A blog by Tim George. Follow my other work at http://www.tewahanui.nz/by/tim.george, http://www.denofgeek.com/authors/tim-george, and theatrescenes.co.nz.
In the near future, Earth is running out of gas and countries are ready to go to war over the scant resource. In a last ditch effort to ward off a Mad Max-style scenario, the world's major powers band together to build a space station holding a particle accelerator that they hope will create a new source of energy. During one of the final test firings, something goes wrong.
Lost in space, the crew desperately try to figure out what happened and get home. But what they do not realise is that because of their experiments, something has entered the space station - something which has no intention of letting them escape...
Or something like that. I probably missed something important. But I don't care.
The third in the Cloverfield anthology series, The Cloverfield Paradox was shot two years ago, and like the characters, it has been sitting in limbo ever since. Reports were that the film needed more work, but with producer JJ Abrams busy working on Star Wars IX, Paramount decided to cut its losses and sold it to Netflix, who released it yesterday with no fanfare.
Upon viewing, I think they made the right decision. While the previous movies were rather small in scale, and boasted digestible high concepts, The Cloverfield Paradox's story feels distractedly overcomplicated.
Despite the movie's main action being set on the space station, we get numerous cutaways to an unnecessary subplot on another Earth in another dimension. That specific is important, because not only does nothing important happen in this storyline, but since it is in another dimension, it has no effect on the main story.
The other problem is that it is impossible to figure out the rules of the threat that the crew is facing. A vague reference is made to the particle accelerator ripping open space and time, allowing creatures and demons from other dimensions to enter our world. But that is all we get.
When the crew proceed to die, there is no sense of a pattern or real escalation. It just feels like a subpar Final Destination, with a crew member offed every 10-15 minutes. It just starts to feel like a slasher movie.
The movie's most terrifying aspect is that the crew have merged and replaced most of this other dimension's station and crew. One of the film's most unsettling images is their discovery of one of these 'other' crew members merged into the wall, screaming in agony.
Honestly, the film might have been more interesting if the premise had been boiled down to this - it is the most immediate aspect of the film, with a real antagonist with a genuine grievance. It is also the only element of the story that ties into the lead character's (skimpy) arc.
Enough bashing. The acting by the core cast is good: Gugu Mbatha-Raw is great in the lead role, and Chris O'Dowd mines some good laughs where he can. If this movie has a saving grace it is that, pound for pound, this is one of the best ensembles I have seen in a movie in a while. It is just a pity that most of them get almost nothing to do.
Overall, The Cloverfield Paradox is about as scary as being slapped with warm lettuce. It's not offensively bad, but it just never comes together as a legitimate horror film.
In the near future, the UK is under a tyrannical coalition government. To curb the non-conformist impulses of its youth, the state has created a pop star, Steve Shorter (Paul Jones), to control and modify their behaviour.
His every move controlled and monitored by the Government, Steve finds himself unable to lead a normal life. In a last-ditch attempt to assert his own individuality, Steve stages a public rebellion.
But will it work?
Constructed as a 'fly on the wall' documentary, Privilege presents a dark reading of fandom, the construction of star personas, the 'accessibility'/'reliability' of said personas, a satire of the ways old institutions attempt to use contemporary pop culture to maintain relevance, AND an indictment of the way religion can be manipulated to stoke nationalist sentiment.
This is highlighted during one of the most disturbing sequences: Shorter forsakes his 'badboy' image during a religious event at a stadium featuring a lot of people marching, martial music and red flags. An overt callback to Nazism (complete with a ranting priest reminiscent of Adolf Hitler), the iconography and staging of this sequence looks forward to the fictional fascist dictatorship of Alan Moore's V for Vendetta and the (sadly real) cocktail of Christian Evangelism and White Nationalism on display at Donald Trump's rallies.
Peter Watkins is famous for pioneering docudrama, with his news-style recreation of the battle of Culloden (Culloden, 1964); the Oscar-winning The War Game (1965), about the dangers of nuclear armageddon; and Punishment Park (1971), a savage indictment of the mindset of American police that will be a future review on this blog.
Occasionally evoking the Direct Cinema popularised by documentaries like the Bob Dylan-based Don't Look Back (D.A. Pennebaker, 1967), Watkins uses the documentary form to isolate his protagonist and damn the machinations around him. In one sequence, we watch Steve's awkward attempts to express his attraction to Jean Shrimpton's Vanessa. Before he succeeds, Watkins intercuts this subplot with a to-camera interview from one of his minders who casually reveals that he scuppered this relationship before it could get too serious.
