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Film: The Devil's Rock
Year of production: 2011
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Metrodome
Certificate: 18
Running time: 98 mins
Director: Paul Campion
Starring: Gina Varela, Karlos Drinkwater, Craig Hall, Matthew Sunderland
Genre: Action/Drama/Fantasy/Horror/Thriller/War
Format: DVD
Country of Production: New Zealand
Language: English
Review by: Daryl Wing
First time director Paul Campion is best known for his work as a visual effects artist on classic trilogies Lord Of The Rings and The Chronicles Of Narnia, as well as the outstanding Sin City and Greek legends dud Clash Of The Titans. It surely bodes well for his first feature-length, a war-torn horror, whetting the appetite for gory mayhem galore. But has Campion got what it takes to step up a level, or will The Devil’s Rock be bowed down beneath a burden akin to Greek Titan Atlas after rebelling against Zeus?
It’s the eve of D-Day and allied commandos are carrying out sabotage raids on the German occupied Channel Islands to draw attention away from Normandy.
On Forau Island, two New Zealand comrades, Captain Ben Grogan (Craig Hall) and Sergeant Joe Tane (Karlos Drinkwater) have been sent to destroy gun replacements, but after negotiating a tricky route to their target a woman’s screams lure them into an isolated fortress.
It’s here they discover the attractive female Helena (Gina Varela), held captive by rusty chains, surrounded by mutilated bodies, and after resistance from Colonel Klaus Meyer (Matthew Sunderland), Grogan has to decide whether he’ll help the girl escape the island or stop a Nazi occult plot to unleash demonic forces in order to win the war…
Campion’s The Devil’s Rock is an engaging, neatly constructed horror whose conventionality is never endangered by the supernatural violence it could depict – dismembered bodies may be strewn across the blood-stained floors, while others (one in particular has a rifle rammed down its throat) are slumped across the walls coated in vital fluid, but, for the most part, the horrors are hidden away like the devil herself.
This could’ve been a grimy, torture-porn tribute to films like Saw, albeit on a smaller budget, so it’s nice to report that the blunt savagery has been replaced by subtle bloodshed (for the most part), characterization and excellent performances from our two male leads. Sunderland, as the sly Colonel Meyer, is the standout, with his “we’re both in the same s**t” persona managing to convince Hall’s Grogan that it’s best if they stick together. The Grogan character is let down by his indecisiveness - all too often it gets him into far too much trouble, and his inability to think rationally questions how he has been so well-rewarded career-wise, let alone stay alive.
The opening, which sees Grogan and comrade Sergeant Tane (a sadly underused Karlos Drinkwater) looking to destroy gun replacements, impresses with its washed-out visuals and tense plotting fused with deliciously entertaining dialogue that adds artful back-story to a gripping preamble. Add to that a tense crawl through the fortress, one scene shocking with its unseen brutality, and a neat standoff between our two foes means that the opening act genuinely zips by with frequent flutters of excitement. Even the slightly talky second act has enough good moments to enjoy, but this all depends on whether or not the viewer can suspend disbelief and accept a twist that may turn The Devil’s Rock into a bit of a farce.
Campion certainly tries his best to restore some of its early protocol with Meyer delivering a few lines that throw us back on track; the majority of viewers hopefully convinced by now that the devil can rip its victim apart by becoming the someone they thought was the love of their life, but Grogan will still have you screaming at the screen for his inability to trust a Nazi over his dead wife, no matter how many times Meyer utters “fairytale bulls**t.” The other major bugbear is a revelation that would allow for easy escape, and yet, once again, the auteur cleverly persuades us to believe that there’s little point in flying the waters when the biggest weapon of all is unable to.
Before all this, though, is a cheekily dramatic awakening and one of the finest removing-a-bullet scenes in the history of bullet-removing scenes you’ll ever witness. You’ll still be questioning whether Grogan is just happy to hear his slaughtered spouse’s voice after all these years, though, but to be fair, she sounds a hell of a lot better than the camp, almost laughable powers of articulation of the real villain of the piece – a tranny-she-devil that disappoints far more than it delivers – hardly a devil to die for, whether it’s a lesser demon or not.
Still, she’s more exciting than the lengthy setting up of a ritual, which basically involves drawing circles with chalk while our antagonist struggles to break down the door keeping her from her next meal. Luckily, the final act finally reawakens along with one of the diseased in a genuinely hilarious moment of madness, even if the zombie comes across more drunk than dangerous, and a fine act of betrayal once again disguises Grogan’s implausible anguish.
Gina Varela is finally able to tease us after a stuttering performance, hindered by her unholy, and unfrightening true self, including daft dialogue such as “you b**tard son of Adam” that hardly delivers the chills such a villain warrants – maybe Campion’s script (co-written with Paul Finch) would’ve been more provocative if he had worked as a visual effects artist on The Exorcist rather than Eragon. Having said that, the rivetingly repellent effects on show here are reason enough to watch.
Despite a devil who would certainly prefer to wear Prada, The Devil's Rock is a promising start for first-time director Paul Campion. With some good performances, plentiful gore, and an intriguing premise that throws up enough surprises, it whets the appetite for future projects. This could do for Campion what Dog Soldiers did for Marshall.
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Film: Bran Nue Dae
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Arrow
Certificate: 12
Running time: 72 mins
Director: Rachel Perkins
Starring: Rocky McKenzie, Jessica Mauboy, Ernie Dingo, 'Missy' Higgins, Geoffrey Rush
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Musical
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Australia
Language: English
Review by: Calum Reed
In many ways, Bran Nue Dae does exactly what it says on the tin; the phonetic spelling of its title intoning the musical motivations of a song-and-dance comedy intuitively focused upon Australia’s Aboriginal culture. In a similar vein as Warwick Thornton’s biblically-titled Samson And Delilah, Rachel Perkins’ feature is concerned with the fate of Australian youth – but rather than depict this through symbolic imagery, opts for much lighter methods to help us relate to its protagonists.
