Reviews by PvtCaboose91

The mission allotted to the executives at Paramount Pictures sounded impossible. Their assignment? To resurrect Tom Cruise's lucrative spy franchise that was left in shambles following the stylish but critically reviled second instalment. It would seem that six years away from the material rejuvenated both Cruise and the creative team - after going through several directors who walked away prior to filming (including David Fincher), Cruise recruited hot television commodity J.J. Abrams to overhaul the ailing series and start fresh from both a screenplay and a directorial perspective. Luckily, the gamble pays off excellently. Action franchises tend to considerably decline in quality by the third instalment, from Beverly Hills Cop to Lethal Weapon to the belated Terminator 3, but no such sign of fatigue taints Mission: Impossible III - this is an involving action extravaganza served with wit and panache that wraps its fingers around a viewer's throat during an intense opening scene and rarely loosens its grip over the two-hour mad dash to the end credits.

For this third film, Ethan Hunt (Cruise) has moved away from the high-risk missions of the previous movies to undertake a desk job (of sorts) training new agents for the field at IMF (Impossible Mission Force). On top of this, Ethan is on the verge of settling down in his private life: he's engaged to a nurse named Julia (Michelle Monaghan), who's blissfully unaware of his actual day job. But when one of his former trainees (Keri Russell) is captured while investigating powerful arms dealer Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman), Ethan renounces his semi-retirement to rescue her. However, the task steadily evolves into the larger job of pursuing Davian and preventing him from placing a biological weapon (codenamed the Rabbit's Foot) into the wrong hands (i.e. non-American hands).

M:I:III is a brutal, intense, edgy action-thriller that propels the series forward in a fresh new direction. The first two M:I movies were well-mounted displays of their respective director's area of expertise (Brian De Palma's penchant for intricate scenarios played out in silence and John Woo's talent for operatic slo-mo shootouts, respectively), but neither instalment shed a great deal of light on Ethan Hunt as a person. Thankfully, Abrams and his writers rectify this. Mission: Impossible III features a fair share of exploding cars and shootouts, but it's more than mere eye candy - with an eye towards Ethan's personal life and numerous stunt sequences that place the various protagonists in believable situations of danger, it's possible to care about the characters and their mission. Naturally, at the end of the day, it's still a big-budget Hollywood production, but heavens me, the constant and very genuine feeling that Ethan might not make it becomes a concern as tension mounts with unsettling speed. Also interesting is that this M:I story leaves room for teamwork. Sure, it's still Tom Cruise's show, but the filmmakers allow the team to play a bigger role in the action.

Being in charge of a well-publicised $150 million blockbuster for his feature film debut, Abrams delivers the goods with a wallop, displaying a strong eye for dramatic tension and gritty action that's fluid and exciting. He directs the hell out of the action set-pieces, with daring camerawork and sharp editing (courtesy of Alias veterans Maryann Brandon and Mary Jo Markey) that belies the director's inexperience with big-screen adventures. The little moments are equally inspired, too. Action flicks tend to contain boring "in-between stuff" (anything that doesn't involve the action bits, that is), but not so in Mission: Impossible III. Acting is uniformly strong, and Abrams shows a talent for building compelling momentum. It's difficult to believe this is Abrams' first outing as a feature-film director; he exudes a laudable confidence that a number of established filmmakers have no clue how to achieve (such as Uwe Boll or Rob Cohen, just to name a couple).

Think whatever you wish about Tom Cruise's increasingly outspoken religious convictions or his tabloid-fodder personal life, but he's a box office star for a good reason. His performance in Mission: Impossible III ranks among his very best work as an actor. He truly puts his body on the line in terms of stunts and fight choreography, but it's in the non-action scenes where Cruise truly delivers; one can sense the pain and anguish of the moment, and Cruise provides the necessary conviction to make every character interchange highly compelling. During the opening scene alone, he passes through a wide swath of emotions (from bewildered to angry to terrified) in mere seconds. He never fails to sell the legitimacy of a scene, no matter how implausible it may seem. From the outset, it's clear Cruise was dedicated 100% to the movie.

Luckily, the rest of the cast is equally strong. Ving Rhames is his usual self, playing Luther Stickell with a spot-on mix of wit and sincerity. However, Philip Seymour Hoffman is the movie's standout. Owen Davian isn't a foam-at-the-mouth lunatic or a suave, cultured sociopath - he's a deadly serious, brutal badass with no compunction about killing an innocent person. Played to perfection by the late Hoffman, Davian is far better than the cookie-cutter, run-of-the-mill antagonists that typically feature in big-budget blockbusters. And yet, for all the movie's grittiness and suspense, there's a light side too - comic relief is present in the form of Simon Pegg (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz) playing a jittery techie who suggests the Rabbit's Foot could just be "a really expensive bunny appendage".

Despite clocking in at two hours, Mission: Impossible III never noticeably drags because it's excellently paced and moves with the speed of a bullet. It isn't perfect - the hero's wife/girlfriend is predictably placed in jeopardy, and it would've worked better as a hardcore R-rated actioner - but it remains an intelligently-realised and amazingly-rendered action fare that's refreshing to witness after all the cartoonish, dumbed-down rubbish which has been passing as mainstream popcorn cinema over recent years. M:I:III is also, quite convincingly, the best of the Mission: Impossible film series to date.

8.8/10

Cinemagoers have been entertained by the living dead since the earliest eras of cinematic history. George Romero utilised zombies to offer a socio-political subtext in his Dead franchise, Danny Boyle sped up the creatures for his rage-infused post-apocalyptic 28 Days Later..., and Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg crafted a comedic look at the genre with Shaun of the Dead (though the protagonist of that film ridiculed the use of the term "zombie"). 2009's Zombieland continues the trend of a viral zombie plague wiping out humanity. Penned by television scribes Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, and helmed by first-time feature film director Ruben Fleischer, this is an assured riff on zombie conventions which allows audiences to view the basic concepts of the genre in a comedic light. Zombieland may heavily borrow from its cinematic ancestors, but the filmmakers had enough verve to keep things fresh and interesting, and the product is a blast of devilish fun that reveals there's still life left in the densely populated zombie genre.

The zombies in Zombieland are not self-exhumed corpses which have come back from the dead to terrorise the living. Instead, they are plague victims whose brains have melted; leaving nothing but violent, cannibalistic shells. At the beginning of the movie, the epidemic has already swept the globe and has almost infected the entire population. The story is narrated by a guy only known as Columbus (Eisenberg), who admits he's an unlikely survivor given his phobias and antisocial behaviour. Yet, it is precisely these traits that helped him survive the zombie apocalypse, which he explains in a voice-over as he helpfully states a number of rules he has developed to increase his chances of survival (stay in good cardiovascular shape, make sure a zombie is really dead when you shoot it, always check the back seat of your car, and so on). Columbus is trying to get back to his home town to see a familiar face, and en route he encounters redneck zombie-killer Tallahassee (Harrelson). Tallahassee is headed for Florida, and has two great passions in life: slaughtering zombies and finding an edible Twinkie. Hindering their progress are two grifters, Wichita (Stone) and Little Rock (Breslin), who are on their way to California.

Although the zombie presence always exists in the movie's peripherals, the majority of Zombieland plays out like a traditional road trip flick - the four diverse characters are heading to a "promised land" that might just be a myth, and along the way they bond and form friendships. Occasionally, of course, there are zombies that the characters are forced to deal with, but, until the climax, they are merely minor nuisances rather than serious obstacles. One particular factor to be appreciated about Zombieland is the fact it does not disregard character development. By no means are these characters fully realised, three-dimensional entities, but neither are they flat caricatures. A solid investment in these individuals is formed, and by the climax it's possible to actually care about who lives and who dies. Even though virtually every action sequence of the movie can be predicted (like the hero who goes on an apparent suicide mission to save the day), it all feels organic. It's the same principal as a group of stand-up comedians reiterating their old routines - jokes are more or less the same, but the delivery makes all the difference.

The brawny mixture of comedy and horror keeps the pace for Zombieland fast and furious, and its depiction of a world without rules develops a sense of anarchic wish fulfilment (who hasn't wanted to grab any Hummer you could hotwire, or snatch free food from an abandoned shop?). Director Fleischer and cinematographer Michael Bonvillain (a J.J. Abrams veteran) approach the material with an anything-goes visual dexterity. This is epitomised during the opening credits sequence which presents an assortment of shots of victims attempting to flee the zombies in slow motion, and manages to emphasise both the terror and comic absurdity of the whole enterprise. Interestingly, the zombies aren't necessarily played out for laughs; at times, there are genuine shocks that manage to convey the sense that these characters are in serious danger. The humour of the material stems from the heroes' behaviour during these dire moments, such as Columbus' cowardice and Tallahassee's fearlessness and tactlessness. Those behind this movie have openly acknowledged Shaun of the Dead as a key inspiration, but (aside from the comic zombie concept) they are two completely divergent films. For one, the action in Shaun of the Dead was grounded in reality, while Zombieland transpires in an unabashed fantasy world in which old ladies can crush zombies with grand pianos, Looney Tunes style!

Woody Harrelson is a hoot and a half as Tallahassee; essentially the redneck Crocodile Dundee. The actor was given the showiest role in the entire picture, and he clearly relished the opportunity. Jesse Eisenberg's neurotic shtick (which has served both himself and Michael Cera well of late) is put to terrific use here. While a single-note actor, Eisenberg is an immediately likable protagonist, and his explanations of common-sense survival are dispensed with a delightful comic edge. Emma Stone carries out her duties terrifically as the straight man to the outlandish antics of the male leads, while Abigail Breslin's work here indicates she should survive the adolescent career phase that usually spells death to child actors.

Zombieland arguably derails during its mid-section when the main characters find themselves in the palatial Beverly Hills mansion of a certain Hollywood actor. The star cameo in this sequence is a hoot, but there are lulls and sputters as the film threatens to run out of gas. While this isn't a deal breaker thanks in large part to the star who shows up (it's too delicious to spoil), attention is regrettably directed away from what counts. Thankfully, when the film works, it truly works - it manages to successfully rework familiar elements in a way that simultaneously pokes fun at its zombie predecessors and recognises the need for an underlying sense of dread. It's predictable and disposable entertainment, yet the pleasures it offers corroborate the importance of a rule Columbus learns via Tallahassee: You gotta enjoy the little things.

8.0/10

Comparisons to The Blair Witch Project have become remarkably overused over the years since that film's release - the 1999 hit has become synonymous with genre stories presented as actual events captured utilising strictly commonplace equipment. Most recently, movies like Cloverfield have employed the "Blair Witch approach", but the comparison is never appropriate since such pictures focus too much on execution rather than spirit, and at the end of the day come across as movies rather than the real deal. The Spanish sleeper [Rec] was the last film to earn the comparison, and now along comes Paranormal Activity. Offering an intense, escalatingly terrifying ghost story, this film delivers 90 minutes of disquieting terror, and was seemingly made for the cost of the camera it was filmed on. Those who've been startled by strange noises in the middle of the night should find Paranormal Activity absolutely bone-chilling.

In brief, the story concerns a happy couple whose lives are ruptured by a demonic presence. Katie (Featherston) believes she is being haunted by a demon, and her boyfriend Micah (Sloat) purchases a video camera in order to capture solid evidence on film. At night while they sleep, Micah sets up the camera on a tripod, focusing on their bed as well as the open door leading to the hallway. Micah's camera does its job, with the microphone capturing strange sounds and the viewfinder capturing unsettling images. Perhaps the demon doesn't like the camera or perhaps it's jealous of Katie's relationship with Micah, but whatever the reason, the demon is becoming more enraged by the day. Night after night and day after day over 21 days, the camera records the escalating hostility.

Instead of the typical two-dimensional characters of regular slasher movies, Katie and Micah come across as realistic and sympathetic. One gets a convincing insight into their lives and psyches, to the point that they feel like real people as opposed to caricatures, and this makes the film's proceedings all the scarier. It's crucial to note that, from the very start, Katie is sure that she is being stalked by a demon that has followed her since childhood, and a psychic (Friedrichs) confirms her suspicions, as well as adding that it wants her. Due to this, leaving the house won't help because the demon will follow Katie wherever she is. This clever plotting prevents viewers from asking "Why don't you morons just move out?". It's interesting to note the differing perspectives of the characters - Katie is genuinely terrified, while Micah finds the situation amusing and cool. Micah repeatedly taunts the demon and is keen to buy a Ouija Board, despite warnings from the psychic and pleading from Katie.

The banality of the static camera, devoid of any aesthetic flourish, heightens the sense of reality as one's attention is torn between watching the protagonists sleeping on the right side of the screen, and the doorway on the left side of the screen. The unknown quality of the darkness beyond the door frame in which anything could be lurking becomes a source of insufferable tension, and the terrifying disposition of these sequences is heightened by the home video quality of the footage. It's surprising how effective a tripod can be in these Blair Witch-inspired movies, too - it provides more nervous energy and queasy-gut than all the jerky hand-held shots of the entire film. Because the camera never moves, one is encouraged to scrutinise every shadow, and when your senses are heightened to this extent, any sudden moves deliver twice the force. Admittedly, the most horrifying moments arrive during the film's final 20 minutes; a fact that may frustrate those who expect non-stop payoffs. But these scenes are effective as an exact result of their tardiness. Peli intentionally lets an audience watch night after night as Katie and Micah retire for the evening and brace for the worst. Sometimes nothing happens. Other times, they wake up to find a set of car keys have inexplicably moved. All these mundane moments lull viewers into a false sense of security, and therefore when the shocks finally arrive...they hit hard. While it's a stretch to call any motion picture conventionally frightening, Paranormal Activity is undeniably infused with a creepy, unsettling atmosphere which envelops a viewer.

