The 2011 Top Ten

2011 was the year of the true story adaptation. It was also the year of dogs, cats, horses, dolphins and exotic birds of paradise. Here are the Top Ten films reviewed this year, linked to my review of them at the time.


Red Dog
Brimming with a memorable and distinctive charm, this great Aussie yarn made for an unforgettable film that almost (unbelievably) drowned in the film distribution cycle of slap-down, international blockbusters. But once word was out, audiences flocked to it in their droves and were superbly rewarded for their devotion to the tale of loyal red kelpie and the extent to which he brought the disparate, hard-working folk of a mining community together. The mighty Pilbara locations co-starred with an excellent ensemble who took on the challenges of Daniel Talitz’s flashback-based screenplay with dedication, skill, passion and great humour.

War Horse
Steven Spielberg delivered this vast, emotional drama to the screen in unforgettable style and it contains some of the grandest and most haunting sequences of the year. The story of young Albert Narracott’s lifelong bond with his horse Joey plunged us into the horrors of World War I – when tanks and howitzers replaced bayonets, rifles and the cavalry. The desperate escalation of the battle was surpassed only by Joey’s flight for his life into No Man’s Land in an almost unwatchable sequence, delivered to the screen in a way only possible when a crew is working with a director at the peak of their creative prowess.

Snowtown
This gruelling, unapologetic Australian psychodrama about the extent to which vulnerable communities can be decimated by ambitious, blood-lusty individuals was one of the most talked-about films of the year. The brilliant cast nailed every moment of escalating cruelty – lead by Louise Harris in one of the performances of year as the tortured matriarch who could only, almost wordlessly, watch as her beloved family was destroyed from the inside out.

Puss in Boots
This dazzling triumph of character animation tangoed effortlessly with Tom Wheeler’s delightfully entertaining screenplay about well-loved and well-known fairytale and nursery rhyme characters. Antonio Banderas purred his way perfectly through the story of the heroic, swashbuckling cat we first met in Shrek 2 – and the eye-popping beanstalk sequences remain amongst the most spectacular and inventive examples of 3D animation we witnessed this year.

The Fighter
Nominated for seven Academy Awards (including Best Picture), this was another true story adaptation that boasted an outstanding performances from an ensemble that included Mark Wahlberg, Christian Bale and Melissa Leo. Mr Wahlberg played Mickey Ward, a young boxer determined to step out of the long shadow cast by his crack cocaine-addicted older brother (Mr Bale) and match up with the world’s best fighters on his own terms. The lashings of unexpected humour balanced the intense family intrigue perfectly, with Ms Leo (Frozen River, 21 Grams) storming off with the acting honours as the brothers’ ambitious and controlling mother.

Dolphin Tale
Continuing the trend this year of true stories being adapted for the screen, this beautifully-made film about a boy’s love for an injured dolphin can honestly be described as perfect family entertainment. While it occasionally threatened to drown in twee sentimentality, actor-turned-director Charles Martin elicited fine performance from his uniformly excellent cast. But it was the performances from young star Nathan Gamble and a determined little dolphin called ‘Winter’ that took us somewhere very special.

Rio
From the moment Rio de Janeiro’s native birdlife burst into song, it was perfectly clear we were going on a very special ride. Bold, colourful and unsentimental, Rio’s dazzling aerial escape and pursuit sequences nudged the 3D animation bar set by How to Train Your Dragon. John Powell’s samba-infused original score and the charming voice-work of Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network) and Anne Hathaway (The Devil Wears Prada), ensured this impossibly lively take on the age-old rites of passage formula raced not only to the top of the worldwide box office, but into our hearts.

Thor
Australian-born Chris Hemsworth’s star shot well and truly in the Hollywood stratosphere with his tilt at the title role of Marvel Comics’ Thor. Boasting magnificent visual effects (including an unforgettable Bifrost Bridge) and an ensemble of spirited performances, director Kenneth Branagh (Henry V) escorted his cast and crew to the very heights of the Marvel Comics universe.

Moneyball
What might have been an idle ‘based on a true story’ curiosity about the behind-the-scenes machinations of a struggling baseball team actually turned out to be one of the best films of the year. Brad Pitt delivered a great performance as the team’s General Manager, while Aaron Sorkin (The Social Network) and Steven Zaillian’s (Schindler’s List) compelling screenplay explored the theme of the extent to which greatness can be found in the most unlikely people (and circumstances) to perfection.

Unstoppable
The simple premise – two engineers (Chris Pine and Denzel Washington) must chase down a rogue locomotive and its rolling stock laden with toxic chemicals before it derails in the middle of a heavily-populated American town – was masterfully executed. Every detail of this dare-devil action adventure was captured from every possible nail-biting angle by director Tony Scott and cinematographer Ben Seresin, while yet another based on a true story hook added an extra dimension of gritty authenticity.

This list was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: War Horse

War Horse. Rated M (war violence and themes). 146 minutes. Directed by Steven Spielberg. Screenplay by Lee Hall and Richard Curtis. Based on the novel by Michael Morpurgo and the stage adaptation by Nick Stafford.

Steven Spielberg’s grand, career-long study of the qualities of redemption – mostly, as in Schlinder’s List, based on the sins of others – reaches a particular kind of zenith with this magnificent film about a young man’s life-long bond with his horse, Joey. Having witnessed its birth, Albert Narracott (a singularly impressive debut from Jeremy Irvine, pictured) soon finds himself breaking-in the yearling – and the long first act of War Horse is a fastidious telling of the formation of this extraordinary relationship, which culminates in a miraculous feat of farming. On the eve of World War I, Joey is sold to the British cavalry and a distraught Albert promises him that once the war is over, he will come and find him and bring him home.

Based on Mr Morpurgo’s novel and Mr Stafford’s stage adaptation for the National Theatre of Great Britain (now its fourth year of performances), Mr Hall (Billy Elliot) and Mr Curtis’s (Love Actually, Bridget Jones's Diary, Notting Hill) screenplay neatly accounts for the involving episodes from Joey’s life and manages to contain what might have been an unwieldy, rambling odyssey into a mostly captivating and emotional drama.

The work of the team of horse trainers – including Bobby Lovgren and Gold Coast-based Zelie Bullen – ensures that the four-legged stars (a total of fourteen horses were used to play Joey) are the absolute standouts. The astonishing sequence when Joey faces off with a tank before running for his life through the trenches and ending up in No Man’s Land rates as the cinematic sequence of the year – and could probably only ever have been brought to the screen by a master filmmaker and storyteller like Mr Spielberg and his frequent collaborator, cinematographer Janusz Kaminski (Saving Private Ryan, Schindler's List).

While it certainly over-cooks its ending, War Horse remains an incredible cinematic achievement – and a richly rewarding film experience you will remember forever.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

The 2011 YAWNIES

Welcome to the 2011 YAWNIES – my list of the most inexplicable, dire and least value-for-money cinematic offerings of the year. Each film is linked to my review of them at the time.

Black Swan
If there is one piece of good news to come out of this rambling, shambolic delinquency, it’s that generously-proportioned musical theatre star Trevor Ashley (Hairspray) has adapted it for the cabaret stage – and called it “Fat Swan”. For his part, director Darren Aronofsky (The Wrestler) did for Tchaikovsky’s magnificent Swan Lake (and ballet in general) what Snowtown did for the South Australian Tourism Commission. What to watch instead: Swan Lake.

