The Greatest Trick

I put these five points together recently, for a laugh. I’m sure I could think of more, but believe it or not I have better things to do with my time.

Just for the record, I don’t consider myself a film critic in the strictest sense of the word because 1) it is not my full time job, 2) I rarely attend press screenings, 3) I only watch about one film a week at the cinema, so I don’t see everything, and 4) I would not want to see everything because it would mean subjecting myself to the likes of The Santa Clause 3. Anyway…

Simon Dillon’s Rough Guide to Surviving Film Critics:

1. The more a critic sees, the harder it is for them to enjoy films on their own terms. This is an unfortunate side effect of watching too many films. Critics end up in an increasing state of desperation, craving something – anything – out of the ordinary. That is why they will often slate perfectly passable genre fiction and overpraise anything that’s a little bit different (Babel is a good recent example of this – not bad exactly, but it has been rather overrated).

2. Over time, the more reviews you read of a particular critic, the more you will get to know their preferences. For example, Barry Norman has a penchant for Woody Allen comedies and westerns. There is nothing wrong with either of those, but it’s always worth taking a rave review from Barry Norman on such films with a pinch of salt. Conversely, Barry Norman is also slightly obsessed with the idea that a film should always have some kind of message, which meant he was less kind to action classics such as Die Hard. My own favourite genre is fantasy or science fiction, so when a true masterpiece like Pan’s Labyrinth appears, I perhaps tend to praise it more than I would an outstanding entry in – say – the romantic comedy genre.

3. What critics hate more than anything is a mediocre film because there is nothing much to say. They would much rather have fun really slating a film, because it’s an opportunity for full-on sarcasm (see for example my scathing review of The Matrix Reloaded, which I had loads of fun writing). Incidentally, film critics who say they hate a film, yet note that “the audience seemed to enjoy it”, mean they enjoyed it despite knowing its a terrible film.

4. Whether they mean to or not, a critic will always bring their politics into their writing. By politics I don’t just mean government politics of left/right Labour/Conservative, but spiritual and/or moral politics. For example you can always rely on the Guardian to write idiotic, ill-informed things about The Lord of the Rings being racist, whilst the Daily Mail will jump up and down trying to get a film like Reservoir Dogs banned for no good reason at all. My own solution to this impossible problem is to simply review the film on a purely aesthetic level before praising or damning it for its moral/spiritual values. However, most other critics will try to disguise their worldviews by saying irrational things about the quality of the filmmaking if they disagree with its message, or overpraising if they happen to endorse its content. Initial reviews by critics on The Passion of the Christ, and The Last Temptation of Christ provide a good case study on this principle.

5. Film critics will always try to blind you with science. They will compare the film they are reviewing with older films, books, television programmes or other art forms because it makes them sound clever. The more obscure the reference, the cleverer they sound, so more points are scored if they can quote an old film, or better still, an old foreign film. Nobody questions this, because hardly anyone has seen the films they are referencing (unless you are someone like me). This is a classic film bore technique, which I’m often guilty of using myself. The film critics will defend themselves by saying they are trying to educate their audience into tracking down some of these older pictures, but the truth is it is a clandestine game of one-upmanship that film bores play with one another, so don’t be fooled. Their opinion on a film is no more valid than yours.

Let me know if you can think of any more!

Simon Dillon, January 2007.

Director Ed Zwick’s back catalogue is something of a mixed bag. Glory was terrific, won a couple of Oscars and international acclaim. Unfortunately, after that, things went downhill with misfires such Courage under Fire, and the unmitigated flatulence that was Legends of the Fall – a monumental waste of talent and one of the worst films ever made. However, Zwick bounced back with The Last Samurai, a much underrated picture, and most recently, Blood Diamond.

A powerful adventure set in late 90’s Sierra Leone, the film tells the story of diamond smuggler Danny Archer (Leonardo Di-Caprio), journalist Maddy Bowen (Jennifer Connolly) and fisherman Solomon Vandy (Djimon Hounsou) who for different reasons set out to recover an extremely rare pink diamond. Solomon found and buried the diamond when he was kidnapped by rebel militia, separated from his family and forced to work in a diamond mine. After being rescued by government troops, he reluctantly teams up with Danny and Maddy, agreeing to show Danny where the diamond is hidden in exchange for his help tracking down his family. Maddy agrees to assist because Danny says he will provide her with information on “diamond laundering” operations by a big UK company, trading in conflict diamonds.