Shot in about a week on an $11,000 budget by first-time feature writer-director Oren Peli, Paranormal Activity was originally purchased in 2007 by Paramount, who had planned to remake it as a star vehicle and dump the original on DVD. The studio, however, wisely discarded this decision since they realised that a glossy Hollywood version could only detract from this movie's effectiveness, which is deeply grounded in reality through its gritty verité style. In a sense, Paranormal Activity is the Blair Witch Project redux. Writer-director Peli replaces the "lost in the woods" premise of the 1999 hit with a "trapped in a house" concept. Both were low-budget, and both claim to be constructed from "lost" footage. More importantly, both rely on the viewer's imagination to build the horror. Since a viewer's perspective is constrained by what the camera can capture, one can only hear sounds of what happens beyond its field of view. The film is only as scary as a viewer makes it. Unfortunately, Paranormal Activity has been forced to endure the type of backlash which overwhelmed The Blair Witch Project following its release. Like Blair Witch, Paranormal Activity is a thoroughly "love it or hate it" affair - you either accept the concept, or the style annoys you. Either way, one would have to be seriously deluded to deny the effectiveness of the filmmaking on offer.

Yet, Paranormal Activity sells itself short in a number of ways. First of all, unnecessary jump cuts pervade the motion picture, as if conversations are altered, which immediately spoils the "actual events" set up. (For instance, there are cuts between questions and their respective answers.) For all its authentic edge, the characters remain fixed onto the rails of narrative convention too, and the ending of the theatrical version feels like just that - theatrical. It's suspiciously neat. Steven Spielberg suggested this particular ending, but it seems the man dropped the ball here. The ending of the original 2007 cut is far better. Furthermore, there are a few questions that come to mind - if Micah is so tech-savvy, for example, why doesn't he post the videos on the web so someone could potentially see what's happening and offer valuable advice?

Stephen King once wrote that creating horror is similar to martial arts: finding vulnerable points and pressing. This is the perfect description of Paranormal Activity. It's probably best watched alone in the middle of the night for maximum effect. If you cut out all distractions, and glue your eyes and ears to the screen...you'll be scared silly.

7.9/10

For veteran filmmaker Mike Nichols, Closer is not unfamiliar terrain. Comparisons between this 2004 motion picture and Nichols' 1966 directorial debut, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, are inevitable: both are four-character dramas concerning domestic dysfunction that tackle the concept of romance as combat, and both are adaptations of plays. In terms of quality, however, it's hard to compare these films - Closer is a mostly empty film which never achieves the sustained intensity that made the earlier flick so unforgettably disturbing. Interestingly, while Closer may concentrate on relationships, the romance is virtually non-existent as the focus is mainly placed on the pain caused by infidelity, lies, and loving the wrong person. Putting this film alongside Nichols' Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and Carnal Knowledge, a grim trilogy is formed which does not have many positive things to say about the human condition.

In a nutshell, Closer follows a quartet of people who become ensconced in relationships, affairs, inter-relationships, flings, and all sorts of clandestine alliances. On the streets of London, a young stripper named Alice (Portman) is hit by a car, and obituary journalist Dan (Law) comes to her rescue. Before long the two are living together, and Dan pens a novel inspired by Alice's tragic life. But Dan eventually finds himself obsessed with photographer Anna (Roberts). As revenge for rejecting him, Dan pretends to be her in an internet chat room, which leads to Anna meeting a dermatologist named Larry (Owen) whom she eventually marries. Complications begin to arise due to the sexual chemistry between Dan and Anna, and - to a lesser extent - Larry and Alice. Over the next several years, infidelities occur, betrayals are discovered, and a variety of ugliness ensues.

Nichols deserves credit for adapting the original play (by Patrick Marber, who also wrote the screenplay) into a movie which doesn't feel like a mere filmed play. It may be talky and relatively static, but there's sufficient dynamism in the cinematographer and set design to dispel the lingering feel of the play's confined staging.

Over the years, films may have examined the intricacies of relationships, but only a few have gone the extra step to offer a truthful and honest depiction of couples when deceit is involved. Closer tackles this fascinating notion, and does so by presenting a continuous string of arguments and relationship dilemmas. The script is notable for its frank dialogue - throughout the film there's constant profanity, explicit sexual dialogue and a host of interesting observations. Since Marber adapted his own play for the screen, the dialogue feels overly theatrical from time to time, but it's dispersed with gusto by a powerhouse cast. Another key strength of Closer is the use of the song The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice as the opening and closing theme. It's a haunting tune that significantly adds to the overall feeling of the picture.

Upon release of Mike Nichols' Carnal Knowledge back in 1971, film critic Pauline Kael noted "The characters are depersonalized from the start through the elimination of all the possibilities in their lives except sex drives - not only love and work and family and affection are eliminated, but even eroticism, even simple warmth..." But Kael could've easily been writing about Closer, which, similar to Carnal Knowledge, concerns men and women's attitudes toward love and sex, but is just as narrow-minded in its constricted vision and disillusion. In the past, a number of great films have explored the depths of spiritual melancholy and dehumanisation to excellent effect (A Clockwork Orange, anyone?). Such films may not provide a particularly pleasurable viewing experience, but they trigger thought and reflection because the filmmakers situate the inhumanity within a humanistic framework. They have context, in other words.

Closer, on the other hand, lacks context. More importantly, it lacks soul and emotion. Dramas of this ilk usually zero in on both the passionate high points in relationships and the adulterous trysts, but Nichols' picture elects a radically different approach - the focus is almost exclusively on the low points in these relationships, and, in an even riskier gamble, these characters are generally shown after the fact discussing passion and love-making rather than engaging in it. Closer ultimately comes over as a straightforward string of scenes in which people betray each other, lie to each other, and screw each other over, but these acts are not justified past the fact the characters are short-sighted and arrogant. While Closer was intended to be a candid portrait of love in the modern world, closer inspection will reveal that there's no love in the film at all. Period. The filmmakers are so eager to shift to the next nihilistic instance of lovers mistreating one another that the film never halts to show why and how these individuals love each other, and what is being lost when they split. Connective tissue between the conflicts is entirely neglected, thus most of the film possesses the look and feel of cold verbal and emotional violence for the sake of it.

