Reviews by PvtCaboose91

"Well, these people invited us here to make fun of us. This is a contest for the biggest idiot... Which I nailed!"

With the Hollywood remake machine surging through European countries unabated, none shall be spared, with Let the Right One In and now The Dinner Game having been reinvented for Westerners. By and large, remakes of this variety are completely unnecessary as they are merely produced to ensnare audiences who are resistant to embrace foreign films in their original form (i.e. with subtitles). It's surprising, then, that Dinner for Schmucks is in fact a constantly uproarious comedy benefitting from an ideal cast. However, it's not perfect. A Hollywood remake of the French film The Dinner Game, Dinner for Schmucks features a mean-spirited premise which should have paved the way for a hysterical black comedy. Instead, the film is too soft and formulaic, not to mention overlong at about 110 minutes. If edited down to 80 or 90 minutes and if it was armed with an edgier script, Dinner for Schmucks could've been one of the highest comedic points of 2010. Luckily, there's nonetheless a lot to enjoy here.

At the centre of the story is Tim Conrad (Rudd); a morally conflicted but well-meaning financial analyst on the verge of receiving an important promotion. During his daily work meeting, he impresses his boss (Greenwood) by pitching an idea involving rich a Swedish magnate (Walliams) which could bring big profits to the investment firm. In order to further prove himself to his boss, Tim is invited to a secret monthly dinner in which the top brokers bring along the funniest idiot they can find and spend the evening making fun of their guests. Inwardly, he's against the idea - so, too, is his girlfriend Julie (Szostak) - but then fate drops a huge idiot named Barry (Carell) into Tim's life. A lonely IRS employee who screws up any situation with his earnest behaviour and who creates dioramas with dead mice, Barry is the perfect choice for the gathering of morons. However, Barry is so overexcited by the dinner invite that he shows up to Tim's apartment a full day early and subsequently ruins every facet of Tim's life.

To the credit of those behind Dinner for Schmucks, the film kicks off with one of the most endearing opening credits sequences you will ever see - a montage of Barry building his dioramas with stuffed dead mice; showing the rodents in miniature play-lands as they indulge in love and whimsy. The brilliant Beatles song The Fool on the Hill plays over this sequence, and it's a pitch-perfect way to open the movie.

Dinner for Schmucks serves up plenty of laughs and a sufficient amount of heart, but it's never as cutting or as dark as it should have been. In fact, this could be the safest mean-spirited comedy in history. Although it initially seems that the film is headed for dark comedy territory, it eventually settles into the groove of a middle-of-the-road screwball comedy. Moreover, the final act lays on the moral backbone stuff a little too thickly; playing to a generic studio agenda. The "warm, fuzzy" feeling this generates ultimately undermines the potential for Dinner for Schmucks to be a brilliant black comedy. Additionally, the tone is rather schizophrenic as we're encouraged to laugh at the idiots while also feeling bad for them. Thus, the filmmakers were less interested in alienating viewers with excessive cruelty than they were in taking the characters along a familiar journey for which every single plot point is predictable.

Prior to Dinner for Schmucks, director Jay Roach had been responsible for two highly successful comedy franchises: the Austin Powers movies, and Meet the Parents and its first sequel. Once again, Roach demonstrated here why he is one of the best comic directors in the business. Roach has a gift for comic timing and is deft at endowing his projects with energy. While it's at times slow, the film is constantly enjoyable nonetheless. The film's primary asset is the relatively unpredictable ridiculousness - you will never know what Barry-created disaster will befall Tim next. And the actual climactic dinner sequence is hilarious. Dinner for Schmucks is a very funny movie, though some of the humour is derived from awkward situations that will make you cover your eyes and feel uncomfortable. Not all of the uncomfortable comedy works, but, when it does, it's hilarious.

In the film, Rudd plays his umpteenth straight man, yet he suits the role. However, the true star of Dinner for Schmucks is Steve Carell, who's pure magic as Barry. The star managed to make the role so simultaneously likable, infuriating, brave and pathetic. On top of this, Carell struck the right balance between childlike innocence and full-on obnoxiousness which was so integral to making the character work. Zach Galifianakis (The Hangover) also features here as a bearded weirdo who claims to be able to control people's minds. Fittingly, Galifianakis is the only performer who comes close to topping Carell. Watching Carell and Galifianakis square off is pure genius. In addition, there's an amusing Jemaine Clement as a self-absorbed artist, and comedian Jeff Dunham as a ventriloquist (how suitable) who attends the titular dinner. Meanwhile, Lucy Punch (Hot Fuzz) is sinfully funny in the go-for-broke role of Darla; a former one-night stand of Tim's who is completely obsessed with him and is keen to rekindle what she perceives as a flame. And to round out the most notable members of the cast, David Walliams is a total riot as the wealthy Swedish magnate.

David Guion and Michael Handelman's script for Dinner for Schmucks had great potential to go further with the dark comedy, but somewhere along the line it was decided to keep the proceedings light and PG-13 to allow for maximum box office profits. However, it's saved by an inspired cast, most notably the show-stealing Steve Carell. Without Carell, Dinner for Schmucks would have been just another abysmal Hollywood attempt at remaking a foreign film for Westerners. But with Carell, the film is exceedingly watchable and constantly hilarious.

6.1/10

"If you are what you eat, then I only want to eat the good stuff."

