Film Review: The Big Short

The Big Short. Rated M (coarse language and nudity). 130 minutes. Directed by Adam McKay. Screenplay by Charles Randolph and Adam McKay. Based on the book The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine by Michael Lewis.
 
The Big Short, a film about the housing market-fuelled global financial crisis of 2007, is both as interesting and as brain-numbingly boring as it sounds.

A poor cousin to Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), The Big Short is yet another story of greed, corruption, fraud, ambition and selfishness – those benchmark characteristics that continue to define those working at the top of the food chain on Wall Street in the USA.

The fine ensemble, lead by Christian Bale and Steve Carell, do lots of Really Big Acting – obviously aware that the majority of audience members around the world will be staring blankly at the screen wondering what it all means, and why it matters.

The Big Short’s significant flaw is that it did matter – enormously – and McKay (The Other Guys, Anchorman, Anchorman 2) struggles to find a way to prove that to be the case. Counter-pointed with oblique references to the tragic human cost of the continuing pandemic of greed, are a number of singularly indulgent and condescending cameos from celebrities (including The Wolf of Wall Street’s Margot Robbie) who try to explain what all the financial jargon means.

It’s a narrow conceit, particularly given that The Big Short is obsessed with the powerlessness we face when the financial system erodes the fundamental needs of hard-working people who simply want a roof over their heads.

If there is a lasting sensibility from the experience of this film, it is that you may leave the cinema determined to invest more in a life of simpler, spiritually enhancing experiences. Because the system that determines everything else about our future security and wellbeing is not, and never will be, ours to control.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The 5th Wave

The 5th Wave. Rated M (mature themes, violence and coarse language). 112 minutes. Directed by J Blakeson. Screenplay by Susannah Grant, Akiva Goldsman and Jeff Pinkner. Based on the novel by Rick Yancey.

Four waves of hostilities from alien forces (known as ‘The Others’) have reduced Earth’s population to a small group of fearful survivors on the run from the enemy who now roam the country, in human form, picking the survivors off one by one. In The 5th Wave’s sharp and nihilistic prologue, and a horrifying sequence set in a refugee camp, we learn just how impossible it has become to trust anyone you meet anymore, and it is this environment of absolute suspicion and paranoia that provides The 5th Wave with a strong dramatic core.

Cassie (Chloë Grace Moretz) is your all-American College sweetheart, with a crush on football star Ben Parish (Jurassic World’s Nick Robinson). Cassie adores her little brother Sam (Zackary Arthur), and when they find themselves separated and alone in the face of the fifth wave of alien aggression, Cassie must do all she can to be reunited with Sam in the hope that they will be among the planet’s few survivors.

While she is certainly no Jennifer Lawrence, Moretz (Dark Shadows, Let Me In), who is rarely off-screen, handles the demanding leading role extremely well. She receives strong support from Robinson and Alex Roe, whose forest-dwelling Evan Walker might not be the heroic rescuer he, at first, appears to be.

Blakeson (The Disappearance of Alice Creed), having polished off Earth’s decimation from the first four waves of hostility with some moderately impressive special effects, is obviously more interested in the human consequences. And while it certainly suffers by comparison to similarly-themed films such as The Hunger Games, Divergent and The Maze Runner, The 5th Wave wins points for focussing on the resourceful young Cassie’s determination that trust, instinct, fearlessness, and the all-powerful connection with family, may eventually win the day.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Revenant

The Revenant. Rated MA15+ (strong bloody violence, themes and sexual violence). 156 minutes. Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu. Screenplay by Mark L Smith and Alejandro González Iñárritu. Based in part on The Revenant: A Novel of Revenge by Michael Punke.
 
Of The Revenant’s many contradictions, the main one is how a true story of such relentless brutality can also be one of the most beautiful films in recent memory. It is a film that you will often want to hide from as much as be hypnotised by its immense natural splendour, photographed to perfection by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (Birdman, Gravity, The Tree of Life).
 
