Film Reviews by Alphaville

This two-hander set in an empty theatre has actress Emmanuelle Siegner auditioning for a part in director Mathieu Amalric’s adaptation of the Sader-Masoch (SM) book of the title. It’s a necessarily dialogue-heavy piece about the power-play between the two. Director Roman Polanski does more than most would be able to with his camera to keep it interesting in such a restricted space, but it remains little more than a curiosity piece.

This bloated, indulgent mess of a film about the early days of Hollywood begins with a chaotic pre-titles sequence that goes on and on and on for so long (a whole half-hour!) that you’re willing it to end. Enough already. We get it. Move on. It’s so repetitive it may well alienate you for the next 2½ hours… not that you’re likely to last that long anyway. It’s shot in a tiresome overexcited-student-trying-too-hard kind of way that never overcomes the emptiness of the content, with barely any character among the ensemble cast of caricatures to care about. Not even Brad Pitt, normally a reliable chooser of roles, can salvage anything worthwhile here. Hint: even if you watch this out of curiosity, best keep the remote within arms’ reach.

This is like one of those old Ealing films that turn up to fill a gap in the schedule on afternoon TV. At least you know what you’re getting. Even the title gives away the plot. It’s warm-hearted, cosy, completely predictable, completely dull and, despite the title, completely devoid of cinematic imagination.

If you’ve not seen the first two films in the trilogy you’ll have a job picking up the plot. If you have seen either of the first two films, you won’t be watching this anyway. It’s slow, it’s talky and it’s hammily acted. Even if you ignore all the boring political intrigue, the swordfight scenes are repetitive and undramatic. Despite all the jumping around and screaming, they just go on and on. Not that you’d care who wins anyway.

They really must be running out of plots. A black ball brings teenagers back from the dead and makes them kill people in order to earn points and become alive again. Yes, really, a black ball. There’s one good action scene on a subway train, but the bulk of the 155min run time (not the 79min noted on the DVD sleeve) is a boring talkathon.

Don’t laugh, but the Guillotines of the title are Qing dynasty swordsmen sent to crush rebellious Herders. Yes, it’s all nonsense and impossible to care about. Even worse, the amateurish direction is coupled with fight scenes ruined by awful camerawork and fast-edited into a visual mishmash.

Nothing to see here unless you’re a Marvel/DC fanboy devoid of any critical faculties. Dwayne plays a one-expression ‘flying magic man’ as one character calls him, but most of the time he’s replaced by a cgi avatar to deal with the usual cgi flash-bangs. Neither Dwayne nor even normally reliable director Jaume Coillet-Serra can do anything with this tripe.

This stately but beautifully realised film gains from its fish-out-of-water setting as our bored American housewife heroine is pursued by a stalker through the streets of Bucharest. Its unsettling and watchable throughout, even though you wonder what she’s doing with that uncaring husband of hers. So why only three stars? Because there’s nothing new here, it’s instantly forgettable and if you’re looking for scares there are none.

Lacking creativity, you want to make an autobiographical film about a black kid growing up on the wrong side of the tracks in a depressed neighbourhood beset with crime? Great! No-one’s ever done anything like that before! He’s gay as well? Even better! Lacking imagination, you want to set it in the actual neighbourhood, film it documentary-style and use non-actors? Even better! We’ll throw money at that! No white critic would dare give this a bad review. It might even win an Oscar (Best picture, 2017).

You know where it’s going right from the start. It opens with a black man singing “Every n-word is a star”. Presumably he’s a black man because in today’s Orwellian world only certain people are allowed to use certain words. Of course, being black, he doesn’t have to use the euphemism “n-word”. If he had, now that might have been the start of something interesting. As it stands, this vanity project of a film has its heart in the right place but not one iota of cinematic interest to engage the viewer.

Portmanteau films of unrelated tales are rarely successful and this Spanish set of six throwaway revenge tales is no exception. One of them – a Duel-type set-to between two motorists is scenically set in the mountains – but the rest are talky, boring and instantly forgettable.

Slow-paced road movie about a young couple who meet and go on a road trip across America. What makes it unusual is that they’re cannibals. They don’t want to be, but what can you do? Instead of mining the theme for horror or laughs the film puts us on their side as victims of their genes. Cue lots of soul-searching and a soundtrack of ditties so melancholy it’s hard not to laugh anyway (especially at the end). It keeps you watching, but at 130mins its overlong and lacks the power of Raw, the French film on which it’s based.

If you decide to watch this (beware the trailer that adds poignant music to lure you in unsuspecting), do keep some paint handy in case you decide to watch that dry instead. A man and his young daughter go on holiday to Turkey and we follow their naturalistic day-by-day activities from one inane scene to another. Nothing against the two actors (take the money and run), but they’ve got no chance with someone behind the camera who has absolutely no idea how to shoot a film. With no redeeming visual quality whatsoever, it seems interminable even after you’ve resorted to FF.

It beggars belief that the BFI and Screen Scotland are wasting government and lottery money on this kind of drivel.

After years of wokeism and revisionism it’s good to see a new old-fashioned revenge Western like they don’t make ‘em any more. There’s little more here than in a 50s B feature, but it’s heartening to see goodies face off irredeemable baddies against wide Montana landscapes with not a hint of pandering to snowflake viewers. Also, for once, Nicolas Cage underplays rather than overplays his part, sometimes to the point of comatose, but tough and silent’s ok. At a pacey 90mins it rattles along, the climax doesn’t disappoint and there’s some unexpectedly poignant moments thrown in for good measure. If you miss the old westerns, this well-titled film is worth a look. NB Avoid the tell-all trailer (why do they do that?).

Impeccably mounted, beautifully paced, directed and acted, heartfelt and intense tale like they don’t make ‘em any more. Ignore reviews by critics weened on superhero flashbangs and gross-out comedy. This tale of abandoned girl Kya growing up in the Carolina swamps pulls you in right from the start and never lets go until its final shots. You’d need a heart of stone not to be enchanted and moved by it.

It’s part murder mystery, part survival story and part romance, but what really raises it out of the ordinary is Olivia Newman’s faultless direction. She understands that film is about images, not talking heads. Show Don’t Tell. Many of the most gorgeous and poignant scenes in this film, captured by Newman’s roving camera, are silent, especially early on, where child actress Jojo Regina is a revelation as young Kya.

Newman cut the film from 3½ hours to 2 hours. It would be good to see what was omitted at some stage (some omitted scenes are teasingly in the trailer). It’s one of those rare films nowadays where you can just sit back and wallow in the story and images.

On a period backwater Irish island called Craggy Island (sorry, Insherin Island), the best friend of nice-but-dim Father Dougal (sorry, a different nice-but-dim man) stops talking to him. Why? That forms the basis of the first half of this film’s underwhelming plot. Then, like a flip side to “Father Ted”, something grotesque but unbelievably silly happens to inject some much-needed dramatic tension into affairs. Unfortunately, it’s not funny enough to be a black comedy and the plot has nowhere to go after that.

That’s not to say there’s nothing to enjoy here. There’s some spicy dialogue and Martin Mcdonagh is an accomplished director who knows how to frame and film a shot. He keeps you watching, but there’s just not enough of interest going on to warrant a near 2hr run-time. Eventually it just peters out. Vastly over-praised by reviewers who’ve invented all sorts of deep meaning lurking beneath the surface, this is best viewed as Oirish whimsy.