Author: BRWC

  • Gettin’ Some: It’s Taken Some Time

    Gettin’ Some: It’s Taken Some Time

    There are two kinds of movies in this world: ones that stink and ones that don’t. Well, that’s not entirely true, but it is one of the quirky dialogue inclusions, amongst others, in low-budget, ambition driven Gettin’ Some.

    Directed by Luther Bhogal-Jones, this inspired feature took an unbelievable 14 years to make. What adds even more to the work’s character, as well as its ongoing production time, is the fact that it was made on nearly no budget. What originally started as a short Bhogal-Jones’ compares with 1996 comedy Swingers, turned into a series of clips in aim to prove that a film without funds could be done capably.

    The history of the making and Bhogal-Jones’ continuing motivation is nothing short of admirable, but it also pushes the bar higher than most independently funded movies. However, this could lead to disappointment so what’s important to remember when watching this film is that it was not solely made to stand out as a cinematic masterpiece. Instead, Bhogal-Jones wanted to make a light-hearted comedy with a well-written plot without all of the money that is usually put into production. In correlation with this, Bhogal-Jones was disappointed with Shane Meadows release of Smalltime, under the same premise and he wanted to do it better. And with this idea in mind he has fulfilled his criteria and created an entertaining full-length feature.

    There’s no denying that the film itself is a tad stuck in its era. The cinematic quality alone is definitely true to the 90s and the whole sequence looks as if it was filmed on a home camcorder. In addition, during a beginning scene one of the characters is shown seeking out a VHS porno from a dealer, the woes of man pre-Internet.

    The rawness of the filming may be a little shoddy, however the movie itself proved an amusing watch and Bhogal-Jones interlocked the characters and their lives well. The plot follows various groups of twenty-somethings, in their love and lives, including a young guy and his break-up, an infidelity and a woman who is constantly on the dating battlefield in relation to her shortened name ‘Alex’. There are some clever little traits incorporated into the storyline, with the film occasionally sidelining with intermissions such as the video shop owner’s rant on house music, reminiscent of scenes such as ‘spliff politics’ in Human Traffic. Another of these idiosyncrasies involves a puppet used as a character, which I am almost completely sure is nothing to do with the low budget, and some shrewd dialogue repetitions.

    Although Gettin’ Some may never make it to the DVD shelves, I think it stands as a triumph and an example of what can be done with a lot of clout and ongoing motivation. As Bhogal-Jones says, “what does remain is a dream of ambition, a fast paced entertaining film with a large ensemble cast filmed over a variety of locations, a film to hopefully inspire a next generation of film makers at what can be achieved with no money but energy and endless determination.” Whether you enjoy the film or think it’s a waste of time, you can’t help but admire Bhogal-Jones for his ultimate drive and if you yourself are a struggling filmmaker then a little sympathy is in order. Check out the film on www.vimeo.com/fasterproductions.

  • And Scene #3: The Thing – The Blood Test

    And Scene #3: The Thing – The Blood Test

    The value of a great scene is lost on most films. It seems a bizarre thing to say but watching as many as I do, you’d be amazed how set-pieces and moments of flair can be sacrificed for the all-consuming monolith of story. We’ve got to get to the next  scene as quickly as possible, so if a scene isn’t expressly about accomplishing that goal, more often than not it’s gotten rid of or marginalized. This isn’t always a bad thing, as most of the scenes I talk about in these parts are tangents from a mass, and if they’re not worth our time then they can bring the film to a screeching halt, momentum permanently lost. This perhaps why genre films excel at set-pieces, for if your plot is a monster is trying to kill these guys, or these two fall in love, then your plot is shorthand, a spine that allows you to the room to see what can really be accomplished in 5 minutes as opposed to two hours, and have that spine there to bring you back on course when you’re done being awesome.

    Whether you have seen John Carpenter’s The Thing or not, it should be patently obvious which category it falls into (not a romantic comedy). I’d call this film Carpenter’s best work, and then at some margin. I’m not exactly the man’s biggest fan, his films tended to be too right brain for me and lacked decent characters and often the capacity to surprise. That as well as the fact that I consider Halloween to be the most overrated film ever made in the history of cinema (no hyperbole, that’s actually my literal opinion) but The Thing is the exception that proves my Carpenter hating rule. I think it’s a deserving and lasting classic, Carpenter’s minimalism combines perfectly with an elegant set-up and ingenious monster design, and if there are many monster movies better than this, I haven’t seen them.

    The blood test scene, iconic enough that it probably needs very little introduction to the kind of people that would be reading a site like this, is an extra-ordinary example of how to wring every last drop of tension out of a scene. Carpenter has drawn occasional comparisons with Hitchcock, something that makes sense if you remove quality from the conversation. Both spent their entire careers making essentially the same film, both had an interest in filming variations on similar sequences in different movies, as if trying to craft a perfect version of said sequence and both an interest in incorporating technical advancement and experimentation. But this sequence is probably the only time Carpenter mastered suspense in the way Hitchcock could, in a way so carefully crafted and designed, where every beat comes at the perfect moment and a punch you know is coming manages to hit you as strong as any imaginable surprise or twist. Delightfully agonizing, you might call it.

    So in the name of set-up, the blood test occurs well into the running time of The Thing, and essentially kicks off the final act. Everyone at the extremely isolated base in Antarctica knows about the shape-shifting  monster that’s not only killing them, but making copies of its victims that then blend in amongst the other survivors (instead of just killing them instantly, which the alien could do with ease. Movie magic y’all) This of course means that anyone who’s been separated from the group for any period of time is a suspect. MacReady, our nominal anti-hero, is in exactly this position. So he takes radical action of taking all those not yet killed hostage by threatening to suicide bomb everyone with a stick off dynamite.

    His plan is thus. He’s noticed that almost every strand of Alien DNA is alive, it’s own separate entity. As have we by the way (Poor Norris got his head turned into a spider). Following that logic, if he were to take a blood sample from each other survivors, if any of them were alien, that blood sample would attempt to survive, its own separate entity, if under attack from a heated copper wire. So, with each survivor tied to a chair, MacReady proceeds to test the blood, one by one, whilst we wait for the inevitable jump. We know somebody is the monster, because come on, you can’t get us that way. Instead it’s a moment that has to be ‘Goldilocksed’  The time of the reveal, the identity of the monster, the manner of the gearshift from that moment on, it needs to get it all just right.

    First to be tested is Windows. Windows is a relatively minor character and that combined with his going first, you’re suspecting he’s going to be clean, or else this scene will have shot its wad before getting to the good stuff. But the shot lingers Windows looks terrified, my certainty is waning.  The copper wire fizzes into the blood. No reaction. Next goes MacReady himself. No reaction. Obviously. Carpenter is cutting around all possible suspects at all times, taking in everyone’s tension. Asshole Childs, Company man Garry, comic relief Palmer, newbie Nauls. No music, trusting the moment to play on its own wits. Which only makes everything that much more on a knife edge.

    Next up are two of the recently deceased, Copper and Clark. The latter of which MacReady has just shot in the head in self defence.  Copper. No reaction for Copper. Clark. No reaction for Clark. In a moment that slightly alters the tone of the scene, Childs (played emphatically by genre legend Keith David) points out that this makes MacReady a murderer. A moment of regret flashes on Kurt Russell’s face. Palmer next.  A nervous Garry calls this nonsense and not proof of anything. MacReady, clearly suspecting Garry, calls him out in a moment of triumphant hubris, then BAM. Palmer’s blood shoots into the air, screaming everywhere, Palmer begins to morph into a thing whilst Nauls, Childs and Garry, all tied to him, collectively shit themselves. Complete calm to complete pandemonium, Carpenter pulling the trigger at just the right moment. Long enough that we’d settled into the scene and began to let our guard down, but quick enough for the thing not to overstay its welcome.

    Palmer was the perfect choice because although he wasn’t exactly the kind of character that survives this kind of thing, he’d played the role of the movie’s likable guy. And with 6/7 people left it felt way too early for him to go. Carpenter intelligently keeps him largely quiet for the entire scene, so the punch of it works so much better. In many ways, this is the classic hitchcockian sequence, removed from all the grandstanding gore, it’s someone hiding something and our hero forcing them to reveal it with lives at stake. Just you know, instead of a bomb going off, or a spy getting burned, dude’s head is going to open, flesh jaws are going to come out and eat poor Windows. But you know, roughly the same.

    After blowing up the Palmer-Monster with blowtorches and dynamite. There’s nothing left to do but continue the test, with Nauls, Cilds and Garry yet to go. Each passes, and after an exasperated Garry screams in disbelief, we fade out, as if the movie knew we needed to charge down after so much awesomeness. Ladies and Gentleman, THAT is how you do a set-piece in a horror movie.

  • Stitches – Review

    Stitches – Review

    *Please excuse the language – sorry Mum*

    Oh what the fuck is this fresh hell?

    Stitches is an over-weight, chain smoking, useless clown who’s accidentally killed by a bunch of children at a birthday party (it sounds funnier written down). Six years later… I don’t know why six years later ask the writer… he comes back to life when the same bunch of kids from the birthday bash put on a house party.

    Stitches is essentially a “comical” version of a slasher film. Inexplicably Ross Noble takes the lead as the royally pissed un-dead clown. Really. Ross Noble. Everyone’s favourite, cheeky, off-beat yet still accessible to mainstream taste comedian has decided to pick this monumental shit shop as his first starring role.

    You may have gauged that I didn’t like Stitches.

    The casting decision of Ross Noble seems absolutely ludicrous as they could have hired any un-fit schleb to run around in clown feet muttering obscenities under his breathe. Maybe Noble thought the script was genuinely funny? Maybe the producers have something on him? Either way he brings nothing of his comedic charm to this film in the slightest. The whole film seems to coast along on the conceit the premise is funny enough to not bother with any other gags. How many times does director/co-writer Conor McMahon think we need to here Noble mumour “fuck’s sake” everytime he falls over. It wasn’t funny the first fucking time!

    Stitches would have been so much simpler if it was just trying to be a straight forward spoof of generic slasher flicks. Instead it aims to bring some Skins style teenage angst among the gaggle of teenagers that are hunted down. I’m not going to bother naming each one. They’re either amazingly annoying or so forgettable that you could be excused for not giving the tiniest shit when they’re offed.

    The visual style of the film is borderline student. Save for a few out-of-the-blue moments where they obviously hired a really expensive camera for the day to shoot close ups of severed heads falling to the ground. In fairness these shots do look impressive. Would the film have been better had the whole thing been shot like that? Probably not. A herpes sandwich will still give you herpes even if it’s served in Warbuton’s Farmhouse bread – not sure what my point was there.

    The other concession I’ll give is that some of the effects are decent enough and the director likes his blood so gore-hounds might find something entertaining. A nice moment with an inflating head and some brains but that’s about it.

    I usually love films that are so bad they’re good but Stitches is just out and out shit. It’s not remotely funny, Ross Noble fans would be advised to stay clear. The plot manages to combine  I Know What You Did Last Summer, Mean Girls, Hollyoaks and Stephen King’s It (not a stellar line up I grant you) and come up with a mess that involves a mystical cult of clowns who seem to live in  the countryside of Ireland, sprouting up at random intervals to kill children.

    I’m angry that this film was bad. I’m angry that I watched this film but mostly I’m angry at Michael Bay – I don’t know why but I am.

  • Welcome To The Punch – Review

    Welcome To The Punch – Review

    Where did all the Londoners go? I’m pretty sure there are some. I shared a bus with a few of them this afternoon (wouldn’t recommend) and I can hear some outside now using sentences that are mostly made up of vowels. There’s over eight million of us. It seems Welcome to the Punch, however, was filmed when we all went on holiday that one time, because director Eran Creevy’s London is empty. It looks nice, don’t get me wrong. The Shard and the Gherkin have never sparkled so much in sweeping landscape shots; glass, granite and river all washed with a sleazy yet seductive blue palate sheen. It’s beautiful, but ultimately empty.

    No one lives in London but cops and robbers it seems. Characters meet in empty theatre auditoriums, shootouts occur in empty nightclubs. It’s so barren that, in the first scene, our protagonist Max (James McAvoy) is able to locate the people he’s pursuing by getting out of his car on an empty street and listening really hard. In London. Seriously. For a film as desperate as it is to showcase the expanse of London’s skyline, we see none of its life, only its corners and corridors.

    Combining this with short roster of characters does create a certain claustrophobic tone at least, that even in the huge expanse of the city this handful of people are bound together, locked into inevitable conflict by their sins or obsessions. This microscopic scope of storytelling would be fine if this were a character study, but the script – also by Creevy – is far more concerned with plot twists than character nuance which leaves the movie feeling shallow and insubstantial.

    So there’s this tough nut copper called Max, right. This fella’s got a rock hard cock on for this robber, real stern geezer. You know ee’s Stern cos ‘is name is actually Sternwood in the script. It’s a sorta clever touch thing. So the copper’s obsessed with this Sternwood bloke ‘cos he once gave Max a bit of a slap, shot his leg all gimpy like and made him look a tit. And you’ve cottoned on that Max is obsessed with ‘im – right – cause every Dick ‘n Harry keeps mouthin’ off to him “you’re obsessed” every few minutes. Its sorta helpful actually cause it means we don’t ‘ave to waste no time actually showin’ his obsession or – like – investin’ in Max’s character or nuffin when you can just – like – tell us he’s obsessed and we can just get on with it so the audience don’t get confused or distracted or wander off or nuffin.

    It’s one of those rare cases when a film could actually afford to be a little longer. It never stops to catch its breath, every scene advancing the plot plot plot. While this means that the first two acts move at a compelling pace, by the time the third act rears its head and all the twists flop onto the frame like dead fish, it’s hard to care because all the script’s characterisation of the cast has been either non-existent or so bluntly on-the-nose (“you’re obsessed, Max” or “That decision is bad” “Like your attitude”) that we’re invested in nobody. I don’t feel anything if a character I’ve barely met betrays another man I don’t care about. Had the pace slowed a little and we actually got to spend more time with these characters, their backgrounds, their histories, or just having them talk about anything other than plot we might care, maybe feel some tension, but the film’s closing moments just left me numb. Not bored necessarily, just unmoved.

    The plot itself is a functional but bland conspiracy featuring betrayals aplenty and more twists than the 60s, but it feels as rote and functional as any straight-to-DVD copper flick, more suited to a Danny Dyer than a James McAvoy. One has to think that it’s off the back of his debut film Shifty‘s critical kudos that Creevy was able to attract such an all-star cast of British thesps to such a B-movie project. James McAvoy, Mark Strong, David Morrisey, and Andrea Risborough all deserve much more than the script gives them and the few grace notes are all provided by them despite the material, rather than because of it. The flicker of Mark Strong’s eyes when he realises he has to return to a life of crime, the constant pain on James McAvoy’s face when he bends his bum knee, the frail cracks Andrea Risborough inserts into her one-note ‘ballsy woman’ character brief.

    Peter Mullen and Johnny Harris (channeling a young Eddie Marsan) fare much better, because their characters are supposed to be slightly eccentric. It’s the only time Creevy’s script remembers to add colour to the dialogue, and Mullen and Harris leap on it with relish, creating a deeply sympathetic old rogue in one, and an intensely unsettling psychopath in the other. If only the script had endeavoured to make the other characters as remarkable, Welcome to the Punch could have a nice little classic.

    Because, storytelling aside, the filmmaking on display here is actually of high quality. The ensemble are giving it all they’ve got but as a director Creevy also impresses. There are a number of set-piece scenes – a shootout in a club, a shootout in a hotel room, a brilliant Pinteresque confrontation in an old Nan’s living room – that are all well-composed, brilliantly sound-designed, and shot with a real kinetic energy, confirming that Eran Creevy is a british director with a strong sense of stylistic flair.

    The direction and acting elevate it above your average friday night rental, no doubt. However, I’ll leave it up to your own moviegoing sensibilities whether you think it’s worth a full cinema ticket to see a movie with undeniable production value but lacking in any discernible personality.

    It’s beautiful, but ultimately empty. Make your choice, Londoners, if there are indeed any of you out there.

  • Review: No

    Review: No

    Gael Garcia Bernal seems to have a thing for playing revolutionaries. I first encountered the Mexican actor in 2004’s The Motorcycle Diaries, where his soulfully beautiful (physically and metaphorically) portrayal of Che Guevara forever instilled in me a sympathy and attraction for Communist guerrillas (I have yet to act upon this, sadly). In No, he takes on the role of Rene Saavedra: a somewhat jaded advertising executive who designs the TV campaign fighting oppressive Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, during the 1988 referendum.

    On Saturday, I told my friends that I was going to see No. Their response was essentially “huh? Pino-who?” with a Homer Simpson-esque expression. With this in mind, here’s a brief history lesson, for those who aren’t quite up on their 20th Century Latin American politics:

    In 1988, General Augusto Pinochet had been the dictator of Chile for 17 years, following a US-backed coup in the early 70’s. His regime caused the torture, death and disappearance of thousands of Chilean citizens and effectively suppressed any dissenting opinion. In 1988, under pressure from the international community to legitimise his rule, the right-wing autocrat allowed a plebiscite – a referendum – to decide whether to allow him to control Chile for another 8 years, or to give democracy a chance and hold an election.

    With that out of the way, let’s discuss the film. Most striking is director Pablo Larraín’s decision to film on Sony U-matic magnetic tape, commonly used on1980’s Chilean TV. This creates an old-school, low resolution effect, with colours and light appearing like an over-exposed Polaroid. At first the technique was jarring, being as we are so used to hi-def, highly saturated widescreen, but once the story took hold, it became less distracting, as well as allowed Larraín to smoothly integrate genuine footage from the dictatorship.

    With such potentially serious, harrowing subject matter, the film thankfully doesn’t stray into sentimentalism or melodrama. Much like the TV ad campaign that Saavedra creates, it keeps the tone generally light, allowing only snippets of danger and fear to creep in. If anything, this makes these moments all the more powerful – the scene in which the No campaign’s celebratory protest is disrupted by government forces, concluding in Saavedra’s wife being dragged away, blood smeared under her defiant eyes, is particularly heart-wrenching.

    It is the simple realism of No that makes it a success. It doesn’t over-reach: rather than attempting to demonstrate every human rights violation of the oppressive regime or show the pain of a entire generation, the film portrays one moment in time, a crossroads between the painful past and the hopeful future. Saavedra is no revolutionary hero like Guevara; his face is not destined to be plastered on the t-shirts of Camden market. Instead, he is a man doing his job and doing it well, because he is no longer able to take any more.