Closer takes place over a four-year duration, but the film constantly jumps ahead several months or years to skip to the next conflict. No helpful transitional scenes or "one year later" titles are thrown in to inform us of these shifts; relying on dialogue to convey the information instead. Suffice to say, the character betrayals were designed to be devastating moments of internal conflict and external anger, but there's just no context to shape these scenes. Instead of being emotionally involved, a viewer is left detached and can only distantly observe the never-ending self-destructiveness. The point is, Closer doesn't offer much back-story, and there are unforgivable gaps for which an audience is expected to fill everything in (what happened to the girlfriend Dan initially mentions?). The narrative is therefore as superficial as the four characters trudging through it.

Thankfully, Nichols assembled an absolutely top-notch cast for Closer. This film launched Clive Owen from relative obscurity to elite status with good reason. Owen plays a rough, sexually motivated character who seems to be the only person in the film capable of cutting to the heart of the bullshit swirling around him. The ferocity with which the actor delivers his lines, and the restless energy he imparts to his role, is electrifying. Closer also serves as a reminder that, when freed from the black hole of acting talent that is George Lucas, Natalie Portman is a fine young actress. For Portman (who plays a stripper...thus fulfilling the fantasies of several sad Star Wars fans), this was her first truly adult role, and she pulls it off with aplomb.
It would be unfair to describe either Jude Law's or Julia Roberts' performances as lesser, but these two high-profile actors are just not on the same level as their co-stars. Law is highly convincing and Roberts subdues her movie star sheen to create an indelible portrait of an unlikable woman, but neither captures the attention of the camera with the sheer intensity of Owen or Portman.

Normally in a movie such as Closer, a lover confessing to their partner about an affair would be an emotionally riveting moment that changes the trajectory of the narrative. But in Nichols' movie, this happens so many times without suitable motivation that it becomes hard to care by the fourth or fifth confession. As a narrative experiment, Closer is praiseworthy. But as a movie about passion, it's mono-emotional and surprisingly cold.

5.6/10

Based on actual events, the critically-acclaimed Boys Don't Cry tells the heartbreaking true story of a young woman suffering from a "sexual identity crisis". 20-year-old Teena Brandon (Swank) does not perceive herself as a woman. She sexually desires other females, but she doesn't consider herself a lesbian - rather, she sees herself as a heterosexual man, and decides to live life under the alias of Brandon Teena. Biologically, she was a woman. In all other respects, however, Brandon was male. In 1993, Brandon moved to a small town where a low-rent group accept him for what they believe him to be, and he even manages to charm the beautiful Lana (Sevigny).

All is peachy until the truth about Brandon's biology is unearthed, and he quickly realises how fast things can change. The majority of the runtime for Boys Don't Cry chronicles Brandon's entrance into his new group of friends as well as his blossoming relationship with Lana. The final quarter, however, details how those who had previously accepted him into their "family" react to the realisation that Brandon's identity is complicated in a way that they could never have expected, and how this leads to horrific violence. Said violence that is unleashed upon Brandon is ultimately a crime of frustration and confusion, and it makes a disturbing statement about the Midwestern attitude towards homophobia. It's the direct result of unthinking men who find themselves unable to deal with the rupture of sexual identity posed by Brandon. In this way, Teena Brandon is a symbol of everyone who is unable to neatly fit into the presupposed categories in the culture of everyday life.

There comes a point as Boys Don't Cry nears its dénouement when Lana is asked to admit her lesbianism; echoing a point at the beginning of the film in which Teena is asked to accept hers. But neither person is able to. Put in conjunction, these two scenes solidify the point that Brandon was a man who loved women and Lana was a woman who loved men. Neither was homosexual - it was simply a matter of the fact that neither had the facilities (or the funds) to complete Brandon's natural physical transition into manhood to match his mental state. In another masterstroke, the screenplay - penned by director Kimberly Peirce and Andy Bienen - never attempts to disguise the fact that behind his forced happiness, Brandon was deeply troubled. He had a history of theft and petty crime, on top of a tendency to be dishonest. For the most part, the film sticks closely to the facts presented in the 1998 documentary The Brandon Teena Story. The story has been slightly altered, of course, but most of the characters and events are accurately presented. Certainly, none of these alternations dilute or diminish the movie's brutal impact.

First-time feature film director Peirce has assembled her motion picture in a straightforward but compelling fashion. Her direction is calm and assured; affording a leanness to the imagery which stands in direct contrast to the emotional complexities of the characters. Furthermore, Boys Don't Cry is masterfully imbued with naturalistic and mechanical imagery which compounds the sense of the characters' hopelessness. Peirce accentuates their despair by speeding up the film stock from time to time, and, while this sped-up footage unfolds, the characters observe in a stone-like stasis. Boys Don't Cry certainly earns its 'R' rating - it's emotionally fatiguing and visceral. Peirce did not intend for the film to be seen by those unwilling to confront the horrific results of intolerance and hatred. The audience is spared of nothing - every graphic detail of every indignity endured by Brandon is presented onscreen. Those who cannot stomach such scenes will find this movie nigh on unwatchable, while others will be rewarded with a potent filmic experience.

Boys Don't Cry does go slightly awry, however, in granting its principle characters such a small amount of background; providing insufficient insight into many of their motives. While one can sympathise with the deeply troubled Brandon, Peirce never explains the WHY. The story begins with Brandon's makeover, but the turning point is unclear, with no flashbacks and little history. It takes longer than usual to immerse oneself into this particular world due to this, on top of the fact that throughout the marginally overlong runtime, the film occasionally loses a degree of momentum. As for the rest, Boys Don't Cry is a superbly-crafted re-enactment, but it's doubtful one will come away loving it. It's one of those remarkable films one loves and hates at the same time, and one of those movies one doesn't particularly wish to see again.

Another great success of Boys Don't Cry is the phenomenal acting. The cast, which was comprised primarily of small-time actors of the time, is close to perfect. The lion's share of the praise belongs to Hilary Swank, who, with her short hair cut and wrapped chest, bears a remarkable resemblance to the real Brandon Teena. This is raw, courageous, compelling work - it's the performance of the career for Swank, who earned an Oscar. More than anything else, Swank convinces us of her character's masculinity, much as Brandon did in real life, and it triggers questions about the signifiers we commonly ascribe to the gender. What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? There are no easy answers here. The supporting actors alongside Swank are more than capable. Chloë Sevigny is remarkable as the affection-staved Lana. Swank's chemistry with Sevigny is the film's foundation - if the two lead actors were unable to sell the relationship, the whole film would have slid into a crater of sensationalism. But it works tremendously, and their scenes together are both erotic and sweet. Peter Sarsgaard rounds out the triangle of central characters as the sociopathic John. Sarsgaard manages the inexplicable: he gives his hateful character human dimensions.

