In the Name of the Father (1993)

The incredible story of Gerry Conlon, wrongly imprisoned by the British Police for the IRA bombing of a Greenwich pub, along with three friends and several members of his family, is so incredible its hard to believe it's true - especially in a country like Britain when you don't expect corruption in the police forces to rear its ugly head. The truth is, however, not only were they all convicted but Conlon and his friends spent 15 years in prison, where his father, Giuseppe, died an innocent man.

Jim Sheridan directs Daniel Day-Lewis in a stunning portrayal of a desperate man and his complex relationship with his father (Pete Postlethwaite) that transcends the biopic genre and creates great emotion and an overpowering sense of injustice. By placing the two in the confining space of a prison cell, the stage is set for some heartrending scenes of conflict, pride and love. Plenty of time is spent setting the scene, revealing the backstory and the tortuous process they were submitted to by the police with only confessions on their minds, but the film really gets going once their sentences begin.

In truth, there's not a great deal of plot during these scenes, but the film escapes this through anecdotes, whereby Gerry is able to open up to Giuseppe about his insecurities and aspirations. These scenes, with fairly direct reference to the film's themes, could easily have felt contrived, but in the extremely capable hands of Day-Lewis its impossible to go wrong - and watching this only a few weeks after 'There Will Be Blood' I'm stunned by his range - and Postlethwaite too is excellent in conveying a man desperately trying to understand his son but incapable of comprehending a new generation and new concerns. Sheridan has talked about how this relationship between a fighting son and his oppressive father was designed to reflect the struggle between Ireland and Britain but even without this added context the film is extremely rich and rewarding, with undeniably universal themes.

There's not much point going into specific plot details, as part of the experience of the film is facing the incredulity of each twist and turn that's thrown at them. At least we know they'll be going to prison, but it's hard to understand how the crime can possibly be pinned on them. Their only crime, it seems, is to be Irish at a time when IRA activity was at its peak. The fact that just by visiting his aunt in London Conlon incriminated her entire family, shows how absurd the justice system can be at times at to be honest, made me rather ashamed.

I'm not always a fan of biopics, feeling that cinematic invention is sacrificed for the sake of capturing truth that doesn't necessarily require a cinematic incarnation, but in the case of 'In the Name of the Father', this story needs to reach the widest audience possible and this is the best way to do so. Even beyond the story, however, the drama between the characters that makes this such a personal story is what really gives this film its power and I recommend it to everyone.

Exils (Exiles, 2004)

I had never seen a Tony Gatlif film before this but I already knew a lot about him. I was aware of his strong relationship with music in his films, and also that he is the first, and perhaps only, gypsy filmmaker, and I was very much looking forward to the film. Afterwards, however, I knew very little more.

Zano (Romain Duris) and Naima (Lubna Azabal) are two young French Algerians, with very little knowledge of their heritage, who suddenly decide to make a pilgrimage to Algeria. Along the way they meet other impoverished travellers, but all of them are going in the other direction. Surprisingly, we discover the couple actually know very little about each other - Naima is surprised when Zano celebrates her birthday, having never told him when it was, and Naima also has little trouble in cheating on Zano with a mysterious Spaniard in a bar. They also know shockingly little about their own backgrounds; neither speak any Arabic and when they later find themselves in Morocco by accident, they are completely unaware the border with Algeria has been closed for years. This extreme ignorance is obviously designed by Gatlif to create the theme of rediscovery, but I felt it was a bit laboured and unbelievable.

I expected, the message of the film was largely communicated through music. The film begins with a stirring tune mixing modern beats with a North African flavour, whilst focusing in an extended close-up, on Zano relatively light skin. It's obvious that the film will be about the combination of these influences, and the characters themselves are examples of it. Throughout their journey, both Zano and Naima listen to their own music, a mixture of electronic dance and North African rhythms, closed off from the world around them, and each other, by headphones. One morning, Naima awakes and performs an energetic dance, but it is almost entirely interior and Zano is excluded from her experience. Later, in Algeria, the couple will take part in a group performance, in the film's mesmerising central scene. For perhaps ten minutes, we watch as the group reach a frenzied trance like state, their bodies and minds completely taken over by the tribalesque rhythms. None are more involved than Zano and Naima, who have their ears finally open to their own culture and seem to be returning to a primordial state in connection to their heritage. At the end of the scene, whilst everyone else sleeps, Zano and Naima sit staring into each others eyes, having finally made a connection. The scene is remarkably powerful for its intensity, energy and longevity. If only the rest of the film had been so artistically audacious, it may have been easier to make a connection to the characters and their journey.

The final scene, when Zano hangs his headphones upon his father's grave, is unneccesarily obvious and again labours the point too much when a more subtle treatment would have sufficed. Throughout the film, the progression of the characters is fairly uncomplicated and the film transpires almost exactly as you would expect. Duris' performance is fairly non-descript, but Azabal impressed me with her energy and playfulness.

I won't write off Gatlif yet, as he certainly seems to capture a point of view no one else is in European cinema is party to, and the soundtrack was great. I'd just like to see him express it better.