In all likelihood, the Best Animated Feature Oscar should be renamed the Disney-Pixar Excellence in Animation Award. No other animation production house has, with any regularity, managed to equal or top Pixar's dizzying heights of brilliance, nor have they met Pixar's ambitious standards. There are pretenders and contenders, but Pixar continues to set the bar by which all other animated features are judged. Due to this, 2007's Ratatouille was burdened with high expectations. Added to the pressure was the fact that 2006's Cars was Pixar's first bad movie. Thankfully, it would appear that Cars was just a one-off anomaly, because Ratatouille is just as funny, joyful and heartfelt as anything Pixar has ever produced. Comparing Pixar's Ratatouille or Toy Story with the likes of, say, Kung Fu Panda or Shark Tale is like comparing fine wine with light beer - both have their surface pleasures, but the former bestows many additional delights.

Remy (Oswalt) is a rat with a highly developed sense of taste and smell who dreams of becoming a chef. He idolises now-deceased French chef Gusteau who preached a motto which Remy took to heart: "Anyone can cook". Through a curious set of circumstances, Remy becomes separated from his clan. However, Remy is delighted to discover that he is in the heart of Paris directly across the street from Gusteau's once-renowned restaurant. Helpless to resist exploring the kitchen, Remy ends up putting his own unique spin on a soup which fast becomes popular with the restaurant's clientele. Credit for the soup goes to a dishwasher named Linguini (Romano) who is the only one to notice Remy's talent. With pressure mounting for Linguini to replicate his soup and create more dishes, Linguini and Remy strike a compromise: Remy will use Linguini as his puppet during cooking, and nobody will know that a rodent is responsible for such fine food.

Naturally, it's easy to be disgusted by the notion of a rodent being a chef who handles food that humans will eat. However, writer-director Brad Bird chose to exploit the shaky convergence of the rodent and human worlds in order to revive one of the oldest, most reliable narrative staples in family-movie history: the misunderstood outcast who flourishes when he finds his unique niche. Additionally, Ratatouille could be perceived as a parable about racism and tolerance. The conflict is between humans and rats, and the breakthrough arrives when members of each species learn about members of the other. Ratatouille is endowed with sweet moral values - messages about love, friendship, family and understanding. The final twenty minutes of the film are particularly triumphant, with a climax that's moving and meaningful. A food critic (O'Toole) emerges as the film's ostensible villain, but Bird's handling of the role is unpredictable and genuinely surprising, as well as indicative of the film's humanity.

Prior to Ratatouille, Brad Bird helmed Pixar's 2004 hit The Incredibles along with The Iron Giant and episodes of The Simpsons. Fortunately, Bird's deft touch is evident throughout Ratatouille. Bird - who also wrote the script - did not give into easy gags or forced humour, but rather opted to develop the story with a light touch and let the comedy emerge organically. While Bird allowed for a few frantic chase sequences, they were pulled off with such finesse that they register as necessities rather than distractions. There are no song-and-dance numbers in the movie to enrapture the kids, but there's plenty of comedy that's universal enough to tickle the funny bone of viewers of all ages (not to mention there are the aforementioned chase sequences, too). However, Ratatouille is admittedly long for an animated feature, with a runtime of roughly 110 minutes. It's not as sluggish or weighty as Cars, but there are a few slow patches.

Among the first thing a viewer will notice about Ratatouille - or any Pixar movie, for that matter - is the computer animation. It seems as though the animation keeps getting better with every picture that Pixar produces. Ratatouille offers borderline photorealistic backgrounds, in addition to thoroughly detailed character depictions, though the characters are still recognisably cartoonish. Since this is a Disney movie, the animators emphasised the "cute" aspects of the rats (the round pink nose and the wide, innocent eyes), but there can be no mistaking what they are. All the food looks real enough to eat, as well. Ratatouille is simply a marvel to observe.

The voice talent present in the movie combines tried-and-true names from Pixar's stable (like John Ratzenberger) with such actors as Ian Holm, Brian Dennehy, Peter O'Toole and Janeane Garofalo. Patton Oswalt is especially outstanding as Remy - he's passionate and unafraid, and his line delivery is so matter-of-fact that his outlandish statements seem to make sense. Lou Romano (previously seen in Cars voicing Snotrod) is also perfect as the perpetually awkward Linguini. Brad Garrett (armed with a French accent) is equally remarkable as the legendary Gusteau, while O'Toole is memorable as the egotistical food critic. Like all of Pixar's movies, the stars were chosen not on the basis of how they sell, but on the basis of whether they suit the role they've been allocated.

Clocking in at almost two hours in length, Ratatouille demands a longer attention span than most animated movies. In many ways, it's probably too sophisticated for younger children as well. Yet, the movie rewards those with patience; offering a number of impressive set-pieces, big laughs and plenty of heart. Ratatouille has that old-world movie magic - it's the type of movie that you watch as if you were a child again, but with the appreciation of an adult.

8.9/10

"Every car will hold as many guns and as much ammunition as it can"

Not everyone may share the same opinion, but this reviewer immensely enjoyed Paul W.S. Anderson's Death Race. It's cinematic junk food, sure, but the big dumb fun aspect and the expert action sequences made it easy to dismiss the cold critical heart in this reviewer's chest and forget that critics are supposed to hate exploitation films like it. Despite its disappointing performance at the box office, 2010's Death Race 2 eventually moved forward. The title is rather misleading, however, since this is not a sequel but a prequel - it deals with the genesis of Death Race, the beginnings of the legendary Frankenstein, and why Frankenstein has to keep his identity a secret at all times. Despite being a low-budgeted direct-to-DVD/Blu-ray sequel, Death Race 2 delivers massive explosions, beautiful gals, bloody violence, exhilarating car carnage, colourful villains, and thrilling race sequences. And it's all delivered with slick cinematic techniques and absolutely no pretensions. It would seem we've reached the point where direct-to-DVD/Blu-ray no longer means cheap crap.

Before Frankenstein became a legendary star of Death Race, he was Carl "Luke" Lucas (Goss); a getaway driver working for notorious crime lord Marcus Kane (Bean). Following a bank job gone awry, Carl takes the fall and decides to do the time rather than testify against Kane. He ends up on Terminal Island Penitentiary which has been acquired by the profit-seeking Weyland Corporation. In the search for another source of profit, Weyland (Rhames) and his slutty assistant September Jones (Cohan) organise a show called Death Match in which inmates fight to the death. However, the ratings begin to decline, so the ante is raised when Death Match is scrapped in favour of a new game; the more epic Death Race. The island is transformed into a racetrack to host the multiple-day pay-per-view event, in which nine drivers compete to gain their freedom. Luke joins the competition, and, in true Death Race fashion, earns himself an attractive female navigator named Katrina (Phoenix).

Working on a scant $14 million budget (less than one third of the budget of 2008's Death Race), Dutch director Roel Reiné did a fine job of making Death Race 2 look like a far more expensive film than it is. Reiné's directorial talents were put to great use here; he managed to craft several exhilarating races and slick action sequences throughout (as opposed to The Marine 2, in which Reiné's competent technique was hampered by a dire script). The action is not as plentiful or as over-the-top as it was in the original Death Race, but this is by no means Jane Austen - there's still ample violence and gore to satiate action lovers, and the film flies by at a terrific pace. Death Race 2 is vehemently old-school as well, with practical effects and real stunts as opposed to masses of CGI. Also worth noting is that Paul Haslinger returned to compose the accompanying score, which is a huge asset. The catchy main theme of 2008's Death Race makes a welcome appearance here. While this film is not 100% on par with its predecessor, there's still plenty to enjoy about Death Race 2. The film's dénouement even leaves room open for further sequels. Awesome.

As thrilling as the action sequences are, screenwriter Tony Giglio's dialogue is not a strong suit, and character arcs and nuances are practically non-existent. For instance, Lucas feels guilty over killing a bank guard, but this is neglected for the remainder of the film. And sure, there are a few conveniences and narrative shortcuts as well. For instance, the transition from Death Match to Death Race is done in less than a minute with barely any introduction. The task of prepping Death Race seems like a task as simple as visiting the local shops since there are no montages or dialogue scenes to reveal the timeframe between Death Match's end and Death Race's beginning. Luke's transition to Frankenstein is rather forced and truncated, too, though his actual introduction is absolutely badass. Of course, none of these quarrels will affect one's enjoyment of the movie since this merely affords a brisk pace, but some additional material would have been welcome.

While the cast of Death Race 2 is not brimming with A-listers, the majority of the actors who were assembled for the film at least exert enough genuine talent to ensure the film is not the direct-to-DVD/Blu-ray nightmare it could have been (who associates DTD with anything but crap?). A couple of minor characters from 2008's Death Race even returned to reprise their roles here - Robin Shou as driver 14K, and Fred Koehler as Lists (a member of Luke's pit crew). Meanwhile, the main role of Carl Lucas was played by Luke Goss. Surprisingly, Goss is an affable leading man - not exactly in the same league as Jason Statham, but nonetheless assured and badass. Other notable actors appearing here include Ving Rhames and Sean Bean. Rhames is his usual awesome self, while Bean chewed the scenery with every line delivery as the villain of the film. Danny Trejo also appears, but he phoned in a strangely neutered performance (made all the more heartbreaking after 2010's Machete). As the trademark eye candy, Lauren Cohan and Tanit Phoenix are terrific. Not that their performances are terrific, mind you - they are just delicious to look at.

Death Race 2 is probably pretty easy to criticise if you approach it with the mind of a self-absorbed film snob. But who cares? This reviewer knows a fun movie when he sees one. Death Race 2 is brimming with irresistible B-movie charm which shows that Dutch filmmaker Roel Reiné and screenwriter Tony Giglio clearly understood the appeal of Paul W.S. Anderson's Death Race reimagining, and possessed the creative and technical know-how to replicate it on a much smaller budget. For fans of Death Race seeking another round of awesome mayhem, Death Race 2 definitely delivers. In fact, this direct-to-DVD/Blu-ray gem easily surpasses several 2010 blockbusters which polluted theatres.

7.4/10

"I chose this. I chose all this. This rock... this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. Its entire life, ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. In space. It's been waiting, to come here. Right, right here. I've been moving towards it my entire life. The minute I was born, every breath that I've taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface."

Note: If you are not familiar with the story of Aron Ralston and wish to be surprised by 127 Hours, it is advised that you watch the movie before reading this review. Spoilers of sorts are scattered throughout.

In mid-2003, Aron Ralston developed into a media sensation when he became trapped in a canyon for 127 hours, and was forced to amputate his arm in order to save his life. Ralston's physically and spiritually transformative experience was chronicled in his 2004 book Between a Rock and a Hard Place, and has now been dramatised to harrowing effect in Danny Boyle's 127 Hours; the director's follow-up effort to his Oscar-winning Slumdog Millionaire. Unflinching in its depiction of what constitutes the will to live, 127 Hours is at once ruminative and frenzied, intimate and vast - it's a thoughtful, compelling character study, yet it's as energetic as its protagonist. Although the film bears little resemblance to Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours was largely created by the same crew: Boyle co-wrote the script with Simon Beaufoy, Anthony Dod Mantle contributed to the camerawork, and Indian composer A.R. Rahman wrote the score. It's a testament to the talents of these men that - superior craftsmanship notwithstanding - you would not guess the connection between the films unless you had prior knowledge.

Aron Ralston (Franco) is a skilled hiker who craves solitude; usually avoiding family and friends to embark upon adventures and be king of the wild. At the start of the film, Aron is bound for Blue John Canyon in Utah. Initially, he encounters a pair of lost female hikers (Tamblin and Mara, in what amount to cameo appearances) and helps them find their way before he speeds off to his next claustrophobic destination. Unfortunately, he meets a loose rock along the way, and subsequently finds himself at the bottom of a narrow crevice with his right arm trapped between a boulder and the canyon wall. The title refers to the amount of time Aron spends in the crevice with very limited food and water; enduring freezing nights and the growing realisation that no-one is coming to save him.

In adapting Ralston's memoir, Boyle and Beaufoy took what could have been the man vs. nature equivalent of torture porn and transformed it into a visceral drama about life and hope. 127 Hours is brilliantly crafted - it's an at times gruelling, but nonetheless deeply compelling study of the lengths a person will go to for survival. For the majority of the film it's just Franco, Boyle and the canyon - there are no scenes of concerned friends or relatives wondering where Aron is. Nevertheless, there's never a boring moment. As time continues to drip along, flashbacks reveal Aron's early life, and, as dehydration and fatigue take their toll on his mental state, he experiences dreams and hallucinations. Aron gradually comes to regret his antisocial behaviour; wishing that he spent more time with loves ones before the hour of his impending death. Aron has a camcorder with him too, and records a constant video diary of his thoughts and experiences with the hope that it will be returned to his parents. (In real life, Aron did record a video diary, though he never showed it publically. In preparation for the movie, Boyle and Franco were allowed to view it.)

Boyle has always been skilled in terms of his stylised shooting style, and this talent is evident once again in 127 Hours. The director and his duo of cinematographers - Enrique Chediak and Anthony Dod Mantle - chose to depict Aron's struggle through a complex series of edits and shots; creating a fluid sense of movement by switching between shooting styles despite most of the film being set in one claustrophobic location. Boyle loves to splash the screen with visual flair, and this creates an exhilarating experience which places the viewer inside Ralston's head. Perhaps the most effective sequence is the climactic arm amputation scene. Viewers have reportedly vomited while watching said scene, and it's easy to understand why. Boyle did not baulk at capturing the gory details - Aron is seen breaking the bones of his forearm and using the dull knife of a cheap multi-utility tool to cut the soft tissue. Especially with Rahman's harrowing score, the scene is almost unbearable to watch. Although less gruesome than Hostel or The Hills Have Eyes, the reality of the scene is what makes it disturbing. The film is also topped off by an uplifting conclusion which packs a tremendous wallop; elevating this challenging picture to unexpected emotional heights.

James Franco is an actor who, up until now, has always tried his best but never achieved anything truly remarkable in his career. He has always displayed an enthusiasm for acting and a degree of charisma, but these qualities were perpetually lost on thankless supporting roles. Thankfully, 127 Hours denotes Franco's first truly remarkable piece of acting work. Franco is on the screen for nearly every frame of the movie (often in close-up), and he was up to the challenge; delivering the performance of a lifetime, and overturning his reputation as a dramatic lightweight. For more than an hour, we're stuck in a hole with Aron, and the intensity and charm of Franco's performance keeps us engaged. It's a tribute to everyone involved that, despite being aware of the true-life story, a viewer will still hope that Aron will make it out of the canyon in one piece, and be hopeful whenever he attempts a new technique.

127 Hours is a cracking, extraordinary movie. It may be hard to imagine how a movie with such limited scope could remain interesting for over 90 minutes, but Boyle and his talented team managed to pull it off. In fact, the only disappointment is the film's brevity. Another full half-hour should have been added to truly drive home the period of time for which Aron is stuck. In spite of this, 127 Hours is a masterpiece. It's even superior to Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire. If a film can be both brilliant from a critical perspective and mighty entertaining, it's a miracle.

9.5/10

"It's a soldier's duty. You wouldn't understand."

To this day, 1988's Akira is worshipped as one of the best anime features in history. And, frankly, this reviewer has no comprehension as to why the film continually receives such praise. Scripted and directed by Katsuhiro Ôtomo who adapted his own manga series, Akira is a super-violent epic which borrows liberally (if unimaginatively) from Mad Max 2, Blade Runner, Japanese disaster movies and the works of science fiction writer Alfred Bester. The product is the equivalent of the dullest of all computer games. At best, it's a brisk synopsis of over twenty volumes of manga. At worst, it's a slow-paced train wreck devoid of energy or anything of interest. A lot of people claim Akira has thought-provoking messages and a deeper meaning. While that's all well and good, the makers of Akira failed to provide something of substance to engage viewers. Where are the likeable characters or the engaging concepts? Where are the positive elements in general that can allow one to like a movie?

Set in 2019, Akira takes place 21 years after World War III when the city of Tokyo was decimated by an atomic bomb. Built on the ashes of its predecessor, Neo-Tokyo is a booming metropolis filled with unsavoury denizens. When night falls, collections of biker gangs take to the streets in order to participate in territorial motorcycle jousting. Meanwhile, there are a group of revolutionaries trying to overthrow the oppressive government. The final part of the story concerns the government, who are performing experiments with a mysterious invention known as "Akira". Akira is part bomb and part God, and, when it's injected into a human being, that person is endowed with apocalyptic strength.

Akira is comprised of roughly 160,000 cells of animation. Admittedly, the colour design is quite spectacular, from the brightness of Neo-Tokyo to the damp darkness of the sewer. However, while the animation is decent, it's far from great. Each frame bursts with a lot of detailed artistry, but the movement is jerky and jumpy to a distracting degree. It's easy to see where the frames have been linked. Watching the movie is the equivalent of playing an action game on a lethargic computer. Anime fans may complain that Disney movies are for the masses, but at least Disney animation is more smooth and fluid. Even Disney releases from the '40s and '50s were blessed with superior craftsmanship. On the bright side, Akira benefits from an exceptional soundtrack, and there are at least a few note-worthy set-pieces in amidst the moments of abject boredom.

The crucial problem with Akira is the narrative, which was condensed from over 2000 pages of manga. As a result of rushing from plot point to plot point, the movie comes across as an absolute mess with very superficial, boring characters and with a distinct lack of substance. Character motivations also seem at the convenience of the plot - at no point do the characters come into their own, and only rarely can we understand precisely why they do the things that they do. In fact, as a direct consequence of this, character identification can be difficult. Everything seems haphazard here; thrown together at random from various bits and pieces of stock sci-fi concepts with little coherency. There is an underlying moral here about mankind's lust for power, but it never emerges from the incoherent spectacle of destruction and violence. Dedicated Akira fans will probably retort "stick to dumb American action movies, then", but at least American action movies usually fulfil the fundamental movie requirements of plot coherency and clear motivations.

Some movie enthusiasts have completely immersed themselves into anime as both an art form and a film genre, while others simply "don't get it" or assume that anime is simply a children's medium. This reviewer falls into neither of those categories. As an avid film-watcher, this reviewer loves good movies whether they're live-action or animated. For good anime, see the exceptional works of Hayao Miyazaki (Spirited Away). Yet, the appeal of Akira is bewildering - the animation is jumpy, and the story proceeds without coherency or logic. People may retort "read the manga to understand it better", but this denotes a crucial failing on the part of Akira's writer-director Katsuhiro Ôtomo since the film should be able to stand on its own. Why should a viewer have to conduct hours of additional homework in order to completely understand the film? It doesn't help that the movie itself is inherently uninteresting. For some reason, people still claim this is the be-all and end-all of the Japanese animation industry. Let's be grateful that it's not, and that there are far better instances of anime out there.

4.1/10

"Remember; you have to make it home to get paid."

Fundamentally equal parts Apocalypse Now, The Passenger and any commando movie ever made, The Dogs of War is an examination of the morals of life as a hired killer. Although released during the '80s (the heyday of rock 'em sock 'em action flicks) this is no twin brother to such gloriously violent actioners as Commando. Instead, the film - based on the best-selling novel by Frederick Forsyth - is a thoughtful war drama; demonstrating the kind of intelligence which is rare in movies aimed at the regular action-adventure crowd. While action and gunplay features in both the beginning and the climax, The Dogs of War is for the most part concerned with dramatic growth and story. With that said, however, a sluggish pace renders the film at times enjoyable but at other times a chore to get through.

In the film, Christopher Walken plays a mercenary for hire named John Shannon. Not long into the film, Shannon is assigned a mission of reconnaissance - to travel to the tiny African dictatorship of Zangara to evaluate whether the government can be easily overthrown. Utilising the smokescreen of a bird photographer, Shannon heads to Zangara to gather the necessary information, but unfortunately suffers terrible torture from the African guards who are suspicious of his purpose. Following his eventual deportation from the nation, Shannon begins assembling a team of elite mercenaries to return to Zangara to perform a coup d'état and remove the dictator from power. However, while carrying out the dangerous mission, Shannon starts having severe doubts about the ethical nature of the assignment.

The title of The Dogs of War is derived from a phrase used in William Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar - "Cry, 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war". Suitably, this quote prefaces the film.

Speaking from a narrative standpoint, The Dogs of War is a pretty standard fare (unsurprisingly). In particular, Shannon's initial surveillance is conventional stuff - he meets a nosy Englishman who's fed up with local politics preventing him from filming a documentary, he encounters a local security chief who takes an interest in Shannon, there's an enigmatic woman who acts as Shannon's guide, and there's the obligatory arrest. For the original two-hour cut (the cut being assessed in this review), the interlude between Shannon's surveillance and the final assault is too lengthy - it becomes bogged down by a subplot concerning Shannon's relationship with his ex-wife. This is a standard, clichéd distraction which was included to afford Shannon's character a degree of depth, yet it's rather superfluous and leads nowhere. The subplot is murder to the pace, and is without a payoff.

Retaining the extraordinary detail present in Frederick Forsyth's novel, The Dogs of War provides an exhaustive examination of all the intricate ins & outs of what it takes to remove a dictator from power. It covers the logistical problems of recruiting a team of mercenaries, crossing borders, obtaining money and weapons, and making sure all of these things are in the target country at the right time. The Dogs of War is basically Staging a Military Coup for Dummies. On the other hand, all this incredible detail does not mean the film is necessarily entertaining. John Irvin's direction is meticulous to a fault; to the extent that he neglected to consider pacing. The majority of the movie is devoted to the endless preparation preceding the rather short assault. As a result, The Dogs of War is short in the machismo department, and - for a war movie - there is just not enough war. Thankfully, the battle sequences which bookend the film are well-staged, and the cinematography by Jack Cardiff is consistently solid. The action does not quite compensate for the sluggish middle section, but it's a step in the right direction (the opening is particularly outstanding).

In terms of acting, there's not a lot to complain about, though some of the supporting cast are a tad forgettable. In the role of Shannon, Christopher Walken is strong and convincing. Walken exudes cool here, and his acting is fantastic as well. The actor usually affords something out of the ordinary to his performances, and The Dogs of War is no different. In particular, Walken excels at conveying the sense that he's not completely there - that a part of him is spectating, and he's not entirely wrapped up in the actions of the moment. This attribute suits Shannon's jaundiced view of the operation, and as a result Shannon's behaviour at the film's end is believable. Great support was provided by Tom Berenger as a fellow mercenary, as well as from Colin Blakely as the English filmmaker who pops in and out of the story to no great effect. Other supporting roles were filled by competent actors who fail to stand out, most notably JoBeth Williams as Shannon's ex-wife.

The Dogs of War was not a breakout success due to its realism - there are no action-adventure movie clichés, hyped melodrama, large-scale action sequences, or much excitement. At the end of the day it's a decent motion picture which has its moments, but it's not a film to watch repeatedly due to its meandering nature.

6.2/10

This film was on during a lecture, but... It fucked with my head, and not in a good way. I became irretrievably bored and annoyed at it. Slept through some parts. I don't believe I'll ever sit down and watch the full movie. But here are my full uncut thoughts on what I saw:

Orlando is fucking terrible. It's not that I'm not open to the bending of convention or a bona fide mind-fuck movie. I adore those styles. Brazil, Shutter Island and Fight Club are examples of good mind-fuck movies. A recent Coen Brother's pic called A Serious Man is a great example of a brilliant movie which did not offer any closure at all (it literally ends in mid-scene). To bring something like this to the screen, a filmmaker needs something resembling an artistic soul - or at least a bit of filmmaking skill. Orlando's writer-director Sally Potter has neither.

To be blunt, Orlando feels like a Year 8 Media Studies project created by someone who wanted to be self-consciously smart and claim they've made something "challenging". There's a distinct difference between challenging cinema, and cinema that will just plain piss people off. There's a difference between being genuinely clever and being a self-consciously clever, pretentious git. Sally Potter, you fabulous idiot.

With the film constantly keeping us at arm's length, it's impossible to get engaged in anything that happens. Minus a solid emotional core, any characters to latch onto and so much as a modicum of humour, Orlando is 90 minutes of irritating nothingness which proceeds without logic or coherency.

I can only sum up my thoughts with one visual image:

"You can do a hundred things right, but it takes only one mistake to destroy everything."

If Brian De Palma collaborated with somebody like Douglas Sirk to create a Korean action-thriller, the result would probably resemble Ji-woon Kim's A Bittersweet Life; an amazingly violent, brutal revenge flick that simultaneously manages to be a fascinating character study. Much like the pictures of Park Chan-wook (Oldboy, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance), director Ji-woon Kim cranked up the melodramatic aspects of the story for this picture, but interspersed them with exhilarating bursts of violence. On top of this, Kim's expert touch leavens the frantic action beats with moments of comedy, touching silence and physical bravado. Admittedly, A Bittersweet Life tells an unoriginal, highly derivative story. However, what the film lacks in originality it more than compensates in style and verve, to the extent that you'll be far too involved in the movie to care.

For several years, Sun-woo (Byung-hun Lee) has worked as an enforcer for one of Korea's largest crime syndicates while providing himself with a cover by working at a restaurant. Sun-woo's boss President Kang (Yeong-cheol Kim) is involved in a relationship with a young woman named Hee-soo (Min-a Shin), but becomes convinced that she is cheating on him. With Kang leaving for the weekend, he asks Sun-woo to follow Hee-soo and look for signs of treachery. Sun-woo is instructed to kill Hee-soo if she is in fact seeing somebody else. When Kang's suspicions turn out to be true, Sun-woo makes a decision that seals his fate and has serious repercussions for everybody. When somebody in Sun-woo's line of work makes a bad decision, a lot of people are going to end up dead...

Despite the hackneyed premise, A Bittersweet Life succeeds due to its top-notch execution. While the film admittedly takes a good hour to get into gear, the at times painstakingly sluggish set-up is worth it for the film's final half. In terms of the action, this flick does not disappoint. The action sequences here are spectacularly brutal, bloody and nihilistic, with moments of violence that Tarantino would be proud of. While watching Sun-woo stroll around slaughtering gangsters with the cool of Steve McQueen and the cold, focused efficiency of a Terminator, you could be forgiven for believing Tarantino or John Woo directed the flick. Due to the utterly unapologetic level of violence, it is not going to be everybody's cup of tea. With that said, though, the movie at its core is more concerned with concepts of honour, love, chance, choice and, ultimately, the meaning of life in a brutal, cruel world of violence. A Bittersweet Life additionally benefits from a thought-provoking final scene which leaves room for people to interpret the movie however they wish.

