Rampage

Dwayne Johnson has become one of Hollywood’s most bankable stars, with his films making literally billions of dollars at the box office. One of his first film appearances back in 2002’s The Scorpion King earned him $5.5 million. Not bad for the wrestler-turned-actor who has recently been praised for speaking publicly about his experiences with depression – stereotypically at odds with his tough-guy persona and physical prowess. His is a name which can attract cinema-goers around the globe, most comfortable in action films which play to his strengths (pun sort of intended) in terms of sheer muscle and the amiable twinkle in his eye. In Rampage, his latest crazy blockbuster, The Rock continues with this winning formula, supporting a monster disaster film which just about manages to keep its head above water, thanks to his likeable performance.

Based on the 1986 videogame of the same name, Rampage is about as derivative as sci-fi monster films come. Johnson plays Davis Okoye, a former anti-poaching operative now turned primatologist, who looks after a colony of gorillas in America. When a scientific space station suffers what can only be described as a catastrophic failure, samples of a top-secret pathogen hurtle to earth, and one of them lands in the gorilla enclosure, infecting Davis’ favourite albino gorilla George. The pathogen turns George into a violent and very, very big animal, and Davis must try to convince the authorities that he can handle this new mutant beast. Of course, George isn’t the only animal which has been infected, and a wolf and an alligator-type creature also grow to a size which rivals even that of The Rock.

It would be fair to say that carnage ensues, as the creatures are controlled by the evil creator of the pathogen, played by Malin Åkerman. Davis teams up with scientist Dr Kate Caldwell (played by Naomie Harris) who had a hand in creating the original pathogen but who may also hold the answer to stop the rampaging monsters. The mutants, predictably, appear impervious to the US military’s bullets and rocket launchers, making for some rather bonkers action sequences in which tanks are flung around Chicago like loose change, and where skyscrapers come crashing down with uneasy familiarity. Monster movies have always been proxies through which America has mediated its very real-life concerns, vicariously negotiating issues such as war and race. Rampage is little different, although quite what the albino giant signifies is open to personal interpretation.

The CGI effects are quite impressive and, alongside Johnson and Harris’ engaging and confident performances, the narrative chugs along quite nicely. The action never drags and some jaw-dropping moments stand out thanks to the cinematography which slows down the moment that the huge wolf jumps off a cliff to ensnare a helicopter in its massive jaw. Later on, the camera arrestingly encircles a skyscraper as the three beasts climb to its summit. Its ridiculous, but good fun.

You’ve seen the plot many times before, and a shot towards the end of the film invokes King Kong so much that the filmmakers may as well have inserted clips from the 1933 classic or Peter Jackson’s 2005 update. Directed by Brad Peyton, who worked with Johnson on disaster movie San Andreas, the film doesn’t attempt to do anything original but, in many ways, that doesn’t matter. It knows its target audience – teenage boys with an appetite for monsters, military hardware, large-scale destruction and the odd “son of a bitch” thrown into the dialogue for good measure. There was a surprising amount of violence and swearing during proceedings, although the fantastical element and Johnson’s amicability probably went a long way for the BBFC to give it a 12A.

Rampage is as mad as it is spectacular, although its uninventive narrative and well-worn genre tropes prevent it from becoming anything other than a loud and brash blockbuster. Dwayne Johnson and Naomie Harris do a good job of anchoring the action, and yet again prove that even the wildest of films can be enjoyable when the casting director has done a good job.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

Red Sparrow

Since her breakthrough role in 2010’s Winter’s Bone, Jennifer Lawrence has become one of the most famous of Hollywood actresses. Indeed, her films have grossed over $5.5 billion at the box office and she has gathered millions of fans through her endearing “I’m-just-a-normal-woman-in-a-crazy-industry” public persona. Oh, and she won an Oscar for Silver Linings Playbook. With such success comes the luxury of being able to pick from a wide range of roles and projects to work on, allowing her to move from more independent projects (such as Silver Linings) to big-budget superhero blockbusters (X-Men) and art-house projects such as Darren Aronofsky’s mother! This genre-hopping is perhaps an attempt to move on from her role in The Hunger Games which gave her a core fanbase in the Young Adult fiction world. This evolution continues with her latest film, Red Sparrow, a shockingly-violent and grim spy thriller which – despite its graphic nature – fails to leave a lasting impression.

Directed by Francis Lawrence (no relation of Jennifer, but a previous director of hers on three Hunger Games films), Red Sparrow is one of those spy films where double-crossing is the name of the game and, quite frankly, even if you had the script in front of you, you’d still be left rather confused at the end. Lawrence plays a Russian Bolshoi ballerina, Dominika Egorova who, when injured, is recruited by her rather insidious uncle (played by Matthias Schoenaerts) into the Russian secret service so her mother can continue to receive medical treatment. Dominika is sent to an elite training school which is overseen by the stern Matron (played by Charlotte Rampling), with the intention that she will become a “Sparrow”: an elite agent trained in the art of seduction and ruthless espionage.

