Reviews by PvtCaboose91

The Mechanic can best be described as an investigative character study of a "mechanic" (or hitman, as they're more commonly called). This second creative collaboration of Charles Bronson and director Michael Winner is a tense 1970s action-thriller that excites with tenacious stunt-work and engrosses with a restrained screenplay. It's also a fairly smart motion picture which delves into the sacrifice, methodology and motivation of being a hitman, in addition to exploring the mindset required for the procedural execution of a target and the dangers inherent in the work.

The movie begins with a glorious fifteen-minute sequence that's completely dialogue-free and establishes a cinematic tension that's adhered to throughout. For this opening sequence, the camera observes hitman Arthur Bishop (Bronson) as he strategically carries out the elimination of a mark. Once Bishop's (flamingly successful) mission is complete, the film explores the day-to-day workings of the protagonist. Bishop is a very meticulous contract killer; he approaches each new assignment with detailed precision to ensure the cleanest outcome. Into his guarded, isolated life enters young Steve McKenna (Vincent); the son of his latest target. The mechanic reluctantly accepts McKenna as his protégé, but the mob that Bishop works for is not happy about an outsider being recruited without their consent.

The Mechanic is a steadily paced action-thriller that leisurely develops its characters (mainly through showing, not telling) while offering chest-thumping sequences of confrontation and chase. Director Winner (who later collaborated with Bronson for 1974's Death Wish) was often criticised for his savage staging and vulgar sensibilities. All these decades later, however, these aforementioned elements generate a brilliantly authentic, visceral edge. Winner handles the material with tremendous zeal, staging slick action set-pieces that range from high-speed pursuits to explosive shootouts before the movie eventually culminates in a terrific double-twist ending. In addition to this, the pair of cinematographers (Richard H. Kline and Robert Paynter) pull off outstanding work. The exquisitely-photographed opening sequence is a triumph, and there are several memorable images throughout the film as well. However the movie isn't deep enough to be an effective character study. It delves into the hitman professional adequately, but we remain less enlightened about the man pulling the trigger - Bishop's motivations and desires are too vague. Crucially, there isn't enough action for the movie to be considered a pure actioner. Ultimately the fusion of action and character study is somewhat ham-fisted.

At the centre of the film is Charles Bronson, and he submits one of the best and most nuanced performances of his career. Bronson brings a tough guy physicality and stoic silence to his role, making us believe he can kill targets with ease. Alongside Bronson is Jan Michael Vincent. His delivery may be rather stiff, but he possesses an excellent natural arrogance. One should also keep an eye open for Jill Ireland (Bronson's wife) playing a hooker who gives Bishop an artificial bond which lets him believe he's tenderly loved.

All in all, The Mechanic is a satisfying offering of action and thrills. It's an economic blend of cool characters, great outbursts of action and an intriguing plotline. It falls short of greatness due to the characters being fairly underdeveloped, but it remains entertaining enough. The film was remade in 2010.

7.3/10

Bruce Robinson's Withnail & I is a doped-out British comedy spun from autobiographical threads about two unemployed actors living in London during 1969. This cult classic is devoid of a real plot and is shot in the simple, relatively dull style of a first-time director struggling to find his footing, yet it's a wonderfully-scripted portrait of English living which chugs forward on the strength of its dialogue and primary actors.

Taking place in the late 1960s, Withnail & I is the story of two down-on-their-luck actors: Withnail (Grant) and the "I" of the film, Marwood (McGann). They have an agent somewhere, but he doesn't seem to care much about them. Desperate to escape the tedium of their uneventful lives, Withnail and Marwood head to the countryside, borrowing a cottage owned by Withnail's eccentric Uncle Monty (Griffiths). However, Monty's little cottage is more rustic than expected, and (since they don't have much money) they become short on firewood and food. At various times throughout the weekend, they're forced to deal with inclement weather, a horny bull, and provincial folk who aren't as friendly or hospitable as they had hoped.

Withnail & I is a screen adaptation of Robinson's own novel. Before the novel was published, a copy of the manuscript was passed onto a wealthy friend of Robinson's who in turn paid the writer to adapt it into a screenplay. Robinson was subsequently urged to direct the movie as well (which was in part funded by George Harrison). Withnail & I is largely autobiographical - it's based on real people and events from Robinson's life. The "I" character is naturally based on himself, while the character of Withnail was based on the late Vivian MacKerrell (an eccentric actor with little or no ambition). MacKerrell and Robinson were friends who lived a life together similar to that which is depicted in the film. Uncle Monty is loosely based on amorous Italian film director Franco Zeffirelli, whom Robinson received unwanted attention from when he was a young actor.

In essence, the movie doesn't offer a great deal plot-wise, but that isn't Robinson's point - the writer-director was attempting to evoke a feeling derived from his own memories of being a directionless young man in the late '60s with grand ambitions but no place to go. The minimal plot which does exist merely functions as a framework on which Robinson can create the sensation of the lives of Withnail and Marwood. This is a character study rather than a plot-driven affair. Withnail & I is also a distinctively British movie. A number of expressions used throughout the feature are loaded with typical, irresistible British cockiness.

