Review: Cymbeline

A review for The Upcoming

Michael Almereyda opts for style over substance in his anachronistic retelling of this unpopular Shakespeare play. The experience, however, is one undoubtedly more favourable to his previously austere literary adaptation, Hamlet (2000).

A pulsing synth soundtrack and slow-motion close-ups are served up alongside Cymbeline’s opening exposition statements. The influence of Nicholas Winding Refn (as well as Baz Luhrmann) can be detected immediately, though a baffling plot, undeveloped ideas and a farce of a finale find Almereyda’s efforts coming up short.

Opting to preserve Shakespeare’s dialogue in this modern, American setting provides one of the film’s rare pleasures. Though cut down extensively, the words “I prey you, spare me” uttered by Imogen (Dakota Johnson) as she stomps up stairs to her bedroom work predictably well. There, however, any genuine moments of synthesis between Shakespeare’s play and this updated setting end.

Cymbaline, played by Ed Harris in a leather jacket, finds himself king of the Briton Motorcycle Gang. His adversary is the chief of Roman police (Vondie Curtis-Hall), their problem with one another rooted in an on-going drug war. If all these role transitions hint at some sort of inspired reading of modern America, then know that such intentions are not realised on screen. Instead, any changes to the story seem cosmetic, which is probably the best way to describe the film itself.

The convoluted plot is kicked into motion when the villainous Iachimo (Ethan Hawke) proposes a wager with Penn Badgley’s Posthumus (Gossip Girl) stating he can tempt his wife into a spot of adultery. Many have raised the issue that, in this updated 21^st Century setting, such behaviour seems bizarre if not outright insane. But Almereyda continues along Shakespeare’s path of manipulation, deceit and iPads (which are used frequently in this adaptation, with a certain incriminating selfie proving damning for poor Imogen).

Once again, there’s a sense that Almereyda is hinting at something relevant: the use of technology in our private lives, the existence of revenge porn in our society. Yet ultimately, his rendition is sleek but shallow.

And sleek it is, with some nicely lit scenes from long-time David Gordon Green collaborator Tim Orr employed as Cymbaline’s DP. The palette is a burned-out auburn colour, with jet-black biker jackets and striking landscapes serving up a feast for the eye. Frankly, it’s a shame the brain doesn’t receive as much nourishment.

Review: Exit

A review for The Upcoming 

Chen Shiang-chyi’s Ling suffers from a similar condition to David Zellner’s protagonist in the recent American-Japanese film Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter. Yet, where the latter escapes from her mundane life into a magical-realist world of stashed booty and sympathetic policemen, Ling is left isolated and alone, with little to cling to in terms of fanciful escapism.

Exit opens in an impoverished, faded part of urbanised Taiwan. Unpopulated and unstimulating, the film’s landscape goes a long way to reflecting Ling’s inner psyche. After being laid off, her problems really begin to mount, with a combination of nascent menopausal symptoms and existential angst enveloping her as she searches desperately for any sense of meaning.

Initially, it looks as though some sort of release might come from the exaggerated body movements of tango dancing. Though after her attempts to dress up, don beauty masks and join a friend’s tango class leave her deflated, it is clear no hope lies in such an endeavour.

As Ling continues to push on through her monotonous experience – caring for her bed-ridden mother, making numerous unanswered calls to her daughter and husband – Chen Shiang-chyi’s performance moves from strength to strength.  Unapologetically naturalistic, Hsiang’s direction shuns melodrama in favour of raw, understated moments. The most openly emotion scene of all comes from Ling’s anguish at not being able to break out of her broken front door. The more painful sadness lies in the fact she can’t break out of her hermetic existence. The routine continues; the loneliness sets in. In Chen Shiang-chyi’s capable hands, it becomes a feeling of futility to which we can all relate.

The one activity that interests Ling is caring for the patient across from her mother-in-law’s bed. Eyes bandaged, groaning and abandoned, this man gives the otherwise purposeless Ling a chance to seize her identity. The simple act of massaging a stranger’s torso becomes its own sort of therapy, a reclamation of her middle-aged femininity.

For those with a penchant for slow burners, subtle moments of beauty and brutal honesty, look no further than Exit. It’s in those prolonged pockets of silence that the film really takes hold, the faint rhythm of tango music echoing somewhere in the background.

Review: Appropriate Behaviour

Film review for OnTheBox

In this endearing story of break-up anguish, Desiree Akhavan channels the sharp whimsy ofAnnie Hall with the raw power of Blue is the Warmest Colour. The themes here are no less weighty than in the latter film, but the approach is far lighter.