Contagion
Filmmakers have been re-imagining the ‘killer virus eradicates the entire human population’ sub-genre since time immemorial – and Steven Soderbergh’s (Erin Brockovich) take on it was one of the most eagerly-anticipated films of the year. Regrettably, an A-list cast of Hollywood’s finest ended up in one of the longest and most tedious Dettol commercials in history. What to watch instead: I Am Legend.

Cowboys and Aliens
If the grand cinematic theme for 2011 was a “what on earth were they thinking?!”, then this genre mash-up misfire would certainly get to blow out all the candles on the cake. While it might have seemed curious, original and inventive on paper, it ended up taking itself far too seriously and outstaying its welcome by a good 20 minutes. What to watch instead: Anything with John Wayne in it.

I Am Number Four
The performances from Australian-born actors Callan McAuliffe and Teresa Palmer were the most promising aspects of this clumsy, Terminator-lite attempt at creating a sci-fi franchise. Similarly to last year’s 2012, the expert pedigree behind the scenes in this case should have absolutely guaranteed a vastly superior result to the one we all ended up having to sit through. What to watch instead: Terminator.

In Time
The other recurring cinematic theme of 2011 was films failing to realise their potential – for which In Time was a prime candidate. Instead of unleashing its sleigh-load of exciting, sci-fi laced dramatic possibilities, a bunch of Hollywood’s hottest young things (lead by Justin Timberlake) ended up running about all over the place looking gorgeous, while desperately trying to dodge the clunky and over-used ‘time as currency’ metaphors. What to watch instead: Logan’s Run.

Limitless
Take one Mr Bradley Cooper (The Hangover movies). Add the very occasionally techno-dazzling transformations of time and place based on a morally and ethically suspect plot about the side-effects of taking some kind of wonder-drug. Then add the very excellent Australian-born Abbie Cornish (Somersault, Bright Star). Finally, add the star-power of Robert De Niro (for whom it hasn’t been the best of years). The result? Surprisingly, nothing of any real interest. What to watch instead: Inception.

New Year’s Eve
This formulaic, trite, waste of talent and time has been roundly celebrated as one of the worst movies of 2011. Guilty of not only treating its audience as complete morons, New Year’s Eve managed to take one of the most dramatically, comically and romantically-infused nights of the year and turn it into the cinematic equivalent of watching paint dry. What to watch instead: The Poseidon Adventure.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes
Hollywood’s originality (and identity) crisis hit a new low with this long and predictable reboot of the unforgettable Planet of the Apes films – which began with Planet of the Apes (1968). Andy Serkis (The Adventures of Tintin, Kong in King Kong, Gollum in The Lord of the Rings) proved, yet again, that he is the go-to guy for performance capture – to the extent to which there is intense industry lobbying to have a new Oscar category created especially for him. What to watch instead: Charlton Heston in the original Planet of the Apes.

Super 8
The party this year was seriously crashed by this great, big, muddled, over-produced clunker – most memorable for the extent to which it self-consciously referenced (and revered) every Steven Spielberg movie made before it. When army tanks weren’t crashing through and crushing the swings in the playground, ET’s cranky relative turned up to fling white goods around. What to watch instead: Stand By Me.

The 2011 YAWNIES were commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Dolphin Tale and Festive Season Previews

The 2011 cinematic year winds up with the excellent Dolphin Tale and a collection of eagerly-anticipated festive season releases.



Dolphin Tale (PG)
Only the hardest of hearts will not melt at some stage during this beautifully-made film about a boy’s love for an injured dolphin. Nathan Gamble (The Dark Knight, Marley & Me) is exceptional as Sawyer Nelson – a shy boy whose life is literally turned upside down when he helps rescue a dolphin that has been washed ashore, tangled up in a crab trap.

Based on a true story – and starring ‘Winter’ the actual dolphin hero of the story (pictured above with Mr Gamble) – Dolphin Tale packs a big, emotional punch. Gamble receives excellent support from Harry Connick Jr, Ashley Judd, Cozi Zuehlsdorff and Morgan Freeman, while Austin Stowell (as Sawyer’s cousin Kyle) carries off the weighty subplot about an injured soldier returning from the war with a fine performance of understated sincerity.

It is impossible to deny the impact that Winter had, and continues to have, on people who have their own particular physical challenges to conquer – and actor-turned-director Charles Martin Smith, quite understandably, focuses entirely on the strength of the performances and is handsomely rewarded for his faith. It’s equally impossible to recall a film that could honestly be described as perfect family entertainment – and while Karen Janszen and Noam Dromi’s screenplay occasionally comes perilously close to drowning in earnest sentimentality, it is young Mr Gamble’s outstanding performance and an absolutely determined little dolphin that, combined, take us somewhere very special indeed.

Puss in Boots (PG)
Second only to The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1, Puss in Boots has proven itself to be an undisputed winner at the box office, and is entirely worthy of its success. A solid screenplay and exceptional 3D animation, combined with the voices of Antonio Banderas (Puss), Salma Hayek (Kitty Softpaws) and Zach Galifianakis (Humpty Dumpty), has ensured that this Shrek spinoff is enjoying a life of its own. Like Dolphin Tale, Puss in Boots delivers a richly layered story in the grand tradition of storytelling for children, with more than enough subtle innuendo to keep the adults equally as entertained.

Happy Feet Two (PG)
More 3D mayhem – this time with an endearing cast of penguins – is promised when George Miller’s sequel to his Academy Award-winning Happy Feet (2006) is released on Boxing Day. Elijah Wood (best-known as Frodo Baggins in The Lord of The Rings trilogy) returns as the voice of Mumble, and is joined by Robin Williams, Hank Azaria, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon – to name just a few of the Hollywood A-listers whose voices will no doubt help bring Mr Miller’s gloriously imagined penguin colony to life again.

War Horse (M)
If there is a director who can be relied on to bring a big picture epic to the screen in all its magnificence these days, then that director would be Steven Spielberg. Based on the novel by Michael Morpurgo, War Horse is the story of young Albert Narracott’s (Jeremy Irvine) horse Joey who serves in the army during World War I. The novel was also adapted for the stage (enjoying hugely successful runs in London and New York), with a production due to open in Melbourne in 2012. While it’s impossible to judge a film on the strength of its promotional trailer, there can be no denying that War Horse looks as though it will be every bit as involving as the pre-release anticipation would suggest.

We Bought a Zoo (PG)
In case you hadn’t noticed, the big theme of the festive season release schedule is animals – and We Bought a Zoo is about as animal-centric as you could possibly get. Based on a true story, the film stars Matt Damon as the recently-widowed Benjamin Mee who buys a derelict zoo (and all its animals) and moves in with his two young children Rosie (Maggie Elizabeth Jones) and Dylan (Colin Ford) to resurrect it. Directed by Cameron Crowe (Jerry Maguire, Almost Famous), the film also stars Scarlett Johansson as zookeeper (and love interest) Kelly Foster.

The Adventures of Tintin (PG)
When Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson (The Lord of The Rings, King Kong) are at the top of their game, you can be guaranteed of something special – and this 3D adventure has all the hallmarks of being a hugely popular choice for the holidays. Based on the comic books created by Belgian artist Hergé, The Adventures of Tintin uses state-of-the-art performance capture technology to record the actors’ movements before they are rendered into digitally animated characters. The technology has come a long way since The Polar Express (2004), and Jamie Bell (best known as Billy Elliot) plays the young journalist Tintin. And yes, there’s an animal involved – Tintin’s trusty dog Snowy.

