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Cherry (2021)   There’s something almost pathetically juvenile about Anthony and Joe Russo choosing to make Cherry, as if their reward for delivering all those massively successful MCU monsters was a “grownup” movie. Variety’s Owen Gleiberman ranked it the worst film of 2021, labelling it a “spectacularly overblown debacle” and “less a movie than an overdirected 140-minute showreel of gritty brand extension”. He isn’t wrong. Anyone who hadn’t realised on first sniff of their Marvel efforts will now have to admit the Russos’ “auteurishness” is pure affectation, soulless study devoid of actual inspiration or creative spark. Cherry’s a tiresome, spiked mishmash of Jarhead and Requiem for

28 Days Later (2002)   Evolution’s a nasty business. If not for its baleful influence, all those genetically similar apes – or bats – would be unable to transmit deadly lab-made viruses to humans and cause a zombie plague. Thank the lord we’ve got science on our side, to save us from such scientifically approved, stamped and certified terrors. Does Danny Boyle believe in the programming he expounds? As in, is he as aware of 28 Days Later’s enforcement of the prescribed paradigm in the same manner as the product placement he oversees in every other frame of the movie (and

Snake Eyes (1998)   The best De Palma movies offer a persuasive synthesis of plot and aesthetic, such that the director’s meticulously crafted shots and set pieces are underpinned by a firm foundation. That isn’t to say, however, that there isn’t a sheer pleasure to be had from the simple act of observing, from De Palma movies where there isn’t really a whole lot more than the seduction of sound, image and movement. Snake Eyes has the intention to be both scrupulously written and beautifully composed, coming after a decade when the director was – mostly – exploring his oeuvre more commercially

Invaders from Mars (1986)   One can wax thematical over the number of ’80s remakes of ’50s movies – and ’50s SF movies, in particular – and of how they represent ever-present Cold War and nuclear threats, and steadily increasing social and familial paranoias and disintegrating values. Really, though, it’s mostly down to the nostalgia of filmmakers for whom such pictures were formative influences (and studios hoping to make an easy buck on a library property). Tobe Hooper’s version of nostalgia, however, is not so readily discernible as a John Carpenter or a David Cronenberg (not that Cronenberg could foment such

Top Gun (1986)   I wasn’t a fan of this Navy recruitment reel at the time. If anything, I’m even less so now. I well recall how insanely popular Top Gun was, but I doubt if I’d have found it palatable even without the insistent effrontery of Tom Cruise’s shit-eating grin bookending each scene. This Simpson and Bruckheimer production is a studiously hollow, vacuous picture, one that attempted to make a virtue of its empty-headed machismo and consequently landed in the most zeitgeisty fashion. It’s this, rather than Wall Street, that really sums up the ’80s, because it’s this that really reflects uncomprehending

Doctor Who The Two Doctors   Ah yes, The Two Doctors. It can’t catch a break. If it isn’t in gratuitous, disgusting and in appalling taste, then it’s incredibly, unforgivably racist. And terribly directed besides. Some of these things are fair comment. Having recently rewatched Warriors of the Deep, I can attest there are degrees to the field of bad direction; as uninspired as his work is, Peter Moffat isn’t nearly at the bottom of the heap in this case. Tat Wood even suggests Pennant Roberts could probably have made something of the story, which is illustrative of how incredibly off base his overall

From Here to Eternity (1953)   Which is more famous, Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr making out in the surf in From Here to Eternity or Airplane! spoofing the same? It’s an iconic scene – both of them – in a Best Picture Oscar winner – only one of them – stuffed to the rafters with iconic actors. But Academy acclaim is no guarantee of quality. Just ask A Beautiful Mind. From Here to Eternity is both frustrating and fascinating for what it can and cannot do per the restrictive codes of the 1950s, creaky at times but never less than compelling. There are many movies of

Bloodshot (2020)   If the trailer for Bloodshot gave the impression it had some meagre potential, that’s probably because it revealed the entire plot of a movie clearly intended to unveil itself in measured and judicious fashion. It isn’t far from the halfway mark that the truth about the situation Vin Diesel’s Ray Garrison faces is revealed, which is about forty-one minutes later than in the trailer. More frustratingly, while themes of perception of reality, memory and identity are much-ploughed cinematic furrows, they’re evergreens if dealt with smartly. Bloodshot quickly squanders them. But then, this is, after all, a Vin Diesel vehicle. A stranded

Damien: Omen II (1978)   There’s an undercurrent of unfulfilled potential with the Omen series, an opportunity to explore the machinations of the Antichrist and his minions largely ignored in favour of Final Destination deaths every twenty minutes or so. Of the exploration there is, however, the better part is found in Damien: Omen II, where we’re privy to the parallel efforts of a twelve or thirteen-year-old Damien at military school and those of Thorn Industries. The natural home of the diabolical is, after all, big business. Consequently, while this sequel is much less slick than the original, it is also more engaging dramatically. Kim

Candy (1968)   There’s no way anyone could get away with making it today. I’ll wager that’s the immediate reaction of anyone seeing Candy for the first time. Which, much as I’m adverse to outrage culture, is probably a positive. There’s something inherently suspect about satirising a subject through embracing it wholeheartedly, as this adaptation of the 1958 novel’s trawl through a pornographic America rather bears out. It’s tantamount to suggesting the oeuvre of Eli Roth is actually a commentary on violence. Nevertheless, while Candy isn’t a good movie, attempting as it does to filter its satirical subjects through a Confessions of a Window Cleaner-style level of

Private’s Progress (1956)   Truth be told, there’s good reason sequel I’m Alright Jack reaps the raves – it is, after all, razor sharp and entirely focussed in its satire – but Private’s Progress is no slouch either. In some respects, it makes for an easy bedfellow with such wartime larks as Norman Wisdom’s The Square Peg (one of the slapstick funny man’s better vehicles). But it’s also, typically of the Boulting Brothers’ unsentimental disposition, utterly remorseless in rebuffing any notions of romantic wartime heroism, nobility and fighting the good fight. Everyone in the British Army is entirely cynical, or terrified, or an idiot. At one

The Presidio (1988)   “Shit on a shtick” exclaims Sean Connery at one point during The Presidio. That was probably also his reaction on learning Mark Harmon was to be his co-star (it seems Kevin Costner dropped out, and then Don Johnson couldn’t catch a break from Miami Vice. You know, manly male types Sean might have vibed with). Much as it would be nice to dispute the prevailing view (“I suppose Harmon could have been stronger” was Sean’s verdict), Connery’s co-star is the weak link here. But even if this had ended up as a reteam for Costner and Connery, I

The Hill (1965)   The kind of movie that gives you faith there are positives to star power. The Hill wouldn’t have been made, were it not for Sean Connery’s Bond cachet, and if it failed to create any waves at the box office, it still ranks one of the very best things most of its cast did. Which also goes for director Sidney Lumet and cinematographer Oswald Morris (who won a BAFTA for his efforts). It’s also the kind of picture which, when confronted by the empty fireworks of an awards favourite like 1917, serves as a reminder that intelligent, thought provoking

The Fourth War (1990)   The appeal of John Frankenheimer’s only just Cold War thriller (it’s set in November 1988) is all in the title. Not that the idiosyncratic plot doesn’t have a certain appeal, but it wasn’t a broad one; The Fourth War came out three weeks after a Cold War thriller people wanted to see (The Hunt for Red October) and duly bombed. Roy Scheider’s colonel, a troublemaking Nam vet, finds himself posted to West Germany, overlooking the Czech border, where he instantly begins provoking the Soviets, and most especially his like-for-like in attitude opposite number Jürgen Prochnow. What starts as lobbed

1917 (2019)   When I first heard the premise of Sam Mendes’ Oscar-bait World War I movie – co-produced by Amblin Partners, as Spielberg just loves his sentimental war carnage – my first response was that it sounded highly contrived, and that I’d like to know how, precisely, the story Mendes’ granddad told him would bear any relation to the events he’d be depicting. And just why he felt it would be appropriate to honour his relative’s memory via a one-shot gimmick. None of that has gone away on seeing the film. 1917’s a technical marvel, and Roger Deakins’ cinematography

A Few Good Men (1992)   Aaron Sorkin has penned a few good scripts in his time, but A Few Good Men, despite being inspired by an actual incident (one related to him by his sister, an army lawyer on a case at the time), falls squarely into the realm of watchable but formulaic. I’m not sure I’d revisited the entire movie since seeing it at the cinema, but my reaction is largely the same: that it’s about as impressively mounted and star-studded as Hollywood gets, but it’s ultimately a rather empty courtroom drama. Roger Ebert summed it up well at the time

The Wandering Earth (2019)   Proof that Hollywood doesn’t hold the monopoly on empty-headed disaster movies. The Wandering Earth is currently the third-biggest movie of the year globally (99 percent of receipts were sold at the Chinese box office, however) and China’s second-largest homegrown hit ever. But, as Titanic proved, a guarantee of quality in no way comes as part and parcel of such spectacle. Director Frant Gwo is a huge fan of James Cameron, but it’s Armageddon you’ll be thinking of here – only even bonkerers – complete with absurd Bay-hem style CGI action that only gets dafter as the daftness escalates. And a prerequisite

Triple Frontier (2019)   Triple Frontier must have seemed like a no-brainer for Netflix, even by their standards of indiscriminately greenlighting projects whenever anyone who can’t get a job at a proper studio asks. It had, after all, been a hot property – nearly a decade ago now – with Kathryn Bigelow attached as director (she retains a producing credit) and subsequently JC Chandor, who has seen it through to completion. Netflix may not have attracted quite the same level of prospective stars – Johnny Depp, Tom Hanks, Will Smith, Tom Hardy and Channing Tatum were all involved at various points

Starship Troopers (1997)   Paul Verhoeven’s sci-fi trio of Robocop, Total Recall and Starship Troopers are frequently claimed to be unrivalled in their genre, but it’s really only the first of them that entirely attains that rarefied level. Discussion and praise of Starship Troopers are generally prefaced by noting that great swathes of people – including critics and cast members – were too stupid to realise it was a satire. This is a bit of a Fight Club one, certainly for anyone from the UK – Verhoeven commented “The English got it though. I remember coming out of Heathrow and seeing the posters, which were great. They were just stupid lines

The Predator (2018)   Is The Predator everything you’d want from a Shane Black movie featuring a Predator (or Yautja, or Hish-Qu-Ten, apparently)? Emphatically not. We’ve already had a Shane Black movie featuring a Predator – or the other way around, at least – and that was on another level. The problem – aside from the enforced reshoots, and the not-altogether-there casting, and the possibility that full-on action extravaganzas, while delivered competently, may not be his best foot forward – is that I don’t think Black’s really a science-fiction guy, game as he clearly was to take on the permanently beleaguered franchise.

Hulk (2003)   I’m not a Hulk apologist. I unreservedly consider it one of the superior superhero adaptations. Admittedly, more for the visual acumen Ang Lee brings to the material than James Schamus, Michael France and John Turman’s screenplay. But even then, if the movie gets bogged down in unnecessarily overwrought father-son origins and dynamic, overlaid on a perfectly good and straightforward core story (one might suggest it was change for the sake of change), once those alterations are in place, much of the follow through, and the paralleling of wayward parents and upright children, or vice versa, translates effectively to the

The Avengers 4.20: The Danger Makers   A bit of a plod this one, enlivened by a couple of scenes, admittedly, but not enough to salvage The Danger Makers. The title pretty much tells you the score, as military personnel, dismayed by the lack of conflict in peacetime, create thrill-seeking exercises for themselves. Unfortunately, the thrill seeking only intermittently extends to viewer enthralment. Robertson: There are very few wars nowadays. They’re rapidly becoming push-button affairs. No, your concept of military life is changing, Mrs Peel. The military man is becoming defunct, obsolete, a dodo. On the plus side, veteran film director Charles

Soldier  (1998)   Now that a bona-fide Blade Runner sequel has arrived, we can stop clutching at straws of movies that may/not be set in the same universe. Ridley Scott, growing more senile with each passing minute, considers Alien to exist in the same continuity, but David Webb Peoples got there first with “sidequel” Soldier, enthusiastically partnered by Paul WS Anderson. Unfortunately, no one benefits from the association, as Soldier is a downright terrible movie. I have a bit of a blind spot for Peoples, on the basis that Unforgiven is a masterpiece of a screenplay, Twelve Monkeys is perfectly formed and his contribution to Blade Runner helped engineer an all-time-classic. I assume

Kong: Skull Island (2017)   Just two entries in, and a running flaw has already established itself in Legendary Pictures’ bid for a “MonsterVerse” cinematic universe: exemplary visuals (delivered by talented directors) and laudable design work married to borderline non-existent characterisation. For the humans, at any rate. Is this an endemic problem with such movies, that the massive, monstrous protagonists inevitably dwarf their human counterparts? I don’t know. At least Kong himself fares better in Kong: Skull Island than most over-sized feature creatures, mainly because he isn’t over-used and is mostly well-used when he is. But Jordan Vogt-Roberts’ movie generally seems uncertain

Full Metal Jacket (1987)   If there’s a problem with appreciating the oeuvre of Stanley Kubrick, it’s that the true zealots will claim every single one of his pictures as a goddam masterpiece (well, maybe not Killer’s Kiss). I can’t quite get behind that. Every single one may be meticulously crafted, but there are rocky patches and suspect decisions made in at least a handful of them. Full Metal Jacket is something of a masterpiece when set against the other Nam flick released in a similar time frame, certainly. Or rather, its first half is. The first half of Full Metal Jacket can stand proud against anything

13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi aka 13 Hours (2016)   Not The Secret Private Military Contractors of Benghazi, as that might sound dubious in some way, and we wouldn’t anything to undermine their straight-shooting heroism. That, and interrogating the politics of the US presence in Libya, official and unofficial, and involvement in the downfall of Gaddafi (Adam Curtis provides some solid nuggets in his rather sprawling HyperNormalisation), is the furthest thing from Michael Bay’s mind. Indeed, it’s a shame 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi bears the burden of being a tale based on (murky and disputed) facts, as it’s Bay’s

Spectral (2016)   Straight-to-Netflix, and you can see why Universal opted not to give it a theatrical window, since everything from the filming location (Budapest) to the leads, to an untested features director (Nic Matheiu comes from commercials), suggests less-than-stellar fare. On that level, Spectral is a reasonably accomplished production, but it also has very little going for it in terms of a vital spark of originality; you could mash up Aliens, The Keep and soldiers-under-siege flicks (Black Hawk Down) and probably come up with something more enticing with one hand tied behind your back. There’s some promise here when the initial explanation for the invisible force

Arrival (2016)   I haven’t been nearly as wowed as most by director Denis Villeneuve’s previous pictures. Enemy, I’ll grant you, is an effective little piece, albeit one that feels like an extended episode of an anthology series rather than a fully-engineered movie in its own right, but Prisoners is a ridiculously overwrought piece of manipulative, melodramatic nonsense that somehow swayed critics. Likewise, Sicario; magnificently directed, but in terms of content not much more than B-grade pulp. Indeed, Villeneuve’s choices make him seem, unfortunately, a wholly suitable inheritor of the Blade Runner legacy from Sir Ridders, another director with a negligible eye for a robust screenplay.

The 5th Wave (2016)   Not actually offensively bad, merely persistently unimaginative, dull and derivative, and thus another inevitably failed YA franchise non-starter. Based on Rick Yancey’s novel (the first in a trilogy), The 5th Wave is an alien invasion yarn, concerning itself with the youthful resistance that forms in the arrival’s wake, and thus probably more familiar in basic form to TV viewers (with the likes of V or Falling Skies) or, if you transpose the aliens for commies, aficionados of John Milius’ Red Dawn. J Blakeson directs serviceably enough, but without any real flair, perhaps because he’s only matching the material, which comes courtesy of a screenplay from

The Avengers 3.4: The Golden Fleece   The first sub-standard episode of Season Three, not even especially memorable for the presence of frequent guest-star Warren Mitchell (his first of four on the show, two as recurring Russian doofus Brodny). The Golden Fleece is another where the bad guys aren’t really such bad guys, concerning a trio of army veterans involved in gold smuggling as a means to benefit servicemen in need. Unfortunately, that rather tepid motivation says all too much about the flaccid quality of the Roger Marshall and Phyllis Norman teleplay (directed by Peter Hammond). Captain Jason (Mitchell), Major Ruse (the

G.I. Jane (1997)   In the late ’60s, Pauline Kael wrote a piece bemoaning (she was quite good at bemoaning) the state of US movie companies with regard to how they were turning to England for directors. She commented, “The English can write and they can act… but they can’t direct movies”. She proceeded with a list of examples, honourably exempting Hitchcock and Carol Reed (but unforgivably omitting Michael Powell). It admittedly included a string of fair comments, but also rather unjustly picked on several lights of the comedy genre, as if that was ever, anywhere, with very rare exceptions,

Jack Reacher: Never Go Back (2016)   It was probably inevitable that Tom Cruise’s dedication to his declining “brand” meant Jack Reacher would renounce his stone-cold, death-machine mantle almost as soon as he had found his footing. But that doesn’t mean we have to like it. As other commentators have noted, with nineteen novels to choose from, what were the chances Cruise would pick the one that softens the character up, giving him a potential daughter and (only ever potential) love interest to pick away at his concealed human side? But then Cruise, amid his scientological myopia, probably thought he

Eye in the Sky (2015)   The movies can’t get enough of drones, whether its critiquing them in indie features no one will see, utilising them as the stock-in-trade explosive plot device of the average blockbuster, or simply making the pictures themselves with them. Last year we were graced with the indulgent angst fest of a boozy Ethan Hawke going off the deep end in Good Kill; it was solid on the incongruity of delivering destruction from a storage crate in Vegas, much less so on the personal demons of its main character. The plus side of largely limiting itself to

Aliens (1986)   (Special Edition) Aliens immediately became my favourite movie when I first saw it. It was a heart stopping roller coaster ride, and I didn’t want to get off. So much so, when it was over I instantly rewound the video tape and watched it again. James Cameron transformed the slow-burn atmospherics of Ridley Scott’s haunting original into an all-out attack/slaughter by/of xenomorphs; as the tagline announced, “This Time It’s War”. I can’t really apologise for having preferred it to Alien; it was simply a more accessible, adrenalised, edge-of-the-seat, air-punching experience. Time, hindsight and repeat viewings can change a lot;

Predator (1987)   The first time Predator caught my attention was via a box office report on pre-infamy Jonathan King’s BBC2 magazine show Entertainment USA. The movie had become a surprise hit during the summer of ’87 (beating The Witches of Eastwick to the top spot in their first week), and I was immediately enthused by the featured clip in which Arnie announced, in distinctive tones, “If it bleeds, we can kill it” Whatever it was, it promised extra-terrestrial thrills. The complete movie did not disappoint, and for a while there it ranked as one of my favourites of the era. Truth be told, it’s perhaps a little

WarGames (1983)   It isn’t easy to imminent nuclear Armageddon fun. By the sound of it, WarGames wouldn’t have become the fifth biggest movie (in the US) of 1983 if original director Martin Brest had not been fired from his more serious take on the tale of a computer geek who accidentally hacks into NORAD and nearly starts WWIII. The premise is deliriously hi-concept, but Brest appeared to have something in mind that was closer to the tone Alan J Pakula’s ’70s conspiracy pictures. When reliable pair of hands John Badham stepped into the breach it became something else. WarGames retained its essentials –

Good Kill (2014)   Andrew Niccol’s latest might be viewed as presenting the flipside to the earnest and venerable combatant approach of Eastwood’s American Sniper. Unfortunately, while Good Kill has a clear moral and political point of view, in contrast to Eastwood’s contextual ambivalence, it is every bit as clumsy in its storytelling. Niccol has a knack for picking provocative subject matter, but his ability to show restraint and finesse in exploring these ideas has generally been patchy. He comes up short in Gattaca (eugenics) Lord of War (the arms trade), S1m0ne (the monster media machine) and In Time (the haves and have nots). Good Kill knows all the arguments about drone warfare. It

Furious 7 (2015)   With the way the sixth sequel to The Fast and the Furious has been understandably overshadowed and informed by the loss of Paul Walker, you’d be forgiven for thinking it might exhibit a more sombre, reflective side to the series. Not a bit of it, any more than a franchise that continues to make an asset of the glib emotional inclusiveness that is Dom’s decree “I don’t have friends, I got family” has previously shown depth, thematic or otherwise. Rather, the most appealing aspect of Furious 7 is how far it goes to embrace the absurdity of the series in

The Rover (2014)   David Michôd’s Outback thriller embraces a tentative future vision of pre-apocalyptic, post-economic collapse. It’s gauged not so far from the original Mad Max, and, by avoiding population centres, it avoids answering any detailed questions about how this former First, now Third, World country malingers on. It might have been better if the general thrust of Michôd’s story had remained similarly unforthcoming. For the first forty minutes or so, The Rover is stark, striking, and elusive. It remains a first-rate piece of filmmaking right through to the climax, but the tale wilts into something a touch too tangible and familiar.

American Sniper (2014)   There’s a prevailing trend whereby movies capturing the zeitgeist, ones that, on whatever level, become pop culture events, just aren’t all that. It happened with Mel Gibson’s sadomasochistic epistle to Roman Catholicism, The Passion of the Christ. It happened again, on an entirely superficial level, with James Cameron’s Avatar (look at that 3D go, and wonder how much carbon dioxide was created to make this environmental fable). Now there’s American Sniper, breaking box office records when most were probably expecting Clint Eastwood to topple headfirst into his grave before very long. And it’s kind of average, all told. It isn’t

The Guest (2014)   What if Michael Myers were a personable young man with excellent manners and piercing blue eyes? Would you let him in your family home? That’s at least part of what director Adam Wingard and writer Simon Barrett are angling for in this blackly comic ’80s genre binge. The Guest is a well-made little B-movie, and has been audibly embraced by film geeks and critics alike. I wanted to like it more than I did. It is certainly, like a great many (too many?) movies at the moment, upfront with its influences, but it isn’t as rapier sharper as

You Must Be Joking! (1965)   A time before a Michael Winner film was a de facto cinematic blot on the landscape is now scarcely conceivable. His output, post- (or thereabouts) Death Wish (“a pleasant romp”) is so roundly derided that it’s easy to forget that the once-and-only dining columnist and raconteur was once a bright (well…) young thing of the ’60s, riding the wave of excitement (most likely highly cynically) and innovation in British cinema. His best-known efforts from this period are a series of movies with Oliver Reed – including the one with the elephant – and tend to represent

’71 (2014)   TV director Yann Demange’s big-screen debut depicts a tense, claustrophobic struggle for survival in unknown alien territory. There’s danger at every quarter and only ever limited respite. Such tales are a subgenre unto themselves, from the backwoods versus civilised man of Deliverance (and its spiritual remake Southern Comfort) to comedy of urban disarray After Hours. The difference with ’71 is that its backdrop generally inspires stern tones and serious discussion; the Troubles. Accordingly, some might regard the film as in poor taste. Yet, despite rejecting overt political or moral debate, this doesn’t make the mistake of proceeding in a shallow or irreverent manner; ’71 does

The Machine (2013)   The Machine is an impressive Hollywood calling card from writer-director Caradog W James, but only in respect of the latter skillset. There’s little original in his well-worn script concerning an AI created by everybody’s favourite Bond villain Toby Stephens. Actually, James also steals a whole lot in terms of visuals. But this is a stylishly put together futuristic thriller, making the most of its low budget. So much so, it’s easy to give the scrappy plotting and rote characterisation a pass, until the thought crosses your mind that James may genuinely think he’s saying something profound or significant. He

Edge of Tomorrow (2014)   Comparisons with other movies don’t really do Edge of Tomorrow justice. Yes, it’s the sci-fi Groundhog Day (and also tips its hat to Source Code); given the popularity of that movie, it’s a perfectly acceptable shorthand. But this isn’t a love story (despite the usual tepid intimations of romance that Tom Cruise – or his advisors – have shoehorned in, pretty much as an afterthought; as such it’s relatively innocuous). Yes, the aliens make noise like, well Aliens. And there’s the open-air warfare of Starship Troopers. And yet, the creatures are the least of the story. And there are mech suits, suggestive

Godzilla (2014)   In more ways than one, Godzilla is very much this year’s Pacific Rim.  A movie that giant-monster-adoring geeks are willing themselves to love, amped up beyond words by the prospect of great leviathans duking it out, but which fails to deliver in some fundamental respects. On a movie-making level Godzilla is the more admirable of the two, taking an almost classical slow-burn approach to the telling, but this ends up ensnaring the picture, making its shortcomings all the more apparent. It is sure to receive many a salutatory gesture for respecting its source material in a way the 1998 Hollywood version never did,

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)   The Grand Budapest Hotel is a dizzying medley of all that is finest in Wes Anderson’s films. Which is to say, if you aren’t a fan already this is highly unlikely to convert you. Except, perhaps, by virtue of its pace. A madcap escalation of stories within stories, episodic incidents, arch dialogue, eccentric characters, and musical staging, all set against his familiar tableau compositions, Anderson’s latest film is an irresistible feast that serves its final course long before you’re in danger of feeling bloated. One might argue this isn’t a terribly deep film, its undercurrents

Hummingbird aka Redemption (2013)   The Stat’s back and this time he’s baring his soulful, sensitive side amidst the usual skull-cracking. Steven Knight, a talented writer whose early credits on The Detectives shouldn’t necessarily be held against him, makes his directorial debut (as many dissatisfied writers are wont to do eventually) on Hummingbird, and it’s a mixed bag. Knight seems to be fully engaging with his archetypes, but does so to the point that his tale is doused in clichés. Material so self-consciously heightened requires a director and stars who can make a virtue out of the excesses; that everyone here is merely

Short Circuit (1986)   Strange as it now may seem, and certainly few were talking about it in hushed tones at the time, John Badham was one of the more reliable directors of the 1980s. Blue Thunder, War Games, Short Circuit, Stakeout and into the first digit of the ’90s with Bird on a Wire, he made a string of successful but forgettable movies (War Games is actually pretty good, though) that put the lie to the idea the talent behind Saturday Night Fever had a career ripe with potential ahead of him. Badham made a career out of journeyman gigs, and you could imagine at least a couple

Ender’s Game (2013)   Ender’s Game arrives on screen awash with controversy, although little of it relates to the film itself. No doubt there are fans of the book dissatisfied with yet another Hollywood adaptation scooping up and spitting out a mangled version of their beloved text. The negative press mostly relates to author Orson Scott Card’s rampant homophobia, and has subsequently overwhelmed any conversation regarding the movie. I’ll try not to do likewise. So here’s my verdict on Ender’s Game, the movie; it’s… well, it’s okay. The only Orson Scott Card I’ve read is his novelisation of The Abyss, a long time

Captain Phillips (2013)   Captain Phillips is exceptionally well made (provided you are not shakycam-phobic), edge-of-the-seat storytelling. On that level, it’s pretty much what you’d expect from the director of the latter two Matt Damon Bourne films. But that’s also the problem with it. A degree of topicality or political sensibility has informed most of Paul Greengrass’ big screen ventures, and this seemed poised to follow suit. Yet, on leaving the cinema, I was left puzzling over his reasons for adapting this real-life drama. He has turned out a gripping action movie but one that ultimately amounts to little more than that. When

Avatar  (2009)   James Cameron has never been the subtlest of filmmakers, but it seems, the longer the gaps between projects, the more deafeningly bombastic he becomes. This takes on an added dimension with Avatar, which he drenches with a new-found torrent of bruising faux-spirituality. Let’s just say the director seems engaged in an ongoing struggle between the love and peace he knows is best for the world and the militaristic belligerence that has always been his more natural predilection. There is, of course, no contest; guns and hardware always win. He even appropriates Gaia as a force likely to declare war, if

Invaders from Mars (1953)   The first half hour of this is tremendous, a pre-Invasion of the Body Snatchers paranoia vignette bringing alienation into the heart of the nuclear family. It’s made all-the-more disturbing through being told from the point-of-view of a small boy (David, played by Jimmy Hunt). His loving parents become cold and physically abusive following their investigation of a strange light coming from a nearby sandpit. A modern filmmaker would surely blanche at depicting childhood fears in quite so undiluted a fashion. Certainly, it makes Kevin McCarthy’s (or Donald Sutherland’s) concerns seem much more manageable. Leif Erickson and

Bug (2006)   If his resumé is any evidence, it can’t be very nice living in William Friedkin’s head. Less uncomfortable, perhaps, during that brief period in the ’70s when he married his murky obsessions with strong material. Since the ‘80s his script choices have been dependably erratic, but the odd commercial success (Rules of Engagement) has kept him working. His last couple of films have exemplified his strange fascinations, as characters in tawdry circumstances spiral off into crazed, over-cooked, theatricality. One might argue that this is appropriate, as both Bug and Killer Joe are adapted from plays. But the effect on this viewer is