Leonardo DiCaprio is excellent as Danny, matching his amazing turn in The Departed. Openly cynical, amoral and opportunistic, his journey has the most interesting narrative arc. His back story is gradually revealed, and at the same time his obsessive quest for the diamond becomes more intense. His memorable character has echoes of Humphrey Bogart’s Fred C Dobbs in John Huston’s classic 1948 film The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and that comparison is not made lightly.

Djimon Hounsou is as compelling as he was in Amistad and Solomon’s story provides the emotional core of the film; a father desperately wanting to be reunited with his family, as well as his son who has been press-ganged into the rebels. As an aside, one of the most gripping and disturbing parts of the film deals with the systematic brainwashing of these child soldiers, and how they are forced to become murderers. A chilling footnote at the end of the film tells there are still more than 200,000 child soldiers in Africa today.

Jennifer Connolly has come a long way since Labyrinth, adding another fine performance to her CV. Maddy is feisty and likeable, wanting to make a difference by exposing the big corporations who by default encourage and assist the trade in conflict diamonds. Yet in spite of this, she ultimately proves little more than a love interest and is annoyingly sidelined towards the end, as the film gradually evolves from into more traditional Hollywood fare.

Supporting roles from Arnold Vosloo (best known as The Mummy) as a corrupt South African Colonel and Kagiso Kuypers as Solomon’s son add dramatic weight, and Charles Leavitt’s explosive screenplay is moving, well-researched and thought-provoking. One line, “People would think twice about putting a ring on their finger if they knew it cost someone their hand”, at once provides a brilliant and utterly riveting condemnation Western ignorance. The action set-pieces are powerful and exciting, and the stunning cinematography and authentic locations provide a beautiful setting for the bloodthirsty action. It is very violent, and there is some strong swearing, but none of it felt gratuitous.

The film is somewhat flawed by overlength, particularly in an unnecessary epilogue which mutes the power of the climax. But for all its rough edges, Blood Diamond is that rare beast; an explosive action-adventure with a modicum of thought and social commentary. Ed Zwick, you are hereby officially forgiven for Legends of the Fall. Go forth and sin no more.

Simon Dillon, January 2007.

A woman with a shock of red hair races through Berlin to a pumping techno soundtrack in order to save her criminal boyfriend. Three times.

Manni is a petty criminal who has managed to lose 100,000 DM of his boss’ money. He has 20 minutes before the boss, Ronni, appears to collect and will undoubtedly kill Manni. So a panicked Manni phones his girlfriend, Lola, played by Franka Potente (probably best known now for starring opposite Matt Damon in the first two Bourne movies), who runs to him, stopping en route to ask her bank manager father for a rather sizeable loan. The film plays out in real time, so the first half hour or so ends with Lola arriving to find Manni in the process of trying to recoup the money via the means of a supermarket heist. But it’s not their day, a character dies, and Lola gets to start again from the point of the phone call…

This film plays with so many ideas it’s difficult to know where to start. The main theme is more or less ‘what if?’, using the butterfly effect to explore the myriad possibilities in life. As Lola runs, she passes some very incidental characters whose future lives are shown in a flash-forward split-second montage of stills. Each time, these characters have a different future in front of them; one woman might experience the loss of a child by social workers, or winning the lottery, or becoming a Jehovah’s Witness. But the pleasing thing is that this is not just presented as fate doing what it wills in this film - choices play a part too. When Lola has an accident right at the start of her run, it affects everything that happens subsequently; and when she chooses to avoid that accident, the extra second or two it gives her totally transforms the outcome of her actions. Little nuggets of information are released in the 3 sections of the film, mostly about Lola’s father, and the effect of that information is measured differently each time - some leading to a happier experience for the characters, and some to one that is less happy.

