(500) Words Review: Midnight in Paris

Every other Woody Allen film the past decade has been billed a ‘return to form’; however that theory has altered in the last six years. His last two films Whatever Works (2009) and You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger (2010) both underwhelmed critics and although Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008) was an irreverent success, its predecessors Scoop (2006) and Cassandra’s Dream (2007) were certainly not after the excellent Match Point (2005).

By de facto law then, Midnight in Paris had to triumph and thanks to its punchy premise it does, underlining again how Allen is just as skilled a filmmaker on foreign shores as he is in his beloved New York. The romance and the comedy is intact without veering into the banality of a rom-com, but nostalgia fuels the reverence for his latest picture thanks to the charming time-travel aspect, as Owen Wilson’s downtrodden Hollywood writer Gil winds up in 1920s Paris when the bell chimes at midnight.

Stultified by his fiancée (Rachel McAdams)’s pushiness and the pedantry of her ubiquitous college pal Michael Sheen, a nocturnal stroll leads to a Peugeot Landaulet whisking Gil into the Golden Age of La Ville-Lumière where he meets F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston), Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll) and Salvador Dalí (a flamboyant Adrien Brody) amongst others, to the soundtrack of Cole Porter, played by Cole Porter. It is during his wistful ventures that he becomes smitten with Marion Cotillard’s alluring Adriana when he finds himself in a quandary.

Allen revealed that this is his first film to go through a digital intermediate instead of being colour timed in the traditional photochemical way, as he explores whether to deploy the method on future films. His timing is impeccable as Paris is presented beautifully by Se7en’s atmospheric cinematographer Darius Khondji, aided by seasoned French cameraman Johanne Debas, with an immersive panache whether it’s the city’s past or present, day or night.

Performances come secondary to the grandeur of not only Paris but a grandiose cameo by Versailles, although Wilson, prone to monotony, excels in a more sophisticated comedy that recalls his early performances under Wes Anderson. Cotillard’s magnetism is intensified by her 20s garments while McAdams and on-screen Republican parents Mimi Kennedy and Kurt Fuller fence with Wilson’s left-wing idealist in a couple of wry exchanges.

The romantic element is diluted by its hackneyed inexorableness in the present but the fish out of water facet is charming and light. Paris sizzles.

Bond's ultimatum

During a news day last year, a story suggestion yours truly offered to cover which would be breaking in the afternoon was of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) edging closer to a sale after a period of uncertainty. To add weight to the story’s appeal, it was re-affirmed to our female editor that Leo the Lion’s roar had preceded much loved films such as West Side Story, The Magnificent Seven, the Pink Panther series, Annie Hall and distributed one of Great Britain’s greatest institutions, James Bond. Her response was disapproving.

‘Does anyone care about James Bond anymore?’

Well yes, they do. Millions actually. But her snooty retort is a view shared by many since the period from 1989 to 1995, when 007 endured his longest sabbatical away from the silver screen. As time elapsed, the Berlin Wall collapsed and Cold War paranoia was vanquished, so why did the new world need a relic who was originally created against the backdrop of the post-World War II era? Producer Michael G Wilson, however, was of the opinion that ‘The world is more in need of James Bond than ever.’

Goldeneye (1995) quashed any notion that because communists were no longer deemed a viable threat, it wasn’t still business as usual for Mr Bond. Pierce Brosnan, silver-tongued and clad in Brioni, faced off against Sean Bean’s rugged Alec Trevelyan in a politically aware yet Bondian picture that resuscitated the franchise and contemporised it into a phenomenal cash cow. The Nintendo 64 game, idolised to this day, was at the forefront of a new merchandise drive.

Thursday 6 October marked the 49^th anniversary of the Bond film franchise, and number 23 is forthcoming next year that MGM’s studio uncertainty has been quelled by Sony. Sony this week registered URL domains including 'skyfallthemovie.com', 'skyfallfilm.com' and even 'jamesbondskyfall.com’, ahead of next year’s 50^th anniversary film. At times it has felt like the sky would fall on the future of Bond on film, but Daniel Craig will be slipping back into the tuxedo and desirable Tom Ford suits for a third time, while Oscar-winning director Sam Mendes is at the helm with shooting to start next month.

Yet Bond is experiencing a new identity crisis as the challenge now is to tailor the agent through the ages in the post-9/11 era. Once this has succeeded, with Craig’s superlative debut in 2006’s Casino Royale, but twice it has floundered via the ignorantly absurd Die Another Day (2002) and the straight-to-video fare of Quantum of Solace (2008). Disregarding Brosnan’s final appearance, Craig’s Bond has not so much taken a few leaves out of Jason Bourne’s handbook, as plagiarised it.

This was effectively portrayed in Royale because the director, Martin Campbell, had experienced guiding Brosnan through his first assignment 11 years previously, and his filming encapsulated Bondian grandeur. The post-credit chase sequence through Madagascar (although filmed in Nassau) features several frames that could adorn the walls of the Tate Modern.

But sandwiched in between Royale and Quantum was The Bourne Ultimatum (2007). Paul Greengrass had achieved the remarkable feat of performing on The Bourne Supremacy (2004) and its predecessor, the electric The Bourne Identity (2002), to conclude a trilogy that flirts with perfection and includes, aptly, its own identity.

Banally though, Quantum followed the blueprints of Ultimatum and discombobulated its audience with excessive cutting in a rushed and incomprehensible 100 minutes. Emotion was sapped in the absence of a worthy female successor to Eva Green’s Vesper Lynd, an airborne dogfight was tedious and sadly, we didn’t care about Bond, as striking as Craig was.

It is uncanny how Craig’s opening two films as Bond resemble Brosnan’s auspicious start and hasty follow-up (Tomorrow Never Dies). Marc Forster, a director with aesthetic qualities at heart, was an incongruous choice for Quantum, patent since although the second unit boasted Dan Bradley (he of Bourne fame), the director didn’t have the nous to make it cinematic rather than Steven Seagal hash.

Sam Mendes is inarguably more Forster than Campbell. His CV boasts a theatrical background, American Beauty, Road to Perdition and Jarhead ­– a Gulf War film minus the fighting – amongst others. The aforementioned films and remark are not criticism, but evidence that, as an auteur, he is a left-field choice despite his British citizenship. He has nevertheless been attached to the project for close to two years now, and his working relationship with Craig – as divulged by the latter – is heartening. The pair have re-read Ian Fleming’s books, and speaking to Hollywood Outlook, Craig stated: ‘Sam (Mendes) is a huge, huge Bond fan and has been all his life. He and I both said at the beginning to each other that the only thing we want to do is make the best James Bond movie we can. So therefore, we have to go back to what we know about the books, what we know about the movies and what we know about all of that... And improve upon it.’

Enticingly, Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men) and Ralph Fiennes (In Bruges) are both locked in for roles, with the former touted as the villain and the latter’s character described as a ‘darkly complex role’, that requires ‘only an actor of great ability and dexterity’. The prospect of the pair facing off with Craig almost certainly guarantees similar character development which bolstered Royale so terrifically.

It was compelling to witness Bond get hurt, appear vulnerable and be devoid of Q Branch gadgets in Craig’s first effort, but the caveat is that the fun is being extracted from the series. Mendes’ greatest challenge is to strike the perfect Bond concoction of humour, grit and gimmicks – the benchmark of perfection to aspire to is perhaps Terence Young’s From Russia with Love (1963).

The franchise’s films up until 1989’s License to Kill would end the credits with the uplifting promise that MI6’s finest would return in one of Fleming’s revered titles. Insecurity has since re-emanated and whereas 12 films were released in the 20 years beginning in 1962, just six have been made following Timothy Dalton’s last fire of a Walther PPK. But rest assured, James Bond will return. On October 26 2012.

(500) Words Review: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

It is no coincidence that the Cold War era, the doyen of period paranoia films, has provided an antidote to the espionage genre overdosing on adrenaline, courtesy of director Tomas Alfredson’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy adaptation; the thinking-man’s spy picture. Its ominous tone and morbidity breathes new life into the Swede’s interpretation of John le Carré’s much-revered bestseller.

George Smiley (Gary Oldman) is lured out of a humiliatingly enforced retirement to identify a Soviet mole in the upper echelons of the Secret Service’s ‘Circus’ in light of the return of AWOL field agent Ricki Tarr (Tom Hardy). With the suspicious Control (a barnstorming John Hurt) now dead, reliance falls upon the jaded George, now smarting from his adulterous wife Ann’s treachery.

For audiences familiar with his bombastic nutjob roles, they will witness yet another string to Oldman’s chameleonic bow as he overcomes the ghost of Alec Guinness via subtle authority (he only raises his voice once). In one scene Smiley arrives at the safe-house that the traitor visits to divulge secrets, and Oldman paces around as if it was a gas chamber at Auschwitz, while earlier he drunkenly recreates his meeting with Moscow’s spymaster Karla (crucially not seen) so effectively that his own woe becomes crucially pertinent to events.

Alfredson confessed that a visit to London in the 1970s influenced his design of the capital when it came to recreating the environment of 40 years ago, and the mise-en-scène is deathly. Those who swig on scotch and trudge through the smoke-filled offices are dead men walking.

Hoyte van Hoytema, Alfredson’s cinematographer for melancholic-chic Let the Right One In (2009), perfectly captures a ghostly chromed atmosphere in a soul-sapping industry that acts which is acutely potent. Tarr (Tom Hardy), disillusioned after the botched job in Istanbul, informs Smiley and his Watson Peter Guillam (ironically played by Sherlock’s Benedict Cumberbatch) that ‘I don’t want to end up like you. I want a family.’ But he’s already damned.

Hardy and Cumberbatch, hired to appeal to the youthful demographic, are the stand out supporters to Oldman’s benign mentor, with the former upping the tempo alluringly during the flashback to Turkey while Cumberbatch portrays the conflicted Guillam with poignant clout, benefitting from a conflicted re-write by scripters Peter Straughan and the late Bridget O’Connor.

The eponymous suspects (ambitious Alleline (Toby Jones), glib Haydon (Colin Firth), vigilant Bland (Ciarán Hinds) and ‘Poorman’ émigré Esterhase (David Dencik) are peripheral in order to establish Smiley’s expertise as he quizzes past employees. None other than the smarmy Jones are given ample time to establish themselves.

Consequently the reveal of the double-agent is a bit of a whimper – despite the sequence beginning so tautly – as the majority of the effort is concentrated on navigating the labyrinthine plot. In what is a relatively short duration, the complexities are actually portrayed simply.

But deserving as much credit as the infatigable Oldman and his supporters is Alfredson. Unlike the national football team between 2001 and 2006, the presence of this Swede reaps success.

(500) Words Review: Super 8

At an alarming rate, summer blockbusters are unwittingly reminding the public how underprivileged their cinema-going generation is. Michael Bay crassly ramps up the phwoar factor, cerebral plots are scarce and the fun is in danger of being sapped out of a cinema outing. Fortunately, JJ Abrams is a sentimental kinda guy.

Another to emerge from Steven Spielberg’s talent pool, Abrams resuscitated Star Trek’s warp factor in 2009 to endearing effect and has overseen small-screen success via Alias and Lost as well as producing the innovative accomplishment that was Cloverfield. But at heart his projects set out to entertain, and with his third cinematic effort, Super 8, he offers a welcome tonic from the overblown tedium of CGI.

When six high-schoolers set out to make a zombie film during the summer semester with the titular camera, they witness a mysterious train accident which subsequently invites an overwhelming military presence in an attempt to reassure, or rather cover-up, the truth behind the wreckage. But Joe Lamb (Joel Courtney) knows that this crash was no accident, and soon the town’s dogs are absconding and people are vanishing. And the town’s only evidence may or may not lie within the damaged Super 8 camera.

Inevitably, this film has drawn comparisons with ET, but rather than do it a disservice it aids the film. It plays out like a nostalgic trip down memory lane to unforgettable cinematic summers when an audience was enthralled by spectacles such as Jaws, Star Wars, Close Encounters and the lovable Extra-Terrestrial. Setting the film in 1979 only fuels the tension and augments the complexities of situations that arise, whilst also sparing a summer blockbuster of pretensions and shameless product placement.

The train crash itself is a rare treat of CGI managing to be mesmerising (mercifully, in 2-D). Breathtakingly breakneck and bold by placing youths in life-threatening danger, it is an exhilarating tour de force of sound effects and cinematic carnage.

The Spielberg influence is however most palpable courtesy of the talented child actors. Courtney and the ethereal Elle Fanning sharing humour and emotion beautifully and are simultaneously supported by the convincingly bossy Riley Griffiths and the humorously unhinged Ryan Lee. The dialogue and teasing amongst the super six never teeters on the unnatural and their camaraderie should charm viewers of all generations.

Yet it is another Spielberg hallmark, the absent parent, in which Super 8 is most refreshing. The estranged relationship between Joe and recently-bereaved widower Kyle Chandler encompasses the misunderstanding of youth and post-deceased uncertainty with confrontational gusto. It shows how instrumental and innovative it can be to draw on one’s experiences – something Spielberg continues to do.

Cynics will accuse Super 8 of lacking originality and not pushing the envelope, but it’s a defunct argument – Abrams effectively acknowledges this via the familiar storyline and the assistance of his producer. And in an unremarkable summer, he has assembled a love-letter of a film which reminds us that there are visionaries out there who do make ‘em like they used to.