynicism of these times, that is a view I wholeheartedly endorse and agree with.

All in all, this is an excellent film, easily one of the year’s best, and provides a remarkable yet non-sensationalist glimpse into the intriguing world of the royal family. Above all, Helen Mirren’s career-best performance merits it must-see status. I apologise for taking so long to getting round to see it, so try and catch it in cinemas now, before it vanishes.

Simon Dillon, November 2006.