Testament of Youth

When the credits rolled at the end of Testament of Youth, there was a palpable atmosphere in Screen 2 of the Palace Verona cinema in Sydney. It is a sure sign of an effective – and affective – film when the audience takes a moment to reflect on what they have just watched, instead of trampling over spilt popcorn in a dash for the toilets. That moment or two of pure silence in the auditorium was definite and, but I can't help feeling that it was the silence of an audience denied the chance to see a film truly worthy of its source material.

Considered a classic work of twentieth-century literature, not least for its feminist and pacifist leanings, Vera Brittain’s 1933 memoir Testament of Youth is a highly-personal account of the impact of war on middle-class families, the upheaval of British society and the terrible suffering inflicted on those left behind on the outbreak of the First World War. Notable as it is for being one of the first female accounts of the irrevocable damage done to a whole generation, Brittain’s work endures to this day as a compelling account of the domestic impact of total war. Such a vivid and personal work had the potential for an even more affecting film, but one can’t help feeling that the big screen adaptation of Brittain’s early life only scratches the surface of such important issues.

Directed by TV-turned-film director James Kent, Testament of Youth is a very handsome affair. Visually, the film radiates quality, starting with the cinematography which captures the rural beauty of pre-war Britain with an effortless and exquisite sensibility. The camera dances around the characters in early scenes evocative of the world of Evelyn Waugh: a world of public schools, rolling countryside and, when Vera receives an offer to study at Oxford, orderly and scholastically-tranquil cities. The camera is not afraid to focus intimately on the faces of the characters or present Oxford in an idyllic glow. And then there's the cast. Most recognisable is Game of Thrones' Kit Harington as Vera's love interest, Roland. Harington's performance is genial and sincere and will certainly provide some eye-candy for the women in the audience, as he courts Vera (constantly, however, under the watchful eye of a chaperone). 

But it is Harington's opposite, Alicia Vikander, who steals the show. Vikander came to international attention in the superb Danish film A Royal Affair and, whilst it may seem odd to cast a Swedish actress in the role of Vera, Vikander's accent rarely defaults from the cut-glass English accent of Ms Brittain. The hopes and loves of Vera – and their eventual destruction – are intensely and convincingly conveyed by Vikander, as she portrays the journey of Vera from the serene Oxford quad to the suffocating nursing hut on the killing fields of France. Vikander really is fantastic.

Any film version of Testament of Youth was, thanks to its subject matter, always going to be defined by its central subjects of war, friendship and, in particular, grief. It explores the sense of peer pressure felt amongst the young generation of men who felt compelled to enlist, if not for King and country, then for their friends and for the expectations of society. There can be no arguing that the film doesn't pull at the heart strings and there are some individual scenes which are totally devastating (Dominic West's intense expression of a father's private grief in the most public of settings is a notable example). But the sum of individual emotionally-piercing moments does not, I'm afraid, make for a film which works as a whole. 

 

The central problem is that the narrative takes the audience through a plot which is instantly recognisable and which has been seen many times before. From its idyllic beginnings, one knows exactly where the film is headed, and the script seems, on some level, to treat the audience as rather dim. The beginning of war is flagged by the camera focusing on a newspaper headline, the news of a death foreshadowed by an scene of excited anticipation, and the film's moral message summed up in a rather contrived speech towards the end of the film. We've seen this all before, and I can't help but find this to be a rather lazy approach to film-making (made worse by the evident care and detail with which the cinematography, mise-en-sène and acting is approached). In essence, Testament of Youth had such potential to be powerful, intelligent and cautionary, just as its source material was and is. In the end, however, the film's romantic and melodramatic strains overwhelm any incisive commentary on the nature of war, love and the experiences of women in a time of unprecedented struggle. 

 

In the end, I can forgive Testament of Youth for much. It is powerfully-acted, constructed with great care and beauty and contains much to be admired. But, despite its explicit horrors of death, grief and sacrifice, it feels a little inert and I left the cinema moved, but wishing it had been so much more.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * and-a-half!

Fast and Furious 7

The recent departure of Jeremy Clarkson from one of the BBC's most popular – and lucrative – programmes has hit headlines around the world. A show famous (or infamous) for its edgy humour and wild antics, Top Gear capitalises on the love that many have for fast cars and ludicrous stunts. When placed alongside any of the films from the Fast and Furious franchise, however, the high jinx of Top Gear suddenly seems rather placid and conservative. Fast and Furious 7 has sped into cinemas with an almighty roar and makes the car-based antics of the Top Gear boys look like they've been thought up by a committee from the Women's Institute.

You might say that seven Fast and Furious films is rather pushing it, and you'd be right. The franchise can hardly be praised for its complex characterisation, beautifully-balanced dialogue or cutting examination of humanity in the 21^st century. Indeed, the series is film-making by numbers and the audience is battered into submission by the number of fast cars, scantily-clad women, explosions and physics-defying action sequences. And this is all before the opening titles.

