LFF 2019: The King

I may have reached the limit of my David Michôd fanboying. Animal Kingdom (2010) is still a scuzzily great crime drama, and The Rover (2014) is an underrated dystopian nightmare about where humanity is heading (to Hell, in a wheeled, overflowing commode). War Machine (2017), however, was a cultural atrocity; an actual abuse of my human rights. Nevertheless I stood by Michôd, and looked forward to The King: an adaptation of Shakespeare's Henry IV Parts I & II and Henry V. I like those plays a lot, and hoped Michôd might make as good a fist of them as his countryman Justin Kurzel did of Macbeth.

Needless to say: don't panic, Kenneth Branagh. As you were, Laurence Olivier's corpse. Michôd and co-writer Joel Edgerton have taken the bones of Shakespeare's plots but stripped them of his mesmerising language, to the point where they could justifiably argue that this isn't a Shakespeare adaptation at all. Their dialogue is prosaic and literal, which would almost be excusable in any non-Shakespeare-related film. But if you're going to unceremoniously dump lines like that one about the band of brothers, and that other one about once more unto the etc etc, well, you really need to come up with some decent alternatives. And having both Henrys IV and V say "fuck" doesn't count.

But let's give Michôd and Edgerton the benefit of the doubt and approach The King as a non-Shakespearey historical drama. How do they change the game? How do they add something new? How do they appeal to Generation Netflix, who are footing the budget? The answer lies in the willowy figure of Timothée Chalamet, a perfectly good actor whose ginormous fanbase is somehow as improbable as his cheekbones. Chalamet is our Hal, the rebellious prince who'd rather get royally cunted on a nightly basis with his pal-slash-tragic-father-figure Falstaff than assume the role he was literally born for. The King is already off to a wobbly start: Chalamet looks a little too clean-living for the debauchery we're meant to believe he's undertaking, and while Edgerton's not-unjustifiable retooling of Falstaff as an avuncular military tactician makes more sense than Shakespeare's sack-soaked old windbag, it deprives the character of much of his personality.

"Oh, you don't like my haircut? Well how about you get a HEADCUT? (off)"

Inevitably, Hal is required to step up and take the throne after an incident in which he heroically saves the lives of his hated father's soldiers but indirectly gets his brother (also hated) killed. Families, eh? Cuh. Now comes the interesting bit, but only if you're British: despite an indecorous past which clearly marks him out as entirely unsuitable for the role, Hal assumes the highest political office in the land, where he is advised by self-serving lickspittles. He immediately embarks on a potentially disastrous European venture driven by a public who are unreasonably fearful of foreigners; you can tell his heart's not in it but you can't argue with the will of the people, can you? At this point the allegories run dry, but I'm sure if we wait another week or two another one will become apparent.

So now lil' Timmy Chalamet is a beloved leader of men and a great warrior, and he is equally miscast as both. Sure, Hal is meant to be an unlikely king, but Chalamet is just a little too young, too slight and too pretty; his presence comes across as more of a marketing tool than a logical creative choice. He's not bad, he's just the wrong king - I'd happily believe him as Shakespeare's weak and naive Henry VI, and I'm sure he could sink his teeth into the dastardly doings of Richard III. What's more, Hal's crown puts so much pressure on his brain that where yesterday he would avoid war at all costs, today he's desperate to do what his father couldn't: beat the shit out of those cheese-eating surrender monkeys across the Channel in a big fuck-off war.

By this point the film has been trundling on for quite some time without much of any interest coming to pass, and it's been doing so with such painful earnestness that even Falstaff, the de facto comic relief, has barely cracked a smile. There has been a great deal of talking though, which is all well and good, but what we could really do with - to quote another King - is a little less conversation, a little more action.

