Reviews

Certainly Inception is by no means a terrible movie, but given its hype, Nolan's past record and the claims that this was an overtly cerebral blockbuster made this one that I was looking forward to quite considerably. The most disappointing aspect was that with its dream concept I was waiting for some genuinely interesting surreal imagery, what I got didn't look altogether unlike a stylised advertising campaign for the fashionista with added contorting architecture. Whose dreams actually look like that? Advertising executives possibly, or more than likely the new elite of Hollywood film directors.

Still it's not all bad, I found the Hans Zimmers soundtrack to be great, adorning the film with a dense atmosphere. DiCaprio's performance as Cobb is excellent, his relationship the subconscious manifestation of his deceased wife, Mal ((Marion Cotillard) providing an exceptional metaphor for grief and the emotional core of the piece. Unfortunately this is stark contrast with the supporting cast whose bare bones back story and lack of depth make them no more than emotional zeitgeists,whose sole purpose seems at times to provide mouth pieces In which to explain the intricacies of subconscious espionage.

And that would probably be my main qualm with Inception; the obvious self-love it has for the cleverness of its concept, this is an accusation that can be thrown at a few of Nolan's other films. Though the director himself has nodded to the likes of Jorge Luis Borges and the anime Paprika as inspiration, the main concept of the piece is still strong and quite original, unfortunately its necessity to explain said concept throughout the film becomes a little grating to say the least, surely while the concept is clever it doesn't go the such realms of ingenuity nor originality that it should exhibit such a flagrant self- love. And while some have been stumped as to the concept of a dream within a dream I have to confess more of outright ignorance to Ken Watanabe's at times impenetrable accent.

Given that in certain quarters of the hardcore horror fan community 'Dellamorte Dellamore' is considered somewhat of a misunderstood classic I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. After hearing so much about the movie and reading reviews raving about its merits I went in fully expecting a piece akin to horror classics like The Evil Dead and The Thing. My expectations were obviously too high, and had I watched it free of all the hype and cult murmurings I believe I would have enjoyed it a lot more.What I got was a fairly good little horror movie, though one that falls way short of those that grace the upper echelons of the genre.

Ratcatcher is a beautiful film set in the less aesthetically pleasing back drop drop of the Glasgow tenement blocks of the nineteen seventies. It's a story about childhood, tragedy and an unutterable struggle against circumstance and surrounding before your life has barely begun. This is not a film that roars though, on the contrary it is a very quiet piece with a wistful message. Lynne Ramsey's directorial approach is seemingly non-obtrusive, capturing a naturalism of the child actors that some film makers could only dream of. There are moments that are incredibly bleak, but a melancholic tenderness prevails. The dream like quality as main protagonist James escapes his rat-infested urban home and escapes to the countryside are some of the most heartbreakingly beautiful scenes I have ever witnessed on film. As he runs out into golden fields, encompassing a little boy who is holding onto his childhood with fingertips...

Who do a warrior people war with when all the wars are vanquished? And the answer is in this instance; themselves. This is a depiction of The Maori peoples of New Zealand, a world in which masculine ferocity reigns supreme amongst social degradation, and those that are fragile and soulful are so often the heartbreaking collateral.

This is searingly powerful stuff; with no excess stylisation in order in bring its message home, just fantastic performances and solid, no holds barred filmmaking. I can think of few films from any country in which domestic violence is so accurately portrayed, Temuera Morrison's startling realistic portrayal of a Jake The Muss, an incredibly violent and unpleasant father after all drew the attention of George Lucas (shame about the outcome, and yeah that's me kicking 'the sci-fi holy grail' in the balls.). Rena Owen as his beyond brave wife Beth, also demands much praise for her performance (haven't seen her in much since the little known sequel, and yes I could bring up a number of points about both ethnicity and gender.).

Like all the great films 'Once Were Warriors' confronts a truth of matters that so often are so often hidden away and treated as social taboo's. In fact while the film very much remains a powerful depiction of The Maori peoples its themes transcend race or even necessarily class background. And in a world of crap, truth matters the most. It shimmers like gold.

Of course we scratch our heads in bafflement at what exactly Mulholland Drive all means, is it parodying the life of Marilyn Monroe or some other tragic actress? Is this a Mobius strip phantasm reflecting parallel dimensions, a rumination on fantasy and broken dreams? And what of the highly unpredictable ending and how much does it represent the protagonist's upbringing or her taking part in a jitterbug contest (???!!). And yes, all these points are all very well, but ultimately despite my admiration that the film has motivated viewers imaginations I am still left with how it has made an impression on me. It's not like I'm a film goer who equates the necessity to 'enjoy' a film in the sense that it should be a fun ride like in a fairground, but I do have a fairly important stipulation that a piece of art should have power. And Ultimately I wasn't completely won over by Mulholland Drive, I felt emotionally disconnected from its fetishism of Hollywood and quite bored with the purposefully ambiguous dialogue/plot. That it should transcend such barriers of quality control just because it's considered great art seems a ludicrous approach to film criticism, and thus I can only conclude that I didn't get Mulholland drive, not for the purposes of it being a surreal, satirical or even its confusing narrative but simply because I thought while it was at times interesting film it was defiantly not the masterpiece I had been lead to believe.

The Grifters is an ultra slick, ultra dark Neo Noir set in an ambiguous time zone of a fifties stylised nineties. It portrays a world of con artists and narcissistic low life hell bent on unconscious tide into self annihilation. John Cusack plays Roy Dillon a Grifter who plays small time tricks with the various 'marks' who he discovers in various dives and race tracks. Psychological analysis of confidence-men says that they display an arrogance only else where displayed by psychopaths, Cusack plays this out well his ice cool facade dressed in suits that melt him amongst the crowd. Unfortunately for him (both as a character and possibly as an actor) he's got dealings with two incredibly powerful women. Being his main squeeze Myra (played by the always awesome Annette Benning) a lady whose sexual mesmerism and bimbo smokescreen conceals a razor sharp mind of chess master par excellence. Roy's mother (Angelica Huston),Lilly could be Myra's older twin, thus exploring a certain taboo subject that goes all the way back to Greek Tragedy. Stephen Frears (possibly at the height of his power) directs, so you know what your getting is quality. Adapted from a novel by Jim Thomson, a writer whom could out dark James Ellroy or any other devil dog of the hardboiled you care to fling. This is pitch black portrayal of the human heart as thrown into the molten lava consistency of hell.