Reviews by PvtCaboose91

Director Scott Hicks' first Australian film since 1996's Shine, The Boys Are Back is a mature, poignant meditation on two staggering familial tragedies: divorce and early death. While this film had every right to be maudlin and contrived, screenwriter Allan Cubitt and director Hicks tackle the material with a raw emotional realism; affirming that real stories of loss and emotional rebirth can be told without to succumbing to manipulative melodrama. Fusing humour, heartbreak, power and poignancy with the greatest of ease and with a lack of pretension, The Boys Are Back feels impressively real and sincere, and is all the more resonant because of it.

Towards the beginning of the film, emotionally immature sports writer Joe Warr (Owen) loses his wife Katy (Fraser) to cancer, leaving him to take care of their 8-year-old son Artie (McAnulty). But prior to this tragedy, Joe had never had a particularly close relationship with Artie, and finds it difficult to handle the child. At a loss for how to deal with Artie, Joe opts for a more laid-back parenting method, resulting in a chaotic boys' club of laughs, fun, dangerousness and messiness, and as a result they develop a deeper connection. This is threatened, however, by the sudden arrival of Joe's older son Harry (MacKay); the offspring of Joe's previous marriage. With the pressures of work piling on and the limitations of his support network, Joe's shortcomings are exposed, most of which are difficult to face, let alone accept.

The Boys Are Back is loosely inspired by the real-life memoirs of Simon Carr. Though names have been altered and a structure has been applied, numerous incidents and people from the book were incorporated into the film's screenplay. For its first 20 minutes, The Boys Are Back concentrates on Katy's declining health and eventual passing on. These devastating opening minutes establish the film as a potent tear-jerker; observing Joe as he struggles to cope without his beloved spouse and grows gravely concerned for Artie, whose young brain is unable to process the serious event. Joe's grief eventually results in him conversing with a mental manifestation of Katy's spirit, who visits from time to time to question his abilities as Artie's guardian. While this may be perceived as an obvious and stale plot device that could trigger questions regarding Joe's mental stability, it does work. After all, in times of need, we typically evoke voices offering advice, and this merely takes it one step further. Though there are a few rocky patches of dialogue as the end approaches, and a number of narrative shortcuts, this is a top-shelf movie.

Perhaps the most notable aspect of The Boys Are Back is the way Hicks focuses on the humdrum details of life inside Joe's household. Such an approach amplifies the story's sense of realism, as if the camera merely happened across these events as they unfolded. There's one particular moment of this motion picture that demonstrates the effectiveness of Hicks' style - a raw, unforgiving close-up revealing the look on a man's face as his heart breaks in half. It's a subtle shot brimming with feeling that demonstrates how masterful the director has become, as well as bringing to the fore one crucial thing: nothing in this finely-honed film feels forced, false or conveniently sentimental. A less talented filmmaker would use mournful music to convey the emotion, but Hicks is very matter-of-fact, with the richly nuanced actors to pack the emotional punches. Simply put, nothing here feels Hollywood. Added to this, the stunning South Australian countryside, as captured by cinematographer Greig Fraser, affords the film an achingly convincing sense of place.

Action hero roles fit Clive Owen almost too comfortably, so it's refreshing to see the actor playing a character outside of his comfort zone. Thus, The Boys Are Back provided Owen with the chance to place forth his most compelling dramatic work since Children of Men. Owen submits a standout, heartfelt performance; conveying deep reserves of emotion and inner strength. Playing Joe's beloved Katy, Scottish actress Laura Fraser is superb - her Aussie accent is flawless. Also worth mentioning is the brilliant Julia Blake as Joe's mother-in-law, and Emma Booth who's highly endearing as a new companion for Joe. As for the kids of the ensemble, Nicholas McAnulty and George MacKay are tolerable and convincing - both of which are crucial when dealing with child actors.

The film's subject matter combined with Hicks' low-key direction could have resulted in a boring picture of false emotion, but The Boys Are Back is anything but. It's a very real movie, and it's made enthralling due to the performances and a genuine attachment to the characters. Much of the movies in today's cinematic climate are aimed at young men and boys; most of which are brainless blockbusters that tap into the corner of the mind craving escapist fun. In the case of The Boys Are Back, though, this is a quintessential boys' film without explosions or action sequences. In a sense, it's an ideal companion piece to Charlie & Boots - both are effective Australian movies which are perfect to watch with your dad, brother or granddad. To put it frankly, The Boys Are Back is a chick flick for guys. And it's a great one.

8.3/10

At the commencement of The Men Who Stare at Goats, a disclaimer reveals "More of this is true than you would believe". And this is very credible, because this tale of the U.S. Army's attempts to harness psychic powers to create super-soldiers is so bizarre is HAS to be true, in accordance with the "how could anyone make this up?" principle. Furthermore, the program to create said super-soldiers is instigated for one simple reason: the Russians began psychic research because they thought the Americans were doing psychic research when in fact the Americans weren't doing psychic research, and thus the Americans are compelled to commence a psychic research program because the thought of the Russians getting ahead in this field is unimaginable. Considering the practises of the U.S. Army over recent years, this justification is not exactly far-fetched.

Bouncing back and forth through time, the film introduces a hippie named Bill Django (Bridges) who's hired by the U.S. Army as part of an operation to create "psychic spies" - more commonly referred to as "Jedi Warriors". Alas, the program is shut down before any worthwhile wars come to fruition. This brings us to the movie's present - in 2003, a befuddled Midwestern journalist with domestic troubles named Bob Wilton (McGregor) travels to Kuwait in the hope of covering the Iraq War and proving himself to his wife who unceremoniously dumped him. From there, he meets one of the psychic spies named Lyn Cassady (Clooney) who agrees to take Wilton with him on a mission across the border. What follows is the one of most absurd buddy/road movies in history as the two encounter a series of disasters, and Bob is indoctrinated into the way of the Jedi.

Without a doubt, the brightest moments of The Men Who Stare at Goats are to be found within the first hour. Absurdity runs rife during this period, there are countless laugh-out-loud moments, and it functions as a sharp, effective parody of the rules and structure of military (its depiction of the U.S. Army is hysterical). Occasionally, the filmmakers attempt to ask thoughtful questions about warfare, but for the most part they appear to just be concerned with providing a good time. This is achieved well-enough, with a quick pace and several memorable moments of comedy, though it's more of an enjoyable watch than a powerful or lasting experience. Then again, this is a movie about men able to kill goats with their minds, so this is probably about as substantial as such a film can be.

Armed with a winning combination of audacious political satire in the vein of Dr. Strangelove, and the type of off-beat approach reminiscent of the movies of the Coen Brothers (think Burn After Reading), The Men Who Stare at Goats definitely gets points for both wild ambition and entertainment value. Actor-turned-first-time-director Grant Heslov (who co-wrote Good Night, and Good Luck with Clooney and produced 2008's Leatherheads) manages the proceedings with a maximum dosage of quirk in creating this side-splitting, freewheeling descent into the madness of the military machine. Added to this, The Men Who Stare at Goats boasts the best in-joke of recent memory: anyone familiar with the Star Wars prequels will have no trouble realising and laughing at the irony of a baffled Ewan McGregor asking what a Jedi Warrior is. This generates a welcome further sense of amusement whenever Cassady and Wilton discuss the mind powers of the Jedis. It would be interesting to know whether director Heslov and screenwriter Peter Straughan were aware of McGregor's pending involvement while constructing the script.

By this stage in his career, George Clooney has perfected the Coen-Brothers-influenced art of genial goofiness. In The Men Who Stare at Goats, this is blended nicely with good old-fashioned movie star charisma. Alongside Clooney, Jeff Bridges is brilliantly cast as the stoner and Kevin Spacey wondefully portrays Cassady's psychic rival. When Bridges, Clooney and Spacey share the screen, The Men Who Stare at Goats is extremely lively - like a military version of Anchorman with a more subtle sense of stupidity. This appraisal is only valid for the earlier scenes, however, as their interactions are less interesting during the final reel. Meanwhile, Ewan McGregor is in top form as the endearing straight man. Also worth mentioning is Stephen Lang, whose performance here is side-splitting. 2009 was a great year for Lang, who also submitted remarkable work in Public Enemies and Avatar.

Unfortunately, the conclusion for The Men Who Stare at Goats is extended past its expiration date. The fun is compromised during the final 25 minutes as the brilliant humour erodes, the focus shifts to plot, and there's a noticeable lack of energy. The more the movie concentrates on coherently advancing the narrative, the less enjoyable it is for the simple reason that, as it turns out, Cassady's mission is rather uninteresting. Thank heavens, then, that the rest of the picture is impeccable from top to bottom. For the most part, director Heslov has crafted a delightfully energetic motion picture, and one of the funniest movies to hit multiplexes during 2009. It's also refreshing to witness a comedy such as this which has been designed with a more sophisticated audience in mind, as opposed to the brainless antics of Dance Flick or Year One. How much of this story is actually true is beside the point. Look into my eyes...I compel you to stop thinking about it, and focus on the entertainment value of this romp.

8.2/10

Over recent years, movie-goers have been subjected to countless coming-of-age tales imbued with a plot concerning a young, naïve person who receives a preview of the adult world lying in wait for them. Directed by Lone Scherfig and scripted by Nick Hornby, 2009's An Education is the latest of this particular pedigree, and it overcomes the numbing sense of familiarity by showcasing a mature, level-headed take on this particular coming-of-age journey. An open, honest examination of sexual politics and a woman's place in the world during the early 1960s, An Education is an immaculately-crafted ode to the loss of innocence which boasts top-shelf performances, evocative cinematography, and a solid screenplay at its core. It's a rich, satisfying cinematic experience, and one of the greatest movies of 2009.

Set during 1961, An Education tells the story of 16-year-old schoolgirl Jenny Mellor (Mulligan) who resides in the London suburb of Twickenham with her parents. Studying hard on the wishes of her father (Molina) in the sole pursuit of getting into Oxford, Jenny soon grows tired of the life chosen for her. Jenny's life drastically changes when she meets David (Sarsgaard); a man twice her age who she meets while walking home from school one day. Seductive and charismatic, David charms Jenny's parents and subtly ingratiates himself into her life. He goes out of his way to show both Jenny and her family that his interests in the 16-year-old are not improper; he merely wishes to expose her to the cultural activities she enjoys the most. She quickly grows accustomed to the life to which David and his companions, Danny (Cooper) and Helen (Pike), have shown her, and the relationship between David and Jenny begins to transform into something romantic. But, as the time-honoured adage states, if something looks too good to be true, it probably is...

The title of An Education refers to the life lessons learned by Jenny as the consequence of her romantic interactions with David. She's educated about life, love and herself throughout the events of this movie - at first she believes she's worldly and self-assured upon entering her liaison with David, but soon learns her sheltered upbringing could never fully prepare her for the painful aspects of the "real world".

Nick Hornby's screenplay (based on the memoirs of Lynn Barber) is incisive and intelligent, and bursts with razor-sharp dialogue. Danish filmmaker Lone Scherfig, best known for Italian for Beginners and Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself, largely allows the material and the performances to tell the story. The director has no insistent style; instead allowing the narrative to unfold with low-key mise-en-scène. On top of this, Scherfig effortlessly evokes the post-war state of the London suburbs - a state which made Jenny restless and her elders complacent - through top-shelf costumes, art direction and musical choices (the soundtrack hums with the era's pop tunes, adding an extra element of fizz). This is a far more difficult job than it might seem, since this particular period of British history essentially lacked key social or cultural signifiers which would explode in the subsequent years (The Beatles were not big yet, for instance). The film's closing scenes do feel distinctly rushed (with lazy narration) and there are several bothersome loose ends (specifically in relation to Danny and Helen), but these objections are minor.

It's borderline rude to get this far into a review of An Education without mentioning young Carey Mulligan. Move over Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff and the Olsen twins, and make way for this highly talented young star who isn't a total airhead. Making her stunning leading lady debut here, Mulligan was 22 years old at the time the movie was shot, and effortlessly passes as a teenager of only 16/17 years of age. More than that, she's capable of playing a myriad of emotions, sometimes all at the same time. She's an actress who knows how to work with her eyes; contradicting a brave face by showing the fear and disappointment boiling underneath. Without a doubt, this is the type of performance that will compel movie-goers to look up the actress on the Internet Movie Database in search of other movies she can be seen in. While her résumé is more substantial than others of her age group, Mulligan's work is mainly restricted to roles in British television and supporting parts in major movies (she featured in Public Enemies, in a "blink and you'll miss her" role). To say her performance in An Education is eye-opening would be an understatement; watching her unforced transformation from child to adult is one of those rare star-is-born moments.

Yet, this is not a movie which lives and dies by its leading performance - Mulligan is surrounded by a ridiculous amount of talent. Peter Sarsgaard adopts a wholly credibly British accent; easily slipping into the role of a cad, and conveying limitless charm which makes the premise far easier to buy. Dominic Cooper and Rosamund Pike are equally remarkable, with each espousing a believable accent and emanating charm as David's close friends. Revered British star Emma Thompson is given only a handful of scenes as the headmistress, but nevertheless steals every frame in which she features. If An Education doesn't contain the best ensemble cast of 2009, it's a sure-fire contender for the honour.

With smart, sprightly dialogue from Hornby, smooth direction from Scherfig, unanimously excellent work in the acting department and a star-making performance from Carey Mulligan, it's easy to recommend An Education. Best of all, though, is that it's also solid evidence that a drama doesn't need to be overtly downbeat and distressing to convey a story like this.

9.1/10

More than forty years and two-dozen movies after first raising his mammoth head in the Japanese monster flick Gojira, Godzilla made its Western-ised debut courtesy of the director/producer team of Roland Emmerich and Dean Devlin. By 1998, this particular twosome had firmly established themselves as purveyors of big-budget Hollywood blockbusters, with Stargate and Independence Day having previously blown out theatre speakers. Thus, this late-'90s reinterpretation of the normally dumpy, rubbery monster is a loud, special effects-ridden summer flick created with the brain-dead in mind. It's also a textbook example of a failure - it underperformed at the box office, the planned sequels never materialised, and it was disowned by Toho Pictures (the company responsible for the original Godzilla productions) who actively excised this version from the canon. For what it's worth, 1998's Godzilla is not the disaster that the majority have made it out to be as Emmerich pitches the idiocy at an agreeable tone, but the flick is definitely underwhelming on the whole.

The plot, such as it is, concerns biologist Dr. Niko Tatopoulos (Matthew Broderick). Not long into the film, Niko is recalled from Chernobyl by the United States Army to study large footprints left on tropical islands. Meanwhile, accounts begin to materialise which claim that a large creature known as "Godzilla" has been capsizing ocean vessels around the world. Before anything can be put into conjecture, Godzilla - a stories-tall creature which bears the appearance of a dinosaur - emerges from the waters off New York City and begins wreaking havoc within the Big Apple. With the city under threat of annihilation, Niko is hired to work in conjunction with the military to stop the behemoth. As fate would have it, amid the chaos, Niko meets his former flame Audrey (Maria Pitillo), who's now a struggling reporter seeking her big break.

At first, the monster is not seen at all - it's an unseen but clearly gigantic menace, à la Jaws. With radars blipping, ships being destroyed, an attack survivor uttering the word "Gojira," and giant footprints being discovered, the sense of foreboding is enormous. Unfortunately, this style lasts all of 20 minutes, after which the style shifts from Jaws to Jurassic Park as Godzilla proceeds to rip up the city. Emmerich and Devlin's screenplay is an incredibly bloated affair, dragging out all the nonsense to an inconceivable 130 minutes. The most egregious addition is a subplot involving the offspring of Godzilla which would have been better suited for a sequel. This leads to an extended sequence involving baby 'Zillas which look and act like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park (the mini 'Zillas even hunt down the movie's heroes from one room to another...just like in Jurassic Park). However, whereas Jurassic Park was nail-biting and had a degree of substance, Godzilla is more concerned with money shots.

While the digital effects are competent here, they are not spectacular, and for the most part fail to hold up all these years later. At times the giant lizard looks convincing, and the creature design is impressive, but it oftentimes looks hokey and embarrassingly digital. More importantly, the size is inconsistent (it grows and shrinks at the plot's convenience), and the creature lacks weight. Each time a close-up observes Godzilla's foot as it hits the ground, it never looks quite right. And, of course, what summer blockbuster would be complete without plot holes and stupidity? In this case, a monster that's as tall as a skyscraper is able to fit through subway tunnels, and Niko is able to purchase home pregnancy tests in the middle of the night from a pharmacy apparently still operating in an evacuated city. Furthermore, the split-second timing typically associated with Hollywood movies is a frequent bother. For instance the protagonists find the nest of baby 'Zillas just as they're hatching, Godzilla arrives on the scene at the most convenient time, and so on.

In the original Japanese Godzilla films, the monster usually had a clear agenda. In this American appropriation, Godzilla is a mindless brute; a lizard that wants to eat and reproduce. The creature's destruction isn't intentional - it's just the result of a big dinosaur-like monster being trapped in a world designed for humans. Thus, this is literally a film about a bull in a china shop. Adding insult to injury, a few slipshod attempts at humour are included. There's an ongoing gag regarding the fact that no-one can pronounce Niko's last name correctly, and the script attacks film critics Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel. Of course, the reason for this attack is because Ebert and Siskel panned Emmerich and Devlin's prior movies. But the characters serve no purpose in the story other than to add further padding, and, as the critics themselves noted, the revenge part was handled poorly. Are these characters torn to shreds and eaten by the monster? Nope. They just bicker. What a wasted opportunity.

Working in the film's favour is Emmerich, a proficient blockbuster filmmaker who's skilled as mise-en-scène despite the idiocy of his screenplays. Godzilla can only be defended as a dumb piece of entertainment, though that's a strictly subjective opinion. In terms of shot composition and direction, the film is fairly skilful, with a number of standout action sequences scattered throughout the narrative. The climactic chase through New York City is particularly impressive, as is a set-piece involving helicopters pursuing the giant lizard. When the pace slows down and the film tries to give the cardboard characters some dimension, Godzilla is less successful. But when it's focused on delivering pure entertainment, there is fun to be had.

Ultimately, Godzilla is pretty much critic-proof. It has its niche audience, and said audience will probably enjoy it (it was my favourite movie when I was eight years old). After all, it's a widely-shared viewpoint that critics are boring and are not able to enjoy blockbusters. Godzilla is not as good as Emmerich's other efforts, but it has its strengths, and all of the harsh criticising the film has received does seem a bit excessive. It's dumb fun; take it or leave it.

5.1/10

Similar to The Amityville Horror, 2009's The Haunting in Connecticut is a supernatural horror film which employs the "based on a true story" crutch as a hook to entice movie-goers. Of course, the claim that it's based on an actual suburban haunting is all smoke and mirrors, as those who spend even half an hour conducting research will realise the majority of this film's narrative was invented by the screenwriters (Adam Simon and Tim Metcalfe). Interestingly, even Ray Garton - who novelised the particular ordeal - has gone on record stating he doubts the veracity of the story, and this all goes to show how loose the phrase "based on a true story" can sometimes be employed. Interestingly, too, The Haunting in Connecticut seems not that it's based on a true story, but instead based on horror movies of prior decades.

The story concerns the members of the Campbell family, whose oldest son Matt (Galler) is suffering from cancer. In order for them to live in close proximity to a specialty clinic where Matt (Gallner) is undergoing experimental treatments, the family opt to rent a house in Connecticut. However the realtor explains that the house "has a history", which soon becomes apparent when Matt begins witnessing disturbing images at night. At first he believes they are mere hallucinations as a result of his cancer treatments, but the visions are far too vivid. When it's revealed the residence was formerly used as a funeral home, Matt seeks help from a fellow cancer patient, Reverend Popescu (Koteas), who recognises the horrific signs as a cry for help from a macabre past.

To its credit, The Haunting in Connecticut does neglect a few horror clichés we've come to expect from the genre, but these are unfortunately replaced by generic plotlines more common to film in general. On top of the formulaic ghost story, there's the sudsy melodrama about Matt dying from cancer and the impact it has on his family. A poorly-developed side plot exposes the father of the family as an emotionally-abusive former alcoholic, but this is barely touched upon and seems to have been included to add an extra ten minutes to the runtime. Meanwhile the mother is unable to connect with her dying son on an emotional level, and struggles to hold her family together. These clichés don't stop, with the wise priest entering at the right moment to provide an essential service, and children seeing unsettling images as well. Moreover, the characters are without personality and believability. In fact, they deserve a Stupid Horror Movie Character Award in the Family Category. After all, once the ghosts scare the hell out of everyone, the protagonists don't bother to leave the house and head for the closest motel...instead they return to their beds and try to sleep. If people are stupid enough to remain in a situation like that when they could easily leave, they deserve exactly what they get.

In addition, The Haunting in Connecticut is so bankrupt when it comes to generating an effective atmosphere of dread that first-time director Peter Cornwell inserts countless "boo!" moments in an attempt to keep viewers interested. Thus, scenes of dialogue are frequently punctuated with glimpses of a ghostly figure reflected in a mirror or passing outside of a window. These scares are appallingly telegraphed too, with menacing music cues, obvious framing, and protracted dramatic pauses. It becomes almost comical after a while. Indeed, if one played a drinking game in which one swallowed a gulp of alcohol each time a ghoul appeared on-screen in a flash edit of hazy doom, chances are you'll be drunk within half an hour... It's that overused. Furthermore, the PG-13 rating forbids overtly gruesome or explicit content - this means no gratuitous nudity, no requisite sex scene between husband and wife, and the burnt corpses look distinctly tame. Neither nakedness nor gore could have salvaged this paint-by-numbers chiller, but the film would've at least been more digestible.

On the bright side, The Haunting in Connecticut is not unredeemably awful. The script clearly strived to flesh out these characters well enough, and the acting is passable. The plotting also accommodates the removal of one of the most embarrassing horror clichés of all - since the story takes place during the 1980s before the days of the internet, the characters at no point research the phenomenon via Google as a means to lazily advance the narrative to the next plot point. The problem with The Haunting in Connecticut, however, is that it simply feels stale. The story is not interesting or surprising enough, the protagonists aren't compelling enough to latch onto, and the cinematic style is dull.

4.0/10

The notion of yet another motion picture concerning the Iraq War is probably about as welcome as a knife in the eye. While it may be a pertinent topic in this day and age, it's a flat cinematic subject, with Hollywood producing generally stodgy movies of bloated self-importance marred by various miscalculations (Rendition, The Kingdom, and so on). Thank heavens, then, for Kathryn Bigelow's superb The Hurt Locker. Among the various reasons that Bigelow's flick works where others have failed is that it never endeavours to be "about" the war in Iraq; rather, it accepts the war as a background setting for a fascinating character study regarding the potentially addictive thrills of mortal danger.

Set during the early stages of the post-invasion period in Iraq in 2004, The Hurt Locker follows a group of American soldiers known as Bravo Company who specialise in bomb disposal. With just a few weeks remaining before they are rotated back to the United States, their Sergeant meets with an unfortunate end. This leaves the other soldiers in the unit to serve their final weeks with a new comrade; Staff Sergeant William James (Renner). Much to the chagrin of his fellow soldiers, James is an adrenaline junkie with no qualms about disarming a bomb device manually (and thus breaking protocol). The plot of The Hurt Locker from there is episodic, with the soldiers shifting from conflict to conflict. Tension is a killer during these sequences, because explosive devices aimed at everyone and no-one could be disguised beneath any pile of garbage. Since a bomb would take out anybody and anything within a certain radius, James must approach one of the devices alone to disarm it (with the perimeter maintained by his fellow soldiers). Thus, one of the most repeated images of the film is of the unaccompanied James as he wanders into a strangely deserted space - a fitting visual metaphor for the character's emotional and personal isolation from those around him, both near and far (one even gets the sense his wife and kid back home are never close in his mind).

The Hurt Locker was scripted by Mark Boal; a journalist who based the film's screenplay on his own experiences. Even if you're unaware of this fact before watching the movie, you'll likely suspect it because a clear and unvarnished sense of reality permeates every frame. This is an apolitical, boots-on-the-ground war picture. Not once do the characters stop to discuss why they are there, and they never discuss the wayward politics of the war. In fact, the movie has no political agenda. The filmmakers don't care if the invasion and occupation is right or wrong - all that matters is that the troops are in the country, have a job to do, and are fighting for survival. Much like a number of prior films that have touched on the Iraqi conflict (such as Jarhead), The Hurt Locker portrays a meandering battle that ends up being less about specific offenses and more about maintenance. Unpredictable combat leads to unpredictable schedules, and (particularly for a bomb disposal unit) the call of duty comes when it comes. Right from the opening scene, there's a potent sense that no character is safe, and death can come at any moment. It's this terrifying uncertainty that fuels the story's drama.

Another of the greatest strengths of The Hurt Locker is that it quickly and decisively re-establishes Kathryn Bigelow's position as one of the best action filmmakers in the business. Speaking from a technical standpoint, this film is a stunner from start to finish. Bigelow has always had a knack for directing action in complicated, even abnormal scenarios (like surfers robbing banks in Point Break), and the deserts of Iraq are no different, with the director exhibiting an amazing command for the physical details of filmmaking while shifting through the various set-pieces. A viewer can viscerally feel the danger the characters are in, as most of the film was shot on location in Jordan using an effective documentary style. Interestingly, cinematographer Barry Ackroyd utilised four handheld cameras at any one time, capturing a total of about 200 hours of footage. Even with this handheld disposition, the frame is never rocked too much. However, it must be said that despite this technical competency, the movie fails to resonate as much as something like Saving Private Ryan or Platoon.

The film's cast boasts such names as Ralph Fiennes, Guy Pearce and David Morse, but these big-name actors are relegated to minor roles. This is intentional since, although these well-known stars may entice people to watch the movie, they can detract from the reality of the situation. The main players of The Hurt Locker are instead Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty, each of whom pulls off their characters with complete assurance and compelling enthusiasm.

Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker is not a film that assumes an ideological stand regarding the Iraq War. Instead, it aspires to present viewers with a war film about the ways in which a unit of soldiers react to the pressures of combat. In fact, if a few details were changed, this could be set during any war. To the credit of the filmmakers, the movie only misfires a few times - a major detractor is when the focus leaves Iraq on a couple of occasions to examine William James' life in America, but neither time is necessary. The second trip home provides an explanation for James' risky behaviour that's a bit too on the nose, especially when combined with the music video-style recruitment commercial that closes the film.

8.7/10

Uwe Boll (which is German for "Appalling Filmmaker") has made a living over recent years (and has angered a great deal of people) by transforming beloved video game properties into epically awful movies. As a result, the cultural landscape has become tragically cluttered with unwatchable motion pictures such as House of the Dead, BloodRayne, Alone in the Dark and In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. Boll's latest video game adaptation-turned-sign-of-the-Apocalypse is 2008's Far Cry, which was adapted from the PC shooter of the same name. The lush tropical island setting of the game has been replaced with the Pacific Northwest, and silently sneaking through the forest picking off soldiers has been replaced with abysmal dialogue and brainless, unexciting action scenes. Never thought it would happen, but Boll has reached yet another new low. After showing evidence that he may be improving in 1968 Tunnel Rats, Boll's work is firmly back in the doldrums.

The protagonist of the video game is retained here: an ex-special forces operative named Jack Carver (Schweiger). Now a transport for hire, Jack accompanies investigative journalist Valerie Constantine (Vaugier) to a mysterious island in the Pacific Northwest where she suspects something heinous is occurring. As it turns out, of course, her suspicions are proved to be correct. Occupying this island is mad scientist Dr. Krieger (Kier), who is genetically engineering a race of super-soldiers. Jack and Valerie's presence on the island is not exactly welcome, and henchmen are dispatched to take care of them. With Valerie captured and Jack's boat destroyed, Jack enters reluctant hero mode.

It's a very simple set-up that isn't too far removed from the plot of the game. Problem is, it takes half an hour of this 90-minute film for the action to start. Sure, Boll tried to transcend the genre by taking his time to develop the characters and the plot, but the first 30 minutes are hopelessly marred by poor acting, poor dialogue and slipshod filmmaking. By the time the action set-pieces begin, things are so dark and poorly editing that all hope for a salvageable or even a watchable movie is shattered. Just to provide an example of how flat the action is: a river chase at one stage sees Jack's speedboat heading for a randomly-placed ramp in the waterway. The music swells, the comic relief sidekick yelps, and the boat jumps the ramp in the most unspectacular and drab manner imaginable. No explosions, near-misses, great heights or great distances - this boring minor stunt is treated as a major money shot. All the shootouts, meanwhile, are hindered by Boll's cinematic technique. The bad guys do stupid things, the cinematography is sloppy (even comedies contain more pulse-pounding car chases), the editing is terrible, and the action set-pieces come across as very amateurish, ordinary and bland. The music is woefully ineffectual, and the pacing is constantly uneven - the film drags when it should be brisk.

If Boll had aimed for just a straightforward '80s-style action movie, it would still have been an uninspired filmic turd, but the entire enterprise is further soured by the shamefully asinine attempts at humour. The abysmal screenplay - which took three people to ruin - serves up every single action movie cliché in the book in terms of both dialogue and plot, in addition to being loaded with sophomoric punch-lines which fail so miserably one could swear they were witnessing jokes that belong in Disaster Movie. For instance Valerie has no idea what a hand grenade is, and thus, when she throws one without pulling the pin, Jack explains "You have to pull the pin. They're useless with the pin!". Several "humorous" set-pieces are also thrown in which provoke sickness rather than laughter. The main offender: Jack and Valerie are nearly killed in a car chase shootout and wind up trapped on the deserted island with armed guards hunting them, and end up in an isolated shack. Rather than taking the situation seriously, they strip down, climb into bed, and engage in off-screen sex. All this provides is a running joke, with Jack continually asking Valerie to rate how he was in the sack on a scale of 1-10 and her repeatedly emasculating him with very low scores.

Before long, the terrible scripting gives way to excruciating acting with the introduction of a nails-on-chalkboard irritating comic relief sidekick: the dim-witted Emilio (Coppola). He replaces Valerie as Carver's sidekick halfway through the movie when Carver sneaks up on him to knock him out, but inadvertently saves the fatty from choking. A grossly overweight food delivery person caught in the crossfire, Emilio looks like a poor man's Wayne Knight. And on the topic of awful acting, German action star Til Schweiger phones in a lazy performance as Jack Carver. Be on the lookout for Schweiger's three facial expressions: blank, smiling, and "tough guy face". His heavily accentuated acting is so embarrassingly phoney that it makes Arnold Schwarzenegger look comparatively nuanced. In fact, Schweiger sounds so much like Uwe Boll that if an audio commentary was ever recorded with the two men, it'd be impossible to discern which of them is talking at any one time. Added to this, most of the cast are clearly not native English speakers, and their awkward accents mixed with the clunky dialogue makes for some truly cringe-worthy acting. Over and over again, Boll has demonstrated that he has no concept of how to extract believable performances from actors. Any instances of convincing acting that exist in his films are surely just flukes.

A lot of the folks who are fed up with the Boll hatred claim that people hate his movies because they're stuck-up video game fans who whinge like babies. But me? I've never played Far Cry. I don't give a fuck if this is a disgrace to the Far Cry label. In fact, I've never played any games Boll has used as a basis for his movies. I'm judging Uwe Boll's adaptations as standalone movies. And as an individual film, Far Cry is fucking awful - bad effects, blah action, a weak, nonsensical script, and a disproportionate amount of German actors who struggle to deliver their lines in English with any semblance of drama. I could name countless movies that may not be quality cinema in a conventional sense, but are still a fun way to kill 90 minutes. Far Cry is not one of them.

0.5/10

Tackling any film genre can be tough, but romantic comedies pose a unique challenge. Vital to a rom-com's success is sizzling chemistry between the leads, because an audience has to believe and care about the central coupling. In addition, the conclusion for virtually every rom-com is obvious, so it's always the journey the matters - it has to be fun, fresh and funny. Over recent years, Hollywood has established a bad reputation when it comes to the genre, and this is reinforced with The Proposal. A standard-issue, paint-by-numbers product of the weary mills of Hollywood, this romantic comedy fails the key acid test: it doesn't sell the romance, and it's unable to offer a fresh or funny journey.

Cliché #1 of The Proposal is Margaret Tate (Bullock); a take-no-prisoners company executive with a reputation for being a witch around the workplace. Cliché #2 is soon introduced when it's revealed that Margaret is in fact a Canadian, and she's about to be deported because her visa application was denied. In desperate need of a miracle to remain on America soil, she hastily talks her perplexed assistant Andrew (Reynolds) into marrying her, and he goes along with the scheme on the condition of a brighter career future. For an upcoming weekend, Andrew had planned to visit his family in Alaska, and Margaret decides to accompany him. This, of course, brings about the introduction of cliché #3: career-minded woman attempting to adjust to a warm family environment. With Andrew's family, we meet clichés #4 and #5 - the crazy and inappropriate grandmother, and the disapproving father. From there, The Proposal continues on; checking off one cliché after another.

Written by Pete Chiarelli, The Proposal is best described as hackneyed storytelling in desperate search of creative oxygen to keep itself alive. Unfortunately, director Anne Fletcher offers little helpful assistance. Fletcher (whose work on such films as Step Up and 27 Dresses demonstrated her knack for turning potentially decent films into the dullest motion pictures imaginable) is best described as a robotic studio filmmaker, and the conventional The Proposal is solid evidence of this. Heck, this thing is so by-the-numbers that even the score exudes embarrassing lethargy - all the music cues are straight from the "Scoring Rom-Coms" handbook, almost as if every single fragment of the score was stolen from other films. Unfortunately, as well, the humour is usually forced and languid. Ryan Reynolds is the only performer able to provide a semblance of wittiness, but his jokes seem improvised rather than scripted, and even these can only provoke smiles or reserved chuckles rather than genuine belly-laughs.

Once the proceedings shift to Alaska, the pace slows to a crawl as the film becomes borderline painful to watch, and the set-ups grow blatantly obvious (a character at one stage mentions that the dog cannot be let outside due to the eagles...can you guess what will happen later into the story?). As the poor comedic sequences continue to unfold, one can all but hear the mechanisms of the tired plot creaking into place. The film is lazy as well - early into the film, Margaret states that her and Andrew got engaged after dating for a year, while Andrew later says they dated for six months (on both occasions said to the same person). This discrepancy in their stories should've provided further conflict, but it's just a continuity error. Worse, the most trite and predictable third-act crisis imaginable is thrown in. Meanwhile, Andrew's old flame is introduced at one stage; building the promise of further exploration and perhaps someone to tempt Andrew away from Margaret. Alas, this arc never comes to fruition. As previously said, the outcome is almost always a foregone conclusion in the world of romantic comedies, and through the removal of this potentially suspenseful roadblock for Andrew, the film forfeits any hope that the dreary Hollywood structure may be spruced up.

The Proposal commits another cardinal sin: it tells us the protagonists are in love rather than showing us through subtle body language. We're expected to believe that after a few conversations and bickerings over a three-day weekend, these characters are now in love. Problem is, try as we might, we never really feel it. And neither, it appears, do the actors. Speaking of the actors, most of them are standard-order. Bullock plays another variation of her regular screen persona, though Ryan Reynolds truly shines; his sharp line delivery is a skill that's severely missed whenever Bullock tries to generate laughs on her own. It's not easy playing second fiddle to Bullock's dragon-lady persona, but Reynolds easily holds his own with genuine charm. Without a doubt, he's the best thing about this movie.
There are several other recognised actors to see here as well, such as Mary Steenburgen, Craig T. Nelson, Betty White, Denis O'Hare, and Malin Akerman. White is of particular note here, but she's far too good for this material.

I have no problem openly acknowledging that The Proposal was not made for me. After all, surprise-free romantic comedies aren't my cinematic cup of tea. And quite frankly, it's fine that females can enjoy this sugar-sweet two-hour rom-com. Nevertheless, the best genre films in history are those that satiate both the target audience as well as others. If action films like Die Hard can be enjoyed by females, and Love Actually can make romantic comedies palatable to the blockbuster fanatics, it's certainly not unreasonable for me to have demanded more from The Proposal.

3.5/10

If you're familiar with low-budget horror flicks and/or video-game-to-movie adaptations, chances are you've heard of Uwe Boll. Even if you're not familiar with Boll's cinematic output, you've more than likely heard opinions on the guy's work, and, in all likelihood, those opinions have not exactly been complimentary. If Boll's work and name is a mystery to you, here's all you need to know: he's renowned for making terrible video game adaptations, his original work sucks too, he's had more films on the Internet Movie Database's Bottom 100 at one time than any other filmmaker (living or dead), he is widely regarded as the worst director in history, and he's able to make Ed Wood look competent. With 1968 Tunnel Rats, Boll continues to prove his uncanny ability as a versatile director: he's outrageously awful in every genre. Upfront: despite the fact I detest Uwe Boll, I wanted to like this particular movie. Truly, I did. The trailer was very promising. Alas, I must've forgotten I was dealing with Boll, because it's his trademark to turn movies with potential into absolute duds.

1968 Tunnel Rats (shortened to just Tunnel Rats in some corners) is set during the Vietnam War, but is not a typical jungle warfare movie. Boll's film focuses on an American army platoon that have copped the unenviable task of infiltrating the complex network of underground tunnels used by the Viet Cong to move around undetected and plan clever ambushes. Unfortunately for the soldiers, a dangerous task lies ahead of them: crawling along these narrow, unlit passageways peppered with booby traps and armed VC soldiers. If there's one thing Boll managed to skilfully achieve here, it's capturing the claustrophobic disposition of these tunnels, and the air of uncertainty around every narrow twist and turn. Alas, the impressive recreation of these tunnels is the only thing remotely successful about Tunnel Rats.

Almost immediately into the movie, the clichés begin to roll in fast and furious. The first 30 minutes or so is spent in exposition mode as the central characters are loosely established. Problem is, they're all stock characters: one solider misses his mother, another has a girl back home, their leader is a hardened career man, and someone wants to open a restaurant following their tour of duty. You get the idea. These archetypes are forgivable because these are the type of men you'd stumble upon in an American platoon, but what's unforgivable is the character development and the dialogue. Every character is two-dimensional, unremarkable, and interchangeable. No names ever stuck due to the lack of memorable faces, distinguishing features and killer dialogue. Worst of all, you never care about them. There's no reason to care about them. They're boring. Unsurprisingly, the script was improvised - the basic story was sketched out, but the actors were left to develop their own characters and write their own dialogue. It could not be more obvious, since the dialogue is also remarkably awkward and permeated with an unrealistic amount of swearing. Other Vietnam movies like Platoon and Apocalypse Now managed to offer interesting protagonists. Tunnel Rats makes us shrug and ask "Who cares?"

Other major detractors stem from Boll's trademarks: appalling direction and shoddy cinematography. For starters, there's a frequent lack of authority, with scenes playing out awkwardly. Editing is both lazy and choppy as well, with shots dragging on awkwardly long and some slapdash action set-pieces. In particular, a shot used during the opening sequence that observes a helicopter drags on for far too long and reeks of self-indulgence. At such a prolonged length, these shots don't engage; leaving a viewer bored and uncomfortable. Of course, Boll's use of shaky cam is abominable as well. It's mighty clear Boll has no idea how to effectively use this technique. Instead of tracking fight movements with the shaky cam (like, say, The Bourne Ultimatum), Boll shakes the camera for the sake of it, and the results don't achieve the desired effect. To the credit of Boll, his cinematic technique is gradually improving - Tunnel Rats does contain the director's most watchable action sequences to date. However, the fact one can only accept this as an exploitative action film rather than a war drama is disconcerting.

Predictably, Tunnel Rats is also marred by embarrassing technical inaccuracies. In the film, the U.S. soldiers use M16A2 and M655 Carbine Rifles, which were not developed until the 1980s and were certainly not used during the Vietnam War. The Americans are also shown wearing WW2-era uniforms and post-Vietnam web gear. The Viet Cong, meanwhile, are depicted using Norinco-Type 84S rifles instead of AK-47s, and they sport laughable hairstyles as if they just walked off the set of Tokyo Drift. To top it all off, the military outpost built deep into the jungle is without perimeter wires and guard towers. It's no wonder they were overrun so easily.

Tunnel Rats tries its hardest to deliver the message of "war is futile", but this is not explored past surface level. We see soldiers breaking down and crying, we see guns being fired, we see their terrifying ordeals in the tunnel, but we never feel their pain. This is due to the awful character development and the lack of nuance in every performance. More acclaimed movies based on the Vietnam War run a solid two or three hours, whereas Tunnel Rats boasts a scant 90-minute runtime. It feels like an action film first, and a potent war drama second. Look, this is Boll's best effort to date, but it's by no means a good or even a decent film. It's poorly acted, poorly directed, poorly handled, and the improvisation did not have the impact it should. The cover states "After Apocalypse Now, After Platoon Comes...Tunnel Rats". In this sense, Boll aimed extremely high but missed by an unbelievable margin (and this tagline is worded poorly...). There are plenty of superior movies set during the Vietnam War, and it's advisable you watch those and avoid this subpar effort.

