Burke and Hare (2010)

(L-R) Simon Pegg and Andy Serkis

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Writer: Piers Ashworth, Nick Moorcroft

Director: John Landis

Notable actors: Andy Serkis, Ronnie Corbett, and every single damn cameo, from Christopher Lee to Michael Winner to that bloke off Horrible Histories.

I didn’t see the trailer for Burke and Hare. Indeed, all I knew of it was that Dan Ackaroyd (hereforth known as Dananackaroyd), Bill Nighy (henceforth known as older-Michael-Cera-how-is-he-so-respected?) and David Tennant (hereby known as fuck you, NBC), had to drop out before principle photography began. Whatever the hell that means. All I know is their presence would’ve probably made a better film. Because Burke and Hare is a bit like The Killers’ first album – half of it’s awesome, and the other half is so bad you’re jealous of the disabled.*

The other day my drama teacher, who trained as a theatre director, pointed out that the level of your acting ability is only as good as that of whoever it is you’re working across. Acting is, in essence, a team sport. And so we must feel very sorry indeed for poor Andy Serkis, stuck here with Simon Pegg. Pegg’s funny in his witty slapstick films, but Burke and Hare isn’t this. It tries to be at odd points, certainly, but it’s simply not. Burke needed a proper actor in the role, someone with whom the audience can sympathise. Fuck you, NBC in Pegg’s role would have been perfect.  Depressingly, the film wouldn’t have been any better with Fuck you, NBC, after all; Pegg’s the problem here.

To be putting things mildly...good lord the shape of his head with his hair slicked back. It’s the sort of head that makes men despair their inevitable baldness. I never lower myself to personal attacks unless something about an actor’s appearance makes the entire thing distracting, eg watching any film of any American actor before they had their teeth surgically mangled in a way which makes them lose their sex appeal forever once you discover the process involved. Also known as ‘getting their teeth fixed’.

I realise my second issue isn’t with Pegg, but the script, but as it’s his damn role he can feel the pressure. What in the name of Stephen Fry’s left nipple (which is Neville, by the way) is the Macbeth subplot. Seriously. Trying to get women into a story where they served as little more than sex toys or murder victims in reality is an irritant. Think of the time period, boys. Is women’s lib really necessary? Can’t we all agree Mary Poppins covered that pretty well?

OK, so for whatever reason you found your script lacking and had to find a way to stretch it out to 90 minutes. You had to find a way to make two vicious murders seem likeable, and so Burke does it all for love for another rather than himself. Because that wasn’t the driving reality in an age and class where every single action meant life or death.  There’s such a damn good film lurking under here. There’s two, actually – a spectacular horror film. All you’d need to do was take the facts from reality and put them on the screen and Bob’s your uncle.

The sad part here is that there’s actually an amazing comedy under this, where not so much compromise is made to the sourced story, where the film is advertised as it is so fans of Judd Apatow movies aren’t hideously disappointed as small references to historical and medical fact go over their heads. I was pissing myself at Greyfriers Bobby, and quoting the Lister line to whoever would listen. Those in my screening met these genius moments with a deathly silence more annoying than the girl who felt the need to shout ‘THAT’S ERIN!’ during his short cameo in The Social Network.

It may seem as if I’m being unfair – to poor old Simon Pegg, certainly – but even though I say all this I cannot understand why it’s got such bad reviews across the board. I can only put it down to the trailer which advertised it as a film with silent-movie slapstick proportions. Or maybe it was down to John Landis’ inability to do any research whatsoever. I’ve never seen a John Landis film before, I admit. But, and I do ask a serious question, why is he so revered?

Someone should’ve taken them aside before filming began. Goodness, anyone. And so, a little late perhaps, I volunteer to provide a not-so-quite whisper in Landis, Ashworth, and Moorcroft's collective ear: 17 murders does not mean 16 murders, even if you do casually overlook the back-breaking of a young child; Burke and Hare were Irish; Hare did it (re film's climax) to get off alive; funeral parlors and amateur Shakespeare do not good subplots make; the mystery of the dolls a good subplot doth make so why the bloody hell is it completely ignored. Did you really do that little research?

