Chris At The Pictures

This was my first cinematic experience following the travesty of Dirty Grandpa, a raunchy comedy with its focus – to put it mildly – disastrously askew. I honestly couldn’t have picked a better antidote: here’s a whip-smart, insightful yet gorgeously mouthy romp that knows how to balance the fair and the foul. 

Through the lens of an iPhone 5 (enhanced with an anamorphic attachment), we follow trans sex workers Sin-dee (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor) across the bleached streets of sunset boulevard on Christmas Eve. Sin-dee is on the hunt for her cheating pimp/boyfriend, while Alexandra attempts to draw punters to a gig. 

As we encounter the various inhabitants of the strip in Sin-dee’s wake, there’s certainly laughter aplenty (car washes and donuts will never look quite the same again), but it’s the small touches of melancholy that give it the edge over more mainstream fare. Our two leads are shriekingly amiable, and there’s even some humour to be found in the pitfalls of their clients and nemeses. A stomping soundtrack pelts us through the narrative at break-neck pace but knows when to fade away for the gentler moments.

The smartphone cinematography looks startlingly brilliant on the big-screen, with massive implications for the future of independent cinema, and the wonderful reaction to the starring duo proves once again to the nay-sayers of Hollywood that if you create compelling characters, audiences will miss their company when the credits roll regardless of gender, sexuality or race.

Despite star power, a mega-budget and top-of-the-line tech, Dirty Grandpa doesn’t deserve to occupy the same city, let alone cinema, as Tangerine. This is a rip-roaring, eye-watering jaunt that shines with wit, relevance and buoyancy from screaming start to heartfelt finish.

Teenager Jay (Maika Monroe) is thrilled when she and boyfriend Hugh (Jake Weary) decide to ‘go all the way’. But soon after, Hugh explains to her that he has infected her with some invisible parasite, and before long Jay is visited by apparitions that stalk her every waking moment, visible only to her. And the only way out? To ‘pass it on’ to someone else.

Even before the film begins, the concept itself has introduced a variety of ideas ripe for exploitation; the teenage fear of ill-devised promiscuity and the unrelenting fear of seeing something no-one else can. Until something comes along that really works, you don’t fully realise just how bad the past year of horror cinema has been: an infection of found-footage schlock and demon possession have plagued us for far too long, and It Follows gives the genre a much-needed shock to the system.

Unlike the edge-of-your seat cattle-prod antics of jump-scare marathons, It Follows emanates a creeping sense of paranoia that settles into your gut and refuses to go away. Rather than searching empty sections of the screen for an upcoming scare, the people inhabiting the frame are all suspect: does that school student, old lady or laughing child just happen to be walking in this direction or are they the next attacker? The unbearable paranoia builds and builds in the background as the foreground is populated by believable characters, people that you get to know and – more importantly – fear for before the tension is finally released in a thrilling climax that will leave your breath caught in your throat.

Director David Robert Mitchell’s frame of reference is clear to see: the idyllic suburbs seems lifted right from the reels of Halloween, and the synth-heavy score calls to mind a Jeff Wayne concept album by way of John Carpenter. The wandering apparitions and deserted streets pay homage to Invasion of the Body-Snatchers whilst the scopophilic, salacious focus on young lovers is part Peeping Tom and part Under the Skin.

Though a great deal will try to convince you otherwise, the film is not a revolutionary masterpiece, but I’m willing to forgive occasional self-indulgence for the simple but joyous reason that it actually scared me. It Follows is a spine-tingling aura of paranoia wrapped in a tribute to the horror masters. David Robert Mitchell, we shall watch your career with great interest.

Bea and Paul (Rose Leslie and Harry Treadaway) are a newly-wed couple who retreat to a small family cabin in the woods to spend a few precious days alone together. On the second night, Bea appears to sleepwalk into the forest where Paul finds her naked and petrified. Despite attempting to convince her husband that she’s perfectly okay, Bea soon begins to exhibit strange mannerisms and forgets everyday facts, further fuelling Paul’s suspicions that there is something darker at work.

This is the basic setup of Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon, a small B-movie chiller seemingly made by someone who actually understands that horror is more about poking the audience with a cattle-prod to create a jump response. Everything scary or horrifying here is drawn out slowly from an emerging sense of unease, uncertainty, to full-blown paranoia, with not a single jump-scare to blemish its surface. Whilst this has the down-side of taking just a little too long to get going given it’s already tight run-time, it’s quite encouraging to see a mainstream chiller that asks the audience to engage with it rather than turn their brains off for cheap thrills.

The two leads at the heart of the story deliver near-perfect performances, particularly Leslie as Bea’s persona begins to waver and deform. You absolutely believe that they are two fresh-faced young people who are totally besotted with each other, which makes it all the more heart-breaking when everything starts to fall apart and the awfulness of it all becomes an overbearing, inescapable presence. For the first time in living memory, I forgave a central character in a horror film from wandering about in dark, clearly dangerous places purely because I knew that said character had no other choice.

The intimate camerawork that presided over the greater half of the film is essential in the early scenes of the two lovers, establishing their utter devotion to each other (partially by means of wedding video footage), but is also used to great effect when things begin to go wrong. The closeness of the camera means the frame is almost completely filled and prevents a trope that hangs over most contemporary horror films like a curse: you spend half the film fixated on the empty parts of the frame waiting for something to pop-up.

A carefully places soundtrack does nothing to ease the suspense, appearing as a slow drip-feed of haunting chimes like the final notes of an unwound musical box. It never threatens to drown out the sound design but merely lies just under the surface, waiting for the right moment to explode. The creepy atmosphere is topped-off nicely with tiny references to the original The Evil Dead (the swinging wooden chair beside the door, the desolate cabin in the woods) and even Straw Dogs, when a former friend – or possibly lover – of Bea becomes entangled in the proceedings.

Exceeding its humble B-movie origins thanks to stellar performances and a reliance on paranoia and discomfort over screaming and banging, Honeymoon is a proper chiller that deserves more than it’s very limited release. Yes it may be a slow burn, yes one or two of the plot developments are spelled out in foot high letters but if you’re willing to forgive it, you’re in for a rare treat.  

4 stars

It should be noted that I’m not fond of the ‘indie’ scene. I have no time for slow, drab ukulele music and the sort of navel-gazing, self-deprecating attitude and ‘quirky’ moniker that hangs like a black cloud over most of what is considered ‘indie’, the Zooey Deschanel character in 500 Days of Summer just about pushing my limits. As far as Frank is concerned, I was utterly charmed by it. The songs are not only unique and inspired, but they also help to create and work in tandem with the comedy elements with each of the band members given their own traits that prevent them from becoming bland and uninvolving side characters. They’re not just a lot of dreary soliloquizing but are intriguingly eccentric and boasting such an extraordinary range of instruments that it’s almost impossible to pick up on all of them in one viewing.

The most important thing about the film is that it is very, very funny. Ranging from physical comedy to vocal gags and entire set-pieces devoted to one joke, there’s much to enjoy here. Without wishing to spoil the fun for those yet to see it, a certain scene involving a Jacuzzi is tear-inducingly funny and just the Frank head by itself is so weird and placid that it’s comedy gold all by itself, not to mention the songs created out of the smallest little things, a standout of which would have to be Frank’s ode to a singular tuft of carpet.

Where performances are concerned, it’s interesting (but not surprising) that the Frank character has taken centre stage in the advertising for the film when really the true star is Domhnall Gleeson, who provides possibly the sanest voice in a film populated by over-blown characters and seems to be echoing a young Hugh Grant in his dumbfounded and stuttering moments, minus the upper-class smarm. That being said, Michael Fassbender – despite being shrouded contanstly in the enormous head – still manages to deliver a memorable performance as a man who seems to revel in the oxymoron of being forever hidden yet ecstatic at the prospect of fame. Maggie Gyllenhaal lends an enjoyable degree of depravity as control-freak Clara and Scoot McNairy (who is certainly going up in the world) provides a lot of laughs as the bands manager.

Though you feel that towards the end, a little of the magic starts to fade and the film wavers uncertainly, it manages to pull everything back for a low-key yet charming finale. Frank is not your average laugh-out-loud comedy, and though some may be put off by its off-beat, quirky attitude, it’s saving grace lies in the characters, their music, and the unashamedly wonderful eccentricity with which it carries itself. 

4.5 Stars

Calvary is an intimate comedy drama from Director John Michael McDonagh. Father Jim Lavelle (Brendan Gleeson) is threatened with murder during a confession and given a week to put his affairs in order. With his estranged daughter coming to visit after a failed suicide attempt, Lavelle spends the intervening week wandering through his hometown, paying visits to the various inhabitants who know him, love him, or loathe him. These encounters, coupled with incidents targeted at the priest – including the burning down of his church – grow more bizarre and more intense, slowly wearing him down as he attempts to come to terms with his imminent death.

