The 90s was all about the movie star, with an unparallelled line up of Hollywood leading actors. People flocked to see a new release specifically because their favorite star was in it, which doesn’t seem to happen so much anymore. Kate Winslet, Tom Hanks, Michelle Pfieffer, Tom Cruise, Meg Ryan, Leo Dicaprio, Jim Carrey, Nicole Kidman, Jonny Depp, Brad Pitt, Alicia Silverstone and… potentially the most beloved 90’s actor of them all… Steven Segall! Just kidding… I’m of course referring to Julia Roberts, whose 1990 role in Gary Marshall’s “Pretty Woman” propelled her into a realm of movie stardom that nobody has really come close to reaching since.

“Pretty Woman” was the happy result of a number of production changes and casting mishaps, with the final script looking nothing like the original and both Richard Gere and Julia Roberts only being cast after most of eligible Hollywood had already passed on the project. The film is essentially a fairy tale, the big difference being of course, this story is not about a prince and a peasant girl, but rather a slick, corporate New York businessman, Edward (Richard Gere) and a plucky prostitute named Vivian (Julia Roberts). After getting lost on Hollywood Boulevard, Edward asks Vivian for directions to Beverly Hills, but she’s sassy and sparky so she offers instead to drive him to his hotel since he can’t handle a manual car. After spending the night and finding her intriguing, Edward gives Vivian a proposition; spend the week together, accompany him to his various social events while he’s in town on business and he would pay her $3000 for her time. And so she does! It follows elements of classic fairy tale lore like Cinderella, as well as Pygmalion/ My Fair Lady-esque themes and motifs, complete with an era defining makeover montage, iconic outfits, a stellar soundtrack and superb fish out of water one liners (sub “Come on Rover, move your bloomin’ ass!” for “It was so good I nearly peed my pants!”). Ultimately, it’s a sweet natured and optimistic love story, following the lead of “When Harry Met Sally” as one of the great romantic comedies of the 20th century.

On paper, “Pretty Woman” just doesn’t work. The plot sounds like something more akin to a 6 part Netflix series about the grim realities of the sex trade and the exploitation and dangers that young women in the industry are exposed to. It’s gritty, it’s bleak and it stars someone closer to Rooney Mara in “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo” rather than the fresh faced and effortlessly charming Roberts. Indeed, this version is closer to the original draft of the script, which was much darker, quite violent, entitled “3000” (because Edward pays Vivian $3000 for her week with him) and involved Vivian being a drug addict, the couple not ending up together and Vivian finally using the money to take her friend Kit (Laura San Giacomo) another prostitute who has been in the game a lot longer than Vivian has, to Disneyland. The story goes that J. F. Lawton, the writer of the original screenplay, was so enamored by the chemistry between Roberts and Gere that he wrote a new fairytale ending where they end up together and “save each other”. I don’t really mind whether that’s true or not, “Pretty Woman” exists in a world of pure fantasy and if that adds to the magic of the story then so be it. It genuinely is astounding that the final film is one that is as sweet and good natured that it is.

The reason the film works at all is due almost entirely to the appeal of Julia Roberts. Richard Gere is fine I guess, but I’ve never been a big fan of him anyway. He’s dark and smouldering and looks good in a suit but Edward could have easily been played by any number of leading men. Julia Roberts on the other hand has an almost impossible role to play here; she has to be sexy but not trashy, tough yet vulnerable, street smart yet naive, be able to pass as a prostitute on Hollywood Boulevard but not seem completely conspicuous wearing Ralph Lauren at the polo. The kindly eyed hotel manager (Hector Elizondo) offers a gently guiding hand as her makeshift Fairy Godmother as he helps her choose what to wear and how to eat with the extensive cutlery at fancy restaurants. Again, not dissimilar to Eliza Dolittle. The biggest obstacle for us as an audience is that Vivian has to be so charming and unique that we can somehow believe that a man like Edward, from that world, would risk his reputation to be with her. And Roberts absolutely pulls it off. She is a vibrant breath of fresh air amongst the stale and pretentious wasps of Edward’s world and manages to bring out the empathy and humanity in Edward. For just as she had learned to not kiss on the mouth to detach herself from what she does, Edward too has removed all emotion from his business dealings to the extent that he no longer feels anything at all.

While the film isn’t overtly graphic, confronting or even honest about the realities of Vivian’s life, the film wisely doesn’t try and glorify or romantacise prostitution either. It’s obvious that Vivian is doing what she’s doing because she feels like she has no other option but as she’s only new in town, she still has a vibrancy and spark which has long since died in Kit. Kit serves as a foil of what would have happened to Vivian had she stayed much longer. By the film’s conclusion, Vivian is ready to get a job and finish high school, without Edward. She asks Kit to come with her, but Kit declines; she is too entrenched in that world and it’s understood that her fate isn’t going to be a happy or empowering one.

I do think that the film falters in its final act and doesn’t quite redeem itself. Of course “Pretty Woman” is pure fairy tale, and we as an audience allow ourselves to be brought in by the warm embrace of Gary Marshall’s simplistic and rose coloured little story. Which is why it’s such an unpleasant and jarring shock when Edward’s slimy attorney Phillip Stuckey (Jason Alexander) forces himself upon Vivian and slaps her when she fights back. It’s genuinely unsettling and completely out of sync with the tone of the rest of the film. I can understand the purpose of including it – to convey that there are scumbags and nefarious men in all avenues of life, regardless of wealth or status, and that there are harsh realities which may prevent Edward and Vivian from living happily together. Still, it didn’t need to be as violent as it was, surely Edward could have intervened before it got to that stage? Regardless, it’s a sudden jolt back to what I imagine was a remnant from the original scripting that has somehow crept through. Then, all of a sudden, the film’s contrived finale is Edward standing out of the sun roof of his limo (like a knight on a white horse of course), holding flowers and playing La Traviata… a degree of schmultz that even Edward reading Shakespeare sonnets in the park didn’t come close to.