Celebrated by Australian critics and audiences alike, Bran Nue Dae is based on Jimmy Chi’s 1990 stage musical of the same name, and tells the story of Willie (Rocky McKenzie), a timid teenager training to become a priest in a Perth school. Willie’s rash mistakes lead to an early crisis of faith, and a bust-up with the stubborn Father Benedictus (Geoffrey Rush) prompting him to decide to return to his hometown of Broome. With no way of getting there, he must find alternative means, which come courtesy of ‘Tadpole’ (Ernie Dingo), a scruffy-looking elderly drifter with a drink problem who eventually helps Willie on his way by feigning a car accident and wangling a ride from two touring hippies.
From there, Bran Nue Dae follows the adventures of man and boy as they navigate the testier characters between them and their destination; nameably, the seductresses vying to take Willie’s cherry. It’s largely a courtship of musical numbers and farcical comedy, as it charts the pair’s eventual return to home and their confrontation with the lives that have kept them estranged from Broome.
As well as struggling with his sense of purpose and uncertain future, Willie must cope with his attraction to childhood friend Rosie, and face the wrath of his formidable mother…
In shading its animated characters as vibrant, tearaway lyric-busters, Perkins’ film assumes the position of a socially-conscious carnival – seemingly keen to revise representations of Indigenous Australians as regressive or obsolete. This is achieved through following the conventions of coming-of-age-tale narratives, pitting Willie as a firm underdog within this brazen, eclectic, and evolved world, and emphasising his lack of confidence (and for that matter, others’ lack of confidence in him) as the main obstacle to be overcome. Bran Nue Dae goes with the grain in detailing this Australia as colourful, and surrounding its modest central character with a fun-loving cavalcade of down-to-earth extroverts to bring him out.
The child-like feel to Bran Nue Dae recalls films with an inherently educational purpose, and its paddling, foolhardy style helps it to maintain some interest. Unfortunately, the characters and story are developed either minimally, or with such little care, that it all becomes a big washout. It’s difficult to relate to the looseness and hyperactivity of the film’s ‘crazy gang’, and Rocky McKenzie isn’t a very interesting actor to watch - understandably struggling to make an impression with the dominance placed on upping the quirks and confining Willie to a state of wide-eyed wonderment.
Appreciating this film may be reliant upon whether you buy into the personalities on show. If nothing else, Bran Nue Dae adorns its musical set-pieces with character (in the way that the Jewish musical Fiddler On The Roof manages to) to create a permanent state of whimsy to these people. Their congregation liberates them. And still, as the upbeat, Jungle Book-esque tracks engage, they also feel very infantile. ‘All I Ever Want To Be (Is To Be An Aborigine)’ is not the most profound of messages – nor does it have to be – but when the cast sing it there isn’t a lot of clarity as to what this euphoric cultural celebration means beyond embracing working class life – which is a popular statement in the genre as it is. There’s a wiry thread of social commentary in the references to sexual experimentation in adolescence: the lyric “If you don’t use a condom then don’t bother coming home,” for instance, references the problems of teenage pregnancy; while on the other side of the coin, Father Benedictus acts as a critiqued, narrow white perspective on Aboriginal life.
The final few scenes of this modest, 70-minute film feel especially rushed, as a wave of revelations and back-story come to cloud a pretty straightforward pilgrimage. Bran Nue Dae had been so unconcerned with providing a non-figurative history to its characters before this that it feels like both an abrupt surprise and a desperate search for finality to divulge so much information in one silly, overplayed late sequence. All of the characters’ difficulties are thoughtlessly and barely tied up, and the message that the film ends on is virtually the same one with which it began: positivity and belonging are the spice of life.
The inclusivity of Bran Nue Dae and its snap-happy tone come at a price: too much emphasis is placed on generating surfeits of ‘fun’, while there is precious little revealed about what it means to be a 16-year-old boy growing up in a small town. The comedy too often errs on the side of meaningless farce, and it buys into familiar tropes to detail adolescence - like unwanted virginity and a lack of a father figure. Bran Nue Dae may be popularly advocated as a harmless pocket of cross-country activity, but its disappointing ineffectuality and lack of ambition are reasons enough to stay away.
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Series: The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzimiya – Complete Series 2
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 15
Director: Takesi Koike
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Antoinette Thirgood
In this second series collection, The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzimiya continues to focus in on the strange powers Haruhi Suzimiya has and how this affects her companions, who all attend school together and have formed the SOS Brigade to investigate the mysterious events which seem to follow Miss Suzimiya around. Produced by Kyoto Animation and part of the franchise comprised of a regular TV series and also an anime film, this set continues the character development of the SOS group and combines both the fantastical and real as Suzimiya affects the plot in bizarre ways.
This DVD set is comprised of two main plot lines involving time travel and the affect Suzimiya’s subconscious has on reality. In the first development, Kyon is asked to time travel and meets the older Mikura Asahina, and has to find the time travel device or TTPD before he becomes trapped in the past with the younger Miss Asahina. This mission is a success, but as the summer holidays break, it soon becomes apparent that something strange is going on, as Kyon is struck by a mixture of strong paranoia and déjà vu , while Suzimiya instructs the gang to follow her summer itinerary of events.
The next development sees Suzimiya decide to make a movie using the SOS brigade as her cast with herself as the director. She plays on Miss Asahina’s attractiveness, using her to gain sponsorship for the film and, in general, bossing her around. She comes up with surreal ideas, often sexualising Miss Asahina. Kosumi has to explain to Kyon the consequences of Suzimiya getting carried away, as the lines between fantasy and reality again begin to blur. Kyon must again confront his feelings and concentrate on what he knows about Miss Suzimaya to save their reality.
There is also a disc with bonus anime features, such as manga versions of the main characters and shorter episodes jam packed with a different plot for each short…
The hint of romance between Kyon and Asahina is fun to watch in this series. Kyon often breaks his serious deadpan narration to exclaim his lack of control over Miss Asahina’s extreme ‘hotness’. With Miss Suzimiya insisting on playing on Miss Asahina’s sexuality and childishness and dressing her in skimpy outfits, fans of Miss Asahina will be pleased with these episodes. The plot dares to push taboos, as one episode even involves a drink being spiked and the threat of violence from Kyon, adding to suspense and revealing a darker side to Miss Suzimiya’s character.
