(Adam McKay, 2015)
It starts out all Goodfellas-by-way-of-amped-up-1990s-Oliver Stone; rapid changes in film stock, music pumping, loads of voiceover, exposition but delivered with wit and gags and style; angry and exhilarated and loud and energetic.
Thats lasts about 15-20 minutes, and then The Big Short settles into what it actually is: a sort of real life financial heist story. Oh, every so often McKay throws in a little splash of post-modernism - here's Selena Gomez or Margot Robbie or Anthony Bourdain, as themselves, explaining some complex financial concept in layman's terms, here's Ryan Gosling's narrator figure addressing the camera - but mainly it stays on the straight and narrow, and just tells its story.
Luckily that story is inherently interesting. How the global financial crash came about is just one more story beat here; and when Steve Carrell's Mark Baum realises what is about to happen and is sent reeling away from a restaurant, stunned by the knowledge, The Big Short reaches a nice pitch of hysterical black comedy and sober despair at what was allowed to happen. His character has his own Fund, and he and his team bet wildly against the housing market at the behest of Gosling's slick trader Jared Vennett. They have been beaten to the punch by oddball genius hedge fund manager Michael Burry (Christian Bale), who defies all his clients and incurs at least one lawsuit by doing the same thing a year or so earlier. Then there are the two small town traders who happen across this deal and, aided by their ex-Wall Street Hotshot neighbour Ben Rickert (Brad Pitt) buy into the same game.
From then on, its just a waiting game, and McKay conjures impressive tension, considering the fact that we all know what eventually happens.
In the interim McKay shows his characters shock at just how rigged and corrupt the banking industry in the USA was back then, but always keeps the actions and locations varied - Wall Street is prominent, but his characters visit Miami condos, Vegas casinos, Devon Pubs and lap-dancing clubs along the way. Even if the humour is pitch black, he drops the odd bombshell of realism to shock the audience: Pitt chiding his young proteges by recounting the human cost of what will happen being perhaps the highlight.
The starry cast makes it all that much more painless. Gosling can play smug and slick in his sleep, Carrell makes Baum's emotional implosion not only queasy but touching, Pitt is convincingly eccentric, and Bale steals the film with his surges of energy (soundtracked to heavy metal drumming) and inability to socially connect.
McKay keeps it busy and colourful, and ends on a nice note of triumph for his heroes, but defeat for his country, which is probably as it should be, with this story.
Showing posts with label Political. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Political. Show all posts
Thursday, 7 January 2016
Saturday, 12 December 2015
BRIDGE OF SPIES
(Steven Spielberg, 2015)
Whether you love or hate Steven Spielberg, it is impossible to deny his talent as a visual storyteller. The talky dramas which are scattered throughout his later career (Lincoln being the most recent example) are chiefly interesting for the ways in which he tries to keep them visually exciting. Sometimes it can feel as if he is struggling against his material rather than attempting to adapt it.
That is not the case with Bridge of Spies, which feels like a large-scale '60s prestige drama, all big themes and important moments. Spielberg treats it that way, shooting it with a respect for classicism which is pleasing and which works.
The script - written by Joel & Ethan Coen, whose presence is evident in a few repeated phrases, alongside Matt Charman - is a little disjointed in its transition from the USA to East Berlin and different phases of the story crank into place without any elegance of subtlety (never a Spielberg strength, to be fair).
Tom Hanks does his honest, intelligent thing as Jim Donovan, a Brooklyn Lawyer chosen to defend Soviet Spy Rudolf Abel (Mark Rylance) when the Government, his family and an angry public all just want it to be done and dusted. But Jim takes this duty seriously and makes the trial a problem, securing life imprisonment for Abel when execution looked likely. This means that a few months later, when the Soviets capture SpyPlane pilot Francis Gary Powers, Jim is the man chosen to travel to East Berlin - as the Wall is being constructed - and negotiate an exchange.
Much of the action, then, revolves around men (invariably) engaged in important conversations in various rooms. Spielberg focuses on keeping it handsome, coherent and well-performed, all of which it is. When the screenplay gives him a chance to cut loose, he takes it: making Powers' shooting down a short, frightening vignette, and showing the capture of US student Frederic Pryor on the very day the wall is erected. His feel for place and atmosphere is still precise and nuanced, for all that he puts a Hollywood sheen on every shot and moment. At this point in his career, Spielberg's strengths are his weaknesses, and that storytelling ability sometimes seems too smooth and too easy ( a late shot of children climbing a Brooklyn fence chiming with an earlier shot of people scaling the Berlin Wall is a groan-inducing moment).
The cast help keep the many expository scenes flow painlessly. Rylance is especially superb, making Abel goo-humoured and melancholy; inimitably human.
Classy grown-up Hollywood entertainment, then, and I would expect no less of Spielberg.
Whether you love or hate Steven Spielberg, it is impossible to deny his talent as a visual storyteller. The talky dramas which are scattered throughout his later career (Lincoln being the most recent example) are chiefly interesting for the ways in which he tries to keep them visually exciting. Sometimes it can feel as if he is struggling against his material rather than attempting to adapt it.
That is not the case with Bridge of Spies, which feels like a large-scale '60s prestige drama, all big themes and important moments. Spielberg treats it that way, shooting it with a respect for classicism which is pleasing and which works.
The script - written by Joel & Ethan Coen, whose presence is evident in a few repeated phrases, alongside Matt Charman - is a little disjointed in its transition from the USA to East Berlin and different phases of the story crank into place without any elegance of subtlety (never a Spielberg strength, to be fair).
Tom Hanks does his honest, intelligent thing as Jim Donovan, a Brooklyn Lawyer chosen to defend Soviet Spy Rudolf Abel (Mark Rylance) when the Government, his family and an angry public all just want it to be done and dusted. But Jim takes this duty seriously and makes the trial a problem, securing life imprisonment for Abel when execution looked likely. This means that a few months later, when the Soviets capture SpyPlane pilot Francis Gary Powers, Jim is the man chosen to travel to East Berlin - as the Wall is being constructed - and negotiate an exchange.
Much of the action, then, revolves around men (invariably) engaged in important conversations in various rooms. Spielberg focuses on keeping it handsome, coherent and well-performed, all of which it is. When the screenplay gives him a chance to cut loose, he takes it: making Powers' shooting down a short, frightening vignette, and showing the capture of US student Frederic Pryor on the very day the wall is erected. His feel for place and atmosphere is still precise and nuanced, for all that he puts a Hollywood sheen on every shot and moment. At this point in his career, Spielberg's strengths are his weaknesses, and that storytelling ability sometimes seems too smooth and too easy ( a late shot of children climbing a Brooklyn fence chiming with an earlier shot of people scaling the Berlin Wall is a groan-inducing moment).
The cast help keep the many expository scenes flow painlessly. Rylance is especially superb, making Abel goo-humoured and melancholy; inimitably human.
Classy grown-up Hollywood entertainment, then, and I would expect no less of Spielberg.
Saturday, 1 June 2013
THE CAMPAIGN
(Jay Roach, 2012)
It seems odd to attempt to mix political satire with the sort of broad absurdist wit with which Will Ferrell has made his name, but that is exactly what The Campaign tries to do.
In some ways, it's extremely successful; there are some big laughs here, though they mostly come from the absurdist humour. The political satire in The Campaign is broad and often blunt, but it is still a mostly likeable film. The leads - Ferrell as Congressman Cam Brady and Zach Galifianakis as Marty Huggins, his opponent in the race for a seat for a district in North Carolina - are both excellent here in different ways.
Ferrell gives another spin on his usual territory; Brady is one of his sexist, racist dinosaurs, oblivious to the fact that his outdated ideas on most things have no place in the modern world, while Huggins is an absolute oddball - camp, pedantic and incapable of opening doors. Their campaign is filled with outrageous stunts and tricks, most of it funded (in the films big play for savage satire) by Corporate money desperate to sell the district to the Chinese. Dylan McDermott is fun as the sharp slick spin doctor who turns Huggins' career around, but most of the best material comes on the off-beat: the scene where Huggins encourages his family to lay all their sins on the table and is horrified by his boys escalating confessions of sexual and delinquent behaviour is a brilliant one, while Ferrell's campaign ads and speeches are beautifully hyper-sincere. Roach directs it all efficiently, and if it isn't outstanding, at least it is occasionally funny.
It seems odd to attempt to mix political satire with the sort of broad absurdist wit with which Will Ferrell has made his name, but that is exactly what The Campaign tries to do.
In some ways, it's extremely successful; there are some big laughs here, though they mostly come from the absurdist humour. The political satire in The Campaign is broad and often blunt, but it is still a mostly likeable film. The leads - Ferrell as Congressman Cam Brady and Zach Galifianakis as Marty Huggins, his opponent in the race for a seat for a district in North Carolina - are both excellent here in different ways.
Ferrell gives another spin on his usual territory; Brady is one of his sexist, racist dinosaurs, oblivious to the fact that his outdated ideas on most things have no place in the modern world, while Huggins is an absolute oddball - camp, pedantic and incapable of opening doors. Their campaign is filled with outrageous stunts and tricks, most of it funded (in the films big play for savage satire) by Corporate money desperate to sell the district to the Chinese. Dylan McDermott is fun as the sharp slick spin doctor who turns Huggins' career around, but most of the best material comes on the off-beat: the scene where Huggins encourages his family to lay all their sins on the table and is horrified by his boys escalating confessions of sexual and delinquent behaviour is a brilliant one, while Ferrell's campaign ads and speeches are beautifully hyper-sincere. Roach directs it all efficiently, and if it isn't outstanding, at least it is occasionally funny.
Sunday, 23 October 2011
REBELLION
(Matthieu Kassovitz, 2011)
Kassovitz's return to directing after his disastrous adventure in Hollywood with Babylon AD is this canny political thriller-cum-action movie, based on a real incident in the South Western Pacific French Territory of New Caledonia in the 1980s. The writer-director plays the main character, a Captain in the GIGN (basically the French equivalent of the SAS) who is dispatched to New Caledonia to negotiate the release of some local Gendarmes who have been taken hostage by Kanak rebels and are being held in the jungle. Except a key presidential election is only days away and this little conflict becomes just another way of scoring political points. The Army gets involved, human rights get trampled beneath jackboots, and the chance for negotiation starts to recede.
This portrayal of the way Politics directly affect human lives is probably the most impressive aspect of the film. Much of the central section involves Kassovitz's character in meetings, on the phone, arguing for communication instead of violence. A turning point is the moment he watches Mitterand and Chirac use and distort the reality of the situation in a televised debate, which is itself distorted by the camera, finding the pixelised faces in ultra-tight close-up, the voices thick through the tv speakers. Its from that point that he knows that violence is inevitable. The French military structure is cleverly depicted; a General who is quite aware of how he is a political pawn is nonetheless gung ho and eager for his men to find some combat, unwilling to cede any ground to the "terrorists". The despair of the more sympathetic gendarmes and GIGN men is vividly felt. Kassovitz ensures topical relevance with the references to the French Governments refusal to negotiate with terrorists, too.
All this would be uninteresting if not for the thriller aspects; an opening flash forward tells us that all ends badly, and from there on, an onscreen countdown (D-Day -10 etc) and the ominous rhythms of Klaus Badelt's score keep the tension high. But perhaps not quite high enough; despite the evident sincerity behind Rebellion, it is ever-so-slightly plodding. Kassovitz was once a director whose films burned with the ecstasy of cinema (La Haine is one big whoop of joy at the possibilities and excitement of the medium itself) but here he seems to be channelling a middling 1970s military drama. There is little visual excitement or lyricism, as Kassovitz opts to maintain a realist gaze, but his script is not rigourous enough for that to work. The early procedural sequences of the GIGN travelling to and arriving in New Caledonia and encountering the army are the best passages in the film; confident, pacy and gritty. The problems begin once our hero - and the film - gets bogged down in political networking and machinations. It gets baggy and (undoubtedly intentionally) repetitive, but essentially loses the punch of the intense jungle sequences. Even those start to drag once the scrupulously even-handed script shows us some of the tribal politics of the Kanaks themselves. This film is too careful, too sober, too earnest.
And that exciting director who made La Haine, what happened to him, I wonder? Did the grind of big action filmmaking with Vin Diesel crush the joy from him? Tellingly, he shows up twice in Rebellion. Two action scenes, one a recreation of the initial assault, broken down step-by-step by a witness, in a scene reminiscent of a moment in Three Kings. And the final assault, recalling 84 Charlie Mopic, Children of Men and a thousand video games as in a long, gruelling, disorienting single shot we follow close by Kassovitz as the confusion and terror of a firefight breaks out in the jungle. In those moments, Rebellion feels exciting, even impassioned. For too much of the rest, it feels choked on its own sincerity.
Kassovitz's return to directing after his disastrous adventure in Hollywood with Babylon AD is this canny political thriller-cum-action movie, based on a real incident in the South Western Pacific French Territory of New Caledonia in the 1980s. The writer-director plays the main character, a Captain in the GIGN (basically the French equivalent of the SAS) who is dispatched to New Caledonia to negotiate the release of some local Gendarmes who have been taken hostage by Kanak rebels and are being held in the jungle. Except a key presidential election is only days away and this little conflict becomes just another way of scoring political points. The Army gets involved, human rights get trampled beneath jackboots, and the chance for negotiation starts to recede.
This portrayal of the way Politics directly affect human lives is probably the most impressive aspect of the film. Much of the central section involves Kassovitz's character in meetings, on the phone, arguing for communication instead of violence. A turning point is the moment he watches Mitterand and Chirac use and distort the reality of the situation in a televised debate, which is itself distorted by the camera, finding the pixelised faces in ultra-tight close-up, the voices thick through the tv speakers. Its from that point that he knows that violence is inevitable. The French military structure is cleverly depicted; a General who is quite aware of how he is a political pawn is nonetheless gung ho and eager for his men to find some combat, unwilling to cede any ground to the "terrorists". The despair of the more sympathetic gendarmes and GIGN men is vividly felt. Kassovitz ensures topical relevance with the references to the French Governments refusal to negotiate with terrorists, too.
All this would be uninteresting if not for the thriller aspects; an opening flash forward tells us that all ends badly, and from there on, an onscreen countdown (D-Day -10 etc) and the ominous rhythms of Klaus Badelt's score keep the tension high. But perhaps not quite high enough; despite the evident sincerity behind Rebellion, it is ever-so-slightly plodding. Kassovitz was once a director whose films burned with the ecstasy of cinema (La Haine is one big whoop of joy at the possibilities and excitement of the medium itself) but here he seems to be channelling a middling 1970s military drama. There is little visual excitement or lyricism, as Kassovitz opts to maintain a realist gaze, but his script is not rigourous enough for that to work. The early procedural sequences of the GIGN travelling to and arriving in New Caledonia and encountering the army are the best passages in the film; confident, pacy and gritty. The problems begin once our hero - and the film - gets bogged down in political networking and machinations. It gets baggy and (undoubtedly intentionally) repetitive, but essentially loses the punch of the intense jungle sequences. Even those start to drag once the scrupulously even-handed script shows us some of the tribal politics of the Kanaks themselves. This film is too careful, too sober, too earnest.
And that exciting director who made La Haine, what happened to him, I wonder? Did the grind of big action filmmaking with Vin Diesel crush the joy from him? Tellingly, he shows up twice in Rebellion. Two action scenes, one a recreation of the initial assault, broken down step-by-step by a witness, in a scene reminiscent of a moment in Three Kings. And the final assault, recalling 84 Charlie Mopic, Children of Men and a thousand video games as in a long, gruelling, disorienting single shot we follow close by Kassovitz as the confusion and terror of a firefight breaks out in the jungle. In those moments, Rebellion feels exciting, even impassioned. For too much of the rest, it feels choked on its own sincerity.
Friday, 8 April 2011
ESSENTIAL KILLING
(Jerzy Skolimowski, 2010)
Not quite a fully-fledged Action movie and yet not quite the abstract metaphysical journey it repeatedly gestures towards, Skolimowski's Essential Killing is a unique and bold curiosity. Almost entirely wordless - the only speech we hear belongs to the "Other" figures; U.S. Military, Eastern European labourers - much rests on the shoulders of Vincent Gallo as the presumably Taliban fighter captured after killing some Americans in the Afghan desert. Gallo is in every scene in the film, and he delivers a primal performance, all grunts, sobs and yelps, his desperation and stubborn refusal to die burning in his eyes whether he is clawing ants from a frozen ant-hill for dinner or gorily using a chainsaw to kill a lumberjack he has surprised.
The set-up and narrative are simple and streamlined; Gallo is captured, he escapes, is pursued, and runs. Yet it does acquire a metaphysical dimension as he trudges across near-abstract elemental landscapes of purest featureless white, never speaking, communicating with another person only at the very end of the film. By then that sense; of a sort of metaphorical layering, has become dominant as Gallo leaves the house and hospitality of a deaf-mute woman upon a White stallion which he is staining further with his blood with every step.
There are odd dissonances here. Between the visceral, immersive sensuality of Skolimowski's direction, which invites us to feel the sharp cold of the air in the woods, and that abstract strain in the text, demanding we see more in the simplicity of the film than just the narrative's bare bones. Also between the topical aspects which dominate the first act with it's Guantanamo Bay hoods, water boarding and Abu Ghraib echoes - this is if nothing else an indictment of American policies in the War on Terror - and the timeless universality of the survival and pursuit sub-genre to which it firmly belongs.
It's all very impressively made by it's experienced director, and it taught me a valuable lesson; if they ever do remake First Blood, this time remaining a little more faithful to David Morrell's novel, Vincent Gallo would make a fantastic John Rambo.
Not quite a fully-fledged Action movie and yet not quite the abstract metaphysical journey it repeatedly gestures towards, Skolimowski's Essential Killing is a unique and bold curiosity. Almost entirely wordless - the only speech we hear belongs to the "Other" figures; U.S. Military, Eastern European labourers - much rests on the shoulders of Vincent Gallo as the presumably Taliban fighter captured after killing some Americans in the Afghan desert. Gallo is in every scene in the film, and he delivers a primal performance, all grunts, sobs and yelps, his desperation and stubborn refusal to die burning in his eyes whether he is clawing ants from a frozen ant-hill for dinner or gorily using a chainsaw to kill a lumberjack he has surprised.
The set-up and narrative are simple and streamlined; Gallo is captured, he escapes, is pursued, and runs. Yet it does acquire a metaphysical dimension as he trudges across near-abstract elemental landscapes of purest featureless white, never speaking, communicating with another person only at the very end of the film. By then that sense; of a sort of metaphorical layering, has become dominant as Gallo leaves the house and hospitality of a deaf-mute woman upon a White stallion which he is staining further with his blood with every step.
There are odd dissonances here. Between the visceral, immersive sensuality of Skolimowski's direction, which invites us to feel the sharp cold of the air in the woods, and that abstract strain in the text, demanding we see more in the simplicity of the film than just the narrative's bare bones. Also between the topical aspects which dominate the first act with it's Guantanamo Bay hoods, water boarding and Abu Ghraib echoes - this is if nothing else an indictment of American policies in the War on Terror - and the timeless universality of the survival and pursuit sub-genre to which it firmly belongs.
It's all very impressively made by it's experienced director, and it taught me a valuable lesson; if they ever do remake First Blood, this time remaining a little more faithful to David Morrell's novel, Vincent Gallo would make a fantastic John Rambo.
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