The Dreamers (2003)

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Before you can change the world you must realize that you, yourself, are part of it. You can’t stand outside looking in.  In May 1968, the student riots in Paris exacerbate the isolation felt by three youths:  American exchange student Matthew (Michael Pitt) and twins Théo (Louis Garrel) and Isabelle (Eva Green). Having bonded over their mutual love of cinema, Matthew is fascinated by the intimacy shared by Isabelle and Théo, who were born conjoined. When the twins’ bohemian parents go away for a month, they ask Matthew to stay at their apartment, and the three lose themselves in a fantasy straight out of the movies that dominate their daydreams … I was one of the insatiables. The ones you’d always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. Adapted by the late Gilbert Adair (how I miss him) from his novel The Holy Innocents (inspired by Cocteau’s Les Enfants Terribles) this insinuates itself into the mind and the senses as surely as the French brother and sister at its heavily beating cinéphile’s heart. Scrupulously tracing the evolution of a romantic sensibility alongside a political education, this merges a rites of passage story with social and personal revolution in intelligently provocative fashion, fusing Adair’s narrative with director Bernardo Bertolucci’s sympathy for youthful yearning. And it’s sexy as hell, this movie about movies and movie lovers and passion and politics. Green is enigmatic and brave and beautiful, while the boys’ attraction for one another, emerging as a homosexual encounter in the original screenplay, is sacrificed by Bertolucci, whose sexual depictions are always of the hetero variety. There’s a delectable selection of movie clips and songs on the soundtrack of this startlingly beautiful dream of a film. The first time I saw a movie at the cinémathèque française I thought, “Only the French… only the French would house a cinema inside a palace”

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The Children Act (2017)

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Life is more precious than dignity. London High Court judge Fiona Maye (Emma Thompson) must decide if she should order a life-saving blood transfusion for a teen with leukaemia Adam Henry (Fionn Whitehead) despite his parents’ (Ben Chaplin and Eileen Walsh) refusal to accept medical treatment because they are Jehovah’s Witnesses. Fiona’s home life adds extra pressure to the decision-making – she is deep in the middle of a marital crisis because her academic husband Jack (Stanley Tucci) declares his wish to pursue an affair with a colleague. She decides she must do something unconventional during the court case and pays a visit to Adam in hospital … Don’t you remember how we were? Don’t you miss that? This issue film is adapted by Ian McEwan from his novel and boasts a stunning performance from Thompson as the woman daily challenged by ethical matters which have life-enhancing (or -ending) consequences. Richard Eyre directs with customary rigour and nuance in beautifully photographed settings in the Law courts and the English countryside but it feels somewhat like flogging a dead horse, as it were, failing to offer a robust counter-argument to the rationale of assisting a person in peril, making Thompson’s Herculean efforts seem somewhat … in vein?! Perhaps it’s a topic better suited to the likes of Jodi Picoult but the interesting plot turn which suggests a much deeper seam of emotion is not exploited as deeply as one would hope. This court is a court of law not of morals

Extremely Wicked (2019)

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I’m not a bad guy. Law student Ted Bundy (Zac Efron) is in prison receiving a visit from long time girlfriend Liz Kendall (Lily Collins) but she leaves upset. We flash back to how they met, set up home together with her baby daughter Molly and how news reports of the assaults and murders of young women across swathes of the United States result in his being apprehended as his photo fit is widely published. But Liz appears not to believe that Ted is capable of such evil.  Police Detective Mike Fisher (Terry Kinney) crosses state lines to leave an envelope of horrifying information at their house to try to persuade her that they have the right guy but she doesn’t open it for years. In the meantime, Ted starts to defend himself before Judge Edward Cowart (John Malkovich) in Florida, the first such trial to be televised … You know this didn’t start with a Stop sign. This biographical drama could have gone badly wrong but it’s far from a hagiography and a lot is left to the grisly imagination. Joe Berlinger’s feature follows from his documentary series on the subject, adapted from the book The Phantom Prince:  My Life With Ted Bundy by Elizabeth Kendall.  It’s cannily structured, starting with that flashback meeting cute with Liz so that the entire narrative feels like a seduction of sorts, giving Efron an opportunity to create a complete personality. We feel the impact of that fatal charisma and because he establishes a home life including as stepfather to Liz’s young daughter Molly, the disconnect is all the more alarming, especially interspersed with reports of serial murders from those locations where we know him to have been and shots of him with girls in bars. When we see Ted and Liz together we are imagining how he would kill her – those hands around her little neck suggest so much of what is not shown about his murderous spree. Collins doesn’t have a lot to do but the final scene between them has a big reveal – they both have something to confess. How much did she know? What did he do, exactly? Efron is utterly compelling as this beacon of toxic masculinity:  it’s all about him, as with all narcissistic serial killers. We don’t know any more, even the extent of his slaughter. You know the rest. When I feel his love I feel on top of the world, when I don’t I feel nothing

