Creation

I expected Creation to be a typically stuffy British costume drama, pretty to look at but otherwise unengaging. However, it happily confounded my expectations. Instead of the hagiography of a great scientist, we have the moving portrait of a deeply tormented man, grieving for a beloved daughter, emotionally estranged from wife and family (his surviving children are convinced he no longer loves them), and badgered by his fellow scientists who regard his work as vital in the battle against religion. Admittedly it doesn't tell the audience much about Darwin's theories themselves, although there are glimpses of the practical nature of his scientific investigation. Rather, we have his anguished procrastination, the deferral of the act of writing. The viewer empathises with the film Darwin far more than with the eminent figure of history. By humanising him, the film not only creates a connection with the audience but it also defuses any tendency towards hectoring (the character of Thomas Huxley isan amusing cameo but one wouldn't want the entire film to adopt that tone) What we have, in effect, is a family (melo)drama that just happens to impact on the writing of one the major scientific texts.
The film doesn't exactly ignore the science. There's Darwin's experiments with selective breeding of pigeons, and there's a real feel for the natural world - Darwin's observations as he walks quietly through a wood, first alone and then with his children; a time-lapse sequence showing how decomposition can also sustain life. There's a flowing relationship between the dual time frames (easily distinguishable via Darwin's hair but with a confusing lack of ageing of the children) as well as a slippage between reality and fantasy. Most obviously this is through the presence of the dead Annie but also through the grief- and laudanum-induced dreams Darwin experiences. The most disturbing of these is when the specimens in his study return to life while leaves cover every surface. An element of fantasy is also present in the stories he tells his children about his travels: the "savage" children who ultimately can't be civilized; the heartbreaking tale of Jenny the orang-utan. To modern eyes, they also indicate some of the impulses of the age (the exploitation of exotic lands, people and animals; the urge to civilize; the spirit of scientific investigation), not necessarily all for good.
In the end, it's only by allowing himself to properly grieve that Darwin can heal. The loss of Annie had left a festering wound, full of guilt and recrimination between husband and wife, that they had never discussed. By allowing things long-unsaid to be aired, they can rebuild their life. The return to physical and psychological health enables Darwin to begin writing in earnest, though of course the recognition of the religious POV (of Emma, of Innes and of society at large) still weighs on him. He knows full well what his theories mean for his opponents, particularly his wife. Maybe more could have been made of this, but it's threaded throughout the film so that you are aware of it but never oppressed by it. That would be another film with an entirely different feel.

Away We Go

Every so often one is unfortunate enough to sit through an insufferably smug film whose main characters are equally insufferably smug and therefore have to be surrounded by unsympathetic broad caricatures in order to seem remotely sympathetic. Such is the case with Away We Go. Within the first 10 minutes I was possessed by an almost uncontrollable urge to soundly slap Burt (goofy grin does not equal character) and Verona (despite the latter being 6 months pregnant) who go through the film either whining self-pityingly or basking in self-satisfaction. It's no surprise that Burt's parents head to Belgium at the start. I don't blame them at all. Every other couple in the film is set up as in some way lacking, compared to our golden couple. Clearly no self-respecting future parents would dream of following these examples of child rearing whereas a couple who live in a run-down shack with what appears to be no heating and broken windows, then wander across the country trying to decide where to live (where does the money come from? and if they can go jetsetting, why can't they fix the damn house?) when all along there's a large house in a picturesque setting by a river just waiting for them are obviously paragons of sense and stability. It's a mean-spirited comedy, spitefully setting up the other characters to be laughed at for their failings: Burt's selfish parents; Verona's old boss, a loud, coarse and uncaring mother; Burt's old friend Ellen, a wacky New Age idealogue. In fact, the only characters in the entire film who I genuinely cared about, Verona's college friends Munch and Tom, are clearly meant to be overcompensating for their childlessness via their multi-ethnic adopted brood. And yet, the family home exudes warmth and love, and the moment when Tom reveals that Munch has recently had a fifth miscarriage is by far and away the most moving moment in the entire film. Sod Burt and Verona. This was the couple whose story I wanted to be watching.

District 9

Aliens in films usually fall into the cute or the fearsome camp. Well, you certainly can't describe the aliens in District 9 as cute. They are derisively called "prawns" by their reluctant South African hosts and are an unsightly mix of insect and crustacean, with a language that consists of clicking noises (helpfully subtitled!) and a liking for cat food. As for fearsome, they are definitely capable of violence but they are more pathetic than anything. They aren't bent on world domination and seem to have stalled their spaceship over Johannesburg by accident. Humanity, of course, reacts with its customary mistrust and herds the visitors into the eponymous District 9. 20 years later, they are still there but about to be moved to what looks suspiciously like a concentration camp.
You don't have to dig too deep to unearth a wealth of political subtext. The setting immediately brings to mind the apartheid years, with District 9 being nothing other than a township. Not that the aliens are merely standins for the formerly oppressed black population. In the opening "documentary" scenes, we see black as well as white heaping all kinds of vilification on the prawns. Rather, they come to represent refugees more generally and the hatred and distrust they receive.
Wikus, our not so heroic "hero", is a typical bureaucrat, working for the sinister MNU. He's only interested in getting the prawns to put a mark on consent forms in order to evict them, and gleefully witnesses the burning of a alien eggs. It's wonderfully ironic that an accident results in Wikus gradually transforming into one of the despised prawns. Cronenberg would be proud of the subsequent body horror scenes, though the real horror actually resides deep in MNU HQ, where the hapless aliens are the subject of experiments in an attempt to access their weaponry which only works with alien DNA.
Wikus might reluctantly join forces with alien Christopher Johnson and his son Little CJ. initally in an attempt to reverse the process of transformation but the film resists making him immediately sympathetic. For much of the time he's clearly acting out of (understandable) self-interest and ignores Christopher's plan to reactivate the mothership in order to return home. In fact, he comes perilously close to completely destroying this one last chance for the aliens. And yet, by the end, Wikus *has* learned the value of self-sacrifice, at a huge cost. Unlike the vast majority of Hollywood sci-fi, this is a film full of ideas as opposed to the Michael Bay approach of ever louder and bigger explosions. There *is* action and it doesn't stint on the gore - both humans and aliens are literally blown to pieces - yet much of the second half centers around Christopher and CJ (he isn't exactly cute either but you do end up thinking that he's rather endearing) and the final image of a fully transformed Wikus crafting a metallic flower for his wife is deeply poignant. Luckily there are enough plotlines left hanging that just beg for a sequel and this is one of those rare occasions when it really seems like a good idea.

Mesrine: Public Enemy No. 1

Finally, the 3 week wait is over. Even if you haven't seen Mesrine: Killer Instinct, the second part works as a stand alone piece - although various nuances will obviously be missed. Everyone else though will find themselves just as thrilled as they were by part 1, while also following Mesrine's descent into middle-age spread and self-aggrandizement. He's no longer the lean, mean machine of the first part - he's carrying extra weight and his love of publicity continually drives away his collaborators.
He's the lead actor in his own world and at one point is aghast at being pushed off the front page by Pinochet's coup. He might blithely align himself with the PLO or Baader-Meinhof, but he doesn't fool anyone. A wealthy kidnap victim mocks the fact that he's being held for ransom rather than being killed, and a huge gulf clearly exists between Mesrine and the genuinely radical Charlie. However much Mesrine wants to bring down the system, it's very much a forlorn hope. Great for PR but guaranteed to antagonize accomplices. Mathieu Amalric's Francois Besse looks increasingly perturbed every time Mesrine opens his mouth, never mind giving interviews to the press. Superficially they should be a brilliant match: both career criminals and both renowned escape artists. This gives rise to one of the highlights of the film - another brilliantly staged prison break, so boldly carried out that everyone else seems paralysed by its daring. This is followed by a botched holdup in Deauville and the contrasting reactions of Besse and Mesrine during the subsequent escape emphasise the differences that will ultimately drive them apart. Besse is worried, twitchy, appalled at the loss of any money (especially when Mesrine gives some away); Mesrine is calm, charming yet menacing, and ultimately seems to think it's all (even losing some of loot) a great joke.
As in Killer Instinct, Mesrine's likeability is undercut by constant reminders of his propensity for violence, as in the kidnapping of the elderly landlord or the torture and attempted murder of a rightwing journalist who had dared to criticise him. Yet, the end (or the beginning if you remember part 1) is a chilling reminder that the state is equally capable of brutal violence. The events are replayed but this time from the POV of the police - that inocuous van doesn't seem so harmless any more - and the tension increases despite the outcome being known. This time we see the execution in all its bloody detail, and make no mistake, it IS an execution. All Mesrine's goading and arrogance finally gets its comeuppance: a perfect example of "those who live by the sword, die by the sword".

Broken Embraces

I miss the old Almodovar and his slightly ragged, totally outrageous and frequently hilarious movies. These days he's a consummate director, fully in control of his material and awards-worthy but somehow I find the resulting films less satisfying. There's nothing wrong with Broken Embraces (the production and costume design are as gobsmacking as ever) but it inspires a "so what?" shrug rather than an impassioned reaction of any kind. The biggest mis-step is the final peek at the film-within-the-film, Girls and Suitcases. The characters react as though it's the funniest thing they've ever seen in their entire lives and comment about the hilarity of the clip. Alas, said clip was greeted in a real cinema with deafening silence. Hilarious? You've got to be kidding. The clip is so obviously based on the escalating hysteria of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown that it's just asking for trouble - and unfavourable comparisons. Bad Education made far more interesting use of its film milieu, and with greater emotional impact. If only Almodovar had stuck to the melodrama and tried not to be so cute ...

The Hurt Locker

Motion sickness alert! I wouldn't want to deter anyone from seeing The Hurt Locker as it's a very good film indeed, but anyone prone to motion sickness might like to take a few precautions. While not in the same nausea-inducing class as, say, Cloverfield, there's still enough lurching camerwork and changing of focus to make one feel rather ill. It's a shame as I'm sure I would have appreciated the film even more if I hadn't been fending off a headache.
Unlike most of the Iraq War films inflicted on us so far, The Hurt Locker doesn't try to score political points or tubthump it's anti-war credentials. Rather than have characters remind the audience that "war is hell" etc., the film builds up telling details such as the room full of white crates containing the belongings of the dead. Mainly though it gets the point across by focussing on the psychological toll on the soldiers, particularly the 3 man bomb disposal unit at its heart. For these men, more than any other group, death is an ever-present companion, a fact brought home in the opening sequence. A soldier can take every precaution possible and still be brought down by something as inocuous as a wheel coming off a cart. Sergeant James, on the other hand, is seemingly reckless. A man who wilfully puts himself in harm's way, his actions cause consternation for the rest of the unit. At one point, Sanborn and Eldridge seriously contemplate shooting James and making it appear like just another KIA - and you totally understand why. And yet James is undeniably good at his job: he has to be to have survived so long. The key lies in the men's different attitudes to war. The rookie Eldridge is convinced he won't make it, while Sanborn believes in self-preservation. James, however, loves the rush of adrenaline, the very fact of being in dangerous situations. Despite having a wife and baby son, the only place he feels at home is in the war zone. When he admits to only loving one thing, he doesn't mean his family. That in itself is a devastating comment on the way war effects those who fight.