The precedent for Appropriate Behaviour is set as Shirin (Akhavan) storms from her girlfriend’s house and begins marching down Brooklyn’s streets, strap-on in hand. From there, she is left observing the absurdity that life becomes when a long-term partner is suddenly gone. Moments from the couple’s past are woven into the film, providing relief from Shirin’s isolated torment and cementing their relationship firmly in the past. Going forward, the focus remains on two principle acts: ‘moving on’ and ‘coming out’.

The first requires the ability to forge human connection, to understand that life continues without the person on whom you’ve been dependent for so long. This desire finds Shirin stumbling into a host of awkward situations, the most memorable being a threesome involving two martini-sipping New Yorkers. The scene itself is far more revealing than it is sexy, with Akhavan showing her fierce ability as an actor, director and writer all at once.

‘Coming out’ comes with its own set of obstacles. Not only does Shirin face coming out to her Iranian parents, she must also repeatedly defend her bisexual position with her gay friends. In this dynamic, Akhavan deliberates on acceptance and sexuality within the comedy genre. What’s more impressive, she succeeds in considering each issue without stifling the laughs, which remain constant throughout.

Those familiar with Girls may recognise Akhavan from a recurring cameo role in the show, and the humour here is not dissimilar to Lena Dunham’s own brand of brash, semi-autobiographical comedy. What Akhavan brings to this shtick is an uncompromising freshness that defies her two obvious identities: her Iranian-American, and her twentysomething bisexual self. We could probably throw her hip New York socialite identity into the mix while we’re at it.

The film’s ability to evade all these clichés is probably down to its superbly written script, for which Akhavan is also responsible. Entertaining, edgy and idiosyncratic, the writing delivers lines that catch you off-guard, keeping your attention as the narrative skips around (at times a little turbulently).

Akhavan’s brilliantly expressive facial gestures are also responsible for holding the eye, and it’s one you can certainly expect to see more of in the future.

Review: x+y

A review for On the Box

If Whiplash is a war film set in a music hall, then x+y resembles combat of an altogether academic sort. Both films focus on the skill, drive and determination involved in realising one’s potential; as well as the battles, wherever they may take place, that must be fought to do so.

Another point of similarity lies in the production of the two films. Both have been directed by first-time feature filmmakers, and both are born out of each director’s previous work: Whiplash from Damien Chazelle’s short, x+y from Morgan Matthews’ stimulating BBC documentary, Beautiful Young Minds.

The latter follows a group of gifted teenagers as they aim to stake their place in the International Mathematical Olympiad (IMO). It is from this premise that x+y takes shape, following Asa Butterfield’s Nathan (inspired by his real-life counterpart, Daniel Lightwing) as he deals with autism and strives to make sense of the world around him.

In the order and reason of advanced mathematics, Nathan finds a method of approaching reality that makes sense to him. As his world is shaken by a blossoming relationship with Zhang Mei (Jo Yang), a member of the Chinese IMO team, it is revealing that it is to formulas and equations that Nathan turns. Predictably, however, mathematics doesn’t get him very far; a revelation that dawns upon Nathan slowly, leaving him both dissatisfied and frustrated.

Matthews succeeds in building upon the story he first unravelled in his documentary, taking creative license to move his camera into the private lives of these young geniuses. Rather than the IMO itself, it is the people that surround Nathan, and his attempts to connect with them, that form the most compelling aspect of the film.

Beginning the story completely closed-off from the outside world, Nathan is confronted by various characters that lead him to question his withdrawn stance. Enter the unconventional and anarchic Mr. Humphreys (Rafe Spall), an ex-IMO contender whose biting wit and personal flaws make him the perfect match for young Nathan. Unlike J.K. Simmons’ tyrannical mentor in Whiplash, Spall shares in Nathan’s confusion and uncertainty. The focus of their relationship isn’t on passing tests and asserting academic dominance. Instead, it’s about fostering understanding, cracking mathematic puzzles and developing their emotional identities.

There’s also a great deal to love about James Graham’s debut script. Taking Beautiful Young Minds as his starting point (and lifting surprising amounts of its stellar dialogue from the documentary), Graham allows each character’s pain to be realised. Nathan’s mum (Sally Hawkins) is shown to be worn out and craving company having been shut off by Nathan for too long. Spall’s demons come out too, and you sense that Nathan’s emotional progress is cathartic for all involved. Indeed, it certainly feels cathartic to watch.

Review: Into the Woods

Review for On the Box

Based on music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, Into The Woods provides all the darkness, comedy, and folkloric foolery as in the writer’s previously adapted musical, Sweeney Todd. Yet, whilst the fairytale realm to which the woods belong is just as vividly realised as Tim Burton’s Victorian London, the experience isn’t wholly comparable.