Non Ti Muovere (Don't Move, 2004)

This was a disappointing film that demonstrated a surprising lack of judgement from its director, Sergio Castellitto, an established and respected actor.

Told in flashbacks from the point of his daughter undergoing surgery after a crash, Timoteo (Castellitto) looks back at the passionate affair he conducted with Italia (Penelope Cruz) before his daughter's birth. Italia is a working-class woman living in a slum, a sharp contrast to the doctor, Timoteo. Their relationship begins when he drunkenly rapes her, but he returns and they form a tentative bond of aggressive sexuality and escapism.

The story could be interesting, but Castellitto handles the material poorly, and always in the extreme - the sentimental moments are too sentimental, such as when he remembers his daughter smiling, seeing her in slow motion with cheesy pop music; the drama is overplayed, out of place in a non-action film; the sex is often vulgar and aggressive, making it hard to sympathise with his romance; and the frequent use of too-loud (mostly) bad pop music is intrusive and out of place, distracting from the action and contributing nothing to the atmosphere. Vasco Rossi closer, 'Un Senso' is a great tune, but too sentimental and epic to end an intimate and painful story.

The performances are good, with Penelope Cruz giving a good, physical performance of a working-class woman (and looking pretty hideous too), but the characters weren't interesting and Timoteo in particular is unlikeable. The film is unlikeable and fairly boring, I'm afraid. The only other good comment I can make is that the jumps through time are handled well in a tricky narrative, but I had no interest in the story.

"Marnie" (1964)

Among the most explicitly psychological of Hitchcock's films, "Marnie" examines the sexual anomalies of female criminals, and the effect that repressed trauma can have on otherwise strong and confident adults. Marnie (Tippi Hedren) is a serial offender, conning herself into jobs, emptying the vaults and then moving on, never looking back. Unfortunately for her, she attracts the attentions of Mark Rutland (Sean Connery, fresh from his first James Bond film), the boss at her new company who reads her like a book and begins to trap her with his desire.

Hitchcock's films became increasingly stylised, as he began to develop his own language of suspense, and here in "Marnie" that perhaps reached its peak, with some excellent set pieces employing a great use of dramatic tension, particularly when Marnie is escaping after a robbery, unaware of the cleaner (who we see) until the last minute. Taking off her shoes and placing them in her pockets, she creeps down the hall, unaware again that one shoe is slipping and will hit the floor any moment...only for it to do so and for nothing to happen - the cleaner's deaf. This wicked sense of humour is the perfect example of what made Hitchcock so loveable, despite the often disturbing content of his films.

Another distinctive stylistic trait of this film is the red filter that fills the screen every time Marnie sees something red and has a panic attack. This reaction stays unexplained for a long time, before flashbacks begin to permeate the narrative and hint at a scarring event from her childhood, which has not only resulted in an aversion to all things red but also a horror of physical intimacy. Beginning with what was at the time an extremely sexy kiss between her and Mark, the film examines sexuality in a way that would have been unfamiliar to a contemporary audience, before common discussions of psychological damage and unusual sexual pratice. At the heart of the film is an expertly handled rape scene, with the tension building for several minutes after Mark has discovered Marnie's repulsion towards physical initmacy. The moment when he tears her towel from her and she freezes with terror, is a moment we knew must come but felt would be impossible to portray. A sympathetic "Sorry" from Connery, and an distraught expression on his face, is all we need to understand the complexities of their relationship, before he moves in to take what he can't resist. The scene is handled so well that afterwards we are not disgusted with Mark and he is able to retain our respect and sympathy - perhaps because Marnie's 'defects' mean we find it hard to trust her.

Extra depth is added to the film with Mark's character, a publisher with a background in zoology, he becomes intrigued by the 'case' that Marnie presents, and resolves to cure her, taking her into the heart of her trauma by returning home and forcing her to face her demons. One of the film's taglines was Marnie's snap at Mark, "You don't love me. I'm just some sort of wild animal you've trapped", to which his reply is "Of course", making no secret of his desire to possess her, keep her and change her. Yet, Connery's performance suceeds in making him likeable throughout.

Another great performance is provided by Louise Latham as Marnie's mother, playing far beyond her years, and again conveying an extremely complex character, torn between protecting her daughter and the necessities of making a living (by prostituting herself to sailors). Mark may have brought them together to confront the dark event in their past, but he soon realises he has no place here, as Marnie and her mother sit facing each other, like tired fighters, as Latham delivers an excellent monologue that pushed the boundaries of good taste for the time.

The film does feel rather dated, however, particularly as Hitchcock was employing techniques fast-becoming old fashioned at the time; choosing to paint backdrops rather than shoot on location, and using a dummy horse for Marnie's desperate ride across the countryside. Another aspect, which niggles me about all of Hitchcock's wok, is the sudden way the film ends once the climax has past and the situation has been resolved. There is no epilogue, no further context for Marnie's story, and it always seems a rather blunt, ruthless way to stop the action and leave the characters to their fate.

Nonetheless, "Marnie" is a highly distinctive contribution to Hitchcock's ouevre, and an interestingly feminine addition from a director so often considered misogynistic. I'm not a massive fan of this one, it seems a little unreal, but it shows great talent and skill, and further proof of Hitchcock's deserved place among the pantheon of directors.

The Thin Red Line (1998)

An incredible ensemble cast tell the story of American troops capturing Guadalcanal during World War Two in Terrence Malick's poetic treatment of war. We follow mulitple stories, picking up one character for a moment before dropping them and returning to another, to give an insight into how various personalities and various ranks handled the intense pressures of conflict, murder, war and death, whilst examining religion, evil, love and power.

Despite an array of big names, the focus mostly stays with Ben Chaplin, Jim Caviezel and Elias Koteas, as they face various challenges within themselves, against their superiors and ultimately in overcoming the enemy. The are moments of quiet meditation but the film never shies away from portraying the brutalities of war, and like 'Saving Private Ryan', released at the same time, the battle scenes are lenghty and thorough, with the confusion of real warfare. In stark contrast are the moments away from the battlefield, such as in the film's opening scenes in a peaceful island paradise. Even in the midst of battle, Malick's camera finds peace in the nature of the island and its inhabitants. We also often catch glimpses into Chaplin's past as he reminisces about his wife. These memories bring to mind Tarkovsky with their dreamlike nature and the way they are woven into the film, which never gives us a clue that we are returning to memory but intercuts it into the middle of the action.

We hear whispered voiceovers for several characters, often hearing one actor's voice when we are looking at another, adding to the confusion, but also overall philosophical atmosphere. Unfortunately, whilst the intention is admirable, the philosophising seem fairly empty and repetitive. These soldiers don't have any answers and their experiences don't seem to provide any. Instead they constantly ask questions of such grand, ambiguous scale, such as "Where did this great evil come from?" or "Who is doing this to us?". The effect is frustrating and feels a little naive, as we would expect the soldiers to gradually find answers, whereas in this film there is no progression, only further confusion presented by the horrors they witness.

The immense of the celebrity is surprisingly not distracting, and actually helps to identify with the huge cast. Amazingly, actors such as Bill Pullman, Martin Sheen and Billy Bob Thornton were left out of the film altogether, as Malick shot hours of film before piecing the film together in the edit. It's useful when faced with so much characters, to have easily identifiable faces to remind us of who we are following and also enable us to feel familiarity with the soldiers. The confusion of battle can easily result in a confusing experiecne for the audience, and I thought at one point that Jared Leto, in a small role, had died, only for him to pop up again later. Simialrly, when Woody Harrelson is killed, we are able to feel sympathy and sadness due to recognisable persona, despite his relatively small amount of screentime. Sometimes the celebrity can be a bit distracting, or unbelievable, such as John Travolta as an admiral, or George Clooney suddenly appearing in the film's final scene, but the performances of great actors like Nick Nolte and Sean Penn can equally involve us in the great struggle the characters have gone through.

Alternatively, having no stars present amongst the Japanese ensures they become a faceless enemy, anonymous in defeat, and ultimately victims as the initial insecurities of the soldiers transforms into an effective war machine.

Malick is a great and sorely underused director. This was only his third film since his first, 'Badlands', in 1973, and he has only made one since, the mismarketed and underseen 'The New World'. Despite operating on the peripheries of American cinema he still presents a serious draw for actors as we can see here, and his artistic films, with their thoughtful pace, identification with nature and man's intrusion upon it, are the work of a great auteur and this film is handled with immense detail whilst examining grand themes. 'The Thin Red Line' might lose its way sometimes, and may also seem a little pretentious, but its a war film like no other, and brings a rather European approach to an American genre. Along with 'Saving Private Ryan', it is one of the best war films of probably the last twenty years.

The Trouble With Harry (1955)

One of the most important aspects of any Hitchcock film is the comic relief that breaks up the heavy mood and growing tension – and Hitchcock was always wickedly funny. With ‘The Trouble With Harry’, he went for full on humour and produced a very dark comedy that is quite a little treat in his oeuvre.

The troublesome Harry is in fact a dead body, and one which a few people feel responsible for. There’s his estranged wife, Jennifer, who hit him with a milk bottle; Miss Gravely who hit him with the heel of her hiking boot; and Captain Wiles who was out hunting a believes one of his bullets may have gone astray. Despite this troubling situation, no one actually seems to be too concerned and Harry is often forgotten about as new relationships develop between the would-be culprits.

Presided over by Sam, a local artist, played with cocky bravado by John Forsythe, but written as a kind-hearted romantic, the group repeatedly bury and dig up Harry as they try to decide the best course of action to protect the members of their group. Eventually, when they believe themselves safe and Sam proposes to Jennifer, they realise they have to dig him up again to prove he’s dead so they can marry. Due to the tone of the film, we never really believe anyone’s at risk and it’s all pretty harmless fun. The film seems very dated thanks to a reserved romance – the central joke of the film is that Sam and Jennifer will want a double bed when they’re married (having only met that day)! – and the world in which they live is of a pleasant, rural America where everyone in the community is willing to help each other out.

In a way it’s a very un-Hitchcock film, and many members of his typical audience felt betrayed, especially as humour revolving around a dead body being repeatedly dug up did not find favour in the US. There are, however, a few touches that betray Hitchcock’s presence. In Jennifer’s house a cupboard door is seen repeatedly opening by itself, setting itself up for later betraying the presence of the corpse, but when the local policeman comes to the house and the cupboard falls open, Harry’s not inside! Hitchcock clearly enjoys playing with his audience’s expectations and tricking us.

The whole film has a playful air to it and the reality is that the corpse plays no important part at all. Instead, it is the McGuffin, what Hitchcock called the plot detail that drives the narrative, but ultimately is not what the story is about. ‘The Trouble With Harry’ is essentially a romantic comedy, with two couples coming together and the hero finding success with his art. It’s a very light film with likeable characters and the performances might not be great but they’re enjoyable; although Edmund Gwenn as the Captain is a little out of place with his English accent; but Shirley Maclaine in her debut is enchanting. For anyone who loves classic comedies, with a dark edge, this is for you.

The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956)

‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’ surprised me quite a bit. I knew it was considered among Hitchcock’s best, remade from his own earlier film, and with James Stewart would have another great performance at its heart, but I was quite taken aback by Doris Day, the all-American, singing sensation, as his wife.

She begins the film all smiley, with perfect white teeth and chubby cheeks, as she (Jo MacKenna), James Stewart (Ben MacKenna), and their sickeningly cute boy, Hank, holiday in Marrakech. Gradually, as a peculiar Frenchman pulls them into a bizarrely mysterious plot, her mood darkens. When, suddenly, she discovers her son has been kidnapped so that her husband will not give away the piece of information passed to him when the Frenchman died, she gives a stunning, heart wrenchingly emotive performance of such incredible power that I think it’s possibly the best portrayal of a mother losing a son that I’ve ever seen.

The action then moves to London and we become involved in a diplomatic plot to assassinate the prime minister of some foreign country, but the Mackennas are only concerned with getting back their son, first confronting the kidnappers, then taking on the assassin at the Royal Albert Hall, before finally launching a rescue attempt within the embassy of the plotters. The film is incredibly dramatic and tense, taking over the lives of an ordinary America family, and producing some of Hitchcock’s finest moments. Perhaps most remarkably, it also gave the world the classic song, “Que Sera, Sera”!

There are many great Hitchcockian touches. A couple who keep staring at the MacKennas arouse our suspicions, only to find out they recognise Jo from her days as a singer, before then discovering they have kidnapped Hank and are involved in the plot. When trying to track down their son, Ben follows the wrong lead to a taxidermist, again encouraging us to make assumptions about how they are involved, before revealing that it was a complete mistake. The climactic scene at the Royal Albert Hall is a masterclass in building tension. We know the gunman will fire when the cymbals crash but we don’t know when that will come. In the meantime, Jo is crushing under the pressure of not being able to do anything, whilst Ben tries to track down the gunmen. No dialogue can be heard above the dramatic music (conducted onscreen by the film’s composer, Bernard Hermann, although the music for this scene was actually composed for the original film), but the editing superbly builds tension, providing various shots around the hall before slowly focusing on the cymbals, waiting beside the percussionist for their moment of glory. Later, in the embassy, the camera similarly wanders off around the building, searching for Hank with the same rhythm to the editing, informing the audience that the Mackeenas search for their son is just as dramatic and important as the assassination plot.

Due to Doris Day’s presence, the studio, Paramount, wanted a song to feature in the film that could be sold to market the film. The song that was provided was “Que Sera, Sera”, and whilst its introduction to the film, being sung by mother and son as they prepare to go to dinner, is very un-Hitchcockian and rather repulsively wholesome, it is later used to great dramatic effect as Jo gives a performance in the embassy where Hank is held (a slightly too contrived scene) and he whistles in response, betraying his presence. This, for me, demonstrates perfectly how Hitchcock was able to make highly distinctive films within the studio system, utilising any compromises to his benefit. Incidentally, the film went on to win the Oscar for Best Song.

I had never seen this film before but it really is a superb example of drama and suspense, and a fine piece of work from a peerless director.

Rear Window (1954)

I have a book that makes a claim for the 1001 films to see before you die. The one director who features in there more than any other is the great master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock (18 times I think). So, when I feeling a bit lazy and hung-over on Easter Sunday I decided to opt for a mini marathon of his films, beginning with the great classic, ‘Rear Window’.

‘Rear Window’ is in many ways the perfect Hitchcock film, combining suspense and murder with comedy and complex sexual relationships. Also, the way in which the film engages its audience as complicit in the protagonist’s actions is a perfect example of how Hitchcock had mastered the manipulation of his audience to great effect. The film also features two of Hitchcock’s greatest stars in James Stewart and Grace Kelly, as well as a whole host of supporting characters, each with their own stories that contribute to the overall atmosphere of voyeurism as we glimpse moments of their private lives.