The main moral message is clear too - if you do right and live honestly, things go better. Twice Lola and Manni gain the money they need through dubious means, and it keeps going wrong. But they are given a second chance (and a third) - just like God gives us when we mess up - and finally they discover that there was no need for anything underhand. I wish I could say more about this film, but the more I say, the less enjoyable it might be for anyone reading this who hasn’t seen it. If you comment on this post, please delve into plot points that I haven’t mentioned, because I LOVE dissecting this film, but make sure you make readers aware that there are spoilers! For readers who want to be aware, there is some swearing, and a small amount of violence, but some of the ‘flash-forward’ montages also have some shocking images contained in them.

Babel is essentially a meditation on breakdown of communication, whether through language barrier or other reasons, and how such breakdowns can escalate into tragedy. Taking its title from the Biblical story wherein God confused the people of the Earth by giving them different languages, Babel would like to think it is a good deal more profound than it actually is, despite its obvious cinematic merits and the general critical acclaim it has so far received.

In Morocco, US couple Richard and Susan (Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett) try to get over a cot death. Back in the US, the Mexican childminder looking after their other children is unable to find cover to look after her charges in order to attend her son’s wedding, so she takes them with her to Mexico. In Toyko, Cheiko, a sexually precocious deaf mute schoolgirl tries to lose her virginity, but it becomes clear her behaviour is an emotional reaction to her mother’s suicide and her father’s frequent absences.

These series of apparently unconnected stories are ultimately linked to a tragic accident in Morocco where two shepherd boys playing with their father’s gun mistakenly shoot Susan. A diplomatic incident ensues, whereby Richard finds himself stuck in an obscure Moroccan village, fighting to keep his wife alive, whilst the US quickly jump to the wrong conclusion that her injury was the result of a terrorist attack, and thereby refuse to allow a Moroccan ambulance through to the village to take her to the hospital.

Frankly, director Alejandro González Iñárritu has made better films, notably 21 Grams, and – even better – Amores Perros. Although the film is compelling and well made, I suspect most cinemagoers will find it ultimately inconsequential. Many of its so-called insights are obvious; language barriers cause communication difficulty, teenage girls sometimes act outrageously when they are neglected, and so on.

Clearly Iñárritu likes the multiplot format, but he has yet to match the master of the genre, the late great Robert Altman (who directed Short Cuts and Nashville). In addition to Altman, there have recently been a number of multiplot films better than Babel; Magnolia, Pulp Fiction and Traffic for instance. Even last year’s best picture winner, the “at-first-glance-brilliant, at-second-glance-less-impressive” Crash is a superior choice.

Having said that, there are two moments that stand out as great cinema. One takes place in a Tokyo nightclub, as the film cuts between shots with loud music and Cheiko’s point of view, where she can hear nothing. The second involves a night chase late in the film near the Mexican border, where one or two shots bizarrely invoke memories of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

Performances are all strong, not only from Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett, but also from newcomers Boubker Ait El Caid and Said Tarchani who play the shepherd boys responsible for the accidental shooting. Best of all is Rinko Kikuchi’s utterly fearless, Oscar nominated turn as Cheiko.

Kikuchi’s bold performance brings me onto the subject of material potentially objectionable to a Christian audience. She appears nude in three scenes, and this raises the hoary old question of whether the scenes can be justified artistically. Certain Christian audiences I know will immediately answer that such content can never be justified, so they had best avoid this film. However, my own thoughts were that Iñárritu was intending to shock rather than titillate. The first two sequences I felt would have had the same effect if nothing had been shown, but I am also forced to conclude that the third scene, late in the film, would not have had the same raw emotional power had she been fully or even partially clothed. It involves an attempt made my Cheiko to seduce a policeman and it reminded me of a similar scene towards the end of American Beauty. The emotional outcome of both scenes is morally positive, but whether or not the means justifies the end is something that will doubtless cause great argument amongst all Christians who do see this. In addition, it is worth noting there is some strong swearing and violence, but nothing that I felt was out of place.

Ultimately, however, despite the presence of fine acting and a handful of unique and memorable scenes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Babel was much ado about nothing.

Simon Dillon, January 2007.

