What goes on Under the Skin?

In case you were wondering Under the Skin is a film about how individuals are integrated into the collective mass of a species or social structure. Confused? Okay here's how it works; Scarlett Johansson and Paul Brannigan play what are implicitly aliens whose creation process is represented by a pinprick of light against a black background. Eventually the light disappears and the black mass is revealed to be a viscous sludge that is slowly surrounded by white, forming what resembles the human eye.

Throughout the first half the image of people entering and emerging from the all-encompassing blackness recurs. A dimly lit shot of a motorcyclist dressed all in black. The dark field from which Branigan retrieves the body that serves as Johansson's template. Most notably of course is the environment which Johansson's alien seductress takes a series of victims back to. Always male, always young.They all sink into the darkened pool from which she first emerged and now glides across like Christ on the Sea of Galilee.

In fact while she does not sink she is still amalgamated into the darkness of the shadows until her victims disappear and she can walk back into the light seemingly never breaking stride...until she can't.   Like everything else in the film it's never made explicitly clear what happens but one encounter with a pitiable deformed man detaches her from the whole. Forced to look at herself as an individual for the first time she lets him go.

In deviating from the programme she detaches from the mass. The image then becomes an all encompassing white, in the form of either fog or snow. And yet she can never fully integrate with it as she did with the black. Eventually she is taken in by a good Samaritan (A cliched sequence that forms the films weakest act) who offers some respite. But when the time comes to consummate their relationship, they can't. Presumably it is a function her artificial body lacks.

Unable to connect to the only person she has left she wanders into the woods, alone. And there she dreams of a connection to this world. In the films most beautiful shot she is superimposed onto the landscape of the forest, intimately bound to nature. Then she is brutally pulled out of it by a sexual predator. A reminder that while sex can connect us to humanity it can also tear us away. They fight and in the struggle her true form is revealed. A black skelatal arrangement of stiff, coarse limbs. 

In horror her attacker pours kerosene over her lights it. She stumbles forward and collapses into the snow. Finally given the one universal link to all creatures, death.

So is the film good? Well that depends on your tolerance for extraneous artistic indulgence as the film is loaded with abstract, sometimes non sequitar imagery. 

The premise at least brings intrigue delivered in a meaner both hypnotic and suspenseful as you see a predator becoming more and more adept at luring its prey. All of which has a suitably grisly payoff. However the story suffers from falling into the regressive archetype of the femme fatale using sexuality as a weapon. Plus the white knight coming to her aid feels overly romanticised, especially given the way in which it falls apart. all of which suggest that director Jonathan Glazer doesn't know how to explore the concept to its fulfillment.

In a way unique to the role Johansson is perfectly cast. Her doll-like beauty and imperfect accent all work to suggest a rough approximation of a human being. Which goes along way to remaining onside with the character as the film get progressively slower. Johansson imbues the character with enough inhuman mannerisms the suggest her actions are our of programming as opposed to malice. Ironically her inhumanity is what makes her second act development empathetic.

At the end of the day Under the Skin is food for the mind but not the soul. Yes it's all very interesting to think about how we integrate as an entire species but there's usually some emotion to anchor that integration. Emotion that the film consistently lacks when really it should be about discovering it. .

American Hustle: The Strange Effects of Bradley Cooper

Does anyone else have this problem? Lately it seems like whenever I watch a film starring Bradley Cooper it feels like time passes much more slowly. I first noticed it during The Place Beyond the Pines and just put it down to the film being badly in need of a good editor. After all the film spans multiple years, characters and generation and it would only take a little tweaking to the story a more fluid feel and spare my legs the DVT.

American Hustle however follows the same ensemble through events that spanned a few years yet somehow feels longer than the time Solomon Northup spent picking cotton. Partially because all notion of progression over time is lost in a series of non sequitar scenes with seemingly no bearing on the bigger picture. The actual mechanics of the Abscam Scandal, on which the film is based is lost among petty confrontations as the main players try to out-annoy each other. It's like Ocean's Eleven if you replaced all the exposition and heist planning with George Clooney and Brad Pitt engaged in a series of slap fights. Entertaining yes, but it robs the film of drama.

The film can't seem to make its mind up on what it wants to achieve from act one. As Cooper's FBI Agent Richie DiMaso rumbles con artists Irving Rosenfield (Christian Bale) and Sydney Prosser/Edith Greensley (Amy Adams, donning a variety of ostentatious accents) he blackmails them into lining up four additional arrests. Then it's just altruistic politician Carmine Polito, then it's a prominent mob boss, then it's ten congressmen, which point it needs a really elaborate con to arrest my interest.