Don’t fuck up the best cast in recent history by giving Pegg more than he can chew, you may as well have cast Noel Fielding (henceforth known as irritating unfunny twat); keep that last shot exactly the same. Both in direction and mood were perfect. Strange how the best cast member in an explosion of a cast list wasn’t actually alive.

And, finally - the spectacular niche that is medical-geeks-with-a-predominating-interest-in-history-and-anatomy-who-are-also-big-British-comedy-fans-and-have-man-crushes-on-Andy-Serkis-post-Sex-and-Drugs-and-Rock-and-Roll** are, whatever you do, going to love (at least parts of) it. Try not to worry so much.

And so, which reach my advice to the reader. Which, somewhat depressingly, is thus: get the DVD, and keep your finger poised over the fast-forward button. Is Isla Fisher on anything which could be described as a stage, a table included? If so press the button. If not, sit back, relax (though not too much, keep that finger poised) enjoy the best half-movie out this year. If you're going to be foolish enough to watch the whole thing get a pad and paper out to see how many names you get right in the long list of 'where do I know them from?' cameos.

*I’m a cripple myself; step off.

**Just me then?

The Accidental Husband (2008)

Colin Firth

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Writer: Mimi Hare, Clare Naylor, Bonnie Sikowitz

Director: Griffin Dunne

Notable actors: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jeffrey Tedmori

The Accidental Husband has odd casting. Or maybe it’s perfect casting, all things considered. It’s an indie film which has accidentally picked up a good casting agent who’s got hold of the likes of Uma Thurman and Colin Firth somehow, but such things can be easily over looked – especially to someone as celebrity-blind as I (I could probably vaguely pick Tom Cruise out of a line up, but I’ve never seen one of his films). No, the strangest part of the casting comes in the form of the romantic lead, one Jeffrey Dean Morgan, the everyman of the actual indie film Live!, which I highly suggest you go out and buy immediately.

The aim of The Accidental Husband, at least initially, is to make you hate Uma Thurman. Or maybe it was Morgan; it all becomes rather complex yet simple pretty fast. The thing is, however, whatever happens in the story, Morgan’s character here – a good-natured yet heartbroken firefighter – is too immensely likeable for you to give a damn about anyone else.

Sure, the fact he gets revenge on someone who, despite having never met him, ruined his life, is fair enough. That he gets it by marrying her, via the hacking skills of his teenage best friend, is kooky in the indie rom com kinda way; the friend-still-in-childhood adding to it in a way 500 Days of Summer could only ever dream of. From then on we fall into the gentle slew of a smile-inducing rom com; the sort of thing perfect for a girl’s night in (or a 20 year old male insomniac fan of Firth).

The Accidental Husband is a pleasant film that makes you wonder why men with greater talents choose to act together in paycheck movies with montages dubbed by Nouvelle Vague covers of Buzzcocks classics. It just can’t make you care. Actually, I’ll rephrase that. In all likelihood you care enough to wanna go for a beer with Morgan’s character, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t what the filmmakers were going for. Why he’s interested in a bitch like Thurman – who doesn’t even look anything close to her best here – I’ll never know. Maybe it’s because everyone keeps drawing attention to the fact they’re the same height? Some men look for odd things in women.

Morgan is just too damn charming for this. He’s a damn good actor too, but in some ways he makes me see what the Americans see in Hugh Grant. It’s an ok way to kill a couple hours, Morgan is by far the standout, Firth does his usual oh-I-can-act-but-I-can’t-be-bothered-as-it’s-a-rom-com take, Thurman’s presence upon screen is annoying as usual; there’s just nothing to care about. It’s all predictable save Morgan’s tattoos. You’d think he’d be able to afford a decent artist.

A Serious Man (2009)

(L-R) Richard Kind and Aaron Wolff

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Writer: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen

Director: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen

Notable actors: Michael Stuhlbarg, Aaron Wolff

I don’t know what A Single Man is. Maybe I’m not old enough. Maybe I’m not smart enough, not Jewish enough. Too Jewish? Maybe it’s because I’m not American, and no matter the way it’s put, the cultural differences are, in this instance, too much.

Maybe I shouldn’t have watched it after being up all night, out of my mind from mixed medication. Maybe there’s wondrous philosophy to be found within its flickering images, philosophy I will never, no matter what I do with my life, be smart enough or experienced enough to understand.

