The Greatest Trick

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.

It’s rather odd to have watched two brainwashing films in one week - you might watch two war films, or two comedies, but two movies about brainwashing? That’s weird. Perhaps there’s someone secretly manipulating our Tesco DVD Rental list, with some sinister purpose that we haven’t yet worked out. Perhaps it’s a warning to be on our guard for people saying odd phrases - just in case we start losing bits of our memories…

Anyway, this Woody Allen effort, set in 1940, centres on a pair of insurance investigators, played by Allen himself (as usual - the romantic lead!) and Helen Hunt, who become unwittingly involved with a jewel thief after a visit to a hypnotism show one night. Most of the comedy, which isn’t really all that much to be honest, comes from the interplay between the two leads, who hate each other with a venom they continually express in the most expressive terms, in an attempt to pay homage to classic male-female sparring movies, such as His Girl Friday or Bringing Up Baby (hmm, both with Cary Grant - Allen doesn’t even come close to being close).

The story is watchable enough, but there is no mystery for the audience, and it has a very irritatingly repetitive jazz score - the Allen influence again. Frankly I found Hunt annoying, the eventual romance of the piece unconvincing, and both the leads miscast really. If Allen’s ego allowed him to direct someone else for once, he might start making a few half-decent movies (I’m no expert, but in recent years I don’t recall any of his movies lighting up either box offices or reviews pages). There’s better stuff out there, but at least it wasn’t as repulsive as Allen’s earlier Deconstructing Harry. Avoid that at all costs.

The Manchurian Candidate was originally made in 1962, and starred Frank Sinatra as Captain Ben Marco, recently returned from the Korean War and troubled by strange dreams which lead him to question what actually happened when his platoon was ambushed. It touched on interesting subjects, such as brainwashing and the anti-Communist paranoia prevalent at the time, and was an effective thriller, if not exactly the most world-shattering movie event. This remake updates the setting to the Gulf War, but loses most of the interest along the way.

Marco, played this time by Denzel Washington, is suffering from strange dreams and the general feeling that things aren’t right. This is due to the fact that Raymond Shaw, former army buddy and winner of Congressional Medal of Honour for single-handedly saving their platoon during an ambush, is about to become Vice-President (manoeuvred into position by his mother, played by a grand-standing and scenery-chewing Meryl Streep). As Marco investigates his plight, and the events surrounding the ambush, it becomes clear that what he thinks happened is not the whole truth, and that he has to get to Shaw, who seems much less aware that his past is largely fabricated.

The problem is that we just don’t care enough. There are elements of the story that are supposed to be plot twists, or at least moderately surprising, but they just aren’t because of how the plot is set up in the first 40 minutes or so. In fact, from the moment that the viewer meets the three or four central characters, it is totally obvious what has happened in Kuwait several years ago, and the steps that have been taken to get where they are today. Washington is, as ever, dependable (read: dull), and Liev Schreiber as Shaw does a perfectly good job, but doesn’t really have a great deal to get his teeth into (unlike Marco at the end of the scene where they eat and chat together - about the only spark of surprise I felt while watching!) Meryl Streep was pretty unbelievable most of the time, from the patriotic yelling to the creepily intimate scenes, and the climax of the film, which was where the original really racked up the tension, was just lame and predictable. The most interesting thing about it, especially given the events of the past few weeks, is how it showed the circus-like nature of American politics, and how showbizzy it all is.

It felt too long, and yet at the same time was too quick to get into solving the central mystery - there was not enough distress for Washington before the pieces started to come together. And frankly, there was not enough distress for the viewer either - I felt totally distanced from the action and mostly bored. By some miracle I didn’t actually fall asleep, but maybe that’s more to do with watching it at a decent time of the evening! In terms of violence, there is some - some of the characters’ brainwashing is used to assassinate others - but other than that there is little to offend. Little to recommend it with, either.