Fast and Furious 7 reunites its star-filled cast against bad-guy Jason Statham who is seeking revenge on Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) and his family for putting his brother in hospital in the previous film. Add to this the hunt for a piece of hacking technology which can turn any electronic device in the world into a spy camera, and you've got the bare bones of a plot which is as about as convincing as a UKIP manifesto.

If you put the plot to one side, you're left with a number of action sequences which seem to get more and more ludicrous as the film goes on. Reality doesn't feature in director James Wan's vocabulary, but the film, I have to say, is all the better for it as supercars fall out from the back of the cargo plane and plummet down to the mountains of Azerbaijan. This gut-wrenching free-fall, followed by an intense car chase through the mountain roads is a well-shot and frenetically-edited affair and has a sense of fun which Wan seems to capitalise on when the action moves to the deserts of Abu Dhabi.

The reasons for the cast's decampment to one of the world's richest cites are easy to explain: cars, money and more cars. Toretto and his team have to steal the hacking software which has been hidden, rather bizarrely, in a supercar belonging to an Arab billionaire. But, of course, said car is located at the top of Abu Dhabi's Etihad Towers and the only way that Toretto and friend Brian O'Conner (Paul Walker) can think of escaping with it, is to drive it out of the skyscraper's window and into the neighbouring tower. The resulting shots of a multi-million pound car in mid-air between two skyscrapers is ridiculous, but all the more fun for it. Less visually-arresting is the film's denouement, set on the mean streets of LA which sees fights between cars and helicopters, and between Statham and Diesel in a multi-story car park (to be fair, it's better than it sounds on paper).

Fast and Furious 7 was always going to tear up the tarmac at the box office. But the untimely death of one of its stars, Paul Walker, in an unrelated car crash midway through filming, assured that it would become a very special film for the fans. Despite concerns that filming would have to be abandoned following Walker's death, some clever computer graphics and the help of Walker's brothers as body doubles meant that the film could be completed and adapted to be a fitting tribute to the star. Walker's loss is sensitively acknowledged at the end of the film and, as the screen fades to white, I'm sure some of the series' most devoted fans will be wiping away a tear or two. And that's something I never thought I'd say about a Fast and Furious film.

But here's the thing. One doesn't go to see a Fast and Furious movie for high-art, just as one wouldn't pick up a copy of the Daily Mail in search of balanced and considered journalism. But James Wan has directed a film which is brash and unapologetic and which will satisfy the wants of fans of fast cars, explosions and death-defying stunts. The departure of Paul Walker, however, served to underline the fact that even in Hollywood, no-one is immortal. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

Run All Night

If Hollywood has taught you anything in recent years, it's that you don't get on the wrong side of Liam Neeson. If you even so much as glance at his daughter, you'll receive a punch in the face. And in Neeson's latest outing as an angry father with children who keep getting themselves in trouble, little has changed. Indeed, Run All Night shares 90% of its DNA with all three Taken films, films which have given Mr Neeson plenty of time to hone the 'particular set of skills' for which he has become famous in recent years. But one can't help wishing he'd settled down in the country and replace his gun with a copy of Reader's Digest.

The set-up for Run All Night is pretty familiar territory. Liam Neeson plays washed-up Jimmy Conlon, a man with a dark and violent past. Disowned by his son (Joel Kinnaman) and depending on drink for emotional support, it appears that Jimmy is well and truly paying for his sins. But when his son witnesses a shooting and is pursued by the full-force of Jimmy's old mob-boss friend (Ed Harris), Jimmy sees an opportunity to atone for the past.

So what you effectively have is a re-run of Taken, although this time it's Liam's son in trouble, rather than his daughter. The violence is just as potent and bullets fly like they're going out of fashion. But I have to say that the action sequences are well-crafted and bold (something that was lacking in the second and third Taken films). One gripping sequence in a high-rise block of flats is especially well-conceived, with lasers surging through the smoke and chaos of an entire city police force chasing after Jimmy and his son.

Alongside the violence, there seems to be an attempt on the part of director Jaume Collet-Serra to construct an emotional integrity to characters which, otherwise, would be forgettable and distant to the audience. I'm not saying that this is characterisation worthy of Shakespeare, but at least there is a genuine attempt to crack the macho and aggressive veneer of the genre. And it is, perhaps, the self-referential humour which appears now and again that helps to add depth to the narrative.

From a plot perspective, Run All Night holds few surprises, is rather contrived and Jimmy's character arc is a simple A-to-B affair. Many of the set-pieces are ridiculous and, as a whole, the film is unremarkable. I always feel a little sorry for Neeson who is a strong screen presence (look no further than Schindler's List, for example) but seems to end up in action films which offer little apart from punch-ups and chances for him to sedately announce his violent intentions in his gravelly Irish tones.

