Reviews by PvtCaboose91

2017's Gifted is the fourth feature film from director Marc Webb, who makes an astute return to smaller-scale productions after taking charge of the two astonishingly inept Amazing Spider-Man pictures. Carefully returning to reality with a modest $7 million budget, Webb welcomely dials back the blockbuster theatrics to construct a film from the heart, recapturing the earnest spirit of his 2009 debut feature, the truly wonderful (500) Days of Summer. Gifted falls short of perfection due to screenplay shortcomings, but it's an encouraging effort from the director, even though it unfortunately failed to receive any attention from the major award shows. With Webb at the helm, this is an agreeably breezy and involving watch, and as a result it never feels like monotonous homework.

In rural Florida, Frank (Chris Evans) is the uncle and primary guardian of seven-year-old Mary (Mckenna Grace), whom he has raised since infancy following the tragic suicide of his genius mathematician sister. Although Mary is a child prodigy with amazing mathematics skills, Frank strives to give his niece a normal childhood, enrolling her in a local elementary school which is unable to cater to her extraordinary abilities. With Mary's teacher, Bonnie (Jenny Slate), quickly noticing her genius, Frank declines an offer from the principal (Elizabeth Marvel) to secure a scholarship at a private school for gifted children, due to concerns that the change will rob Mary of her childhood and mirror his late sister's unhappy upbringing. These events attract the attention of Frank's estranged mother, Evelyn (Lindsay Duncan), who arrives from Boston seeking to gain custody of Mary and guide her to become one of the world's top mathematicians. Refusing to give up his niece, Frank faces off against Evelyn in court, where conflicting philosophies and personal shortcomings are highlighted as the legal system decides Mary's fate.

With a script by Tom Flynn (which featured on 2014's Blacklist), Gifted delicately inspects the custody battle, persuasively presenting both sides and their conflicting outlooks. In Frank's care, Mary receives a normal childhood and the chance to make friends, but might never live up to her full potential. Meanwhile, under Evelyn's roof, Mary will get to attend private school and might become a world-renowned mathematician, but risks experiencing the same despondency which led her mother to commit suicide. Webb and Flynn thankfully eschew cheap melodrama, and do not paint anybody as a brazen villain - although the emotional bond between Frank and Mary is tangible and easy to connect with, Evelyn's viewpoint is not entirely unreasonable. Flynn's screenplay adequately develops the characters, while the narrative is not as predictable as one might assume in the first instance. However, even though the film establishes Bonnie as an important figure in the story who cares about Mary and enters a tentative relationship with Frank, she is absent for long periods of time, with the second half downgrading her to a minor character who mostly appears silently in the background.

Although telemovie comparisons are tempting, especially with the limited scope and the story's dramatics, Gifted avoids a made-for-TV feeling due to the gravitas that Webb brings to the material. Cinematography by Stuart Dryburgh (Alice Through the Looking Glass, The Upside) is mostly handheld, generating a vérité vibe which effectively amplifies the drama, but it's also not unnecessarily shaky or ostentatious. Additionally, Webb allows authentic, unforced moments of tenderness and joy to sneak into the movie, which gives more dimension to the characters. It's a pleasure to watch, for example, Mary enthusiastically singing karaoke with Frank's neighbour Roberta (Octavia Spencer), or Mary playfully climbing on Frank at the beach while they talk about God and faith, silhouetted against a gorgeous sunset. The little moments between Frank and Mary are sublime, and while they do not exactly serve the plot, such scenes heighten the attachment we develop to these characters. It helps that the script's witty dialogue sparkles as well, creating gentle moments of humour which further humanises the material. Meanwhile, Rob Simonsen's emotive score enhances the story's power, perfectly accompanying the handsome 35mm photography.

A superlative cast further separates Gifted from a fluffy Lifetime movie, with the outrageously talented Mckenna Grace making the biggest impression as young Mary. Grace never comes off as irritating or cloying, instead delivering a well-rounded and emotional performance, handling the dramatic material with the confidence of a seasoned veteran. She also sells Mary's smartass attitude, showing fine comedic timing. Moreover, Grace and Evans are perfect together, sharing ideal chemistry and giving genuine warmth to the scenes they share. It's a nice change of pace for Evans, who plays the blue-collar everyman role with well-judged restraint. The chemistry between Evans and comedian/actress Jenny Slate is equally charming, and Slate is endearing in every frame, but the two do not have enough scenes together. (Evans and Slate actually entered a relationship after filming concluded.) Meanwhile, Lindsay Duncan (About Time) brings gravitas and authority to her role without turning Evelyn into a cartoonish villain. Digging even further into the supporting cast, Academy Award winner Octavia Spencer (The Help, Hidden Figures) is the movie's secret weapon, offering laughs and sassiness, as well as genuine warmth. There is not a dud performance in sight.

Gifted does admittedly feel like a commercial product which shuns grit and realism, particularly as it approaches the finish line when the screenplay glosses over complicated processes to reach a pat, happy ending. Not everything works (in one predictable moment, Mary awkwardly catches Bonnie after a night of passion with Frank), but the film receives immense aid from the rock-solid performances as well as the smooth direction and editing. Moreover, Webb manages to infuse the material with honest-to-goodness emotional resonance, in the process rediscovering his competent dramatic chops which were missing in action for those two awful Spider-Man films. Without reinventing the wheel or breaking new ground, Gifted is a satisfying example of good, old-fashioned sentimental moviemaking done right, and it is worth your time.

A motion picture about South Africa's racial and political unrest during the tyrannical apartheid years, 1987's Cry Freedom is a stirring epic drama with an important story to tell, even if minor historical liberties are taken. Based on the books "Biko" and "Asking for Trouble" by journalist Donald Woods, Cry Freedom is to date the only movie which explores the life and legacy of Bantu Stephen Biko, an important political figure in South Africa's fight to end apartheid. The movie was directed by the late Richard Attenborough, who is no stranger to films of such scope or historical importance, having previously cut his teeth helming the likes of A Bridge Too Far and Gandhi. Even though Cry Freedom clocks in at an intimidating 157 minutes, Attenborough's confident sense of pacing staves off abject boredom, though it will not exactly enrapture viewers who prefer action-packed blockbusters. Indeed, the film requires patience, but it's a rewarding watch for those with the appropriate attention span.

In South Africa during the turbulent 1970s, white liberal Donald Woods (Kevin Kline) works as the editor of the Daily Dispatch newspaper, and is not shy about condemning the ideologies and actions of black anti-apartheid activist Steve Biko (Denzel Washington). However, Woods accepts Biko's invitation to visit the freedom fighter's impoverished black township, to witness first-hand the effects of the government's apartheid restrictions. Woods and Biko develop a fast friendship, with Woods coming to understand the blacks' point of view and later publishing articles in support of Biko's cause. When Biko abruptly dies in custody, officials are tight-lipped and deceptive, leaving Woods determined to expose the truth to the public. But this attracts unwanted attention and harassment from the South African authorities, threatening the safety of Woods and his family, including wife Wendy (Penelope Wilton) and their five children. Deciding to publish his book which reveals the South African government's racist and corrupt nature, Woods plans to flee the country and seek political asylum overseas.

Scripted by Gandhi scribe John Briley, Cry Freedom is broken into two distinct halves, initially chronicling the blossoming friendship between Woods and Biko as the newspaper editor learns to empathise with the black South Africans, while the second half traces Woods' risky mission as he endeavours to escape the country with his family. Commendably, Briley avoids the well-worn biopic structure, resisting the temptation to portray the life story of either Biko or Woods, instead remaining focused on portraying this important period stretching over a few years. Admittedly, the film is somewhat stodgy in its early stages, but things soon pick up once Biko and Woods begin spending time together, shining a light on South Africa's racial injustices and the need for change. Perhaps Cry Freedom feels a tad routine during Woods' escape from the country, but the craftsmanship is nevertheless commendable despite the third act's conventional disposition, and though there are moments of nail-biting tension, the events are not played up to a ridiculous extent for the sake of making things more exciting. (There is certainly no bullet dodging or any shootouts.)

Although Cry Freedom continues to draw criticism for its ostensible "white saviour" narrative since Woods is the protagonist, this angle actually makes the most sense. Aside from the story being true, filtering the narrative through Woods' eyes turns him into the audience surrogate, as he originally opposes Biko before becoming drawn into the activist's world and understanding his viewpoint. Furthermore, and perhaps more importantly, this approach lets Attenborough depict Biko's posthumous legacy, with Woods growing increasingly determined to publish his book and spread the truth, motivating him to flee the country he calls home. In other words, this is the most complete and cohesive story about Biko and Woods to tell within the time restrictions of a motion picture. Admittedly, some plot points and events feel slightly underdone, particularly the escalation of Biko's treatment in custody, which occurs off-screen, but one supposes that Attenborough chose to keep the material PG for wider consumption, rather than devolving into extended sequences of torture. On that note, the rating is certainly pushed to its boundaries during a violent dramatisation of the Soweto uprising late into the film, but Attenborough maintains an appropriate sense of tact amid the brutality.

Cry Freedom is an old-fashioned actors' movie, and an ideal cast fills out the ensemble. In the first role to earn him an Academy Award nomination, Washington is superb as Biko, espousing an unfailingly convincing accent and delivering a credible performance. Washington is riveting and above all magnetic in every frame, and he is sorely missed when Biko dies at the halfway mark. Luckily, however, a few flashbacks pepper the film's second half, which deepen both the story and the characters' relationships, in addition to providing more welcome screen-time for Washington. Matching Washington at every step is Kline (who won an Oscar for A Fish Called Wanda a year later), who's sublimely low-key and even-tempered, yet clearly conveys Woods' strong resolve and passion for the political cause. Kline's accent is credible and consistent, and he makes for a charismatic leading man. Meanwhile, Penelope Wilton (Shaun of the Dead) brings her trademark gravitas to the role of Wendy Woods, denoting another fine addition to the cast.

Despite the movie's political machinations and prolonged running time, Cry Freedom does not feel like a dreary history lesson, or like unwelcome homework. On the contrary, Attenborough stages an involving and edifying political drama, anchored by exceptional performances across the board and arresting visuals. Cinematography by the late Ronnie Taylor (Gandhi) is striking and eye-catching, while the generous $29 million budget results in authentic-feeling locations and sets. (The movie was primarily shot on location in Zimbabwe and Kenya.) Although Cry Freedom was poised to sweep the Academy Awards upon its release in 1987, it failed to make much of a mark, while it sank like a stone at the box office, with a final gross falling just short of $6 million. In spite of this, and despite the film ultimately fading into obscurity, Cry Freedom is well worth your time.

The second Conjuring-Verse feature of 2019 (after The Curse of La Llorona), Annabelle Comes Home caps off the first trilogy within this larger franchise, and demonstrates that these spin-offs are still worthwhile in the hands of the right filmmakers. Once again scripted by veteran Gary Dauberman (It, The Nun), who also grasps the directorial reins this time around, Annabelle Comes Home is a far cry from 2017's relentlessly dark and sinister Annabelle: Creation, as this sequel will not exactly scare the living daylights out of you. Instead, Dauberman concocts a suspenseful, ominous follow-up which plays out as more of a funhouse-style thriller, though it's still armed with an R rating for good measure. In addition, a surprising and welcome sense of heart complements the scares, instantly elevating this above 2018's repetitive, soulless and forgettable The Nun.

To contain the relentless evil of the cursed Annabelle doll, demonologists Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine Warren (Vera Farmiga) lock her inside a glass case within their secured artefact room. Months later, when the Warrens head out of town for an overnight trip, they leave their young daughter Judy (Mckenna Grace) in the care of responsible teenage babysitter Mary Ellen (Madison Iseman). However, their quiet evening of cake-making is soon interrupted by the arrival of Mary Ellen's friend Daniela (Katie Sarife), who seeks to snoop around the Warrens' supernatural possessions, desperate to find a way to make contact with her recently deceased father. Ending up in the artefact room, Daniela ignores all warnings and opens Annabelle's case, in turn unleashing the doll's supernatural malevolence on the three vulnerable girls.

The Annabelle doll continues to function as a spiritual conduit, more or less a WiFi Hotspot for demonic entities, awakening the artefact room's various haunted items. Dauberman delights in dreaming up inventive scenarios for the characters to endure, including an unplugged TV that displays what will happen thirty seconds into the future, while Mary Ellen's poor would-be boyfriend Bob (Michael Cimino) is stalked by a werewolf outside the house. Creature and demon designs are inventive, with Dauberman even making use of The Ferryman, who looks wonderfully creepy with coins over both eyes. Dauberman never goes bonkers with the adult rating, with the movie feeling PG-13 for long stretches, but the edge in terms of violence and language is appreciated. It's all beautifully captured with slick cinematography courtesy of Michael Burgess (The Curse of La Llorona), while frequent James Wan collaborator Joseph Bishara (Insidious) devises an idiosyncratic, effective original score. However, some obvious CGI mars the experience. The movie is undeniably more agreeable during set-pieces featuring elaborate make-up and practical effects.

Despite the misleading trailers, Annabelle Comes Home is not an unofficial Conjuring 3, as the Warrens only appear in bookend sequences at the start and end of the movie, and we do not get to finally see the demonologists properly battle the Annabelle entity. Admittedly, too, the stakes never feel overly high since Dauberman refrains from actually killing any of the girls, but there is an appreciable sense of tension nevertheless, and Annabelle does her best to terrorise her victims to ensure they will never sleep again. Refreshingly, there is no hostility or resentment among the leads; Mary Ellen genuinely likes Judy, while Daniela and Judy quickly bond through activities and chat. Furthermore, although Daniela's actions are careless, she has a genuine reason for venturing into the Warrens' artefact room beyond pure curiosity or simply wanting to point and laugh, as she blames herself for her father's death and is desperate to relieve her guilt. Some clichés are present, such as Mary Ellen's romantic interest, but Dauberman happily avoids many of the hoarier genre tropes.

With Judy being given a meaty role for the first time in the franchise's history, Mckenna Grace is actually a replacement for Sterling Jerins, who plays the Warrens' daughter in the main Conjuring films. Although a re-cast seems unnecessary, Grace (late of 2018's The Haunting of Hill House) is effortlessly charming, vulnerable and keenly intuitive, justifying her presence in the movie and showing that she's a talent to watch. Alongside her, Iseman (Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle) is agreeably down-to-earth and amiable, while Sarife capably handles the emotional requirements of her role. It's easy to care about the trio, thanks to effectively concise character development as well as the actors' innate likeability. Meanwhile, it's a pleasure to see Farmiga and Wilson reporting for duty, reprising their respective roles for the first time since 2016's The Conjuring 2.

Admittedly, Annabelle Comes Home is a touch long at 106 minutes, and begins to wear out its welcome before the end credits begin to roll. After all, these types of funhouse horror flicks are usually more agreeable at a taut 90 minutes, but at least Dauberman adequately builds the main characters before Annabelle escapes her case. All things considered, this threequel easily bests 2014's Annabelle but falls short of the legitimately inspired Annabelle: Creation. In spite of its shortcomings, this instalment is fun, creepy and unexpectedly heartfelt, even if it doesn't necessarily make a lasting impression or get under your skin like the best horror movies can.

Ditching the idiosyncratic lightheartedness of Errol Flynn's iconic outing as the swashbuckling titular outlaw, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves presents more of a brutal, realistic reimagining of the centuries-old folklore legend, and the result is not strictly for young children. Positioned as the must-see movie event of the 1991 summer season, this Robin Hood endured a tough journey to the big screen, with behind-the-scenes clashes and production setbacks, all of which occurred in the public eye. Happily, however, the finished film does not bear the hallmarks of a troubled production, and it developed into a box office hit, becoming the second-highest grossing movie of 1991 (behind Terminator 2: Judgment Day). Directed by Kevin Reynolds (Waterworld), Prince of Thieves is a spectacular medieval action-adventure, misguided in some respects but successful where it counts, and it remains a hugely entertaining watch nearly three decades on.

While fighting in the Crusades, nobleman Robin of Locksley (Kevin Costner) manages to break out of prison in Jerusalem. In the process, he saves a Moor named Azeem (Morgan Freeman), who consequently vows to protect Robin until he repays his life debt. Robin returns to his British homeland with Azeem, but finds that his father (Brian Blessed) is dead, and the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham (Alan Rickman) has claimed power over the kingdom for himself, aided by Sir Guy of Gisbourne (Michael Wincott). Driven into Sherwood Forest while escaping the Sheriff's soldiers, Robin encounters a group of outlaws, including Little John (Nick Brimble) and Will Scarlet (Christian Slater), who yearn for their freedom once again. Robin quickly emerges as a leader for these Merry Men, determined to disrupt the Sheriff's rampant tyranny by robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, becoming a hero to the common people. Amid his battle for freedom, Robin also finds love in childhood friend Lady Marian (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio).

Despite running an intimidating 143 minutes, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves moves like water for the most part, exhibiting a sensational sense of pacing as the picture covers ample narrative ground. Admittedly, Prince of Thieves is a bit sluggish at the forefront as Robin travels back to England and discovers the state of his kingdom, but it soon picks up, with the film kicking into high gear when Robin and his Merry Men begin raging war against the Sheriff. The screenplay, credited to Pen Densham and John Watson, juggles subplots and a vast ensemble of characters, creating a distinct interpretation of the English folk tale. (Mel Brooks' 1993 parody film, Robin Hood: Men in Tights, used the narrative template set by Prince of Thieves.) The only part of the narrative which feels half-baked is the romance between Robin and Marian - there is no spark to justify the coupling, and their interest in each other feels motivated purely by script demands.

Carrying a significant (for the era) $48 million price-tag, the sense of time and place throughout Prince of Thieves is extraordinary, with elaborate sets and authentic locations convincingly recreating medieval England in the 12th century. Aided by cinematographer Douglas Milsome (Full Metal Jacket), Reynolds adopts a fluid shooting style, with effective Steadicam shots and creative camerawork - including the iconic arrow POV shot which featured in the teaser trailer. Reynolds stages an array of fight sequences and battles, which are tautly edited for maximum excitement, breaking up the dialogue to provide an irresistibly entertaining show. Additionally, Prince of Thieves tests the limits of its PG-13 rating, yet Reynolds also maintains a welcome sense of joviality to prevent the movie from feeling excessively gloomy or mean-spirited. But the crème de la crème is a killer score by maestro Michael Kamen (Die Hard, Lethal Weapon), which superbly underscores the emotion and excitement from scene to scene. Kamen's music consistently bursts with flavour and majesty, perfectly accompanying the visuals.

There is little argument that Costner is miscast as the titular outlaw, making no consistent effort to hide or suppress his natural American accent, with his drawl noticeably changing throughout. Costner is still appealing enough in the role, as he emanates his usual movie star charisma, but the American accent remains jarring considering the character's British origins. Your mileage will vary. The real star of the show here is the always-reliable Rickman, who was given carte blanche to do whatever he wished as the Sheriff of Nottingham. Rickman sinks his teeth into the material, hamming it up in delightful fashion, and delivering a string of amusing one-liners (some of which were not scripted) that add to the film's entertainment value. Legend has it that Costner (one of the film's producers) reduced Rickman's screen-time in editing after test audiences found themselves liking the Sheriff more than Robin. Elsewhere in the cast, Freeman is unsurprisingly first-rate as Azeem, injecting satisfying gravitas into the material, while Wincott also makes a positive impression as Guy of Gisbourne. Meanwhile, a young (21-year-old) Slater makes for an adequately pleasing Will Scarlett, trying his hardest to hide his natural American accent.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves is undeniably lacking a consistent vision, intermixing broad humour and campy performances with an otherwise straight-faced and violent retelling of the medieval legend, while the accents are all over the place. But viewed as a piece of blockbuster entertainment, Prince of Thieves somehow works - it's charming, exciting and fast-paced, while production values impress and there are several memorable moments. Interestingly, this was the last (serious) big screen Robin Hood film for nineteen years: it was followed by Ridley Scott's Robin Hood in 2010.

7.2/10

Originating from Japan, the Pokémon franchise encompasses video games, anime, trading cards and all manner of merchandise, attaining unfathomable worldwide popularity. The property has spawned an anime television series and several animated feature films (some produced on the cheap), but 2019's Pokémon: Detective Pikachu is the first attempt to realise the colourful, extravagant Pokémon world in live-action, complete with a generous budget and familiar actors, seeking to initiate a new mainstream blockbuster film series. Directed by Rob Letterman (late of 2015's better-than-expected Goosebumps), Detective Pikachu is essentially a mix of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Zootopia, with a neon-soaked visual style reminiscent of Blade Runner to boot. As far as both family films and video game adaptations go, Detective Pikachu is happily above-average; this is a fun, skilfully assembled fantasy adventure with the potential to appeal to both established fans and newcomers.

Tim (Justice Smith) gave up Pokémon training after the loss of his mother, instead taking a straight job as an insurance salesman and leaving his past behind him. When Tim finds out that his police detective father, Harry, has died in a car accident, he packs up and travels to Ryme City, a sprawling metropolis masterminded by visionary billionaire Howard Clifford (Bill Nighy) where humans and Pokémon peacefully coexist as equals. Inside Harry's Ryme City apartment, Tim meets Pikachu (Ryan Reynolds); a small, yellow, amnesiac Pokémon detective who worked as Harry's partner prior to the car accident. Tim is somehow able to understand Pikachu's speech, and Pikachu is suspicious about the circumstances which led to the Harry's ostensible death, prompting the pair to team up and investigate by themselves. Joining them is curious reporter Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton) and her Pokémon, Psyduck, as they discover a type of gas specifically engineered to turn Pokémon into vicious killers.

First introduced in the 1990s, the popular Pokémon Gameboy games were largely plotless, revolving around a player's mission to capture as many of the creatures as possible, progressing from skirmish to skirmish. In addition, Pokémon are not capable of speech beyond saying their own name, making them risky protagonists. Detective Pikachu solves these issues by taking its cues from a spinoff video game of the same name, which has a more defined story and features a version of Pikachu who is able to speak full sentences, while the Pokémon world is more of a backdrop rife with opportunities to depict the creatures in various situations. Indeed, Ryme City is full of Pokémon of all shapes and sizes, giving newcomers the chance to grow familiar with individual powers and temperaments. In other words, Detective Pikachu manages to pull together an engaging story no matter your level of familiarity with the source material, representing an ideal entry point into the franchise for those who never played the games or watched the anime.

From the cinematography to the production design, the filmmakers show astonishing reverence for the Pokémon games, demonstrating that genuine love and care went into the production process. Furthermore, it helps that Detective Pikachu is treated like a legitimate film as opposed to a cheap novelty, lensed by ace cinematographer John Mathieson (Logan), and supplemented with a flavoursome score by Henry Jackman (Captain America: Civil War). In addition, the Pokémon creatures are visualised with superb digital effects, giving these characters fresh life outside of the anime and games, while the choice to shoot on 35mm film gives the CGI a welcomely tangible aesthetic. Pikachu looks especially great; he's insanely expressive and feels real, to the extent that you might forget he is a digital character. It helps that the Pokémon predominantly appear in practical sets and real locations as opposed to fully digital environments, giving the animators a firm frame of reference in terms of lighting. However, the CGI is a bit more obvious during the climax when the scale increases, along with the reliance on digital effects.

In spite of its ample strengths, Detective Pikachu does fall victim to some common pitfalls of contemporary blockbusters - primarily, the second act involving a perfunctory McGuffin hunt is not as energetic as the first half-hour, there's a big climax that feels more motivated by formula than story, and the film contains some obvious world-building which hinders narrative focus. However, most of this is par for the course for this type of production, and what matters is that Detective Pikachu gets more right than wrong, with its immense charm compensating for any scripting shortcomings. Reynolds is a big selling point, and he is expectedly ideal for this iteration of Pikachu, able to confidently deliver the wisecracks as well as the more serious material (all the while suppressing his foul-mouthed Deadpool instincts). Newton also makes a positive impression, turning the token love interest role into someone resourceful and charming. This is not exactly an actor's movie, but recruiting reliable veterans like Bill Nighy and Ken Watanabe in supporting roles gives the material some gravitas.

For long-time Pokémon fans, Pokémon: Detective Pikachu is a huge wet kiss of a fan service movie, beset with Easter Eggs, references, and beloved Pokémon characters in cameos throughout. However, this is also a sufficiently satisfying standalone action-adventure in its own right, with brisk pacing and an appealing cast, though some flaws hold it back from perfection. Detective Pikachu has heart to boot, which prevents it from becoming a soulless digital demo reel, but do not expect revelatory storytelling or much in the way of poignancy - in short, it's good, but not Pixar good. 

Even for hardcore Rambo fans, the idea of a fifth instalment seemed excessive and unnecessary, given the note-perfect ending of 2008's Rambo which brings the titular character full circle. But co-writer and star Sylvester Stallone manages to do the impossible, cooking up a new story which meaningfully contributes to John Rambo's character arc and delivers the type of balls-to-the-wall, vicious mayhem that fans attend these motion pictures to witness. Rambo: Last Blood is a different type of Rambo movie, more solemn and character-focused, to the extent that some believe this should not be part of the series at all. However, with the weight of Rambo's history behind it, the material has more significance and context. Directed by newcomer Adrian Grunberg (Get the Gringo), perhaps the most refreshing thing about Last Blood is its unwillingness to force a political agenda or subscribe to ever-changing standards of political correctness, making it feel like a nasty, old-fashioned, manly revenge picture from the 1970s.

Peacefully living on his late father's ranch in rural Arizona, Vietnam War veteran John Rambo (Stallone) keeps his inner demons under control with pharmaceutical assistance, spending his days taking care of the property's horses as well as forging blades in his underground sanctuary. While he prefers solitude, Rambo maintains a close relationship with housekeeper Maria (Adriana Barraza), and serves as a guardian for her 18-year-old granddaughter Gabrielle (Yvette Monreal) who is about to leave for college. Curious about the world, Gabrielle tracks down her absentee father (Marco de la O) in Mexico, harbouring a desire to confront him about why he abandoned the family. Rambo is quick to dissuade the young woman, but she defies his advice, travelling south of the border only to become ensnared in a cartel sex trafficking ring run by Hugo (Sergio Peris-Mencheta) and his hothead brother Victor (Óscar Jaenada). Rambo sets out to save his loved one without hesitation, awakening the dormant beast within himself as he navigates the violent city. Rambo's mission also attracts the attention of journalist Carmen (Paz Vega), who previously lost a loved one to the ruthless cartel's operation.

The previous sequels dropped Rambo into a real-life, ripped-from-the-headlines setting that is relevant to the era, such as Vietnam in Rambo: First Blood Part II, and the Burmese Civil War in 2008's Rambo. This fifth movie continues along the same lines, setting its sights on human trafficking and forced prostitution in Mexico, which is an ongoing international concern. At just over 100 minutes in length, Last Blood has sufficient narrative breathing room, with unhurried early scenes between Rambo and his de facto family before trouble strikes in Mexico, while the screenplay additionally explores the aging soldier's broken mental state at this point in his life. The underlying theme at play here is how someone like Rambo can attain peace after living in a self-described world of death, trying to stay in control as he attempts the serene family lifestyle, using the horses as therapy. To Rambo, who still suffers from PTSD, his underground tunnels represent a Minotaur's Labyrinth of madness and memories, sparking aggressive Vietnam flashbacks. By taking the fight underground, he harnesses the violent trauma associated with these tunnels to kill his enemies, giving more substance to the climax. Like the fourth Rambo film, it might seem like I am reading too much into Last Blood, but again, I believe the critics are not reading enough into it, or acknowledging the story's thematic foundation.

Written by Stallone and Matt Cirulnick, Last Blood does enough to build palpable relationships between the characters, creating a sense of humanity amid the chaos. Furthermore, it helps that the scenes between Rambo and Gabrielle feel genuine as opposed to perfunctory, including a standout moment in which Rambo delivers an emotional speech to his niece at the end of the second act. Now in his early 70s, Stallone confidently slips back into his iconic role, playing a world-weary Rambo who struggles to keep a lid on his animalistic instincts. Thankfully, the movie resists the temptation to give Rambo a younger protégé, with Last Blood remaining Stallone's show from start to end. Proficient support is provided by Monreal and Barraza, while Peris-Mencheta is a credible villain. Additionally, like the fourth film's depiction of Myanmar, the scenes involving violence and prostitution in Mexico are nihilistic and grim, making it all the more satisfying when Rambo finally unleashes hell upon the cartel army. However, one story element which feels short-changed is the subplot involving Carmen, while Gabrielle's father is oddly insignificant as well, though any further material involving either character would probably be too generic and slow down the narrative.

Last Blood adopts a stark tonal change, feeling more like Logan, Sicario or Unforgiven than the jingoistic, cheesy Regan-era Rambo sequels of the 1980s. Although Rambo does not hesitate to carry out violent acts, this follow-up is not as action-packed as its predecessors, with most of the carnage reserved for the big climax, which is perhaps the most vicious, violent set-piece of the series to date. First Blood memorably showed us Rambo's ingenuity with guerrilla warfare, but he refrained from actually killing, while the sequels involved Rambo being on the offensive as he wasted countless enemies with large weapons. In Last Blood, we finally get to see Rambo unleash his guerrilla training to kill, and it is truly a sight to behold. Under Grunberg's focused direction, the final ten minutes or so amount to a taut succession of gory slayings, showing that Rambo is still a relentless one-man force to be feared. Moreover, the R rating is pushed to its boundaries, showing the gory consequences of Rambo's traps as he becomes a slasher movie antagonist, swiftly moving around his tunnel network as he mercilessly slaughters the cartel intruders. When Rambo cuts loose, it's heart-pounding cinema, sure to provoke goosebumps and foot stomping. It is also more impactful directly because of the lengthy build-up preceding it. Meanwhile, Brian Tyler returns as composer, reusing a few recognisable cues and making astute use of the iconic Rambo theme. This is not Tyler at his best, but the music ramps up the intensity and underscores the emotion effectively.

Contrasted against the cheap, straight-to-video Escape Plan sequels, Rambo: Last Blood carries appreciable gravitas, while the story's execution is effectively sincere. It is a formulaic movie from a narrative standpoint, while villains are predictably cartoonish, but there are some unexpected plot developments which feel appropriate given the subject matter, and it creates a satisfying ending for Rambo nearly forty years after the release of First Blood. It is not on the same level as First Blood (not many movies are), and it lacks the urgency of the fourth instalment, but it still delivers the goods, even without Rambo's trademark long hair and bandana (and even with some mediocre digital effects). Be sure to stick around for the first part of the end credits, as it recaps the franchise and adds more to Last Blood's ending.

The third instalment in the incredulously long Howling series (eight films and counting), 1987's Howling III: The Marsupials sees the return of Australian filmmaker Philippe Mora as director and co-screenwriter, cooking up a uniquely goofy genre romp set in the wilds of Australia. As a sequel to Joe Dante's The Howling, it is easy to understand the disdain towards Howling III, as this is a standalone entry that does not feel like an organic continuation of the original classic and is not connected to its predecessor. However, the film is an entertaining success if taken as a bizarre, completely off-the-nails '80s Ozploitation comedy-horror, as flawed as it definitely is.

In Australia, a clan of marsupial werewolves live in isolation and relative peace in a rural bush town, led by Thylo (Max Fairchild). Werewolf Jerboa (the gorgeous Imogen Annesley) escapes her tribe, fleeing to the streets of Sydney where she meets an American named Donny (Leigh Biolos), who is working on a low-budget horror film and wants to recruit the runaway for a role in the production. Jerboa and Donny rapidly fall in love, but Jerboa's true animalistic nature is soon revealed to the world. Meanwhile, Australian anthropologist Beckmeyer (Barry Otto) is determined to uncover the truth behind the continent's long-standing werewolf secrets, joining scientist Professor Sharp (Ralph Cotterill) in his investigations.

On paper, Howling III is based on Gary Brandner's novel The Howling III: Echoes, but the film actually bears no resemblance to its literary source. Storytelling is inconsistent throughout, as Mora throws a lot at the wall to see what sticks - most bizarrely, the film establishes that a camera crew is following The President of the United States (Michael Pate), but the distinction between the purported "found footage" and the film footage does not exist, and no additional references to a camera crew are uttered after the five-minute mark. For some reason, too, the American government is heavily involved in Australian affairs, and Jerboa ostensibly does not hold any grudges against Thylo in the third act even though he sexually abused her (which is why she left the tribe in the first place). However, the mythology behind Howling III is sufficiently fascinating, connecting the Aussie lycanthropes to the extinct Tasmanian Tiger, and the film actually has a message about tolerance and peace, reminding us that werewolves are people, too.

There are fun ideas throughout Howling III, including a transformation sequence during a ballet as well as a scene in which Jerboa gives birth in marsupial fashion. One poor extra is even thrown off a building, set to the tune of the A.J. Brown song "All Fall Down." Nevertheless, Mora's vision is held back by a noticeable lack of funds; the prosthetic effects are cheap and phoney, a military raid on the werewolf pack involves merely a dozen soldiers, and a short scene at the Oscars was obviously filmed in a tiny room. There is a certain charm to this cheapness, though your mileage will vary depending on your tolerance for this type of cinema. As a horror movie, Howling III noticeably lacks bite as well, and even though a couple of attack sequences are well-edited, Mora strangely keeps things PG-13, shying away from the type of overzealous gore (and cheap nudity) that we come to expect from campy horror. Furthermore, rather than closing with a big finish, Howling III instead fizzles out with a minor showdown followed by a peculiar extended prologue, solidifying this as a cult curiosity as opposed to a genuine genre classic.

At the very least, Howling III: The Marsupials never takes itself too seriously; for crying out loud, one of the characters even asks "Wanna put a shrimp on the barbie?" The performers all understand what type of movie this is, and play the material accordingly without winking at the camera. Frank Thring (Ben-Hur, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome) is especially amusing as an eccentric film director. In a sea of werewolf flicks and Howling sequels, Howling III stands out because it proudly wears its heritage on its sleeve; the more Australian it gets, the more fun it is to watch. It's not a strong endeavour, but it's a fun enough waste of 94 minutes.

A passion project for writer-director Martin Rosen, 1978's Watership Down is an adaptation of the treasured novel of the same name by Richard Adams, compressing the 413-page source into a streamlined 92-minute animated movie. At its core, this is a survivalist adventure picture with political undertones, and it's a genre classic that is most remembered for not being suitable for little kids. Indeed, do not let the cutesy rabbit characters or the PG rating fool you, as Watership Down is brutal and harrowing, the furthest thing imaginable from a classic Disney movie. It's a confident and remarkably realised anthropomorphic vision, bolstered by sumptuous animation and a roster of sublime actors who deliver the material with astute sincerity.

In a crowded, regimental warren near Sandleford in the United Kingdom, rabbit Fiver (Richard Briers) has an apocalyptic vision which convinces him that the entire burrow is in grave danger. Fiver and his brother Hazel (John Hurt) attempt to convince the chief rabbit (Ralph Richardson) to evacuate but are fiercely ignored, with the chief announcing that nobody can leave the warren. Following a conflict, Fiver and Hazel, along with several other rabbits - including Bigwig (Michael Graham Cox) and Blackberry (Simon Cadell) - manage to escape, setting out in search of a new home. A perilous, uncertain road lies ahead of them, with the threat of death lurking around every corner in the form of rats, birds of prey, dogs, as well as humans, who wield firearms and set snare traps. The group is also in need of mates, while soldierly rabbits in another dictatorial warren represent further danger.

Beginning with a mythological prologue that outlines the rabbit species' genesis, a rich world buttresses Watership Down, with the animals living in constant fear of predators, as the fragility of their lives is continually underscored. The warren communities, meanwhile, are patriarchal and oppressive, enforced by de facto policemen and military types. The rabbits of this story are hard-bitten as a result of their difficult living conditions and were not designed for maximum cuteness. In Rosen's hands, Watership Down is uncompromising and hard-edged, with a sense of danger permeating the story. No matter how cute the rabbits are, they are killed off without sentimentality, reflecting the cruelty of nature in the real world. This is a violent movie despite its PG rating - there's Fiver's initial vision of a field running with blood, one of the rabbits almost dying in a snare, a fierce dog killing several rabbits, as well as a bloody final showdown - and some of the images here may even haunt adults, let alone children. Nevertheless, there is tact to the brutality, while a feeling of hope is tangible amid the film's confronting grimness. Additionally, humour does break up the callousness, particularly in the form of a black-headed seagull named Kehaar, voiced by the late great Zero Mostel in his final big-screen performance.

Vividly brought to life with hand-drawn animation against stylised watercolour backgrounds, Watership Down carries a striking sense of picturesque beauty. The animation admittedly lacks immaculate fluidity, and the drawings may appear somewhat crude to 21st century moviegoers, however genuine love and care are evident in every frame of this animated gem. The rabbits, for instance, burst with personality, with the tiniest behavioural nuances enhancing the illusion. A superb original score (credited to Angela Morley and Malcolm Williamson) augments the sense of danger and tension, and the film additionally features the touching song "Bright Eyes" which was sung by Art Garfunkel. Watership Down further benefits from a cast of esteemed British actors, including Hurt as well as Denholm Elliott and Nigel Hawthorne, who infuse the material with honest-to-goodness gravitas. At times you might have trouble distinguishing the rabbits from one another, and the film is occasionally lethargic even though it was edited by the superlative Terry Rawlings (Alien, Blade Runner), but these are minor shortcomings.

Produced on a meagre budget, Watership Down is a timeless classic that still packs a punch in the 21st Century, representing a rare type of animated film that is geared more towards adults than children. Involving and breathtaking, this is animation at a deeper level, tackling complex subject matter that lingers in the mind after viewing. In spite of the movie's violence, it is still a rewarding watch, even if it is easier to admire than conventionally enjoy. The novel was later adapted into both a television show and an animated miniseries.

8.2/10

A seminal, award-winning Australian film which remains a classroom staple across the country, 1976's Storm Boy is an adaptation of Colin Thiele's beloved children's book of the same name, telling a sincere coming-of-age tale steeped in Australian culture. Scripted by Sonia Borg (Blue Fin, Dark Age) and Sidney Stebel, this was the first theatrical feature for Paris-born filmmaker Henri Safran, who cut his directorial teeth on TV shows and telemovies. This is a rare type of children's film with the potential to appeal to both kids and adults, as the simple story is free of pandering touches (cute side characters, obvious humour) that might turn off mature viewers. Storm Boy is an enchanting human drama, permeated with subtle themes relating to ecology, Indigenous relations, family, and the importance of education, and it still holds up for the most part in 2019.

Ten-year-old Mike Kingsley (Greg Rowe) lives with his dad Tom (Peter Cummins) in a derelict shed on the Younghusband Peninsula in Coorong, South Australia, isolated from civilisation. Tom is a fisherman, able to make a modest living selling his catch in the local town of Goolwa. Mike does not attend school, as his father denies him the opportunity for an education, much to the chagrin of Goolwa Primary School teacher Miss Walker (Judy Dick) as well as the local park ranger (Tony Allison). A free spirit, Mike spends his time exploring the coastline, where he encounters Aboriginal recluse Fingerbone Bill (David Gulpilil) who is estranged from his tribe. Mike quickly takes to Fingerbone, who dubs him "Storm Boy" because he runs with the speed of an Indigenous person. When a pair of shooters kill several pelicans, Mike chooses to care for three orphaned pelican babies, affectionately naming them Mr Percival, Mr Ponder, and Mr Proud. Although Tom resents interference from the outside world, Mike begins to grow curious about what he's missing, which threatens the pair's reclusive existence.

Whereas the material is rife for Disney-esque manipulation and overzealous melodrama, Storm Boy plays out in an authentic, matter-of-fact cinematic style free of overbearing schmaltz, a decision which separates it from Hollywood pictures of a similar vintage and genre. Produced for a reported budget of just $260,000, Storm Boy inevitably appears dated to a certain extent, particularly in terms of the technical contributions, though that is not to entirely impugn the lush cinematography, the evocative location work, or the competent production design. Guided by Safran's careful, sure-handed direction, the film feels agreeably organic and lived-in, while the piano-rich original score by Michael Carlos subtly accentuates the material's sweetness and emotion throughout. It's just that, in 2019, moviegoers accustomed to polished contemporary cinema might have trouble getting into this Aussie classic. Admittedly, Storm Boy is not always engaging, and budget limitations are occasionally evident, but this is a minor knock against an otherwise fine movie.

A small cast inhabits Storm Boy, but the actors all make positive impressions. In his film debut, Rowe fully commits to the titular role; he is thoroughly convincing, and - miraculously - never annoying. Veteran Aboriginal actor Gulpilil is likewise engaging, while Cummins is believable as Mike's stern father. Upon its release in 1976, Storm Boy demonstrated the viability of Australian cinema to the rest of the world; it was sold to over 100 international territories, which was a tremendous achievement at the time. Over forty years later, time has done little to diminish Storm Boy's power, charm and magic. The film was eventually remade in 2019.

Romantic dramas involving terminal illness were popularised again with the 2014 box office hit The Fault in Our Stars, an adaptation of the popular young adult novel of the same name. 2019's Five Feet Apart ditches cancer in favour of cystic fibrosis, with screenwriters Mikki Daughtry and Tobias Iaconis using the opportunity to educate mainstream film-goers about the intense difficulties of this debilitating, life-threatening disorder. The feature-length directorial debut for veteran TV actor Justin Baldoni, Five Feet Apart actually works for the most part despite the story's been-there-done-that disposition; it is easy to become invested in this vividly drawn world, and care about the central relationship. Unfortunately, the movie is handicapped by a third act which devolves into exasperating melodrama, though the ultimate dénouement is effective despite its forced, manipulative nature.

Teenager Stella Grant (Haley Lu Richardson) is afflicted with cystic fibrosis, attempting to live a normal life as she keenly uses social media to communicate her daily routine to the world. Returning to the hospital with renewed health issues, Stella meets former CF patient Will (Cole Sprouse), who's undergoing a special clinical drug trial but cannot bring himself to maintain a consistent treatment program. Although Stella is initially resentful of Will and hesitant to speak to him, the two eventually make a deal which allows Will to draw Stella, and Stella to organise Will's treatment program that he must follow to the letter. The pair build a relationship, but continue to respect the rule of maintaining a distance of at least six feet from one another, at the risk of dying from cross-infection. Will's devil-may-care attitude begins to rub off on Stella, who chooses to rebel against the rules and remain only five feet away from fellow CFers.

In many respects, Five Feet Apart plays out like a flavour-of-the-month YA novel, to the extent that one could be forgiven for assuming this is a YA adaptation. However, the material actually began as a screenplay before being adapted into a book while the movie was in post-production. There's a slight When Harry Met Sally vibe to the central characters' relationship, with Stella's clinical OCD tendencies and Will's rebellious streak rendering them virtually incompatible as a couple. Chief to the film's success is the sense of authenticity, with Baldoni recruiting real CF sufferer Claire Wineland as a consultant on the project. This is certainly a fascinating conceit for a romantic drama, and the film will likely aid CF awareness as a result. Five Feet Apart works best when focusing on gentle character interaction, with the second act soaring as Stella and Will experience the ups and downs of their budding relationship. This delicate emotionality is thrown to the wind, however, with a desperate last act that goes unnecessarily big. Character action lacks proper motivation, and the characters' rampant stupidity might make you question whether this story is still worth your investment.

Whereas comparable motion pictures are usually pedestrian from a filmmaking standpoint, Five Feet Apart is visually inviting and sumptuous, photographed to perfection by cinematographer Frank G. DeMarco (All Is Lost, Margin Call). Shot in a recently built hospital in New Orleans, the production design is eye-catching, transforming the sterile hospital rooms into believable, personalised, lived-in spaces, underscoring the reality of how CF patients live. Baldoni happily avoids the temptation to turn the hospital into a prison, depicting the clinical staff as strict but wholly human, with the sometimes frustratingly by-the-book Barb (Kimberly Hebert Gregory) simply concerned with patient safety. It's a refreshing perspective, eschewing any superfluous forced antagonists beyond CF itself. Baldoni's filmmaking style is recognisable for this genre, often resorting to montages accompanied by cutesy pop music, while the score by Brian Tyler and Breton Vivian shamelessly pulls on the heartstrings.

Perpetually keeping the material afloat, even throughout its rougher patches, are the lead actors. As Stella, Richardson is so natural and down-to-earth, handling the diverse requirements of the script like a consummate professional. She is able to convey joy, sadness, frustration and love with seemingly little effort, and she's charming to boot. Meanwhile, recognisable former child actor Sprouse (whom you may remember from Big Daddy and Friends) makes an equally good impression as the brooding love interest, giving the role real gravitas and believability. Five Feet Apart is unmistakably cheesy at times, but it does work more often than not thanks to the level of sincerity on display, and its heart is in the right place. It's just less successful when the movie resorts to unfortunate YA clichés, a creative choice that is especially disheartening since the story's conceit is otherwise unconventional. Nevertheless, Five Feet Apart will almost certainly work for its target market, and you could do a lot worse in this subgenre.

6.6/10