Through her script and focused direction, Peirce has taken great pains to avoid even the slightest hint of exploitation with Boys Don't Cry. Ultimately, through an array of dazzling performances and her skilful exertions, she has created a genuinely harrowing cinematic experience. It's not quite as accomplished as it could have been, but it's nonetheless a worthy endeavour that's as fascinating as it is darkly disturbing.

8.3/10

In the hands of legendary filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, a simple tale of seven samurai hired to protect a village from marauding bandits is transformed into a unique and mesmerising action epic of sustained tension and stoic humanity. It would ostensibly seem that stacking further praise onto Shichinin no Samurai (Seven Samurai) is futile after over five decades of critics doing so already, but there's no harm in offering a little more warranted love for this masterpiece.

Inarguably, Japan's most prevalent cinematic export is the samurai movie, and the most important samurai picture in history is Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. An action epic 18 months in the making, Seven Samurai impacted the way the samurai genre was viewed, and advanced its status. In addition, Kurosawa's 1954 masterwork shattered the formulas for both the jidai-geki (Japanese period film) and the chambara (Japanese swordplay film) by deconstructing and reassembling the Bushido samurai code, and by gazing through the lens of history at Japan's post-war struggle toward capitalism, democracy, and a new social and cultural identity. In the process of altering Japanese genre forms to suit his own proclivities, director Kurosawa created an engrossing, timeless tour de force. While critics during the '50s were dismissive of Seven Samurai, it has since achieved an almost mythical status, and was selected by a group of '00 critics as the Best Japanese Movie of All-Time.

Set at some point during the feudal era of Japan (circa late 16th Century) when lawlessness was rife and bandit gangs roamed the country-side, Seven Samurai concerns a small village that faces the prospect of again losing their valuable crops to a band of vicious marauders. The villagers abide by the advice of their elder, and set out to hire Ronin (masterless Samurai) to defend them. Despite offering little reward in return, a veteran samurai who has fallen on hard times answers the request and proceeds to round up a group of warriors. Upon arriving at the village, the samurai begin preparing for the impending attack, and teach the villagers to fight.

Curiously, for a film which is customarily perceived as the standard-bearer of samurai movies, Seven Samurai is an atypical entry to the genre. More typical samurai pictures concentrate on a sword-wielding, superhero-type protagonist who triumphs over an overwhelming horde of foes. Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, on the other hand, offers a group of flawed protagonists, some of whom are not skilled fighters. And, in large part due to the melancholy tone adopted by Kurosawa for the film's dénouement, the samurai's victory is ultimately hollow and unsatisfying; it feels like more of a defeat than a victory.

The premise may appear straightforward if examined at face value, but the execution is brilliant. Kurosawa allows the narrative to unfold quietly and calmly over three distinct acts. Act 1 establishes the plight of the villagers, and tracks the characters as the samurai are rounded up. In the second act, the samurai arrive and train the villagers to prepare for battle. The third and final act chronicles the epic battle between the bandits and the samurai. Once again, straightforward if taken at face value, but Kurosawa was deft enough to allow space for meticulous character development. Thus, during the passionate, riveting and intense final action scene, a viewer will care about and consequently cheer for the protagonists. The only fault of Seven Samurai is that, despite the daunting 210-minute runtime, only three of the samurai are fully realised - the other four "secondary" samurai are only sketchily developed, and are therefore poorly delineated when it comes to the battles.

Those who've never seen Seven Samurai may be intimidated by both its foreign origins and its three-and-a-half-hour running time, but they shouldn't. Seven Samurai is blessed with the type of momentum that long movies usually lack. True enough, the proceedings get somewhat tedious at times during its mammoth runtime, but the pace is generally strong. Additionally, the film displays the mastery of the technique of "deep focus" - Kurosawa continuously presents everything in focus, and different things usually transpire at different depths. These compositions are impressive, and fascinating to behold. The incredible action sequences within Seven Samurai, especially the final showdown, set a new precedent not only for samurai movies but also for Hollywood productions and all forms of foreign cinema. Let's not forget that Kurosawa's notion of epic cinema precedes the work of such esteemed filmmakers as David Lean (Lawrence of Arabia).

Seven Samurai may be an ensemble motion picture, but none of the cast members shine brighter than Kurosawa's favourite actor; Toshirô Mifune, whose character of Kikuchiyo is larger-than-life. Mifune was given a prime opportunity to show off his range here, playing Kikuchiyo as a stumbling drunk, a playful clown, a brooding man who reflects on his unhappy past, and a skilled fighter. Veteran performer Takashi Shimura - yet another of Kurosawa's frequent collaborators - provides the voice of wisdom, reason and patience in the role of Kambei. Standing in direct contrast with Kikuchiyo's flamboyance, Shimura presents his character as an authority figure who commands respect through mere presence. The third major samurai of the titular group is Katsushiro, who's played by Isao Kimura with an effective mixture of energy, naïveté, and the eventual realisation that battle is not all glory. Of the four remaining samurai, only Kyuzo, played by Seiji Miyaguchi, stands out, primarily because he's so different from his comrades. Soft-spoken and reserved, Kyuzo primarily uses his sword as his voice. The other three samurai are largely interchangeable, and their personalities won't begin to distinctly emerge until one's third or fourth viewing of the movie.

It's difficult to single out the elements which make Seven Samurai such a masterpiece. Everything, from Kurosawa's meticulous attention to detail to the amazing action to the genuinely heartfelt human drama unfurling beneath, comes together wonderfully. A few years following the movie's 1954 release, Seven Samurai was remade by John Sturges as The Magnificent Seven, which replaced 16th Century Japan with the American West, and replaced samurai with cowboys. The tremendous success of The Magnificent Seven inspired an international trend towards samurai imitations, and ultimately led to the "Spaghetti Westerns" of Sergio Leone and others. A well-deserved reputation.

9.5/10

Due to his distinct directorial flourishes, it's easy to determine if you're watching a movie directed by Tony Scott. Likewise, the style of writer and director Quentin Tarantino is so unique that it's easy to tell if you're witnessing one of his motion pictures. There's a slight exception to these rules, however: 1993's True Romance. Those seeking a movie marked with either director's style will be pleasantly surprised by this Scott-directed, Tarantino-penned slice of filmmaking. Thankfully, the cinematic eyes of Scott and Tarantino form something organic; an irresistible mixture of both directors' strengths that's stylish and sublime. True Romance is simultaneously a drug picture, a chase movie, a gangster flick, and a wacky, turbulent romantic-partners-in-crime adventure. Think Bonnie and Clyde on speed.