It is 1823, and fur-trapper Hugh Glass’ (Leonardo DiCaprio) ordeal begins in the deceptive tranquillity of a swiftly flowing creek, where he and his son Hawk (Forrest Goodluck) are stalking their prey. At the base camp nearby, the other trappers, lead by the wound-up John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), are preparing to load their precious cargo onto a boat when they are attacked by hunters from the Native American Arikara tribe.
 
Those lucky enough to escape the truly merciless attack, decide to head inland and back to the relative safety of their fort. During a moment of rare respite, Glass finds himself in the presence of two bear cubs and their very angry mother, who wastes no time in taking on the threat to her young.
 
Miraculously, Glass survives the ferocious attack, only to be deserted by Fitzgerald and the young Bridger (Will Poulter), who were to stay with him until he either died or help returned. Dragging himself from his shallow grave, Glass begins his impossibly challenging journey home.
 
Iñárritu (Birdman, Babel, 21 Grams) commands every element of his uncompromising masterpiece, with DiCaprio, and each member of the outstanding cast, delivering performances that are more like incomprehensible feats of endurance. For those who love riveting survival stories, The Revenant is one of the very best – an immersive, unforgettable cinematic experience.
 
This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Daddy's Home

Daddy’s Home. Rated PG (mild crude humour, sexual references and coarse language). 96 minutes. Directed by Sean Anders. Screenplay by Brian Burns, Sean Anders and John Morris.
 
Just in time for what remains of the holiday season comes this occasionally hilarious film about Brad (Will Ferrell), an earnest, well-meaning guy who is desperate to be accepted as stepfather to his new wife Sara’s (Linda Cardellini) two children – Megan (Scarlett Estevez) and Dylan (Owen Vaccaro) – from her previous marriage to Dusty (Mark Wahlberg).

Just as the children appear to be coming around to accepting the devoted and hyper-emotional Brad into their lives, the athletic, super cool, motorbike-riding Dusty decides to make an impromptu visit to meet his ex-wife’s new husband and spend some time with his children. With the battlelines well and truly drawn, courtesy of a spectacular sequence when Brad pretends he can ride Dusty’s motorbike, the two dads go head-to-head to prove who is the best man for the job.

The writers, who collaborated on Dumb and Dumber (2014), Mr Popper’s Penguins (2011), She’s Out of My League (2010) and Hot Tub Time Machine (2010), hit their marks early, and with the exception of a couple of slides into what might be considered well above PG-rated terrain, the script bubbles along under Anders’ solid direction.

Ferrell and Wahlberg first teamed up as a couple of hapless New York City cops in The Other Guys (2010), and on this occasion, their easy-going camaraderie underpins the comedy beautifully, which results in it never becoming too dark or hostile. Even though there is much at stake for each of their characters, the sense that they admire and respect the importance of the other’s role in the children’s lives provides Daddy’s Home with unexpected heart and soul.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Good Dinosaur

The Good Dinosaur. Rated PG (mild themes and threat, some scenes may scare young children). 101 minutes. Directed by Peter Sohn. Screenplay by Meg LeFauve.

With generous amounts of storyline lifted directly from The Lion King, Jungle Book, Ice Age, How to Train Your Dragon and The Croods, the tale of the bond between an awkward young dinosaur, Arlo (Raymond Ochoa), and a tenacious little caveboy, Spot (Jack Bright), is a slippery affair.

While it fails to win points for the originality of its storylines, the visual wonder of the computer-generated animation may well be the most extraordinarily photo-realistic work yet from Pixar Animation Studios. The lavish, gorgeously detailed environments created for the story are superb, but this also serves to highlight the fact that LeFauve’s screenplay fails to live up to the many possibilities.

What is equally confusing is the extent to which the story relies heavily on nightmarish scenarios, many of which will simply terrify the younger members of the film’s potential audience. At the same time, The Good Dinosaur is unable to find a way of offering older children anything much in the way of new and interesting takes on the familiar ‘rites of passage’ formula.

