The Other Woman

There is, unfortunately, a widely-held belief that 'chick flicks' or romantic comedies are, by their very nature, rather inferior to other film genres. Time and time again I've heard people review a romantic comedy with words to the effect of “well, it was never going to be good, what did you expect from a chick flick?!” It's almost as if people automatically enter the cinema with astronomically low expectations and simply accept a film's faults because it is a rom-com. This is both unfair and illogical. Look at the fantastic films which can be classed as chick flicks: Mean Girls, Breakfast at Tiffany's and Bridesmaids all have something intelligent and funny to say. And then there are films like The Other Woman.

Whilst reading this, just imagine me sighing throughout and you'll get the idea of just how rubbish this film is. Indeed, I'd rather not waste precious energy on lifting my fingers to type a review of a film which is completely without merit, inventiveness or spark. The Other Woman follows three women who have all been seeing the same man (played by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau). Leslie Mann plays his wife who lives in a big, lovely house and when Cameron Diaz's high-flying lawyer character turns up at their front door, the two realise that the man of their dreams is, in fact, a serial cheater. Then, would you believe it, they find out that he has been cheating on them both with Kate Upton. Mental. The trio then decide to team up and get their own back, with hilarious consequences. Or so the trailer would have you believe.

So, from the set-up, we can hope for a film about sisters doing it for themselves, a triumph of feminism, female empowerment and a witty subversion of gender roles. In reality, the resulting film is a vacuous re-hash of banal stereotypes with a limp script and none of the biting wit which could have worked so well in such a set-up. From a characterisation perspective, the three women are standard constructions of Hollywood femininity: there's the intelligent one, the busty one and the mad, cries-all-the-time kooky one (it's all about feng shui darling). Wow, that's so innovative. Indeed, there's a tendency nowadays in comedy to simply fall-back on actors shouting and gradually becoming more and more hysterical in a scene in order to create laughs. Whilst this may work for the first few occasions, a film which relies on such humour quickly becomes dull. Leslie Mann's character, in particular, suffered from this and her performance quickly grates on the audience. Cameron Diaz played, well, Cameron Diaz.

The fundamental issue with the film is this: if its main theme is one of female empowerment and women getting one over nasty, horrible men, then why are the characters themselves so hypocritical. The Other Woman would totally fail the Bechdel Test (Google it) as nearly every conversation in the film is about a man. The women initially bemoan the loss of their man, then realise they can get revenge with hair removal cream, growth hormones and laxatives, only to then to come to the conclusion that they can not live without a man for a few months. But never mind, these women are independent and head-strong, who can afford to fly off to Barbados at a moment's notice, stay in posh hotels, drive nice cars and waste time spying on their ex. Oh no, sorry, in the end they have to fill their vacuous lives with a rich man and a guy who owns a beautiful house on a beach front. I get that it's a film, but really?!

For a film with a good concept, The Other Woman simply fails to deliver anything new, witty or engaging. Annoying characters, contrived plot points and a lack of a decent script all amounts to a film with very questionable gender politics and tired jokes. Do yourself a favour girls, go and see When Harry Met Sally and see how it's really done. 

Clapperboard Rating: * *  

Bad Neighbours

It would be very easy for me to overuse a certain adjective in this review, and that adjective can be found in the film's title. Bad Neighbours (or, as it is known in America, Neighbors) will, I fear, perform well at the box office (indeed, it has knocked Spiderman 2 off the top spot in the US). This is both depressing and indicative of a cinema audience that has come to accept bawdy, lowest common denominator humour as the best that Hollywood comedy has to offer.

From a plot perspective, Bad Neighbours is very simple to explain: a couple (played by Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne) with a young child are enjoying suburban life until a college fraternity – led by Zac Efron – move in next door and disrupt their quiet existence. What ensues promises to be (from the trailer, at least) an exciting riot of sex, parties and sparky humour as two lifestyles collide head-on. In reality, however, the film is annoying, boring, under-written, unfunny, crude, narratively-anaemic and disappointing in almost every respect.

