The Greatest Trick

As I left the cinema having watched Coraline, I overheard two children excitedly discussing the film, saying how much they loved it, whilst their parents were having an equally avid discussion about how terrifying it was. If ever there was a film that was unsuitable for parents but suitable for children, this is it. In the same way the Grimm fairytales (Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel et al) make perfect sense to children but horrify adults, Coraline follows a great cinematic tradition of dark children’s films that ruthlessly terrorise their young target audience.

Based on Neil Gaiman’s excellent (and equally terrifying) novel, the plot concerns young Coraline, an imaginative, resourceful girl who moves with her parents to a grim, dingy house where she is lonely and bored. After exploring the house she finds a doorway that leads to a parallel, idealised version of her world with an exact replica of the house and everyone she knows, including her “other mother”. However, there is one critical difference: they all have buttons for eyes. Coraline is slowly seduced by this alternative world where everything seems wonderful, until a talking cat warns her that everything is not as it seems.

The very best children’s stories do not patronise, and there is nothing patronising or unduly sentimental about Coraline. Although there are echoes of Alice in Wonderland and one or two other previous books, it is a starkly original work that can be read on a number of levels. Firstly and most obviously, it is a fable intended to encourage children to appreciate their parents, even if they often ignore them. On a second, more subversive level, it can be seen as a gentle satire of the idealised, 1950’s style gender roles fulfilled by Coraline’s parents in the parallel world. In the real world, Coraline’s parents both work and her father does the cooking, which is always disgusting. In the parallel world, Coraline’s father works hard whilst her mother stays at home cooking delicious food. It is interesting that this fantasy world is used to seduce Coraline, who clearly longs for a mother who is there for her. Yet this world is ultimately shown to be dangerous and evil. It is almost as though the filmmakers are sending a message to children that to want a mother at home in a post feminist society where most of the time both parents work out of financial necessity is as unrealistic and fantastic as the bizarre parallel world Coraline discovers.

Regardless of how one feels about such a message, it cannot be denied that Coraline is a work of visionary genius. The vocal talents, including Dakota Fanning, Teri Hatcher, Jennifer Saunders, Dawn French and Ian McShane, all contribute excellent performances. Director Henry Selick (who made The Nightmare Before Christmas) uses stop motion techniques to brilliant effect, and generates an extraordinary level of detail that can only be appreciated in the cinema (where it can also be seen in 3D). The screenplay expands upon Gaiman’s original in a number of interesting ways that are too good to spoil in this review, and there is a dazzling array of frightening, hilarious and often surreal moments (especially a running gag involving dogs). But it isn’t just outstanding in the big set pieces. It’s equally good in the smaller, quieter moments. For instance in one poignant scene late in the film where Coraline has escaped back to the real world to find her parents have been kidnapped by the “other mother”, a frightened, upset Coraline makes bizarre mannequins of her parents and goes to sleep between them – a simple and heartbreaking image that at the same time makes no concessions to sentimentality.

I do have one small caveat on the spiritual side of things. There is a scene where Coraline has tea leaves read, but the scene is brief and it is apparent that the character reading the leaves is perhaps a fraud. It is almost akin to the fortune reading scene in The Wizard of Oz (where the man is a fraud), although the image of the spidery hand that the tea leaves form along with the predictable pronouncement that she is in great danger does neatly foreshadow something in the finale.

To summarise, this is essentially a superb horror film for kids, and as such comes with my highest recommendation for all but very young children. Brave parents who can overcome their nervousness may wish to go too, although they might need to hide their eyes at times.

Simon Dillon, May 2009.

The first thing to note about Let the Right One In is that it is the finest horror film this decade. By horror film, I don’t mean it is akin to mindlessly gruesome, offensive and frankly unscary movies like Saw or Hostel. True horror films are frightening because they create believable and/or likeable characters caught up in terrifying situations that ruthlessly, sadistically and cathartically examine our deepest fears, not because blood and gore is frightening in itself. Let the Right One In doesn’t skimp on gore, but it employs such images sparsely and selectively, complimenting rather than dominating the story.

