Tropic Thunder (2008)

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Everybody knows you never go full retard! Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr) is the Aussie Method actor par excellence in blackface giving retrospective advice to Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller) the ludicrously vain Hollywood star who made that very mistake in his quest for Oscar. Now they’re in the jungles of Vietnam doing their version of the War years after everyone else has stopped those kinds of movies and causing no end of difficulties for hapless Brit director (Steve Coogan) who is killed in the fray. Back at the studio the vile boss Les Grossman (an unrecognisable Tom Cruise) just sees insurance $$$$ when Speedman gets separated from the crew as they go shooting guerilla style in a self-defeating move – and he’s kidnapped by drugs lords who make him act out Stupid Jack, the only film they have on VHS. Only Tugg’s agent (Matthew McConaughey) cares about his charge. The other actors, who include Fatties franchise star Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black) decide to rescue Tugg without realising their director is dead and this is not a movie any more … This is a Hollywood satire that also operates as a proper action movie and what a rare feat that is. Just when you think it’s a sketch show that goes on too long, Tugg kills a panda (he’s crusading for their rights on the back of Vanity Fair) and Danny McBride calls Nick Nolte ‘the Milli Vanilli of patriots.’ Gut-bustingly funny when it works, and you know all the movies it’s spoofing, Grossman was apparently all Cruise’s idea and some might say it’s a rather vicious take on Sumner Redstone as revenge for booting him off the Paramount lot when he jumped on Oprah’s couch. From a story by Justin Theroux and Ben Stiller, written by Etan Cohen. Directing by Ben Stiller. Dancing by Les Grossman!

Last Cab to Darwin (2015)

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Rex (Michael Caton) is dying and his days are spent with his friends down the local boozer and his nights with his dog (Dog). Polly (Ningali Lawford) his Aboriginal neighbour across the street is the woman in his life and they enjoy some banter about his difficult ways. His pain has led him to pursue euthanasia, not legal in New South Wales. He sets off in his taxi to the Northern Territory to the one doctor who is prepared to assist his death. En route he picks up Tilly (Mark Coles Smith), an Aboriginal drifter who’s also a talented footballer;  and British nurse Julie (Emma Hamilton) who’s keen to experience life Down Under.  The three develop a very particular kind of friendship on the 2,000 mile road trip. The mordantly witty tone ensures that this never descends to bathos and when Doc Farmer turns out to be the splendid Jacki Weaver you are assured that Reg Cribb’s adaptation of his 2003 play (based on a true story) gets the treatment that it deserves:  a terrifically game cast performing this considered, humane, very contemporary subject of self-determination with great dignity. It even has a twist ending. Engaging and compelling. Directed by Jeremy Sims.

Alien: Covenant (2017)

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Updates, eh? Sometimes they work, sometimes they get you in the … Well between computer glitches and Shelley, the Prometheus behemoth is regenerating with this Alien retread and despite my misgivings including the dislikeable casting, I didn’t even look at my watch until ten minutes before the end. Some kind of record. Particularly given the charisma gap here. The Covenant is en route to an intergalactic colony with a coupla thousand peeps and foetuses in pods but a random electrical event causes the death of the Captain (James Franco, gone in sixty seconds) and he’s replaced by deputy Billy ‘Skeletor’ Crudup a religious zealot who sees another planet and decides to stop there instead. Bad move. Because this ain’t paradise and there is not just the pathogen ‘accidentally’ released by Prometheus to contend with, but David 8 (Michael Fassbender) the lone survivor of that ship. And his ‘brother’ Walter (Fassbender) a staple of the Covenant crew meets one of his own kind – family! – for the first time. We’re into mad scientist territory and moreso. It’s only a matter of time before the team including second in command Daniels (beady eyed Katherine Waterston, Franco’s widow) are in all kinds of danger. This can happen when you literally have to recharge your batteries:  so much for technology. This is so fast and furious you never stop to think about the fact that Danny McBride is the guy who’s left to rescue them. Wow. This is more than a human origins/Adam and Eve story:  it’s a proper riposte to the gyno-politics of the series, especially the last one when Dr Elizabeth Shaw (the great Noomi Rapace) carried out her own abortion/Caesarian – and you should see what’s left of her. This is what happens when men decide they want to take charge of reproduction, with obvious debts to more than one Shelley. Written by John Logan and Dante Harper from a story by Jack Paglen and Michael Green. I have one major issue with this. Please stop shooting all sci fis and superheroes on grayscale. I can deal with all the colour spectrum. Really. And I’m not the only one. Put on some lights, use the rainbow. This has been going on for years and I’m sick of it. I will need a coalminer’s lamp next time I go to the movies if this continues. And next time an insect flies into one of your orifices, be very scared indeed … Outer space, innerspace, vive la difference! Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949)