The plot centres on Jeff (Stewart), an adventurous photojournalist who is cooped up in his apartment with a broken leg. He absentmindedly gazes at his neighbours across the courtyard: a frustrated composer; an attractive ballet dancer in her underwear nicknamed Miss Torso; a desperate solitary older woman known as Miss Lonely Hearts; and a salesman, Thorwald, who bickers with his invalid wife – to name a few. Jeff’s curiosity becomes more voyeuristic as he pries into these private lives, culminating in him suspecting the salesman of murdering his wife, chopping up the body and proceeding to get away with murder. With the help of his beautiful girlfriend Lisa (Kelly) and his nurse (a brilliantly funny Thelma Ritter), Jeff is able to further investigate his suspicions, until eventually, the salesman discovers he is being watched.

Much has been written about the excellence and sophistication of this film. It is a perfect example of cinema, with Jeff’s voyeurism representing the audience’s own (he even observes close-ups through a telescopic camera lens), as we curiously pry into the various characters’ private lives – including Jeff’s. Placing Jeff in a wheelchair only able to look out of his window relates him to the audience bound by their seats on the wrong side of the screen to intervene in the course of action. This also has the effect of rendering Jeff impotent, in his inactiveness, and this provokes a subplot where he rejects the stunning Grace Kelly, claiming they are too incompatible to marry and causing her to try and seduce him by becoming involved in his rear window drama. As a result, we see Jeff becoming increasingly excited by Lisa, creating a fetish-like involvement with murder and suspense.

The suspense is also aided by Jeff’s impotence, as he observes Lisa being attacked by the salesman, Thorwald, but is unable to act, creating extremely tense moments where we are willing the heroine to escape but are powerless to have any impact on her fate. This is paralleled by Miss Lonely Hearts’ subplot in which she is about to commit suicide, an intensely private moment, that Jeff is witness to, and calls to police to try and prevent. This embodies the complexities of the films ethics, as we know Jeff is effectively a Peeping Tom but in a harmless way – although is Thorwald is innocent then Jeff has grossly mistreated him. The climax of this difficult relationship with his neighbours comes when one woman, the owner of a dog who has been found strangled, berates her neighbours for not taking an interest in each others lives and being involved with one another. We can’t help feeling a little sympathy for Jeff here, for at least he has involved himself with their lives, even if it is in a secretive, invasive way. Hitchcock, here, is almost providing his audience with an excuse for being fascinated with murder and mischief in his characters’ lives.

Technically, the camera use is excellent, with stunning crane shots across the impressive set, drawing together all the disparate narratives. The music is used intelligently, emanating from radios or the composer’s apartment, and never afraid to stop altogether, even in the tensest moments. The composer’s progression, in fact, as he struggles to develop his piece, mirrors the progression of the film, and it is when he finally performs the finished work that Miss Lonely Hearts is saved from her attempted suicide and Lisa is attacked by Thorwald. All the music is also recorded from Jeff’s point of view, eerily drifting across the courtyard towards him, which has a great effect on building the atmosphere. The editing, alternatively, is deceptively simple and largely revolves around Jeff looking at something, the image of that something, and then Jeff’s reaction – very basic shot-reverse shot editing, but it works perfectly here.

The only thing that strikes me that I’ve never heard anyone else mention, but which is perhaps only more relevant in modern times, is that Jeff only looks out of the window, rather than turning on the television. Of course the whole film falls down if he doesn’t look out of the window, and there’s no evidence of a television set in the apartment, but it’s interesting that whilst parallels are drawn with a cinematic audience, there are no references made to cinematic or televisual media. Of course nowadays we would just chuck on a DVD or computer game (as I did) but then the charm of the film is its period. Some humour can be taken from the prudish shock at the idea of Lisa staying the night at Jeff’s without him telling his landlord; supposedly an insight into his own privately immoral lifestyle. ‘Rear Window’, however, is timeless, and a quintessential cinematic masterpiece. Anyone interested in cinema must know the work of Alfred Hitchcock, and anyone who loves Hitchcock must love this film.

Notes on a Scandal (2006)

Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench both give great performances in a film that verges on becoming melodrama, thanks to the overly dramatic touch of director Richard Eyre. Telling the story of a elderly teacher who befriends a much younger, bohemian art teacher and becomes obsessed with their relationship after the latter becomes sexually involved with a student, the drama is inherent but Eyre feels the need to add music and fast editing techniques to contribute to the tension, meaning the action feels overplayed. Considering Eyre's background in theatre, along with the film's writer, playwright Patrick Marber, suggest that this would have been best left on stage, where the actor's performance would have been much more at the heart of the action without as much intrusion from the director.

Blanchett and Dench have become the most respected actresses of their generations and it's nice to see them both really getting to grips with the material, particularly Dench who all to often is handled to reverentially by casting directors. The switch we see from dowdy history teacher to passionate lesbian to obsessive stalker is gradual and subtle. But I felt this is undone when , after the climactic confrontation between the two, she is seen once again approaching a young woman - her next victim - portraying her more as a serial murderer, rather than the much more interesting idea of her being an unbalanced, lonely and manipulative old woman.