The exceptions are a couple of exquisite night-time sequences, the first being when Arlo’s father introduces him to the local population of fireflies in the hope that the experience may inspire his anxious son to conquer his fears. The second is the incredibly moving sequence when the lost Arlo and Spot realise how important their respective families are to them. By using twigs and drawing circles in the dirt, the film’s most meaningful point of engagement is also its least sophisticated.

When the simple circular motif is used again late in the characters’ journey, The Good Dinosaur makes a powerful statement about the importance of family, which makes it something like an ideal family film for the festive season.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Star Wars: Episode VII: The Force Awakens

Star Wars: Episode VII: The Force Awakens. Rated M (science fiction themes and violence). 135 minutes. Directed by J.J. Abrams. Screenplay by Lawrence Kasdan, J.J. Abrams and Michael Arndt. 

Our return to the Star Wars universe was always going to be complicated. Courtesy of a protracted pre-release marketing strategy, expectations about how welcome Abrams’ (StarTrek Into Darkness, Super 8, Star Trek, Mission: Impossible III) vision for the revered saga would be, soared. 

The good news is that as nostalgia, The Force Awakens is faultless. The masterstrokes are having Kasdan (Return of the Jedi, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars: Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back), composer John Williams, and our beloved original heroes of the resistance – Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, Peter Mayhew’s Chewbacca, and Anthony Daniels’ C-3PO – return.

When Chewie and Han Solo appear on screen together again for the first time, you may very well find it impossible not to either burst into tears or stand and cheer. Abrams’ camera lingers long on the returning icons, allowing us to reconnect with characters who undeniably shaped the cinematic experiences of a generation.

The new leading players – ace resistance pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac), Finn (John Boyega), a Stormtrooper with a guilty conscience, Rey (Daisy Ridley), who trades space junk for sustenance, and dark lord Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) – deliver outstanding performances and effortlessly match the trusted old guard with an abundance of passion for their place in Star Wars history.

The work of cinematographer Daniel Mindel (Star Trek Into Darkness, Star Trek, Mission: Impossible III) and production designers Rick Carter (War Horse, Avatar, Jurassic Park) and Darren Gilford (TRON: Legacy) is never less than completely spell-binding, and the true wonder of The Force Awakens is how stunning it looks and feels. It is a beautifully detailed realisation, and the entire film contains precious gems of references to the story so far.

Long may it continue.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Creed

Creed. Rated M (mature themes, violence and coarse language). 133 minutes. Directed by Ryan Coogler. Screenplay by Ryan Coogler and Aaron Covington.

Officially the seventh film in the Rocky series, Creed politely ignores the less successful Rocky V (1990) and Rocky Balboa (2006), and picks up where 1985’s Rocky IV left us.

Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) still mourns the loss of his wife Adrian (Talia Shire), and dutifully works in the restaurant he named in her honour. Meanwhile, Adonis Johnson (Alex Henderson) the young son of his great adversary (and eventually friend) Apollo Creed, is doing time in a juvenile justice centre for being unable to control his temper. When the late Apollo’s wife Mary Anne (Phylicia Rashad) arrives to take the boy into her care, Adonis realises that this may be the second chance he has dreamed of.

Fast-forward seventeen years, and the restless Adonis (Michael B. Jordan) decides to quit his job at a financial services company to pursue his dream of becoming a champion boxer like his father, and begins by tracking down Rocky in the hope that he will become his trainer. While he is at first incredibly reluctant, Rocky gradually realises that the path to realising a lifetime’s resolution may lie in the future of this determined young man.

Coogler (Fruitvale Station) is in complete command of the cinematic history he is creating, and the great performances he elicits from his outstanding ensemble. His and Covington’s screenplay is the perfect combination of respect to the formidable Stallone’s iconic Rocky, and the passion, discipline and drive of a young boxer’s fearless ambition.