Let's begin with the performances. To say that Efron spends half of the film with his shirt off would be unfair, but it is apparent that his casting was largely based on his star power and physical screen presence; his character is certainly not likeable. Rogen plays the standard, shouty and slightly irritating frat boy character seen in many an American comedy and only Rose Byrne adds any sense of comedic subtlety to proceedings.

Despite a cast which is sure to attract audiences, the main issue with the performances is that they are not controlled or moderated by director Nicholas Stoller (Get Him to the Greek, Forgetting Sarah Marshall). The actors certainly seem to be having a whale of a time in front of the camera, but at the expense of comedic tempo. Stoller seems to have just shouted “action!” and let the dialogue run aimlessly without any discipline over the improvisation. As a result, jokes fail to hit their mark time and time again and I was left totally uninterested with the whole thing.

It is not just the lack of control over the comedy, the type of humour in the film presents significant problems. The jokes either centre on sex or bad language and the script's fundamental reliance on these begins to grate after only twenty minutes into the film. There's little true wit, comedic intelligence or engagement with such jokes. As a result, the performances struggle to rise above such a dull approach to laughs and Efron, in particular, feels underused and rather objectified. As for a narrative, well, you'd have to look pretty hard for one which has any sense of logic or which is remotely engaging.

Bad Neighbours is, in a word, bad. Badly-written, badly-directed and badly-constructed. Its style of comedy has the potential to shock and is almost as bad as the film's narrative which meanders all over the place. The end result, I'm afraid, is a boring and inert film – quite the opposite to a college fraternity party. If you still want to watch it, watch the trailer: all the best gags are in there. 

Clapperboard Rating: * *  

Pompeii

Don't get me wrong, I do like a bit of nonsensical entertainment every now and then. Sometimes, there's nothing better than sitting back in a cinema seat and letting bonkers visuals, thundering explosions and ridiculous story lines sweep you along in a cinematic whirlwind of delight. There is, however, a small caveat to this: no matter how mindless (and I don't use this term in a detrimental fashion) a film is, there needs to be some sense of an engaging narrative and compelling characters. Pompeii, marketed as a historical disaster epic, offers few surprises and even fewer thrills, mindless or otherwise.

It won't take much to explain the plot of Pompeii (which is, after all, one of the most famous stories from ancient times). Slave-turned-gladiator Milo must rescue his love from the corrupt Roman Senator Corvus against the backdrop of Mount Vesuvius, which erupts with devastating consequences for both Milo and the people of Pompeii. Kit Harington (of Game of Thrones fame) plays our hero and, it has to be said, does a fairly decent job, given the hammy dialogue which plagues the whole screenplay. He is, however, far too well-groomed for a Roman slave. Kiefer Sutherland's accent as Senator Corvus is certainly questionable but as a baddie, his performance is perfectly watchable. Every single role, however, felt under-written and lacked any true emotional depth. Whilst I was watching Pompeii, I was constantly comparing it with Gladiator and, as a result, the whole film felt rather sub-standard, superficial and flat.

In terms of spectacle, director Paul W. S. Anderson clearly set out to create a film which would make the most of the 3D format. The screening I attended was, however, in 2D (not a problem for me!) and it was plain to see that much of the shot construction and camera movement was geared towards 3D. I suppose that, if any film was going to use the technology, then a film with spewing lava, violent ash clouds and pyroclastic flows was probably going to make the most of the medium. Whilst the erupting Vesuvius was quite a spectacle, it seemed as though all the special effects budget had been blown (sorry!) on the volcano sequences, at the expense of the CGI city, which was a bit creaky at best.

That said, the fight sequences were quite exciting and woke me up when I found myself slipping into a stupor during the dull drama scenes. There was, fundamentally, a lack of emotional depth for a film about mass death and destruction: indeed, I've seen TV docu-dramas reconstruct the horror of Pompeii in a more affective and effective way. The love story narrative was absurd, making the Rose/Jack romance in Titanic look like Romeo and Juliet, and the contrived motivations for Milo's seeking revenge on Senator Corvus (who killed Milo's family) felt predictable and tired.

