The Grand Budapest Hotel (SP)

The opening fifteen minutes of The Grand Budapest Hotel make clear just how far removed from reality Wes Anderson intends his film to be. We’re first shown a teenage girl reading a book about the titular hotel, which triggers a flashback to the 1960s where the author of the book (Jude Law) talks about his experiences staying there. He then meets the owner of the hotel (F. Murray Abraham) who proceeds to tell him the story of his childhood working as a lobby boy, which in turn prompts yet another flashback.   

This is where the framing devices end and the film proper begins. In it we follow concierge Gustave (Ralph Fiennes) as he presides meticulously over his beloved hotel during the 1930s, a time when Zubrowka – the Eastern European country in which the hotel is situated, the fictionality of which places the film at yet another remove from reality – is on the brink of war. But, like the film itself, Gustave is less interested in this wider historical event than he is the wellbeing of his customers, particularly Madame D (a startlingly old-looking Tilda Swanton), who dies in suspicious circumstances upon leaving the hotel. It transpires that she changed her will to leave the priceless painting ‘Boy With Apple’ to Gustave, much to her son’s (Adrien Brody) fury and the police’s suspicion. So begins a madcap cat and mouse adventure that pastiches the style of Hollywood films made in the decade the film is set. 

All this knowing artificiality and disregard for the real world will be familiar to those who have seen Anderson’s other films, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is true to form with its off-beat humour, fleeting star cameos and sense of whimsy. The hotel itself is an archetypal Anderson construct, a miniature world in which the film hermetically lives in. The first establishing shots of its exterior display it as an intricately assembled beautiful toy house (see the poster on the right), which sets the tone for the film’s obsessive attention to detail as well as Anderson’s Kubrickian compulsion for symmetry.

Like Kubrick, this style gives the film a cold feeling that makes it difficult to emotionally engage with, but, generally unlike Kubrick, Anderson’s intention is primarily comedic rather than tragic. Typically, this comedy is off-beat and deadpan, which goes some way to explaining why Anderson is such a cult director. Sense of humour is one of the most divisive of tastes, and to extract maximum enjoyment from The Grand Budapest Hotel you really have to be in tune with Anderson’s. 

Nevertheless, there are aspects that transcend Anderson’s tropes. The casting of Ralph Fiennes in a rare comic role turns out to be an inspired choice, as he steals the show with his perfect comic timing, delivered in a camp manner that is at once engagingly charismatic and not over-the-top. But to non-Anderson devotees, the brief appearances from the likes of Bill Murray and Jeff Goldblum are more distracting than anything else, while all the female roles are frustratingly underwritten.

Like the lovingly made, extravagant cakes that contribute to the rich tapestry of The Grand Budapest Hotel, this film is an acquired taste, the pleasures of which are lost on this particular reviewer. Everything feels too detached and frivolous, particularly considering the context of world wars against which the film is vaguely set. But Wes Anderson fans will no doubt find this one of the auteur’s best works yet, and any film fans will still admire the craft and single-mindedness with which he infuses his filmmaking. 

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Her (James Absolon)

Her is a very much a Spike Jonze film, an exercise in flitting between genres as our protagonist tries, fails and succeeds to connect with the incomprehensible world around him. The director has done this well before with Being John Malkovich, Adaptation or the sadly misjudged and underrated Where the Wild Things Are. His new film is no different as it introduces us to the world of AI relationships with ethereal girls, a clever little sci-fi concept that boils down to that most critically disdained genre, the Rom-Com.

 

The inevitable questions asked of any romantic comedy are: 1) Is it funny, and 2) Do I really care about the characters? To which I am glad to say the answer is demonstrably yes. Humour is found in the strangest of places, from surreal futuristic video games, vows of silence, and of course the inner workings of the central relationship. That plays out in a way that is not only relatable and deeply intimate, but, despite all genre concerns, believable. Testament to this is its now Academy Award winning screenplay which, along with Jonze’s unobtrusive direction, keeps the science fiction to a minimum and is above all honest, forcing us to take matters seriously as we follow them on their journey. As a result, the oddity and weirdness soon simply fade away.

