Review: Mirror Mirror

Mirror Mirror

Dir. Tarsem Singh

Country: USA

Aus Rating: PG

Running Time: 106mins

With each of his first three feature films, famed music video director Tarsem Singh has gone by a new name. At first it was Tarsem Singh, then just Tarsem, and then Tarsem Singh Dhandwar. For this fourth film, the updated fairy tale (some would call it “revisionist” since that’s the hot word these days, like “reboot”, “prequel” and others before it) Mirror Mirror sees him revert back to Tarsem Singh and whether the man is secretly trying to convey a hidden message by doing so or not, the man has done enough in my eyes to change his name to Elizabeth Taylor Fancypants McGregor and I wouldn’t care one iota. He is such a rare gift in Hollywood, with films so richly decadent and a feast for the eyes that – to take a page from his latest – I routinely find myself falling under the spell of.

Whereas his first and third films were violent otherworldly fantasies (The Cell and Immortals), his second and fourth features have been buoyantly lavish fairy tales. Mirror Mirror sees Singh veering away from the original, globetrotting fairy tale of The Fall, MIrror Mirror takes the much more familiar tale of Snow White and the seven dwarves and spins it into a comical farce, sumptuously designed and hilariously bonkers in equal measure. First and foremost a movie for kids, its pleasures are not bound to one’s age, instead its rhythmic absurdity should prove a delight for those of any age with a penchant for bright-eyed, candy-coloured visual madness. Curmudgeons will surely find its big-grinned magic hard to resist; its somewhat off-kilter marketing campaign hopefully setting many up for a world of surprise.

Mirror Mirror more or less follows the traditional tale of Snow White that we know from the Brothers Grimm as well as the Walt Disney animation of the 1930s. This time Snow White is kept prisoner in the castle by her evil stepmother after the disappearance of her father, The King. Upon daybreak outside the castle walls Snow happens upon a near-naked Prince, the victim of bandits who reside within the forest. Basically, you can guess what happens after that as Snow White ends up living with the famed seven dwarves before enacting revenge on the Evil Queen, reclaiming her father’s kingdom as well as the love of her charming Prince.

What makes Mirror Mirror so special and not just a tired, flat retread done with enough bells and whistles to feel unique is the flare with which Singh has gone about it. When the term “kid’s movie” cans sound like a dirty word for cinephiles, he has turned the dial up to eleven and embraced the inherent zaniness of the plot. Unafraid to capitalise on the artificial idea at its core, Mirror Mirror fills its frame with an abundance of weirdness, the kind of which is rarely found in a mainstream live action movie for children. The sound editing and visual effects are particularly cartoonish and risk ridicule in being so. The cast, too, are game for the challenge and all elevate their performances to a degree of camp rarely seen. Julia Roberts, particularly, as the evil Queen Clementianna is clearly relishing the chance to be so openly playful with her image, and Armie Hammer is truly delightful as the slapstick charmer. The Queen’s rather overt horniness of his frequent disrobed appearance is one of the film’s most kookily amusing running gags.

As Snow White herself, Lily Collins is a lovely screen presence and her porcelain skin certainly speaks to the story’s origins. I expect a grand Hollywood death match between Lily Collins and the Lynn Collins of John Carter where only one wins fame and fortune. If Lily is willing to work on such obviously nutso productions like this then I hope she wins (we’ll forget about Abduction, okay?)

Of course, as all Singh films have been in the past, Mirror Mirror’s true claim to fame will be the enduring fabulousness of costume design Eiko Ishioka. The Japanese design legend passed away earlier this year and just six months after hitting us with Greek mythology chic in Immortals, she has done perhaps her finest work since winning an Academy Award for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The Academy may as well go and engrave her name on a posthumous Oscar right now since the extravagant duds on display here are truly a work of stunning art. The seemingly never-ending parade of overflowing ball gowns, stuffed shirt pomp, frilly lace collars, exquisitely tailored corsetry and stunning jackets (that yellow ribbon jacket is rather to die for) in every colour you could possible imagine – the “color designer” gets their own singular on screen credit! – are a sight to behold and truly a majestic piece of fairy tale couture that will send fans of costume design into frequent fits of giddy joy. There’s even a fashion montage that feels like it was personally put in just for me. A Singh/Ishioka collaboration was always an event and the next film of this man’s will just not feel the same without Ishioka’s miraculous vision.

It takes a lot to truly get me grinning from ear to ear for a film’s entire runtime, but from the weird animated opening, the bizarre yet thrilling mid-film marionette action sequence, the appropriately bonkers make-up and art direction, and, yes, the enjoyable sight of Armie Hammer sans clothes, I couldn’t resist this film’s oddball charms. The upcoming Snow White and the Huntsman may have the gritty pop culture cachet, but Mirror Mirror’s childlike mentality shouldn’t be overlooked. In all fairness, Mirror Mirror is a blast that recalls the best works of Walt Disney whilst living very firmly in the present. A-

Review: Black & White & Sex

Black & White & Sex

Dir. John Winter

Country: Australia

Aus Rating: MA15+

Running Time: 92mins

“We’re going to get an adult rating!”

For a film built upon such shifting sands of identity and morality, it’s good to know that at least its much-deserved adult rating is a certainty.

If one of cinemas greatest gifts is to confront taboos head on and make audiences contemplate different points of view of something they otherwise might never have considered, then the debut feature of acclaimed local film producer John Winter (Rabbit-Proof Fence, Doing Time for Patsy Cline) will be like Christmas for audiences brave enough to take a chance on Black & White & Sex. A pseudo-experimental feature that Winter also wrote, this film will be a hard ask for many who will balk at the idea of seeing a micro-budget independent feature that raises questions about the sex industry, its workers, and sexuality in general. “It’s a bit of an experiment,” says one of the characters as if pre-empting the negative “WHO WANTS TO SEE THIS?!?” feedback that so frequently greets local films that aren’t aimed squarely at the multiplex. Still, filmed in striking black and white and structured so as to keep the film and its audience constantly on their toes, Black & White & Sex is an adventurous, if occasionally too knowing, look at a world so rarely explored.

