Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

If a film deals with a powerful, emotive or disturbing subject it does not, by definition, mean that the film will be any good. Take last week's The Vow, for example. A potentially moving subject (that of a woman trying to fall in love with her husband again) which was treated with all the sensitivity and skill of a toilet brush. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close deals with the September 11^th attacks and the grief of a young boy who lost his father. I'd love to say that it does so in a powerful and genuine way but I'm afraid that if I did, it would be like saying Titanic is one of the best films ever made: it's simply not true.

Directed by Stephen Daldry (Billy Elliot and The Reader), Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close sees nine-year-old Oskar (Thomas Horn) begin a quest to search the whole of New York for the lock to a key which his father left behind after he died in the World Trade Center on 9/11. His search leads him on a journey of self-discovery, allowing him to sustain his last link with his father and deal with his existential grief and...hang on! Sounds like I'm writing the film's press notes. This is what the producers would like you to think but, in reality, the film doesn't live up to its ambitions. Firstly, the film is half-an-hour too long (it's just under two hours, ten minutes) and lurches along at a pace which would rival your grandma's mobility scooter. The film is unashamedly emotionally-manipulative and throws sentiment at the audience like it's going out of fashion. Now, I'm all in favour of a bit of cinematic manipulation (after all, comedies manipulate you to laugh) but when it's done with as much tact and diplomacy as a visit to China by Prince Philip, it becomes grating and annoying.

There are, however, some fantastic performances, especially from Horn who plays the mildly-autistic Oskar with great energy and drive, something not often seen in actors of his age. His character did get mildly-annoying and was, at times, difficult to empathise with but, on the whole Horn carried it through. Tom Hanks stars as Oskar's father and Sandra Bullock gives a very emotionally-charged performance as his mother. Bullock has really matured and grown as an actress in recent years (her performance in Crash is a personal favourite) and her portrayal of a grief-stricken mother, struggling to deal with the loss of her husband and a challenging son, is first-class. The Clapperboard award for Best Actress, however, has to go to Viola Davis (The Help) who, despite only being on-screen for around fifteen minutes, steals the film. Her seismic on-screen presence is a joy to watch and she, for my money, is the Adele of the film world...just without the voice. The film's cinematography was very striking and crisp, with a perfect balance between Oskar's claustrophobic, isolated feelings and the wide scale of the city.

Having just blasted the film's overt-sentimentality, I have to say that a few – and only a few, mind you – of the ideas and concepts explored within the film were genuinely touching. An exchange between Oskar and his mother (which comes towards the end of the film) was, without giving anything away, very moving and you could have cut the atmosphere in Screen 4 with a knife (had two elderly women remembered to turn their hearing aids on so they didn't have to shout at one another throughout the film). Oskar's attempt to prolong his 'last eight minutes' with his father through embarking on his lock-finding quest was also an interesting idea but, in the end, the film's length and lack of real drive let it down.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is neither a masterpiece nor a failure. It clearly knows what it wants to be but, ultimately, leaves you cold and becomes too wound-up with sentiment to become an engaging and dynamic piece of work. To return to my opening thoughts, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is not damaged by its dealing with one of the worst terrorist attacks in history but its attempt at addressing the issue does not give it any special merit or make the film any more effective. Mr Daldry, I'm afraid it's not enough to hide behind powerful subject matter. Sorry. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * 

The Vow

I always try to go into a film with an open mind, holding no prejudices or prejudgements about what I am going to see. This is, of course, easier said than done and is on a par with trying to not lick your lips whilst eating a doughnut...okay, you get what I mean. It is with this astronomically-open mind that I watched The Vow, starring Rachel McAdams and Channing 'Totem-Pole' Tatum. And oh, what fun I had.

Happily married Paige (McAdams) and Leo (Tatum) have a near-perfect relationship until a car accident leaves Paige with no memory of her life with Leo and leaves the couple in a fractured state of existence, with Leo having to win back Paige's heart and make her fall in love with him all over again. Sounds like an interesting and emotive plot, doesn't it? It wasn't. The main problem here was the script which was, at best, limp and dull with dialogue which felt stilted and had as much life as a dirty washing-up bowl. Although McAdams and Totem-Pole's performances were totally acceptable, any hope of a thoroughly-engaging performance from either actor was lost in a cloud of loved-up trash which spilled out of their mouths. The result was two main characters who I couldn't care less about and who, quite frankly, would have avoided all this mess if they'd worn seatbelts.