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You would never know that this was an Ealing comedy – it is totally unsentimental. Louis D’Ascoyne Mazzini (Dennis Price) is in prison awaiting his execution when he puts pen to paper and recounts the reason for this turn of events. Born to a beautiful if rash aristocratic mother who ran off with an Italian opera singer, this orphaned young man is now working in a draper’s when his lady love Sibella (Joan Greenwood) marries a love rival. He sets out to dispatch the eight remaining members of the D’Ascoyne line to recuperate the title he feels is rightfully his. All of them – including the venerable Lady Agatha – are played by Alec Guinness. (He also played a ninth!). Louis marries the virtuous wife Edith (Valerie Hobson) of one of them. The range of their respective deaths is stunning. A sublime work of British cinema, adapted from Roy Horniman’s 1907 novel Israel Rank:  The Autobiography of a Criminal by John Dighton and the woefully underrated director Robert Hamer, whose masterpiece this is. Transgressive, ironic and subversive, and the ending is simply genius. Breathtaking black comedy for the ages. Perfection.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)

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Truncated and abbreviated to 125 minutes from its intended original 200+ minute running time it might well be, but there is much to love about this Billy Wilder-IAL Diamond screenplay adaptation of everyone’s favourite ‘tec. With two stories instead of the four plus a flashback (apparently available on Laserdisc – remember them?!), Robert Stephens is the intuitive one with Colin Blakely as Watson, whom he pretends to a forward Russian noblewoman is gay to get out of fathering her child. Then he is taken in – for a spell – by a German spy masquerading as a woman in peril (Genevieve Page) with a detour to Scotland where a Jules Verne-esque submersible, Trappist monks and dwarves at Loch Ness are involved in an elaborate scheme which even attracts the attention of Queen Victoria. Brother Mycroft shows up in the person of Christopher Lee. Warm, witty, compassionate and sad, with a beautiful sense of irony, this is the underrated but gorgeously charming film that inspired the current BBC show. Happy International Sherlock Holmes Day!

The Man Who Haunted Himself (1970)

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Probably Roger Moore’s favourite of his non-Bond outings, this is a fascinating and underrated cult offering from a weird time in cinema. Basil Dearden adapted Anthony Armstrong’s novel The Strange Case of Mr Pelham with Armstrong and Bryan Forbes, who was newly running EMI Films and gave this the greenlight. It was part of a clutch of films starring big names they were planning to shoot on middling budgets – but they didn’t market this correctly and so it got left behind somewhere in cultdom. Moore is a City worker who has a terrible car crash (is it on the Westway?!) in his Rover (whatcha expect?!) and ‘dies’ in hospital where he suddenly has two heartbeats. Resuming his life he appears to be … someone else. He has a doppelganger and this Saintly family man now has a mistress (played by Olga Georges-Picot, to add to the Resnais-ishness of the time scheme) and has agreed to a marine technology deal to which he was previously opposed and he’s being followed by a silver Lamborghini Islero (super wows!). This conservative man suddenly has a more exciting other self … We are in the realm of ego and id, straddling traditional British horror haunting tropes in a very well-tuned drama, and the obliqueness of contemporary London makes it all the more unsettling. The final face-off in his own house where his wife and kids want him gone!! is pretty satisfying, leading to a brilliant car chase, fatal for one of the two Pelhams. Proof, if it were needed, that all film titles beginning The Man Who are pretty darned great actually. In horribly meta fashion and with a great dollop of strange karma, Dearden himself had a terrible car crash in west London a year later (this was his last film…) and died in a hellhole called Hillingdon Hospital where I myself had a very narrow escape but still bare the scars – which bizarrely caused me another injury today before I watched this again. You couldn’t make it up. Chin chin!

The Country Girl (1954)

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This is the film that earned Grace Kelly her Best Actress Academy Award and nowadays her performance looks better than ever:  look at what she has to do. She plays the dowdy, dependable but once glamorous wife of faded alcoholic Broadway star Frank Elgin (Bing Crosby) whose chance at a comeback is created by temperamental director Bernie Dodd (William Holden) against his backers’ better judgement. Dodd believes Kelly’s a suicidal drinker but she’s actually fronting for the massive insecurity of her husband, an habitual and chronic liar who’s using their son’s death in his care as an excuse for his cowardliness and retreat to the bottle. Kelly has to keep him going while the out of town previews go badly and go along with his stories to Dodd, who thinks she’s destroying him until he finally sees Frank on a bender and Frank confesses. Then Dodd realises his antipathy is based on his pure misogyny – he’s down on marriage since he cheated on his ex-wife obviously – and thinks he’s in love with her. Kelly thinks she is sympathetic to him too but she wants her husband’s comeback to work too. This Clifford Odets story is adapted very well by producer/director/writer George Seaton with key observational touches – there’s a lovely bit where Kelly overhears the audience’s opinions in the interval and smiles to herself – in between the big scenes, which are adorned with some crackling expository and personal dialogue. One of Crosby’s final lines is to die for. However he overplays his moroseness and Holden is occasionally too strident although that’s probably the Odets character – making Kelly’s job of pivoting between the pair that much harder. Some of her best moments are beautifully adorned by Victor Young’s supremely subtle score. A cracking backstage drama that deals with addiction, bereavement, guilt, grief and a dying marriage:  you know, the little things. Now, let’s put on a show!

A Kid for Two Farthings (1955)

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A warm, atmospheric portrait of the Jewish community in Petticoat Lane, Wolf Mankowitz adapted his own novel to be directed by that supremely empathetic man, Carol Reed, whose own pictures of childhood would reach a kind of apogee with Oliver! Jonathan Ashmore is little Joe, whose mother Celia Johnson is left alone while her husband works in South Africa and their tailor landlord David Kossoff’s stories entertain but also soothe Joe when one after another his pets die. Joe believes in unicorns so when he finds a one-horned kid goat he thinks fairytales come true and his story is intertwined with that of the startlingly sweet Diana Dors, in love with her boxer boyfriend Joe Robinson, who like most of his ilk, is mixed up with lowlifes who want him involved in match-fixing. Joe now thinks if things happen there’s a 50/50 chance it’s because he’s wished for them on his unicorn:  he’s got a point …This piquant comedy drama has excited some critics about its portrait of Anglo-Jewry but let’s face it nowadays that goat would be a kebab. A wonderful, vibrant film with a great cast including Sydney Tafler, Sid James, Brenda de Banzie, Lou Jacobi, Joseph Tomelty and Irene Handl, this makes you feel like you’re right in the middle of everything. It features young Ashmore’s only film performance – he grew up to be Bernard Katz Professor of Biophysics at University College London:  what a shlemiel!!

The Smallest Show on Earth (1957)

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Aka Big Time Operators. Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers are shocked to find that his great-uncle’s bequest is the Bijou Kinema aka The Fleapit and the neighbouring Grand has a grasping owner who makes them an offer they refuse – they bluff that they’re going to reopen. Unfortunately commissionaire Old Tom (Bernard Miles) – one of three old-timers in the Bijou’s inherited staff including bookkeeper Mrs Fazackalee (Margaret Rutherford) and drunken projectionist Mr Quill (Peter Sellers) – lets slip to a Grand employee that it’s all a show:  so then they have to go through with it. Dodgy equipment, low crowds and a constant supply of American B-westerns don’t help. But a sexy ice cream salesgirl (June Cunningham) brings an audience and Old Tom makes up for his mistake and the Grand is burned to the ground … A fun story of English eccentricity but coming from the pen of William Rose (and John Eldridge) we might presume it’s actually an allegory for Keeping Calm and Carrying On. Produced by Launder and Gilliat and Michael Relph, directed by Basil Dearden, in a kind of Ealing Comedy shot by Douglas Slocombe with added Leslie Phillips and Sid James plus a score from William Alwyn. Charming!

Oscars 2017

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Given that neither Cary Grant nor Alfred Hitchcock won an Academy Award (supply your own copyright symbol) the Oscars are basically a knees-up for well-paid advertising campaigns and schmoozefests that often finish up in a very long snoozefest round this time of year with all our Best Films overlooked. However … Oscar 2017 was a different animal. The opening number by Justin Timberlake (his song from Trolls) leading a team of dancers down the steps of the auditorium and winding up onstage was great fun; Jimmy Kimmel’s script and timing were immaculate, making great points without wearing everyone out (remember Chris Rock who just went on … and on … and on … throughout the three and a half hours last year? Because a snappy one-liner just wouldn’t do.) The awards were surprisingly well spread – the first eleven went to different films – and the LA LA Land juggernaut wound up with six awards for thirteen noms including Director with the sound and film editing going elsewhere making a Best Picture win less likely. It looked like seven for fourteen … and briefly was … but this year something odd happened. For the first time in living memory, Best Actor was called before Best Actress, which went to Emma Stone (Natalie Portman didn’t even show up.) And then Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway (allegedly – one couldn’t be entirely sure) came onstage to celebrate 50 years of Bonnie and Clyde and hand out the award for Best Picture. But the accountants (the only two people on the planet who knew the result) had unwittingly given them a duplicate of the Best Actress envelope. After the usual spiel, Beatty opened it and looked at it curiously. Then he made a show of checking for something else in the red envelope, looked at the card again, played for time, handed the card to Dunaway as if for confirmation, and she called out LA LA Land. The entire production team or so it seemed was in the midst of their speeches, when all of a sudden there were some people with headsets running around behind them, Beatty was handed another envelope, and when a bearded man, LA LA Land producer Jordan Horowitz said that the real winner was Moonlight, Kimmel looked chastened, Beatty puzzled. Horowitz pulled the card rather roughly from the new envelope the legendary Beatty was holding and showed it to camera where it clearly made the announcement, Best Picture: Moonlight. Horowitz called up the team from that film. The cameras showed the shocked and confused reactions around the auditorium. Beatty calmly explained he’d been given the wrong card and it had not been a joke. Horowitz repeated none of it was a joke, Moonlight was the real winner for Best Picture. Kimmel manfully took the blame, and in truth, he was probably regretting live-Tweeting/trolling the POTUS earlier because, after all, if this isn’t the biggest Fake News in history, what is?! You couldn’t make it up. Was it the Russians? No, it was PricewaterhouseCoopers. An accounting firm. That’s showbiz! Moonlight director Barry Jenkins was very gracious and referenced that the teams behind both films had done a lot of this awards show schlep together for the past few months and if this was a dream, that was okay. The little picture ($1.5m budget) that could went and did. Talk about a twist ending!  It was a great show. And, as ever, a very, very long one. And the best one in oh so many years. Kimmel was terrific, even if the tour bus from Star Line was a little OTT – but boy did those tourists handle their sudden stardom effectively. Overall, Oscar 2017 was a display of (mostly) impeccable behaviour, some fun running jokes and rising to the occasion when everything went hopelessly wrong even if Emma Stone bizarrely decided to throw some shade at hapless Beatty by waving her envelope around in the Press room before clarifying anything with the floor managers. (Maybe she really did watch Rebel Without a Cause:  she was like James Dean screaming “But I got the bullets!”). Beatty at least showed some class in comparison with both her and Horowitz. And I’m definitely getting new accountants:  to quote a former Celebrity Apprentice judge, You’re fired!