Thursday 31 October 2013

Thor: The Dark World

If you happen to be a final year film student, here’s a suggestion for your dissertation topic: movies with colons in their titles should be approached with caution. Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, GI Joe: Rise of Cobra, Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (come to think of it, steer clear of all “Rise of” flicks too). All films that provide standard Friday night entertainment, but fail to linger in mind shortly after exiting your local Odeon. Which doesn’t exactly bode well for Thor: The Dark World

It’s not that TDW is a bad film, more like a curiously disappointing one. The God of Thunder’s first outing was well-served by a healthy dose of fish out of water humour to go with the hammer-pounding action and lofty Shakespearian dialogue. The comedy is still present in the sequel – and TDW can be occasionally very funny – but this time it feels like it’s there to cover up the film’s inadequacies instead of working to its strengths. You’ll no doubt get a chuckle seeing Thor hang Mjolnir on a coat hanger or catching the London Underground during rush hour, but they always feel like distractions from the main plot.

Although “plot” is actually pushing it – what we have here is more akin to a “mainstream narrative equation”, i.e. character X must go from plot point A to plot point B in order to save character Y. Throw in also some of the dodgiest movie science ever to grace a blockbuster and you’re onto a head-scratcher to rival the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise in terms of logic and continuity.

In fact, the set-up is so convoluted that an opening voiceover is required, courtesy of Anthony Hopkins’ all-father Odin. Something to do with Christopher Eccleston’s Malekith (a front-runner for the year’s Blandest Villain) trying to steal a MacGuffin, fails, gets jailed, breaks out, wants revenge… you know the drill. It’s the kind of outline put together by a focus group, rather than a visionary screenwriter.

Thank god for Tom Hiddleston’s Loki then, who single-handedly steals the show, runs with it and never looks back. Over the course of three movies Hiddleston has managed to breathe life into the God of Mischief and inhabit the role in the same way Robert Downey Jr and Hugh Jackman did with Tony Stark and Wolverine before him, as opposed to Chris Hemsworth, whose ownership of the role of Thor is more down to his physical resemblance to his comic book counterpart. Loki brings a very welcome blend of sass and menace to the table, thus ensuring Thor is never too much of a bore whenever he’s around and he will no doubt be sorely missed when the next Avengers flick hits the screens.

Other minor saving graces are two highly surprising cameos (neither of which are Stan Lee) and the most bonkers final battle witnessed so far in a Marvel film, where director Alan Taylor literally chucks everything but the kitchen sink at the screen. It’s mad, it’s confusing and will have you in stiches for both the right and the wrong reasons. And that is probably the best way to sum up Thor: The Dark World.


2/5

Monday 28 October 2013

Captain Phillips

Anyone who’s seen United 93 will know that sitting through a Paul Greengrass movie can be a deeply unnerving experience. His latest film, Captain Phillips, offers a fly on the wall account of the 2009 hijacking of a U.S. container ship by a young crew of Somali pirates. Tom Hanks turns in a masterful performance as the eponymous captain, a grounded, credible everyman thrust into the most incredible of situations, but it’s Greengrass’ ability to downplay the gung ho heroism and make us gradually empathise with the impetuous and ill-equipped pirates that will catch viewers off guard. Expect Oscar nominations.


4/5

Friday 11 October 2013

Filth

Let’s cut straight to the chase: if you had a hard time enjoying Trainspotting, you’ll most likely be repulsed by Filth. The comedy is blacker than soot, colourful profanities are frequently spouted, copious amounts of drugs voraciously consumed and for those located south of Hadrian’s Wall, the Scottish accents are as thick as they come. If, however, you’ve been bemoaning the lack of decent Irvine Welsh adaptations ever since Renton walked off into the sunset to the sound of Born Slippy, then you are in for a guilty treat.

That’s not to say Filth is Trainspotting 2.0. Both films may display a brutal brand of humour rooted in Britain’s working class, but the two are radically different in terms of theme. While Danny Boyle’s masterpiece was a portrayal of 90s disenfranchised youth, Jon S. Baird’s impressive sophomore effort is a perverse character study chronicling one man’s spectacular descent into hell. It’s a warped ride, with its ups and downs and the occasional sharp turn that takes you by surprise.

Accompanying us on this journey is DS Bruce Robertson, one of the most irredeemably amoral characters ever to be conceived either on page or on screen. Ostensibly a sociopath with a police badge, Bruce shags, snorts and schemes his way through Edinburgh, all while he foolishly believes an imminent job promotion will reunite him with his estranged wife and daughter. When asked by his pitiful “best friend” Clifford Blades what made him want to join the Force, Robertson says it was police oppression. “Oh, so you wanted to stamp it out from the inside?” asks Bladesey. “No, I wanted to be a part of it”, comes the straight-faced reply. He’s not a protagonist you can empathise with, but you certainly won’t be able to take your eyes off him.

As is the case with most adaptations, not all of Filth’s source material makes its way to the big screen, but to Baird’s credit what he sacrificed from the book was due to the material’s incompatibility on film. The biggest omission is the tapeworm that grows inside Bruce’s intestines (sounds lovely, doesn’t it?), which in the book appears literally on top of the text, highjacks the narrative and effectively becomes Robertson’s conscience. In the film the invertebrate character is replaced by Jim Braodbent’s manic shrink Dr Rossi and while the substitution makes sense somewhat, it would’ve been tempting to see Bruce be psychoanalysed by a literate giant worm.

Having said that, Baird jumps at the opportunity to throw in some elements that couldn’t be reproduced as effectively on paper. Hysterical fantasy sequences pop up in the earlier stages of the film, while Bruce has sudden, grotesque visions of people turning into pigs, as his mental state gradually deteriorates. Even the shocking twist packs a real punch thanks to the ingenious use of flashbacks and psychedelic visuals.

At the centre of this whirlwind of squalor and depravity is James McAvoy, turning in another brilliant performance in the same year he impressed in Danny Boyle’s Trance. Hell, it’s quite possibly his best role to date. On one hand this is because the diabolical “Robbo” is the polar opposite of Robbie, the naïve romantic gardener from Atonement, but that’s too easy a comparison. No, where McAvoy truly stands out is in those rare, brief moments where a twinkle of humanity shines through Bruce Robertson, the ones that seem to suggest that, deep beneath the filth, there might just be a decent human being down there. It’s a tough act to pull off, but the Scottish actor does a sterling job.

All in all, Filth is a glorious adaptation that triumphantly recaptures the book’s anarchic spirit and that shocks, scares and entertains in equal measure. Catch it before it gets banned from your local cinema.

4/5