Reviews by PvtCaboose91

Inevitably, Harry Brown will be branded as Death Wish for the 21st Century, and the UK's answer to Gran Torino. In fact, this 2009 production - which marks the feature film debut of Daniel Barber - is an intriguing mix of its two aforementioned predecessors; merging a timely portrait of contemporary street crime (similar to the Charles Bronson action vehicle) with the idea of an elderly serviceman bearing witness to the decline of the area he has called home for decades (much like Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino). Despite being imbued with these winning characteristics, Harry Brown undeniably remains a slice of wish fulfilment revenge fantasy cinema. Thank God it's also expertly-crafted, and a gripping example of British filmmaking.

Michael Caine plays the revenge-dispensing title character of Harry Brown; a 70-something ex-Royal Marine who lives in a run-down neighbourhood now ruled by feral teenagers (more commonly referred to as "chavs"). With his wife having recently passed away due to natural causes and his best friend bullied to death by the drug-peddling gangs of the local area, Harry is left alone and emotionally withdrawn. Moreover, the authorities have been powerless to solve the killing of Harry's best friend, and Harry is determined to see justice done. Armed with military experience and bucket-loads of anger, he thrusts himself into gun-toting, death-dealing action to clean up the neighbourhood.

In lesser hands, the narrative of Harry Brown could've played out like a Death Wish sequel (let's not forget Charles Bronson was 72 years old when he kicked serious ass in Death Wish 5). But Daniel Barber handles the material with an unmistakably realistic, gritty tone. The character of Harry Brown is not some daft superman of a granddad vigilante - similar to Clint Eastwood's Walt Kowalski (from Gran Torino), Harry is just an ordinary man who's pushed too far, and who's constantly marred by his limitations as a senior citizen. Thankfully, too, Harry is not merely one-dimensional - he feels like a fully-formed human being; reinforced during the film's first half hour which potently observes the character as he goes about his ordinary daily activities. Thus, when he exacts his savage payback, a viewer can comfortably cheer him on.

This brings us to the topic of the film's moralistic standpoint. Look, the film does not advocate vigilante justice. Harry Brown displays the effectiveness of actions outside the realm of prescribed law, but the tone is unmistakably downbeat (as opposed to Death Wish, which was light exploitation cinema). Moreover, it may ostensibly seem wrong for Harry to slaughter the unruly teens because it's gradually revealed his friend was slaughtered in self-defence. If one digs deeper, however, one will learn that self-defence merely entails disarming an attacker, whereas these "chavs" disarm Harry's friend before beating and stabbing him with intent to kill.

A major asset of Harry Brown is Michael Caine's magnetic, badass screen presence. As Empire said, the film reconfirms Caine as the unparalleled king of cool. Indeed, there's an unmistakable touch of Jack Carter as he lays waste to every mugger, peddler and hoodie he crosses paths with. More importantly, even when Harry is doing very little, the masterful Caine keeps you interested - he holds the film together with several solemn-eyed close-ups and a subtle hint of emotional turmoil boiling beneath his hard exterior. But Emily Mortimer, playing a determined Detective Inspector, is wooden, while Charlie Creed-Miles does what he can with a thankless role of a naïve police officer. Liam Cunningham, who delivered such an unforgettable performance in the 2008 film Hunger, is highly compelling and convincing as one of Harry's old friends.

Daniel Barber - the Oscar-nominated director of the 2007 short The Tonto Woman - displays an astute cinematic eye and ear in Harry Brown. The opening sequence, shot as if from a mobile phone camera, is visceral, and endowed with unsettling immediacy. The housing blocks and locations in which the story transpires heighten the authenticity and grittiness, as well. This is also one of the most gorgeous British films of the decade - the colour palette has been duly dipped in inky blacks and autumnal browns; recalling the rich, shadowy look of The Godfather or the urban darkness of Se7en. For this, credit belongs to the ace rising-star cinematographer Marin Ruhe (whose prior work includes Control). However, despite the technical proficiency, the film is strictly cartoon-level in terms of character and story. It's the predictable Death Wish formula played out on the streets of 21st Century Britain with one-dimensional villains and useless policemen. More importantly, the film depicts some uncomfortably extreme solutions to dealing with misbehaving teenagers without getting to the heart of the issue. Another grave miscalculation is the use of digitally-created blood which at times exhibits distracting phoniness.

As a slice of histrionic Charles Bronson-esque revenge cinema, Harry Brown delivers, and pushes all the right buttons. Although not quite as accomplished as Shane Meadows' exceptional Dead Man's Shoes, this is a powerful and vital example of modern British filmmaking.

8.0/10

While a great deal of "topical" motion pictures invariably arrive too late, 2009's Up in the Air is a flawlessly timed evocation of this modern age of corporate instability, a shaky global economy, and a general aura of uncertainty and discomfort. Of course, a film is not catapulted to greatness on account of its timeliness alone. Jason Reitman visibly understands this principal - he has created not just a relevant film with Up in the Air, but a tour de force on several additional levels. Reitman's prior directorial outings, Thank You for Smoking and Juno, were both assured comedies, but the 32-year-old director has taken an enormous leap forward with Up in the Air, toggling between comedy and drama, romance and social observation, and satire and sorrow with absolute confidence. Up in the Air is a reminder of a reality that movies prefer to gloss over - it's an achingly poignant film that manages to do a commendable job of both entertaining you and reminding you of how problematical and painful life can be.

George Clooney plays corporate downsizing expert Ryan Bingham. When the CEO of a company doesn't have the cajones to fire an employee themselves, they hire a professional like Ryan to fly in and deliver the news instead. In these bad economic times, Ryan's business is booming; he's perpetually flying all around the country, leaving people unemployed wherever he goes. Ryan lives his life in hotels, airplanes and airports, but it's a life he prefers - it allows him to ignore the responsibilities and attachments often associated with growing up. This is threatened when Ryan's boss hires an arrogant young hotshot named Natalie (Kendrick), who suggests the use of teleconference technology to allow remote layoffs. Objecting to the impersonal nature of virtual dismissal, but more concerned his cherished way of life will end, Ryan takes the naïve Natalie on one of his cross-country firing expeditions.

Thus, part of the film's dynamic is the experienced veteran who shows a determined newbie the ropes, which in this case involves the proper etiquette of dealing with distraught employees, the benefits of four-wheeled suitcases, and the preferred people to get in line behind at the airport. More comprehensively than any movie this reviewer has ever seen, Up in the Air masterfully evokes the essence of the airport experience as well.

Based on Walter Kirn's novel that was adapted for the screen by Reitman and Sheldon Turner, Up in the Air is a rare cinematic animal: an unclassifiable story with a prime focus on people. It contains equal parts comedy and tragedy, romance and heartbreak. From time to time, it possesses the look and feel of a romantic comedy, but this is misleading. Ryan does develop a relationship with a woman he meets at the airport named Alex (Farmiga), but this is a secondary plot - a way to illustrate further facets of Ryan's life, and to provide tightly-scripted dialogue. Added to this, Reitman's picture is one of the best movies to tackle the inhumanity of the way corporations fire employees. The lampooning is razor-sharp and resolute; each target is singularly nailed before each point is driven home with unyielding force.

Up in the Air can be a tough film to stomach. As the proceedings continue to unfold and a viewer eases into the comfortable aura of escapism, Reitman continues to hit us with harsh reminders that life is unexpectedly cruel. The filmmakers masterfully used real recently-unemployed people (save for a few notable famous faces) for the scenes of dismissal; their genuine pain and heartache affords the film with an unsettling realism. The movie only truly missteps in the third act, at the point where the focus shifts away from hotels and airports to instead concentrate on Ryan's personal life to allow for Capra-esque redemption. Despite said redemption being inevitable for the character, this particular portion feels the most forced and the least natural. Additionally, the film's constant stream of sophisticated humour aside, there are a few easy jokes here that don't always gel with the recurrent scenes of workers having their lives shattered.

Ryan Bingham represents a fascinating specimen - a member of the modern world whose goal is the exact opposite of the American Dream: he doesn't want the house, the wife or the children, and his relationships consist of one-night stands in airport hotels. Eschewing human baggage, Ryan has developed a philosophy of personal disconnect and stark individuality which is shared with others throughout professional seminars. The title of Ryan's talk, "What's in your Backpack?", acts as a metaphor for how materialistic possessions and human relationships weigh us down. With a perpetually empty backpack, Bingham adores his solitary existence and cherishes the experience of avoiding the concerns of reality as he soars through the clouds from one rental car depot and airport hotel to the next. George Clooney is perfect for this role. More than virtually any other of this generation's actors, Clooney capably combines the old-world style and charm of classic Hollywood stars with the skilful malleability of the world's best character actors. Even though the character of Ryan Bingham thrives on the misery of others, Clooney's performance allows a viewer to sympathise with him. Thanks to Clooney's top-notch work, Ryan's lifestyle also seems bizarrely desirable until the curtain is finally peeled back to reveal the chilly loneliness residing within Ryan's cupboard.

Clooney was exceptionally paired with Vera Farmiga. The two stars generate white-hot sparks and irresistible romantic chemistry playing the anonymous lovers bonding over a mutual awareness of travel tips and hotel room seclusion. No less impressive is Anna Kendrick, whose perfectly assured and nuanced performance as Natalie may allow us to forgive her for tarnishing her résumé with the Twilight series. In those films she's generic and easily dismissed, but here she displays ownership of terrific acting chops, and that, given a proper outlet, she knows how to use them. Several other actors of note (J.K. Simmons, Sam Elliot, Danny McBride) were used sparingly but effectively. Zack Galifianakis, who shot to immediate stardom thanks to 2009's surprise hit The Hangover, is particularly note-worthy; his screen-time is hysterical.

Up in the Air is ultimately about realisation, breaking free from the corporate system, celebrating the freedom to act spontaneously, and daring to reach out to others. The naturalistic flow of the dialogue which unfolds in real-world rhythms, as well as the sharp comedy and heartfelt drama establishes Reitman as one of the finest filmmaking talents of his generation. It's a movie made for grown-ups by grown-ups, and let's hope for all our sakes there's still an audience for that kind of thing.

9.2/10

For all you action fans, the wait is finally over. At long last, nearly twenty years later, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren reteam for 2009's Universal Soldier: Regeneration, yet another sequel to the 1992 Roland Emmerich-directed hit. With countless Universal Soldier flicks floating around, it is confusing to comprehend where the various entries fit into the overall series. To clarify, Regeneration is a direct sequel to the original movie that disregards the two direct-to-video follow-ups and the 1999 theatrical sequel, Universal Soldier: The Return. The product is downright awesome: a startlingly competent and highly entertaining action film that makes the most of its limited budget. It may not be a masterpiece, but as superfluous direct-to-video sequels go, Regeneration is above average.

The story is a simple one. Terrorists occupying the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant abduct the Ukrainian Prime Minister's son and daughter, rigging the reactor with explosives and threatening to detonate unless the authorities release their imprisoned comrades within 72 hours. Among their ranks, the terrorists also have a Next-Generation UniSol, or NGU (Andrei Arlovski), under their control, overseen by rogue scientist Dr. Robert Colin (Kerry Shale). With U.S. soldiers and the Ukrainian Army failing to rescue the hostages, Dr. Colin's former colleague, Dr. Richard Porter (Garry Cooper), resurrects the Universal Soldier program, reviving four UniSols to battle the seemingly unstoppable NGU. When things get desperate, the government recruits Luc Deveraux (Jean-Claude Van Damme), one of the original UniSols, to participate in the mission. However, Dr. Colin also has a second UniSol: a cloned and upgraded Andrew Scott (Dolph Lundgren).

At the helm of Universal Soldier: Regeneration is relative newcomer John Hyams, the son of Hollywood mainstay Peter Hyams, whose list of credits includes 2010: The Year We Make Contact, Outland, and the Van Damme movies Timecop and Sudden Death. Peter serves as cinematographer here, allowing his son to handle the directorial duties. From a critical standpoint, Regeneration is mediocre at best and will not win awards for the screenplay by first-timer Victor Ostrovsky, but John Hyams nails the execution, staging several exhilarating action sequences. The flick opens with a humdinger of a car chase - an effective, gritty, technically sound set piece that is all the more laudable considering the meagre $9 million budget. Aware that every penny counts and keen to show off his skills behind the camera, John displays impressive stylistic flair throughout the action sequences, some resembling a Call of Duty videogame. The fight choreography is also sensational, with the various punch-ups guaranteed to get pulses pounding. Thanks to Peter's slick cinematography and John's competent direction, Regeneration looks more impressive than any number of theatrical action movies.

Of course, the picture's crown jewel is the battle between Van Damme and Lundgren. At its core, the first Universal Soldier was nothing more than an excuse to repeatedly pit two of the era's biggest action stars against each other. Arriving seventeen years after the original film, Regeneration reuses this rudimentary formula, which still results in a highly entertaining action film. Granted, Van Damme only appears in half the film, and Lundgren only receives roughly 15 minutes of screen time, but this is nevertheless sufficient to ensure the movie is worth checking out. The boys bring it during their showdown, and then some - they beat the tar out of each other, and their size difference works as well here as it did in 1992. Both men are trained martial artists, and it appears they did not use stunt doubles very often since Van Damme and Lundgren are frequently visible either receiving a beating or dishing one out.

Fortunately, the script adequately serves Van Damme and Lundgren, as the material suits the acting range of both stars: they play emotionless thugs whose single objective is to kick serious ass. Witnessing these two masters of mayhem at work reminds us, and will hopefully remind Hollywood, just how deserving Van Damme and Lundgren are of appearing in more theatrical movies. These two are not the only muscle-bound performers in Regeneration, mind you, as monstrous UFC wrestler Andrei 'The Pitbull' Arlovski receives ample opportunities to slaughter people and show off his fighting chops. The rest of the cast mostly amounts to generic names with faces, with the budget not facilitating any more familiar or well-known thespians.

Taken at face value, Universal Soldier: Regeneration is a success. It achieves everything it sets out to do, and it is sure to satisfy action enthusiasts. It is easy to acknowledge the film's flaws - the predictable screenplay, the unremarkable dialogue, the not-so-compelling plot - but it all comes with the territory. The climactic 30 minutes deliver the type of slam-bang, balls-to-the-wall action moviemaking that is easy to appreciate, especially if you enjoy this genre. Regeneration is atmospheric and brisk, and it knows when to quit. It's a great beer and pizza flick, fellas.

7.2/10

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