There is never a terrible Tom Hanks film, only one less satisfying than the other. Inferno is one such Hanks title. It is arguable just how much more mileage director Ron Howard can get out of the Dan Brown ‘Robert Langdon’ saga about symbolism, religion and cult, but you can’t blame him for trying with Inferno. Afterall, these books are made for big screen translation.
The sequel to The Da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons, Inferno starts with Harvard University professor Robert Langdon (Hanks) waking up in a hospital room in Florence, Italy, with no memory of what has transpired over the last few days. He is being plagued with visions of a Hell-like Earth. Dr Sienna Brooks (Felicity Jones) tells him he has been suffering from amnesia after a bullet to the head. After an attempt on his life on the ward, Langdon and Brooks go on the run to find answers when they discover a ‘Faraday pointer’ with an image of Dante’s Inferno in Langdon’s personal belongings.
Hanks does not have to do much for his fee here, short of portraying his trademark ‘bemused face’ and getting a little exercise. David Koepp‘s script is very by the book, almost a little too so, merely illustrating the Brown text like an visual aid. Even the twist fails to raise excitement levels, and by the time we get to the climax – to save the world (again) – there is little appetite. We are just glad to see Hanks – or Langdon – safe and sound.
The trouble with translating any book from a series is there are always ones less compelling, but like all series, they need to be done to complete the filmic archive. Inferno has some great puzzles and culture to learn about – take Dante, for example. However, like numerous action thrillers of recent times, it just feels like watching a less enthralling ‘travel blog’, even with Hanks at the helm.
We all like a good mystery and chase, it’s just there is little imagination injected into Inferno, and a distinct lack of fear of the unknown that the other Brown books pedal so well. The spread of a virus should strike the fear of God into all – we just don’t get that sense of scale or impending doom in this. That’s probably because we’re being distracted by sightseeing and culture. Not a bad thing though.
It’s Tarantino-esque twitterings between its leads while chaos ensues feels less than fresh. However, as much as Peña has earned his stripes playing hispanic cop roles on screen (take Mike in End of Watch), it’s seeing him bounce off man-tower Skarsgård’s loser character Terry in this that’s fascinating to watch.
Set in New Mexico, to cops, Terry and Bob (Peña) set out to blackmail and frame every criminal they encounter – police pensions (as we are always told) never really pay. Things get sinister as they try to fry a bigger fish. But just who should be afraid of who?
McDonagh’s film is ode to the 70s cop thriller era, with a broody and strikingly handsome Skarsgård – even when mashed up – evoking this decade’s style in full spirit. He also has the muscle car that refuses to ‘die’, just like a trusty petrol steed. Peña is the family-man cop again, but also the brains behind the operation – a slight twist to his usual police character. The thrill is not just the excellent and free-flowing rapport the pair has, but also being kept on tender hooks as to when the pair’s luck will finally run out.
The blatant ‘F* You’ sentiment is beautifully balanced throughout with the smaller things in life that are important. It’s like there is a damaged moral compass still guiding both, even when they are doing something wrong. Keeps us on their side throughout. However, this is no ‘New Mexico Robin Hood’ tale – this pair are robbing for their own gain. Things change though, when some of the ‘victims’ them encounter along the way change their perception for the better. The very end scene is really unexpected from where the film first starts. This is what is oddly ‘different’ about it compared with the usual damaged cop affair. There is a justice of sorts that wins our favour.
War on Everyone beats with the blackest of hearts, with good and irony born out of evil. The buddy journey with Skarsgård and Peña is an incredibly satisfying one too.
Apparently Emily Blunt is far too attractive (and slim) to be author Paula Hawkins‘s alcoholic anti-heroine Rachel, the pickled protagonist of bestseller The Girl on the Train. The gripping tale is also set in upstate New York, rather than London that has irked some fans of the novel.
The fact is, this twisty-turny mystery drama of love, heartache, deceit and murder could be transferred to anywhere in the world – hence the original text’s clear catch. It’s also a very compelling modern story of female struggle. All three women in the tale – Rachel, Anna (now married to Rachel’s ex and living in the former martial home, played by Rebecca Ferguson) and Megan (the beautiful girl next door to Anna who goes missing, played by Haley Bennett) – are battling demons, even in the most idyllic of surroundings, but share a common thread. It’s this journey of discovery that director Nate Taylor takes us on, and Secretary scriptwriter Erin Cressida Wilson cleverly relays through plot backtracks and the like.
The gripping nature of the novel is not altogether lost on film. Indeed, getting your head around the new setting takes a bit of time. Blunt is so curiously ‘haunting looking’ that she instantly carries our interest on her obsessive train journeys each day, making us sympathise, dislike then empathise once again. She plays the perfect flawed character, both physically and mentally in this. Who cares about her look? What does an ‘alcoholic’ actually look like anyway? It is quite an accomplished performance for the Brit actress who remains British in this, as to not totally alienate Hawkins fans.
The apparent difference is how ‘tame’ Taylor’s interpretation is – until the end part of the film when the explanantions and replays flow forth, as do the ugly episodes. It’s here that Justin Theroux as Rachel’s ex and Anna’s hubby really injects the malevolence. In opting not to go too sinister though, Taylor has sanitized events somewhat when a more alarming approach was needed to do justice to Hawkins’s work. The surroundings and ‘Nancy Meyers home interiors’ do not create enough foreboding, just infer something is rotten at the core. It is this malice that Taylor misses.
The Girl on the Train can be enjoyed as it stands, with Blunt doing justice to Rachel being the most important thing. It’s just fans might feel out of sorts and less than freaked out than when they read the book.
Ben-Hur (1959) was a true Oscar-winning epic (eleven in total), earning the epitome “bigger than Ben-Hur” for any movie since made to be compared against. These are mighty shoes indeed to fill for any studio willing to step up to the challenge. Enter Paramount’s 2016 remake into the Roman arena.
Although like-titled Ben-Hur (2016) strives to capture the grandiose thrill of the infamous chariot race, it needed to be bigger, “much bigger than Ben-Hur (1959)”. It ought to hang its head in thin imitation shame, regardless of how much its leads, Jack Huston (as Judah Ben-Hur, the embattled Jewish prince) and Toby Kebbell (as Messala Severus, the aggrieved Roman officer) try in vain to be larger-than-life screen actors than they are.
The 2016 film needs a cast with gravitas, long the lines of Russell Crowe in Ridley Scott’s Gladiator. In fact, re-recruit the leads and director (Russian Timur Bekmambetov of Wanted fame). The only one who can stay is dreadlocked Morgan Freeman as horses betting man Ilderim, complete with that ever gleefully naughty twinkle in his eye, who always commands an impressive screen presence, doing very little for his paycheck here.
For those not au fait with the plot, Ben-Hur from Jerusalem (set in Jesus’s time on Earth – played here by Rodrigo Santoro) is from a wealthy noble family who takes in an orphaned Roman boy called Messala Severus and raises him as its own. The competitive boys grow up together, but an accident spurs an older Messala to leave the family home and join the Roman Army to prove his worth.
Years later, Messala, now a high-ranking Roman Army officer returns by Pontius Pilate’s side (played by Pilou Asbaek of A Hijacking fame), riding through Jerusalem. Ben-Hur is warned in advance by his adopted brother to stop any possible threat to the Roman visit from those who opposed Roman rule. But an attack on the party results in Ben-Hur being falsely accused of treason by Messala.
Ben-Hur is banished to be a gallon slave for five years, but a terrifying fate sets him free. A chance meeting with horse dealer Ilderim puts him in a position to seek revenge by competing against his estranged adopted brother in a chariot race, hosted by Pilate. Only one man can win – and survive.
The latest incarnation lacks the real passion and strife of the 1959 film, though it has plenty of more gore to elevate it above a tame Sunday-School educational affair. The religious aspect is very much present, complete with a physical Christ and crucifixion. To be honest, Santoro’s presence just sparks suppressed giggles in the context of things when he appears, rather than deity awe.
Huston is not hungry enough for revenge like Charlton Heston’s Ben-Hur was. He’s certainly not happy being in the midst of Bekmambetov’s shipwreck of special effects, but he just seems a tad ‘unfazed’ by his brutal experience to be convincing – and no amount of muttering words of encouragement helps either. That’s not to say he won’t win some fans battling all elements in this. He does give the part as much as he can.
Kebbell fares better. He has the appropriate petulant scowl needed. However, like his brother in arms, Huston, he is even less convincing in terms of sheer strength needed to be a true chariot racer in the arena. This is meant to be a very physical film, in terms of action and effects. It just feels like latter-day CGI – which Bekmambetov does have an aptitude for in previous work – does not do this project justice. In fact we’ve been thoroughly spoilt by CG in action films to the point where we expect characters defy gravity most of the time, as is the case here.
Bekmambetov and scriptwriters Keith R. Clarke and John Ridley have taken Lew Wallace’s novel and flattened it, rather than given it a new lease of life for a latter-day audience. Yes, Christianity is still a major factor, but showing Jesus does not seem to add anything messianic, really. They needed to go with their convictions, full throttle down the religious route, rather than flimsily injecting it, for fear of putting off less faith-led latter-day audiences.
Ben-Hur (2016) is still consumable – if you haven’t seen the 1959 powerhouse version – as the two leads try their damndest to command a real screen presence. However, the film itself lacks spirit. Bekmambetov’s subdued cinematography does make the whole affair feel rather ‘televised’, rather than like an old-school, silver-screen epic, which is a crying shame with such iconic material. Is it a case of biting off more than the studio can chew?
Emphasis on the word ‘sausage’ usually sparks juvenile sniggers from most grown-ups. Seth Rogen capitalizes on this in his raunchy new adult animation Sausage Party – the mere name triggering winks and nudges. This is a Pixar p*** take laced with Rogen’s preferred brand of stoner humour. Those not avid fans of the latter can still catch some laughs, but might tired long before the riotous finale of filthy food porn commences.
Rogen is Frank, a hotdog who is desperate to get inside Brenda the bun (voiced by Kristen Wiig) when they finally leave the supermarket and go home with one of the ‘gods’ (us humans). They need to be picked off the shelf and taken outside to ‘the great beyond’. But disaster strikes when one female god goes shopping, leading Frank and Brenda on a journey back to the shelf while trying to avoid enraged Douche (Nick Kroll).
However, Frank soon learns the disturbing truth about what the ‘great beyond’ really spells for grocery products, backed up by his deformed sausage pal Barry (Michael Cera) who survives a close shave. Now Frank needs to convince the rest of the food population about their fate, before it’s too late.
Sausage Party is created by Rogen, Evan Goldberg and Jonah Hill, collaborating with Apatow disciples Paul Rudd, James Franco, Bill Hader, Danny McBride and the like, so you know the kind of film you’re in for, long before you ‘Get your fill’ (quoting the tagline). It’s pure filth, like consuming the dirtiest, calorific dish, awash with cheap ‘laughs’ at stereotypes along the way – Salma Hayek is horny Mexican taco Teresa, for example.
While it offers some crazy insights into the USA’s religious, racial and socio-political obsessions, Sausage Factory also prefers shock tactics to cultivating really clever puns consistently throughout that would have seriously sent up these American neurosises and Pixar’s cute character, coming-of-age adventures, where their world is oblivious to us. There are some seriously laugh-out-loud moments – just wait until the end crescendo, but F word-ing it in every sentence begins to wear thin, bordering on nauseating – and this is coming from a critic who is no stranger to a foul-mouthed rant.
It’s also hard to tell if Sausage Party wants to be taken seriously for its plethora of brilliant observations, as it just as quickly shies away when one of them becomes vaguely interesting, for fear of losing its infantile edge. That said the kitchen scene is a delightful Pixar-bashing episode, and a much needed highlight to break up the otherwise ‘samey’ plot of Frank et al trying to return to the shelf. Douche gets pumped ready for action but loses his spunk at the end; perhaps too much of a main plot distraction or an excuse for Rogen and gang to explore some anal humour? There was certainly a lot of fun had writing/ making this buddy movie, it appears.
Sausage Party goes off with a saucy sizzle and an outrageous bang but wilts at times along the way. If it wasn’t for the grand gang-bang finale boost, it would be a meaty disappointment left undercooked in places.
If War Dogs, The Hangover director Todd Phillips‘s new war dramedy is meant to entertain in his distinctive bromance-worshipping way, then it serves its purpose as it follows the highs and lows of a volatile male-on-male relationship. Indeed, it does rely heavily on its stars Jonah Hill and Miles Teller’s chemistry, plus a generous dollop of Hill expectation as the actor has made ‘cuddly’ sociopathic characters his new forte.
David Packouz (Teller) is a male masseuse for the rich who is trying to get enough money together before wife Iz (Ana de Armas) gives birth. When he sinks all their savings into a stock pile of luxury cotton sheets and fails to sell these to Miami’s old-people’s homes, his unlikely ‘saviour’, unscrupulous old school chum Efraim Diveroli (Hill) appears on the scene with a proposition that could make him rich quick.
David can join the small-time arms trade and become a ‘War Dog’ like Efraim, looking for the crumbs – small arms contracts touted online by the US Government – and bid on them. As the money starts flowing in, the mother of all arms deals comes up – a 300 million dollar contract to arm the Military to the teeth in Afghanistan. That’s when the problems begin and the whole operation unravels, as the War Dogs must rely on elusive, Grade-A War Dog, Henry Girard (Bradley Cooper) to get a shipment out of Albania.
As the story goes, this is Hill as Efraim’s big moment, his very own The Wolf on Wall Street’s Jordan Belfort, completely absorbing with his maniacal, high-pitched laugh that both delights and disturbs. Hill ought to be commended for making the film bigger than it actually deserves to be. We never like his character and are waiting for him to do the dirty – well, we get told he will throughout. However, we do relate to the lure of his naked ambition. In fact, his character is far more intriguing than Teller’s, even though we are forced to believe the latter; David is our constant narrator and seems to get into more bother in the plot. Teller does as great a job with what he’s got to work with.
The film does miss a trick in being blacker than it is, merely dabbling in the dark side but swiftly returning to safety when the central rocky bromance waivers. We are meant to care about this relationship, even though we don’t quite buy it. Even Cooper’s shady middle-man arms dealer is just not threatening enough to give the film more of a sadistic edge it needs. Ironic, as at the start, David has a gun pointed to his head, setting up the high stakes of the dangerous war game they are in. We never get a real sense of that, which is a shame.
That said there is an infectious, erratic ‘goofiness’ to all the boys’ dealings that totally entertains, like two young city traders dabbling in dealings way over their heads. It tries to be a mix of The Lord of War, The Big Short and a Scorsese gangster buddy film, without really delving into what actually makes the characters tick – apart from the money. Indeed, even de Armas is left hanging, supposedly our moral compass but going off piste all the time – one minute appalled by David’s new business venture, the next supportive as it pays the bills. She just comes across as the typical, irrational (try gullible) new mum, all hormonal, and hardly a decent female character worth remembering. At least The Wolf’s Margot Robbie character doesn’t lie down and take it from her Wall Street rogue.
War Dogs is far from perfect and a wannabe imitation of a Scorsese film it aspires to be – queue the characters’ references throughout. However, Phillips has started ‘something’ of interest here, if he can just combine his skill of crafting bromances with a more developed and pitch-black comedic script in the near future. For now, there are enough laughs with Hill and Teller in action to make War Dogs highly watchable – especially Hill, plus it raises some interesting talking points of global government corruption. This is hardly shocking, but will have you shaking your head all the same at the cost of the ‘war business’.
It’s another year, and another Purge – which usually means the poor/vulnerable getting brutally hunted by the rich. The only thing different this time for writer/director James DeMonaco’s latest flick in the saga, Election Year, is it’s rather poignantly about a US election, with one candidate for the mass 24-hour killing set against one very much against the injustice. The rest is lots of privileged people revelling in the blood let – and still poor Frank Grillo having to risk life (and limb) getting ‘innocents’ to safety.
Senator Charlie Roan (Elizabeth Mitchell) remembers her family being ‘purged’ (slaughtered) in the past on the legalised night of crime and is determined to put an end to this ‘law’ if elected to US President. The trouble is powerful parties – and her political opponents – have vested interests in keeping the 12-hour killing spree going and have put a price on her head in this year’s annual Purge.
After an attempt on her life a few hours after the siren sounds the start of the killing spree, she goes on the run with Leo Barnes (Head of Security played Grillo) and crosses paths with an underground group run by the elusive Dante Bishop (Edwin Hodge from the first film), who wants to go after her opponents and their supporters. She needs to keep alive during the next 12 hours and win the election.
The chilling theory behind the Purge stories still holds eerily strong; the idea that ‘somehow’ a nation’s social problems can be erradicated by erasing groups reliant on the state’s welfare. It’s absolutely this that DeMonaco relies on to justify his series further, as the rest is more of the same. Albeit this time, there is an attempt at a more serious side in 2016 election year, which often comes across as (unintentionally) comical in delivery.
There is a rather solid character in Sen. Roan though, a ‘hero’ fighting for the less fortunate, and the kind we’d like to rally behind in a world in turmoil in reality. Mitchell plays her tough and soft sides simultaneously in a plausible manner. Her tough guy and protector Grillo slugs it out like some kind of gruff, youthful Falk/Columbo in tow.
The ‘dry’, sardonic quips are provided by Mykelti Williamson as shop keeper Joe Dixon who peppers the dialogue with racial ‘digs’ that outstay their purpose. We ‘get’ who some of the most disadvantaged groups are in the USA today. It doesn’t have to be spelt out in the script every time his character is in the frame.
There does seem to be less visible bloodlust this time around, and more running/driving around. However, one pesky teen brat does gleefully get her just desserts for being a tad annoying, even though the set-up is sensed a mile off. Another humorous/dark side is visiting ‘murder’ tourists that DeMonaco is keen to comment on. Sadly, this feels shortlived as they merely serve as padding/fodder, even though this is an intriguing by-product of the Purge.
Fans will get more of the same, plus equally despicable, hammy characters to like/loathe in Election Year. Whether the idea of setting it in election year will draw a greater audience is unlikely, but it certainly feels very topical – if not for mask/outfit inspiration come October 31st.
Jason Bourne has surfaced again in 2016. In fact, he’ll always pop up in a world far smaller place nowadays, as technology will have you fear. It was only a matter of time. What’s curious to see is how in shape (though greyer around the temples) Matt Damon is at 45 years old – just compare him as the baby-faced boy assassin he was in returning director Paul Greengrass’s first installment with him, The Bourne Supremacy(2004).
Just titled ‘Jason Bourne’, the latest film tries to address just who is JB? Although this is the sub-crux of the other films, this one has a fond, nostalgic weariness to it, as though a less supple Damon/Bourne has been coax out of retirement to have another stab at finding out what the hell it’s all been about over the past 14 years. Will he/we ever know?
Basically, this time Bourne reappears in Greece – now a bare-knuckle fighter by trade, after getting word from fellow ex-CIA operative Nicky Parsons (the ever po-faced Julia Stiles as the data whizkid) that the Agency is up to its old tricks of starting up yet another black ops. In addition, news comes to light that Bourne’s real father was a heavyweight in the Treadstone op.
Bourne is firmly back on the Agency’s radar, hunted by former adversary, slippery CIA Director Robert Dewey (Tommy Lee Jones) and his new protégé, ambitious high-tech guru Heather Lee (Alicia Vikander). Bourne needs to stay alive and get more answers, while avoiding being brought back into the CIA fold or being killed by the Asset (Vincent Cassel), a deadly assassin on his tail, packing a sizable grudge against him.
This is a film that could swing fan opinion either way. Some fans will revel in getting more of the same clean-cut, high-speed, well-directed/acted action – and it certainly does not fail to deliver here. On the flipside, it might appear very samey and almost ‘dated’, as current spy-action thrillers go. Sadly, a lot of films have since copied Bourne’s original style – including latter-day 007s, and there’s only so many car chases, city destruction, busy, dark operation hubs with fancy banks of screens and software downloads we can take before it screams ‘cliché’.
Although this Bourne embraces today’s risks associated with data security – with a interesting sideline plot about a digital-age billionaire, Aaron Kalloor (Riz Ahmed) who has allowed the CIA a hack to his social media software to collect what data it needs (and now regrets it), there are so many shots of downloading files that you wish for more scenic city-break shots to break up the tedium. That’s the problem with the latest; trying to balance delivering another spy-action flick while delving more into the psyche of a character – if we get too much Bourne dissection, it ruins the nature of the game, and his enigma is lost.
That said we can’t help but root for a ‘guy lost’. Everyone wants to know their past and it’s been years of searching and increasing the body count for us to be satisfied in stopping there. Damon is a distinguished – rather than embarrassing – mature action hero figure in this latest film, and actually, the ‘tiredness’ sort of mirrors the weariness of his character’s search – as mentioned before. In fact, does much change in the spy game? It’s just newer technology used to uncover/store the same secrets.
Bourne still has the energy it needs to get you – and its star – through to the bitter end. Greengrass gets more practice to perfect his art too, while we enjoy the ride. Like a long-suffering action hero with a past, we actually don’t want Bourne to disappear forever, or find out the punch-line. Hence, Jason Bourne can carry on searching and searching for a long time yet.
In a moment of irony right at the start of the latest Star Trek film, Star Trek Beyond, Captain Kirk (Chris Pine) admits things have started to feel a little ‘episodic’ aboard the USS Enterprise, angling for a desk job in Top Brass. This could be said of the film franchise, regardless of a J.J. Abrams reinvigoration of it in 2013.
This Justin Lin (of Fast & Furious directing fame) version keeps the series zinging along in its own nebula of cosmic chaos but grounds it with some compelling character relationships, plus a generous touch of nostalgia and fun.
When a rescued crew member reports that her ship has been destroyed and her crew taken hostage, James T. Kirk and his crew, Commander Spock (Zachary Quinto), Doctor ‘Bones’ McCoy (Karl Urban), Lieutenant Uhura (Zoe Saldana) and Montgomery ‘Scotty’ Scott (Simon Pegg) venture back out into space, but become stranded and divided on an alien planet. With no means of communication, they must work together to reunite and find a way to get back home.
The same cast returns three years on, having already convinced us of their credentials back in 2013, and not failing to engage us again with a solid combination of solidarity and fun. They are helped by a script penned by Pegg and co-writer Doug Jung, with the smart quips certainly having that trademark Pegg sarcasm.
The best lines are delivered by Urban as Bones, who comes across as the funniest, unfunny guy of the moment, constantly sticking his space boot in it with pure relish for us. Pegg naturally reserves some humorous lines for Scotty too, though assisted by an unusual comedy sidekick in Sofia Boutella as warrior rebel Jaylah who rebuffs his comments and is perhaps the most striking and exciting character in this episode.
Qunito’s Spock still has an aura of understated wisdom and awe about him. The actor has made this iconic character his own, reiterated by the defining moment he hears news from home of his mentor (played by the late Leonard Nimoy). In fact, in a moving note, it’s good to see the late Anton Yelchin back as Chekov one last time.
Idris Elba makes an appearance as the token baddie Krall, though is virtually unrecognisable until the very last battle scenes. Still, his character has a nice story arc, like all the others, allowing us to connect with them on a deeper level and care about their personal and collective troubles. Again, another success of the film is its big emphasis on ‘team spirit’, which doesn’t require you to be a Trekkie or to have seen the other films to fully engage. It is a standalone space ride of thrilling entertainment.
With gravity-defying effects – some nauseating, like revisiting Nolan’s Inception, this film’s momentum carries you along in a whirl, while pausing to address a character’s reaction at any single moment. This great marriage of sci-fi fantasy and characters we care about will guarantee the Star Trek movie franchise lives much longer and prospers.