The beating heart of the film is truly Gleeson’s performance, which strikes the perfect balance between a man struggling to keep peace with his faith while trying to reconcile with those he loves. His gruff, grizzled exterior gives way to a world-weary and ultimately good-natured man who  - like many priests claim to, but very rarely deliver on – genuinely wants the best for everyone, whether they be the Aidan Gillen as the sneering atheist surgeon or a boy locked in prison for committing an unspeakable crime. There are also standout performances from the supporting cast, Chris O’Dowd (who seems to be going through a something of a career renaissance) in particular lending a much needed and surprisingly ironic touch of humour to the proceedings.

The cinematography is extraordinary, Larry Smith capturing both the raw beauty and overwhelming isolation of the landscape, in a way that is gorgeously cinematic and retains a starkly realistic aesthetic. This is complimented with a well-placed musical score courtesy of Patrick Cassidy, which is restrained and often unused in the more intimate scenes, and is hauntingly visceral when the camera is sweeping the landscapes and as the story reaches its uncompromising finale. 

On the down side, it’s a shame to admit that the blend of comedy with the darker elements doesn’t quite work, often feeling forced and somewhat misjudged. Also the comedic side of the film is spread too thinly over an array of increasingly impenetrable and occasionally irritating side characters, perhaps best personified in the police chief’s incessantly obnoxious lover who spends all his scenes talking in a gratingly annoying faux Italian-American accent. Some of the dialogue feels a little patchy in places, yet again leading to a feeling of distance from the side characters, which could be seen as a way to reflect Jim’s increasing distance from them, but feels more accidental than intentional.

Calvary is a well-intentioned film that is strengthened by an extraordinary central performance by Brendan Gleeson and a gorgeous mixture of cinematography and music that redeems the slightly misjudged pieces and the out of place side characters, making what could have been merely an admirable failure and turning it into an unflinchingly dark drama set against an enticingly bleak landscape. Much like Noah is not a film about religion, but a film about madness and destruction, Calvary is not about spiritual faith, but the faith people place in each other.

3 Stars

The Double is the new film from Richard Ayoade – perhaps best known for his role in the TV series The I.T. Crowd – who showed great promise with his directorial debut Submarine in 2010, and focuses on office worker Simon James (Jesse Eisenberg), a loner who goes almost entirely un-noticed by everyone around him, including a co-worker he steals furtive glances at on a train (Mia Wasikowska). Suddenly, a complete doppelganger of him shows up at work, named James Simon, who seems to not only be noticed by everyone but appreciated and admired by all.

The film is – above the many things it has to offer – a great study in surrealism. Whereas Submarine was a very intimate, well-observed story of young romance, The Double is a dark, bizarre story that revels in the shadows. The production design feels like a 1950’s Englishman’s idea of the future: computers are huge and only process one function; the architecture is a melange of stark concrete and drab paint that is greatly accentuated by the strict cinematography that feels like a Wes Anderson film by way of Wally Pfister. 

The problem with any film including doppelgangers, clones and alternate personalities is that it has to stop itself turning into Fight Club before the end, and The Double manages to pull it off before the words ‘Tyler Durden’ can finish forming in your head. Eisenberg, whilst providing his usual mumble-core performance (which could seem repetitive but always seems fitting to the roles he chooses) manages to handle both sides of the coin appropriately, making each version of the character a contrast of the other whilst retaining a level of similarity that still keeps the ‘is he just imagining this?’ question fresh in the viewers’ mind.

The rather spontaneously energetic soundtrack is a lovely fit, providing a well-played offset to the darkness on screen and echoing the troubled and frantic thought process of Simon as the story progresses, and the cameos from Ayoades’ previous collaborations placed here and there throughout the film are well-played (including an all too brief appearance from Chris O’Dowd). The film is also very well-paced up until the final fifteen minutes or so, when the story seems to drop its noir-ish feel in favour of rushing towards its conclusion. 

That, along with Mia Wasikowska’s accent, which seems to traverse half the globe (I realise the film is set in a surreal world but come on, there’s a limit) and the slightly unresolved ending scene that is sprinted through far too quickly are the few flaws that pepper The Double, an otherwise intriguing and stylish noir comedy that shows once again that Ayoade is a growing force to be reckoned with within British film.

4 Stars