The film is so bloated and unstructured that it ends up pushing potentially interesting story elements to the margins. Irving's doomed friendship with Carmine and Jennifer Lawrence's standout performance as his oblivious wife barely get a look in. Particularly egregious when you consider how much Lawrence has featured in the films marketing relative to her actual screen time.

Lawrence's role, both in characterisation and accent, is practically a microcosm of the films goofy tone and over-the-top aesthetics. Big hair, low-cut dresses and valour suits. All of which work for a consistently comedic tone which the film carries for the majority of its run...right up until it doesn't. Suddenly the film takes a really dark turn, the kind the Coen Brothers could make work but comes out of left-field in director David O. Russell's hands.

It isn't helped by coming around the fifth act when you're already hoping for an ending. Nor the fact that the culprit is DiMaso, the petulant, perpetually dissatisfied perm-job who's been begging for slap the entire film. And while his actions make sense in terms of his character the fact that everyone keeps working with him adds a grim air to subsequent scenes.

American Hustle's worst crime is simply not knowing what it wants to be. An outlandish premise and thoroughly game cast are the ingredients for a fun, campy crime caper. But the total absence of pace, tension and context makes the film little more than disposable fun. Then ruins the fun in its determination to emulate Goodfellas. In fact at one point a cameo from a Goodfellas star elevates the films entire mood and quality into something truly nail biting. As though Scorsese is sending a cinematic messenger to Russell saying 'You think you're ready to take the reins, you ain't ready to take 'em an I ain't givin' 'em up.'

Lex Luthor: Eisenberg no Heisenberg?

So...that happened. The last week or so has been so awash with casting rumours that it took a while to establish if this was real or just pumped out by the studios to generate more free press. A stupid assumption really, Man of Steel 2: Justice League All-Stars has seen so many changes and additions it hardly needs to make up stuff to get talked about. Though I'm sure Warner Bros would prefer we weren't talking about it with the same tone one might discuss reconstructing the Titanic or the Wii U.

But whatever the consequences it's true. Jesse Eisenberg, of Zombieland and The Social Network, is going to be Lex Luthor in Man of Steel 2: Electric Boogaloo. My opinion? Good move. I like Eisenberg and not just because my girlfriend thinks I resemble him. The fact is back in the day it was easy to write off Eisenberg as a Michael Cera clone; awkward, stammering skinny white guy inexplicably coming out on top. It was so obvious that apparently even he knew it and endeavoured to avoid that terrible fate Cera had suffered; typecasting.

The Social Network demonstrated how far Eisenberg could take the introvert, playing a detached, calculating, yet somehow endearing Mark Zuckerberg. To follow he went on to play a Seth Rogan-esque slacker in 30 Minutes or Less, the only film where the title explains roughly how long the film would remain in cultural consciousness. And as a member of the orthodox Jewish community and  only thing worth seeing in the crime drama Holy Rollers.

So Eisenberg has the chops to play a Lex Luthor but there's still the one thing everyone's gonna be snarking about on Twitter. At age 30 (and hardly looking it) he'll be the youngest film version of Lex to date after Gene Hackman (48 for Superman) and Kevin Spacey (46 for Superman Returns). And while he's the same age as Superman himself, Henry Cavill, the idea of a younger and specifically young-looking Lex will be hard for some to get on board with.

The reason I don't see it being a major problem though is because I see nothing about Lex Luthor, especially John Byrne's 1986 redesigned buisinessman Lex that most are familiar with, as intrinsically old. After all, who is Lex Luthor? An insanely successful businessman, incredibly proud of with achievements, possessing a genius level intellect, scrupulous morals and a huge seething resentment of Superman. None of these things are the exclusive domain of the old. 

Even today American culture has this idealised image of the hardworking capitalist. Men who've spent lifetimes building an empire on nothing but sweat and pep talks from Uncle Sam. But that doesn't exist anymore, not since the first dot-com millionaire made the Fortune 500 on his parents computer. We live in an age of young billionaires with questionable morals, billionaires just like like Mark Zuckerberg. In fact that's probably what made the penny drop at Warner Bros in the first place.

So yeah Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor? Warner Bros can put that in the win category. Doesn't make me anymore confident that Man of Steel 2:Rise of the Multi-Bear, won't collapse under its own weight but...baby steps.

Oh and about that title? Yeah I would've been psyched to see Superman fight Walter White too. It's thrilling to see a goofy, comic actor like Bryan Cranston getting all these great roles. But Cranston's whole thing is mild mannered guys thrown into dangerous situations and seeing how crazy they go trying to deal. It'd be difficult to pull that off while still taking him serious as a credible threat to freaking Superman. Maybe after he's taken on Godzilla...

12 Years a Slave: A long, miserable experience that you must see!

In some ways the story of Solomon Northup is one so compelling and so wrought with tragedy that it's difficult to believe no one's tried to adapt it to the big screen before. The fact that it hasn't is just another damning indictment of the film industry's unwillingness to tackle the issue of slavery. And while 12 Years a Slave has been long overdue it's timing has fortunately allowed it to be the mainstream breakthrough of Hunger and Shame director Steve McQueen.

Northup's story is one about the fragility of freedom for African Americans before the Civil War, a fragility that can still be seen today with instances of institutional racism in the West. Born a free man Northup is a talented and respected violinist living with his family in Saratoga, New York. Then one day he makes the acquaintance of two circus performers offering his a job in Washington, only to drug him, strip him of identification and sell him into slavery.

The fall from free man to slave is handled not so much as a transition but a jarring, instantaneous switch. Driving home the way in which liberty can be stolen in the wink of a eye. From there on the film becomes one long and relentless portrait of the indignities and violence Northup witnesses and suffers first hand. Gradually eroding his attachment to his old life through hardship after hardship. Ageing him physically and driving him despair. 

I recall writing in my Filth review how minor details like sound design and editing can kill a films intensity, especially during difficult to swallow scenes of violence. Thankfully McQueen knows this and does not permit the mercy that a lack of immersion would be. Every whip crack, every strain of the noose rings out over the painfully drawn-out scenes of punishment. The term 'torture porn' doesn't even apply, this is a historical reenactment of one man's suffering and if you struggle to endure it that's kind of the point.

Key to our ability to suffer along with Northup is a sympathetic performance from Chiwetel Ejiofor, no easy feat considering that his character is locked in a state of constant restraint.Make no mistake though Ejifor nails the various stages of Northup development, from the gentle stroll of an affable free man to the determined posturing of a defiant victim. Most pitiable of course is the broken Solomon, with the deadened glare of the hopeless Ejiofor is dripping with misery and sweat.

If there's one problem it's that the impression of Northup aging physically comes very late in the day. The film struggles to convey the passage of time badly enough and it's not until one scene towards the third acts that the years begin to show on Northup's face. Maybe that's the point to have the weight of all he's endured come crashing down in one moment, but regardless it robs the film of a sense of scope.

Also problematic are the occasional touches of directorial flair McQueen brings at inappropriate moment. The scene I mentioned above is a whipping scene shot with one lengthy and tortuous take. It covers the actions of several principle characters with painstaking detail and it a delight to watch...right up until it ends of a shakycam shot of needless symbolism.

These are complaints but minor ones. 12 Years a Slave will still be one of the better films you see this year. A powerhouse performance by Ejiofor as well as newcomer Lupita Nyong'o as one particularly put-upon slave Patsey. Patsey is the subject of sadistic slaver Edwin Epps, played by McQueen's long-time collaborator Michael Fassbender. Fassbender is a great actor, especially in villainous roles but his portrayal of Epps is something new. A smiling, twitching pot of pent-up rage, a living embodiment of the national mental illness that was slavery.

12 Years a Slave is not a film you'll enjoy but is something you need to experience. An window into the life of a slave tailored to immerse contemporary audience. The film is already nominated for several BAFTAs and it'll be a crime is Ejiofor doesn't pick up some Oscar buzz for Best Actor. Because if you think you've endured a lot watching the film, just imagine what the people making it went through.

Film of 2013: Wolf Children

If director Mamoru Hosoda has one signature skill it is the seamless marriage of fanciful anime wackiness with heart-wrenching sorrow. The plots of The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and Summer Wars are both driven by the kind of unexplained madness that so infuses eastern storytelling. Yet that madness always brings tragic consequences that affect audiences on a universal level. Touching on themes of parenthood, coming-of-age and loss Wolf Children may be Hosoda’s most universal film to date. A showpiece as to why critics compare him to the likes of Hayao Miyazaki.