At its heart, this is really an ultra dark fairy tale about the dangers of isolation and loneliness. Twelve year old Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is desperate to be loved by his separated parents but neither has the time for him. He spends his time staring out across the snow-covered tenement buildings where he lives indulging in revenge fantasies against school bullies. However, his life changes forever when he meets twelve year old Eli (Lina Leandersson), a girl who moves in next door that turns out to be a vampire. Oskar falls in love with her. In the meantime, the man Eli calls father, Hakan (Per Ragnar), goes out to kill for her, but a combination of exhaustion, ineptitude and bad conscience at years of murder causes him to be end up hospitalised, which forces Eli to fend for herself. At this point, a group of malcontent middle aged people from the tenement buildings are drawn into the plot when one of them, Jocke (Mikhael Rahm), is killed by Eli. Jocke’s best friend Lacke (Ika Nord) then becomes determined to track her down.

Recently, the vampire movie has become moribund, degenerating into mindless action (the Blade films), spoof (Lesbian Vampire Killers), and worst of all, bland teenage romance (Twilight, or as I prefer to call it Twiglet, with its ridiculous “vegetarian” vampires). However, this film injects some much needed fresh blood into the genre in a number of ways.

First, the story takes place in the early 80s amid miserable high-rise tenement buildings that feel like the Swedish equivalent of a Mike Leigh or Ken Loach setting. Mixing mythology with realism proved hugely successful in Pan’s Labyrinth (fairy tale with war) and here the results are similar. The characters in the film, whether vampire or human, go about leading quietly desperate, depressing lives, in fear of Soviet incursions into Swedish waters (as overheard on the television). One is occasionally reminded not only of previous “serious” vampire films like Nosferatu and Martin but also Ingmar Bergman’s work, especially The Silence.

Second, Let the Right One In eschews much of the silliness that has sprung up around vampire mythology. There are no stakes or garlic, nor even a church to hide in, but instead the film is built around the idea not only of what happens when you knowingly invite a vampire into your house, but the consequences of what happens if you don’t and they choose to come in anyway. Yet in spite of this and the immortality issue (which is amusingly alluded to when Eli shows Oskar a priceless Faberge egg), the vampires are stripped of much of their supernatural baggage and instead are presented as amoral creatures. Like any other predator they simply need to feed.

Third, John Ajvide Lindqvist’s screenplay (adapting his own novel), and Tomas Alfredson’s brilliant direction avoids cheap, obvious tricks. There are no jump-out-of- the-skin shocks, no he’s-behind-you moments and no flashy whiplash MTV type editing to try and generate false tension. Instead, the film is a slow burn of escalating dread, with nightmarish menace oozing from every shot, even simple ones like exteriors of buildings in the darkness. Like The Wicker Man, it is also highly disturbing in retrospect. The more one thinks about it afterwards, the more horrifying one realises it is. The ending in particular, which can be read a number of ways, is bleak however it is interpreted for reasons that aren’t initially obvious. In fact, it is probably destined to be the most widely debated ending since Blade Runner. Even Lindqvist and Alfredson differ as to how it should be interpreted (the novel ends more unambiguously, but that ending is still one of the possible readings of the film). On top of this there is an already controversial blink-and-you-miss-it shot akin to the unicorn dream sequence in Blade Runner that casts the character of Eli in a whole new light, and opens up unsettling questions about her past.

Such ambiguity will no doubt be absent from the inevitable, recently announced Hollywood remake for those who can’t be bothered to read subtitles. However, in the meantime, this macabre yet beautiful, slow but gripping instant masterpiece is a must-see for anyone with a serious love of cinema. The brilliant performances, direction and screenplay are complimented by excellence on every technical level; including cinematography, editing, music and sound (always critical in a horror film).

Spiritually, the nihilistic worldview is obviously something Christians will be at odds with, since God is entirely absent from proceedings. Additionally, it is undeniably disturbing (yet also genius on the part of the filmmakers) the way the audience is manipulated into being sympathetic to Oskar and Eli even when they are involved in murder. Logically, viewer sympathy ought to be with Lacke on account of everything he has suffered, but therein perhaps lies a deeper, albeit not immediately obvious message that can be learnt from the ultimate fates of both Lacke and (if you think about it) Oskar: isolation feeds the desire for revenge, and revenge is a really, really bad idea.

Simon Dillon, April 2009.

When reviewing Clint Eastwood films, it’s getting harder and harder to manfully resist the “gets-better-with-age-like-a-good whisky” cliché. Yet here more than ever such a cliché seems appropriate. If Gran Torino turns out to be the last starring role for Clint, his brilliant portrayal of Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski is certainly a great way to end an extraordinary acting career. His subtle and layered performance really captures the grouchy nuances of this complex character, and although it’s initially tempting to picture him as Dirty Harry in retirement, Walt Kowalski proves to be something altogether different and unexpected.

Opening at his saintly wife’s funeral, Walt quietly fumes as he watches his spoilt grandchildren texting in the service. His estranged sons provide no comfort for him, especially as they want to put him into a retirement home. Walt himself is unwell, and spends most of his time performing DIY tasks, drinking beer, talking to his dog Daisy, and moaning about how his sons don’t buy American products.

The funeral wake is contrasted with a baby party his Oriental neighbours are engaged in at the same time, suggesting something new is about to be emerge from the ashes of Walt’s own life. Because of his experiences in Korea, Walt sees all Oriental people as essentially the same, and he is equally xenophobic about other races living in his neighbourhood. However when Thao – a troubled teenage boy from next door – attempts to steal Walt’s most prized possession, a mint condition 1972 Gran Torino car, events take an unusual turn. Thao’s family are mortified at his attempted theft, and insist he help Walt around the house to make up for it. Walt reluctantly accepts, but when it transpires that Thao’s efforts to steal the Gran Torino were part of an initiation to join a dangerous neighbourhood gang, Walt decides to take the boy under his wing. He becomes an extremely unlikely mentor, inspiring him mainly by insulting him. Soon he has Thao getting a job at a construction site and going on a date with a girl he was previously painfully shy in front of. At the same time, Walt also saves Thao’s bright sister Sue from being accosted by a gang, and the two form an unlikely friendship. She invites him into their house and he slowly becomes a family friend.

Prior to her death, Walt’s late wife persuaded young Catholic priest Father Janovich to look after her husband and to get him to confess his sins. At first, Walt is having none of it, and gives the persistent young priest a very hard time. However, as events in the story progress, Walt’s actions become increasingly redemptive. Whilst he still refers to his neighbours with all manner of racial slurs, right to their faces, it becomes clear that he has more in common with their honourable ways than that of his own spoilt family. A grudging mutual respect develops, and it soon Walt wants to do something to ensure that Sue and Thao’s lives are no longer plagued by the gangs in the neighbourhood.

Behind the camera, Clint Eastwood’s spare, stripped-back and deceptively simple directing style once again proves he is second to none at allowing his story and characters to breathe. Dave Johannson and Nick Schenk’s screenplay does not rush things, but moves slowly yet compellingly. In addition, it’s also very funny, and contains several laugh-out-loud moments often as a result of Walt’s grumpy old man persona. Lines like “Get off my lawn” will almost certainly become as memorable as “Do you feel lucky punk?” and other classic Clint one-liners.

On a moral and spiritual level this is absolutely tremendous stuff. For a start, Walt’s mentoring of Thao is an unashamedly old school – if unorthodox – study of discipleship. Whilst Walt has issues of bitterness and lacks tact, his tell-it-like-it-is attitude actually does Thao great favours. Gran Torino is also a fearless exploration of racism and ageism, unfettered by political correctness. But it is even more than that. It is, above all, a profound parable of sacrifice and redemption, the details of which I will not go into as I do not wish to spoil the film.

As an aside, how Oscar voters ignored the brilliant one/two punch of Changeling and Gran Torino is a mystery to me. Both are far better than certain other films that were nominated (The Reader for instance) and one of them at least should have had its place in the nominations. Perhaps the presence of two great Clint pictures split the vote, but I take the rather more cynical view that when it comes to Clint Eastwood liberal Hollywood is happier to recognise the brilliant but spiritually abhorrent Million Dollar Baby, rather than the brilliant and spiritually redemptive Gran Torino.

It’s only fair to point out that the film contains a great deal of bad language. However, it didn’t strike me as gratuitous and given the outstanding moral and spiritual content contained herein those who can stomach it will find a great deal to praise. Although the supporting cast are very good – particularly Bee Vang as Thao, Ahney Her as Sue and Christopher Carley as Father Janovich – it is Clint Eastwood who rightly dominates the film, giving what could well be his finest single performance to date. For this reason alone, Gran Torino feels like the culmination of an American legend’s life’s work and is therefore a must-see.

Simon Dillon, March 2009.

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.

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.

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.

Reviewing Pixar films is getting increasingly predictable. Every feature they make seems to stretch their creative, storytelling and technical abilities to breaking point, yet they always manage to pull it off. So when I say Wall-E is their most technically accomplished and probably most brilliant film to date, it sounds completely redundant. But even by Pixar’s ludicrously high standards director Andrew Stanton (who made Finding Nemo) has crafted an instant masterpiece that stands tall and proud among the very greatest of family films.