Read the rest at Onya Magazine

Review: Harvest

Harvest

Dir. Benjamin Cantu

Country: Germany

Aus Rating: N/A

Running Time: 85mins

There are nearly 30 films listed on IMDb with the title Harvest. From such a roundly unimaginative title, however, comes a story that emerges out of a refreshingly unique location as Benjamin Cantu’s film explores the lives to two young men who stumble across each other within the confines of a farming apprentice program in the Nuthe Urstrom valley on the outskirts of Berlin. For all the internet pornography that has fetishised the lives of farmers, it’s a thoroughly unglamorous life and that’s just one of the surprises of Cantu’s debut feature – he has previously made short films and TV – that rarely lets the audience’s expectations come to fruition. That it takes some 50 minutes for the “queer” aspect of Harvest [Stadt Land Fluss] to finally manifest itself in a truly physical way is another, but what it may lack in overt gay DRAMA for audiences seeking little more that titillation, it gains in a slow-burning intensity that makes for fine viewing.

Opening with gorgeously lensed shots of Germany pastures, Harvest is able to very quickly paint a sense of place as it goes about showing the working lives of a class of farming students. The reserved Marko never speaks out of turn, doesn’t indulge in drinking like his fellow students, responds passively (or doesn’t even notice, it’s hard to tell) to the advances of a female student, and simply wants to learn how to be a farmer to make a life for himself that his troubled upbringing may have otherwise not allowed. Newcomer Jacob has recently quit a similar internship with a far more socially acceptable and well-paid institution (a bank). That the two become friends out of awkward necessity – neither of them feel quite right around other people – rather than some instant sex radar is what lends Harvest’s final sequences a rich authenticity. That they fall for each other isn’t surprising, what’s refreshing is that Cantu doesn’t treat their romance as Gone with the Wind.

Being gay and falling for somebody isn’t the only trouble plaguing these guys, Marko especially, but acknowledging these feelings will make them healthier and stronger, and therein lies the problem for Marko. He’s not sure what he wants; love seems like the least of his interests. At least at first. The performances are uniformly superb, with newcomer Lukas Steltner and Kai Michael Müller as Marko and Jacob proving to be quite stellar. The introverted performance by Steltner is particularly fine as his internal securities slowly begin to fade away. And, yes, they’re both good looking men but they lack a distracting prettiness that would belie their situation.

Handsomely photographed by Alexander Gheorghi, Harvest shares a similar brooding energy to the Danish gay romance, Brotherhood and its potency lingers far more than any cheap, crass, candy-coloured American import. Some may think it’s lack of horniness takes the sizzle out of it, but I found its more subdued take on the relations of young gay men was refreshing and all the slinkier. These two men don’t discover each other in seconds of gratuitous sex, but through evolving, fleeting moments. It has a quiet dignity about it that makes Harvest an impressive piece of work. B+

Check the MQFF website for screening details

And The Oscar Goes To...

One week ago today I got to hold an Academy Award.

It was amazing.

Let me explain.

Have you heard of Jim Cameron's Titanic? Yeah, well, it's being re-released for the 100th anniversary of the event that inspired it, and in 3D no less. Because, you know, nothing says respecting the lives of the dead like watching them die in the third dimension! I joke, but I not-so-secretly love this film. It was one of the very best films of 1997 and it's 3D rerelease will make it one of the very best films of 2012. I don't begrudge it any of its success, whether that be grossing over one billion dollars or taking home a mammoth haul of Academy Awards.

Speaking of the Academy Awards... Titanic's producer, Jon Landau, visited our fair shores to do a bit of promotion and while the full 3+ hour screening of Titanic in 3D isn't until next week, they did screen 40 minutes of the final product for us (mostly innocuous stuff like Gloria Stewart seeing herself on the TV, Kate Winslet's big hat, the staircase meeting, followed by a hefty chunk of the stunning sinking sequence) before getting into a Q&A with Landau. Towards the end he produced the golden statue and, hilariously, the Titanic fan who he allowed to hold it was also just kinda allowed to exit the cinema with her hands clasped around it with nobody here nor anywhere looking out for it. They quickly cottoned on that Landau's Oscar had gone walkabouts, but by that time I had already gotten my grubby lil mits on it and it was a glorious feeling.

Then we lined up to have our picture taken with Mr Landau and the Oscar, and boy... it was something. As somebody who actively follows the entire award season circus and who makes no apologies about loving the Academy Awards, getting a chance to actually hold one was incredible. I kinda felt, for those few brief seconds, what the fuss was all about. I'd seen them before - Oscars won by Adam Elliot and Cate Blanchett have a home on show at ACMI in Melbourne - but to actually hold one was something entirely different. It's like the statue has a gravity pull that just drew me in, even if the base was a bit wobbly. Landau needs to send that baby to the Academy's repair shop! It's a wonderful piece of work and I imagine many people who year-after-year bemoan the movie industry's slavish devotion to the Oscar tradition and who spout the same tired "who cares?" arguments would find the experience quite something.

And I love how Leonardo DiCaprio is peeking behind my shoulder there looking all intense and grumbling "I want one of those!"

Review: The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye

The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye

Dir. Marie Losier

Country: USA | Germany | UK | Netherlands | Belgium | France

Aus Rating: N/A

Running Time: 67mins

An exquisitely assembled, if still somewhat haphazardly made, documentary about the life of two industrial punk icons, Marie Losier’s documentary The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye is a spryly economical look at the face – definitely the face - of two identities who would rather be an underground somebody than a mainstream anything. Clocking in at only 70 minutes, there’s something to be said about Losier’s decision not to pad her debut feature directorial effort with needless nothings. Still, there does appear to be much left unsaid, some of which surely could have taken place of some of the more obtuse segments that float about within the documentary narrative like driftwood.

As if assembled from jaggedly cut puzzle pieces, The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye attempts to craft some sort of story out of the lives of Genesis O-Orridge and Lady Jaye Breyer P-Orridge, but focuses more on that of Genesis. Most famous for his work with industrial punk rock outfit Psychic TV as well as the esteemed William Burroughs, before embarking on a body experimentation in pandrogyny with Lady Jaye, his second wife, that aimed to blur the lines between body and gender. Before Lady Jaye’s death at the age of 38, the two had ventured headfirst into their body-morphing project of creating Breyer P-Orridge, a blending of the two through means of plastic surgery.

Lady Jaye, despite being so integral to the story that her name appears in the (rather nifty – something Marie Losie’s filmography shows she is capable of frequently) title, goes somewhat under-nourished by the filmmaker who prefers to stick with the still rather extraordinary life of Genesis. Losier’s frequent work within the realms of experimentation, having worked with the aforementioned Burroughs plus Guy Maddin and the Kuchar Brothers has leant this documentary a fractured texture. Mixing various types of film and video with art, old home movies, photography, original documentary footage and storybook narration, Losier’s film occasionally has the appearance of an unfinished, perhaps disregarded, art installation, and yet this lends it a messy, flighty authenticity.