All in all, Pompeii simply lacks any realistic feeling, is undermined by poor characterisation and any compelling narrative. For all its crashing visuals, blood and epic ambitions, it is somewhat unremarkable and rather inert. Ironic, really, for a film with a massive explosion.

Clapperboard Rating: * * 

Noah

Noah has been banned in Bahrain, Qatar, UAE and in Egypt. Paramount Pictures test-screened three different cuts of the film to Christian audiences, all of whom hated it. Moreover, it hasn't picked up much positive praise at all, in religious circles or otherwise. This is rather surprising as, conversely, Noah is as about un-biblical as a biblical epic can be.

From its opening sequences, it's obvious that Noah isn't going to be an end-of-term DVD choice in every R.E. teacher's arsenal: it deviates from its source text to such a great extent that it has more in common with the sci-fi genre than a religious epic. Starring Russell Crowe in the titular role and Emma Watson as his adopted daughter, the film is, first and foremost, bonkers. Indeed, it is so ludicrous and frenzied that any sense of a serious religious or moral subtext is, ironically, drowned out.

The action takes place in an unidentified land where humans have corrupted the Earth and our hero Noah receives instructions from the Creator (the word 'God' is never used in the film) to build an ark to save the creatures of the planet when the floods come to cleanse the world of evil. So far, pretty standard biblical fare. Where it departs from this narrative – and I'm no Biblical scholar – is when fallen angels arrive on the scene in the form– rather bizarrely – of rock monsters with glowing eyes and voices which sound like Brian Blessed through a sub woofer. Throw in a few animals which could be straight out of The Lord of the Rings and the whole thing becomes rather bemusing. Add in a lot of shouting, Russell Crowe's every-changing hair style and some battle sequences and you've got a very confused film.

Crowe's performance is somewhat disengaging. One minute, he's the saviour of the world (quite literally) and the next he's a manic and self-destructing murderer, intent on wiping out the human race at any cost. I'm not even sure the audience are meant to like him. Any empathy which can be given lies with, instead, his wife (superbly played by Jennifer Connelly) whose emotional turmoil and outpourings of grief give the only sense of humanity to the character of Noah. Emma Watson is fine, but her role – along with the other female characters – felt a little underwritten. Ray Winstone is just about convincing as the bad guy Tubal-cain, intent on surviving the floods and Anthony Hopkins (for it is he) plays Noah's grandfather Methuselah.

Whilst the story of Noah and the drowning of millions was never going to be an easy narrative to translate to film, for a 12A, I was surprised by its graphic and, at times, very harrowing moments of death and destruction. The rousing score by Clint Mansell complemented the impressive visuals which director Darren Aronofksy clearly spent much time developing. All in all, however, the film doesn't know quite what it is or what audience it is playing to.

In the end, the biblical references feel like they have been shoe-horned in, the script is far from perfect and the total ridiculousness of it all will leave many feeling alienated. The countries mentioned at the beginning of this review really shouldn't get so worked up: in many ways, the only thing the film shares with its source is lots and lots of water.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

300: Rise of an Empire

If there's one thing which can be said about 300: Rise of an Empire, it is that it shouldn't be screened in an A Level Ancient Greek revision class. Its history is, to say the least, rather suspect and will certainly do the student of Ancient Greece no favours. More fundamentally, however, it shouldn't be shown because it is absolutely rubbish.

300: Rise of an Empire developed from the cult success of Zack Snyder's 2007 film 300, a movie with distinctive comic book visuals and with a slow motion, voyeuristic fascination with spurting blood and violence. The original saw Gerard Butler shout his way through the Battle of Thermopylae and 300: Rise of an Empire takes place at the same time, albeit on the other side of the Greco-Persian wars. Snyder's film had a lot going on in it: a beguiling visual aesthetic, intense violence, a coherent narrative and a camp undertone which didn't take itself too seriously. Oh, and lots of topless men.