Che Guevara is probably most famous as an image - the printed T-shirt of an unshaven Che looking into the distance, beret stuffed onto a mop of restless hair, inspiring the world. Whatever that might or might not inspire in you, the fact is that Guevara has become a poster-boy for the idea of revolution, even if those who wear his T-shirt these days wouldn’t think about rising up and changing the world - it’s a worthy idea. Well, before revolution became a worthy idea, Ernesto Guevara was a typical college medical student in search of fun and adventure, and with his friend Alberto Granado discovered why revolution was necessary on his continent.

Walter Salles’ The Motorcycle Diaries documents a trip Guevara and Granado took in 1951-2 from Argentina through Chile, Peru, Colombia and Venezuela to a leper colony where they aimed to complete their medical residency. They get on the road on a most unreliable motorcycling beast looking for laughs, chicks and a bit of adventure, but soon become affected by the plight of the people around them. They pass through towns where nobody has any work, remote mountain villages which haven’t experienced any of the progress of the 20th century, and personal situations galore which affect the two men very differently. The two central performances, by Gael García Bernal as Guevara and Rodrigo De la Serna as Granada, do a great job of showing us two lives running parallel for a short time, before the need for social reform begins to affect one more than the other and lead him into the search for truth and justice for the suffering people he sees in every country they visit.

This sounds like one of those movies that falls into the ‘worthy-but-dull’ category as I describe it, but it is far from that. There is much to laugh at in the first half of the film, and while the tone may turn more serious as time goes on, it never descends into preachiness - I have a feeling that the film might not have gone down so well if the communism that Guevara ended up representing was in full force here. Instead of that, what we get is a sense of injustices being perpetrated on a people who have no idea how to combat them, and one man being awakened to that situation that he knew nothing about. In a certain montage sequence I was very much reminded of Jesus looking at the people around him ‘like sheep without a shepherd’, and Jesus’ response was compassion and love. You see the same heart response in Bernal’s performance, and his subsequent actions turned him into an inspirational leader for a large group of people. It took him a trip round a continent to find out what life was really like out there; in the present day, where information about how others in the world live is so readily available, what is it that’s stopping us doing our bit to combat social injustice, which is still very much with us? Buying fair trade products, recycling stuff or buying the Big Issue seem like a drop in the ocean when faced with governments and corporations who continue certain social injustices, but it’s a start, and it’s what we can do.

Hmm, how preachy have I got? Erm, anyway, it’s well worth a watch, but there is swearing throughout as I recall.

The most extraordinary thing about director Kevin MacDonald’s The Last King of Scotland is Forest Whitaker’s astounding performance as Idi Amin. At once charismatic, charming, brutal yet oddly vulnerable, he is one of the best screen villains for a long time. Amin is shown to be the murdering bully that he was, whilst at the same time his unpredictable, almost schizophrenic personality keeps the audience permanently on edge. Whitaker chews the scenery to within an inch of its life, and I confidently predict his best actor Oscar is as good as won.

It is all the more remarkable, given Whitaker’s commanding performance, that James McAvory more than holds his own in the complex supporting role of recently graduated Scottish doctor Nicholas Garrigan. In 1970, Garrigan travels to Uganda apparently through a desire to be a good man in Africa, but it is immediately apparent that he is an immoral youth, and the true reason for his visit is experience for experience’s sake.

Take for example his penchant for married women. It is clear from the beginning that this will contribute to his downfall when he tries to seduce the wife of the doctor in the Mission hospital where he works (Gillian Anderson in a small but effective role). Garrigan’s attitude to adultery is “its fun”, and he thinks nothing of the consequences. Shortly afterwards, he enters into a Faustian deal to become Amin’s personal physician at the dawn of his Presidency, thus leaving behind the Mission hospital he had previously committed himself to helping making it clear he is a man with little honour or loyalty.

Garrigan’s unlikely but compelling relationship with Amin provides the core of the fascinating drama. Amin is impressed by Garrigan speaking his mind, and slowly he becomes much more than a physician, advising him on political matters, how to handle the press and even informing on potential traitors in his cabinet. At the same time, he turns something of a blind eye to reports of massacres, and warnings from British foreign office officials in Kampala. Eventually however, when Garrigan decides he wants to leave the country, his passport is taken and he is told by Amin that he cannot leave. Aware of Garrigan’s dubious behaviour, the British foreign office refuses to help him get out unless he assassinates Amin. Incidentally, the British (or more accurately the English) do not come off well at all in this film, since it is clear that they supported Amin’s coup, yet when they realise they have made a mistake they try to recruit Garrigan to do their dirty work.