"All zis aggravation ain't satisfactionin' moi"

And that's when Robert Pattinson appears to liven things up with his Tommy Wiseau laugh and his Inspector Clouseau accent. He's the Dauphin of France, the King's son, and The King's pantomime villain. Chalamet is visibly furious at Pattinson's attempts to steal the show from under him, and understandably declares war. The Battle of Agincourt is the film's only skirmish, which smacks of budgetary necessity, and while it's coherently shot and cut (which is more than can be said for most movie battles), it's exactly the same as every other medieval clash you've ever seen, right down to the slow motion brutality soundtracked by ethereal music. And then, as if to hammer the final nail into its own coffin, The King - which has so far been so po-faced it could pass for a Teletubby - opts for wildly misjudged slapstick, of all things, at a crucial moment.

In Michôd's defence, his film does look good: his camera adores Chalamet, as they all do, and he composes a beautiful night-time trebuchet attack on a French castle. Also his and Edgerton's deviation from what we must wankily refer to as "the text" allows him to ditch Hal's unbearable wooing of Kate, his newly acquired French missus, in favour of giving her a small but important last-reel role in a movie that's otherwise a near-total sausagefest. But it's not enough to erase the sheer unremarkableness of the preceding two hours, and the crucial underlying themes of destiny and family - along with my long-held stanning of David Michôd - are lost somewhere in the vasty fields of France.

The Rover

Although The Rover isn't released in the UK until August 15th, those lucky Belgianians have already had it for a couple of weeks. While this state of affairs would normally be enough for me to declare war, a fortuitous turn of events led to me finding myself working in Brussels earlier this week, so I made every effort to avoid eating fucking mussels with my colleagues and instead legged it to the UGC Toison d'Or (Golden Fleece, translation fans) to catch my most anticipated film of 2014. The benefits of this are twofold: firstly and most obviously, I got to see the follow-up to David Michôd's bruisingly terrific Animal Kingdom two months early; secondly, you, the reader (hi Mum) are spared weeks of further foul whining about how much I'm looking forward to The Rover.

Proof that I'm not making up this wild and crazy story

A brief synopsis, then, for the tragically uninitiated: it's Australia, ten years since an economic and social meltdown in the Western world, and one man's (Guy Pearce) only possession - his car - is nicked by a gang of low-rent crims. Taking the youngest crook (Robert Pattinson) hostage, he sets off to retrieve his motor. His plan does not unfold without incident.

First things first: The Rover is no Animal Kingdom. But in all fairness you can't really compare the two: one's a knotty crime family drama while the other is a slow-burning, warped road-slash-buddy movie with bad shit to say about the state of humanity. Scripted by Michôd from a story he co-wrote with long-time chum and Blue-Tongue Films co-alumnus Joel Edgerton, The Rover is a measured, almost languorous piece that simmers under the South Australian sun, a crushing air of pessimism stifling proceedings with little mercy. As tales of slightly insane men searching for stolen, beloved vehicles go, this is about as far from Pee-wee's Big Adventure as you're likely to get.

Alternative title: Cobber, Where's My Car?

Guy Pearce's nameless anti-hero is a blank canvas for much of the film, albeit a canvas that's been screwed up more times than he can probably remember. We know little about him until late in the story (in a steely monologue that's the evil twin of a similar scene in Animal Kingdom), but his appearance suggests a great deal, none of it good. As tatty and battered as the widescreen desolation that surrounds him, Pearce's look here is extreme shabby chic: scarred, his hair cut by a madman (most likely himself) and very possibly held together only by his raggy beard. His character's past is painfully teased out ("I was a farmer, now I'm here" is one of his most revealing speeches), but he's less a person than an elemental force; an avatar for the audience. Michôd wants us inside Pearce's head, and the two men do a chillingly fine job of getting us there.

As the hunt for his car - not an actual Rover, sadly - becomes more intense, the people Pearce encounters become exponentially less pleasant. Everyone has something to sell and everyone is in it purely for themselves, save for one altruistic character. Michôd's concern soon becomes clear: selfish actions have consequences, and those consequences are on stark display in The Rover as a warning. Whatever led to "The Collapse", our greed and predilection for self-preservation played a big part in it. Like all good road movies, The Rover is a film whose roads are literal and metaphorical; the roads we take, and are taken down, don't always lead to warm and fuzzy places.

