The Greatest Trick

Hey look, I’m writing a review! Of a film! On my own film review site! (Just in case it totally dies on me, the letter ‘G’ on my keyboard is behaving very erratically, so there might be some impromptu spelling mistakes that I fail to correct. I apologise in advance)

Miles (Paul Giamatti) and Jack (Thomas Haden Church) are middle-aged, washed up wine fanatics on a trip through California’s wine region, in the week leading up to Jack’s wedding. Miles, the divorced, introspective, failing-writer-turned-teacher, just wants to taste some good wine, play some golf and enjoy the week with his friend. Jack, the bit-part actor whose best years are behind him, is determined to have some fun (read: sex) before tying the knot - and embarks on some very ill-advised romantic entanglements that his friend has to then extricate him from. The film follows them through their week, as they spend time together and apart, and evokes charm, disbelief, humour and irritation at these characters in more or less equal measure.

Giamatti and Church do an excellent job, though it really is Giamatti’s film - thankfully, as he is the more sympathetic character to follow! In fact, it’s very difficult for me to comment on anything apart from the actual characters and their story - I don’t remember the technical / directorial aspects of the film so much, as I was caught up with being annoyed with both of them! I suppose that means the director (Alexander Payne, who also wrote the screenplay) did a good job of keeping me in the story.

And here I will digress and present the reader with a spiritual quandary that I found myself in at the end of the movie; I experienced the same thing while watching Last King of Scotland, just a few nights earlier, so maybe God’s on my case… Anyway - and here I will allude heavily to the endings of both films, so look away if you don’t want them spoiled - they both presented the viewer with characters who mess up in a major way, show little to no remorse for their dumb and dangerous actions, and yet the story offers them redemption, and they take it. In LKoS, Nick Garrigan (James McAvoy), who has most definitely sinned against Idi Amin (I’ll leave the details of that out for now), is rescued from his horrific torture by a fellow doctor who dies to give him time to leave the country; in Sideways Jack’s pre-marital infidelities are flagrant and ridiculous, and get him beaten up and forced into the first act of deception in his new marriage before it’s even started. Neither of these characters show any true remorse for what they have done, but are given a way out of their mess through the sacrifices offered to them by others. Now it’s totally clear when put that way, that they could stand in for the sinner before accepting Christ - he gave himself before we had any idea of our need for salvation. And yet, something in me is annoyed and unhappy about the fact that they are redeemed (not just offered redemption) when no repentance has taken place - and sadly there is nothing in the films that tells us that from this point on they are going to be changed characters. Is this harsh on my part? Am I being legalistic and pharisaical in my lack of grace for these characters? Or is fair and true to Christian belief to expect a change in behaviour / attitude before someone is fully saved?

Comments welcome (I think!)…

As someone who has absolutely no interest in football whatsoever, I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed The Damned United; the true (or true-ish) story of legendary football manager Brian Clough. It’s not really about football per se, but more a character study that doesn’t ignore Clough’s obsessive personality yet still generates sympathy for him in his long standing feud against Don Revie, the manager of Leeds.

Football matches are wisely kept offscreen most of the time, with director Tom Hooper instead opting to show Clough nervously awaiting the outcome. The 1970s atmosphere is richly conveyed through clichéd but effective means (sideburns, parker jackets etc), and Peter Morgan’s flashback structured screenplay goes some way to showing in an understated way how much football matters in Britain (though I remain unconvinced).

As Clough, Michael Sheen once again excels. After a terrific run of mimic performances (Tony Blair and David Frost are among those in his back catalogue), one wonders if he will ever succeed as well playing a fictional character. The supporting cast are also good – particularly Colm Meaney’s Revie, Jim Broadbent as Derby County Chairman Sam Longson and best of all the excellent Timothy Spall as Clough’s assistant manager Peter Taylor. The relationship between Clough and Taylor is the film’s main focus and an interesting study in how one person can need another to succeed (as Clough’s disastrous management attempt without Taylor to back him up ultimately proves).

Admittedly, this is a slight tale, and feels more like a two act than three act film. Another minus for some Christian audiences will be the swearing (the F word is given a thorough workout). That said, The Damned United does enough for the unconverted (or uninterested) to keep them watching. In fact, a complete ignorance of the facts is probably a bonus as it adds a degree of suspense to the story, although even I knew that Leeds had – and still have – a reputation for dirty tactics on the pitch. I have no idea how much of this is fabrication, but despite protests from Clough’s family who did not approve of the film (or David Peace’s book on which it was based), it does still have redemptive elements that paint Clough as an arrogant, flawed but brilliant man.

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.

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.

Kate Winslet once appeared in Ricky Gervais’ satirical TV series Extras playing a cynical, opportunistic version of herself. In it, she had deliberately taken a role in a Holocaust drama because she thought it automatically meant an Oscar win. Therefore it is not without irony that she has just won an Oscar for a role in a Holocaust drama, The Reader. Said role is good, but frankly far from Winslet at her best, and although hers is the kind of epic, showy performance Oscar voters love, I was massively disappointed that Angelina Jolie didn’t win instead for her extraordinary and vastly superior turn in Changeling.

With Winslet’s hilarious role in Extras forever lodged in my mind, I found it impossible to approach The Reader without a degree of cynicism. Based on Bernhard Schlink’s novel, the plot concerns an affair between 15-year old German schoolboy Michael Berg and tram ticket collector Hannah, in 1958 Berlin. This brief, summer romance so traumatises the impressionable Michael that it has profound effects on the rest of his life; effects that take a dark turn when it is later revealed that Hannah was an SS guard in Nazi death camps and is placed on trial for war crimes.

My father once described the first act of the otherwise rather good 1986 thriller No Way Out as “one long fornication” and that also more or less sums up the initial scenes in The Reader. However, once the all too familiar (and arguably pornographic) youthful rites of passage are dispensed with, there are some intermittently powerful sequences – Michael’s visit to the death camps, the reason why Hannah loves to be read to, and a brilliant penultimate scene featuring a Holocaust survivor in Michael’s older years that made far more of an impression that anything Kate Winslet was responsible for.

Director Stephen Daldry, who made the excellent Billy Elliot, directs with quiet, sombre restraint which suits the subject matter. However it’s a shame that as a film The Reader is such an infuriately mixed bag. Obviously it is very serious, but David Hare’s screenplay doesn’t generate a sufficient head of dramatic tension, and feels overlong. Whether that’s the result of being too faithful to the book or departing from it I can’t say, as I haven’t read it, but this is nowhere near the same league as – say – The Pianist, Schindler’s List, Life is Beautiful or even last years immensely powerful if improbable The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.

Thankfully, the actors go a long way to make up for such shortcomings. David Kross is particularly good as the vulnerable young Michael. Repressed, guilt-ridden and scarred by his infatuation with Hannah, he then cannot interact properly with girls his own age, and subsequently fails at marriage later in life. As the older version of Michael, the always brilliant Ralph Fiennes contributes another superb performance. And to be fair to Kate Winslet, she does do very well in the difficult role of Hannah. I just don’t think she should have won an Oscar for it.

Still, there can never be too many films about the Holocaust. The Reader is a deeply flawed but nevertheless interesting study of guilt, obsession and repressed emotion. Some Christians will no doubt take it to task for excessive sex and nudity, but taken as a whole this is a bleak but moral tale, especially considering how Michael’s youthful passions ultimately destroy his entire life.

Simon Dillon, February 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.

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.

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.