35 Shots of Rum

This is the sort of film that only the French can make. Nothing much happens but you glean a vast amount of information from the body language, facial expressions and physical interaction of the characters. A good job really as none of the characters is particularly talkative. They don't need to be as they know each other so well. Several characters comment that Lionel doesn't say much, though after encountering Jo's chatty German aunt, that counts as a good thing. The scene in a bar, after hours, is a textbook example of how to convey large amounts of information about changing relationships without anyone saying a word. Various characters dance together while others watch and by the end of those few minutes, everything has subtly altered. The other notable feature of the film is the amount of beauty it finds in the maligned Parisian suburbs, especially after night. The train windows gleaming with light are echoed by the lights in windows and on the streets, resembling a jewel-like abstract painting. It all remains totally grounded in reality yet never acquires that dull, dreary look which so bedevils British films, nor do you feel it's the rose-coloured spectacles approach. As I said, only the French ...

Futurism

I have a suspicion that my taste in art is changing again. Whereas in my teens I liked the Pre-Raphaelites, now they make me feel queasy. I don't think I'll ever like much contemporary art, but I'm definitely starting to warm to early 20th century modernism. In one respect Futurism follows on quite nicely from the Italian Divisionists exhibition at the National Gallery last year. In fact, I'm certain that a couple of the paintings appeared there too. Not that it just focuses on the Italians. The most interesting aspect of the exhibition is that it shows how Futurism interacted with/influenced other movements in Europe (Cubism, Orphism, Cubo-Futurism and Vorticisim) The different groups could never be mistaken for each other. The distance and abstraction of the British Vorticists contrasts with the liveliness and movement of the Russian Cubo-Futurists and the amazingly vibrant colours of both that group and Orphism in France. Boccioni is probably my favourite of the Italians, although I also found the work of Carra and Severini rather appealing. Elsewhere it's a role-call of famous names: Picasso, Malevich, Popova, Braque, Delauney, Duchamp et al. In all, a surprisingly wonderful exhibition - even if the politics are still loathsome...

Moon

A serious contender for film of the year, Moon is one of those blissful sci-fi films more concerned with ideas than blowing up stuff. Like just about any sci-fi with brains, it inevitably has echoes of illustrious predecessors (Silent Running, 2001, Solaris, Alien et al.) without actually feeling like a blatent rip-off of any of them. For people of a certain age, the sequences of vehicles trundling across the moonscape irresistibly recall Space 1999. Best of all, it has a terrific performance - or two - from the great, underrated Sam Rockwell (go and watch Confessions of a Dangerous Mind or Lawn Dogs to see just how good he can be) He has to carry the film on his own, and it's a measure of his talent and versatility that the film remains gripping from beginning to end.
At it's heart, the film ponders the question of identity, and what it means to be human. Whereas Marcus in Terminator Salvation was unaware that he was a machine, the two Sams in Moon don't realize that they are clones. In fact, it's only a bloody-minded stubborn streak in Sam 2 that reveals the existence of two identical Sam Bells, each convinced that *he* is the real Sam and that the other is a clone. As it turns out, they are both wrong (and right) Moon is surprisingly moving, and the first of its tear-inducing moments comes when Sam 1 - who we've followed from the start, sympathizing with his desire to return to Earth after a 3 year contract mining Helium 3 on the Moon - discovers that he isn't "real", that he's also a clone, that everything he held dear has been torn from him. An even more heratbreaking moment occurs later when Sam 1 finally makes contact with Earth, only to discover that his "wife" is long dead and his baby "daughter" is a 15 year old girl.
The moral implications of what Lunar Industries has done resonates deeply because we react to the Sams as people, not clones, not pieces of disposable equipment - a distinction the company doesn't make. It ensures live contact with Earth is impossible so that noone, least of all Sam, is aware of what is actually happening. To Lunar, the clones are a cheap and efficient method for the mining operation. At the end of their contract, each Sam is convinced he's returning home but tapes reveal the disturbing truth: the clone disappears in a flash of vaporising light. The question inevitably arises: how can this not be murder? There is also a suggestion that perhaps the clones have a finite lifespan anyway, much like the replicants in Blade Runner, but the fact remains that for the 3 years of the contract each Sam is totally convinced that he is human and that he loves and misses his family. The callous disposal of each unit is deeply unsettling. And this is a film where a rescue mission is something to be feared as Sam 2 quickly realizes that in addition to fixing the equipment, the task will be to get rid of the inconvenient clones (in effect malfunctioning equipment). GERTY might be a computer but he has no HAL-like priorities. Rather he's programmed to protect Sam, and this allows Sam 2 to formulate a plan. GERTY even makes helpful suggestions to ensure its success.
The film might end on an optimistic note but mostly it's very poignant, constantly circling around issues of memory and identity. If a clone has the memories and emotions of "Sam Bell", does he then become Sam Bell? The clones believe they are Sam for their 3 year period of life and most never know otherwise. For Sam 1 and 2 though the destruction of that illusion is horribly cruel. Their pain and confusion aren't lessened because they are clones. They are, in other words, human...