Purely as a de-construction of form, Privilege is often fascinating, and occasionally bleakly hilarious. Overall however, I found the movie is more interesting than engrossing.
While I liked the premise, and the style, the story was not really that interesting. Watkins' meta-style is rather distancing, and while that is interesting, it is never that involving. It does not help that Paul Jones is a blank slate.
To an extent, this works for the role - Steve Shorter is meant to be a mannequin onto which his minders and sycophants can superimpose their own feelings and desires. But when the movie requires him to show Steve's crumbling psyche, Jones fails. When Steve has his final breakdown in front of a room full of press, it lacks the emotional impact that Watkins was probably aiming for.
An interesting experiment more than a successful film, Privilege's focus on the merging of politics, celebrity and the media is still worth a look.
It's the heart-warming story of a kid who discovers a creature from another world, and the military who blow it to pieces.
One of Ray Harryhausen's 'early, sci fi ones', 20 Million Miles to Earth is really two movies in one - on the one hand, you have a stock alien invasion story directed by Nathan Juran, featuring a cardboard military hero (William Hopper) and his 'not-as-smart-cause-girls-stoopid' female companion (Joan Taylor). On the other hand, you have Harryhausen's humane, empathetic portrayal of the strong but innocent Ymir.
It is easy to read this movie as an indictment against US militarism. After a token period of wanting to imprison and perform tests on the poor creature, the US military's plan switches to 'F*** it, blow everything up'.
Their ethos is summed up in a even a scene where two military bigwigs stress about the thousands of people the Ymir might kill in Rome, before ordering tanks and artillery into the highly populated area.
A few minutes later - as though the filmmakers are in on the joke - there is a sequence which involves soldiers lobbing grenades into a river hoping to kill the Ymir.
In the middle of this nonsense, the Ymir emerges as the most sympathetic character in the movie. Taken from its home, borne into a strange world where it faces nothing but pain and aggression, the Ymir never feels like a true monster.
Influenced by Willis O'Brien's work on King Kong, Ray Harryhausen shared his talent for creating characters that felt more alive and relatable than the humans gawking at them. Giving them emotional reactions and individual tics, incidental characters like the Cyclops (The 7th Voyage of Sinbad) or Medusa in Clash of the Titans, who would just be obstacles in other movies, feel fleshed-out - as though they have been interrupted in the middle of their own story to go and deal with these pesky little men who are trying to stir up trouble.
The disparity in empathy for the Ymir and the human cast is a testament to the care and attention to detail that Harryhausen took with his creations. Without him, the Ymir might have just been another monster that needed to be destroyed. By giving it a personality, Harryhausen shifts the movie's centre of gravity.
Harryhausen portrays the Ymir as a innocent naif, trying to figure out how the world works. It never attacks unprovoked, and when it is attacked (by a dog; a farmer; or an elephant) there is no sense of rage, just shock and fear. The sound design also plays a part in this: The Ymir's cries are those of a terrified child, not some malicious alien invader.
Cutting between the bewildered Ymir's plight and the non-nonsense military men tasked with taking it down, 20 Million Miles to Earth develops a strangely moral subtext that the filmmakers may not have intended. Suddenly the men of action who are our 'heroes' come off as trigger-happy hot heads whose only response to the Ymir is to destroy it. Once the Ymir has grown to the size of a dinosaur and the military is running around Rome, blowing up landmarks, the movie starts to feel like Team America: World Police.
At only 79 minutes, 20 Million Miles to Earth moves at a clip, and is never dull. The seams occasionally show, particularly toward the climax - some shoddy back projection; the Ymir changes size several times - but nothing that hurts the viewing experience.
There's one unintentionally funny bit where the sound guy clearly gave up. Our hero tells an Italian officer to "deploy your men". He runs off and it sounds like ten men instead of one. The same foley is used a few seconds later when he does deploy said men.
Without Ray Harryhausen, 20 Million Miles to Earth would be an okay movie that you would probably never need to see. But thanks to Harryhausen's work on the Ymir, the film is far more impactful than it otherwise would be.