Jordan (Fruitvale Station) brings the many contradictions of Appollo’s rite of passage to the screen superbly – matching the great Stallone to perfection. Every one of their scenes together bristles with an emotionally-charged, powerful energy that, as the story powers up to its stunning conclusion, becomes almost overwhelming.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: In the Heart of the Sea

In the Heart of the Sea. Rated M (survival themes). 122 minutes. Directed by Ron Howard. Screenplay by Charles Leavitt. Based on the book ‘In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex’ by Nathaniel Philbrick.

When a director as good as Howard sets sail for the high seas, we have an almost watertight guarantee that gripping drama will ensue. After all, with A Beautiful Mind (2001), he achieved what many considered highly improbable, by turning the study of mathematics into an Oscar-winning masterpiece.

His Apollo 13 (1995), about the battle for unlikely survival aboard a severely damaged spacecraft, remains an infinitely watchable film. And then there was the fantastic Rush (2013), the director’s first outing with Heart of the Sea star Chris Hemsworth, when the rivalry between Formula 1 champions James Hunt (Hemsworth) and Niki Lauda (Daniel Brühl) resulted in one of the most compelling films of that year.

If Heart of the Sea fails to reach the heights of Howard’s previous adventures that have also been based on true stories, it’s because the ‘survival at sea’ (or anywhere for that matter) genre is packed with vastly superior films, of which Ridley Scott’s White Squall (1996), Wolfgang Petersen’s The Perfect Storm (2000), and Peter Weir’s Master and Commander (2003) are just three examples.

This is not to say that the tale of the whalers aboard the ill-fated Essex, including First Mate Owen Chase (Hemsworth), the privileged Captain Pollard (Benjamin Walker), and Second Mate, Matthew Joy (Cillian Murphy), is not an interesting one. The problem lies in the fact that with the exception of the brilliantly realised confrontations with the massive ‘demon’ white whale, every other scene, circumstance and conflict at sea and on land has a doom-laden sense of wearying familiarity – as though we’ve seen and heard it all before.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2. Rated M (mature themes, violence and horror sequence). 137 minutes. Directed by Francis Lawrence. Screenplay by Peter Craig and Danny Strong. Based on the novel by Suzanne Collins.

It was never going to be easy. With the arrival of the game-changing The Hunger Games (2012), the epic contest between Collins’ reluctant heroine Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) and the menacing megalomaniac President Snow (Donald Sutherland) kicked off in spectacular fashion. Then came the sequel Catching Fire (2013), and then the first part of Collins’ third novel in the series, Mockingjay, released in 2014 as the first of a two-part finale. 

It is impossible to deny that with each new addition, The Hunger Games has progressively lost all of its uniqueness. Instead, in this ultra-violent and haphazard Part 2, the once complex and resourceful Katniss is reduced to a blind-sided, vengeful warrior, fixated on assassinating Snow.

With Peeta (Josh Hutcherson), Gale (Liam Hemsworth), Finnick (Sam Claflin) and a handful of other bodies in tow for the astonishingly high body count, Katniss chooses a ridiculously conventional route to Snow’s mansion –exposing herself and her unfortunate comrades to any number of cruel (and obvious) life-ending dangers.

The essence of Part 2’s problems lies in the commercially-driven decision to split the third book into two films. It rapidly becomes obvious that, apart from the Peeta’s character development (beautifully played out by Hutcherson), there is neither enough interesting story developments nor originality to guarantee it will survive, dramatically, as a stand-alone film.

Francis Lawrence (no relation to Jennifer), has directed all but the first film in the series. And as the sun sets over the final scene, it is difficult not to imagine that he might be feeling as though he’s arrived a little too late at what had been a fantastic party, only to discover that there’s only a cold sausage roll left.

And no more beer.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Spectre

Spectre. Rated M (action violence). 148 minutes. Directed by Sam Mendes. Screenplay by John Logan, Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Jez Butterworth.

For this twenty-fourth film about Ian Fleming’s illusive Secret Agent 007, Mendes (Skyfall, American Beauty) and his writers (with Butterworth making his 007 debut having penned the gripping Black Mass), deliver yet another spectacular feat of cinematic endurance. 

James Bond (Daniel Craig) is in Mexico City on unofficial business to assassinate Marco Sciarra (Alessandro Cremona), a terrorist who plans to detonate a massive bomb in the middle of the crowded city. When he souvenirs Sciarra’s ring, engraved with an octopus, Bond discovers that he worked for an organisation known as Spectre – a group responsible for a series of devastating terrorist attacks, planned to ensure the world’s most powerful governments buy-in to ‘Nine Eyes’, the global surveillance network Spectre has created.

When Bond learns from MI6 rogue agent Mr White (Jesper Christensen) that his daughter Madeleine Swann (Léa Seydoux) can lead him to Ernst Blofeld (Christoph Waltz), the mastermind behind Spectre, Bond teams up with the, at first, reluctant Swann to bring the organisation down.

Spectre is, in every sense, a massive undertaking – and having landed in Mexico City for the annual Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) festivities, the epic scale of what lies ahead for our hero becomes crystal clear. Mexico City, London, the Austrian Alps, Rome and Morocco provide the astonishing array of locations, with the moody nature and purpose of each one captured brilliantly by cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema (Interstellar).

Craig returns in superb form, powering through the grand adventure in a role he has now definitively made his own. Within the outstanding ensemble, Seydoux (Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol) is perfect as the cool Madeleine, while Waltz (Inglourious Basterds, Django Unchained, Water for Elephants) brings the sinister Blofeld to life in a performance of the purest evil.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Last Witch Hunter

The Last Witch Hunter. Rated M (supernatural themes and violence). 106 minutes. Directed by Breck Eisner. Screenplay by Cory Goodman, Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless.

Cursed with immortality for preventing the Witch Queen (Julie Engelbrecht) from wiping out humanity with a deadly plague during the Middle Ages, witch hunter Kaulder (Vin Diesel) now tries to keep the peace between witches and humans in the modern world.

Accompanied by priests (known as Dolans) from a secret witch hunting organisation, Kaulder realises that traces of dark magic are beginning to appear. When the 36th Dolan (Michael Caine) suddenly vanishes in what was obviously a violent struggle, it becomes clear that the Witch Queen and her followers are planning their revenge.

On paper, The Last Witch Hunter would have looked like a sure-fire hit. As he has proved with his successful Fast and the Furious and The Chronicles of Riddick films, Diesel is a capable and charismatic star. Even though his range as an actor is limited, he always knows how to give his devoted fans everything they want.

The final result on screen, however, is a different matter. It all begins promisingly, with a great (if very dark) opening sequence in which Kaulder and the Witch Queen fight to the ‘death’. But once we arrive in modern times, the script becomes jumbled and confused. In Caine’s sudden absence, Elijah Wood (The Lord of The Rings) becomes the 37th Dolan before he, too, is given less and less to do.

Apart from a couple of well-staged sequences overloaded with CGI, the film’s real interest lies in the character of Chloe (Rose Leslie), a ‘dream walker’, who accompanies Kaulder into the dream state of his past. Leslie is a great match for the smouldering Diesel, and in many of their scenes together, we get a real sense of the fascinating film The Last Witch Hunter might have been.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Bridge of Spies

Bridge of Spies. Rated M (mature themes, violence and coarse language). 141 minutes. Directed by Steven Spielberg. Screenplay by Matt Charman, Ethan Coen and Joel Coen.

It is 1957, the height of the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States of America. Increasingly desperate to learn of the other’s intentions, the great foes create vast espionage networks, resulting an atmosphere of absolute fear, paranoia and suspicion.

Based on a true story, Bridge of Spies begins with FBI agents arresting Soviet spy Rudolph Abel (Mark Rylance). Needing Abel to at least be seen to be getting a fair trial, the US government appoints easy-going insurance lawyer James Donovan (Tom Hanks) to represent him. Donovan is expected to simply go through the motions, but as he becomes more involved in the case, he seeks Abel’s acquittal, making him an enemy of the American people.

Meanwhile, in the skies over the Soviet Union, US Air Force pilot Francis Powers (Austin Stowell) is shot down and captured while he is flying a spying sortie, photographing the lie of the land. The CIA decides that Donovan is their man to travel to Germany and negotiate a prisoner exchange: Abel for Powers.

Production Designer Adam Stockhausen (The Grand Budapest Hotel, 12 Years a Slave) expertly recreates the classic look and feel of the 1950s, and the film’s striking authenticity is due to his vision, and the equally superb work of Spielberg’s frequent collaborator, Cinematographer Janusz Kaminski.

Strangely, for a film about some of the greatest threats to the survival of the human race, there is hardly a thrilling or dangerous moment to be had. Instead of being an edge-of-your-seat political thriller with so much at stake, Bridge of Spies coasts along on something like cinematic autopilot until, two hours and twenty minutes later, it ends precisely as you expect it to.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Walk

The Walk. Rated PG (Mild themes and coarse language). 123 minutes. Directed by Robert Zemeckis. Screenplay by Robert Zemeckis and Christopher Browne. Based on the book To Reach the Clouds by Philippe Petit.

At sunrise on 7 August 1974, 25-year-old French high-wire artist Philippe Petit stepped out onto his high-wire 400 metres above the ground – either end of which was attached to each of New York’s World Trade Center Twin Towers. For the next 45 minutes, Petit would walk backwards and forwards between the towers eight times.

We first meet Petit (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), perched next to the Statue of Liberty’s torch. Behind him, the towers dominate the skyline, something that made them incredibly unpopular with New Yorkers at the time of their construction. Today, seeing them again brings mixed emotions, particularly as their spectacularly brutalist presence dominates every element of the story.

Gordon-Levitt is sensational as the ambitious dreamer, determined to rise to the pinnacle of his death-defying artform. As the collaborators who will be able to bring the artistic and engineering aspects of his feat to reality, Ben Kingsley is in top form as Papa Rudy, a high-wire veteran who takes Petit under his wing, while Charlotte Le Bon is perfect as Annie, Petit’s girlfriend, who refuses to doubt that he will survive the attempt. But the winning support comes from César Domboy’s Jeff, a mathematician who rather unfortunately has a fear of heights. Once we arrive on the roof of the tower, it is Jeff who becomes our terrified touchstone.

Zemeckis (Flight, Cast Away, Forrest Gump) and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski (The Martian, Prometheus, Pirates of the Caribbean) have masterfully recreated Petit’s performance, and their seriously vertigo-inducing camera captures the action from every possible (and some seemingly impossible) angle. But the haunting final word of dialogue suggests that this film is intended to be as much a tribute to the majesty of the Twin Towers as it is to the incomprehensible fearlessness of Philippe Petit.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Black Mass

Black Mass. Rated MA15+ (strong violence and coarse language). 122 minutes. Directed by Scott Cooper. Screenplay by Mark Mallouk and Jez Butterworth. Based on the book by Dick Lehr and Gerard O'Neill.

Based on the true story of ruthless Boston gangster James ‘Whitey’ Bulger (Johnny Depp) and his lifelong friendship with FBI agent John Connolly (Joel Edgerton), Black Mass is a terrifying descent into the world of the consequences of blind and unconditional loyalty. As Bulger snarls to one of his many unfortunate victims, ‘… of course you had a choice … you just made the wrong one.’ What is compelling about this moment, is that Bulger appears to be chastising himself for having done exactly the same thing – knowing there will be no winners.

