Eddie Marsan

Clayface

23/10/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

DC’s ever more frantic attempts to revive its ailing superhero franchise takes an interesting turn with that most unlikely of things, a comic book movie with an 18 certificate. While it’s still set in Gotham City (with Liverpool standing in on this occasion), there’s not a caped crusader in sight, and not so much as a glimpse of spandex. The film takes a minor character that originated in a detective comic in1940 (and which was later featured in a Batman animation) and makes him the star turn. Well, Todd Phillips’ Joker took a similar approach and that reaped big rewards at the box office, so worth a punt, yes?

Very much so. This is the most fun I’ve had with a DC film in a very long time – though I should perhaps add that I’m using the word ‘fun’ loosely. More squeamish viewers may find themselves traumatised.

Our titular villain first appears as Matt Hagen (Tom Rhys Harries), a handsome young actor who (much like Harries himself ) appears to be on the verge of major stardom. All fired up after receiving an Oscar nomination, he heads off with his best friend, Corey (Joshua James), for a hedonistic weekend away and, on a disco dance floor, he encounters and romances Mia (Joana Ribeiro). But it turns out she’s the girlfriend of vicious crime boss, Markos (David Dencik), who takes a very dim view of this flirtation and, to teach Matt a lesson, decides to rearrange his face with a razor – a scene which pulls no punches.

Matt is snatched from the heights and plummeted into the depths of despair. With his handsome features mutilated, he loses his agent, Hildie (Nancy Carroll), and his manager, Frank (Eddie Marsan), in swift succession. Attempts at facial surgery are not successful. In desperation, Matt turns to Caitlyn Corr (Naomi Ackie), a scientist who has been working on a breakthrough nanite procedure which she believes can heal damaged skin cells. At first she’s reluctant to use her experimental techniques on Matt, but she can see that he’s desperate so, throwing caution to the wind, she starts some trials.

The first results are very encouraging, almost miraculous – but then Matt begins to realise that his new skin cells seem to react to his different moods. And when he’s angry…

With a screenplay by Mike Flanagan and Hossein Amini and astute direction by James Watkins, Clayface is compelling stuff. While it has no interest in exploring those comic book links, it does step confidently into the world of body horror. Some of the strongest sequences here recall the work of veteran directors like David Cronenberg and Brian Yuzna, utilising gnarly practical makeup effects and dollops of gore. An episode set in a public toilet on an airplane, which involves turbulence, fused eyelids and a pair of nail scissors, has me literally squirming in my seat.

As the story continues and Matt’s abilities develop to the point where he is able to replicate the features of other characters, I find I’m willing to overlook the fact that he can somehow also create perfect copies of their clothing (er, how, exactly?) because the twisty-turny sequences are so outrageous and so perfectly timed I barely have time to think about it.

A warning, though: that 18 certificate is there for a reason and it’s pushed to the limit.

4.3 stars

Philip Caveney

Back to Black

18/04/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Advance reviews for Back to Black have been mostly underwhelming, writers mostly castigating the film for not finding anything that hasn’t already been covered in Asif Kapadia’s (admittedly brilliant) 2015 documentary, Amy. (https://bouquetsbrickbatsreviews.com/2015/07/04/amy/)

Those in the know have also muttered darkly that certain players in the story have been let off a little too lightly for comfort. While it’s certainly true that Sam Taylor-Johnson’s biopic resolutely refuses to apportion any blame for what happened to Amy Winehouse, it doesn’t detract from the fact that this film is both eminently watchable and genuinely, heart-breakingly tragic.

We first encounter Amy (Marisa Abela) as a teenager in Camden, already a talented performer, inspired by her beloved Nan, Cynthia (Lesley Manville), a jazz singer back in the day. She’s also encouraged by her taxi-driver dad, Mitch (Eddie Marsan), who isn’t shy of indulging in a bit of crooning himself. If Matt Greenhalgh’s screenplay features an overload of exposition in the opening scenes, it soon settles down enough to allow viewers to enjoy the ride.

A&R man Nick (Sam Buchanan) hears Amy’s demo tape and is keen to sign her up to the Simon Fuller agency, but she’s quick to point out to him that her idea of ‘girl power’ is Sarah Vaughan and that she ‘ain’t no fuckin’ Spice Girl.’ Success, it seems, must come on her terms or not at all. But of course, she rises like a meteor and, almost before you can say ‘Go Amy!,’ she has an album out, a residency at a local pub and a rapidly-growing legion of fans.

