Author: BRWC

The first thing you need to know about me is that I am a massive wimp and supernatural stuff freaks me the hell out. I can deal with horror in the sense that blood and guts don’t bother me, but when it comes to jumpy things, or stuff I can’t explain I am really not very comfortable. I could tell just by the name of this film that it wasn’t going to be in my comfort zone and maybe that’s what started off my bad mood. However I’m not one to judge before I’ve experienced, so experience I did.

The second thing you need to know about me is that I always give credit where credit is due and I know it must be really tough to create a decent film on a budget. I really really wanted to be able to give this film two thumbs up, but I can only stick two fingers up at it really.

So, the premise is that a group of Irish teenagers go missing on a night out and there are posters all around the city appealing for information on their wherabouts. A man goes into a pawn shop and is deperate to sell whatever he can, for the most he can. Unfortunately the owner doesn’t want to pay out so offers him a reduced price and a video camera that has just come into his posession. I’m assuming that at this point it is meant to get interesting, but don’t get your hopes up it doesn’t.

On the video camera is…..wait for it…….evidence of what happened to the missing teenagers in an abandoned warehouse/apartment block which is conveniently underground and therefore creepy! Now starts the 1h15 minute Blair Witch style filming. Now when I read up on the reviews for this after I had watched the film, many people had mentioned that it had made them actually vomit, I’m not sure if this is because they found it scary (which they really shouldn’t have) or the fact that the way it was filmed, because it actually made me feel quite nauseous.

This film has all the bits you expect from a horror/supernatural thriller. It has the ridiculous nudity that isn’t at all necessary, the bitch who you want to get killed first and a villain (or several in this case) to really get things going. The twist in this film is that the villains aren’t actually the main point of the film. You only get to see that/it a couple of times and when you do see it, you feel mightily disappointed. If you’re going to go with the whole zombie/supernatural demon, at least make it spectacular! I’m talking guts flying everywhere, limbs scattered and blood, shit and vomit everywhere else. Alas, a zombie/demon thing that makes an appearance a couple of times and makes a half hearted attempt at a vampire bite is not going to tickle my pickle.

The running time of 90 minutes feels a lot longer as 75 minutes of those is a nausea inducing filming technique and lots of simpering teenagers running away from villains/zombies. The poor guy who got given the camera only has 15 minutes to retrace their footsteps and try to save anyone if they haven’t had the life sucked out of them by some poor Edward Cullen Zombie Demon.

And so ends another attempt at a thriller/horror film. I’m sure they went in with the best of intentions and all the essential factors were there, it just lacked originality and depth. The best thing about the film was the end and I’m sure that’s because I am a twisted individual, but I challenge you not to sit through 90 minutes of this tosh and not laugh at the end scene. Trust me, you will!!

Even though it might not be immediately apparent, Andrew Niccol is responsible for some of the most innovative and intelligent concept movies made in the last 20 years.  The Truman Show, his script directed by Peter Weir, has to be high in the running for the most prophetic and dead on satire to come out of hollywood, or all of fiction for that matter, in the past 100 years, directly predicting the wave of soul-sucking reality TV that has plagued households since the millennium. Genetic selection satire Gattaca is an excellent piece of think-tank sci-fi, whilst Lord of War the kind of cynical quasi-political black comedy everyone thinks they can make but few can. All this to say is that I’m a big fan of Niccol and have defended him against detractors, the execution is not always perfect and he’s certainly capable of making a terrible movie (S1mOne anyone?) but his films are always determinedly about something, and that is remarkably rare.

So, imagine my surprise when I learn that Niccol was directing the adaptation of The Host, the movie adaptation of the latest work by Stephenie Meyer, notorious author of the Twilight books. Look, I’m not a judgmental guy, Meyer is plenty capable of writing something great just like anyone else is, but the Twilight ‘Saga’ was such a gormless piece of fiction that it’s hard not be suspicious. What is this guy, this guy who’s made a career out of science fiction satire – something that is very, very hard to do – doing making this movie, which was surely going to be anything but. Maybe Meyer is expanding her wings? Or just maybe the studio’s are thinking this movie starts with zero credibility and unlike Twilight doesn’t have a guaranteed fanbase, if we get the Truman show guy than maybe we can trick people into thinking this is a good movie for a minute or so? A depressing situation for all.

Anyways, The Host, such as it is. Is the story of an Alien parasite race that survive by going from planet to planet, taking over the bodies of the resident life forms and living out their lives, with lofty ideas about peace and understanding. One of the victims of said parasites is Saorsie Ronan, who upon becoming a host to a particular parasite named ‘The Wanderer’, discovers that unlike all the rest, she can fight back against her host, and the battle for her very soul is on. I made this movie sound fairly cool just there, but believe me this is an overlong, plotless, humorless bore of a movie, that somehow spends 80% of its running time in a cave, and at least 95% of that 80% consists of longing looks between Oscar Nominee Saorsie and the two random guys that populate the ‘Meyer Triangle’.

In theory there are some decent ideas here. In theory the idea of a narrative revolving around two people fighting for one body is intriguing, and questions of identity and what it really means to be human etc… But for some reason it is decided that the most effective version of this story includes no real tension between the two leads, instead allowing them to reach harmonious co-existence within the first half hour. One of the biggest problems in Meyer’s work is her resistance to darkness despite dealing in innately dark concepts, and thus it takes the concept of this film, which is closer to a horror movie than anything, and breaks its back to somehow make it a feel good story. The alien race themselves epitomize Meyer’s and ultimately the movies’ problems with creating strong antagonism, and they end up an entire non-presence, with no evidence on screen that they have the balls or the means to kill as many people as they have done.

Ronan does her best in what is a very difficult role, having to pull off terribly written conversations with her own voice-over, while William Hurt does most of his takes in a manner to suggest he was thinking about the conservatory fixture he could add to his house with the money from this movie, whilst Inglourious Basterds’ Diane Kruger does her best as the film’s barely a villain villain. Niccol is not the strongest director visually, with this film bares a striking resemblance to his last film In Time. Which is to say it sort of looks like crap, although I concede I have no better way to film a non-scary cave for an hour plus of screen-time.

I suppose the optimist in me hoped for some blending of styles here, Meyer’s supernatural soap-opera blending with Niccol’s obsession with ideas and concepts, and perhaps we could have gotten the most out of the sci-fi whilst providing the necessary longing stares and speeches in between. But Niccol cedes to Meyer, and once take away the sci-fi visionary side to him, you may as well hire someone at least capable of making the film visually distinctive. Because The Host for the most part has toned down the ludicrous excesses of Twilight that I really don’t know who is going to see this film and like it. It’s just an entirely forgettable, ill-conceived fail and a waste of good science fiction concepts. Niccol is out to make a fool of me, I’m sure of it.

Rating:  3/10

Robots have always made for fascinating and iconic movie characters. Like aliens, robots’ innate status as something ultimately ‘other’ than ourselves, yet often displaying recognisably human emotions through the lens of robotic metaphors or principles, make them endlessly compelling to watch. Whether it’s the psychotic machismo of the Terminator, the low-status infatuation of Wall-E, the schoolboy precociousness of R2-D2 or the banjo-playing racism of the Bicentennial Man (I haven’t seen Bicentennial Man. I may have been misinformed), robots have been relentlessly reliable at throwing the mirror up to mankind, forcing us to recognise our faults and strengths either through their own imitation of humanity, or, more often, their programmed lack of it. They also make a pretty rad unstoppable army too.

The robot in Robot and Frank is similarly mesmerising. He (it?) is immediately a paradox. He has no face apart from a creepily impassive black screen – making his head look more like a white motorcycle helmet – but his voice is silky and welcoming, played with a dreamy earnestness by Peter Sarsgaard. He looks clumsy and weighty but moves with an almost silent grace, robot suit piloted from within by dancer Rachael Ma. He is tasked with maintaining the health of elderly rogue, Frank (Frank Langella) but has no moral compass, which allows his programming to be manipulated in a certain extra-legal capacity.

You see, Frank’s a retired cat burglar and slowly but surely succumbing to dementia, his memory fraying away around him. The present is slowly passing him by, old being usurped by youth – given a face in form of Frank’s antagonist, Jake (Jeremy Strong) a smarmy little hipster who regards old age as quirky. Frank’s son (James Marsden) buys him a robot to regiment his life and improve his health. Frank doesn’t take too kindly to such interference setting the stage for an odd-couple personality clash. Needless to say they grow to depend upon each other and a genuine, moving friendship blossoms.

This nurse-patient arc is well-well-worn, but the predictability is offset by the robot’s otherness. Rather than change – the robot can’t, he’s not programmed to – the friendship develops via Frank’s subtle manipulation of the robot’s logic and programming in order to coax it (him?) into carrying out a few last robberies. Cleverly, the robot – programmed to expect resistance – manages a little manipulation of his own. It’s a tiny little tale of an inhuman – but recognisably human – friendship. It’s also my favourite film of 2013 thus far.

What’s even more remarkable is that this is the debut feature for not only writer Christopher D. Ford but also for director Jake Schreier. The structure and thematic motifs are so intricately constructed, the pacing so deliberate and the tone so gracefully handled that the futures of both men are very exciting to anticipate. Speaking of the future, that’s another of the film’s subtle successes. Set in the purposely vague “near future”, the technological advances are slight but ring completely true; apart from the robot, the most obviously futuristic technology is – of course – phones.

The film confidently sidesteps the potential pitfalls of its rather sombre subject matter as well. Frank’s encroaching dementia could have made for a plethora of maudlin scenes, but Frank’s roguish disregard for such things is echoed in the film-makers’ tact. We only notice a few excusable slips in memory and awareness at first, but they very gradually build – sewn into Frank’s routine – that we almost disregard them as well until a third act plot development occurs, which in less capable hands could have been hokey, but in the hands of Ford and Schreier manages to be quietly devastating.

A quick word about the acting. Each and every member of the cast give their best – perhaps Liv Tyler is a shade too ethereal as Frank daughter, but it suits her character well enough – but Frank Langella’s downright impeccable; at once bullishly stubborn, delicate, sly and charming. He manages to convey not only years of experience, but also the very real fear of losing such years with deftness. Only when Frank can see himself in the robot’s mimicry of his life does his facade crack and it’s all so well-handled! Gah!

I’ll stop gushing now. All this unfettered praise is becoming sickening, but Robot and Frank really is a perfect little character piece. Like the robot himself, it’s warm, gracefully constructed and – recognisably – human. See it please.

Veteran film producer To (Chapman To) addresses a room for of know-it-all students, through flashback we see his struggles to get his most recent film made. Along the way he makes dodgy deals with eccentric crime boss, has sexual encounters with attractive women and donkies and navigates his way through a messy family life.

At first glance Vulgaria seems little more than a smutty, innuendo filled “comedy” about making porn. Happily it’s more than that. Yes there’s plenty of smut – the opening scene revolves around putting the word “pubes” into as many sentences as possible . There are several scenes of open mouthed men staring wide-eyed and attractive looking women and did I mention the sexy hook up with a mule? Unlike the majority of sex comedies made in recent years, especially American movies, Vulgaria brings an air of satire to the discussions of blow jobs with popping candy. Fundamentally Vulgaria is a film about making films. A very exaggerated one that borders on the slapstick and ridiculous but it shows the extremes that it can take for film makers to get there films made. Think a more hyper-colourful version of In the Soup and you’re half way there. At times Chapman To brings to mind Ryo Ishibashi in Audition. A lonely, intelligent man who finds love in a woman must younger. Albeit a much louder version. Rather than appearing as a one dimensional sex pot To shows a whole range of emotions. We first meet him as a authoritative producer address a lecture room. Soon we see him debased and drunk over dinner with Brother Tyrannosaur the crime boss who is helping to bank role his smutty epic.

Ronald Cheng is very watchable as the bizarre Tyrannosaur. It’s definitely the role of film as he gets to shout out absurdities and obscenities with great flare. It’s a role that could easily become annoying but it’s a credit to Cheng that he plays it just the right side of fun. Vulgaria’s also impressively mounted visually. The opening credit sequence flashing by in a kaleidoscope of colour. For a “smutty” comedy it has had a lot of love and craft put into it. It could be said that if the more crass elements were taken out that Vulgaria could be a decent edition to the films about making films genre, but to be fair part of the films charm come from some it’s more lurid jokes. I laughed several times at some pretty childish jokes. The actors know how to deliver a line even through the nuisance of the subtitle (shouldn’t complain really, if I was THAT bothered I would learn the language).

Not to say that Vulgaria is a great film. It’s not. Merely that it delivered much more than I expected. Even at 90 minutes though it still seems a bit too long, suffering from the second act drag. Due to the films comic tone some characters act little more than cyphers for punchlines leaving their characters under developed and ultimately uninteresting. Also at times the films swerves too harshly into drama territory when before I was enjoying cruising along in bawdy comedy control. Somewhere between Altman’s The Player and Kitano’s Getting Any?, Vulgaria is a chucklesome look at the nightmare of filmmaking.

When news first hit the gossip columns that Calvin Broadus, aka Snoop Dogg, had embarked on a journey of self-discovery to Jamaica and returned with the moniker Snoop Lion, I’m pretty confident I wasn’t the only one who found the whole affair quite amusing. In recent years, Snoop has become a bit of a joker of the rap genre. Rather than the drug pushing gangster he was when he first burst on the scene as a fresh faced 18 year old under the tutelage of rap legend Dr Dre, he has grown into the sort of class clown of hip hop. An exponent of fun in the genre, he’s often seen to be lampooning the clichés of the culture with a smile on his face. Whether he’s donned from head to toe in the attire of a pimp looking like a modern day Dolemite, or singing about “Sexual Eruptions” in a 1970s style music video, you can’t help but smile with him. So when popular counter-culture magazine Vice teamed up with Snoop to document his time in Jamaica, it would’ve been fair to expect a bit of a farce. Instead, Snoop and Vice veteran Andy Capper, who takes up the role of director, deliver a sincere and often enlightening film that occasionally offers glimpses of the real Calvin Broadus as opposed to the seasoned showman with the silly stage name.

The film itself follows Snoop through a spiritual journey of self-discovery as he explores the Rastafarian culture of Jamaica whilst recording a reggae album with Major Lazer producer, Diplo. Cutting between three main focuses (recording the album, exploring Jamaica and past reflections), Reincarnated begins with a brief and stylish prologue based around the career of the man, which then quickly leaps straight into the crux of his trip in the guise of a familiar ‘making of’ doc you’d likely find on VH1. We are then privy to a very personal journey around the country where he visits a number of iconic locations and meets the people that inspired his own musical career. From a heartwarming visit to a boys orphanage that culminates in an impromptu jam session, to an eye-opening visit around the Jamaican equivalent of his own drug and violence filled home town, Reincarnated takes you around parts of Jamaica that you won’t see in the tourist brochure. Quite apt coming from Vice, then, but the people Broadus meets and the places he visits are for him and him alone, ultimately contributing to his own metaphorical rebirth as Snoop Lion even if there’s the odd bit of bizarre awkwardness between himself and the locals.

Flitting between his exploration of the country he feels spiritually linked with and the recording sessions, the films first half is almost entirely themed around marijuana; the drug the country, and Snoop himself, are commonly associated with. Although offering an interesting insight to the making of his maiden reggae album, the access all areas recordings offer little more than a healthy dose of fan service for followers of the one time Death Row Records stars. And while the film is guilty of drifting in and out of self-indulgent forays into weed smoking a little too often, it is most certainly at its best when Snoop Dogg is completely bamboozled on weed. His wrestle with a grapefruit tree is particularly hilarious, but these moments of drug-fuelled intoxication expose Snoop at his most candid. The resulting straight to camera reflections are interesting, intimate and often incredibly poignant. Capper manages to unfurl a number of home truths from Snoop and his honesty is wholly refreshing. Openly admitting to a once indecent and illicit lifestyle, but never really apologising for it, it becomes clear that at 41, the motive for his rebirth is that of finding peace within a career previously littered with violence, debauchery and indecency rather than a public issue of apology for a mischievous life. Rarely admitting regret, or asking for forgiveness, he comes across as an honest man simply reaching a period of transition in his career. Capper therefore manages to craft a film that is very much a personal journey of reflection and enlightenment for the charismatic rapper, rather than the throwaway whimsical documentary it first appears to be. There is the odd instance where the supposed reality does feel like a manufactured catalyst merely to set up proceeding chapters, but the few occasions this does occur only cues up the strongest parts of the documentary. Snoop’s complications with the Death Row camp, where he once feared for his life, and the loss of his dear friend and colleague Nathaniel Hale (aka Nate Dogg), are quite easily the most gripping and emotionally bounding of the film.

At 96 minutes, it is long enough to feel fulfilling for the most ardent of fans but when the vast majority of the film is shot through a blinding haze of weed smoke, it’s hard to ignore the lull of repetition presumably used to pad out the run time. While somewhat essential to illustrate the character of the man, it does become a bit of bore to just see shot after shot of his entourage partaking in the inhalation of doobs, getting baked off their tits and blowing smoke into the lens. Despite this however, Reincarnated still offers a supremely interesting insight into one of the most charismatic artists of this generation. Naturally, fans of the man himself will want to watch Snoop’s journey, and despite it sagging slightly at the half way point, with disjointed darts between past and present, fans of both reggae and hip hop will probably find enough to warrant a watch. There are moments when it’s hard to take everything seriously when it’s all about the weed, but for the most part it does attain a heightened level of substance and honesty that suggests it is more meaningful than the publicity stunt it could easily be accused of being.

Reincarnated is in cinemas nationwide as of now!