The work of Losier on her own role as editor is both extraordinary, hypnotic and baffling. Acting as its own ferocious work of art that encapsulates the anarchic spirit of its protagonists, I nevertheless wished it had gleaned a more focused eye on one of the many tangents it goes on. Flashy visuals frequently smash on screen like the twisting mechanics of a kaleidoscope, capturing moments of bliss and poignancy as often as it does highlight the absurdity of their existence. The tagline claims “love is dedication”, and you certainly can’t say these two weren’t dedicated to each other and to their art. The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye uses its artist subjects to form its own work of art, and that is something altogether fascinating. However, like any unique work of work, the reaction it gets out of an audience will be Losier and P-Orridge’s reward. The final image of Genesis swathed in fabric feels curiously haunting, his image becoming obscured but never disappearing entirely. No matter the identity, there's always a personality, and that is what Genesis is seemingly all about. B-

Check the MQFF website for screening details

Review: 50/50

50/50

Dir. Jonathan Levine

Country: USA

Aus Rating: MA15+

Running Time: 100mins

A friend once humorously observed that of course he cried at a movie about cancer: “Because cancer is sad!” I remembered this after 50/50, a cancer weepie that had given my rarely used tear ducts a workout. Thankfully, Jonathan Levine’s film earns its emotional outpouring by making its characters endearing and their plight entrancing. It’s a film of vivid textures, the prickly edges of cancer are blended with the slippery slope of young male friendship and the sweetness that’s born out of the actors’ spot on chemistry.

Read the rest at Trespass Magazine
Still can't believe this is only showing at one cinema in all of the country!

Review: Private Romeo

Private Romeo

Dir. Alan Brown

Country: USA

Aus Rating: N/A

Running Time: 98mins

Sometimes gay cinema feels like little more than an excuse to watch absurdly good-looking people in various states of undress. Pornography without the sex, if you will. Private Romeo reads like it’s potentially aiming for something more, but ends up being significantly less. Don’t get me wrong, there are many very attractive men walking around in nothing more than a towel, but there are plenty of other avenues for such imagery that don’t require sitting through a mediocre 100-minute movie. Where Private Romeo really fails is by letting its pretty cast carry the weight of its concept, and never truly embracing it in a cinematic fashion. Audiences are, I suspect, going to be far more interested in the beauty than the brawn of Alan Brown’s Shakespeare-meets-Active Duty romantic drama.

Beginning in a class room where buff military cadets read William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet with a mocking tone as jokes are made the expense of those reading out the feminine roles. Very quickly the lines are blurred between reality and Shakespearean drama and Private Romeo quickly becomes just another modern day retelling of the bard’s most famous work. Such a concept could most definitely work as members of rival academies work to tear two young lovers apart, but simply rearranging the genders so as the entire cast are gay men doesn’t make a movie. Brown, who also wrote the screenplay, appears welcome to merely let Shakespeare’s words work on their own without any of his own input.

Such are the perils of casting such routinely good-looking actors that they eventually all begin to look like one another. It certainly doesn’t help that rarely seem to have any distinguishing features to help decipher who is a Capulet and who is a Montague. Furthermore, as if the entire film is just one big drama class role-playing exercise, all the actors are credited as “Josh” or “Sam”, rather than the “Romeo”, “Juliet” and “Nurse” that they recite to each other. Sadly, the military academy setting is nothing more than a fetish check list – military, uniforms, locker rooms, high school jocks, authoritative, etc – and isn’t used to its full potential. One would think that setting a gay romance within the walls of a place of education and warfare would be ripe for deconstructing more pertinent issues. Unfortunately, the film fails to navigate any true ideas about homosexuality within school systems, within domains of cocky brute masculinity, and within a private world that has been plagued by “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” for far too long. Private Romeo really is just a bunch of pretty men reciting Shakespeare on a school campus and it’s hard to see what’s so special about that.

Alan Brown has taken much of Shakespeare’s words verbatim and placed them within the mouths of these young men of lithe bodies and boyish looks. The performances are all fine, although it would have been nice to have seen them act without the restrictions of language placed upon them. Only Seth Numrich makes much of a lasting impression as the love struck Sam/Romeo. Perhaps it’s because in the right light he looks like a swoony Chris Evans that I responded to him, but maybe he’s just a fine actor. Mimicking the camera style of a more restrained Dogme film, and occasionally lit as if through a lens of honey, Private Romeo frequently appears as handsome as its cast, but it again comes back to Brown’s reluctance to use Shakespeare’s text as a jumping off point for something bigger. Teenage love is epic and dangerous, powerful and all encompassing, and yet everybody here just seems to be going about their business is their khaki sweats and perfect skin.

The scenes of romance between Numrich and Matt Doyle’s Glenn/Juliet frequently tip into tender, but their love fails to grow by the film’s end, which takes great liberties with the original text. Their initial make cute is actually just that, a rather sweet moment of cute flirting and the two are well matched. Perhaps the fact that both appeared on stage together in Broadway’s production of War Horse helped that, and the very stagey aesthetic of Brown’s film maybe aided even further.

While I have no doubt that some audiences will find the idea of Shakespeare done gay as a particularly novel twist – it’s certainly better than the last one I can recall, the atrocious Were the World Mine – but it lacks something that makes it inherently cinematic. The original text was used far more effectively by Baz Luhrmann in William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet, and it is given little reason to be revisited here for any reason other than to say a gay version of Romeo and Juliet with the original text exists. Fleeting and weird YouTube scenes of pop lip syncing fail to add any zest, and instead just confuse. As it stands Private Romeo is a disappointing, but frivolously gratuitous, high school drama production. It deserves better. C-

Check the MQFF website for screening details

Review: John Carter

John Carter

Dir. Andrew Stanton

Country: USA

Aus Rating: M15+

Running Time: 132mins

Where to begin when discussing Andrew Stanton’s (Wall-E) first foray into live-action filmmaking, John Carter? I could start by saying it is a hopelessly muddled, and egregiously confusing film that I have no problem in admitting left me utterly lost. Maybe start by waxing comical on the film’s ambitious, yet ultimately flat visual style with little resembling a unique, original vision. Perhaps I could be simple – something this film never is – and just start at the beginning.

Read the rest at Trespass Magazine
It's usually pretty easy to figure out what side of the critical establishment I will find myself on regarding a film, but I can honestly say that the reaction to John Carter has surprised me. I never would have expected that critics would be liking it as much as they have. I thought it was a disaster! Ah well...

