Film Review: Cinderella

‪ 

Cinderella. Rated G (very mild themes). 105 minutes. Directed by Kenneth Branagh. Screenplay by Chris Weitz.

Verdict: An unforgettable telling of a magical story.

What a relief that the unmitigated disaster a contemporary re-telling of the much-loved Cinderella fairytale might have been never eventuates. Instead, in the hands of the accomplished Kenneth Branagh (Thor, Hamlet), the story’s values shine through in scene after scene of expertly acted and brilliantly designed cinematic beauty, superbly photographed by Cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos (Thor).

The modernised, pop references that might have appeared are all rejected in favour of lavish, traditional production values from Production Designer Dante Ferretti and Costume Designer Sandy Powell (who worked together on Shutter Island and The Aviator). The scale and beauty of their creativity is never less than astonishing. Every time the magnificent Cate Blanchett’s evil stepmother appears, it is in another stunning costume that risk becoming the only aspects of the film you’ll remember.

While Walt Disney’s Cinderella (1950) is the most memorable cinematic telling of the story to date, Branagh’s version capitalises on state-of-the-art visual effects, of which the sequences involving Helena Bonham Carter’s Fairy Godmother and Lily James’s perfect Cinderella preparing to go to the Ball are the magical highlights. As the clock strikes midnight, the chaos of Cinderella’s flight home from the palace in a disintegrating pumpkin carriage is brilliantly realised.

But the heart of the story is the potentially ill-fated romance between a cruelly mistreated young commoner and her Prince Charming, Kit (Richard Madden). The onscreen chemistry James and Madden share is heart-felt, and restores our faith in the power of genuine romance. Where Cinderella also bucks the ‘fake it till you make it’ trend of young, cinematic heroines, is the way that even though Cinderella presents at the Ball as gorgeous princess in a stupendous gown, it is actually the courageous, loyal and determined young woman with whom Kit falls in love.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Monuments Men

The Monuments Men. Rated M (violence). 118 minutes. Directed by George Clooney. Screenplay by George Clooney and Grant Heslov. Based on the book by Robert M. Edsel.

Verdict: Self-indulgence on a monumental scale.

Based on the real-life exploits of the officers and civilians who made up the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (established to locate and return the millions of valuable artworks and artefacts that had been stolen by the Nazis), Clooney and Heslov’s screenplay barely skims the surface of what must have been at stake for these people during dangerous and difficult times.

Despite James Bissell’s (ET the Extra-Terrestrial, Good Night, and Good Luck) meticulous production design (or perhaps because of it), The Monuments Men resembles an over-produced episode of Hogan’s Heroes, as Clooney and Matt Damon, with support from John Goodman, Bill Murray and The Artist’s Jean Dujardin, stroll through the action, barely managing to alter their facial expressions or register a single degree of difficulty.

The result is also often quite funny, as though Clooney and Co have chosen to play it mostly for laughs, which is not only incredibly disconcerting given the subject matter, but also somewhat disrespectful to the honour and the memory of the men and women whose stories they borrow.

Even if Clooney and Heslov do not appear to have been terribly concerned about the fact that there were also women involved in the program, the film boasts a fine performance from Cate Blanchett as French art curator Claire Simone, a witness to the massive art theft the group are charged with retrieving.

Hugh Bonneville (Downtown Abbey) is also excellent as Donald Jeffries, whose passion and dedication to protect Michelangelo’s Madonna of Bruges from the thieving Nazis, provides the film with its only moments of genuine and deeply-moving drama. And yes, the elderly man in the final scene is George Clooney’s Dad. How nice.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Robin Hood

Robin Hood. 148 minutes. Rated M. Directed by Ridley Scott. Written by Brian Helgeland.

Make no mistake. We are now entering Big Motion Picture territory. Robin Hood, arguably one of the most eagerly-awaited and heavily-publicised big picture epics of the year has finally hit the big screen. So, is it any good? Yes, of course it is. It's one of the masters of cinematic storytelling Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise, Gladiator), at the helm, after all. Is it Scott's best film to date? No it's not (that's, for my money, still Alien). Is it Russell Crowe's greatest performance? No, it certainly is not (that's A Beautiful Mind closely followed by Romper Stomper). And what's Cate like? She's as marvellous as you'd expect an actress of her calibre to be. And this is the key to Robin Hood's most significant failing: everything is exactly as you expect it to be – that, and nothing more.

It is 1199, and archer Robin Longstride (Russell Crowe) is a member of King Richard I's (The Lionheart) mighty army. When the King is killed in battle, Robin and his companions are freed to return home to England. Along the way, they discover that the King's Guard (charged with the safe return of the dead King's Crown) have been ambushed by the traitor Sir Godfrey (Mark Strong). After fighting to support their fellow Knights and wounding Godfrey in the process, Robin promises the mortally-wounded Sir Robert Loxley that he will honour his memory by returning his precious and unique sword to the dying knight's father Sir Walter (Max von Sydow) in Nottingham. Back in England, Richard's younger brother John (Oscar Isaac) is named the new King and the country is immediately plunged in chaos. Only the fearless Robin can empower the people to rise up and defeat the invading French forces.

Robin Hood is a serious, lead-footed and humourless film that lacks even one minute in its almost two and a half hour running time of genuine excitement. We anticipate nothing. And while the fine ensemble deliver excellent performances, the encyclopedic nature of Helgeland's (Green Zone, Mystic River) verbose screenplay constantly weighs them down with dialogue so entirely plot-driven and didactic, that not even the promise of light, or romance or personal conquest can shake the immense sense of foreboding that everything is going to play out precisely as we expect it to. And, almost without exception, it does.

Isaac is sensational as the tyrannical, juvenile King John and Strong is great as the evil, duplicitous Sir Godfrey. Von Sydow's spirited performance is all class, and Crowe plays Robin Hood with a great sense of nobility, humility, charity and charm. He belts along on horseback with the very best of them and his moments of wry humour are almost impossibly welcome. Regrettably, they are soon eradicated by yet more thundering hooves, clanging swords and bows and arrows. There's a ridiculous number of bows and arrows actually, which are photographed relentlessly from every possible angle.

With the peculiar exception of the last five minutes, Robin Hood is a film entirely lacking in irony, joy, intimacy or soul. Yes, it starts with a Big Battle (but nowhere near as big or as interesting as Gladiator's sensational opening sequence). It also almost ends with a Bigger Battle – but apart from some impressive aerial establishing shots of the French invasion, we're quickly back on the sand and in the water with yet more thundering hooves, clanging swords and whizzing arrows.

As it, relievedly, begins to wind up, its tone lightens and, for the first time, we sense a pulse – a heartbeat – a pure and restrained optimism and delight that has been chronically lacking from everything that has gone before. While England under the tumultuous reigns of King Richard and King John was quite obviously no fun whatsoever (expect, possibly, for them) – the result is a film that, somewhat perversely, is equally no fun whatsoever. None.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspapers Group and was published in the print edition of the Geraldton Guardian.