The skill of the animators to convey emotion adds depth to the storyline, and the deadpan sense of humour which runs throughout shows the writers aren’t afraid of a little tongue-in-cheek self mockery. However, the Endless Eight section of the series leaves a little to be desired. Choosing to replay the same eight episodes under the pretence of déjà vu is a little tiring, with very little changing in the way of plot in each episode. The writers could be accused of laziness in using the same material over and over with little effort; three or four episodes would have sufficed instead.
On the ideas explored, however, viewers should not be disappointed. Miss Suzimaya’s consciousness affecting events in the other characters’ lives, such as her wish for something “unknown” that she is unhappy with, is interesting. Kosumi’s tantalising conversation with Kyon pushes him to think about why he gets annoyed with Miss Suzimaya, while also protecting Miss Asahina. It hints that we are closer to seeing Kyon admit his true feelings when he is forced to analyse his relationship with the two girls, adding a duality to the romantic plot which wasn’t there before. The appearance of a Miss Asahina from the future and the information about Nagato being able to transcend time leads to further questions on how the past, present and future will all come to fit together - there are a lot of facts discussed which have to remain “classified” and Kyon is often frustrated trying to piece it all together.
The extra features DVD is fun and shows surprising sides to the characters, some quite risqué, others enjoyable simply for the anime effects used in expressing what happens. In the main, the series has a good use of location. Mention of traditional Japanese events, such as Tanabata, and the purchase of traditional costumes and enjoying fireworks is also an interesting sideline to the main plot. Nagato and Asahina’s dress code competition on the extra features disc is a highlight.
This segment continues the development of characters well and tantalisingly reveals more about the odd collection of characters, while still leaving room for future twists and turns. The reason for Nagato, Kozumi and Asahina being there is further delved into and we also see a bit more from other characters in the school. Overall this series is a good comedy with lots of entertainment provided, often by the extreme mood swings of Miss Suzimaya. Her treatment of Miss Asahina and the romance hinted at with Kyon and the two ladies will be readily identifiable with many viewers.
Kyon’s narration pushes the plot along at a steady pace, the only criticism being the stalling altogether of events with Endless Eight, not enough is offered in variety between the plots to compensate for having to watch the same script re-play itself! An enjoyable watch but still definitely room for improvement in injecting more into the plot. What this series does do successfully is set it up well for lots more to learn about the characters in the episodes to come.
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Series: Birdy The Mighty: Decode – Part One
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 12
Running time: 325 mins
Director: Kazuki Akane
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Anna Attallah
This is a reworking of an OVA released in 1996, which was originally directed by the critically acclaimed Yoshiaki Kawajiri (Wicked City, Ninja Scroll). This time the lesser known Kazuki Akane (Noein, Vision Of Escaflowne) is at the helm and the story has been developed considerably. Based on Masami Yuki’s manga Birdy The Mighty, in itself a remake of an earlier manga published in the ‘80s, crime-fighting aliens (who happen to be drop-dead gorgeous) meets High School drama with an added twist.
Tsutomu Senkawa is a pretty average teenager with a rather odd hobby, namely exploring abandoned buildings. It is this unusual interest which gets him into serious trouble, as he investigates an abandoned warehouse which turns out to be where intergalactic crime fighter Birdy Cephon Altera has tracked the shape-shifting alien Geega. In the ensuing fight, Senkawa is caught in the crossfire and winds up dead.
This isn’t the end of the road for Senkawa, however, as his consciousness is able to exist within Birdy’s body whilst his own body is sent to the Federation for repair. Unfortunately for Senkawa, Birdy is more interested in fighting crime than allowing him to live a normal teenage life, but the arrangement seems to work – until Birdy discovers an evil plot to destroy Earth, which will test their friendship to the limit...
Birdy The Mighty: Decode is clearly aimed at young teenage boys (apart from being virtually naked all of the time, Birdy’s alias on Earth is a glamour model) and the overall feeling is that the writers have oversimplified the plot instead of challenging their intended audience. The first episode spends far too long introducing the characters and only begins to show promise at the very end, with a slick action scene leading to Senkawa’s untimely death. Fortunately, from there the plot does pick up, apart from a bizarre interlude involving a terrorist plan orchestrated by a bunch of dog aliens, particularly when Senkawa’s love interest Nakasugi’s miraculous recovery from a car crash begins to seem less than innocent. Each episode builds on the previous hints as we gradually begin to be drawn into Birdy’s mission to locate an apocalyptic weapon, the Ryunka, before its power is unleashed and humanity is wiped out. Unfortunately, the ending itself turns out to be a bit of an anticlimax, with everything tying up a little too neatly and various possible repercussions being ignored.
This isn’t to say that Decode is a complete washout, and the fact that Birdy has to share her body with a teenage boy offers plenty of scope for comedy. Birdy wryly comments on Senkawa’s clumsy attempts to capture the heart of the beautiful and unassuming Nakasugi, with Birdy herself being a likeable and feisty female whose maverick attitude makes her an appealing lead. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Senkawa, whose character suffers from a lack of development which can make him seem oddly devoid of emotion. He seems incredibly uninterested in the fact that he now inhabits the body of a stunningly attractive woman and the practicalities of this point are never even touched upon. His schoolboy crush on Nakasugi does intensify as the series goes on up to the point where he states he is even willing to die for her, yet this inexplicably turns to wooden indifference by the end. The true villain of the piece, not Geega but Shyamalan, a businessman who looks like a male model, is also decidedly two dimensional with the most interesting thing about him being he has a creepy collection of toy dolls (which remains unexplained).
What the film lacks in characterisation it makes up for in a number of fun and well choreographed action sequences, in particular in one episode where Birdy has to contend with an intensely eerie marionette (or robot) that has gone evil.
The music is at turns poignant and atmospheric, cleverly linking the action scenes with the more emotional ones, something which contrasts to the annoyingly catchy opening theme which will become firmly ingrained in your head. Unfortunately the animation doesn’t always keep up with the high-quality score and, at times, seems rushed, but on the whole the effect is of a relatively polished anime which redeems itself on the animation front towards the end despite some questionable character design of the final villain, who resembles a giant jelly baby on stilts.
Birdy The Mighty: Decode is an entertaining and light-hearted anime which reveals a darker edge. The plot is an odd mix of convoluted ideas and oversimplification which could have been made slicker, but there is enough here to keep viewers interested if they aren’t looking for anything particularly heavy. AA
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Film: Patagonia
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Verve
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Marc Evans
Starring: Matthew Rhys, Marta Lubos, Nahuel Perez Biscayart, Nia Roberts, Duffy
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Argentina/UK
Language: Welsh/Spanish
Review by: Karen Rogerson
Director Marc Evans’ multilingual film – in Welsh and Spanish, with a smattering of English and Polish – explores the connections between modern day Wales and the descendants of the Welsh émigrés who settled in Patagonia in the nineteenth century. In parallel stories, characters from both countries undertake journeys across the world, during which they explore their sense of history and belonging.
In Patagonia, elderly Cerys is sent, by her family, to Buenos Aires to undergo a cataract operation for her rapidly deteriorating sight, chaperoned by Alejandro, the teenage son of her neighbour. Hijacking her family’s plans, Cerys instead uses her savings and cash raised from selling her wedding presents to fly with Alejandro to Wales to find the farmhouse where her mother grew up. Sulky Alejandro thinks she has gone mad, but isn’t strong willed enough to stop her. Cerys’ only clues for finding the farmhouse are a photograph of her family from 1927, and the poetic name of the farm itself - Nant Briallu, or ‘stream of daffodils’.
Their search takes them from the south to the north of the country, where they encounter warmth and kindness from some locals and cynical exploitation by others. Alejandro encounters the seedier side of modern urban life in Wales when he goes for a night out in Cardiff. Here, he first meets the character played by Duffy in a nightclub, before she collapses and is taken away by ambulance. Their paths cross again towards the end of the story, as Cerys’ search comes to a close.
In the parallel storyline, Gwen and Rhys are a Welsh couple in their thirties whose journey takes them in the opposite direction from Wales to South America. He’s been given an assignment to photograph the Welsh chapels of Patagonia, symbolic of the pioneering spirit and fortitude of the émigrés who had set up their communities there under conditions of great hardship. Gwen agrees to accompany Rhys, but it’s obvious from very early on that her commitment to him is ambivalent. When they meet Mateo, the handsome guide hired to drive them to the sites of the various chapels, it’s clear that jealousy and infidelity will uncover the unexpressed tensions in Rhys and Gwen’s relationship…
Of the two stories, that of Cerys and Alejandro is far more engaging. Her serene acceptance of her diabetes and deteriorating eyesight contrasts humorously with teenage Alejandro’s nervy restlessness – “I need to avoid all stress”, he says, “I don’t have a strong metabolism.” There’s a touching vulnerability to their efforts to track down the mythical farmhouse; the two unlikely companions staring out at the alien Welsh environment with a constant smile, on Cerys’ part, and wide eyed, anxious naivety on Alejandro’s part. The winding roads and rain soaked green hills of rural Wales hold their own against the more obvious drama of the Patagonian setting as a poetic backdrop to Cerys’ emotional journey. Marta Lubos’ wonderfully expressive face conveys an endearing sweetness as Cerys, and the growing understanding between her character and Alejandro is believable and moving. As their story comes to a resolution, Duffy’s character reappears, a competent performance as a slightly raddled escapee from urban life. By this point, the story has become rather overlong and over sentimental. Its outcome is predictable but, as a story standing by itself, it’s affecting and quietly successful.
Back in South America, the Patagonian story is disappointing, so much so that the heart sinks every time the film cuts back to it. Director of photography Robbie Ryan crafts some beautiful, sun soaked shots of the barren flatlands, with the jagged snow covered peaks of the Andes soaring behind them. But, frankly, any decent cinematographer could hardly fail to produce amazing shots given such a stunning location, and the triteness of the story and unlikeable characters make the visual drama of the film seem just another card being played by the filmmakers to try to persuade the audience of the story’s emotional intensity and depth.
Gwen is harbouring a secret, which is uncovered towards the end of the film, but it is predictable from its start. While Gwen’s character comes across as self-indulgent and unsympathetic, Rhys’ emotions are so clunkily conveyed that you can almost see the wheels turning inside his head prior to the dropping of each entirely anticipated penny.
Having prefaced the film with an explanation that the Welsh colony in Patagonia was settled by émigrés in the mid 19th century, seeking somewhere they could speak their own language and follow their own religion without persecution, surprisingly little is made of the particular character and history of Patagonia. It’s almost as if the filmmakers have transposed a bland, soapy style storyline of thirty-something urbanites to an alien location to imply some unwarranted complexity to the film’s story, while the characters’ self-absorption makes the setting too much of an irrelevance.
In fairness, there are little offshoots of incidental characters and colour which offer some distraction to the main storyline, such as the short scene of the asada (barbeque), which gives a sense of the freedom and passionate love of life in this almost frontier style existence, or the Falklands War veteran who becomes Rhys’ drinking partner for an evening. The unexpected appearance at a graveside of men singing a male voice choir harmony gives sudden emotional depth, expressing longing and sorrow, which Rhys and the veteran are unable to voice themselves. But, overall, the Patagonian story is disappointingly uninfused with any sense of what its history might signify to Rhys and Gwen, or how the dual Argentinean/Welsh origins of its community informs the film’s overall themes of belonging and identity.
A film of two halves, in more ways than one. The story of Cerys and Alejandro is slow paced yet sweet and touching, its gentle tempo reflected in the muted greens of the Welsh landscape. In the Patagonian story, the reduction of the country to a metaphorical backdrop for the self-indulgent soul searching of the European characters leaves a bad taste in the mouth. KR
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Film: Norwegian Wood
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Soda
Certificate: 15
Running time: 133 mins
Director: Anh Hung Tran
Starring: Rinko Kikuchi, Ken'ichi Matsuyama, Kiko Mizuhara, Tetsuji Tamayama, Kengo Kôra
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Patrick Gamble
Often cited as an un-filmable classic, Haruki Murakami’s much loved bestselling novel, Norwegian Wood, is now available to buy on DVD after a director was finally found who was willing to accept the challenge and adapt this poisoned ‘paperback’ chalice. Anh Hung Tran’s film provoked predictable whispers of discontent from Murakami’s considerable fan base upon its theatrical release, but does the film fair any better now the critical dust has settled or will its purported inability to convey the book’s deeply emotional subtext condemn it to the same cinematic wastelands as other failed adaptations of celebrated literary works?
Set amongst all the social unrest, demonstrations and vandalism which occurred during the student riots of 1960s Tokyo, we join Watanabe (Ken’ichi Matsuyama), an undergraduate who despite his calm and peaceful exterior has an internal conflict gnawing away at his conscious. His heightened depression shares the same degree of amalgamated frustration and anger as the disenfranchised protestors causing chaos outside of his isolated existence, yet unlike his contemporaries, he seems unable to physically express himself in any noticeable way other than through his sullen appearance and self-imposed solitude.
He’s haunted by his past, which was devastated by a singular tragic incident. The suicide of his closest friend, whilst enough to affect any young man’s life, has left him emotionally tied to Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi), the deceased boy’s then girlfriend who, even numerous years after that fateful day, is still very much a fragile and troubled girl who never fully recovered from the death of her childhood sweetheart and the feelings of rejection which came with it.
The arrival of Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), a fun loving and free spirited university student, only exacerbates Watanabe’s complicated attachment to Naoko and leaves him with a moral decision to make as to whether he should continue to let this dependant relationship with Naoko stand in the way of a future with Midori. Either answer will undoubtedly result in some degree of heartbreak, but will Watanabe’s inner struggle afford him the courage to make such an emotionally monumental decision, or will he continue to torment himself with these feelings of guilt and misery?
As adaptations go, Norwegian Wood is surely one of the most difficult to attempt. The story is almost entirely told through 30-year-old Watanabe’s flashbacks, extended memories and internal monologue - a narrative technique that’s understandably difficult to convey on film whilst also maintaining an immersive sense of reality.
Tran’s translation of this multi-layered, poetic love story may well fail to capture the true extent of the characters’ existential struggles, but a film should always be able to stand alone and not purely be judged on the original source material which inspired it. Accurately recreating a novel is no mean feat, cuts need to be made to condense the story into an easily manageable format which encapsulates the feel of a story, a near impossible task as inevitably each reader has their own personal interpretations. However, Norwegian Wood’s failing is not how dismissive it is to the source material but rather how hard it strives to literally recreate the prose word for word.
The skilful cinematography of Mark Lee Ping Bin uses the strikingly beautiful Japanese countryside to create a dreamlike backdrop of intoxicating visual splendour, which only becomes amplified the instant Tan’s good looking cast become gloriously framed within it. There is little doubt that this painterly presented, hypnotic and visually alluring interpretation of Norwegian Wood is a cinematic equivalent of photographic art – like twenty four painstakingly hand drawn masterpieces being rushed in front of our eyes every second. Combine this with Johnny Greenwood’s captivating score and you have a technically accomplished piece of filmmaking which could easily be presented at any film art college as an example of how to use the medium to create something far removed from the drudgery of television or the formulaic approach of Hollywood.
However, a film must rely on more than just its ability to titillate the senses and also manage to affect us in deeper, less superficial ways. This introspective romance relies heavily on its sublime visuals to portray the emotions of its cast. It’s not to say the acting is poor (at times, it’s very accomplished), but rather a reflection of how the film has been far too strict with its use of dialogue, stripping the minimal conversational pieces out of the original book and failing to add anything else which may have helped communicate the film’s more subtle and personal moments.
Such a deceptively simple story really isn’t suited to a film which lasts over two hours. As a piece of literature, Norwegian Wood’s emotional story works perfectly. Each time the reader picks up the book, they feel like they’re following a diary of a man’s downward spiral into depression on a day by day basis. Some painful yet necessary cuts to the script would no doubt prevent the film from straying towards monotony. The frame narrative of Watanabe’s relationship with his wayward friend Kizuki (Kengo Kora), despite adding a comforting rest bite to an otherwise depressing story, could easily have been removed and acts as a prime example of where sacrifices could have been made. At the expense of the audience members unfamiliar with the book, Norwegian Wood’s attempts to appease its loyal fans has not just alienated those new to its desolate love story but, at the same time, angered those who hold its tenderly heartbreaking tale so close to their hearts.
Whilst this sumptuously bleak love story should rightly be heralded as a technically assured piece of filmmaking, its striking prominent visuals can only hold your attention for so long and the film’s repetitive and subdued approach will ultimately test the patience of even the most dedicated of art house fans. Perhaps not fully deserving of the clichéd responses from some critics who heralded it as a case in point for ‘style over substance’, however, the films atmosphere of resigned sadness and its melancholy facade of emotional numbness does become quite contagious towards the end.
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Film: The Kingdom: I&II - Original Broadcast Edition
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 18
Running time: 573 mins
Director: Lars von Trier
Starring: Ernst-Hugo Järegård, Kirsten Rolffes, Holger Juul Hansen, Søren Pilmark, Ghita Nørby
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Fantasy/Horror/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Denmark/France/Germany/Sweden
Language: Danish/Swedish
Review by: Rob Ward
No stranger to controversy, Lars von Trier has been delighting, appalling and surprising cinema goers for well over twenty years. He pioneered the Dogme 95 school of filmmaking, brought Bjork to the big screen and allowed his production company to produce hardcore porn. Mainstream success has not been easy to come by for von Trier, with even his biggest UK successes remaining largely ‘arthouse’. So it’s little wonder that his early career in Danish television has received little attention over here. But the release of a boxed set of supernatural hospital drama The Kingdom could be about to change that.
The Kingdom is a cutting-edge hospital staffed by an offbeat cast of characters, including a new-age director, an egotistical Swedish neurosurgeon and a reckless medical student. And their faith in science is tested as a series of supernatural episodes occurs: a ghostly young girl appears in a lift shaft; a phantom ambulance appears every night; an unnatural pregnancy affects one of the nurses and all the while a malingering patient attempts to communicate with those on the ‘other side’...
The opening credits create an instantaneous sense of intrigue. At odds with the modern hospital setting, the start of every episode features a prologue set in the misty and mysterious ‘bleaching pools’ upon which the hospital would later be built. A solemn voice narrates as the sepia toned action unfolds on screen, describing the ancient marshlands where cloth workers bleached their wares, enveloped by thick clouds of fog. It’s a simple enough scene, but slow pan of the camera and the deliberate movement of the workers on screen add certain gravity to proceedings. An air of menace and unpredictably is also evident as we are told that the building of the hospital was designed to help eradicate ignorance and superstition in favour of science. Clearly this will not be the case: the old world is literally breaking into the new.