Jeffrey Was Here

Purely by accident, I found myself watching two films within the same evening dealing with the AIDS epidemic. That they do so in such wildly different ways, however, made it a richly rewarding double.

I'm not quite sure where Christopher Ashley's Jeffrey fits into the world of gay cinema, but it was a strange viewing experience nonetheless. Made in 1995 - too late to be revolutionary, too early/small to skirt mainstream (although it's American box office of $3.5m suggests it struck a nerve with audiences, mostly likely New Yorkers) - this film takes a comedic approach to its subject matter, with moments for reflection and pathos. It's a curious film, for sure, and one that has its stage origins flaring at the peripheries, but one that succeeds by being completely its own beast and like no other that I can recall. It stars Steven Weber (you've seen him on television, no doubt) as a gay man who finds himself deciding to abstain from sex until the HIV/AIDS crisis dissipates. It's certainly a plot that would all but begs for wacky high jinks if it weren't for the prickly central issue, but it's still quite startling to see the topic being played with in such a flighty manner. That Weber's Jeffrey - Weber, by the way, looks remarkably like Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman at times and it was quite disconcerting to say the least - falls in love with an HIV+ man forms the rest of the film and the multitude of ways in which Jeffrey can be told he's missing out on a good thing because of his own prejudices.

What struck me most of all about Jeffrey was that it was so over-the-top in almost every way: Colours are vibrant, the characters are loud (oh hai there Bryan Batt from Mad Men), and there are so many funny cameos that it's easy to forget you're dealing with a subject that was and is still a very sore subject. I admit that it's definitely a-okay to watch Weber and Michael T Weiss act like cute lovebirds with one other, just as it's fun to watch everyone from Patrick Steward to Sigourney Weaver and Olympia Dukakis kick up their heals and sashay around with effervescent glee. As many films that err on the side of flamboyant tend to get, it's taste levels are questionable from time to time: a spirit from the afterlife? bizarro half-dressed fantasy sequences that attempt to break the fourth wall? Hmmm. In the end, despite some misgivings, it was quite refreshing how Jeffrey took such a different tact with the material. It never dismisses the tragedy of the events, but defiantly resists in letting the seriousness of the topic dictate its own agenda. Thankfully the actors are all game and it sounds awfully trite, but it certainly helps that it is competently made (which is something I can't say for some of the other queer films I've watched recently). B-

The subject matter gets a far more serious and detailed look in David Weissman's documentary We Were Here. Screening as a part of the upcoming Melbourne Queer Film Festival, this Oscar shortlisted documentary proves that no matter how many films are made on the topic of AIDS, there is always something new to learn. Less a straightforward history of the crisis that hit San Francisco in the 1980s than a series of talking head interviews with survivors of the era, We Were Here is an incredibly moving account of a time that truly does warrant the tag of a shameful moment in American history. We Were Here is both a film that mourns the loss of thousands of innocent people, but also a celebration of the people who unwittingly found themselves vital players in the fight against a curse that not only changed gay culture, but sexual culture the world over for as long as we'll live. Weissman, and co-director Bill Weber, have assembled a wonderful mix of people and simply allowed them to speak so eloquently about the subject that would essentially define their life. As one of the interviewees says, at least she can't look back on her life and she never did anything.

Recalling Word Is Out: Stories of Some of Our Lives and The Times of Harvey Milk, We Were Here is economical talking head documentary filmmaking at its finest. So much fascinating video, previously unseen by me, and photographs from the era are a constant fascination. We Were Here will stir up anger, fear, tears and joy; its existence always essential despite a plethora of other titles exploring the same thing and that is a telltale sign of a great film. B+

Check the MQFF website for screening details

Review: Coriolanus

Coriolanus

Dir. Ralph Fiennes

Country: UK

Aus Rating: MA15+

Running Time: 122mins

William Shakespeare adaptations will, I suspect, be with us until the last dying gasp of filmmaking. It’s not hard to see why, what with there being seemingly infinite ways to tweak his work so as to appear unique: modern setting with classic dialogue (Macbeth, 2006); modern setting with updated dialogue (Hamlet, 2000); period setting with classic dialogue (Much Ado About Nothing, 1993); international versions (Ran, 1985); plucky teen versions (10 Things I Hate About You, 1999), dramatic teen version (O, 2001); epics (Hamlet, 1996); arthouse (My Own Private Idaho, 1991); animated (The Lion King, 1994); gay (Were the World Mine, 2008); musical (West Side Story, 1955); weird anachronistic amalgamations of all (Titus, 1999)... the list goes on!

Read the rest at Trespass Magazine

Review: Like Crazy

Like Crazy

Dir. Drake Doremus

Country: USA

Aus Rating: M15+

Running Time: 86mins

I have a more appropriate title for Drake Doremus’ twentysomething romance fable, Like Crazy. It’s hardly beyond reason to think that a film with such a title should be a bit more wild and bold in its ambitions and executions. Shall we say it should be more… crazy? Rather than anything close to resembling the state of a mad, insanely heretic love that can conquer all, the lovebirds at the centre of this frustrating film would be more apt to call their love affair “like pleasant”. Perhaps “like cute” in a pinch. If this is the filmmakers’ idea of crazy then they must implode of excitement at their local Bingo Night.

Read the rest at Trespass Magazine
We went for something a bit different in reviewing Like Crazy over at Trespass, with two of us - one on the positive, one negative - reviewing it side-by-side. I, however, think I win since I even have the ladies at Go Fug Yourself agreeing with me, y'all! The Power of Fug is on Team Glenn. C-

10 Great Moments from Steven Soderbergh's Schizopolis

Wow.

I had never seen Steven Soderbergh's Schizopolis, a film that some people have murmured about being really spectacular, but which most either hate or haven't seen. In 1997 it made just a smidgen over $10,000 and it was widely panned at the Cannes Film Festival, so when I happened upon it at my local library I grabbed it. The Criterion DVD cover states it is "inspired by rumors, bald-faced lies, and half-remembered dreams!" That certainly sounds about right, but it's bizarre experiment into surrealism is so wildly inventive and entertaining that I find it quite easy to rank this alongside Erin Brockovich and sex, lies, and videotape as Soderbergh's finest work. Appearing as if like an oasis, Schizopolis feels miraculously ahead of its time and says more about the modern man's existence than many straight-forward dramas. It's unique brand of comedy, filled with non-sequitur sidebars, roundabout running gags and over-lapping, non-linear plot strands that double back on themselves to reveal altogether new and twisted meanings, feels like a precursor to the brand of humour made popular out of television series such as Arrested Development, Scrubs and Community.

So, as a way of not taking up 2000 words describing why it's so great, I thought I'd do a list. In chronological order, here are my ten favourite bits about Schizopolis. I could make a list of so many, many more but I have to draw the line somewhere. I hope that if any of these things tickle your fancy in the written form then you should run to a copy of the DVD - the Criterion edition, which is the only one out there as far as I am aware, has extra gags on the insert of the DVD sleeve and apparently a truly bonkers Soderbergh interviewing Soderbergh audio commentary that I unfortunately ran out of time to listen to - and see it for themselves. It's all so magically insane and the actors are incredible and give the dialogue a free-flowing quality that acts as a natural grounding to the absurd proceedings.

1. The Introduction
The film's writer, director, producer, cinematographer and, yes, star, Steven Soderbergh, introduces his film to audiences in a prologue that was included after the film's negative reaction at Cannes. Never one to kowtow to distributor pressure, Soderbergh then made the prologue as kooky as the rest of the film as the camera frequently spins out of orbit in between Soderbergh extolling such boastful dialogue as "this is the most important motion picture you will ever attend ... the delicate fabric that holds all of us together will be ripped apart unless every man, woman and child in this country sees this film and pays full ticket price, not some bargain, cut-rate matinee deal."

"In the event that you find certain sequences or ideas confusing, please bare in mind that this is your fault, not ours. You will need to see the picture again and again and again until you understand everything."

2. The mole, the spy and the right-hand man
This entire scene appears to be little more than a reason for Soderbergh to assemble some of his wonderfully off-beat cast (including Eddie Jemison who is one those "that guy!"s that routinely pops up in everything under the sun) to stand around reeling off delightfully convoluted dialogue that is constantly being repeated, corrected and upended. This entire scene had me chuckling from beginning to end the sheer simplistic lunacy of it all.

"This guy tells me the right-hand man has a mole."
"A spy and a mole?"
"No, I didn't say that, I said - "
"You said there's a guy leaking information... that's a spy."
"Then you said the right-hand man got himself a mole. I would assume to check on the spy."
"That's two people."
"Okay, there's a spy and a mole."
"Well that's twice as many as a minute ago."
"I say the guy who told you is the mole."
"You're the mole."
"No, no, no, no, he's the spy."
"No he's the spy!"
"If I were the spy would I be standing here saying there a spy?"
"Or a mole."

3. "Generic greeting"
Perhaps my favourite scene in Soderbergh's entire bonkers affair are the stretches of dialogue in "segment 1" wherein Soderbergh's Fletcher Munson and his wife exchange empty words with fake inflections and exaggerated facial expressions. Deliciously inspired, it's probably one of the keenest observations on a failing marriage I've seen in quite some time.

"Generic greeting."
"Generic greeting returned."
"Imminent sustenance."
"Overly dramatic statement regarding upcoming meal."
"Oooh, false reaction indicating hunger and excitement!"

4. sex, lies, and videotape
The sly references to his Oscar-nominated, Palme d'Or-winning classic, sex, lies, and videotape, appear throughout as a peculiar exterminator man who enters peoples houses and has sex with the stay-at-home wives them while filming and taking photos on their person cameras. Why not, I guess?

5. "Proofing!"

6. The news reports
As far as I can these these little inserts have literally nothing to do with the rest of the film, which is why their randomness is so amusing. Perhaps another example of Soderbergh's sign of Soderbergh's sign o' the times ideology as we criticises the laziness of films to simply have a news reporter reel off a bunch of exposition before moving on to yet another scene of bare-brained action. "At least we didn't sell it to the fucking Japanese", was another priceless one from later in the movie.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a news bulletin. Scientists at NASA have confirmed that the comet Havarti is on course for Earth. The odds of the comet colliding directly with our planet are being calculated at this very moment. In a related story, the price of capturing, restraining and institutionalising a naked man in a tee-shirt remains stable at around $367.50."

7. Muzak
For whatever reason, I just love that the second of Steven Soderbergh's self-acted characters listens to mall muzak in his car. Didn't Arrested Development use muzak, or just had music inspired by it? I seem to recall that being a thing. Gosh, I need to rewatch Arrested Development! So very good. Is that movie ever happening? If it does I hope it's as polarising as, say, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me was.

8. Golf
Don't even bother trying to get me to explain this.

"And then another funny thing happened followed by two things that were pretty amusing and the whole thing ended with something that was just hysterical."

9. Foreign languages
In a twist on the "generic greeting" sequences from earlier, the first third of the film is now replayed through the eyes of Soderbergh's wife (literally, she's played by Soderbergh's ex-wife) with all of his dialogue spoken in Japanese, French and Italian. Just go with it, okay?

10. Q&A
Soderbergh returns to the empty theatre of his film's prologue and indulges in a one-way question and answer session. What with there being nobody to actually answer questions (surely he knew nobody was going to go see this film and so, in effect, has the last laugh) he merely replies with nondescript answers that could apply to all sorts of questions on any number of topics. Schizopolis features no opening or closing credits so these prologues and epilogues act as book-ends to an otherwise rather shapeless entity.

"I know this is an unusual procedure, but I thought you might have some questions and since I'm already here I can answer some of them. Yes. Yes. Not specifically, I actually find all of them rather weird. Yes. Foot-long vegie on wheat."
Like I said, it's kind of hard to really boil everything from Schizopolis down into an easily digestible read. I hope anybody out there who hasn't had the pleasure of discovering this obscure gem does so (I know there are a lot who haven't, okay!) because it truly is a one-of-a-kind experience worth indulging. Even if you end up disliking it, you won't be able to say it wasn't something you'd seen before. A

Review: Buck

Buck

Dir. Cindy Meehl

Country: USA

Aus Rating: PG

Running Time: 88mins

“I’m not helping people with horse problems, I’m helping horses with people problems.” So declares Buck Brannaman in Buck, an affectionate documentary look at a man whose midwestern fusion of animal hero and Americana legend endears him to horse lovers around the globe and inspired novelists and filmmakers who coined him “The Horse Whisperer”. If Steven Spielberg’s War Horse got on your nerves as much as it did mine, then consider Buck the alternative. Simple and pristinely told with nary a manipulative music score or peach-stained sky to wring tears from even the most unflappable of equine fans, this is a charming – if occasionally too thin – look at Buck’s fascinating life.

