Film

The Disaster Artist

08/12/17

Let me begin with a question: is it ever possible to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear? In this analogy, the sow’s ear is Tommy Wiseau’s movie, The Room (https://bouquetsbrickbatsreviews.com/2017/12/04/the-room/), a film of such toe-curling ineptitude that it actually hurts to watch it – and a film, moreover, that – since its initial release in 2003 – has somehow recruited a sizable coterie of avid fans, who gather at regular midnight screenings around the world to celebrate its general naffness. The potential silk purse is The Disaster Artist, the film about the making of The Room, in which James Franco plays Wiseau and, in a hubristic gesture that Wiseau would undoubtedly approve of, also directs.

Franco’s film opens in San Francisco in the 90s, where we meet young wannabe actor, Greg Sestero (Dave Franco), who is struggling to make some kind of impact on the local theatre scene. At a workshop, he encounters Wiseau, a mysterious long-haired individual who, when invited to improvise in front of the other students, unleashes a ‘performance’ of such unabashed fury, that the more inhibited Sestero immediately wants to know more about him. The two men become buddies and, when Wiseau casually suggests that they should go to Los Angeles and ‘get into the movies,’ Sestero happily goes along – Wiseau already has an apartment there and he’s perfectly happy to share it. It soon becomes apparent, however, that there are a lot of unanswered questions concerning Mr Wiseau. Where does his seemingly bottomless pit of money come from? Why does a man who claims to be a native of New Orleans have what sounds like a middle European accent? And why is he so willing to go to any lengths to impress Sestero? Will there be a price to pay?

When, after months of fruitless auditions have resulted in exactly zero film or TV roles, Wiseau announces that there is only one option left: he will write a movie script for the two of them to star in – and then he will direct it. Which is pretty much what happens. Wiseau’s complete ignorance of the film-making process means that he ends up spending over six million dollars on his little vanity project and, since he seems reluctant to heed any advice from professionals, the result of all his labours is an incoherent mess but, undeterred, he sets about arranging a premiere…

It would be very easy to make a cruel comedy out of this but, though the film is often laugh-out-loud funny, Franco’s evident affection for Wiseau shines through in every frame. As the director has said in interviews, it takes as much commitment and ingenuity to make a bad film as it does to make a good one and it will be a hard-hearted individual indeed who won’t feel for Wiseau when his beloved project is greeted by hoots of derision from all who see it. Franco’s impersonation of Wiseau is uncannily accurate, as are most of the other performances here. Sharp-eyed viewers will spot some big names in cameo roles: Sharon Stone, Bob Odenkirk, Seth Rogan, Josh Hutcherson, J.J. Abrams. Oh yes, and there’s Bryan Cranston actually playing himself. Most telling of all is the extended sequence at the end of the film, where scenes from The Room are played alongside their equivalent from The Disaster Artist. They are virtually identical.

So, the million dollar question. Do you need to have seen the original movie in order to enjoy this homage? Well, it may not be an essential requirement, but it certainly helps me to fully appreciate the care and attention that has gone into this project. Mind you, with the new interest in The Room that the film seems certain to generate, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if a general re-release is waiting in the wings, which I’ve no doubt will be a bonus for Mr Wiseau.

So, returning to my original question, in this case yes. The sow’s ear has become a silk purse – and this is definitely one of the most intriguing films of the year.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Wonder

 

 

04/12/17

In the golden age of Hollywood, some films were often described as ‘four-handkerchief-weepies.’ Wonder may qualify as an ‘economy-sized-kleenex-weepie.’ From about fifteen minutes in to its running time I am in a hopeless state, tears pouring copiously down my face and having to make a conscious effort not to sob out loud – and this is a condition  that stays with me pretty much throughout proceedings. Stephen Chbosky’s adaptation of R.J. Palacio’s best-selling novel launches an all-out attack on the heart strings with devastating results. It’s not that the film is over-manipulative, either. This is just a genuinely sad story, told with great skill, and one that never allows itself to wander too far into the land of mawkishness.