While Pearce is intensely magnetic, Robert Pattinson is only slightly less successful as Rey, the childlike, mentally underdeveloped gang member Pearce uses to reclaim his car. Pattinson deploys a series of twitches and jitters that occasionally panic you into thinking he could, in the words of Tropic Thunder's Kirk Lazarus, "go full retard" at any moment. It's a tricky performance to pull off, and there's a lot of good work here, but while R-Pattz generally does a grand job of continuing to shed his fangirl-fodder rep he's often in danger of defusing carefully-wrought tension. And while the two men's relationship drives the story's emotional core, Michôd's (perfectly admirable) desire to avoid cliché means it develops begrudgingly and obliquely, which may prove unsatisfying to some.

Technically, The Rover is stunning. The very last film to be processed in Australia on 35mm, it paints the Outback as harsh and unforgiving; a savage purgatory populated by blackened souls in forgotten holes. Michôd's camera moves, too, are deliberate and dripping with purpose, and he loves nothing more than to hold on Guy Pearce's face for as long as possible. Meanwhile the first act's sparse, industrial score of atonal, metallic scrapes and clonks gives way to more melodic fare as Pearce's character begins to rediscover some kind of humanity, and the jarring inclusion of an upbeat R&B track later in the film raises one of its few smiles.

The Rover is thoughtful and bleak, but crucially never dull. It's hard to see it going down well with the Robsessed who retweet every mention I make of the film, and its pace might be too languid for even the most discerning moviegoer. But David Michôd's cinema is intelligent, heavyweight and beautifully played out, and I for one am 100% down with it. This is a fascinating second step in the journey of a director with enormous talent and potential, and whichever road he takes next, I will absolutely be along for the ride.

Blog post #2 of hundreds about The Rover

I'm generally loath to do marketing companies' work for them, but in the case of David Animal Kingdom Michôd's The Rover I'll make an exception. This is the film I'm most excited about this year (although let's be honest, X-Men: Days Of Future Past looks immense), so I'm duty-bound to ensure that every single person who reads this blog knows about it in the hope that both of you will go and see it.

Hot off the back of the announcement that it'll be premiering in a midnight screening at this year's Cannes Film Festival, A24 Films dropped the first, WB Yeats-misquoting full trailer today, complete with "OFFICIAL SELECTION CANNES 2014" insert, almost as if they knew. It's gorgeously moody and leaks out a little more plot than the teaser (obviously), but this is clearly a film that isn't going to be described in two-and-a-half minutes.

 

Fans of Robert Pattinson are going crackers for this on Twitter right now, which seems unfair when fans of Guy Pearce's facial hair are relatively silent. So here I am doing my bit: get ready for The Rover, motherfuckers. It' going to be amazing. Or possibly rubbish. Hard to say. Regardless, here's some more marketing material.

This is the film I am genuinely looking forward to more than any other in 2014

It's nearly three long years since Animal Kingdom, one of the best films of the last decade, blew my tiny mind and alerted me to the genius of writer / director David Michôd and his chums at Blue Tongue Films. Since then I've been frothing at the cock for Michôd's next film, The Rover, for which a teaser landed yesterday - exactly one year since principal photography began, if that means anything.

Animal Kingdom's brilliance means that The Rover is easily the film I'm looking forward to the most this year, and its absence from various high-profile "Ones To Watch In 2014" lists is baffling to say the least. Guy Pearce! Robert Pattinson! Er, Scoot McNairy! What's not to be stoked about?

