X-Men: Apocalypse

Let's be honest: X-Men: Apocalypse is not a film without its problems. I would struggle to discuss it in any great detail without reeling off a catalogue of poor directorial choices, script nonsenses or examples of bad acting. It is certainly the least good of Bryan Singer's four X-Men films to date, and I actually spent some time deciding whether or not it was better than X-Men Origins: Wolverine, which - as we all know - is not nearly as terrible as you all say it is. What Apocalypse is, though, is knowingly camp, occasionally bold and - at the very least - well-intentioned, even if its intentions are frequently crushed to smithereens under the weight of its own hubris. And if you ask me, which I'm afraid you already have by virtue of reading this far, it's still better than First Class.

After a satisfyingly exhausting unpicking and rethreading of the X-Men universe's chronology in Days Of Future Past, Singer and writer Simon Kinberg have opted for the easy way here: big bad guy threatens human extinction, recruits bad mutants to his cause, good mutants fight back. It's not big and it's not clever, but it is a lot of fun: the pre-title scene alone features some spectacular Cairo-based carnage which sets the tone for the FX-heavy two and a bit hours that follow, and while some of it is kind of baffling, none of it is boring - and certainly not the opening titles, which play out like the complete history of mankind as recalled by a hyperactive child who was once shown a picture of the Mona Lisa.

Oscar Isaac is thanklessly tasked with the role of Mr Apocalypse (first name not given; possibly Alan), buried under enough blue prosthetics and daft armour to question the wisdom of hiring an actor this good to play what is essentially an angry smurf. Rudely awoken from a millennia-long snooze in 1983, Alan Apocalypse does what we'd all like to do when yanked out of a nice dream and sets off to enslave mankind, recruiting the three most useless mutants he can find along the way and giving them terrible haircuts for reasons best known to himself. Meanwhile, Erik Magneto (Michael Fassbender, still undecided on which accent to plump for) is living happily in Poland until shit goes down that tests his patience to the ruddy limit, rendering him an ideal candidate for the currently vacant position of Fourth Horseman Of Alan.

Meanwhile meanwhile, dozens of other mutants are doing stuff and saying things and noticeably failing to look twenty years older than they did five years ago when they were in the 1962-set First Class. At some point they all get together and have a superpower-off, and that's basically it. I can't defend Apocalypse on the grounds of intelligent, soul-searching, groundbreaking storytelling, but I can defend it on the grounds that a) it doesn't really claim to be any of those things - unlike, say, Batman v Superman - and b) it gleefully rewrites both the history we know (leaving us in a world with no nukes and no Auschwitz) and the series' own internal history, and expects you to keep up with it. It doesn't really take the time to ponder what any of that means, but never mind because OOH LOOK THERE'S WOLVERINE!

The social commentary that marked out Singer's previous X-films is a little thin on the ground here and struggles to make itself heard over all the explosions, but it is there, and even if it amounts to little more than "with great power comes great responsibility", that still seems more admirable to me than pitting heroes against each other for the sake of a lacklustre extended fight sequence. Also to its credit, Apocalypse is at least very funny; I mean sure, the climax is overlong, hideously misjudged in its bloodless slaying of innocents (the removal of a couple of shots of landmark-destruction could have helped) and ill-advisedly quotes Return Of The Jedi (for the second time in the film, in fact), but come on, Nightcrawler wears Michael Jackson's Thriller jacket! What's not to like? Apart from all the things I just said were bad.

Ultimately, whether or not you'll go for X-Men: Apocalypse can probably be ascertained by your reaction to two specific sequences within the film: the first shamelessly rehashes the best scene of Days Of Future Past; the second is a lengthy plot diversion which exists solely to insert an inevitable cameo. Both scenes betray a disappointing lack of originality, but they're also undeniably entertaining, delivering the kind of magic only the X-Men can provide. There are better and worse films, there are better and worse superhero films, there are better and worse X-Men films. In fact there are better and worse films in this current trilogy of X-Men films. But in a series sixteen years and eight movies old (nine if you must insist on including Deadpool), it seems to me you could do a lot worse than produce a new entry that slots somewhere in the middle.

X-Men: Days Of Future Past

If you could go back in time and prevent Bryan Singer from abandoning the X-Men franchise and leaving it in the grubby, suspiciously-smelling hands of Brett Ratner, would you? Think of the misery that could be avoided by simply transferring your consciousness into your younger self and having a quiet word in the younger Singer's ear. You could also suggest that he steer clear of parties where booze, drugs and young men are in plentiful supply, but that's neither here nor there.