Once upon a time, James Corden’s baker narrates, there were five characters torn from the pages of traditional fairytales, only to be placed on converging paths by Meryl Streep’s superbly wicked Witch. Those of you expecting Streep’s to be the stand-out performance, however, might be surprised by an outright funny, charming and, Golden Globe nominated turn from Emily Blunt. To top it off, she also proves to be a fantastic singer, delivering her lines with an assurance and humour that is brilliant to watch.

As with Sweeney Todd, Sondheim’s lyrics are at their best when they subvert typical musical fare. One-liners serve to undercut the pomposity of the genre as everything that you might expect to hate in a ‘Disney musical’ is recognised and riffed-upon in the songs. The best example of this comes as Prince Charming (Chris Pine) and Rapunzel’s suitor (Billy Magnusson) throw themselves to their knees and tear their shirts open atop a flowing waterfall. “Agony far more painful than yours”, Rapunzel’s prince laments as he initiates a game of one-upmanship that takes aim at the cocky, self-assured stereotypes of masculinity presented in most Disney fairytales. As Pine reminds us, these are characters “raised to be charming, not sincere.”

Ultimately, however, the film’s narrative is never quite subversive enough, reminding us frequently that “children listen.” As a result, the baker’s wife is severely reprimanded for kissing the prince (at least in Corden’s retelling of the story), and Cinderella (Anna Kendrick) dares to dream before accepting a life more grounded, confessing that she “sometimes like[s] cleaning.”

The final element to mention would be the striking visual effects work captured by Rob Marshall’s camera; Jack’s towering beanstalk, Cinderella’s gloomy willow tree and Johnny Depp’s big teeth (which are, of course, all the better to eat you with) are all impressively realised. It’s an enjoyable journey, but not one this reviewer will be eager to take again too soon. Now where’s that soundtrack…

Review: The Imitation Game

The Imitation Game (dir. Morten Tyldum)

His name was Alan Turing, and his story is one of triumph and prejudice - and one that should be much more celebrated than it is. With his latest film, Norwegian director Morten Tyldum (Headhunters) is leading the charge against this suspicious absence, supported by a stellar cast comprised of Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightley, Mark Strong, and Charles Dance.

Cutting between three parts, The Imitation Game depicts integral stages in the life of Alan Turing: his torturous boarding school days in 1928, his slightly less torturous experience as a cryptographer at Bletchley Park from 1939-1945, and his darkest moment of all, being charged for gross indecency in Manchester in 1952. In each of these parts, Turing is presented as a detached genius, a man who nobody expects anything of and yet, as the script is sure to keep reminding us, is capable of achieving things which nobody expects.

At times, as when it is driving this message home, the script does come on rather heavy-handed. However, it is testament to the acting ability on show that this does little to diminish the emotional experience of watching the film. When the drama is dealing in conflict, it is incredible to see Cumberbatch regress to the sort of fidgety-ostracised schoolboy that is played so superbly by Alex Lawther in the depiction of Turing’s early years. Instead of playing the sort of manic, fast-talking genius that one may find in Sherlock, Cumberbatch delivers a bumbling, socially awkward performance that subtly hints that Turing was perhaps somewhere on the autism spectrum.

The film succeeds in delivering the story of one of Britain’s least understood and least celebrated heroes. It is to the merit of the script that the film does not shy away from showing that Turing could be a difficult man, who was forced into making difficult decisions – whether in hiding his homosexuality from a prejudiced society, or playing the role of God when deciding which German attacks should be stopped, and which must be conceded. In the scenes concerned with Turing’s unconventional relationship with Knightley’s Joan Clarke, both are shown to be highly-intelligent outcasts. Indeed, both are snubbed by their society for not adhering to the doctrinal norm, and both positively flourish in one another’s company, highlighting the humanity and playfulness in Turing’s character despite the severity of his situation and the image of the troubled genius he wished to espouse.

Turing was a man obsessed by puzzles. Following a controversial royal pardon from Queen Elizabeth II in 2013, and the increasing awareness of Turing’s fundamental efforts towards ending the war, this film continues to undo the puzzle as to why his story has been hidden for so long.

BFI London Film Festival: Part One

At some point in the recent past that my memory has cast to the shadows, I completed an application to volunteer at the 2014 BFI London Film Festival. About a fortnight ago, I received a phone call informing me that I had passed their meticulous selection process, perhaps due to my overwhelming flexibility having just completed an MA. Though the position was unpaid - I’m yet to pass any selection process that leads to any form of monetary gain - I did receive a volunteer’s pass which granted me access to the festival’s catalogue of 248 films.  For the first week of the festival, I had an obligation to assist (and had a great time in assisting) at the delegate centre at the BFI’s Stephen Street location. Following that, the festival was my oyster, and I caught fifteen films, many of which I may never have been exposed to if it wasn’t for the far-reaching selection of films on show.