My empathy for the characters' situation was not enhanced by the fact that Paige's only problem in life before her accident was her inability to finish a sculpture she was working on. Poor girl. Tatum's character was equally insufferable and was far-too-nice to be even remotely believable. The one thing in this film which will save it from total damnation on Doomsday was the inclusion of a sub-plot which involved Paige's parents. Here lay a moral question of second chances and betrayal (surprising, I know) which provided a slight respite from the sickening dialogue. The film, however, barely scratched its surface. The Only Way is Essex probably does a better job in addressing such issues.

Now, before I get accused of 'not understanding the film's target audience', let me just say that I have seen many a romantic film and believe me, there are far better films of that genre out there. The Vow is so cheesy, so full of schmooze and so unbelievable (ironic for a film 'inspired by true events') that even a sixteen-year old school girl with an obsession for Jennifer Aniston and the idea that opposites do indeed attract, will find this film as enjoyable as a sandpaper bikini wax. The film's pacing is all over the place and for the last forty-five minutes, I found myself studying the auditorium's emergency lighting system which was far more interesting than watching a plot 'revelation' which was far-fetched and too late coming. Whilst the film was proficiently shot and contained some nice visual imagery, this was simply not enough to keep my interest going. Some may argue that the film is what it is, and shouldn't be criticised in its use of predictable and clichéd plots, characters and dialogue. But, I'm afraid, The Vow isn't even what it wants to be: an emotive, involving and thought-provoking film – a great shame as the initial premise of the film could have allowed the director Michael Sucsy to create a genuinely interesting and heart-wrenching film.

The Vow, whilst not on the same level as the vomitous filth that was New Year's Eve, holds little merit and I left the cinema feeling robbed of my £6.20. I should have saved my money to buy a pair of pliers to pull my fingernails out. Would have been more fun. 

Clapperboard Rating: * 

Like Crazy

I have been a very, very bad person. As I was buying my ticket to see Like Crazy at my local multiplex, the woman behind the counter (whose name badge informed me that her name was Kevin and that her favourite film was The Godfather) asked if I was interested in their 'premier seats' which, she said, were 'bigger, more comfortable and offered a better view of the screen'. If I had wanted this privilege, it would have cost me a further £1.10 on top of a ticket price which already could have easily fed a family of four for a month in Outer Mongolia. I declined. However, as I entered the auditorium (which was in complete darkness as the adverts had just finished), I found it impossible to locate the seat which I had been allocated. And so, I did a very bad thing. I sat in a premier seat. Which I hadn't paid for. And you know what, with a headrest which seemed to have been taken from a mortuary examination table and a view which would have been no different if I had been sitting in the foyer, I'm glad I didn't.

Anyway, to the film. Like Crazy is a strange little film. Starring Felicity Jones and Anton Yelchin, the film follows British student Anna (Jones) as she falls in love with American student Jacob (Yelchin) during her time studying in the US. Anna overstays her student visa and, as a result is unable to return to the US and the pair are forced to have a long distance relationship. First off, the performances are universally first-class. Felicity Jones, however, steals the show and I have to say I do have a bit of a soft spot for her...okay...she's amazing. First seen on screen in The Worst Witch (and known to millions of mothers as Emma Grundy in Radio 4's The Archers), Jones is destined to become one of Britain's most promising and dynamic stars. Her talent for simple dialogue delivery, whilst conveying a whole host of emotions is superb and I am sure that, one day, she will make it to the Oscar podium.

There is, however, a problem with the film. Never, ever have I seen a film with a plot which jarred with me to such a great extent. Here we have two characters who seem to fall in and out of love every five minutes, both have other relationships and then decided to marry/separate/get back together as if nothing has happened. The story jumps back and forth between Jacob and Anna, both of whom seem to change their minds about one another more quickly than Lady Gaga changes outfits and no matter how good the performances are (and trust me, they're great), I found it hard to connect with the characters and empathise with their situations. Sure, a long-distance relationship isn't easy and the film tries to address their conflicting emotions and relationships with other people but, in the end, the whole thing seems a bit contrived.

The film was distinctively shot, with jump cuts being the norm. I quite liked this as it gave the film, paradoxically, a more naturalistic feeling. This idea of realism was furthered by the fact that the dialogue in the film was entirely improvised which gave a real sense of naturalistic rhythm to the words and the interactions between the characters. This may put some people off but if you didn't know this prior to seeing it, you'd have never guessed and on an overall level, the effect is charming. The film's ending has caused problems for some but I feel that it does the film a great credit: this isn't idealised romance as seen in so many films of this genre.