The second half of the film is much tougher, as Garrigan undertakes a disastrous affair with one of Amin’s wives, and the full horror of Amin’s regime becomes apparent. There are two particularly gruesome, wince-inducing sequences that will prove a tough watch for the faint of heart. In addition to violence, it’s only fair to also point out the presence of strong swearing, sex scenes and nudity. Whether or not they are contextually justified could be argued either way. I feel that perhaps a little more restraint could have been employed, but on the whole, there is nothing exploitative. Certainly the horrendous consequences of Garrigan’s affair with Amin’s wife are not glossed over, and morally the film exposes both Garrigan’s folly and Amin’s egomaniacal, murderous dictatorship in a mercilessly unsentimental manner. From a Christian perspective, there are interesting allegories that can be read into it regarding the wages of sin and – late in the film – how the most unworthy person can be saved.

In final analysis, Kevin MacDonald has crafted a first-rate political thriller. His background in documentaries (Touching the Void and the excellent, Oscar winning One Day in September) no doubt contributed to his vivid, gritty portrayal of 1970’s Uganda. In adapting Giles Foden’s novel, Jeremy Brock provides a riveting screenplay, skilfully weaving his fictitious incidents around factual events. But it is Forest Whitaker’s performance that remains the film’s crowning glory. His sudden mood swings, charismatic speeches, practical jokes, childish tantrums, and violent outbursts and make it impossible to tear your eyes away from the screen.

Simon Dillon, January 2007.

Making another film about an ancient culture in its original language may appear to be a risky move for Mel Gibson, but Apocalypto is something of a surprise. It’s essentially a jungle set adventure with a smattering of cerebral overtones that get buried under an avalanche of violence and gore. And boy is it gory. Mel Gibson’s two previous directorial efforts Braveheart and The Passion of the Christ were both epic bloodbaths, but Apocalypto is his most brutally violent work to date. Not that I’m complaining. Frankly I don’t think the film would have been the effective, sweaty palmed, heart-pounding experience it was had the violence been toned down. I simply note it at the beginning of this review to underline that this is most emphatically not a movie for the faint of heart.

The story begins as the protagonist Jaguar Paw (the excellent Rudy Youngblood) and his friends hunt and kill a tapir in the forest. They joke together like a bunch of high school jocks, and play practical jokes on one of their number for his inability to impregnate his wife. It’s a peculiar opening, and the grotesque pranks immediately make one think of frat pack comedies like American Pie, only set in the Mayan jungles.

Ten minutes or so later, the tone suddenly changes when a village elder tells an ominous story about man’s merciless ravaging of the Earth, which has contemporary relevance as well as referring to the impending collapse of the Mayan civilisation. This momentary pause for thought is shattered by an attack of warriors who rape and massacre several in the village. The survivors, including Jaguar Paw are captured (except Jaguar Paw’s son and pregnant wife who managed to hide). The children who weren’t killed in the raid are cruelly left behind. At this point, we’re in Schindler’s List territory, and the viewer mentally maps out a serious drama as the captives are brutally marched to a Mayan city. Here, a vast human sacrifice ceremony is in full swing which spares the audience nothing. Victims have their hearts cut out, before being decapitated and have their heads erected on spikes. When it comes to Jaguar Paw’s turn however, there is a reprieve caused by a solar eclipse (a great use of a hoary old cliché).

At this point, Jaguar Paw makes his escape and the story takes yet another drastic change in tone. As he is pursued through the jungle, the film becomes an all-out chase. Gradually the hunters become the hunted as Jaguar Paw finds new and ingeniously gruesome ways of dispensing with his enemies, all the time, trying to get back to his wife and child. And it is here that the story is at its most conventional, as every jungle peril cliché is thrown in for good measure. But this is also the most enjoyable part of the film, as Gibson breathes new life into the action-adventure genre through his undeniably unique setting.

