The Greatest Trick

Waltz with Bashir was on my to-see list late last year, but it only recently arrived at my local arts cinema, hence the lateness of this review. Anyway, it’s an extraordinarily bold, shocking and visually stunning animated documentary and further evidence that animation is not always for children. Rather amusingly, Ratatouille/The Incredibles director Brad Bird once threatened to punch the next person he met who referred to animation as a genre. It is merely a technique, and one that is employed here to phenomenally innovative effect.

Based on a true story, the film is about writer/director Ariel Forman, who fought in the Israeli/Lebanon war of 1982, but has no memory of it. Throughout the story he attempts to piece together fragments of his repressed memories by interviewing those who fought alongside him, and gradually it becomes clear that he was present at a terrible massacre which so traumatised him that he was unable to remember it.

The extraordinary animation is used to riveting, brilliant effect. Whether depicting a rain swept Tel Aviv, hallucinatory visions and dreams, fierce battles, or the stunning opening where a pack of snarling dogs charge towards the camera, it really is impossible to find a film to compare this to. On a purely visual level alone, Waltz with Bashir is a mesmerising triumph with a level of detail that really needs to be seen on a big screen to be appreciated.

It’s worth making clear that Waltz with Bashir is not a political film. There have been some misguided attempts to nail it down as both pro and anti Israeli when it is neither. This is not an attempt to whitewash the Israeli Defence Force, nor condemn them outright. Critics have said Ariel Forman failed to contextualise the Israeli/Lebanon war by explaining its origins, and as someone sympathetic to Israel who gets continually frustrated with the general level of ignorance about these events, I can understand – to a degree – this point of view. Waltz with Bashir does not detail the years of violent attacks against Christians by the PLO (they had migrated to Lebanon after King Hussein kicked them out of Jordan in the early 70s), nor does it speak of the thousands of Lebanese Christians who were forced to flee as a result of that and Syria’s involvement.

However, with this context or not, such events do not in any way justify the appalling war crimes perpetuated by the Christian Phalangist militia who killed around 800 civilians or more at Palestinian camps. It is right and proper, in my opinion, both to bring these events to light, and (in the case of the IDF) to demonstrate that standing by and allowing such atrocities is a great sin of omission. An interesting historical footnote is that Arik Sharon, who in the film is shown to have had the power to intervene and stop the atrocities, was eventually found personally responsible for not stopping it by an Israeli commission investigating the massacre.

However, as previously stated, this film is not about politics or borders but morality. Yes, it’s about the appalling damage war inflicts on those who fight in them, psychologically as well as physically, but it is even more than that. It is, above all, a profound meditation on personal responsibility and a clear demonstration that regardless of the rights or wrongs of a military cause, murder is always murder. To call oneself Christian, then shoot unarmed women and children and carve bloody crosses on their chests, is about as far from true Christianity as it is possible to get.

This astonishing animated documentary is a genuinely unique piece of cinema that offers no easy answers and really forces its audience to think. There never has been, nor, I suspect, will there ever be a film quite like it. It is therefore a great shame to have to report that in spite of the undeniable technical and artistic brilliance, there is one moment that really ought to give Christians pause as to whether or not they see this. In said sequence, an Israeli commander is watching a pornographic film which although animated and played for laughs, is nevertheless unjustified, gratuitous and leaves nothing to the imagination. There is nudity elsewhere in the film, but in a non-sexual context and unlike the afore-mentioned scene it did not seem gratuitous. Obviously there is also violence, much of it shocking, but in this post Saving Private Ryan era, the level of blood and gore actually seemed comparatively restrained.

In final analysis, on a purely artistic level, this is an absolutely outstanding achievement. However, in light of the scene mentioned above, most if not all Christian audiences really ought to avoid this, or at least exercise extreme caution if viewing. This is a great shame, as it spoils an otherwise extraordinary film.

Although I find wrestling ridiculous, The Wrestler is an unusually good film from maverick director Darren Aronofsky. To say his previous films, such as Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain, divided audiences and critics would be an understatement. However, here he is likely to get much more unanimous praise, not least because The Wrestler contains an extraordinary comeback performance from Mickey Rourke.