Like Crazy is an admirable attempt to go against the trend of romantic films and is shot in a refreshing and energising manner. The improvisation is a treat and totally works within the context of two young lovers trying to work out their personal issues. But it is the plot which, despite having a good premise, ultimately lets the film down and left me shouting at the characters to buck their ideas up. But I don't mind. Like Crazy is the ideal platform to raise Felicity Jones' profile to the level it deserves. She will be a star. Trust me.

Clapperboard Rating: * * *

The Descendants

There are times when, for no discernible reason, the impact of something is greater than the event itself. A hangover, for example, is rarely worth the events which preceded it. Sure, you had fun at the time, but the state of that near-death feeling lasts ten times as long. It is with this in mind that I write this review of Alexander Payne's The Descendants – a film which creeps up on you and which will surprise even the most avid George Clooney fan. You have been warned.

Hawaii. A tropical paradise where everyone owns a surfboard, wears shirts which could send Noel Edmonds into an epileptic fit and walks around barefoot without a care in the world. Or so you would think. The Descendants follows Hawaiian land baron Matt King (George Clooney) as he struggles to come to terms with a jet ski accident which has left his wife in a coma and his relationships with his two girls in turmoil. Add to this the fact that his wife has been having an affair (a totally implausible plot point as no-one would want to leave Mr Clooney in favour of, well, anyone) and you've got yourself a film which is predominately a drama with comedic moments thrown in for good measure. The screenplay achieves much whilst doing relatively little: a scene which, at first, looks fairly superficial suddenly gets to the very centre of an issue or an emotion which it is trying to explore.

The performances are the most important aspect of the film. Many have called this Clooney's finest performance but he is undoubtedly up-staged by the younger members of the cast. This is not to say that his portrayal of a man struggling with conflicting emotions at a time when only one emotion should dominate is average – far from it. Clooney, along with his hair, has matured as an actor into a real screen presence and he is certainly convincing as a main man (actually, when was he ever not?!). In this case, however, the Oscar for best actress goes to Shailene Woodley as Alex, Matt King's teenage daughter. Not instantly likeable, but instantly brilliant, Woodley steals the film and is a joy to watch. The other younger characters, Alex's boyfriend Sid (played by Nick Krause) and sister Scottie (Amara Miller) are multi-faceted and bounce of Clooney whilst delivering much comedic relief. The film is beautifully shot and balances the stunning landscapes of Hawaii against the suburban setting of much of the drama. Coupled with well-written dialogue and a score which leaves no mistake as to the setting of the film, the effect is somewhat strange. As I watched the film, thinking about how many stars I was going to give it, I settled on three. I thought to myself “yeah, this is competently done. But nothing much else”. There was no spark. Nothing that lifted it out of the ordinary. But then, as I walked out of Screen 1, something in me changed. Something hit me and I suddenly loved the film.

The Descendants is something of a non-event when you watch it. Sure, you like the characters, enjoy the jokes and even shed a tear at the characters' situations. But it is after you've seen it that it really hits you. The film washes over you like a a clear blue Hawaiian wave (sorry, had to get a beach simile in there somewhere) and leaves behind an emotional residue which stays with you for long after the credits have rolled. I look back on the film and think, there's something about it which touched a chord with me, even though I didn't know it at the time. The performances, obviously, are the main reason for this but I can't help but think that there's something I missed. Something that I was subconsciously aware of but which didn't emotionally connect with me when I was sitting there, my seat constantly being kicked my some Frenchman sat behind me who thought he was doing me a favour by giving me a back massage.

Payne's film is a charming, saddening and thought-provoking affair which gives a platform for some of the most engaging and emotionally-charged performances I have seen. Whilst there was a slight pacing issue, particularly as the film approached the end, the overall effect is wonderful. Go and see it. And if anyone wants to take me on holiday to Hawaii, you're more than welcome. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * * 

The Artist

More often than not, a film rarely lives up to the hype it has created. You go along to the cinema hoping for a film (and more importantly, an experience) that will engage, enthral and move you in some way. You want to share the same feelings experienced by so many before you who all said that the film was the best thing since The Shawshank Redemption. Nine times out of ten, you'll be disappointed. It was with this in mind that I went to see The Artist, the breakthrough work for French director Michel Hazanavicius. I can happily say that I was wrong.

“So...it's in black-and-white? And it's silent?!” was the general response I received when I told people I was going to see The Artist. “Er, rather you than me”. It was as though I'd said I was popping out to take advantage of Poundland's DIY botox kits. There's a common misconception these days that anything black-and-white or silent is old-fashioned, and therefore boring. But, in the case of The Artist, this is totally wrong. The film is set in Hollywood between 1927 and 1932, just as film studios were making the transition from silent films to sound. It focuses on the careers of two actors: declining silent star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) and rising actress Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) as both experience the transition to talkies. Firstly, these two central performances are faultless and pitched at just the right level and the balance between drama and comedy is just right, creating hugely likeable and engaging characters. The film is shot with a sensitivity towards the early cinematic techniques and styles that Hazanavicius so clearly loves, whilst still retaining a modern and contemporary edge. The lighting (such a big part of black-and-white cinema) is expertly realised and makes the whole film a joy to look at: not since Simba was held up on Pride Rock has a shaft of light been so beautiful.

One of my favourite aspects of the film (and I don't think this is a spoiler) was the occasional use of sound, whether a glass banging a table or a vocal line in a song. When you watch The Artist, it takes about fifteen minutes to 'tune in' to the fact that, yes, this is a silent film but once you engage with this, sound suddenly becomes unexpected and assumes a greater dramatic significance. A strong narrative, driven just as much by visual action as intertitles created a dynamic and charming story and the relationship between the two central characters didn't feel forced or overly melodramatic. One thing's for sure – it's great lip-reading practice. With great comedic timing and warm humour, The Artist has played skilfully juggled a large range of emotions and will, undoubtedly, leave a big smile on your face. The music (obviously of key importance to a film such as this) complemented the action beautifully and Ludovic Bource (the film's composer) has really understood and emulated the musical style of silent cinema. However, earlier in the month, Kim Novak stated in Variety that “I feel as if my body - or at least my body of work - has been violated by the movie” as Bource had incorporated a section of the score from Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo, in which Novak starred. What a silly woman.

Having been nominated for no fewer than ten Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director, The Artist really is a gem of a film and fully deserves every word of praise it has received. Even the cute dog puts in an Oscar-worthy performance. So, put your pre-conceptions behind you and go and see it. Or, at the very least, get the DVD. I mean, it's a silent black-and-white film. What more could you want?!

Clapperboard: * * * * *

War Horse

When it comes to Steven Spielberg, there's a word which gets bandied around a lot. Schmaltz. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Sentiment is key to Spielberg's films and is, perhaps, one of the key factors which has carried previous works such as E. T. into film history. His latest blockbuster, War Horse, is no different and is certainly laden with enough emotion to rival the recent John Lewis Christmas advert. But does it work? I'm afraid to say, not entirely.

As a sweeping shot of stunning Dartmoor opens War Horse, accompanied by a rousing score written by Spielberg's long-time collaborator John Williams, the tone of the film is set. Based on both the novel by children's writer Michael Morpurgo and the smash-hit stage show, War Horse follows the story of young Devonshire farmer Albert and his thoroughbred horse Joey (arguably, his best friend) as their lives are transformed on the outbreak of World War One. This is a film of two halves and two titles: the first half, 'Bore Horse' and the second, 'Sore Horse'. If you are not a horsey type of person (and I am not), then you will find most of the early scenes showing Albert training Joey as boring as watching golf on TV. I understand that these scenes were included to convey the growing relationship between man and beast, but their predictability and overt self-consciousness didn't win me over. The only saving grace of these sequences was the beautiful Dartmoor countryside, which Spielberg and his director of photography, Janusz Kaminski, have photographed with real flair and eloquence. As Spielberg himself said, Dartmoor is a character in itself and adds an impressive visual presence to the film. Once you've waded through the first half hour and the action moves to a cavalry charge in France, things start to get going. An impressive cast, with a whole host of British acting talent including Jeremy Irvine as Albert, Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch as army officers, Emily Watson and the up-coming Toby Kebbell (with whom I had the fortune to work on the set of The Veteran) are all enjoyable to watch. Almost all of the performances were assured and dynamic and are a testament to Spielberg's supreme direction.

War Horse, of course, has several battle sequences. Spielberg has had plenty of practice in staging and filming battle sequences (look no further than Saving Private Ryan) and this is evident in the film's representation of the Battle of the Somme. This, along with every other battle scene, was expertly directed and was both harrowing and intense – surprisingly so, since there was little graphic violence (the film received a 12A certificate). These scenes were a suitable juxtaposition to the tranquillity and beauty of the countryside which Albert and Joey have left behind and for which they are both fighting. The plot saw Joey being handed between English, French and German nationalities and armies and I felt that the use of an animal to bridge the gap between all sides and show the universality of war worked well. Now, why did I refer to this second half as 'Sore Horse'? Well, there's a scene (featured in the trailer) where our hero Joey runs through no-man's land but gets entangled in barbed wire. The pain the horse suffers is palpable and quite touching and most of the horses in the film are, by the end, very sore indeed.

One of my pet hates, however, reared its ugly head. I can't stand it when foreign characters speak to one another in English whilst retaining their original accent. This is made even worse when some of the dialogue (for example when German officers were shouting orders to large numbers of troops) was performed in the original language. In my mind, the two can't mix and make the action totally unbelievable and unrealistic. Studios need to realise that audiences aren't pond life (despite evidence to the contrary in some city multiplexes) and can read subtitles. On a wider narrative level, the whole film felt slightly unconnected and episodic, featuring one-too-many 'fade-to-blacks' to give the whole thing a feeling of cohesion.

The final scene of the film (and don't worry, there ain't no spoilers here) seemed to have been attacked with a can of Dulux's finest orange paint and oozed sentiment and emotional manipulation. But this is why audiences love Spielberg's work and the film is, in general, enjoyable and very nicely-shot. However, despite this, the sentimentality felt a bit too staged and forced – especially when it came to two horses rubbing noses to show their affection. There was a line and Spielberg's Black Beauty cantered over it, leaving a trail of schmaltz as it went. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * 

The Iron Lady

This film belongs, undoubtedly, to Meryl Streep. Her portrayal of one of the most important and opinion-dividing politicians of the twentieth century is both accomplished and multi-faceted. Shame, then, that the rest of The Iron Lady doesn't live up to her Oscar-worthy performance.

The Iron Lady documents the elderly Margaret Thatcher looking back on her life through the haze of apparent senile dementia, accompanied by Denis, her 'there-but-not-there' husband. Director Phyllida Lloyd (who gave us Mamma Mia – the film that everyone loved) has chosen to tell Thatcher's story through the use of flashbacks to key events in the Prime Minister's early life and political career. And it is here that the problems started. The use of flashbacks didn't sit well with the overall context of the film; fair enough linking the present with past memories, but this was done in a slightly clunky way – the 'present day' scenes felt detached and removed from the flashbacks which made up most of the film. Perhaps this was the point. Perhaps Lloyd wanted to explore how, in old age, Thatcher is a shadow of her former self and is far removed from her past. The power has gone, to be replaced by a reality in which buying a pint of milk is a major achievement. But even these scenes (which were, at times, quite touching) failed to explore the issues of old age which Lloyd clearly wished to address.

The Iron Lady was always going to be a balancing act between two lives: the personal life of Thatcher and her political life. To have successfully weighed up the focus on these two aspects would have been like trying to balance Lehman Brothers' books back in 2008: practically impossible. And, I'm afraid, Lloyd and script writer Abi Morgan just haven't pulled it off. In my opinion, the film should have taken a stronger line, either on Thatcher's personal circumstances or on the controversial events which surrounded her premiership. Although it is necessary to have some political content to place Thatcher's personal struggles in context, the script didn't delve deeply enough into either, leaving an underwhelming and misguided narrative. The infamous sinking of the Belgrano is treated with as much depth as religious issues are in a school Nativity play and the whole sequence merely 'happens' – it is as if the film makers have realised it must be included but they'd rather not give more than forty seconds of screen time to it, thank you very much. Instead, these events are used to try and explain Thatcher's feelings and emotions as she sits in her London flat, looking through old photos and films from her past. But, I'm sorry, it just didn't gel.

It's not all bad though. Meryl Streep's portrayal of Margaret Thatcher is a joy to watch. Her mastery of the Prime Minister's gestures, mannerisms and voice is second-to-none and the make-up department really have done a fantastic job – as they should have done with credits going to a prosthetics designer, contact lens optician, prosthetic make-up artist, special effects teeth, prosthetics coordinator and silicon technician. Blimey, sounds like the crew for an episode of Dr Who. Make-up and hair aside, Streep shone through, in a film which has certainly created its fair share of controversy. Many have called the portrayal of Thatcher's dementia insensitive and wholly inappropriate given that she is still alive. I feel that this argument is irrelevant – looking at old age through the prism of dementia is a dramatic device which enabled Lloyd to feature Denis (Jim Broadbent) as a reassuring and yet disquieting presence. Streep hit back at David Cameron's comment that the film was, perhaps, a little premature, saying “what about him saying on the radio that people should wait until she is dead? How must that make her feel...if Mrs Thatcher had something wrong with her lungs and I wheezed, no one would have raised a hue and cry. It is because it is mental frailty that she is afflicted with – that is what terrifies us most in society”.

And so, as a biopic, The Iron Lady ultimately fails. As a piece to showcase Streep's amazing performance, it works. Its failure to adopt a clear and defined angle leaves the film feeling disjointed and its themes are superficially addressed. Is it a good film? No. Should you see it? Yes. 

Clapperboard Rating: * *