The Greatest Trick

Satirical website The Onion is currently running a highly amusing article entitled “Star Trek Fans Outraged New Film Is Exciting, Enjoyable”. It includes interviews with Trekkies complaining that there is no stiff acting, no heavy handed messages about tolerance and that the storyline made sense. For those like me who are of the opinion that latterly Star Trek degenerated into self-important politically correct pomposity, this is a blast of fresh air and a very tasty slice of summer blockbuster entertainment.

With Lost creator JJ Abrams at the helm, this isn’t merely another excuse to indulge in the current trend for origin stories (Casino Royale, Batman Begins and so on), but through a nifty piece of storytelling, totally rewrite the Star Trek universe. The film opens with James Kirk being born on a shuttle escaping from a gigantic Romulan starship that has come back through time to change the future. Kirk’s father then heroically saves those escaping, and gets himself killed in the process.

Thus, the entire history of Star Trek is thrown into a parallel universe. In the original, Kirk’s father lived to a ripe old age and saw his son become a starship captain. In this, having established the parallel timeline, Abrams goes on to make other major changes to Star Trek’s established chronology in a plot that is both delightfully satisfying and a bold act of defiance against stuffy fans.

To say too much more about the plot would spoil the fun, but the entire cast are a joy to watch. They all wisely avoid impersonations of the earlier cast, and instead make the characters their own. Chris Pine’s Kirk is a misguided rebellious youth who thinks nothing of taking on four men in a bar room brawl (“Get another two and it’ll be a fair fight” he taunts). Zachary Quinto (Sylar from Heroes) is an excellent young Spock not yet able to fully control his emotions. The film centres on their relationship, and how they go from hating each other to mutual respect with, ultimately, a great friendship ahead of them. In many ways, it’s a buddy pairing equal to Butch and Sundance.

The rest of the cast are all good in their supporting roles. Karl Urban’s grouchy Dr McCoy is slightly sidelined, but nevertheless enjoyable, especially in scenes where he clashes with Spock. This is of course was a vital ingredient in the original series, where Kirk has to navigate the middle ground between emotions (Dr McCoy) and logic (Spock). Elsewhere Zoe Saldana, John Cho and Anton Yelchin are all good as Uhura, Sulu and Chekhov respectively. Simon Pegg’s Scotty turns up late in the day, but provides some big laughs. Winona Ryder and Ben Cross play Spock’s mother and father respectively, and Eric Bana’s Romulan Nero provides a memorable, well motivated villain. Finally, Bruce Greenwood turns up as the original Enterprise Captain Pike (played by the excellent Jeffrey Hunter in the original TV series). Pike becomes a mentor to Kirk and although the timeline has changed, there is a good visual reference at the end to his ultimate fate that neatly ties back in with the original TV series.

Speaking of which, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci’s screenplay does not entirely ignore fans either. There are some very good in-jokes (Sulu’s fencing skills for instance), and after years of dull prime directive obsessed characters who think it best to strike their enemies with a leaflet campaign, its great to see the politically incorrect, skirt-chasing, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Captain Kirk back in charge of the Enterprise. Speaking of political correctness, the film’s one concession to this is where the words “where no man has gone before” is changed to “where no one has gone before”.

On a technical level, Abram’s direction is surprisingly stylish, Michael Giacchino’s music score is appropriately epic and the special effects and sound effects are predictably fabulous. This really needs to be seen on the biggest screen possible and in the best sound systems (especially for the wonderful sonic booms of the Enterprise going to warp speed).

To be fair, there are some nits to be picked. A subplot involving a Ceti Eel (a nasty mind controlling parasite that first appeared in The Wrath of Khan) isn’t properly resolved, a critical meeting between Kirk and a character I won’t name for fear of spoiling the plot is too much of a co-incidence, and there is a romantic subplot between Uhura and Spock which I wasn’t sure was entirely in keeping with his character. That said, these are nits, and in no way spoil the experience.

I note with interest on the BBFC website that one of the reasons Star Trek has been given a 12 certificate is that “both positively and negatively presented characters often resolve conflict situations through violence”. Of all the sanctimonious, moralistic reasons to give a film a 12 rating, this has got to be one of the worst, and proves my point about how 12 has effectively become the new PG, as this film would easily have got a PG twenty years ago. Although it’s clearly not appropriate (or understandable) for small children, ten year olds will love it as much as adults.

In fact, even if you hate Star Trek, its worth giving this one a go. I personally still prefer The Wrath of Khan, but I would imagine almost everyone will disagree. At any rate, I haven’t come out of a Star Trek film thinking it was brilliant since The Voyage Home (the one about saving the whales) in 1987. In a time when filmmakers seem increasingly obsessed with making “dark” blockbuster films, this is colourful, exciting and ultimately about one thing: great fun.

Simon Dillon, May 2009.

Those who enjoy a good conspiracy thriller are in for a treat with State of Play; an intelligent but not too serious thriller that ticks all the necessary boxes for films in this genre. Present and correct are corporate corruption, paranoia and an old-school cynical journalist who discovers, to his horror, that “this-goes-all-the-way-to-the-top”.

The plot is kicked off with an apparently drug related shooting and a suicide in suspicious circumstances. Washington Globe journalist Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) is contacted by his old friend and Congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck), urging him to investigate, and soon links are uncovered between the deaths which lead back to a group of powerful defence contractors.

Crowe is good. In fact, I can’t help but notice he is better in roles where he has longer hair or plenty of stubble. Affleck is less good, though perfectly adequate, and there is terrific support from Helen Mirren as McAffrey’s acid tongued but long suffering editor Cameron Lynne. Elsewhere there are good bit parts for Robin Wright Penn as Collin’s distraught wife Anne and Rachel McAdams as Della Frye, who works alongside McAffrey and helps him uncover the conspiracy. Although he is initially dismissive of her talents (she is a blogger and he doesn’t conceal his disdain for online journalism), McAffrey gradually comes to respect her, and their relationship is refreshingly bereft of romantic complications. Rounding out the supporting cast are Jeff Daniels as a corrupt senator, and rather amusingly Brennan Brown (from the “Don’t let a mobile phone ruin your movie” Orange ads) has a small role which unfortunately made me want to laugh every time he appeared on screen as I expected him to say something silly like “I financed this film so I’ll do as a lizzle”.

Although I haven’t seen the BBC TV series upon which State of Play was based, I understand that it has survived the Hollywood transition surprisingly well. Tony Gilroy (Michael Clayton, Duplicity) had a hand in the screenplay, alongside Billy Ray and Matthew Michael Carnahan. In adapting Paul Abbot’s original, their version is certainly very entertaining. It’s also well directed by Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland, Touching the Void, One Day in September) who keeps things slightly rough around the edges. One or two set pieces really crank up the suspense – especially one in an underground car park (a favourite setting in this genre).

To summarise, whilst this isn’t in the same league as great 70’s conspiracy thrillers like The Parallax View or The Conversation, not to mention fact based journalistic dramas such as All the President’s Men which it is akin to, State of Play is still very enjoyable stuff.

Simon Dillon, April 2009.

Armando Iannucci’s In the Loop is a spin off from the BBC TV series The Thick of It. Essentially Yes Minister with loads of swearing, The Thick of It acquired a cult following as a scathing satire on the New Labour spin culture. In the Loop takes it’s most acerbic character Malcolm Tucker (the excellent Peter Capaldi) and places him in a painfully funny and disturbingly believable tale of political shenanigans and dodgy dossiers as the US pushes for a war in the Middle East and tries to get the UK on its side.

In addition to the brilliant Capaldi, the rest of the cast do well in their various roles, especially Tom Hollander as cowardly politician Simon Foster whose inept mutterings to the press earn Tucker’s wrath (“You sounded like a Nazi Julie Andrews!”). James Gandolfini (from the Sopranos) is also hilarious as a US general opposed to the war, Steve Coogan has an amusing cameo as one of Foster’s disgruntled constituents, and there are good supporting parts for Anna Chlumsky, David Rasche, Chris Addison, Joanna Scanlan and Zach Woods.