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Polka Dots & Sunglasses: The Costume Design of Les Diabolique

With so many voices out there on the internet - the last thing we need is another one writing the same ol' retrospective review of the same ol' film that everyone already knows is a classic - I thought it might be interesting to begin looking at specific elements of some of the films I watch, both old and new. I hope it inspires me to write more about some of the great films I see, and inspires you dear readers to try and admire the unexpected.

This entry contains spoilers, granted for a film from 1955, but I successfully avoided any so maybe you should too if you've never seen Les Diaboliques! I can't recall any other films that actively end with text telling the viewer to be silent about what they just saw, that's how blind you should go into this film.

"Vintage". It's a word that gets thrown about a lot today in relation to fashion. Whether it actually is vintage, or just has the same musky, old-timey appeal of something that is, it's become an adjective to describe items of clothes that one would associate with another time and place. Henri-Georges Clouzot's 1955 noir horror, Les Diaboliques, isn't a period film at all - or, at least, I don't think it was at the time - but I couldn't help but think of this phrase, "vintage", whilst ogling the delicious costumes that appear throughout. Despite featuring no credited costume designer, the duds of Les Diabolique are a masterclass of (at the time) contemporary costume design, as outfits of various shapes, colours and designs help inform the characters that wear them. It was just one of many beautiful aspects to this French classic that impressed me upon watching Clouzot's film for the first time last evening.

A black and white checkered dress - with fan - worn by Véra Clouzot in Les Diabolique

The first costume I couldn't take my eyes off was the gorgeous checkered dress that Véra Clouzot wears, shown above. Almost like houndstooth in pattern, it's a stunning sundress that I can easily see being worn today with, perhaps, just a little less formal structure.The fan may be a bit much, but this outfit is just the beginning a trend for the meek Mme Delassalle whose wardrobe consists entirely of outfits that pair black with white. Utilising the good ol' concept of white representing good and pureness, whereas black represents evil and "the devil" (the translation of the title, Les Diaboliques), the costuming of Ms Clouzot is clearly a way of symbolising her character's dangerous dalliance between the two. Later on in the film she wears loose-fitting white shirt with deep v-neck and a long black dress, and then later a white dress shirt and skirt with black shall. Always conservative - Mme Delassalle is a school teacher after all - with her hair braided and tied at the back, she never full embraces the colour of white for her entire outfit until the climactic scenes in the school hallways once she has confessed to her crimes. It's a simple motif, and occasionally very literal - hello Star Wars - but given the very moral discussion of right and wrong, it's a motif that works.


A black and white polka dot dressing gown that even I want!
My favourite costume worn by Véra Clouzot is the black and white polka dot dressing gown warn at several occasions throughout the movie (I do love when a character rewears clothes, it gives a film such a sense of authenticity). Seen up above this paragraph, it's a simple piece of costume that is not only gorgeous to look at, but character defining as well. It's unassuming nature - no glimpse of sex appeal there - perfectly encapsulates the mademoiselle's attitude as a somewhat repressed woman who isn't interested in dressing for anybody other than herself. I admit that even I want a black and white polka dot dressing gown now, preferally one made of material that looks as smoothly elegant as the one shown here. The gloss and the reflection of light make me suspect it's made of a very luxurious fabric and, good grief, wouldn't we all want that on us morning and night?

Simone Signoret, as Clouzot's partner in crime, also gets the black = evil, white = good treatment, except she doesn't come out looking quite so rosy (er, mixing up my colour metaphors there, aren't I?) Pictured here to the left, she is always seen wearing outfits of black, charcoal and dark grey. Yes, I do realise I am discussing colours that are obviously in the spectrum of "black and white" and that the cinematography couldn't determine whether she's wearing crimson or purple or black or gold, but it's obvious to tell she has been deliberately given darker hues to Clouzet's Mme Delassalle because she is ultimately the far guiltier party of the two. Usually dressed in long body-hugging dresses that provide a sex appeal that her friend never does, Signoret's Nicole Horner is frequently the more mysterious of the two and given far less opportunities to show remorse through her costumes. She's a vixen and proud of it. I simply adore the sunglasses she wears in the early scenes at the school that make for effortless cool alongside her near bleach blond hair and dangling cigarette. It's a look I've seen replicated many times in recent years, although one has to suspect that those recreating this look - regular everyday women and celebrities alike - know what era they're basing their looks on.

"So Frenchy, so chic!" goes the saying - although does anybody make reference these days to a "Prince of Wales suit"? I doubt that - and Les Diaboloque proves that. Of the film that they inhabit? Divine. A tingly fright factory that garners scares out of our own imaginations, it's final scenes made my entire body freeze. Without a single peep of a musical score to telegraph the audience's fears and emotions (apart from the opening credits, that is - did Phantom of the Opera ruin organ music for everyone?) it obviously works best if you don't know the twists to come (so I hope you paid heed to that spoiler warning up top if you intended to watch it), but it's such a finely crafted piece of work that repeat viewings would hold such a delicious richness to them. Something the patently ridiculous-looking remake surely can't achieve. Unless Kathy Bates punching someone in the face is your idea of fine craftmanship... actually, maybe it is worth a look after all.

Review: Shame

Shame

Dir. Steve McQueen

Country: UK

Aus Rating: R18+

Running Time: 101mins

Look, let’s just get this out of the way from the get go: Yes, the first five minutes of Shame are all about giving audiences the bug eyes as Michael Fassbender strolls around his apartment completely starkers. All the nudity may have given Shame notoriety and more attention than Steve McQueen’s sophomore film may have otherwise received, but it’s far from its only virtue.

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Yes, I wrote that Shame is "too horny for its own good", what's it to ya? Still a good movie though!

Review: The Artist

The Artist

Dir. Michel Hazanavicius

Country: France

Aus Rating: PG

Running Time: 100mins

It can be tricky watching a film like The Artist at this point in the game. Riding high on buzz from last year’s Cannes Film Festival, this charming French film from director Michel Hazanavicius (creator of the OSS 177 series) has a lot to live up to. Having steamrolled through award show season, and placing as the odds on favourite to win Best Picture at this month’s Academy Awards, Australian audiences finally get to see what all the fuss is about of this black and white, silent film. Don’t you worry, there’s reason to fuss.

