Beauty and the Beast

This review was first published by The Student Pocket Guide

 

It has already broken several box office records, and is proving especially popular with female audiences. Beauty and the Beast first hit screens 26 – yes, TWENTY-SIX – years ago, marking the beginning of the second Golden Age of Disney. I don’t need to tell you the place that the film won in the hearts of millions: safe to say, it is one of Disney’s best. The news that a live-action remake was heading our way was greeted, unsurprisingly, with delight from fans. Despite some negative reviews, the remake is set to continue pulling in the cinematic crowds, and deservedly so: director Bill Condon’s adaptation is a lavish and affectionate version worthy of the original animation.

The casting of Emma Watson as the iridescent Belle – the provincial town girl with a longing for an adventurous life – was a shrewd move by Disney. The story of Beauty and the Beast needs no explanation, but this version adds a little backstory (and three new songs by Alan Menken) to the characters of Belle and her father (played by Kevin Kline), taking us to the windmills of Paris in the grip of the plague. 

Perhaps the only other deviation from the animated version can be found in the characters themselves. Watson approaches the role with her trademark likeability and injects a bit of sass into Belle, especially in her refusals to marry the attractive, but supremely arrogant, Gaston (Luke Evans). The much-discussed decision to make his sidekick LeFou (played by Josh Gad) gay is also a notable alteration, but is less ground-breaking than many would have you believe. Evans is great as Gaston, narcissistic, athletic and egotistical in equal measure, mirroring his animated counterpart.

For the most part, the rest of the characters are more familiar: Ian McKellen voices the long-suffering clock Cogsworth, and Ewan McGregor (channelling, perhaps, his Moulin Rouge experience) does his best French accent as Lumière, the flamboyant candlestick with one of the best lines in cinema – “Sacré bleu! Invaders!”. National treasure Emma Thompson takes on the role of Mrs Potts, constantly worrying about Chip, well, chipping himself, and Stanley Tucci puts in an appearance as a harpsicord. Such an impressive cast may seem like overkill for what is, essentially, a children’s film, but the high stakes of remaking such a beloved film demanded the very best. 

Under Bill Condon’s direction, the film shimmers and bursts with unashamed energy and spectacle. Belle’s dinner at the castle, set to the toe-tapping tune “Be Our Guest” typifies the richness of the cinematography and the Beast’s home is beautiful in its Gothic splendour, and even becomes the Disney castle in the film’s opening titles. The production and costume design is opulent and excessive, remaining tightly in a world of fantasy and magic which carries the audience along with the implausibility and, to some, problematic nature of the narrative. 

Some people have taken issue with the story and its outdated sexual politics. Others have simply called the whole thing an overbearing and try-hard commercial exercise. The thing is, do audiences want a fresh take on the original? Perhaps. But does that make a film which operates within the boundaries of its predecessor any less worthy of praise? Things don’t need to be constantly reinvented or revised: as the old adage goes, “if it ain’t broke…”.

Whilst Emma Watson’s wide-mouthed amazement may begin to irritate some, she does put in a good performance and is to be commended for her versions of classic songs such as “Belle”. She certainly lives up to her character’s name, and dazzles in every frame, donning the famous golden-yellow ballgown to dance with the Beast in a flurry of nostalgia. Downton Abbey’s Dan Stevens makes for a convincing Beast, even if masked by CGI fur. 

Ground-breaking and subversive it is not, but Beauty and the Beast will satisfy the millions for whom the original film was a formative and much-loved cinematic experience. Watson and her fellow cast commit to the story in a genuine and endearing way, driving the action with verve and delight. It’s an eye-catching delight of a film which exists on its own terms, and is all the better for it.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

Hidden Figures

Unsurprisingly, the #OscarsSoWhite controversy from last year’s award ceremony has had a significant impact within Hollywood. The Oscars’ shocking lack of diversity appears to have been redressed somewhat this year, and leading this is Hidden Figures which has been nominated for several awards, including Best Picture.