Here's a synopsis:

"The Australian desert in a dangerous and damaged near future. Eric has left everything, everyone and every semblance of human kindness behind him. And then he has his last possession stolen by a gang of dangerous criminals. Eric sets off on a ruthless mission to track them down, forced along the way to enlist the help of Rey, the naïve and injured junior member of the gang, who was left behind in the bloody chaos of the gang's most recent robbery."

But what is Eric's mysterious last possession? Is it the Rover of the title? And is that his dog? His car? His replica inflatable henchman from surreal '60s TV series The Prisoner? Maybe the teaser will tell us.

Or maybe it won't. But the Facebook post which accompanies the teaser advises us to "Prepare for The Collapse." I have no idea what that means but I am so totally preparing for it. My Collapse preparation measures are being implemented as we speak. I ain't about to witness no Collapse without being fully ready for it, whatever the fuck it is. Bring it on.

A Beginner's Guide To Blue-Tongue Films

My borderline-unhealthy obsession with Animal Kingdom (now my favourite film of the last five years and firmly lodged in my Top 30 of all time) has led me, via hours of furious Googling, to discover Blue-Tongue Films, a loose collective of six Australian (and one American) filmmakers started in 1996 by stuntman Nash Edgerton and his actor brother Joel, and which includes - among others - Animal Kingdom's writer / director David Michôd.

Blue-Tongue have knocked out an impressive bunch of short films over the last few years, and are responsible for - amongst other things - the forthcoming feature Hesher, which stars Joseph Gordon-Levitt in a massive pair of undercrackers, and why anybody wouldn't be excited about that prospect is quite beyond my capacity.

So here's The Incredible Suit's unsolicited but invaluable cut-out-and-keep guide to the most fun bunch of Aussies since the Rebecchi family. Bonzer!

The Players

Nash Edgerton - Actor, writer, director, editor, stuntman. Doubled as Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith. Played "Security Guard #5" in The Matrix Reloaded.

Joel Edgerton - Actor, writer, director. Looked bored as Owen Lars in the Star Wars prequels. Was brilliant as Barry Brown in Animal Kingdom.

Kieran Darcy-Smith - Actor, writer, director. Played "John Harrop" in Animal Kingdom. I've seen it twice and I can't remember seeing him. Soz KDS.

David Michôd - Actor, writer, director. Wrote and directed Animal Kingdom, starred as "Nurse #2" in Aussie toilet-based comedy Kenny. Not sure which of those two achievements is the greatest.

Luke Doolan - Actor, writer, director, editor, cinematographer. Edited Animal Kingdom. Never appeared in Neighbours as far as I can tell.

Spencer Susser - Writer, director, editor. The American one. May be responsible for the recent theft of Alan Davies' hair.

Tony Lynch - Stuntman, actor, cinematographer. Performed stunts in Superman Returns, M:I-2 and He Died With A Felafel In His Hand, which is the best movie title ever.





The Shorts
The Blue-Tonguers, as I'm sure they don't want to be called, have all either written, directed, edited or acted in their own - and each other's - short films. Some of the early shorts are essentially showreels for Nash Edgerton's stunt skillz, but the rest range from thoughtful crime dramas to alien bodysnatcher nonsense. They're all on the Blue-Tongue Films website and if you've got an afternoon spare you could do worse than sit and watch them all.

If you've only got an hour spare though, here are five of the best (and if you've only got ten minutes, just watch Spider):

Spider

 (2007, d. Nash Edgerton, w. Nash Edgerton & David Michôd)

From mundanely familiar to blackly comic via horrifyingly shocking, Spider is Safe For Work but be warned: you will probably swear out loud twice.

I Love Sarah Jane 

(2007, d. Spencer Susser, w. Spencer Susser & David Michôd)

A kids' love story with zombies (better than it sounds), I Love Sarah Jane stars a young Mia Wasikowska as a potty-mouthed girl who impresses the boys with her spade-wielding proficiency. "Word" on "the street" is it's being turned into a feature.

Crossbow

 (2007, w. & d. David Michôd)

The second of three shorts directed by Michôd, Crossbow is as atmospheric as Animal Kingdom and displays the same eye for a beautiful depiction of mundanity and terror in the same frame.

Miracle Fish

(2009, w. & d. Luke Doolan)

Doolan received massive plaudits for this wish-fulfilment tale, including an Oscar nomination in 2010.

Monkeys

 (2010, w. & d. Joel Edgerton)

Features no actual monkeys but some great Australian mullets.

The Feature Films

Solitary Endeavour On The Southern Ocean

(aka Solo) (2008, d. David Michôd & Jennifer Peedom)

Michôd co-directed this hour-long documentary using footage found in the empty kayak of Andrew McAuley, who set out to row from Australia to New Zealand but disappeared a day before he was due to complete his task. I haven't seen it.

The Square

(2008, d. Nash Edgerton, w. Joel Edgerton & Matthew Dabner)

I haven't seen this either.

Animal Kingdom

(2010, d. & w. David Michôd)

Ooh, I've seen this one. Did I mention it's completely brilliant?

Hesher

(2010, d. Spencer Susser, w. Spencer Susser & David Michôd)

I haven't seen this because it hasn't got a UK distributor yet. Considering buying it myself.

Wish You Were Here

(2011, d. Kieran Darcy-Smith, w. Kieran Darcy-Smith & Felicity Price)

The press release for this mystery-thriller says "Four friends lose themselves in a carefree South-East Asian holiday. Only three come back." I'm guessing the fourth isn't just hiding in the plane's toilet. I haven't seen this because it isn't finished yet.

*

This has been a public information post by The Incredible Suit on behalf of Blue-Tongue Films. You're welcome.

Animal Kingdom

Let's not fanny about here, Animal Kingdom is the best film I've seen this year and probably better than anything I saw last year. In fact the last time I remember a film grabbing me by the balls like this and refusing to let go for two hours of slow-burning tension was Let The Right One In nearly two years ago, and it's a good job there was such a long gap between the two films because my balls had only just recovered. Now I'm back to typing while standing up.

The poster's not too shabby either, even if it is almost collapsing under the weight of gushing quotery:

Hey, if Harper's Bazaar says it's "Unmissable", you better listen up.

An Australian crime drama about a young man inadvertently but unavoidably caught up in the self-destructive maelstrom of a family of crooks, Animal Kingdom is essentially The Godfather with Aussie chavs. Like Coppola's masterpiece, the hierarchy within the family is constantly in flux, and the central character must find his place within it while it slowly consumes him from inside. Only in this film they have more barbies.

David Michôd directs his first feature from his own flawless script with no fuss or in-your-face bravado but with absolute respect for an intelligent audience and an eye for poignant minutiae - a silhouetted bracelet hanging from a limp wrist here, an affectionately straightened collar there - all of which carry multiple, often menacing, meanings. Meanwhile the story keeps you guessing at every turn; it's a rare thing to find a crime film so completely unpredictable without veering into silliness and self-parody, COUGHguyritchieCOUGH.

The uniformly fantastic cast of mostly unknowns have no place being this good. Guy Pearce is the only real "name", and it's not stunt casting. His character requires the subtlety and familiarity he brings, but by no means is he the star. It's difficult to say who is: Jacki Weaver's Oscar-nominated turn as the brassy matriarch is both moving and monstrous, while newcomer James Frecheville, as the 17-year-old protagonist, is so restrained he could be sleepwalking - which makes the final act all the more nail-biting since it's impossible to guess what his motives or intentions are. But it's Ben Mendelsohn as the blackest sheep in a family of black sheep who stays with you after the credits, his performance intimidating and unnerving without resorting to showboating.

Animal Kingdom has taken about nine months since its Australian release to travel the ten thousand or so miles to the UK, but believe me when I say it's been worth the wait. As Australian exports go, it even almost makes up for Dannii Minogue.

Almost.