After hearing tale of a queen, Padmavati (Deepika Padukone), whose beauty is without equal, the greedy, bloodthirsty Sultan Alauddin Khilji (Ranveer Singh) decides that he must possess her as well. Taking his massive army, he lays siege to the Chittor fort where she resides. As the siege continues, Padmavati and her husband, King Ratan Singh (Shahid Kapoor), try to figure out a way out of their predicament...
I haven't watched an Indian movie in awhile. After watching this, I need to rectify that. A big budget take on Malik Muhammad Jayasi's epic poem Padmavat, Padmaavat's production was plagued by controversy last year. Thankfully, it made to the screen.
I heard good things about this movie going in, but I was leery of the 164 minute runtime. It did not matter. This movie is so well-paced and filled with so many great scenes that the time flew by.
The standout of the cast is Ranveer Singh as the conquerer Sultan Alauddin Khilji. Narcissistic, psychopathic and possessed of a malevolent sense of humour, the movie gets a fresh shot of adrenaline every time he swaggers onscreen.
The movie is great but his performance is really the backbone of the movie. After two-and-a-half hours of being plugged into this man's psyche, and his obsession with Queen Padmavati, it gives the ending a real kick. We get a real sense of his loss, and hence the magnitude of the Queen's sacrifice - her victory - really hits home.
Singh in costume
Playing a man with ambitions to replicate Alexander the Great, Singh is all appetite all the time. And it is awesome, terrifying and hilarious (often all at once).
There are so many weird, wonderful touches to his character. The one scene that is seared into my brain is when a concubine tries to apply perfume before his dinner with Ratan Singh, he snatches the bottle out of her hand, splashes the liquid all over her, than manhandles her so that the scent gets rubbed all over his body.
Really, this whole review could just be a list of all his scenes. He's so evil, and yet so charismatic and funny that you cannot take your eyes off him.
Deepika Padukone and Shahid Kapoor play Padmavati and Ratan Singh, respectively. He is the honourable king of Mewar, a small independent kingdom located in north-west India (present day). She is his second wife, who he meets after she mistakes him for a deer and shoots him with an arrow.
You might recognise Padukone from her appearance as one of Vin Diesel's crew in the ego-powered xXx: Return of Xander Cage. Playing an iconic character can be a bit thankless, but Padukone does provide a certain steel which works for the film's tragic final scenes.
If Khilji is all appetite without restraint, Ratan Singh is the polar opposite. Honouring tradition and always ready to restore balance (the reason he meets Padmavati is because he is trying to repair an unintended slight to his first wife).
They are both good, but are basically stuck playing straight men while Singh tears hunks out of the scenery.
As far as the supporting cast go, the most memorable performer is Jim Sarbh. He plays Khilji’s right-hand man Malik Kafur, a man whose loyalty is clearly born of something more than just loyalty to the crown. His desire for his master is just as powerful as the Sultan’s Padmavati, and leads to a musical number which, in content and staging, makes clear that he wishes to take the queen’s place in Khilji's affections.
The queer subtext underpinning their relationship is well-handled, especially for how it feeds into Khilji's narcissism - Kafur's flattery and loyalty are just another possession to him, something that he can use for his own ends.
Hydari as Mehrunisa, the Sultan's doormat/wife
Aditi Rao Hydari plays the Sultan’s first wife, Mehrunisa, a character who gets the worst of it in the movie: learns her husband is unfaithful on her wedding night; has to watch her husband parade her uncle's decapitated head (he also kills her cousin); and of course, she has to listen to her husband rant on and on about another woman that he has never seen. And then she ends up in jail. What a life.
Her character really highlights the limits imposed on female agency in this movie. All the men are interested in pursuing their own interests, and ignore the women's good advice (like their alternatives to violence). It is a subtle vein of critique running through the movie, that gives it a little more bite and dimension.
The movie's portrayal of the Ranjput characters' philosophy is interesting for similar reasons. The filmmakers are clearly on the side of their sense of honour and tradition, but is also willing to highlight the cost of their adherence to their principles. Padmavati questions the king's unwillingness to ambush his enemy when Khilji accepts his offer to dinner at the fort, unarmed. This is later compounded by his belief that the Sultan will treat him likewise when Khilji reciprocates the offer of a meal in his tent. During the final sequence, when Padmavati and the women of the Chittor fort commit jahuar (mass self-immolation), one shot really stood out: a pregnant woman (head out of frame) holding hands with her daughter as they run down the stairs after the Queen. The movie is constantly juggling between upholding the righteousness of the protagonist's actions, but also highlighting their costs and consequences. I am not familiar with the original text, but I did like the ways in which the filmmakers chose emphasise the true cost of the women's 'noble' act.
The movie gets very dark, but what really endeared it to me was how it leavened the drama with dollops of dark wit, largely framed around Singh's self-aware performance. The Sultan's musical number 'Khalibali', in which he boasts of how his love for Padmavati has made him 'aloof' from the world's problems ends with him being filled with an assassin's arrows.
There are only six songs, but apart from 'Khalibali' they do not fit the stereotype of musicals. Co-writer/directer Sanjay Leela Bhansali was also the film's composer, and his integration of the music into the story is so subtle but extremely effective.
From a production standpoint, the movie looks great. I saw it in a traditional 2D screening, but I almost regret not splurging for the IMAX 3D. There are some terrific uses of mobile camerawork, and the hyper-real sound design (the women's defiant screams as they charge into the inferno pursued by a frenzied Khilji, are haunting) is really effective.
Padmaavat is just an all-round great movie. You don't have to be a fan of Indian cinema. It stands on its own legs - and Ranveer Singh's performance is worth the price of a ticket by itself. Check it out.
Utah. The winter of 1898. The small township of Snowhill is in a state of siege. Not from the fugitives hiding in the mountains overhead, but the men who profit from their deaths: the bounty hunters.
The people of Snowhill have lost all hope - until a lone figure rides out of the white, intent on righting wrongs.
His name is Silence...
The Great Silence might be my favourite western. I had heard about years before I saw it, and it was one of those titles that always eluded me. A couple of years ago I finally managed to watch it and left it feeling really underwhelmed - I think I had built it up too much in my mind. Having re-watched it over Christmas, the movie really connected. With the rise of Trump, The Great Silence's evisceration of the western myth (particularly around American notions of individualism and patriotism) has gained renewed potency.
Because so much of this movie's power is based around the way it subverts expectations around westerns, this review is going to resemble a rough plot summary. So if you are interested in watching the movie, go away and watch it.
Jean-Louis Trintignant stars in the title role, a mute gunfighter who is out to kill anyone who commits wrongs against the innocent. Probably best known today for his role in Michael Haneke's Amour, at the time Trintignant was a big French star hoping to break into the international market. Corbucci had long desired to make a movie about a silent hero, and Trintignant was unable to speak English - thus The Great Silence was born.
Despite the lack of dialogue, Trintignant is a fine lead. He takes Eastwood's stoicism to its most logical endpoint, yet manages to convey a great deal of empathy and vulnerability that the Man With No Name could never do. Quiet, understated and largely based around his eyes, Trintignant's performance is a terrific minimalistic exercise that - while drawing from a familiar archetype - manages to stand on its own.
Klaus Kinski is in unnervingly restrained form as Loco, the cold-hearted bounty hunter responsible for terrorising Snowhill.
Introduced masquerading as a fugitive's lawyer, Loco shoots the man dead in his own home before coolly comforting the dead man's mother (who is splattered with his blood): "I'm sorry but it's our bread and butter, understand?"
Kinski is (in)famous for his full-throttle portrayals of megalomaniacs in Werner Hersog's epics of the 70s and 80s (Aguirre, the Wrath of God; Fitzcarraldo). By contrast, Loco never betrays extreme emotions - he is completely focused on making corpses and converting them into money. Complementing his performance is the voice they have given him in the English dub. Unlike so many Spaghettis the voice fits, maintaining the movie's power.
Corbucci follows Loco's introduction with a scene in the Governor's office, where he gives instructions to Burnett, the new sheriff of Snowhill. Burnett is tasked with bringing order to the lawless town.
Burnett is a walking cliche (the reluctant lawman) but Corbucci undermines his authority at every turn. He is introduced clutching his hat, with head cowed. His lack of power is further emphasised by the way he is marginalised within the frame, often wedged into the corner of shots, framed over the Governor's shoulder.
The Governor pontificates about the death of the 'old' west and how people "of all races and persuasions" need to be brought together to make a more unified and peaceful west. Pleased with his statement, he tells a lackey to note it down "for my next speech".
Unlike the taciturn image of most western lawgivers, Burnett is a talker, prone to blurting out whatever is on his mind. After the Governor finishes his spiel about offering amnesty to the fugitives, Burnett immediately loses his confidence with the following: "A politician would promise amnesty to the murderer of his own father to win an election."
While it cements Burnett as a moron, it also reinforces the underlying philosophy of the film. This is a world where principles are meaningless, just tools for getting what you want.
The emptiness of the Governor's rhetoric is further emphasised by the scene which follows: we are back with Loco as he sadistically hunts a man down with a whip. Loco promises to let the man go if he tells him where the other fugitive is. Once he has the info, Loco immediately kills him.
We return to Silence making his way slowly toward Snowhill. Here, we get a neat intro to his M.O.: the old woman from earlier is burying her son. Recognising Silence, she asks him to avenge her son. Silence locates the bounty hunter responsible, Charlie - he is engorging himself on food at a nearby saloon. Silence waits until Charlie draws his gun, then shoots him dead.
We are then introduced to Vonetta McGee's Pauline; Loco is looking for her husband, who is among the fugitives. He takes her hostage to draw the man out then shoots her husband as soon as he drops his gun.
Pauline immediately begins to plan vengeance, and gets word to Silence to make sure that Loco pays for his crimes. It is interesting how Corbucci juxtaposes his heroes and villains: the bad guys are all white, with all the money and power to exert their will over Snowhill. At the end of the movie, the people who stand up to Pollicut and Loco are a disabled man, a black woman and a prostitute - people who have no place in these men's self-centred version of western progress.
Loco is not even the main villain - that role goes to Pollicut (Luigi Pistilli), a miserly businessman who uses his position as Justice of the Peace to extend his business empire, and punish those who stand in his way. The outlaws hiding out in the mountains are not bad - they are people who have been economically marginalised by Pollicut (in the English dub, they are also Mormons). The Great Silence is not just about good v evil, but about the conflict between ideals of justice, and unfettered capitalism.
After Pauline has sworn vengeance, we are re-introduced to Sheriff Burnett struggling through the snow on his horse - until he loses it to bandits. His gun is frozen so he cannot defend himself. He has to hitch a lift on a passing stagecoach. Covered in snow, he collapses inside at Silence's feet. He then babbles his whole story, completely oblivious that his travelling companion cannot speak. Snoozing, he wakes to find a corpse leaning against the window.
We are then given insight into Silence's motives, with a flashback showing how he lost his voice: bounty hunters pretend to be law officers and kill Silence's father. During the firefight, both of his parents are killed. The fake sheriff throws his silver star away and draws a knife to make sure the child never talks.
Aside from backstory, this flashback performs a couple of functions: it shows that Silence's personal code is not shared by others; that the violence of this diegesis is not limited to adults; and finally, it reduces Loco's evil, from that of a singularly evil individual to a symptom of a broader problem that has existed long before him.
To further emphasise the uniqueness of Silence's code, Corbucci focuses on more of Sheriff Burnett's actions: he tries to exercise his authority over Loco, declaring an investigation into the death of Pauline's husband. This does not appear to be from any sense of justice, but the fact that Loco treated him like an idiot. The sheriff revels in Loco's discomfort, but the filmmakers undercut his sense of triumph: "First I'm going to interview the widow and exhume the dead body. Then I'll file a report to the Governor who in turn will pass it on to the proper department of state or... wherever."
What makes this even better is that he says this with shaving cream on his face.
Burnett keeps telling people he is the sheriff, but no one cares. That ambivalence extends to the way the movie regards traditional authority figures: In this universe you have no authority unless you are willing to use violence. Even then, that is no guarantee.
The sheriff is a good shot, but otherwise his senses are poor - he tries to intimidate Loco with a war story and leaves without realising Silence has been in the room the whole time. His interview with Pauline is callous - he is far more interested in Loco than the man he killed. The body is no longer a person, but a unit of transaction (money for Loco; evidence of Loco's corruption for the sheriff).
Having neutered a possible ally for his hero, Corbucci begins to pull the rug out from under Silence in his first confrontation with Loco.
Following his formula, Silence tries to bait Loco into drawing first, by throwing a match and a a cigarette into his drink. Like everyone else in the movie, Loco is aware of Silence's legend and ignores his provocations. He dares Silence to break his moral code and shoot first. Unable to act, Silence is caught by surprise. Loco proceeds to beat him with his fists. Silence only escapes due to a log he throws at Loco's head.