You'd be forgiven for double-checking your cinema ticket if you go and see Run All Night. No, you haven't walked into a re-release screening of Taken. Liam Neeson really is at it again. Run All Night is fun at times, predictable at others and rather mediocre as a whole. Not the most ringing endorsement, I have to admit. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * *  

American Sniper

At the grand old age of 84, Clint Eastwood has made another outing in the director's chair, this time at the helm of American Sniper, a troubling and dark thriller. Based upon the autobiography of US Navy SEAL Chris Kyle (who became famous – or infamous – for racking up over 160 confirmed kills during his time as a sniper in Iraq), the film has certainly ignited debates over the justifications of the Iraq war and attitudes towards killing and violence. American Sniper has done fantastically at the US box office (taking over $90m to date) and is certainly a tense, affecting and taut piece of cinema. But it is Clint Eastwood's evading of a moral commentary and an apparent poker face when it comes to the film's contribution to the debates on modern warfare which trap its main character in a cell of ambiguity: one which the audience cannot hope to penetrate.

The film I expected to see and the film that I actually saw were wildly different. American Sniper would, I thought, explore the strange dichotomy experienced by military snipers: the intimacy with targets afforded to them by their sights and their simultaneous geographical isolation from them. The psychological effects of such a dramatic juxtaposition and the intense, veracious violence with which snipers engage the enemy would make for an impressive screenplay. American Sniper, however, chooses to neglect such questions, choosing instead to focus on Chris Kyle's (Bradley Cooper) Iraq experiences as a backdrop for his becoming known as 'the Legend', both in the military and back home in Texas, where he achieved celebrity status.

Some have called this character focus (we only see the Iraq war through Kyle's eyes, or should that be sight) a fundamental flaw in the film, accusing Eastwood of making a boring and intellectually-anaemic film. I disagree, and there is nothing wrong with choosing to construct a whole film about Iraq around one character – this is, after all, an adaptation of an autobiography. We first encounter Chris Kyle on the rooftops of Fallujah as he makes the first (of many) intensely-difficult decisions: whether or not to shoot a young boy who is approaching American forces with a grenade. Kyle's decision catapults the audience into a flashback of Kyle's upbringing with his hunter father and his time as a rancher, before joining the SEALS after 9/11.

Eastwood's film in an incredibly macho one: from Kyle's early life in the heart of Texas (his fridge is adorned with a magnet inscribed with the apposite words “Don't mess with Texas") to his time in military training where men would throw darts into each other's backs in the pub, Eastwood retains a focus on male dominance in the theatre of war. The film's only female character of significance is Kyle's wife, Taya (played by Sienna Miller) who remains at home with all the accompanying worry, grief and frustration experienced by any partner of a serving soldier. It is through Miller's performance (and it really is a very good one) that the audience are exposed to the ideas that I thought the film would be about: guilt, relationships with family and PTSD. Kyle is troubled, most definitely, by his killing of Iraqis, but this is only captured fleetingly in the film. The real-life events of 2013 give the film a rather clunky ending and the extent to which this biopic glamorises its controversial subject is a little difficult for the audience to resolve. Whether Chris Kyle is a hero or a villain is very much open to interpretation, as is America's role in the invasion of Iraq and Eastwood has little to say on either front.

Bradley Cooper's performance carries the film and his vacant stare and authentic look (he put on 40 pounds for the role) are compelling to watch. I'm genuinely pleased to see actors such as Cooper and Channing Tatum take on more serious and powerful roles (Cooper's performance in this is enough to make me forgive him for The Hangover – just). His screen presence as an elite soldier is convincing and Eastwood's confident, precise and grounded movement of the camera, especially in the intense and thrilling final battle sequence, give the film a weight which would have otherwise been lost.

American Sniper's apolitical nature and its, at times, American flag waving, has stirred up great debate and anger amongst many. The film would have been stronger had it had something more definite to say, but Cooper's performance and Eastwood's assured direction of the scenes in Iraq, make it worth watching. It will unsettle some people and, perhaps, enrage others. But it is a film which will, if nothing else, spark a debate and stay with you for a while after the credits have rolled.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

Paddington

My habit of solo visits to the cinema (fuelled, in part, by this blog) has resulted in my attracting some rather questionable looks from cinema staff and a few embarrassing walks up the auditorium aisle, such as the time I went to see Magic Mike on my own. Yeah, awkward. 

It was, therefore, nice to have a reason to go and see Paddington, ostensibly a young children's film but, it turns out, one which offers something for everyone. I enjoyed it immensely and my two nieces, who provided me with the legitimacy to go and see the film, did so as well, awarding it “nine-and-a-half out of ten”. Although this blog has a rather different rating system, I'd agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment...