This review and festive season previews were commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: New Year's Eve

New Year’s Eve. Rated M (infrequent coarse language). 118 minutes. Directed by Garry Marshall. Screenplay by Katherine Fugate.

There are some fantastic movies about New Year’s Eve and all its attendant, high-stakes emotional drama. The first one that springs to mind is The Poseidon Adventure (1972, pictured), in which a glittering cast of Hollywood A-listers find themselves fighting for survival when the majestic SS Poseidon is capsized by a freak wave right on the stroke of midnight.

And then there’s New Year’s Eve.

Just as he did with Valentine’s Day, Mr Marshall (Pretty Woman, The Princess Diaries, Beaches) lines up the ducks and shoots them in this trite, formulaic and laugh-less affair. At its worst – which is most of the time – it’s the cinematic equivalent of watching paint dry. At its best – largely due to engaging turns from Zac Efron (as a delivery boy) and an unrecognisable Michelle Pfeiffer (as an eccentric woman with a bucket list) – New Year’s Eve only ever threatens to sparkle and sing.

Ms Fugate’s (Valentine’s Day) bloated screenplay contains fleeting whispers of originality, while mostly being bogged-down in one tedious ‘festive season’ cliché after another as a bunch of Hollywood’s finest email in performances of incomprehensibly one-dimensional dullness.

There’s the terminally-ill Stan (Robert De Niro), who may not live to see in the new year. There’s the cynical Randy (Ashton Kutcher) who gets stuck in a lift with songbird Elise (Lea Michele). Then there’s Claire (Hilary Swank) whose job is to make sure that New York City’s famous Times Square ball drops. Then there’s neurotic mom Kim (Sarah Jessica Parker) and Ms Parker’s real-life husband Matthew Broderick (who gives the appearance of having dropped in to film his cameo while on the way to the 7/11). And on and on it goes.

Not only is New Year’s Eve a monumental waste of talent and time, its opportunistic, manipulative and cynical exploitation of some grand themes (the Iraq war, terminal illness, loneliness and despair at this time of year, and so on) borders on offensive. Just as well there’s some unintentionally bizarre curiosities to distract us all from the terminal boredom – of which watching Jon Bon Jovi trying to act is the absolute winner.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Puss in Boots

Puss in Boots. Rated PG (mild violence). 90 minutes. Directed by Chris Miller. Screenplay by Tom Wheeler.

Created by Frenchman Charles Perrault and first appearing in a collection of eight fairytales published in 1697, Puss in Boots – a heroic, swashbuckling cat – has long been a source of childhood fascination. It might also be argued that the enigmatic Puss has rarely been so perfectly realised than in his scene-stealing supporting role in DreamWorks Animation’s Shrek films (he debuted in 2004’s Shrek 2). Superbly animated and brilliantly voiced by Antonio Banderas, Puss was the perfect foil for the grumpy, green ogre and his loyal donkey – and his instant rapport with his co-stars and audiences of adults and children alike, immediately sparked rumours of a spin-off. Has the seven-year wait been worth it? Uncategorically, yes.

Puss in Boots is never anything less than a dazzling triumph of character animation and storytelling for all ages as Puss (a perfect Mr Banderas again), his childhood friend Humpty Alexander Dumpty (The Hangover’s Zach Galifianakis), and Kitty Softpaws (Salma Hayek) join forces to steal the, now, middle-aged hillbillies Jack and Jill’s (Billy Bob Thornton and Amy Sedaris) magic beans. The beans, as we all know, will grow into a giant beanstalk that our heroes will climb to reach the goose that lays the golden eggs – untold wealth that can be distributed amongst the good people of their hometown, San Ricardo. But Mother Goose has other ideas.

Mr Wheeler’s screenplay is a delightfully engaging and equally involving mash-up of popular nursery rhyme and fairytale characters, and Mr Miller (Shrek the Third) capitalises on every single opportunity to bring the collision of instantly recognisable characters to life. Editor Eric Dapkewicz (Flushed Away, Monsters vs Aliens) expertly nails the pace, while the choreography by Laura Gorenstein Miller is so good that, at times, it is almost impossible to believe you’re actually watching animated characters.

Henry Jackman’s (Kick-Ass, X-Men: First Class) flawless original score perfectly captures every mood and location, while the skills of production designer Guillaume Aretos and art director Christian Schellewald ensure that the entire film is a stunning visual treat. Amongst the unforgettable luxury of riches are the eye-popping beanstalk sequences that easily qualify as the most spectacular animation we’ve seen this year.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Arthur Christmas

Arthur Christmas. Rated G. 97 minutes. Directed by Sarah Smith. Screenplay by Peter Baynham and Sarah Smith.

Even in spite of the occasional lapses in pace and a mountain of exposition, it’s impossible not to be won over by the originality and abundant charms of this post-modern riff on the story of the Claus family – led by an utterly charming turn from James McAvoy (Wanted, Atonement, The Last King of Scotland) who provides the voice of the title character.

As Santa (Jim Broadbent) prepares for retirement, his uptight and ambitious eldest son Steve (Hugh Laurie), with the help of an army of elves, oversees the military operation that ensures children all over world receive their presents. When a glitch in the hi-tech, space-age delivery system results in a little girl’s bicycle failing to be delivered, the youngest son and black sheep of the family Arthur (Mr McAvoy), sets off with his Grandsanta (Bill Nighy) and elf Bryony (Ashley Jensen), a gift-wrapping expert, to deliver the present using more conventional (and reliable) methods.

The animation from Aardman (Wallace & Gromit, Chicken Run, Flushed Away) is typically full of singularly engaging, oddball characters and situations, and the departure from their celebrated plasticine-inspired, stop-motion animation techniques results in some glorious picture-book settings and sequences. The good, old-fashioned ‘reindeer and sleigh’ sequences are bravura displays of consummate skill – even if the screenplay does become a little too bogged-down in unwieldy complications.

With its mixture of sci-fi inspired logistics (the running gag about a recalcitrant GPS is hilarious) and the reliance on more trustworthy, if outmoded, methods of transport, Arthur Christmas makes some fine and important points about values, consumerism and the joys of Christmas for children. The scene where Arthur watches young Gwen discover her bicycle under the Christmas Tree is, simply, quite beautiful – and a timely reminder that, more often than not, giving can be equally as rewarding as receiving.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group and the print edition is included below.

Film Review: The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1. Rated M (supernatural themes and medical procedures). 117 minutes. Directed by Bill Condon. Screenplay by Melissa Rosenberg. Based on the novel by Stephenie Meyer.

There’s no denying it. The intrigue of the Twilight Saga movie franchise has given rise to a veritable slam-dunk of opinion, debate, reverence and ridicule since they arrived on the big screen in the form of Twilight (2008). Fans (commonly referred to as Twihards) – of which there are many – have steadfastly refused to tolerate anything even remotely critical of their beloved Bella, Edward and Jacob. For everyone else, it would seem that nothing spikes the hate-o-metre faster than a Twilight Saga movie viewing.

In case you’ve just returned from five years residing on a distant planet, the final novel in the series – Breaking Dawn – has been divided into two movies, with Part 2 due for release this time next year. In Part 1, Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart, pictured) finally weds her vampire Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson), and werewolf Jacob (Taylor Lautner) honourably turns up to give his somewhat reluctant approval. A honeymoon on a remote island off the coast of Brazil ensues, and before you can say “O-negative”, Bella is pregnant with what appears to be the spawn of Satan. Protected by the Cullens from the marauding werewolf pack who want to destroy the unborn undead, Bella (to Ms Stewart’s unending credit) spends much of the movie looking absolutely shocking while awaiting the birth of her ‘child’. The big question is who will die defending the life of Edward and Bella’s unborn child?

Mr Condon (Gods and Monsters, Dreamgirls) stamps an undeniable authority all over the proceedings, while Ms Rosenberg’s (who has penned the scripts for each of the movies) screenplay suffers, mostly, from having to say in 117 minutes what might have been said in 17. Guillermo Navarro’s (Hellboy, Pan's Labyrinth, I Am Number Four) cinematography is entirely serviceable – with the interiors of the Cullen mansion, in particular, striking in their cold, clinical indifference. Virginia Katz’s (Dreamgirls, Burlesque) editing manages to inject some much needed pace into the first two-thirds of the film, while cutting loose in spectacular fashion in the race home.

Originally classified MA15+ in Australia (the gruelling birth sequence was the likely culprit), the revised M rating more than adequately covers much of the film’s tone. And while Mr Lautner fans should not be late under any circumstances, fans of the franchise more generally should remain in their seats for a sneaky mid-credits preview of Part 2.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Moneyball

Moneyball. Rated M (coarse language). 133 minutes. Directed by Bennett Miller. Screenplay by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin. Based on the book by Michael Lewis.

Well-made films, that there has been a diabolical dearth of this year, are becoming increasingly rare beasts. In their place, we’ve had mostly empty-headed and soulless action flicks and laughter-less romantic comedies. A kind of Diet Cinema.

So it’s almost impossible to know whether the superbly scripted, directed, designed and acted Moneyball is really the cream-filled, strawberry jam-topped lamington it feels like – or whether it shines more luminously in comparison to most of the green bean salads we’ve been served up this year.

General Manager Billy Beane’s (Brad Pitt) baseball team, The Oakland Athletics, is failing. His best players are being poached by other clubs with offers of more money than the club’s owner can match. With the help of a super-smart mathematics nerd Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), Beane sets out to play the man, not the salary cap.

Based on a true story, Zaillian (Schindler’s List, Gangs of New York) and Sorkin’s (The Social Network, The West Wing, A Few Good Men, Sports Night) screenplay achieves the almost impossible task of making the behind-the-scenes machinations of a baseball league absolutely compelling. Focussed on personal as much as professional ambitions, Mr Miller (Capote) elicits outstanding performances from his cast – with Pitt delivering one of the least showy and most involving performances of his career.

Jonah Hill (Get Him to the Greek) is superb as his jovial baseball and software-addicted sidekick, while Chris Pratt (pictured) is equally good as Scott Hatteberg, one of the washed-up players given a second chance to shine on the team.

Ultimately, what absolutely works about Moneyball is the grand and timely theme of believing that goodness – if not greatness – can sometimes be found in people who others have discarded as worthless.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Three Musketeers

The Three Musketeers. Rated M (action violence). 110 minutes. Directed by Paul W S Anderson. Screenplay by Alex Litvak and Andrew Davies. Based on the novel by Alexandre Dumas.

While it’s certainly no masterpiece, there is much to enjoy about this rollicking and picturesque take on the age-old classic tale of swashbuckling, 3D derring-do between the French and English Courts that, to everyone’s credit, absolutely refuses to take itself too seriously.

Mr Litvak (Predators) and Mr Davies’ (Bridget Jones's Diary) buoyant screenplay plays rough and ready with the famous story of the French King’s musketeers – Athos (Matthew Macfadyen), Porthos (Ray Stevenson), Aramis (Luke Evans) and young D'Artagnan (Percy Jackson and The Lightning Thief’s Logan Lerman) – who must band together to defend the French Queen’s honour from almost certain disrepute, while trying to stay one leap ahead of the toxic Cardinal Richelieu (Christoph Waltz), the double-crossing Milady de Winter (Resident Evil’s Milla Jovovich) and the ambitious Duke of Buckingham (Orlando Bloom).

Stylishly photographed by Rambo and Resident Evil: Afterlife cinematographer Glen MacPherson, sumptuously dressed by Pierre-Yves Gayraud (The Bourne Identity, Perfume) and starring a couple of excellent airships (from designs by Leonardo da Vinci), Mr Anderson (the Resident Evil franchise) keeps all the bluff, bluster and skulduggery moving along at a mostly agreeable pace.

If the airship action sequences and the sword-fight between D'Artagnan and the Cardinal’s henchman Rochefort (Mads Mikkelsen) atop Paris’s Notre Dame Cathedral are standouts, it is ultimately Paul Austerberry’s (Resident Evil: Apocalypse, Twilight: Eclipse) lavish production design and the ideal locations (the film was shot in Bavaria) that provide most of the truly memorable highlights.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group and the print edition is included below.

TWTWTW #1

That Was The Week That Was

Over at Behind The Critical Curtain, the Margaret Pomeranz of The Theatre World continues to find himself dodging hate comments about his unceremonious slam of the Melbourne Festival’s Sight Unseen. But the winning comment of them all is Chris Boyd's “ … Prolier Than Thou faux-homeless in St Kilda" to the same, but different, event. Very post-traumatic.

The David Stratton of The Theatre World has been threatening to abandon her blog Theatrenotes for what seems like centuries now; and it would appear that this constant threat has finally become a reality. Ms TN is taking time off from her blog (for which, in case you didn’t know, she doesn’t get paid – unlike the rest of the world’s bloggers I suppose) to work on her art (for which she does get paid). It will, however, be fascinating to read Joanna Murray-Smith’s and David Williamson’s reviews of Ms Croggon’s theatre – reviews bound to be specially commissioned by The Australian, who will be desperately looking for content people actually want to read now that the pape has disappeared behind a paywall.

Also on the subject of things you can do without when you actually have to pay for them, The Sydney Festival has launched its program for 2012 and, rather alarmingly, suggested that there might have been something wrong with the score that was actually recorded for the soundtrack of Robert Wise’s West Side Story. Just in case you were wondering, there isn’t – and this could be described as a random act of cultural vandalism. If we cared enough about silly old Sydney to give it a second thought.

The Spoleto, sorry, Melbourne Festival Board, are killing time flipping calendar pages and wondering whether Ms Provan and her Melbourne International Comedy Festival luvvies will burn the Arts Centre to the ground if, as anticipated, the Melb Fest shoves its big, fat. over-produced arse into February/March as it is expected to do in 2013.

And while we’re on the subject of over-producing, Arts Victoria luvvies got off with slightly less printer cartridge toner on their hands than many had been anticipating this week, when someone found them not guilty of any improper dealings with the toner company who sold them enough toner to keep ten small independent theatre companies producing the complete works of William Shakespeare in repertory with entire casts on Award wages until the end of the world.

Which – on the odd occasion – just can’t come soon enough.

Film Review: In Time

In Time. Rated M (violence and infrequent coarse language). 109 minutes. Written and directed by Andrew Niccol.

It is only the intriguing ‘time as currency’ premise that keeps this laboured, poorly-structured film afloat – and while it’s a masterstroke of story-lining (represented by the digitally-enhanced timepieces embedded on everyone’s forearms), it ultimately becomes unforgivably tedious as one more ‘what you do with your time money’ metaphor crashes to the ground. Like a really big, heavy rock.

When Will Salas’s (Justin Timberlake) mum (Olivia Wilde) dies in his arms having been unable to afford the two-hour bus fare, young Will becomes determined to break free from the poverty-stricken ghetto where he lives, and hold the rich to account for the unfair distribution of time.

Unable to decide whether it’s Robin Hood, Bonnie and Clyde or just an incredibly under-produced sci-fi epic (look out for the scene starring Mr Timberlake, Amanda Seyfried and an uncredited couch), In Time constantly threatens to capitalise on its fascinating premise – and never does. Instead, Hollywood’s hottest young things all wander around looking gorgeous, dazed and confused – but none more so than poor Cillian Murphy (as timekeeper Raymond Leon) who appears to be struggling to cope with whatever the hell’s supposed to be going on.

Ms Seyfried (as rich girl Sylvia Weis) wins major respect for managing to run city blocks in heels the size of small skyscrapers, while fans of television’s Mad Men will recognise Vincent Kartheiser in his big-screen debut as her father, Philippe.

To his credit, Mr Niccol (Gattaca) has delivered a timely riff on class, greed, population control and revolution – important contemporary themes that are increasingly playing out in our daily global news coverage. It’s just a shame that the cinematic possibilities his story constantly threatens to unleash never actually eventuate.

Pictured: Justin Timberlake and Amanda Seyfried in In Time.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group and the print edition is included below.

Theatre Review: A Stranger in Town

A Stranger in Town. Written by Christine Croyden. Directed and designed by Alice Bishop. Inspired by the original musical diary of Otto Lampel. Original score and musical direction by Matt Lotherington. Lighting design by Richard Vabre. With Amanda LaBonte, Sophie Lampel, Jamie McDonald and Drew Tingwell. Presented by Essential Theatre. fortyfive downstairs, Melbourne. Until Sunday 13 November.

“When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not.” ― Mark Twain

Precious memories are at play in this eloquent and involving memory play – imaginatively, impeccably, lovingly, and often quite beautifully, delivered to the stage by Ms Bishop and performed by a uniformly excellent cast, who handle their challenging multiple roles with pure theatrical instinct and immense skill.

As the ghosts of journeymen and women – past and present – take their places on the side of the stage (both shadowed and illuminated by Mr Vabre’s excellent and always atmospheric lighting design), Otto Lampel (Drew Tingwell) begins his journey across the Atlantic on a boat bound for Canada. It is the late 1940’s – and Mr Lampel, a Czechoslovakian Jew – is beginning an immensely personal and equally dangerous journey to discover the essence of his humanity … and what remains of his identity.

Having fled Prague at the start of World War II – the only member of his family to survive Nazi-led genocide – Lampel is haunted by wartime horrors (quite brilliantly realised in an ingenious mountaintop scene) and the extent to which his spirit has been so rigorously interrogated that he has become an unreliable witness of his own life’s values and accord.

Mr Tingwell captures – perfectly – the introspective, layered, studious and dramatic reach of the fascinating Mr Lampel, while Ms Lampel (the real Otto Lampel’s granddaughter), Mr McDonald and Ms LaBonte shine in their roles including fellow travellers, a lion in the zoo (Mr McDonald works wonders here), a statue in the park (Ms Lampel), and restaurant owners in Montreal (Mr McDonald and Ms LaBonte).

The highlights of Ms Croyden’s multi-layered, cryptic, symbolic and richly-allegorical script are many – with the stakes at play powerfully underlined when one of Mr Lampel’s earlier travelling companions collapses into the restaurant he has been frequenting. It’s a heart-breaking moment of stark realisation (and breathtakingly well done), which brings sharply into focus the risks our fellow human beings are prepared to chance in order to flee persecution with something akin to blind optimism and indefatigable hope for a brighter future.

While it certainly resonates with our nation’s own asylum-seeker dilemmas and their attendant perverse lack of fundamental regard for humanity and personal history, A Stranger in Town never feels like it is trying to be worthy and earnest issues-based theatre. It dances, instead, with artful and poetic adventurousness – and is grounded by Ms Bishop’s gorgeous and evocative costumes into which the cast change on each darkened side of the stage, having plucked them from within a motley collection of suitcases. It is a brilliant theatrical device – perhaps no more effortlessly incorporated than when Otto’s frosty, strident wife (Ms Lampel rising to the occasion again) arrives in Montreal from London to determine for herself whether her husband intends to return with her to their son in London. The cryptic contents of the satchel she brings with her are, under Otto’s orders later, to be burned. It’s an incisive moment entirely lacking in sentimentality – one of the many fine qualities A Stranger in Town boasts.

Mr Lotherington’s pre-recorded original score (which was certainly not helped on opening night by a stubbornly recalcitrant speaker) could do with a judicious prune – particularly some of the underscoring which, in the presence of such fine performances, occasionally tends to rather unsubtly underline the fact that this is a ‘musical’ fable as opposed to serving the text and the performances of it as insightfully as the stagecraft does.

The original songs (based on Otto Lampel’s musical diary which was recorded in Canada) are fine and engaging, however the duet between Otto’s new lover and his English wife only serves to spark an surprisingly discomforting comparison with an identical moment between Miss Saigon’s Kim and Ellen. (It is, in fact, so completely jarring that the show would be none the poorer for its loss altogether.) Mr Tingwell does, however, prove himself to be a fine pianist and the cast acquit their musical responsibilities in fine form.

Ultimately, A Stranger in Town’s profound, overriding sense of optimism for a life of love, happiness and understanding is thoroughly engaging – and Essential Theatre should be encouraged to refine it further and set sail with it to the European festival circuit where, I suspect, it will be even more of an absolutely unqualified success.

Pictured: Sophie Lampel in a publicity still from A Stranger in Town. Supplied.

Film Review: Contagion

Contagion. Rated M (mature themes and infrequent coarse language). 106 minutes. Directed by Steven Soderbergh. Screenplay by Scott Burns.

With his breakthrough independent feature Sex, Lies and Videotape (1989), Steven Soderbergh created one of the most important and talked-about films of the 1990s – before delivering the outstanding Oscar-winners Erin Brockovich and Traffic (2000). His passion for big, star-fuelled ensembles reached its zenith with Ocean’s Eleven (2001) and sequels Ocean’s Twelve (2004) and Ocean’s Thirteen (2007).

A-list Hollywood casts (Clooney, Damon, Pitt, Roberts, Law, etc) give the impression of being prepared to do practically anything to appear in a Soderbergh film – so the polite way to respond to the monumental bore that is Contagion would just be to smile and say “Whoops.”

When a killer virus threatens to rapidly eradicate a large percentage of the world’s population (starting with Gwyneth Paltrow’s jet-setting Beth, pictured), the best brains in the scientific and health world (Kate Winslet, Laurence Fishburne, Elliott Gould and Jennifer Ehle leading the field) must first work out how to contain the spread of the virus, while racing against time to develop a vaccine.

Equal parts geography lesson, science lesson and Dettol commercial, Contagion constantly threatens to ramp up the tension, the thrills and the chills and yet absolutely fails to be able to do so. The set-up shows real promise, as besieged experts from all over the world prepare to take on the threat of a global pandemic as people start to either froth at the mouth and die and/or panic.

Containing nothing of the genre’s genuine horror/thriller potential (of which I Am Legend and 28 Days Later are just two vastly superior examples), what remains incomprehensible is the extent to which the acting talent on hand (Matt Damon and Jude Law round out the stellar cast) is utterly wasted in scene after ponderous scene of over-produced, self-reverential tedium.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group and the print edition is included below.

Theatre Review: The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane

The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane. Director Gavin Quinn, Designer Aedin Cosgrove, Costume and Prop Designer Sarah Bacon. Andrew Bennett, Derrick Devine, Conor Madden, Bashir Moukarzel, Gina Moxley, Daniel Reardon, Judith Roddy. With local players Kylie McCormack, Sue Tweg, Great Danes Absolute Dane My Gentleman (Santi), Monteral Full Circle (Gertie) and drama students from the Trinity Grammar School, Kew Tim Dennett, Fred Hiskens, William Lodge, Alex Hatzikostas, Thomas Little, Andrew Kondopoulos, Liam McCopping, Atticus Lyon and Nick Wood. Pan Pan Theatre (Ireland) presented by Arts Projects Australia and the Melbourne Festival. Malthouse Theatre, Melbourne. Until Saturday 22 October.

“The word "education" comes from the root e from ex, out, and duco, I lead. It means a leading out. To me education is a leading out of what is already there in the pupil's soul.”
― Muriel Spark, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

“Remember you must die.”
― Muriel Spark, Memento Mori

The Irish make theatre (in the truest sense of the term) like no-one else. The opening night of Brian Friels’ Dancing at Lughnasa on London’s Westend (where it had transferred from Dublin’s Abbey Theatre), remains the theatrical highlight of my life. But this Pan Pan Theatre production of The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane certainly gives it a run for its money – constantly nudging at the limits of theatricality with a rare and breathtaking curiosity performed with exacting stagecraft and the unequalled Irish passion for words and language; the definitive story.

And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

Partly an anarchic vivisection of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, a robust behind-the-scenes tragicomedy as three ideal ‘Hamlets’ audition for the leading role, and literally littered with illuminating intertextual juxtapositions (Samuel Beckett is superbly represented by the post-apocalyptic Endgame), The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane is a theatrical construct of unique, fiercely original mind-fuckery of the highest order.

As much as it defies (and denies) labels, The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane invites absolute scrutiny on a great number of psychologically compelling levels. It also, both relievedly and delightfully, plays with the extent to which it is enamoured with its own intellectual conceits: a monumental Pinteresque pause follows the first mention of “postdramatic” and, in a bravura moment, the Ghost walks – quite literally – out of the building.

The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane begins with an engaging prologue – a lecture on the stability of Shakespeare’s text among other things – from an academic (delivered with dry good humour by Sue Tweg). It’s a brilliant device – serving equally to lower, unsettle and provoke our expectations with particular insights: quoting Muriel Spark’s “problems you can solve, paradoxes you have to live with” leads into a fine thread on the objectification of the emotional needs of the women in Hamlet (radically deconstructed by an unforgettable mad scene later). A strangled rendition of “Greensleeves” on the recorder then catapults us into the audition process – overseen by the play’s director Mr Quinn and other production personnel.

The audition process is the perfect way to not only level the playing field but also raise the stakes – while robbing us of our ability, and need, to judge. The first act ends, however, with the audience being invited onto the stage to stand next to the Hamlet of our choice. Suddenly, the high-stakes quest for the role becomes something more like a community sporting match – and the damaged, eye-patch wearing Mr Madden is chosen (as he apparently often is).

And it’s not difficult to understand why. With his hapless recounting of his early days on stage and his poignant description of how he might have (somewhat gymnastically and over-enthusiastically) performed the role were he not so scarred (and scared), Mr Madden set himself up perfectly for the challenge: the dreamer, the procrastinator, the athlete and the provocateur … the ideal Hamlet.

The audience were then summarily dismissed so that the company could prepare for Act 2 – their performance of Hamlet. Standing outside the theatre, I couldn’t help wondering how on earth they would ‘bring us back’. Socialising, gossiping, laughing and smiling – we were at once both an audience united and an audience divided. I needn’t have been concerned. Upon re-entering the theatre, Aedin Cosgrove and Sarah Bacon’s design had transformed the space into a candlelit wonderland of divine theatrical order. Metal rubbish bins lined the stage (equal parts Beckett’s beloved chessboard and England’s orderly country garden) – before the ensemble took to the stage and delivered the “To be, or not be” monologue in a round. And I was, from that point on, hypnotised.

The company’s Hamlet is an expansive, jumbled, intertextual, anti-narrative tour de force of playful invention – topped by the arrival of the Trinity Grammar School Drama Students who perform the travelling players' ‘play within a play’ and the gravedigger scene like they’ve never been performed before. And just when it all appears to be skating along the edge of tongue-in-cheek, self-aware and joyful abandon, we are suddenly thrust into hell, when, having crawled out of a rubbish bin, a soaked Judith Roddy delivers a blistering, postmodern riff on Ophelia’s mad scene that is undeniably the dramatic highlight of a most brilliant and inspirational night at the theatre.

Pictured: Conor Madden in The Rehearsal, Playing the Dane

Film Review: What's Your Number?

What’s Your Number? Rated MA 15+ (strong sexual references). 106 minutes. Directed by Mark Mylod. Screenplay by Gabrielle Allan and Jennifer Crittenden. Based on the novel 20 Times a Lady by Karyn Bosnak.

While Ally Darling (Anna Faris) is travelling home having been unceremoniously sacked from her marketing job, she reads a magazine article informing her that women who have had more than 20 sexual partners rarely end up happily married to the love of their life. Determined to be happily married like her younger sister Daisy (Whip It’s Ari Graynor) is about to be, Ally enlists the help of her neighbour Colin (Chris Evans) to track down her 19 ex-lovers in the hope that one of them will have become her Mr Right.

One thing is an absolute certainty. It will be a race to the best seats for fans of Mr Evans (Captain America) and the sparkling Ms Faris (Scary Movie) as they cavort (mostly in various degrees of undress) in this gleefully smutty, opportunistic romantic comedy that also – somewhat strangely – happens to be a laughter-free zone.

Like its step-sister Bridesmaids, What’s Your Number? focuses on the travails of an under-achieving young woman in the lead-up to a big family occasion with all its attendant tension and potential for chaos. It's an increasingly disturbing trend, and the wedding sequences (with Blythe Danner chewing up the scenery as the girls’ mum, Ava) all rather regretfully play out with a musty whiff of familiarity – and long before the film grinds to a halt, we are utterly convinced that there is a much better movie struggling to get out from underneath all the screenplay’s layers of contrivance.

What saves it from being a frightfully predictable bore is Ms Faris’s immensely likable Ally daring to re-visit her ex-lovers and Mr Evans’s smooth-as-silk, struggling muso Colin who, having been the master of the one-night-stand, finds himself falling in love with this creative, determined and optimistic young woman across the hall. The film’s best scenes are certainly when this joyful, jaded but charismatic pair are at their unrestrained and romantic best – which, sadly, is still not enough to make it truly memorable.

Pictured: Chris Evans and Anna Faris in What's Your Number?

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Theatre Review: The Magic Flute

Mozart’s The Magic Flute (Impempe Yomlingo). Adapted and Directed by Mark Dornford-May. Musical Director Mandisi Dyantyis. Choreographer Lungelo Ngamlana. Additional music and lyrics by Mandisi Dyantyis, Mbail Kgosidintsi, Pauline Malefane, Nolufefe Mtshabe. Performed in English and Xhosa. The Isango Ensemble presented by the Melbourne Festival. The State Theatre, Melbourne until Sunday 16 October.

Composed in 1791 (the year of his death) with a libretto by Emanuel Schikaneder, Mozart’s The Magic Flute is one of the most beloved operas in the repertoire. Its origins as a singspiel (a play with songs) were most brilliantly realised in Milos Forman’s film of Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus, in which the stricken Mozart delivers his glorious vaudeville in a suburban theatre to capacity crowds who are enthralled by the work’s musical and dramatic adventurousness. Away from the rigorous, uptight tradition of the Court, Mozart – it could be argued – had finally found his Tribe.

And how, I couldn’t help imagining, Mozart would have adored the Isango Ensemble's stunning re-imagining of his beloved masterpiece – receiving its long-overdue Australian Premiere last night as one of the headline acts in this year’s Melbourne Festival.

From the first notes of the instantly recognisable overture to the final joyous celebration of triumph over adversity – it was constantly impossible to hold back the tears as years of austere, straight-jacketed, over-produced Flutes were swept to one side and replaced by a previously impossible to imagine sense of almost divine synchronicity. This is a Magic Flute for our troubled times – a never less than awe-inspiring liberation of the musicality that is innate within each us.

Played mostly on marimbas (traditional xylophone-like instruments with the full range of a Western keyboard’s sharps and flats), steel drums, and – even more astonishingly – glass bottles partly filled with water, Mozart’s score was given a breathtakingly beautiful new lease on life; so much so that I doubt I will be able to listen to it in quite the same way again.

It could also be argued, however, that without the many previous incarnations of this problematic opera, the Isango Ensemble version might have limited points of reference. Musically, the purists might mourn the absence of the lush, traditional orchestrations – not to mention the overall result of Mr Dornford-May’s judicious pruning and sophisticated and adventurous tempi (two and quarter hours flies by and other opera producers would do well to take note).

What is a certainty, however, is that by replacing instrumental orchestrations with vocal accompaniment (as in Papagano’s poignant Act 1 aria about his quest to find a wife) and the extraordinarily moving a capella account of the glorious prayer for the male chorus that opens Act 2, left me with a newfound appreciation for Mozart’s intricate harmonies – illuminated in a truly magical new light; beautifully and often more thrillingly sung as I have ever heard them before, anywhere in the world.

The colourful kingdom in which The Magic Flute takes place is effortlessly relocated to a corrugated-iron clad South African township, where the trials and tribulations of our journeymen and women are given a profound new sensibility. Infused with overtones of tribal initiation, guerrilla warfare and an array of Western influences (including a fabulous nod to The Supremes and a fabulous set of outlandish Afro wigs), every aspect of the interpretation made perfect sense – with one scene of dead bodies covered with grey blankets, in particular, packing an immensely powerful punch.

The ‘grab bag’ aesthetic of the costume design is an absolute masterstroke – with Papagano in camouflage, beautifully vibrant tribal attire, pink nightdresses (with matching teddy bears), dancing boys in their very camp flares, and a spectacular diva-esque frock for the Queen of the Night, all playing an important role in defining time, place and circumstance.

This is an extraordinarily rewarding night of compelling music theatre. Go – and experience The Magic Flute like you never have before, and probably never will again.

Film Review: Crazy, Stupid, Love

Crazy, Stupid, Love. Rated M (sexual references and infrequent coarse language). 118 minutes. Directed by Glenn Ficarra and John Requa. Screenplay by Dan Fogelman.

With more than a hint of American Beauty envy, Crazy, Stupid, Love is only ever a moderately appealing film that ultimately fails to decide precisely how it wants us to feel. There are certainly some interesting story strands (a young boy’s first hopelessly awkward infatuation with his baby-sitter is beautifully done), but they all suffer from feeling as though Mr Fogelman (Cars, Entangled) has tied them all together in knots. Really tight knots.

When Emily Weaver (Julianne Moore in teary mode) tells her doting, everyman husband Cal (Steve Carell) that she wants a divorce, Cal immediately ends up drowning his sorrows in a bar. Enter Jacob Palmer (Ryan Gosling) who takes the bereft Cal under his wing before hatching a plan (which includes the film’s winning make-over sequence) to help his new protégé win back the woman of his dreams.

Mr Ficarra and Mr Requa (Bad Santa, I Love You Phillip Morris) both succeed in being unable to bring any real levity and humour to the proceedings, and the uneven pacing and a lack of lightness of touch results in a film that ends up plodding through its almost two hour running time. The exceptions are the marvellous performances by Jonah Bobo (as the Weaver’s love-struck son, Robbie) and Analeigh Tipton (as the object of young Robbie’s infatuation, Jessica). When the film momentarily diverts its attention from the sombre Cal (played in deadly earnest by Mr Carell), it begins to resemble something we could be interested in – but sadly, not for long.

Mr Gosling (Half Nelson, The Notebook) slinks through in stud mode, but is totally unconvincing when Jacob finds himself unexpectedly bitten by the true love bug – delivered courtesy of the feisty Hannah (Zombieland's Emma Stone), who challenges him to drop the sex god act and reveal more about his personal feelings. This storyline ends up suffocating in its own ordinariness, which might have been the point.

It’s not until the film slows to a complete halt in the middle of its convenient and contrived conclusion that you realise you haven’t laughed much, if at all. You might also walk away remembering what a stunning film American Beauty was – if only by comparison.

Pictured: Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone in Crazy, Stupid, Love.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Theatre Review: Tom Tom Crew

Tom Tom Crew. Directed by Scott Maidment. Ben Walsh (Musical Director), Shane Witt, Ben Lewis, Daniel Catlow, David Carberry, Jamie McDowell, Mali de Goey, Tom Thum and DJ Sampology (Sam Poggioli). Presented by Melbourne Festival and Strut & Fret Production House. Now playing upstairs at the Forum Theatre until Sunday 23 October.

In the grand tradition of Stomp and Tap Dogs but with generous lashings of thrillingly high-stakes, daredevil acrobatic abandon and Tom Thum’s simply astonishing beatboxing, Tom Tom Crew burst into life for the opening night performance of their Melbourne Festival season.

What it lacks in big-budget showbiz polish and razzle dazzle, Tom Tom Crew more than makes up for with its genuine, eager to please, backyard/garage band aesthetic. This is no over-produced big set-piece extravaganza. Instead, the Crew’s raw (almost next-door neighbourly) honesty, intoxicating smiles and personalities, passion, humour and talent comes strikingly to the fore – uniting and delighting their audience with a rare kind of high-energy performance euphoria.

These are well-disciplined, chilled, drilled and thoroughly engaging performers – whose camaraderie from their Flying Fruit Fly Circus training ground and years on the international touring circuit (the show was born at the Adelaide Fringe Festival in 2006 before travelling to London, Edinburgh, New York, Berlin and Montreal) has resulted in a tightly-knit ensemble that both personifies and exemplifies trust, risk, loyalty and precision.

Entirely lacking in pretension, Tom Tom Crew wins points for opting to keep it real – like busking boys in a local park showing off to their captivated admirers; and in the cluttered realm of circus spectaculars, this is the essence of the Crew’s theatrical torque. Trained at the famous Fruit Fly Circus, it’s not difficult to join the dots between the Crew’s childlike joy at tackling high-flying acrobatics with energetic leaps and bounds into flights of sheer breath-taking fantasy. Equal part circus and vaudeville, the pace rarely sags – and when it momentarily does, it is only to allow us (and them) to catch our breath.

If Ben Walsh’s drumming on a seemingly impossible number of plastic barrels is a worthy, gob-smacking showstopper, nothing could have prepared us for Tom Thum’s (pictured) beatboxing. Rarely, in the theatre, do we find ourselves in the situation of being unable to believe either our ears or our eyes – but this boy with a microphone is a beatboxing virtuoso (and a terrifically gifted graffiti artist as witnessed in one of the show’s very clever multimedia interactions). From a classic jazz set to the instantly recognisable beats and melodies of the late Michael Jackson (poignantly performed as a “tribute”), Tom Thum’s contribution defies description.

