Noah

Batten down the hatches, there's a storm a-comin': a storm of absolute batshit mentalism from which even the sturdiest umbrella won't protect you. You may as well just pop your Speedos on now and prepare to drown in the boundless biblical bonkersness of Darren Aronofsky's Noah, a film which - while no more crackers than its source material - is simultaneously completely wonderful and utter dreck. It's brilliantly awful, and I cannot wait to see what the world makes of it.

"Fucksake, God. I JUST hung the washing out."

In the beginning, Darren creates an opening sequence showing mankind turning the shiny new Earth to shit, and the audience will see that it is good. Then he said, "Let there be a clichéd prologue where young Noah, wearing a hoodie for some reason, is given a backstory as old as time." This the audience will call 'a bit ropey for a biblical epic written and directed by one of modern cinema's most singular talents, but carry on.'

Having thereby diced dangerously with audience goodwill in its opening minutes, Noah soon reveals that it genuinely doesn't care for your expectations, and ploughs on with a story that consistently surprises in the most boggling ways while churning out a low-rent melodrama of baffling banality. On a mission from God - sorry, The Creator - to build a massive wooden box, stuff it with animals and wait for rain so furious that it erupts from the ground and the sky, Noah (Russell Crowe) is aided by Watchers, huge knobbly rock-beings that resemble giant angry Nik Naks. This is the kind of stuff that makes you glad to be alive while Darren Aronofsky is making films, but it's not long before attention is focussed instead on a soppy teenage infatuation between Noah's Burberry model son (Douglas Booth) and adopted Burberry model daughter (Emma Watson).

Seriously, let 'em drown.

And so it goes on: Ray Winstone, whose character may as well be called Ant Agonist, rocks up like a faded drunk panto star, chewing up both the scenery and precious endangered species while Russell Crowe grumps about po-facedly and talks in Historical Epicish to anyone who'll listen. It's a clash of styles which typifies the film and renders it senseless.

When the flood arrives, which it takes its sweet time doing, it's suitably biblically wrought and things start to look up. By this point we've got a lead character who hears voices telling him to ensure the destruction of the human race - including those nearest and dearest to him - being thrashed about on the waves while the planet's remaining souls clamber over each other to high ground, screaming in terror at their horrific fate. All this torment should make for an emotionally devastating piece of cinema, but Aronofsky ignores the plight of humanity, directs Russell Crowe as if he's troubled by nothing more than a stone in his sandal and bimbles on with the tedious teen soap opera that should be restricted to the status of minor subplot. It's hard to get involved in one man, burdened with a terrible purpose, when his wife is conducting pregnancy tests using half a coconut and some hemp.

As wildly entertaining as Noah is, it feels like a missed opportunity for a truly great biblical epic. It's maddening that a director with Aronofsky's vision would hire such a vacuous cast (Crowe and Winstone excepted) to tell a story with such huge themes, and utterly bewildering that he would allow it to so frequently sink into comically turgid mush, enlivened only by the occasional sub-Lord Of The Rings action sequence (and, let's be fair, a truly magnificent montage of the creation of all creation). But its unique spirit can't be denied, and so it is with no small amount of confused admiration that I celebrate it. It's a one-star film and a five-star film bundled together in an insane spin cycle, and the result is a three-star flawed masterpiece. God knows what you'll think of it.

Award-Winning Idea #219

Having recently endured enjoyed the SingalongaGrease experience at London's Prince Charles Cinema, it occurred to me that there are massive gaps in the market for further interactive movie experiences in which cinema audiences can join in with the on-screen fun from the comfort of their seats.

And so, without further attempt to explain why I bothered with any of this, here are eleven suggestions for the future of cinema. All ideas are © Me so don't even think about it.

MumblelongaTrueGrit

Every time Jeff Bridges opens his mouth, the entire audience mumbles along incoherently, with helpful subtitles and a bouncing ball.

Any patrons who want a taster of what this experience might be like should watch live coverage of the House Of Commons.

RemovafacealongaMission:Impossible2

On entering the screening, each audience member is given several full face masks to put on. Each time an actor removes their face in the film, the audience does too. Special care must be taken to ensure each patron has enough masks and does not inadvertently remove their own face.

AmnesialongaMemento

Audiences at this event will be able to join in the fun by having the last ten minutes of their memory wiped at ten-minute intervals in order to truly immerse them in the world of Memento's protagonist, Leonard. When they leave the cinema they'll have no idea where they are or why they're there but will be only too happy to watch it again.

BustaballsalongaGoodFellas

Every time a character makes reference to balls being busted and/or broken, audience members must bust the balls of their neighbour. This can be done with repeated verbal needling or, if it's Robert De Niro doing the complaining, customers are entitled to physically break the balls of whoever they wish. Screenings are to be held in venues with nearby A&E facilities.

DisappointalongaPhantomMenace

Whenever an audience member is disappointed by an annoying moppet or let down by an atrocious CGI character, they must themselves trample on the hopes and dreams of a loved one. A pre-screening demonstration will show patrons how to rape someone else's childhood or stamp on the toes of a friend's fondest memories.

FalsendingalongaReturnOfTheKing

Every time it looks like the final Lord Of The Rings film is ending, the entire audience picks up their coat and bags and shuffles politely out of the auditorium, into their cars and drives home. Just as they're getting into bed they are phoned by the cinema and told they have to come back to see the rest of the film. This happens with every potential ending. Screenings are expected to last approximately two days.

FightalongaFightClub

The Rules Of FightalongaFightClub

First Rule: You do not talk about FightalongaFightClub.

Second Rule: Every time a character fights, the audience must fight too.

Third Rule: If someone goes for a wee or some more nachos, FightalongaFightClub is over.

Fourth Rule: The entire audience must fight each other.

Fifth Rule: Multiple fights at a time are compulsory.

Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. You too, fellas.

Seventh Rule: FightalongaFightClub will go on as long as it has to.

Eighth Rule: If this is your first time at FightalongaFightClub, bring your last will and testament.

RepeatalongaGroundhogDay

Groundhog Day is screened without incident, but is then screened again and again, on an eternal loop. All exits will be locked to prevent escape until all audience members learn to be better people and convince Andie Macdowell to shag them.

DreamwithinadreamalongaInception

As each dream level is reached in the narrative, audiences must discover a deeper level of their own subconscious in which to have a mind-boggling action sequence. Ushers will be on hand to deliver "The Kick" if it looks like any patrons are about to die, but they'll probably be distracted by the fit girl serving the popcorn so keep one eye open. Audiences must provide their own totem.

DosomethingpointlessalongaTronLegacy

With every pointless or incomprehensible event that occurs on screen, the audience must also undertake something useless or baffling. Examples may include waving a stick around and impersonating David Bowie, delivering motivational speeches to their PCs and describing the sun as "big, round and yellow".

SurgicallyattachalongaHumanCentipede

Chloroform, handkerchiefs and sewing kits are taped under a quarter of the seats in the auditorium. If an audience member finds this goody bag, they must render three other customers unconscious at the same time that it happens in the film, and then continue to imitate the actions of the film's mad doctor. The fun really begins when detectives burst into the auditorium and start shooting.

HamalongaHopkins

In this special season of screenings of every Anthony Hopkins film, audiences must devour an entire ham every time the great man speaks, moves or thinks. If, by the end of the season, patrons are still hungry, they may begin chewing the scenery.

Shagalonga9Songs

Sorry, every screening of this has already sold out.

Bond 23: Rumour Control

Since the 23rd James Bond film was announced in January, the 007 rumour mill has gone into overdrive, or whatever it is rumour mills do when they're milling more rumours than usual. Most of them concern the casting of the villain (or villains), and while some may well come to pass, others I can only hope are little more than the brainfarts of a bored journalist playing make believe.

I tried to contact EON Productions to confirm the veracity or otherwise of these rumours but it's impossible to find any contact details for them on the internet, so basically I've made it up. If Barbara Broccoli is reading, can you email me your phone number please Babs? Cheers love.

So without further ado, let's play "Truth Or Rumour?", or "Trumour?" as I'll call it for space-saving reasons. Not that I've actually saved any space because I've had to explain the contraction. Balls.