Auggie (Jacob Tremblay, who made such an impact in Room), was born with severe facial deformities. His parents, Isabel (Julia Roberts) and Nate (Owen Wilson) have been naturally protective of their son, home-schooling him for years, but as he approaches the age to enter fifth grade, Isabel comes to a momentous decision. Auggie needs to go to a proper middle-school, where he at least has a chance to meet new people. He is naturally anxious about this, but eventually accepts his fate and does his best to fit in, painfully aware of the appalled stares of his classmates whenever he enters a room. His life takes a turn for the better when he makes friends with classmate Jack Will (Noah Jupe), but he soon learns that the path of friendship is not always an easy one to negotiate…

Meanwhile, Auggie’s older sister, Via (Isabela Vidovic) goes through some problems of her own, when she loses touch with her long-time best friend, Miranda (Danielle Rose Russell). Via’s problems simply don’t get the attention that Auggie’s do, but since the death of her closest ally, her much-beloved Grandmother, she has learned that her best option is just to quietly get on with things. Her parents’ attentions are always focused on her brother and she has nobody else to turn to…

Critics could argue that Wonder is a bit of a misery fest – Auggie’s family seems to lurch from one heartbreaking disaster to the next – but it’s done with such warmth and skill, that it’s easy to forgive its occasional excesses and the film’s conclusion is uplifting enough to make you forget the agony that you’ve just been put through. The performances, meanwhile, are uniformly good. Tremblay manages to emote brilliantly despite having to act under layers of latex and Jupe (who was one of the best things in George Clooney’s Suburbicon), clearly has a bright future ahead of him. Lovely too, to see Mandy Patinkin in a small but memorable role as the schools’ head, Mr Tushman. At the end of the day, if weepies are not your thing, then this may not be the film for you. If on the other hand, you’re partial to shedding the occasional tear in the stalls, fill your pockets with tissues and get along to see this at your earliest convenience.

I leave the cinema feeling absolutely destroyed but as anyone will tell you, I’m a proper softie when it comes to this kind of thing. See it and weep.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Room
In this film publicity image released by Chloe Productions/TPW Films, Juliette Danielle, left,Philip Haldiman, center, and Tommy Wiseau are shown in a scene from “The Room.” (AP Photo/Chloe Productions/TPW Films)

03/12/17

We are sitting in a packed cinema and large sections of the audience are hurling handfuls of plastic spoons at the screen…

No, it’s not some weird cinema-related nightmare, but a showing of Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 magnum hopeless The Room, screening at The Cameo Cinema, because these people know a cult when they see one – and with James Franco’s The Disaster Artist looming on the horizon, there really couldn’t be a more propitious time to do this. Up until a week ago, The Room had managed to completely pass us by, but I knew that my daughter and her beau were longtime fans and, wanting to be able to view Franco’s film with some background knowledge of its inspiration, I asked if we could borrow their precious (signed by Tommy W!) DVD copy. Shortly after viewing it, we heard that The Cameo would be doing a screening and felt we had to go along and experience it with an audience. Perhaps, I thought, we’d missed something first time around…

Some films become a cause celebre because they are brilliant. The Room has earned that accolade because it is, frankly, terrible. From the endlessly repeated shots of the Golden Gate Bridge, to the interminable soft-porn sex scenes (one of them shown twice!), to the fact that Wiseau cannot even seem to walk convincingly, let alone act, write or direct a feature film, this is risible stuff. And it doesn’t matter how often Wiseau claims that it was always meant to be a comedy, it’s quite clear that what he actually thought he was delivering was a deep and powerful meditation on the human condition. Oh dear…

Johnny (Wiseau) is a man who works in a bank. In what capacity, we can only guess, but we do learn that he is frustrated that he has yet to be given the ‘promotion’ he feels he so richly deserves. He is however, endlessly devoted to his girlfriend, Lisa (Juliette Danielle), who he is planning to marry in just a couple of weeks. We are led to believe that Lisa has a job, though we never actually see her doing work of any description, unless you count her indolently pushing a broom around the apartment every now and again. Johnny’s best friend, Mark (Greg Sestero), is somewhat bemused when Lisa starts trying to seduce him and keeps reminding her that he is Johnny’s best friend, and she is getting married soon and yet, he somehow can’t quite bring himself to resist her advances. Suffice to say that Lisa is depicted as an evil, self-centred banshee, callous enough to risk her relationship for a bit on the side, and even brushing aside her mother’s announcement that she has breast cancer with a glib, ‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ Johnny is… well, equally unbelievable.… and you know what, it’s really not worth going into any more detail on the plot, which is pretty nonsensical anyway. No character here does or says anything remotely convincing.