Armando Iannucci’s TV and radio back catalogue is an embarrassment of riches which includes Alan Partridge, Brass Eye and the monumentally brilliant The Day Today. In the Loop doesn’t quite attain that level of genius, but its still terrific stuff, with Iannucci himself in the director’s chair. In places it plays like a modern version of Dr Strangelove, but with swearing.

And herein lies my main problem with the film. The relentless, “enough-to-make-a-sailor-blush” profanity is undeniably funny at times, but I am also left with the nagging suspicion that it wasn’t entirely necessary. Yes Minister and Dr Strangelove, as well as Iannucci’s The Day Today, did much the same thing without swearing (or in the case of The Day Today, by bleeping out the worst of it). On the other hand, filthy language is such a defining characteristic of the odious Malcolm Tucker (allegedly based on Alistair Campbell), that perhaps without it his character would be nowhere near as effective.

Swear words aside, this is an absolutely merciless satire; so scathing it will leave New Labour with third degree burns. It’s often screamingly funny, but the laughter leaves a bitter taste in the mouth since it is clearly based on the farce that led the UK into war in Iraq. As a damning indictment of spineless politicians and their advisors, this is fierce stuff and highly recommended.

Simon Dillon, April 2009.

A friend recently asked what I thought about high definition TV. I replied that I thought high definition moving images were great, but they are not a recent discovery. They have been around for over a hundred years and as far as I’m concerned are called cinema. For me, it doesn’t matter whether your home TV set up has a 50 inch HD flat-screen monitor, THX surround sound and other gimmicks – nothing will ever beat seeing a projected image on a cinema screen.

Which brings me to writer/director Asif Kapadia’s Far North; a must-see at the cinema for those who enjoy staggeringly beautiful landscapes that transport you to another time and place. It’s an adaptation of Sara Maitland’s short story about a mother and daughter, Saiva and Anja, dwelling and surviving alone in the unforgiving icy tundra somewhere in the north. One day Saiva comes across a dying man called Loki and against her better judgement nurses him back to health. However, events are complicated when both mother and daughter begin to compete for his affections.

Michelle Yeoh, Michelle Krusiec and Sean Bean all contribute understated but excellent performances, particularly Yeoh, who has the most difficult role as Saiva. The spare screenplay contains very little dialogue but the cast milk every subtle nuance, look and gesture to create a rare and palpable sexual tension that recalls the brilliance of Nic Roeg’s 1971 masterpiece Walkabout.

Roman Osin’s incredible cinematography shows off the stunning Norwegian locations to tremendous effect. Menacing snow covered mountains, the endless tundra and frozen seas generate an astonishing, almost dreamlike sense of loneliness. The perilous landscapes offer few clues as to precisely when this is set, or even who these characters are. I assume they are indigenous East Asian Eskimo hunter-herders perhaps, and soldiers in flashbacks appear to be of Russian origin sometime around World War II, but the film is somehow all the more powerful and intriguing through placing these characters against a not clearly defined background and time. This powerful and intriguing setting enhances the deep sense of isolation and makes the extremely disturbing ending all the more horrific. Dario Marianelli’s quietly effective music score also compliments the hugely atmospheric drama.

Spiritually, this is a fatalistic tale, almost like a Greek tragedy like Oedipus Rex where characters destinies are pre-determined by the gods and cannot be changed. A key element in the story is how Saiva was told at an early age by a tribal shaman that she would bring disaster on all who came into contact with her. The results of this terrible curse, shown through flashback, lead her to choose to live away from other people, with only her daughter for company. However, when she chooses to help Loki his fate is sealed. The tragedy that ensues is both inevitable and (in the case of the shocking finale) a self-fulfilling prophecy. Obviously, this is not what the Bible teaches, especially when it comes to the issue of spiritual curses, which we can be free from in Christ.