Now, onto the story... Clarence Worley (Slater) is a loser who's reduced to spending his birthday watching kung-fu movies at a local cinema. On the night of his birthday, he meets Alabama (Arquette); a call girl (that's just a fancy way of describing a type of prostitute) who's hired to spend the evening with Clarence, but unexpectedly falls in love with him. Once they promptly marry, Clarence steals $500,000 worth of cocaine, and the couple flee to Hollywood in the hope of selling the drugs. Naturally, the owners of the merchandise want their cocaine back, and begin to ruthlessly pursue the couple.

From the outset, it's clear the runtime of True Romance will be spent tracking a bunch of low-life, homicidal maniacs. Is it possible for viewers to grow to like these people? Fortunately, the answer is a resounding yes, because, in writing the script, Quentin Tarantino possessed the talent to create vividly-drawn characters who constantly spurt instantly classic dialogue throughout jaw-dropping, extraordinarily entertaining set-pieces. This is likely the greatest Tarantino screenplay to date, which is probably because the writer was not allotted the director's chair. With a different director at the helm and another creative team handling this script, the reek of self-indulgence is not as potent or distracting. To be fair, it takes a bit too long for True Romance to hit is stride, but the unrelenting energy as a result of Tony Scott's superlative direction ensures that, although little actually transpires throughout the film's initial half hour, boring moments are at an absolute minimum. Best of all, though, the energy rarely allows viewers the opportunity to stop and consider the absurdity of this whole fairytale.

True Romance has a keen eye for brazen character risk-taking and capricious passion. Though the film begins as a contrived love story, it progressively morphs into a tangible, utterly involving tale tracking a couple of thoroughly appealing caricatures. Clarence's sudden transformation from lonesome, Elvis-loving counter jockey to wild-eyed risk taker and gunslinger feels organic in this script's hands, while his heavenly parlay with Alabama throughout their exquisite first date convincingly sells the prospect of instant love in a touching yet untamed way. At the heart of all great movies is the joy of discovery, and True Romance excels in this department - it entertains through an enthralling story and compelling characters. It's a hell of a lot of fun.

At no point is a viewer supposed to accept True Romance as realism, and we're never expected to believe a word of it. Instead, a few slightly realistic elements operate underneath the movie's ludicrous nature. Naturally, this is all part of Tarantino's writing modus operandi. In a sense, one can consider this film to be the cousin of Reservoir Dogs and the prequel to Pulp Fiction. Somehow, Tarantino managed to pen all 3 movies in a phenomenal spurt of creative energy never equalled in Hollywood history. True Romance may have preceded the more illustrious Pulp Fiction by a year or so, but it was infused with a comparable flavour - a mixture of black humour, violence, romance and dialogue drenched in geekdom euphemisms. As a matter of fact, True Romance played a pivotal role in launching Tarantino's Hollywood career. Funding for Reservoir Dogs was reportedly derived from the cash earned from selling the screenplay for True Romance, after which Pulp Fiction received the green light purely on account of the reputation he earned with these two prior films. Mind you, True Romance is not everyone's cup of tea due to Tony Scott's directorial zeal and Tarantino's flippant tongue, but it's a major crowd-winner for those who enjoy its flavour.

The strongest element of True Romance is the unending cornucopia of top-notch actors which constitute the cast. One of the biggest successes of said cast is the chemistry between Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette. Their interactions are enthralling; mingling their animated personas in a slick, adorable fashion. As a result of such spot-on casting, their tumultuous, whirlwind relationship comes across as sweet, amusing and touching. Further high points arrive in the form of Christopher Walken and Dennis Hopper, who at one stage share a brilliant, riveting dialogue sequence in which the two acting giants speak in Tarantino-esque language and one-up each other with every hilarious delivery. Val Kilmer also makes an appearance as the imaginary Elvis Presley mentor, who advises Clarence on matters of action and demeanour (bear in mind that Kilmer's film debut was Top Secret!; a spoof of Elvis movies for which he played the main role). Then there's Gary Oldman appearing as the slimy, vicious, violent, repellent white pimp who believes he's black.

Digging deeper into the cast, one will discover Michael Rapaport playing a friend of Clarence's, and Brad Pitt (who was a little-known actor during this period) as a druggie who's always in a daze. Samuel L. Jackson even shows up for a remarkable moment playing a drug dealer with a foul mouth, though Jackson's appearance is a classic case of "blink and you'll miss him". Finally, there's Saul Rubinek playing a producer named Lee Donowitz, in addition to James Gandolfini as a mob hit-man who makes the mistake of trying to intimidate the defenceless Alabama, and a few others. Good heavens, what a terrific group!

In essence, True Romance is a full-blooded, Bonnie and Clyde-style story of love at first sight through the eyes of a Pulp Fiction level Tarantino. And under the astute direction of Tony Scott, it becomes a savagely funny thrill ride of indulgent aesthetics and swoon-worthy romantic theatrics between two "damaged goods" characters.

9.5/10

Helmed by Peter Yates, 1968's Bullitt is the film which positioned Steve McQueen at the forefront of American movie stars. Bullitt was truly a turning point for McQueen - he had previous starred in several films (The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape stand out the most from this period), but this was the role that propelled him to genuine stardom. With his sex appeal, desire for accurate detail in his movies, and plain old cool, McQueen was a perfect fit for the iconic Frank Bullitt. With that said, it's critical to note that Bullitt is nothing like the slam-bang, action-oriented crime pictures so prevalent in the 21st Century. The film's celebrated car chase is certainly exhilarating, but it lacks the over-the-top excitement of modern action sequences. There are no spectacular shootouts in Bullitt either, and, while the climactic ending brings about a few tense moments, this is not an especially exciting film. It is cool, though, and that's why Bullitt has become a deserved classic.

In the story, Frank Bullitt is assigned the task of protecting a witness who's set to testify against the Mob in a few days. He decides to place the witness in a seedy hotel for the night; a location he feels is both secure and well hidden. But in spite of his best precautions, both the witness and Frank's colleague are gunned down by professional hit-men. With the victims near death, Bullitt sets out to track down the thugs responsible; quickly becoming ensnared in an elaborate conspiracy and finding himself in the sights of a vast criminal network.

Frank Bullitt is not your standard action movie protagonist. He is not cut from the same cloth as Dirty Harry or John McClane. He's instead soft-spoken and maintains restraint. More importantly, Frank is a loner who is not understood by anybody. His beautiful girlfriend wants to understand and love him, but Frank appears further detached from reality with each case he solves and every ounce of blood he pays witness to (consider a scene in which a corpse is found: Frank himself is calm and casual, but his girlfriend is horrified). While his superiors look upon Frank as a man to count on who'll complete the job, they are unable to understand his methods. He's perceived by those around him as someone who's more machine than man, and who exudes little humanity...just coolness.