 

 

Kinsey (2004)

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Are my answers typical? Professor Alfred ‘Prok’ Kinsey (Liam Neeson) is interviewed about his sexual history by one of his graduate students Clyde Martin (Sarsgaard) and reflects on how he became the author of famous studies of modern Americans’ sexual behaviour. He grew up in a repressed household headed by Alfred Seguine Kinsey (John Lithgow) and disobeyed him to study biology and became a lecturer, marrying his student Mac (Laura Linney). After completing his study of gall wasp behaviour and addressing the sexual issues within his own marriage his advice is sought by students and he begins teaching a sex ed course that raises questions he cannot answer.  He devises a questionnaire to find out what passes for normal activity among his students but soon realises that 100 completed documents are not remotely sufficient.  He commences a countrywide research project in which he taxonomises sexual behaviour inside and outside average marriages and subgroups like homosexuals at a time when all these things are illegal in several states … The forces of chastity are massing again. Writer/director Bill Condon’s biography of the famed sex researcher whose reports rocked midcentury America is careful, detailed and filled with good performances (appropriately). Both Linney and Neeson contribute complete characters and their respective realisation that Clyde wants to seduce Prok are extremely touching and when you consider it’s established in a phonecall it’s all the more affecting. Their marriage is a profile of the parameters of this study – until things become more extreme and the grad students carrying out the research offer their own services to be recorded. The issue of agreed infidelity and extra-marital sex is just one of the common behavioural tics dealt with here and deftly personalised. There are of course some limits to even these sexologists’ tolerance – and Pomeroy (Chris O’Donnell) storms out when a particularly noxious individual (William Sadler) decides to regale him and Kinsey about his incest, bestiality and more, including incidents with pre-adolescent children. There are some abusive perversions that are just too tough to take. Word about the nature of the team’s methodologies gets out and their funding is cut by the Rockefeller Foundation, an issue that is particularly effective as a narrative device because it reminds us of the real-world difficulties in securing funding and the consequences that not funding this particular study might have had – its far-reaching insights into human behaviour in a highly censorious era was groundbreaking.  Oliver Platt is particularly good as the genial Herman Wells, President of the University at Bloomington whose support of the controversial work is so important. The confrontational nature of the film doesn’t descend to pornography chiefly because the humanity of the protagonists – and that of the study’s participants – is carefully graphed against the social norms. The topper to Alfred Senior’s difficult relationship with his son is very sad and crystallises the reasons behind his bullying, a habit Prock has inherited and replays with his own son Bruce (Luke MacFarlane) over mealtimes. At this point we don’t need any lectures on nature versus nurture or gene theory. The coda is a wonderful exchange between Kinsey and his latest interview subject played by Lynn Redgrave. It’s a marvellous conclusion to a remarkable film that deals with biology, family and the life force. A very satisfying experience. Where love is concerned we’re all in the dark

The Wife (2017)

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Without this woman I am nothing. Joan Castleman (Glenn Close) has been the supportive wife to charismatic Jewish novelist Joe (Jonathan Pryce) for forty years when they get the call that he’s won the Nobel Prize. Her resentment at his behaviour and success boil over in Stockholm where his wannabe biographer Nathanial Bone (Christian Slater) teases  her that he knows who really wrote all of Joe’s books and goes drinking with their surly son David (Max Irons) tipping the author’s son over the edge and leaving Joan to wonder at the wisdom of allowing her husband his moment of glory while she continues to play the role of dutiful wife … All the ideas are there. I can fix it. Do you want me to fix it? Jane Anderson adapted the novel by Meg Wolitzer, one of the best writers working today. She is shrewd, witty, incisive, brutal, parodic and smart, observing human antics with a gimlet eye and a knowing glance at contemporary society. Behind every great man is, what, a great woman? A pudding of hatred? A long-simmering resentment waiting it out? All of the above. The great masquerade of the Great American Novel is excavated with exquisite viciousness. When Joe doesn’t even recognise the name of one of his most famous characters we know something’s up. A trip to the past clarifies his third-rate writing but when Joan  works at a publisher they dismiss women’s output and wonder where they’ll find the next Jewish man. A brilliant cameo by Elizabeth McGovern makes the situation of women writers clear:  The public can’t stand bold prose from a woman. Don’t ever think you can get their attention. It’s the late 50s and this gal has hitched her star to a wannbe who isn’t a good writer – but he has fantastic ideas. And she can write. It’s a great gag to have a student be better than the master and to have a biographer figure it out – son David describes Bone as ‘Andy Warhol’ reminding us of the midcentury origins of American over-writers. No wonder Plath put her head in an oven. Close is a revelation as her distaste steadily grows into something she can no longer control and she can’t accept Joe’s philandering (she was his mistress before she was his wife) and playing dogsbody, finally deciding on terminating the arrangement born of youthful ambition during the most public of ceremonies, where she declares to the King of Sweden:  I am a kingmaker. It’s a great moment. There are a lot of pleasures to be had in this quiet assault of a narrative:  seeing Close’s daughter Annie Starke play her in flashback;  Slater’s insidious turn as the pivot that turns this family inside out; the horrible spectacle of the famous writer father belittling his son’s efforts as an author; Stockholm in winter, the setting for another Nobel-themed novel that was filmed, The Prize, which had a very different text but, well, kind of a similar body count.  Directed by Bjorn Runge. This is my life God help me

Three Identical Strangers (2018)

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I guess I wouldn’t believe the story if someone else were telling it, but I’m telling it and it’s true, every word of it.  David Kellman, Eddy Galland and Bobby Shafran were individually adopted by families from differing social and economic classes who had each adopted a baby girl from the same agency two years previously. They came across each other accidentally when Robert was mistaken for Eddy at college;  they eventually discovered a third identical brother. Their celebrity was such that they appeared on talk shows and even got a cameo in Desperately Seeking Susan and opened a restaurant together. We were falling in love with each other. Finally the truth came out:  they had been born (as part of quadruplets – the fourth died at birth, but this isn’t in the film) to a single mother as a result of a prom date gone wrong (supposedly – the birth date doesn’t tally) and were placed as part of a ‘nature versus nurture’ science experiment – the Neubauer Twin Experiment, conducted by a psychiatrist who has since died and whose findings are restricted until 2065; such findings as have been made public have been heavily redacted. A previous film made on the subject was pulled due to unknown forces – maybe the same people prevented this from being Oscar-nominated?  It’s a beautifully made if scarcely credible true story, a modern tragedy stemming from the frankly nutty unethical psychobabble world of the Fifties and Sixties,  including a combination of dramatic recreation, interviews and archive film, and featuring two of the men and Lawrence Wright, the journalist who wrote one account of the story for The New Yorker. The first half is light and amusing, a veritable romcom meet-cute, but things take a very dark turn when the reality of their lives is examined. They finally met their birth mother in her favourite local bar and were not impressed. They were reluctant to discuss her at all. Stunning and desperately sad. Directed by Tim Wardle. I don’t know if this will turn out to be good or terrible

American Animals (2018)

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You’re taught your entire life that what you do matters and that you’re special. In 2003 Spencer Reinhard (Barry Keoghan), Warren Lipka (Evan Peters), Eric Borsuk (Jared Abrahamson) and Chas Allen (Blake Jenner) are four friends who live an ordinary existence in Kentucky. Spencer is a budding artist and following his visit to the Special Collections room at Transylvania University in Lexington, he informs Lipka of the contents. Lipka comes up with the idea to steal the rarest and most valuable books from the school’s library:  it involves tying up the librarian Betty Jean Gooch (Ann Dowd) and making off with the Audubon book, Birds of America, the most valuable one there. They lose their nerve at the first attempt which they prepare for by dressing up as old men. They plot a different approach for the second attempt. As one of the most audacious heists in U.S. history starts to unfold, the men question whether their attempts to inject excitement and purpose into their lives are simply misguided attempts at achieving the American dream and Spencer gave an auction house in NYC his real-life cell phone number with his dumb message on it … How can I tell you if I’m in or I’m out without telling me the first thing about what I might be in or out of.  Writer/director Bart Layton takes a true crime and spins it into something stylish but problematic, a treatise on all-American stupidity. Interviews with the real-life perpetrators, rather humbled after the fact, are interspersed with the narrative drama, which gives it a melancholy quality but the consequent issues in pacing don’t always lead to a pleasing viewing experience. It’s not set up correctly, working against any possibility of suspense. The second attempt at the heist is permitted to progress unimpeded by anything other than the protagonists’ staggering ineptitude. The outcome is inevitable and famous. The film does however blend fact and fiction and the interviews form a kind of Greek chorus, baiting us with the various points of view, Rashomon-like, and at one point even inserts Spencer into the action, albeit briefly. And it does boast Udo Kier in the cast. One day you’ll die

 

An Actor Prepares (2018)

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Maybe it would be a good idea to do some bonding. When he suffers a heart attack, hard-living movie actor Atticus Smith (Jeremy Irons) is forced to travel across the United States to his favourite child Annabel’s (Mamie Gummer) wedding with his estranged son Adam (Jack Huston) as he’s not fit to fly before cardiac surgery. Adam is a failing film lecturer and documentary maker whose painfully sincere work is sporadic and his health is problematic hence his frequent visits to a urologist. Girlfriend Clemmie (Megalyn Echikunwoke) is in London finishing up a project and bugging him on the phone. Atticus’ studio get a Hell’s Angel to take the pair across the country in an RV to ensure he’ll be in shape for their next movie but Atticus soon dispatches the guy. The father and son go to their holiday cabin, load up his vintage car and take off, meeting friends new and old along the way, including a former lover (Colby Minifie) of Atticus who’s now married to a preacher (Frankie Faison) … I’m a documentarian. I make documentaries about women in film. This starts out in rather clichéd fashion with a trajectory somehow familiar from Absolutely Fabulous but with balls (literally and metaphorically, since one cataclysm has to do with potential testicular cancer, another with baseball). No observation is too trite, nothing too on the nose for this narrative but some lines are pretty funny and hit home:  Live in the world not in your bloody head all the time. The father-son rivalry extends from penis envy (Atticus is a little too proud of his pecker) back to 15 years earlier to the divorce when Adam gave evidence against his father in court. Huston doesn’t have too many colours in his acting palette so for the most part Irons eats up every scene, with relish. When he watches contemporary porn on Adam’s iPad he comments, Too clean. This is like basketball.  It’s quite funny to see him working on his next part (God) while his son just keeps driving. Adam finally gets a turning point after some extraordinarily irritating phonecalls with his girlfriend Clemmie (pronounced Clammie, maybe pointedly) and even quotes one of his father’s roles but never shaves what Atticus calls his Osama bin Laden nutball beard, sadly. Occasionally however his character is permitted to surprise Atticus, who is named perhaps for Finch, to remind us that deep down he’s probably an okay guy despite his penchant for whisky and women and his tales of living it large with Richard Harris. Like all road movies, this is an emotional journey (yawn) but it gets better as it goes along and – ta da! – gets there in the end. There are nice small roles for Matthew Modine and Will Patton but this is all about Irons. Written by director Steve Clark and Thomas Moffett. The studio gives me stuntman work. Do you have any fucking idea how much that pays in residuals?