To be fair, this is not a film for everyone, for two main reasons. Firstly and most obviously, not all will appreciate the languid pacing, sparse plotting and minimal dialogue. However, those not brainwashed by the need for continual car chases who stick with it will find their patience richly rewarded.

Secondly, there is the question for Christian audiences whether its worldview can be considered noble, lovely and true. Spiritually I’ve already suggested it isn’t but I didn’t think the violence was gratuitous. Although the ending is horrifying it doesn’t dwell too much on blood and gore, and I have always taken issue with Christians who think such events can never be justified in a film when the Bible is full of such tales. I don’t think Judges chapter 19 will be made into a film any time soon, but its more horrific than anything here.

With the above caveats firmly in place, this is a very good and hugely underrated film, destined for cult status.

Simon Dillon, March 2009.

Depending on your point of view, this is either the curious case of a unique and brilliant piece of filmmaking, or the curious case of an overlong, self-indulgent load of meaningless twaddle. Cynics take the latter view, and I’m sorry for them.

To be fair, the film’s conceit – based on the short story by FS Fitzgerald (and possibly Mark Twain’s famous quote wishing he could be born at eighty and gradually approach eighteen) – about a man who ages backwards, takes a large amount of suspension of disbelief, and at times it is stretched to breaking point. However, this melancholy, heartfelt parable is pure cinematic romance, held together by David Fincher’s stunning direction and Brad Pitt’s memorably understated performance in the central role.

Benjamin’s mother dies in childbirth, and horrified at his appearance, his father abandons him on the doorstep of an old people’s home run by the kindly Dorothy Baker, who adopts him. The obvious ironies of a boy who looks like an old man being brought up in an old people’s home are explored in an understated and subtle way, since old people are often treated like children in any case. It’s also highly amusing to see Button, still looking elderly, in his teenage years being berated by his adoptive mother for going out drinking.

Benjamin meets the love of his life, Daisy, when she is a little girl. Much of the film revolves around their romance, as she grows forwards and he grows backwards. Eventually, they “meet in the middle” and enjoy a time together that both know will inevitably end in tragedy. “I was thinking about how nothing lasts,’ Benjamin muses, “and what a shame that is”. Incidentally, the film is bookended, Titanic style, by sequences with Daisy as an old woman as she lies dying in a New Orleans hospital whilst her daughter Caroline reads to her on the day of Hurricane Katrina.

No explanation is given for Benjamin’s curious condition, and this has earned the ire of certain critics who claim the fantastic premise has no internal logic. Again, it’s easy to see their point, but given how hard Eric Roth’s screenplay strives against sentimentality and cliché, it’s easy to forgive. Besides, it’s not entirely fair to say no explanation has been given. In a bizarre dream-like prologue (complete with Fincher’s trademark deliberate film scratches), a clockmaker whose son dies in the First World War makes a railway clock that ticks backwards. As the clock is unveiled, he says he made it because he wanted to make a statement about how he wishes he could turn back time to bring back those who died (cue weird sequences of soldiers in the trenches getting shot in reverse). The clockmaker then dies, supposedly of a broken heart, but it is hinted that Button’s strange existence is somehow linked to the existence of this clock.

Some have suggested this is similar to Forrest Gump, but I found the comparison unhelpful. Yes, both films involve somewhat naïve and unusual protagonists who make a peculiar journey through history, but where Gump involved pop montages aplenty to drive home what decades they were in, Benjamin Button is far more subtle. Besides, Button does not deal with the same historical events as Gump. Although partially set in the 60s and 70s, there is no mention of Kennedy, Vietnam, Nixon or Watergate. Instead, the important moments revolve around entirely different settings, often abroad in places like Russia, or serving on a tug boat during World War II.