In the year 2110, mankind abandoned the Earth because it was covered with rubbish and uninhabitable. Left behind were several thousand robots, Wall-E units, assigned to clear up. 700 years later, they have all long since broken down except one who has developed something of an eccentric personality. He has a little home filled with curious objects he has discovered (light bulbs, whisks, and so forth), and a penchant for the not exactly classic Barbra Streisand musical Hello Dolly, which he watches endlessly on an old VHS tape. His only companion is a cockroach who he has trained as a pet. But Wall-E is desperately lonely.

His mundane garbage clearing routine is suddenly disrupted by the arrival of Eve, a sleek female robot who has been sent to Earth by surviving humans to see whether plant life is growing there again. In the process she meets Wall-E and although at first she tries to blast him into atoms, the two eventually make friends and begin to fall in love.

I know the plot sounds preposterous, but Pixar have made a career out of taking inanimate objects such as toys and cars, bringing them to life and investing them with a depth of humanity often greater than those of actual human performances! Wall-E has this in spades, and the developing relationship between him and Eve is so full of humour, warmth, melancholy and excitement that suspension of disbelief is effortlessly achieved.

The first half of Wall-E has been hailed as an audacious experiment in that it contains no dialogue. The plot is told visually through bleeped robotic responses and movements (especially in the eyes) that convey the necessary emotions, but then cinema is a visual medium and this ought to be the ideal. As screenwriting guru Robert McKee says, “Image is the first choice. Dialogue is the regrettable second choice”. Before Wall-E was released, some were initially unsure children would go for such a return to what is essentially silent cinema, but I recall as a child massively enjoying silent classics such as Buster Keaton’s The General and Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush. Besides, there are hugely effective dialogue free sequences in many classic family films (the brilliant opening of ET for instance). In addition, the convention of many cartoons (such as Tom and Jerry) is to have as little dialogue as possible, and therefore I am sure children should be more than ready for the not-as-audacious-as-it-sounds, first half.

In the second half, Eve is taken by a spacecraft and Wall-E tries to rescue her. This leads to an amazing journey through space to the gigantic starship Axiom, where the surviving humans reside. To say anymore at this stage would spoil the fun suffice to say the plot unfolds simply and beautifully.

Here I must insert the obligatory paragraph about Pixar’s magnificent visuals, and there are images here that will stay with you for the rest of your life. The bleak, dystopian visions of an abandoned, rubbish-covered Earth are vast, epic, and astonishingly lonely. The level of detail in the rusted buildings, deserted roads, dust storms and smog once again fuels my suspicions that those who work for Pixar have some kind of artistic obsessive compulsive disorder that drives them to improve on perfection. In the second half of the film, the look changes with a journey through space so achingly beautiful it almost brings a tear to the eye. Once aboard the Axiom, the polished sheen of the spacecraft interiors are so phenomenally detailed that I am forced to conclude that if Michelangelo was alive today, he’d be working for Pixar. Such artistic craftsmanship simply has to be seen on a big screen to be properly appreciated.

Wall-E is also an extraordinary auditory experience. Much of the credit must go to Ben Burtt, the man behind some of the greatest sound effects in cinema history (R2 D2, lightsabres, Jurassic Park dinosaurs, etc). It is appropriate that here Burtt uses samples of his own voice amid his orchestra of bleeps, whistles and other sounds that bring the character of Wall-E to life.

Even though Wall-E owes and acknowledges a debt to science fiction classics such as Silent Running and 2001: A Space Odyssey (there’s even a HAL-like villain), at heart it’s more akin to optimistic modern fantasy tales like Star Wars or ET. Yet it still seems miraculously fresh and original – a potential science fiction classic in its own right, and one that leaves the viewer on a dizzying high.

What raises this above the level of merely an absolutely first-rate entertainment is the timely but non-preachy warning about the dangers of greed and environmental mismanagement. It is also an interesting examination of what could happen to the human race should it ever become overly dependant on automation. Sequences where the now obese, brainwashed humans aboard the Axiom rediscover one another, (as opposed to images of one another on video screens) and learn about things they have long since forgotten centuries ago (such as agriculture) as a result of Wall-E’s antics underscore this point. In addition, Wall-E is a surprisingly profound study of loneliness and longing, and even has a Biblical worldview (without mentioning Jesus or God) in that it depicts its central character as being someone who is prepared to heroically lay down his life for his friends.