Javier Bardem will play a bad guy

Deadline.com reported at the end of January that manly Spanish man Javier Bardem had been offered a part in the film as the latest diabolical mastermind to fail to kill Bond. Barders himself told the LA Times that he was considering the role but hadn't yet read the script. Over a month later we still don't know any more. That script must be incredibly long.

Trumour? Well it's obviously true that he's been offered the part, but that's all we know for sure. I hope he takes it because I've written an entire post about how good he'll be.

Ralph Fiennes will play a bad guy

"Ralph Fiennes to be shaken, not stirred?" squawked The Daily Mail's Baz Bamigboye unoriginally and nonsensically last month in one of those tedious "I can exclusively reveal" stories that usually means nobody else would touch it with a shitty stick. Bazzer claims his source - "a film executive in Los Angeles connected to the production", which is about as vague as it gets - told him (exclusively, obv) that "discussions" have taken place between Fiennes' people and EON.

Trumour? Unlikely if you ask me, which you do by virtue of reading this far. Nobody else has corroborated this, Fiennes hasn't said anything about it and anyway, hasn't he had enough of being the bad guy in a multi-squillion-dollar franchise? If it turns out to be true, the first person to use the word "Vold-finger" gets a laser twixt their Jacobs.

Rachel Weisz will play a bad guy, oh and

the film will be called Red Sky At Night

A hilarious article in The Sun "revealed" on January 20th (nearly a year after it originated at cinemablend.com) that "producers are desperate to sign [Weisz] to play the spy's arch enemy [...] An insider said: 'Casting Rachel was going to be a surprise twist as everyone would assume she'd be a Bond girl when really she would play a villain. But the fly in the ointment is that [she and Daniel Craig] are now dating.'" I might be tempted to argue that the real fly in the ointment is that you just told a tabloid journalist the twist, you galloping buffoon.

The Sun also reported that "the film is tipped to be called Red Sky At Night". A little digging revealed that this hot tip was found on a Bond fansite forum in a post by someone claiming to be a friend of an unnamed art director who'd seen the script. Tenuous much?

Trumour? The Weisz story, soon to celebrate its first birthday, still hasn't been confirmed: make of that what you will. I make of it that The Sun needed to fulfil their Hollywood Totty Tittle Tattle quota for the day. As for the title, a friend of mine whose dog's vet's brother's lover's gynaecologist once had his hand up Dame Judi's Dench told me it would definitely be called Blood And Thunder. We shall see.

Roger Deakins will be Director of Photography

In an interview with collider.com, Deakins revealed that he'll "probably do a film with Sam Mendes next". When asked if that would be Bond 23, he replied "It might, yeah". DON'T TEASE US DEAKINS!

Trumour? That "maybe" comes straight from the horse's speech-hole, so don't underestimate its truthery. Bond directors tend to take on a DoP they know and trust, and Mendes and Deakins previously worked on Revolutionary Road and Jarhead, so they've got form. I'm praying to Cubby Broccoli for this to be true.

Anthony Hopkins will play a bad guy

Remember Batman & Robin, with its forty-six villains? The success of that film leads me to suspect that not everybody rumoured to play a bad guy in Bond 23 will end up doing so. That, and the fact that this one also comes from The Sun, which says that the former proud Welshman and massive ham is "close to signing a deal". This is, of course, according to a suitably vague and probably non-existent "source".

Trumour? About as likely as Sean Connery playing the Bond girl. At least I hope so. Either eventuality would be horrific.

Daniel Craig will wear a dress

Don't be ridiculous. The day Daniel Craig appears as Bond in drag is the day they devote an entire 24 hours to all the ladies of the world.

What?



Oh.

The Wolfman

The Wolfman is out now. In brief, it's a mildly enjoyable, mercifully short slice of low fat horror cheese. It has some completely stupid bits, a lot of cliches and some terrible acting, but what do you expect? It's 2010, probably the worst year for movies since 1998, which I can barely bring myself to think about (Best film: A Bug's Life).

