Chris At The Pictures

Whilst everyone else has been falling over themselves congratulating Iñárritu on the casting of ex-Batman Keaton in the lead role – a rather unsubtle joke – I’d like to use this opportunity to praise almost everybody else in the ensemble cast. True, Keaton is given more to do than he has been in years, but he’s no revelation: that praise should be re-directed towards Emma Stone as Riggan’s post-rehab daughter who oozes talent throughout, as does Lindsay Duncan as a scathing arts critic determined to bring Thomson’s world down. Zach Galifianakis is at long last given a serious role and Naomi Watts is rescued from the recent shame of Diana in a role more befitting of her unplumbed talent.

Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki finally fulfils the fantasy that Gravity could only dream of, with almost the entire film bearing the appearance of one continuous shot that flawlessly transitions from scene to scene. You can keep your eyes peeled for the seams, but you won’t find them: you’ll be too busy jogging your knee up and down to Antonio Sanchez’s jumbled drum score (a lyrical reflection of Riggan’s own confused headspace) and transfixed by Keaton and his cohorts traversing the neon-stained caverns of Broadway.

From the jibes taken at the current string of comic book movies (Birdman most notably sporting a Christian Bale-esque gravelly voice) to the battle between theatre and cinema, Birdman is a film of mostly subtle comedy. True, some scenes of hysterical disagreement between Keaton and Ed Norton as the crazed method actor are played for audible laughs, but it’s the quieter hints at the superiority complex of theatre that works the real magic. If anything it’s refreshing to see an American comedy that isn’t populated with middle-aged men shouting very loudly at crude toilet humour, but a carefully constructed and intelligent film that is actually about something and accomplishes an entertaining climax… even if a clearly defined ending is inexplicably followed by fifteen minutes that really don’t work.

Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a nobody driven to steal chain-link fences, manhole covers and other spare parts for petty cash in L.A. when he discovers the underground world of crime journalism. With the aid of a TV-news show-runner (Rene Russo), Lou becomes entangled with the police and innocent bystanders as he slowly but surely crosses the line between observer and participant.

Nightcrawler is one of those movies that I just knew I was going to like from the very first frames: a slow montage of shots depicting L.A. in the depths of night, the pale moon standing sentinel in the sky as the city lights blaze and the haunting, melodical score kicks in. This initial treat was a combination of skill provided by cinematographer Robert Elswit (who has proven many times in the past that he can shoot the night brilliantly) and composer James Newton Howard, who has had very few memorable scores since his collaboration with Dark Knight composer Hans Zimmer came to an end but is finally given his time to shine.

To begin with an appraisal of the framing and music might seem to suggest that perhaps what followed was not up to scratch, which could not be further from the truth: Gyllenhaal isn’t just playing a character, he is the character, transforming into Lou Bloom, who is perhaps best described thusly: you take the geeky, apathetic mannerisms of Jesse Eisenberg in The Social Network, melded with the implacable eyes of Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter and add an over-zealous helping of hair-grease.

Rene Russo is also on top form as domineering news-runner Nina, adding further fuel to the fire as Bloom feverishly participates in his own warped version of the American Dream. Four Lion’s Riz Ahmed also makes an appearance as the street-wise opportunist employed as Bloom’s navigator, and, while certainly capable, feels brought in purely to state the obvious to Bloom’s face, right up until a crucial moment in the plot which I can’t explain due to spoilers but which I’d love to talk about because it’s quite cleverly executed.

Much like the news footage central to the premise, the film leaves very little to the imagination, and the graphic detail of the crimes helps sell the utter depravity of the lead character, willing to shoot anything for a quick buck. While some may see this as exploitative and hypocritical – and the film as a whole is one or two incidents too long – that refusal to look away is also central to one of the more tense set pieces. In a time when high-octane car chases, it’s wonderfully exciting to encounter a film which builds and builds before throwing the audience into the hot seat of a genuinely thrilling chase that resulted in sincere seat-gripping amongst the audience.

For first-time director (and acclaimed writer) Dan Gilroy, Nightcrawler is a considerable achievement, a no-holds-barred indictment of amateur video culture with a unique and mesmerising performance at the centre. This is Gyllenhaal’s finest hour since Donnie Darko, without a shadow of a doubt.

Released in 1974 but set 100 years previously, Mel Brooks Western-comedy Blazing Saddles holds many accolades, including three academy awards, a place on four of the AFI’s prestigious ‘Top 100’ lists, but most notably it was the first major studio picture to contain a fart joke (seriously, look it up). And if that isn’t enough to catch your attention, then there’s really no hope for you. So don your cowboy hats, load your six-shooters and whoopee cushions to revisit a comedy classic.

The film tells the story of Bart (Cleavon Little), a black railroad worker who is employed by Baron Hedley Lamarr (Harvey Korman) as the new sheriff of Rock Ridge in order to scare off the townsfolk so the Baron can purchase the land. However, upon arriving in the town, the sheriff quickly proves his value to the townspeople and they begin to rally behind him and his partner Jim (Gene Wilder).

Little is likeable and charming in his role, bouncing off Wilder well, just managing not to be overshadowed by him through a selection of key scenes, the majority of which I’d rather not give away if anyone reading has never seen it (shame on you), save for a moment in which he turns to a pair of Klu Klux Klan members and exclaims ‘Where the white women at?’. Harvey Korman as Lamarr steals the show whenever he’s on screen, alternating between tight-lipped sarcasm and pants-on-head insane whilst perfectly offset by Slim Pickens as Taggart, his slow-minded crony. Mel Brooks makes an appearance as Governor Lepetomane and is instantly hilarious. There is just something about that cross-eyed, cigar smoking face gawping towards the camera that will never be anything but funny.

Where the comedy is concerned, there are great swathes of gags in all varieties, from simple visual jokes (a hangman placing the noose around a horse and the man sat upon it), to surrealist comedy (a pair of World War 2-era German soldiers making friends with the outlaws), to downright toilet humour (the famous beans around the campfire scene). The jokes are plentiful pushing the boundaries of what was deemed ‘good taste’ back in the 70’s, but they don’t all rush over themselves in an attempt to get quick laughs like many comedies nowadays. By placing an in-joke here, a farting scene there, then going completely for broke in the finale, it is clearly written by people who understand that the essence of comedy is timing, and Blazing Saddles has that down to a tee. Even the social/racial satire (though not always particularly subtle) is well-done, and at its heart is the idea of securing equality in a mainstream movie as a positive force in the mind of American audiences who – merely ten years previous – would have balked at the idea of a black protagonist.

One of the more striking things one notices upon re-watching the film is that, despite its comedic nature, it is still made like a traditional Western. The cinematography echoes the camerawork of classic movies such as The Searchers and the musical score carries a strain of epic motifs as well as the more traditional harmonica pieces one would come to expect. It might be conformity to stereotype but it helps sell the setting of the movie and therefore serves only to increase the audience’s bewilderment when the more surreal elements come into play (and trust me, when it gets to that point you’ll wonder if you've accidentally taped another movie over the film).

With its mixture of bizarre anachronisms, racial satire and toilet humour all played with a – nearly – straight face, Blazing Saddles is a remarkable comedy that has stood the test of time, and whose DNA can be clearly seen in everything from the Monty Python movies to Family Guy (Seth MacFarlane appears to have built up most of his back catalogue simply by ‘referencing’ or downright ripping-off the comedies of the 70’s and 80’s). Everything that A Million Ways to Die in the West does spectacularly wrong, Blazing Saddles did (albeit haphazardly) side-splittingly better forty years before.