Masterfully directed by Cooper (Crazy Heart), Black Mass takes place in a world ruled by fear, paranoia and suspicion, superbly established from the opening scene when Bulger’s accomplices are, one-by-one, telling investigators everything they know about his formidable rule of the city. Then, in flashback, we return to the many scenes of the crimes, within a slow boil to an endless, inescapable hell.

Depp’s performance as the tormented Bulger is devastating. Similarly to Charlize Theron’s Aileen Wuornos in Monster (2003), Depp immerses himself entirely into the role, and while his popularity never lets you forget it is Johnny Depp, the emotional and psychological depths to which the actor reaches are astounding.

Within a superb ensemble, Edgerton is outstanding as the brittle, opportunistic special agent who uses his friendship with Bulger to obtain information about the Mafia who rule the city, while conveniently turning a blind eye to his friend’s increasingly megalomaniacal criminal activities.

The growling score by Tom Holkenborg (Mad Max: Fury Road) is as deeply unsettling and relentless as the story, provoking the action to its inevitable conclusion. Be warned. Black Mass is a light and laughter-free zone, and its hold on your increasingly frayed nerves will be complete.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The Martian

The Martian. Rated M (survival themes and coarse language). 141 minutes. Directed by Ridley Scott. Screenplay by Drew Goddard. Based on the novel by Andy Weir.

When their Mars mission is hit by a ferocious storm, commander Lewis (Jessica Chastain) makes the decision that the crew leave the planet’s surface and return to the relative safety of their spacecraft, the Hermes. But when the violent windstorm slams a piece of equipment into astronaut Mark Watney (Matt Damon), he becomes separated from the rest of the crew, and electronic signals from his space suit indicate that he has not survived the impact.

Commander Lewis reluctantly makes the decision to leave Watney behind, only to later learn that he has survived and that NASA is preparing a rescue mission. All Watney has to do is work out how to survive alone on the planet for the four years it will take the rescue mission to reach him.

At a running time of two hours and twenty-one minutes, it’s not that hard to know precisely how he feels. Apart from the opening storm sequence, The Martian feels more like an extra special episode of ‘Better Homes and Gardens’, as Watney potters about tending his crop of potatoes, making and repairing things, while recording entertaining entries into the mission’s video log about how ingenious, funny and resilient he is.

Back on Earth, things are equally ordinary, as a terrifically miscast Jeff Daniels plays Teddy Sanders, the Director of NASA, as something like an incredibly bored school principal. What is impressive, in spite of the ordinary performances, is the extent of ground-breaking technological and scientific innovation that figures prominently in the story, both at NASA, in outer space, and on Mars.

But for all that’s a stake, The Martian is a strangely drama- and atmosphere-free zone.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Everest

Everest. Rated M (mature themes). 121 minutes. Directed by Baltasar Kormákur. Screenplay by William Nicholson and Simon Beaufoy.

‘Because it’s there!’, a chorus of mountain climbers exclaim when they are asked why they want to climb to the top the world’s highest mountain.

Whether this comparatively short-sighted motivation provides adequate reason for why they choose to take on the well-documented horrors that await them on the ascent and descent from heights ‘equal to the cruising altitude of a 747’ – as their Adventure Consultants tour guide Rob Hall (Jason Clarke) points out – remains a point of conjecture long after the experience of this terrifying film begins to fade.

For someone who finds it hard enough walking up a flight of stairs, Everest is a confronting experience. Armchair Adventurists will also find themselves nodding knowingly at every heavily sign-posted calamity that befalls the ill-fated expedition, which exists of enthusiastic amateurs who are happily escorted, at great expense, to the precipice of life and death.

Within an excellent ensemble, Clarke’s performance as the passionate but ultimately flawed hero is outstanding. When Doug (John Hawkes), a quietly spoken mailman from America who failed to make it to the summit on a previous attempt begs Hall to be allowed to continue, you can see the fear that he might be making the wrong decision written all over his face.