Maybe it truly was a Mike Leigh film with none of the charisma, another tale of American’s fucking up what we do so well. Some of the taste, minimal of the magic. Or they take it out and replace it with their own, too different for me to understand.

Maybe I’m overcomplicating things. Maybe it’s just crap that I wanted to be good so badly I’ve made it too complex for my own understanding in my head.

Maybe I need to see it again?

One thing’s certain. It wasn’t worth my time, and I'd be gobsmacked if it was worth yours.

Julie & Julia (2009)

(L-R) Meryl Streep and Amy Adams

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Writer: Nora Ephron, Julie Powell (book - Julie and Julia), Julia Child, Alex Prud'homme (book - My Life in France)

Director: Nora Ephron

Notable actors: Worryingly, I can honestly say (hopefully for the first and last time) there were none.

Julie and Julia was, certainly, a good idea. I recall a vague thought of wanting to see it when it was first released. It’s quaint, certainly. And that’s just about where the good points end.

The first buggering irritant was Meryl Streep’s height. In real life, Julia Child was six foot two. Well, that’s all very good. In real life people are taller than others, and indeed shorter than others, all the time. I know an extremely feminine-in-appearance girl who just happens to be well over six foot. But was this really the most important factor in a damn movie in which height plays no point other than to distract?

The infamous Sherlock Holmes is described as being well over six feet by creator Conan Doyle, but in recent years he’s been played by Benedict Cumberbatch (a dead 6’0) and Robert Downey Jr (5’8) respectively. Did this height loss somehow fail either production? No, because in the real world nobody gives a flying fig about height. Nobody, that is, expect those with short on talent but lumbered with height somewhat pathetically use said height in order to lose an argument (have you ever seen an argument won with a height-related insult?).

I cannot for the life of me understand why Child’s height was so drastically important to her character in the film. All I know is that it was perhaps the most distracting thing the filmmakers could have done, even overlooking Streep’s ridiculous accent.

As you may have guessed I will never be one, no matter who it is, to play favourites and blindly believe every fine actor is fine in every performance they give. If you’re an obsessive Streep fan, there are, as Kermode says, other opinions available.

So, the film’s barely begun and there’s already two massive irritants you’ve got to put up with for two rather pointless hours. Watching Julie and Julia is quite literally watching the same film in two different time settings with differently abled actors. It’s a bit like going to see a RSC production of Hamlet only to have each scene repeated, straight after the RSC do it, by the local primary school. While Amy Adams may be adorable, her character here is deplorable. No sympathy is felt for either character.

Julie has to create drive for herself, despite the fact she’s getting on fairly well in life. What a shame, you’re one of the billions of people around the world who live in accommodation best suited to their needs. The accommodation best suited to my needs is a mansion fitted with a traditional pub, the biggest private library in Britain, a theatre/music room complete with stage so I may host my own private performances...ok, I’m running away a bit with the idea. My point is, there is absolutely nothing here which gives you sympathy to Julie. Perhaps reading the slog of her blog would produce such an effect, but the small glimpses given here try far too hard without giving the audience anything to work with.

The story is similar with Julia. Bored well-to-do housewife who in another time would’ve been Julie. We get it. I admit my working class ethic may make me biased to dislike Julia, but I do, and the wording toward the end when Julia is said to have knowledge of Julie’s blog ...well all that does is make you realise both characters are bitches and you’ve wasted two hours of your life.

Julie and Julia haplessly makes every mistake possible several times before the film is through. There’s only so much I can take of watching scene after scene repeated straight away in a different setting, and it’s even worse with unsympathetic characters and a storyline so predictable you knew the end before even sitting down in your chair. And nope, I knew nothing of Julie or Julia prior to seeing this.

I hope dearly the real Julie isn’t as vapid as the real one makes her out to be, and equally do I despair of what Julia Child’s estate has allowed to become of her memory. I care nothing for each individual on a personal level through interaction with their fictional selves, by the by – this is simple human sympathy.

The worst part? After you've been so nice as to sit through the whole damn thing you're given the most condescending good-bye; just before the credits role, text upon the screen proudly proclaims ‘Julie’s book was made into a film.’ No shit, diminutive height Sherlock.