Often described as ‘the Citizen Kane of bad movies,’ The Room is certainly shoddy enough, but not so enjoyably bad that it actually becomes ‘good.’ I mean, it’s not Plan 9 From Outer Space, for instance, a film that I can watch repeatedly and never tire of – but I will admit that watching Wiseau’s efforts with a crowd of laughing, jeering devotees, certainly helps to lift the mood. I laughed a lot. Having said that, I really don’t feel compelled to watch it again for a very long time.

Which brings me to a conundrum. It is, of course, our practice to awards star ratings to movies and I feel that in the normal run of things, I’d be hard pushed to give this any more than one. Having experienced it in a cinema with a crowd of fans, then okay, I’m prepared to go for two stars, but I really don’t feel good about it – and I have to say that Wiseau is incredibly lucky that his lamentable efforts have been rewarded with a sizable following in his own lifetime, something that Ed Wood, who died an alcoholic pauper, never experienced. And Cameo, if you’re reading this, a showing of Plan 9 From Outer Space strikes me as a really good idea.

Oh, the spoons? Good question. Pay close attention to the framed pictures in Johnny’s apartment and you’ll get the gist.

2 stars

Philip Caveney

The Box of Delights

02/12/17

The Box of Delights might have started life as a novel by John Masefield in 1935 but, for me, it will always belong to 1984 and television.

The BBC children’s adaptation was my first ‘box-set binge,’ enjoyed even before I knew those words existed in formation. It was Christmas Eve, early afternoon. I was thirteen, my brother three years younger. Mum called us down to the front room, where there were blankets on the sofa and a plate of mince pies on the coffee table. And she handed us a present. A small, VHS-sized box, containing – we soon discovered – the whole six-part series, painstakingly recorded every week, and saved up for this festive treat (a cunning plan, of course, designed to keep us out of the way while our parents did the busy stuff that parents do on Christmas Eve, but we were blissfully ignorant of this then). We settled in for the long haul, and were mesmerised by the tale that unfolded.

I never revisited the story: never read the book, never sought to see it again. But when I saw it advertised as part of The Cameo’s 2017 Christmas season, I couldn’t resist the chance to view it, on a somewhat larger screen than the 14″ one we had back then.

And it’s lovely; no wonder the memory is so golden. Okay, some of the special effects – so impressive in their day – look pretty shonky now, and there are gaping plot-holes that need to be plugged. But the overall effect is still magical; the story still engaging.

Orphan Kay Harker (Devin Stanfield) is home from boarding school for the holidays. He’s staying with his guardian, Caroline Louisa (Carol Frazer) in his ancestral home, Seekings. He’s pleased to find that his friends, the Jones, will be staying for the holidays, as their parents have had to go abroad (there are four Jones kids, but only two of them really have anything to do, namely Maria (Joanna Dukes) –  a fierce little thing who’s a dab hand with a pistol – and Peter (Crispin Mair), who’s a bit of a drip really, but proves to be a useful ally in Kay’s adventuring. Susan and Jemima (Flora Page and Heidi Burton respectively) remain in the background, Peter’s ‘sensible sisters’ – I’m not sure why they’re there). Maria’s fears that the festive season might prove dull are certainly unfounded: Kay, it seems, has been identified as someone who can help those in the magic world, and Cole Hawlings (Patrick Troughton) has a mission for the boy. For Hawlings has a magic box, and the evil Abner Brown (Robert Stephens) is in hot pursuit of it; Kay must look after the Box of Delights until it can be returned to its rightful owner…

The ‘returning it to its rightful owner’ is by far the worst part of the series. It’s episode five; we’re reaching the dramatic climax. And then there’s a bizarre scene where Kay goes ‘to the past’ to seek Arnold of Todi (Philip Locke), by way of some badly rendered pyramids and some English-speaking ancient Egyptians. It’s the weakest moment by far, but it doesn’t prevent me from enjoying the show. Nor does the odd acceptance everyone seems to have of kids going missing (a whole gaggle of choirboys are kidnapped, and there’re no parents waiting for them when they’re finally rescued).