Thankfully, Withnail & I survived dissention from certain studio executives who perceived the film as an unmitigated disaster. By no means was this film an overnight success, but it has garnered an avid cult following in the decades since its theatrical release (particularly in Britain). Like all the best cult movies, Withnail & I offers line upon line of quotable dialogue. On first viewing, the film is a somewhat ponderous affair about two dislikeable characters. But subsequent viewings unveil something you failed to catch previously. Robinson's rich screenplay (which earned an Evening Standard British Film Award) is difficult to fully absorb with a single viewing. The film's entertainment value lies in its texture - it's an often funny comedy, but it's without discernible jokes and it's short on set-pieces (the dignified exceptions being the urine test, the fishing expedition and a sequence involving a chicken). Withnail & I gets plenty of comic mileage from the rapid-fire banter, the colourfully-drawn characters, and the intermittent Monty Python-esque moments. If there's a fault, it's that it occasionally grows dreary due to the monotonous filmmaking style adopted by Robinson. Pacing issues also stem from this.

Performances across the board are beyond convincing. This was the feature film debut of Richard E. Grant whose wonderfully sharp, witty performance gained him a great deal of attention, and propelled him to fame. Paul McGann (another unknown as the time) does a fine job of playing the calmer Marwood without ever fading into the background. Grant and McGann are an ideal screen couple, and the two seem so immersed in their roles that it never feels like they're actually acting. Richard Griffiths offers excellent support as Uncle Monty, while Ralph Brown also contributes brilliantly as Danny the drug dealer.

Shot on a low budget with a cast of mostly unknown actors (of the time), Withnail & I is a triumph of personal vision. It has a ring of truth to it that most films lack, with situations that are realistic and warm characters that lack exaggerations and therefore feel like people you've met. The incredibly witty script and a once-in-a-lifetime combination of Paul McGann & Richard E. Grant makes this film essential viewing.

8.5/10

The tagline reads "Rock N' Load", the synopsis suggests an '80s-style Die Hard emulation, and the star and director is none other than action guru Dolph Lundgren. With the above in mind, how could you possibly pass up the opportunity to watch Command Performance? Of course, no-one would watch such a movie in the hope of experiencing intelligent plotting, witty dialogue or anything remotely cerebral...this film instead exists to assuage viewers craving action. Command Performance fortunately delivers virtually everything an action-lover is seeking, while also supplying very little of the hindrances one would expect to put up with (there are only minor plot holes, the action is usually grounded, the acting is pretty good, and the dialogue isn't too dumb). This is definitely one of the Dolphster's best movies.

Throughout the lead-up to this movie's release, it was hailed as "Die Hard at a Rock Concert". Lo and behold, Command Performance is precisely that. The story concerns a terrorist takeover of a Moscow charity concert; an event attended by the Russian President (Shopov). The President and his family are taken hostage (along with a number of other important people), and the heavily armed terrorists demand a substantial amount of ransom money. The task of saving the day is left to a heavy metal drummer named Joe (Lundgren) and a young Russian security agent (Baharov), both of whom managed to evade the terrorists' grasp.

It doesn't take long for Command Performance to hit its stride. After barely 10 minutes (in which slender characterisations and requisite fragments of plot are set up), the terrorists take over the concert in the most violent fashion imaginable (innocent civilians are even slaughtered!). In typical Die Hard tradition, the film then proceeds to alternate between bursts of ultra-violence and exposition. The laundry list of Die Hard clichés is also present, ranging from the inept law enforcement officials to the hero who can only endure flesh-wounds when shot, and even the bad guys who are unable to shoot straight. However, to be fair, this is all part of the '80s vibe. Right from the outset it's in full '80s mode: cheesy rock music, frequently hilarious one-liners, extreme violence, one-note villains, hostage situations and snobby journalists. Amusingly, the Russian characters are even given clichéd Russian names - there's Oleg, Mikhail, Alexi and so on.

One thing's for sure: Dolph Lundgren can direct the hell out of an action sequence. But for his previous work, Dolph has relied on irritating visual gimmicks, such as flash, shaky cam and rapid cutting (like Tony Scott, except not that extreme). While Dolph and cinematographer Marc Windon employ these techniques for Command Performance, they're only a mild bother (it isn't as indecipherable as a Michael Bay film). As a matter of fact, this style generates a welcome amount of kinetic energy. For the most part the movie looks very competent (especially considering the low budget) and Dolph has the good grace to ensure a viewer always knows what's going on during the action. The main attraction of Command Performance is, naturally, the promise of bloody violence. And boy, Dolph doesn't disappoint. Throats are slit, blood squibs explode, and there are big explosions. The spirit of the '80s lives on! Dolph is simply one of the best action directors of the 2000s - his films are refreshingly gritty, violent and old-school.