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Review: Martha Marcy May Marlene

Martha Marcy May Marlene

Dir. Sean Durkin

Country: USA

Aus Rating: MA15+

Running Time: 102mins

“Do you ever have that feeling where you don’t know if something’s a dream or a memory”, asks Elizabeth Olsen’s deeply traumatised Martha. It’s a line that perhaps best encapsulates Sean Durkin’s fascinating debut feature about a girl who escapes a commune and spirals under the eye of a disillusioned sister. Durkin has crafted his film with such a magical, mysterious sense of fluidity where images blur into one and memories of the past merge effortlessly into the present. It is a towering achievement of construction and simmering tension that sees this heretofore unknown Olsen sister navigating a trajectory that is both tragic and deeply wounding. If We Need to Talk About Kevin was an arthouse take on the "demon seed" subgenre of horror, then Martha Marcy May Marlene takes a similar metaphysical path to a slasher flick as this one girl is slowly, but surely, chased down. Not by a physical being per se, but by the psychological scars of a hurtful society. They're coming for her, and she has nowhere to go but to hide for as long as possible until the inevitable comes.

The situation that Martha finds herself in is not entirely explained, nor delved into with any great details, she merely finds herself in the company of a commune. This cult-like place is watched over with unsuspecting menace by Patrick, played by a growling John Hawkes. The brief glimpses of this near self-serving community are initially quite placid, but much like Martha’s re-integration into society, things go wrong very quickly. The film opens with Martha making a seemingly half-hearted attempt to escape through the woods of the New York Catskills early one morning. That she is found later on but her commune brother in a nearby town is not the scary part; the scary part is that they let her go.

Sumptuously filmed by cinematographer Jody Lee Lipes, Martha Marcy May Marlene – the “Marcy May” and “Marlene” refer to alternate personalities that Martha adopts at various intervals – appears to be filmed through a swatch of delicate lace, as delicate as the central character even. The deep greens and blacks don’t look quite as natural and rich, but are leant an almost dreamlike quality as if seen through sleepy half-closed eyes. Continuously filmed with obstructed lines of sight, it has a visual verve that belies its origins. I am always impressed by lower budgeted films like this that are able to craft such specific tones, and along with the impressive sound work – Martha sits alongside recent titles The Turin Horse, Antichrist and Meek's Cutoff as films that have made nature sound so eerily foreboding in the cinema – Durkin has allowed the locations of his film to help shape the story rather than merely accentuate it.

The ambiguity of the ending will surely leave audiences questioning what they have or have not seen, with its quiet demeanour will ultimately prove too impenetrable for some. I, on the other hand, found its relaxed-like-molasses atmosphere to be the perfect compliment to the powerful story. The encroaching horror weaselled its way into Martha's mind as well as mine, and several scenes towards the end – in particular a disastrously unnerving dinner party sequence that should have netted Olsen an Academy Award nomination – ratchet the tension up to levels that feel inconceivable at the outset. Like the guitar that Hawkes’ magical leader strums in front of an adoring crowd, Durkin works his film’s elements masterfully, timing everything perfectly so as to create maximum impact for even the slightest of incidents. Martha Marcy May Marlene isn’t a film I shall forget too quickly, it’s hushed terrors nagging like an itch under the skin. Its final haunting passages of deeply rooted paranoia are unforgettable. A

Review: J. Edgar

J. Edgar

Dir. Clint Eastwood

Country: USA

Aus Rating: M15+

Running Time: 137mins

Hounded at every turn by a smothering mother, unable to freely express his love for a male co-worker in a conservative political landscape, disrespected by colleagues, and prone to bouts of cowardice at moments that called for heroics; it’s easy to assume that J Edgar Hoover lived a very sad life. None of that compares, however, to how drearily sad the film of his life, J. Edgar, is. Clint Eastwood directs his expansive tale with a wash of drab colours – the brown colour palate of Tomas Alfredson’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy looks positively lively compared to the metallic near monochrome colour scheme of Eastwood and cinematographer Tom Stern – and a never-ending heavy-handedness. It’s Eastwood’s second film in a year that has been suffocated at the hands of grand ambitions that failed to materialise when a more intimate approach probably would have worked better.

Coming hot on the heals of the improbable box office success of Phyllida Lloyd’s The Iron Lady, J. Edgar takes a near identical flashback heavy approach to the life of Hoover, rather lazily played here by Leonardo DiCaprio, as an older, frail man looks back over his life. While it thankfully doesn’t use that terrible Margaret Thatcher biopic’s absurd ghost motif to get from one Wikipedia entry heading to the next, it does haphazardly jump around through time and space as if at whim with little thought as to how one memory leads to another. Why do the people in these sorts of films always have such perfectly linear, chronological memory?

As if the dour cinematography, lit seemingly only by low watt lamps and natural light filtered through grey skies, Eastwood’s twinkly jingle jangle score would certainly put a sour mood over the proceedings. Perhaps he is to be commended for eschewing the traditional overwrought John Williams type of music, but those same incessant piano keys getting stroked over and over again like some villainous cat is nigh on nauseating.

Of course, as tends to happen with films of this type, really interesting stuff is either glossed over or chucked out altogether. The screenplay by Dustin Lance Black (re-using his Milk structure to diminishing returns) appears to be trying to have it both ways, dotting the script with big grand moments of historical significance alongside small scenes between Edgar and his mother, played by Judi Dench on Autopilot, and his alleged lover and Associate FBI director, a wide-eyed Armie Hammer as Clyde Tolson. Rarely complimenting each other in any way, I couldn’t help but suspect there was more interesting stuff to be said, especially since the private sequences are quite clearly just pulled out of thin air. Where was the public’s reaction to his private life? Where was the motivation behind the loyalty of Naomi Watts’ Helen Gandy? The list could go on and on. Meanwhile, a sequence addresses rumours of a fondness for cross-dressing is doesn’t feel like an organic part of the story at all, just merely tacked on for effect.