The entire cast (mostly made up of non-professionals) are excellent, especially Rudy Youngblood. On a technical level, the cinematography, production design, editing, sound and visual effects are all terrific, and James Horner’s unusually low-key music score compliments the action well. But it is Gibson who remains the star of the show. His lavish, unsubtle, but undeniably effective style feels like a curious cross between Cecil B De Mille, and Sam Peckinpah.

Overall, Apocalypto is too jarringly eneven to be considered a masterpiece. But it is never boring, neither does it feel overlong. The ending even has an implicit Christian worldview (although Empire magazine read the opposite into it), suggesting that Christianity was ultimately the answer to the barbarism the Mayans had descended into. What’s more interesting is the way parallels are drawn with the present day. There are forms of human sacrifice in our own culture, whether it’s sending troops to Iraq, abortion, or whatever you want to read into it. Gibson wants to warn us about the dangers of such things, and show us where it will ultimately end. However, I doubt anyone will pick up on this message. They’ll be too breathless from the stunningly violent action to notice.

Simon Dillon, January 2007.

It’s that time of year again, when I select my annual ten best films. In general terms, 2006 has been quite a good year for cinema, and there are several movies worthy of an honourable mention that didn’t quite make the final selection.

Children of Men was a remarkable slice of dystopian sci-fi, but was squeezed out of the final selection due to ferocious competition. Although George Clooney’s Good Night and Good Luck was very good, it was also a bit too dry for the shortlist. Elsewhere, despite having hugely enjoyed Cars, a certain film involving singing Emperor penguins proved to be my favourite animated picture this year. None of the years guaranteed cult-status movies – from Brick to The Proposition and Snakes on a Plane – ended up in the shortlist. The Devil Wears Prada lost out on a place because of its fudged ending. Martin Scorsese’ violent but brilliant swear-fest The Departed was surprisingly good (despite being a remake of Infernal Affairs) but still not on a par with the likes of Goodfellas. South African film Tsotsi was a notable best foreign film winner at the Oscars, but didn’t quite make the grade. Neither did Walk the Line, featuring Joaquin Phoenix’ excellent performance as Johnny Cash; another film I would have loved to include, but competition for space was too strong. And most regrettable of all, Superman Returns narrowly missed out, because I decided after a second viewing that of all the blockbuster films released this year, Casino Royale was the best of the bunch.

So here is the final selection (in no particular order of merit):

Munich – Steven Spielberg’s powerful and thought provoking drama about an Israeli assassination squad targeting Palestinian terrorists who were involved in the murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics.

Hidden – Sublime paranoid French thriller about a man and his family who receive videotapes showing they are under surveillance.

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada – Tommy Lee Jones directs this hugely impressive modern western.

United 93 – Paul Greengrass’ absolutely riveting drama/documentary about the only hijacked plane on 9/11 that didn’t reach its target – mercilessly intense, harrowing, unsentimental, and monumentally upsetting, yet ultimately profoundly moving, stunningly powerful and utterly unforgettable. The best film of the year by far, and one that should easily get an Oscar nomination for best picture (and if it was up to me, a win).

Little Miss Sunshine – Forget Borat, this was the best comedy of the year, and another likely Oscar nominee, about a dysfunctional family’s road trip across America to get their little girl to a beauty pageant. Hysterically funny, but also mercilessly satirical and emotionally painful.

The Queen – Helen Mirren’s stunning central performance as Queen Elizabeth II towers over this respectful and fascinating drama about the days following the death of Princess Diana. Another film with major Oscar potential.

Casino Royale – The best James Bond film for decades, with Daniel Craig superb in the lead role.

The Prestige – Christopher Nolan’s near-masterpiece about feuding magicians in Victorian London. The best thriller of the year.

Pan’s Labyrinth – Dark, spiritually dubious, but superb fairy tale for grown-ups, and will without doubt ultimately prove a landmark in fantasy cinema.

Happy Feet – Singing Emperor penguins and strong environmental messages may sound like an odd mix, but together they add up to the best animated film of the year.

Happy New Year!

Simon Dillon, January 2007.