As I have already mentioned, Brad Pitt is excellent in the central role, and the superb make-up and special effects used to age him or make him younger compliment rather than dominate the performance. Cate Blanchett, one of my favourite current actresses, is equally excellent as Daisy. There are also fine supporting roles from the likes of Faune A Chambers as Dorothy and Julia Ormond as Caroline.

Despite the potentially depressing subject matter, there are a surprising number of good laughs to be had, particularly a running gag about a man who keeps getting struck by lightning. Claudio Miranda’s cinematography is also beautiful, and there are stunningly romantic images here such as Benjamin and Daisy embracing on a boat with a rocket flying into space in the background. Additionally, Alexandre Desplat contributes an understated but haunting music score.

Clearly time, whether running forwards or backwards, is intended to be the nemesis. But as the characters gradually accept the inevitability of growing old and dying, Christian audiences will realise time itself is not the enemy, but the wages of sin. Whether the filmmakers intended it or not, this is a film about something more profound than time: human mortality. Death is a curse that came into the world through sin, and was never God’s ideal. Through Christ we have eternal life, and, as the Bible says, the last enemy to be destroyed will be Death itself. But despite some positive allusions to God (particularly when a barren woman is prayed for in a church service and subsequently miraculously gets pregnant), the issues of eternal life are barely touched on here. It is good that this film forces its audience to confront mortality, but it doesn’t provide any eternal hope, merely an acceptance of the inevitable.

Of additional concern to Christian audiences is the film’s apparent acceptance of sinful sexual practices. Benjamin’s naïve visit to a brothel and an affair he has with a British woman in Russia (played by Tilda Swinton) are seen as rites of passage and life experience respectively, rather than anything morally dubious.

However, generally the positives outweigh the negatives. Ultimately this is pure whimsy, but it’s also whimsy directed with considerable cinematic flair. The film is overlong, but not boring. From the coloured buttons that form the opening Warner Brothers and Paramount logos, to the enigmatic final shot, this is an admittedly flawed but fascinating, strangely moving piece of filmmaking full of memorable, potentially iconic imagery that is well worth making the effort to see at the cinema on a big screen.

Simon Dillon, February 2009.

Films about journalism and interviewing are sometimes overpraised by critics, who no doubt enjoy the exploration of their own craft. However, in the case of Frost/Nixon, such concerns prove unfounded. Director Ron Howard is back on form after the dismal Da Vinci Code with a Best Picture nominated fact based drama that is absolutely riveting.

Peter Morgan’s screenplay, adapting his own stage play, is based on a series of interviews David Frost conducted with Nixon in 1977 – interviews that resulted in the closest thing Nixon ever gave to an admission of conspiracy and an apology for Watergate. It assumes a certain amount of historical knowledge on the part of the viewer, but it’s nice to see a film that doesn’t talk down to its audience. It also invites comparisons to George Clooney’s Good Night and Good Luck, about the famous CBS interview with Joseph McCarthy on 60 minutes. But unlike Clooney’s monochrome gem, the critical difference is the actual footage of Nixon’s interviews is not used. Good Night and Good Luck gained astonishing power by simply using McCarthy as himself, whereas Nixon is here portrayed by an actor.

Obviously Frost/Nixon therefore required first rate performances to work, and as Frost and Nixon respectively, Michael Sheen and Frank Langella provide them. Langella has the more showy, Oscar-baiting role, lumbering menacingly into the frame and oozing with pride and self-loathing. Sheen on the other hand is equally good, and has unfortunately been overlooked at many awards ceremonies, despite his increasingly dab hand at impersonating famous people (he was an excellent Tony Blair in The Queen and Channel 4’s The Deal). His Frost comes off as, if not exactly the hero, then a likeable, albeit womanising, PR chasing TV personality whose obsession with the spotlight unwittingly places him against a nemesis he is unprepared to face. David and Goliath comparisons are inevitable, and the verbal sparring between the two is, as the film points out, akin to a boxing match. When Frost and Nixon take breaks between tape changes, there are inter-round pep talks with their respective entourages, and the actual interviews themselves contain metaphorical blows, blocks, dodges, sucker punches, dancing around the opponent and ultimately a knockout.