Another unique quality to Wolf Children is that it has the thinnest plot of Hosoda’s work. Compulsively happy college student Hana falls in love with a Wolf Man and before Twilight-haters have a chance to tear up their tickets the two are living together with two baby Okami When the Wolf Man dies in a random accident Hana moves the kids, Yuki and Ame, to the country hoping that in seclusion the children can use their powers unnoticed. From there the film follows the children growing towards adolescence and facing the choice of what they want to be, wolves or humans.

That decision looms over the film touching on its strongest theme, with the wolf vs. human conflict serving as an allegory for discovering your identity. An allegory made tragic by the fact that we see this from the mother’s perspective, meaning that whatever the resolution it has to culminate in a moment that, for most parents, comes too soon. The day your child leaves home. Wolf Children’s greatest achievement is in communicating exactly how this feels. The animation and music wells up with elation before settling down to a melancholy note of finality.

There are bumps in the road on this journey though. While the fun of watching Hana struggle with both motherhood and animal care or Yuki and Ame embrace their inner animal keep it a fun ride it feels at times like a meandering one. One second act digression in particular sees the rural community coming together to help Hana grow her food in a way that feels heart-warming but ultimately pointless.

Hana herself has little characterisation beyond being determined to please everyone, effortlessly winning empathy as the self-sacrificing mother. Meaning Yuki and Ame are the real personality of the film, Yuki easily being the most extroverted but both are full of energy and resolve. Their very different identities a necessary move to send them both on very different paths with unexpected results. 

Wolf Children is the best kind of anime, the kind that transcends its cultural heritage into something the whole world can enjoy. Like parenthood it may demand a little patience at times but is absolutely worth it in the end.

Filth or How Poor Sound Design can Ruin a Perfectly Good Asphyxiaphilia Scene

It should be clear now that the twisted tapeworm fuelling Irvine Welsh’s creativity is a tumultuous beast to adapt. After the success of Trainspotting subsequent adaptations like The Acid House and Ecstasy have failed to meet their predecessor’s standard. Not to mention Trainspotting follow-up Porno still languishing in development hell. Filth however hopes to be the one to break this slump using the considerable star power of its lead James McAvoy.

To his credit McAvoy’s performance is the razor-sharp centrepiece from which the rest of the film hangs. His sullen, bloodshot eyes alone are enough to tell you the distain, the decadence and demented mind-set of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robinson. A man hell-bent on rising through the ranks of the police if only to cheat, bully and humiliate his colleges out of the running. Yet through it all you never feel the urge to abandon Bruce, partially due to the tragic loneliness that results from his antics but more partially due to said antics being so entertaining to watch.

This however transpires to be both a blessing and curse. Make no mistake; McAvoy sells the hell out of Bruce’s more vulnerable moments. But these moments only show how Filth is taking great pains to make its leading man sympathetic, saddling him with childhood traumas and misplaced wives and children. When the sad fact is no amount of personal tragedy can truly make us empathise with such a monster. The result is that while we stay with Bruce his genuine moments of despair fail to hit home and only undermine our vicarious enjoyment in his antics. Filth wavers between pitch-black humour and dramatic descent into madness but never commits to either, a crisis of identity which proves to be the films biggest weakness.

Quite possibly this indecision is what has led to the films other great failing; immersion. It’s hard to describe how poor sound design can ruin a perfectly good asphyxiaphilia scene, something to do with the straining of the rope probably, but it keeps you out of the room. Just as bad editing can kill a funny line or poor lighting can suck the tension out of a bad drugs trip. In Trainspotting (and how long could we really go before drawing comparisons?) Danny Boyle made you feel like dirt was being forcibly injected into your veins. All Filth can manage is a dull feeling of intoxication.
In the end Filth is proof that the little things can make all the difference. Not a bad film by any estimation but one that keeps the experience at arm’s length. There’s a feeling that the humour could land stronger, the violence feel more immediate, that we could be truly swept up into Bruce’s insanity. Instead we can only see it, the fourth wall an impenetrable pane of glass, keeping us from the possibility of a greater film than this.
Liam Macleod

Elysium: A World Away From the Next Best Blockbuster

Little has been heard of Neill Blompkamp since his debut with 2009’s District 9. Unlike similar breakout Duncan Jones who followed his thoughtful character piece Moon with a much more adrenaline-fueled flick in the form of Source Code before apparently being headhunted for the long-awaited Warcraft film. But Blompkamp has evidentially only been in seclusion so that he could dedicate the thought and hard work into making a film worthy of the respect he now commands. So, what exactly is the follow up to his high-octane apartheid allegory? A high-octane immigration allegory, naturally.

The year is 2154 and most of Earth has been reduced to over-polluted and overpopulated favelas where the citizens live in squalor and struggle to live day to day. The wealthiest citizens having long-since left Earth behind for the space station Elysium, a picture perfect recreation of suburban Beverly Hills. Transport into Elysium is rigorously monitored by the coldly authoritarian Delacourt, who shoots down attempting immigrants without hesitation, even against the orders of her (slightly) more moderate superiors. This is all despite the fact that Earthlings are trying to desperately enter Elysium just the access their space-age medical bay, capable of curing any disease and healing any injury.

One such would-be immigrant is Max (Matt Damon), a master criminal gone straight who more or less embodies the working class schmo in a way both completely transparent yet extremely effective. After a workplace accident leaves Max with only days to live he calls upon his former crime boss Spider (Wagner Moura) to smuggle his into Elysium. Spider can do it but the plan involves and outfitting Max with a spindly but durable exoskeleton to go up against not only the security drones of Earth but Kruger (Sharlto Copley), a similarly suped-up psychopath who acts as Delacourt’s enforcer.  Complications also arise when Max’s plan interrupts a political coup on Elysium and his former love Frey (Alice Braga) gets taken hostage along with her (what else) terminally sick daughter.

As much as I can deride Elysium for its more clichéd elements, the hammering home of its ideology and the cheesy attempts to endear us to Frey’s daughter, it cannot be denied that it works. All the elements push Max on a journey to realise the selfishness in his aspiration for a life of ease of Elysium. Culminated in a satisfactory character arc that feels real and informed by the weight of the situation around him and the consequences of the people he cares about. It’s one of the most endearing and true-to-life performances of Damon’s career, even as he punches robots in the face.

Speaking of true-to-life Blompkamp may have constructed the most believable vision of the future seen in years, a crowded dusty landfill, with crumbling blocks of flats reaching to the sky. A place where, at any minute you expect Wall-E to wheel through and start cleaning. The technology is little more than high-powered mods of our own AK-47 and Nissan’s, covered in dirt and scratches. Even the design on Max’s exoskeleton looks like something weathered with use, in short it’s a future that’s been lived in, perhaps more so than it can take.  By contrast Elysium looks like the epitome of privilege; lush green lawns with perfectly cut grass, vast houses of squeaky clean glass and marble. All of it as hollow and artificial as the superiority of the people populating it.

It’s probably for this reason that few of Elysium’s residents are characterised. From the militant authoritarianism of Delacourt, played to chilling perfection by Jodie Foster, to the frustrated apathy of Max’s boss Carlyle (William Fichtner) who is so disdainful of the lower classes he literally has the word ‘rich’ branded on his face (technically ‘riche’). While this feels like a consequence of the films breakneck rush through Elysium, much to its fault, it’s hard to see how they could top the cast of characters stranded on Earth. Alice Braga’s Frey may be the epitome of the blockbuster love interest, right down to getting kidnapped, but provides a sympathetic example of how even the best of the have-nots are left behind in this broken society. Meanwhile Wagner Moura pulls a surprising turn as crime boss Spider, introduced as a heartless profiteer slowly transforming into determined freedom fighter. Arguably it is he who is allowed the most complexity of character and Moura sells the hell out of it.At the end of the day though the real scene stealer is Copley whose Kruger is the ultimate extreme of the psychotic henchman.  Erratic and brutal with joyous cruelty dripping from every line of dialogue, the best kind of stock character with never a dull moment in his presence. Especially jarring as a follow up to the spineless bureaucrat we saw him as in District 9, demonstrating Copely’s considerable range. 

If one has to pick a flaw with Elysium it’s that it rarely gives itself time to breathe and perhaps do something more creative with the world it’s built. So much is offered of Earth, the sense of community, the criminal underclass, the oppression of the droids. But it’s a shame it can’t offer the same of the Disneyland that hovers above it, what its people are like, how it would deal with Delacourt’s rule. Nor can it offer more creativity with its action beats which largely consist of the same misty body splatters and fistfights from District 9. Thankfully though because of the empathetic characters and fleshed out world the film remains the most engaging and thoughtful rides I’ve had all summer. The easiest to recommend by worlds apart.