Yet this is no simple Spike Jonzeathon, and any film of this type requires a believable central relationship and characters. Thankfully the casting is perfect; Joaquin Phoenix gives a tender, intimate and personal performance that is neither showy nor attempts to elevate above what he is a human being, while Scarlet Johansson is perfect as the strange ethereal pixie dream girl whose affection he so desperately aspires and requires.  

The film though is not all plain sailing, and towards the halfway point it begins to slow and stall as they move on from their joyous meeting. The jokes simply do not quite tally up as much, and there is one scene that feels particularly uncomfortable. This muddling of which path to take is partly a result of the fact that, unlike most films, its course is not east to predict, and partly because of the unfortunate bi-product of uncomfortable tonal shifts. Even more important, perhaps, is what started out so fresh and original begins to lose its punch as the film progresses, and it becomes a little stodgy and slow and might have benefited from a tighter editing.

The result, therefore, is a film that is a little strange and baggy at times, and perhaps a tad unrefined, but somehow even this almost seems to make the whole thing feel more honest and truthful. As genre pictures go this is certainly an unusual one, a remarkable, deeply beautiful, funny piece that is flawed at times. Yet in its strange, unique, unblinking loom at human connectivity and loneliness, Her is above all something even grander. It is joyous.  

James Absolon 

Best Christopher Walken Monologues

Everyone knows about Christopher Walken. As he has admitted himself, his physical and vocal tones are perfect for weirdos and misfits. There is nothing more creepy than Walken's drifting, almost unconscious, stream of speech. Unlike the booming tones of Al Pacino (another monologue maestro), the Walkenators approach is more subtle, often hovering over a single phrase with lecherous discomfort. Here are my favourites from his long career.

Annie Hall
Dwayne is not a happy fella, not even Woody Allen can cheer him up. He confesses to having suicidal thoughts while driving, something which comedian Alvy Singer is meant to appreciate as an 'artist'. Allen must have seen the potential of a young Walken to cast him in this minor role. Not to be outdone by his junior novice, Allen concludes the scene with a beautifully morose one-liner.

Seven Psychopaths
Martin McDonagh's follow-up to In Bruges is a criminally underrated film. In this moving speech an aging Quaker describes his alternative ending to the protagonist's violent screenplay. Despite the obvious humour - or perhaps because of it - Walken's calm narration gives the moment a haunting poignancy. Also, I like the way he pronounces 'immolation'.

Pulp Fiction
When Tarantino was at his best the writer's prose bettered Shakespeare, Chekhov and Miller all combined. Of the many Pulp Fiction story strands, Butch's flashback featuring Captain Koons is by far the best. For me, it is Walken's finest hour. If that watch ever found its way on the internet who knows how much it would be worth? I don't think it would smell nice, though.

Catch Me if You Can
"Where you going, Frank?" What a heartbreaking question! The master says it all with his eyes. Leo Di Caprio can do nothing except accept his defeat gracefully because this scene is dominated by his on-screen Dad. Unbelievable acting. You can see why Frank Abegnale chooses to deceive everyone for so long (but which one?).

Fatboy Slim
Who says you need a voice to perform a monologue? In this classic clip Walken's feet do all the talking. I defy you not to smile.

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Non-Stop (ST)

Boeing, Boeing, Gone

A movie set entirely on an airplane, you say? Now where have I heard of that concept before? Aside from the obvious Leslie Nielsen comedy other mile-high members include Flightplan, United 93 and Red Eye. However, Non-Stop has one asset that separates itself from other fellow flyers: Liam Neeson. Anyone who says they have never wondered what the Irish star would be like as an Air Marshal is a liar.

Marshal Bill Marks (what a name!) is a washed up mess. When the routine transatlantic flight he is escorting is infiltrated by a murderous terrorist the old alcoholic has no choice but to resort to drastic measures. When tempers rise, the only people to keep their faith in Marks are a mysterious passenger (Julianne Moore) and an air-hostess (Michelle Dockery).

