Reviews

What begins as a fair appraisal of the early life and career of Marilyn Monroe quickly becomes dogged down in the baseless conspiracy theories around her death, a documentary ending in a mire of nonsense.

The most salubrious claims, that Jimmy Hoffa recorded Monroe having had sex with Bobby Kennedy, photos of them together in LA, come out without an iota of evidence. The central journalist claims they may have been scrubbed by the FBI. Perhaps they are just not true.

If you want to look at a work that does even handed research into both the incredible life and sad death of Monroe I would recommend her biography by Donald Spoto, not the same tabloid trash reheated here.

That Netflix is releasing this dreck and has been sitting on Blonde for over a year, which looks like it will be a very interesting portrayal of her life, is a sad state of affairs.

I came into 'Murder On The Orient Express' having virtually no familiarity with Agatha Christie's work. For this film to be successful director and star Kenneth Branagh knew he must branch out to ignoramuses like me, but unfortunately in his attempts to do so he may have ended up underwhelming both Christie diehards and casual observers.

The year is 1934, and after solving a mystery at the Wailing Wall, Hercule Poirot (Branagh), the Belgian detective of international repute, must board the Orient Express on his travels from Jerusalem to London. Tragedy strikes the train the same night as an avalanche, leaving it derailed and with a murder to solve.

At no point was I especially intrigued as to who the killer was, which for a two-hour murder mystery is an issue. Neither is there any real doubt Poirot will solve it, leaving the enjoyment to be had from its character interactions and the how of Poirot's discoveries.

The film has a multitude of stars onboard, each with their part to play in the plot. Unfortunately, there are a few characters too many, which does shrink the screen time for each of them. I've read that Pilar Estravados (Penelope Cruz) is an addition not in the novel, perhaps an unnecessary one. That said, the mix of accents and acting techniques blends well enough, and Branagh is a consistent and affable screen presence.

Branagh is also careful not to define the whole film as Poirot talking to people in compartments, and there are some decent exterior shots and even a chase sequence (though why Poirot ever needed to risk his life strolling along the top of a carriage in a separate scene is never explained).

A stand-out performer is Johnny Depp as the sleazy, grasping crook Ratchett. Miss Debenham (Daisy Ridley) has a few decent scenes with Poirot, but her relationship with Col. Arbuthnot (Leslie Odom Jr.) never holds. The decision to change the race of this character from the novel also leads to groan-inducing sanctimoniousness and reeks more of tokenism than high drama.

Some problems with the film must surely derive from its source material. There can be few premises more contrived than a complicated murder being assembled while the perpetrators are fully aware of the greatest detective in the world sleeping a couple of doors down. If a modern screenwriter had conceived this story they would have been laughed out of Hollywood. Perhaps I'm just being a sourpuss who should have a bit more fun with the whole thing, but the plot convolutions do at points undoubtedly make for an uneven journey.

'Murder On The Orient Express' needed to either embrace the campiness of the whole thing or dive into the darkness of it all. There's Poirot sleeping with his moustache-holder, there's a Lindbergh-esque tale of a baby abducted and murdered. It's 'Miss Marple' meets 'Mindhunter'. The Jerusalem scenes at the beginning especially had a BBC Sunday night, Stephen Moffat, irritatingly chummy feel to them.

The wintery vistas, Branagh's over-acting moustache, the Christie twists and turns, there's plenty to take from 'Murder On The Orient Express'. But if you're going to enjoy this film you must leave your disbelief at the station and just go along for a sedentary ride.

There are no less than six production company intros before God of War has even begun, giving an idea of the amount of money and co-operation necessary to make this film possible. Fortunately, they come together to pull off some of the most impressive battle sequences seen this decade. Unfortunately, God of War has similar pitfalls to other films of this genre and blockbuster Chinese films in general; a distinct lack of human engagement.

The year is 1557. A Japanese invasion force made up of trained samurai and bloodthirsty mercenaries have taken the Chinese coastal town of Cengang. After his previous success against such 'pirates', it befalls the renowned General Qi (Wenzhuo Zhao) to finish the siege and purge this great force from China for good.

What could have been outright propaganda, rapacious Japanese against the noble Chinese, is actually a somewhat layered film with established characters and motives on both sides of the fight. The respect of the filmmakers passes down to the leads, the rivalry of Qi and Commander Kumasawa (Yasuaki Kurata) reminiscent of Jack Aubrey (Russell Crowe) and his French adversary in Master and Commander.

God of War is attentive to a fault when it comes to historical authenticity, a middle section bloated by talk of an internal Chinese politics that never impacts the narrative at large. An early element of the plot is a Japanese general imprisoned on the Chinese mainland; this isn't followed up on as the plot progresses.

As a lead, Qi is a cipher. The audience never really feels his irritation at the Chinese higher command, nor at the sacrifices he and his men must make for victory. Great effort is made to mourn characters thinly established.

The most enjoyment I had with any of the characters was Lady Qi (Regina Wan). While at first her subplot feels as if it is going through the motions to justify a female lead, as the film progresses and she becomes more integral she is a joy to watch, asserting herself both against her husband and the Japanese invaders.

Where the film really stands out is not in character development but in its set-pieces. The film opens with a visceral attempt to lift a siege, and every battle henceforth is an escalation. Gunpowder (a Chinese invention) explodes across the screen. Even in the heat of battle, director Gordon Chan can focus on visual flourishes as tiny as the twist of a spear. A minor point is that the definition of the Japanese army is 'pirates', which makes me wish there had been a little bit more plundering and naval warfare.

The film makes a success of its martial arts sequences, hand to hand combat deftly interwoven with the clashing of armies. The highlight is when Qi faces off against a miner in order to secure his service, in a sequence that comes closest to any social subtext in the film.

God of War is the sort of film the Politburo loves to see, a spectacular and historic representation of an ascendant China. It's also far more watchable and authentic than this year's mess, The Great Wall. Alas, God of War stands as more a film of spectacle than substance, and while enjoyable at times may not linger in the memory. The wait for Chinese films that can combine Sixth-Generation character study with state-approved high production budgets continues.

Director Armando Iannucci is always able to convey that ego and misunderstanding can derail even the best political intentions, often to the point where it's a miracle that nation- states can function at all. While the comic potential of these mishaps is evident in the democracies of the United Kingdom and the USA, where Iannucci has previously focused his political satire, bringing it to the horrendous crimes of Stalinist Russia may be an entirely different challenge.

In 1953 Stalin suffers a stroke, and head of the NKVD secret police Laventry Beria (Simon Russell Beale) moves quickly to cement his position and stick the reformist Nikita Khrushchev (Steve Buscemi) with the funeral arrangements.

Soon both are courting favour from political mainstays such as Georgy Malenkov (Jeffrey Tambor) and Vyacheslav Molotov (Michael Palin) while trying to contain Stalin's drunken son Vasily (Rupert Friend).

It is a great achievement that Iannucci is able to see the comic absurdity in the atrocities of the NKVD (precursor to the KGB), and in the terrifying power wielded by a tiny cabal of aging men.

Whilst for those of us whose A Level studies left us with a rough grasp of the events unfolding, it would take greater expertise to pick out every historical aberration in this film. It is a film that provides great fun for people with zero knowledge of Soviet history, keeping the viewer in genuine suspense as to who will succeed Stalin and how.

With such ego and dogmatism, the politicians of Stalin's Russia share unnerving similarities with the leaders of today.

This is an ensemble cast, with brilliant acting performances across the board. A standout is Jason Isaacs as the fêted General Zhukov. He is supremely self-confident, sharp and wickedly funny. Simon Russell Beale is known more for his stage work, yet is more than able to hold his own alongside the cinematic talent. Beria is a man of great evil, and that Beale is able to incorporate a comedy into the role is a mastery of writing and performance. This downfall of a sexual deviant could not come at a more apt time for Hollywood.

Production design is another highlight of the film. Physical comedy and moving from room to room may entertain the eye, but the ensuring that the air of 50s Russia is consistent is also essential. The shots of the Kremlin and Red Square are suitably lavish, while the headquarters of the NKVD have the feel of a dungeon on steroids.

There are a couple of 'Thick of It' moment set-pieces that are downright hilarious. What comes to mind are Comrade Andryev (Paddy Considine) forced to immediately repeat a concert performance for Stalin's leisure, and Khrushchev trying to negotiate a coup and a state funeral at the same time.

Iannucci has reteamed with writer Ian Martin with whom he has worked on "The Thick of It" and "Veep", and "The Death Of Stalin" retains that same crudity and escalating nonsense. David Schnieder has been brought on board, a writer with experience of Soviet-set material from his play "Making Stalin Laugh", about the massacre of the Moscow State Jewish Theatre troupe in 1952.

There is also an undercurrent of subversion not seen since Iannucci worked with Chris Morris, seen not least in the absurd dedication of soldiers and politicians in an attempt to save their own skin. While the politicians of the West have long since been knocked from their pedestal, all strands of comedy in "The Death of Stalin" carry a certain mischievous undercurrent in the knowledge that many humourless Russians will detest it.

A single point of criticism is perhaps that Beria's collapse happens a bit too suddenly. At one moment he seems to hold all the cards, the next he's desperately unleashing his rage on close compatriots.

Just as Nolan shifted his output with Dunkirk and delivered one of his best works, Iannucci has moved timeframe and political atmosphere to create a phenomenal satire. One death is a tragedy unless it's "The Death of Stalin".

Since World War Two was still being fought there have been a plethora of films about the subject, covering almost every side of every angle. Thus to justify another in 2017 the bar must be set high, and while The Exception might be a reasonable way to while away a Sunday afternoon it's debatable as to whether it does enough to justify its existence.

Based on the novel The Kaiser's Last Kiss, The Exception focuses on disgraced Untersturmführer Martin Krebbs (Jai Courtney), being sent from the front lines after a confrontation with fellow SS officers in Poland. He is ordered to guard the exiled former Kaiser of Germany (Christopher Plummer), who now resides in the Netherlands. As Krebbs begins a relationship with a maid at the Kaiser's home (Lily James) there is talk of a British spy in the town, as well as German plans to restore the Kaiser to the throne.

I'm unsure of the film title, as The Kaiser's Last Kiss feels much more evocative. This relates to my overall problems with the film, as it was often hard to feel sufficiently invested in proceedings. The lack of explosive confrontation and finality relating to the Kaiser himself doesn't justify a meandering build-up. Krebbs and the maid feels more like a tryst of convenience, not the explosive passion that would justify their increasingly erratic actions.

This relationship of the officer and the servant girl is as old as time, and reminded me strongly of the 2014 film Suite Française. Coupled with a standard aloof Gestapo agent and the hunt for a spy the whole drama was often formulaic.

This is a British cast playing German or Dutch characters, yet some actors have tried on clipped Queen's English, or Allo Allo attempts at German accents, or English with a Dutch lilt. It's so uneven as to be at times hilarious.

Accents aside, the performances are a mixed bag. Jai Courtney brings his thumping ordinariness to the British prestige picture, and it would have been preferable to have had an actor who could really delve into the moral maze that Krebbs has found himself in. Lily James drinks up the screen both clothed or otherwise, and any issues with her performance are more to do with a somewhat underwritten character. 

The film does not shy away from the virulent anti-Semitism that leaves the Nazis so scarred in the Western consciousness. It is an achievement of Plummer to both inspire sympathy as an elderly man the world has passed by, and revulsion as a naive peddler of ugly conspiracy theories. The absolute standout scene of the film features a dinner party with the Kaiser and Himmler (a memorable Eddie Marsan), reminding all of the horrors committed by those who took this nonsense seriously.

The whole thing has a sound production design, though the casting left me no doubt in my mind that for all the swastikas and uniforms this was a peculiarly British film. A German language production could have added a level of legitimacy, and a plot with more twists and turns could have led to a greater investment in the Kaiser's last days.

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A decorator (Jennifer Lawrence) and poet (Javier Bardem) live in a secluded home, far from the madding crowd. The problems begin when a man obsessed with Bardem's work (Ed Harris) arrives and is allowed to stay against Lawrence's wishes. The problems worsen for poor Jennifer Lawrence with the arrival of Ed Harris' wife and children. By the time an unconventional wake and an orgy of fan adulation come around, the madding crowd has created a full-on nightmare.

There is much debate over what Mother! is as a film, whether it's any good, or whether it's unfair to split such an artistic expression into a binary good/bad decision. The problem with A.O Scott's definition of Mother! as a divine comedy is that the film is only funny at a couple of unintentionally amusing points. Clues that it might be an art film in that it gets quite boring at points and often doesn't make much sense. To give my two cents, Mother! is an experimental horror that just doesn't really work.

A major problem with the film is that it fails to fully capture the creeping dread necessary to captivate the audience. Perhaps the most intense and uncomfortable set-piece is an impromptu house party, and as a weary host of such endeavours I could relate to Jennifer Lawrence's increasing exasperation with the strangers invading her home. The same thing is recreated later in the film, with ten times the intensity to half the effect.

A large part of the growing anti-climax is the absence of a score, one of the most crucial elements of horror and an artistic decision that smacks of writer-director Darren Aronofsky feeling he is above the genre. Aronofsky and cinematographer Matthew Libatique have shot largely in Super 16mm, making the whole thing feel like a grainy flashback. While the intention is a closely personal feel, this decision is also strained as the film events become increasingly removed from reality.

A misguided pretension is even more marked in the final act, as the chaos veers from the vaguely plausible to the completely insane to the utterly incomprehensible. Ultimately Aronofsky follows a tried and true route of the laziest horror hack by substituting increasing amounts of gore and panic for character depth and pathos.

Aronofsky's prior work has contained engaging character study, and psychological horror Black Swan was so much more effective because of a complex central role. The characters in Mother! are not named, a sign of Aronofsky's interest in wider themes over plot and structure. This can feel like a lost opportunity, as the film initially does a good job of convincingly keeping Lawrence inside the house as it turns from a sanctuary into a prison.

The grandiose cinematic metaphor at the heart of Mother! is open to interpretation, whether it represents the chauvinism at the core of mob mentality or man's selfishness leading to the very destruction of the earth beneath our feet. Lofty aims, but the cart is put before the horse; without the scares and overall tone befitting the genre, it's hard for an audience to engage with these higher ideals.

Jennifer Lawrence always brings a radiance to her screen performances, yet there are only so many ways a character can express indignant shock. Perhaps the best performance of the film is Michelle Pfieffer as a narcissistic and belittling houseguest, the portent of things to come.

christophermarchant.wordpress.com @BrianInvincible

After the suicide of his father, a withdrawn young man travels to the family home on Sway Lake to retrieve a valuable record, only to encounter his shrewd grandmother with the same aim.

As the many shots of Sway Lake itself reveal, this feature debut from director Ari Gold regards nature as a thing of beauty. Alas, what this film never manages to achieve is sharing a greater fondness for the characters and the drama before us.

Bursts of Kerouacian hedonism and chauvinism from Ollie Sway (Rory Culkin) and his thrillseeking Russian friend Nikolai (Robert Sheehan) make way for a more melancholic film upon the arrival of Ollie's grandmother Charlie (Mary Beth Peil), who is looking to sell off the property. There is much focus on what once was, and a nostalgia that threatens to blinker the present for generations young and old.

Charlie and Nikolai are the most interesting characters and have an engaging interplay as each is fascinated by a romanticised version of the other. Unfortunately, there is very little for them to actually go out and do together, putting this subplot in circles for much of the film.

There is at least a little complexity to Charlie, who is at once cruel to those close to her and wistful for a lost husband and a lost era. A great hindrance to The Song of Sway Lake is its lead character Ollie being totally bland, and neither he nor his relationship with local girl Isadora (Isabelle McNally) is of much interest beyond bemusement that she would give such a weedy voyeur the time of day.

At the core of the story is a hunt for a fabled record of much value, recorded and named after Sway Lake. Ollie is convinced his recently deceased father would've wanted him to have it as a work of art, while Charlie wants it purely for its monetary value. Charlie is the only surviving person to have specifically been left the Sway Lake record; how Ollie has any actual claim to it is one of the many things never fully delved into. Perhaps more interesting than this tired trope is Nikolai, who appropriates the Sway family history in substitute for his own lack of one.

Unfortunately, there are only so many ways you can film someone looking through troves of vinyl, and the film meanders through them. This is a real shame as a soundtrack of Cole Porter and Fred Astaire show Gold's passion for music, which is also reflected in the attitudes of the Sway family, but a character's obsession with grading records is equally as unwieldy cinematic material.

There seems to be an awareness that some of the film may struggle to capture an audience's attention, yet the nudity sprinkled throughout Sway Lake smacks of desperation. Particular focus is on Nikolai's body, and while the man is undoubtedly beautiful, it's hardly a substitute for an engaging plot line.

Sway Lake is about time standing still and always moving, preserving the beauty of nature, the selfish joy of youth, the untouchable essence of love. There are many ideas present; perhaps too many for much of it to really resonate. Two affecting moments perk up the film in the final act, but ultimately cliché and melodrama sink the ship.

The braggadocio of the rap world in which Patti Cake$ main character Patricia (Danielle Macdonald) aspires could not be further from her daily routine. Climbing the social ladder in the real world means waitressing at a fancy establishment and watching the wealthy live their lives. In her head she is amongst OZ (Sahr Ngaujah) the most fantastical of hip- hop superstars.

This indie gem serves to illuminate the lobsters dragging everyone down amongst a medley of insularity and fading dreams, the bullying and the teenage pregnancies and the drunkenness all part of a conspiracy against escape. Perhaps the most complex relationship in the film is between Patricia and her mother Barb (Bridget Everett), who resents where her own life ended up after a promising early singing career.