This was my first film festival, and I quickly got into the swing of seeing three films in a day. The first that I caught was the latest offering from Taxidermia director György Pálfi. Freefall, presented under the festival’s Laugh strand, showcases an old woman as she stumbles onto the roof of her apartment building determined to jack it all in. When she hurdles herself from the building only to crash unharmed onto the solid pavement below, though not without damage to her well-worn spectacles, she does what anyone with a determined death wish would do: she gets up, and tries again. The film then follows Auntie (Piroska Molnár) as she climbs once more up her staircase to heaven, diverging from her plight at each floor to offer an episodic satire of contemporary life. The film’s relationship with its soundtrack, comprised of the music of Amon Tobin (who provided an original score for Taxidermia), is astounding in the sense of discomfort and entrancement it creates, especially as the camera dissolves through each door and into the private lives of the apartment block’s residents.

Another film which focuses on the physical struggle of escaping from life is Jean-Marc Vallée’s Wild. Rather than ascending a staircase with intermissions from one’s neighbours, however, Reece Witherspoon is set on traversing the Pacific Crest Trail in this true story of a woman looking to escape the interrupting force of her own past. The result is a truly affecting work that stands unrivalled in Witherspoon’s filmography.  Similar to Vallée’s previous film, Dallas Buyers Club, the story is one of survival that, though packing serious emotional weight, is handled with a dexterity that allows genuine humour and hope to rise up from it. It is a sentiment completely at odds, however, with the survival story of Augusta (Brit Marling) and Louise (Hailee Steinfeild) in the disappointingly turgid American Civil War film, The Keeping Room.  Selected in the festival’s Official Competition for Best Feature, Harry Brown director Daniel Barber takes an intriguing script by Julia Hart, only to obscure it through portentous, supposedly atmospheric filmmaking. Each dramatic moment in this Black Listed script is rendered flaccid by the director’s approach, with one scene in particular invoking the titular keeping room arriving completely out of nowhere and to diminished effect. Thankfully, this was by far the worse film I saw at the festival, and though it stuttered in its storytelling, the visual landscape provided an entertainment of its own.

Another equally beguiling landscape is the South African locations used by Dogme director Kristian Levring to establish nineteenth-century America in his Danish Western, The Salvation. The festival was ripe with films that played with genre conventions. The Keeping Room looked to reflect on the American Civil War through the scope of gender identity, the Chinese thriller Black Coal, Thin Ice experimented with narrative and camera placement, and The Salvation  contained a level of invention that elevated it beyond a pastiche of the Western. Speaking after the film, Levring’s love of the Western genre was palpable. Citing Ford, Eastwood and Leone as influences, Levring creates a setting that registers as familiar, though not worn. Populating his frontier, we have the wronged Jon (Mads Mikkelsen), the formidable outlaw (Jeffery Dean Morgan), his ex-footballer henchman (Eric Cantona), and the silenced woman (Eva Green). As intimated, however, twists in the script and remarkable cinematography by Jens Schlosser ensure that the revenge story is engaging throughout, and worth seeking whether a fan of the genre, or not.

Impressive levels of invention in the script can also be found in the solidly-acted, The Drop. Adapted from his own short story, Dennis Lehane’s first screenplay (he also wrote the source novels from which Shutter Island and Gone Baby Gone are based) is as full of grit and intrigue as one would expect from this writer’s pen. Brought to the screen by Michaël R. Roskam (Bullhead) and starring Tom Hardy and the late James Gandolfini, The Drop will provide a real pleasure for anyone with a penchant for crime cinema. Hardy once again shows that he is the master of accents (the transition from Welsh contractor in Locke to a Brooklyn bartender, executed here to perfection) and his character, Bob, is one shrouded in just enough mystery to keep the viewer’s attention transfixed. Add to this the draw of relishing in one last Gandolfini performance, and The Drop is a recipe seasoned for greatness – at least for those who are enthralled by a well-written crime story with a gratifyingly revealing final act.

With that said, if you are looking for an ending that obscures rather than reveals, then the Chinese film Black Coal, Thin Ice may prove more suitable. Having picked up the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival, Diao Yinan’s latest offering since the acclaimed Night Train arrived at LFF with a reputation for being of the more puzzling blend of thriller; more in the mould of Michael Haneke than M. Night Shyamalan. Concerning itself with the discovery of various body parts across the country, the film follows a detective (Liao Fan) whose alcoholism and ineptitude are more prevalent aspects of his character than his investigative skills. Containing several beautiful, and some outright shocking, shots, Diao Yinan exhibits a directorial style that is beguiling on a technical level and, as is exemplified in the mysterious last scene, on a narrative level also. It is a film that demands discussion; though don’t expect to arrive at anything close to a satisfactory conclusion.