In addition to directing and starring, Dolph Lundgren also conceived the story and wrote the script with Steve Latshaw. The script plays out more or less how one would expect it to - there are laughable contrivances (the security is surprisingly low for a concert being attended by the fucking Russian President!), and the outcome is predictable. It all comes with the territory. However, considering this is a throwback to the action films of the '80s, there's potential tied to the concert setting that's never realised in Command Performance. For instance, there are rock concert clichés which would've made amusing one-liners (some of the more obvious ones are used, however), and there are instruments that could cause a satisfyingly gory death (though Dolph does at one stage kill a guy with a drumstick).

Within Command Performance one will also experience some catchy music - Melissa Smith performs one of her own songs, and Dolph is given a number of opportunities to flaunt his drumming skills (one of the reasons he decided to make this movie). All other technical credits are excellent - Adam Nordén's score is suitably intense and thrilling, while Peter Hollywood's editing is of a uniformly high standard.

On the acting front, there's the Dolphster playing his usual screen persona. Dolph never displays a great degree of emotional depth, but his stoic line delivery works in the context of this type of action movie. He's certainly more skilled than, say, Steven Seagal or Jean-Claude Van Damme. Melissa Smith's acting skills aren't exactly brilliant (she's more of a singer than an actress), but she accomplishes all that's required of her without coming off as grating. Dave Legeno is disappointing as the main villain of the film. His Russian accent is flat, and his performance is instantly forgettable instead of boundlessly menacing. Command Performance needed a stronger villain (after all, Die Hard wouldn't be half as good without Alan Rickman). The rest of the cast fares better - Hristo Shopov is an amiable Russian President, and Zahary Baharov proves a worthy partner for Dolph's Joe. The camaraderie between Baharov and Lundgren gives the movie a nice spark. One should also keep an eye out for Ida Lundgren (Dolph's daughter), who appears as one of the President's daughters (the older one).

Dolph is fully aware of the type of movies that'll placate his unfinicky fanbase, and with strong creative control he has delivered one hell of an awesome ride here. It's a shame that (like the majority of Dolph's recent films) Command Performance bypassed cinemas, since it's one of the purest and most enjoyable action films of recent years. It rocks! (Excuse the pun)

7.4/10

In spite of only earning a mere $43 million at the global box office, 2006's Crank became an instantaneous cult hit. This cult status ensured that writer-directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor would be given the chance to produce a sequel, which has at long last arrived in the form of Crank: High Voltage. This is merely a celebration of action-comedy; a barely coherent collection of stunts, fights, plot absurdities, profanity-laced dialogue and sex...all set at breakneck pace. It's a grindhouse film for the MTV generation, and it's one hell of a rip-snorting rollercoaster ride in which Neveldine and Taylor push their movie to the limit and beyond (with absolutely no regard for restraint or basic standards of common decency).

For those who recall, Chev Chelios (Statham) "died" at the end of Crank - he fell from a helicopter and landed on the pavement several thousand feet below. But in this sequel, he's alive and well. Clearly, the best explanation as to how Chev survived his fall is no explanation whatsoever. The moment he hits the pavement, he's hauled away by a group of Chinese thugs and taken to a seedy laboratory. His heart is removed and replaced with an artificial heart in order to keep him alive so his other organs can be harvested. Needless to say, Chev is unwilling to be a mystery donor. After busting out of the operating room, he embarks on a hunt for his missing heart while killing assorted forms of scum along the way.

This premise sets up another 85 minute of insanity similar to the first film, with Chev engaging in a wild orgy of violence and sex. His trustworthy doctor (Yoakam) is once again on the other end of a phone line, and informs Chev that he has to keep his artificial heart powered in order to sustain his citywide rampage. The electricity becomes derived from all manner of sources - tasers, car batteries, powerlines, friction, and so on. This contrivance also leads to an over-the-top cartoonishness, and any semblance of realism is quickly drained from the material.

Realistically, the only way to follow up on the outrageousness of Crank without creating a pure re-tread is to push the envelope. The envelope isn't merely pushed; it's blown wide open. Crank: High Voltage actually makes the original Crank seem like a safe, studio-friendly venture. Lionsgate evidently didn't set any restrictions for Neveldine and Taylor to obey, so the filmmakers were free to turn the movie into a masterpiece of camera gymnastics and dark comedy. The notion that these films are cinematic video games is pushed even harder (especially by Mike Patton's score), and the movie once again rests on the shoulders of Jason Statham and Amy Smart (who are apparently game for any kind of public debauchery the writing/directing duo can cook up). The phrase "over-the-top" is perhaps an insulting understatement, much like the words "morally bankrupt". Thank God it's also endlessly entertaining, and easily one of the most hilarious movies of 2009.

In spite of my better judgement, this reviewer adores the Crank movies. Crank: High Voltage may even be superior to its predecessor simply because it's even more energetic and inventive. It's also one of the craziest, most ridiculous movies ever made - and that ain't an insult. Just when you believe things can't get any crazier, Neveldine and Taylor take another unpredictable turn. For instance, there are a few newscast segments featuring John De Lancie as an anchorman whose bitingly satirical anecdotes are a highlight. There's also a wonderfully executed parody of the old Godzilla movies (featuring exaggerated puppet versions of Chelios and his opponent) included at the most random time plainly because the kitchen sink had been tossed in and the filmmakers were struggling to find something else. But since Crank: High Voltage is in full excess mode, not everything works. For example, a superfluous dream/flashback sequence with a young Chev and his mother on a British talk show brings the movie to a grinding halt and temporarily hinders the pacing.

Neveldine and Taylor's shooting style is varied and frenzied. The movie looks remarkably good considering its low-budget origins, not to mention the fact that it was primarily shot with consumer digital cameras easily obtainable at your local electronics store. Like the first movie, the handheld shooting style allows a viewer to see the world from Chev's perspective. The editing is rapid (probably about two cuts per second on average) and a wide variety of visual tweaks are employed (freeze frames, comic book-like captions, cartoon sound effects, and even pixilation to "obscure" supposedly graphic sexual acts). But like the original movie, the plot and characters are elementary; the type of stuff found in direct-to-DVD offerings. Also, too, since this sequel adopts a lot the same cinematic techniques of its predecessor, as well as the general template, it does feel derivative from time to time.

Crank: High Voltage works as wonderfully as it does primarily because Jason Statham is so pitch-perfect; merging bona fide action star with genuinely sharp comic timing. Statham is an effective straight man doing what straight men do best - ignoring the silliness around him, and approaching everything without a wink or a smile.
There are a bunch of returning faces from the first Crank, most notable of which is Amy Smart who's terrific as Chev's public-sex-prone girlfriend Eve. Dwight Yoakam is another highlight as Chev's hedonistic, amoral friend and medical advisor. Efren Ramirez also returns, playing the brother of his character from the original film (how clever). The most surprising addition to the cast is an utterly unrecognisable and underused David Carradine, who's hidden under age make-up in a weird, hysterical and brief riff on his old Kung Fu movies. Keep an eye out for Corey Haim as well, who amps up the sleaze for his minor role.

Critic-proof movies are all the rage in this current cinematic climate. Crank: High Voltage is pretty much critic-proof. If you find yourself hating this film (a perfectly reasonable reaction), you're probably not the audience for this type of flick. While this argument could be used for countless other brain-dead summer actioners, the Crank films stand out due to one very crucial factor: they have balls. They're unapologetically R-rated action films which focus on the gore and are low on silly CGI. If you loved the first Crank, you're likely to enjoy this sequel just as much.

Be sure to stay throughout the credits for an assortment of bloopers.

7.5/10

Sometimes movie-goers require a dosage of simple, unadulterated fun in the form of a film that's content with serving up a nourishing dose of action, violence and sex. So thank Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor that the delightful action-comedy Crank exists. Geared towards the dormant 13-year-old in every male, Crank doesn't merely unfold...it explodes onscreen, careening from one chest-thumping scene to the next. It delivers 85 minutes of pure action and hilarity, with minimal encumbrances (like exposition or character development) and with only skeletal fragments of plot. Crank also throttles forward with a glorious tongue-in-cheek approach - the over-the-top action is delivered with a side order of cheese, and plenty of humour accompanies the cocktail of testosterone and adrenaline (emphasis on "adrenaline"). The film is every bit as trashy, vulgar, sexist, brainless, excessive and callow as you'd imagine, but this reviewer enjoyed every delirious minute.

Former professional assassin Chev Chelios (Statham) awakens in his apartment at the beginning of the film after having been poisoned by his rival Verona (Cantillo) with a lethal dose of the "Beijing Cocktail". Chev only has about an hour to live, but learns that he'll be able to slow down the effects of poison and live long enough to exact revenge if he keeps his adrenaline levels high. And thus, Chev begins a citywide crime spree. In order to keep his adrenaline pumping he resorts to barbaric violence, cocaine, shootouts, car chases (usually in stolen cars), epinephrine, caffeinated drinks, nasal spray and a very public display of affection. And during all this chaos, Chev's "doctor" (Yoakam) - you'd use quotation marks too, if you saw how this guy runs his practise - dispenses advice through a phone line, though he insists there's no actual cure for what Chev has been injected with.

Directed and written by Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor, Crank is an exercise in overblown simplicity. Prior to this movie, Neveldine and Taylor had only worked as cinematographers and camera operators, which probably explains why the visuals overwhelm all narrative requirements. The story is every bit as dumb as it sounds, but who cares? Why watch Crank for incisive dialogue or intelligent plotting? It has a niche audience, and it aims solely to satiate them. Once you suspend your disbelief, respect the film's decision to dispose of all logic by the 10-minute mark, and realise that the creators are only interested in cramming as much action as possible into a tight runtime, you're in for a fun, action-packed ride that's all about the forward momentum.

Neveldine and Taylor employ every stylistic cinematic technique imaginable. In fact, there are times when the movie feels like little more than an opportunity for the two writer-directors to show off. With split screens, distorted images, first-person shots, slow-motion, fast-motion, freeze frames, animated representations of Chev's heart, colour saturation and use of Google maps, the look of the film is frenzied and adrenaline-pumping; replicating the emotions and anxieties of the protagonist. However the style crosses over into tedium from time to time due to sheer repetition. There's so much happening during every single frame and there's so much action that it all feels like a far too generous helping of junk food. After all, at its most basic level, Crank is overstylised junk food. If one removed all the visual tweaks and tongue-in-cheek humour from the equation, one would be left with a story better off in a direct-to-DVD action flick starring Van Damme or Steven Seagal.