Its sequel/prequel retains the topless warriors but dispenses with everything else, resulting in a film which is flat, narratively garbled and rather boring. Director Noam Murro shows a fundamental lack of understanding when it comes to narrative cinema and the film appears to sleepwalk between one battle and another, interspersed with rousing speeches (often delivered by our hero Themistocles, played by the Australian Sullivan Stapleton), which are neither rousing nor engaging.

Themistocles leads the Athenian army (who, I must point out, are much less ripped than their Spartan counterparts) and Stapleton's performance is just about adequate, even if his accent does jump around as much as a gap year student. The trouble lies, however, in the film's plot – or lack of one – and whilst the action sequences may be filmed and constructed well, this amounts to little when the audience have no investment in the characters and the narrative leaves each battle sequence high and dry (slightly ironic as most of the battles take place on the sea). It is not enough to throw blood-drenched battle after blood-drenched battle at the audience and hope that they'll find it interesting. Without the crucial narrative framework, there's more excitement to be had at a bingo hall than during the 102 minutes of 300: Rise of an Empire.

Perhaps the only saving grace of this film is Eva Green, who is ravishing as the baddie Artemisia, and she really does throw herself into the role and shows herself to be more than capable of wielding a sword. The original 300 had much to say and it appears as if its sequel is attempting to do the same. In reality, however, its self-awareness is lost and it tries rather too hard to be both visceral and edgy. Half way through the film, we're treated (or should that be subjected?) to the most bizarre one-night-stand you will ever see in the cinema and the film misjudges its sexual politics to a great extent. Naked men may be plentiful but the film's male gaze is firmly directed at women: evident in the costumes in which Eva Green is placed.

300: Rise of the Empire may have the blood, violence and visuals to make it a companion piece to300, but its lack of any semblance of narrative will leave you thinking “and so what”? There's only so much shouting and inspirational speeches that one can take. The overall effect is rather anaesthetising.

Clapperboard Rating: *

The Grand Budapest Hotel

Wes Anderson is one of the few directors whose work is instantly recognisable, such is his visual flair and narrative quirk. The Grand Budapest Hotel continues his tradition of perfectly-staged and ordered chaos, infused with rich dialogue and wit and it is a film which is charming whilst being slightly melancholic.

Set in the fictional middle-European state of Zubrowka and at the institution of the Grand Budapest Hotel, an establishment frequented by duchesses, politicians and high society alike, the film uncoils like a spring. Opening with our narrator (played by both Tom Wilkinson and Jude Law) recounting his meeting with the hotel’s owner Mr Moustafa (played by F Murray Abraham and in youth by Tony Revolori), who in turn introduces us to the protagonist M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), the hotel’s 1930s concierge. The film focuses on Gustave and Moustafa’s friendship as the latter becomes the former’s protégée as a hotel lobby boy. Got that? Good.

Ralph Fiennes is, perhaps, less well-known for his humorous roles, but here his comedic timing and physical acting is assured and engaging. As the disarming and rather sanguine concierge, Fiennes’ performance zips around the screen with great energy and intensity as M. Gustave attends to the every need of the hotel’s guests (needs which, he informs the young Mr Moustafa, must be anticipated before the guests themselves realise). Indeed, it is not only Fiennes’ talents which are worthy of praise: the entire cast are aware that they are in a Wes Anderson film and, as a result, give performances which are simultaneously controlled and dynamic. 

The cast list reads like a who’s-who of the acting world: Adrien Brody, Willem Defoe, Jeff Goldblum, Harvey Keitel, Bill Murray, Edward Norton, Tilda Swinton, Saoirse Ronan, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson all make appearances. The plot jumps around, one minute murder is the topic of the day, then art theft, jail breaking and then all-out war, all grounded by Fiennes’ delightful performance and Anderson’s immersive style of direction.