Rourke’s work has been wildly inconsistent, and like Randy “the Ram” Robinson, the character he plays in this film, many thought him to be washed up. Up until this point, I considered his best performance to be in Alan Parker’s 1987 Faustian thriller Angel Heart. However, here he seems to have taken a leaf out of Robert De Niro’s Raging Bull school of acting. Considerably beefed up, Rourke immediately conveys middle aged Randy as weary, with laboured breathing and struggling to move his large, steroid pumped body around outside of the ring. It’s an utterly convincing and breathtakingly physical performance that will surely earn an Oscar nomination – if not a win (assuming political correctness doesn’t demand that Sean Penn wins for Milk instead).

Although Randy is broke and living alone in a trailer park with his glory days long past, inside the ring he is still delivering the theatrical goods. However, after suffering a major heart attack, he is forced to retire. He takes a job behind a deli counter in a supermarket, tries to make amends with his estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), and makes a play for stripper friend Cassidy (Marisa Tomei). But it might be too late to change what he is, especially as it is only a matter of time before he is lured back into the ring for one last fight.

This is an admittedly clichéd story, but Robert D Siegel’s screenplay skilfully avoids predictability, and Aronofsky’s gritty direction ensures this looks and feels unique. In addition to Rourke, there are good performances from Marisa Tomei, whose story is contrasted with that of Randy. Like him, she is aware that she is getting older and ought to get out of her job, but unlike him she did not walk out on her family and is determined to support her young son. Evan Rachel Wood is also very good as Stephanie, understandably bitter with her father’s hopeless inability to live up to his promises.

Yet it is Rourke who dominates this film, and rightly so. In addition to the physical stuff, he adds genuine complexity to this tragic, angry, kind, irresponsible, and deeply flawed character. Although he isn’t entirely sympathetic, it’s hard not to pity him as he goes about trying to, as his daughter puts it, fix something that cannot be fixed. There are also surprising moments of humour, such as where Randy and Cassidy lament how Kurt Cobain destroyed proper 80’s rock bands like Guns N Roses, and the excruciatingly mundane routine of serving unreasonable old ladies at the deli counter. Although it could be argued the inevitable emotional showdown is dangerously close to sentimental, Aronofsky knows exactly where to finish and avoids such problems.

From a Christian perspective, I do have some issues with The Wrestler. The main message seems to be that a leopard cannot change its spots and that like it or not, people are what they are. Randy goes about the film trying to change, and whilst I agree it is impossible in our own strength, with God it is possible, and that is something this film chooses to overlook (despite a brief allusion to Randy perhaps having a faith of his own when he crosses himself before going into the ring). In addition, there is a lot of strong swearing, sex, nudity and wrestling “violence”. The swearing seemed contextually justified, albeit unpleasant, and the wrestling fights are amusingly contrasted with the polite, courteous backstage choreography planning meetings between opponents (even a particularly nasty one involving staple guns, glass and barbed wire). However, there is definitely too much nudity, even though one might expect such things in a strip bar, and I doubt the filmmakers intended any of it to be gratuitous.

In short, this is certainly a good film with a career-best performance from Mickey Rourke, but one that would have benefited from a more redemptive plot and more restraint in the strip bar scenes. As such, it gets my recommendation, but with extreme caution.

Simon Dillon, January 2009.

Every so often I see a film that reminds me why I love the cinema. Such films have an indefinable quality that raises them above the level of mere entertainment into something that not only makes you laugh, cry and think, but touches you on a profound, perhaps even spiritual level.

Slumdog Millionaire is such a film. Not only is it the best film Danny Boyle has made, it’s probably the best British film of the decade, and a serious contender for best picture at the Oscars, assuming they don’t vote for political correctness over cinematic brilliance. The first film I’ve seen this year could well end up being the best film I see this year.

