I wonder how many people have downloaded Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher's The Social Network over the internet? Or if, like me, it forces you to leave the comfort of your laptop-singed, jizz-stained bed sheets and see a film on the big screen at your local cinemaplex. This film has been hailed as everything from Obama's latest evil plan to steal obese kid's gun money to the film of the millennia.
There's no doubting that when you compare it to Showgirls or the Bible it is a great film. It is well paced, has Sorkin's usual dense engaging dialogue and confident performances of Jess Eisenbery and Anderw Garfield (the new Spiderman) and a perfectly cast Justin Timberlake (in his best work since 'Dick in your Box') as the creepy founder of Napster.
The moral of the story? Be a complete a-to-the-hole prepared to knock the back out of friends, colleagues, class mates and any one's privacy you want in order to earn $25 Gorillian dollars.
There aren't many films that melt my heart (especially not since I had it removed and replaced with a replica made of Lego) Whale Rider was one, and now Taika Waititi's Boy is another. Maybe it's something about the Kiwi accent that confuses my neural receptors and nears me almost to the point of eye jizzing in sadness?
Whatever it is, Boy has all the things you could possibly want in a film: sweeping visuals, intoxicating performances, humour, sadness and most importantly Michael Jackson dancing.
I'd give it five churs as it is tu meke. (Or 'too much bro' out of ten for those of you still operating on the old scale.)
What is it with Hollywood and remakes? Aussie director Phillip Noyce met rave reviews with his last local production Rabbit Proof Fence. But America being America, and Hollywood being Hollywood he was tapped to remake it for an American audience. After many re-writes the journey of government abducted indigenous girls back to their family became the journey of Angelina Jolie in search of a new hair style (from long and blonde to black and long and then black and short for those of you keeping tally).
I did however like how they managed to express the pain of losing your family to a racist government through the complex allegory of jumping from truck to car to truck to motor bike to police car. It was truly moving. Smartly the studio also insisted the title was changed to avoid any negative connotations against current US Secretary of Defence Bugs Bunny. Either way both Noyce, Jolie and the entire cast provide an interesting enough journey to keep you from resorting to mutual masturbation in the darkened safety of the cinema.
In order to match the mind-bending flurry of Christoper Nolan's Inception I tried to write a review in my sleep. Sadly this is all I managed to type into my computer:
f\
Which isn't really any less insightful or unprofessional than my usual reviews, so I'm sticking with it. I do like the way that my unconscious mind used the little loved \ key. But I'll leave you and Leonardo DiCaprio (regular reader, anonymous commenter), Ellen Page (she is very handy at asking questions to clear up any plot holes), Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Tom Hardy and the legendary Ken Watanabe to work out what the 'f' means (because I sure as hell don't know, I was asleep).
Just don't see this film in the IMAX it will make you sick.
Many people ask if this film is real or just an elaborate hoax. I'd ask the same if I wasn't currently battling internet and iphone caused late-onset ADHD. All I know is this film is funny like balls (Bansky in-particular, what a genius) and if you don't leave it wanting to punch Mr. Brainwash right in the facehole I would be disappointed.
I have thankfully missed out on all of the recent Alien vs Predator, Predator vs Predator and Predator vs Erkle films. In fact my sole knowledge of the Predator is Arnie fighting them on VHS. But when I heard that Robert Rodriguez had produced the film and it was staring art house muser Adrien Brody I thought it could be interesting, like maybe Brody falls in love with a Predator, only to have it break his heart, leave his con gang and cause him to go on an enchanted train journey across the indianesque subcontinent of the Predator home world. I thought he may even play the piano, while on the run from the space Nazis.
Sadly Hollywood again missed a trick, with none of the above taking place. What you get instead is a fairly intelligent genre film with an unnervingly gruff talking Brody. Perhaps it wasn't intentional, maybe he was just hungover the whole shoot? I know I would be.
Either way I would've given this film 5 stars if it had 100% more Arnie.
What is it about Australia that we struggle to make a happy film? Is it all those years of living under the tyrannical rule of former PM John Howard's eye brows (everyone knows they were really control, they also had a tawdry affair with Bronwyn Bishop's hair helmet) or is it that all Australian film-makers suffer from the film equivalent of emotional eating?
Either way this is no Dude Where's My Car. It is however a good film, with a fair share of plot turns and cracking performances (Jackie Weaver's has a mind blowing gear change, while Guy Pearce's mustache almost steals the show).
I would give it 4 stars mainly for getting Air Supply's 'All Out of Love' stuck in my head.
