Synechdoche, New York

Soem screenwriters are so distinctive that audiences know exactly what they are going to get, regardless of the director. There's Arriaga with his multi-stranded, fractured narratives; Shyamalan with his "surprise" twist; and Charlie kaufman with his brain-achingly wacky plots. Up until now, Kaufman's more outlandish tendencies have been kept in check by imaginative directors such as Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry. Now, alas, he's on his own and self-indulgence reigns. True, there *are* dizzing moments in Synechdoche: multiple Cadens and Hazels appearing on stage simultaneously, the intertextuality multiplying endlessly; a petal falling from the tattooed arm of a dead woman. However, too much borders on the incomprehensible (dream logic or not), not to say pretentious. A character not only buys, but lives in, a continuously burning house (noone seems to think this is odd!). An annoying whining child becomes an equally annoying obsessive adult (I felt the urge to slap here EVERY time she appeared on screen). Noone, least of all the grant-awarding body, seems to question Caden's never-ending theatrical project, even as it destroys lives. Who can blame his two wives for leaving him? The big question is just why Hazel finds him so irresistible. In fact, the only character in whom I was remotely interested was Sammy AKA Caden no. 2. His smile and emotional warmth provided one of the few points of identification and his death is the only one that actually resonates. Not even the usually great Philip Seymour Hoffman can rescue the rest.

State of Play

I must be one of the few people not to have seen the original BBC series State of Play. I suspect this might be a good thing: when I read a book before seeing the film adaptation I usually sit there getting increasingly irritated by the alterations and omissions. I imagine that the same would apply with a TV original (spin-offs are another hideous beast entirely) Thus I was spared constant mental comparisons between the two versions and could enjoy the film on its own merits.
The plot is pleasingly complex without ever falling into the trap of becoming incomprehensible. It's also naggingly plausible even for those who aren't conspiracy theorists. The state of America during the Bush administration combines with a feeling for 70s paranoid thrillers (especially those sporting truth-hunting reporters) to produce a plot that doesn't require a huge leap of faith to accept.
Ben Affleck still proves to be a better director than actor, but luckily most of the heavy-lifting falls on the very capable shoulders of Russell Crowe. He's one of the few stars who can be a convincingly shabby, overweight and generally shambolic bloke - just imagine Cruise or Keanu in the role of Cal, never mind first choice Brad. Even more than Jeffrey Wigand, Cal is the antithesis of the hero of Gladiator and yet Crowe is totally convincing as all these characters. Cal's flat, his car, his desk are all cluttered and gadget-free. He's an old-school reporter, easily imagined in a newsroom exchanging drinks and barbs with the likes of Hildy Johnson. He's not a hero: he doesn't have a gun nor does he get get hold of one at any point. In fact, he usually ends up diving to the floor during moments of real danger. What he is though is absolutely dogged in pursuit of a story, and even after everything seems explained, his instincts are still on high alert. You understand entirely why he has a love-hate relationship with his editor (he's a good reporter with good contacts but doesn't seem to understand the concept of a deadline) and why he views the newspaper's bloggers with contempt (from his point of view, what they do isn't *real* reporting) He's both infuriating and admirable, and it turns out, fallible. There's a terrific moment when he's following a lead and unexpectedly encounters someone very dangerous indeed. The fear has to be hidden underneath some serious bluffing. There's no romantic subplot between the grizzled reporter and the perky blogger either, thank goodness (Cal tells Della at one point that he doesn't think of her as a girl but as a reporter, which is actually very high praise) They are colleagues, at first barely tolerating each other. Cal's subsequent gift of a pen "necklace" - the culmination of a running gag - has far more impact than a kiss and is totally in keeping with the character. All in all, a terrific thriller, beautifully paced and acted, and a film that maintains Kevin Macdonald's 100% strike rate.

Is Anybody There?

The basic setup of cantankerous old man and lonely child often produces appallingly sentimental films. Luckily young Eddie's preoccupation with death, and what comes afterwards, prevent matters becoming too twee. The residents of the old people's home run by his parents might be cookie-cutter eccentric but they inevitably die. Clarence meanwhile is astonishingly rude to everyone, especially Eddie (who reciprocates) but you know immediately that the two will bond. The 80s setting meanwhile is spot-on: Eddie's dad in particular is a sartorial disaster zone. The plot is eminently predictable but the pathos and humour are neatly balanced. Eddie, thankfully, never becomes "cute" while Michael Caine is excellent as Clarence, a man who can see the end approaching but is weighed down by both regrets and a fading mind.