There are implausible narratives and then there is Non-Stop. Gigantic plot holes regularly appear to stretch credulity to breaking point. How much the problematic plot detracts from your overall entertainment is entirely up to you. As a decidedly anti-sceptic critic, I managed to have a lot of fun. Of course it is silly, far-fetched and superficial; it’s a Liam Neeson action film. Do not expect kitchen sink realism or you will damn yourself to disappointment.

Firstly, Neeson is great. He can talk tough, generally look troubled, and rumble in a toilet cubicle like any scrappy fighter – the perfect fit for a John McClane style hero. Marks is certainly no shallow muscle man and the Taken star captures his tormented spirit without breaking a sweat.

Also, Julianne Moore must be one of the most reliable actresses in Hollywood. This sort of material is totally beneath her but you would not have guessed that from her committed presence. To make an incredibly dull character seem interesting is the ultimate compliment to her proven skill.

Although Non-Stop throws plenty of bangs and crashes at its audience, its efforts fail to surpass the epic plane-landing sequence in last year’s Oscar contender, Flight. Unfortunately for the director, Robert Zemeckis got there first and did things a whole lot better. But my own general unease over air travel is captured throughout the film, escalating from troublesome passengers to the post- 9/11 hijacking paranoia.

Ultimately, the claustrophobic airplane premise is still an effective idea even if it isn’t an original one.

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Dallas Buyers Club

In light of the two acting gongs awarded at last weekend’s Oscars ceremony, one would expect Dallas Buyers Club to be primarily a character study. But, though there is a lot of heavyweight acting on show from Matthew McConaughey (Best Actor) and Jared Leto (Best Supporting Actor), once the film gets going the central narrative concern is not the personal crises these characters face, but the wider political debate concerning state-governed healthcare.

This direction the plot takes comes as an unexpected surprise given the way the film begins. Ron Woodroof (Matthew McConaughey), a macho electrician prone to causal homophobia, is, much to his disbelief, diagnosed with AIDS and given just 30 days to live. From here the conventional path to follow would be to focus on Ron’s coming to terms with his impending death and his changing attitudes towards the disease and the gay community, and to an extent this is what the film does. But through following Ron’s desperate pursuit of the potentially life-saving drugs that have not yet been government approved, and in turn the ‘Dallas Buyers Club’ business he starts by smuggling these unauthorised drugs across the border to sell to other HIV sufferers, the film takes a step back from the personal concerns of its individuals and the specific AIDS crisis of the 1980s in which it is set.

Instead, the issue at the heart of Dallas Buyers Club is Obamacare. During the film’s 20 years in development hell the context of the AIDS epidemic has diminished, and now the film plays out the conflict between Big Government and individual freedom that has been brought into the forefront of American consciousness through Obama’s Patient Protection and Affordable Healthcare Act.

Though often even-handed and far from the hysterical ‘Death Panel’ conspiracies voiced by the Tea Party movement, the film does still land on the right-wing side of the debate. We’re invited to side with Ron and share his rage at the hospital bigwigs for not allowing patients access to the drugs, and applaud his survival instincts and entrepreneurial spirit. He’s never sentimentalised – a positive to the film in general – and it’s made clear that he runs his business primarily for profit, but the ethics of him selling treatments to vulnerable patients against the advice of the more qualified doctors are never really questioned. Ron is the undisputed hero of the film and therefore in the right, while the hospitals and (more appropriately) the pharmaceutical companies are generally cast as the bad guys.

Notwithstanding this troubling political message, Dallas Buyers Club plays is an affective drama, directed artfully and at a zippy pace by Jean-Marc Vallée. Typically for a feature length film, Woodroof’s transformation from a repulsive bigot to charming good guy happens far too quickly to be believable, but the character is endearing all the same.

For this of course we have the fantastic Matthew McConaughey to thank. Of all the stirring performances he’s produced during his ‘McConaissance’ this is perhaps the best, showcasing his charm, range, poignancy, and – through his shocking weight loss - an admirable commitment to his work. Without his talent it is unlikely that Ron would have emitted the wit, strong-will and intelligence that defy the redneck stereotypes and make him a rounded and ultimately likeable character.

Jared Leto does a great job too of providing dignity and depth to his character Rayon, Ron’s transgender business partner also diagnosed as HIV positive, who might otherwise have dissolved into cliché. His relative sidelining in the narrative however highlights another of the film’s flaws; that is, the choice to make a film about the AIDS epidemic that centres not on one of the many homosexual sufferers, but rather on a heterosexual white male. But such is the conservative nature of Hollywood that even making a film about AIDS (before now Philadelphia was the only example) feels like progress.

By the end it becomes clear that the opening scene of a man riding a bull at a Texas rodeo is a symbol for man’s freedom to live on his own terms and to make his own choice concerning his safety. But, athough we do cheer Woodroof on in the face of adversity, the political message of the film does leave a sour taste in the mouth. 

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Non-Stop

Non-Stop tedium 

Tight, claustrophobic environments in thrillers are great, providing tension thanks to the lack of escape as our hero desperately tries to safeguard the innocent against unknowable odds. Therefore Non-Stop, with Liam Neeson and Julianne Moore onboard an ailing flight, should be great. So why instead does it make for a Non-Stop thrill ride of unadulterated tedium?

The central problem is the central conceit simply does not work. Neeson’s (bitter, depressed, overly clichéd ex-cop alcoholic federal marshal) character is goaded by a terrorist via TEXT. That’s right, texting, perhaps the most un-cinematic of communication methods, which, when it comprises almost the entire first half of the film, makes it rather hard to get involved  on any level, other than perhaps thinking: ‘did they seriously think this was a good idea?’. Little message boxes popping up onscreen featuring epic dialogue of short, uninteresting phrases, seems frankly bizarre, yet that is the film.  Yes, normal text messaging is rarely full of grandiose wit or turns of phrase, but this is cinema, you are supposed to keep an audience interested. It may maintain the villain’s anonymity but takes up half the film. During which the most exciting thing is the characters’ capability in the art of mobile communication: after all, there is not a single typo in any of the messages. 

The film may have survived had it featured a better journey destination; neither to London, as claimed by the heavily accented flight crew, nor to Iceland, but rather clichéville. This is where all the characters clearly belong, be it the angry cop, the annoying businessman, the kindly lady (Julianne Moore) or the sweet little innocent you are supposed to not want to die (it was either going to be that or a small dog). None of them appear as anything more than shadows acting out the perfunctory roles, and in truth there is nothing for them to do. Once the infernal texting finally ends, Liam Neeson runs about shouting and waving his gun about while they look stunned, yet even then the cast are trapped with nothing to work with. The script is sparse in anything relatable other than an overly dramatic ex cop with issues and a back-story you have seen a hundred times before. And if you’re hoping for him to beat enemies to a bloody pulp as he did so well in Taken you’re in for a bitter surprise, as these sequences make up about a solitary minute of the entire film, and are ineptly handled.

I could go on about how the music that is supposed to add tension is simply annoying, or about the plot holes, or the ridiculous finale, or everything else that can be thrown at it. Yet the most galling thing about Non-Stop is that is a clearly wasted opportunity, in terms of both acting talent and also the concept of a secretive goading killer on a plane. This idea has legs and could have been really tense and exciting, had the film featured better characters, vaguely interesting dialogue and less texting. Perhaps even no texting. EVER AGAIN. 

James Absolon

Past to Present: York and the Civil War

Or the day I filmed a history documentary.

In 1644 York played host to a pivotal moment in the English Civil War. That story is briefly told in this YSTV produced documentary which charts the siege, Marston Moor and eventual Royalist defeat.

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For more episodes of Past to Present (which aren't presented by me) click on the link below.

http://ystv.co.uk/watch/PasttoPresent/