Gary Marshall’s “Pretty Woman” is a nice return to a style of film which was intended to entertain and take us away from the gritty realities of the world, rather than brutally exacerbate and examine them. There’s so much that’s hopeful and gentle about this film, with a career defining performance in Julia Roberts and featuring some of 90’s cinema’s most iconic moments. It would take a decent dose of cynicism to not enjoy this.

By Jock Lehman

I stand by it, the 90s was the best decade for films.

The whole point of Jonathan Lynn’s 1992 comedy “My Cousin Vinny” is that it’s unwise to underestimate somebody because of how they talk or dress, because intelligence and talent manifests itself in all sorts of ways and isn’t restricted to stuffed shirts or bespectacled academics. It would be very easy to underestimate “My Cousin Vinny” in the same way; the plot is silly to the point of absurd and, as Roger Ebert famously said in his review, “(is) the kind of movie home video was invented for”. It presents itself as a quirky, harmless, “fish out of water”, easy watch, and we as an unsuspecting audience are hit in the face with a big bowl of Nonna’s spaghetti when all of a sudden the final twenty minutes hit and we realise that the whole film has been leading to this. There are moments that amble along with a genial sort of ease and which don’t seem to make a whole lot of sense, but without them that final phenomenal scene has no teeth. And it pays off spectacularly well.

William Gambini (Ralph Macchio) and Stanley Rothenstein (Mitchell Whitfield) are two young New Yorkers travelling through America’s colourful South during college break, when due to an innocent yet costly misunderstanding, find themselves on trial for murder. Because of course a good defence attorney is hard to come by, the boys (who are remarkably unphased by their potential execution) have no choice but to hire Will’s cousin Vinny (Joe Pesci) to represent them. But uh oh! Vinny is a fast talking Italian New Yorker working in personal injury, who failed the Bar exam six times, wears a black leather jacket and seedy gold chain in the court room and back talks the stuffy conservative judge (Fred Gwynn)! It becomes evident fairly quickly that Vinny is in over his head, and that he and his sassy, smart, sexy, big haired, short skirt and stilleto wearing fiance Mona Lisa Vito (Marissa Tomei in her controversial Oscar winning performance), aren’t cut out for the South.

Pretty quickly, we learn that the two boys aren’t really the point of the film. I was excited to see Ralph Macchio again, I hadn’t seen him in anything else other than in the “Karate Kid” franchise. This is unfortunately a glorified cameo role for him though; he and Whitfield are basically used as a plot device to get Pesci and Tomei into Alabama and not much else. No matter! Once Pesci and Tomei arrive on the scene, it’s their show through and through. There’s a version of this film where the Alabaman folk are three toothed, inbred, racist yokels in overalls and the New Yorkers are sophisticated liberals dodging cow pats and looking down on everybody (“Did You Hear About The Morgans”). Instead, there’s a genuine sweetness to “My Cousin Vinny” which I found quite refreshing. Mona Lisa and Vinny may be stereotypical but their portrayals are not mean spirited and are rooted in heart and a proper understanding of the idiosyncrasies of Italian New Yorkers. And they’re so funny. As in, the back and forth between these two characters might be some of the funniest comedic material I’ve ever seen. And it’s a genuine happy combination of clever writing and pitch perfect performances that makes the film work, a deviation in either direction and “My Cousin Vinny” is a real lemon.

What’s interesting is that in these kinds of films it’s usually the simple, kind hearted, Southern country folk (think the “Beverly Hillbillies”) who are out of their depth and ultimately triumph over the cynical and cold hearted city slickers to prove to the world that they’re smarter than their drawl and pigtails let on. This was a fun subversion of that genre, worth it even just to see Pesci and Tomei order from a local diner menu that simply listed “Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner” as the only items available to order. The contrast between Vinny and the considered, statuesque, gravelly voiced and irreverent judge (the same man who played Herman Munster funnily enough) is perfect, and made me wish that they had done the same for Mona Lisa. Surely there’s a three minute scene somewhere where Mona Lisa and the judge’s wife bump into each other and there’s some kind of fun misunderstanding about the meaning of “whack”.

Out of nowhere, the final act of “My Cousin Vinny” becomes a slick, intelligent and pulse quickening courtroom drama. So much so that apparently legal professionals in the States cite the final scene in which Vinny has his turn at the witnesses as the most realistic example of cross examination in film and a fair demonstration of the fallability of witnesses. Up until the moment Vinny starts his cross examination, we’re still not convinced that he’ll be able to pull this off, at least not convincingly. And all of a sudden, his demeanour is cool and confident, his posture is relaxed yet in control, and every obscure detail and reference in the film that we hadn’t thought about at the time (the grits in the diner, the mud on the tyres, Mona Lisa and Vinny’s weird foreplay back and forth about the torque wrench), make perfect sense as Vinny uses every one of those references to dismantle the various witness’ credibility. He is formidable and impressive, and Tomei in her tour de force interrogation from the bench makes it pretty obvious that her 1993 Best Supporting Actress win was no accident. The rhythm between Pesci and Tomei during the cross examination is so beautifully choreographed it could have been done to music. There is something about Tomei’s physicality, her confidence and how comfortable she is with this persona that we don’t doubt for a minute that she is able to tell from a photograph of some tyre tracks that they were made by a ’63 Pontiac Tempest and not a ’64 Buick Skylark. Just in the same way that even though there’s a good twenty year age difference between Mona Lisa and Vinny, and that perhaps in the real world Joe Pesci in a bad hairpiece might not be able to swing Marissa Tomei, their on screen chemistry is so infectious we don’t doubt for a minute that they work as a couple and genuinely adore each other.

Of course, it would be very easy to underestimate this sweet, little, “clash of cultures”, comedy as that alone. But then that would be like judging Vinny for his leather jacket or for not knowing the proper court room procedures. If that final climactic scene had played out like a slapstick sit com then this film is still fun, still sweet, but perhaps forgettable. Instead, “My Cousin Vinny” is everything you could want from a 90’s comedy, plus an unexpectedly compelling and highly quotable courtroom drama with some razor sharp, hilarious lead performances which nobody is forgetting any time soon.

By Jock Lehman

Nobody does spectacle quite like Christopher Nolan. After seeing “Oppenheimer”, based on the 2005 biography “American Prometheus” by Kai Bird and Martin J, Sherwin, I imagined what it would have been like in the hands of someone like James Cameron, or even Michael Bay (it was fun to picture a muscle clad, tattooed J. Robert Oppenheimer straddling a motorbike and the atomic bomb detonating to the tune of “Highway to the Dangerzone”). I realised that it’s not so much scale that Nolan does well, plenty of filmmakers can handle that. It’s more so that he portrays gravitas better than anybody in the business. He tackles themes of mind shattering, out of this world, eternal significance (and Batman) and everything that makes up his films are a reflection of that. The cinematography is epic, the scores are intrinsically haunting and gripping, but… the performances are serious, the scripts are humourless and occasionally his films will collapse from the sheer weight of their own profundity like a dying star (“Tenet”, “Dunkirk” and even “Interstellar” for me). Luckily, the development of the atomic bomb, the political climate of WWII and the Cold War and Oppenheimer’s role in 20th century history is of such collossal significance that it’s perfectly suited for Nolan’s style.

Nolan importantly has recognised that Oppenheimer (a gaunt and unblinking Cillian Murphy), much like many historical figures, was himself not a terribly exciting or even likeable man. And nor is nuclear physics something that lends itself well to a Hollywood blockbuster, because it’s… well… nuclear physics. What makes the film captivating (aside from the score and cinematography, which in true Nolan style are spectacular) is the political tension at the time and how Oppenheimer was targeted (not necessarily without reason) for his associations with Communism. I certainly wasn’t expecting a film about the development of the atomic bomb to be driven so heavily by all the hallmarks of a political thriller. And it certainly needed it. Had this been a straightforward biopic of Oppenheimer’s life and his scientific process then this would have been a total misfire and likely been forgotten by audiences by the time next year’s blockbusters were released. This is Nolan at his best, redeeming himself from the comparatively durgey and tepidly recieved “Dunkirk” and “Tenet” and reestablishing himself as one of Hollywood’s most exciting and unique creative forces.

Nolan flashes back and forward from 1926 (when Oppenheimer started at Cambridge) to 1954, where Oppenheimer is questioned during a security hearing to determine whether he should have his security clearance revoked. The security hearing is shot in grainy black and white like and old school film noir, while his earlier times at Cambridge are bathed in warmer tones (which could easily be interpreted as the comfort and excitement of an incredibly dangerous concept when it’s still safely within the confines of theory – Communism, nuclear fusion, that time I wanted to have a crack at turtle neck sweaters). The dichotomy between the sheer awesomeness of the bomb’s power and the horror of its reality is a theme which Nolan evokes throughout to great effect. Oppenheimer has visions of mesmerising chain-reaction explosions that resemble strings of firecrackers and sparks but also horrifying visions of people’s flesh melting off their bones. The moment in which Oppenheimer witnesses the bomb explode for the first time is one which stretches for what seems like an age, transcending time and space. In that moment there is nobody else in the universe, just Oppenheimer and his creation, a god torn between admiration and horror of what he has done. The score and cinematography in these moments are breathtaking, as I think we all suspected they would be.

I did think the film was a little unfair in portraying Oppenheimer as an innocent and blindsided little lamb who was unjustly targeted during his security hearings. There’s no doubt that AEC Chairman Lewis Strauss (an impressive Robert Downey Jn) was both politically and personally motivated in seeking to have Oppenheimer’s security status revoked. Although, in the midst of an Arms Race with the Soviets, surely it seems reasonable to be suspicious that the creator of the atomic bomb was himself an admitted Communist for much of his life, was intimately familiar with plenty of others sympathetic to the cause and was outrageously cavelier regarding the confidentiality of the Manhatten Project. Also, if the entire reason for Oppenheimer’s security clearance in the first place was for him to develop the bomb to end the war, and the war was over… what exactly did he still need to be privvy to state secrets for?

In saying that, the film certainly doesn’t idolise Oppenheimer, and likewise doesn’t shy away from the less admirable aspects of the man. I’m torn as to whether I enjoyed Murphy’s performance or not. There’s something about him that doesn’t strike me as a leading man, but it could be exactly this that makes Murphy perfect for the role. The idea that something as cataclysmic and apocalyptic as the atomic bomb could come from somebody so unimpressive in stature and presence has a nice sense of irony to it. Physically it’s impossible to deny Murphy’s commitment to the role; as Oppenheimer ages, you can see the weight of the bomb and it’s implications on mankind wearing away at him as he grows more emaciated and meeker in tone with every passing year. Performance wise, the film boasts a phenomonal supporting cast, including Matt Damon, Rami Malek, Florence Pugh but most impressively so in Robert Downey Jnr and Emily Blunt as Openheimer’s wife Kitty. Downey Jnr absolutely deserves an Oscar for his role, and I think he’s likely to get it. If Blunt is nominated, it will be for the scene in which she is interrogated in the security hearing, where she flips from an initially scared and quivering wreck to a beautifully snarky and articulate pillar of Bette Davis-esque confidence. As I referenced earlier, a little humour and some rounding out of the characters would have been welcome, but it’s again not something that Nolan is known for.

The film never showcases the horrific impacts of the bomb once dropped on Japan, which is a very deliberate and interesting creative choice. Would the story have benefited from demonstrating the devastating impact of Oppenheimer’s creation? Perhaps… but I don’t think that this is what the film is seeking to be. The fable of Prometheus, who stole fire from the Olympian gods and is condemned by being tied to a rock and for birds to peck out his liver for eternity, is referenced often in the film and is eerily analogous to Oppenheimer. This film isn’t so much about the atomic bomb and the end of WWII, or even whether the use of the bomb was justified to end the war. It is more so about a complicated, flawed and brilliant individual who was nonetheless still just a man, who harnessed more destructive power than had ever been conceived in history, and the moral struggle and torment that comes with such power.

By Jock Lehman

While watching “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny”, I tried to think of an appropriate analogy for the film. This is what I came up with: “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny” is a bit like driving a beautiful vintage car that is past its prime, down to the local shops. It’s an initial thrill to climb in and feel the creak of the soft, worn leather and feel the engine growl as you turn the ignition. The occasional splutter or cough of the mechanism is excusable because the old girl is getting on and after all it’s part of her charm. But by the time the car lurches up outside the store, smoke hissing from the bonnet, the clutch howling and sweat pouring down your face because the air con is busted, somehow by that point the original period leather and the car’s sexy sleek lines don’t seem as exciting anymore. Instead you’re looking at the car with a mixture of pity and embarrassment, because there’s just enough there to understand why she was once something special, but more than enough to know that by now that she’s tired and probably just isn’t up to any more outings. In case it’s not obvious, Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones is the car.

He’s back… again. Harrison Ford has returned for his final run as his most famous on screen persona, Indiana Jones. Back during WWII, Indy and bumbling Oxford archeologist Basil Shaw (Toby Jones), successfully thwart a bunch of Nazis who were making out with an entire trainload of precious archeological artefacts and steal back one half of Archimedes’ Dial, an Antikythera device built by the ancient and legendary mathematician Archimedes (apparently not the snarky owl from “The Sword in the Stone”) that reveals fissures in time, allowing for the possibility of travelling through time. Jump forward to 1969, where Indiana Jones is retiring from his professorship at Hunter College, (but as evidenced by a shirtless scene showing how jacked Harrison Ford is still at 80, he’s no ordinary fossil), the same Nazi that Indy had stolen the Dial from some 65 years before, Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen) shows up with his henchmen to steal it back. Throw in Basil’s daughter Helena (Phoebe Waller-Bridge) who wants the Dial for herself to sell on the black market, some cameos from some of Indy’s old friends and you’ve got all the ingredients for an action filled and exciting adventure. Well… sort of.

What can be said about this film is that it is fairly entertaining and there is no shortage of action. In fact it’s constant, nicely stylised and well executed. There are plenty of nods to the earlier films, including Indy’s trademark whip and hat (each time they’re shown the iconic John Williams score plays), a scene with eels where he tells himself they’re nothing like snakes, and lots of high speed chases through a series of exotic locations. The problem is, even though Harrison Ford is still quite clearly an agile and extraordinarily fit man for 80 years old, he’s still 80 years old. And as much it’s impressive that as he’s able to keep up with the choreographed stage fighting without having a heart attack, you can’t help but think that if one of the Nazis had just given him a slight push or called out “Is that Matlock?” from behind then he would have fallen over pretty hard and fast. Especially because when Indy isn’t fighting or jumping across hurtling train carriages, he walks like an elderly man and he talks like an elderly man. Even during the earlier WWII sequences where they’d CGI’d his face to look like a young man (which is admittedly really well done, it’s genuinely as if a circa 1980s Harrison Ford is on the screen), the illusion is shattered because he still has the affectation of an old grumpy bastard and still walks with that distinct old boy gait. What was in my mind a real missed opportunity was the chance to derive some comedy from this. Nobody is actually buying that Indiana Jones is still pulling off the same stunts as he did in his thirties, what would have been funny is if Indy is still as sharp as ever but has to defeat the bad guys in ways which isn’t going to hurt his hip, or pausing a high stakes negotiation with the Nazis for a quick wee.

It’s an ongoing theme – the film has the appearance and bells and whistles of the earlier films in the franchise but lack the heart and depth of Spielberg’s direction. There’s a little kid who’s got ingenuity and street smarts (Ethann Isidore), but lacks the humour, quirkiness and likeability of Ke Huy Quan’s Short Round. There’s a spooky archaeological device with magical powers, but somehow an old nerd’s protractor that summons the power of maths doesn’t seem as cool as the Ark of the Covenant. James Mangold has somehow managed to take Mads Mikkelsen, one of the creepiest Bond villains there ever was, and even he is milktoast as a Nazi! Admittedly, Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Helena Shaw is interesting and haughty enough as Indy’s sidekick, but her character arc and motivations are too left high and dry.

After a while, it becomes obvious that the story doesn’t really have anything interesting going on or even a plotline that made any cohesive sense. The film’s climax is extraordinarily disappointing, and poses far more questions than it does answers. Time travel is a risky premise but great fun when it’s done well, but this script doesn’t even attempt to construct something clever for its audience. Instead everything just lazily resolves itself (literally, Indy gets punched in the face and wakes up with everything nicely wrapped up) and Indy is too tired and ready for his 4:30pm dinner to question why. By that stage, so are we.

By Jock Lehman

Who’d have thought that Ben Affleck would end up becoming one of Hollywood’s most interesting and consistent directors? His latest venture “Air”, is just as slick, just as urgent and just as gripping as “Gone Baby Gone”, “The Town” or “Argo”, and somehow manages to be so while telling a story rooted in the comparatively drab world of sports marketing. “Air” follows in the stead of such real life, behind the scenes dramas as “Moneyball”, “The Social Network” or “The Post” and succeeds in taking a very narrow, very specific and seemingly inconsequential aspect of legendary NBA player Michael Jordon’s ascension to stardom and making it, if not sexy, then exciting at the very least.

“Air” tells the true story of Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon), the somewhat rogue basketball talent scout for the fledging Nike basketball shoe division, who in 1984 revolutionised the industry by investing Nike’s entire talent budget of $250,000.00 (intended for three basketball different players) in generational young talent Michael Jordon and building the now legendary Air Jordan sneakers around his image. The film follows Vaccaro from the conception of his idea, navigating initial resistance from the Nike co-founder and former CEO Phil Knight (Ben Affleck) and convincing Jordan’s mother (Viola Davis) to sign on Jordon as spokesperson before the 1984 draft.