Based on the much-loved series of books by Michael Bond, Paddington sees the Peruvian bear emigrate to Britain where he is taken in by the Brown family. Mr Brown (Hugh Bonneville) is initially reluctant to have a bear in his home, but Mrs Brown (Sally Hawkins) and the Brown children (Madeleine Harris and Samuel Joslin) soon bring him round to the idea when it becomes apparent that a taxidermist (Nicole Kidman) is after Paddington for her collection.

The word that is most apt to describe Paddington would, I think, be “nice”. A slightly lazy adjective, I agree, but I use it to give the film high praise: Paddington is a nice, warm and affectionate film and director Paul King shows a clear love for the source material. King has managed to create a film which is well-judged in terms of tone and style: British eccentricity and humour– both in the characters and in the way the film is made – shines through and the script is both funny and touching.

Ben Whishaw gives his voice to Paddington (at one point Colin Firth was cast in the role) and certainly gives the CGI bear half of his life. Paddington's other half of realism is thanks to the incredible visual effects which animate Paddington's fur and movements in such detail, as well as his eyes which are stunningly life-like.

Bonneville is great in the role of Mr Brown and Julie Walters as the housekeeper Mrs Bird is a thrill to watch. Indeed, the whole cast throw themselves into the mad plot and action with great enthusiasm. Scenes of bears floating down staircases in bathtubs and outrunning a knife-throwing taxidermist may be ludicrous, but the film's genuine heart carries the audience along. The combined result of the energetic performances, tight script, amusing set pieces and animal technical wizardry is a real family film. Children will be delighted with the whole thing and there is plenty to keep the adults entertained. So go and borrow a child and...actually, just go on your own if you have to - it'll be worth it!

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

After 13 years, 6 films and countless dead orcs, Peter Jackson's visa in Middle Earth has come to an end. And what a gap year it has been. Many will have grown up with Jackson's films or, at least, have read the book which started it all off: J. R. R. Tolkein's The Hobbit. For some, Jackson got a little carried away in his turning of 350 pages of text into 8 hours of film but the last filmic foray into Middle Earth is confident, engaging and impassioned film making.

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies kicks off right in the middle of the action which we left in film two, The Desolation of Smaug. The angry dragon (voiced by the man of the moment, Benedict Cumberbatch) is still angry and raining fire down on the poor people of Laketown. The dwarves and Bilbo are still hanging around on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain, watching the unfolding drama and Gandalf is still hanging around (quite literally) at Dol Guldur, where Ringwraiths and Sauron make a threatening appearance.

If you haven't seen the previous two films, this all may seem a bit confusing. However, The Battle of the Five Armies does a good job of getting everyone back up-to-speed fairly rapidly. And this is one thing that the film does well: it romps along, quite unlike the first film, and (as the title would suggest) there's a lot of fighting. A lot. Indeed, the end battle sequence runs to some 40 minutes and beats the audience into submission. But the fighting is well-choreographed, exhilarating and the ranks and ranks beautifully-armoured elven soldiers will make even the most faint of Tolkien fans smile with joy. Jackson has again used the technical wizardry which was pioneered in The Lord of the Rings and the resulting battle sequences are very impressive.

The downside to these extended battle scenes is that the emotion of the narrative is sometimes lost, and the multitude of characters, together with their stories, are swamped under the weight of swords, breast plates and war cries. This has, for some critics, been a fundamental problem with the film: that the spectacle suffocates any true meaning in the film and that the film's plot rather is anaemic. I disagree as this film is the culmination of the previous two films' narratives and deserves to be all-singing and all-dancing. To go out without a bang would have been very dissatisfying.

Martin Freeman shines again as Bilbo, having perfected his quizzical look and character integrity and it is with genuine affection and warmth that characters from The Lord of the Rings make a return. Ian McKellen is Gandalf. No doubt about it. And it was nice to see the return of Cate Blanchett, Hugo Weaving and Christopher Lee. The “new” cast – mostly men and dwarves – also gave good performances and Richard Armitage's Thorin was quasi-Shakespearean. Billy Connolly even makes an appearance.

One of the most impressive things about The Battle of the Five Armies is the way it paves the way for The Lord of the Rings. The heartbeats of fans will be set racing when Legolas is sent at the end of the film to track down “the one they call Strider” and the film's close offers a definite, pleasing conclusion (Peter Jackson has certainly learnt from his mistakes with the never-ending endings The Lord of the Rings trilogy).

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies is a very enjoyable and satisfying film which appropriately concludes Jackson's time in Middle Earth. The film – and, indeed, the trilogy, doesn't have the weight or emotional punch of The Lord of the Rings but Jackson plainly cares deeply about the world of The Hobbit and the sincerity with which the films are approached has to be admired. The film is visually-spectacular and narratively-troubled, but I can forgive it almost anything. The chance to revisit the characters and the world of Tolkein, one last time, is not to be missed.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

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: * * *