Too long, for sure, Eastwood and his editors, Joel Cox and Gary Roach, could have made the near two and a half hour length much less unwieldy by cutting out the unnecessarily repetitive scenes of Hoover recounting his memoirs to an eager fellow FBI agent (who puts new meaning to the term “paper pusher”). As DiCaprio’s heavily made-up elderly Hoover extols blank cheque platitudes about democracy, freedom and the fine line between right and wrong, it’s hard not to find the eyes rolling (or, even worse, drooping). Featuring some downright frightening make-up work on Armie Hammer – looking like some scary pod person from whence an alien entity is soon to burst free – and some truly ridiculous political impersonation – Christopher Shyer as Richard Nixon is just off the chart bad – gives J. Edgar an at times comical edge. Although I probably would have preferred some good ol’ fashioned hoots, Eastwood’s film is too much of a sad sack to let us even have that. The life of what the posters tell us is “the most powerful man in the world” has been filtered through so many sieves that it’s rendered dull. D-

Review: Weekend

Weekend

Dir. Andrew Haigh

Country: UK

Aus Rating: MA15+

Running Time: 97mins

The mechanics of a one-night stand are explored in Weekend, the engaging sophomore feature of Andrew Haigh. Where this low budget British feature differs from the majority of films with similar premises is that both parties involved are men. However, to simply call it “a gay movie” would commit it a great disservice as the fragmented kaleidoscope of fleeting romantic pains and pleasures should resonate with gay and straight audiences in equal measure. Haigh and his lead actors, the superb Tom Cullen and Chris New, have created a richly textured navigation of modern day romance that never fails to pull powerful, human emotions out of its minimal, boutique setup.

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A film that only grows in memory as time goes by, I really do hope Weekend finds some ounce of success at the Australian box office. Doubtful, but I hope so. The success of the film was only strengthened by a recent watch of Thomas Bezucha's Big Eden. Released in 2000, this film was naturally acclaimed by gay audiences, but I couldn't help but find the film a somewhat bizarre and deflating sit. I was initially impressed by the mere fact that it looked like it was filmed using a real cinematographer with an actual camera that cost money - what a novel idea - and that the music wasn't bouncy, pseudo porn soundtrack music, but real music that sounded like it was recorded in a studio with instruments. As nice as it was to see a gay romance storyline play out between actors like Arye Gross and Eric Schweig, hardly the typical romantic leads you'll find in gay or straight cinema, the film gives way to unrealistic and cliched plotting that becomes increasingly tiresome. There are characters here that could have been taken in some really interesting directions, but Bezucha, who also wrote the screenplay, lays the sweetness and light on thick with a trowel. As gorgeous as the scenery is, the action going on around it is rather colourless. The ending of Weekend could easily been a horribly cliched affair, but it's played so modestly and with utter realism that they get away with it. Yet, in Big Eden, it's hard not to chuckle when a characters makes the mad dash to the airport to stop the other one leaving. The floorboards creak as it lumbers about its familiar plot developments, whereas Weekend dances and weaves, using our familiarity with the genre tropes as a base to explore the inner turmoils of these characters. They were clearly going for something less artificial than, for example, Eating Out or Another Gay Movie, so why stifle that with cliche and quirk?

Also, while it's not like I think every film with gay characters set in Smalltown, USA should be Boys Don't Cry, I did feel that it was somewhat insensitive in it's naivety to make the town of Big Eden so comfortable with its lead's sexuality. Not one moment of conflict arises out of the situation and as lovely as it would be to live in a world where that is the case, it's just not the case and I found the film's reluctance to even broach the subject somewhat confounding. Big Eden coasts on little more than the belief that audiences - especially an audience made up predominantly of gay men - will want little more from a film than to see two men fall for each other and live happily ever after. Consider Weekend again and think about how much, even if you disliked them, we got to learn about these two men. They had real histories with problems both large and small, their personalities are so clearly defined that their growing romance appears more natural and realistic. There is so little of that in Big Eden as everyone acts like movie characters dealing only with big, cinematic dramas that can be written as easily and broadly as possible (dying dads! coming out! etc!)

Of course, I did enjoy seeing Tim DeKay without a shirt on though and we all know that's one of the most important factors in judging a piece of gay cinema, right?


Right!

It's just a shame his character, by far the most interesting and complex of the lot, was shafted for Schweig whose idea of playing a shy character is to make them as boring and transparent as possible. Ah well. Weekend: A-, but a rewatch will probably shuck away any niggles I had and I'll have to bump it up. Big Eden: C

Review: The Descendants

The Descendants

Dir. Alexander Payne

Year: 2011

Aus Rating: M15+

Running Time: 115mins

I don’t think co-writer/director Alexander Payne always had disdain for women. Citizen Ruth and Election didn’t exactly have lovable women at their core, but they were well-rounded, flawed, complex women who were doing what they felt they had to do to survive. In those intervening years – he also directed About Schmidt and won an Oscar for Sideways – something must have happened (perhaps his divorce?) because The Descendants is an exercise in why women are such horrible, despicable shrews. When this film isn’t demonising its female characters for daring to be unhappy in their marriage, it’s condescending them for showing too much emotion and even berating them for drinking alcohol. By the time the film’s conclusion rolls about and the rightful masculine presence has been reinstated on this broken family, The Descendants has long – ahem – descended into an irredeemably dire affair.

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So, basically, I didn't like it. I'm truly flabbergasted that it has trailed such a blaze throughout the US awards season. Or, actually, maybe I'm not all that flabbergasted because The Descendants fits very comfortably into that safe territory of American "indies" that people seem to wet themselves over. It's easily comparable to titles like Little Miss Sunshine and Juno in the way it juggles drama and comedy and can make people feel all warm and cuddly by knowing they're supporting "arthouse cinema", but unlike those films it's actually really, really bad. I didn't have enough words to really discuss some of the other troubling aspects of the film - the weak as piss character development that sees Shailene Woodley's daughter character have a cry in the pool and instantly become daddy's BFF, or the weird way Clooney's character takes his 10-year-old daughter away from her mother who has had her life support turned off and is about to die! - but I think I was able to demonstrate my major qualms with Payne's film.

As for the awards? Well, I don't think it has any right being in the discussion for best picture, director (what whitewashed direction Payne provides!) and screenplay. Clooney is Clooney and while his narration is toxic, he does at least try to enliven the proceedings with a roster of "wacky" faces. Shailene Woodley, looking like a definite possibility for Best Supporting Actress is... well, I can see why because she's quite good and is actually able to forge through with some peaks and valleys, but as the eloquent Nick Davis recently opined - where, I unfortunately cannot remember - if Academy voters cannot find five better, further reaching supporting female performances from 2011 then they simply are not looking hard enough. She's a gorgeous and talented young actress, so it would be a shame to see her nominated for a role that is so uninterested with itself. The screenplay does nothing for Woodley, who plays the rebellious daughter who got sent away to a reform school. In the grand scheme of things she seems rather docile as teenagers go. Some curse words don't make angst. Ah well. I guess all I can hope for is an Up in the Air style across-the-board loss ratio by the time Oscar statues are handed out in late February. Oscar loves his women, so why embrace a film that hates them?