Well, Singer can't erase the existence of X-Men: The Last Stand, but he's done a bang-up job of erasing our memories of the blip in his X-tenure by returning to the franchise in glorious fashion. Imagine Timothy Dalton playing James Bond again: X-Men: Days Of Future Past is almost that good. Taking the cream from the casts of both old and new incarnations of the X-Men, Singer has churned up superhero butter, and it's virtually fat-free. Which would make it rubbish as butter, but quite good as a film. (Note to younger self: think metaphor through more carefully before writing this review)

"What? What have I done now? Well yes, obviously, but APART from that?"

Kicking off in a shitty future where mean and nasty (but well cool) robots called Sentinels are wiping out Earth's few remaining mutants, X-M:DOFP skips over immediate plot holes like a carefree schoolgirl: why is the future so balls? It wasn't that bad at the end of The Wolverine, was it? And how come Professor X is alive again? Because SHUT UP, that's why. This is a franchise with such a tenuous grip on reality that it once featured Vinnie Jones, so frankly it can pretty much get away with anything now. And so no sooner have you begun to ask yourself if Ian McKellen has introduced a vague Irish tinge to his accent to make up for Michael Fassbender's vocal wrestling in X-Men: First Class, than boom! It's 1973, and future Wolverine's mind is in past Wolverine's head admiring his younger cock and balls in a mirror.

Singer is super-efficient at setup here: the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff is swiftly dealt with so the fun can begin, and he smartly avoids all that laughing-at-those-silly-1970s that, in a lesser director's grubby, suspiciously-smelling hands could have taken up most of the first act. Composer John Ottman is allowed the briefest flirtation with a wah-wah pedal, while costume designer Louise Mingenbach pitches everyone's clobber with authenticity, not flamboyance. Only a surfeit of awesome sunglasses and one magnificent hat threaten to tip the balance, but everyone looks so cool it's impossible to complain.

Collars were big in the '70s, apparently

Split into two halves (a clear-cut men-on-a-mission movie followed by a hectic, slightly messier hour of action), X-Men: Days Of Future Past veers between intelligent social commentary and balls-out superhero brilliance almost as well as Singer's previous X-flicks. The tremendously-monikered Bolivar Trask (Peter Dinklage) represents that distasteful but powerful part of society determined to instill fear into others by convincing the world that mutants are the enemy (it's possible he edits the Daily Mail in his spare time), while his army of automated killing machines may be called Sentinels, but you'll probably recognise them as drones. Meanwhile there's all the Wolverine-led carnage you'd hope for, plus a contender for scene of the year in a corking introduction to the talents of Quicksilver, a new character written and played to perfection after so many lacklustre mutants have come and gone in the past.

It's a little flabby in its final act - some daft business with a football stadium is bafflingly OTT - but when the flab is being perpetrated by the likes of James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender and Hugh Jackman, it's hard to complain. The star of the show, however, is Bryan Singer, and his continued involvement in this eternally youthful franchise is to be welcomed and encouraged. Bring on the Apocalypse.

Steve McQueen to release one Solomon Northup film a year for the next ten years

Arthouse director Steve McQueen yesterday announced that he intends to make one film a year for the next decade based on the adventures of Solomon Northup, the plucky hero who overcame adversity to tear slavery a new asshole in Oscar fave Twelve Years A Slave. Hot on the heels of similar announcements from Disney and Marvel regarding their intentions to release one Star Wars and Spider-Man film - or spin-offs thereof - every year for the foreseeable future, McQueen says that he believes Northup could also become a screen legend for the next generation of cinemagoers.

Work has already begun on Solomon Northup: Shadow Recruit, which will once again see Chiwetel Ejiofor don the rags and tatters of his beleaguered character in a yarn which sees Northup return to Washington to hunt down his captors, only to inadvertently invent the CIA. Further instalments are also in the pipeline, with Northup expected to go into space for Solomon Northup III: Mission To Mars, in which he helps to free the indigenous Martian slaves using the skills he acquired in his origin story.