But Amy’s world is turned upside down when she encounters Blake (Jack O’ Connell), a Camden Jack-the-Lad with a nice line in deadpan patter and a coke habit that’s already getting him into trouble. Despite the fact that Amy hates drugs and Blake doesn’t care for booze, the two of them become lovers. What can possibly go wrong?

Of course, what happens after that is a steadily mounting disaster played out under the baleful glare of the paparazzi (who, I suspect, are the ones who should really shoulder some of the blame for what happened) and the result is much like watching a slow-motion car crash. I cannot look away. Abela is astonishing in the lead role, playing Amy with absolute conviction, alternately hard as nails and fragile as cut glass. She also supplies her own vocals. I’m no Winehouse aficionado, but to me it sounds spot on. O’Connell, an undervalued performer, is also terrific, encompassing Blake’s strengths and failings perfectly. The scene where Amy and Blake first meet is beautifully handled and it’s clear from the outset why they become so besotted with each other, so utterly incapable of extricating themselves from the ensuing carnage.

In the finest biopic tradition, there are recreations of famous performances, which once again capture the look and feel of the period, and it would be a hard-hearted soul indeed who doesn’t shed a tear in the scene where Amy performs a heartfelt rendition of Love is a Losing Game, after hearing that Blake has, once again, turned his back on her.

Of course, it’s always difficult to depict something so familiar and find new horizons within it, but I can’t help feeling that Taylor-Johnson has been unfairly maligned on this one. Back to Black offers us a compelling insight into Amy’s character, and it never flags. Abela is a revelation and, provided she can successfully avoid the spectre of typecasting, she really should have a bright future ahead of her.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Atomic Blonde

 

 

22/08/17

All those idiots who perpetually bleat that there could never be a female James Bond might care to check this out. If there were any lingering doubts that Charlize Theron can convince as an ass-kicker after Mad Max: Fury Road, then this should dispel those notions completely. Here she plays MI6 agent, Louise Broughton, a kind of Jane Bond figure who apparently subsists on a diet of neat vodka-on-the-rocks and cigarettes, whilst rocking a series of 80s fashions and performing extreme chop socky moves to the strains of classic rock songs. (This is the second film this year to use Flock of Seagulls’ I Ran to excellent effect. Just sayin’).

It’s November 1989 and the Berlin Wall is about to take a permanent dive. Broughton is sent over to Berlin to team up with fellow agent, David Percival (James McAvoy), a man who presents such a dodgy persona, it’s a wonder he can find his own reflection in a mirror. Somebody – Code Name ‘Satchel’ – has procured a list of British agents and their nefarious dealings during the Cold War, a list so incendiary that it mustn’t be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Broughton’s job is to find the list (and hopefully Satchel) and bring them both back to Blighty. But it isn’t an easy task when she can’t trust anybody…

What this basically boils down to is an excuse for a series of bruising action sequences, in which Broughton takes down what seems like a whole army of men, using any weapons at her disposal – a stiletto heel, a frying pan, a bunch of keys – she’s not fussy, she’ll employ anything that comes to hand. The highlight here is a long fight scene on  a staircase. Shot in a continuous take, it sets the bar high for pain and punishment and there’s no doubt that director David Leitch, fresh off John Wick: Chapter Two, knows how to stage a convincing punch-up. I loved the fact that people don’t emerge from one of these skirmishes with a polite spot of blood at the side of their mouth, as we so often witness in this kind of film – no, we regularly see Broughton’s bruised and swollen face and limbs and we quite understand her habit of taking occasional ice baths.

Rather less successful, however, is the plot, which is so labyrinthine as to defy all understanding. Virtually every character we meet is double-crossing somebody else or working for somebody else or pretending to be somebody else. By the conclusion, I thought I had a handle on most of it but I wouldn’t want to testify to it in court – or indeed, in the kind of rigorous debriefing that is used as the framework for Atomic Blonde. There are excellent supporting roles from the likes of Toby Jones, Eddie Marsan and John Goodman, as various men in suits, but this is undeniably a showcase for Theron’s star power and she makes the most of it.

A simpler plot would certainly have made this a better film, overall, but action junkies will love the fights and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t find them thrilling. If Leitch can marry those superior action chops to a simpler, more convincing storyline, who knows what might be achieved? Here, he manages to win on points rather than achieving a knockout blow. But it’s certainly worth the price of a ringside seat.

3.5 stars

Philip Caveney