The Illusionist tells the story of Eisenheim, a remarkable magician in nineteenth century Vienna who tries to reclaim his childhood sweetheart Sophie from the clutches of the scheming Crown Prince Leopold, who wants to marry her for political reasons. Based on the short story by Steven Millhauser, this is an enjoyably diverting tale, despite its obvious thematic similarity to The Prestige.

Edward Norton is one of the most fascinatingly watchable actors working in Hollywood today, and his performance in the lead role is every bit as good as one would expect. By contrast, Jessica Biel’s Sophie is an amiable heroine, but her role is somewhat underwritten. Paul Giamatti is excellent as a police inspector who admires Eisenheim, but has been employed by Leopold to thwart his advances towards Sophie. Rufus Sewell provides a wonderfully nasty, if one-dimensional turn as Leopold.

Director Neil Burger crafts a rich looking film, utilizing cinematographer Dick Pope’s autumnal hues which give a dreamlike tone. But it doesn’t look or feel as mesmerising as The Prestige, and ultimately, the big twist is just a bit too predictable. There is no satisfactory explanation given for the “ghosts” in Eisenheim’s most remarkable trick – one that causes people to question whether or not his magical powers are more than sleight of hand, and the whole film feels a little too short.

That said, although The Prestige is unquestionably the superior picture, The Illusionist is also worth a look, if purely as an interesting companion piece.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

I can’t believe I haven’t reviewed anything since Van Helsing (which, let’s face it, was a bit paltry in the words department, even if the sentiment was strong enough for a full review), and we’ve watched a few movies over the summer (not as many as you’d expect, though, considering how free my time should be). So here’s the first. This is a rather odd French action / fantasy / horror / thriller with Jean Reno (always worth a look) which begins with a woman having her brain tested and ends with a gangster shoot-out. Watching it is a little like being battered around the head by every movie genre imaginable and seeing what sticks when the bruises fade. Sadly, not a great deal in the long run.

Anna is having mental problems - flashing horrific images, gaps in her memory - and the doctors treating her aren’t doing much to help. She becomes convinced there’s more to her problems, and goes on a mission to find out. Concurrently, a young but successful police detective is investigating a series of very unpleasant murders with a pattern - all red-heads, killed brutally, and with links to Paris’ immigrant Turkish population. Which is where Jean Reno comes in as the ageing cop who has worked the Turkish turf for many years, and understands their ways and culture somewhat better than many others. A bit too well, in fact. The stories eventually collide, and when they do a whole new direction for the movie is discovered.

Really, there are two perfectly good films here, but director Chris Nahon has just tried to pack so many of his good ideas into one script that it comes off feeling messy and overblown, and without firm direction. It’s also something of a travelogue through some of Paris’ lesser-known sights, including the cemetery at Pere Lachaise where a crucial scene takes place. The horror elements at the start are effective and disturbing, and the murder mystery is serviceable too. But when the film delves into memory replacement, conspiracy theories and guru-worship, it’s all a bit too much. Jean Reno is fine, if unremarkable, and the rest of the cast do their best with the script, but it’s possible that they didn’t really know which direction they were going to be going on the next day’s shooting.

If you’re sensitive to unpleasant violence you would do well to avoid, and honestly this one’s probably only for the Reno completist. Everyone else should catch up on other priorities.

A contender for cult film of the year, Brick is an unusual but highly engaging picture from director Rian Johnson. Essentially it’s a film noir mystery set in a Californian high school, as lonely outsider Brendan (Joseph Gordon Levitt) investigates his ex-girlfriend Emily’s murder by infiltrating the circles of school drug dealer the Pin (Lukas Haas).

Full of quirky direction, intriguing performances and offbeat sensibilities, this is indie-movie heaven both for those who like their films to be a bit different and also fun for those steeped in film noir lore. The characters and iconography of the genre are all present and correct – with femme fatales, hard boiled detectives and a whole slew of untrustworthy underworld types inhabiting the familiar dark world of drugs, guns, shadows and skewed camera angles. The only difference is they are all in school.

