Reviews by PvtCaboose91

"I don't enjoy killing, Mr. Smith. I do it because I'm addicted to it."

Mr. Brooks is an intense, absorbing thriller and a stimulating addition to the interminable serial killer genre. It's a curious unification of the campy and the intellectual, of high perception and low psychology. Regardless of these contradictions (or perhaps owing to them), Mr. Brooks succeeds astonishingly. In the 21st century it almost certainly seems the serial killer genre has been exploited too excessively, with little originality left to explore. To date, a tiny quantity of serial killer films have spawned a truly laudable product. The only notable serial killer movies include Silence of the Lambs, Se7en, American Psycho and Zodiac, with very few in between. Mr. Brooks is fresh blood in its genre. Deriving apparent inspiration from American Psycho (and Silence of the Lambs to a trifling extent), the film is constructed on a compelling premise and an enthralling story. Addiction regularly makes for good cinema; its intrinsic drama - man vs. himself - capable of elevating the most mundane premise into a dark, engaging examination of human nature. What if killing was an unassailable addiction? This is the fundamental query Mr. Brooks sets out to deal with.

"Finding someone you think would be fun to kill is a bit like, well it's a bit like falling in love. You meet a lot of candidates, and you like some of them, and they're nice. But they're not right. And that special one comes along, and your heart beats faster, and you know that's the one."

Mr. Earl Brooks (Costner) is Portland's Man of the Year; he's a wealthy businessman (owning a lucrative box-manufacturing company) as well as a loving family man to his wife Emma (Helgenberger) and daughter Jane (Panabaker). Unfortunately, Mr. Brooks has an addiction to killing provoked by an inner voice that he beholds as a physical manifestation named "Marshall" (Hurt). Marshall is the dark side of Mr. Brooks' psyche that pines for blood and murder. Previously, Brooks' untraceable murdering earned him the title of 'The Thumbprint Killer'. Due to his utmost intelligence, Brooks has been capable of orchestrating perfect crimes without ever being caught. However for two years Mr. Brooks has attended AA meetings and controlled his fiery addiction. But on one night he relapses to his darker side. This is only the first 15 minutes...the remainder of the film chronicles the consequences of this ominous relapse. It's simply too juicy and delectable to spoil.

With its minuscule $20 million budget, Mr. Brooks is a gripping and enjoyable thriller. The script rarely plods (despite a surplus of unnecessary subplots) as the constant fascinating twists (most of which I've opted not to spoil where other critics gleefully have) easily engage a viewer. This is director Bruce A. Evans' second outing as a director, significantly improving over his initial debut - the Christian Slater vehicle Kuffs from 1992. In spite of this prolonged absence from the director's chair, Evans manages the script-to-screen transformation with admirable dexterity. The visuals are extremely slick, generating an additional layer of interest on top of the involving screenplay. Evans wrote the script with usual collaborator Raynold Gideon (who had together penned Starman, Stand by Me and Kuffs). The clever screenplay infuses the film with witty dialogue and interpretable subplots, leading to a delightfully ambiguous conclusion (which may or may not leave room open for a sequel). Despite the psychological complexity of the human mind illustrated by the main character's dual representation, the film's approach is visceral. The murders are graphic, bloody and violent. There is also sex and semi-explicit nudity. Oddly, there's also a macabre sense of humour.

"For all the taxes we pay, you'd think they'd make it more difficult to hack into the police personnel file."

Without a doubt, Mr. Brooks is a unique picture. Never before have I beheld anything quite like this. A contrite killer yearning for a career change, a murderer attempting to conceal his gloomy actions - these themes aren't anything innovative, but the unoriginality has been effectively subverted by this poised picture. Screenwriters Evans and Gideon have constructed a devilishly shrewd yet straightforward thriller. During the process they've conceived a character genuinely addicted to killing in the classic sense. He goes to meetings, he anxiously tries to stop, but yet he can't seem to refuse his imaginary alter ego. The character of Mr. Brooks is so meticulous in his murdering that it seems impossible he'll ever be caught unless he wants someone to stop him - and this idea is explored.

It's interesting to note that, despite the brutality of his actions, Mr. Brooks is a sympathetic character. Marshall is made the villain and Brooks a tortured soul who genuinely wants to stop but is unable due to his addiction. By splitting the man into halves, it's possible to like one and dislike the other. Earl Brooks is the ideal husband, father, and businessman. Marshall, on the other hand, is a dark creature lurking in the corner of his soul, thirsting for blood and mayhem. The film is particularly inventive in its creation of Marshall; the Hyde to Earl Brooks' Dr. Jekyll.

Mr. Brooks is entertaining, twisted and disturbing yet gratifying from the very first frame, with thoroughly well-defined characters, a labyrinthine plot that prevents you from thinking too far ahead, and all the efficiency of a Swiss watch. The story is novelistic, with almost every character running their own individual life that ultimately comes to bear on the main events. Yet these diversions seem neither excessive nor too convenient. With so many rich characters populating the film, a satisfying conclusion is pivotal. The stunning ending wraps up everything admirably and ingeniously, exceeding all expectations. Such unpredictability is a rare element in a thriller, elevating the film's quality once again.

There are unfortunate miscalculations - Demi Moore, for example, nearly ruins an almost perfect cast with her bland performance as the tenacious Detective Tracy Atwood. Her character's back-story (including an ugly divorce and an escaped psycho hunting her) feels contrived and unnecessary. The energy behind the camera never relents; however Atwood's history is redundant padding. Add to this the question of why a multi-millionaire would work the difficult career of a cop, let alone why she'd even continue working at all! Unfortunately, other flaws arrive in the wrapping up of Atwood's story - a nonsensical MTV-style slo-mo shootout.
Moore's Atwood needed to be tauter. An audience becomes involved with Costner's charming Mr. Brooks...why should they become involved with someone else? Atwood seems like a stock character needlessly inflated to the third dimension. In an almost superfluous narrative thread, she endeavours to hunt down and apprehend the 'Thumbprint Killer' yet no actual communication between the two is established until the film approaches its climax. It only worsens things that Moore sleepwalks through most of her scenes.

The film lives and dies by the performance of the titular central character, and Kevin Costner knocks this one out of the park! Costner is all layered nuance and imposed debonairness here, balancing a self-assured exterior with a tumultuous interior. The veteran actor commits unequivocally to the screenplay and immerses himself into the character; trusting that regardless of how vile his behaviour, a viewer will always want to see what happens next because the story is so compelling. This is a top-notch performance, and just the right thing to redeem himself for past movie misfires.
As Marshall - the physical embodiment of Brooks' angst-ridden psyche - William Hurt provides a compelling, gripping window into an internal struggle. Hurt is perfect for the role. The film cleverly establishes the cinematic rules early into the game, with Costner's Earl Brooks disengaging from a conversation with a real person to mull things over with Marshall. No matter how animated the imaginary discourse becomes, it's all an intellectual exercise. Earl Brooks isn't afflicted with any sort of multiple-personality disorder...he is always in control: the most Marshall can offer is an opinion, making Brooks ultimately responsible for his actions (just like anyone with a monkey on their back).

"Don't kid yourself, Earl. You're going to kill again."

Demi Moore is the weakest link, as I said before, but the rest of the cast is fantastic. Dane Cook is incredible; his performance is out of the ordinary and this is probably his best role to date. He is no longer just the handsome leading man of Good Luck Chuck or Employee of the Month. Marg Helgenberger and Danielle Panabaker are also solid as the family of Mr. Brooks.

"Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?"

Overall, Mr. Brooks is an underrated gem of a picture featuring a gloriously original script and a pitch-perfect performance from one Kevin Costner. This is a fantastic serial killer flick; boasting sleek production values and a few mild jolts. It's a fairly flawed movie, though: there are problems in the script department at times, and Demi Moore's awful performance occasionally threatens to destroy the film. Yet the interesting injection of humanity into a serial killer makes for an interesting character, and Costner pulls it off satisfactorily. Mr. Brooks shows that if given the proper role, Kevin Costner is still a believable leading man. The film also runs at an agreeable pace; not too fast, not too slow. If you're seeking an original and compelling thriller, then Mr. Brooks is worth checking out.

"Before I was the Thumbprint Killer, Mr. Smith, I killed a lot of people in a lot of different ways."

8.1/10

"Welcome to Australia!"

Epic in the truest sense, Baz Luhrmann's much-hyped Australia is a film that exhilarates with its grand themes and physical grandeur. Fundamentally the Australian response to classic war epics like Gone with the Wind and Lawrence of Arabia, Luhrmann's majestic motion picture is to date the most expensive Australian production in the country's history (with the budget rumoured to have elevated to about AU$160 million). Australia is Baz Luhrmann's ambitious, large-scale vision. The filmmaker has taken heed of his own mantra from Strictly Ballroom - that a life lived in fear is a life half lived. Luhrmann has gone for broke and the product, while true to his vision (which he passionately strived to accomplish over several gruelling years), will undoubtedly divide opinions. The film is marvellously shot and competently crafted (every cent of its budget appears on-screen); however it's also somewhat overlong and periodically ponderous. But bloody oath - Australia is a magnificent movie and an engrossing experience.

