In a year that has been (and continues to be) seriously concerning for cinema, we have to take the wins when we get them, and audiences being treated to five films from Steve McQueen (one of Britain’s finest filmmakers, and the brilliant creative mind behind Hunger, Shame, 12 Years a Slave and Widows) is one very big win. Small Axe, an anthology series comprising of several feature films depicting real-life racial injustice towards London’s West Indian community between 1969 and 1982, is coming to the BBC in November, and if Mangrove is anything to go by, that’s a special thing indeed.
Frank Crichlow (Shaun Parkes), the owner of the Mangrove restaurant in Notting Hill, has become something of an accidental and reluctant leader, his business having become a safe haven for his community, with many civil rights activists frequently spending time there. The restaurant’s significance in the area hasn’t gone unnoticed, and bullish PC Pulley regularly orders raids based on false allegations and zero evidence. His reasoning? To put ‘the blacks’ in their place and drive them out.
Crichlow, along with many of his patrons, has grown frustrated with the constant harassment and decides to hold a non-violent demonstration in protest, but the involvement of the police soon exacerbates things, and nine of the demonstrators (now referred to as the Mangrove Nine) are charged with incitement to riot. McQueen’s film tells the story not only of the incident itself, but of the long and arduous trial that followed. It’s a film of two halves; first an infuriating tale of police brutality, before becoming an outstanding courtroom drama wrought with rage and passion.
It’s surprising how little-known the story of the Mangrove Nine is, given it made national headlines at the time and is widely recognised as the first trial in which the judge acknowledged, however loosely, the clear racially-driven prejudice within the Metropolitan Police. It was a huge step, and it’s one that deserves to be remembered and respected. McQueen is a filmmaker born to tell important stories, and his interpretation of it is just magnificent.
McQueen continues to be a master behind the camera. He knows when to utilise it fully and when to let it linger, the latter being a signature aspect of his work, and one that he uses effectively in Mangrove on several occasions (a long look at Crichlow’s face in the courtroom is particularly memorable). He’s able to properly communicate emotions with his work better than most filmmakers working today; a subtle artist unafraid to push buttons when necessary.
Where McQueen most excels is his positive depiction of the culture itself. While the film mostly roars with fury (the content resonating with anyone paying attention to the current political climate), the community atmosphere in and around the restaurant is always portrayed as happy and warm. At one point, McQueen lingers on a colourful street carnival just long enough for us to feel a part of it, the dancing and singing at its utmost joyous and wonderful. It’s brilliant moments such as this that help attach the audience to the characters; it’s why we care about them so damn much. It’s a community worth defending.
The characters are brought to life by a talented cast at the top of their game, particularly scene-stealer Letitia Wright, whose powerful monologues radiate with both anger and fear. Malachi Kirby is also exceptional, fully coming to life in his courtroom sequences, and Shaun Parkes’ quiet and reserved performance as Crichlow is another highlight. He expertly portrays a man who has had any faith in the system beaten out of him, but is equally afraid of fighting it for fear of having that very system take everything away. He’s a hard-working man who just wants to be respected.
Mangrove is about serious issues, but it’s far from miserable. If anything, it’s quite the opposite; a film that is fully aware of our past and present failings, but equally optimistic about the progress we can make, so long as brave, intelligent people are willing to speak up.
It’s powerful, emotive and expertly-crafted by an artist operating at the peak of his powers. It speaks volumes for the talents of McQueen that Mangrove, undoubtedly one of the year’s best films, is just one episode of an anthology series. For any other filmmaker, this would comfortably be their stand-out work. For McQueen? Hmm. It still might be.
One is unable to discuss Disney’s new live-action remake of Mulan without at least briefly mentioning the divisive decision to drop the film straight to Disney+ in favor of simply delaying a theatrical release. However many of us might feel about the controversial media conglomerate, it is undeniably true that today’s cinemas rely greatly on the studio’s output to survive (their films took a market share of almost 40% in 2019). Given the current circumstances, delaying it would’ve been the right thing to do.
Perhaps the biggest disappointment is the fact that the film was so clearly designed for the big screen, drenched in spectacle and just begging to be experienced in a crowd. Unlike the majority of Disney’s lackluster remakes, Mulan is prepared to step away from simply copying the 1998 original and actually try something new. In fact, this version is essentially a wuxia film (it’ll remind viewers more of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon than of the Disney classic); more of a modern interpretation of the Chinese legend than ‘just another remake’, and the spectacle of that vision feels completely wasted on a television screen.
Gone are all the elements that we know and love; there are no songs, love stories or talking animals, all of which are pushed aside as the story instead leans into themes of family, honor and trust.
It’s almost admirable that the film strays so far from the original text on which it’s based in favor of new ideas, and it certainly shouldn’t rub people up the wrong way quite like previous remakes have done, as it doesn’t fall into the same traps. In fact, Mulan has all the elements to become something brilliant… so why doesn’t it?
The answer to that is simple: it’s Disney. The studio’s model thrives on creating movies for mass appeal; ones that can rarely be called ‘bad’, since there almost always competently made and well-acted, but that are hardly ever bold enough to become something great. With very few exceptions, they’re usually what one might call ‘pretty good’ or even ‘just fine’, and that’s because that’s precisely what they’re designed to be; movies that neither offend nor blow anyone away.
The reason Mulan never becomes more than ‘fine’ is because it’s unwilling to fully embrace the ideas at the heart of it. A fully Chinese wuxia movie that focused more on the mental strain of Mulan’s actions and on her interactions with those around her would’ve been far more interesting than what we got: essentially, a Marvel movie. It follows the same basic structure and is every bit as formulaic as any MCU release.
In fact, Hua Mulan herself is now a superhero. This new interpretation of the character has the power of chi, and once again, that could’ve been interesting had it been handled creatively, but Mulan is introduced as the perfect fighter from the very beginning. She attempts to conceal her skills from fellow soldiers, but never from the audience, so it’s pretty difficult for the combat sequences (however pretty they might be) to have any real tension.
In the end, while Mulan isn’t as problematic as many other Disney remakes, the principle remains the same: thinking these films will be equal in quality is ignorant of what made the classics so special in the first place… the animation itself. Much like most others, Mulan worked better as an animated film because it was purposefully created that way; it’s how the story was supposed to be told, and although this remake has a more respectful approach than most, it’s still devoid of any of the charm that made the original so beloved.
It’s visually stunning, the action sequences are terrific and Liu Yifei is fantastic in the lead role, but it lacks the magic, heart, character or life of its animated counterpart. In short, it’s ‘just fine’, and you’ll likely feel just as you did after Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast or The Lion King: wishing you were watching the original.
In The Roads Not Taken, seasoned filmmaker Sally Potter shows us an uneventful and often nonsensical day in the life of dementia sufferer Leo (Javier Bardem), as his daughter Molly (Elle Fanning) takes him to the dentist and the optometrist. Leo frequently loses himself in various memories, as he relives his past with first love Dolores (Salma Hayek) and ex-wife Rita (Laura Linney), as well as some time he spent writing alone in Greece.
Potter’s latest work is perhaps her most personal yet, dedicated to her brother Nic, who suffered from a form of dementia himself, but the film sadly misses the mark both thematically and narratively, delivered with little panache and a confused sense of ambiguity.
One of the biggest issues here is in the way that those around Leo treat him; his illness is neither manageable nor his own fault, but you’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise on several occasions. Medical professionals seemingly have little patience for him, and his ex-wife and friend, Rita, seems to have made her peace with the fact that he’s no longer the man she once knew. Molly mostly seems to love and care for her father, but even she seemingly renders him a nuisance at times, and when so few characters appear to have empathy for the man, it’s hard for an audience to feel any, either.
Where The Roads Not Taken completely loses its focus is in the apparent hallucinogenic experiences that Leo has throughout, all of which are both cliché-driven and bizarre, wherein Potter tries to inject some ambiguity into a work that feels all too obvious. The film’s message is abundantly clear, both from within the narrative and from the title itself, so Potter’s solution for this appears to be multiple out-of-place surrealist imagery designed to do little more than impress, none of which are as clever or profound as she would like them to be.
It wouldn’t be fair to say that the film lacks any strengths; it’s stacked with strong performances from talented actors, all doing what they can to elevate the messy material. Bardem is more than convincing in the central role, while Fanning is a natural presence as always, and Linney and Hayek do excellent work with what little they have, but none are able to mask a work that is both empty in its compassion and lacking in its execution. It is a slow and arduous journey to a disappointing destination, devoid of any real heart or soul, both of which are imperative for a story like this to work.
The Roads Not Taken is a film that will undoubtedly resonate with those who have had similar experiences, but will likely fail to captivate an audience looking for anything more than personal reflection; a deeply personal work with nothing meaningful to say about its subject.
In the summer of 2010, London-born filmmaker Christopher Nolan changed the face of Hollywood tentpoles with his science-fiction heist thriller Inception. A decade later, the film seems to be even more of an outlier than it was at the time.
Since Steven Spielberg inadvertently gave birth to the summer blockbuster with his pivotal 1975 classic Jaws, the trend has evolved even further with various other landmarks such as Star Wars, Tron, Toy Story, Jurassic Park, Titanic and Avatar changing the face of mainstream cinema. Inception remains an equally important milestone for Hollywood but, unlike the aforementioned, didn’t go on to influence the industry in the way that many might have hoped.
Nolan originally conceived of the idea back in 2001, at which point he produced an 80-page treatment of his concept. But he decided first to develop his craft, opting not to make the film until he felt he had the necessary experience and resources to do it the way he wanted. It wasn’t until after the release of The Dark Knight in 2008 that the idea formally developed into a screenplay.
Inception was an anomaly. Hollywood has long been dominated by perfectly planned, lavishly marketed and heavily focus-grouped drivel, designed to appeal to the largest possible audience and generate a high income. But with Nolan’s film, Warner Bros. had supported a $160 million picture for which its director had been given carte blanche. The studio had given the film a budget equivalent to that of almost any franchise release, and that just doesn’t happen anymore.
With his freedom, Nolan told a mind-bending story about a team of thieves who break into people’s dreams and steal their thoughts. Playing with our very idea of reality as we know it, the film was a vivid and intense study both of the human psyche and the hardships of grief, that also managed to be a riveting, exciting and original action thriller.
Far from a classic good vs. evil story with a straightforward third act, Inception was a film with a brain; a unique, non-linear story that played out like a puzzle for the audience to work out, asking plenty of questions while providing very few answers, and delivering an ending that still encourages debate even now.
All too often, Hollywood films appear designed for audiences to be able to follow along while simultaneously scrolling their phone or talking to their friends, but this was a film that simply demanded their full attention. It didn’t even market itself like other blockbusters, most of which tend to be promoted up to a year in advance, often before filming has even finished; on the contrary, Nolan refused to reveal any details until the very last minute, encouraging people to hand over their money and try something different. Most surprisingly of all, Warner Bros. let him.
As anyone who follows cinema will know, the hottest trend in 2010 was 3D. Thanks solely to the record-breaking success of James Cameron’s Avatar, the majority of Hollywood films soon began production with this format, and those that had already been shot were immediately converted in the editing room. Even Warner Bros. had experimented with this, with infamous fantasy remake Clash of the Titans released to universal criticism, but when Nolan told them that his film was already immersive enough and didn’t need to be converted, they accepted it. As it stands, Inception has only ever been released in 2D.
Nolan has also consistently rejected Hollywood’s modern over-reliance on CGI, opting to use practical stunts wherever possible and only turn to special effects when absolutely necessary. In his view, this could only make the dreams feel more real; a vital aspect of a film designed to make its audience question what is or isn’t really happening.
All of this is a quick way of demonstrating one important fact: Inception was a big risk for Warner Bros.; a completely original story, low on special effects, high on intelligence and produced with very little market testing.
In spite of all this, Inception was a massive success. Grossing almost $830 million at the global box office, the film was also a critical darling, nominated for eight Academy Awards and taking home half of them. It had succeeded in a market dominated by branded entertainment and, almost a decade later, is revered as one of the greatest blockbusters of all time, making a bigger cultural impression on audiences than a Clash of the Titans remake could ever hope for. Not many movies have the kind of impact on pop culture that Inception did; it’s one of the very best films to come from one of Hollywood’s finest filmmakers.
Better yet, it still holds up beautifully; the perfect example of an intelligent narrative that makes sense on an initial watch, but still benefits from repeat viewings simply for the many things you’ll pick up on that you missed the first time. And thanks to Nolan’s trust in practical effects, its visual appeal hasn’t aged a day (the hallway sequence remains one of the strongest set-pieces of this century).
Whether Inception is the very ‘best’ blockbuster of the decade is up for discussion, but it is unquestionably the most unique, both for its universal success and for the fact that it ever got made to begin with.
It’s also one of the few films of its kind not to be spoiled by corporate greed. Even the mighty Jaws failed to avoid such treatment; three poor sequels have since been churned out, including a dreadful 3D release. Inception simply cannot be franchised, and it hasn’t produced a single sequel, spin-off, reboot or remake. It exists in its own little box.
Much like Jaws, Inception was a film that showcased the talents of the filmmaker behind it, thereby making him a household name and, by default, his own brand. Its success put Nolan in the privileged position of being able to make just about anything he liked in the future, no matter the risk (he has since produced the far more complex Interstellar, which still became a commercial success despite mostly mixed reviews, and will be releasing Tenet this year). It was the film that elevated his status to that of Scorsese, Spielberg and Tarantino; a director who can sell just about anything, simply because he made it. It was an urgent, much-needed reminded that filmmakers make films, not studios.
Immediately following its success, the hope had been that it would encourage studios to have a little more faith in directors; to take the chances that they’d been avoiding for so long. But this never happened.
The film industry has changed more in the past ten years than in perhaps any other decade in the history of cinema. Sadly, pivotal though Inception may have been, its influence doesn’t come close to that of the incredible success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the terrifying ongoing domination of Disney or the growing significance of the Chinese market when it comes to blockbuster entertainment. When one adds streaming to the equation, and the growing tendency for more though-provoking cinema to move to the small screen, the impact of Inception has simply been outweighed. It never made a difference.
The sad reality is that films based on recognisable brands are still the safest bets for movie studios. It probably wouldn’t have even been greenlit by Warner Bros. had Nolan not already made the studio a billion dollars with The Dark Knight.
But it’s the films that balance brains with entertainment that mainstream cinema needs more of. They shouldn’t be as rare as they are.
Inception isn’t the smartest movie ever made, nor is anyone claiming it to be, but it’s significantly more intelligent than almost any other blockbuster that Hollywood studios are willing to produce, and that matters.
It’s incredibly uncommon for an action tentpole to treat its audience like they have more than one brain cell; to trust them to keep up with the plot and piece the puzzle together themselves. While major studios appear to have nothing but contempt for the audience, films like Inception treat them with a little more respect. Nonetheless, you’d find it hard to argue that there had been anything like it since.
As it stands, nothing has come close to matching the experience of watching Inception. It was a one-of-a-kind cinematic moment, and one that matters more now than ever. Cinephiles had hoped it would encourage studios to take chances and move away from the familiar. Instead, the decade that followed brought Hollywood further from originality than ever before, and Inception now seems to be lightning in a bottle; the last of its kind for a long while yet.
At present, the future of cinema looks noticeably bleak, but there may yet be another bright light. Nolan’s new film, spy thriller Tenet, is due to be released this summer (maybe), and it seems to ring all the same bells that Inception did at the turn of the previous decade. Could it be just what the industry needs? Or will it prove, once again, that such films are still few and far between? No pressure.
In Dickinson, her new comedy series on Apple TV+, creator Alena Smith presents great American poet Emily Dickinson as a young woman notably out-of-time, living in the 1800s with the core values of a modern-day millennial.
Dickinson, whose work was mostly published after she died, was an anti-social girl who spent her life cooped up in the bedroom of her family home. Her work was written in private, with her father refusing her permission to publish, adamant that it would only harm their family name. Few people in Emily’s life support her poetry, aside from Sue, her oldest friend and future sister-in-law, with whom she shares a secret romance.
At its core, Dickinson is a black comedy; a teen drama with an inevitably tragic end. Emily’s future is made clear to the viewer in the opening moments of the very first episode, and the series doesn’t shy away from the darker themes necessary to tell her story well, neither dismissing them nor making light of them.
The balance between the opposing themes, tones and languages may be peculiar for some, but it’s precisely what makes the show so engaging. While the periodic setting is always made abundantly clear, Emily can frequently be heard saying various words that have only become popular in the past twenty years or so. Audiences will hear phrases like ‘so pimp’, ‘pretty psyched’ and ‘nailed it’ mentioned throughout the series, and there’s even an episode in which she holds a house party and gets her friends high on opium while they all dance and twerk to modern pop music (even Billie Eilish and Lizzo feature on the soundtrack). This might all sound very strange (it is), but it’s precisely what makes the show work. Emily is shown to be a woman born in the wrong era and vastly ahead of her own time, and this comes across superbly, weakened only by the fact that she isn’t the only character to speak in the way she does.
When it comes to historical accuracy, there really is nothing wrong with meddling with it if there is at least a reason for doing so, and the modern references in Dickinson serve a clear purpose for its protagonist, with many other important elements going unchanged, including Emily’s poetry, not a word of which is altered.
The series really excels when showing Emily’s relationship with Sue, which is portrayed both tastefully and intimately. Sue played a big role in Emily’s life, but their story has largely been omitted over the years, most notably in the 2016 film A Quiet Passion, which essentially pretended it never happened. Here, the characters are actually given the time to breathe; Emily and Sue are both very mature about what they have and fully understand the impossibility of it, and Steinfeld shares truly excellent chemistry with Ella Hunt.
A surprisingly excellent piece of casting comes in the form of Wiz Khalifa as ‘Death’, who Emily regularly visits in her dreams. The rapper makes very few appearances, but his scenes with Steinfeld are at once magnetic, romantic and disturbing; it’s in these moments that the darkness behind Emily Dickinson best comes to the forefront.
The series isn’t short of its flaws, including often clunky and obvious dialogue, the odd casting of Jane Krakowski as Emily’s mother, and the rather shallow portrayals of the male characters, but the strengths far outweigh the weaknesses. Dickinson is a show that works even when it doesn’t, thanks mostly to the outstanding Hailee Steinfeld, an actress with such natural charisma and charm that she simply cannot be faulted. She is the shining light of the series and the reason it rises above so many of its many problems.
It’s also a show that rewards patience, developing into a stronger story with each passing episode. It’s in the last few that we get our first glimpse into the tragic and sad Emily Dickinson that we are all familiar with, as a result of her relationship with Ben and the incidents surrounding her brother Austin’s marriage to Sue. It’s a series with the potential to grow into something far stronger than it is.
Dickinson is a supremely fun show with a likeable and watchable lead; a re-imagining that feels both fresh and interesting. With a second season already on the horizon, it’s clear that Alena Smith has a vision for its future that will become more prevalent as it continues. It has the feel of a show that could gradually find an audience and become better appreciated over time, so it’s worth the effort now to be among the very first to discover it.