Pixar can't seem to do anything wrong. In fact after seeing Toy Story 3 3-D and the accompanying short Day & Night it almost wouldn't matter - if Pixar decided to mate a baby seal and a baby panda only to sell the almost world-destroyingly cute offspring (they'd have to go to Japan of course to make this experiment possible) to Fox News solely to produce fur coats for Sarah Palin - as long as they keep making such well constructed, beautifully looking, hilarious and yet moving films like Toy Story 3.
I also expect Giant Baby to win best supporting actor at next year's Oscars.
Russel Crowe and Ridley Scott continue their deep and lasting bromance in tights with the 40,000th screen adaption of Robin Hood in this dimension alone (Stephen Hawkings is among many prominent figures to theorise that there is in fact at least one parallel universe populated solely with Robin Hoods).
While starting with promise Scott's film, like Crowe's frame, bloats ridiculously out of control to the point that not even Cate Blanchet can act her way out of the French's D-Day landing complete with WWII troop carriers or a cavalry of English child soldiers on Shetland ponies. But at least the Peterborough tourism board will have something to finally talk about, and for that I give it 3 stars.
A documentary about advertising runs the risk of being an industry version of soggy sao, and this one for a large part is. Often feeling like an infomercial for evangelical Christianity with long pondering shots of griddlocked freeway traffic in LA, sunbasked cityscapes and a gleaming rocket ripe for climax, all covered with industry 'facts and figures'.
But what is interesting and inspiring are the words of greats like Dan Wieden and David Kennedy, Hal Riney, Mary Wells, Cliff Freeman, Jim Durfee, Lee Clow and Liz Dolan the former head of marketing at Nike.
It is well known in film circles that James Cameron has been seeking a trilogy of his own (you can't let Intergalactic Obesity Spokesperson George Lucas have all the fun). This is a quest he started back in the '90's with Titanic. But sadly it all became too hard for Cameron when he realised that the subsequent two films would have to either star rusting metal or an old woman with a habit of throwing valuable gems into the ocean.
With FOX not being keen on either of these due to Rupert Murdoch's well founded fear of corroded metal (a problem he has to cope with when it comes to his burgundy hair exoskeleton), these plans were shelved (put away and not up someone's arse Stevie Nick's gacking style).
That is until through the wonders of technology, $310 million dollars, and Zoe Saldana, Cameron was finally able create a world (or moon in this case) that would allow him to merchandise with the best of them.
The result is - when experienced in IMAX 3-D - pure, euphoric sexy-times for your eye-holes. There are no two ways about it, watch the making-of below to see how they have fucked technology in every possible opening to capture the actor's performances and create a film (that while occasionally hackneyed in dialogue) will stay with you for days.
Cameron, luckily, kept Celine Dion well away from the soundtrack. Although having said that I'm not sure Leona Lewis is a better choice. The man does have a thing for wailing divas.
I'd give it 4 stars purely for the hours of debate that follow about Na'vi reproduction. Is it with those nifty ponytail conduits? And if so does that mean they also have sexy-times with their beasts and the trees? And if they do it with the plats then why do they wear loin cloths? What's under there? Do they have blue-bits? Or is it a dual-action above and below type procedure? Hawt. (Unless of course you are a human of 6ft compared to their 10ft)
But at least I have finally, after 26 years of searching, found my goal in life. I am going to be an Avatar.
Woody Allen is well noted for his flaws and self-indulgences, like playing himself in every film, or more recently in casting Hugh Jackman and Javier Bardem to play him. I mean Jackman isn't even married to his own daughter. In fact I think Debra Lee Furness is actually his mother.
But in a welcome return to form (and more realistic self-casting in the ever acerbic Larry David) Whatever Works, well, works. That is of course unless you were the aged-pensioners sitting behind me in the Monday matinee showing. They were none to pleased with Allen's fourth-wall-breaking-direction.
Daughter marrying and reproducing or not, at least he doesn't looks as scary as Mia Farrow.
Any film that involves strudel, the consumption of strudel or Kevin Kostner normally tanks at the box office (see Message in a Bottle, The Postman, Tin Cup and Waterworld). But luckily for the genre-raiding self-referencing genius of Quentin Tarantino (not to be confused with Her Excellency Quentin Bryce AO - her films normally feature way more gore and language that can't be shown in a general release) this strudel curse seems to be lifted by his latest effort Inglourious Basterds.