One lovely, lovely sequence where Wall-E and Eve dance through space using a fire extinguisher to propel them, will go down in cinema history as one of the greatest visualisations of pure joy ever seen on the big screen (and please, I beg you, see it on a big screen). For this scene alone, I suspect that in years to come, Wall-E will join the elite ranks alongside The Wizard of Oz, The Railway Children, The Jungle Book, Mary Poppins and ET as one of the greatest family films ever made.

Simon Dillon, July 2008.

Nominated for best animated film at last years Oscars, French/Iranian Persepolis has been dubbed into English for its UK release. Ordinarily dubbing is something I detest, but since all animation is dubbed anyway, here it works well. At any rate, Persepolis is such a unique and vivid experience that any concerns one might have had at hearing the likes of Sean Penn or Catherine Deneuve impersonating Middle Eastern accents quickly evaporate (the whole cast do fine, incidentally).

The fascinating and poignant true story of Marjane Satrapi is told with stark simplicity by directors Vincent Paronnaud and Satrapi herself. It begins in 1970’s Iran, just before the fall of the Shah. “Marji” is a ten year old girl who idealistically dreams of revolution, and longs to be renowned as a prophet. But as she grows up, she witnesses first hand the worse tyranny of the Islamic fundamentalists who take over after the revolution. Eventually her parents send her to Europe in search of a better life, but Marji finds life there equally difficult as she encounters abrasive characters and men who break her heart. However, when she finally returns to Iran, she finds her homeland has changed beyond all recognition, and is unable to decide where she truly belongs.

Rendered almost entirely in bleak monochrome, Persepolis is yet more compelling evidence that animation is not solely for children. There are images here that will stay with the viewer forever – from the riot police in gas masks attempting to suppress revolutionary crowds to the snakelike burka clad religious fanatics who chastise Marji for wearing punk rock garb. Most memorable of all are the nightmarish war sequences that somehow manage to convey the horrors of the Iran/Iraq conflict more chillingly than any contemporary film I can think of, despite their brevity and lack of blood and gore. The alternative scene in Europe during the 1980s is also effectively depicted, particularly the foolish, self-appointed revolutionaries who actually do nothing but talk pretentious nonsense. More amusingly, when Marji goes through puberty, there is a very funny sequence which perfectly sums up how awkward this can be.

The undeniably dark events depicted throughout are seasoned by Marji’s perpetual good humour and immense likeability. Although she has a strong sense of right and wrong, she also has a cruel streak. One incident of childhood bullying, and another incident in later life where she maliciously gets an innocent man in trouble with the religious authorities, adds believability to her confused state of mind. She is far from perfect, but the “warts-and-all” approach makes her a genuinely fascinating character.

The relationship between Marji and her grandmother is central to the film, and as such provides some positive moral content. For example, Marji is told that bitterness and revenge is the worst possible path for a human to take. There is also valid political anger seething beneath the surface of the story – for example, in its depiction of the senseless Iran/Iraq war, and specifically a scathing condemnation of the West’s decision to supply arms to both sides. Best of all, the film unambiguously denounces religious legalism and oppression in the best possible way – through humour. One sequence where Marji purchases heavy metal music from furtive men who behave like drug dealers is absolutely hilarious.

Unfortunately, God, who appears to Marji in dreams, is depicted as a powerless irrelevancy that stands by unable to intervene in human affairs. As a result, humanistic thinking often is seen as the common sense answer to Marji’s problems. For example, when she is depressed at her failing marriage, her grandmother says not to worry because her first marriage is just practise for the second which will be much better.

Make no mistake, this is a remarkable film; an extraordinary work of art that pushes the boundaries of animation. It is essential viewing for anyone with a serious interest in cinema, and given the humour, drama and sadness contained herein, it is difficult to imagine any sensible person coming away unaffected. However, it is also a shame that Persepolis advocates secular humanism as a default answer to the world’s religious and political problems, and as such, from a spiritual perspective I must add that caveat of caution.

Simon Dillon, May 2008.

Writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, the Oscar nominated There will be blood, is his best yet. Based on Upton Sinclair’s novel Oil!, it is not only an extraordinary study of greed, power and revenge but can also be read as political allegory and/or cautionary spiritual parable. It is a rare film that truly stretches the boundaries of cinema and will no doubt benefit from multiple viewings.

In fact, after watching this, I am really not sure what deserves the Best Picture Oscar more; this or No Country for Old Men. There hasn’t been such an agonising choice for Best Picture winner since Chinatown was nominated against The Godfather Part II in 1974. I was initially disappointed that criminally underrated western The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford was not nominated for Best Picture, but in some ways I’m now glad, since having that in the mix would make the decision of Academy voters even more excruciating. To have three such outstanding films would be an embarrassment of riches.

At any rate, one Oscar this will certainly win is the Best Actor award. Daniel Day Lewis’ portrayal of oil prospector Daniel Plainview is an absolute triumph, even by his impossibly high standards. He acts his socks off, making Plainview a truly unforgettable character; at once monstrously greedy with a lust for success at the expense of all others, yet strangely charming in spite of the darkness lurking in his soul. He practically eats up the screen, chewing the scenery to within an inch of its life. His brooding, restless presence and ability to place all things, even family, as secondary to his lust for wealth keeps the audience constantly on the edge of its seat and unable to tear its eyes from the screen.

In an extraordinary, virtually wordless opening prologue, Plainview is first seen down a mine shaft digging for silver nuggets. Whilst attempting to extract his find, a beam comes loose from the makeshift ladder, and he falls, breaking his leg. He then painstakingly crawls out of the shaft and drags himself along the desert ground to the real estate dealer in order to make his money. Next, he is seen attempting to drill for oil, this time with a few employees. The dark, dirty and dangerous process of prospecting at the turn of the 20th century is shown in all its grim detail, and an accident leaves Plainview in possession of a baby, whom he adopts as his own for reasons that are revealed late in the film.

When the oil begins to flow, Plainview raises his stained hand to heaven in an almost religious way, as though he were worshipping the oil. He then marks the forehead of his adopted son with the same oil, again almost like a religious ceremony. It is suggested, mainly through Jonny Greenwood’s eerie, avant-garde music score, that this action actually constitutes Plainview putting some kind of curse on the baby, and neatly foreshadows later oil related events. A few years later, the main story begins, as Plainview purchases lands for his latest oil drilling operation, from which he wishes to build a pipeline to the sea. But he comes into conflict with the young, fiery local preacher Eli Sunday (Paul Dano), who tries through blackmail and other means to ensure his church benefits financially from the drilling. It is the clash between these two formidable figures that forms the bulk of the film.

To say anymore about the plot would be unfair, not just because it’s an excellent story but because this is a true work of cinematic art that needs to be experienced, not read about. As a director, Paul Thomas Anderson is operating at almost Kubrick levels of genius. Some critics have suggested the prologue was unnecessary, but in my opinion it was vital, not only for the foreshadowing of later events, but also to simply set the dark, weirdly unsettling tone which resonates throughout the entire film. This is a picture that absolutely has to be seen on the big screen, not so much for the epic vistas (though there are plenty), but for its overall atmosphere. The phenomenal use of sound, music and Robert Elswit’s staggering cinematography, which makes brilliant and contrasting use of light and darkness, beautifully compliment Anderson’s extraordinary vision.

Although this film belongs to Daniel Day Lewis, there are a smattering of other extremely good performances including Ciaran Hinds (as Daniel’s colleague Fletcher Hamilton), Dillon Freasier, Russell Harvard (as the younger and older incarnations of Daniel’s son HW), and of course Paul Dano.

Regarding Paul Dano’s character Eli, ordinarily such an appalling portrayal of Christianity would have greatly irritated me. However, there are three main reasons I do not have a problem in this case. First, Hollywood’s unfortunate stereotyping of Christians in a bad way has greatly improved in recent years, so There will be blood can be viewed more as an isolated film rather than part of an overall trend. Second, Eli is clearly a charlatan who enjoys the power he holds over his congregations. Not only that, but his veiled greed is arguably worse than Plainview’s, since Plainview is a straight talking businessman who wears his greed on his sleeve. Although Plainview is appalling in his treatment of Eli and his deeds are darker, any sympathy the audience might have is eroded by Eli’s hypocrisy, manipulations and desire to consolidate his own power.

Thirdly, and most importantly, the characters of Eli and Plainview are symbolic of religion and big business, and the part they have played in shaping modern America. As such Eli’s character can be read as a critique of what happens when the church gets its fingers sticky, and one only has to look at certain brands of American televangelism to see how the gospel has been transformed into a business. Alternatively, the relationship between Plainview and Eli can be taken allegorically to symbolise recent international dealings between capitalist America and the religious Middle East, where oil interests are fought over. The film’s title, There will be blood, perhaps refers not only to literal blood, but oil itself, over which blood always seems to be spilt.