Thereafter McQueen says he is unsure where Solomon will go next, but he hasn't ruled out the chances of spin-off movies for other franchise characters such as Master Ford: The Good Slaver starring Benedict Cumberbatch; Bass: A True American Hero (From Canada), starring Brad Pitt; nor an Edwin Epps prequel in which Michael Fassbender's drunken, confused racist travels back in time and gives his younger self his first taste of liquor.

Italian distributors have alredy begun work on their poster
art for Bass: A True American Hero (From Canada)

It is also understood that Disney have expressed interest in buying the rights to Solomon Northup, which would allow McQueen to achieve his long-held dream of a crossover movie with the Pixar franchise. "I'd love Solomon to team up with The Incredibles at some point," the director commented. "His special power would be to generate hope where there is none, and that could prove invaluable when Bob Parr and his family go up against The Underminer."

A few inadequate words on12 Years A Slave, the best film of 2014

"Your story is amazing, and in no good way"

- Samuel Bass (Brad Pitt)

It really pisses me off when a truly brilliant film comes out at the beginning of the year, because I like to watch my list of favourites shift and rearrange as the year goes on and I watch and rewatch more movies. 2014, however, may as well give up and go home now. If another film comes along in the next twelve months that earns the right to sit above that still of 12 Years A Slave over on the left, I will eat all a y'all's hats.

I saw Steve McQueen's 12 Years A Slave at last year's London Film Festival, and it destroyed me. I was with friends, but when I left the cinema I couldn't speak to any of them. I headed straight for the station and went home. What was I going to say? The only word I could form was an exhausted "fuck", and standing around in Leicester Square with puffy eyes saying "fuck" over and over isn't cool. I felt like a light somewhere inside me had been extinguished, never to be relit. It was worse than when Timothy Dalton said he wasn't going to do any more Bond films.

The true story of a wealthy and respected man kidnapped and sold into slavery in mid-19th century Washington DC, 12 Years A Slave follows Solomon Northup's (Chiwetel Ejiofor) incredible journey as he's passed around from one owner to another. Some are kind to him (apart from the whole owning-him-as-a-slave thing), some are a bit shitty, and some are Epps (Michael Fassbender), who is... well, he's... fuck.

The film is a harrowing and exruciating experience - one scene, shot in a long take that you'll beg to cut away to something, anything, else, is near-unbearable - but it's buoyed by hope and the kindness that exists in a world of horror. It's also an astonishing tale of tenacity and endurance: "I don't want to survive, I want to live", says Solomon early on in his ordeal. Some time later, that becomes a broken "I survive". But the will to live again burns in Ejiofor's eyes as fiercely as the madness in Fassbender's.

The anguish you feel for Solomon builds slowly, creeping up insidiously, and this is McQueen's genius. There are moments of awfulness, for sure, but you don't really notice the weight of woe bearing down on you until you suddenly realise you're crushed by it, and by then it's too late. McQueen has stealth-devastated you. Fuck.

BlogalongaBond / Skyfall And The Wilderness Years

FAIR WARNING: This post is a festival of spoilers. It assumes that you've either seen Skyfall or you don't mind knowing most of its surprises. If neither of those apply to you but you still fancy some Skyfall review action, head this way for completely spoiler-free waffle.

Here we are then. This is the end; hold your breath and count to ten. After nearly two years of incessant Bondwaffle, the world's greatest blogging experiment comes crashing to a climax with the world's greatest twenty-threequel (excluding Carry On Matron), Skyfall. With Quantum Of Solace still stinking out the memories of Bond fans and normal people alike, could Daniel Craig's third Bond film be his Goldfinger, his The Spy Who Loved Me?

Well, not quite. Skyfall is undoubtedly great, but it's no Casino Royale. In fact it's hard to rank it alongside any other Bond films, simply because for half the time it doesn't feel much like a Bond film at all. The familiar half - the bits with the Bond theme, the OTT set-pieces, the tux and so on - goes to enormous lengths to reassure after two films light on the perceived tropes. Direct references to previous entries abound: an opening in which Bond is apparently killed (You Only Live Twice); an Aston Martin with an ejector seat (Goldfinger); an escape via reptile-hopping (Live And Let Die); and a gun which only Bond can operate (Licence To Kill). That's Connery, Moore and Dalton fans taken care of right there; all we need is a beefed-up role for M, as we saw in the Brosnan years, and a Lazenby-era last-minute death of a loved one and everyone's happy.

Well. Almost everyone.

The remainder of Skyfall, though, is so unlike the rest of the canon that it takes every ounce of director Sam Mendes' skill to make the film work. Like master chefs, Mendes and writers Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and John Logan blend old cheese with fresh milk and come out with delicious Skyfall sauce. The film's delicate balancing act is executed flawlessly, never tipping too far into crass comedy or overwrought drama, and its unexpected twists and turns free the series from the shackles of the past, making anything possible in the future.

Ironically though, the future looks oddly familiar - at least if the final scene of Skyfall is anything to go by. The roughly ten-year cycle that Bond films go through from knockabout caper to frowny revenge thriller looks to be heading back to the former, and for once I'm excited about it. I love Serious Bond, but I'm ready for him to relax now, enjoy himself, maybe find Quantum and blow up a volcano or two. Let's leave the brow-furrowing introspection for Fassbender to deal with in 2018.

Of course no Bond film is perfect (not even Licence To Kill), and Skyfall sports two major wrinkles which, while not enough to derail the film, are difficult to ignore for those of us tragic enough to care about what remains of the franchise's Craig-era continuity.

The first is the feeling we're left with at the end, which is uncannily similar to that with which we were left at the end of the previous two Bond films. By Casino Royale's climax, this MI6 noob had gained his licence to kill, his Aston Martin, his theme tune and his excuse for treating women like tissues to jizz into and dispose of immediately, so that when he defiantly pronounces himself "Bond... James Bond" at the end, he's finally ready to serve Queen and country. Hooray! Then, in Quantum Of Solace, it turned out he wasn't quite James Bond yet - he still had to go through a deeply personal mission in order to get a load of emotional baggage out of the way, after which he was finally ready to serve Queen and country. Hooray, again! Now, at the end of Skyfall, after going on another deeply personal mission and getting another load of emotional baggage out of the way, he's *sigh* finally ready to serve Queen and country. Hooray again, again. Can he get on with his job now? Please?

The other problem is Skyfall's portrayal of 007 as a knackered old codger. So recently rebooted and shown in his formative years as a double-0, Bond is a dinosaur just four years later. He must have gone through a hell of a lot after locking up Vesper's double-crossing boyfriend to be so jaded so soon. In its defence, it's the emotional core of the script that requires Bond to be past it: it's imperative that he and M, who's also under attack for age-related incompetence, identify with each other and stick together. The James Bond of Quantum Of Solace could have gone through the same motions as Skyfall's Bond, but he would have been doing it out of duty rather than the friendship and, dare I say it, love that underpins his actions here. As a result, 2012 Bond is a far more human hero; it's just that barring even more indistinct timeline-hopping (don't be surprised if Bond 24 is set between Casino Royale and Quantum Of Solace and explains why he changed his suit), Bond can only get even older from here on in.

But like so many niggles (the bizarrely empty tube train; the sudden onset of darkness when Silva attacks Skyfall lodge; the fact that Bond doesn't even loosen his tie or undo his jacket on his 500-mile drive up the A1), this timeline-mangling is just something you have to get over. If you can't get over it though, fear not: Bond's diaries are readily available, and explain everything you need to know about the wilderness years between Quantum Of Solace and Skyfall...

2008 Busy year. Lots of it went by in a near-incomprehensible blur. Found out all sorts of stuff about Quantum and managed to not kill the two people associated with it that I wanted to kill the most. M reckons this is progress. 2009 Quiet year at work. Couldn't find Quantum so stayed in and watched Straw Dogs a lot. I liked the guy defending his isolated home from nutters. I could see myself doing that, only I'm never going home because I hate that place and there's a weird old man who lives there by himself with no supplies of any kind and thinks he's Sean Connery. Haven't killed anyone for ages, starting to wonder if I've still got it in me. Found my first grey hair too. 2010 Not that I'm having a midlife crisis or anything but I decided to soup up the DB5. Took it into Q Branch where they made it right-hand drive and fitted revolving number plates and machine guns like in a film I saw once, then they stuck in an ejector seat for LOLs. Those guys! Agent Ronson gave me a new watch for Christmas. It's an Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean 600M. It follows in the footsteps of its illustrious predecessors by sporting a raft of specialist diving features including a rotating diving bezel, a chromium nitride diving scale and water resistance up to 600 metres. Also it goes nicely with these Tom Ford suits. Ronson is just the best. I call him 'my new Leiter', LOL! We go to the gym together a lot, although he's much fitter than me. He introduced me to Home Alone, a film about a kid defending his home from nutters with all these crazy traps. As if! Still haven't found Quantum. Beginning to worry that I'm losing my edge. 2011 I'm definitely getting old: thought I saw Quantum's Mr White in Waitrose so I shot him in the head. Turns out it was M's husband buying her weekly bottle of Macallan Scotch. Awk-ward! Not as awkward as the funeral though: I got drunk with M on Heineken (won't be drinking that shit again unless I'm in a VERY bad way) and slept with her. In a way it brought us much closer. Even moved in with her for a while but she kicked me out for watching Straw Dogs and Home Alone all the time. Still got a key to her flat though, never know when it might come in handy. Got drunk at the Christmas party and slept with Agent Ronson. Interesting experience. Still, there's got to be a first time for everything. He's taking it all a bit seriously, says he'd die for me, all that stuff. Trying to avoid him by changing gyms and spending all my time there. As a result I'm pretty buff right now, which means that none of my suits fit. Must do something about that. 2012 Got a bit depressed about the M situation this year so went to the cinema a lot to try and forget. Watched The Dark Knight Rises eight times. Batman sure knows how to pick himself up from a crippling incident that nearly killed him and defeat a formidable ally despite being a bit out of shape! Inspiring stuff. Saw M in Waitrose and patched things up. While we were chatting some guy nicked her laptop out of her handbag and neither of us noticed till we got to the office. We're definitely both losing it. Now I've got to go to bloody Turkey with Agent Ronson to try and find it. Hope he stops banging on about dying for me, it's embarrassing. Also some bimbo's coming with us but for some ridiculous reason she won't tell me her name. Says she's 'waiting for the right moment'. Not sure I trust her: I watched her at the shooting range the other day and she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if she was in it. Not to worry, I'm sure she can't do too much harm.   So I leave for Istanbul tomorrow. Left a note in the kitchen for May, my elderly Scottish housekeeper: "Pls cancel milk. Oh and don't let those MI6 bastards sell the flat. James Bond will return."

The cuff adjustment

In moments of extreme Bondiness, Pierce Brosnan straightened his tie. Daniel Craig prefers to ensure that his cuffs are protruding exactly the right length from his sleeves. This is the first sign that Skyfall isn't taking itself too seriously, and it's perfectly judged.

The Shanghai fight

The zenith of Roger Deakins' cinematography in Skyfall comes in this incredible scrap between Bond and Patrice. Shot in one take, entirely in silhouette, with humungous neon jellyfish floating across the background, it's the artiest fight Bond's ever had. It's also a triumph of choreography; every crunching kick and punch looks brutally convincing.

Silva's introduction

The lengthy, one-take monologue about rats is one thing, but the following banter between Bond and Silva is absolute gold. Craig wisely lets Bardem provide the pantomime, so that when he deadpans "what makes you think this is my first time?" it deflates Silva and slays the audience. It would be great to think that Bond has had to go mano y mano in the past to get the job done, although if Ian Fleming were alive he'd have an absolute dickie fit, the massive homophobe.

Tennyson

Skyfall drops a devastating slice of near-arthouse cinema on us in this tremendous scene which further encapsulates all that is Bond. Reciting Tennyson's Ulysses in voiceover while 007 legs it up Whitehall to her rescue, M reminds both her inquisitors and the audience that although the British Empire may be a distant memory and secret agents may be a relic of the Cold War, the world still needs heroes. And most of all, it still needs James Bond.

M's death

It was a long time coming (as great as DJD is, her presence in the post-Brosnan films has always stopped me sleeping at night), but when M finally resigns for good in Bond's arms, orphaning him again, I don't mind saying I wept for the first time in a Bond film since Roger Moore snowboarded to the Beach Boys. She may have been a continuity-buggering irritant but I'll miss her potty mouth.

And finally: Hopefully New Bond won't be forgetting Little James in the future:

EVE is apologising to BOND for shooting him in the chest, thereby ruining the mission and injuring him so badly that he almost died.

BOND

It was only four ribs. Some of the less vital organs...
(he leans closer to EVE and whispers)
nothing... major.

BlogalongaBond will return with Spectre

What the hell is BlogalongaBond? I'll tell you.

Further BlogalongaBondareading here

New X-Men: First Class Posters!!! *weeps with despair*

It has come to my attention recently that The Incredible Suit tends to be a bit on the negative side, taking more pleasure in snarking at rubbish movie marketing and slating Rango than in appreciating all the great things about the world of fillum.

I'm making a conscious effort to be more positive by doing things like not thinking about Shia LaBeouf and forcing the world to watch one Bond film a month for two years, but sometimes you open your front door in the morning to find the internet standing there like a steaming drunk feeling supremely pleased with himself as he pukes all over your welcome mat. Today is one such day.

Here are two more new posters for X-Men: First Class:

I know superhero movie marketing is all about stripping a franchise down to its component parts these days, especially in prequels where it's assumed that a silhouette is all that's needed to excite a world of fanboys (hello, The Phantom Menace), but when one of those silhouettes is a man in a wheelchair who's so generic that someone's had to blow the whole silhouette theme by shining a light on the 'X' on the wheelchair, and the other just looks like Batman with tiny ears, it's time for something new.

Unfortunately the "something new" here is a bizarrely placed cut-out of a barely recognisable face (Michael Fassbender could easily be Christian Bale inside his titchy-eared Batsuit) peering out of the silhouette's belly like a grotesque foetus or a malevolent Weeble. I mean really, how long would it have taken to tweak Professor X's silhouette ever so slightly so that James McAvoy hasn't had a chunk sliced out of his face? Thirty seconds?

Anyway, whatever. I'm being positive. X-Men: First Class will no doubt be enormously entertaining and will bear no resemblance to its shoddy marketing whatsoever. I still think my original idea would have been better than anything we've seen so far.

This Week's Joke

I note with interest an article on page 25 of this month's Empire magazine, about "The Don of UK PR", Dennis Davidson:

Despite referring to him as "Davidson" throughout the article, Empire have - for reasons best known only to themselves - decided to remove the first letter from his surname in the photo.

Hollywood stars thinking very carefully before giving another interview to Empire in case the same fate befalls them include George Clooney, Michael Fassbender and Hilary Swank.

Zing!

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Fish Tank

Fish Tank is a new film by director Andrea Arnold, whose previous film Red Road won all sorts of trinkets for being generally gritty, British and quite good. I watched Red Road with my mother-in-law and her best friend, which turned out to be an interesting evening because none of us were expecting the uncomfortably lengthy and graphic oral sex scene in the film. That particular cinema has, apparently, had to replace the seat I was in because I squirmed so much I wore the cushion down.

And so it was with mother-in-law firmly tucked away elsewhere that I watched Fish Tank. As it turned out it wasn’t nearly as pornographic as Red Road, although there was an under age sex scene in there that made me glad I was mother-in-lawless.

The film follows Mia, a 15-year-old scallywag living in an Essex tower block with her mother, who’s only about 15 years older, and her younger sister. Perpetually confused and annoyed by everything and everyone around her, Mia squeezes a droplet of pleasure out of life by dancing in an abandoned flat by herself. When Mia’s mum brings a new man into the home, Mia finds herself bewildered by her conflicting emotions towards him.

The first thing anyone who talks about Fish Tank is required by law to mention is the performance of Katie Jarvis as Mia. Jarvis, having never acted before, was spotted having a barney with her fella at a train station and subsequently plucked from obscurity to take the demanding lead role. While she’s no Dame Judi, she’s still convincing as the troubled, aggressive teen, lashing out at the world like a cat that’s been kicked too often and sympathising with a chained up horse, a wild animal condemned to die in surroundings too restrictive for it to achieve its potential.

Although Jarvis and Michael Fassbender, as the charming, roguish, potentially life-destroying boyfriend, are excellent, there’s little else to recommend Fish Tank past the first half-hour or so. It’s a brutally honest portrayal of frustrated teen life on the crappy side of the class divide, certainly, but, like its central character, the film doesn’t know what to do with itself after a while and meanders along in potentially interesting directions before, bizarrely, deciding to go to Cardiff.

So while it’s directed with atmospheric flair and pumped full of realistic misery, confusion and depression, Fish Tank is one of those films that has enough interesting characters to fill 45 minutes of quality TV drama, but doesn’t really justify a two-hour feature.

It also had, like, NO explosions, car chases, aliens or robots, so how it expects to stand alongside the rest of the year’s quality entertainment is quite beyond me.


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