Terminator Salvation

Time-travel and its implications in films usually result in severe brain strain. This is particularly true of the first Terminator film, and the subsequent sequels and spin-off TV series have only made matters worse, as cyborgs and humans are continually sent back to the past in order to alter the future. Terminator Salvation takes place post-Judgement Day (i.e. T3) but before the advent of the T-800 (Arnie in T1) Not that Skynet's creations are primitive. The Terminators themselves are on the clunky side but are nevertheless alarmingly persistent and difficult to destroy. Furthermore, in this apocalyptic landscape we see that machines menace land, sea and air, killing and "harvesting" humans. The T-800 *does* put in an appearance late on, which isn't as jarring as I feared (a bit unnerving yes, but not film-destroying)
The onset of a headache begins early. John Connor listens to tapes made by his mother, telling him what he must do in the future (now) in order to ensure the survival of his father and therefore his own birth. He must save the young Kyle Reese, the father who is almost young enough to be his son. This is the point at which thinking about the plot becomes a seriously BAD idea, though the meeting between the two does have an emotional impact. Kyle is awed at meeting his hero, yet John is looking at a blood relative, who he knows will die saving his mother Sarah. One would imagine all this presdetination would make for a tension-free plot, but because each instance of time travel somehow effects future events, there's a genuine sense of danger for both John and Kyle - especially as it becomes clear that Skynet is actively hunting the pair. One of the best things about the film is watching Kyle grow up, from a scruffy boy scavenger to a young man showing leadership qualities.
Then we have Marcus, first glimpsed on Death Row receiving a visit from Cyberdyne, and clearly not surviving to 2018 by any normal means. His indestructability is gradually revealed, although he suffers cuts and bruises like anyone else, so the final reveal isn't exactly a surprise. It does, however, raise the question of what it is to be human. Marcus thinks he's human and his anguish as realizing the truth is palpable. Pointedly referred to as "it" by the resistance, Marcus as half-machine is actually more human than when he was 100% flesh and blood. John has a vested interest in wanting to rescue Kyle (his life depends on it) whereas Marcus wants to save the boy who helped him. Things get horribly muddied when the talk turns to Cyberdyne/Skynet programming - far too many unanswerable questions occur to the audience - and the first resurrection smacks suspiciously of cheating. Ultimately though Marcus' redemption is surprisingly poignant and brings with it a real sense of loss.