Contrary to popular belief, Bullitt did not invent the car chase. Car chases have appeared in movies since the silent film era. That said, however, Bullitt did reinvent the car chase. Exceptionally choreographed, skilfully shot and blazingly fast, the chase sequence in this film is truly magnificent, and set the precedent for action movies to follow. Even despite all the sophisticated filmmaking technology available since 1968, it's almost impossible to beat the mesmerising chase in Bullitt. The entire sequence was done for real, too, with no over-cranked footage (the norm for chases at the time) and with McQueen doing virtually all of his own driving. Best of all, there's no music blasting throughout the sequence; just screeching rubber, the thud of tires against asphalt, and the roar of the spectacular engines.

Rather than focusing on action, the runtime of Bullitt is spent examining politics and procedures in police-work required to solve a crime. Realism was paramount in the creation of this movie, and director Peter Yates has pulled off an outstanding job. The atmosphere is heightened by the fact that the whole movie was filmed on location rather than in a studio - hospital scenes were filmed in a hospital, morgue scenes were shot in a morgue, the run-down hotel room was an actual run-down hotel room, and so on. This approach tested the film technology of the era since lighting was difficult in such cramped conditions, but the filmmakers' dedicated exertions afforded a gritty, dark, almost documentary feel. It's also crucial to reiterate that the car chase was staged at actual speeds, and was actually filmed on the streets of San Francisco (roads had to be shut down by the filmmakers). On top of this, actual professionals were employed as extras instead of mere background actors - real doctors and nurses were shown in the background during hospital scenes, for instance, as opposed to a parade of Hollywood hopefuls with a headshot and a smile.

Similarly, the brilliantly economical script solidifies the atmosphere of realism. Characters carry out their tasks without contrived explanatory dialogue, and it gives a viewer the sense that they're watching actual events. Clearly, the filmmakers understand the time-honoured adage that a picture says a thousand words, because the body language and movement during periods of silence often convey more than what is spoken. Yet, beyond McQueen's definitive anti-hero and the exhilarating car chase, everything else is somewhat humdrum - Bullitt constantly feels as if it's half-asleep. The plot is perhaps too convoluted and a second viewing is required to get the details straight. Furthermore, while the character of Bullitt is reasonably complex, the characters surrounding him are clichéd. Most of all, the narrative may be a tad too reserved to satisfy every taste. The lack of directorial flourish instils an unfortunate sense of datedness as well.

Inevitable flaws aside, Bullitt is a classic cinematic artefact highly deserving of all the accolades and acclaim which has been bestowed upon it. With its meticulous attention to detail and a terrific examination of the happenings behind the scenes of a police investigation, this is a crime-drama that entertains with intelligence. If you don't watch this movie closely, you'll miss vital details, and that's what makes it more than just another cop movie with a car chase.

8.3/10

With a few motion pictures and several television projects under his belt, Mike Judge has become the undisputed master of working man's comedy. No matter the colour of their specific collar, the characters created by Judge exist on the front-lines of American industry. Whether he's exploring the irritating administrative politics of contemporary office workers or the family dynamics of upper-class rednecks, the writer-director is visibly focused on finding comedy in the everyday and is seemingly fascinated by the banal lives of dull people. More than that, Judge is content not to tug the heartstrings or rely on frequent hilarity as long as he is able to build the impression that the people onscreen are an honest reflection of the co-worker to your right or the relative on your left. Office Space and Idiocracy introduced and solidified Judge's approach, which is sustained with the writer-director's third movie, Extract, to great success. A sturdy, constantly uproarious comedy, this film reinforces Judge's voice as a relaxed filmmaker with impeccable comic timing and a terrific skill at blending absurdity with the awkwardly real.

Jason Bateman plays Joel; the owner and founder of a small company that produces food extracts. However the film's title of Extract not only refers to the trade of the protagonist, but also to the main plot threads. There's a drop-dead gorgeous new woman in town named Cindy (Kunis) who in reality is a con artist and a petty thief out to extract whatever she can from those she encounters. Meanwhile, a worker at the Joel's factory, Step (Collins Jr.) loses a testicle in a work-related incident and, with a little prodding from Cindy, decides to sue the company and extract compensation. Unfortunately, Joel's home life isn't any better - the sex has been extracted from his banal marriage, and his irritating neighbour (Koechner) is trying to extract money from Joel for tickets to a dinner that both Joel and his wife have no interest in attending.

Of course, this brief synopsis barely scratches the surface of the subplots which emerge throughout the runtime of Extract. There's about as much "story" here as was featured in Office Space; allowing the film to be mainly about its characters, their situations, and their legitimately hilarious exchanges. If there are surprises to be had with this movie, they're certainly not in the story, which unfolds predictably once one buys into the premises. The surprise is how downright hilarious the whole movie is.

Office Space developed into such a cult classic due to its uncanny observations on cubical drudgery; offering viewers a shoulder to cry on while cooking up frequent laughs. Extract focuses on the less glamorous managerial positions, and provides a flipside of the coin. The best parts of Extract are those which dissect commonplace, everyday elements: the chatty neighbour, the dynamics of a sexless marriage, and the dullness of a workplace. Like Peter Gibbons in Office Space, Joel is an ordinary guy trying to find his way in life, but is constantly hampered by the incompetents surrounding him. The writer-director clearly knew he was making something silly, but he has infused Extract with an unpolished realism that grounds the film superbly. It's the gift of this great filmmaker; the ability to lampoon workplace ethics and expose a core of truth within a ridiculous motion picture.

Although Judge mocks idiots, hypocrites and all other clueless denizens of life, there's an obvious affection for the ordinary people who make the world turn but aren't usually placed front & centre in mainstream cinema. Therefore, these ostensibly boring people come across as genuinely appealing and interesting. When compared to the blaring antics of most Hollywood comedies, Judge appears to downplay the humour in Extract to a constant low hum which reflects Judge's appreciation of simplicity and general decency. Expecting a nonstop laugh-fest would be setting yourself up for disappointment, however - this is low-key comedy of situation and character that relies upon the strength of the cast and the well-written material. Extract is dry and it won't satisfy every taste, but those who appreciate this form of subtle humour will be rewarded greatly.

The cast Judge has assembled is terrific. Jason Bateman continues to display his mastery of portraying the straight man; playing effortlessly against the eccentricities of his oddball co-workers and the other peculiar people surrounding him. The scene-stealers here, though, are Ben Affleck, Clifton Collins Jr., J.K. Simmons and David Koechner. Affleck, who has been gradually rebuilding his damaged career by appearing in under-the-radar films since Hollywoodland, submits a wonderful performance as a bartender who believes Xanax is the cure for everything (including the common cold). The role tackled by Collins Jr. is one dimensional on paper, but the actor's performance provides the character with depth and humanity. J.K. Simmons appears to relish the opportunity to play Joel's business partner and is given several killer lines to play with, while Koechner nails the part as the annoying, talkative, socially awkward neighbour. Mila Kunis (best known as the voice of Meg Griffin in Family Guy) is well-suited to the role of Cindy; she's required to look ridiculously hot as she goes about her business of tricking the men she encounters, and she pulls it off.

Following the theatrical catastrophe of 2006's Idiocracy (a biting sci-fi satire which 20th Century Fox unceremoniously dumped in all of four theatres), Mike Judge has returned with the brilliant Extract; his companion piece to Office Space. Unfortunately, while the dump-and-run approach utilised by Fox for Idiocracy was not in evidence this time, the distributor of Extract - Miramax - did not exactly roll out the red carpet either. The film entered a number of theatres, but the marketing campaign was minimal and it was given an appalling release slot. Extract may not be a masterpiece, but it's considerably superior to most 2009 comedies which received a more robust backing (Year One, Dance Flick, Fired Up and Bride Wars, anyone?).

8.2/10

Born from the mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes has been imbedded in the public consciousness for in excess of a century now through countless short stories, books, films, and pop culture interpretations. It's an indubitably impressive run, and has caused the character to become one of the most recognisable literary figures in history. Considering the amount of famous film franchises which have been rebooted over recent years (Star Trek, James Bond, etc), it comes as no surprise to learn of the birth of a new Sherlock Holmes film series specifically tailored for a new generation. British filmmaker Guy Ritchie combines his kinetic directorial methods with the limitless charms of Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law to produce 2009's Sherlock Holmes. This newest version of the character won't likely please purists, but it isn't made for them - similar to Batman Begins and Star Trek, the timeless fictional characters are fashioned to produce a breakneck thriller intended to electrify modern audiences and widen the appeal. That's not to say Ritchie's version depicts Holmes as a straight-up action hero - in spite of the action being played up to satisfy contemporary viewers who'd find a more subdued portrayal too dull, the film is more intelligent than expected, and this is by no means hackwork.

As Sherlock Holmes begins, the titular character (Downey Jr.) and his faithful sidekick Dr. Watson (Law) apprehend serial killer Lord Blackwood (Strong) before he can claim his sixth victim via a dark arts ceremony. Prior to Blackwood's hanging, he warns Holmes that the mayhem and murder won't cease with his execution. Inevitably, this statement rings true. When Blackwood appears to have risen from the grave, the case takes a macabre turn. Complicating the situation is Irene Adler (McAdams), Holmes' slippery former flame, who has returned to London but whose motivations are vague and highly suspicious.

Guy Ritchie mixes the grittiness and brawling of Snatch with buddy cop elements (think Lethal Weapon) and the cheekiness of an Indiana Jones movie to form his Sherlock Holmes. The team of screenwriters (Michael Robert Johnson, Anthony Peckman and Simon Kinberg) keep their tale within the Victorian-era setting in London, and liberally draw from the Holmes canon as familiar characters are plucked from various tales and mixed into this unique stew which relies as much on the detective's physical abilities as it does his deductive capabilities. Fortunately, a couple of combat sequences are skilfully transformed into an intellectual exercise by decelerating the action and allowing Holmes to work out a carefully calculated series of actions to disarm his opponent. Thus, while the execution is purely physical, the violence works in conjunction with (rather than in opposition to) his intellect, not to mention it demonstrates that Holmes is always 100 steps ahead of his enemies.

Dipping into chemistry, pentagrams and early forms of electricity, the plot of Sherlock Holmes is all over the place, and it's so convoluted that one will likely have difficult wrapping their head around it all. This is, of course, due to Ritchie's hyperactive style - the director has crafted an action-adventure all about whooshing and head-banging; leaving little space between each jackhammer sequence to savour the meaning of Holmes' words. Sherlock Holmes literally plays out as if the entire film is on fast-forward. Even during the expositional scenes, there's a distinct lack of substance. On top of this, the plot is not exactly interesting - it feels like the work of Dan Brown (it's almost a doppelganger of Angels & Demons). Granted, the film remains pleasant fun, but it's too disappointingly average, disposable, and simply blah.

In portraying the legendary Sherlock Holmes, Robert Downey Jr. adds his name to an extensive list of actors, including such luminaries as Peter O'Toole, John Barrymore, Peter Cushing and the beloved Basil Rathbone. It may be tempting to perceive Downey's portrayal and Ritchie's amped-up aesthetic approach to the material as mere revisionism for the ADD generation, but it's closer in spirit and tone to Doyle's original character, who is more of a self-imposed social outcast than the distinguished, academic figure to which audiences have grown accustomed. Robert Downey Jr. could not be better casting - it's an articulation of genius that makes Sherlock Holmes such an interesting film despite the myriad flaws. His British accent is utterly convincing. Better, Downey shares pointed chemistry with Jude Law. The role of Dr. Watson was a very smart choice for Law; providing viewers with the opportunity to truly appreciate the actor's screen skills. Law exudes charm and verve as Dr. Watson; offering a more muscular portrait of the character and providing a welcome straight-man for whenever Holmes' eccentricities cross the line.

Sherlock Holmes is further marred by the inclusion of one of the dullest villains in the Holmes canon: Lord Blackwood (played by Mark Strong) who sneers a lot and aspires to take over the world in typical Blofield fashion. Strong is an excellent actor, but the character is neither broad nor menacing enough for him to sink his teeth into, and he's therefore relegated to scowling for the majority of the movie. Rachel McAdams, meanwhile, looks visibly out of her league alongside the impeccable Downey Jr. and Law.

Guy Ritchie, who hasn't had a true hit since Snatch and has been unable to bring anything new to the table since the early days of the Blair government, had long seemed a spent force. But Sherlock Holmes is a good career move. His fingerprints are all over the movie in terms of visual whiplash, but Ritchie was not among those who wrote the script, and therefore the film has not been created as Snatch in a Victorian-era setting (Tarantino should pay attention, since his Inglourious Basterds was virtually Pulp Fiction in a World War II setting). Here, Ritchie acquits himself particularly well for several exhilarating set-pieces; particularly a breathless foot-chase which ends with the destruction of an unfinished ocean liner. On a technical level, 19th Century London as it enters the modern age has been vividly and dynamically recreated, and composer Hans Zimmer delivers an enthralling score.

Ultimately, as films like X-Men achieved with the reintroduction of long-established characters to a new generation, Sherlock Holmes is more successful as a set-up to its sequels rather than a satisfying standalone story. When freed of the origin-story constraints, Brian Singer truly took off with X-Men 2, and so too should Ritchie when it comes time to create a sequel. The reason Sherlock Holmes fails as often as it succeeds is because it merely offers interesting characters in search of a worthwhile story.

6.1/10