3.9/10

With computer graphics replacing traditional, hands-on animation techniques, it is rare to behold movies brought to life through the art of claymation, for which animators painstakingly photograph plasticine puppets one frame at a time. Aardman Studios (Wallace and Gromit, Chicken Run) and LAIKA (Coraline, Kubo and the Two Strings) are among the only companies with enough patience to keep the artform alive in the 21st Century. It is, therefore, refreshing to see an Australian film like 2009's Mary and Max. The feature film debut for writer-director Adam Elliot, who won an Oscar for his 2003 short film Harvie Krumpet, Mary and Max uses claymation techniques to tell a bizarre, sweet, mature, and deeply personal story about two unlikely friends, demonstrating the possibilities of using animation to explore adult themes. Tremendously inventive, poignant, and hilarious, Mary and Max is a sublime picture of warmth and compassion about life's dissonances. The animation is superb, the characters are endearing, the humour is abundant, and it authentically delves into several topical themes.

Based partly on Elliot's personal experiences with a long-running pen-pal relationship, Mary and Max is about two people leading a mundane existence on the fringe of society who find solace in their heartfelt letters to each other. Mary Daisy Dinkle (voiced by Bethany Whitmore as a child and Toni Collette as an adult) is a chubby, friendless eight-year-old girl living in the suburbs of Melbourne with her neglectful, unsupportive parents. While at the post office with her mother, Mary discovers a New York City telephone book and looks for a random American to write to, as she is curious about the country. She selects Max Horovitz (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a severely obese 44-year-old Jewish atheist with Asperger's Syndrome living in the chaos of New York. Through their written correspondence, the two discover they have a lot in common - aside from loneliness and a complete lack of friends, they both love chocolate and a TV show called The Noblets. Thus begins a 20-year correspondence, with their friendship surviving more than the average diet of life's ups and downs.

Australian legend Barry Humphries (a.k.a. Dame Edna Everage) provides an omnipresent stream of narration that gives the movie the ostensible feel of a children's tale, but Mary and Max is not for kids. The film does not shy away from an array of mature, confronting issues, such as depression, sexuality, suicide, obesity, childhood neglect, and mental illness. Whereas most mainstream movies end on a happy note and involve friendship saving the day, Mary and Max is unmistakably dark - both physically dark and dark in its depiction of reality. Max is never able to lose weight, and Mary cannot escape the shadow of her alcoholic father or kleptomaniac mother. Mary eternally resides in the brown-tinged Victorian suburb of Mount Waverley, while the movie portrays NYC as a monochrome metropolis whose only bright colours come from Mary, including a red pompom she sends her new friend. The predominantly colourless and ominous cityscape of NYC symbolises Max's melancholy, mental distress, and isolation. The ending underlines the film's dark disposition by positing that there may be happy moments in life, but happy endings are almost non-existent. But despite this, Mary and Max is not a highly depressing venture; it is a cinematic delight, with constant laughs, an abundance of heart, and several profoundly moving moments. Somehow, Elliot squeezes all of this into an efficient 90-minute running time.

It took five years to bring the visually sumptuous Mary and Max to life, with Elliot spending a year on the screenplay before storyboarding the entire feature. Principal photography took 57 weeks, with six dedicated animators working under Elliot's direction in a converted factory in Melbourne, and each animator creating an average of five seconds of footage per day with limited time and money (and no leeway for multiple takes). The smooth animation belies the film's low budget, a testament to Elliot's dedicated team, including technical director Darren Burgess, who previously worked on several Aardman productions. Subtle visual effects also effectively amplify the animation without distracting from the superlative craftsmanship of Elliot's hands-on animation team. The vivid, picturesque world is enormously impressive, with the grim landscape evoking a film-noir feel thanks to cinematographer Gerald Thompson's meticulous lighting. Every one of the hand-moulded characters is intricately and lovingly detailed, while the sets and backdrops are similarly eye-catching. The detail and intricate lighting generate the illusion of a computer-animated feature, yet the painstaking claymation process affords a look, feel and soul that computers struggle to replicate. Filmmakers must have patience and passion to undertake a stop-motion feature of such length and meatiness, but Adam Elliot exerts both qualities in spades.

Whereas Pixar, DreamWorks and Disney create light-hearted animated flicks that predominantly feature talking animals and aesthetically pleasing people, the characters in Mary and Max are flawed and human: overweight, introverted, mentally unwell, and with distinct personality traits that humanise them. Another tremendous strength is the voice cast, a cornucopia of vocal talent from Australia and beyond. Philip Seymour Hoffman is an enormously versatile actor, and he is virtually unrecognisable here, disappearing into the role of Max. This performance, therefore, reflects the true essence of voice acting - a viewer should focus on the characters instead of the actors. Meanwhile, Australian actress Bethany Whitmore (who was eight or nine years old during production) is effortlessly endearing as young Mary, giving the character an authentic vocal personality. Toni Collette also lends her talents to the production as Mary in her later years, and the veteran Australian actress brings maturity and gravitas to the role. Another recognisable name is Eric Bana, who makes a terrific impression as Mary's husband, Damien.

Through an immense aesthetic artistry and a staggering screenwriting maturity, Mary and Max authentically addresses a profound question: Is there someone for everyone? In adulthood, we understand that we are born into our families but choose our friends, and the 20-year friendship between two vastly different yet curiously similar individuals proves this notion. Adam Elliot's ambitious first feature-length claymation movie is an absolute delight, merging witty laughs with heartfelt emotion to generate this genuinely moving slice of animation with depth and substance. Mary and Max is, for this reviewer's money, the best animated motion picture of 2009 (yes, better than Pixar's Up). There is undoubtedly a place for animated movies from Pixar, Disney and DreamWorks, but we also need more brilliant movies like Mary and Max that engage, move, and make viewers think. After the terrific Harvie Krumpet and now Mary and Max, it is clear that Elliot is a highly talented filmmaker to watch.

10/10