The tremendous hype preceding the film's eventual release is practically the ocker counterpart of the hype which engulfed the lead-up to The Dark Knight. The Australian tourist industry had hoped for Luhrmann's film to act as an effective tourism vehicle. The expectations for the movie were beyond preposterous. As much as it pains me to say, Australia doesn't entirely live up to its hype and it isn't an instant classic. To a degree it's fairly disappointing if you consider the continuous delays, its problematic production period, and Luhrmann's complete commitment to his project. But I kid you not - regardless of the slightly disappointing result, Australia is dead set one of the best Australian films of all time. Strewth.

Without being the second coming, Luhrmann's lavish saga of another two star-crossed lovers is everything he always promised - a sweeping, extravagant epic reminiscent of Gone with the Wind and Lawrence of Arabia with a hint of Howard Hawks' Red River. Laughs, tears, action, drama and visual splendour flourish in this genuinely stirring homage to classic war epics. Fear not - despite being a love story set against the backdrop of World War II, Australia never even remotely attempts to emulate Michael Bay's atrocious Pearl Harbor (and it's all the better for it). The script (constructed by Luhrmann with writing mates Stuart Beattie, Ronald Harwood and Richard Flanagan) is a rich tucker bag containing an anti-war message, thematic material about the Stolen Generations, and an abundance of typically Australian material.

Set within a two-year period between 1939 and 1941, Australia chronicles the escapades of two lovers in rural outback Australia. Lady Sarah Ashley (Kidman) becomes suspicious of her husband's stalling with the selling of their newest asset; a property known as Faraway Downs in Australia. Lady Ashley departs from England, bound for the Northern Territory to take matters into her own hands. Upon arrival in Darwin she is met by an unnamed man merely referred to as The Drover (Jackman). During an overland journey to Faraway Downs, the two develop a mutual dislike for each other (their arguing and the apparent culture clashes evoke memories of such films as The African Queen and Rooster Cogburn). Following an unexpected series of events, it's revealed that ruthless station manager Neil Fletcher (Wenham) is plotting with cattle baron King Carney (Brown) to acquire and take control of Faraway Downs. With the intention of saving her inherited property, The Drover agrees to help Sarah drive 1500 heads of cattle across the treacherous, desolate desert terrain to Darwin where they will be sold to the army. However, their herd of cattle must reach Darwin before Carney can sell his herd. In the meantime, the Japanese forces begin mobilising for the devastating attack on Darwin.

Beautifully implemented and absolutely breathtaking in scope, Australia is the definitive feather in Baz Luhrmann's filmmaking cap. Forget Romeo + Juliet, Strictly Ballroom and the surprisingly mediocre Moulin Rouge! - this is the one Baz will be remembered for. Whether Australia is deemed an epic flop or an epic masterpiece, it's still history in the making.
This much-stalled project initially starred Russell Crowe, and then Heath Ledger took the leading role before Hugh Jackman was eventually cast. This was just the first in an extensive succession of quandaries that inundated Australia's production prior to it finally reaching the big screen. Filming was delayed a few times, and then the principal photography period ran for about nine months. As the marketing campaign commenced mid-2008, delicious stories were abundant in relation to the editing process. Despite almost a year of post-production, Luhrmann and his team had to race against time in order to have the film delivered on time for its world premiere. In fact, Luhrmann applied the definitive touches merely days ahead of the premiere. Surprisingly, Australia looks incontestably assured on-screen.

Only dragging every so often during the 165-minute journey, Luhrmann's elaborate Aussie postcard is truly a marvellous visual feast to behold. Luhrmann predominantly avoids overusing CGI. He reserves most of the more expensive special effects for the spectacular bombing of Darwin. For its budget, the film delivers solid CGI. Luhrmann accomplishes the best results, though, from shooting to scale on location. The cattle driving sequences (utilising genuine animals as opposed to computer-generated cows) are reminiscent of the John Wayne golden years (think Red River or The Cowboys).

As we've naturally come to expect from Baz, the director makes maximum use of music. David Hirschfelder's marvellous score is poetic and atmospheric. It suits the mind-blowing cinematography and it perfectly encapsulates the ruggedness of the outback. Not only is Hirschfelder's score included, though... It's a commendable leap of cinematic faith to weave into this rich story the most familiar song from The Wizard of Oz - i.e. Somewhere over the Rainbow. Use of this song makes it an iconic and emblematic glue for the cultures and the dreams of the characters. For my money, this is the film's most sophisticated and complex element; it's a wonderful piece of creative brio. Crikey, it's bloody effective.

Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman may be heralded as the film's primary stars, but the actual star of this sprawling epic is the landscape it dotingly illustrates. It's enthralling to witness the majesty of a herd of wild brumbies galloping across the dusty plains... Or stampeding cattle trotting across the barren red earth; pounding hoofs melded with the intense percussion of Hirshfelder's arresting music. The stunning rock formations, the scorched desert, the flocks of hopping kangaroos, the contrasting waterways, and the magnificent sunsets are all shot to perfection by Mandy Walker. Catherine Martin's meticulousness in the costumes and production design is alluring and impressive. A viewer becomes absorbed by the power of the land and the mystical virtues it emanates. Towards the film's conclusion, the majestic scope of Baz's vision never impairs the story. He remembers Australia is all about a solid story, and it's not just a visual exercise. He finds the perfect balance (Terence Malick should take notes).

Luhrmann's three-hour Aussie tourism commercial stars almost every Australian actor that's still working. At centre stage, Jackman and Kidman are an ideal couple. Hugh Jackman exudes charisma and charm, never striking an incorrect posture and never delivering a dud line. With shirt on or off, the actor represents the quintessential Australian bloke...he's the Drover With No Name.
Nicole Kidman delivers her finest performance to date as the snooty upper-class English aristocrat. But the chemistry between Kidman and Jackman is underwhelming. Their spontaneous dance in the outback and kiss in the rain seem merely perfunctory for the sake of a love story. However as individual actors, their respective character portrayals are credible and stunning.
Young twelve-year-old Brandon Walters as young Nullah is indeed a rare treat. It is his voice that tells the story behind Australia - encompassing topics like spirituality, greed, discrimination, love and war. Walters is wholly believable in the role. David Wenham is terrifically sinister and suitably menacing as the villain. Bryan Brown makes an appearance as the scheming King Carney. Also in the cast are such Aussie actors as John Jarratt, Ben Mendelsohn, Barry Otto, Bill Hunter and Bruce Spence. All appear reasonably briefly, but they're recognisable and uniformly excellent. However the performances from the lesser known actors are wonderful revelations.

There are a number of missteps, though. At a mammoth 165 minutes it at times seems like a work-in-progress. Even with the endless edits and the prolonged post-production period, there is a lot of narrative flab. Then again, both Gone with the Wind and Lawrence of Arabia suffered similarly from being narratively inept at times. It isn't necessarily boring, but there's a lot of excess. The ending is also contrived and is added for the sake of a happy ending. It's quite unsatisfying, and shows Baz isn't willing to pull the rug out from underneath his unsuspectingly audience. For the final fifteen minutes he plays it safe, which is slightly detrimental.
In addition, Baz overuses slow motion. In all likelihood, the disproportionate amount of slo-mo extends the movie's runtime by approximately half an hour. A majority of the sweeping slo-mo shots of the Australian outback reek of self-indulgence.

Australia has opened to an extraordinarily tough reception. The film will unquestionably be a difficult international sell. Aussie clichés and slang are in large supply. The thematic material may also throw an international audience. The stolen generations, racial tension, and Aboriginal Dreamtime are among the topics weaved into the story. Nulla even uses Aboriginal "magic" at times which may appear silly to those unfamiliar with Aboriginal history. This reviewer abhors the bloody drongos who dislike the film purely for its Aussie themes. You've gotta give it a fair go.

All things considered, Baz Luhrmann's Australia is a stirring ode to his home country that unites kangaroos, didgeridoos, the outback, a cattle drive, Japanese air raids and Hugh Jackman's abs. This anxiously anticipated film isn't a perfect 5-star tour de force, but it certainly isn't the below-average failure several people have dreaded. The detail which permeates Luhrmann's project is staggering, and probably impossible to fully appreciate upon a first viewing. As the credits roll, we take with us the breathtaking imagery of a distinct, vast land, as well as the unforgettable face of an innocent boy whose culture is slowly growing invisible. A lot of people are going to hate the movie, and to an extent their hatred is justified. I, however, respectfully disagree - Australia is a true blue, fair dinkum Aussie masterpiece. You can relax and get some sleep now, Baz. You did it.

The Drover: "They keep out of my way, and I keep out of theirs. That's the way it is."
Lady Sarah Ashley: "Just because it is...doesn't mean it should be".

8.6/10

"I'm not a gangster. I'm a businessman whose commodity happens to be cocaine."

