Megalopolis

03/10/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Well, I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Francis Ford Coppola’s long-nurtured passion project, Megalopolis, arrives garlanded with the kind of vitriolic advance reviews that instantly sank its chances of making any money at the box office. But why all the furore? What has the man done that’s so unspeakable? You’d think he’d murdered somebody. Instead, at the age of eighty-six, he’s made a vanity project, self-financing the hundred million dollar film by selling one of his vineyards. (We’ve all been there.) He hasn’t bankrupted a movie studio, which makes a refreshing change.

Lest we forget, Coppola has made some underwhelming films before. Yes, he gave us The Conversation, The Godfathers (One and Two) and of course, Apocalypse Now, but there was also One From the Heart and er… Jack, both of which were less than perfect.

It’s important to note that right from the opening credits, Megalopolis is described as ‘A Fable,’ so those who describe it as ‘unrealistic’ may be missing the point.

Somewhere in an imagined future, New York has become New Rome, and those that run the city have taken on the aspects of senators and emperors, strutting around in toga-like garments and looking very pleased with themselves. Cesar Catalina (Adam Driver) is a sort of genius / town-planner, who has discovered a mysterious and indestructible building substance called Megalon. He has also found a way to stop time by clicking his fingers (as you do) and has a penchant for lapsing into Shakespeare soliloquies for no apparent reason.

Cesar is currently intent on building the titular inner city area, which he believes will be the first step in creating a bright new future, but his main adversary in this project is Mayor Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito), who seems to be opposed to any kind of progress. Cicero’s daughter, Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), on the other hand, finds herself increasingly drawn to Catalina and it’s not long before sparks begin to fly between them. It’s clearly going to cause trouble.

There are other powers at work in the city. TV presenter, Wow Platinum (Aubrey Plaza), is suffering from failing audience figures and is keen to take a step up in the world by marrying Cesar’s rich uncle, Hamilton Crassus III (Jon Voight). She uses her nephew, Clodio (Shia LaBeouf), to help her to get there, by any foul means he can devise. (The odious Clodio is clearly inspired by Donald Trump, right down to the bloody insurrection he foments and is perhaps the one place in the ‘fable’ that does relate to real life.)

Overall, Megalopolis doesn’t work and it’s not that it’s short of ideas. On the contrary, it is virtually struggling to contain them all and it doesn’t help that there are too many big names in cameo roles here, most of them improvising their lines. The likes of Dustin Hoffman and Talia Shire flit briefly across the screen and it feels as though Coppola, having secured their services, is unsure of exactly what to do with them. Sometimes, when you work too hard on a project, you stop seeing it objectively.

On the plus side, the film looks magnificent in IMAX, a succulent, shimmering wonder to behold (Coppola did his own cinematography) and, in the film’s latter stages, there are sequences that might best be described as psychedelic, the massive screen appearing to erupt at regular intervals in a blaze of light and colour. If you’re going to see this, do try to catch it in the cinema, because its going to lose all of its majesty on streaming. The running time of two hours and eighteen minutes soon elapses and, after everything that Coppola has given us over the years, surely it’s not too much to ask that movie buffs make the effort to actually go out to see it.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Ruckus

02/09/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We first saw Ruckus at the Fringe back in 2022, in the confines of Summerhall’s Cairns Lecture Theatre. We loved it, and so were keen to see it again, this time in the more spacious Traverse Two. This hard-hitting piece of theatre, written and performed by Jenna Fincken, is perhaps even more affecting this time around, and we can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s on until Thursday, so you’ve only two more chances to see it here before it moves on to the Nottingham Playhouse.

Read our earlier review here: https://bouquetsbrickbatsreviews.com/2022/08/08/ruckus/

4.7 stars

Susan Singfield & Philip Caveney

His Three Daughters

01/10/24

Netflix

Vincent (Jay O’Sanders) is rapidly approaching the end of his life and his daughters have come to his Manhattan apartment to be with him when he finally expires. Katie (Carrie Coon) is the eldest of them, a natural organiser, working alongside hospice worker, Angel (Rudy Galvan), to ensure that all loose ends are securely tied up. She’s trying to ensure that the Do Not Resuscitate order that Vincent wanted is in place. She’s also trying to write her father’s obituary.

The youngest daughter, Christina (Elizabeth Olsen), a slightly dippy Grateful Dead fan, spends much of her time singing to Vincent and making needy phone calls to her husband and young daughter.

And then there’s step-sister, Rachel (Natasha Lyonne). Though not Vincent’s biological daughter, she has actually lived in his apartment for years and in some ways seems to be the most profoundly affected by his approaching death. She’s clearly determined to be as blitzed as humanly possible when the end arrives, courtesy of the seemingly endless supply of spliffs she smokes at every given opportunity.

This gentle and quirky film, written and directed by Azazel Jacobs, is essentially a character study, which plays the three very different women against each other, as they chat, reminisce and argue. Sparks fly when they finally address long-held grudges and feuds. Confined entirely to Vincent’s apartment, this could easily feel claustrophobic, but all three performances are strong enough to carry the feature along. Lyonne perhaps gets the most interesting role, drifting through the situation with a manic grin and a WGAF attitude, as the clock inexorably ticks through the closing hours of Vincent’s life.

There’s an unexpected revelation in the final furlong that initially makes me think that Jacobs has just ruined everything he’s spent so much time building – but happily that feeling is short-lived and it quickly becomes clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

His Three Daughters is a delightful and affecting film that has many insightful things to say about the human condition and our attitude to death. And if that sounds grim, don’t worry. There’s plenty here to make you smile. Don’t be surprised if, like me, you come away from this singing Five Little Ducks.

Just saying.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney

Armour: A Herstory of the Scottish Bard

01/10/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Today’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint production is a welcome revival of Shonagh Murray’s Armour: A Herstory of the Scottish Bard. Unwieldy title notwithstanding, this is a taut, well-scripted piece of theatre, the music deftly evoking the lyrical poetry at its heart.

It’s thirty years since the death of Scotland’s beloved poet, Robert Burns, and his widow, Jean (Irene Allan), still misses him. But she has plenty to occupy her time, not least her headstrong young granddaughter, Sarah (Karen Fishwick), who’s been sent to live with her in Dumfries, while her dad’s away in India. And then there’s Nancy Maclehose (Hilary Maclean), Burns’ erstwhile mistress, who seems very keen to talk to Jean. There’s something important she needs to say…

Tom Cooper’s direction and Heather Grace Currie’s set design both serve to highlight Murray’s clever structure, ensuring that Burns’ absence forms the centre of the play, a model of his mausoleum gleaming from the mantlepiece, white against the dark furniture. Armour is a feminist piece but it doesn’t shy away from the fact that we only know these women in relation to a man, that they are destined to remain almost unknown, circling the ghost of a famous heavyweight, as small as the dolls that Sarah plays with.

Murray’s script breathes life into the women, imagining their responses to the scant details we have of their real circumstances. Allan imbues Jean with a sharp dignity, a refusal to be shamed or diminished by her husband’s infidelities. What’s more, Maclean’s Nancy defies the image of a paramour: she admits to feeling guilt for not thinking about Jean, but there’s no room here for any moral outrage. She loved Rab. He loved her. He loved Jean too. People are complicated and you can’t change that. What you can do, as Jean explains to Sarah, is choose whether to be “a sitter or a do-er”. And being a do-er is infinitely more admirable.

Fishwick shines as the motherless young child, fascinated by her granny’s stories and determined to follow in her grandad’s footsteps and become a bard herself. Her wistful demeanour – as she remembers India and her dad – contrasts beautifully with the irrepressible spirit she shows as she sings and dances around her granny’s house. Jean and Nancy might have been consigned to a life in the shadows, but Sarah believes she can have much more. Especially with those great women behind her.

Armour is a deceptively melodic piece, which smoulders gently before bursting into full flame.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield

The Outrun

27/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Rona (Saoirse Ronan) has issues with alcohol. At first, it’s all good fun as she downs drink after drink and dances the night away with boyfriend Daynin (Papa Essedieu), becoming ever more playful, ever more gregarious, the life and soul of every party. But she never knows quite when to accept that enough is enough and, inevitably, it all ends in tears and recrimination. Pretty soon, Daynin has had enough of her unpredictability – so Rona heads back home to the island of Orkney, where her separated parents live, in the hope of getting her act together.

But finding help is difficult. Her father, Andrew (Stephen Dillane), still runs a sizeable sheep farm, but is now living in a caravan, plagued by the bi-polar episodes that have affected him for most of his life. Mum, Annie (Saskia Reeves) has found religion and has made friends in the church community. Of course she cares about what’s happening to her daughter, but she is hard pressed to know what to do for the best.

Rona is determined to free herself from the powerful grip of booze. So she embarks on the 12 step programme pioneered by Alcoholics Anonymous – and, when she begins to falter, she takes a post with the RSPB on the even more remote island of Papa Westray, where she will spend her time living in a tiny hut while she searches for an endangered bird, the corncrake…

On paper, it sounds like a pretty grim premise, but this dazzling feature, based on a memoir by Amy Liptrot, with a screenplay co-written by Liptrot and Daisy Lewis, never puts a foot wrong. Nora Fingscheidt (who directed the wonderful System Crasher) keeps her foot on the accelerator, cutting and swerving back and forth between Rona’s turbulent childhood, her hedonistic escapades in London and her gradually evolving relationship with the power and beauty of the ancient landscape of her new/old home.

The different settings bleed effortlessly into each other, powered by regular bursts of pulsing electronic music. A frenzied nightclub session can suddenly appear to be taking place underwater, with seals (selkies?) as Rona’s dance partners – and her interactions with the people of Papa Westray are warm and totally authentic. All the various strands are brilliantly pulled together in a powerful crescendo. A thrilling climax, where Rona is confronted by a stunning realisation, is absolutely overwhelming.

Of course, a film as free-wheeling as this one this can only work when it’s anchored around an extraordinary performance – and Ronan is mesmerising in the fractured central role, moving through such a variety of different guises that it’s sometimes hard to believe that it’s all the work of just one actor. The film’s message rings out loud and clear.

I haven’t seen a movie that so eloquently pins down the destructive nature of alcohol since Thomas Vinterberg’s Another Round. And that’s high praise, indeed.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

The Wolves at the Door

24/09/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The Wolves at the Door, the second in this season of A Play, A Pie and A Pint at the Traverse, is a heartfelt polemic, written by Jack Hunter and directed by Amie Burns Walker. As Winter crooks its frosty finger and beckons, this timely piece zooms in on the issue of energy companies forcing impoverished people to use expensive prepaid gas and electricity meters.

The allegory of a Big Bad Wolf threatening the security of a vulnerable Little Pig might not be subtle but it’s certainly effective, and Heather Grace Currie’s dingy set design reminds us exactly how Grimm (sorry) the situation is.

The Pig, Daniel (Ciaran Stewart), is struggling. He’s lost his job, his marriage has fallen apart and he’s desperate to maintain a good relationship with his seven-year-old daughter. But how can he do that when the flat he’s renting is mouldy and damp, and a combination of Universal Credit and part-time shelf-stacking barely leaves him enough to feed himself, let alone put the heating on? Worst of all, his daughter knows. She puts on a brave face for him, trying to reassure him that the crappy pizza he’s heated up is exactly what she wants for her tea. He can’t bear it.

Enter the Wolf, Malc (Ben Ewing), and his sidekick, Sussanne (Beth Marshall). He’s a debt collector and she’s an engineer, and they’re here at the behest of the energy company, to install a new smart meter – one that requires prepayment. If he doesn’t have the money up front, Daniel will be left without power.

Malc is unsympathetic. He knows what poor looks like; it’s how he grew up. But he believes it’s up to individuals to get off their arses and sort themselves out – like he has done. Ewing portrays the GB News-loving cynic with a charismatic swagger. “How can someone call themselves broke if they’re still drinking ground coffee, if they’ve got a TV and a Playstation?” he demands. Sussanne is less world-weary – it’s her first day – and more sympathetic too: she doesn’t think it’s a lot to ask for a warm, safe home and enough food in your belly; she’s in favour of a benefits system that allows people a few small treats. Marshall imbues the conflicted newbie with real heart – but hey, she’s got a job to do, and if she doesn’t do it, she’ll be in the same boat as Daniel.

Hunter makes some important points in this play, but the dialogue focuses too intensely on the issue, reducing the characters to representatives of their respective positions, rather than fully-rounded people. While the dark humour works well in places, a lighter touch is needed throughout to stop the story from being bogged down by its own good intentions – and perhaps the brusque conclusion ties everything up a little too neatly to be entirely convincing.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Substance

21/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Every once in a while, a film opens with a sequence so striking that the viewer becomes instantly aware that they are in the presence of a powerful new voice in cinema. The Substance is a perfect case in point. In close-up, an egg is injected with something that causes the yolk to spilt into two. Then we watch as a pair of workmen instal a new star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame – and, in an ensuing time-lapse, we see that star deteriorating over the decades until it is a cracked, grubby version of its former self, suffering the final indignity of having a burger and fries spilled on it.

The star belongs to Elizabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), once a bona-fide movie star, but now the leading light in the world of TV physical fitness shows. She’s fast approaching sixty and still looks great, working hard to keep her physique as she needs it to be. But her world is rocked when she overhears her toxic producer, Harvey (Dennis Quaid), talking on the phone, announcing that Elizabeth is now ‘too old’ for her role and that he wants a replacement as soon as possible – somebody younger.

Then, after a car crash (from which Elizabeth emerges unscathed), a handsome young hospital assistant slips her a note, alerting her to the existence of the titular drug, which promises to release a fresh new version of the user’s self. Like most Faustian deals, it comes with some very strict rules (bend them at your peril) but, in a shockingly visceral sequence, ‘Sue’ (Margaret Qualley) is born.

Now the two women must learn to co-exist, each one spending a week in the real world, while the other sleeps and regenerates. And of course, it’s all doomed to go horribly wrong…

This sophomore project from writer/director Coralie Fargeat – I have yet to see her debut film, Revenge – The Substance plays like a fable, a weird Grimms’ fairytale for the modern age. There are shades of The Picture of Dorian Gray here, allusions to Snow White and her stepmother’s ‘Mirror Mirror’ mantra, and several visual echoes of classic films like The Shining and Carrie. What’s more, the astounding practical makeup effects will remind many older film fans of early David Cronenberg and Brian Yuzna – though the eye-popping splatter sequences used here make movies like The Brood and Society look positively restrained by comparison.

But this is so much more than imitation. The Substance is an adept and powerful meditation on the subject of ageing and the ways in which women are constantly shackled and devalued by it – and how we all fall into the trap of enabling this sad state of affairs.

Moore is extraordinary in this film, delivering what might just be her finest screen performance (certainly her most unfettered), while Qualley makes the perfect foil. And Quaid, who I haven’t seen onscreen in quite a while, is gloriously, revoltingly odious here, making even the act of eating seafood a stomach-churning spectacle.

But it’s Fargeat who really deserves all the accolades. The Substance is surely one of the most provocative and affecting films of the year. I’m already excited to see where she will go next. But a word of warning: this won’t be for everyone. Those who shrink from body horror, blood and nudity are going to find plenty here to trigger them, particularly in the harrowing final stages, where Fargeat keeps pushing the gory imagery as far it can possibly go.

And then, she returns to that Hollywood star, and ties everything up in one delightful, blood-spattered package. If this sounds like your cup of haemoglobin, be sure to watch it on the big screen.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Last Cabaret on Earth

17/09/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Almost before we know it, a new season of A Play, A Pie and A Pint is upon us for its – gasp! – 20th Anniversary run. This opening piece is part-play, part-cabaret and the title is not – as you might suppose – metaphorical, but quite literal. Due to a catastrophic solar event, the world is due to end in one hour (don’t panic!) and Sam (Marc Mackinnon) is stuck in a locked-down airport hotel, delivering his final show to a captive audience. That’s us, in case you were wondering.

He’s stranded hundreds of miles away from his longtime partner and co-creator, Mel, who can only contribute to the performance via a series of jumbled text messages. As the final hour ticks relentlessly away, Sam offers us some insight into his tortuous path into show-biz: the people who helped him on his way, the others who stood in his path.

One thing’s for sure: when the end finally comes, he’ll greet it with a song and a smile…

Mackinnon is an engaging actor and he delivers Brian James O’Sullivan’s script with considerable skill, performing a series of classic songs in a wonderfully distinctive style. Under Joe Douglas’s direction, Mackinnon lures the audience into his prematurely fading orbit. A sequence utilising an old glitter-ball and the torch from a mobile phone is particularly affecting.

I do have one reservation. Although the songs – ranging from Judy Garland to James Taylor – are beautifully sung and Mackinnon has a strong, plaintive voice, there isn’t much original material here. There is a charming little ditty about a man who lives in a house made of pasta (!) but I would like to hear more new compositions.

However, this apocalypse is weirdly captivating and a strangely delightful way to spend your last hour – even if the tragic conclusion seems horribly prophetic.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

The Critic

15/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

A film about a theatre critic? Well, that’s irresistible for a start, despite a series of rather sniffy advance reviews that have – much like this film’s protagonist might – damned the endeavour with faint praise. So I’m both surprised and delighted that I enjoy this as much as I do.

Written by Patrick Marber and loosely based on Anthony Quinn’s novel, Curtain Call, this is set in London in 1935, a time when the titular critic, Jimmy Erskine (Ian McKellen), the long-established theatre reviewer at ‘The Chronicle,’ really does have the clout to sink a production with a few well-aimed barbs. Jimmy is quick to point out that he has a genuine love of the theatre and will always dispense praise when he feels it’s been earned. Lately, most of his ridicule is directed at actress Nina Land (Gemma Arterton), who Jimmy believes has no business being on the stage. It doesn’t help that she holds him in high esteem – indeed, it was reading his reviews as a little girl that lured her into becoming an actor in the first place.

Jimmy is covertly gay – a crime punishable by imprisonment in the 1930s – and when one night he is caught in a compromising position with his live-in assistant, Tom (Alfred Enoch), he is called in to the office of The Chronicle’s new proprietor, David Brooke (Mark Stong), and handed a month’s notice. But Jimmy isn’t going to take it lying down. He has too much to lose, not least the opportunity for fine dining and lashings of booze to go with it.

And it has come to his attention that Brooke is an avid fan of Nina Land…

What’s particularly enjoyable about The Critic is the fact that all of the characters we encounter are nuanced enough that, despite a stereotypical set-up, none of them ever feels like a caricature. McKellen is clearly having a whale of a time as the venal and calculating Jimmy, a man who – because of his sexuality – has had to learn to be adaptable in order to survive, yet is bold enough to coyly ask a follower of Oswald Mosley if he has ironed his black shirt all by himself. There’s the delicious paradox of Arterton playing an allegedly bad actress, giving quite the best performance I’ve seen from her, by turns vengeful and vulnerable. There’s a lovely cameo from Lesley Manville (who seems to be popping up in just about everything lately) as Nina’s mother, Annabel – and Strong too invests his character with just the right touch of pathos.

The 30s setting is nicely evoked and, as The Critic moves ever deeper into the realms of tragedy, I find myself wondering what compelled others to be so er… critical of it. For my money, this is an assured film, nicely directed by Arnand Tucker and hauntingly photographed by David Higgs. It would, of course, have been great fun to lay into this with a hatchet (oh, the irony!) but, annoyingly, I find myself completely unable to do so. The Critic is, in my humble opinion, an absolute delight.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Lee

14/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

This biopic is as much a tribute to photojournalism as it is to its protagonist, Lee Miller. In an age where AI-trickery can make us doubt our own eyes, it is a timely reminder of why we need to document what’s really happening in the world. In the 1940s, no one wanted to believe in concentration camps or desperate, scapegoated women being hanged for collaboration. War photographers forced people to confront the grim realities, to understand the scale of the horrors that had been unleashed.

Miller trod a lot of paths in her life, but Lee, directed by Ellen Kuras, focuses on her work during the second world war. There’s a framing device: wannabe journalist Antony (Josh O’Connor) is interviewing the now elderly photographer, his questions evoking stories told in flashback. Her previous work as a fashion model and artists’ muse is acknowledged in a brief but revelatory early scene, where she wonders what on earth she’s going to do with her life now that she’s aged out of – and is bored by – all that. When she meets Roland (Alexander Skarsgård), marriage beckons but it’s not enough. Miller is a formidable woman and she needs to forge her own path.

Kate Winslet is marvellous as Lee, shimmering with pent-up energy and drive. Her Miller is motivated by righteousness as well as ambition: she’s a woman and, what’s more, she knows the camera from the other side; she can tell a different story from her male counterparts. If that means barging her way in and ignoring ‘no women’ regulations, then so be it. Her work is important. Not that she’s a loner: she’s sociable and enjoys working alongside her male colleague and friend, David Scherman (Andy Samberg).

The real Miller was indomitable, and Winslet absolutely does her justice. This is a powerful performance, harnessing the grit and determination that allowed Miller to capture such provocative and controversial images, many of which are recreated here.

Perhaps the biggest surprise for me is the realisation that Miller’s war correspondence work was done for Vogue magazine, then edited by Audrey Withers (Andrea Riseborough). I’ve never read Vogue; I thought it was all fashion and frivolity. Its serious side is a revelation, much like Miller’s shocking photos must have been for those who previously knew her only as a model.

The cinematography – by Pawel Edelman – captures the brutality of war: the scarred landscapes, chaos and traumatised faces. We also see how, ninety years ago, fascism trumpeted its arrival but still caught people by surprise. There’s a lesson here, and it’s not a subtle one.

Focus. Flash. Snap.

See.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield