Author: Mark Goodyear

There’s always a feeling when watching a Guy Ritchie film that he’s made it for himself more so than anyone else. His style is so distinct and self-serving, and the gimmick of it has well and truly worn off. Richie overindulges himself in every single one of his films, and yet, in recent years he’s become a champion of the mainstream.

Despite Aladdin being one of last years highest-profile misfires it still managed to make 1 billion dollars, and his financial failure adaption of King Arthur was still far removed from the stories he told in the late ’90s and early 2000s. Now he’s returned to his roots in a way only Guy Ritchie can, with a film about an American gangster selling marijuana in England as he fends off the devious brits around him, he’s called it The Gentlemen.

Mickey Pearson (Matthew McConaughey) is said gangster. A ruthless Rhodes Scholar who found himself more drawn to drug dealing than studying while at Oxford. Realising his talent for getting rich kids to part with their money, he begins to expand, and by the time we meet him, he has marijuana production spanning all of England.

The bulk of the story is told to us by a private investigator named Fletcher (Hugh Grant) who trailed Pearson during his efforts to sell his business and go straight. Also, in the ensemble are Pearson’s right-hand man Raymond (Charlie Hunnam) his wife Rosalind (Michelle Dockery) and an extremely proficient boxing trainer who simply goes by Coach (Colin Farrell).

There are plenty of twists and turns in the narrative, as is to be expected. Along with those comes plenty of profanity and classic Ritchie mannerisms and yet it all works. There comes a point in The Gentlemen where it becomes inescapably fun, and strangely engrossing. And it all comes down to the hilarious chemistry the cast produce in front of the camera.

Throughout the performers never shy away from the most outrageous of gags. There are comical deaths, projectile vomit, everything Hugh Grant does, and an unfortunate evening with a pig. It becomes so over the top it may be the ultimate practise of self-indulgence Ritchie has ever made, but when it’s over, you can’t help but smirk and be happy to have seen it.

As mentioned, Grant absolutely steals the show as he delves into his range and produces a Fletcher who delivers every line to maximum hilarity. So smarmy and weaselly, yet endearing, is Fletcher that you don’t know whether or not you want him dead by the end. McConaughey is also brilliant, he seems to have an affinity for characters who indulge in the drug trade in any way, and here he proves gangsters are no different.

And they are only two pieces of Ritchie’s massive puzzle. Alongside them sit many other spectacular performers each of whom has a moment in the spotlight to shine.

There is no grand message in The Gentlemen, no cutting political commentary or highlighting of unseen truths. It’s cinema for the sake of cinema, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. Ritchie is the perfect man to make this kind of movie, anything can happen at any time, and it does with a complete reckless abandon that reeks of fun more than an egregious lack of depth or thought.

There is no covering up for the liberties Ritchie takes to have things his own way, but there is a certain acceptance of them that The Gentlemen generates and that might just be the best part.

Guy Ritchie sticks more rigorously than ever to his unique style of filmmaking with The Gentlemen, and some will wish he hadn’t. But, for most moviegoers, this will be a bundle of outrageous fun, and that’s enough to make it Ritchie’s best work in a long while.

There will never be anything quite like Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, or at the very least, there will never be anything quite like it’s build-up. Upon seeing the first official trailer I was stunned by the finality, I felt like a journey which spanned my entire life and beyond was indeed coming to an end and no matter what it was happening in this film.

I was endeared to it ever since, continuously excited from the day I saw the trailer all the way up to when I sat down to watch. The dramatic nostalgia-filled months before had me almost certain that no matter what I saw, I would at least like it, and now, finally, I can share my thoughts.

The Rise of Skywalker is an utter mess, that while boasting some spectacular moments, has the worst narrative structure of all 9 films. 

The Rise of Skywalker joins us once again with Rey (Daisy Ridley) and her crew of resistance friends. But with Supreme leader Snoke cut in half towards the end of the last film a new chief bad guy is required, so we welcome once again, the man who is technically the only Star Wars villain now, Emperor Sheev Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid). Deranged and damaged from his famous fall he now spreads across the galaxy a message of vengeance, something that captures the ears of the only two people capable of stopping him, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) and Rey herself.

