The Greatest Trick

Guillermo del Toro has become one of the most visually innovative directors in the world. His wonderful fantasy movies recall the best of Terry Gilliam, Jean Pierre Jeunet, Tim Burton and even Jean Cocteau, whilst remaining unique in their own right. Yet to describe him as a maverick would be inaccurate as his directing pattern is to make one for himself and one for Hollywood in very much the same way Orson Welles and other Hollywood greats used to. His Hollywood products (Blade II and the original Hellboy) are good pulpy fun, whereas his personal projects are revered by the arthouse crowd (Cronos, The Devil’s Backbone). His masterpiece, Pan’s Labyrinth, brought him to the attention of one Peter Jackson who has turned the upcoming Hobbit films over to him, to the delight of salivating fanboys across the internet.

Meanwhile, Hellboy II is very much a Hollywood product. Despite being a visual treat, there is little of the thought provoking ideas and profound emotions of Pan’s Labyrinth. But that’s not to say it isn’t fun. On the contrary, Hellboy II is enormous fun – big, loud, funny, and teeming with astounding monsters. The delightfully daft screenplay corrects one mistake of its predecessor in that it doesn’t spend too much time with the villains at the expense of the heroes. This time, Hellboy, his bizarre friend Abe Sapien (a kind of human fish creature with psychic powers) and girlfriend Liz (a firestarter) are firmly centre stage. They are joined by hilarious by-the-book Teutonic newcomer Johann Krauss (a kind of ectoplasmic entity in what appears to be an old fashioned diving suit).

The plot is some utter twaddle about a rogue Elf prince called Nuada (who looks like a cross between Marilyn Manson and a Wraith from Stargate Atlantis) trying to regain a crown that will enable him to command the eponymous invincible Golden Army, and thus resume a war against mankind. Our friends at the secret FBI division of paranormal whatever-it-is, reluctantly rise to the challenge whilst dealing with a bunch of predicable subplots (Hellboy and Liz’s fiery romance leaves Abe feeling sidelined, until he starts to fancy Elf princess Nuala, Nuada’s twin sister – blah, blah, blah).

But all this is merely the hook on which del Toro hangs his phenomenal visuals, throwing in monster after monster in a series of increasingly astounding set pieces. One involving a troll market simply overflows with stunning creativity in the sheer magnitude and variety of mythical beasties. Other set pieces, including a stylish animated prologue and the thrilling final battle, are so incredible one desperately wishes the screenplay made the viewer care more about the plot and characters. Watching is the cinematic equivalent of eating a cake comprised entirely of icing.

Performances are all decent. Selma Blair, Doug Jones, Jeffrey Tambor and the excellent Ron Perlman all reprise their roles to good effect. John Hurt has a fun cameo and newcomers Anna Walton, Seth MacFarlane and Luke Goss all acquit themselves well. And yes, you read that correctly. That’s Luke Goss, who used to be in late 80’s teenybopper pop combo Bros. Actually, this is the second time del Toro has used him as a villain after he played a super-vampire in Blade II. On the technical side, everything is a triumph from the astonishing production design to the truly dazzling visual effects.

One thing I like about the Hellboy films and comics are the way conventional fantasy ideas are frequently turned on their heads. Most obviously, Hellboy himself is the son of a demon who has chosen to fight for good. Some Christians get their theological knickers in a twist over this, which is downright foolish as no attempt is made to attack Christianity, nor is this in any way meant to be theologically accurate. The idea of having a demon hero is meant allegorically to symbolize someone born from a bad background who decides not to use said background as an excuse for bad decisions.

The Elves, traditionally heroes, become villains here, even though Nuada’s reasons for his crusade against humanity seem fairly reasonable to me (we’re insatiably greedy, we’re destroying all those nice pretty forests, etc, etc). Some of the most fearsome monsters – one gigantic forest god thingy for instance – turn out to be rather pretty. An enigmatic and strangely beautiful Angel of Death provides another memorable example. On the other hand, I never realized tooth fairies were so vicious and deadly.

In short, if you love monsters of all shapes and sizes, this is a hands down must-see. Otherwise, it’s a summer blockbuster raised above average by del Toro’s incredible imagination. And did I mention the monsters?

Simon Dillon, August 2008.

Last night, I fulfilled a lifelong desire to see David Lean’s 1965 romantic masterpiece Doctor Zhivago on a big screen. This truly magnificent film has been reissued in a stunning new print and before I say anything else, I urge anyone who gets the chance to make a point of seeing this limited re-release at the cinema.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, Doctor Zhivago is an adaptation of Boris Pasternak’s controversial novel set before, during and after the Russian revolution. Yuri Zhivago (Omar Sharif) is an orphan adopted by a rich family in Moscow. He writes poetry, but is a doctor by profession. He marries Tonya (Geraldine Chaplin), the daughter of his adopted parents, but once the turmoil of revolution plunges the nation into chaos, he meets the mysterious, beautiful Lara (Julie Christie), and they soon fall in love.

This is one of those films that there really ought to be a law against watching on television. Cinemas were invented for experiences like this and regardless of how many surround sound/big television screen gimmicks on offer, there is nothing to beat sitting in a darkened cinema and being totally absorbed in the epic Siberian landscapes or the meticulously recreated pre-revolutionary Moscow (an astonishing set constructed in an era long before CGI provided shortcuts in epic filmmaking).

But it isn’t just the huge epic scenes that command greater attention on a big screen. The details of the brilliant performances are enhanced by added size. Omar Sharif’s melancholy, slightly detached air expertly conveys the turmoil of a character who is an observer of life, but also a deeply humane, passionate man desperately trying to survive intolerable times. The supporting roles are equally excellent. Alec Guinness is brilliant as ever as Yuri’s half brother Yevgraf, who narrates the story. Ralph Richardson and Siobahn McKenna are both very good as Yuri’s adoptive parents. Tom Courtenay plays committed but largely unsympathetic revolutionary Pasha superbly. Elsewhere, Geraldine Chaplin (Charlie Chaplin’s daughter) is terrific as perfect wife Tonya, whose dignity and goodness ensures that audiences share Zhivago’s anguish at being in love with two women. Rod Steiger’s wonderfully odious Komarovsky is also hugely memorable.

But the film really belongs to Julie Christie, whose outstanding performance as Lara remains the highlight of her career. Throughout her journey from abused teenager to war nurse, revolutionary wife, and finally Yuri’s lover, she remains always sympathetic yet hauntingly enigmatic. Her final exchanges of dialogue with Yuri (“Wouldn’t it have been lovely if we’d met before?”) are among the most brilliantly understated and heartbreaking in cinema history, thanks to Robert Bolt’s superb screenplay.

Speaking of the screenplay, Bolt and Lean insisted on not making Zhivago a political story, which proved a very wise choice. It is, above all, a human story. There is no editorialising, and the cruel, harrowing events depicted throughout speak for themselves, since they are caused by foolish and inhumane authoritarian ideologies (whether left or right wing).

On a technical level, everything from the crisp editing to the innovative use of sound, visual effects, art direction and breathtaking cinematography remains absolutely inspired. Maurice Jarre’s exceptional Oscar winning music score is the icing on the cake. The instantly recognisable “Lara theme” in particular, often played on the balalaika, is as stirring as ever. Only the occasional 1960’s hairdo among female characters dates the film.

I first saw Doctor Zhivago on television when I was about eight and two things in particular made a profound and lasting impression. First and foremost, David Lean’s extraordinary vision completely blew me away. The sheer brilliance of the greatest British director of all time operating at the peak of his powers had me spellbound, and much of its unique imagery would haunt my consciousness for years to come – from the ice covered house surrounded by the sounds of howling wolves to the accidental massacre of children in the cornfields.

The second thing Doctor Zhivago did was present compelling characters that I came to feel sorry for even though they were committing adultery. Yuri ends up in the horrible position of being in love with two women. He loves his wife and family, but also loves Lara. To this day, its one of very few films where I can fully understand and sympathise with (if not condone) the affairs of the main characters, which makes the inevitable tragedy all the more compelling. As with all good tragedies, the audience knows it will end badly from the beginning (the film is one huge flashback). However, when I was eight, I had never seen a movie with a sad ending, and the devastating finale left me utterly emotionally drained. As the credits rolled, I vowed to watch every other film David Lean had directed.

Shortly afterwards I discovered Great Expectations, Brief Encounter, The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia, and the other David Lean greats, but I always maintained my soft spot for Doctor Zhivago – a proper old school romantic epic. Sadly, we’re unlikely to ever see its kind again, so I will conclude by reiterating my original exhortation and urge everyone in the strongest possible terms to go and see this film. Even if you’ve watched it on television countless times, seeing it at the cinema is like seeing it for the first time.

Simon Dillon, August 2008.

First, in case there is any confusion, Clone Wars is not an official Star Wars film. It is a spin-off set between episodes II and III originally designed as a pilot episode for an animated TV series. However, Star Wars creator George Lucas decided to give it a cinema release instead, which has led to all manner of unrealistic expectations from those expecting Episode 2.5, so to speak.

In spite of the return of the principal characters of the prequels, there is hardly any reference to the larger saga here. What little plot there is revolves around an attempt by Count Dooku and his separatists to frame the Jedi for the kidnap of Jabba the Hutt’s son in order to secure control of the supply routes need in the outer part of the galaxy during the Clone Wars. The Jedi and Republic Clonetroopers also want control of these strategic areas, and this hook is merely an excuse to launch into endless non-stop battles and lightsabre fights. Some of these justify Lucas’ claims that this ought to be seen at the cinema, most notably a vertical assault on a fortress, handled with a modicum of cinematic verve by director Dave Filoni. Better still, Anakin Skywalker seems to have dropped the stroppy petulance that frequently made his character a bore in the prequels and behaves much more like a hero here, especially in the amusing banter between him and his padawan, Ahsoka Tano (whose absence from the films sadly means she will probably eventually go the way of the doe-doe in the upcoming Cartoon Network series).