In the supporting cast, Sam Rockwell is terrific as James Reston Jr, who unlike Frost wanted Nixon’s confession for moral rather than PR reasons. Matthew McFadden, Rebecca Hall and Oliver Platt are also all good, and Kevin Bacon deserves a special mention as Nixon’s sycophantic confidant Jack Brennon, who can’t bear to see a British upstart TV personality take on his idol.

Ultimately, Frost/Nixon is one of Ron Howard’s better efforts. He wisely eschews the trappings of period pieces by refusing to resort to disco tracks and silly haircuts. Instead, he uses a faux documentary format in places to add realism, and directs with a spare, unfussy style that underlines what this interview was really about: the power of the close-up. Ironically, on stage this is something that could not be fully explored, but cinema proves the ideal exploration of this device. On a big screen, the close-ups are so large and clear that Nixon’s face reveals what his words don’t.

All in all, a very good film, that could well make a star out of Michael Sheen. As Frost puts it “success in America is unlike success anywhere else”. On the strength of this film, he could well end up with success of precisely that nature.

Simon Dillon, February 2009.

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.

Clint Eastwood has had an unprecedented run of superb films this decade, both in front of the camera, and behind it. This is all the more extraordinary given that very few directors produce such consistently fine work in their autumn years. His latest, Changeling is a remarkable story that would be unbelievable if it weren’t true.

In 1928, young mother Christine Collins (Angelina Jolie) reported to the LA police that her young son Walter had gone missing. A few months later, after an extensive search, the police told her they had found her son, but on meeting him at the railway station, she immediately claimed he was not her son, even though the boy claimed he was. Her suspicions were confirmed when she discovered the boy the police had returned was three inches shorter than Walter. However, the police refused to admit a mistake had been made or that the boy was lying.

To say anymore about the story would spoil it for those unfamiliar with the case, suffice to say Changeling is hugely gripping tale. Eastwood’s assured, deceptively simple directing proves yet again that he is one of the great masters of American cinema. The sense of time and place is impeccable, and Eastwood even opens the film with the original Universal logo from the same time period. His familiar themes of justice and revenge seem as fresh here as they are in any of his best work (Unforgiven for instance), but this is the second time in recent years that he has tackled the emotive issue of child abductions. 2003’s excellent Mystic River provides the ideal companion piece to this film.

As the film progresses, one really senses Eastwood seething with anger at the monumental injustices inflicted both on Christine Collins and the abducted children. Both the massively corrupt police department and the individual responsible for the abductions are never allowed even an iota of sympathy, and in the context of Changeling this is absolutely correct. Incidentally, I doubt Clint Eastwood cares for films that also give the killer’s side of the story like In Cold Blood or Dead Man Walking (I do, by the way).

The real star of the film is Angelina Jolie, who gives an extraordinary performance as a timid woman who, paraphrasing her own words, doesn’t start the fight, but makes sure she finishes it. When not making silly films like Wanted, Jolie has proved a remarkable actress (in last years A Mighty Heart for instance). Here she is so good she warrants an Oscar nomination at the very least.

The supporting cast are all excellent too, particularly John Malkovitch as the Reverend Gustav Briegleb who comes to the defence of Christine. It is particularly gratifying to see such a positive portrayal of a Christian in Gustav, a man who really stands up for the oppressed and directs his crusade against the corrupt LAPD with a stirring righteous anger. Jeffrey Donovan is very good as Captain Jones, who personifies the diabolical corruption in the police. Michael Kelly also provides good support as sympathetic police detective Lester Ybarra – the one good apple in a rotten barrel.

Of course, this is by nature a dark, upsetting film, and occasionally a little right wing for my taste (inevitable with Eastwood at the helm). That said it is also a riveting true story brilliantly directed and ultimately one that promotes justice and hope amid terrible tragedy. For some, this will not be enough to offset the bleakness, especially given the responsibly handled but brutal violence and strong language (all of which is contextually justified in my opinion). However, for me, Changeling is one of the best films of the year and a terrific entry in the recent Clint canon.