In The Loop

The funniest film of the year so far, In The Loop is also one of the most depressing. If this is really how politics is conducted, then we're all doomed (the nightly news suggests it's horribly true-to-life) Almost every character is more interested in pursuing their own interest rather than that of society: witness the MP's surgery, where a string of constituents is fobbed off by an underling. Even worse, many combine this with a truly alarming degree of incompetence. Even time Simon Foster opens his mouth, there's a sense of imminent disaster, especially when he's trying to construct a metaphor. Monstrous as he is, you entirely understand Malcolm Tucker's vociferous reaction to each successive blunder by the bumbling minister. In fact, the only people who seem capable of doing their jobs and getting results are Tucker and his henchman, Jamie Macdonald AKA "the crossest man in Scotland according to Foster, which is quite an achievement when the main competition is Tucker. The sad thing is that their methods involve verbal abuse, intimidation and GBH against inanimate objects. Foster doesn't stand a chance and is ultimately even deprived of a dignified exit. By the time he finally takes a stand, he's been completely outmanoeuvred by Tucker. The viewer has far more sympathy with Foster, who at least means well, than with his ambitious and duplicitous aide Toby who does at least get a deserved (political) comeuppance. Prior to that his personal life has imploded hilariously when his infidelity is revealed by phone in the pub. Toby foolishly tries to justify it as part of the mission to avert war, to the increasing anger of his girlfriend and hilarity of his friends. Clearly this man is no match for Tucker.

Let The Right One In

This isn't your usual vampire film. In one sense it's more about adolescence and friendship than vampires, as both protagonists are 12 years old. Of course, one has been that age for a long time. Eli's a very old soul trapped in a young body, and while at first glance she looks the same age as Oskar, she periodically seems much, much older. There's another complicating factor. Eli repeated tells Oskar that she's not a girl, a statement that could work on several levels, and a brief, enigmatic shot raises all kinds of implication sin the viewer's mind (note also how Eli's voice changes in different circumstances) Where Oskar has white blonde hair and small eyes, Eli has dark unruly locks and unnervingly large eyes, yet deep down they are worringly similar. Oskar harbors murderous thoughts of revenge against the bullies who make his life a misery and the first encounter with Eli occurs while he is repeatedly stabbing a tree, imagining it is one of his tormentors. You're never totally certain about Eli's motives in befriending Oskar and that only adds to the growing sense of unease. She doesn't appear to want to hurt him, even sending him away at one key point, but also initially tells him that she can't be his friend.
The cinematography and sound design are stunning. There are moments of great beauty alongside the horror, and the snowbound town is used to great effect. There's one ill-advised scene featuring CGI cats (the idea's great but not the execution) but otherwise the setpieces are both stylish and memorable: Eli demonstrating exactly what happens when a vampire enters a home uninvited; the climactic swimming pool sequence which manages to be shocking but not explicit. The sound helps no end. Eli's gutteral and feral growls as the blood craving grows are far more unsettling than the attacks themselves, and in a scene reminiscent of Cronos, she laps spilt blood from the floor. The adult world drifts in and out, the lack of concrete detail actually making everything doubly intriguing: Oskar's divorced parents; the group of friends who gather at the local cafe; and most of all, Hakan, who kills (or tries to) young boys to get blood for Eli. Whole backstories open up to the imagination, which is why the film lingers in the memory. There's so much to ponder, so many questions hinted at and never fully answered - not least the ending. For once, I can't wait to read the novel.

Wendy and Lucy

Most people wouldn't choose Wendy's life. She has a solitary existence on the margins of society, with very little money although she plans to go to Alaska to find work. What she does have, besides a plan, is a car and Lucy, her dog and only companion. Things start to go wrong when the ageing car breaks down in a small town. In order to conserve her meagre funds, Wendy shoplifts dogfood and is caught. In a sardonic tough, the young shop assistant sporting a very large crucifix turns out to be singularly lacking in Christian compassion (more an Old than New Testament guy) By the time she's paid a fine, thus depleting her cash even more, and made her way back to the store, Lucy has vanished. She spends the rest of the film trying to find her. It's a simple story but not simplistic. With her savings decreasing daily and her desperation to find Lucy increasing, Wendy drifts ever closer to poverty. The people around her get by as best they can, but compared to her they seem impossibly wealthy. She forms a touching bond with the elderly security guard who initially moved her on. He lets her use his mobile phone to contact the pound, and the fact that she lacks such an object says a huge amount about her social status. Without an address and a phone number she can't get a job; without a job she can't get anywhere to love or buy a phone. The perfect catch-22. When her car is towed to the garage she resorts to sleeping out in the woods, leading to a deeply disturbing nocturnal encounter, further stressing her vulnerability. And if there's a more heartbreaking scene this year than the tracking shot at the pound then I don't think I want to see it. By the film's end, Wendy's existence has become even more precarious than at the beginning: little money, no car and no Lucy. It's desperately, desperately sad.

