Bad Santa 2: Film Review

Bad Santa 2: Film Review

Cast: Billy Bob Thornton, Kathy Bates, Christina Hendricks, Tony Cox, Brett Kelly
Director: Mark Waters

Christmas comes every year.

And with it, there's a large portion of the world who are cynical and unimpressed as the commercial holiday kicks into gear, with its enforced jollity and OTT happiness.

The original 2003 outing of Bad Santa was the perfect antidote to the festive cheer - a crude, crass and comical caper that pitted a foul-mouthed thief and his dwarf friend against the festive season. Coupled with Terry Zwigoff's writing and Thornton's not giving a sh*t Santa, Bad Santa was near perfect holiday fodder, destined to take the shine off the saccharine season.

Unfortunately, Bad Santa 2 is the complete opposite; a piece of trashy cinema that plumbs the depths of depravity and somehow manages to mine deeper in its attempts to garner some jollies.

This time around, Billy Bob Thornton's beer-soaked Willie Soke is contacted once again by Marcus Skidmore (Cox) to help him crack open a safe with millions within. The kicker this time is that the safe is housed in a Chicago charity organisation, run by Christine Hendricks' Diane, a former alcoholic turned good. Ditching the innocent Thurman Merman (Brett Kelly, once again providing the naive simpleton approach), Sokes sets out to crack the safe and start again after being suicidal. But the kicker is that the con-job is being pioneered by his white trash estranged mother Sunny (Bates)....

Released 13 years almost to the day of the first film, Bad Santa 2 is distinctly difficult to love.

Much like its main star, who spends a disproportionate amount of time soaked in the booze, it's hard to see how anyone will get any laughs from this if they're sober. Every single punchline mines low hanging fruit and somehow manages to dig even deeper, ensuring the final outcome is a cloyingly annoying mix of depravity and puerile stupidity.

To be fair to the cast, they embrace this wholeheartedly, with Thornton once again proving to the antithesis to the normal dwellers of the red Santa suit. His deplorable and despicable antics prove fertile ground for some base jokes, but there's a real hint of tragedy about this man who can't get off unless he's called Santa and who starts the film by literally pissing on the past and trying to hang himself.

Equally prone to some kind of depression allegory is Kelly's Thurman Merman, a man-child whose outlook on life is clearly disconnected from the real world and whose eternal jollity comes naturally and provokes nervous laughter when anyone else would be calling for mental intervention.

The original wore its toxic despising of the enforced holiday period like a badge, a kind of honest heart on sleeve truth seldom acknowledged about the holiday period. This sequel, with its irritating desire to annoy with vulgar humour feels like a real let down for an attempt to follow a much-loved anti Christmas classic tradition.

Bad Santa 2 is one present under the Christmas tree that nobody cinematically will want; sure, some may get a perverse kick out of moments in its 90 minute run time, but others will want to run away as fast as their little elf legs can carry them.

Elle: Film Review

Elle: Film Review

Cast: Isabelle Huppert, Laurent Lafitte, Virginie Efira
Director: Paul Verhoeven

Like some kind of balancing act between bleak darkness and dark humour, Paul Verhoeven’s ELLE walks a singular tightrope through the audience, caring not for the view below as it drops its extraordinary bombs.

A simply stellar Isabelle Huppert stars as Michele the head of a video game company whose life is targeted when she’s viciously sexually assaulted in her home. (A fact that Verhoeven doesn’t shy away from as he instigates the film by unleashing it right at the very beginning.)

But rather than head to the police to report the rape, Michele shockingly shuns the legal avenue (for reasons that become clearer as the film unfurls, just one of Verhoeven's strength as he concocts the cinematic web) for a bath and to simply get on with life. Verhoeven’s use of blood in bubble bath before it’s casually swept to one side by Michele is one of the film’s over-riding stark and shocking images.

With a cold laissez faire approach, Michele casually announces over dinner with some friends that she’s been assaulted; the response from one friend is to ask the waiter to hold the champagne being opened – yep, it’s Verhoeven through and through using the pristine veneer of the French language and attitude to prod and provoke his audience from the get go.

As the story progresses in Elle, you’re better off not knowing what’s due to happen, as part of the devilish delight in the film comes from the gradual teasing of details in this psychological thriller that picks at you like a cinematic scab, daring you to pull it off and delighting in the equal waves of pleasure and pain as you do so.

In this adaptation of Philippe Djian’s 2012 novel “Oh…”,  78 year old provocateur  Paul Verhoeven certainly knows how to press the buttons of those watching, and how to give the whole thing a kind of amoral sheen that’s steeped in both complexity and a twisted veneer.

Huppert helps in large parts too, making Michele a character which it’s hard to get a grip on.

On the one hand, her ordeal implies elicit sympathy for her plight, but on the other, her immediate behaviour post-event sees you unsure of where your allegiances and sympathies should lie. It helps that she’s incredibly commanding from go to woah as this disturbed journey plays out. One character tells her, “You never give anything truly of yourself” and perhaps this is the best summation of the character, thanks to a subtly nuanced turn from Huppert as the shocks and the twisted, yet empowering, scenario plays out.

Ultimately, Elle is one hell of a firecracker of a film - a cinematic amoral powderkeg that's due to explode under the weight of such provocation but whose explosion ends up in the safe hands of Paul Verhoeven. There'll be debate aplenty about what you've seen on the screen, but there'll be no debate about the performance of Isabelle Huppert and the bravura of Verhoeven.

The BFG: DVD Review

The BFG: DVD Review

Back in 1982, Roald Dahl changed the landscape of kids' books with the release of The BFG.

Along with Quentin Blake's distinctive drawings, the 208 page book went on to sell 37 million copies and seal itself into the world's collective psyche.

The film version doesn't deviate too far from the original storyline, telling of 10 year old orphan Sophie (newcomer Barnhill) and her chance encounter with the Big Friendly Giant (Mark Rylance) after she sees him one night.

Scooping her up and taking her to Giant Country to avoid being revealed, the pair form a friendship - but Sophie's in danger with other Giants of the land sniffing her out and threatening to snuff her out. Because it turns out that a series of abductions in London are all at the hands of the Giants....

The BFG is a refreshingly wondrous and lovely piece of old school film.

Which is both its strength and bizarrely, its weakness.

Spielberg's eye for visuals is indulged in this Harry Potter-esque human beans flick, that keeps the original nonsense Jar Jar Binks style language that so perpetuated the book as it dawdles on its way to its final destination. The sequence where The BFG takes Sophie out to grab dreams is truly magical, and reminiscent of the flying lights in Close Encounters. Spielberg still has an eye for the mysterious, and shrouds part of this sequence in a mist and executes it in shadows, giving it a dream-like quality that's hard to ignore.

Equally, the execution of Rylance as Quentin Blake's BFG is nothing short of eye-popping CGI wizardry, thanks to Joe Letteri and his WETA cohorts.

A mix of Rylance's features and Blake's distinctive strokes gives the character the warmth, sadness and geniality that's so inherent within, and the expressive features and subtle touches from a heartfelt Rylance convey plenty of emotion and give life to a character which has so enraptured so many.

Perhaps a slightly weaker link though is first time actor Ruby Barnhill, who comes off as a mix of both precocious and and ever so slightly irritating. She's a few directions short of pantomime at the best of times but eventually settles down into the role - even if Spielberg's determined in the final stretch to purvey a parody of a monarchy England with pomp and ceremony that was so prevalent in the 1980s. (Though admittedly there are long swathes of just talking and bonding between the BFG and Sophie in Giant Country that the story could be accused of dawdling in its slightly overlong run-time).

It's true to the book (aside from the giant invasion) so is in keeping with Dahl's original take on it all, but in the final third of the film, the intrusions of the real world prove to be more of a distraction than anything.

The evil giants, led by Jemaine Clement's Fleshlumpeater, are a mixed bag.

While the digital execution of Fleshlumpeater looks like a cross between Austin Powers' Fat Bastard and a Warcraft Orc, Clement's Ali G style London intonations give it a comically threatening edge that feel like a gangster's taken on Dungeons and Dragons. The rest of the clan aren't so well fleshed out and ultimately never feel like a threat at all (particularly given that they're deemed to be so dangerous).

There's no real danger in The BFG; it's a genuinely lovely family film that feels very much of yesteryear and its failings as a story are predominantly led by the source material.

There's something nostalgic and familiar about The BFG and something comforting about Spielberg's execution of it - whether it proves to be box office gold though in a changed landscape remains to be seen

Paterson: Film Review

Paterson: Film Review

Cast: Adam Driver, Golshifteh Farahani
Director: Jim Jarmusch

Jim Jarmusch's reflective and languid approach suits Adam Driver's rhythms in Paterson, a thematic companion piece to Ken Loach's I, Daniel Blake in its salutations of the common man.

Driver is Paterson, a routine bus driver in the burb of Paterson, who has a daily routine. His watch wakes him around 610am daily, he eats the same breakfast, heads to work at the bus depot and finds time to write poetry before his shift and during. Heading home every day at 6, he corrects a leaning post-box that moves daily, has dinner, walks his shared bulldog Marvin and goes to the local watering hole.

So far, so familiar as Jarmusch's patented loops play out over an 8 day period. But as the days progress, small variations crop up towards the end of the week in Paterson's life - from a girlfriend whose borderline OCD and creative obsession with black and white mean each return home is random to a cataclysmic moment involving his bus.

These are the beats of Paterson, where the ordinary is celebrated and the pace is languid to prosaic. As this ode to the mundane progresses, there are visual tics and tricks that Jarmusch throws into the mix to almost test as if you are paying attention to what's transpiring as the story's more lyrical edges wax and wane with time progressing.

Throwing in a cute scene stealing dog also helps proceedings (when the deliberate pace slows a little too much) as well with Marvin the bulldog (sadly RIP now) proving to be the juxtaposition to Paterson's life in a small way to many, but devastating to the celebration of the mundane. Driver's a relatively blank canvas throughout, with his small intrusions into life being catalogued more by the outre behaviour of others - from the bus depot boss whose life is full of dramas to the dreams of his cup-cake empire dreaming partner, his calmness gives the yin to everyone's extraordinary yang.

Blessed with dry humour and quiet reflections on life, Paterson's simplicity and gorgeousness is in its execution. Its rhythms and wry humour may not be for everyone, but for those who fall for the loops of life and the idiosyncracies within, this slow celebration of the mundanities of it all works wonders. 

War Dogs: DVD Review

War Dogs: DVD Review

Imagine if the director of The Hangover decided to do a Wolf of Wall Street via way of Goodfellas- but with a couple of gun runners instead of white collar workers..

That, in a nutshell, is War Dogs, the based-on-a-true story tale of Miles Teller's David Packouz and Jonah Hill's Efraim Diveroli. 

Reunited at a funeral in Miami Beach in 2005, the old friends strike up where they left off with David decrying his desire to leave his personal masseuse job. But he discovers that Efraim's running guns during the Iraq War and exploiting loopholes within US military contracts to his advantage.

Seeing his way out, David tells his fiancee Is (Knock Knock star Ana de Armas) that he's selling sheets to the military - and thus begins his descent into working with the devil all around the world... 

War Dogs tries to do the anti-hero thing once again, this time hoping for the blue eyes of Miles Teller as Packouz to be our conduit in in this Wolf of War Street tale.

And despite the initial energy and semi comedic vibe, the film's wheels fall off as it tries to inject some drama into proceedings, with not enough consideration or fleshing out of the characters to give it the sense of jeopardy it needs.

Throwing in a few domestic scenes with Is and David rowing seems to feel enough for Phillips to believe we're invested in David's morally ambiguous ways and his avarice, but the honest truth is it simply doesn't work well enough. And while Teller and Hill work well together, the inevitable downfall and personal split feels lacking in anything emotive.

It doesn't help that Phillips has ripped off Goodfellas' voiceover / freeze frame tricks to help sell the necessary exposition or that the movie's clearly been configured around a soundtrack to fit its vibe; there's nothing fresh as War Dogs limps on. It begins to sag viciously towards the final third and even dangerously skirts the line of bland when suspense should have you on the edge of your seats as the denouement dangles more dangerously than Damocles' sword.

Fortunately, Hill injects some life into proceedings as the Scarface / Godfather loving Efraim and is a stand-out here. He's a heavy set huckster shyster with a high-pitched giggle whose morals have clearly been snorted in a whirlwind of coke and indifference. Teller's solid too, and while Phillips decides not to justify or moralise their actions too far (save for David's desire to stop being a masseuse), it's not enough to save War Dogs from indifference. A little subtlety and more lightness of directorial touch would have helped immensely, but these seem a little beyond Phillips' grasp unfortunately and elude him throughout.

Morally bankrupt can be fertile dramatic territory as every gangster pic and TV show will tell you - but in aiming for lighter fare and ramming home the message to the audience, War Dogs becomes an exercise in endurance as the slump sets in. 

By failing to embrace either the amorality of what's going on or play the comedy darker and with a defter touch, War Dogs may have been held on its leash a little too far and for a story about gunrunners, while it starts strong, it proceeds to stumble on its all guns blazing promise, and once too often, shoots itself in the foot. 


30th Nov

Sausage Party: Blu Ray Review

Sausage Party: Blu Ray Review

Possibly one of the most messed up adult animations of its generation, Sausage Party is a Seth Rogen idea 10 years in the making.

Mixing Pixar and Disney through the potty-mouthed prism of South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut, it's the at times anarchic story of sausage Frank (Rogen) and bun Brenda (Wiig) who live in a supermarket and who long to be selected by shoppers and taken to the nirvana of the Great Beyond (aka outside the store).

But when Frank and Brenda are separated from their bagged colleagues trying to save a suicidal mustard jar who says the Great Beyond is a lie, they have to get back to their shelves in time to be sold for July 4th celebrations....

Puns, profanity, philosophy and puerility collide in this animated flick which thanks to one scene towards the end gives new meanings to the phrases food porn and root vegetables.

And yet in among the clearly deranged lust for frat boy crudity and puns, there's also a story of religious tolerance, beliefs and commentary on the Israel / Palestine situation thanks to a squabbling friendship between a lavash and a bagel. It's a paradigm of Sausage Party that it covers such higher topics while pursuing such baser ideals and potty-mouthed leanings.

At its heart, it's a simple take on the Toy Story style get home adventure of the first film as Frank and Brenda muddle their way through the shopping aisles being chased by a bad guy, while one fellow sausage negotiates the horrors of reality of being cooked out in the real world.

But it's certainly plenty of food for thought during this culturally diverse and occasionally subversive piece that embraces all and points out the absurdity of conflicts and differences with the use of puns and a polemic pushing of the envelope. From God hates Figs to Exterminating Juice, there's plenty to keep you guffawing here as the inevitable lulls start to hit the scatological highs. An all-out orgy scene goes as far as it can and a clever use of Meatloaf helps the film to hit parodies of films like Terminator 2 and slasher films.

All in all the Adult Swim-like Sausage Party is perhaps not quite as clever as it aims to be in parts, but with Rogen adding an animated sausage to his pot-headed frat boy filmography, there are signs that he's doing what he does best and to great comic effect with this CGI outing.

Funny, riotous, ribald and a bit deeper than you'd expect despite its filthy sheen, Sausage Party sizzles more than you'd expect it to do so. 

Jason Bourne: Blu Ray Review

Jason Bourne: Blu Ray  Review

Solid, yet formulaic and workman like, the latest Bourne is anything but spectacular.

In the latest non-essential part of the series, which unpicks all the neatly tied up threads of the series, Damon is a dogged Bourne, a machine-like automaton of assassination that's lacking any kind of real dialogue whatsoever.

When former comrade Nicky Parsons (Julia Stiles) finds Bourne and tells him there's more to his past than he actually realises, Jason Bourne is forced on to a quest to make those pay for the truth...

Nearly 10 years have passed since the The Bourne Ultimatum, and in a world where Wikileaks, Edward Snowden and security have become major issues, it feels like Jason Bourne does a token amount to address such things this time around.

Even with the apparently personal level of this mission this time around, Bourne himself may pull no punches (as a Greece-Albanian fight club sequence demonstrates) but the script is lacking in any kind of real elements of either mystery or urgency.

Throwing in Riz Ahmed as the head of a Facebook style company for little reason other than to facilitate the finale is a missed opportunity; it's a disposable plot thread which dangles undernourished on the narrative vine. 

And unfortunately, despite the re-teaming of Greengrass and Damon to the series, there's much of Jason Bourne which feels similarly wanting and in parts, and sees the film fall into an entirely predictable rut of action and flashbacks.

Despite getting things underway with a simmering riot bubbling out of hand and a hunt for Bourne in Greece at the start, the story loses its impetus soon after as Matt Damon's scarred Jason Bourne walks from place to place, avoiding the bad guys. It's repetitive and hardly builds tension at all as Vincent Cassel's Asset tries to hunt him down at the behest of Tommy Lee Jones' hang-faced CIA director.

The action sequences are assured and measured, but never fully thrilling (with the exception of the aforementioned Greece sequence). Greengrass is more than competent in their execution, with his shaky cam and quick cuts pervading proceedings, but never threatening to derail them. It's a shame that the Vegas finale feels like a rote chase, with car-nage aplenty and muted thrills, rather than edge of your seat stuff.

Fortunately, the addition of Alicia Vikander as Heather Lee, an analyst whose motives are questionable gives the film a bit of spark and stoicism that it needs (as well as a puncture through the old boys club mentality that pervades Bourne). And Damon himself, looking aged and still capable of taking the physical workload, does great things, giving his character a wearied edge of someone lost in the world and trying to find his place within it.

But that's the thing with Jason Bourne; in among the talk of assets, chases, betrayals, fake outs and action, nothing ever feels fresh or enticing in the self imposed sense of seriousness and the idea of solely providing a blast of Bourne nostalgia. 

Fans of the series may get a kick out of the franchise's return, but that's possibly about it. (Also, the fact these former CIA assets don't quite know how to disguise themselves in crowds simply beggars belief...)

Ironically, for a film about an amnesiac assassin, the whole thing about Jason Bourne is that it's instantly forgettable the minutes the lights go up - it's formulaic where it should be fresh, and in parts, flat where it should burst with energy. 

7th Dec