Despite it's slightly bloated running length the film is funny, gory, heavy on Nazi scalping (as opposed to the Nazi bikini waxing of Fran Drescher's underrated The Fanny series of telemovies) and filled with tension. The opening scene in the farmhouse is cracking. But the film would be nothing without the talents of Christoph Waltz. Man that dude can act. Comedy. Villainy. Strudel eating. He can do it all.
My scalps off to you Mr. Waltz. (See what I did there?)
Sometimes inspiration comes to you in unexpected forms; like when Michael Jackson's image appeared to an obese American family in the bark of one of their trees; or in unexpected happenings; like the fact that America managed to elect President Obama (despite that fact that some confusingly accuse him of being a fascist, a communist, a socialist - and some how all three very differing ideologies all at the same time - and oh the fact he is, well, erm, you know, how do I say this without offending anyone? From Hawaii).
But Anvil the Story of Anvil is also one of those occasions. See it. You will laugh at the real Spinal Tapness of it all. You will cry at the strong man-love bond between Lips and Robb. And you will be inspired to hang on to your dream and make that shiznit happen (even if it takes you 30 years to get there).
Not since Disney's Lady and the Tramp has an animated film been so moving (see human eye incontinence) and yet deal so effectively with the pitfalls of dog on dog romance. But Mary & Max, Adam Elliot's first full length feature is an achievement, with a great cast and strangely endearing clay visuals (although I always have been partial to play doh). You'll laugh, you'll cry and if you are anything like me you will drop your iPhone in a blackened theatre just after you've turned it on silent (awesome). I'm only giving it four stars mainly because I think the title should've been Max & Mary and not Mary & Max.
A Christmas Tale (Un conte de Noël - French for longer than The Lord of the Rings) is the writing and directorial debut of the Marlboro Man. The film begins as splintered as the dysfunctional Vuillard's are, but becomes tighter and more enjoyable, as they all come together as a family for Christmas for the first time in many years. It is over three hours long and probably has to be as it deals with death, cancer, family, adultery, religion, mathematics, philosophy, depression, mental illness, why Catherine Deneuve is hotter than her own daughter and roast turkey. I did however find the 'my daughter is a packet of cigarettes' subplot a little forced. But I guess it is what the Marlboro Man knows.
While the cast is rad, Catherine Deneuve steals the show, and should've played all of the parts herself. But then again I have to say that or Rain will disown me.
Tales of first love have always been fodder for movies, from 21 Candles, to The Little Mermaid and Milo & Otis (a film I vomited in when I saw it as a child), to The Notebook. But Stephen Daldry's The Reader is a film about first love that throws a few new elements into the mix, namely Nazis and pedophilia (with not a goblet of Jesus juice or a ranch with a theme park in site). David Cross nearly steals the show, with a stern and button-downed Winslet very deserving of the Oscar. Who ever did her old lady make-up (read as grey face-paint applied by a vengeful monkey) should be made to watch the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
But The Reader does however prove two things, one: both Milo & Otis and The Notebook would've been far more interesting if they had featured stern Nazi ladies, and two: reading is a great aphrodisiac.
When I first heard of this film, I was a little worried about how much the promotion hinged on the fact that the film was largely unscripted, and that while all the actors knew their own character's back stories, they didn't know that of the other characters, or where the plot was heading. This however is no gimmick. The result is a raw, confronting, unpredictable and moving piece of film that will plague you for days to follow. What an achievement for a first feature. And so well edited and acted. Learn more about it here. This and The Black Balloon were the standout Australian films of last year.
It is heavy going (although not a home abortion in sight) so I would prescribe that you follow it up with either Step Brothers or Pineapple Express, or both. Sometimes one bromance comedy is not enough.
Being lactose and Sean Penn intolerant MILK is not a film I initially rushed to see. And I may not be the only one, with Focus Features retitling the film SOY in many key Asian markets. We'll wait on box office numbers to see how effective such a tactical move will be.
But the film itself is less about the pasteurisation process and more about a man who loves men and rights and a lady loves orange juice and Jesus. Although part of me thinks they should've cast Michael Jackson and re-written the later part to be a woman who loves Jesus juice. Missed opportunity really Mr Van Sant, or is it Mr Sant? But I guess that would make his first name Gus Van.
Either way, jesus juice, jesus milk or not, it is a story worth telling and therefore worth watching. See the trailer here.
I wonder how many people have downloaded Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher's The Social Network over the internet? Or if, like me, it forces you to leave the comfort of your laptop-singed, jizz-stained bed sheets and see a film on the big screen at your local cinemaplex. This film has been hailed as everything from Obama's latest evil plan to steal obese kid's gun money to the film of the millennia.