Anderson’s film-making is all about artifice: every camera angle is worked out to the most exact of degrees, each tracking shot stops at a precise point, the actors move as if programmed by computer and the sets have more detail in them than the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Anderson’s visual craftsmanship is plain to see and there is not a single scene in which characters are not framed by something, reinforcing the stage and performance aspect of the film. Staying at the Grand Budapest Hotel is all about theatrics and performance, and the audience are not allowed to forget that. The film’s aspect ratio jumps around, title cards appear at regular intervals and carefully considered colour schemes permeate each frame.

This is scientific film-making. But none of this detracts from the charm and warmth with which Anderson approaches his subject matter – subject matter which addresses themes of age, loss, nostalgia and progress. With its collection of odd characters, sharp script, perfectly-pitched performances and stunning visuals, The Grand Budapest Hotel is a gem in the canon of Wes Anderson. Just like the cakes which pop up throughout the film, it is a sumptuous delight of film-making. 

Clappeboard Rating: * * * * 

Non-Stop

One of the best ways (in my mind at least) to pass the tedium and discomfort of long haul flying is to watch a film…or three. Last summer, I went travelling and suffered ten flights in ten weeks and all but two had a great selection of in-flight entertainment (the two without a personal screen at your seat were operated by Bangkok Airways, who instead opted to show an episode of Mr Bean – bizarre). The choice of genres on aeroplane flights is usually very good and sometimes a film is enhanced because of the context of watching it on a flight. Non-Stop, a film about a hijacking, really does deserve to be seen on a plane. And here’s why…

Liam Neeson has taken on a variety of roles over the years: the loving father in Love Actually and the killing, don’t-mess-with-my-family father in Taken and Taken 2. And it is the latter “I will find you and I will kill you” character which pops up again in Non-Stop. Neeson plays a US air marshal who, we establish within the first minute of the film, has a drink problem. On a flight to London, he starts receiving mysterious text messages from one of his fellow passengers who threatens to kill a passenger every twenty minutes unless his demands are met. And this is all you need to know to explain the subsequent ninety minutes of Liam Neeson running around, beating up passengers and brandishing a gun as if it were a news reporter’s microphone.

Put quite simply, Non-Stop is ridiculous. Preposterous. Absurd. So ludicrous that it makes Star Wars look like a Ken Loach work of social realism. The film’s third act will leave you slightly bewildered and the characters, the dialogue and the plot arcs are sensationalist to say the least. Indeed, quite how a plane-full of people can’t hear a fight-to-the-death happening in the cabin toilets is a mystery.

Neeson’s performance is standard fare – gruff, hulking and a bit unpredictable, but totally in keeping with the film’s tone. And I’ve nothing against him being an action hero – I’d even say he’s quite good at it. Julianne Moore plays his only supporter on the flight and Michelle Dockery (of Downton Abbey fame) is the slightly suspicious, always polite stewardess. For a film which is predominantly set in the confines of an aeroplane, I have to say that it never drags and the action keeps the film rolling along at a fair old pace.

I’ve said that Non-Stop is a ridiculous film but in many ways, this isn’t to its detriment. For what it is – a no-brain, bang, crash, whallop action thriller – it does go through the motions in an entertaining manner and Neeson is absolutely fine as its protagonist. It’s just a shame that the initial intrigue and (dare I say it) potential for intelligent discussion of issues affecting today’s society (which was setup in the beginning) was totally forgotten about, to be replaced with more shouting and violence than at Primark’s Boxing Day sales. But, in many ways, this was never going to be anything more than a standard thriller with our man Liam.

Non-Stop is as outlandish as it is loud. It makes, however, for a fun and solid action film and I started this review by saying that it would be the perfect movie to watch on a plane. A hijacking film may seem like an odd choice, but it is so ludicrous that you can be safe in the knowledge it will never, ever, happen. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * *