Fury

War is hell. Many a war film seeks to represent this oft-quoted phrase in cinematic form and David Ayer's WWII tank action drama certainly seeks to give its audience a glimpse of the depravity of war. But above all the explosions, expletives and terror, does Fury manage to be more than a solidly made piece of entertainment?

Amongst Fury's impressive cast there's a more unusual character: Brad Pitt's hair. Never before have I seen such coiffured locks in a war film and hair which never strays out of place, even when confronted with a grenade or two. Such a resilient hairdo belongs to Staff Sergeant Don “Wardaddy” Collier (Pitt), who commands a tank known to its crew as “Fury”. But when Don and his crew are sent on a mission behind enemy lines, disaster strikes and the tank team find themselves out-gunned and outnumbered against the Nazis.

Let's begin with the good things – and don't get me wrong – there is plenty to be admired in this film. From a pacing perspective, David Ayer strikes an appropriate balance between action and scenes showing the soldiers during the more banal moments of war which sees the tanks trundling through the German countryside and the tank crews interacting with one another. The battle sequences are shot with a raw intensity and shocking realism which serves to hook the audience and draw them into the theatre of war. That said, such competent cinematography could have been used to trap the audience into the claustrophobic world of the tank, possibly one of the most hellish machines of battle. In a film about tank warfare, the camera felt rather under-used within the confines of the tank.

Just as the fog of war spread across Europe during the final, messy stages of WWII, so too does the screenplay of Fury (which was, incidentally, written by Ayer) create ambiguity through its characters and situations. The audience is, for example, first introduced to Brad Pitt's character as he pulls a German soldier from a horse and stabs him in the eyeball. A little later, he forces naïve new recruit Norman (Logan Lerman) to shoot a captured German soldier in the back. This is what war is, we're told. The other members who make up Fury's crew are a suitably motley bunch: Shia LaBeouf plays gunner Boyd “Bible” Swan, Jon Bernthal plays loader Grady “Coon-Ass” Travis and Michael Peña gives a good performance as the driver Trini “Gordo” Garcia.

All these characters are both endearing and repulsive simultaneously and I often found myself wondering whether or not I should be rooting for them. This is a great credit, I think, to Ayer's writing and the overall tone of the film. The film's denouement is an exhilarating and tense affair and, whilst the film's ending won't win any awards for originality, it is very satisfying.

Despite all the positives, I was left feeling that something was lacking which would make Fury a truly affecting and powerful film. Yes the fighting is thrilling and yes, the performances are assured, but the whole experience feels rather superficial. Fury might not quite achieve its quest to represent the actualities of war, but its dynamic set pieces, enjoyable performances and nicely choreographed action create a punchy and compelling film.

Clapperboard Rating: * * *

'71

Perhaps one of the most startling things about '71 is that it is the stuff of recent history: a dreadfully tragic and violent past which many alive today still remember. The characters and events in '71 may be fictitious, but the film's setting of the Northern Irish Troubles is a sad landmark in British twentieth-century history.

In '71, the troubled streets of Belfast become even more dangerous for the fresh-faced and rather naïve Private Gary Hook (Jack O'Connell) who is accidentally abandoned by his unit during a riot in 1971. Lost and with no way of telling friend from foe, Private Hook must find his own way back to the barracks and avoid the many who would wish to see a British soldier dead.

Directed by Yann Demange, '71 is a taut and compelling action thriller, anchored by an impressive and vulnerable performance by Jack O'Connell, an up-and-coming British actor last seen in the visceral prison drama Starred Up. O'Connell's performance is both powerful and engaging, and I'm sure that we'll see much more from him in the future.

The film excels in its threatening and unsettling tone and Yann Demange's recreation of the bleak streets of Western Belfast, where burning cars stand as eerie monuments to Catholic and Protestant conflict, creates an almost suffocating atmosphere. Such an atmosphere, lit by unforgiving amber street lights, draws the audience into the awfulness of The Troubles and, in particular, makes the predicament of O'Connell's character all the more tortuous.

A wide ensemble of characters, from Unionists to Nationalists, and army officers to undercover agents, are managed with skill by the director, who cleverly orchestrates the cast into the 140 minute running time and never allows individual situations to be sidelined. Each death, betrayal and loss feels immediate and affecting. There were one or two plot points which were rather predictable but the performances, haunting cinematography and urgency of Hook's perilous situation mute such concerns and result in a film which is powerful and horrific in equal measure.

Aside from well-crafted action sequences and appalling moments of violence, the film's frenetic pace and dark thrills come from the pulsating soundtrack from David Holmes. If ever a film's soundtrack could take credit for the sense of drama on screen, this would be a prime example. Although the events in '71 are a result of intense and violent politics, the film itself is not a political work and does not seek to comment on the politics of the era or the ignorance of some who fought in the conflict (indeed, when Hook is asked whether he is Protestant or Catholic, he tellingly replies “I don't know”). Instead, its sole focus is survival, the survival of Private Hook and his desperate attempts to escape the hell hole of Belfast in 1971.

'71 is a bold, thrilling and harrowing piece of film-making which never releases its stranglehold on the audience. While its performances, plot, action and score are all impressive, the film is at its most striking when you consider its basis in very recent – and tragic – fact. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * * 

What We Did On Our Holiday

Like most genres of film, comedy has many sub-genres. Recently, for example, The Inbetweeners 2 has shown that gross-out comedy can make millions at the box office (£22 million in a month, to be precise) and 22 Jump Street capitalised on the popularity of the action-comedy genre. 

Just as The Inbetweeners 2 made the transition from TV to cinema, so too does the style of comedy found in the BBC series Outnumbered. The translation from the small screen to the cinema is not always smooth, and TV comedies sometimes struggle to find a cinematic sensibility. But What We Did On Our Holiday, from the writers of Outnumbered, manages to not only make the transition, but does so in an engaging and feel-good way.

Andy Hamilton and Guy Jenkin have a very recognisable style of comedy, characterised by low-key and rather mundane set-ups and semi-improvisational scripts, all of which create humour which is funny because it is instantly recognisable. For their first cinematic outing, Hamilton and Jenkin have continued to play to their strengths by writing dialogue with which the audience can identify and by letting the child actors improvise, often to hilarious effect.

What We Did On Our Holiday is not, however, a just a rehash of Outnumbered. It provides the audience – as all TV comedies must in a move to the big screen – with something new and, in this case, a new family and an altogether more extraordinary plot. The film follows the McLeod family as they visit Scotland for their grandfather's (Billy Connolly) birthday party. The only trouble is, Abi (Rosamund Pike) and Doug (David Tennant) are embarking on a divorce and must attempt to keep this secret from their extended family. But when a day out to the beach takes a tragic turn, the three McLeod children (Emilia Jones, Bobby Smalldridge and Harriet Turnbull) take matters into their own hands.

The quirks of family life are amplified in What We Did On Our Holiday and whether it is the youngest McLeod child's perverse attachment to a brick called Norman, or her older sister's insistence on keeping a notebook with all the lies that she must remember to tell her family about her parent's situation, there are some very touching moments in the film. The absurdity of Billy Connolly's situation cannot fail to generate a laugh and even if the film just manages to stay on the right side of cinematic, the style of comedy shines through.

The cast is, most certainly, very watchable and features a whole host of British acting talent. Tennant and Pike play the antagonistic couple very well and Billy Connolly is on fine form as the grumpy, but sweet-natured grandfather. Ben Miller and Celia Imrie add to the ridiculousness of the story, but it is the child actors who give the most laughs and are a joy to watch. The snappy and funny dialogue sustains the film's running time and, for the most part, keeps the audience on-side even when the more sentimental sections of the plot threaten to spill over into saccharine schmaltz. The most affecting performances come from Tennant and Jones (who plays the eldest daughter) and their father/daughter relationship explores many themes with which any family can identify.

Love, death and familial bonds are all explored and it is credit to Hamilton and Jenkin's writing that the film always feels good-natured and warm-hearted. Although the whole set-up is ludicrous (in contrast to the everyday normality of Outnumbered) and the plot's resolution rather predictable, What We Did On Our Holiday rings true on many levels and is a well-judged observation of family life and its myriad of troubles and delights. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * * 

What We Did On Our Holiday is released nationwide on 26^th September

What If

Hazza Potts is trying his hand at something new: romcoms. Daniel Radcliffe's post-Potter career has been nothing if not varied. From frolicking naked in the stage show Equus to wandering around haunted houses in The Woman in Black, it would seem that Radcliffe is willing to try his hand at anything. And so, his latest film What If sees him attempt to update that age-old question: can men and women really just be friends?

Many things in life annoy me. Slow walkers, people saying “myself” when they really mean “me”, dog owners who think that everyone else likes dogs, and film dialogue which sounds like the writer has thought about each line for two weeks. You know the sort, dialogue that's hugely contrived, trying to be clever and zany and ends up being nothing like conversations which take place in the real world. Many of the conversations in What If fall into this trap. Take one of the opening scenes, for example, where Wallace (Radcliffe) first meets Chantry (Zoe Kazan) at a house party. It's a scene conducted entirely with one-liners and is far too hokey to be engaging. Indeed, I wanted to give all the characters a good slap. As the film progressed, the dialogue did get a little more tolerable but the damage had already been done.

Aside from scripting issues, the overall tone of the film is really rather annoying. You only have to read the characters' names – Wallace, Chantry, Dalia and Allan, with two 'ls' – to guess at the 'alternative' aspirations of the film-makers. But, far from being a novel reinterpretation of When Harry Met Sally for the texting generation, What If squanders any potential with its ending, which is as predictable and unsurprising as England's World Cup performances.

However, despite all the try-too-hard hipness, unrealistic characters and unremarkable plotting, What If hit home. There were individual sequences, moments of snatched dialogue which rang true. When Harry Met Sally is, without a doubt, a far better exploration of male/female relationships and the definitive film on the topic. But the awkwardness of Radcliffe sometimes cuts through the kookiness and mirrors the best of When Harry Met Sally, updating the themes for the present day. Before you think that I got sucked into the film and developed an affinity for the characters and their predicaments, I didn't. But What If is a great example of the mantra that you get out of a film what you bring to it – in other words, certain moments struck a chord with me and made me reflect on real-life issues. The characters may not be likeable but that doesn't stop you transposing your own concerns onto them and leaving the cinema with a fresh-perspective.

I'm glad I saw What If. Not because it's a good film: it's rather forgettable and unsuccessful at contributing to the debate on friendship and love in the twenty-first century. But if it sets you thinking, makes you realise the priorities in your own life and sparks a new momentum in your thoughts, then it can't be all that bad. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

Walking on Sunshine

Anyone who knows me will know that I have a bit of a thing for Mamma Mia!. Then again, who can possibly resist the tidal wave of Abba cheese which sweeps over you as Meryl Streep blasts out “The Winner Takes It All” atop some hilltop on a Greek island and the likes of Colin Firth and Julie Walters throw themselves whole-heartedly into camp dance routines. Even – and here's where the true genius of Abba's songs lie – even Pierce Brosnan's fog-horn attempts at singing “SOS” can't disrupt the joy. Mamma Mia! is so astronomically, staggeringly bad that it comes full circle and becomes, paradoxically, brilliant. And so, when I first saw a trailer for Walking on Sunshine, a musical with hit songs from the 1980s, I thought it would be the new Mamma Mia! (just with bigger hair). It's not.

Let's begin with the plot – a good a place to start as any. Set in a coastal town in present day Italy, Walking on Sunshine opens with Taylor (played by Gemma Arterton's older sister, Hannah) ending a whirlwind holiday romance with the dashing Raf (Giulio Berruti). She's about to start university and, you know, can't possibly begin a relationship. Fast forward three years and Taylor has graduated and returns to Italy for her sister's wedding. And guess who the lucky guy is?! The same guy who Taylor had a fling with all those years ago! Crazy. Do Taylor and Raf tell her sister Maddie (Annabel Scholey), or should they keep quiet and hope she doesn't find out? There, in a nutshell, is the plot which, at times, runs rather close to that of Mamma Mia! (sorry, I'll stop mentioning it).

One of the first scenes sees Taylor arrive at the airport and the passport man asks her: “business or holiday?”. And then, because it's a musical and people do this sort of thing, she launches into Madonna's “Holiday”, complete with stupid dance routines and from then on, we know we're stuck in this musical hell. The songs don't get much better when the ensemble cast join in. Leona Lewis makes her film début and, although the girl sure can sing, her acting leaves less to be desired. In fact, you know what, the whole cast looks like they had a ball filming the movie: always a sign that the audience will definitely be having less fun!

To be fair to the cast, they do have plenty of energy but the singing is auto-tuned to within an inch of its pathetic life. We're treated/subjected to vacuous renditions of classics such as “Eternal Flame” and “If I Could Turn Back Time”. More generally, the songs (of which there are far too many) share no common theme or thread, aside from the decade of their release and the plot lists from one to another as a drunken man does when bothering people for loose change.

Greg Wise plays Doug, Maddie's ex who attempts to win her back by, basically, stalking her. In any other film, he would have been arrested for sexual harassment. The comedy – or lack of – is another problem. Some really rather crude jokes seem rather out of place from the saccharine schmaltz and predictable dialogue which characterises the film. The narrative's twists and turns are inexplicable, drawn-out and really rather dull and offer no satisfaction at their resolution. Yes, I get that this isn't going to be Citizen Kane but...

The central problem with the film is that it takes itself far, far too seriously. The drama played out on screen is, quite frankly, ridiculous, the characters irritating and I sat there with a look of bewilderment on my face. In fact, things got so bad at one point that I was eyeing-up the pills which an old dear sat next to me had got out from her handbag. Something to dull the pain...or end it all: either would have been preferable to the utter tosh which was slowly draining the life force from me.

Walking on Sunshine is garish film-making by numbers. A limp script, heavily-produced musical numbers, uninspiring characters and terrible direction all mix together creating a lethal cocktail of cheese, sun and sickeningly perfect smiles. It was enough to make me run home and stick Mamma Mia! in the DVD player.

Clapperboard Reviews: *

Jimmy's Hall

Ken Loach is angry. The director in the social realist sub-genre, Loach recently claimed that film critics find the idea of a politically informed and free-thinking working-class as “abhorrent”. His latest – and, if initial rumours were to believed, his last – film Jimmy's Hall, features many scenes of a rural Irish community discussing politics, freedom and religion in 1930s Ireland. Quite why Mr Loach believes all critics view such scenes as “fantasy” is rather perplexing and a little bemusing. However, what is clear is that Jimmy's Hall is packed full of political statements and ideology. It's a shame, then, that none of it really sticks.

Set in rural Ireland during the “Red Scare” of the 1930s which saw a wave of concern sweep the establishment about communist activity, Jimmy's Hall is inspired by the real life political activist Jimmy Gralton, who was deported from Ireland by authorities who were worried that he was stirring up trouble in County Leitrim. On arriving back from ten years in America, Jimmy returns to his home to find a dispirited and battered community, a result of the recent Irish Civil War. Jimmy takes it upon himself to re-open a community hall and hold dances and classes for the benefit of the locals. The local priest (played by Jim Norton) and other officials, however, object to Jimmy's actions and, in particular, his political views.

Now, the first thing to say about the film is that it wears its political opinions on its sleeve, which sometimes presents a problem. It is packed full with political opinions, debates and ideals and lacks a subtlety which would have made for a more multi-layered, deeper film. There's a sequence when Jimmy makes a rousing speech to the assembled community and shouts “we need to take control of our lives again!”. He references the stock market crash, the power of the elite and the inequality which is widespread. Loach may as well have held up a placard to the audience: “Note Parallels With Today After The Financial Crisis”. The whole film feels, in a way, a bit too axiomatic in its approach to its subject matter.

Barry Ward plays Jimmy with gusto and his relationship with old flame Oonagh (Simone Kirby) is convincing. The two stand-out performances, however, come from Jim Norton as the zealous Father Sheridan and Jimmy's mother, excellently played by Aileen Henry. The heartbreak of watching a mother lose her son for a second time was very affecting to watch and Henry's understated performance was fantastic. Norton's character, on the other hand, is rather ambiguous. He begins the film vehemently opposed to everything that Jimmy is and stands for and yet, by the end, is – if not sympathetic – rather more complimentary about certain aspects of Jimmy's character. It would have been nice had the film stuck to its guns and convictions when it came to the motivations of Father Sheridan but Norton, nonetheless, just about holds the whole thing together.

Jimmy's Hall is shot nicely, looks the part and has some great individual moments (especially musical scenes inside the hall) and is a pleasant watch. It screams Loach and screams its politics at the audience – not always a bad thing but a little nuance never goes amiss. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

Grace of Monaco

Olivier Dahan, the director of Grace of Monaco, was adamant in an interview that his film about the post-Hollywood life of Grace Kelly was not a biopic. “I need to make films that resonate with me and my feelings”, he continued. “I would find it boring to have to depict facts only focusing on a character's story”. Heaven knows, then, what Grace of Monaco would have turned out like had he focused on the facts because, as it stands, the film is a bland, uninspiring and wholly misjudged affair.

Dahan's ill-fated quest to discover Grace Kelly in a more “personal” way begins with Alfred Hitchcock (played by Roger Ashton-Griffiths) visiting Princess Grace in her palace in Monaco, attempting to persuade her back in front of the camera for his upcoming film Marnie. But Grace is concerned that a move back to Hollywood, if only temporary, would spell disaster for her marriage to Prince Rainier III and for Monaco, embroiled in a diplomatic crisis with France. And so, the film sees Princess Grace attempt to reconcile herself with her potential roles in the world: those of film star, princess and mother.

In many ways, this had the potential to be an intriguing, dynamic character study, following one of the most famous actresses of all time as she made a radical transition from Hollywood to European monarchy. In reality, however, it seems as though screenwriter Arash Amel grew the script in his garden: it is unbelievably wooden and totally superficial. In fact, you could fashion a very nice side-table from the dialogue which is both toe-curling and uninspiring in equal measure. Nicole Kidman does look the part of Grace Kelly, floating around the palace in pretty frocks and occasionally butting in on matters of politics (much to her husband's annoyance). Each scene, however, is plagued by the appalling and lethargic screenplay which is the film's fundamental weakness.

Much of the plot is centred around the – frankly rather dull – minor diplomatic crisis in 1962, which saw France briefly blockade Monaco as Charles de Gaulle was angered by its reputation as a tax haven. Cue, then, dramatic shots of Grace marching up to the barbed wire, offering food to the French forces and tense scenes in the palace as she rushes down the corridors in search of a traitor in her husband's court, and a plethora of dodgy French accents, last heard coming from the mouth of Inspector Clouseau. The whole thing is laughable.

Tim Roth, in the role of her husband, seems to get through about five cigarettes per scene and lounges about the palace as if he's given up on the whole monarchy thing: quite why Grace married him is a mystery. Surely it can't have been for the countless dresses, hats and diamonds which make the film look like an extended Dior commercial. The camera certainly moves with a deferential and rather inert attitude towards its subject: Dahan seems so keen to get under the skin of Grace that his extreme close-ups threaten to become medical examinations of Kidman. Emotional turmoil must be in there somewhere!

In an attempt to secure favour with the people of Monaco, Grace seeks education on matters of etiquette, history and language from Derek Jacobi's Count Fernando D'Aillieres and confides in Father Francis Tucker for guidance. Frank Langella plays Father Tucker and seems to be the only cast member who can make the dialogue seem less hammy and more like a natural conversation, but even he can't lift the film from the depths of awfulness to which it plunged in the first fifteen minutes.

Both Kidman and Dahan have emphasised that Grace of Monaco is not an historical film or an accurate biopic of Kelly's life as a princess. But if it is not this, just what is it? There is no reason for its existence, no spark, no energy which could have made for a deep and telling film. In the end, the whole affair is poorly-constructed and staggering in its deference to characters that, surely, have an interesting story to tell. Kidman's performance is to be admired, if only for its sheer good-will. In the end, Grace of Monaco is a film so limp that not even Grace Kelly herself could have saved it.

Clapperboard Rating: *