Film Review: True Grit

True Grit. Rated M (violence). 110 minutes. Written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen. Based on the novel by Charles Portis.

For John Wayne, the role of ‘Rooster Cogburn’ would become something of a signature role: with the eye-patch-wearing, swaggering, boozing US Marshall whose own sense of justice (characterised by a series of personal vendettas), going no small way to becoming one of the most recognisable characters in Hollywood’s celebrated ‘Wild West’ genre.

And it is the ghost of the enigmatic Mr Wayne that pervades practically every scene in this artful and handsomely-produced take on Portis’s marvellous novel and the 1969 ‘original’ (in which the Oscar-winning Wayne starred opposite Kim Darby and Glen Campbell).

Teenager Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is determined to avenge the murder of her father by Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin). Cogburn (Jeff Bridges), she learns, has a reputation for having the “true grit” necessary to bring Chaney to justice. With Texas Ranger LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), who has his own reasons for capturing Chaney, along for the ride – the unlikely trio ride into ‘Indian territory’ where Chaney is thought to be hiding.

While the Coen’s take certainly hits its mark, it is also missing so much more – to the point where, by the time it eventually collapses under the weight of a peculiar earnestness – it is has become difficult to care. Bridges’ often inaudible mumbling, grumbling and growling are achieved at the expense of the thumping big-heart that was at the core of Wayne’s unforgettable performance. While Miss Steinfield works effectively (and incredibly hard) in the challenging lead role, their famous partnership lacks the necessary charisma and abandon that might have ensured we went along for the ride with more of an emotional commitment to their journey.

For the quirky and idiosyncratic Coen Brothers (A Serious Man, No Country For Old Men, Fargo, The Big Lebowksi), it is the contributions from frequent collaborators Roger Deakins (cinematography) and Carter Burwell (original score) that almost manage to keep it honest.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Black Swan

Black Swan. Rated MA 15+ (strong sex scene, themes and violence). 108 minutes. Directed by Darren Aronofsky. Screenplay by Mark Heyman, Andrés Heinz and John McLaughlin.

One of the greatest ballets in the international repertoire, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake is also one of the most popular – with ballet companies all over the world never failing to offer up a season of it when they need the guarantee of cash in their coffers.

The leading role of ‘The Swan Queen’ also presents a magnificent opportunity for a prima ballerina, who must be able to not only interpret and display the innocence and vulnerability of the white swan ‘Odette’, but also the seductive, deceitful and destructive qualities of the black swan ‘Odile’. As ballet roles go, this one’s an absolute doozy.

The same can be said for the lead role of in Aronofsky’s (Pi, Requiem for a Dream, The Wrestler) film about dancer ‘Nina’ (Natalie Portman) preparing to take on the challenge of interpreting the Herculean role. To say Nina has ‘a few issues’ would be stating the obvious – but Heyman, Heinz and McLaughlin’s screenplay relishes the concept of ‘obvious’ at every possible turn. When it’s not crashing about the rehearsal room with camp, melodramatic references to ballet company hierarchy and behind-the-scenes bitchiness, it’s banging about at home with Nina and her ‘Mom’ (a grotesque Barbara Hershey).

But the boys save their Freudian, pop-psychology best for the scenes involving Nina’s rival ‘Lily’ (Mila Kunis playing it as though she’s in West Side Story), and the company’s recently dumped prima ballerina ‘Beth’ (Winona Ryder), who shamelessly (and thanklessly) escorts the film into the realm of ridiculously unrestrained, schlock-horror territory.

As for poor old Swan Lake, Tchaikovsky’s monumental score which has been plundered to provide the film with its ‘score’, has never sounded worse, and the apparently revolutionary production of the ballet everyone is killing themselves to present is beyond amateurish – particularly its banal choreography and its 1970s variety hour-inspired art direction.

Ultimately, if you’ve ever wondered what it might be like to stand in front of a firing squad, then this one’s for you. The rest of us will wake up the next morning still contemplating who on earth could have believed this shambolic delinquency was worth subjecting us all to.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Tangled

Tangled. Rated PG (mild animated violence). 100 minutes. Directed by Byron Howard. Screenplay by Dan Fogelman, based on the Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm fairytale Rapunzel.

With an unofficial budget of US$260 million, Disney’s 50th animated feature clocks in as the most expensive animation and the fifth most expensive movie ever made (behind 1963’s Cleopatra $320m; 2007’s Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End $318m; 1997’s Titanic $200m and 2007’s Spider-Man 3 $273m). And while Disney obviously didn’t spend much of it on the screenplay (which flounders around in prolonged exposition early on), the studio eventually gets more bang for its considerable bucks once we finally get going.

In this adaptation of the celebrated, sinister fairytale, Rapunzel (Mandy Moore) is being held captive in a tower by a wicked old lady, Mother Gothel (Donna Murphy), who uses the magical qualities of Rapunzel’s golden locks to retain her youthful appearance. When mischievous young thief Flynn Rider (Zachary Levi) stumbles upon the tower, Rapunzel convinces him to escort her into the world so that she can experience the kingdom’s annual lantern festival first hand. Little does she know that this lantern ritual has more to do with her fulfilling her true destiny than she might ever have imagined.

Led by the dazzling series of Tinkerbell movies, Disney has been cranking up their ‘feisty Princess’ output – and their very modern Rapunzel is no exception. When she’s not knocking the hapless Flynn unconscious with a frying pan or locking him in her closet, she is swinging Tarzan-like about the place from her hair while belting out those predictable Disney-esque tunes (courtesy of Beauty and The Beast and The Little Mermaid tuner Alan Menken).

Moore, Levi and Murphy acquit the vocal responsibilities with great charm and skill, even if they are frequently upstaged by two fabulously entertaining (voiceless) characters – Pascal (Rapunzel’s cynical pet chameleon) and Maximus (a horse with a justice obsession).

But what it lacks in the script department is more than made for in the “look” department. The animation is never less than superb, and features the most sumptuous 3D rendering of the astonishing lantern festival that is almost reason, alone, to go. As thousands of paper lanterns are released into the night sky, only the most hard-hearted cynic will not gasp in wonder at the magical display of sheer visual and technological wonderment on display.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Unstoppable

Unstoppable. Rated M (infrequent coarse language). 98 minutes. Directed by Tony Scott. Screenplay by Mark Bomback.

The latest race-against-impending-doom high-octane thriller from Scott (Top Gun, The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3, Enemy of the State) has left the railyard – un-manned and under its own ever-increasing speed.

In pursuit of his out-of-control loco adventure, Tony Scott, the younger brother of director Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator, Robin Hood), is helped considerably by the ‘based on a true story’ hook and Bomback’s (Die Hard 4) screenplay which absolutely fits the boys-own adventure blueprint – chock-a-block with dare-devil heroics, stunts galore and a mean, lean line in flawed relationship backstory.

Charged with reining in the rogue locomotive and its rolling stock laden with toxic chemicals before it derails and explodes in the middle of a heavily-populated American town, Scott regular Denzel Washington (Frank, a veteran engineer) and Chris Pine (Will, a tyro conductor) throw themselves at the perilous tasks at hand with generous lashings of charismatic macho abandon. Rosario Dawson (Connie, the yard controller) and Kevin Dunn (Galvin, the rail company executive) provide fine support as ally and bombastic foe respectively.

Ben Seresin’s (Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen) gritty, stylised cinematography and Chris Seagers’ (Saving Private Ryan) extravagant production design ensure that every authentic detail of the story’s rollicking execution is masterfully and atmospherically rendered. The editing by Chris Lebenzon (Pearl Harbor, Alice in Wonderland, Armageddon) and Robert Duffy never misses a frantic beat as Scott and Seresin’s camera swoops, sweeps and strains to capture the unfolding drama from every possible (and a couple of seemingly quite impossible) angles.

Nail-biters? You have been warned!

Pictured: Chris Pine in one of Unstoppable's rare (and momentary) pensive moments.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The King's Speech

The King’s Speech. Rated M (coarse language). 118 minutes. Directed by Tom Hooper. Screenplay by David Seidler.

When King Edward VIII (Guy Pearce) abdicates for the love of his paramour Wallis Simpson (Eve Best), his brother the Duke of York (Colin Firth) becomes a reluctant King George VI. Championed by his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham-Carter, romping through as the young woman who would become The Queen Mother), the King-in-Waiting has been working with Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) to conquer his childhood stammer. What awaits the determined (and hopefully articulate) young royal, are the most tumultuous events of the 20th century.

The grand themes of triumph over adversity and severe personal affliction waft through this fresh-out-of-mothballs period jaunt that frequently reminds us just how much more suited to the stage (as was originally intended) it would have been. Only twice (in a atmospheric scene in a fog-filled London park and an equally picturesque drive to a snow-bound country estate) does the story seem to take to the screen – the rest of the time remaining determinedly and self-consciously stage-bound.

Firth delivers a familiar riff on his signature wounded, doe-eyed, domiciled every-husband persona (much as he did in Nanny McPhee and A Single Man), and while his performance is technically quite brilliant, it is equally emotionally shallow. Firth and Rush (relishing a quirky, colonial Henry Higgins) have all the best scenes, but the jousting is never entirely convincing – chiefly because the quest to be able to speak fluently never seems as important to the young prince as it does to his adoring wife.

While it owes a debt to The Queen and Peter Morgan’s fascinating study of behind-the-scenes royal protocols that drove it, Seidler’s screenplay is terrifically taut – with a fine comedic line that escorts the film into almost impossibly cheerful (and accessible) territory.

You could, however, be forgiven for not fully appreciating the historical significance of the either the abdication, the ascension or the ‘speech’ of the title. Seidler’s apolitical screenplay steadfastly refuses to engage with the critical rupture in the history of the English monarchy – nor, more peculiarly, the Hitler-lead rise of fascism in neighbouring Europe. Hitler’s appearance (courtesy of some compelling archival footage) appears to be more of a distraction rather than the reason for which the King will be required to speak to his subjects in a manner in which they have never been spoken to before.

Hooper’s direction and Danny Cohen’s (Dead Man’s Shoes) cinematography are all over the place stylistically, and not even the consummate skills of editor Tariq Anwar (American Beauty) can account for the extent to which the coronation scene (the rehearsal for which is the absolute highpoint) hijacks the momentum.

Ultimately, it is only its Pygmalion-inspired triumphalism on the eve of World War II that ensures it limps home.

Pictured: Colin Firth and Helena Bonham-Carter in The King's Speech.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.