British badass Jason Statham (of Transporter fame) carries the whole feature on his well-formed shoulders; pushing the envelope of acceptable antihero boundaries. With his eyes full of fire, Statham turns Chev Chelios into a laser-guided missile of mayhem, unable and unwilling to stop until he finds an antidote and/or slaughters everyone responsible for his corpse-bound state. Thankfully Statham brings a degree of dimension to the role, and his acting is top-notch. Since Crank is mostly a one-man show, the rest of the cast just needs to be present, accounted for, and playing their minor part for the film to succeed. But oddly enough, the supporting players are just as effective. Jose Pablo Cantillo is all teeth and terror as Verona, while Amy Smart is frequently amusing as Chev's girlfriend Eve. There's also Efren Ramirez (probably best known for Napoleon Dynamite) who plays Chev's sidekick Kaylo with subliminal flamboyance.

Some audiences may choose to dismiss Crank as an over-inflated excuse for blood, guts, firepower and fisticuffs...to an extent, that's correct. But it's also hilarious, irresistible, macho fun. It's best described as a live-action video game (some levels even play out like levels of Grand Theft Auto) with an unhinged Jason Statham in the centre of it all. Stuffy, serious critics may dislike Crank due to its contrived story (after all, why couldn't Verona just shoot Chev instead of poisoning him?) and shallow characterisations, but the movie is more geared towards those who'll take it in the intended spirit. Be sure to keep watching 'til the end credits expire for a scene which cements its live-action video game pedigree.

Followed by Crank: High Voltage in 2009.

7.5/10

The concept of an Australian comedy featuring the once-in-a-lifetime pair-up of Paul Crocodile Dundee Hogan and Shane Kenny Jacobson would appear foolproof. And while this movie doesn't live up to all of its potential, Charlie & Boots (the sophomore effort of director Dean Murphy, who previously collaborated with Paul Hogan for 2004's Strange Bedfellows) is an endearing, heart-achingly poignant, sweet dramedy. This is a film infused with so much heart that even the feel-good clichés come across as charming, and it's simply an ideal vehicle for its two primary stars. Just how well it'll play for an international audience is a mystery, though.

Structured in the form of a conventional road-trip picture, the storyline here is straightforward. After the tragic death of his beloved wife Grace (Peggy Thompson), Charlie (Paul Hogan) - a hardworking farmer - is left devastated and withdrawn. On a whim, his older son Boots (Shane Jacobson) decides to take an impromptu fishing trip with Charlie in the hope it will shake his old man out of the doldrums and perhaps repair the rift in their relationship. Once Boots climbs into the car, Charlie informs him they'll be travelling from their Victorian hometown all the way up to Cape York (thousands of kilometres away) for a spot of fishing off the country's northernmost tip (a trip long promised but never accomplished). Charlie is at first none-too-cooperative, but Boots does his best to be upbeat. Along the way, they pick up an attractive young female hitchhiker with boyfriend trouble (Morgan Griffin), and they fend off a succession of older women who are interested in Charlie.

Gradually, as the trip unfolds, an uneasy companionship emerges as the protagonists begin to learn more about each other and the dramas that ruptured their lives. A motion picture that celebrates the relationship between father and son, Charlie & Boots is sublimely warm and good-natured. The movie exposes family conflicts and observes the protagonists as both of them divulge emotional revelations while their relationship is gradually placed back on track. In a sense, Charlie & Boots can be perceived as a picturesque tourist guide of rural Australia - during their travels, the characters encounter the Grampians, Tamworth, Forbes, Tenterfield and even the spectacular Great Barrier Reed. A lot of these locations are low-key (Baz Luhrmann wouldn't have used them), and Roger Lawson's cinematography does justice to them. Dean Murphy's competent direction keeps things wonderfully minimalist and naturalistic (an efficient set-up that poignantly observes Charlie's grief is a particular highlight), while Dale Cornelius' delightful score adds yet another layer of enthralling flavour. Sure, the film may be little more than a mere string of vignettes that adhere to a similar formula, but it all comes together nicely.

Charlie & Boots is heavily laced with dry Aussie wit that's well suited to Australian audiences, who should also readily identify with the characters and be touched by their warmth. There are a number of laughs to have here, with most of the humour being derived from witty writing (like Charlie's attitude towards a paddle-steamer) and a number of hilarious comedic set-pieces (such as a sequence involving a dim police officer). Yet despite the film's strong points, there are inherent problems with Murphy and co-writer Stewart Faichney's screenplay. The central problem is that the whole thing is incredibly by-the-numbers - it's your standard road-trip movie which obeys the rules of the genre (it's obvious from the outset that Charlie and Boots will patch up their relationship, for instance). While it could additionally be argued that the laughs are a tad limited considering the talent involved, the material bridging the comic material is solid - there's always something interesting going on, and the drama feels more affecting than forced.

A film joining the comic talents of Paul Hogan and Shane Jacobson was a terrific idea (however tenuous their physical resemblance), and their pair-up here is wonderful. Hoges is his usual brilliant self as Charlie; delivering a trademark performance that has echoes of his glory days. The former Crocodile Dundee star is able to express an inner sadness that's deeply affecting, and the gradual breaking down of his character's bitterness and reserve is effectively conveyed. Meanwhile, Shane Jacobson is pitch-perfect - likeable, sympathetic and above all relatable as Boots (whose real name is revealed in an amusing, nicely judged scene). He perfectly embodied the hard-working Aussie bloke in the 2006 hit Kenny, and in Charlie & Boots, he brilliantly pulls off this type of role once again. In the supporting cast, there's the lovely young Morgan Griffin, who would've been 16 or 17 during production. Griffin brings a delightful warmth and buoyancy to the material, and an audience will miss her (as the boys do) when she abruptly departs from the story. The movie is in loving memory of Reg Evans, who plays an amusing minor role in the movie, and who died in the 2009 Victorian bushfires.

All things considered, Charlie & Boots is a pleasant, down-to-earth, enjoyable little Aussie film of male bonding which is both funny and touching. Its charm is very pervasive, and it's difficult not to yield to it. Any Australian who has ever taken a multiple-day road trip will easily relate to the situations the protagonists encounter (car trouble, snoring relos, etc). Charlie & Boots may be a highly clichéd affair, but it'll surely plant a smile on your face - and who can complain about that? Be sure to watch until after the end credits for a bonus laugh.

7.9/10

Nominally, Hunger is a motion picture about the life of IRA activist Bobby Sands who died in 1981 as the result of a hunger strike. But this startling feature film debut of British visual artist Steve McQueen (no relation to the late actor whose name he oddly shares) doesn't hew to conventional biopic storytelling - instead, it's essentially a relentless and powerful montage of events (mainly the countless protests) that unfolded in Belfast's notorious Maze prison during the 1980s. As a matter of fact, Bobby Sands (played by Michael Fassbender) is not properly introduced until approximately half an hour into the movie. With Hunger, McQueen (who scripted the film with Irish playwright Enda Walsh) has crafted an effective episodic motion picture. The perspective segues smoothly from prisoner to guard to prisoner, and so on, until the film at long last settles on Sands.

From beginning to end, Hunger is a masterwork of detailed atmosphere. Steve McQueen directs with staggering Kubrickian precision; offering a strong, visceral sense of the unspeakably brutal and violent world it portrays with its regular riots, beatings and body searches. The director brings Belfast in 1981 to life with substantial skill, aided by Sean Bobbitt's brilliant cinematography and Tom McCullagh's stunning production design. Hunger truly captures the frigid conditions the naked prisoners endured, while also itemising the nightmarish muck as the prisoners covered the walls with their own faeces to compel British officials into action. McQueen doesn't shy away from any details as he transforms this hell into visual poetry; concentrating on the naturalistic moments the inmates happened upon while wordlessly carrying out their orders and smuggling plans. McQueen insists a viewer not only see but ponder the imagery, and the director allows a viewer to do so by employing contemplative, sometimes agonisingly long, speechless takes.

Indeed, Hunger contains barely any dialogue - it elects to let the stark, unflinching images speak volumes about the madness at hand. The contrast of routine English police manoeuvres with the feral panic of the Irish prisoners is riveting, and coloured enthrallingly by the unspoken moments of reflection as both sides attempt to deal with the daily blasts of violence. Yet, this is not a movie based solely on its imagery - a crucial element of the film is the detailed use of sound. Music is used sparingly, with the omniscient soundscape of the prison's interior instead used to heighten the most poignant moments. And the more Sands withers away towards the film's dénouement, the more minimalist the sound design is rendered (at one point supplying nothing but the sound of wind and Sands' cavernous breathing).

After accomplishing so much using images, McQueen stops to acknowledge the power of words during one of the film's final acts. McQueen's nearly always-in-motion camera and artistic eye is set aside for a riveting 25-minute conversation between two characters. For this sequence, Sands discusses his decision to embark on a hunger strike with Father Moran (Cunningham). The two men debate the merits and ethics of the protest; lending insight into Sands' determination. While the dialogue is insanely spellbinding, it's the execution that's amazing - the bulk of this conversation occurs in one single, 17-minute unbroken take. It's simply a tour de force of writing, acting and moral complexity.

It should come as no surprise that the performances are outstanding. Michael Fassbender (of 300 fame) literally gives his body and soul to the part of Bobby Sands; playing defiance and self-confidence throughout the film's initial two-thirds before wasting away to nothingness (there are a number of haunting, unforgettable images to behold here). Another note-worthy member of the cast is Liam Cunningham, whose acting throughout the aforementioned verbal tango with Fassbender is remarkable. Stuart Graham is also given a memorable role as a prison guard whom the film focuses on at certain points.

Digressions from acclaim must be made, however. The scope of Hunger is admittedly too narrow and its methods are too intensive to offer a comprehensive historical analysis of the troubles of Northern Ireland. Unfortunately, too, the movie doesn't offer any profound insight into its characters. Instead McQueen's movie remains a visual exercise which shows how the characters did what they did, and in what circumstances. The result is a consistently harrowing drama that feels somewhat underdone.

Hunger is a tough viewing experience due to the constant depictions of brutality, but it's more than a portrayal of bodily torment - it's a story of finding humanity amongst the walls of a prison during dark days.

8.3/10

By and large, remakes are superfluous. At face value, a Hollywood remake of the BBC mini-series State of Play is extremely superfluous. The intricate plot of the mini-series was weighted perfectly over six gripping hours of television, and its theme (centring on the corruptibility of people in power) was all tied to its Westminster setting. So why shift the scene to Washington, D.C. and adapt it for the big screen? The answer relates to Hollywood's compulsion to remake every good story in its own image (and to get maximum profits from minimal effort). But in this case there's further justification for a remake - since 2003, the state of play has changed in relation to newspaper journalism, and this is pushed to the centre of the frame in 2009's State of Play. In adapting the BBC mini-series for the big screen, the filmmakers have achieved something remarkable: they've condensed the meaty intrigue and thrills within six hours of material into two snappy hours, and still produced a coherent and engrossing film. A study of political power plays, calamitous sexual impulses and the twilight of printed journalism, State of Play is riveting, sublimely acted and smart - it's mainstream Hollywood thriller-making at its best.

The plot primarily concerns the seemingly accidental death of Sonia Baker (Thayer); the research assistant and secret lover of rising Congressman Stephen Collins (Affleck). The night preceding Sonia's death, a petty thief and a pizza deliveryman are shot dead in an alley. Hardened journalist Cal McAffrey (Crowe), who works for a deteriorating Washington newspaper, suspects these apparently unrelated deaths are part of a conspiracy waiting to be uncovered. Sharing a personal history with Stephen Collins and his wife Anne (Penn), he becomes conflicted over the type of story he wants to tell. Cal teams up with political blogger Della Frye (McAdams) and begins uprooting clues that implicate a murky corporate web of cover-ups, insiders, informants and assassins.

Despite a labyrinthine, multifaceted storyline, State of Play is rarely confusing and continuously engaging. It contains an intriguing plotline bursting with twists - and because it's so intriguing, a viewer will be on the edge of their seat awaiting the next big reveal. It's confident and masterful storytelling, handled by a team of excellent screenwriters: Tony Gilroy (Michael Clayton), Billy Ray (Shattered Glass) and Matthew Michael Carnahan (The Kingdom), each of whom draws on the thematic interests that fuelled the best of their previous movies (corporate abuse of power, journalistic ethics and Iraq-war-era government, respectively). Uncredited work on the script was also carried out by Peter Morgan of Frost/Nixon fame. State of Play is vehemently plot-driven, with conversations typically used for exposition rather than character development. However, thanks to both the acting and the screenwriting, virtually every character is given a satisfying degree of depth and dimension. Dialogue is crackling, sharp and at times utterly spellbinding.

Director Kevin Macdonald (The Last King of Scotland) competently orchestrates the movie, and is particularly adept at generating tension. Contributions across the board are sound, from Rodrigo Prieto's gripping, muted cinematography to Justine Wright's crisp editing and Alex Heffes' pulse-pounding score. There's no question that State of Play at times feels abridged, with an inability to capture the true density of the original BBC series (then again, what two-hour movie could?). Some of the intricacies and subplots are missing, but surprisingly little has been lost that actually mars the narrative structure, and the story unfolds with brilliant, riveting urgency. It doesn't shy away from the occasional bit of Hollywood hokiness, but by no means is the story transformed into a brain-dead product for the action market. Its target is mature adults - the ADD-inflicted teenage crowd are advised to stay clear.

State of Play is a thriller about conspiracy, murder and politics, but it also shines as a statement on the ostensibly inevitable demise of print media in favour of online blogs and cable news that post every story (or some version of it) the moment it happens. Some would argue that a very important brand of journalism is dying along with newspapers - Cal McAffrey is a genuine, old-fashioned reporter who takes days to write an article, thoroughly examines both sides of the story, refuses to rely on sensationalism and hearsay, and prefers to be right rather than first. This causes him to have a slightly antagonistic relationship with his editor (Mirren) who admires Cal's morals but knows the paper has to make money or perish (with all other considerations secondary). State of Play is an old-fashioned sort of thriller - solid, patient and thoughtful - so it's hardly surprising that it finds heroics in Cal's dogged brand of journalism. There's a definite elegiac quality to this film; particularly accentuated by an end credits montage that lovingly lingers on the process of newspapers being printed.