In The City of Sylvia

After a couple of minutes I thought this was going to be the slowest, dullest film of the year. It couldn't be more European arthouse if it tried: slow, minimal dialogue, even more minimal plot. However, the film becomes oddly hypnotic. Whereas the young protagonist is obsessed with finding the mysterious Sylvie whom he met 6 years ago, the audience finds themselves noticing recurring motifs and activities in the city: the limping man who's always carrying flowers (a new bouquet every day? the same one? for whom?); the grafitti proclaiming "Laure, je t'aime" (an equally obsessed male? something more cryptic?); the itinerant African street vendor who sports a nifty little umbrella hat. The hero focuses on women as he searches for Sylvie, constantly observing, drawing, following, but the sound design and camera placement provide access to a broader arena. Life goes on around the hero, even if he's mostly oblivious to it. By the end, the viewer not only comes to recognize particular streets but also recognizes faces of passersby. In a sense we know more about the city than the man who has been there for 3 days.

Van Dyke in Britain

The attention focuses on different things when looking at paintings in an exhibition. With Holbein, it's the uncanny ability to capture a likeness with a few lines; with Hals, it's how happy his sitters always look; with Van Dyke, it's the shimmer of light on rich fabrics. There's no doubting the wealth of status of these people. Armour gleams, satin and silk shine, pearls rest against milky skin. Sometimes, as with Teresa Lady Shirley, the application of paint giving the effect is clear. In other paintings, it's more subtle. As a student of history, it's also fascinating to be brought face to face with people previously known only by name. Several of the subjects were to be subsequently killed in battle during the Civil War (including one of the little sons of the Duke of Buckingham, painted by Van Dyke soon after their father's assassination) and most of the males played some role in the conflict. Personally I was most moved by the portrait of the tragic Lucius Cary. A sweet-faced man gazes out at the viewer and one can easily imagine the great sadness that gripped him as his country slipped into war.

The Damned United

The footballing past is a foreign country; they do things vey differently there. Such as: ashtrays being provided for players in the changing room; a manager signing players without his chairman's knowledge; a team being forced to train on a playing field if the pitch is to be anything other than a mudbath (the penalty spot *still* needs repainting mid-match); players pretty much getting away with GBH on a weekly basis. There might be nods to the future of the game, with the new emphasis on money and Cloughie's rant about prawn sandwiches, but football in the 1960-70s feels aeons away. The superimposed league tables themselves are ample proof of that. Derby County league champions? The film also captures what a deeply unloveable side Leeds Utd was. Cloughie might be arrogant, deluded and incredibly tactless (the first meeting with his new team is a textbook example of how NOT to win hearts and minds) but you certainly sympathize with his opinion about Leeds. Thuggish and cynical, the team was as far from Cloughie's idea of the beautiful game as you could get. The irresistible force (that'd be Cloughie) meets the immoveable object (the Leeds players) - and loses. Spectacularly.

Two Lovers

James Gray's previous films have never quite worked as thrillers. They should have been made in the 70s, where their low-key, downbeat examination of male relationships would have felt right at home. This time, though, the focus shifts away from the criminal milieu, and widens to include two important female characters. At last the director's style actually fits the subject. Leonard is suicidal, temporarily living with his concerned parents (who are trying to set him up with a nice Jewish girl) and besotted with the new neighbour. One girl wants to look after him, the other clearly needs looking after herself. Leonard flits between them, and his ultimate choice is almost forced upon him by circumstances. In one sense he's made progress: he starts the film trying to drown himself but by the end his new attempt barely gets his feet wet. And yet the expression on his face at the end isn't of happiness at being with the woman he loves. It's more like that of a trapped animal.