“Air” surprisingly relies very little on Michael Jordan as an athlete or even really features him at all; Affleck cleverly barely shows the face of the actor playing the 21 year old Jordan, explaining in a recent interview that “Jordan is too big. He exists above and around the story, but if you ever concretize him, if you ever say, ‘Yes, that’s Michael Jordan,’ we know it’s not, really. It’s fake.” And he’s right. In this film Michael Jordan hasn’t yet become Michael Jordan; he’s still a concept and a business risk. There is a whole other film to be made about Michael Jordon’s time as a basketball star, but this one is not it. I also think it could strangely be seen as a sign of respect to Jordan and how much of a legend he is – no mortal actor could possibly emulate him and it would be sacriligeous to try. One thing I did think was clever however was during the corporate meeting with Jordan, his parents and the Nike executives in which Vaccaro explains what is likely to happen to him if he takes on this deal and how the media would villify him, while showing real life footage and newspaper headlines of the scandals that would later tarnish his career.

The tricky thing here is being able to maintain suspense and urgency where the audience already knows what’s going to happen, and the film is able to do so because of a tightly orchestrated script. We already know that Nike is eventually successful in signing Jordan and that Jordan becomes a giant in the sporting world, but it’s still a genuinely hair raising scene as Sonny sits by the phone waiting for the call from Jordan’s mother to confirm that he’s taken the offer. It’s an extremely dialogue heavy film, and it’s understandable why; Affleck can’t rely on car chases or escape sequences like in his other thrillers to generate atmosphere. What was unexpected however was the amount of comedic relief in the film, particularly between Vaccaro and Jordan’s agent David Falk (Chris Messina) demonstrated by some pretty genius schoolboy level insults in one scene – “Everyone has herpes! You know why you don’t Sonny? Because no one will fuck you! No one!”

This film is so much fun, due largely to a sensational screenplay from Alex Convery and some bang on performances from an ensemble cast of well established Hollywood veterans. The stakes may not be as high as your typical action thriller (Jason Bourne with a paunch and a daggy golf shirt makes that pretty obvious from the start), but I think that’s all part of the appeal. Affleck has taken a story which has no business being interesting at all and turned it into a solid piece of entertainment.

By Jock Lehman

Darren Aronofsky is known for his intriguing central protagonists; not necessarily tragic heroes in the traditional sense but individuals who at least convey some sense of morality or innocence when they’re first introduced. And then Aronofsky absolutely destroys them; physically, morally, spiritually. We watch as these characters succumb to depravity of the most devastating order; finally obtaining what they always wanted but sacrificing their souls in the process. Sara Goldfarb in “Requiem for a Dream” receiving electroshock therapy in her beautiful red dress that she was going to wear on television, Nina in “Black Swan” reaching artistic perfection but dying upon achieving it, Randy Robinson in “The Wrestler” ignoring the pains in his chest and performing his signature move to the screams of his adoring fans. They are all somewhat grotesque in their downfall, a horrific and tragic shadow of whatever semblance of the good person they once were. What is interesting about “The Whale”, is that Charlie’s character arc is actually one of redemption. And that’s a significant subversion in Aronofsky’s style; the film’s protagonist actually achieves what he desires at the film’s inception, but also conversely gains peace with the world.

“The Whale” is a very simple story; Charlie Harkonnen (Brendan Fraser) is an English instructor – gay, divorced, morbidly obese after the loss of his boyfriend, estranged from his daughter and confined to his dingy house where his only visitor is his nurse Liz (Hong Chau). Liz constantly urges Charlie to go to hospital as he’s at severe risk for congenital heart failure, but he insists that he can’t afford it. This is a lie however; he has $120,000 in his bank account and offers it to his estranged daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink), who is also somewhat of a derelict, to spend time with him without telling her mother. He will also rewrite her English essays since she’s failing, his only condition that she write honestly for him in a notebook he gives her. We learn about his world, confined to his dark flat, and his interactions through the glass with his pizza deliveryman. As Charlie’s health deteriorates, he abandons all pride or shame about his condition in a final desperate attempt to find something good and honest before he dies.

Aronofsky’s capacity for portraying the grotesque and horrific is on full display here. Just like the symbol of Moby Dick the white whale (which is effectively albeit perhaps a little heavy handedly evoked throughout the film), Aronofsky challenges us to see beyond the monstrous image of what Charlie has become to the good man underneath. And the imagery is deliberately confronting; the sight of Charlie lumbering shirtless across his house is one that barely resembles a man at all anymore, but a hulking, terrifying beast. A spectacle which is both awe inspiring and terrifying. The sound as he chows down on his bucket of fried chicken is exacerbated to evoke revulsion; again, not a man but a pig going to town on its bucket of slops. Aronofsky has been criticised for being insensitive or even cruel in his portrayal of Charlie. I don’t think this is justified however; there is an ongoing theme in this story of finding beauty where others aren’t able to. In order for this theme to make any sense at all, it needs to be evident why Charlie is afraid to show himself to the world outside. And why he doesn’t feel he deserves to be seen.

This is where casting Brendan Fraser was such a brilliant move; there is a beautiful warmth in Fraser’s face and eyes which permeates through all the make up and prosthetics. Even his voice in the opening credits feels like a welcome cuddle from an old friend. And in a sense it is, this is Fraser’s first major film role in years. He too in a way had been forgotten and cast aside from the world, so the whole thing just fits. And his performance is phenomenal. Of course the prosthetics have played a major role in being able to portray the character, but the way in which Fraser has embodied the physicality of Charlie and the strength required to even walk with that kind of weight is extraordinary. Fraser brings humanity to Charlie, and humour and pain. However his relationship with Liz is probably the only one that really rings properly true, due largely to the chemistry between Chau and Fraser, but also because the other characters in the film aren’t as well constructed. The way his disgruntled deadbeat daughter Ellie is written isn’t entirely convincing, and as such their reconciliation and her obnoxious teenage angst felt somewhat forced. As is the unusual subplot involving Ellie and a missionary named Thomas (Ty Sympkins).

There is a lot to admire in Darren Aronofsky’s “The Whale”, far beyond just the film’s make up and prosthetics team. This is a powerful, fable-esque story with a formidable central performance in Brendan Fraser and an unexpectedly beautiful message in the redemptive power in seeking “something honest” in life.

By Jock Lehman

Originality is important in cinema, especially at the moment where the market is so heavily saturated in prosthetic heavy biopics, franchise sequels and bastardised live action remakes of Disney animations that a fresh story is relatively scarce to come by. So in this sense, Daniel Kwan’s and Daniel Scheinert’s (known collectively as the “Daniels”) absurdist action comedy ninja inspired family melodrama “Everything Everywhere All At Once” should be commended; it’s a highly creative premise and uniquely, even effectively at times blends a number of genres. Unfortunately, originality alone isn’t enough to result in a good quality film, and by every other available metric, “EEAAO” is a wash of half baked concepts deluded with philosophical grandeur and some talented actors who try their hardest to keep up with it all.

As I said, the core premise is a clever one; Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh) is a Chinese American immigrant who runs a laundromat with her timid and browbeaten husband Waymond (Ke Huy Kwan) and is at constant war with her gay daughter Joy (Stephanie Hsu), antagonising her even further when she introduces Joy’s girlfriend to the family patriarch Gong Gong (veteran actor James Gong) as her “very good friend” instead of her girlfriend. Evelyn is disenchanted with her life, and longs for excitement and adventure. While their business is being audited by humourless IRS agent Deirdre Beaubeirdre (Jamie Lee Curtis), Evelyn is accosted by an alternate version of her husband who tells her that there are infinite parallel universes created by the choices that people make. A version of Evelyn created the technology necessary to jump across these universes and absorb the experiences and talents of all of individual’s alternate selves. Evelyn is now faced with the reality that a hellish, all powerful version of Joy, called Jobu, and Jobu’s army, are set to destroy the multiverse and Evelyn is the only one who can stop her.

One of the biggest issues with this film is that there is absolutely no subtlety, no nuance or even a brief moment of reprieve for the audience to properly process the story. And if the film was just an action, sci-fi, ninja kind of film then that might not matter, but it insists on being all of that as well as a family melodrama and an existential exploration of existence and the meaning of life as well as a critique on gay relationships within the Chinese culture. It just seems like every easy road that could have been taken has been taken; it’s far easier to hurl at an audience surface level profundity a dozen different ways rather than just properly exploring one or two. Oh and then for good measure they’ve thrown in some seriously lazy comedy because hey, these boys are deep but they can still have some fun. Perhaps the “Daniels” realised that they had bitten off more than their audience can chew, and knowing that they don’t have the time to spare that it would take to properly flesh out any of these themes, they’ve written dialogue that instructs the audience how they’re supposed to feel instead. “The Only Thing I Do Know Is That We Have To Be Kind. Please, Be Kind. Especially When We Don’t Know What’s Going On.” Goodie. They’re some quality Best Screenplay Oscar worthy words right there.

Performance wise, none of the lead roles are particularly strong. It’s almost insulting that Michelle Yeoh is being honoured for this considering how powerful she was in 2001’s “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” (one of the best films of the 2000s). That was an Oscar worthy role; dignified and timeless with actual depth to her performance. To see her go from that to the crude spectacle of her scoring cheap laughs with kung fu sequences peppered with dildos, sausage fingers and butt plugs was embarrassing. Also, and this goes for Ke Huy Kwan as well, because a lot of the dialogue is in English and the fast paced nature of the action scenes require a rapid delivery, both actors aren’t able to deliver their lines with the same authenticity and urgency as if they had spoken in their native tongue. It’s such a relief when they are able to speak with each other in Mandarin; the flow of the conversation is so much more organic and you can tell the actors are finally able to concentrate on emoting rather than getting the English perfect. As for Jamie Lee Curtis, this is probably one of the least deserved Best Supporting Actress Oscars ever awarded. What exactly does she do in this film that is so extraordinary? She wears an unflattering cardigan and a dowdy wig and delivers about a dozen lines of completely forgettable dialogue with no tonality in her voice. Some have argued that it’s a career Oscar (which all three were undoubtedly intended, in the same vein as Judi Dench and Alan Arkin), but since when has Jamie Lee Curtis been so valuable to Hollywood that a token Oscar was ever even warranted? She’s been in a handful of decent comedies, a couple of good action flicks and the Halloween horror series, so who knows, perhaps as she acknowledged, her status as a “nepo baby” has helped.

Even now I found it hard to see what else exactly “EEAAT” has going for it. The performances are lack lustre (as nice as it was to see Ke Huy Kwan be presented with an Oscar by Harrison Ford, it doesn’t take away the fact that neither he, Jamie Lee Curtis or Michelle Yeoh deserved their awards for these performances), the character development is almost non existent, the script is clumsy and heavy handed and the whole thing just felt a little cheap, and needed to be edited with a whipper snipper. The appeal in the creativity of the core story manages to creep through every once in a while, but is far too often lost in what is a truly garbled mess of a film, with no depth, no finesse and (as much as it might have tried), no heart.

By Jock Lehman

Martin McDonagh has found an unlikely but endearing partnership in Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell. Their on screen chemistry was a crucial ingredient in the success of the 2008 dark comedy “In Bruges”. While it’s perhaps not as organic in his latest film “The Banshees of Inisheerin”, the duo’s rapport is still a solid foundation for what is a hauntingly beautiful and fable-esque tale about friendship and identity. There are admittedly times when the script could have been a little tighter and some of the roles are potentially a little underdeveloped, but overall, “Inisheerin” is a thoroughly original and evocative story, with the stunning backdrop of the eerily beautiful Achill Island off the coast of Ireland acting as a central character in itself.