Tied together by an unknown bond, the two begin hunting Palpatine playing cat and mouse across the stars with each other along the way. All the while the resistance, led by General Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher), Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and Finn (John Boyega) sits on its last legs championing only Rey as their final hope. 

I want to begin with saying that my labelling the experience an “utter mess” doesn’t even mean I hate the film. When The Rise of Skywalker gets things right it’s awe-inspiring and powerful just like the best of the franchise. However, when it gets things wrong, which is more often than not, it becomes a confusing, unnecessary, fan service filled, hoax of a film, formed solely in the dysfunctional Disney system that hampered its production.

The decision to change director’s mid trilogy only to change back is maligned by many, and rightly so, you can’t expect two different directors to have the same artistic vision for something so massive. J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson are terrific filmmakers but asking them to see the Galaxy Far Far Away in one identical way is impossible.

Still, it would seem their ability to work together is non-existent as there can only be one major take away from watching Episode IX. Once it’s finished, almost nothing about The Last Jedi matters, and to watch the trilogy and comprehend it, one would only really need to watch The Force Awakens and The Rise of Skywalker, with The Last Jedi being demoted to that of a tie in film. 

This frustrating realisation comes upon noticing the three very distinctly different films that exist within Episode IX. The first is a film designed to ensure everything built up as significant in Episode VIII is affirmed as unimportant for this film, with some examples of this being heinously blatant. The second film in this trilogy unto itself is that of what Abrams replaces TLJ with, the travelling, the object hunting, the tiny pieces of mid-movie character development, a lot of which feels unnecessary, as if only dreamt up to keep certain characters busy.

The final film is everything that feels final about The Rise of Skywalker, this is by far the best movie of the three, and the other two films almost totally destroy it. And what is the bane of each part? Fanservice. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll bite to fanservice and enjoy it just as much as anyone, but when done so poorly, and so obviously simply because it could be done, what is there to love? So many reveals and moments in The Rise of Skywalker feel as if J.J. himself is appearing on screen and winking at the audience, it’s tacky and uninventive.

In attempting to fit an entire trilogies worth of narrative into one film, Abrams only managed to make a something unrecognisable when compared to much of the other 8 instalments. He runs almost the entire first half of this entry at a blistering pace, which is his simplistic answer to TLJ leaving almost no overarching structure to work with, and when watching it’s almost impossible not to scrutinize.

The sensory overload that is the first half of The Rise of Skywalker is purely a sequence of very convenient plot points designed not to get us from point A to point B but to get us from point A to point Z. So much happens I could hardly keep track of what was important, which upon reinspection wasn’t that much. Indeed, once the film is done apologising for TLJ, the narrative begins to waste time until its able to start wrapping things up.

Finally, here’s where the good begins. Rey and Kylo are everything great about this film. The chemistry between them remains as unique as ever and just as intense as Johnson developed it. Their relationship and connection are the only clear-cut things that matter about TLJ, and I’m very thankful for that. Watching them battle has never been better than in this film, and the hallmark scene of them combating one another is a wonderfully choreographed visual spectacle.

The trilogy is about these two characters, and the rest merely happen to be there, and that’s fine. I only wish they had committed to doing this from the beginning rather than it just turning out this way. Regardless Episode IX is their show, and when they are allowed to be the centre of attention, they shine far brighter than anyone else (except maybe the needlessly bright lightning strikes peppered throughout). 

In looking to atone for the supposed “Sins” of Episode VIII The Rise of Skywalker has only managed to forget to make itself feel important, and as a result, ends the Skywalker Saga with a film of wondrous moments that becomes hollow when viewed as part of something larger.

The Two Popes tells the story of how the current leader of the Catholic Church rose to his position after the near unheard-of resignation from the former Pope Benedict XVI. In every essence, the film is a battle within theology, a passing of the torch and a development of the most wholesome of friendships. Jorge Bergoglio (Jonathan Pryce) and John Ratzinger (Anthony Hopkins) represent two competing sides inside The Church, Bergolio the side of progressive reformation and Ratzinger the conservative, traditional side. Inside Rome and eventually the Vatican itself the men discuss their pasts and the most profound matters of faith before history takes its course and Bergoglio succeeds the papacy and becomes Francis. 

