Your Name – Review

​2016 has been a troubling year for many. Without wishing to delve too deeply into politics and personal opinion too far outside the realm of motion pictures, the changes wrought on people who share my mind-set have been unexpected and disturbing. More than ever, the Western world seems polarised, with worrying, archaic views piggy backing on a wave of aimless discontent and shifting the balance of what I thought was acceptable in society. It is in times like these that the arts are invaluable. Not just as a distraction but also as a tool; a reminder of the benefits of free thought and as a howl of protest in the face of those who would silence it. If a silver lining can be found etched around the gathering clouds that threaten to blot out rational thought over the next few years, it is this; times of strife and turmoil are often instrumental in inspiring works of great art.

 

I apologise for the rather off topic introduction to this review. To put matters in context, over the past few weeks I have found solace and comfort in entertainment made outside the bubble of the west, specifically entertainment produced in Japan. There is a simply wonderful show currently running on Netflix called ‘Midnight Diner: Tokyo Stories’, which has been a warm bath for my restless concerns; ten short vignettes of whimsy, pathos and humour which I would recommend to anyone not terrified of subtitles. Last night I also had the privilege of catching a limited screening of Makoto Shinkai’s latest animated feature, ‘Your Name’. The buzz around his latest work has been building steadily since its Japanese release earlier this year. It stayed number one at the domestic box office for over nine weeks and has made the equivalent over 174 million dollars. The praise and respect directed at the film has raised comparisons with the greatest work of Studio Ghibli. It is safe to say that my expectations were high for this slice of contemporary anime, what surprised me is just how far ‘Your Name’ exceeded them.

 

‘Your Name’ is set in the present day over two locations, the urban bustle of Tokyo and the rural idyll of a small country town called Itomori. It follows the story of two teenagers, Taki, a hardworking young man from the city, and Mitsuha, the mayor’s daughter from the countryside. Both protagonists attend their respective high schools and lead lives typical of burgeoning adults the world over. The quiet dramas of their daily lives are suddenly turned on their heads when one day they wake up in each others bodies, a condition which seems to revert the next day leaving them only with the hazy recollection of a dream. This strange occurrence starts happening several times a week. Through the reports of their friends they soon grasp the reality of the situation and begin leaving messages for each other concerning their experiences in the other’s lives and although they can’t remember the details at the end of each day, begin to form an emotional bond which leads them to seek each other out. Could the presence of a comet passing close to Earth’s atmosphere have something to do with their bizarre situation?

 

Now, I would love to be able to discuss the plot of ‘Your Name’ more than this initial set up but sadly to write any more could endanger your potential enjoyment of the film. It is a work of intricately plotted, finally woven brilliance and to view it knowing any more would be doing you a disservice. Technically, ‘Your Name’ is a revelation, a piece of locomotive art. It is breath-taking in its scope and in its detail. Shinkai’s animators have created a world of indelible beauty and richness, hand drawn perfection mixing smoothly and elegantly with computer generated motion, the two combining to utterly transfix. His team create vistas of tangible charm and verdant splendour, with the ability to capture the quality of light with a master’s touch. These glorious, kinetic visuals are matched by a sound track surging with intent and introspection by Japanese band Wimprats. Shinkai shows utter confidence and finesse blending his score and visuals in a cohesive blend of pure emotive power.

 

Of course, such opulence would count for nothing if ‘Your Name’s narrative failed to deliver and it is in this aspect that its greatness is assured. I am a large man, and as an actor I am not afraid to show emotion in public but even so, I’m glad it was dark in the cinema for I was constantly weeping for around a third of the film. Shinkai’s story is cerebral, funny, and achingly, inconsolably, heart wringingly powerful. He combines traditional body swap comedy with teen romance and science fiction to produce a film which moved me to an incredible degree. Even writing these words I find myself transported back to his world of metaphysical emotion and my eyes begin to brim at the recollection.

 

I realise that art is subjective. What moved me so such much about ‘Your Name’ may not affect others as potently as it did me. All I can say to summarise is that something in Shinkai’s beguiling tale of searching, yearning love connected with me at a very personal level. Perhaps the constant, scraping purge of 2016 has left me wounded, in need of an outlet, an emotional balm to heal the bruises of a society gone feral. Whatever the reason, there is no denying the mastery and gentle majesty of this beautiful film. I implore you to find a screening if you possibly can and be reminded that in spite of a damaged Earth and an angry populace, mankind is still capable of creating works of such magical, transcendent wonder.

I give ‘Your Name’ nine and a half Pauls out of Critoph. 

Arrival – Review

​It is often said that good science fiction holds a mirror to the times in which it is made. This has been evidenced countless times across the generations. Be it allegorical or literal, authors and filmmakers frequently use the medium to reflect the concerns and societal issues of their time. Some examples which spring immediately to mind are America’s fear of Communism masquerading as a wave of alien invasion movies in the 50’s, or Planet of the Apes effectively shining a light on the civil rights movement with its portrayal of an oppressed underclass striving for freedom. Denis Villeneuve’s new film ‘Arrival’ reaches cinemas to continue this trend with pinpoint timing, just as the world seems more fractured than ever.

The premise for Arrival is concise and relatively unremarkable. The people of Earth are stunned when 12 vast alien objects appear, hovering vertically just metres above the ground in seemingly random locations across the planet. Master linguist Dr Louise Banks (Amy Adams) is enlisted by the American military in an attempt to communicate with the alien life forms on board the craft standing sentinel over Montana and most importantly, find out what they want. She is aided in this seemingly impossible task by scientist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner). Matters are made even more difficult by a suspicious government at home and increasingly broken international relations as the people of the world react with fear and aggression to their mysterious visitors. If this seems like a fairly standard starting point for a science fiction movie, I should remind you that that is precisely what it is; a starting point. Villeneuve and his screenwriter Eric Heisserer take what is a fairly standard concept of first contact and elegantly mould it into one of the finest films of 2016; tackling themes of hope, loss and unity in a movie which is both cerebral and unobtrusively heart-breaking.

The cast of ‘Arrival’ are universally excellent. My disdain for some of Amy Adams’ earlier appearances has now well and truly dissipated with the emergence of her second remarkable performance in as many weeks. Her Dr Banks is a linguist who knows all the technicalities of communication but isn’t equipped with the nuance or belief to effectively connect with others. In Adams’ hands she is a mourning recluse, she suffers the contradiction of harbouring a disinterest in personal relations with a fascination with the structure of expression. She neatly sidesteps the potential trap of the “introverted academic” archetype by effectively highlighting the empathy she feels for her alien subjects and her confidence in her own expertise. Jeremy Renner is a charming foil for her at every step; her wonder is complimented by his excitement and their burgeoning friendship never seems forced.

In terms of direction, Villeneuve is becoming one of the most consistent new talents in the industry. He shoots with a clear game plan, his camera often starting shots gazing upwards before drifting down upon his subject; thematically linking with his story with subtle grace. He and his DOP, Bradford Young, shoot with a muted colour pallet, using natural light wherever possible, lending proceedings an air of tangible credibility. This believability enhances the sense of other worldly astonishment when the alien craft are finally glimpsed. The ships themselves are as tasteful as they are impressive, hanging in the air like vast weathered pebbles. The initial reveal is simply breath taking; the perfect mix of location, weather conditions and unobtrusively staggering CGI in a shot that deserves to become iconic. The interiors of the ship that we are allowed to see are an exercise in restrained functionality, distinctly alien without the need for Giger-esque flourishes.

 

It is worth pointing out that this is not your standard alien invasion movie, those expecting rollicking action sequences may be initially disappointed. The exploratory nature of the narrative is reflected in the pacing of the film, which is measured and thoughtful. Much as in his previous movie, Sicario, Villeneuve takes his time in order to tell his story, gradually ratcheting up the tension by introducing threats outside of the protagonists’ control. This slow burn approach is complimented once more by the score of his regular composer Johann Johannsson, in a soundtrack of brooding ambiance and darkening menace. It is also worth pointing out that there is a lot more to ‘Arrival’s story than the initial premise would suggest. I’ve been very careful to avoid potential spoilers but rest assured that the narrative moves in directions that I could not have foreseen at the start of the film and is rounded off with intelligence and deserved emotion.

So what does ‘Arrival’ say about planet Earth in 2016? There are several interpretations that could be inferred from its tale of visitors from afar. The right’s fear of immigration looms heavy in the background, as does modern news media’s obsession with sensationalism, regardless of its effect. It highlights the global divisions and suspicion between nations, which threaten to break our world apart without the need for an alien invasion. What is more than this is the fact that it is not purely a work of bleak, foreboding sci-fi. It offers hope. It shows that the only way for humanity to survive is by cooperation and understanding. Although the world is split into countless languages and dialects, it is not too late to communicate and it is in that communication that our salvation lies.   

I give ‘Arrival’ nine Pauls out of Critoph 

Nocturnal Animals – Review

​It is with a heavy heart and a knapsack full of shame that I have to admit that I never got round to watching director Tom Ford’s first feature ‘A Single Man’. There is no overarching reason for this; I wasn’t displaying distain for a fashion designer having the audacity to assume that he could direct motion pictures. To be honest, as a sartorially challenged man, I wasn’t aware of his no doubt stunningly designed blouses and socks; it just happened to pass me by. Consequently, when the trailers for his new film ‘Nocturnal Animals’ started airing, proudly emblazoned with his name as the mark of a quality auteur after just one movie, it inspired scepticism in me instead of reverence. This wasn’t helped by the central presence of Amy Adams, an actress whose appeal has always passed me by, leaving me confused by the regular accolades thrust in her direction. I anticipated an experience of style over substance, of pin sharp visuals covering a heart of scrunched up newspaper. The film that actually greeted me was thankfully anything but; a considered and unnerving take on regret and misplaced happiness.

‘Nocturnal Animals’ is based on the novel ‘Tony and Susan’ by Austin Wright and centres on the gleaming marble life of art dealer Susan Morrow, played by Amy Adams. She leads the perfect LA lifestyle; living in a Hockney-esque glass palace adorned with iconic art and married to the chiselled living mannequin that is Armie Hammer. It is clear though that her ordered life has numbed the experimental verve of her youth, a feeling that is exacerbated by the arrival of a mysterious manuscript; the first copy of a novel written by her ex husband, Tony, and dedicated to her. As she begins to read, the narrative is sliced in three; detailing Susan’s present, her past with Tony and enacting the violent and disturbing story of his book.

The first fifteen minutes of ‘Nocturnal Animals’ initially did nothing to disprove my preconceptions about the film. It is shot with chilly precision and a self-consciously affected style. The shots seem considered but disconnected from each other; each elegantly static frame flowing into the next with no true thematic through line. The title sequence screamed of sensation for sensation’s sake, a series of vastly overweight nude women dancing in slow motion, visually arresting but saying nothing. On reflection, however, it strikes me that this was precisely Tom Ford’s intention and a good marker of what is to follow. The opening of the film is holding a mirror to the paper-thin world that Susan inhabits. The writhing ladies are the central piece of a new art exhibition she is promoting, which is as vapid to her as it is to the audience. Even the structure of shots used by Ford has parallels to the experience of wandering round a gallery, appreciating the aesthetics whilst feeling simultaneously distant from any kind of narrative. Ford uses this style for all sections set in the present day, a covertly meta blending of self importance with the bleakest perfume commercial imaginable to create an unspoken tension which contrasts effectively with the other two story threads.

As she reads Tony’s novel Susan reminisces over the husband she left behind, played with bashful charm by Jake Gyllenhaal. These sections are the antithesis of her current life, filled with natural light and kind hearted optimism. It is in these sections that Adams’ range as an actress really became apparent to me for the first time. She embodies the character arch of Susan with subtlety and deftness, transforming her from a happy rebellious youth to a regret filled captive in a prison of her own design.

Much of the thrill found in ‘Nocturnal Animals’ comes in the vivid depiction of Tony’s novel. It is here that Tom Ford displays a kinetic prowess that marks him as a promising talent. These sections feel like the work of another director entirely, highlighting a harrowing tale of violence, murder and revenge. The story of Tony’s book concerns a man’s quest for justice after the car containing him, his wife and daughter is run off the road in the middle of the night by a gang of deranged youths. The man in question is again played by Jake Gyllenhaal, the first clue that we are witnessing the story unfold in Susan’s imagination. Ford’s gift for the meta is put to great use here by the casting of Isla Fisher as the man’s wife; an actress who is commonly known to bare an uncanny resemblance to Amy Adams, implying that Susan is filling in the gaps in the novel herself. There are also two wonderful performances in these sections of the film, Michael Shannon as a wiry, jackal like detective and a convincingly de-prettied Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Gyllenhaal’s chief redneck tormentor. The ranging, visceral sweep of the novel’s on screen depiction is clearly informed by the life Tony and Susan shared which was then discarded and Ford is clever enough not to draw these parallels too boldly. He proves himself to be a master of drip feeding the audience ideas and allowing us to make the links for ourselves.

By its conclusion ‘Nocturnal Creatures’ succeeds in crafting a mournful character study of loss and mourning for past happiness. That it also manages to forge a tense, uncomfortable thriller; as effective at unnerving a cinema crowd as many crime dramas with that single purpose, is high praise. Amy Adams turns in a performance of honesty and regret that erases memory of some of her less committed roles and is complimented beautifully by Gyllenhaal’s sweet and broken twin performances. My initial irritation at the overuse of Tom Ford’s name in the film’s promotion has melted in the wake of the near brilliance on display here. ‘Nocturnal Animals’ is a work of ingenuity and precision with the power to intrigue and devastate. I eagerly anticipate a second viewing.

I give ‘Nocturnal Animals’ eight and a half Pauls out of Critoph. 

I, Daniel Blake – Review

  ‘I, Daniel Blake’ recently arrived in British cinemas on a wave of overseas critical acclaim and festival success, being touted as director Ken Loach’s opus and winning Cannes prestigious Palme D’Or. That such a swell of praise should crash upon the rocks of certain homegrown journalists’ ire should come as no great surprise. Some critics have questioned the veracity of its tale of a carpenter trapped in an endless cycle of bureaucracy, and singled out Loach for exaggerating the negativities of Britain’s benefit system in an attempt to score political points. Whether this is the case or not, it should be noted that ‘I, Daniel Blake’ is not a documentary and as such should not be judged solely on its story’s echoing of the truth. If, as a work of fiction it is still a compelling and affecting tale then it should still deserve respect.

The story concerns the eponymous Daniel Blake, a widowed carpenter from Newcastle, recovering after a serious heart attack. His doctor informs him that he is not fit to work; a claim which is dismissed by the benefits system as he attempts to claim support, leaving him having to tackle the Sisyphean trial of signing on to Jobseekers Allowance in order to survive. This leaves Daniel in a paradoxical loop of being required to search for work he cannot possibly undertake. Along the way he befriends Katie, a young, displaced mother from London and her two children who are similarly trapped in a cycle of uncaring state bureaucracy.

 

Reading this synopsis it would be easy to think that ‘I, Daniel Blake’ is as great an ordeal to watch as any its title character suffers in the film. Happily though, this is not the case. Paul Laverty’s script ensures that although the themes and subject matter are sobering, their execution fizzes with Blitz spirit optimism and wry humour. Early sections of the film are played almost entirely for laughs. As Daniel, Dave Johns wears a near permanent expression of befuddled amusement as he deals with self-righteous DWP dictators and struggles to come to terms with modern technology. The early scenes displaying the impenetrable layers of Job Centre double speak stand as infuriating lessons in expertly handled gallows humour. Special credit should go to Steven Clegg and Sharon Percy who manage to portray the disinterested villainy of petty authority so believably as two particularly narrow minded employees.

 

Of course it is inevitable considering the subject matter that such initial levity cannot be maintained, and it is this shift into darker tones that makes ‘I, Daniel Blake’ such compelling viewing. As money runs out and desperation increases the immoveable stubbornness of the local authorities and their reluctance to grant Daniel an appeal date becomes ever more harrowing. The good nature of the title character is never in question, shown by his continual support of Katie’s young family, constantly giving even when he has nothing left to give. As Katie, Hayley Squires gives a controlled performance of restrained desperation, cracks of pain occasionally breaking through her hardened mask of making do.

Ken Loach handles the film with the steady hand of a quiet professional. He knows exactly what he is trying to achieve with the film and achieves it with restraint and economy. He shoots with a muted colour palette and frames his scenes with functional purpose. There is no soundtrack of which to speak and this stripped back dynamic serves to highlight the quietly devastating tragedy of his narrative. The entire film is anchored by Dave Johns’ immensely likeable portrayal. His rough charm and optimistic twinkle craft a character as tangibly believable as I can recall. Not all the performances are as well honed. The benefit of casting non actors in projects such as this is a perceived authenticity of purpose but it is also a risk. Some of the supporting cast look ill at ease in front of the camera, and deliver stilted, unnatural performances, which unfortunately serve to shatter the illusion of reality. Thankfully such moments are fleeting and are outweighed by the occasions when the casting process works.

 

It could be argued that ‘I, Daniel Blake’ is rather blunt in its storytelling. This may be the case. However, there are times when subject matter deserves to be handled in such a way. Regardless of whether this is a true story or not, it is certainly inspired by thousands of cases of state sponsored neglect and abandonment that are anything but fictional. Loach has installed in his film a belief in working class optimism and support that offers hope for our politically fractured Britain. The people of ‘I, Daniel Blake’ still retain the will to help others who are in need in the face of an uncaring government and a culture of mistrust. At the close of this film, the action just stops. Loach has told the story he intended and thrusts it back into the auditorium for us to deal with. I have rarely heard a busy cinema so quiet and so broken. Art has always held a mirror to society, to pick over the minutiae of films like ‘I, Daniel Blake’ is to miss the point. It gives voice to a muffled yell of desperation that fervently needs to be heard in today’s Britain.         

I give ‘I, Daniel Blake’ eight Pauls out of Critoph.