Sicario

I've got my eye on Denis Villeneuve. Prisoners may have been overcooked nonsense but it was, at least, enjoyable and stunningly-shot overcooked nonsense, and Enemy is a lip-smackingly atmospheric oddity that proved Villeneuve's versatility (at least to me: I haven't seen his Oscar-nommed Incendies, or indeed anything else he made before that, which means you have every right to ignore my stupid uneducated opinion.) But with a Harrison Ford / Ryan Gosling-starring Blade Runner sequel in the post, Villeneuve is officially One To Watch, and Sicario - on the face of it - should be his chance to prove himself a master of the exciting and intelligent cinematic experience.

By and large, he succeeds: Sicario is immensely watchable, without a bum note among its lead performances and a couple of genuinely thrilling set-pieces. It's also, like Prisoners, shot beautifully by that film's DP and certified god amongst men Roger Deakins, and Villeneuve knows exactly where to stick his camera to achieve optimum audience involvement in any given scene. When all's said and done though, anyone who's seen Zero Dark Thirty - and many who haven't - are likely to feel like some pretty familiar ground is being trodden here.

Emily Blunt takes our hand and gives us an idealistic but steely FBI agent's look at the murky world of government-sanctioned black ops, specifically one that involves taking down a Mexican drug cartel via some morally and ethically barren methods. As always, she's brilliant, and her character successfully avoids any accusations of tokenism as the only woman in a testosterone-soaked world of drug dealers and hairy, bantz-loving SWAT teams. She tags along at the request of Josh Brolin's Dudish (as in Lebowski) special agent, and is uncomfortable with the inclusion in the team of Colombian "adviser" Alejandro, played by Benicio del Toro as a hollowed-out former human being whose troubled and mysterious past is carved into every line on his face, of which there are many. Lines, that is, not faces. Although you could argue there are more than one of those too.

Villeneuve knows exactly which buttons to press to drag you into his world, and one of those buttons is very clearly labelled "DEAKINS". The cinematography here is alternately spectacular and prosaic, often when you least expect it, and a late scene utilising thermal imaging and night vision is enormous fun even though Villeneuve hasn't fully explained exactly what's meant to be going on. His other big button is marked "JÓHANSSON", and Sicario's score composer employs pulsing beats and atonal honking to unnerving effect.

Aside from one clunkily-executed plot device involving a colourful wristband, Villeneuve does a great job of balancing intelligent political intrigue with Friday night thrills, and as such Sicario is a massively entertaining watch. However, the naive young officer surprised by the complexity and darkness of international sub-radar operations is a well-worn story, and the similarities to Kathryn Bigelow's 2013 bin Laden-buster are almost excruciatingly clear in several scenes. Sicario is arguably a more satisfying night out, but that doesn't necessarily make it a better film. Like the characters of both movies, history will eventually judge who got it right.

Inherent Vice and my failings as a human being

It seems futile to describe my feelings about Inherent Vice. Although I'm fairly certain I watched it, I feel like I didn't see it. At least, I didn't see the film that most other people who've watched it have seen. You only need to do a brief Twitter search of the film's title to see that it's already enormously popular, and a convincing enough majority of critics are hailing it as yet another masterpiece in the already masterpiece-heavy canon of its director, Paul Thomas Anderson. Well that's great; good on him. If you're a PTA person, go and watch Inherent Vice when it comes out at the end of January, as if you needed an idiot like me to tell you that. Personally, I found it to be one of the most difficult, dull and miserable experiences I've ever had watching a film, and I've seen Roger Moore's Fire, Ice & Dynamite.

Let me be clear: I'm not saying it's a terrible film, and - although I seem to be in a tiny minority - I'm fully aware I'm not alone with my foul opinion. I don't want to be that insufferable twerp who tries to make a name for himself by giving a one-star review to something he alone didn't like or understand, just so people will take notice and commend him for his bravery in refusing to bow to popular opinion. The sheer tidal wave of positivity for Inherent Vice is proof that it has worth, so who am I to ignore that? I'm far more interested in trying to get to the bottom of my intensely negative psychological reaction to the film, simply because I don't understand why I would feel this way.

