Phlogiston

Featuring a ridiculous plot and terrible dialogue, this hugely enjoyable movie is saved by its extraordinary action sequences. In fact the plot is pretty much a device for stringing together some of the most astonishing feats of agility and athleticism; no wire work, no CGI, this film stars and is a showcase for David Belle, the founder of Parkour. After the first big action set piece, in which Belle’s character escapes from a tower block while being chased by a dozen tough guys, I found myself so enthralled and gripped by the sheer physical beauty of his almost feline movement that no amount of hokey dialogue or childlike plot was going to wipe the smile off my face. The opening sequence, in which the camera zooms around District 13, the walled-in ghetto of a near future Paris, was very well done, although sadly the rest of the film didn’t quite live up to it cinematically. Still, you’d either have to have a copy of something by Derrida shoved up your backside, or just be a complete curmudgeon, not to enjoy this.

What a disappointment. The film felt like it was trying desperately to be another Annie Hall but comes nowhere near. Christina Ricci was never prettier than she was in this, but that does nothing to rescue what was ultimately a directionless and rather pointless film. At 108 minutes it really dragged along, too. Of course it has its moments, it’s a Woody Allen film and I don’t think he’s capable of making something dreadful, but I can’t think of anything to really recommend about it, other than the sight of Christina Ricci in just a vest and knickers. (And, here’s a tip for you guys: apparently girls don’t really like it if you keep pausing and rewinding the film to get a better look at scantily clad starlets. I have no idea why.)

Written and directed by Stephen Gaghan, the writer of Traffic, it seems impossible not to compare it to his earlier film. Structurally, there are many many similarities. Multiple parallel plots, from the high and mighty movers and shakers in the oil industry, to the lowliest Pakistani immigrant oil worker in the Gulf, we see how America’s thirst for cheap oil destabilises a region, drives some to acts of terror, and ultimately threaten America itself. Unlike Traffic, I didn’t find myself connecting with the characters on screen as much. Attempts to fill in their human stories with sub-plots concerning their families for the most part failed: Clooney’s relationship with his son, Wright’s alcoholic father—none of these really worked for me. The human stories that worked best for me were Damon’s oil analyst, and the story of the Pakistani oil worker driven to Islamic fundamentalism.

To me, at least, this is a fine film, clever, interesting, and informative, but it doesn’t quite find the balance between drama and documentary. It wants to be a drama, but it is so desperate to inform the viewer of the realities of the oil industry that it feels like it is constantly slipping into docudrama, and as such in failing to be either it loses something. It is a good film, and I’d encourage anyone to watch it, but it never matches the kind of storytelling he achieved in Traffic.

Well, this wasn’t on my list of movies to watch, but it jumped out at me when I went to rent something in the “popcorn” genre this evening. A revenge film with noirish undertones, it concerns a case of mistaken identity, two warring crime bosses, a steely hitman, and a convoluted plot that ends up being a kind of North by Northwest in reverse. The critics pretty much hated it but I thought it was fun. It’s not a masterpiece, but it was an entertaining and stylish romp, with plenty of smarts if little depth. I read some of the critics responses after watching it by following the “External Reviews” link on IMDB. Some of the complaints left me scratching my head a little. So it turns out that some of the flashbacks ealier in the film are not actually reliable—in fact they are positively deceitful. Well that’s also true of The Usual Suspects, and if that’s a bad movie then I’m Alfred Hitchcock. The film does indeed revel in its cleverness, but it’s not as if it is taking itself so seriously that it’s trying to pass that off as depth. And yes, the actors do often look like they have their tongues stuck firmly in their cheeks in some scenes. Guess what? That’s because the film is poking a little fun at itself, the genre, and asking us to smile along with it. Lastly, the accusation that it has a comic book vibe in places is one of the more irksome complaints. Why do film critics hate comics so much? (For reference, just read almost any review of Sin City.)

The cast is impressive: Josh Hartnett, Bruce Willis, Lucy Liu (why oh why don’t I have neighbours like her?), Morgan Freeman, Ben Kingsley, and Stanley Tucci. The bottom line is this: this certainly isn’t a great film, but in my opinion it is nowhere near as bad as it was made out to be.

I have never seen a film that so clearly told you it was going to be a film of triumph over adversity—a Shawshank Redemption—that would leave you with a warm fuzzy feeling, and then three quarters of the way through just calmly took half a step back, breathed in, and then kicked you squarely in the nuts. I’m gonna be sad for the rest of the day now.

It’s a beautiful, simple story, beautifully and simply told. Like all of Eastwood’s best work it is unflashy, understated, and exquisitely crafted.

McCarthy and his witchhunts may well constitute the darkest of periods in American history, but this wonderful film does not seek to reiterate what is common knowledge (although it does reproduce the climate with such detail that it is hard to doubt its authenticity). Instead this is a study in journalistic integrity, personal integrity, and the possibility of freedom of thought, freedom of speech and the freedom of the press. What could so easily have been turgid, or overly politicised, is instead made compelling by the characters and their portrayal. Lighting, cinematography, design, editing, direction and writing all combine to make this something simply beautiful to watch, and David Strathairn’s performance as Murrow is spellbinding. The final lesson of the film seems to me to be a challenge to us the audience to demand more from journalism, to create an atmosphere in which journalists like Murrow can thrive, by questioning our desire to only want entertainment, not education from our media. Easily worth all the kudos that it has so far received.