Blanchett on the other half, has rarely been more desirable, for both her female friend and the young student with whom she is enamoured. She has achieved a great status as an actress, particularly considering she has never had to resort to playing a sexy role to gain attention. Here, once again, despite her good looks the role is much more complex than being just a pretty face, and through we gain an insight into middle class marriage in contemporary Britain, and how even in the happiest situations, individuals can feel stifled. Bill Nighy as her husband gives a small but faultless performance.

It's a shame really that these characters needed such a controversial and dramatic story to come to life. The teacher-student romance isn't entirely believable, but then its also a complicated process that brings them together, involving insecurities, dreams and frustrations. It would be nice, however, to get a similar insight into the contrast between sexual, bohemian marriage and asexual spinsterism through a more literal, subtle narrative, along the lines of Cassavetes' 'Faces' or even Fassbinder's 'Fear Eats the Soul', which both present unexpected relationships within convential situations and reveals much more than this film, which becomes overrun with the drama of its genre.

Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)

I’m afraid I don’t really see what all the fuss around ‘Breakfast at Tifffany’s’ is really for. Sure, it’s reasonably entertaining, and has become a classic due to Audrey Hepburn’s iconic styling, but the story is clichéd, the film is rather un-PC and the characters are really not so interesting as they seem, at least not in the melodramatic way they are presented here.

Based on the novel which brought success to Truman Capote, the film tells the story of the socially ambitious but emotionally immature Holly Golightly (Hepburn), who is befriended by a struggling writer, Paul (George Peppard) who falls in love with her as she struggles to live a lifestyle she can’t afford whilst trying to save money to look after her brother from back home. Along the way she is involved with various men – who she looks to for financial security, before realising what she needs (and what Paul can provide) is real love.

The film is very dated, particularly in using Mickey Rooney to play a very stereotyped Japanese landlord entirely for comic effect. Elsewhere Holly is understandably drawn to men who can protect her, because she herself needs to protect her brother, but the reality is that a chauvinist mentality permeates the film. Even if he does genuinely care for her, Paul often speaks of how Holly belongs to him because he loves her. Meanwhile, her much older husband, who she ran away from to come to New York, similarly believes he owns her, whilst her Brazilian suitor plans to keep her as his mistress. It would be fine if Holly was struggling against these men who seek to possess her, but her happiness apparently comes at the same price and the film is unbalanced here. Holly also believes she is manipulating men for money, to take what she needs and then blow them off, but she is actually being exploited by a gangster who feeds her coded messages, without her realising, to then be passed to his associates on the outside (a rather bizarre subplot). Again, it’s perfectly fine to convey her naivety and vulnerability, but when the ultimate goal is love, rather than self-realisation, the film undermines itself, and her.

There are a few subplots that distract, rather than contribute, to the story. As well as the abovementioned gangster scheme, we learn that Paul is himself a kept man (although once again, as a mark of sexual superiority, he is able to break free from his dependence), which presents a nice irony in his relationship with Holly, but the two can't be compared as once again it seems to be his lover, 2-E, who is most vulnerable. There is the ongoing suffering of Holly and Paul’s landlord, employed as a running joke, which is never really very funny. Holly’s husband appears from nowhere and leaves with equal ease. The film’s signature theme tune is squeezed into the action quite tenuously, and the only deeper metaphorical aspect of the film is the comparison drawn between Holly and her cat, which has no name and belongs nowhere. It’s an obvious enough piece of symbolism anyway, and when it’s vocalised towards the end of the film it just feels overdone and makes the entire film feel dumbed down.

The film’s title refers to Holly’s love of Tiffany’s jewellery store, and the comfort she draws from being around pretty things. The flat characterisation of Holly, despite Hepburn’s best efforts, ensures that she is no more than a pretty thing herself, and by the end of the film has moved no closer to overcoming this and discovering herself. I’m surprised that a film that I feel shows its female protagonist such little respect should find such enduring popularity amongst so many women.

Entre tinieblas (Dark Habits, 1983)

I can understand why people might enjoy or be intrigued by ‘Dark Habits’ but for me it’s not so much an achievement in itself, than a suggestion of what distinctive creativity was to come from its director, Pedro Almodovar.

Focusing on a group of unconventional nuns, Almodovar is able to stir up his usual controversy, as well as establishing some trademarks that would feature throughout his career, such as an almost all female cast; religion mixed with drugs and sex; transgenderism; and cheesy Spanish pop music. All combine to make a film that is highly stylised, distinctive and unmistakably Almodovar.

The controversy is fairly obvious and almost immature. The Mother Superior is a lesbian heroin addict; Sister Manure constantly takes acid; Sister Damned keeps a caged tiger; and Sister Rat writes trash novels. They all share a fetish for the desperate and destitute. We are introduced to their world by a nightclub singer on the run after her boyfriend has died from a heroin overdose. She finds shelter in the convent, coinciding with the nuns’ increasing financial difficulties and desperate measures to maintain their lifestyle.