Hidden Figures tells the little-known story of the African-American women who worked at NASA during the 1960s as “computers” – that is, undertaking all the complex calculations which helped to put the first American into space. In a working environment dominated by men, being a woman at NASA was a tough job, let alone being a black woman having to struggle with not only intricate mathematics and sexism, but also deeply-embedded racism. The film follows the stories of three real-life geniuses: Katherine Johnson (who is still alive today at 98, and played by Taraji P. Henson), Dorothy Vaughn (Octavia Spencer) and Mary Jackson (played by Janelle Monáe). All the characters proved to be pioneers in their respective careers and, although each is given a sketch of a backstory outside their working lives, it is Katherine Johnson who is the centre of the film.

Katherine Johnson, it is no exaggeration to say, was fundamental to John Glenn becoming the first American to orbit the Earth, dealing with very difficult maths in an age when computers had about as much power as Tamagotchi. A successful Russian launch of a man into space increases the pressure on NASA to follow suit, and Katherine is moved to the Space Task Group to help with their work, under the supervision of Al Harrison, played engagingly by Kevin Costner. Meanwhile, Dorothy Vaughn is trying for promotion to supervisor level – a role she already does but for which she is not recognised – and Mary Jackson is attempting to become NASA’s first female engineer. 

These individual stories have a common thread in the shape of race relations and American civil rights, and the science and broader issues of equality are nicely intertwined in the script. Although some scenes do sacrifice believability for theatricality (a barnstorming monologue by Katherine decrying the fact that her white male colleagues refuse to use the same coffee pot as her is pleasing to watch but rather unrealistic), the general message of women doing it for themselves and the slow movement towards racial equality in the US is a feel-good one. 

There are plenty of comedic moments throughout, and the performances are impressive across the board. Octavia Spencer, perhaps best-known for her work in the equally moving race-relations story The Help, shines with warmth and humour, as does Janelle Monáe, taking her fight to become a NASA engineer all the way to the courts. The experiences of these three women are all underscored and shaped by the staggering levels of inequality: a motif in the film sees Katherine having to run halfway across the NASA campus to use toilets designated for black employees, as there are none in her new Space Task Group offices. The forty minute round-trip doesn’t go unnoticed by Kevin Costner’s character, who literally smashes down the “colored bathroom” sign before observing “Here at NASA, we all pee the same colour”. Although his actions are motivated by a desire for productivity, rather than any concerns for civil rights, the moment is still a rousing one. One can’t help thinking that more than a touch of artistic licence has been exercised here, but the warmth of the film as a whole does a lot to soften the less believable moments. 

The casual (and, often, highly intentional) racism on display in Hidden Figures is most apparent in the character of Paul Stafford (played by The Big Bang Theory’s Jim Parsons), a colleague of Katherine’s with a refusal to believe that a woman (let alone a black woman) could out-perform him on the number-crunching front. Kirsten Dunst, too, plays a woman imbued with a degree of prejudice that she wishes to ignore: a powerful encounter with Dorothy Vaughn in the now unsegregated ladies toilet does much to dispel that impression. The discrimination experienced by the three central characters may, at times, seem to have been written into the screenplay for dramatic effect. Unhappily, however, it is probably a wholly-accurate portrayal of what black men and women suffered in even the most elevated of jobs in 1960s America. 

Hidden Figures combines themes of science, complex maths, race, and sexism into an engaging and likeable film. It is, perhaps, a little unsubtle and superficial at times, but the characters (and their real-life counterparts) tell a story of importance and triumph, without ever losing sight of what makes a good film. Assured direction from Theodore Melfi, combined with a screenplay which balances wit with message, creates a film which is deserving of its Oscar nominations. It does more than merely put to bed the demons of #OscarsSoWhite. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

T2 Trainspotting

This review was first published by The Student Pocket Guide

It was a monologue which thousands of teenagers could recite, word-for-word, and which thousands more had displayed proudly on their bedroom walls. The “Choose Life” speech came, of course, from Trainspotting, a film which, with its anarchic and shocking approach to Cool Britannia, came to define the 1990s. Culturally, the impact of Danny Boyle’s film was huge, and it appears frequently in critics’ polls of the best of British cinema. 

The announcement, then, that Boyle et al. were returning to the much-loved antiheroes of Trainspotting was greeted with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The original film holds so much power that a sequel threatened to be a cynical financial exercise, rather than a deserving return to stories which needed to be told. Fortunately, T2 Trainspotting complements the first film, broadening its themes and offering fans a welcome chance to re-engage with characters who, in amongst the extremes and devastation of drug-use, were likeable and relatable to audiences.

Set 20 years after the events of the original, T2 is a film about memory. We join a middle-aged Renton (Ewan McGregor) pounding a treadmill to the beat of a hallmark Danny Boyle soundtrack, evoking the famous shoplifting chase scene from the 1996 film. Although fuller in the face, McGregor has aged remarkably little in two decades, as has Simon/Sick Boy (played by Jonny Lee Miller) who – sporting bleach-blonde hair – is now running a blackmail enterprise involving prostitutes and video tapes. Despite their physical appearances, their lives are worn-out and drifting, obsessed with memories of the past and, in Sick Boy’s case, a sense of betrayal. 

Equally imbued with a dark sense of the past is Robert Carlyle’s monstrous (and rather theatrical) Begbie, now at liberty after escaping prison and determined to track down Renton in search of revenge. Add the loveable but tragic Spud (played by Ewen Bremner) and the dysfunctional quartet of drug-addled, ageing Scots is complete. John Hodge’s screenplay (adapted from the novel by Irvine Welsh) is as energetic and bold as the original, and interweaves images and themes from the first film in a very effective way. It also adds new layers of emotion which is powerfully conveyed by the cast.

The cinematography is, naturally, more polished, but retains a playfulness and confidence in constructing a world in which reality can be bent and lives destroyed, whether under the influence of drugs or not. Frantic freeze-frame moments, inventive movement of the camera and a distinctive visual flare coalesce to create a film which, if not as ferocious as the original, certainly packs a punch. Never afraid to let a whole host of bodily fluids splatter across the screen, Boyle creates moments of repulsion, but manages to balance these with sequences of intense emotion. The performances, too, are remarkably assure, especially given the 20 years or so since the actors last engaged with their characters. 

One of the most affecting of these performance is given by Bremner as Spud, who seemingly kicked the heroin habit only for it to crawl its way back into his life. Early on in the film, Renton’s reunion with Spud saves the latter’s life, and paves the way for Spud to reflect on events in the past and look to a precarious (and dangerous) rebuilding of old friendships. At the suggestion of Veronika (Sick Boy/Simon’s enigmatic “business partner”, and nicely played by Anjela Nedyalkova) Spud takes to writing down stories from the past on sheets of yellow paper which come to adorn his flat. A cathartic exercise and a visual representation of their past youth, this also acts as an important plot point, leading to a denouement which slides into the realms of a horror film. Then again, the 1996 film certainly packed a horror-infused punch. 

All of the laughs (there are plenty of funny moments, especially an impromptu duet performed by Renton and Simon), violence, and feelings of sadness, desolation and defiance are underscored by a sense of nostalgia and memory. Middle age has crept up on the gang and, perhaps not unreasonably, none had expected to ever reach it. A longing for the past can not only be found in the themes of Hodge’s script, but also in the cinema audience itself, to whom Trainspotting is a defining and momentous film. Not only are the characters in T2 forever looking back to the past: so too are we. At one point, Simon quips to Renton, “you’re a tourist in your own youth”. He could also be speaking to those who hold such fond memories of Trainspotting, to those whose lives were so far-removed from the wild addicts portrayed on screen but who, conversely, felt intensely familiar. 

T2 is not quite as good as Trainspotting. Then again, it was never going to capture the brilliant ingenuity and vitality of the original film which became something of a cultural zeitgeist for the 1990s. It is however, a worthy and sensitively-made film which is moving, frenetic, intense, funny, and often sad. In an age when “Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers” has been replaced with “Choose Instagram”, it speaks to its audience with sincerity, but never forgets what made Trainspotting such a wonder of cinema. 

Clapperboard Rating: * * * *

La La Land

This review was first published by The Student Pocket Guide

Films never exist in a vacuum. They develop, respond and mature according to those which came before, and the particular moment in which they are made. Except for perhaps the very early days of cinema, true originality in films (from Hollywood or elsewhere) is a myth. 

Several films from the last 15 years or so have been praised for their novelty (largely thanks to advances in technology). Take Avatar, for example, which was hailed as the beginnings of a take-over for 3D film; in reality, 3D cinema was widespread in the 1950s. The Artist gathered much admiration as a silent, black-and-white film in today’s era of colourful and loud blockbusters, and masterpieces such as The Lord of the Rings pioneered new techniques which redefined how such films could be made. Although these films were undoubtedly innovative, none emerged independently of similar films which had gone before.

In the same way, La La Land could, at first glance, appear to be completely new. But it is far from the only film in recent years to have invoked the golden age of the Hollywood musical. The successes of films like Mamma Mia, Sunshine on Leith and Les Misérables have all appealed to people’s experiences of the euphoric nature of the film musical. In La La Land, the Hollywood musical is both acknowledged and updated, creating a film which weaves emotion with musical hooks and toe-tapping delight. 

Written and directed by Damien Chazelle, who directed the intense drumming film Whiplash, La La Land tells the love story of jazz pianist Seb (Ryan Gosling) and Mia (Emma Stone), an aspiring actress in Los Angeles who can’t seem to ever secure a call-back after an audition. To make ends meet, Mia works in a coffee shop in the Warner Brothers lot, directly opposite the “Paris” window out of which Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart famously looked in Casablanca. Indeed, references to Casablanca are prolific in the film, and Mia and Seb are given their own love theme on the piano, akin to “As Time Goes By”. 

Theirs is a relationship which is both believable and endearing. Emma Stone is an emotional powerhouse: funny, sassy, vulnerable, tenacious and disarming in equal measure. Her many audition scenes are a particular stand-out, and as an audience, we really feel for her when, as her mesmeric eyes fill with tears, she is interrupted mid-audition by a PA with a call for the casting director (“Shall I tell her you’ll call back in two minutes?”, “No, it’ll be less than that”). 

Stone’s performance is pitched perfectly against Ryan Gosling’s slightly arrogant, but still very likeable, Seb. Gosling is perhaps reminiscent of the likes of Gene Kelly – not in terms of technical ability (although his piano playing and dancing, developed through many months of training before filming began, is very convincing) – but as a star with that glint in his eye and that magnetic screen presence. 

Both Mia and Seb have, as so many do in Hollywood, a dream to make the bigtime in their respective professions. Seb’s burning passion is jazz and he hopes to open a jazz club to honour what is – in his opinion – the greatest musical genre to have ever existed. Mia is equally set on becoming like the actresses who walk into her coffee shop, earn adoring stares from the staff and are achingly nice in refusing a free coffee before being driven off to set on a golf buggy. 

The pair initially cross paths in a minor case of road rage in a LA traffic jam – a continuous-take sequence which opens the film and which culminates in people literally dancing on the roofs of their cars (recalling the big dance numbers of 1950s musicals). They meet again when Mia sees Seb being fired by a restaurant manager (J. K. Simmons – recognisable as the intimidating teacher from Whiplash) for going off-piste with his musical choices at the piano. 

Their relationship develops, persistently underscored by the classics of both film and jazz. Their first date is a trip to see Rebel Without a Cause and a subsequent trip to a jazz club results in a rather patronising Seb trying to convince her of the need for jazz to be preserved for future generations. Without giving too much away, a crack appears in proceedings, fracturing the undiluted optimism reflected in the film’s aesthetics, and questioning the price to be paid for pursuing one’s dreams. 

The design of the film is certainly a joy, mixing blocks of vibrant colour with inventive cinematography, and is reminiscent of the soundstage sets of classics such as Singing in the Rain and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Snow appears for a brief moment at an LA pool party, and the Griffith Observatory, previously the site of James Dean’s troubles and now a courtship venue for our lovers, plays host to a fantastical, intergalactic dance number. The film’s final sequences go ever further in mirroring the dream-like, highly-stylised worlds of old-school musicals. But even amongst the whirl of musical numbers and bold, extravagant imagery, there is emotional intimacy and turbulence, leading to an ending which may not appeal to everyone but one which is, ultimately, hugely satisfying. 

The music (composed by Justin Hurwitz) ticks all the boxes, driving the plot and also revealing characters’ feelings in a way which equivalent dialogue can sometimes struggle to do. From beginning to end, La La Land is a delight. The performances, design, music and narrative coalesce into a heart-warming and exultant celebration, continuing the musical tradition which has never really left our cinema screens. Perhaps, in 2017, it’s a film we all need.   

Clapperboard Rating: * * * * *