Life Itself (2018)

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Life itself being the ultimate unreliable narrator.  College sweethearts Will (Oscar) and Abby (Olivia Wilde)f all in love, get married and prepare to bring their first child into the world. As their story unfolds in New York, fate links their daughter Dylan (Olivia Cooke), Javier (Sergio Peris-Mencheta) and his girlfriend Isabel (Laia Costa) who marry and have Rodrigo (Alex Monner), wealthy Spanish landowner Vincent (Antonio Banderas) when all these lives criss-cross ... I may not be equipped to be loved this much. Basically most people in the story get hit by a bus in a narrative that writer/director Dan Fogelman attempts to link through sugar-spun uncleverness into a statement about random acts and gee shucks unwisdom together with Bob Dylan songs and a Pulp Fiction homage.  In the end what can be said about this contribution to the cinematic art? It’s made in colour? It has sound? Everybody dies? Yes, eventually. Life being a series of unfortunate events, a tale full of misery told by idiots. But this sanctimonious saccharine is quite ghastly. This is not the right story

I Got Life! (2017)

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Aka Aurore. Fifty-year old Aurore (Agnès Jaoui) is newly divorced from her husband Nanar (Philippe Rebot), has lost her job and finds out that she is going to be a grandmother. She is slowly being pushed to the outskirts of society then accidentally runs into the great love of her youth Christophe whom she nicknamed Totoche (Thibault de Montalembert).  Her daughters’ lives run amok with pregnancy and lovers moving abroad. Her best friend Mano (Pascale Arbillot) is a realtor who hires her to make her properties sound more attractive but she now starts to realise how much she lost twenty-five years earlier when she betrayed Totoche and married his best friend Nanar but she has to find some way to make a living when she loses work at the dreadful cafe where her employer insists on calling her Samantha… A mid-life crisis from the woman’s perspective, rooted in the maternal and the reality of difficult working conditions isn’t normal multiplex fare. Blandine Lenoir’s film is funny and irritating all at once, mainly because it hits so many recognisable notes, even if they’re not especially revelatory. The always watchable Jaoui (yes! in two languages!) is rearing two daughters seemingly intent on making all the mistakes despite her wise counsel that have led her to this very spot – broke and alone, forced to take even more menial work as an industrial cleaner. where she meets a foreign woman who’s a qualified engineer:  This is the only way you white women understand the oppression of blacks, she tells her. Ageism is rife in white society! And she then proceeds to introduce Aurore to the notion of intersectionality. Aurore finds her mojo when a French philosopher’s interview on TV stops her in her tracks as she’s cleaning for a community of elderly women who have pooled their pensions and resources to live together – Françoise Héritier explains about the hierarchy of age in which men are supported throughout their lives and approach middle age with power, while women are only alone at 10 and 20, looking after everyone else until they drop. The women are aghast at self-recognition at this logical history of servitude. Aurore is mopping a floor when she hears this. This is her turning point and it galvanises her to alter her circumstances. At a university reunion an old classmate simply cannot accept she rejected Totoche for Nanar. It’s funny. And she realises that the mistake she made as a young woman can indeed be repaired if she’s prepared to take that step towards making up.  A film that says, Divorce is no picnic; turning fifty without a husband and any visible means of financial support is degrading and demeaning; and a life untethered takes a village to mend while you’re falling apart. The fourth stage of life is not for the fainthearted and sometimes only music gets you through the day. Not your conventional romcom, then. But it is very French. This is a great tribute to the power of mix tapes. And I just love Mano’s coat! Co-written by Lenoir with Jean Gaget and O-Shen, with collaboration from Anne-Françoise Brillot and Benjamin Dupas.