On opening night, the boys were entirely worthy of the unanimous and thunderous standing ovation that, in retrospect, was the very least we could bring to the party. Without a doubt, this will be the hottest Melbourne Festival ticket in town. Whatever you have to do to get your hands on a ticket – do it.

In memoriam: Steve Jobs

Rest in Peace Steve. Thank you for your vision, your perseverance, your belief – and for sharing your genius and unparalleled creative intelligence with us all. My world is so enriched because of what you achieved in your life and all the poorer today for your passing. Thank you. Bless you.

Image: Screengrab from the Apple homepage.

Film Review: The Lion King

The Lion King. Rated G. 89 minutes. Directed by Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff. Screenplay by Irene Mecchi, Jonathan Roberts and Linda Woolverton.

Having stormed the box office when it was first released in 1994 (it is still the highest-grossing hand-drawn animation film ever made), Disney’s The Lion King is back in cinemas to captivate another generation while re-captivating those that first fell in love with it in the ‘90s.

Digitally modified for screening in 3D (an additional layer of ‘dimension’ has been added to the 2D original which delivers elements of the supreme artwork to the ‘so close I can almost touch it’ foreground), The Lion King has withstood the technological tampering to remain an enchanting rites of passage story.

With the birth of his cub Simba (Jonathan Taylor Thomas), Mufasa (James Earl Jones) must ensure that his evil brother Scar (a perfectly sinister Jeremy Irons) understands that Simba must eventually assume his rightful place as the leader of the pride. Scar immediately joins forces with his henchmen – hyenas Shenzi (the brilliant Whoopi Goldberg) and Banzai (Cheech Marin) – to re-determine the course of the young cub’s destiny.

Certainly one of Disney’s darkest affairs (with the death of Mufasa giving even the death of Bambi’s mother a run for its money), The Lion King kicks into hyperdrive once the, now exiled, adult Simba (Matthew Broderick) meets the flatulent warthog Pumbaa (Ernie Sabella) and his theatrical companion Timon the meerkat (Nathan Lane). Timon and Pumbaa’s impromptu burlesque to distract the enemy hyenas (“Are ya achin’/for some bacon?”) is still a sensational example of Disney’s determination to entertain their adult fans as much as the younger ones.

Hans Zimmer’s (Inception, Pirates of the Caribbean) score is still as close as it is possible to be to the perfect accompaniment to all the colour and movement, while Elton John and Tim Rice’s songs each serve the story beautifully – but none more so than the spectacular The Circle of Life sequence that remains not only one of this film’s most memorable, but one of the finest opening sequences of any animated film ever.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Postscript: One of the many examples of how Timon and Pumbaa's famous hula song and dance act from The Lion King has achieved cult status can be watched here.

Film Review: The Hunter

The Hunter. Rated M (coarse language and infrequent violence). 100 mins. Directed by Daniel Nettheim. Screenplay by Alice Addison. Based on Wain Fimeri’s original adaptation of the novel by Julia Leigh.

Please note: This review contains spoilers below the line.

As iconic contemporary cinema scenes go, there are few that can rival the epic, purely cinematic torque of Platoon Sergeant Elias’s (Willem Dafoe) brutal slaying at the hands of enemy forces in Oliver Stone’s Vietnam War masterpiece Platoon (1986). As the American soldiers are successfully evacuated in helicopters (to the unexpected accompaniment of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings), Chris (Charlie Sheen) spots Elias – still on the ground – desperately attempting to out-run enemy bullets. Even though the US choppers return to try and rescue him, it is too late. It is unforgettable, gut-wrenching stuff – and Dafoe’s performance in this sequence (and, in fact, the entire film) is extraordinary.

In Alan Parker’s searing Mississippi Burning (1988), Dafoe is brilliant as FBI Agent Alan Ward opposite Gene Hackman’s Agent Rupert Anderson. When the two men are called upon to investigate the murder of civil rights workers in 1964, the young Agent Ward finds himself pitted as much against Anderson’s rogue methods of enquiry as he does against the sinister townsfolk and their links to the infamous Ku Klux Klan.

In Mr Nettheim’s brooding, moody and slippery The Hunter, Dafoe is perfectly cast as Martin David – a mercenary sent by the mysterious biotech company Red Leaf to trap a Tasmanian Tiger which has reportedly been sighted in a particularly remote part of the Tasmanian wilderness. Masquerading as a university eco-researcher, Martin finds himself billeted with a young family at the base of the mountainous terrain where the tiger has apparently been spotted. Young mum Lucy (Frances O'Connor) spends her days and nights tranquillised by prescription drugs while her children Sass (Morgana Davies) and Bike (Finn Woodlock) roam freely about the property like young cubs of a mountain pride. Their father and Lucy’s husband has been missing in the mountainous terrain for months – having, himself, been hunting the elusive tiger. Supported, watched and shadowed by local guide Jack Mindy (a sinister Sam Neill), Martin departs on his hunt for the tiger – unlocking a veritable Pandora’s Box of haunting psychological challenges along the way.

If the film never quite reaches the soaring, psychologically thrilling heights to which it aspires from a story-telling point of view, technically Nettheim’s big-picture aspirations are hypnotic – grounded by the fiercely protected claims to sovereignty maintained by the logging and ecological industries as they go head-to-head in Ms Addison’s refreshingly unsentimental screenplay. But while there’s much to be said for the dank, harsh and unforgiving Tasmanian wilderness – the undeniable co-star of this film is flawlessly interrogated by cinematographer Robert Humphreys (Somersault) – the script is indecisive with regards to precisely just how much of its protagonist’s darkside it wants to explore.

What powers the overriding sense of paranoia and helplessness is suspicion – and suspicion, as Alfred Hitchcock, for example, knew only too well, takes time. In The Hunter, Nettheim certainly takes his time, and is more than ably-rewarded by the intricacies of the almost therapeutic nature of Dafoe’s patient snare building and trap setting. If Ms O’Connor’s under-written Lucy exists chiefly to ferry cups of tea about the place, Woodlock turns in a superb performance that belies his age as the mute young son – and it is in all of his scenes with Dafoe (particularly a stunning generator-repair sequence and the sequence when he leads Martin from the property on his bicycle) that The Hunter dips its toe masterfully into deeply rewarding territory.

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When Dafoe finally does confront his prey (brilliantly realised to mythological proportions by Sydney-based visual effects company Fuel VFX) – The Hunter sheds what had previously appeared to be comparatively tenuous and less-interesting sub-plots (what motivates Mr Neill's excellent Jack Mindy remains something of a mystery) to become something transcendentally arresting. It’s an unlikely moment of cinematic genius – where each of the film’s previously disparate threads suddenly unite in perfectly metered, breathless hyper-realism.

While the film’s final schoolyard scene plays with something like a terribly convenient epilogue, it’s actually not until days after seeing the film that the grand sense of completion evolves to a greater understanding and appreciation of everything this film has set out to achieve. Its greatest success is the extent to which it haunts you, both emotionally and psychologically – ultimately revealing itself to be unforgettable cinematic poetry that quite clearly marks Mr Nettheim and his impossibly daring producer Vincent Sheehan (Animal Kingdom) as the ones to watch.

The Hunter screens nationally from 6 October.

Pictured: Willem Dafoe and Finn Woodlock in The Hunter. Image courtesy Madman Entertainment.