The story is sparse and the various characters struggle to overcome the absurd situation they find themselves in to establish depth and meaning beyond fulfilling a narrative function. The extreme world they inhabit also prevents any significant identification with any character, or sympathy for the increasingly vulgar steps they take. Having said that, it’s fairly entertaining with some moments of comedy and interesting performances from future staples of Almodovar’s company – Carmen Maura, Marisa Peredes, Cecilia Roth.

There's an entertaining pop performance, that's extremely camped up with a trio of nuns miming along to the backing vocals and pretending to play instruments, but this feels tacked on to the main narrative which revolves around the mother superior's attempts to gain finances from their ex-benefactor (whose daughter became a nun before going to Africa and being eaten by cannibals), to continue to support their drug habits and self-denigrating lifestyle. Even this main narrative doesn't have much weight to it and I felt a bit of a "so what?" when following the action.

On the whole, the film kind of washed over me. It was imaginative but lacked substance, unlike his later ‘All About My Mother’, which I find fantastic, and ‘Talk To Her’ and ‘Volver’, which are both great. I’d recommend the earliest Almodovar you begin with be ‘The Flower Of My Secret’.

The Holiday (2006)

I have my girlfriend to blame for seeing this, though she knew how bad it was – she just wanted to watch something easy going and light, but even by those standards, ‘The Holiday’ is a poor, poor film.

The sloppy story is that of two women, frustrated with their lives (which revolve entirely around their love lives at that moment), who decide to swap homes for Christmas, one being in Surrey, the other in Los Angeles. Of course they both find love, as well as some form of companionship, with no strings attached. And there’s a happy ending.

Surprisingly, the film attracted the big names of Kate Winslet, Cameron Diaz, Jude Law and Jack Black, but even more surprising is the appearance of secondary characters played by the cool Shannyn Sossamon and the great Eli Wallach. Director Nancy Meyers’ recent successes with ‘What Women Want’ and ‘Something’s Gotta Give’ will no doubt have helped, but the fact that she wrote, produced and directed this film independently is suggestive that it could be a little self-indulgent and not superbly thought through.

My major gripe is the lazy way in which I feel the film was directed. Of course it’s ridiculously sentimental, superficial, artificial and optimistic, but that’s the romantic comedy genre. In the case of ‘The Holiday’, however, there is a poor rhythm to the film, with several scenes playing for far too long and eventually becoming repetitive. Most of the scenes in the film take place between two people, placing more focus on how their stories develop, but the truth is that once they’re established (ie. they’ve fallen for each other), the relationships don’t progress much further than overcoming a slight, but avoidable obstacle.

Also, the film leans too heavily towards the story between Diaz and Law, obviously favouring the supposedly more beautiful couple (they sleep together, whilst the cuter Winslet and Black becomes friends, before sharing a kiss). Unfortunately, Diaz and Law are also the worst actors of the four, and the scenes they share are frustrating. Diaz in particular is annoying, over emphasising all the time and muttering to herself what how she is feeling, rather than just allowing the audience to understand her emotions through her actions. Law, effective as the arrogant, handsome type in ‘Gattaca’ and ‘The Talented Mr Ripley’ has now seemingly just become arrogant and handsome, and I haven’t seen him deliver a decent performance since ‘Ripley’.

Kate Winslet and Jack Black’s love affair is rather taken over by the simple experience of being in Hollywood, overplayed by the inclusion of Eli Wallach as a friendly neighbour, and apparently the greatest living screenwriter of yesteryear, whilst Black is a rather cheesy, clichéd film composer. This contrived, yet typical, version of Hollywood is offset by the English pub - another stereotype representative of Meyer’s lazy approach to the film.

I don’t really want to keep writing about this…it’s simply one of the worst of the bad films I’ve seen and I only finished watching it so I could declare so on this blog. I may be accused of being pretentious when approaching a piece of escapist melodrama, but to be honest it upsets me that people feel able, or a even willing, to emotionally engage with such superficial rubbish and then reject ‘serious’ art films that actually communicate something of value from which we can learn and understand something about ourselves.

Men (1997)

A sort of precursor to 'Sex and the City, 'Men' follows a woman with, apparently, a man's attitude towards sexual experimentation and promiscuity. Moving from New York to Los Angeles, she allies typical traits of both sexes by cooking and fucking on a wide spectrum, until finding brief happiness. The film is inevitably poor, with a vague philosophy concerning women's sexuality in a film that feels designed to titillate male fantasies. It is cheap with weak performances and a plot that swerves from procrastination to extreme action with no depth - the title itself is misleading, unless you read the focus as really being a woman's obsession with men, rather than her freedom from them.

Sean Young stars as Stella, who begins the film with a very peculiar relationship with her best friend, a suicidal alcoholic male with whom she lives, sleeps and even shares a bath. There relationship is curious as it is presented to us as asexual, presumably to demonstrate that men and women can have intimate friendship without the need for more, but there is definite sexual tension between them and I feel that if it wasn't for the alcoholic stupor and depression that prevents Teo from being sexually aroused, there would undoubtedly be a physical relationship between them. Her other experiences with men cover various races, ages and personalities, with the one constant of all the men being fairly unattractive - seeming to fulfill a male fantasy of a sexually available woman, rather than providing a successful, liberal rolemodel for women.