Sadly, the impact of the credits as almost undone by the dreadful theme music which blares from the screen immediately aftermath. Perhaps a product of their time, they have not dated well at all. Like a mid-90s cop drama, they thud from the screen with the word ‘Kingdom’ repeated ad infinitum over cheesy background action. It’s woefully out of place in the midst of such an atmospherically spooky drama.
Thankfully, the director proves that he is capable of producing excellent credit sequences at the end of each episode. In an obvious homage to Alfred Hitchcock, von Trier himself appears as a presenter in dinner jacket and bow-tie as the end credits role to offer a summation of the plot and a hint at what will come in the next show. His language is quaint and antiquated as he poses rhetorical questions to the audience and occasionally mocks the actions of the characters. It’s completely unnecessary yet utterly charming - not only for von Trier’s determination to appear on the other side of the camera, but also for his geeky hand gestures, as he implores the audience to “be prepared to take the good with the evil.”
Just as The Kingdom is filed with ideas of good and evil, so it is filled with morally ambiguous (or often dubious) characters. Chief among these is Swedish neurosurgeon Stig Helmer (Ernst-Hugo Järegård). He’s a man with a whole collection of enormous chips on his shoulders – not least his utter disdain for all things Danish. Despite that, he’s played with some charm by Järegård. His aged face manages to convey just enough rumpled dissatisfaction with his incompetent colleagues to convince you that his heart is in the right place – some of the time. Despite being a fierce critic of malingerers and timewasters, he has secrets and faults of his own – not least a malpractice case arising from a botched operation which left a young girl brain-damaged.
It’s testament to the excellent writing that The Kingdom’s characters are so well-developed. It would have been very easy to rely on clichéd stereotypes in a series such as this, but each character is given room to breathe and time to develop. Some, like Helmer, arrive fully formed, others, such as his nemesis Jørgen Krogshøj (Søren Pilmark) develop more steadily. Initially, he’s little more than a sniping pedant, but he reveals himself as being rather more warm-hearted and ‘resourceful’ than he seems.
Whether the same credit can be extended as far as Sigrid Drusse (Kirsten Rolffes) is less clear. She’s the malingerer in question, inventing reasons to stay in the hospital as an excuse to carry out her paranormal investigations. Initially, she seems easy to dismiss, but as the plot unfolds her snooping becomes increasingly credible. She, however, remains irritating. Despite that, Rolffes gives a brilliant performance as the irritating old woman. One scene in particular, as Drusse attempts to speak to a ghost is an acting masterclass. With only a candle flame foregrounded and her face in the background of the frame, Drusse asks yes/no questions of the spirit world. How the flame reacts to her questioning determines what answer she has received. It’s a beautifully lit and wonderfully acted monologue – and completely compelling.
There are a whole host of other fascinating characters engaged in all manner of hare-brained schemes and storylines. A Masonic lodge rules behind the scenes, the happy-clappy hospital director attempts to introduce his hapless methods of motivation and a medical student uses a severed head to seduce a nurse. With workplace drug-dealing, a doctor transplanting a cancerous liver into himself and a pair of Down's Syndrome sufferers acting as a Greek chorus, it’s a wonder that the plot makes any sense whatsoever.
Somehow, however, it does. Von Trier has been extremely brave in throwing so many characters and so many story-strands into the mix from the very outset. Much of the success of the show lies in not underestimating its audience – each storyline is distinct and unusual enough to hold the attention and every character is interesting enough to sustain the interest. The hand-held camerawork also ensures that the viewer is constantly kept in the midst of the action. And if things ever do flag, an injection of humour is never far away.
The Kingdom is very funny – in a number of ways. There is out and out slapstick, humorous dialogue and enough absurd action to ensure that it appeals on numerous levels – and every episode contains an anti-Danish speech from Helmer (which often ends with him screaming “Danish scum” into the night sky). Often the more humorous scenes are effectively cut with the more supernatural elements to create a cohesive whole which never becomes bogged down in one particular element of the story.
Season one becomes increasingly interested in the supernatural elements of the story as it nears its conclusion, culminating in a series of cliff-hangers which are partly addressed as season two begins to unfold. It would be churlish to give too much away here about the happenings of the second series, but it’s fair to say that there are also plot points which remain unresolved as it ends. Sadly, they will remain that way. Following the climax to the series, both Ernst-Hugo Järegård and Kirsten Rolffes passed away. Shorn of arguably two of the most important characters, there was no way The Kingdom could continue and plans for a third series were shelved.
Despite the slightly unsatisfactory conclusion, The Kingdom is a simply brilliant series. It wears its influences on its sleeve proudly – clearly owing a debt to Twin Peaks and the X Files - features memorable characters and situations, and combines drama and comedy to great effect. Of course, it’s no surprise that a Danish series about the supernatural was never likely to be broadcast on TV in Britain. Instead, an inferior series (written by Steven King) attempted to replicate the appeal. Don’t bother with the remake – search out the original instead.
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Film: An Ordinary Execution
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Arrow
Certificate: 15
Running time: 105 mins
Director: Marc Dugain
Starring: André Dussollier, Marina Hands, Edouard Baer, Denis Podalydès, Tom Novembre
Genre: Drama/History
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France
Language: French
Review by: Patrick Gamble
Ripped straight from the pages of his own 2007 novel, director Marc Dugain has created an ambitious, slow burning and incredibly uncomfortable portrait of life under state control in Joseph Stalin’s Russia.
Anna (Marina Hands) and her physicist husband, Vassilli (Edouard Baer) are trying desperately to conceive. However, whilst home life may be filled with the constant throws of marital passion, most of Anna’s time is consumed by her contrastingly distressing role within the local hospital. During a time when Jewish doctors were being forcibly expelled and seemingly innocent people disappearing without a word, tensions are at an all time high. With the accompanying paranoia leading to a less than happy work environment, Anna’s life couldn’t be any more fraught with fear and danger.
Anna’s beautiful appearance and popularity with the local patients (due to the rumoured healing aura which radiates from her hands) has made her the chosen target of this unrelenting mist of hatred which now consumes the infirmary’s corridors. One day, to her terror, two officers dressed in dark overcoats come looking for her at the surgery and insist she accompanies them.
However, the car transporting Anna drives past the renowned Moscow interrogation centre and she soon finds herself in a dimly lit, ominously empty waiting room inside the Kremlin. After hours of patiently waiting, it becomes apparent she is here to see Stalin. The renowned dictator offers her a position she neither wants nor can refuse. It’s an incredibly secretive position which involves working closely with the fascist Soviet oppressor and, much to her dismay, means having to reject her old life - including the husband she loves dearly - in a vain attempt to save not just him but her whole family from certain death…
This intoxicating chamber piece manages to create an atmosphere of fear and impending misery through dialogue and framing alone, in what is truly an accomplished piece of drama with strong overtones of historical importance neatly presented on a bed of highly original fiction.
By creating a fictitious world for his events to unfold, director and writer Marc Dugain has managed to avoid the usual constraints which normally surround historical epics, leaving him with free reign to present his story without having to succumb to the rigorous facts and recorded truths of the history books. An unyieldingly strict approach can often hinder the enjoyment for those viewers unwilling to accept such a strong factual focus in lieu of any added erroneousness strands otherwise injected to titillate whilst driving the narrative forward. Anyone with even the remotest knowledge of Russian history is aware of the monstrous events which Stalin implemented, so having such a well established villain as the central antagonist means the script can forgo the usual time consuming and arduous task of back-story building, an element of storytelling which can often be detrimental to the overall enjoyment of a film. Instead our focus is strongly set on Anna, allowing us plenty of insight into this deeply tormented woman’s life, which only enhances the extent of her emotionally exhausting journey.
Tremendously shot through a plethora of drained lifeless colours, and against a backdrop of shadows, the film’s cinematograph perfectly reflects the atmosphere during this desolate time of oppression and anxiety. The sympathetic use of framing perfectly captures the mood which encases the film’s two central characters, allowing the actors to fully explore their roles and thus creating a set of enormously accomplished performances which ultimately carry the film.
Marina Hands is utterly mesmerising. Without having to say a word, she manages to convey a wide range of emotions through subtle use of body language alone. Her expressive face could convey even the darkest of burdens with relative ease and is relied upon numerous times throughout this slow but thoughtful film. However, it’s Andre Dussolier in the role of the repugnant dictator who steals the show with his colossal on screen presence. Seeming like the devil in a trench coat, Dussolier radiates a sinister demeanour that sends an instant chill through your bones the moment he appears. The few attempts at humour injected into this fierce leader’s lines come across with an uncomfortable tone that’ll you’ll find yourself laughing at, not through genuine amusement but an uncomfortable mix of fear and duty. Such a role could easily have fallen into pantomime villainy, yet instead manages to convey the human side behind the truly malevolent actions of one of the 20th century’s most predominant figures.
However, a gripping script and strong performances cannot carry a film alone. And whilst moments like Dussolier reading direct Stalin quotes, such as “The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of a million is a statistic,” is undoubtedly powerful stuff, An Ordinary Execution does suffer from some weak direction. It’s clear that Dugain’s strength lies in his wonderful ability to write genuinely immersive dialogue, but the film itself has seemingly been created using very formulaic and workmen like techniques, with none of the flare shown in the script being translated visually. As flaws go, it’s hardly the most damning of criticisms; however, it does prevent the film from transcending the genre of period drama into something more necessary, ultimately leaving it in the no man’s land between high concept television and engrossing cinema.
For the two central performances alone, An Ordinary Execution should be classed as a must watch, with both leads pulling off incredibly moving and intense portrayals that cry out for greater recognition. Unfortunately, as a complete film, An Ordinary Execution fails to make the most of it impressive acting talent and immaculately crafted script, which sadly feels like a disappointing conclusion to an otherwise enthralling exploration into this dark period of history.
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Film: Musashi – The Dream Of The Last Samurai
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 15
Running time: 72 mins
Director: Mizuho Nishikubo
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Alex Jones
From Production I.G. (Ghost in the Shell, Blood+), director Mizuho Nishikubo and a screenplay by the critically acclaimed Mamoru Oshii (director of Ghost In The Shell, Jin Roh: The Wolf Brigade, The Sky Crawlers and many more) comes a documentary like no other. Combining hand-drawn animation, CGi and traditional art, Musashi – The Dream Of The Last Samurai both tells and analyses the history of one of the Japan’s greatest legends.
Miyamoto Musashi is a legendary Japanese swordsman who, through the years, has become both a key historical figure and hero of myth. He is internationally recognised as the vision of a samurai, and not only wrote one of the key texts of Japanese Samurai philosophy (The Legend Of The Five Rings) but is also famous for inventing the Ni-Ten Ichi Ryu style of two-sword fighting. Over the years, his name has been spread across not only history books, but also films, manga and anime.
In this film, a researcher attempts to tackle the centuries of contradicting information concerning Mushashi, separating the false image of the man from reality…
Animated documentaries are a rarity, and so Mushashi – The Dream Of The Last Samurai is already highly recommendable to anyone looking for anime that breaks the mould. The opening footage creates the perfect aura of what kind of man Musashi was, and the segments of the film that deal with him directly never break away from this. A huge variety of information about the man is presented – from his life and legacy to his fighting technique. Each bit of information is carefully explained without sounding too condescending or patronising. Despite it dealing with real life characters, the film also manages to have a lot of fun with its one fictional element – the researcher. Both colourful and creative, he is really brought to life with his actions and his frustration at both his assistant and fabricated myths about the man who he has devoted his studies to.
While the film deals with many other aspects of Japanese history as well as the life of Musashi, this proves to be a double edged sword. It spreads the film’s focus, but also means that the film diverges from the point it was trying to make far too often (something the researcher even addresses himself). Not only that, but it means there are also potentially crucial details of Musashi’s life omitted in order to maintain the film’s relatively short running time. No time is spent whatsoever on his birth or childhood, moving straight onto his life as an adult. It could simply mean that this chapter of his life his unimportant; however, within the film itself, it comes across more as Oshii writing for those already familiar with Miyamoto Musashi, thus somewhat alienating anyone who may be new to his stories (while Musashi is common ground in Japan, this is definitely not the case for most English speaking countries).
Where this film really shines though is in its visuals. The CGi moments of the Nintendo Mii-esque researcher and his assistant offer light moments of comedy to maintain interest while juxtaposing the traditionally drawn (and spectacularly choreographed) fight sequences, real life photos of places Musashi visited, and paintings of events in his life. The fights are presented in greyscale just to add that extra feeling of it being historical, and there are even instances of the anime Musashi model superimposed over historical artwork, clashing two completely different art styles to create something completely new. The music is also a triumph, the film’s grand score helping to maintain the epic scale the stories of Musashi have now reached.
Musashi – The Dream Of The Last Samurai is a film that takes so many contradicting art styles and blends them into one beautiful picture. Its only flaws are that it sometimes wanders off the subject matter a little too much, and that it perhaps doesn’t provide enough to entice those not already familiar with Miyamoto Mushashi or the works of Oshii. Still, it is apparent that Oshii has a passion for the legendary swordsman, and this is truly reflected in both the visual appeal of the film and the insight it provides. AJ
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Film: Il Generale della Rovere
Year of production: 1959
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Arrow
Certificate: 12
Running time: 134 mins
Director: Roberto Rossellini
Starring: Vittorio De Sica, Hannes Messemer, Vittorio Caprioli, Nando Angelini, Herbert Fischer
Genre: Drama/War
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Italy/France
Language: Italian/Germany
Review by: Matthew Evans
Directed by Roberto Rossellini, one of Italy's most famous neorealist filmmakers, Il Generale della Rovere won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival in 1959. Set during the Second World War, it seeks out and explores the darker aspects of human nature and many people's opportunist actions during times of war.
It is 1943 and Grimaldi (Vittorio De Sica), an apparent colonel in the Italian army, busies himself by swindling the residents of Genoa. Seeking out families whose loved ones have been imprisoned by the Nazis, Grimaldi promises to use his military contacts to ensure they are neither executed or deported to Germany and, in return, charges sizeable sums of money. However, when the Gestapo catch wind of his actions, he is promptly arrested and hauled before S.S. Colonel Mueller (Hannes Messemer).
But Grimaldi is in for a surprise. Instead of facing trial, which would most likely result in death by firing squad, Mueller makes him an intriguing offer: he may live if he agrees to impersonate the General della Rovere, a leader of the resistance who has, despite Mueller's orders to the contrary, been shot by the Nazis. Assuming the General's identity would land Grimaldi in a political jail for several years, where he would be forced to report back to Mueller with information, but it would save him from almost certain death.
Accepting Mueller's offer, Grimaldi assumes the identity of the General and finds himself charged with the task of identifying another resistance leader. However, as time passes, Grimaldi is torn between his debt to the Nazi colonel and the resistance fighters on which he is spying. Grimaldi's time in jail forces him to come to terms with his inability to declare allegiance to either side and eventually repent for his immoral actions during the war…
Described by Martin Scorsese as “the father of us all,” Roberto Rossellini can be credited with having a huge influence on future filmmakers; inspiring the likes of the French New Wave and even British social-realist films of the ‘60s. What's more, Il Generale della Rovere can be said to be one of Rossellini's most widely distributed films in the United States, aside from his war trilogy (Rome Open City; Paisan; and Germany Year Zero).
Whilst more formulaic than many of his other films, Il Generale offers a stark and often disturbing depiction of many people's seemingly nonchalant response to the atrocities committed by the Nazis. Grimaldi, a man whose moral judgement is somewhat shaky to say the least, embodies what many people have found so disturbing about the actions (or inaction) of those under Nazi occupation. Not only does Grimaldi turn a blind eye to the actions of the Nazis, but he's willing to befriend them, in order to extort his fellow Italians.
There is a scene nearing the end of the film where a man, locked in a cell, screams, “I didn't do anything!” However, when a fellow inmate responds, “Neither did we”, the man retorts, “But you're Jews.” The unwillingness of Italians to confront their unwanted Nazi guests is no better illustrated than in this scene. So long as their actions did not infringe on his liberties, the individual yelling, “I didn't do anything,” would happily stand by and let the Nazi's go about cleansing society of Jews. Many people were willing to accept distasteful ideology in return for a quite life.
Grimaldi straddled the line between both camps even more overtly. Whilst in conversation with fellow Italians, he confesses his dislike of their Nazi guests. Yet, when in conversation with Mueller, he expresses his support for the war. Furthermore, when arrested, he is more than prepared to give up the identities of resistance fighters, in return for a safe passage through the war.
Vittorio De Sica's performance as Grimaldi is captivating and has often been described as the best of his career. However, Hannes Messemer's superb portrayal of Mueller is one that is often overlooked. Just like Grimaldi, Mueller's commitment often wavers. His distaste for the use of torture and execution puts him at odds with many of his duties as a colonel. After ordering the torture of a prisoner, the news of the man's death seems to distress Mueller in a way one would not expect from a Nazi colonel. The captivating portrayal of both men, at odds with their conscience when faced with the chaos of war, is surely what makes Il Generale such a successful and intriguing film.
Whilst the film is more formulaic than some fans of Rossellini might prefer, there is much to be said for its cinematography. The manner in which the camera follows those on screen, often for extended periods of time, adds to our understanding of the characters. An example of this is Grimaldi's arrival at the Wehrmacht headquarters, where we follow him up the staircase, into a waiting room filled with townspeople and, finally, into the main office. This scene comes early in the film and, at this point, we are unaware of Grimaldi's activities. However, as we follow Grimaldi through the waiting room, we become acutely aware of his discomfort; he doesn't seem to fit in amongst the other townspeople.
Il Generale della Rovere may not be as gritty as some of Rossellini's other work but, whilst it retains a conventional structure, it does infuse this with Rossellini's trademark neorealism. Ultimately, the film's success lies with its two lead performances and their ability to convey the almost schizophrenic nature of those societies who found themselves under Nazi occupation. Il Generale offers an uncompromising insight into the immorality of some and the indecisiveness of others; both of which can be said to contribute to the atrocities that are committed during times of war.
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