Anyway, Anthony Hopkins is in it, and The Incredible Suit has three insignificant observations to make about him and his character:

INSIGNIFICANT OBSERVATION #1

He can't decide on whether to go with a Welsh or Irish accent throughout the film, so he alternates between them in each scene. It's very distracting.

INSIGNIFICANT OBSERVATION #2

His character is called Sir John Talbot, which, by a staggering coincidence, is the name of the secondary school I went to:

It's called a Technology College now, whatever that means. They must have bought a computer since I was there.

INSIGNIFICANT OBSERVATION #3

It wasn't Anthony Hopkins at all. It was Teddy from

Artificial Intelligence:

That sound you can hear is the bottom of the 'tenuous lookalike' barrel being scraped very, very hard.

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A Cuddly Welshman

In the distant future, when all books have perished to dust and the human race has been reduced to infinitesimal particles of dandruff floating on the nuclear wind, the only surviving record of the history of mankind will be movie biopics, captured forever on DVD, a format which has been proven to withstand a cataclysmic atomic blast (possibly).

So when aliens land on Earth and scour their local Blockbuster to learn of this mysterious race of creatures which once inhabited the planet, won't they question why so many historical figures of note look a bit... well, similar?

(Not pictured: Charles Dickens, Yitzhak Rabin, William Bligh, Donald Campbell,

Dr John Kellogg, George Washington, Ernest Hemingway, and many more who all looked suspiciously like a cuddly Welshman)

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Magic

The Incredible Suit is part of The Cineastes, a group of bloggers who review a film a month and link blogs in the hope of spreading the word of whatever it is we’re on about. October’s film is Magic, directed by Richard Attenborough in 1978.

Magic stars Anthony Hopkins as Corky, a struggling magician who incorporates a ventriloquist’s dummy, Fats, into his act in order to achieve greater success. Corky’s agent lands him a pilot for a TV series but the studio demands he undergo a medical examination before they sign the contract. It turns out they were quite right to do so; Corky’s as mad as a parachuteful of badgers, his personality split firmly down the middle with Fats taking the confident, aggressive side and leaving Corky the timid, hopeless loser half. It’s only a matter of time before one of them takes things too far…

…and that’s it. This might have once been an edgy thriller with a few shocks and a terrifying dummy, but now the scariest thing about it is Anthony Hopkins’ jumper. It’s a passable 100 minutes but it’s all quite predictable and ordinary and lacking in, well, magic.

Hopkins delivers an admirable performance, something he’s stopped bothering with these days. Yes, I know he’s a national treasure (especially having abandoned Wales to become a naturalised American), and he was good in The Silence Of The Lambs, but since then he’s only ever been Hannibal Lecter in a series of inappropriate situations. The Remains Of The Day: ooh look, Hannibal Lecter’s serving tea and cucumber sandwiches! Nixon: ooh look, Hannibal Lecter’s the President! Hannibal: ooh look, Hannibal Lecter’s playing Hannibal Lecter, how postmodern! Anyway, in Magic he gives a convincing portrayal of a movie schizophrenic, but a sympathetic depiction of mental illness this isn’t. And his accent, like the man himself, can’t decide between Welsh and American.

Speaking of indecision, as I may or may not have been, there’s some debate about whether Fats actually had a soul and was a separate entity to Corky, or if he was just Corky’s hatstand alter ego. The story waits until the last few minutes to decide, and it probably made the right choice because a sentient homunculus would have been a step too far down the ludicrous path for The Incredible Suit. Which, coincidentally, is my mentally troubled other self.

There is one excellent scene, in which Corky fails to prove he can exist without Fats for five minutes - a truly great shot shows Fats taking over with just a simple camera move - but Magic’s only other noteworthy aspect is that it features possibly the least sexy sex scene ever between Hopkins and Ann-Margret, both notoriously shy actors. It looks like they’ve bumped into each other in a corridor and are awkwardly trying to get out of each other’s way. Only naked.

On which queasy note I’ll leave you, with an “average” judgement hanging in the air like an indifferent, dispassionate cauliflower.



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You can read the rest of The Cineastes' reviews of Magic by clicking the links below:

The Third Act