New Moon (2009)

(L-R)Peter Facinelli, Jackson Rathbone, Kellan Lutz
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Writer: Melissa Rosenberg, Stepheine Mayer (book)

Director: Chris 'career highlight came with only decent work, About A Boy, in 2002' Weitz

Notable actors: Michael Sheen, Peter Facinelli, Robert Pattinson

How this made a lengthy book is beyond me (I refuse to degrade the art from by referring to it as a novel). The important thing to note in New Moon is that there’s no story. Just two hours or so at finding excuses – or, as is more often the case, not bothering at all – to have the two male leads take their tops off.

I realise I am far away from Twilight’s audience. I’m not a teenager, I’m not a girl, I’m not a moron, and I appreciate talent in acting, writing; anything creative really. I’ll stop with the insults now, my apologies. If this was just another banal come-and-go series I could put up with it. What incenses me, and many others, is the way Twilight’s misguided fans hold it to some great literary tragedy, not realising the story is the same Shakespeare cobbled together all those years ago.

You know the one – paedophilic guy preying on a young lady, but it’s fine because it’s so gosh darn romantic. Whoops, my apologies, again. I should have said romantic. Twilight’s premise is downright creepy, especially considering all the religious things thrown in there. As if a guy who would be seventeen forever would ever turn down sex. With anyone. Most would say yes to a squirrel, if my memory of the tortured time serves well.

Nevertheless, I’ve been trying to be a good brother and understand my baby sister’s obsession. I saw Twilight in the cinema and was unimpressed in a mildly irritating sort of way, then it blew up and wood was served as talent to the children of western nations. I was completely and unashamedly biased sitting down to watch New Moon, but, sad to say, I was disappointed.

Robert Pattinson can act. Taylor Lautner may be able to scrape by on American sitcoms yet, but he needs a few years at drama school first. Kristen Stewart is beyond hope, while Peter Facinelli and Michael Sheen were fabulous, and it was most definitely a case of paycheck for one and doing-it-for-the-kids for the other. Michael Sheen’s moment as the head of the Volturi was terrifying.

This film is not made for me. It’s made for me, and men like me, to be dragged to by sisters, girlfriends, and that best friend you’ve had since childhood and just can’t gather the courage to risk the friendship by telling her you love her. All the same, it’s nowhere near as bad as I expected it to be. Yeah, it’s bad, but not outright bad in the way many films aimed at the target audience I do sit squarely in are.

I can quite easily imagine, if I were a fifteen-year-old hormonal girl, that I’d swoon understandably for a series containing countless shirtless men balanced perfectly with over-the-top romanticism. So, try as I might, I can’t really insult Twilight; not as a film in its own right, because the truth is that it does the job it was designed for perfectly well. And I’m sure the next one, or however many there continue to be, will do so equally well.  Me not being a target audience doesn’t make it a bad movie. Even casting a plank as the lead doesn’t make it bad movie, try as I might to wish both those things true.

The truth is that films like Twilight is the reason popcorn in the cinema caught on; so the boys have something to do while just being content the one they love is enjoying the screen immensely. If not a little too much. Oh, and Robert Pattinson really can act, I wasn’t taking the piss. It shows across sometimes even through the fog of long-repressed-vampiric hormones. That was the most shocking thing of all. Well, that and the fact small children now believe vampires fucking sparkle.

The Vanishing (1993)

Kiefer Sutherland

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Writer: Todd Graff, Tim Krabbé (novel)

Director: George Sluizer 
Notable actors: Kiefer Sutherland for half a second

I’ve been trying to think of a remake I like. The only ones I can consider are those from my childhood, which I naturally look back upon with fondness brought on by nostalgia. And, to my knowledge, all of those bombed at the box office. How has Hollywood seriously not yet got the point? There will never be a call for remakes, with perhaps the exception of a re-do of Harry Potter in fifty years so we can see Daniel Radcliffe inevitably play Dumbledore.