However, it can also be argued that this is not a political film, just a thumping good tragic parable about greed and how it corrupts the human soul. There are several very good cautionary tales of this nature dotted throughout cinema history, but what makes this unique is the combination of Paul Thomas Anderson’s inspired direction and Day Lewis phenomenal performance. The utter relentlessness of Plainview’s character in his obsessive desire for more, more, and still more, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else ultimately invokes pity. As a human being he is consumed with a tragic monomania that the audience senses from the very beginning will lead to his own destruction. To be fair, the controversially violent ending may initially leave some viewers scratching their heads, but after reflection, I believe it is an absolutely perfect finale to a modern masterpiece destined to be as revered as Citizen Kane by future critics.

Oh, and one line from the film, where Day Lewis bellows the word “Drainage” will eventually be one of the most quoted in cinema history. You’ll understand why once you’ve seen it.

Simon Dillon, February 2008.

I am a huge fan of Joel and Ethan Coen. With the unfortunate exception of their misjudged Ladykillers remake, every film they have made to date is a masterpiece. Their latest, No Country for Old Men, is so good that some critics have suggested it might finally win them a Best Picture Oscar, but frankly I have my doubts, given the Academy’s usual prejudice against genre fiction in the top prizes.

Based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy, the plot concerns a hunter Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) who stumbles across the bloody aftermath of a drug deal that went wrong. Deciding to take the money and run, he later has an attack of conscience that causes him to return to the crime scene. This triggers a deadly pursuit between himself and psychopathic killer Anton Chigurh (a truly terrifying Javier Bardem), and eventually escalates into further tragedy that draws in local sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) and Llewelyn’s wife Carla Jean (Kelly Macdonald).

The performances are uniformly superb. Josh Brolin is excellent as a determined man whose greed gets the better of him. Tommy Lee Jones provides the necessary humanity as he despairs at the apparently motiveless violence around him. Kelly Macdonald yet again proves that she deserves to be a major star (which I have thought ever since her superb debut in Trainspotting), and there are a number of memorable supporting roles and cameos, including one by Woody Harrelson.

But the film really belongs to Javier Bardem whose bone-chilling performance will unquestionably go down as one of cinema’s most memorably frightening killers. Everything from his unnerving presence to the way he never once raises his voice oozes menace, and every word he says puts the audience on the edge of its seat. He seems like a human terminator; above bribery, unable to be reasoned with and completely insane. But he is really more a symbol of the restless and seemingly random evil at loose in the world. This idea that bad events happen purely by chance is underscored by scenes where he tosses a coin and asks his would-be victims to call it, determining whether they live or die.

In No Country for Old Men, the Coen’s get back to basics, recalling their early classic Blood Simple. I’ve not read the book, but the brilliant, spare screenplay should almost certainly win the adaptation Oscar (the Academy are a bit less prejudiced when giving out writing awards). The stark, vivid landscapes are brilliantly photographed by cinematographer Roger Deakins, and Carter Burwell contributes an appropriately subdued music score.

Some of the Coen’s previous pictures (such as The Hudsucker Proxy and O Brother where art thou?) are quasi-Faustian allegories that contain characters symbolizing both God and Satan, and their struggle for the souls of men. However, in No Country for Old Men, they seem to buy into McCarthy’s despair at the apparent random cruelty of life, and his “stop-the-world-I-want-to-get-off” philosophy. The message in this film is that there is no God or justice, only a relentless and apparently motiveless evil taking the world to hell in a hand basket. The unconventionally abrupt ending (which I am informed the film shares with the book), underscores this belief, and is deliberately unsatisfying, which of course is the entire point and therefore dramatically correct. Are the Coens going through a mid-life crisis or have they genuinely lost their belief in human goodness and/or God?

Whatever soul-searching the Coen Brothers may or may not be doing, No Country for Old Men is an unremittingly bleak, nihilistic experience, tempered by a rich vein of dark humour. From a Christian point of view, it may be spiritually false, but it is also undeniably a superbly acted and utterly arresting piece of cinema, inevitably destined for masterpiece status. If you can take the bloody violence and are prepared for a very dark view of human existence, this couldn’t be more highly recommended.

Simon Dillon, January 2008.