Inherent Vice is a crime comedy drama based on the novel by Thomas Pynchon, which I obviously haven't read otherwise I might have made more sense of the film. It stars Joaquin Phoenix as sleazy stoner PI Doc Sportello, and a huge ensemble cast who, as far as I can tell, are all very good in their respective roles. But I'd struggle to summarise the plot, because I found it utterly baffling. Sportello is hired by an ex-girlfriend to help stop a plan by her new lover's wife to have him committed to an insane asylum, and that's as far as I got. Approximately seventy thousand more characters get involved and I had literally no idea how they were related to each other, what they were up to or why I should care.

Now I'm not entirely dense; I realise this is kind of the point. The Big Lebowski and The Big Sleep, two films for which I have a lot of affection and which crop up in innumerable Inherent Vice reviews, are similarly labyrinthine. The trippy nature of Anderson's film is so deeply ingrained that it's obviously intended that you're never quite sure what you're seeing isn't a figment of Doc's weed-addled imagination. Fine. But somewhere along the line, character empathy turned to alienation: long takes filled with people mumbling dialogue that washed right over me recreated the experience of being stoned only insofar as it was like being in a room full of enormously boring assholes talking inconsequential shit for hours on end. Forgive me, but that's not my idea of entertainment.

The obvious explanation for my antipathy is that Paul Thomas Anderson just doesn't do it for me: I liked Punch Drunk Love a lot, but Boogie Nights and Magnolia left little impact on me, while I have nothing positive to say about There Will Be Blood or The Master, two films which almost everyone else I know believe to be among mankind's greatest artistic achievements. I haven't seen Anderson's debut, Hard Eight, and nor am I in any rush to. But my reaction to PTA's last three films isn't just a dislike of a particular style, it's a total inability to fathom what the majority of like-minded people find so appealing, and that's just not my usual state of mind. Am I not clever enough? Am I too old? Too mainstream? I don't think so, but maybe I'm not the best judge.

What I am is suspicious: I get a distinct whiff of emperor's new clothes about Paul Thomas Anderson in some circles. That's not to belittle or denigrate those who are genuinely passionate about his work: I respect your opinion and am, in some small way, quite jealous. But I'm sure there are more like me out there who won't admit it. I saw Inherent Vice at one of two sold-out preview screenings at London's Prince Charles Cinema which were introduced by Anderson himself, and the gales of laughter which greeted early scenes suggested to me that there were several audience members desperately trying to tell PTA that they got it, they were down with it, as if he was going to take them back to his hotel and hold a thank you party in their honour. I can't understand why anybody would act that way, but then I can't understand why people eat mussels either, yet it definitely happens. I've seen it. It's disgusting.

I'd never refer to myself as A Film Critic - at best I'd describe myself as Someone Who Writes About Films - and that's clearly for the best. But as Someone Who Writes About Films and who wants to be good at it, it seems important to me to understand exactly what it is that makes a film good or bad beyond the vague boundaries of personal opinion. And, at the risk of disappearing right up my own arsehole, I think this is at the heart of my PTA problem. I can't understand why I don't get on with him and I feel like Someone Who Writes About Films really should have a firm grasp on that. So maybe it's this dent in my self-confidence that's caused me to have this reaction to Inherent Vice and to ramble on about it for over a thousand words; if that's the case and you've read this far, I can only apologise that the conclusion involves my bruised ego.

I'll continue to watch Paul Thomas Anderson's films because a) he's clearly an important director and b) I really, really want to like them, but I now dread the day I see the next one, because I'm sure I'll go through all this again. Inherent Vice, for me, was an hour of confusion followed by an hour and a half of mental torture, and I must be some kind of masochist for willingly putting myself through that again. But I'd rather see something and hate it than not see it at all if it's met with widespread approval, because if there's one thing I can't bear it's an uninformed opinion. And if there's another thing I can't bear it's missing out on something everyone else is on about. You might think that's pathetic, but in the words of a wise old sage, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

Incredible that something which contains so much naked Eva Green could be an unpleasant experience, but there you go.

Full review here.

Labor Day [sic]: suspiciously familiar

Now that Labor Day [sic] is out in cinemas and we can all enjoy Josh Brolin sticking his fingers in Kate Winslet's moist, warm peach pie, I think it may well be time to lift the lid on its source material. Jason Reitman might claim that he based his screenplay on Joyce Maynard's book of the same name, but from where did Joyce get the idea? The answer to this question, as the answer to most questions should be, is Roger Moore.

Nice raised eyebrow, Kate. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT IDEA?

Specifically, Sir Rodge's 1992 non-hit Bed & Breakfast, which was only recently covered so thoroughly and painfully on the pages of this very blog. Now I suspect I may be the only person in the world to have seen both Labor Day [sic] and Bed & Breakfast, so naturally it falls to me to uncover this act of plagiarism. So without further ado, let's examine the evidence:

Labor Day [sic] and Bed & Breakfast spoilers ahoy!

LABOR DAY [sic]	BED & BREAKFAST
A sexy crook on the run (Josh Brolin) goes into hiding in a sexy single woman's home	A crook on the run (Roger Moore) goes into hiding in a single woman's home
The sexy single woman (Kate Winslet) has a young, naive son who fancies a local girl	The single woman (Talia Shire) has a young, naive daughter who fancies a local boy
The sexy crook turns out to be quite the handyman, doing odd jobs around the house	The crook turns out to be quite the handyman, doing odd jobs around the house
The sexy crook is a whizz in the kitchen, whipping up a peach pie while talking in sex metaphors	The crook is a whizz in the kitchen, whipping up a curry while talking in a racist Indian accent
The sexy crook becomes a father-figure to the sexy single woman's son	The crook becomes a father-figure to the single woman's daughter
The sexy crook gives the sexy single woman the hot, steamy sex she's been missing for years	The crook gives the single woman the rusty pensioner sex she never knew she wanted
The citizens of the small town begin to wonder just who this mysterious, sexy man could be	The citizens of the small town begin to wonder just who this mysterious, old man could be
The sexy crook's past eventually catches up with him and he's forced to leave his surrogate family	The crook's past eventually catches up with him and he's forced to leave his surrogate family
Eventually the sexy crook is reunited with the sexy single woman and they live happily ever after	Eventually the crook is reunited with the single woman and they live happily ever after
The naive young son grows up to be Tobey Maguire	The naive young daughter grows up to be Tobey Maguire

I haven't been able to clarify that last point but I'm pretty sure it's the case.

The floor is hereby left open to Jason Reitman and Joyce Maynard to defend themselves. We're waiting, guys!

*waits*

The Labor Day [sic] peach pie chart

London Film Festival: The Tillman Story

Documentary time again at the LFF, and this one's got a war face.

That impossibly lantern-jawed fizzog will be recognisable to any fans of American Football out there (obviously there's a natural crossover between film blog readers and NFL enthusiasts), but for the benefit of everyone else it belongs to Pat Tillman, who played for the Arizona Cardinals, whatever they are, before enlisting in the army and being booted off to Eye-rack and Afghanistan, where he was apparently killed by the Afghan militia in an ambush.

That's right conspiracy fans, there may or may not have been a cover up in the investigation into Pat Tillman's death that goes - yes, I'm going to say it - RIGHT TO THE TOP.

While the Tillman story is fascinating, The Tillman Story is only quite good - it's clumsily structured, goes on a bit and doesn't properly address the issue that it hints at - the peculiar need that people, countries and governments have for heroes. However it does reveal the farcical tragedies of war and the shameful actions of governments, and leaves you in awe of Tillman's formidable mother, who has all but devoted her life to getting an apologetic drop of blood from a decidedly stony US administration. It also features a soldier called Bryan O'Neal, which is challenging not to chuckle at when the subject matter is so sombre.

And just so you don't spend the entire film trying to work out who's doing the voiceover like I did: It's Josh Brolin, who only recently played George W Bush in Oliver Stone's biopic W.

The Tillman Story is showing at 6.30pm on Wednesday 20th October and 3.30pm on Thursday 21st October at Vue Leicester Square, and at 9.00pm on Saturday 23rd October at the Ritzy in Brixton.

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