Obviously descended from the creative vision of Quentin Tarantino (and, to an extent, Guy Ritchie), Layer Cake is an enjoyably slick, visually ornate British gangster movie which provided Daniel Craig with the star-making role he deserved. Prior to his directorial debut here, director Matthew Vaughn had worked as a producer on Guy Ritchie's Snatch. and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. Therefore this particular film is similarly energised and violent. Despite all this, Vaughn's low-budget crime picture falls under the unfortunate category of "Just Another British Gangster Movie". As it joyfully rattles along at an invigorating speed, it's somewhat deficient in originality and it's virtually impossible to elude the feeling that you've seen it all before in different manifestations.

Layer Cake is also one of those movies that cause you to feel dumb - if, that is, you're not dedicating every ounce of your attention to it. The plot seems moderately logical and straightforward, but (as the title may well imply) there are copious layers to absorb. The film is super-slick, stylish and enjoyable; however it's convoluted beyond all comprehension and occasionally taxing to follow.

"You're born, you take shit. You get out in the world, you take more shit. You climb a little higher, you take less shit. Till one day you're up in the rarefied atmosphere and you've forgotten what shit even looks like. Welcome to the layer cake son."

Based on the novel by J.J. Connolly (who also wrote the screenplay), Layer Cake commences with an "Obligatory Gangster-movie Voiceover Introduction™" from the protagonist only known as XXXX (Craig). This customary voiceover brings a viewer up to speed with the essential policies and workings of the cocaine dealing business. Mr. X has made a fortune in the industry by preserving his anonymity, keeping things flowing efficiently and never getting his hands dirty. With a substantial quantity of money safely invested, Mr X. intends to quit the career of a cocaine peddler, and arranges to depart from England in order to begin a new life. On the eve of his planned early retirement, crime boss Jimmy Price (Cranham) bestows him with two assignments: negotiate the sale of one million hits of ecstasy, and track down the daughter of a crime boss. Naturally, nothing goes exactly as planned.

Layer Cake offers a tremendously convoluted and bewildering plot, rampant in double (and triple)-crosses and swarming with a massive cast of vibrant characters contending for screen-time. There are flashbacks witnessed from multiple viewpoints, with significant events often cross-cut in methods difficult to follow. To prevent yourself from being left behind it's crucial to pay very close attention at all times, otherwise you'll be lost in the fast-paced developments. Fortunately, the picture is held together by the ornately-developed characters and an inherent fascination in the story. Even at its most garrulous, the movie is able to keep a viewer interested enough to at least want to decipher it. The film encompasses instances of shocking violence, but it baulks at exaggerated gore. There's also a plethora of wily humour, but it thankfully doesn't go overboard with it.

"England. Typical. Even drug dealers don't work weekends."

Taking the long view, Layer Cake will almost certainly be remembered as the picture that got Daniel Craig his James Bond gig. Formerly a hardworking but little-noticed supporting player in films such as Road to Perdition and the first Tomb Raider, Craig's charismatic turn as the unnamed protagonist demonstrated his genuine star potential. Be that as it may, though, I admit I have grave qualms about Craig as James Bond. Regardless of this, his performance is effortlessly cool in Layer Cake; debonair and deadly serious, self-effacingly droll and vulnerable, Craig shows his acting chops and ability to carry a feature.
Under Vaughn's economical direction, Craig's anonymous drug purveyor is the engaging focus of this often gripping film; an appealing and humane presence, which is a breath of fresh air after the cartoon archetypes present in Guy Ritchie's prior films. Craig believably disappears into XXXX's skin and situation, playing the predicament in an entirely convincing manner from start to finish.
There's also stalwart support from Colm Meaney, Kenneth Cranham, Jamie Foreman, Michael Gambon and George Harris (among others) who provide a pitch-perfect chorus of Britain's social underbelly - a flawlessly devised cacophony of career criminals and various wannabe cretins. Sienna Miller has the obligatory lingerie scene and nothing much else as Craig's love interest in an inadequately developed and unconvincing sub-plot. The hero's immediate infatuation with her seems out of character, even if the storyline plays a somewhat crucial role later on.

"It is vital that we work to a few golden rules. Always work in a small team. Keep a very low profile. Only deal with people who come recommended. And it's like selling anything else: washing machines, hand made shoes, blowjobs. As long as you don't take the piss people will always come back for more. And that is not to say we don't have that special kind of magic that makes two kilos into three. But never be too greedy."

The British gangland movie genre has become an over-used premise. In a national industry so tiny and in urgent need of revitalisation there are too few Danny Boyles and too many Guy Ritchies. British filmmakers cannot afford to continually rely on clichés; the industry isn't big enough to afford the luxury of recycled goods. The biggest problem of Layer Cake is that the movie suffers from "seen it all before" syndrome. No faults in the film's filmic implementation; the script just lacks original ideas. It ultimately fails to bring anything truly innovative to the gangster movie genre. The only thing setting it apart is a refreshing lack of the caricaturing and childish humour. Another pivotal setback is that it doesn't include a remarkable, show-stopping set-piece to make it more memorable. The rest of the flaws arrive at the end; it has trouble concluding the several storylines acceptably, and the conclusion feels both predictable and tacked-on. A real shame, because Layer Cake is unpredictable for roughly 80% of its runtime.

In his directorial debut, Vaughn demonstrates a striking sense of elegance and style. In addition, Vaughn's glossy shots of the London skyline draw obvious inspiration from Michael Mann (thanks to the wonderful contributions of cinematographer Ben Davis). Layer Cake encapsulates London's essence without "Americanising" it. London is depicted as it is - an affluent European capital. Filmed in Amsterdam as well as various studios in England, Vaughn's film commemorates London as much as it glorifies the drug trade within. It's a stylish and polished film, with 360-degree shots, aerial shots, and interesting up-angle shots. Most of the visual interest is derived from these fascinating camera angles. All the energy in the cinematography, coupled with Lisa Gerrard's captivating score, make this an engaging night of entertainment.

"My name? If you knew that, you'd be as clever as me."

Layer Cake is a twisty, engrossing film noir that clearly avoids being consigned as a trivial effort from "that new Bond guy". Fans of Guy Ritchie's films will most likely be extremely happy with Vaughn's directorial debut; he bequeaths his photography with buckets of style and it's a lot of fun to watch. The intensity generated by this thoughtful thriller produces often gripping moments. From start to finish, this is a riveting flick. Never is there a notable boring moment in amongst the fast-paced occurrences and intriguing visual style. The cinematography is vaguely hampered, though, by the undeniable style over substance - the film should've been a bit more original, and (for my taste) it'd also be superior if it required less serious concentration. Nevertheless, there are far worse British films in existence. This is a smart, entertaining thriller - and far more than just a footnote in a rising star's career.

"Always remember that one day all this drug monkey business will be legal. They won't leave it to people like me... not when they finally figure out how much money is to be made - not millions, fucking billions. Recreational drugs PLC - giving the people what they want... Good times today, Stupor tomorrow. But this is now, so until prohibition ends make hay whilst the sun shines."

7.8/10

"Let me give you a word of advice. Always bet on black!"

Passenger 57 appears to be set in an alternate world commonly inhabited by a majority of 90's action flicks: plot elements (and developments, for that matter) are merely perfunctory, bad guys can't shoot straight, the crafty hero is impervious to bullets (which, for the most part, miraculously whip around him), and illogicalities flourish. There's a profusion of ooh and ahs in this by-the-numbers shoot-'em-up Die Hard clone keen to establish Wesley Snipes as the coolest action hero this side of Bruce Willis.
This routine hijack action affair lacks the intelligence and class to match the Die Hard films it clearly desires to emulate; however what the film lacks in logic it compensates with relentless action. In all seriousness, there isn't a great deal one can state in relation to this film from a critical viewpoint. It's a technically sturdy film, but it's rather logically inept and it fails to offer anything overwhelmingly groundbreaking.

Wesley Snipes quips, glares and Kung fus his way through the film as airline security expert John Cutter. He's offered the job of chief of security at American International Airlines, which he accepts. En route to Los Angeles, Cutter is placed on the same aircraft escorting notorious terrorist Charles Rane (Payne) to LA where he will most likely face the death sentence. As fate would have it, Rane's evil accomplices gain entry to the plane. When Rane hijacks the plane, there is only one hope for everyone on-board - John Cutter (who's sitting in seat 57, therein justifying the title). Cue a wealth of shootouts, a dash of blood and some exciting heroics.

It says something about the despondent lack of originality in Hollywood and of the influence of Die Hard on the action genre when audiences are offered two Die Hard imitators in the same year - Under Siege with Steven Seagal and the film in question; Passenger 57. This is primarily conventional moviemaking, but it slightly rises above the norm due to its enthralling action sequences and ability to entertain for every second of its brisk 80-minute duration.

Small-time director Kevin Hooks orchestrates several glorious action scenes. As Wesley Snipes demonstrates his expertise in martial arts, Hooks' lens captures it adroitly. Throughout the film's to-the-point runtime Hooks shows a masterly skill at plunging the viewer into the heart of the action and keeping a viewer's pulse pounding. There's little time to lull or stall as it moves from concise dialogue scenes to the action. No fat attached, no deep character development, and no genuinely insightful dialogue. The sheer outrageousness of the shootouts is to be criticised, though. Bullets being fired on a commercial airplane? I don't think so... A misfired bullet should screw with the plane's controls, and bullets should exit a victim who's just been shot - breaking a window or something. It's entertaining nonsense wholly neglecting intelligence.

Special effects are fairly laudable considering its time, and the funky score accompanying the visuals (courtesy of '70s jazz-rocker Stanley Clarke) is above-average. Perhaps the film could've been superior if only the material wasn't played so seriously. A bit of Die Hard-ish humour would do some good. It's also very cheesy (the winding down following the villain's demise is worthy of chortles and ridiculing out of sheer disgust).

Passenger 57 is boosted by the top-flight performance of Wesley Snipes. He essentially plays an interchangeable character that could have been written for Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone or even Arnold Schwarzenegger or Steven Seagal. Snipes' likable, fast-talking airline security expert enlivens the slapdash plot with his physical grace and impressive martial arts skills. His action-hero gymnastics on and off the plane evoke 1990's Die Hard 2: Die Harder. More importantly, the fact that Snipes' Cutter battles both terrorists and self-absorbed bureaucrats mimics the little-guy-against-the-system virtue of Bruce Willis' John McClane (from the Die Hard series).
Bruce Payne plays the cunning, ruthless, psychopathic, ominous villain of the film. He's the Euro-terrorist following the mould of Die Hard's Alan Rickman whose menace is the apparent contradiction of his articulate, well-spoken English and off-handed brutality. But he's a feebly-written character; amid all the killing he ultimately forgets to have a solid cause.
Look out for an incredibly youthful Elizabeth Hurley as a stewardess-come-hijacker. Tom Sizemore also appears in the form of Cutter's best buddy. In order to further solidify the film's shameless stance as a conventional action flick, Sizemore's character is named Sly (you know...as in Sylvester Stallone).

Fundamentally Die Hard on a plane - Fly Hard, if you will - this is a slick, adrenaline-pumping action flick. In spite of the countless nits to be picked from the sloppy script (the climax is hopelessly preposterous), and the reliance on formula (who would've possibly presumed the hero would kill the villain?), this is thunderously good fun and you could certainly do a lot worse. The action sequences are exhilarating, Snipes is magnetic as well as athletic as the primary hero, and it spawned a lot of the "plane" action movies such as Air Force One and Executive Decision. It's a basic, formulaic, entertaining time-waster.

"You know, that's what I admire about you! Even though you are being hit on by absolutely beautiful woman, you are determined to maintaining your vow of chastity. You know, you'd make a hell of a republican!"

5.9/10

"We killed a man, Drew. Shot him in the back. A mountain man. A cracker."

Based on James Dickey's best-selling 1970 novel, John Boorman's Deliverance is a fateful tour of rugged Georgia terrain which functions as a potent reminder that we can always be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shot on a shoestring budget on location in northern Georgia, Boorman's most arresting picture is a straightforward tale told with passion, heart and urgency. Deliverance is a compelling, deeply disturbing film which hasn't lost its bite or thrill all these decades later. "He's got a real purty mouth, ain't he?" and "I bet you can squeal like a pig" are two quotes capable of sending shivers down a man's spine if they're familiar with this remarkable film. With its superb Oscar-nominated direction, enthralling cinematography, an evocative score and challenging adult themes; Deliverance is a taut, tense, hauntingly disconcerting thriller that remains one of the decade's most visceral adventures.

Four ordinary city slickers (or at least three since one fancies himself a steely outdoorsman) agree to take a camping/canoeing trip as they're intent on seeing the Cahulawassee River before it's turned into one huge lake. Ed (Voight), Lewis (Reynolds), Bobby (Beatty) and Drew (Cox) plan to indulge in a tranquil journey packed with male bonding and sheer exhilarating adventure. As the men navigate the wilderness they think they understand, disaster befalls their adventure and they descend into an unimaginable nightmare. Both nature and mankind conspire to propel them through a crucible of peril and degradation during which their lives and possibly even their souls are put in staggering danger.

At its most fundamental level, Deliverance is a tale of endurance and survival. But the film doesn't merely concern surviving the hazards of the wilderness or of human threats; it's about surviving one's own heart of darkness, about confronting one's basest needs and accepting or declining them. The relatively straightforward boating venture turns into a multifaceted story of existence, with each of the four buddies compelled to reach deep within themselves to unearth a new meaning for courage.

Deliverance is simultaneously a story of outer destitution and fortitude, and inner endurance and integrity. Furthermore, Boorman has the directorial audacity to pace the film at a more relaxed tempo as opposed to the breakneck speed of contemporary action films. By doing this, the director allots time to develop the characters and establish the conflicts. In this fashion Boorman amplifies the mood of apprehension and trepidation by permitting these elements to evolve naturally and logically. Make no mistake: the pacing is ponderous and careful. Shots are generally lengthy and wide. The film gently ensnares you in its gripping atmosphere as a result of the masterful storytelling. To some this approach may appear "boring" as their attention spans are limited. To me it's effective and subversive. If there's anything to criticise, it's the sporadic substance deficiency. Perhaps it does tend to drag on a smidgen, but there's no denying the power of this movie. The images and noises conveyed throughout the rape scene...are unforgettable.

"Goddamn, you play a mean banjo."

Most entertaining is the legendary "duelling banjos" sequence towards the beginning of the film. Incidentally, the famous tune isn't two banjos at all - but a banjo and a guitar (performed behind-the-scenes by Eric Weissberg and Steve Mandel). The director reportedly chose young Billy Redden as the banjo player due to his bizarre outward show, but the boy had never appeared in a movie beforehand and was unable play the banjo. To solve the problem, Boorman found another boy capable of playing the instrument. For filming, the boy was hidden behind Redden with just his arm and hand visible for the banjo fingering. How novel.

Luckily, Deliverance is far more than duelling banjos and...well, squealin' like a pig. Immediately it's possible to identify with the characters as the screenwriter (Dickey, who wrote the original novel, acted as the screenwriter here) bestows them with three-dimensional qualities. Each possesses different ideals, ambitions and moral codes. In the acting department, faults are scarce. Deliverance offers harrowing, natural performances that anchor the occasionally over-the-top story with logic and believability.

Burt Reynolds' tough-guy persona (established at the beginning of the film) is soon reduced to a shell of himself; crying and complaining following a bitter injury at some point throughout the journey. Before defiling his CV with tosh such as 2008's woeful In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, Reynolds was a gifted actor and his talent is omnipresent during every scene in which he features.
Jon Voight as Ed provides a reluctant yet poised centre, virtually becoming the group's leader towards the film's conclusion. Ed is a well-written character who's stunningly realised by Voight, and he's a man most of us can sympathise with.
Ned Beatty and Ronny Cox made their film debuts here. Cox provides the team's moral core, bringing his love for music and a sturdy conscience even in critical circumstances. Beatty plays the unlucky victim during the film's most chilling and heartbreaking sequence, emphasising the group's doggedness through innocence lost. Since not all return from the expedition (none return completely intact, for that matter), the tragic proceedings are far more affecting when told in such a linear manner. All the actors performed their own stunts to conserve costs (Voight even had to climb the rock formation without any safety measures!) and had no form of health insurance.

Deliverance remains a gripping tale of morality and mortality, as effective and brawny now as it was when it first debuted decades ago. You'll seldom find an adventure film with as many thoughtful subtexts as Deliverance. It is an unflinching and absorbing examination of mankind's dark disposition and violent propensities in the face of danger. It laudably paints a picture depicting the protagonists as antagonists. Brutal and unwavering, Deliverance doesn't pull any punches in its depiction of a fairly shocking story. Author James Dickey's imagination spawned this disturbing tale of violation, murder and endurance, but the visualisation by director Boorman and co raises the stakes even higher. The film surges with masterful storytelling, and draws in a viewer with the indomitable force of a raging current. It's simply a haunting, nightmarish vision and a landmark piece of classic filmmaking.

Nominated for three Oscars: Best Picture (lost to The Godfather), Best Editing for Tom Priestley (lost to David Bretherton for Cabaret) and Best Directing for John Boorman (lost to Bob Fosse for Cabaret).

"Sometimes you have to lose yourself 'fore you can find anything."

8.9/10

"I am so scared! I don't know what's out there. We are going to die out here! I am so scared!"

Major movie studios frequently pour tens of millions of dollars into high-tech horror extravaganzas, and they die at the box office within a matter of days. A few independent filmmakers venture out into the woods with hand-held cameras and an extraordinarily low-budget to back them up, and they score a much-hyped, highly-acclaimed box office bonanza!
The Blair Witch Project originated as a deceptively simple, ultra low-budget independent feature. Slowly, this small-time film developed into one of the most chilling, creepy films of its time. It took unsuspecting audiences entirely by surprise, and scared other movie studios whose gigantically budgeted films were running in fear from the tiny movie.

The Blair Witch Project is distinguished for various reasons. First of all, it is incredibly eerie, atmospheric, and unpredictably exasperating. Secondly, compared to most other horror films of the time, it is innovative and clever. Blair Witch did spawn its own sub-genre as a result. These guys wrote the rulebook for the "found footage" genre, and filmmakers have adhered to it ever since (Cloverfield, anyone?). Thirdly, it was made on a shoestring budget and returned a mint in box office profits. Fourth, it used the internet to fabulous promotional effect. Fifth, after all these years it has become more of a phenomenon than a conventional viewing experience. And lastly, it instils a sense of "less is more", leaving a lot more to the imagination than most other fright flicks.

By now all and sundry should be aware of the movie's gimmick. "In October of 1994," reads the prologue, "three student filmmakers disappeared in the woods near Burkittsville, Maryland, while shooting a documentary... A year later their footage was found." The "documentary" being filmed by the students was a college project about a local legendary figure known as the Blair Witch. Allegedly, the three youthful filmmakers died under mysterious circumstances in the woods while trying to complete the documentary, and their bodies never turned up.

Heather Donahue, Michael Williams and Joshua Leonard (retaining their real names for heightened realism) take a video camera and a 16mm film camera as they hike through the Black Hills Forest in search of evidence in relation to the existence of the Blair Witch who has supposedly haunted the forest since the 18th century and is credited for scores of heinous murders. They interview local townspeople before embarking on a hike into the forest. They are soon inexplicably lost and morale rapidly deteriorates. The filmmakers are tired, hungry, angry, and hopelessly lost. As tension mounts they realise they're also being haunted and probably stalked by some unknown presence...and there is no way out.

"I'm afraid to close my eyes, I'm afraid to open them."

Heather captures virtually everything with her video camera with the intention of assembling a behind-the-scenes look at how her documentary was made. Heather's camera is on practically all the time - to the point that her companions continually tell her to turn off the camera. As the unseen evil hunts them, they realise they're not filming a legend but a descent into unimaginable terror.

Naturally, every word of Blair Witch is fiction... The movie is a complete forgery, but it was made and promoted so cunningly that countless people worldwide thought it was real. Prior to the film's theatrical release, a site for The Blair Witch Project was launched. As of the film's tenth anniversary, this website is still online. It offers insight into the (completely false) myth of the Blair Witch. Although the film is 100% fiction, naïve movie-goers witnessed screenings at their local cinema believing everything to be true.

"It's not the same on film is it? I mean, you know it's real, but it's like looking through the lens gives you some sort of protection from what's on the other side."

Blair Witch is a film where ignorance is bliss - or, to be more accurate in this case, utter terror. Ostensibly the final testament of a film crew who disappeared off the face of the planet, the movie bears a resemblance to an authentic documentary which makes This Is Spinal Tap seem like a David Lean epic.
Ahead of its theatrical release, the film fooled many American college students who were shown the film - the ruse in this case was abetted by a surplus of apparently legitimate "Missing" posters seeking information concerning the whereabouts of the apparently lost youngsters. Such screenings helped spawn the positive word-of-mouth that directors Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez knew would be unquestionably vital if their little film was to be a success. Its air of mystery was definitely the film's strongest selling point - featuring little in the way of stars, special effects or even competent cinematography. The directors could hardly claim much of a notable cinematic track record either. But the pair shared an adoration of 70s horror flicks and decided to pool their meagre income for a feature that would endeavour to evoke the visceral terror they felt upon initially viewing William Friedkin's The Exorcist.

"Because this is America! We've exhausted all of our natural resources!"

Co-director Sanchez recalls the experience: "We were after complete realism. We knew that if we did it with a crew it wouldn't work. From the beginning we wanted to do Blair Witch as an improvised film. We were basically going to leave the actors for certain amounts of time on their own, tell them what was happening and let them shoot it for a couple of hours at a time. Then we'd come back, review the footage and go on to the next scene." But it was the input of Gregg Hale - a onetime Special Forces sergeant - that ensured the film a place on the horror hall of fame. He reportedly said: "When I was in Special Forces training they put us through this POW camp scenario. And after about two or three days of being in that camp surrounded by these guys hitting you, and yelling at you in Russian, and not letting you sleep, and hosing you down with water, you start to believe that it's really happening. You know, we could do this to the actors!" Myrick and Sanchez were delighted at the idea.

So it was that a trio of unknown actors found themselves pretending to compose a film concerning the fictitious ancient woods-dwelling witch while being truly petrified as the film crew deposited ominous-looking stick men in their path or played tapes of children crying in the middle of the night. "We were the Blair Witch," Myrick reminiscences. "We had to get up at three in the morning and run around their tent. We had to hike through the woods to drop off directing notes. Then we'd review Heather's video tapes at the end of the day to see how it was reading on camera."

"Flames are licking you like the devil there, Josh."

The element that makes The Blair Witch Project unusually gripping is the atypical presentation. Every scene is a point-of-view shot, shown exactly as one might expect from someone carrying around a video camera. The transitions are unexpected and often jarring - what we'd expect if the camera was turned off at one point, then turned back on later. The most chilling sequences transpire at night when the darkness foils the video. There are instances when the screen is entirely black and all we hear is the audio - the panicked voices of the protagonists in the foreground with strange, macabre noises in the background. At other times the action depicted is chaotic, often because the person doing the filming would be running or unsure what to capture. These segments rely on the imagination of a viewer to fill in the gaps. What our minds conjure up is always more horrifying than anything the filmmakers can put on screen. Also, this seemingly haphazard and unprofessional technique gives the audience a "you are there" feeling that draws them into the experience. Everything that transpires is hence more shocking and immediate than it would seem in a conventional format.

The trio of actors are uniformly excellent. For amplified realism, the filmmakers had to genuinely scare the actors...and they did. There are a few traces of artifice, though, usually when characters are having a conversation on-camera. But due to the improvisational style of acting, it's easy to get engaged in the problems of these characters. When Heather offers a tearful apology towards the end, it's utterly heartbreaking.

There are things to nitpick, though. For starters it's preposterous that the camera is on for so long. Once one is in danger, why bother filming anymore? I doubt anyone would keep filming under these circumstances. However the key fault is the occasional lack of realism. For example, the trio all have mentioned loved ones who would be aware of their expedition. Any parent whose offspring doesn't show up merely hours after they are due home would call the police and launch a search. The filmmakers endue for days...without a search party in sight. Surely the police would have also been informed of the proposed camping trip as well, and would've launched a search when they didn't return home. There's also the flaw of character stupidity. One character reportedly gets rid the map because it's "useless" - not good enough! And they're surrounded by tall trees, why not climb up to the top and see where you are? Why not find higher ground in order to spot a way out? The film also seems undercut at a bit under 80 minutes. In the faux interviews on the official site they mention about 20 hours of recovered footage, so it's obvious we're missing out on a lot of stuff. But the most lethal setback is simple: once you realise it isn't real the film is not scary at all. It isn't competent enough to truly convince a viewer it is real. Overuse of profanity and the aforementioned character stupidity occasionally kill the illusion. However it is pretty chilling with the grating screams of Heather or the eerie sounds coming from pitch black.

It's fairly riveting, though it depends on how you view it. If one watches it in a dark room at night with no interruptions and you're paying 100% attention it may work better. If it's light and you're not paying much attention, you'll hate it.

"You gonna write us a happy ending, Heather?"

The Blair Witch Project is notoriously inventive - both in its creation and marketing - but it's a victim of its own hype. Once you discover it isn't real you'll no longer find it scary. Yet it's an innovative, non-traditional horror movie that ushered in a new genre (titles like Diary of the Dead, Cloverfield and [Rec] drew inspiration from this film). The ending is very creepy and irritatingly ambiguous, especially if you want to believe the film's universe and faux mythology available on the official website. The Blair Witch Project has lost much of its original impact. Be that as it may, the combination of cinema verité and fake documentary filming occasionally generates some hair-raising horror scenes.

"OK, here's your motivation. You're lost, you're angry in the woods, and no one is here to help you. There's a witch and she keeps leaving shit outside your door. There's no one here to help you! She left little trinkets, you took one of them, she ran after us. There's no one here to help you! We walked for 15 hours today, we ended up in the same place! There's no one here to help you, THAT'S your motivation! THAT'S YOUR MOTIVATION!"

6.2/10

"I think you're so blinded by inconsolable rage that you don't care who you hurt. When you can't tell your friends from your enemies, it's time to go."

Quantum of Solace was intended to be the sweet dessert to compliment the main course preceding it (i.e. 2006's Casino Royale). By this I mean Casino Royale developed the characters and established the plot (all the vegetables, so to speak) with very minimal amounts of action (the sweet portions of the meal, in a manner of speaking). Quantum of Solace therefore establishes a reason for itself to offer nothing more than pure action. And therein lies the unforgivable, lethal flaw of this film: it's all action and style without an ounce of soul or substance. Even with the "sweet dessert" philosophy applied, Quantum of Solace is only marginally redeemed.

Usually there's no problem with an overabundance of action, but it's crucial for action to be two things to make it work - comprehensible and exciting. The action in this particular Bond outing fails to adequately adhere to these aforementioned necessities. But the film's predominant fatality is its over-reliance on its predecessor. Casino Royale established the story; however CR's story hopelessly lost momentum into its final third. The story was milked until the milk began turning sour, thus there was virtually no interesting story remaining for Quantum of Solace to continue. Consequently the story is stilted and convoluted to the point of non-existence. Bond dashes around an action arena shooting every individual he can aim for. He shoots first, asks questions later. He is grilled by his superiors for this, but the film's self-awareness of Bond's new killing policy doesn't redeem this flaw.
Quantum of Solace tries to do something unimaginable: it endeavours to compete with the Jason Bourne films. It jettisons a solid story in favour of continuing a story which seemingly felt already complete. The result? Fundamentally an extended trailer (that at the same time feels tragically underwritten) featuring our beloved Agent 007 in name only form.

"I am motivated by my duty."

The film kicks off almost exactly where Casino Royale ended. In the timeline, the first scene in Quantum of Solace occurs merely one hour after the end of CR, hence the first Bond adventure in history to establish chronological obligations to its forerunner.
James Bond (Craig) becomes obsessed with revealing the mystery behind a top-secret organisation known as QUANTUM (a modern-day SPECTRE). Bond desires to exact revenge for the death of his girlfriend Vesper (played by Eva Green in Casino Royale) who was blackmailed by the enigmatic organisation. His off-the-grid investigation leads 007 to Austria, Italy and Bolivia, along the way crossing paths with the nefarious Dominic Greene (Amalric, keeping both eyes open after 2007's The Diving Bell and the Butterfly). Bond soon uncovers a plot to control the world via the water supply. (Yes, the movie is about water. Why not make the next Bond villain intent on eliminating a breed of moose in Alaska?)

The principal flaw with the story of Quantum of Solace is simple: it doesn't have one. A conventional Sylvester Stallone affair offers a more intricate plot. In Fleming's Casino Royale novel, Vesper dies and Bond moves on. The truth behind Vesper's enforced betrayal is so clearly set up during the last film, but it becomes hopelessly lost in a welter of unnecessary distraction and abandoned threads. This film acts as a bridge to complete Bond's origins tale before allowing the series to proceed to more conventional Bond canon entries. In all honesty, every blundering frame of Quantum of Solace seems every bit as useless as the one preceding it. If the screenwriters didn't make Casino Royale so despondently long-winded, they could have summarised a fairly adequate Bond origins tale in the space of just one movie.

Marc Forster (the genius behind Finding Neverland, Stranger than Fiction and Monster's Ball, just to name a few) has adequate skill to tackle different genres with each new film on his résumé. Alas, action/adventure isn't a genre Forster is capable of handling. Director Martin Campbell offered exhilarating action scenes in Casino Royale as they were competently handled. But for this sequel Forster succumbs to the baffling technique of each shot lasting a nanosecond. When it comes to an action scene it's crucial to offer an opportunity for a viewer to confidently distinguish what is happening and, critically, why it's happening. A sequence intercutting an opera house shoot-out with a performance of Tosca is virtually impossible to follow. Veteran Bond directors have been capable of orchestrating action with confidence. Martin Campbell's sweeping action scenes in both Casino Royale and 1995's GoldenEye are simple to follow and enjoyable to watch. In this case Forster generates zero tension. As guns are fired and things explode, a viewer can't discern who's been killed.

70% of the film's 100-minute duration is action. The prevailing philosophy appears to be "when in doubt, cut to the chase". Every time an intriguing dialogue scene is established a gun is commonly pulled out and bullets begin to fly. Each scene develops into an excuse for action. The film tears, rips, bangs and shatters but says zilch. No pop. No fizz. No story. When the action scenes aren't handled well (and quality of action in a Bond film is essential), there's something gravely wrong.

Quantum of Solace opens with a frenetic car chase. There's a great deal ruckus occurring on the roads, but it's so perplexingly filmed, hence impossible to decipher what's happening and why. Cameras are placed at awkward angles, shots are too tight and it's outright jarring. Unfortunately, these poor filming techniques mar action sequences throughout the film. The narrative fights a losing battle with Forster's cinematic style and in the end it's the audience that loses. Valuable information is barely discernable in a jumble of dissonant images. No sequence of shots ever grips the attention of a viewer. There isn't a sufficient spine to hold the fast moving elements together. The opening car chase is breakneck (albeit jarring, as I said before), but the film's other action set-pieces are a decidedly mixed bag. There are a few crisp footraces, some semi-coherent punch-outs and an awful boat pileup that evokes agonising memories of the invisible car Pierce Brosnan tooled around in a few movies ago. After the opening car chase, the film moves onto the traditional opening credits sequence. The title song (performed by Jack White and Alicia Keys) is an abysmal cacophony of indecipherable lyrics and mismatched musical idioms. The title sequence over which those idioms do squalling battle is likewise disharmonious: conceptually clever yet visually grating. It's a pleasure to witness the return of silhouettes of naked women in the opening title sequence, but as a whole it's tragically unremarkable.

James Bond is supposed to be a spy. Yet the definition of a spy is one who employs convert methods while remaining underneath the radar. Here Bond is swinging, shooting, punching, diving and flying...yep, just like Jason Bourne. Being depressed about losing a loved one isn't an acceptable reason for Bond to abandon his orders. Bond is also transformed into more of a superhuman in this instalment. Towards the end Bond battles in an exploding building. Looks like game over for anyone human...but Bond utters cringe-worthy dialogue before miraculously escaping without even appearing threatened. The stylish, brainy secret service agent created by Ian Fleming (and established quite well in Casino Royale) is dead. He's been reincarnated in the form of a PlayStation game character. In fact, the abundance of stupid action scenes probably allows more of a compelling video game spin-off. But that's the thing - Quantum of Solace feels like a video game with all action and little substance.

The relatively smart character exploration of Casino Royale has been jettisoned. There is also a distinct lack of classy dialogue. All the explication confuses matters - from inaudible exposition (the dialogue is subdued in the sound mix which seems ruled by gunshots and explosions) to a Minority Report-style briefing sequence (it's so visually overripe that one's attention constantly shifts from the unclear dialogue to fussy imagery with little chance to extract meaning from either). For over forty years, Bond films have been standalone features with few recurring characters and few references to previous escapades. Quantum of Solace is a direct follow-up to Casino Royale, yet there is no recap of anything. If an audience hasn't seen CR for a while, how are they supposed to remember the Bond/Vesper romance? The Mr. White character would also appear pretty puzzling. But continuing the story where the last film ended probably seems so contemporary and the producers probably feel smart for doing so. After all, the Bourne series are one large chunk of connected happenings split into three films. This marks another example of evidence that Bond has become a clone of Bourne. That's the problem: it desperately tries to be something it clearly is not, nor was ever designed to be.

It's not a total disaster, though. The action is occasionally visceral, invigorating and hard-hitting when director Forster gets it right. And the colourful globe-trotting (while occasionally unnecessary) is marvellous. As much as it pains me to admit, it did pass the time and it wasn't boring. To an extent I did enjoy it. The stunt-work is to be admired, and the delightful mayhem (while not captured particularly well) is somewhat intense. The ending is also to be lauded. The film effectively wraps up the Vesper tale with a neat ribbon, and the scene is set for classic Bond to return (the gun-barrel sequence is even right at the end, signifying that Bond is now the Bond we remember).

Quantum of Solace is a bitter, incoherent, unclear, messy action film without any soul or substance. Poor Marc Forster doesn't adapt well to the action genre, with several quick cuts in the space of one second detracting from the film's excitement. The Bond origins story didn't need to be stretched into two movies. This film is just pure silly action. In the Bond canon it isn't the worst (Moonraker receives that honour), but it's sitting towards the bottom. Heck, I even enjoyed Die Another Day far more than this dreary film! As a continuation of Casino Royale, Bond 22 is unspeakably lacklustre. As a standalone movie it's even worse. Only die-hard Bond purists will have any reason to check this one out. The Bond Ultimatum is a more appropriate title.

On that note, an ultimatum for EON: return Bond to the smart stories with menacing villains. Also give him the charm, the trademark one-liners and womanising. And for the love of God hire a director who knows how to direct action scenes!

M: "It'd be a pretty cold bastard who didn't want revenge for the death of someone he loved."
James Bond:" I don't think the dead care about vengeance."

5.2/10

Agent Griffin Dowd: "What's he into?"
Agent Jennifer Marsh: "High-end tech and low-end porn."
Agent Griffin Dowd: "You sure he's a guy? If it's a women, she could be my soulmate."

Psychological thrillers, such as Untraceable, are far more welcome these days than woeful gore porn films like Hostel or (god forbid) Saw with its never-ending flow of sequels of increasing mediocrity (as of 2008, Saw is up to its fifth entry...with six and seven already announced. I doubt even my great-grandkids will love long enough to witness the Saw series coming to a close). Untraceable fundamentally functions as a 100-minute episode of a police-procedural television crime drama. In the vein of psychological thrillers such as Se7en and Silence of the Lambs, director Gregory Hoblit has created a visceral thriller warning the use of technology against the populace.

Special Agent Jennifer Marsh (Lane) works at the Portland, Oregon FBI Cybercrimes Division. Along with her partner Griffin (Hanks), she generally spends her working hours shutting down music pirates and paedophiles. Jennifer is soon faced with a new and infinitely more deadly adversary when she comes across a website called KillWithMe. The tech-savvy lunatic running the site offers a live video feed to horrific acts of torture. After whetting the pervosphere's appetite with a live kitten sacrifice, the webmaster moves onto human victims. The live on-air murders accelerate with each click of a visitor's mouse. The serial killer behind the site is intelligent, and has worked out a technique to ensure the website is totally untraceable as well as impervious to attempts at removing it. The rumour of its existence catches fire, and in no time it's one of the hottest Internet stopovers. Jennifer quickly becomes obsessed with apprehending this impossibly clever internet predator, in the process finding herself ensnared in the killer's deadly game.

Untraceable is an enjoyable slick thriller: it's smart, merciless and tightly told without excessive exposition that lulls. In the 21st century the film's plot has great relevance and potency: a killer filming his victims die in elaborate ways while allowing the event to be viewed live on the internet. The more hits the site receives, the quicker and more violent a victim dies. "You know, if no-one was watching now, you'd just be sitting in water," the killer informs a victim who's neck-deep in water while a sulphuric acid drips into the tank (one drop for every internet hit the site receives). "But the whole world wants to watch you die, and they don't even know you." As the hit-counter goes berserk, the water becomes battery acid; his flesh rapidly corrodes and he dies as people watch from their computers, courtesy of live video streaming. What does this say about human nature these days? It's simple - the net has accelerated and magnified the morbid impulse to gawk at train wrecks. Over the years, the net has made us more uncivil and more inhuman.

At the core of Untraceable lies a moral question: if a person is being tortured online and you knew the URL where the streaming video can be found, would you visit the site? Furthermore, would your decision be influenced if you knew the person's death is hastened based on the volume of the site's traffic? These days snuff sites do exist. And, reportedly, in some communities they're quite popular. It doesn't take much expertise to uncover an online video of someone being genuinely executed. Seek and you shall find. Taking this one step further, what is it with mankind's fascination with the horrible? A majority of the population watches the news everyday (or listens to it) to learn about the latest local murders or tragic accidents. As we drive past an accident site, we slow down and observe the scene. Has mankind truly become sadistic voyeurs?

For the first half of Untraceable, the veneer of intelligence it exhibits is truly amazing. During said first half, this tense thriller is compelling in the way that a thriller like Se7en is compelling. Director Hoblit took pride in the realistic portrayal of an FBI pursuit of online criminals. Unfortunately, there are far too many unbelievable elements and obnoxious clichés in the film that the authenticity of the investigation process scarcely matters. Furthermore, it seems the more obvious methods of police work are jettisoned. After the first two victims are identified, the investigators never seem too fazed about establishing a possible connection between the two. As it is, if the (what would've been utterly obvious) connection was established the police would have had their criminal in the bag within the first hour of the film's runtime. But no - the five credited screenwriters exploit a formulaic structure and clichés to no end. Not a single cliché stone remains unturned in the film's rush to a jaw-droppingly stupid conclusion.

Most clichéd are the characters. Jennifer is a widowed woman and a neglectful mother with family problems. Colin Hanks' computer geek works with almost impossible efficiency. And towards the film's climax, a character reveals over the phone he's found something vital. Instead of relaying this vital information over the phone (not even in brief summary), this character explains he'll reveal it later on when he's face-to-face with the voice at the other end of the phone. We know he's not going to live very much longer. Poor guy never stood a chance.

Untraceable ends up containing stupid filler material as if the screenwriters were on autopilot during the writing process. Instead of this filler material, the writers should've been establishing more build-up. By this I mean the website automatically goes from the killing of a kitten to the killing of live humans. It jumps straight into the nitty gritty, and as a result the nitty gritty feels unearned. The killer should have whet appetites more extensively; perhaps starting with something small, like a rat, before moving up to larger house-hold pets. Another irritating aspect is the killer's impossible ability to capture prey without any trouble at all. And in the space of a few days he can somehow conceive an elaborate torture method for a victim. In these few days he's also capable of purchasing the proper equipment (it would cost a fortune...how does he pay for it all?) and rigging it up without the neighbours hearing any noise. The reasoning behind the killer's murder spree is also inadequate. It's nothing mind-blowing - in fact there's nothing to make you gasp or leave you speechless. It plays out as if nothing substantial is being revealed.

The rote thriller elements also make an appearance: red herrings, poking around dingy basements, and the good old reliable killer-coming-at-what-the-heroine-loves gambit. Another thing that irritated me is that without much promotion, the site is able to reach millions of hits within a matter of seconds. I don't think so...

To its credit, the film manages to avoid relying on gore to "build suspense". Hostel, for example, was simply gory murders with no substance. Untraceable is able to hold audiences in suspense with the intriguing premise. In fact, if you ignore the preposterous conclusion and endless clichés, this isn't a bad film. But in the last 20 minutes the film descends into a dark abyss of nothingness. It becomes a laundry list of clichés minus any originality or cleverness. It concludes with a whimper. The heroine, as if in a stupid horror film, continues doing things so asinine it's laughable. It doesn't provoke anymore chills...instead it provokes derisive chortles. It's as if the filmmakers who made the first two acts were replaced by Uwe Boll collaborators for the final act. It's frustrating that such a promising premise died without a trace.

The always dependable Diane Lane is competent in the title role. As she moves through the script's laboured contrivances, the good news is that Lane is easily watchable. She appears to have more emotional range than, say, Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs. The fact still remains that Lane is forced to endure a pretty disappointing script. Maybe she was initially seduced by the great first half of the script, or maybe she needed a paycheck. She occasionally lends a touch of class to an otherwise tacky thriller; striving to keep the script afloat during the last half with little success.
The supporting cast is effective, although moderately tiny. Colin Hanks has inherited a portion of his father's amiability and Billy Burke has the perfect square jaw for his part as the extraneous cop/pseudo-love interest.

Untraceable feels half-baked. However it's a competent suspenser that conveys a fairly potent moral statement about human nature in the digital age ruled by the internet. It's adeptly handled - an attractive colour scheme, a likable cast, fairly credible police procedures and some intense moments - but in the end it's ultimately undermined as it follows the modern thriller playbook to the letter. Into the last half it's cliché for exhausted cliché. This had the potential to be this decade's Se7en, but it's a missed opportunity.

"If that's water in that tank, pretty soon he's going to be sitting in battery acid."

6.1/10

"Spirits surround us on every side... they have driven me from hearth and home, from wife and child."

Prior to F.W. Murau's Nosferatu there was Robert Weine's silent horror masterpiece Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari (translated to the more common title; The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). In the annals of the horror genre, these two instances of German Expressionistic cinema stand above all others as pivotal filmic creations. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is amid the few archetypal horror films accountable for influencing fundamental elements of horror. These aforementioned elements include: a mad scientist, a "monster" slave to its master (think Frankenstein...even though the novel was published a century beforehand), and the pangs of guilt triggered by beauty or kindness.

This is a strikingly different piece of cinematic history due to its sheer artistry and eerie atmosphere. Visually, the film is unmistakably Expressionistic: weird, contorted angles, dark shadows, as well as bizarre, surrealistic sets and just about anything else that could assault the normal perception. Cinematic Expressionism (often referred to as "Caligarism") fundamentally involves images speaking for themselves more than any text or speech. This film abides by said law. To design the stylised décor of the movie, director Weine hired Hermann Warm, Walter Rohrig and Walter Reimann. These men turned to the paintings of Edvard Munch and the Expressionist stage designs of revolutionary impresario Max Reinhardt to find inspiration for the cramped, crooked town of Holstenwall. It's a fairly dated film, but the sheer audacity of the film's physical and psychological conceit will haunt you forever.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a film that boasts numerous firsts - the first horror film, the first psychological thriller, and the first German Expressionist film. This is a true classic of international cinema, and one of the most avant-garde horror films of its generation. The horror may be superficially insipid and tame, and the acting is unsurprisingly relatively hammy, but the eerie and unsettling atmosphere in addition to the eccentric imagery generates a lingering feeling of haunting unease - and that's what horror films should do.

This chilling tale is of a fairground barker who misuses his hypnotic powers to compel a mournful cipher into doing his evil bidding. Beginning with a harmless day of fun, Francis and his good friend Alan (Von Twardowski) attend a fair that recently rolled into town. The fair's main attraction is the enigmatic Dr. Caligari (Krauss) who's exhibiting a Somnambulist named Cesare (Veidt). Cesare has been in an uninterrupted sleep for twenty-three years, and he knows the secrets of the past and the future. A curious Alan inquires when he will die...and Cesare reveals he'll be dead by dawn tomorrow. The small town is held under a grip of fear when the prediction proves true and Alan is murdered. However, this is not the first in recent days. Caligari and his Somnambulist soon become the prime suspects in a series of killings. Francis vows not to sleep until he catches the killer.

"You fools, this man is plotting our doom! We die at dawn! He is Caligari!"

For a time during pre-production, Fritz Lang was originally assigned to direct. He claims he worked extensively on the screenplay, although this has never been proven. Given the brilliance of Lang's work (he went on to make masterpieces such as M and Metropolis) it would be fairly interesting to see what he'd have done with the film. If anything, the film could've used stronger direction. Robert Weine's direction is competent, but occasionally lacking solidity. Weine never made a masterpiece like this again, though he tried.