Aside from the rather weak plot motivations which see Dominika inducted into the brutal training regime, the script relies on betrayal and double agents far too much, leaving the audience confused about who is trusting who (and not in a good way). It results in a meandering script which could do with tightening and a much clearer narrative thrust. The script also sketches out diplomatic tensions between Russia and America in the shape of Joel Edgerton, playing a CIA agent who becomes entangled with Dominika, and Jeremy Irons as a greying Russian General.

The resulting plot twists and turns over 2 hours 20 minutes and, whilst not without merit, fails to engage the audience on an emotional level. Despite the gore and violence which punctuates the spy talk, the film plods along and fails to make the most of what could have been an interesting idea: themes of family, love, patriotism, and female empowerment are touched upon, but never weaved together to create a strong thematic tone.

Part of the problem lies in the film’s sexual politics. Scenes of rape and other sexual encounters are framed in terms of their violence and, more often than not, are transposed onto Lawrence’s character with little thought. Now, whilst Dominika does assert herself on several occasions, it feels a little too exploitative when there seems to be little self-awareness about such issues. Dominika seduces her way to those (men) in power, and some have argued that the camera all-too-often represents the male gaze. There’s some graphic male and female nudity (Jennifer Lawrence has said it was empowering to choose to be naked in the film after intimate photos of her were stolen) and the film is, in general, rather fixated on sex and its implications for control and influence. It all feels superficial.

That said, Jennifer Lawrence remains a captivating screen presence, although her Russian accent (along with the majority of the cast) threatens to get in the way and undermine the realism for which the film clearly strives. She throws herself fully into the role and does well with attempting to draw emotion from a difficult character. The audience, however, is never really given the chance to engage with her character’s story. Whether or not this is a deliberate move on the part of the filmmakers to reflect the emotional void created by the Sparrow training program, is open to debate, but for a film which emphasises elements such as eroticism and intense violence (the two often go hand-in-hand, making for uncomfortable viewing), the empathy to counterbalance this is lacking.

On a visual level, the film is often striking, especially in its framing of cities such as Budapest – cold, anonymous and rather alien landscapes at odds with the rich and luxurious tones of the hotels where Dominika conducts much of her professional business. The actions sequences too, startling in their frenzied and graphic nature, work on a functional level but, yet again, the lack of affective engagement renders them shocking only in terms of their content, rather than in their narrative power.

Red Sparrow is serviceable in terms of its sense of high-stakes espionage and its full-on approach to violent confrontation. But the film’s problematic sexual politics and its treatment of sexual violence damage it as there is no emotional foundation to make these moments feel appropriate. Lawrence doesn’t do herself a disservice in the film, and taking on such a role feels like a natural progression in terms of her career. But despite her ability to enchant a film camera and some nice cinematography, Red Sparrow ends up being a protracted and wandering thriller which relies far too much on shock value to deliver its message. Quite what that message is, however, remains something of a mystery.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

The Shape of Water

There are certain directors whose style is so distinct, that it immediately jumps out at the audience from the moment a film begins. This cinematic calling-card can generally be found in the mise-en-scène – that is, the visual and design components which give any film its distinct character and feel. The likes of Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino fall into this category, as does Guillermo del Toro, the Mexican director perhaps best known for Pan’s Labyrinth and his distinctive brand of dark fantasy storytelling. The Shape of Water, his latest, is a visually-ravishing and sensitive film which is deserving of its thirteen (yes, 13!) Oscar nominations.

The opening shot of The Shape of Water sees the camera weave through an underwater landscape which, it soon becomes clear, is in fact, the interior of a flat and a serene figure is seen floating asleep above a sofa. The shimmering and subdued greens of the sofa, the walls, and the hazy light of this underwater world establish the tone for the rest of the film which treads del Toro’s signature line between reality and fantasy. It is a boundary which he is more than happy to blur and, in many cases, totally erase.

Awoken from her dream, the serene figure is revealed to be Elisa Esposito (played by Sally Hawkins), a mute cleaner who works at a government facility in Baltimore alongside her friend Zelda (Octavia Spencer). The year is 1962 and the Cold War is at the forefront of the minds of the facility’s leaders, including Colonel Strickland (Michael Shannon) who has captured an amphibious-humanoid creature in the lakes of South America and brought it to the laboratory to study.

Elisa and Zelda encounter the creature (played by Doug Jones) during the course of their cleaning duties, but Elisa forms a bond with him and begins to communicate with him using the sign language on which she depends in her day-to-day life.  But when Elisa discovers that Strickland intends to dissect the creature to help in the Space Race cause (and beat the Soviets), she hatches a plan to free the creature from its prison.

It is a narrative which, under many other directors, would seem ridiculous but, somehow, del Toro manages to keep the audience on side and craft a powerful tale of love. Much of this is down to the visual style of the film, which is dominated by a green palate which gives proceedings a fantastical edge. It also makes the whole film look gorgeous, creating the distinct worlds of Elisa’s work and her home life, where she lives opposite her friend and confidant Giles (Richard Jenkins), a talented artist but struggling with his identity and age (he finds comfort in wearing a toupee).