Anthony McCarten’s script is deeply beautiful and patient. From the very first discussion the two men have together they are depicted as wise leaders of faith, and it instantly becomes clear that this isn’t a critique. Instead, The Two Popes is an analysis of the men that changed the path of the Church and ushered it into the modern world.

They combat each other initially, Ratzinger critiquing the actions of Bergoglio as a Cardinal, and Bergoglio, attempting to be less forward, justifies his actions at every turn. Its some of the most engrossing dialogue of the year. The best part about this brilliance is that the film knows it doesn’t need to take the narrative any further; it can exist solely in this state. So that’s exactly what happens, and we see the two men converse again and again revealing more and more about themselves and the way they were in a time of significant change. 

The performances from Pryce and Hopkins are sublime. The many close-ups capture their genius to great effect and display them merely as their characters, not as actors. The Two Popes biggest charm is its ability to display the human spirit, and the strength that comes from it and Pryce and Hopkins are the very heart of how the film approaches generating this, and they find something quite profound along the way. Yes, this is a film about Francis more than Benedict XVI, but in every scene towards the end in which Benedict is farewelled, you could almost argue he was the point all along. The depiction may not be a wholly true one, of course, his actual resignation was shrouded in controversy.

Still, those moments point to a worldwide unity in farewelling the leader of the world’s most immense faith, a unity long forgotten in the grander scheme of things. This is all thanks to performances. The quiet, introspective stance of Hopkins balances perfectly alongside the slightly more expressive Pryce to form chemistry of both friendship and sheer drive to make the Church the best it can be. 

Fernando Meirelles hadn’t directed a feature film since near the beginning of the decade, and to say that this effort far betters his last is an understatement. Just like McCarten with the script he knows there isn’t much he has to do this time. He soaks in the beauty of every stunning discussion backdrop, he captures his stars in those aforementioned gorgeous close-ups, and he lets the natural emotional essence of the story flow unassisted or hindered.

His ability to take such a critical moment of faith, a moment mainly settled via deep thought, and turn it into something entertaining and heart-warming is startling and likely unmatched, though few have tried. Overall, Easily his finest work in years. 

The Two Popes is a film that washes over you, almost like a cleanse, and then ushers you out the other side enlightened and with a great deal of respect for the two men who bare their flaws and find only forgiveness on their path to changing the world.

Shorts are challenging to review sometimes. Often, they are mere snapshots of something much grander and generally will play like just that. When most have a runtime shorter than a television episode, it’s hard to know what to grab onto and explore.

Therefore, so many of them are blunt in their approach; they have a clear purpose to strive towards. Grégory Montel’s directorial debut Barking Dogs (Les Chiens Aboient) is beautifully shot and performed but has nothing to explore and no purpose.

Hicham (Samir Senhdji) and Juliana (Julianna Vogt) are our Romeo and Juliette for the brief 16-minute runtime, and both make for charming love-struck teens. He’s an immigrant, and she’s a gypsy with a family not fond of foreigners, which is why Juliana has never invited Hicham to meet them, he just doesn’t know that.

So, ignorantly brave, Hicham follows Juliana home one day and finds her and her family down to dinner for her older brother Willy’s birthday. What follows is intense shouting of slurs and an unpredictable argument with an upset neighbour. There’s enough action here to make for a short film, but none of it has any substance, and since it ends with almost the ultimate cliché, the praise I have for the narrative is non-existent. 

What I did like was the cinematography. Intimate and eye-catching it’s Barking Dog’s most significant achievement. David Kremer uses his lens to capture everything of substance that the film has to offer, which is the world, specifically the gypsy lives of Juliana and her family.

Their lifestyle is intriguing, and their tightknit family is wholesome; had Barking Dogs been more focused on culture it could have been something special. What we get instead is the exploration of an event that takes place within an intriguing context, and it’s not nearly as impressive as it should have been. 

The performances are strong from the young cast. They do their best with the material given to them and do manage to create an impressive screaming match at the end of the film. Perspective is everything when it comes to understanding Hicham and Juliana, as within their own lives things are going wrong that they each see differently.

Hicham doesn’t see why Juliana won’t invite him to meet her family and Juliana doesn’t understand her family’s prejudices. And Senhdji and Vogt both manage to get this across to great effect and firm themselves as talented performers acting in an unfortunately empty endeavour. 

Barking Dogs doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be, and in all the confusion, it amounts to nothing. Had there been more depth or a more definite focus, the most substantial pieces of the film could have shined all the brighter and made for something enjoyable. Alas, it lacks in too many vital areas and can only be considered an average first effort and nothing more.

“Just be yourself”, goes the old phrase echoed to countless nervous or frustrated men and woman seeking a partner. It’s good advice too. You’ll never find someone to love if you’re going out and pretending to be someone else. However, some people find themselves so down on their luck that they cannot fathom the idea their failings are anything other than their own fault. Here is where Oran Zegman’s short film “Marriage Material” comes in. It’s a musical satire about those people, one which tears them down to lift them up.

Our unlucky in love protagonist is Leah (Gwen Hollander), a woman who, according to herself, usually ends up with losers whom she has to propose to because they never will. We see her doing just that through song right at the start of the film, which is swiftly followed by her rejection. This is how she finds herself being driven by her parents to “Yenta Feldman’s Late Blooming Bride Retreat”.

Here she is greeted by a volunteer (Diane Kelber) a prim and proper grey-haired woman who seems to be constantly analysing Leah. Then the most fateful meeting of all, Ms Feldman herself (Laura Gardner). The film’s satire begins the second she comes on screen, mere moments after she breaks into song, the sentiment of which amounts to “We’re going to change you as a person” but is hilariously expressed as “You’ll be yourself, but better”.

Therein lies what Marriage Material is all about. The institutionalised thought process that sees people believe they need to change themselves to be happy; Yenta Feldman feeds on those who think that way. In her retreat, all women receive a diagnosis before treatment begins, Leah is labelled “Alpha” meaning she’s dominant, too dominant for Yenta, and another woman “too picky”. Regardless the women are all put through the same training; they are all striving to become slight variations of one person.

They all dress the same, they all sleep in the same room, they are all taught by the same teacher, their goals are the same; each and every one of them, including Leah, is unknowingly pandering to an impossible ideal. It’s all presented humorously though as the training is rather comical, like sex imitations with mannequins and how to correctly pour lemonade. But there is a constant uncomfortable undercurrent, at every turn, the film makes clear what it’s trying to say without being too explicit, and then it sneaks up right at the end and punches you in the gut.

Overall this is quite an achievement from Zegman, who combines her dark humour with upbeat music spectacularly. Of all the shorts I’ve seen this year, this one is undoubtedly the most engaging, a feat which Zegman shares with many but none more so than her composer Ben Zeadmen. His score echos the bombastic nature of the script smartly and becomes poignant at just the right moment towards the end. However, those closing scenes have one champion above all others, Gwen Hollander.

Official Trailer | Marriage Material, the musical (2018) from Oran Zegman on Vimeo.

Leah is told to make a life-changing decision at the end of the film in order to get married to a man she’s only met once. Naively she agrees to go through with it and cries as she lies on the operating table. Then in an image reminiscent of the closing to The Graduate, she stands next to her man on a balcony, panic rapidly setting in as she realises what she’s done. It’s all absolutely brilliant and eerily harrowing, a terrific performance.

I can’t stress enough how important the ending of this film is. It’s the entire point, the affirmation that it’s foolish to behave the way these women do, but also cements the critique on the ideals that brought them to Yenta in the first place. Marriage Material ends with such a stiff blow that it becomes the most critical moment in the film. Suddenly it becomes a wise film, unassumingly so too, and it makes for something well worth watching and paying attention to.

Timeless in its themes and charming in its execution, Marriage Material takes music and uses it to convey an essential message, one that brings a few laughs along the way.