Public Enemies

Michael Mann's films are always very stylish affairs although his control freak attention to detail sometimes crushes the life out of the narrative. Much as I enjoyed Public Enemies, there's something curiously unsatisfying about it. The film looks astonishing, and with the handheld HD camera, it feels disconcertingly as though the audience has stepped right into the middle of Depression-era America. We get a pair of bank robberies, a couple of prison breaks but Dillinger's career and subsequent reputation suffer from underdevelopment. The set pieces provide glimpses of how the legend came into being but an awful lot has to be taken on trust. It's one of those occasions where I actually wouldn't have minded a film being longer.
Both of the escapes are brilliantly constructed, especially the second, with the viewer following every step of the ingenious yet blindingly simple breakout. The robberies meanwhile highlight how even the talented have to depend on their partners. His trusted gang (post-escape) execute a heist with few problems. By the time of the second bank raid though, most of that first gang are either dead or in jail and Dillinger is forced to break one of his cardinal rules by working with people he doesn't know. In this case, it's the psychotic Baby Face Nelson and events go from bad to worse, culminating with one of Mann's trademark shootouts in the woods.
Likewise, Dillinger's professional calm, maintained under the most trying circumstances, actually comes closest to cracking - and costing him his life - when his only remaining ally, his girlfriend, is arrested. He instinctively gets out of his car, but even though he's in full view, gun in hand, the police fail to notice. This echoes an earlier scene when Dillinger and his gang are in a packed cinema. Mug shots appear on the screen and a voice exhorts the audience to look out for these men. The gang shift nervously but noone recognizes the famous criminals in their midst. Similarly, late in the film Dillinger wanders into a mostly-deserted police station, looking at the boards covered with material about him. The mug shots reveal that his trusted gang are now all dead, and despite his bravado, his fate is already sealed.
In a film of terrific set pieces, the ending is a wonderful piece of editing. For the final time, Dillinger walks through a crowd, unrecognized, but also unaware of the FBI agents closing in all around him. There's no chance of going out in a blaze of glory (or even self-defence). Purvis might have won, but it's Dillinger who still attracts the crowds, gathered around his corpse. There's indications of why he was such a fascinating figure but not quite enough.

Rudo y Cursi

You wait an age for a halfway decent film about football and then two crackers arrive within a month. Much like Looking for Eric though, Rudo y Cursi isn't really about the game itself but rather what it means to people. Similarly it combines the comic and the serious in a very engaging manner. It's made clear that sport, in particular football, is one of the few ways out of poverty for young men in Mexico (and by extension, Latin America) - although Cursi would much rather be a singer despite all the evidence pointing to him having far more talent in his feet than his vocal chords. His ambitions to be a pop star provide some of the comic highlights, especially the hilariously tacky video he makes for his C&W version of Cheap Trick's I Want You To Want Me. Blonde streaks appear in his hair and he acquires a mercenary TV star girlfriend. You sense impending disaster. Rudo meanwhile finds his existing gambling problem increasing dramatically once he finds fame and fortune.
The brothers play for opposing sides and have intermittent spats but family ties are never totally broken although they are stretched very thin at times. The bitterest irony is that their future ultimately depends on the largesse of their drug baron brother-in-law. It's he who builds a longed-for house for their mother and provides jobs for them. It's a world where money talks. The talent scout, the coach, everyone it seems takes a cut before a player even sets foot on the pitch. A vacuous TV presenter who ignores anyone who isn't a celebrity - even someone as handsome as Gael Garcia Bernal - expresses interest the second he becomes famous, and is equally quick to dump him when his form fails him. Ultimately the fate of the brothers hangs on two penalties that bookend the action, one of which brings success and one disaster. One suspects that what happens in between is depressingly close to real life.

Last Chance Harvey

The very definition of "nice", Last Chance Harvey provides an ideal opportunity for a wallow in wish fulfillment and first-rate acting. Emma Thompson reminds us why we should actually see far more of her on the big screen, while Dustin Hoffman manfully copes with being dwarfed by his co-star (on several occasions, she even has to wear high heels, thus emphasising the difference further) Screw-up Harry learns that family is more important than a job he doesn't enjoy, while Kate learns to take a chance on life. There's nothing earth-shattering about it but ther are worse ways to spend 90 minutes.