However this is not as accessible as the true greats of the genre like The Big Sleep, Double Indemnity or Chinatown, simply because of the peculiar lingo the students use, mixing old 40’s noir slang with new Californian teenage slang. Also towards the very end, the film loses momentum and becomes predictable.

Nevertheless, despite a ton of references to old Bogart movies and noir fiction, Brick manages to be startling and original in its own right, particularly in its use of music and sound. Solid performances also help, not only from Joseph Gordon Levitt but also Lukas Haas (the boy in Witness).

It’s easy to admire Brendan and sympathise with his melancholy predicament. He is uncompromising with justice and the truth to the point where it alienates him from everyone. This includes Emily whom we learn via flashback he was trying to protect from his school’s criminal underworld. She points out “you can’t protect me if I don’t want to be protected”. On a spiritual level, that makes the film an interesting comment on the potential cost of standing out from the crowd, plus an insight into how God must feel when we are determined to do the wrong thing.

Simon Dillon, June 2006.

Here’s an idea for a bestselling novel/film: The De Niro Code. A film student stumbles across a coded message in Taxi Driver, and uncovers a conspiracy that could shake the very foundations of cinema. He discovers Travis Bickle did not go on a bloody rampage at the end, but instead married Harvey Keitel’s character (who is in fact a woman), and their descendants are alive today.

OK, that’s silly. But its more probable than the nonsensical theory put forward by The Da Vinci Code (about to be well and truly spoilt here); namely, that the disciple that should be John in The Last Supper painting is in fact Mary Magdalene, and that Da Vinci was trying to tell the world through coded messages in his work that she had married Jesus, emigrated to France and that his descendants live today, protected by a secret society called the Priory of Sion.

I’m not going to bore you by systematically debunking the so-called evidence for this absurd theory, since it’s been done so brilliantly elsewhere, for example, here: www.mbts.edu/Resources/DaVinciCodeInaccuracies.pdf, and most amusingly by Tony Robinson on a Channel 4 documentary that showed how much of the “research” and “facts” listed on page one of Dan Brown’s bestselling novel were based on a practical joke perpetrated by a French prankster in an attempt to return the monarchy to France. A friend of mine also pointed out that if Christianity is so anti-women, then why did were the Catholics so desperate to elevate Mary the mother of Jesus into a divine figure? Surely a “Mrs Jesus Christ” would have been even better!

As you can see, I am very much in a huff about The Da Vinci Code. Why? Because Dan Brown is trying to put forward his theory as truth, and there are countless people out there unversed in the necessary Biblical and historical lore to realise it is rubbish. As Hitler said; the bigger the lie, the more people will believe it.

If Dan Brown’s book had simply been passed off as a work of fiction, I might have a somewhat more tolerant attitude towards it. After all, there is no shortage of anti-Christian literature, and in a fallen world, the best mankind can hope for is a free, democratic society where there is a level playing field for truth to be proclaimed alongside the ugliest of lies.

But when this kind of material gets passed off as fact, things get a little stickier. Remember the film U-571 a few years ago? It showed an American submarine crew heroically capture an enigma decoding machine from the Germans in World War II. With its bold tagline “Based on a true story”, millions of Americans lapped it up as historical fact. Yet in truth the Americans weren’t even in the war in 1940 and it was the British who captured the decoding machine. Again, perhaps this could be tolerated if it were marketed as fiction, but most people accept films they watch that are “based on a true story”, as being true. How much more seriously then, should Christians take a story that distorts the truth of the Gospel?

When the book came out, my father (who is a Christian) shocked me by saying it was a “rattling good yarn”. As I gawped incredulously, he pointed out that of course he didn’t take it seriously, as it was so obviously absurd. For one thing there is nothing new about the Mary Magdalene theory. It has been around for 2,000 years as anyone who has read the Gnostic Gospels will tell you. The real conspiracy has been against the Church, since it has had to deal with endless false gospels, false teachings and distortions of the Christian message following the resurrection of Jesus. Matthew chapter 27 tells how there was a conspiracy from the word go to distort the truth of the resurrection, and The Da Vinci Code is simply the latest in 2,000 years worth of attack on the truth.

Unfortunately, not everyone is as well educated as my father, and to paraphrase the Bible, in the last days people will believe anything other than the truth. I often joke about the endless talk amongst Christians of the “end times” and have made up my own apocryphal signs of the end (“In the last days there shall be remakes and rumours of remakes”). However, if we truly are in the “last days” as a lot of Christians seem to think, then The Da Vinci Code is definitely a sign of the times.

To be fair, there is a tiny concession made to Christians at the end of the film where Tom Hanks suggests Jesus could still have been divine and married Mary Magdalene (something that wasn’t in the book). But it’s too little too late. The damage to historically ignorant audience members has already been done, and judging by the comments I overheard from people coming out of the cinema, my worst fears have been realised. For every well informed person who knows the Da Vinci Code’s “facts” are anything but, there are several others who do not read books, listen to critics, historians or Christians, and instead feed on a diet of Eastenders, Big Brother and films based on books by Dan Brown. These are the people I am concerned for, as their eternal destinies are being placed in jeopardy by this insidious deception.

Anyway, onto the film. On a purely aesthetic level, Ron Howard’s adaptation is surprisingly boring, though not quite the turkey critics are making it out to be. Nevertheless, I thought The Da Vinci Code would make a better movie than it was book, especially as trashy novels sometimes translate into classic films (The Godfather for example). Instead it’s far too long and packed with lengthy exposition leaving little room for thrills. Like the Harry Potter films, it is too faithful to the source material. Where it does reinvent for the screen, the film comes across as patronising, for example in its use of flashbacks as sloppy cinematic shorthand for historically ignorant audience members.

On the performance front, Tom Hanks was bereft of his usual energy, and frankly miscast. Someone like Kevin Spacey might have been better in the role. Jean Reno, Audrey Tatou, Alfred Molina and Paul Bettany provide unremarkable support, and only Ian McKellen infuses an iota of drama into the tedious proceedings.

Although critics have sided with historians and the church in slating the film, it will still be a box office smash. Therefore, in response, I suggest Christians take every opportunity to debunk its theories by brushing up on their apologetics, since The Da Vinci Code is quite possibly one of the greatest deceptions I have seen unleashed in recent years. Its abhorrent message denies the divinity of Christ, and suggests that the only way to get near God is to have ritualistic sex whilst other cult members chant and watch!

The Da Vinci Code also tries to distract people from the wonderful news that Jesus died for the sins of all mankind, rose from the dead, and that through him we can have eternal life if we choose to. Like all lies, the truth will outlast it, but I fear for those who are deceived by it (Christians included), and particularly for Dan Brown. To quote Mark chapter 9: “And if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to be thrown into the sea with a large millstone tied around his neck.”

I certainly don’t intend to hang a millstone around my neck by recommending The Da Vinci Code to anyone. Both the book and film remain a monumental slice of heresy.

Simon Dillon, May 2006.

A bunch of conniving British toffs and their servant-people (as well as an American movie producer and Ivor Novello) gather in a country house for a hunting weekend and the chance to badger the owner of the house, Sir William McCordle, for money in one way or another. We mainly follow the experiences of ladies’ maid Mary Macreachran (played by Kelly Macdonald), as she works out how to see to her mistress’ needs and deal with the pressures of the downstairs life with the rest of the butlers, maids and cooks. Characters, both minor and major, are flickered over by the camera and we pick up hints of stories and relationships, which slowly (really slowly) build until the moment when an affair is revealed (which is a great moment), someone is murdered (which is predictable), and then the guests all try to deal with the death (which they do strangely), while the police investigation goes on, led by Stephen Fry as an incompetent detective.

Emily Watson - good value. Ryan Philippe - glad he’s dropped off the radar since 2001. Maggie Smith - had loads of fun. Kelly Macdonald - fine. Michael Gambon & Kristin Scott-Thomas - icy. Charles Dance - played a character you barely saw, and didn’t know which name to put with him for ages. Bob Balaban - writer and played American TV producer - came up with not particularly inventive or post-modern conceit of having said producer shout the plot of the movie he was actually in to someone in Hollywood down the phone. Helen Mirren - fine performance, especially at the end. Clive Owen - first thing I’ve seen him in that I thought he was worth all the bother. Tons of other actors - must have been irritated with director Robert Altman after seeing how little they were on screen in the final cut.

It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t all that previous reviewers seemed to make out. Overloading the film with stars and characters is Altman’s thing; I don’t know how much value it really adds, to be honest. Why not just tell one story really well rather than trying to inject ‘real meaning’ into about 50?

The 8 Women of the title are all murder suspects. Marcel has been discovered stabbed in his bed in his country mansion (which is, of course, inescapable due to snow), and his sister, wife, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, housekeeper, maid and 2 daughters spend the next few hours solving the murder. And of course, revealing dark secrets about themselves that create an increasingly murky picture of their motives. And breaking into altered versions of French pop songs. You know, just to while away the time.

Actually, that’s one of the problems with this movie. Too much time is whiled away. The first hour is hilarious; the cream of France’s female acting talent (Catherine Deneuve, Fanny Ardant, Emmanuelle Beart, Isabelle Huppert, Virginie Ledoyen among others) send themselves up marvellously in a deliberately creaky-plotted murder farce. Huppert in particular is astonishing to watch as the fast-talking, bitter and jealous sister Augustine, and Beart’s turn as the new maid is also good value for her questions and answers laced with double entendre in the accurately-translated sense of the phrase. But then, sadly, the humour turns to, well, sex. That is, there is only a little sexual activity on screen (and nothing overly explicit), but each character’s secrets revolve around sex in some way (which I consider to be a poor view of women, if that is the only type of secret you can assign to them), and many less pleasant than you might want to hear about. You then begin to realise that there’s still one major 20 minute scene still to come (you know, the one where everything about the murder is revealed) and you start to long for it. Shame really, because the movie has plenty of other qualities too.

Each woman is dressed in a particular colour, referring neatly to Cluedo; one daughter in chic pink, Marcel’s sister in slutty red, the hired help in black and white of course etc. It’s a fun little element of a fairly throwaway film, but it helps you know who is who too! The songs are a most unexpected addition when they first appear, and most of them are fun as well, but with a ‘faintly pointless’ warning attached (except for the first one; that’s superb). Oh, and it’s quite clear that Deneuve is the only one who can actually carry a tune! And I know I mentioned it earlier, but it’s unbelievable that director Francois Ozon managed to get all these actresses on the same set at the same time for enough time to shoot the film! I’m sure there will be some readers who haven’t heard of a single one of them, but in the French film world this cast was a major coup. It’s just a shame that these women weren’t given a comedy / mystery / musical of higher calibre to star in.

Tim Burton’s latest is a delight. A beautiful, poignant movie about the life of Ed Bloom: a man who told very exaggerated stories about his life to his son Will. Now Ed is in the autumn of his life, Will wants to discover the truth behind his father’s tales.

Told in flashback, Ed’s journey is punctuated by episodes with witches, a giant, bizarre hallucinations, a werewolf, and even World War II as well as the main central love story. It’s dazzlingly surreal, hysterically funny, and disarmingly moving. Albert Finney is excellent as the older Ed, and Ewan McGregor does a fine job as the younger version. Also, Billy Crudup is very good as Will.

What Big Fish is really about is the importance of storytelling, and how every myth contains a greater truth more important than factual accuracy. It’s also a very moral redemptive story extolling marriage, commitment, and the importance of father/son relationships. Poignant and emotional without ever becoming sentimental, this is Burton’s finest film since Ed Wood.