That said, the slight premise does not escape its TV movie origins. The animation is deliberately cartoonish, which might be considered untrendy in the light of Pixar’s insanely detailed visions, but once the viewer gets used to the puppet like characters, it works in a Thunderbirds kind of way. Most of the original actors were unable to return for vocal duties and Frank Oz’s Yoda is particularly missed, but James Arnold Taylor in particular does a good job of impersonating Ewan McGregor (who was himself impersonating Alec Guinness in the first place). Bizarrely, Christopher Lee does return to voice Count Dooku, which is a great if ultimately throwaway selling point.

One thing that is frustrating is the lack of a John Williams score. Kevin Kiner’s music is serviceable, but hardly cinematic, especially when he occasionally produces his own tinny versions of the classic Williams themes. On the other hand, I for one applaud the deliberate decision not to have an opening title crawl, as it sets it apart from the official films. The Pathe news style introduction of what’s going on in the galaxy may be childish, but it’s a good replacement.

In short, children will probably love it, but if you’re over 12, there is little here of interest. However, if you are a Star Wars fan, provided you adjust your expectations, you’ll find it great fun (if inconsequential).

Simon Dillon, August 2008.

Or, to give use its full title, The X: Files: I want to believe I can get the last two hours of my life back. To be fair, it’s not excruciatingly terrible, but it feels like a very average episode of the eponymous TV series, only drawn out to two hours instead of a tight forty-five minutes. It’s a curiously muted affair; slow, flatly directed and incoherent.

I’m not exactly sure why writer/director Chris Carter wanted to resurrect his hit TV series, since that itself went on at least three series too many. By the time it reached its baffling finale, FBI agents Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) had got so swamped in UFO’s, aliens, government conspiracies and other things far too bizarre and confusing to detail here, that even its most devoted fans were hard pressed to explain what was actually happening. Of course, this isn’t the first time The X-Files has hit the big screen. A previous movie was released in 1998, and whilst it was only understandable to those steeped in X-Files lore, I actually quite enjoyed it, if only for a very memorable sequence involving bees.

The good news is that I want to believe is a one-off story, designed to hark back to the earlier series where stand-alone plots were the norm. The bad news is that even as a stand-alone, it’s very confusing. As far as I could decipher, Mulder and Scully are asked to come out of retirement to provide their expertise on a confusing FBI serial killer case, where one of their own has been taken captive. The FBI have been relying on psychic former paedophile Catholic priest Father Joseph Crissman (a completely bonkers Billy Connolly) to uncover their clues, but are not sure if he is a fraud. This leads to an increasingly weird, but not nearly as disturbing as it should be horror tale that throws up questions of faith (more of that in a moment) as well as two-headed dogs. Oh, and there’s a subplot involving Scully trying to save a handicapped boy’s life through experimental stem-cell research that has something to do with the main plot. I can’t remember what exactly, and I don’t care. But then I don’t care about Mulder and Scully either, who are now entirely devoid of the sexual tension they had in the earlier TV series (which evaporated the moment they slept with one another). Occasionally, characters from the series reappear pointlessly (such as Mitch Pileggi’s Walter Skinner), whilst new characters such as the ludicrously glamorous FBI agent Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peet), look embarrassingly out of place.

The only thing this film has in its favour is a potentially interesting spiritual undercurrent exploring whether or not God speaks to us, sometimes through the last person we would expect. Typically in the TV series, Mulder was sceptical about God, whereas Scully had at least a modicum of faith as a result of her Catholic background. Here however, the roles seem to be reversed with Mulder wanting to believe Crissman is getting messages, if not necessarily from God, then from some benevolent higher power. Scully on the other hand seems to be having a crisis of faith not dissimilar to Mel Gibson’s character in Signs. The way this crisis resolves itself is also similar to that film, in that she experiences God speaking to her in a way that anyone else could dismiss as co-incidence, but that she knows is not. Of course, many Christians (including myself) have had similar encounters, so will find themselves nodding in agreement. But only if they can sit through many interminably humourless sequences, not to mention violence, gore and – far more offensively – long stretches of sheer boredom. If you really want a thought provoking sci-fi film about the subtle ways God sometimes speaks to us, watch the infinitely superior Signs.

Therefore, in final analysis, despite the presence of a spiritually interesting subtext, there’s not much to write home about here. It’s admittedly gruesome Frankenstein-esque themes fails to generate the necessary sense of moral outrage, and as a thriller it fails to gather pace or excite the way the TV series occasionally could. In short, The X-Files: I want to believe is for completists only, and frankly I suspect that even they will feel short changed. I still want to believe I can get my two hours back.

Simon Dillon, August 2008.