Vaguely, Stella is pushed away by Teo with the aim of saving her from his self-destructive impulses, sending her to Los Angeles and a new opportunity for sexual and culinary expression. She moves in with a repressed housemate, allowing her to extol on her theories that women inhabit male fantasies they've learnt from films, rather than exploring sex for themselves. She then forms an attachment with the older owner of the restaurant where she finds work, before falling for the younger photographer she encounters one night. This sets her on a slippery slope, first rejecting the offer of settling down with one man, before feeling the need to do so with the other. At the film's climax, she meets the photographer's lesbian friends, and ultimately repulsed by these totally liberated and promiscuous women, she discovers her need for monogamy with her photographer.

The film is poorly directed, however, and any serious message gleaned from her experiences is undermined by sentimentality and overt drama, as well as a sloppy disregard for legitimacy. The white, bohemian photographer is apparently able to invade the private spaces of black gang members without them seeming to pay him any attention, in order to take his pictures. Simultaneously, Stella/Sean Young shows no real skill in the cooking scenes, haphazardly throwing ingredients into a frying pan before chucking them on a plate without any thought for design. Immediately, both characters are rendered unbelievable. Our experience of their growing intimacy is also rather trite, with scenes of sex and cooking and little more, with the exception of one of the most horrific scenes I have ever witnessed in a serious film. The two lovers are seated at either end of a see-saw, instantly suggestive of an immature lust rather than a sincere love. They move up and down with big smiles upon their faces, in slow-motion, as the rest of the world fades away. Not only is the scene drenched in sentimental, romantic idealism, but it's also a huge copout from portraying a believable development in a realistic relationship. What makes it worse is that this scene is referred to later in the film as the defining moment of their love.

For me that scene is typical of a film that believes it's saying a lot more than it is really capable of, with the inclusion of an irritatingly superficial voiceover. One interesting point is that the film was co-written by Karen Black, of 'Five Easy Pieces' (reviewed in January), but the only reason I can think of for watching this film is the sex, which I'm inclined to believe is the only reason it ever got funding.

There Will Be Blood (2008)

Coming soon...

Semi-Pro (2008)

Semi-Pro is an odd film in that it follows the recent trend for goofball, adolescent comedies, without really conforming to the formula established by previous films to have recently appeared in that genre.

The very basic plot is that of a basketball team struggling against the odds to survive in a league they're not really cut out for; a staple of sports films. But added to this mix are the crazy antics of Will Ferrell and his special brand of arrogant humour and sweet naivety. He stands out in this film for being the only actor to really go all out with the comedy, whereas most of the other characters play it fairly straight, albeit in absurd situations.

The straightest of them all is Woody Harrelson, the tragic professional who finds a new lease of life by straightening out the team of misfits, whilst reconciling his personal difficulties. The focus on his story is stolen repeatedly by Ferrell's introduction of playfulness, camaraderie and love for your fellow man, at the expense of any real tactics. By the films end these two characters and their respective skills are brought together to create a warm and loving group of men playing their hearts out to achieve the impossible.

Where this film really strays from the norm is the absence of a strong female character. Typically, the adolescence of the male protagonist and his bunch of puerile friends is straightened out by the love of a good, mature woman ('Anchorman', 'The 40 Year Old Virgin', etc.), who updates their chauvinist views whilst maintaining an obtainable sexuality. The woman's role in this film is taken on by Harrelson, as the serious player who convinces his teammates that they can achieve real success, beyond wacky dance routines and bear wrestling designed purely for audience entertainment (Ferrell's speciality). The fact that there is a woman in Harrelson's personal life that drives his focus on success is pushed into the background to make way for more jokes of this kind.

The laughs come easy, especially with the opportunities presented by an arbitrary collection of players that make up the Flint, Michigan Tropics (potentially the most unexciting prospect in basketball of all time). The humour, however, is far from sophisticated, and no one's going to laugh more than once at the big Lithuanian who can't understand English. On other occasions the comedy feels a little tacked onto the main action. There is a lengthy poker scene between Ferrell and some members of the Tropics' extended family that contributes nothing to the narrative but provides the opportunity for some ludicrous, racial jokes ("Did you call me a Jive Turkey?") and a very tense moment when a handgun is being carelessly passed around and fired. Similarly, when Harrelson finally becomes intimate again with his love interest, the moment is pointlessly ruined by her retarded brother (?) watching them quite openly, disturbing any ideas of mature romantic relationships.

Nevertheless, there are some moments that made me laugh out loud, such as Ferrell screaming "I'm so happy I can't feel my arms" as he flails them from side to side, or when the team is dressed up in various 'tropical' costumes, with Ferrell as the sun, for some pre-game entertainment. It's not a classic though, and is only really worth watching for some more enjoyable madness from Ferrell.