Simon Dillon, November 2008.

After their bleak and terrifying Oscar winning masterpiece No Country for Old Men, the Coen Brothers are back in comparatively zany territory with Burn After Reading, a strange and ultimately inconsequential story. Yet being inconsequential seems to be the point and suggests they have carried over the existential pessimism of their last film.

The plot? I hope you’re paying attention. Highly strung CIA analyst Osbourne Cox (John Malkovitch) is told he cannot continue in his job on account of his drinking problem, but is offered a demotion at a lower clearance level. Angrily refusing this, he instead resigns, and tells his stuck-up domineering wife Katie (Tilda Swinton) that he plans to write his memoirs. Katie is secretly having an affair with paranoid Treasury Agent Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney) whom she is trying to bully into leaving his children’s book writer wife (who is in turn also having an affair). Harry is also having another affair with Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), who works in a gym with spectacularly idiotic Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt). Linda is looking for Mr Right, and wants to improve her chances by undergoing several plastic surgery procedures, despite the fact that her boss and unnoticed admirer-from-a-distance Ted (Richard Jenkins), thinks she looks fine the way she is. Anyway, after Osbourne begins to write his memoirs, Katie secretly visits a divorce lawyer who advises her to make a copy of all the documents on their home computer to get a picture of the family finances before beginning divorce proceedings. In doing so, she inadvertently copies Osbourne’s memoirs onto a disk that include classified but not really sensitive information from his CIA days. This disk is then recopied by the divorce lawyer’s secretary who accidentally leaves a copy in the gym where Linda and Chad work. When the two of them find the disk and discover its contents, they call Osbourne to tell him he can collect it, hoping their will be a financial reward (which Linda hopes will be enough to cover the cost of the plastic surgery). However, inept communication leads to a series of misunderstandings over the telephone that ends with Linda blackmailing Osbourne and telling him to pay up if he wants the disk back. When Osbourne refuses to play ball, Linda and Chad inexplicably offer the disk to the Russians at the Russian embassy, apparently under the impression the Cold War is still on. A CIA insider at the Russian embassy reports what is going on to his superior at Langley (a hilarious and underused JK Simmons), who is so utterly baffled that he refuses to intervene. Instead, out of curiosity, he does all he can to cover up what is happening, even when people start getting murdered by mistake.

What makes Burn After Reading funny is the absurd way the plot builds around endless misunderstanding, co-incidence and outright idiocy. The ludicrously overheated plot is deliberately intended to be like an exaggerated version of a Raymond Chandler story, but as with much of the Coen’s output, the best jokes are observational moments on the absurdity of modern life rather than clever genre spoofing. For instance, one particularly delightful moment sees Linda wrestling with those monumentally awful recorded messages that ask the caller to say words aloud to get through to the correct department, making you sound like a complete idiot to anyone in the room who can only hear your side of the conversation.

Performances are all strong, especially from the imbecilic characters portrayed by Pitt and Clooney (who both have a whale of a time). That said, this spectacularly intricate pitch black comedy/tragedy of errors is a comparatively minor work for the Coen Brothers, but it’s still sufficiently dark and twisted to please those who appreciate their particular brand of offbeat, quirky cinema. As I mentioned earlier, this film shares No Country for Old Men’s despair at the futility of human endeavour – a worldview I believe to be spiritually false, not to mention at odds with their earlier output. Burn After Reading may be thematically similar to – say – Fargo, but it lacks that films warm humanity personified in the central figure of Frances McDormand’s pregnant police officer. Here, there are no characters of any redeeming moral ideology (give or take Ted). That combined with a profanity laden screenplay and occasional brutal violence makes it impossible for me to recommend this film from a Christian perspective, but its still one Coen completists will not want to miss.

Simon Dillon, October 2008.