As the less-adventurous guide Guy, whom Hall mocks mercilessly for taking his group on less death-defying climbs, Sam Worthington delivers some of his best work to date. Guy’s conflict between wanting to rescue his close friend while knowing that such an attempt could cost him his own life, is a deeply personal one that lesser actors would struggle to communicate as effectively as Worthington does.

Technically, Everest is a spectacular achievement. Under Kormákur’s inspired direction, cinematographer Salvatore Totino captures every aspect and every angle of the brutally unforgiving environment, while Mick Audsley’s superb editing rarely allows you to draw breath.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials

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Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials. Rated M (violence, science fiction themes and sustained threat). 132 minutes. Directed by Wes Ball. Screenplay by T. S. Nowlin. Based on the novel by James Dashner. 

Picking up minutes from where The Maze Runner left us, Thomas (Dylan O’Brien) and his fellow ‘Gladers’ are choppered in to a high-security facility where overseer Janson (Aidan Gillen) assures them they will be safe from harm. 

The facility is free from the effects of ‘the Flare’, the plague that has almost wiped out humanity. It is also apparently safe from the sinister forces of WCKD, the organisation that is hunting the Gladers so their immunity to the Flare virus can be harvested and used to develop a cure.

But when Aris (Jacob Lofland) takes Thomas on a late-night crawl through the facility’s air ducts, the truth of what lies in store for them is revealed. When Thomas makes the decision to escape, the Gladers find themselves at the mercy of Flare-infected Cranks and what remains of a hostile planet.

Ball delivers the gripping horror, suspense and big-action set pieces with supreme confidence, while O’Brien returns to lead an excellent young ensemble with another strong and spirited performance as the leader the hunted Gladers desperately need.

And while the storyline contains little of the ingenuity that made the first film so compelling, Marc Fisichella’s spectacular production design ensures that the many immersive environments in which The Scorch Trials takes place captures and rewards our attention. From decimated cities and derelict shopping malls, to dank tunnel systems, the success of The Scorch Trials is almost entirely about the way it looks.

It is also helped by John Paesano’s thunderingly good score, which not only powers the action, but also contains a thrilling, perfectly timed crescendo that will make you feel like you’re at a symphony orchestra concert.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

Film Review: A Walk In The Woods

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A Walk In The Woods. Rated M (coarse language and sexual references). 105 minutes. Directed by Ken Kwapis. Screenplay by Rick Kerb and Bill Holderman. Based on the book by Bill Bryson.

When author Bill Bryson’s (Robert Redford) disconnection from the world and the people around him results in two very public humiliations, he decides to reconnect with nature, and himself, by hiking the 3,500 km long Appalachian Trail.

His wife Catherine (Emma Thompson) is convinced that the trek is too dangerous alone, so Bryson attempts to have one of his friends come along with him. One by one they refuse, until one of his oldest and forgotten friends, recovering alcoholic Stephen Katz (Nick Nolte), offers to accompany him.

Nostalgia dominates what is essentially a light-hearted stroll along a small section of one of America’s most spectacular scenic trails. Redford, and to a lesser extent Nolte, are cinematic royalty, and all of A Walk In The Woods’ rewards are a result of watching these two old-timers take on not only each other, but also Mother Nature in all her unpredictable glory.

Redford, who has starred in classics such as The Sting, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and All The President’s Men to name just three, seems awkwardly uncomfortable for much of his time on screen. There is a level of self-consciousness that sits uneasily on the surface of his performance, as though he is painfully aware that Kwapis and cinematographer John Bailey are determined to capture, in close-up, every intimate detail.

Nolte, though, is simply marvellous as the gruff, big-hearted and seriously out-of-condition Katz. The screenplay provides him with some great lines and all of the comedy, while also providing him with the film’s dramatic highpoint – a scene on a cliff top where he chooses, once and for all, to never touch alcohol again.

This review was commissioned by the West Australian Newspaper Group.

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