Fermat's Room

Fermat's Room sprints along at such a pace that the viewer has no time to fret about potential plot holes (with a story as complex as this, logic says there *must* be some!), never mind trying to work out the mathematical puzzles the characters have to solve to prevent the walls of the eponymous room crushing them to death. In fact, the first instinct upon reaching the end of the film is to re-watch it, preferably with a pause button to hand.
The credits sequence slyly sets up the mystery as a gloved hand constructs a miniature room, subsequently revealed to be the room where the 4 mathematicians will be trapped. There's something unnerving about the sequence and it prepares us for the mystery to come: who? why? In fact, most of the first half masterfully succeeds in misdirecting both characters and audience about precisely these questions. One of the mathematicians appears to be the obvious target while another the equally obvious mastermind, but this is a film that enjoys playing games and nothing should be taken at face value.
The pseudonyms the characters adopt might be those of mathematicians, and the puzzles might be mathematical in nature, but the narrative is never ponderous. It's a smart film that wears it's cleverness lightly. If anything, the film is perhaps just a little too frenetic, especially during the denouement when the revelations come thick and fast and it's difficult to work out just what's truth and what's a lie. The initial question appears to be what links the 4 characters with the mysterious "Fermat" but it turns out it's not as simple as that. Inconsequential events have huge importance with the advantage of hindsight and it's the ability to correctly interpret them that proves vital. In that regard, it's natural that it should be "Pascal" (inventor of a popcorn-spouting duck, who initially struggled to solve to entrance puzzle and is battling with a drink problem) who can see most clearly. His practical mind hones in on the essentials at important moments - he's the one who first notices the walls closing in, as well as working out who's responsible. You can practically see him thinking things through. In many ways, he's the most sympathetic of the characters, with his self-inflicted penance for one tragic mistake. Only "Fermat" has a similar poignancy. The others are far too obsessed with the appeal of mathematics and fame (the true reason for their predicament) to connect in the same way. It's therefore satisfying that it's "Pascal" who has the last word.

Sunshine Cleaning

Another Sundance favourite, another quirky indie-by-numbers. Dysfunctional family: check. Life lessons learned through adversity: check. Alan Arkin as a loveable curmudgeon: check. In fact, any film labelled "quirky" should be treated with kid gloves these days. The premise itself sounds like things could actually be inventive and entertaining - sisters set up as crime scene cleaners - but alas cutesy wins out over anything more gritty. There's the seriously annoying son of one sister. I think he's supposed to be adorably troubled but personally I just wanted to slap him. Then there's the cringe-inducing use of a CB radio as a way of talking to the dead. If only iy had had the nerve to be a full-on black comedy, it could have been so much better.

Julius Caesar: RSC

The Courtyard Theatre might be a lovely theatre in it's own right but I always have trouble hearing the actors whenever I sit in the stalls. Somehow, the sound gets lost under the galleries above. True to form, I spent a lot of the first half straining to hear what Brutus was saying, particularly when he was facing away from my section of the stalls. Luckily as the play progresses, passions are raised, voices get louder and audibility is no longer a problem. Julius Ceasar is one of those plays that improves as it goes along, especially once it reaches the assassination itself. Up until then it tends to be rather static and talky, but after that point, the conspirators find their plans unravelling and are outwitted by the seemingly buffoonish Mark Antony. There may be suggestions of the indolence and luxury to come in Antony and Cleopatra, but Cassius was right in wanting him removed. He's still a first class orator and a sharp political operator, fuelled by a sense of righteous vengeance. Brutus on the other hand proves to be disastrously naive. Video projection makes the bare stage seem more populous than it is and gives a sense of Rome's bustling crowds, appealed to by both factions. Sam Troughton's Brutus comes into his own in the latter half of the play as events spiral out of his control. The scene where he relates news of his wife's death shows the Stoic desperately suppressing overwhelming emotion. It's a great scene with Cassius, who ends up more sympathetic than usual, and his death feels genuinely tragic. Mark Antony, Lepidus and Octavius meanwhile show signs of the future cracks in ther alliance, yet these men can still mourn Brutus for his honour and nobility.