Because, despite the flaws, there’s a lot to love. Jonathan Stephens is really funny as inept gangster, Chubby Joe, and Robert Stephens is as delightfully malevolent as you’d expect, clearly relishing the role of arch-villain Abner Brown. The scenes with Herne the Hunter  (Glyn Baker) are spectacular, and some of the effects are truly impressive, even after all these years (the shrunken posse of kids standing next to Chubby Joe’s big foot is particularly well-conceived). It’s a joyous, festive slice of nostalgia. Seriously, what’s not to love?

Now, pass the mince pies!

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Mudbound
Garrett Hedlund, Mary J. Blige and Rob Morgan appear in Mudbound by Dee Rees, an official selection of the Premieres program at the 2017 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute |photo by Steve Dietl.

25/11/17

It’s getting to that time of year when rumblings are made about potential Oscar material and it must be said that some of those rumblings have already been directed towards Mudbound. This slow burning historical drama, co-written and directed by Dee Rees and based upon a novel by Hillary Jordan, certainly features the kind of material that often attracts those all-important votes. The fact that it’s a Netflix Original will doubtless cloud the waters somewhat, but the film has received a limited theatrical release (presumably to ensure that it can be considered eligible for such awards), despite the fact that it’s ready to stream right now for anyone willing to stump up their monthly subscription.

The Second World War is in full swing and, with so many able-bodied men away from home, Laura (Carey Mulligan), already in her mid-thirties, finds herself in danger of being left an ‘old maid’. So she’s pleased when she meets up with Henry McCallan (Jason Clarke), a small town businessman with big ambitions, who throws an agreeable look in her direction and hits paydirt. He promptly introduces Laura to his younger, more handsome brother, Jamie (Garrett Hedlund), and it’s evident from the outset that the two of them are instantly attracted to each other, but Laura and Henry marry nonetheless and shortly afterwards start a family. One day, Henry casually announces that he’s purchased a farm in Mississippi (as you do) and that the McCallums will soon be relocating there. Oh yes, one other thing. They will also be taking along Harry’s widower father, Pappy (Jonathan Banks of Breaking Bad fame). Pappy proves to have all the inherent charm of a grizzly bear with a bad case of hemorrhoids, but Laura decides that she’ll just have to try and make the best of things. Suffering is something she clearly has an aptitude for.

Once in Mississippi, the McCallums discover that Henry has been duped. The palatial home they expected to occupy actually belongs to somebody else and they must make the best of a dilapidated shotgun shack on the farm. They will also be the employers of a black family that works the land – Hap Jackson (Rob Morgan), his wife Florence (Mary J. Blige) and their many children. From this point, a life of utter misery ensues for pretty much everyone in the story and matters become more complicated when Jamie decides to join the air force and the Jackson’s oldest boy, Ronsel (Jason Mitchell), enlists in a tank battalion. Both men endure terrible experiences in the war, but ironically, for Ronsel at least, he is finally free of the Jim Crow laws that still hold sway in rural Mississippi. For the first time in his life, he is treated as an equal.

When the war finishes and the two men return to their respective families, it’s hard for Ronsel to accept that he must once again resume his former position in life – he can no longer even use the front door of his local general store. Traumatised by their shared experiences, Ronsel and Jamie strike up an unlikely friendship – but of course, in this bigoted world, white men and black men are not permitted to be friends – and when word of Ronsel’s adventures in Europe are accidentally made public, there is a terrible price to pay…

If Mudbound occasionally feels a little ponderous, there’s no denying the power of the narrative and the importance of the film’s inherent message. Its penultimate act is as gripping as it is devastating. There are also some nice performances here (Blige seems to be getting most of the Oscar-buzz but Banks’ portrait of a racist, misogynistic scumbag is also chillingly memorable). With its glacially slow pace and unusual attention to areas that don’t usually receive the opportunity of screen time, perhaps the film is actually more suited to being viewed on the small screen, where it’s something you can take a short break from and come back to.

Oscars? Well, if I’m honest, there are already several films I would deem more deserving of next year’s awards, but this isn’t at all bad and it certainly goes a long way to dispel the notion that Netflix are only interested in financing mindless entertainment. Mudbound is a long way from that. Interested parties can check it out at the click of a button – or the eagle-eyed might even spot one of those rare cinematic showings.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Justice League

 

24/11/17

After a massive jump in the right direction with Wonder Woman, DC, with director Zack Snyder at the helm, take ten supersteps backwards with Justice League. Where WW was a breezy soufflé packed with humour and cheesy romance, JL takes itself incredibly seriously and this, most of all, is what makes it a terrible thing to behold.

At the start of the film, Superman (Henry Cavill) is dead – don’t worry, this isn’t a spoiler – and Batman (Ben Affleck) is feeling the weight of trying to fill those size 11 superhero boots. He’s also rather perturbed by the appearance in Gotham City of some weird winged beasties, which he assumes are of extra terrestrial origin. With this in mind, he sets about assembling a crack team of superheroes with the idea of defending the planet from these new arrivals. The team comprises Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), Aquaman (Jason Momoa – for best results just add water), the Flash (Ezra Miller, the film’s best component by a country mile) and Cyborg (Ray Fisher), a man/machine affair, who appears to have been assembled by committee.

The threat to life as we know it comes from Steppenwolf – not the 70s rock band who recorded Born To Be Wild (who actually weren’t that bad in retrospect), but a great big dude in a horned helmet, voiced by Ciaran Hinds, who – in the best DC tradition – speaks like he’s swallowed a bottle of Rohypnol and who, you just know, would be a really dull drinking companion. He commands the weird winged beasties, The Parademons, who remind me, more than anything else, of the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. For reasons best known to himself, Steppenwolf is trying to locate three magical boxes in order to bring about the destruction of the world as we know it, ushering in Doomsday. Why? Good question. I guess it’s just what big dudes in horned helmets feel they need to do. But why do they have to be so damned earnest about it?

Inevitably, what it all comes down to is yet another seemingly endless cosmic punch up, brilliantly rendered by the technical team, but incredibly dull and completely lacking in any sense of danger, since everyone involved is seemingly incapable of being seriously injured; even Batman, who we are repeatedly reminded is a mere mortal, seems to survive being thrown though buildings and automobiles without incurring more than a few token bruises. As I mentioned, Miller’s sparky turn as a nervy, possibly autistic young wannabe is the only element that offers any light relief in this maelstrom of misery, but his offerings are too occasional to lift this more than a few centimetres out of the doldrums.

Just when it appears that Steppenwolf is actually getting the upper hand, somebody comes to the aid of the team. Who is it? I’ll give you three guesses.

I know there are many out there who like their DC done with gravitas – and the three Christopher Nolan Batman movies are testament to the fact that it can work in the right hands. But sadly, those hands are not Zach Snyder’s, and this is a turgid, bloated train-wreck of a movie, that will surely have all but the most committed DC diehards turning up their noses.

1.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Battle of the Sexes

 

20/11/17

It’s the early 1970s and rising tennis star Billie Jean King (Emma Stone) is fighting to establish equal pay for female players. Why is it, she reasonably asks, that the men are being paid eight times as much as the women? American Lawn Tennis president Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman), tells her that it’s simply because the men are just ‘more interesting to watch.’ King’s answer is to pull all women players out of Kramer’s organisation and to help them to form their own, seeking sponsorship wherever they can find it. It’s mostly because of her unprecedented efforts that such appalling sexism in the sport was challenged and soundly defeated, even though it meant getting involved with some strange partners. A scene where Billie Jean’s agent, Gladys (Sarah Silverman) urges the players to smoke cigarettes because they are being sponsored by Philip Morris is a particular delight.

This fascinating film, scripted by The Full Monty’s Simon Beaufoy, is based around a real event in 1973, when King was goaded into playing a match against ex-champion player, Bobby Riggs (engagingly played here by Steve Carell), whose vociferous claim that no woman could ever beat a man at tennis, still resonates today – people are forever trying to push Andy Murray and Serena Williams into playing against each other. Beaufoy’s script cleverly displays the levels of inherent sexism that existed at the time – most of the remarks and attitudes of the commentators of the period now seem positively prehistoric. The film is aided by the fact that Stone and Carell look so convincing as their characters that genuine footage of the original match is used in long shot with the actors effortlessly spliced in for close-ups. Weirdly, although I already know the outcome of the game, the footage still somehow manages to generate considerable levels of suspense. For my money, this is perhaps the best attempt thus far to put my favourite sport up on the big screen.

The film is about more than just tennis, though. Riggs is struggling with personal demons – a powerful addiction to gambling is pushing his marriage to his socialite wife, Priscilla (Elizabeth Shue) onto the rocks – while King, married to the incredibly supportive Larry (Austin Stowells), finds herself irresistibly drawn to hairdresser, Marilyn Barnett (Andrea Riseborough). Their burgeoning romance is sensitively handled by directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, who never fall into the trap of sensationalising it.

But perhaps what the film does best of all is to display the unbelievable levels of all-American razzmatazz that accompanied the contest, right down to Riggs being sponsored by a lollipop company called… wait for it… ‘Sugar Daddy.’ (And if you think the filmmakers have exaggerated for comic effect, you only need to glance at footage of the real event  to see that it has been reproduced with extraordinary attention to detail.)

It would be all too easy to paint Riggs as the villain of this piece, but he actually emerges as a likeable clown, whose outrageous comments are mostly done to generate interest (and large amounts of money) for the match. It’s the everyday, ingrained sexism of characters like Jack Kramer where the real problem lies – and it’s particularly satisfying to watch him get his comeuppance.

Do you need to be a tennis fan to enjoy this film? Well it certainly helps, but I don’t think it’s essential. Its powerful message about equal rights for everyone, regardless of their sexuality, rings out loud and clear. In tennis terms, this one serves an ace.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Ingrid Goes West

19/11/17

Ingrid Thorburn (Aubrey Plaza) is a young woman with serious issues. Desperately lonely and hopelessly addicted to social media, she feels decidedly miffed when one of her ‘online friends’ has the temerity to get married without bothering to invite her. Most of us would shrug this off, but not Ingrid – she turns up at the wedding reception and treats the bride to a faceful of Mace. Needless to say, it doesn’t go down at all well.

After paying the price for her transgressions, Ingrid heads home to an empty house. We learn that her sick mother has recently passed away after a long illness, that Ingrid has spent the last few years caring for her, and that Mom has left her only daughter a considerable sum of money in her will. Leafing through a magazine one day, Ingrid chances upon an article about  the woman who will become her latest obsession. Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen) is an Instagram ‘influencer’ who appears to be living the perfect boho lifestyle in sunny Los Angeles, with her artist boyfriend, Ezra (Wyatt Russell), and who can’t seem to smash an avocado without photographing it and adding a hashtag. For Ingrid, it’s love at first click – so she makes a cash withdrawal from the bank, buys a plane ticket and heads out to LA, where she rents an apartment from Batman-obsessed wannabe screenwriter, Dan (O’Shea Jackson Jnr). Once settled in she sets about inveigling her way into Taylor’s world, frequenting all the places that feature in her online posts. Pretty soon, she is moving in Taylor’s exalted circles and ingratiating herself with her new ‘friends’ at every opportunity… but will this be enough to satisfy her longing for acceptance?

Ingrid Goes West is a prescient tale, skillfully told, and Plaza offers a powerful performance in the lead role, making us care about Ingrid at every step, no matter how heinous her actions. Olsen is good too, as the vain and exceedingly shallow Taylor – but then, nearly everyone here (apart from the exceedingly sweet-natured Dan) is as shallow as a kiddies’ paddling pool. I particularly like the examples we are shown of Ezra’s ‘art’, which consists of a single word printed onto a ‘found’ image (i.e. nicked from other photographers). Everything in this world, it transpires, is fake.

The script, co-written by director Matt Spicer, gleefully eviscerates the world of the online glitterati, people so obsessed with their own style that they seem to have lost their humanity. In less assured hands, this could so easily have been a dark and miserable descent into despair, but that sparkling script – and an unexpectedly upbeat conclusion – actually makes this a must-watch.

#DontMissIt!

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool

17/11/17

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool is Peter Turner’s story. Based on his memoir of the same name, the film, scripted by Matt Greenhalgh, tells of Turner’s affair with fading film star, Gloria Grahame, and the extraordinary tale of how she came to live out her last days with his mum and dad in 1980s Liverpool.

The performances here are exemplary: both Jamie Bell (as Peter) and Annette Bening (as Gloria) are on top form, and their relationship is affectingly conveyed. Bening convinces absolutely as the ex-Hollywood sexpot, holding her head up high and forging a career in British theatre: proud but vulnerable; confident but insecure. Bell is also utterly credible as the young Turner, flattered by the attentions of someone so famous, falling hopelessly in love. And it’s a touching story: rejected by the film industry, out of touch with her family and dying of cancer, Gloria turns to her ex-lover for the warmth she knows his ‘ordinary’ family can offer, and his parents (Julie Walters and Kenneth Cranham) are more than happy to oblige.

A shame, then, that there isn’t more on offer here. There’s a stellar cast without much to do: Vanessa Redgrave, as Gaynor’s mother, says almost nothing of note; Frances Barber, as her sister, does what she can with a couple of bitchy lines. Walters stands out, as she always does, but is criminally under-used, never called upon to offer anything more than ‘kindly mum.’ The marvellous Stephen Graham plays Peter’s brother, but his talent is wasted: he just sits at the kitchen table wearing one of Harry Enfield’s Scouser wigs, whinging occasionally and looking meaningfully at his strangely silent wife (Leanne Best).

I think the problem is that it’s all very rose-tinted, too closely based, perhaps, on Turner’s memoir, without enough space for the spiky complexity of human reality. It’s superficial and chocolate-boxy: a special memory preserved as in a photo-book, rather than an engaging film that allows its characters to show their flaws. And the story arc lacks drama too, never really building, never really drawing us in. This is a film that relies entirely on its central performances; the casting director (Debbie McWilliams) has done a sterling job; thanks to her, it’s not an entirely missed opportunity.

3.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Only the Brave

13/11/17

The poster for Only the Brave suggests we are in for a good old-fashioned disaster movie, but director Joseph Kosinski is clearly more interested in the characters who made up the real life Granite Mountain Hot Shots – a bunch of hard-as-nails firefighters based in Prescott, Arizona. While this is no doubt an admirable attempt to flesh out some genuine heroes, it fatally flaws the story arc of the film, which keeps breaking off from the action to regale us with some macho prank the boys have indulged in. The result is that the story only occasionally generates enough heat to keep an audience fully hooked.

Things begin well enough with Supervisor Eric Marsh (James Brolin) champing at the bit as he tries to obtain ‘hot shot’ status for his crew of municipal firefighters. (Without that tag they will always be relegated to a support role whenever there’s a major fire). Meanwhile, young hothead and general drug abuser, Brendan McCulloch (Miles Teller) gets his girlfriend pregnant and, in a desperate attempt to clean up his act, decides to put himself forward as a candidate for the fire team. Marsh, recognising something of himself in Brendan, decides to give him a chance and before very much longer, the Granite Mountain boys have their hot shot status and are working around the clock in a series of extremely dangerous situations. Meanwhile, their long suffering wives and girlfriends must endure the knowledge that their partners might never survive the latest disaster…

There’s clearly a fascinating (and it must be said, tragic) real life story at the heart of this, but with over twenty firefighters on the team, it’s hard for us to differentiate between more than just a few of them. And, if you’re blessed with Jeff Bridges in your cast, it might be a good idea to give him something to do. The female characters, mind you,  barely get a look in. Jennifer Connelly as Marsh’s wife, Amanda, has something approaching a decent role but poor Andie McDowell is left to sit around, looking glum.

The ending when we get to it, is admittedly devastating – but by then, most of our goodwill for the film has gone up in smoke as the script cuts back and forth, recounting details that we really didn’t need to know about. Also, there’s a tendency here to assume we understand the principals of firefighting. Scenes where the team are actually setting fire to areas of forest in order to prevent the spread of an approaching conflagration might have needed a little more explanation. As it is, we’re just left to assume.

Ultimately, Only the Brave is a powerful story, awkwardly told. While it generates the occasional spark, it never really fully ignites.

3 stars

Philip Caveney