Regular readers of my articles will know that I am not one for patronising children. There are those who believe that dark subject matter like the Holocaust should not trouble young minds, but I could not disagree more. The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, based on the novel by John Boyne (which I must confess I haven’t read), is a remarkable, shocking, and moving story that succeeds brilliantly in teaching about this monumental act of evil to those who have yet to learn of it.

It’s a simple enough tale, about Bruno, the eight year old son an SS commandant, who has to move to the country with his mother and elder sister Gretel when his father is put in charge of “something very important for the war”. Although strictly forbidden to explore the woods beyond his back garden, Bruno ventures forth one day and comes to the electrified barb wire of what he believes is a farm where the workers wear pyjamas. Here he meets Schmuel, a Jewish boy whom he befriends. He begins to visit him regularly, bringing him gifts of food and playing games. But as the horrible truth slowly begins to reveal itself, Bruno finds himself asking some very difficult questions.

It is here that certain flaws in the story become impossible to ignore. For instance, although this film has a measure of historical accuracy, there would have been no way the relationship between Schmuel and Bruno would have been possible, as children taken to death camps were not kept as workers but killed immediately. Other plot contrivances stretch credibility to breaking point, but having said that disbelief is willingly suspended provided the story is viewed as a fable, rather than a historically accurate piece. For the ending alone, this is a story worth suspending disbelief for, but more on that later.

Viewed with adult knowledge, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is excruciatingly painful to watch. The innocent eyes through which Bruno sees the camp, and the way he tries to make absurd rationalisations about the madness around him is agonising. Yet because he is only eight, his age protects him from the anti-Semitic indoctrinations of his father, grandfather, the other soldiers and his tutor. One particularly heartbreaking moment sees Bruno invite Schmuel to one day come and play at his house in Berlin “when everyone has stopped being angry with each other”. Unfortunately, his elder sister Gretel is too old to be innocent. She puts away her dolls and laps up the Nazi propaganda with a truly chilling zeal.

The performances are all excellent, once one gets past the fact that the cast all speak with impeccable British accents. Both boys are particularly brilliant; Asa Butterfield as Bruno, and Jack Scanlon as Schmuel (in his second superb role this year, following his part in Son of Rambow). David Thewlis is frighteningly believable as Bruno’s father and Vera Farmiga is equally believable as Bruno’s mother, whose fragile belief in the Nazi cause falls to pieces as she realises exactly what it is her husband is up to. Amber Beattie’s Gretel provides a harrowing reminder of just how susceptible the young were to Hitler’s propaganda, and incidentally even Bruno suffers in this respect. In one scene he watches a documentary film intended to show that the camp is a nice place where Jews have been relocated. His baffled disbelief when he discovers the horrible truth is truly heartrending.

Technically, the film is well put together, and has a number of nicely subtle touches. For instance, production designer Mark Childs has the family living in a Berlin town house at the beginning, with light brown wooden floors and staircases that are lit beautifully. This is starkly contrasted by the oppressive black stained wood on the floors and stairs of the house in the country – a visually appropriate indication of Bruno’s father’s new work.

Violence is kept strictly offscreen, but the film oozes with menace, and for that director Mark Herman deserves a great deal of credit in handling the subject matter with such sensitivity. I believe no topic should be off limits for children, provided the treatment is appropriate. Ironically, I would argue that this is more likely to upset adults than children, who would no doubt share Bruno’s view of the world to a degree. It is a film that will make a lasting impression on any younger viewers as it will show them at an impressionable age just how absurd racial prejudice and anti-Semitism really is.

Which brings me to the ending – an astonishing finale that manages to be as shocking, powerful and moving as anything in Schindler’s List. I will not spoil it except to say that depending on your temperament it is either horribly bleak or a stunningly powerful affirmation of loyalty, friendship and bravery. Personally, I think its both. I left the cinema shaken, but deeply moved. If you have children over the age of about ten, you should definitely take them to see this. Actually, I would even go so far as to say it is your duty to do so, but be prepared for some long discussions afterwards.

Simon Dillon, September 2008.