From here on, Silence's power as the stereotypical 'good' gunfighter is reduced. Pauline tries to help Silence heal. As with a million other action movies, they end up making love. Whereas that act is generally restorative, here it feels more futile - two brutalised people drawn together by a shared sense of loss.
Meanwhile, a shackled Loco is busy agitating the Sheriff in the jail house. Once again, Sheriff Burnett completely mis-reads the situation: even though he is Loco's jailer, he is still under Loco's thumb - the bounty hunter dismisses the Sheriff by reminding him that he is the only lawman in town. Burnett tries to gain the upper hand by engaging in a debate with Loco about the difference between murder and killing under the law.
Loco sees no distinction, and as always Burnett is unable to defend his side of the argument (and legitimacy as a force for good).
Burnett decides he is going to take Loco off to a proper jail, and makes peace with the fugitives in the mountains, telling them about the governor's plans for amnesty and offering them food and shelter back in town. In any other western, this could be the ending.
It is at this point that The Great Silence begins to break from the formula.
As expected, Loco outsmarts and disarms the sheriff on the edge of a frozen lake.
Before he kills the Sheriff, the bounty hunter differentiates himself from the Sheriff in an awkward speech that nevertheless provides the movie's thesis on the nature of power: while Burnett is "on the side of the law of the law," Loco is on the "side of the law of survival of the fittest." In a further rejection of the rules governing western duels, Loco kills the Sheriff by drowning him in a frozen lake.
Meanwhile, Pollicut sneaks into Pauline's house to assault her and kill Silence - of course, Silence is still too injured to fight, and his condition worsens after he finally overcomes Pollicut.
Loco and his men return to town, where they kill or capture the defenceless fugitives as they return to town.
With all the stakes against are hero, and the lives of the remaining fugitives in the balance, the scene is set for a good old-fashioned western showdown.
The ending is infamous for being one of the great downers. What is so amazing about it is the way that Corbucci uses the directorial cliches of westerns to undermine the viewer's expectations.
In a scene familiar from a thousand westerns, Pauline tells Silence not to go - he is "just one man". Sadly, the movie goes on to prove Pauline right.
Even though it will hinder him, Silence still sticks his gun in his belt. As he waits for Loco outside the tavern where he is guarding the captured fugitives, we are still in vaguely familiar territory.
But then Corbucci breaks the tension - a bounty hunter breaks a window and shoots Silence in his uninjured hand. Both Silence and the viewer are reeling. This is not the way this is supposed to play out!
Silence is now on his knees outside the tavern. Loco stands in the entrance, his men visible on either side of him at the windows. Corbucci then intercuts hero and villain, cutting closer and closer to the character's faces. The cross-cutting between Loco and Silence is not the build-up to a duel, but an execution.
The first shot does not even come from Loco, but one of his goons through a window. Think of how many action and war movies where the hero and villain fight while the villains' army does nothing?
Instead of using editing to create a quick-draw finale, Corbucci draws it out by showing Silence using his destroyed hands together to pull his gun out of his belt. It is so drawn out that the viewer has to wonder, how can he win?
Silence barely has time to react to the hit. Loco leisurely draws and fires his gun, shooting Silence in the head.
Over a series of shots, Corbucci draws out Silence's death as he slumps and collapses. Pauline runs in and tries to shoot Loco. Loco shoots her dead.
Loco and his men then turn their guns on their prisoners and kill them. The resulting bloodbath is not particularly graphic, but Corbucci throws in details which make the sequence feel more grotesque - as the camera surveys the dead, one dying prisoner spasms around against the ropes.
In the final shots, Corbucci offers a final statement: As Loco and his men ride off, Corbucci shoots their departure as a reflection in a broken saloon window. One of the panes has been shot out so the viewer can see one of the dead fugitive's bodies hanging grotesquely from the ceiling.
The final shot of Loco's men riding off is a parody of the traditional western resolution - with Silence and Pauline's bodies splayed in the foreground.
In any other movie, Loco and his bounty hunters would be the anti-heroes. Think of A Few Dollars More or any western based around an anti-heroic gunman protecting a colonial society he can never be a part of. The Great Silence takes this trope and strips it of its iconic status, to show it for the monstrosity that it is.
Sergio Corbucci's westerns usually end tragically. Our hero is disabled or betrayed, but always manages to defeat the villains. Sometimes the hero dies. With The Great Silence, Corbucci took an extra step. A former partisan against the Fascists, Corbucci came up with the story out of his disillusionment after the deaths of Malcolm X and Che Guevara. The biggest thing that stands out about the movie is how much a product of 1968 it is. The movie is filled with the disenchantment and cynicism running through the western world at the end of the 60s. At the climax, the meaning of the movie's title becomes clear: It does not refer to the main character, but to the moral void that he fails to fill.
In this film, the hero's idealism means nothing, and it is only after great death that any change can take place (as we are informed via chyron over Silence and Pauline's bodies). Amnesty is never inevitable - as the doomed Sheriff Burnett (Frank Wolff) recognises, it is dependant on the Governor getting what he wants - another term in office.
Ennio Morricone's mournful theme tune mirrors the movie - its melody resembles an elegy, evoking the romanticism of classic westerns while undercutting its sentiment. The music acts as a commentary on characters like Silence - they are ultimately too good to be true.
The movie is not flawless. The characterisation is a little half-baked (the relationship between Paula and Silence feels a little arbitrary), and occasionally the budgetary limitations show, but none of these things detract from the movie's power.
Creed was one of my favourite movies in 2015. I'm not even a Rocky fan, but that movie was so great it did not matter. So when I heard there was a sequel in the works, I was excited.
Over the course the past year, I have felt my excitement drain away.
First there was the uncertainty over Ryan Coogler's involvement. Then word that Stallone himself was writing the film. And the news that Stallone was directing - only to be later replaced by Steven Caple Jr., a new filmmaker who I am unfamiliar with.
Then came the news that the film would feature a return appearance from Rocky IV villain Ivan Drago... and his son (played by real-life boxer Florian Munteanu).
Ugh.
I have not seen the movie or read a script, but I'm saying it now - this movie is going to suck.
Stallone lucked out with Rocky and First Blood, but even fans of those franchises would have to admit that the first movies of those series are clearly the best, while the later Rockys turn into cartoons, with Rock as a superhuman everyman taking on increasingly OTT opponents. Even Rocky Balboa, the series' 2006 comeback, was based on a premise in which a 60-year-old Rocky fights the world champion.
I'm not bashing these movies, what I'm bashing is the need to pull Creed back into Rocky's past. There is a tonal shift that seems impossible to pull off.
Creed's story was all about making peace with the past, and setting out a new future. Bringing back Drago goes completely against that.
And then there is the racial component, which was one of the key elements that helped set Creed apart from the Rocky franchise. The characters felt fully-realised and the world they inhabited felt believable. With Stallone's fingers all over the movie, and a newbie filmmaker in the director's chair, can we expect a follow-up that will maintain or exceed the strengths of the original?
We'll have to wait till the end of the year to find out...
"Not only is it a study of overcoming trauma, Brigsby Bear is a tribute to the power of imagination and curiosity to enrich one's life and relationships. It is a love letter to creativity. And it is not the creativity of a single mind, but creativity as a shared, communal experience."
"While it is dark, and has some extremely confrontational scenes, it is also very funny and offers an extremely empathetic portrait of its main characters."
"Like the photographer from Life magazine who visited them, Nichols and his cast recognise that, in order to truly identify with Lovings, you have to sit with them in their house and watch them live. Only then can you truly recognise them, and the tragedy they (and so many others) were subjected to."
"With their unified aesthetic and tone, Marvel movies can sometimes smother unique voices, but within Taika Waititi's Cocoon of Inanities, Jeff is allowed to go the full Goldblum."
"Tragedy Girls tackles its subject with no holds barred, juggling gore-soaked set pieces with the subtle nuances of two co-dependant teens attempting to find their way into adulthood."
"So many movies fail to build a world you would want to return to (see The Mummy for a recent example), but Valerian creates such a multi-faceted and idiosyncratic world (and finds multiple ways to explore several different parts of it) that you just want to immerse yourself in it."
"So many action movies today are so long, and contain so much unnecessary exposition and unnecessary action that they end up feeling bloated. Wheelman feels like a callback in the best possible way - every element of narrative and character is pared down to exactly what is needed, and nothing more."