This isn't all a film of grit and family strife. In spite of the confines of her environment, as well as a sharp diversion from her peers in the rap world, the girl has talent. The question isn't can a fat white girl rap, it's whether anyone will ever care. But to call this film a paean to women making it in a man's world, or big girls kicking it on screen, seems trite for a film that achieves this and much more.

Everything from the quiet tragedy of dive bar karaoke to a rap legend's pretension is displayed with authenticity and dedication. The film starts to follow a familiar pattern in its final act, but by there is enough investment in Patti and her Jersey surrounds to still will her to succeed.

Much of the film's ire is reserved for those who have left inventiveness for lazy misogyny in their work and in their lives. Patti's battle with one such loser is an early moment the audience can see her raw talent. She is also clearly more talented and authentic than best friend Jheri (Siddharth Dhananjay) and this potential cause of friction could have been explored further in the film.

Danielle Macdonald is excellent as Patti, displaying a fierce yet deeply wounded character. Women of her body type have too long been typecast as comic relief, and I hope MacDonald's dramatic turn here will be built on in upcoming roles alongside Jennifer Aniston in Dumplin' and Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird.

Patti Cake$ isn't just a calling card for Macdonald, but also director Geremy Jasper. Here he has shown the ability to delve into the banality of working class America and create a film of real vibrancy and hope. It's a far cry from Selena Gomez music videos and short films with David Beckham.

After generating serious buzz at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, Patti Cake$ landed a $9.5 million distribution deal with Fox Searchlight Pictures. A September release date also shows that millions more may yet be sunk into an Oscar campaign. An Original Screenplay nomination for Patti Cake$ would be well earned, and anything less than a Best Actress nomination for Macdonald would be a travesty.

@BrianInvincible https://christophermarchant.wordpress.com/

Charlize Theron plays Lorraine Broughton, the titular Atomic Blonde, and slips comfortably into her role as a suave, brutal, manipulative super spy. Unfortunately, the film as a whole falls into many of the graphic novel-into-film pitfalls of over-stylised action and undercooked characters.

The film takes place in Berlin as the Wall comes tumbling down and the USSR slowly crumbles with it. Broughton is assigned by MI6 to travel to the German capital to retrieve 'The List' of all double agents in the spy network, and the Stasi agent responsible for leaking it (Eddie Marsan). While there she will make a contact with fellow spy and renegade David Percival (James McAvoy), and sultry French femme Delphine Lasalle (Sofia Boutella).

Atomic Blonde takes a smug pride in a noir genre trope of the plot making less and less sense as the climax edges closer, but what could be a subtle study of murky character motivations at a convulsive time in the spy game instead often feels convoluted and uninvolving.

If the plot of the film leaves something to be desired the setting and action both have their saving graces. Berlin 1989 is a fun place to set a movie, and Atomic Blonde features it all from strait-laced Stasi to underground punk hedonism.

While this is a fully realized environment it never completely integrates into the film, most notably a great 80s soundtrack that feels layered on top with a wink and a nudge. Watching a Russian beat an East German with a skateboard to the sound of '99 Luftballons' is certainly fun, but Atomic Blonde never captures the courage and wit of say Reservoir Dogs use of 'Stuck In The Middle With You'.

Charlize Theron is a solid performer as ever and exudes a charm and intensity whenever she is on screen. Unfortunately, her character feels a little too cryptic to connect with fully, and it's sometimes hard to care for her plight when she seems so uninvested herself.

The hyperactivity of the fight scenes displays some superb choreography (especially in one long take as Theron takes on a pack of KGB agents) but coupled with the film's use of a flashback conceit give Broughton an aura of invincibility that again takes the viewer out.

McAvoy is able to have a little fun, but alas still in a two tone way. Something that could have added a little to both his and Theron's characters is if the sexual tension between the two was explored more fully. As for supporting, Eddie Marsan is great with what he's given, while Toby Jones and John Goodman are spectacularly underutilised (I assume the latter was cast for his role in the classic satire of this genre The Big Lebowski).

I take no shame in calling the lesbian sex scene my undisputed highlight of the film. Theron and Boutella drink up the screen together, and when sparks do fly it is brief but shot so as to visually engage without vulgarity.

This directorial debut from David Leitch certainly shows action film potential. Hopefully, his is a future film career in which the conflict can keep its frenetic pace while presenting the viewer with characters and scenarios they can really care about.