I confess I had no idea what this film was; nothing more than the only DVD lying around at a friend’s house after everyone else had fallen asleep. Within half an hour it became pretty clear what the film was – boring. Boring, boring, boring, oh Jesus Christ so damn boring. I watched it in slow, small segments throughout the night whenever the internet failed. Otherwise I truly wouldn’t have bothered after sitting there feeling my brain cells suicide ten minutes in.

It’s kind of adorable how hard the filmmakers worked on getting the whole suspense thing right, only to fail completely. Every vaguely climatic point was a sign of perhaps the most overused, irritating mainstay in cinema. Of course I mean that damn dramatic music which cuts in during emotional moments to let the audience know things are tense. Cause the audience can’t work that out on their own, cause they’re stupid. Of course they’re stupid. They’re in a cinema.

I honestly can’t think of a good thing to say about this movie. The original may have perhaps been wonderful, and if it was every single magical moment was taken from it. Future Oscar winner Jeff Bridges came across as plain yet kooky rather than creepy, while Sandra Bullock was annoying as usual. The only moment in the entire span which produced any emotion from me was a spark of recognition when an actress from a sitcom I enjoyed as a teen came on screen.

The sad thing is there's a better film in there somewhere, I think. The emotional upheaval of searching for a missing person would make a brilliant psychological drama in the hands of the right writer. This film? This film doesn't have the right anything.

There’s no hint of the talent which would make this atrocity’s stars careers later on, with the exception of the crux scene I’ve screen capped above. This was the only point worth paying attention for – as Bridge’s character convinces Sutherland’s to willingly take a drug which will make him pass out. For the barest second there, there was a slice of real acting.

Then we went back to crap, with a twist so predictable you could see it coming a mile off, if only the story didn’t take so long to get there you’d fallen asleep by then.

Watchmen (2009)

 (L-R)Matt Frewer and Jeffery Dean Morgan

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Writer: David Hayter, Alex Tse, Dave Gibbons (graphic novel illustrator), Alan Moore (graphic novel writer)

Director: Zack Snyder

Notable actors: Jackie Earle Haley

 

Allow me to declare myself. I’m a comic book geek of the worst kind – I do not hold myself exclusively to superheroes. So Watchmen, the perfect mixture of classic super-telling and harsh realities of series like Joe Sacco’s autobiographical Palestine, is perfect for me. Just as it is for any other person on this earth happy to proclaim they’re a comic book guy when it’s not cool (ie any decade other than our current one). Which is basically why Watchmen’s such an underground phenomenon. It’s all the fun of masked heroes with some real seriousness thrown in.

And, I am surprised to say, the film adds...nothing. OK, so I lied a bit there, I’m not surprised at all. Even Jon’s giant, blue, glowing cock, of which I’ve heard so much fanfare, was barely glimpsed. When it was it was from afar afar afar, if you get my meaning. The jumps and losses from the novel, even at well over two hours, are very painful indeed. I wonder if one could make sense of the story without the background of reading the strip first.

The other possibility, of course, is that the film makes things far easier to understand, as it isn’t until the last 30 pages of a 400 page graphic novel that the reader feels settled enough to read without interruption from another storyline. Indeed, the perfect parts of Watchmen were little nods to those who had read the book, which would be rather wonderful if those who read the book didn’t make up %99.9 percent of this film’s audience. The other 0.01% were dragged to the cinema by their boyfriends in revenge for always making him sit through rom coms.

To be fair to the film’s makers, Watchmen has been seen as the latest in a small collection of unfilmable written stories since its inception. Its medium is key to its success, and I’m afraid to understand that statement you’ll have to go and read it, as to do so would take up the entire page. Trust me; you’ll be glad of it.

That said, some shots, where the storyboard had evidently been ripped straight from the strip, were gorgeous, giving one a rush unrivalled even by faultless adaptations such as Iron Man. Rorschach was even almost as creepy as he is in his original, although not nearly ugly enough. As beautiful as these moments were, the decision to omit the novel’s subplots to almost entirety is unforgivable, seeing as in replacement all that was received were an abundance of fight scenes.

Well, I hear the cry, what do you expect? There’s a reason the most physical scenes of theatre – those containing violence and/or sex – are so sparsely available, even in a theoretical film about rent boys who are paid in revenge killings. Too much and the excitement is gone. This is exactly what Watchmen suffered from. Hell, even the much worked for climax loses almost all it’s meaning. The fact half the lines were jumbled out of order so some made absolutely no sense didn’t help much either. I honestly needed the book by my side so I could pause the film and check what was going on whenever something didn’t seem right.