The cinematography and art direction for the film is absolutely gorgeous to observe. Even during the film's slower first half, the visuals are a treat for the eye due to the interesting colour schemes and the stylish camera angles. The style of the film is very measured - shots were clearly given due consideration, as edits range from quick to remarkably slow. The fight scenes are an effective demonstration of this; a viewer is actually given the chance to watch and appreciate the elegant choreography. In a way, the visuals resemble Michael Mann's work, but the overall style is highly distinctive. While several moments throughout the movie become too ridiculous to take seriously, humour continually shines through to reassure us of its absurdness. For instance, a scene involving Sun-woo desperately trying to beat an arms dealer to the punch by attempting to assemble a firearm when his identity is exposed, or a scene of banter between a Russian and a Korean before Sun-woo just gets fed up with them.

In the role of the stone-faced Sun-woo, Byung-hun Lee is pitch-perfect; playing the character with a tremendous amount of cool, and coming off as a consummate mobster perpetually wearing a neat black suit who never cracks a smile. The bravura performance is surprisingly profound, as well. Sun-woo is not a thoughtless killing machine. As the wheels of his life begin to come off, he runs through a full swath of emotions - compassion, anger, disgust, exasperation, disappointment - each of which is accompanied by a stab wound, a bullet wound, or a punch to the face.

There's no deep meaning to A Bittersweet Life, and it would be foolhardy to assign one to the film. This is a simple story, but the visual dexterity ensures the film is a consistently entertaining and engaging ride with a story that's easy to follow. Writer-director Ji-woon Kim even refrained from including an obvious, unlikely romance, which is laudable considering the nature of typical Hollywood action movies.

8.2/10

"This one who's blind. She's the one that can see."

Despite being decades old, Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now remains an uncompromisingly honest and staggeringly evocative motion picture which tackles the mysteries of life, death, fear, hope, love and grief. The movie stems from the pen of English writer Daphne du Maurier, whose works of literature are a rich source for filmmakers - her stories also formed the genesis for such Alfred Hitchcock movies as The Birds, Rebecca, and Jamaica Inn. While Don't Look Now is not quite of the calibre of Hitchcock's masterworks, Roeg succeeded in bringing to the screen the inherent eroticism that underpins Maurier's writing which starkly contrasts the fear and tension of her themes. In translating the film to the big screen, a few significant changes were made to Maurier's story, but the basic elements of the narrative remain in place.

As the story begins, it's a dreary afternoon for the Baxter family until young Christine Baxter falls into a nearby pond and drowns. An undisclosed amount of time later, John (Sutherland) and Laura (Christie) Baxter are in the Italian city of Venice while John assists in the renovation of a local 16th Century church which is in a state of disrepair. While having lunch together, Laura meets two elderly sisters - Heather (Mason) and Wendy (Matania) - at a restaurant, the former of which is a blind psychic who claims she saw Christine safe and happy in the afterlife. The information visibly renews Laura's psyche, and her demeanour improves dramatically. While initially sceptical and rather humoured by the event, John becomes increasingly disturbed as Laura obsesses about using the elderly sisters to communicate with Christine. When further messages reveal that their lives may be in grave danger, strange events begin to occur and John starts seeing a mysterious hooded girl, leading John to question whether the warnings may be for real.

The city of Venice was transformed into a character in itself here; mist-shrouded, labyrinthine and gloomy. The maze of streets seem to have been specifically designed to make unwary tourists lose their way, which in turn clouds John's consciousness; rendering him unable to figure out exactly what's happening. Don't Look Now is usually categorised as a horror film of the supernatural variety, but it's nothing conventional. There are no detectable poltergeists or spirits...or are there? Director Roeg possesses the canny ability to make the mundane appear sinister, and Don't Look Now is consequently a fiendish exercise in keeping the audience wondering what things are significant, what things are merely happenstance, and what things are genuine signs that something horrible is right around the corner. This is the type of film which demands repeat viewings, as it needs to be studied frame-by-frame to fully grasp how intricately it was assembled.

For Don't Look Now, Roeg and screenwriters Alan Scott and Chris Bryant set up a maze of subtle clues and suggestions which match the ominous labyrinth of alleyways, bridges, canals and streets which populate the Venice setting. Throughout the film, events from the past and the present intersect, often leaving you unsure as to whether you're seeing a flashback, a flash-forward, or an event taking place in the present. While this works on one level to build tension, it works thematically as well due to the fact that the film is primarily concerned with the uncertainty of time. This theme is underscored by the numerous scenes in which characters arrive too late. Augmenting all of this is Roeg's direction - he managed to build a powerful sense of impending doom throughout. Don't Look Now is not the type of movie which relies on cheap thrills or exploitation elements to see it through.

Anthony Richmond's cinematography and lighting is superbly atmospheric; painting the autumnal months in Venice with a spookily drab yet realistic colour palette. The colour red continually pops up throughout the film to symbolise two diverse things: memories of Christine, and possible threats toiling in the mundane. Due to the colours being so deliberately muted, red stands out each time it appears. However, there's a great deal of symbolism throughout which grows increasingly heavy-handed and is too thickly ladled on. As a result, the film feels meandering. This is the type of movie that film students spend hours dissecting and writing thesis papers on, but this does not necessarily mean it is always entertaining. On the contrary, in fact - Don't Look Now would've been superior and more effective if only it had been more direct. Fortunately, the wait is almost worth it for the finale, which is absolutely unforgettable.

As John and Laura Baxter, Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie are utterly remarkable; essaying a married couple who never feel anything less than authentic. A sex scene between the two is breathtakingly intimate, and their love-making is interspersed with subdued snapshots of them preparing to go out for dinner. For years, rumours have circulated that Sutherland and Christie got carried away and actually did the sexual deed on-camera. Roeg has insisted this is not true, but it's easy to understand how the rumour got started - the scene is incredibly erotic, honest and raw in a way that's rarely seen in films anymore.

Despite the film's meandering nature, Don't Look Now for the most part sustains a high level of tension through brilliant characterisation, white-knuckle set-pieces, and a constant fear of the unseen that's seriously unnerving. Hollywood simply does not produce thrillers of this calibre anymore.

7.3/10

"What if the world's havin' a party and we're missing it 'cause we're stuck here?"

The "big dreams, small town, no chance" premise is a recognisable refrain in literature and motion pictures. Directed by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, 2010's Cemetery Junction is yet another feature to examine this particular quandary. If Gervais and Merchant sound familiar, it's because they are the dynamic duo responsible for the original British version of the TV show The Office as well as Extras. However, Cemetery Junction is not exactly classic Gervais and Merchant in a strict sense. While the film exhibits wit and provides a number of hearty laughs, at its core it's a serious drama about life, hope, family, friendship, taking chances and following dreams. Sure, the film never strays far from formula and its conclusion is highly predictable from the outset, but there's an assurance to the storytelling in addition to several likable characters, strong production values, and a solid blend of humour and heart. Due to these factors, it stands as one of the better pictures of its kind.

Cemetery Junction is set in 1970s England - specifically in Reading, Berkshire where the titular town is located. Freddie Taylor (Cooke) grew up in Cemetery Junction and ends up working at a local factory with his father (Gervais). However, Freddie has larger ambitions - he quits his factory job and begins working for the Vigilant Life Assurance Agency, which is run by former Cemetery Junction resident and local success story Mr. Kendrick (Fiennes). Leaving behind his '70s attire in favour of slipping on a business suit, Freddie sets out to make a name for himself and kick-start a more affluent future. Not only is this against the wishes of his father, but it also bewilders his two best friends: the reckless Bruce (Hughes) and the absentminded Snork (Doolan). Complications ensue (as they always do) when Freddie reconnects with long-lost crush Julie Kendrick (Jones), who is not only Mr. Kendrick's daughter but is also engaged to Kendrick's right-hand man (Goode).

Gervais and Merchant were behind The Office and Extras, but, surprisingly their collaborative film debut is not in the "comedy of awkwardness" vein - rather, Cemetery Junction is a low-key, period coming-of-age tale. It has its amusing moments, sure, but the mood has a tendency to bounce from light-hearted to serious. Unfortunately, Cemetery Junction sticks slavishly to familiar story conventions: Freddie is embarrassed by his friends, misunderstood by his family, and pines for his childhood crush who is engaged to a self-centred dickhead. What's impressive, though, is how elegantly Gervais and Merchant were able to turn such clichéd plot points and characters into something involving and fresh-feeling. Unsurprisingly, character interaction is one of the strongest aspects of Cemetery Junction; it's witty and it flows naturally. However - and this is a rather large flaw - the film does not quite connect on any emotional level. It's difficult to genuinely care about the characters and their situations, though the characters are admittedly likable.

The script was competently translated to the screen through Gervais and Merchant's fluid, engrossing direction, complemented by absolutely superb production values. The sense of time and place in Cemetery Junction is immaculate. The soundtrack is filled with retro '70s tunes, demonstrating that the pair of directors have as strong an ear for music as their eyes are for visual composition. This is an unusually beautiful looking British film, as Gervais and Merchant gave the film a lush, warm colour scheme. Remi Adefarasin's cinematography is so skilful that Cemetery Junction actually looks like a nice place to live in despite Mr. Kendrick's constant proclamations to the contrary. This is a gentle, sentimentalised 1970s without the menace or depression evoked in, say, the British version of the television series Life on Mars.

Cemetery Junction additionally benefits from several strong performances, particularly courtesy of Christian Cooke and Tom Hughes. Both Cooke and Hughes have limited acting experience, yet each of them wonderfully acquitted themselves with their roles. Cooke is boundlessly charming as Freddie, while Hughes is a scene-stealer as the rebellious yet internally conflicted Bruce. And as Snork, Jack Doolan is the film's comic relief and was saddled with more conventional Gervais/Merchant material. Doolan's performance admittedly lacks the depth of Hughes and Cooke's work, but the actor nonetheless provides a number of inspired moments. Meanwhile, Ralph Fiennes and Matthew Goode clearly had great fun as pig-headed misogynists, with the former nailing insensitivity and with the latter turning up the sleaze dial to 11. Also in the cast is Emily Watson, who's heartbreakingly touching as Fiennes' long-suffering wife. And finally, Gervais is as hilarious as ever as Freddie's father - his banter with Anne Reid is side-splitting.

Thematically and narratively, Cemetery Junction is not all that much different from other coming-of-age stories. Nevertheless, the film possesses genuine warmth and was skilfully executed. It demonstrates that Gervais and Merchant are more than capable of handling a 90-minute comedy-drama despite their cinematic inexperience.

7.4/10