The final screenplay was written by Czech poet Hans Janowitz and Austrian artist Carl Mayer. A copy of the original shooting script disproves Janowitz's contention that the film's remarkable visual appearance had been devised by the writers. The design of Holstenwall was conceived by a separate creative team (whose names were mentioned before). On a more pragmatic level, an electricity shortage meant it was more efficient to paint in the lighting effects as opposed to using precious power. This subtle touch generates a heightened sense of menace.
Krauss and Veidt (who played Caligari and Cesare, respectively) were both Reinhardt alumni and were capable of fashioning their own grotesque make-up and exaggerated gestures.

German Expressionism can be perceived as inspiration for the depiction of supernatural images due to the techniques in relation to lights, shadows, out-of-focus images, and image juxtaposition. In spite of the surrealism depicted in Expressionistic movies, they always told a story related to common matters of human society. For example: the outsider (as shown in Murnau's Nosferatu) as well as prejudice and ignorance (Metropolis). The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari conveys a theme in relation to corruption that can easily affect humans, compelling them to act foolishly.

Robert Weine's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari has always been considered a keystone of the horror genre. This is mainly a moody film, with its tone set by grotesque art direction. The deliberately ambiguous twist ending will come as a substantial jolt for a viewer. Rather than providing visceral shocks (ala Hostel, Saw, etc), Weine's masterwork plays games with the mind. It's interesting that while Germans created films with artistic merits, Americans were cranking out brilliant slapstick comedies (like the works of Charlie Chaplin) or morality tales. Thanks to the subversive nature of their films, the Germans ushered in a new era of filmmaking. Whether or not the film works depends entirely on your tolerance for silent cinema. If you have an interest in cinema in general, or if you're a horror fan keen to visit the roots of the genre, I recommend you check this one out. Robert Weine literally wrote the book of screen horror in 1920, and filmmakers have poured over it ever since.

"I must know everything. I must penetrate the heart of his secret! I must become Caligari!"

8.2/10

John Farley: "You have a father?"
Mr. Woodcock: "Of course I have a father, Farley, I'm not Jesus."

If you verbalise the title of Mr. Woodcock out loud, does it make you giggle? You see, applying the word "cock" to the title is ostensibly intended to be a humorous entrée to the juvenile, immature main course of laughs to follow. If you don't find the title at all funny (I mean it uses the words wood and cock...isn't it just so original and hysterical?), then it's recommended you give this one a miss. If the title makes you laugh uncontrollably, clearly you have the underdeveloped sense of humour and mental capacity that will therefore allow you to enjoy the trite humour within.

Mr. Woodcock had irrefutable potential. Billy Bob Thornton is an Oscar-winning, first-class character actor who has shown his talents as a comedian and as a serious performer. Highlights of his career include A Simple Plan, Sling Blade, Monster's Ball, Bandits and the excellent dark comedy Bad Santa. Even though Billy Bob handles everything thrown his way with equal aplomb, Mr. Woodcock is one irascible comic character too many and perhaps the actor's biggest misstep of nearly twenty years in front of the camera.

At face value, Mr. Woodcock should be perfect for Thornton. A merciless and hard-assed P.E. teacher with a sizeable sexual appetite? It's hard to imagine any actor but Billy Bob taking this role. Even without seeing the film one can easily imagine Billy Bob Thornton bombarding young children in the head with basketballs or clobbering little boys in the groin with a bat. For the first few minutes of the movie, Mr. Woodcock works. Thornton's sense of comedy is impeccable and his sadism is hysterical. But after a while the single-note movie fails to establish any degree of true depth outside mushiness and clichés. In the space of a few minutes, all potential is irreparably shattered.

The story tracks self-help guru John Farley (Scott) whose latest book has sparked a cult following worldwide. Due to this unexpected success, John's hometown offers him the prestigious honour of the "Corncob Key to the City". Delighted with the notion of receiving such an award, John is more than happy to return home and visit his widowed mother (Sarandon). Alas, upon arrival, John discovers his mother is dating his jackass former P.E. teacher - Mr. Jasper Woodcock (Thornton). Adding insult to injury, Woodcock's harsh and inhumane methods don't faze anyone else...and he's about to be rewarded with the title of "Educator of the Year". John remembers the physical and mental anguish he suffered in high school thanks to Woodcock. After all, Woodcock is a man who delights in torturing students and anyone else who strays within his sphere of influence. He physically beats up his students, he psychologically demeans them as well (calling them names and humiliating them in front of others) and he generally behaves like a total jerk to everyone around him. John doesn't want his mother mixed up with such a man, and sets out to reveal what a jerk Woodcock truly is.

There was a very prolonged and troubled production process for Mr. Woodcock. After initial test screenings were quite negative due to its darker tone, a new director was hired and re-shoots were undertaken. Despite this long process in an attempt to salvage a quality product, the film still fails. With Billy Bob Thornton's prior experience with these types of characters, the screenwriters (first-time screenwriters...by golly it's obvious!) and the director have seemingly left everything up to Billy Bob. As a consequence, the poor actor is left to flounder while cameras capture him doing so. At times, Mr. Woodcock is hilarious. The first few minutes of dark humour (during which Billy Bob physically and emotionally attacks students) provide insight into what the film could've been. It seems these initial few minutes of superior dark humour might've permeated the rest of the film before re-shooting commenced.

Mr. Woodcock fails for two specific reasons. The first (and most significant) flaw is the screenplay courtesy of Michael Carnes and Josh Gilbert. It's the basis for an entertaining film, but a script tidy-up is sorely required. The film is typically an American mainstream studio comedy: clichés breed furiously and predictability abounds. It's a cliché-ridden mess! Seann William Scott's character, John Farley, should have remained the self-helping, uplifting character all the way through. Instead he turns into a total mean-spirited jerk who's impossible to care about. Mr. Woodcock is an awful character. It's stupid, nonsensical, unbelievable and almost offensive that his methods of teaching go unnoticed. The harsh nature of his teaching is illegal. It's not possible for someone to bully students like that while going unnoticed. Every student in his classes would've complained about their treatment to their parents, causing the parents to contact the school and have Woodcock sacked. From experience, I've had bad teachers who got the sack after treating students badly. Compared to Woodcock, these teachers are saints. And it's impossible to think people in the local community just accept such a jerk as Woodcock. He's openly horrible to everyone he meets! He even tells John "I don't do sorry. Sorry is for criminals and screw-ups, and I'm neither one". Uh huh...

The lovely and gracious Susan Sarandon is given a terrible character to work with. What could possibly prompt her to love Woodcock? What do the whole town see in Woodcock? Everyone in the film is an idiot - from the main characters to the supporting players, to John Farley's old friends and the little cretins in a burger joint. The script offers two cruel characters vying for the honour of being the biggest asshole in town. All the dramatic mush should have been axed. Billy Bob Thornton's golden moments as a gym teacher should've been further exploited. If his character hasn't been given the sack for his awful teaching methods, there should at least be additional moments of utter hilarity showcasing Woodcock abusing students in amusing ways. The right actors have been placed in the right roles, but the writing lets them down.

The other substantial problem with the film is the diluted content for the acquisition of a PG-13 rating from the MPAA for heightened ticket sales. If Billy Bob Thornton is playing a mean-spirited, bitter old gym teacher (almost a facsimile of his character from School for Scoundrels) then a few f-bombs and other obscenities must be used. Billy Bob is simply a poet when it comes to profanity. Bad Santa, for example, wouldn't be as brilliant if it weren't for the foul language and explicit content. If that form of dark humour pervaded Mr. Woodcock we'd have a Bad Santa clone...but at least it'd be a fun and enjoyable clone as opposed to this depressing nightmare. There are sub-plots of a heavy sexual nature, and adhering to a family-friendly rating further handicaps the film. In a PG-13 guise, Mr Woodcock is far too tame to be interesting given the nature of the central character. For its short runtime, the film is too bland and meek to be enjoyable. It isn't memorable, and you won't want to watch it again. You'll forget you even saw the film merely hours after watching it.

Seann William Scott basically plays an adult version of Steve Stifler; reprising his American Pie chore of complaining about his mother having sex with someone. Billy Bob appears to sleepwalk...well, sleepact throughout the film. Susan Sarandon is mediocre at best. There's also Ethan Suplee who appears to be putting in an effort, and Amy Poehler who tries but is underused as the film's voice of reason.

Mr. Woodcock had considerable potential, but at the end of the day it's a cheap by-the-numbers Hollywood comedy that lacks bite. The actors try their hardest, but are let down by the mundane screenplay. There's no excuse for anyone to waste their time on this fluffy piece of crap. Not the cast + crew who poured so much effort into it, nor the studio who misused money to fund this, or the audiences forced to endure this irritating experience. It's only more depressing to think of all the endless delays, re-shoots and different directors who tried to do something with it. It's occasionally enjoyable and it passes the time, but it could've been so much more. 40% of the film is watchable (sometimes worthy of a chuckle), but the other 60% makes it too hard to recommend.

3.8/10