Much of del Toro’s talent lies in his ability to make everyday and mundane things radiate with beauty. Boarding a bus, running a bath, and boiling an egg are all filmed with a magic which makes the familiar seem rather enticing, reinforcing the dream-like world which del Toro inhabits. His love for the moving image is plain: Elisa and Giles live above a delightful cinema which evokes the halcyon days of cinema-going, although its starry lights outside fail to attract great numbers of people in to its warm and comforting interior. Giles always has an old film or television programme on in his flat and, during a sequence which will either lose or captivate you, Elisa is transported into a dance number with her the swamp monster as her own Fred Astaire.

Sally Hawkins is perhaps the main reason that this del Toro’s fantasy/romance works. She is utterly charming and entirely convincing as the mute cleaner, articulating both the frustrations and advantages of communicating with sign language. The developing romance between her character and the amphibious creature naturally leads to sex – a preoccupation of the film – and Hawkins’ commitment to the role (she does several full-frontal scenes) allows these rather strange encounters to succeed in cinematic terms. She certainly carries the film, and is well supported by her fellow cast members: Octavia Spencer gives an energetic and likeable performance, as does Richard Jenkins, his kindly but conflicted gay artist quite the opposite to Michael Shannon’s viscous and dark Colonel.

In The Shape of Water, del Toro has managed to steer clear of the unrestrained artistry and imagination which has, at times, alienated some people to his past films. Instead, his bold creativity is more nuanced and is balanced by a sense of the ordinary which, conversely, makes the film feel that bit more like a fantastical fairy-tale. The implausibility of a woman falling in love with a swamp creature suddenly takes a back seat to the unfolding drama, which is fashioned with care and compassion, and filmed with great visual flair. The whole cast, but Hawkins in particular, deserves as much credit and is deserving of its Oscar successes.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is a muscular and profound film, with first-class performances and an overall tone which shifts from comedy to tragedy, from thriller to family drama with beguiling ease.

If nothing else, it should receive an award for strangest (although, perfectly accurate) film title. The film’s opening does, indeed, introduce us to three damaged billboards lined up along the side of a country road like silent way-markers, gravestones to capitalist ideals. Mildred Hayes (played by Frances McDormand) is grieving the death of her daughter who, seven months previously, was raped and murdered. Frustrated at the lack of progress in the case, Mildred rents out the billboards to keep the case in the public eye and put pressure on the local police chief, played by Woody Harrelson. The billboards cause a stir in the small town, leading to a series of events which reveal the fragile relationships of a small town.

Written and directed by Martin McDonagh (who also directed 2008’s In Bruges), the film’s screenplay is razor-sharp, and blends black comedy with affecting drama which draws out some brilliant performances from the cast. Frances McDormand is terrific as a mourning but fierce mother, struggling with a sense of hopelessness and guilt brought about by her daughter’s brutal death. Her interactions with her estranged husband and his new, younger girlfriend (John Hawkes and Kerry Condon) are both funny and tragic in equal measure, and McDormand gives a magnetic performance from beginning to end. She punctuates her character’s more wild moments with nuanced and powerful emotion, especially in scenes with police chief Bill Willoughby which swirl with both contempt and empathy.

Harrelson is great in the role of Willoughby, as is Sam Rockwell as Officer Dixon, a volatile and troubled junior policeman with a fascinating character arc. There is much violence, especially as a result of Dixon’s loyalty to his superior, but this serves to highlight the personal dramas of the characters. Peter Dinklage – of Game of Thrones fame – gives a nice performance, too, as a car salesman with a soft spot for Mildred. In fact, there are no off-key performances in the whole film. McDormand, however, is the star of the show, and is a wonder to watch, encapsulating the film’s musings on love and rage and the dynamism between the two.

The film captures in a convincing way the suffocating nature of small-town America: local bars act as awkward meeting spaces for cops and the civilians they serve, and the actions of one person are soon known – and misrepresented – by others. The tensions between the locals are always present, simmering under the surface which gives McDonagh plenty of opportunity to glide between dark humour and vivid drama – a challenge to which the cast rise with great effect. The narrative ticks along nicely, punctuated by moments which, whilst not being the most plausible, nevertheless work due to the high-stakes game being played by all the characters.

Ben Davis creates some beautiful images in his cinematography, especially in the framing of the billboards which, in many ways, are a character in their own right. One vivid scene, in particular, sees the billboards flaming against the night’s sky, representing the destruction of Mildred’s hopes and her burning desire for justice. Indeed, this is one of those films which I can see becoming a staple for the student of film, offering much to be unpacked and interpreted on both a visual and narrative level. The film’s morality is refreshingly ambiguous and the ending leaves much for the audience to interpret and offer their own perspective, reflecting the characters themselves, for whom the murder of a girl and the subsequent fall-out unleashes a whole range of dark emotions.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is a brilliant film, unsettling, affecting and compelling in equal measure. Its moments of violence are balanced with an engaging plot and strong emotion, culminating in McDormand’s performance which soars under McDonagh’s direction. A tour de force of film-making.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * * *