Five Essential... Misfit Movies

Simon Moore selects his Five Essential Misfit Movies...

So called because they feature (and appeal to) misfits of all ages. Why not ‘Teen Movies’? Reeks a bit of Disneyfication to me. Brings to mind the ruthless, sickeningly effective demographic hunting tactics of High School Musical or the Twilight saga. There’s no place for such non-smutty nonsense here. No cool kids allowed. This list is all about the films that chronicle and champion our geeks and freaks, full of beans and pent-up bluster. You know, the interesting kids.

You may have noticed that John Hughes is taking a back seat on this list. Why? Well, consider that Hughesy could easily populate this list all by himself; it wouldn’t allow for much in the way of variety. In fact, he already has a list to himself, compiled by my colleague Alex Williams elsewhere in the “Essentials...” archives. Look it up. In the meantime, let’s crank the angst up to eleven and let rip on those five essential misfit movies...


5. Juno (2007, dir. Jason Reitman)

Juno MacGuff is up the duff. That is to say, she has a bun in the oven. In a family way, even. Not knocked up, though. That’s Katherine Heigl, in another film not appearing on this list. Juno (Ellen Page) tackles this situation with surprising courage and a healthy dollop of witty remarks. Seriously, Juno might as well be Humphrey Bogart trapped in a 16 year old girl’s body.

Quite selflessly, she decides not to abort the baby, but to donate it to a couple who really want a child but can’t get one the usual way. This couple happens to be Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman, who round out an exceptional supporting cast including J.K. Simmons as the straight-talking dad, Allison Janey the mighty step-mum and Michael Cera carving out a niche of his own as the clueless boyfriend. Juno is seriously funny, in both senses of both those words. Watch out for pork swords, orange tic-tacs and blue spew.


4. Some Kind of Wonderful (1987, dir. Howard Deutch)

John Hughes writes the ultimate love letter to teenage misfits, high school love triangles and Rolling Stones slash fic. Watts (Mary Stuart Masterson), a tomboy drummer, is best friends with Keith Nelson (Eric Stoltz), an oddball artist/mechanic, who’s just got an unlikely date with the gorgeous Amanda Jones (Lea Thompson), a young lady extensively easy on the eyes. To shamelessly quote from Keith’s sister, “...any fool can get into a college. Only a precious few may say the same about Amanda Jones.”

Watts thought she was happy just being friends, but this sudden and sexy turn of events prompts an earth-shattering revelation – she’s in love with Keith, and the dopey greasemonkey doesn’t even know it. Sparks fly between Keith and Watts, caught in the lost, hesitant mood of two people who thought they knew everything about each other. As an added bonus, count on John Hughes’ impressive musical taste to provide a stunning alternative ’80s soundtrack.


3. Rebel Without A Cause (1955, dir. Nicholas Ray)

Jim Stark (James Dean) is being torn apart. His parents (domineering and spineless by degrees) squabble and bicker and neglect him. He’s threatened and tormented at his new school, getting into knife fights and high-speed car chases and seeing the inside of a police precinct on a regular basis. Then he meets the other outcasts, Judy (Natalie Wood) and Plato (Sal Mineo), both cast adrift in the brutal high school social scene.

Dean, then 24 years old, doesn’t just let youthful looks and costume department do the work of convincing us he’s a teenager. He slouches. He mumbles. He’s deadly sincere about what he says and does. He plays Stark with laconic intensity – an angry young man lashing out at everything around him. Hanging out with Judy and Plato, he soon finds that he’s become a father figure himself. Looked up to. Admired. Emulated. Can he handle it?


2. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010, dir. Edgar Wright)

Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) lives almost entirely in a world of his own. He plays bass guitar in a garage band with his friends. He dates a fangirl high-schooler. Life is pretty much a video game for Scott, with power-ups, experience points and boss fights. When he meets the mysterious Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), the girl of his dreams, his over-active imagination chooses to deal with her (considerable) emotional baggage by personally fighting and defeating her seven evil exes.

Adapted with great affection and 8-bit finesse from Bryan Lee O’Malley’s original comics, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World sees Edgar Wright at the height of his powers, telling a story of love, loss and that nagging feeling at the back of the mind of young men and women in their early twenties, waiting for their adult lives to press the start button.


1. The Goonies (1985, dir. Richard Donner)

The ultimate misfit movie, full fit to bursting with crooks, maps and devilish booby traps. A motley crew of kids find a treasure map that could just save their neighbourhood from being redeveloped into a golf course. They’re inventors, idealists, tall story tellers, braver and smarter and better by far than the crooks and accountants standing in their way. Goonies, after all, never say die.

Donner sees to it that the laughs come quick and clever, hitting you crabwise, charming you and beguiling you with the adventures of Mikey, Brand, Mouth, Chunk, Data, Andy and Stef. As mad as they sound and then some, they talk and swear and fight as only thirteen and fourteen year olds can, or will.

There are a great many things that deserve to be written about The Goonies – Joe Pantoliano’s rogue toupé, the inimitable Sloth, Chunk’s infamous Truffle Shuffle – but that takes up valuable time that’s better spent watching the film, falling hilariously, helplessly in love with it.


Honourable Mentions...

Whip It (2009) – Ellen Page develops a passion for the wild, dangerous world of Texas roller derby. Also, the wild, dangerous world of boys.

Brick (2005) – The hard-boiled detective story comes to the modern high school as loner Joseph Gordon-Levitt investigates the murder of his ex-girlfriend.

Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist (2008) – Michael Cera and Kat Dennings scour New York for their favourite band’s secret show, trying to discover whether they share something more than musical tastes.

Agree? Disagree? We'd love to hear your comments on the list...

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.

Essentials Archive

DVD Review - The Grim Reaper (1962)

The Grim Reaper (Italian: La commare secca), 1962.

Directed by Bernardo Bertolucci.
Starring Marisa Solinas, Allen Midgette, Giancarlo De Rosa and Alfredo Leggi.


SYNOPSIS:

When a prostitute is brutally murdered in a park near the Tiber River in Rome, the police track down all visitors to the park that night in the hope of catching the killer, with each suspect giving their own account...


Sometimes, just sometimes, films resemble books very closely. No, not The Phantom Menace novelisation. More like those taut, briskly paced thrillers that keep you turning pages well into the small hours; those madcap comedies that make you laugh so hard and so often you feel your face is about to break in half. Not so common are the short stories; the films that break up into little segments, looking long and hard into brief periods of time. Tarantino is quite fond of this structure – look at Pulp Fiction or Inglourious Basterds. Kurosawa’s Rashomon is a masterpiece in the genre.

A conversation. A day at work. A couple of hours’ idle wandering. Most of Bertolucci’s vignettes in The Grim Reaper comprise nothing simpler than these basic premises. They might even be considered as something approaching ‘normal’, if it weren’t for a dead prostitute found on the banks of the Tiber. The Italian police (faceless, nameless and credit-less from start to finish) are investigating her death, and that means interrogating everybody who was in that park last night.

They have five suspects; we get five stories. Canticchia, a scruffy purse-snatcher taking a short cut home through the park. Bostelli, a suave, ladykiller sponger hiding suspiciously in the bushes. Teodoro, a half-wit soldier, asleep on the park bench. Francolicchio and Pipito, a pair of spotty herberts desperate for money to impress their dates, picked up by an older man with money. A nameless creep in clogs completes the set, running off with something under his jacket. Under the interrogation room’s spot-lamp, the suspects tell their versions of the day’s events. We learn nothing from their casual lies.

Most crime stories would introduce a brilliant detective at this point, to cross-examine the suspects or investigate in-depth. Bertolucci side-steps this predictable device and cuts right into their heads, for a first-person account of their activities. He isolates his suspects, letting us into their private lives and their quietest moments. We have the golden opportunity to judge for ourselves who they are, what they amount to, and what they’re capable of.

It all takes place in Rome. Not the bright, touristy Rome of Angels & Demons or Roman Holiday. This is Bertolucci’s Rome; dirty and a little desolate, with mules and scraps of grassland on the outskirts. Hardly the sleek, coffee-shop, landmark-a-minute location we’re used to seeing on film. Still, in The Grim Reaper, we learn quickly that appearances can (and will) be deceiving. Bostelli looks cool and collected, but how many people would guess he lives in fear of his psychotic loan shark girlfriend ambushing him with a knife? What would Pip and Franco really do to get their hands on some money for a gnocchi recipe?

The Grim Reaper isn’t for everyone. The naturalistic, almost awkward acting style, full of quirks and nervous tics, could be a bit frantic for some. The non-linear structure is bound to confuse those who don’t like to afford a story some thinking time during and after.

If you’re one of those people who sits in train stations and dreams up names and lives for the people around you, this film is for you. It’s reflective and quietly thrilling and a visual delight of ruined streets and magnetic movements. If, however, you’re one of those people who can’t wait to get from one place to the next, you’re probably better off watching something with more guns and explosions and breasts than The Grim Reaper has to offer. I hear Transformers has all that happening on the moon later this summer. Go you.

If you’re neither of those people, console yourself that you got a paragraph to yourselves. And then watch it anyway. It’s something old that’s still somehow something new, shot by a 21 year old director full of visions and ideas and gnocchi.

The Grim Reaper is released on DVD this coming Monday.

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.

Movie Review Archive

DVD Double Feature - Luis Buñuel's Susanna (1951) and The Brute (1953)

Luis Buñuel. You know. Spanish director. He did Un Chien Andalou, with the eyeball slicing and the meat dragging. Belle du Jour, with all the kinky French sex. Not so keen on God and churches. Dalí’s number one homeboy. That Luis Buñuel.

Mr Bongo Films are releasing two of his lesser-known films, remastered for DVD, presented in shadow-tastic black and white. There’s no DVD extras; the scene selection set-up leaves a lot to be desired... but it gives us more space to talk about the films...


Susana: The Devil and the Flesh, 1951.

Starring Rosita Quintana, Fernando Soler, Víctor Manuel Mendoza and Matilde Palou.

Thunder rolls. Lightning flashes across the sky. Inside a reformatory for wayward girls, Susana (Rosita Quintana) is led to a dark, stone-walled cell, kicking and screaming and flailing at the swarthy ladies in white carrying her. It could almost be Doctor Frankenstein’s castle, for all its gothic trappings. Susana’s guttural, animalistic cries are ignored. She’s left alone with bats, rats and spiders scurrying about her cell. They’re more than a little rubbery-looking, but somehow this suits her melodramatic tendencies.

The rest of Susana takes place on a quiet, peaceful Mexican plantation, overseen by the nicest, cleanest Christian family this side of a cereal box. Don Guadalupe (Fernando Soler), owner of the plantation, is firm and fatherly to all his workers. His wife Carmen (Matilde Palou) treats the domestic staff with kindness and humour. Their son Alberto (Luis López Somoza) is a hard-working scholar with a tidy moustache and a catalogued library of his very own.

Buñuel, a lifelong atheist, paints such a sickeningly sweet family portrait that you almost feel they deserve to have the viperish Susana dumped on them. They’re loving and caring and God-fearing - though perhaps not as God-fearing as Felisa, the elderly housemaid who stops just short of carrying around a crucifix on her back.

Felisa (María Gentil Arcos), possibly the best character of all, takes an instant dislike to Susana, and we don’t really blame her. Even if it’s for daft, superstitious reasons, we’re behind crotchety Felisa all the way. After all, the girl is a vindictive home-breaker, a compulsive liar and more than a little slutty. After a long close up on Susana’s ample bosom, Felisa remarks with characteristic wit: “that one wouldn’t look decent in a nun’s habit.”

It’s mostly through Felisa that Buñuel keeps the Old Testament blood-and-thunder rhetoric bubbling away at the surface of Susana. Toying with melodrama and love pentagons, Buñuel has enormous fun undermining the contradiction and confusion of the bible’s “turn the other cheek” and “an eye for an eye” messages.

The whole film might play like Mexican EastEnders if it weren’t for the religion-baiting; it all becomes strangely compelling when even the slightest glance across a dinner table is painted as original sin. Buñuel himself puts it best: “Sex without religion is like cooking an egg without salt. Sin gives more chances to desire.”

We’re used to ‘50s dramas being trite, hammed up affairs, drenched in cheesy sentiment and rounded off with Sunday school platitudes. Don’t mistake Susana for its contemporaries; this is a sharp, witty film that knows exactly what it’s doing, and where it’s putting its hands.


The Brute, 1953.

Starring Pedro Armendáriz, Katy Jurado and Rosa Arenas.

Easing off on the religion, but not on the sexy sex, The Brute is a tragedy of childish naïvety in a town of instinctive cruelty. Pedro Armendáriz leads an impassioned cast, bringing tenderness and mindless brutality in equal measure as El Bruto (Pedro to his friends), a mountain of a man who doesn’t even realise his own strength.

If Armendáriz’s face rings a few bells, it’s likely you know him better as Kerim Bey, James Bond’s scene-stealing mentor in From Russia With Love. Pedro is no ladykiller spymaster, but his presence is no less magnetic for it. He struts and stalks and strides; a child in a man’s body, living in a dream world where everything is simple and easily explained.

Buñuel makes sure the viewer never falls into taking sides; every scene throws a different light on a character we thought we’d sussed out from first impression. Even the catty Paloma (Katy Jurado), malicious and bored, earns our sympathy from time to time, trapped as she is in a loveless marriage to a self-centred Napoleon of a landlord.

In a way, Pedro’s story is like that of Rocky, turned upside down. Neither man is blessed with much of a brain, so they’re forced to use their fists to earn their crust. Sadly, while Rocky gets his big chance and earns real love the right way, Pedro misses all his chances. He takes too long to develop a conscience, lusting after the wrong woman and finding the right woman too late.

It’s easy to blame a lot of Pedro’s mistakes on his upbringing, closely supervised by the ruthless Don Andrés (Andrés Soler). After all, this is the landlord evicting tenants so he can sell it to property developers for a hefty sum. This is the husband with a trophy wife; the son who treats his bedridden father like a naughty child. Most importantly, this is the man who brought up Pedro to believe that might is right; that his word is law, and his law is beyond reproach. Wasn’t it Philip Larkin who wrote “They fuck you up, your mum and dad”?

We might blame Don Andrés for all that, but in finding sweet, innocent Meche (Rosa Arenas), Pedro learns he has a will of his own. Meche sees beyond his coarse manners and violent instincts; perhaps the first person he has ever met who can. Everything he does and everyone he hurts from then on is his own doing; and it’s all the more heartbreaking watching him try to escape from it.

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.

Movie Review Archive

Five Essential... James Bond Films

Simon Moore selects his Five Essential James Bond Films...

Picture this. It’s Saturday night. The TV schedule has failed you, yet again, on a Bank Holiday weekend, no less. Then a title jumps out at you from the onscreen menu. Ah... there’s a Bond film on...

It doesn’t matter what title, it doesn’t matter when it was made, a Bond title just clicks with everyone. It’s the ultimate shorthand for runaway thrills, face-melting puns and a consistently entertaining hour and a half. By now, we ought to know them by heart. And yet...they never get old. We forgive Moonraker’s dodgy sci-fi ambitions; we can time Roger Moore’s eyebrow twitches to the second; and every man on earth, without exception, automatically affects that pose when they put on a tuxedo.

007 is a tradition, a stalwart, and an icon. He’s survived nearly 50 years, 6 actors and 22 films. No, Never Say Toupée Again doesn’t count. Nobody’s saying they were all good, but by great Connery’s ghost, we’re gonna count down the best of the bunch...

5. Licence To Kill (1989, dir. John Glen)

Nope, Casino Royale is not on this list. Great story, but Daniel Craig’s screen presence utterly fails to capture the audience’s imagination the way Timothy Dalton does here. By far the best Bond of the ‘80s, Licence To Kill sees Bond seeking revenge on Sanchez (Robert Davi), a vicious drug lord who feeds his friends to sharks on their wedding day.

Dalton’s second outing as 007 is stark, savvy and brutal; a young Benicio Del Toro is torn to pieces in a heroin processing plant, shrieking for mercy. Licence To Kill brought the Bond series back to the forefront of innovation, after an embarrassing decade of puffing and wheezing behind the rest like a chubby autograph hunter. The show-stopping Gladys Knight song doesn’t hurt its reputation, either.


4. The Spy Who Loved Me (1977, dir. Lewis Gilbert)

This is Roger Moore in his prime, partnered with sassy Soviet agent Anya (Barbara Bach), better known as Agent Triple X. He’s a flamboyant, chauvinistic improviser; she’s a cold, methodical romantic. Will they see past their differences, save the world from a fish-loving fop and get it together in a velvet-lined escape pod? That’s a lot of confusing questions. Best to let the film answer them.

The cheeky parachuting and the submarine dock set pieces speak for themselves; the true centre of this Bond is the constant one-upmanship between Bond and Triple X. At times hilarious, at others disastrously misguided, their quirky, chaotic relationship lies at the heart of what makes The Spy Who Loved Me Roger Moore’s best Bond film.


3. Goldfinger (1964, dir. Guy Hamilton)

“Do you expect me to talk, Goldfinger?”
“No, Mr Bond. I expect you to die.”

One of the series’ greatest strengths lies in its delightfully quotable scripts, and Goldfinger is bursting at the seams with Bond’s trademark banter, his wry punchlines, and of course that priceless set-up for Goldfinger.

Auric Goldfinger loves gold. He loves it so much he wants to irradiate Fort Knox’s reserves, so his own will skyrocket in value. Goldfinger is a masterpiece in pure entertainment, effortlessly switching between inspired comedy, exhilarating escapes and tense, breathtaking action sequences. What other film can you think of that involves deadly cross-dressing, a razor-tipped bowler hat and killing somebody with a bucket of gold paint?


2. Goldeneye (1995, dir. Martin Campbell)

Pierce Brosnan’s first and finest outing in the tux, Goldeneye is rife with strange, potent imagery. He’s practically haunted by the arrogance and excesses of his long career, especially in the form of Alec Trevelyan (Sean Bean). Once a brother in arms, now the deadly enemy who knows Bond better than himself. Everyone around him remarks that he’s outdated, outgunned, or, as M puts it, “a sexist, misogynist dinosaur.” Oof.

Amply motivated, Her Majesty’s Loyal Terrier spends the next two hours avoiding asphyxiation by sweaty thighs, demolishing St Petersburg and still finding time to straighten his tie when he’s done. Indispensible.




1. From Russia With Love (1963, dir. Terence Young)

The quintessential spy thriller, Bond’s first sequel is fast, fresh and not short of a laugh or two to ease high tensions and sly twists. Sean Connery dominates the screen, whether slinking around like a panther through the catacombs of Istanbul or throwing a beefy Robert Shaw around a train cabin. Like no other actor has before or since, Connery’s performance embodies Bond’s effortless charm, his natural athleticism and his characteristic sang-froid.

Young delivers on the breathless action, but he doesn’t skimp on the stakes either. Wisely, he sticks close to Ian Fleming’s original best-selling plot, ensuring that From Russia With Love is never less than brimming with cruel betrayals, gypsy shoot-outs and the deadliest shoe in the world.


Honourable Mentions...

Dr. No (1962) - of course, for starting it all.
You Only Live Twice (1967) - perhaps the battiest Bond story ever put on film, with ninjas, man-eating piranhas, rockets that eat other rockets, and Donald Pleasance stroking a big white pussy.
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969) - without this film’s climactic siege on a mountain-top fortress, Inception would never have been the same.
The World Is Not Enough (1999) - not as comedic as other outing, but it boasts solid performances from Sophie Marceau and Robert Carlyle. Just pretend Denise Richards isn’t in it. It’s not hard.

...and Dishonourable Discharges

Octopussy (1983) - as bad as it sounds. Turns the stomach at its mere mention.
Die Another Day (2002) - Madonna’s in it. Sums it all up, really.
Quantum of Shoelace (2008) - there’s a whole set of Jason Bourne films already made, Marc Forster.
Casino Royale (2006) - nah, just winding you up.

Agree? Disagree? We'd love to hear your comments on the list...

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.

Essentials Archive

DVD Review - The Last Remake of Beau Geste (1977)

The Last Remake of Beau Geste, 1977.

Directed by Marty Feldman.
Starring Marty Feldman, Michael York, Ann-Margaret, Peter Ustinov, Sinéad Cusack, James Earl Jones, Burt Kwouk, Trevor Howard, Avery Schreiber, Irene Handl, Henry Gibson, Terry-Thomas, Roy Kinnear, Spike Milligan, Hugh Griffith and Ed McMahon.


SYNOPSIS:

Digby Geste (Feldman) and his ‘identical’ twin brother Beau (York) compete with their stepmother (Ann-Margeret) over possession of a priceless family heirloom.


It’s hard, devilishly hard, to pin down a description on a film like The Last Remake of Beau Geste. Most films pick a mood, a time, a degree of seriousness. Praise be to the great spoofster in the sky, Marty Feldman has no such agenda. His vision, if we can put our director’s beret on and call it that, is of a world where one man’s tragedy becomes another’s smutty giggle.

Feldman’s screen persona from Young Frankenstein and Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother remains intact as Digby Geste; acting as the bridge between us and the plot, he’s always checking we’re following the strange complexities of viking nobility and signposted jailbreaks.

No film convention is safe from Feldman’s anarchic wit; the laughs come thick and fast as each situation becomes more ridiculous than the last. This is a comedy of tireless invention and merciless twists, featuring the cream of seventies acting talent. Actors like Trevor Howard and Irene Handl look as if they’re having the time of their lives, swinging from chandeliers and belting orphans with bibles.

And why not? This is a truly inspired cast of warhorses, gold-diggers and chucklemongers, played with gusto and aplomb. Nobody’s to be trusted; they’re all after the legendary Blue Water sapphire. Howard (as Sir Hector Geste) sums it up beautifully: “I have seen the Hope diamond. I have feasted my eyes upon the Kōh-i Nūr. Compared to this perfection... they are pieces of shit.”

The basis for these barmy episodes is, of course, the silent classic Beau Geste, remade twice before this in the 30s and 60s, and yet again in the 80s. Feldman’s stab at this story concerns two inseparable orphan brothers, hoisted up from poverty to nobility by sheer chance, and exiled to Morocco in much the same way. This is thanks to Beau (Michael York), the insufferably heroic elder brother, who steals the Blue Water to keep it out of his greedy stepmother’s hands.

More details are unnecessary; Feldman curls the ensuing plot round into tight, consistently hilarious vignettes, surreal voyages into previous remakes and a delightful preoccupation with barging down the fourth wall.

True enough, it’s not everyone’s idea of a classic. For what it is though, an epic spoof about epics, it succeeds. Rather than picking on things it hates, like spewy schoolboy bullies Scary Movie and Vampires Suck, Feldman’s production exudes real affection for the source material. As such, The Last Remake never feels crude or mean-spirited. This is a labour of love, and it shows.

It’s a polished production, boasting a superbly ruthless pace and gorgeous cinematography. It captures the look and feel of its predecessors and still manages to create a distinctly barmy identity for itself. The direction owes a lot to Mel Brooks, though Feldman’s style leans more toward a fast and loose approach, less inclined to terrible puns or music-hall duets.

This is the first time The Last Remake has made it anywhere near home entertainment since a low-key VHS release in the ‘90s. Many won’t have heard of it before now, and they’ll start to wonder why, if it’s such a great comedy, it doesn’t have a greater following? The answer is, of course, “watch it and make your own mind up, mush”. But that’s a bit rude, so we’ll let the man himself convince you in his own words:

“I don't want to be a director. I want to direct. There's a difference."
- Marty Feldman

The Last Remake of Beau Geste is released today on DVD.

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.

Movie Review Archive

Second Opinion - The King's Speech (2010)

The King's Speech, 2010.



Directed by Tom Hooper.

Starring Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter, Jennifer Ehle, Michael Gambon, Derek Jacobi, Guy Pearce and Timothy Spall.





SYNOPSIS:



Britain's Prince Albert strives to overcome his humiliating stutter with the help of an unconventional speech therapist.





His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, the Duke of York, stutters. He’s not the first stutterer on film by any means; Michael Palin played one in A Fish Called Wanda with enormous sensitivity and hilarity, but The King’s Speech presents possibly the first speech impediment story to make us think of Rocky.



Rocky? Yes, Rocky. The two films concern different times and different people, but the circumstances are the same, and more importantly, so are the stakes. Both men must take on a seemingly impossible challenge – whether it’s going the distance with the heavyweight champ or delivering a live wartime speech to the nation, each man is faced with only one real obstacle: himself.



After a catastrophic public appearance at Wembley Stadium where his stammer renders him utterly speechless before a crowd of thousands, the Prince (better known to his family as ‘Bertie’) is despondent, miserable, and perhaps less visible, frightened. As second in line to the throne, he hasn’t the luxury of becoming a recluse. A Prince is expected to speak publicly, a nightmare and a personal living hell for Bertie.



We feel each crushing defeat with Bertie, as he struggles even to speak to his older brother without seizing up into helpless silence. He fights to keep his dignity, but the times are unforgiving and ignorant of his condition. Doctors impatiently hiss “E-nun-ci-ate!”; his own father bellows “Just say it!”; he has only his wife to turn to, and even she’s running out of ideas.



As a last resort, they turn to speech therapist Lionel Logue (Rush, on exceptional form), operating from a crumbly old office, with no secretary, no credentials and no wallpaper. Lionel is uniquely talented in his field, but he seems incapable of basic formalities and oddly unorthodox in his methods.



The two men are worlds apart, putting every ‘odd couple’ buddy cop pairing to shame with their frankly bizarre relationship. Bertie has never had friends. A Prince of the Realm is not allowed friends. And yet this chatty little Australian insists they must be friends for his treatment to work. He also insists on rolling around on the floor reciting tongue twisters, but we somehow get the impression Lionel would be quite happy doing this long after Bertie’s gone home.



When Bertie finally speaks clearly, without hesitation, his voice is an absolute delight to hear. Colin Firth captures his subject’s warm, noble tones with an uncanny likeness that endows The King’s Speech with a startling power over the viewer. The film very quickly uses this power to stir us with an unerringly mature script and crisp, seasoned cinematography.



The A-list supporting cast do an admirable job, playing real historical figures in that pre-war era where the English accent can all too easily slip into parody. Helena Bonham Carter shines as the rock Bertie clings to, as the world around him conspires to make him the King he never asked to be. Guy Pearce is the playboy Prince Edward (briefly King Edward VIII), allergic to responsibility and unmarried women. Michael Gambon creates enormous impact as George V, showcasing the level headedness of an experienced diplomat and the impatience of a misguided father.



That said, even the big names can slip up. Derek Jacobi looks as if he’s about to have kittens every time he’s on screen, and Timothy Spall’s Churchill evokes more of the insurance dog than the statesman. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s the Royals that are crucial to this story; through Hooper’s brutally frank insights into their affairs and affectations, we see what made Bertie the man he is, and how he comes to consider himself worthy of his people.



Bertie desperately fears letting down his people, especially in their hour of need, at the outbreak of war. It’s no spoiler to reveal that this first wartime speech is his greatest test. This is textbook history. This is the speech that moved the other Dominions to ally themselves with Britain.



We know from history that George VI wasn’t ridiculed as a stutterer; he was an inspiration to a nation under siege. Yet Hooper plants us so firmly in his shoes, painting such a vivid portrait of a troubled man that we hardly dare to believe he will ever overcome his crippling self-doubt. Sound like any Southpaw boxers from Philadelphia we know? Hell yes it does. This is Rocky for Monarchs, and certainly no less of a future classic for it.

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.



Movie Review Archive



Related:



54th BFI London Film Festival: The King's Speech Review

54th BFI London Film Festival: The King's Speech Q&A

Video: Colin Firth discusses The King's Speech

DVD Review - The Wolfman (2010)

The Wolfman, 2010.



Directed by Joe Johnston.

Starring Benicio Del Toro, Anthony Hopkins, Emily Blunt, Hugo Weaving, Geraldine Chaplin, Art Malik and David Schofield.





SYNOPSIS:



Returning to his family estate following the mysterious death of his brother, an American nobleman becomes infected with lycanthropy after he is attacked by a werewolf.





“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”



It’s a perfect introduction to Lycanthropy, and particularly to The Wolfman. It is, of course, whispered over images of the full moon, ghostly white and shining. What follows is a film of fantastic circumstances, full of blood and claws and shadows, all at once mystic and severe; a joy to watch with the lights off.



Since this is gothic horror, the year is 1891. The end of the Victorian era is exactly where we want to be for a werewolf story; 1891 means the birth of pyschology. It means the stubborn remnants of rural superstition. It means those country pubs that go eerily silent whenever a stranger walks in. Anywhere else – anywhen else – would be a con, and Johnston evokes the era’s unmistakable hallmarks with effortless taste.



Lawrence Talbot (Benicio Del Toro) is an actor, long estranged from his noble family. Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt) walks into his life and brings all those memories crashing back; his brother (her fiancee) has gone missing, and they fear the worst. Soon enough, Lawrence is on his way back to his ancestral seat, the Blackmoor estate. The welcoming look he shares with Lord Talbot (Anthony Hopkins) is chilling; like two animals circling each other at the borders of their territory.



The script (based on Curt Siodmak’s original screenplay) is shot through with a subtle but irresistibly charming gallows humour, with an obvious affection for the classic trappings of gothic cinema. Inspector Aberline (Hugo Weaving), recently thwarted on the Ripper case, is a neat little touch of a character, but neat doesn’t always mean it fits. Psychiatrist Dr Hoenegger is one touch too many, with his cackling and his pointy beard, nearly tipping the film over into cartoonish parody but for his timely (and messy) exit.



It’s the same problem with the monster’s overexposure. Endless shots of him bounding effortlessly across London just bore us while we wait for the real horror to start again. These shots, we are told, are the only instances of CGI (apart from the transformation) used. Compared with Del Toro’s acting in his (frankly superb) Wolfman make-up, these sequences fall flat, and smack of glossy trailer-baiting.



Hang on, though. Put your crucifixes down, horror fans. There’s plenty in The Wolfman worthy of praise and attention, particularly the acting. Del Toro never looks anything short of haunted, and he’s not too handsome, which is fitting – he needs to be halfway toward being a beast already to convince himself he might become one.



Hopkins plays Lord Talbot the way few other actors would dare. He approaches his almost as Tom Baker did Doctor Who; a social outcast, treating danger and doom as trivialities and considering trivialities with the utmost caution and sincerity. He shuffles around dusty, shadowy Talbot Hall with those hungry, predatory eyes, utterly in command of his domain.



No less impressive is Emily Blunt’s performance. She kicks the horror heroine role up a notch, managing to look both terrified and brave in the face of mortal peril; instead of running around like a wet hen, falling over twigs, her Gwen Conliffe actually comes through for the hero when he needs it.



Johnston, better known for fluffier fare Jumanji and Jurassic Park III, does admirable work with his first horror, tantalising then tormenting us with Lawrence and Gwen’s dark, tangled fates. Sadly, the story loses focus when it veers away from these haunted lovers, venturing into the arena of spectacle and CGI folly. When, however, it focuses on their dread – the appalling horror of what Lawrence might have done, The Wolfman lives up to its grim, doom-laden promise.

Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.



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