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.

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

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