There are few things more depressing than watching a genuinely inventive director being overpowered by the machinery of a franchise blockbuster. Take The Green Hornet (2010, Sony, 12), the long-gestating big-screen spin-off from the 30s radio serial and 60s TV show which is technically "Un Film de Michel Gondry" although frankly you wouldn't know it from watching the movie. In fact, the real driving force here is writer-and-star Seth Rogen playing slobbish Britt Reid, whose campaigning news mogul father (Tom Wilkinson) dies suddenly after a suspicious insect bite. Initially uninterested in his grand paternal legacy, Britt is stung into action by the inventive fighting skills of coffee-maker-cum-handyman Kato (likable Taiwanese pop sensation Jay Chou) and embarks upon a knockabout reign of clumsy crime-fighting vigilance, kept alive only by his super-agile sidekick.
The Green Hornet had been knocking around for a long time before the arrival of Gondry, whose previous love of "in camera" effects had created some wonderfully old-fashioned cinema magic; from the head-spinning antics of his "Lucas with the Lid Off" music promo, which is all shot in one gravity-defying take, to the cardboard dream sequences of The Science of Sleep and the comedic home video process of "sweding" featured in Be Kind Rewind. "Of course, there are sequences that have my specific signature," says Gondry of The Green Hornet, worryingly acknowledging how little of his own stamp he was able to place on the rest of this multi-million dollar romp. Predictably, the result – clunkily retro-fitted into obligatory 3D for cinemas – owes less to Gondry's home-made aesthetic than to Ang Lee's ill-fated Hulk, another franchised failure which ate its auteur director for breakfast. Much of the blame for the movie's lumpen dreariness must lie with Rogen, who has neither the anarchic loser charm of Aaron Johnson's dorky Kick-Ass (to which The Green Hornet owes a huge debt) nor the quick-fire wit of Robert Downey's Iron Man, settling instead for mere ho-hum bozo boorishness.
Meanwhile Christoph Waltz simply dusts off his quiet-but-scary turn from Inglourious Basterds as the Hornet's fiendish nemesis, while Cameron Diaz fights a losing battle against her woefully perfunctory love-interest casting. Plentiful DVD extras include commentary, featurettes, deleted scenes, gag reels etc, but sadly not a cheerfully cheap "sweded" version of the bloated feature which would have been infinitely preferable.
While Toy Story 3 was a worthy and much-loved Oscar winner, my own favourite animated feature of last year was Chico & Rita (2010, Icon, 15), a ravishingly old-fashioned romance set in 40s Havana and 50s New York, and played out against the birth of bebop. Designed by Javier Mariscal and co-directed by Fernando Trueba (whose wildly diverse CV includes the Oscar-winning charmer Belle Epoque and the brilliant but little seen psychodrama The Mad Monkey), this wonderfully seductive musical odyssey oozes tactile pleasure, its "hand-drawn" 2D visuals boasting more depth and heart than any 3D CG offering. Having teamed up briefly with sultry singer Rita, Cuban pianist Chico crosses continents in search of the lost chord struck by the love of his life. With Bebo Valdés at the helm of the soundtrack, and animated cameo appearances from the likes of Charlie Parker and Chano Pozo, this provides a snappy crash course in the backstory of modern blues, affectionately documenting the moment when African rhythms put a backbeat into free-form jazz. More importantly, it presents a spine-tingling melancholic romance which both breaks and gladdens the heart while putting a spring in one's step. An accompanying CD and graphic novel are also available for those who wish to take this affair to remember a little further.
Last month Tetsuya Nakashima's Confessions (2010, Third Window, 15) picked up the award for best Asian film at the Asian Film Awards in Hong Kong, having already won statuettes for best film, director, screenplay and editing at the 34th Awards of the Japanese Academy, and been put forward as the country's official entry for Oscar's reliably shambolic foreign language film category. Based on Kanae Minato's bestselling novel, Nakashima's almost impenetrably cool film spins umpteen interweaving stories which variously revolve around themes of schoolyard bullying, poisonous deceit, maternal anguish and ice-cold revenge. Stylistically the movie is a marvel, with every shot designed to within an inch of its life and accompanied by the super-hip sounds of Radiohead, Boris, and the xx. The problem is that the glistening surface sheen and self-aware plot contrivances ultimately militate against emotional involvement, meaning that Confessions impresses without ever quite engaging. But perhaps that's the point – after all, shouldn't a film about alienation put a distance between itself and its audience? A lengthy accompanying featurette offers some answers but subsequent viewings are clearly needed to crack the film's chilly veneer.
There were awards, too, for Joanne Froggatt who picked up the gong for most promising newcomer at this year's increasingly important British Independent Film Awards for her role in In Our Name (2010, Artificial Eye, 18). She plays a British soldier returning from Iraq who struggles to readjust to civilian life after witnessing (and feeling increasingly responsible for) the random horrors of war. There's real conviction in Froggatt's understated performance, particularly in her fractious relationship with her husband (whose response to active service is altogether different) and to the daughter about whose safety she becomes more and more paranoid. Owing both a thematic and tonal debt to the work of Ken Loach, Brian Welsh's intelligent, thoughtful drama enjoyed a simultaneous on-demand release to complement its limited theatrical run, a smart strategy which looks increasingly like a viable model for independent film distribution in the UK.
Source:
No comments:
Post a Comment