The film opens in 1923 near the end of the Irish civil war, in a small agricultural community on a remote island called Inisheerin. Padraic (Colin Farrell) and Colm (Brendan Gleeson) have been close friends for years, but one day when Padraic sits next to Colm for a beer at their local pub, Colm tells him not to sit with him. Not only that, Colm has decided that he doesn’t want to be friends anymore. Padraic hasn’t done anything, Colm isn’t mad, Colm just doesn’t like him anymore and wants to spend the rest of his waning years focusing on his composing. Not only that, but every time Padraic talks to him from then on, Colm promises that he will chop off one of his fingers with his shears and throw it at Padraic’s front door. The dynamic of this new relationship plays out across the course of the film; not only how it affects them, but also the local townsfolk, including Padraic’s sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) and local nineteen year old sweet natured simpleton Dominic (Barry Keoghan).

To begin with, the concept of a long term companion telling another that he doesn’t want to continue the friendship is a fairly novel one. We’re used to seeing romantic relationships break up in films, but other than that one episode of Seinfeld in which Jerry debates how to break up with an obnoxious friend of his, I can’t think of another example of it. And it’s a strong premise for a story. By setting it on an island at this time in history, the usual routes of simply avoiding the friend wouldn’t work. I think there’s an interesting story to be told of how this would play out within the confines of usual human dynamics, but this isn’t that film. It takes a very surreal and dark turn quite quickly, as Colm begins to lop off his fingers and hurl them at Padraic’s door. It’s an almost Shakespearean twist to the story, but it’s somewhat jarring and the dialogue between the characters as they try and reconcile it doesn’t quite fit the same tone.

Actually, the script in general isn’t the film’s strongest suit. The interactions between Padraic and Colm to me don’t ring true, and a big part of that is because we never actually see them when they’re originally friends. I think that the loss of the friendship would have been more impactful had we been able to see what was good and special about it in the first place. There’s also an ongoing theme of “being nice”, and it’s brought up constantly, and spoken about constantly. I’m not sure why exactly, but it just seemed like lazy and very literal writing to me. ““My mammy, she was nice. I remember her. And my daddy, he was nice. I remember him. And my sister, she’s nice. I’ll remember her. Forever I’ll remember her.”Perhaps it’s just a little heavy handed, in a film where symbolism is otherwise paramount to the story.

This is a strong ensemble cast, and Farrell does especially well in showcasing the bewilderment and hurt in Padraic’s good natured face gradually transition to resentment and bitterness. As Colm loses his fingers, so too does Padraic lose his optimism and belief of the goodness in his world. This transition is also reflected in the cinematography and how the island is portrayed. The serene beauty of Inisheerin’s sloping hills transgress to menacing cliffs and brutal seas as the story darkens. The stand out performance however is undoubtedly Barry Keoghan as Dominic, responsible for many of the film’s genuinely hilarious moments but also evokes some gut wrenching pathos. The scene in which he professes his love for Siobhan was so beautifully done, and was the moment when he clinched his Best Supporting Actor nom. (As happy as I am for He Huy Kwan for his win at the Oscars, Keoghan objectively gives the better performance and he was absolutely robbed). Kerry Condon is also impressive as the headstrong voice of reason. She knows that Padraic is a fool, and a dull fool at that, but he doesn’t deserve what’s happened to him and Condon’s depiction of Siobhan’s no nonsense, protective nature is pitch perfect.

“The Banshees of Inisheerin” is not without its faults; it meanders at times and the moral of the story sometimes does clash with the realities of human nature. However, what McDonagh has done is created a thought provoking and whimsical film with an outstanding ensemble cast; often funny, surprisingly dark and always exquisitely Irish.

By Jock Lehman

The world of fine dining restaurants is prime for satire, but one which I haven’t necessarily seen done well before. While watching Mark Mylod’s “The Menu”, I imagined a mockumentary in the style of Christopher Guest’s 2000 hit “Best In Show” in which various members of the elite world of Michelin star restaurants and gastric infusions are interviewed in the lead up to a high end New York restaurant being awarded its third Michelin star. The various wacky characters of this world would be interviewed and everyone would have a good time. And now that Jennifer Coolidge is back in everyone’s good books, she could play the rich heiress who is eating her caviar without toast since she’s on Atkins. The thing is, “The Menu” has all the building blocks for something exactly like this and for the first say half hour to forty minutes of the film, this is sort of the direction in which the film was going anyway. It’s quick, slick, biting and often very funny. But then, about a third of the way through the film, the often clever and sharp satire with whispers of something sinister is abruptly subverted into a full blown horror, and unfortunately it’s just not a very good one.

An elite party of guests have been invited to Hawthorn, an enormously exclusive and acclaimed fine dining restaurant run by eccentric celebrity chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) and located on an island only accessible for guests by boat. We have ardent foodie Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) and his date Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy), a sanctimonious food critic and her editor, a wealthy older couple who use Hawthorn as their regular haunt, a group of sleazy businessmen and a D grade movie star and his publicist. It becomes clear very soon that this is no ordinary evening and Chef Slowik has not prepared an ordinary menu for this group. As the evening progresses, the twisted intentions of Slowik and his staff are revealed as a sadistic game in which each course of the menu teaches the guests some kind of perverse and violent lesson of morality (not dissimilar to the murders in David Fincher’s “Se7en”. And it’s not to be an evening which any of them will survive).

As I said, the initial commentary on the pretentiousness of this world is pitch perfect, down to the description of a Pinot Noir which has been hyper-decanted with an immersion blender to awaken it from its slumber and a flavour palate of Slavonian oak, rich cherry and tobacco notes, with a faint sense of longing and regret. Or the first course of plants from around the island, placed on rocks from the shore, covered in barely frozen, filtered seawater which will flavor the dish as it melts. The pontification around the food and the culinary process is pompous to the point of ridiculous, but never so far that it’s completely removed from reality. And listening to the guests justifying and pretending to comprehend the genius of some of the more outlandish items of the menu (for instance that the decision not to serve bread as it’s the food of the common man, not fit for the likes of the guests attending Hawthorn) is hysterical.