The acting is magnificent right down the line. Crowe works exceedingly well in the role of Cal McAffrey (it's difficult to imagine Brad Pitt in the part, who was originally cast), and the actor submits his finest work in years. But the biggest surprise is Ben Affleck, who offers his best work to date. It's a nuanced, wistful performance that proves the actor still has some skill left in him (though it's difficult to accept Crowe and Affleck as college roommates). Rachel McAdams holds her own with Crowe in every scene (a real accomplishment), and plays Della Frye as callow but not cynical. Wisely, the relationship between Della and Cal is not a romantic one. Helen Mirren is marvellous as the newspaper's editor (a role originally played by Billy Nighy). She chews the scenery without ever going over-the-top. Jason Bateman deserves a massive kudos for his brief but pivotal role as the scumbag who becomes the linchpin to the entire case. Robin Wright Penn is her usual brilliant self as Anne Collins, while Jeff Daniels the Harry Lennix add their immeasurable professionalism to a couple of important peripheral characters.

All things considered, State of Play is a rare, top-notch thriller that cares about story and characters rather than high-octane action or sex. There are downsides to the overall endeavour (the film feels underdone and truncated, the final twist is clichéd, and the reveal of corporate skulduggery seems far too easy), but in an environment where dumb thrillers outperform the smart thrills by wide margins, we must be thankful to witness a thriller of this standard entering the multiplexes...even if it is a remake.

8.5/10

Americans hate terrorism. This is not an audacious statement considering America's "War On Terror" throughout the early 2000s and beyond, but terrorism has been loathed as far back as the '80s. Currently during the early 21st Century, an intricate system of intelligence is utilised to track down terrorists and an intricate system of weaponry is used to blow them to hell. Back in the mid-80s, the Americans didn't have the benefit of such advanced technology... Instead, they relied on Chuck Norris. In 1986's The Delta Force, the Chuckster is portrayed dispatching Arab terrorists using an array of Norris-esque weaponry, ranging from his martial arts skills to large bazookas to a motorcycle that fires rockets. The film is unbelievably cheesy, often unintentionally hilarious, and rather pro-American.

After an introductory combat sequence which demonstrates the skills of the American protagonists, the action moves onboard a large passenger airplane. A pair of Arab terrorists hijack this plane, taking all passengers hostage and ordering the captain to reroute to Lebanon. These terrorists claim to be freedom fighters for a revolutionary organisation, but their cause is unknown...they just have a thing against America. A group of elite American commandos known as the Delta Force - led by Col. Nick Alexander (Marvin) and Maj. Scott McCoy (Norris) - are sent in to save the hostages and restore American honour. Rather than trying their hand at the fine art of negotiation, the Delta Force cut to the chase and pull out the heavy artillery.

The Delta Force was released in 1986; one year after a real-life plane hijacking in Athens. (This was on a TWA plane. In the film the plane which accommodates the hijacking is an AWT plane... clever.) The first hour of this movie is mostly devoted to retelling the events of this hijacking, but the second hour (when the macho Americans show up) has little basis in reality. This final half sends the message home that the best way to execute foreign policy on America's part is to shoot or blow up all terrorist threats. All this gung-ho business is like a different film altogether. It's full Chuck Norris territory: lots of machismo, gunfire and explosions. It's all very patriotic with the Americans saving the day and the hostages singing the American anthem. That's the '80s for you.

Considering this is an '80s action film with Chuck Norris and Lee Marvin, one expects The Delta Force to be chock-full of terrorist ass-kicking goodness and brainless action. Alas, the meaty action doesn't commence until the first hour has passed. Even with a plenty of action as the climax nears, the unusually long runtime of over two hours will prove a serious test of anyone's Chuck Norris attention span. The running time might've been more tolerable if the film provided interesting exposition, a compelling story or meaningful character development...but The Delta Force provides none of this - it's instead packed with filler. Empty threats against obnoxious hostages and hollow, repetitive dialogue does not make gripping cinema.

The Delta Force also exploits blatant stereotypes - there's the disillusioned soldier who returns to action because of his noble sense of duty, the abuse of a kindly priest, and even a pregnant lady who could go into labour at any moment. Meanwhile the terrorists have no legitimate motive or objective. At times, the depiction of these Arab terrorists is borderline racist - they're single-mindedly scheming, vicious, and they look very grubby.

If nothing much else, The Delta Force can be admired for its star-studded cast. Chuck Norris, as usual, just plays himself. The bearded action icon usually delivers his dialogue in a subdued fashion with no great conviction...but he's still watchable. This film marked the final screen appearance of Lee Marvin. He's pretty badass, though he's never given a chance to test his acting abilities. Also in the cast is a Who's Who of B-Movie star-power: Martin Balsam, George Kennedy (star of those Airport films from the '70s), Robert Forster (sporting dark hair, dark skin, a little moustache and a thick accent as the head Arab terrorist), Robert Vaughn, Shelley Winters, Steve James, Bo Svenson, and many others. The direction by Menahem Golan is adequate, and Alan Silvestri's score alternates between intense and cheesy power pop.

All in all, The Delta Force is your standard American cheerleading propaganda flick, with Chuck Norris and Lee Marvin holding the pompoms. The action is at times thrilling and the novelty value of seeing the Chuckster in '80s mode never wears off, but that's all there is to this one. For a film which lacks anything even resembling an intricate story or deep characterisations, there sure is plenty of talking. And considering this is a Chuck Norris movie, this is a problem. There's a far more agreeable 80-minute actioner lying somewhere within this somewhat tedious 125-minute feature.

4.9/10