The best thing I can say about Watchmen is that if you’ve read the book, seeing the film is mandatory, just so you can appreciate that no matter how hard the cast and crew tried; there is nothing to rival the excellence of Alan Moore. And to think, I live just down the road from him...let’s hope he never finds out I gave in and saw it.

There are reasons some things are unfilmable. Watchmen explains them all.

The Social Network (2010)

(L-R) Andrew Garfield, Joseph Mazzello, Jesse Eisenberg, and Patrick Mapel
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Writer: Aaron Sorkin, based on the book by Ben Mezrich

Director: David Fincher

Notable Actors: Aaron Sorkin, finally (and embarrassingly) indulging in a speaking cameo

First things first, we must remember Aaron Sorkin is American, and thus his name is pronouced as if he were a girl named Erin. Moving on...

Just like the last post, I’m going to begin with a confession. I don’t use facebook. I’ve never used facebook, never even set up an account. I am lambasted by it often by new and casual acquaintances, although thankfully close friends know me well enough to leave the topic, and I’m happy to miss the odd party as all the invites were sent via facebook and nobody remembered to invite Mr Traditional MSN over here.

I find facebook creepy. I found the idea of a facebook movie eyebrow raising and nothing more. Then, like the rest of the world, I heard the genius of Aaron Sorkin was writing the screenplay, and suddenly this film was right in my must-see list, and would’ve been at the top of I weren’t one of the Harry Potter generation. I’ve been a Sorkin fan since my pre-teen years, watching Sports Night reruns on some forgotten and long-defunct satellite channel. I discovered and adored Studio 60 long before I was mature enough to understand the genius of The West Wing, and, well, the American President had Michael J Fox in, so it wasn’t all bad. With The Social Network though, Sorkin has greatly overplayed his hand.

That said, I didn’t notice over two hours had flown by, which in some ways is the mark of a good film. I was utterly absorbed despite, strangely, not finding it within myself to care. Many reviewers have expressed sympathy only for Eduardo, but he has none from me. He took his eye off the army despite knowing they were under attack.

Funny lines weren’t funny, witty lines just weren’t delivered with any of the charm which makes his previous work so incredible. Flip-flops irritated, retribution was minimal, and Oxford lost The Boat Race*. This wasn’t a movie; this was real life. Only slightly better, as there weren’t any kids in those fucking wheeled trainers.

The subtle touches were the best part of a film which makes you, despite yourself, wish you were it’s lead. Not even for the money – sitting in meetings with lawyers, Zuckerberg’s smartass comebacks are what makes you wish you were him, though it’s hard to believe the computer geek’s so linguistically skilled in real life. Hey, maybe I’m just being pretentious. In fact, I know I am. How much of this film is Sorkin and how much is the battle to have teenagers sound like teenagers? Sorkin said himself he gave up and wrote them as he would any other character, which is a snivelling withdrawal for a man held in such high regard. Fuck if your audience understands it, slip in contemporary slang without explanation. It just grows irritating otherwise.

Although I cannot say without a second viewing, I do feel a second viewing of this film would just make one irate. I am in no doubt that it will zoom to the top of the best sellers list upon DVD release, but I will wonder why it’s there. Would I, for the most obvious example, have actually gotten something out of this movie if I was familiar with the site upon which its story is based? 

But, sadly, that’s my point exactly – Sorkin drew me into the worlds of late night TV and politics to such an extent both remain intense pastimes when I can afford the time for them. This film doesn’t make me want to use facebook, it merely confirms every single conclusion I have already come to about using it. I don’t want any of those fuckers to have my money. I should've been able to get something out of this without needing background knowledge first. This movie just doesn’t stand alone. If it’s a footnote on Sorkin’s obituary, it will simply be because Zuckerberg made it so.

* The Winklevoss twins rowed in Oxford’s boat this year and we beat the bastards. For me Cambridge’s light blues are a love affair similar to what the common man has with his football team. This, admittedly, was my prevailing thought throughout a majority of the film.