Once it becomes obvious that Chef and the restaurant staff aren’t putting on a show but are actually deranged, the film loses what made it unique and fun. It stops becoming a critique of the silliness of the world of fine dining, which is an intriguing and original premise, and becomes just another entrapment thriller with a sociopath at the helm. The motivations of Chef Slowik as a villain are pretty flimsy (not that they necessarily need to be steeped in logic for a movie like this, but there’s a fair bit of philosophical and moralistic musings that go on with not a whole lot of substance to them). The performances suffer as well once the shift to horror occurs, because each character has been created based on how they fit in to the wanky world of high class restaurants. So each of the guests are pretty intriguing for the first act, but soon dissolve into faceless horror movie drones with nothing remotely interesting to do other than respond to the increasing amounts of blood being splattered across the place. Fiennes too is far more engaging when we think he’s an eccentric and highly strung chef, because once you find out he’s a mass murderer, the bar for his character to be unique shifts dramatically. We’ve seen plenty of psychopathic whackos in film so any new ones have got to be pretty impressive for them to stick out.

During the first few courses, (before the guests figure out for sure that Slovik is insane and probably going to kill them all), there is an underlying sense of unease and creepiness about the whole place which is chilling. Somehow this is more unnerving than when the film loses all pretence and becomes a full blown slasher, abandoning all subtlety. I suppose similar to the way in which it’s always scarier when Michael Myers is hiding in the shadows compared to when he actually springs forth and stabs his victims.

There was such a promising premise here, and for a good 40 minutes of “The Menu” I was completely sold. The underlying sense of foreboding was enough to make the audience feel uneasy while still leaving room to poke fun at the high fliers of the culinary world. It was a winning formula which got thrown out the window far too quickly, and it’s a shame. And Christopher Guest, if you’re reading (what am I talking about, of course you are) I’ve already got some dialogue written for the food critic who is convinced that tapioca is the new frontier in fine dining.

By Jock Lehman

Danny DeVito’s 1996 family comedy “Matilda” is one of my favourite films. Perfectly dark, funny, terrifying and heartwarming, with brilliantly constructed and beautifully ridiculous character, it convinced kids all over the world that they too could move things with their mind if only they concentrated hard enough. I’m pretty sure I popped a blood vessel in my eye trying to topple my sister’s glass of milk into her stupid face during breakfast one day. Although I probably should have known better, being 19 years old at the time. Thankfully, Tim Minchin’s new adaptation of the Roald Dahl classic is not an attempted remake of DeVito’s movie and bears little resemblance to it at all (in reality it’s a filmic adaptation of Minchin’s stage musical of the same name). It allows the audience to enjoy a new and fresh interpretation without compromising their memories of the original, which of course can’t be said for any number of the recent horrendous Disney live action remakes.

One of the biggest differences between the two films, and probably more in keeping with the original book, is that Minchin’s Matilda is set in Britain, complete with dreary weather, grey school uniforms, gothic style buildings and twee English accents. I like how much Minchin has leaned into it as well, there are a number of uniquely English expressions used by the characters which I thought would have been cut out to accommodate American audiences, and I’m glad he didn’t. Dahl himself was British, and it was nice to see his work represented through this lens.

As far as the characters go, they’re certainly not as well rounded as in the book or as in DeVito’s. Mr and Mrs Wormwood (Stephen Graham and Andrea Riseborough) feature much less in this version, and are ridiculous to the point of cartoonish. This may have to do with the fact that this is a musical and a fairly campy one at that so the supporting cast doesn’t necessarily have the time to be properly fleshed out in lieu of yet another thigh slapping show tune. Lashana Lynch is sweet as Miss Honey, but the whole sub-plot of Matilda creating stories in her mind that ended up being Miss Honey’s actual tragic life story was a bizarre and unnecessary addition in a film that was already running long.

Strangely, even though Alisha Weir as Matilda is plucky and extremely likeable, and does a pretty extraordinary job for a little girl (I had to keep reminding myself of this, that all the chorus members flipping off tables and somersaulting in mid air were only kids), I don’t think how the character is written really represents the little girl in Dahl’s book. Matilda in the story and DeVito’s version is softly spoken and lonely, finding solace and friendship only in her books. That’s why it was such a sobering moment when Harry Wormwood tears up Matilda’s copy of Moby Dick in the DeVito version, whereas in this version it’s a comedic moment where he struggles with it in an over the top fashion and the scene is silly rather than, well, traumatic. Over the course of the story, Matilda’s confidence and courage grows as does her magic. In Minchin’s version, Matilda is already yelling and stomping her feet and hashtagging girl power all over the place from the moment she steps foot in Crunchem Hall so there’s no real character arc over the course of the story. And there’s a surprising lack of engagement with regard to Matilda’s magic too; one minute she’s making something wobble and two seconds later she’s summoning a demon from the underworld made out of chains to jelly wrestle Miss Trunchbull.

As far as Emma Thompson as Miss Trunchbull goes, she’s categorically fine. She doesn’t blow the performance out of the water and she doesn’t do the character an injustice either. It’s just that I don’t know how many ways there really are to interpret Miss Trunchbull; she’s a pretty distinctive creation and Pam Ferris did it so perfectly that Thompson didn’t really stand a chance to make it her own. The chorus of school kids however are phenomenal, and the song and dance sequences, particularly in the climactic final scene, are spectacular.

Tim Minchin’s “Matilda” is frenetic, exciting, funny and oh so British with an extraordinary debut performance by twelve year old Alisha Weir as Matilda, some catchy songs (albeit perhaps a little too many) and spellbinding set pieces. It’s not without its flaws, but overall, this is a fresh and energetic interpretation of Dahl’s story, and best of all, completely enjoyable in its own right.

By Jock Lehman