Based on the novel Q&A by Vikas Swarup, this is, at heart, a simple love story, set in India and told in flashback. Jamal Malik comes from a slum background, but is one question away from winning the Indian equivalent of hit gameshow Who wants to be a millionaire? However, he is being questioned – and brutally tortured – by police who think he is cheating. The film flashes back and forth from his childhood through to the present, explaining the amusing, exciting and sometimes tragic ways he learnt the answers to the questions he was asked on the gameshow. As he grows up, he falls in love with the beautiful Latika, and it is on account of her that he ends up on the programme, not because he is interested in becoming a millionaire, but because he wants to win her heart.

The cast, some of whom were non-professional children cast in Mumbai, are all excellent. British TV actor Dev Patel plays the present day version of Jamal, but Ayush Mahesh Khedekar and Tanay Chheda are also excellent as younger incarnations of the character. Frieda Pinto, Rubiana Ali and Tanvi Ganesh Lonkar are equally good as Latika, and as Jamal’s elder brother Salim, Madhur Mittal, Ashutosh Lobo Gajiwala, and especially Azharuddin Mohammed Ismail convey the complexity of this darker character very well. In many ways, Salim is the antithesis of Jamal – often selfish, dishonourable and even murderous. Yet he also loves his brother and wants to protect him.

Technically, Slumdog Millionaire is brilliant. Everything from Simon Beaufoy’s superb screenplay to the inspired choices of music, editing and especially the use of locations really convey the look, feel and smell of the Mumbai slums, not to mention the general busyness, colour and beauty of India. But the real star of the film is Danny Boyle, whose stunningly innovative direction lends the film both a dynamic gritty realism and genuine heartfelt warmth. It is ultimately a feel-good movie, but along the way there is considerable pain and misery – not to mention brutal violence – that undercuts any undue sentimentality and makes the admittedly predictable finale all the more emotional. Although Boyle references many previous works – from Bollywood films to Scorsese’s Mean Streets, Frank Capra and especially books by Charles Dickens – it still has that unique Boyle-esque feel that is present in his best work.

This is a moving, funny and ironic fable about love, money and destiny. It also features strong moral and spiritual themes, dealing with loyalty, redemption, truth, honesty, and sacrifice. Although some may find certain sections of Slumdog Millionaire grim and traumatic, as a whole this is a wonderful, life affirming work that comes with my highest recommendation. Please, please go and see it.

Simon Dillon, January 2009.

Terry Gilliam once said of Time Bandits that he wanted a film that was intelligent enough for children and exciting enough for adults. I took my four year old son to see Inkheart, and whilst I found it a little talky and light on action, he was riveted. Now I understand what Gilliam meant. Inkheart is not good as Time Bandits, but it’s a good solid children’s fantasy film; exciting, unpatronising and properly scary. I wouldn’t recommend it for most four year olds (my son has Dillon DNA, so his ability to enjoy the frightening scenes is probably not typical for children his age), but older children and adults will find much to entertain them.

Based on a novel by Cornelia Funke which I’ve not read, Inkheart tells of Mo Folchart and his twelve year old daughter Meggie. Mo lost his wife in mysterious circumstances when Meggie was a baby, and has not told Meggie what happened. They spend their time travelling the world searching old bookshops for a rare book called Inkheart. The eponymous novel holds the key to finding Mo’s wife, and when they happen upon a copy in the first few minutes of the film, it is revealed that Mo is a Silvertongue – someone who can bring characters and events from stories into our world when they read aloud.

In the film at least, the Silvertongue concept is good, but not as well thought out as it could have been. The plot is also a little predictable and as mentioned previously, I would have liked more outrageous action sequences. That said, what action there is works well, including an exciting twister sequence that has been read out of The Wizard of Oz. Iain Softley is quite an underrated director, and he lends the film a modicum of style.

Cast wise, Brendan Fraser is appealing as Mo, though not quite as entertaining as he is in films like The Mummy. Eliza Bennett is better as Meggie, and there are a smattering of enjoyable eccentric supporting roles from the likes of Helen Mirren, Paul Bettany, Jim Broadbent and Andy Serkis.

It all builds to an enjoyable messy finale involving a huge Balrog type monster, where most of the plot threads are clumsily resolved. For all its faults, Inkheart is an entertaining and somewhat underrated film, destined no doubt to find a bigger audience on television.

Simon Dillon, December 2008.