Reviews

Well ... I've always joked to friends that I'd happily pay to watch Ray Winstone cooking beans on toast. He's perhaps best known here in Oz for the wonderful Vincent, but has been a real favourite for me since his early work.

However, if he'd got the saucepan and can-opener out at some stage in these proceedings, it could only have improved things.

The opening scene is compelling, with Winstone sprawled semi-conscious on the floor amidst the wreckage of a family living room. As if the poor fellow clearly hadn't suffered enough already (even if we aren't yet privy to the particulars of his situation), the almost-forgotten hideousness of Nilsson's Without You provides perfect background music.

Our hero's friends and family rally round in this time of crisis and there's some diverting argy-bargy (amid fantastic London locations) as our group of protagonists is assembled. This stage-setting phase of the movie concludes with the group's arrival at a grimy terraced house - I use that phrase intentionally because at this point the film effectively becomes a conventional play spread over two locations.

This terrific cast never exceeds or even equals the sum of its parts amid production values that call to mind BBC's Play For Today in the 70s and early 80s. RADA's likely advice from an earlier period for portraying cockneys also seems have been in play - drop yourself about 3 social classes and 50 IQ points and you'll be fine, love.

It's no mean feat to tell a fulfilling story within a bubble such as the one created here, and it doesn't really come off - we never learn enough about the relationships between the players or the context that surrounds some of the remarks that are made.

Yes, Winstone's character is supposed to be confused, I do understand that, but I don't believe the audience should be sharing in that affliction.

Stephen Dillane impresses but John Hurt's wasted here, and with his ill-fitting dentures (at least I ASSUME that's what they are ... ) he channels Phil Davis doing his best Albert Steptoe impersonation at one of Mike Leigh's Christmas parties.

The one lasting benefit for me is that I might just tone down my own bad language a little. They just don't stop in this film. Everyone knows that a well-deployed swear word can have massive impact but this dialogue is peppered with Anglo-Saxon to the point where it rapidly becomes not only meaningless but irritating.

I suspect I sounded a little like this at the footy the night before, and I can only promise my neighbours I'll try to be better in future ... if that works I'll tell my daughter she should seriously think about doing the same!

Mike Leigh's done it again ... for fans and detractors alike! Poppy, his latest creation, sails through this slice of life with a smile on her face, fun on her mind and kindness in her heart.

Irritating? I didn't think so. On my good days, I rather hope there's a little of her in me.

For me, she was quite brilliantly brought to life by the excellent Sally Hawkins. Ironically, if she calls to mind any other inhabitant of Planet Leigh then it's probably Jane Horrocks's rather more sour Nic (or was it Nat?) in Life Is Sweet.

And Poppy has much to be happy about. A true friend, with whom she shares a not-too-shabby flat in a Finsbury Park that I shall not stoop to comparing with the N4 district of my own experience. A job she was born to do, among supportive colleagues. An enjoyable social life, memories of travels past, a cool reetro bike (for a while, at least ... ) and a wardrobe straight out of (ahem!) an Australian's nightmare all go to emphasise the message given by the film's title.

Into her life ambles driving instructor Scott, played by the ever-welcome Eddie Marsan, and the real fun begins. If Poppy can be said to stroll across the surface of life's duckpond without even getting the soles of her cowboy boots wet, then Scott is a man slowly drowning. The film's strongest plot line (this *is* Mike Leigh!) charts the evolving relationship between these apparent opposites,and the interplay really lights up the screen.

To say more would dent your enjoyment should you decide to go and see for yourself! If you go by bike, remember to lock up securely or - better still - maybe your best friend will take you along in her "mad" yellow car.

However you get there, why not let Poppy's attitude infect you for a few hours after you leave? It probably will anyway ...

I first saw New Country in Europe, formatted as a movie over 2 hours long. Back in Australia, the wonderful SBS channel recently showed it in its intended form as a mini series of twice the length.

To cover the shorter version first, I thought this worked wonderfully as an always touching, often funny but largely conventional road movie. 40-ish Iranian Massoud witnesses one deportation too many at his refugee camp and decides not to wait around for his handcuff-assisted one way ticket.

Somali youngster Ali, habitually bedecked in Swedish flags and insignia and over whom Massoud keeps a brotherly eye, suffers no such disillusionment. "Sverige bro!" is his constant refrain, at least during his waking hours; in sleep, though, Ali is forced to relive the horrors that made him a refugee.

When Massoud makes to flee the camp in a spectacularly awful old car, Ali decides to join him on the run, an apt phrase from Ali's point of view, as he appears to display real talent as an athlete. Add one faded Miss Sweden, in the form of Louise - rescued at the roadside, fleeing a porno movie shoot - and the trio is established.

As with all road movies, the path they follow is emotional as much as geographical. There are fascinating encounters along the way and the resolution is satisfying.

The filming techniques used here give the appearance of a "fly on the wall" doco for much of the movie, with almost a Super 8 feel at times. These methods bring an edginess that is entirely in sympathy with the story being told.

If at all possible, though, try to catch the longer version. In this format, a far broader story emerges, in which we see that the director probably intended the title to be slightly more ambiguous than we first think.

Sure, Sweden is the "promised land" of Ali's and Massoud's hopes and dreams. Equally, though, we are shown some of the ways in which a new country is evolving from the monoglot, dare I say slightly insular, nation the outside world may lazily perceive Sweden to be. This cut finds the time to explore several shades of opinion and emotion on contemporary issues, from neo-nazi right through to selfless good samaritan. We observe the downtrodden preying upon the desperate, a tireless campaigner's wishes touchingly granted, a lecherous aging couple trying for one last thrill and - most heartwarmingly - kindness tending to win out over small-mindedness and spite. All that, and a royal visitation (of sorts) too.

Best of all, we get a lot more time to spend with Ali and Massoud. We see their relationship grow from that of two sorely mismatched players in one of modern life's dramas to true comrades who would sacrifice anything for each other. As in all such friendships, the pair teach one another a great deal, and as we bid them farewell we're left hoping this increased knowledge will help them through whatever challenges face them in the future.

The acting by the three main players, particularly Boysen and Almayehu is wonderful, with many fine supporting performances too.

Terrific acting and mesmerising locations make this an easy movie to love. Denmark's hazy, almost dreamy summer light lends a touch of magic to this tale of a prodigal son's enforced return.

The main characters are exquisitely drawn. Berthelsen plays newlywed Copenhagen yuppie Kresten, who has denied the very existence of his family in far-off (or so he thought) Lolland. Rud, his retarded brother, is brought to us with great sensitivity and charm in a show-stealing performance by Jesper Asholt. Iben Hjejle sparkles as Liva, a city prostitute with steadily mounting problems, many of which can be traced directly to her brattish younger brother Bjarke, for whom she seems to have assumed parental responsibility.

Before long (and to nobody's great surprise), we see these two pairs of siblings brought crashing together by life's twists and turns. Kresten is summoned back to Lolland in the middle of his honeymoon by news of his father's death. He soon sees that Rud is incapable of looking after himself and is forced to stay on temporarily in Lolland.

His advertisement for a housekeeper attracts Liva's attention just as she finally wears out her welcome in Copenhagen. Bjarke lasts about five minutes in the big city without her, and soon follows her to Lolland.

The interplay between these makeshift cohabitees is wonderful, particularly Rud's relationships with Kresten and Bjarke. Endless summer evenings spent in Lolland's rural idyll with these four for company will soon have you believing in crop circles and cellar-dwelling samurai heroes.

On the back of some audacious tricks to get us this far, Kragh-Jacobsen delivers a transcendent hour or so in the middle of this film that reminds me of just why I love the cinema so much.

Having created this beautiful, shimmering landscape (both emotional and physical), and reminded us that love for your family - and perhaps, in a special way, your siblings - is its own reward, the movie finds it has nowhere particular left to go. There are supporting characters - some of them reasonably well-formed, others not - but once our quartet is established and the relationships between them start to blossom, any involvement from outsiders is unwelcome, unfulfilling and only likely to bring trouble.

It's no spoiler, for I mean it purely in structural terms, when I say that we are brought to a bumpy and unsatisfying ending to this ride through the lives of four people we soon grow to care a great deal about.

For me, though, despite its shortcomings, Mifune was a beautiful movie that I'm sure I'll watch again, many times.

Well ... if your name is "Half Colonel" Hyde, you thank Her Majesty very much, and take your future into your own hands!

Hyde, played to gruff perfection by Jack Hawkins, is supremely proud of his meticulous planning skills, gained and sharpened in a 25 year military career. Ignominiously pensioned off, he puts these strengths to good use in plotting a daring million-pound robbery.

As an ex-military man, Hyde is aware that his "operation" cannot succeed without putting together a squad of the very best experts. Displaying the kind of guile and ruthlessness that earned him his lofty rank, he also knows that it's rather handy if one's selected team has nothing much to lose.

The film opens by introducing us to Hyde's hand-picked candidates in turn - each receiving a mysterious invitation to lunch, stapled to one half of a crisp new fiver none of them can afford to ignore. A rum bunch they are, too - we witness a splendidly gloomy panorama of post- war London, scattered with promiscuous wives, doomed businesses, loveless marriages and good times going rapidly bad.

Enough, surely, to make a fellow wish he were back in the army - especially should he happen to be a bogus clergyman, an "odd man out" or simply a chap who always makes the same mistake twice ...

Was late-1950s Britain, in fact, a land fit for heroes? Does pride come before a fall? Or might crime, perhaps just this once, pay?

Join these esteemed Gentlemen for a wonderfully enjoyable caper movie, and find out for yourself! The story entertains (and possibly even informs) throughout - particularly to be relished is the interplay between Hawkins and the always-watchable Nigel "Old Darling" Patrick.

Notwithstanding a youthful Oliver Reed's jarringly unfunny cameo, this is easily one of my top ten movies.

May we be spared for ever the Hollywood or - even worse - the BritPack re-make!!

Adolescents post Generation X still have many experiences in common with their predecessors. The lives of young adults continue to veer wildly from the ecstatic to the crushingly boring, and back again, often many times per week, day or even hour. The new ingredient in the past decade or so - as in the wider world - is that of chronic uncertainty.

The two female leads in this movie seem only to be sure about what they *don't* want in life, having rejected - for the time being at least - the traditional progression to further education or the first rungs of any career ladder. We first encounter Enid (Birch) and Rebecca (Johansson) together at their High School prom, unsure of what the future may hold for them but seemingly impatient to find an apartment together and see where a pair of McJob salaries and a bohemian attitude may take them next.

The pair capture perfectly the "us against the world" mentality of teen friendships, and the way in which they feel both trapped and safe in their small-town world. Their main entertainment comes from touring favourite shops and other haunts downtown. Enid already feels disconnected from her long-suffering dad - even before he announces that she's about to get a step-mom.

From early on, Rebecca seems the more conventional and committed of the two, while Enid finds an absorbing distraction from their chosen path in first tormenting and then befriending weird old record collector Seymour (Buscemi).

As befits the movie's comic-book roots, the landscape is peppered with interesting and amusing supporting characters - the guy with the numchucks (scary) and the mullet (terrifying), the old geezer at the bus stop, the soppy remedial art teacher (Douglas).

The movie is well acted, particularly by Birch, although Johansson is muscled out of serious contention long before the end, and we see another very pleasing addition to Buscemi's House of Freaks. The story is well-paced and satisfyingly finished.

So ... this is Ghost World ... maybe it rocked mine a little, too!

Slightly irritating camera techniques, but they don't dent one's enjoyment of this terrific love story. Beautifully acted throughout, and Moodysson's reputation as a director to look out for was recently cemented by the excellent "Together".

Interesting to look at other reviews of this movie here on imdb.com - by far the most negative ones come from Swedish reviewers; why is that?