★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Showing posts with label michael fassbender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label michael fassbender. Show all posts
Monday, 16 October 2017
Monday, 15 May 2017
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Ridley Scott loses the plot somewhat in this bold and barmy
return to the Alien franchise. Ten
years on from the disappearance of the Prometheus,
a colonization ship intercepts a transmission from the missing crew. Acting
Captain Oram (Billy Crudup) makes a beeline for its point of origin, against
the express wishes of terraforming commander Daniels (Katherine Waterston).
Upon landing, the colonists encounter a long-derelict spacecraft, a deadly
pathogen and a single living soul: the android, David (Michael Fassbender),
last apparent survivor of the Prometheus mission.
A far cry from the doomed optimism of Prometheus, the tone here is
one of heavy portent. The colours are a grey wash, smiles are rarely cracked, and
the narrative plunges a downward spiral to oblivion. Covenant has the chutzpah to pick up from its 2012 predecessor in
narrative form, but the inclusion of Alien
in the title and marketing shackles it to the franchise, and not always for
the best.
It’s a viscous, bulging sac of visionary ideas struggling to
burst forth from a largely uninspired narrative. Stop me if you’ve heard this
one: shipmates woken early, a distress signal found, one wrecked spaceship, several minutes of screaming (and a
partridge in a pear tree). After the lukewarm, and even hostile, response to Prometheus, it feels like Scott had to make
certain concessions before Fox gave the reins back, hence why every horrific
moment or action pulse-pounder feels like an ‘in your own words’ answer to an Alien trivia exam (Jerry Goldsmith’s
original music cues are brandished too, with the slyest of grins).
However, Scott still gets his own way: the viscera is unabashed
and grotesque (H.R. Giger would be proud), the special effects and visuals are
slick, and there’s a generous helping of weirdness the likes of which we haven’t
seen since Blade Runner. His
opus is referred to throughout, in small dialogue notes (“That’s the spirit!”)
and the many exchanges between David and the colonists’ own doppelganger robot,
Walter. Doctor Tyrell’s “More human than human” echoed endlessly in my head as
the two examined, probed and prodded each other. Fassbender proves his mastery
once more by giving both roles distinct idiosyncrasies and literally creating
sexual tension with himself.
Not all of it works. The literature-heavy screenplay and
po-faced discussions about the nature of artificial intelligence grate just
occasionally, with some audience members giggling outright. The same derision
was also aimed at the human characters’ casual approach to alien eggs and dark
rooms, a staple of the franchise now wearing thin. I didn’t care one jot about
the colonists, either. I have a sneaking suspicion we’re not really supposed
to, but if that’s the case, why are there so many of them? Waterston and Crudup
proved more than capable exceptions to my apathy (the former especially), but
they’re side-lined in favour of everything else rolling about in this great
tumble-drier of a film.
It’s predictable and overstuffed; a rush to connect this set
of prequels with the original films that simultaneously takes too long to get
going and sprints to the finish line, stomping inconsistencies into the ground
in its wake. And yet, I’d argue Covenant is worth the sore feet. Scott remains an
interesting case of authorship in Hollywood, and his dedication to religious themes and future prediction is as unshaken as ever… if only he could only find
a way to balance them better with the xenomorph zealotry we all know and love.
Tuesday, 10 January 2017
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
After the moderate success of Duncan Jones’ Warcraft (yes, I’m one of those people), the future for cinematic video game adaptions
seemed hopeful. Looking at the roll call for Assassin’
Creed, the light shone brighter still: director Justin Kurzel, his brother
and composer Jed, cinematographer Adam Arkapaw, and the two powerhouse leads of
their Macbeth retelling; Michael
Fassbender and Marion Cotillard…what could possibly go wrong?
The moment I gave up on Assassin's
Creed as a video game was when I failed an early tutorial mission. I was
unsuccessful in my attempts to push through a crowd of peasants without
smashing any of their pottery, and consequently spent a lot of time watching
others play the game instead. I know little else beyond the essential setup,
the increasingly tangled plotlines and the bugbears that plagued Unity: upon first release, human faces
were missing a lot of their features, leading to quest conversations between
two characters composed only of disembodied eyeballs and teeth floating above
their clothes. With the benefit of hindsight, those ludicrous interactions
proved far more entertaining than any dialogue in Kurzel's film.
Fassy stars as Callum Lynch; a convict smuggled out of death
row by Jeremy Irons’ sinister Abstergo Industries and informed by Sofia
(Cotillard) that he’s the last remaining descendant of an ancient order, the
Assassins. During the Spanish inquisition, Cal’s ancestor, Aguilar, hid away
the fabled Apple of Eden, a biblical McGuffin with the power to control the
free will of man. Using the Animus (a big robot arm with lots of needles,
explained in gloriously straight-faced techno-babble by Cotillard), Cal is
able to experience the memories of his ancestor, Aguilar (Fassbender, only
slathered in dirt and beard), in a search for the Apple’s location.
From pretty much the first shot, I knew I wasn’t going to
get along with this film. The camera makes an incredibly awkward, ungainly
digital movement across a mountain, drops about 50 feet for no reason, then
lumbers upwards to establish a castle location: the cinematic equivalent of an
OAP attempting to clamber out of their recliner, realising they left their
chocolate digestive behind halfway through, sitting back down, then trying to
get up again as if nothing’s happened. The film, too, is in a constant state of
wondering whether to stay or go. It’s pulled in half by wanting to faithfully
honour the source material (without Fassbender’s early discussions with game
studio Ubisoft, it’s doubtful this would have seen the light of day), but also
wanting to forge its own story.
What makes this problematic is that the new story is total an(im)us.
It spends an unholy amount of time on exposition yet we’re still searching for
answers: is Callum only seeing the events or does he enact them? If it’s merely
some kind of brain cinema, what’s the point of all the leaping about? What's
the significance of Denis Ménochet as a security chief who always
looks on the verge of corpsing? And, most importantly; why should I care about
Aguilar? Entire action set pieces are wasted on a character I know is going to
survive up to a certain point, as well as attempting to muster up emotional
support for a sidekick who I had to look up on IMDb because, in all 140 minutes
of the film, she’s never named (for the record, it’s Maria).
Sure, the runny-jumpy-stabby fun occasionally recreates the
balletic abandon of the classic games, but isn't quite enough to make up for
lack of engagement, throwing some passable parkour and Jed Kurzel’s gloriously thudding
score into the mix with all the artistic splendour of banging a pair of muddy
football boots together in a renaissance art exhibition. I’m usually tripping
over myself to applaud a film for technical merit over any other faults, but it’s
hard to wax lyrical about an individual aesthetic when it’s presented so
poorly.
Fassbender is clearly trying (it’s more his pet project than
Kurzel’s), and Michael Kenneth Williams as a snarky fellow prisoner appears to
be only one who knows what film he’s in or having any fun with it. Cotillard –
having used all her power to keep Brad Pitt adrift in Allied – barely moves a facial muscle, and Irons stops every now
and again to have a Vietnam-style flashback to his time served in 2000’s
hideous Dungeons and Dragons. Unlike D&D, however, this isn’t a total
failure: I know from close experience that fans of the game have found much
more to enjoy, and I’ll admit there’s some cheap thrills that escape the sticky
clamour of the messy CGI and dustcloud visuals. Nevertheless, it’s films like
this that ensure my gut remains filled with apprehension for something like Blade Runner 2049: all the talent in the
universe can’t save an inherently unnecessary story.
Wednesday, 18 May 2016
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Bryan Singer’s finale to the second X-Men trilogy is nominally set in 1983, but begins millennia before:
ancient, all-powerful being En Sabah Nur transfers his consciousness into a new
body (Oscar Isaac in a loincloth, wahey!), but is encased beneath the pyramids
by his enemies. Centuries later, a cult re-awakens him as Apocalypse, whereupon
he takes four of the most powerful mutants under his wing: the newly-bereaved
Eric Lensherr/Magneto (Michael Fassbender), Storm, Psylocke and Angel (Alexandra
Shipp, Olivia Munn and Eastenders
breakout Ben Hardy, respectively). Determined to prevent oncoming cataclysm, Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) and the redeemed Mystique (Jennifer
Lawrence) are joined by the younger iterations of classic heroes Jean Grey
(Sophie Turner), Cyclops (Tye Sheridan) and Nightcrawler (Kodi Smit-McPhee).
Matthew Vaughn’s First
Class was a cheery romp, whilst Days
of Future Past took itself a little more seriously in an effort to repair
the damage done by more turgid entries. Tonally, Apocalypse meanders awkwardly in-between the two. Chucklesome
back-and-forth between Charles and old flame Moira (Rose Byrne) is followed soon
after by Eric’s return to the scene of his parent’s death in Auschwitz, before
we’re back for more zippy escapades with Evan Peters’ Quicksilver (stealing the
film out from under his cohorts once more).
Tonal differences aside, both preceding films at least kept
focus on a single overarching narrative, but Apocalypse is far too long and overstuffed when it needn’t be,
Singer and co. often sacrificing coherence in the main plot for a plethora of
fan service and eighties references. At one point the younger mutants exit a
screening of Return of the Jedi,
voicing their certainty that the third instalments of famous trilogies are a consistent
let-down (a jibe intended for The Last
Stand, but which hits a little closer to home by the end). When the period
aesthetic is better integrated into key sequences, there’s a genuine thrill:
Angel is christened by Apocalypse to the sound of Metallica’s The Four Horseman, and Eurythmics provide the backing track to Quicksilver’s moment
in the sun.
With the baton firmly passed onto the new generation,
the fresh-faced versions of previously-performed characters are more than up to
snuff: Turner arguably makes a far more believably tortured Jean than Famke
Janssen, whilst Sheridan and Smit-McPhee provide accessible, lively impressions
of original trilogy actors. This affably bright trio is what ultimately helps Apocalypse rise above the glowering
humdrum of the similarly baggy Batman v Superman.
Oscar Isaac’s snake-tongued line delivery as Apocalypse lands
on the amiable side of camp (fitting comfortably with the naff Duran Duran
costumes), but does little to stifle concerns that – due to excessive make-up –
it could be anyone in that armour. Singer’s committal to serving up the vast
array of characters is also blighted by a constant, almost incestuous referral to the
series’ tourist spots (we spend close to twenty minutes in a location explored
by at least three previous films).
Whilst the finale is thematically much more interested in
character development, the effects overload surrounding it could be swapped
with any number of sky-tumbling climaxes from a dozen comic book movies and
still yield the same result. The audaciousness of the Auschwitz sequence and some
weird mind-game antics recall the unique desire to be different that we all
remember from X-Men and X2. Such idiosyncrasy needs to be kept
in mind, lest the series fall in line with the smash-n-dash super-heroics that Civil War so deftly avoided.
Regardless, I think this is a superhero franchise more
deserving of forgiveness than I’m perhaps letting on. Maybe it’s because the series
has survived the entire MCU, outlived two attempts at Spider-Man and bounced
back after several near-death experiences at the hands of Brett Ratner and Fox,
or that I’m just very easily swayed by John Ottman’s pulse-pounding main theme.
Stretched, stuffed, CGI warts and all, this remains a decent entry in the
franchise and has finally given us what the noughties failed to deliver: a consistently
enjoyable X-Men trilogy.
Thursday, 8 October 2015
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
‘Starring Michael Fassbender and Marion Cotillard’ is a
tagline prepped for selling a movie all by itself, but when paired with the
most renowned of Shakespeare’s stories there’s miniscule scope for complaint.
Justin Kurzel’s Macbeth sees the tale
of a Scottish general and the machinations of his ambitious wife through fresh
eyes, which seems to be the standard for contemporary Shakespeare adaptations: Luhrmann’s
Romeo + Juliet took slipped into the
skin of a teen drama, Coriolanus took
up arms as an action movie, and now Macbeth
saddles the eponymous Scot with PTSD.
Kurzel and co. take Macbeth (Fassbender) and his decision to
overthrow the sitting King Duncan (David Thewlis) as the work of a man roped
back into violence just as he believes himself free from bloodshed. The words
of the witches, his wife (Cotillard) and even his peers are seen as emotional
manipulation, while the guilt of his subsequent action manifests itself in
life-like visions and night terrors.
Heck no, this ain’t your schoolteacher’s pristine textbook
copy of Macbeth. Kurzel’s manuscript
is a dog-eared, blood and vomit-stained one that’s seen its fair share of rainy
days and muddy puddles. That makes it sound ugly, but anyone who’s been given
the barest glimpse of even the trailer will know that the very opposite is true:
even on the misaligned, slightly out of focus screen on which I saw it, Macbeth is visually flawless. Sweeping
landscapes ooze and burn, the clouds convulse and the wind visibly bites. All
are the mere backdrop to battle sequences of serious verve and unforgettable
monologues that demonstrate why they survive countless interpretations.
A ‘show, don’t tell’ approach to Shakespeare can only get
you so far: Kurzel’s retelling splices glorious murder-on-the-moors with one or
two wordy passages that don’t always lend themselves well to this particular
interpretation; those not acquainted with The Bard’s work will find these
moments difficult, but should be comforted by the enormously engrossing range
of performances.
Fassbender is on usual strong form, if a little held back by
his own mumbling at times. Cotillard is – as is usually the case – the true
star of the film, her eyes swallowing you as the ageless words of Lady Macbeth roll
from her serpent tongue. Jack Reynor more than makes up for his dismal turn in Transformers as Malcolm and Paddy
Considine is on fine, gravelly form as Banquo. Sean Harris is riveting as
Macduff, and holds his own against heavyweight Fassbender even in the
tumultuous and stunning finale.
Even those who know the play by heart (who perhaps decry the
certain excisions made in the name of screenwriting) and especially those who
don’t will find heaps to excite here. Hail Macbeth, Hail Macbeth indeed!
Saturday, 24 May 2014
Director Bryan Singer picks up the reins of the X-Men
franchise for Days of Future Past, a
story that brings together the disparate elements of the franchise into a
single narrative. With mankind and mutant-kind on the edge of extinction by an
army of machines known as the Sentinels, Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) and
Magneto (Ian McKellen) join forces in an effort to undo the past and safe the
future by sending Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) back into the past to convince the
young Xavier (James McAvoy) to help him stop the murder that causes the
creation of the Sentinels.
It is remarkable just how much the film benefits from Singer
and writer Simon Kinberg’s return. Having been joined at the hip for the first
two instalments (arguably the strongest of the franchise), they return to bring
the collective elements of all the films back together, simultaneously redeeming some of the flimsier elements, tying up loose ends and paying homage to each and
every previous film. Another welcome return to the film is John Ottman as
composer: the reprisal of the X-Men 2
theme as the opening credits rolled was all I needed to re-assure me that I was
in for a treat.
Where characters are concerned, we have a whole rogues’
gallery of past and present faces to enjoy. Stewart and McKellen reprise their
roles with ease, Jackman is still the definitive Wolverine and James McAvoy was
born to play the young Xavier. Whilst
some of the newer characters don’t have much in the way of development, their
unique abilities make them interesting to watch, especially Quicksilver, who
delivers the majority of laughs in the movie. Peter Dinklage, still riding high
on his success in Game of Thrones also
puts in a fine performance as the suave but suspicious Bolivar Trask. Everyone involved
appears to be having the time of their lives, and all give it their best acting
chops despite increasingly ridiculous circumstances.
The blend of the past and future storylines is a seamless
integration of the best parts of the X-Men story, the 1970’s sections keeping a
high level of period detail and the future setting basking in a darkly
apocalyptic style. But perhaps the strongest of many brilliant elements of the
film is that while it does have its share of loud, effects heavy moments, the
climax ditches the bombastic headache that most blockbusters would opt for and
instead provides a quieter, more thoughtful finale that manages real moments of
genuine emotion and darkness while giving cause for a smile here and there.
X-Men: Days of Future
Past is a remarkable achievement in superhero movies, providing terrific entertainment,
genuine emotional weight and managing to balance a wide spectrum of characters
without sagging under the weight. It gives an entire franchise a clean slate,
looks back lovingly at the past whilst opening up a whole host of opportunities
for its future.
5 stars
5 stars
Sunday, 11 May 2014
Frank is a comedy drama following the exploits of the fictional, unpronounceable indie band Soronprfbs and their new keyboard artist Jon (Domhnall Gleeson). The leader of the band, Frank (Michael Fassbender), lives every moment of his life wearing a giant papier-mâché head, a device loosely based on the 1980’s comedian Chris Sievey and his character Frank Sidebottom. Directed by Lenny Abrahamson (What Richard Did) and co-written by Sievey’s own bandmate Jon Ronson, upon whom Gleeson’s character is based.
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
