Martin Cuff Consulting

Immortals, the latest mind-blowing Tarsem Singh extravaganza produced by the same guys who made 300, is the most brutal, bloody, violent movie I’ve ever seen. It is also, by far – and I mean, far – the most phenomenal fight choreography I have ever seen too. The styling and art direction and costumes are astounding, sublime even, and it’s so damn beautiful to look at it fails to matter that the plot – a re-telling of the Theseus and the Gods myth – is wafer thin.

But that’s all kind of irrelevant because of Henry Cavill. Henry Cavill in a skirt. Henry Cavill shirtless. Henry Cavill shirtless in a skirt. Did I mention shaggy, doe-eyed Henry Cavill shirtless? Henry freakin’ Cavill. Sometimes he reminded me of a chipper public school hockey captain leading the First XI into a county championship, but most of the time I was just speechless.

Immortals. Henry Cavill. That’s all.

On the plus side, Anonymous offers enough of a dynamic, vividly realized world of late Elizabethan England to make my inner geek backflip. Shot in Babelsberg Studios in Germany, the movie presents a pretty pungent portrait of muddy streets, stylised court life, and most excitingly, the immediacy of the Globe Theatre where theatre-goers are close enough to be spattered with action. The scenes of rich and poor alike moved by the power of words is mesmerising and fantastic, and the good actors – Ifans, Richardson, Redgrave, Thewlis, Spall – are worth every cent of their pay cheque (they fortunately make up for the weaker, usually younger, ones.)

But it’s the minus side that you’ll probably remember – the reduction of contemporary literary giants Ben Jonson and Kit Marlowe to simpering side-acts, the historical revisionism of Good Queen Bess’ multiple pregancies (s’true!), and of course most central to the entire film, the conceit that Shakespeare was in fact a wenching, illiterate wide-boy chancer, whilst the aristocratic Earl of Oxford was in fact the Bard responsible for the plays and poems and sonnets.

Having studied English Literature and Drama for my Batchelor’s Degree, and being something of a history buff for the late Elizabethan era, I don’t abide that kind of “literary birtherism” generally – and in this case it has the added insult of class-ism. I understand there’s little/no actual proof that the working class actor William Shakespeare wrote the jewels in the crown of English literature (indeed cultural achievement) but that doesn’t mean that Edward de Vere (poor little rich boy!) did either. Besides, who’s actually going to take seriously the historical interpretations of the same bloke who made 10000 B.C?

I finally saw Never Let Me Go last night. To be honest, I’d been avoiding it; I don’t do mawkish well, and the tale of some sappy kids who are bred to have their organs harvested but fall in love instead is not exactly my kind of sci-fi movie. Literary philistine that I am, I’ve never read Kazuo Ishiguro on whose book this film was based. I’m not sure I will either, if this is anything to go by. He has such a stilted, miserly, cruel, stiltified view of England and the English – it’s England filtered through a strange, alien and entirely foreign light. Anyway, as for the film; I liked the “altered reality” 70s setting, the movie’s beautiful to look at and Carey Mulligan is terrific, (not fond of Keira). But it’s somehow not as devastating as it probably should be, given the abject misery of the subject matter.

Lots of lovely locations though. The Hailsham School that’s the backdrop for a good first half of the film is actually Ham House in Richmond, and other scenes flit across Blighty, from Scotland to Somerset, to Bexhill on Sea. My favourite scene though is the trio’s reunion on a Norfolk beach – Holkham – where I used to ride my horse as a kid. This is the beach that Gwyneth emerged onto in Shakespeare in Love, so it’s got some cinematic chops of its own.

I guess when you’re Steven Soderbergh, you’ve got your pick of A-listers prepared to do bit parts in your films. And I guess you also get to pretty much choose where you’re going to shoot. And I guess, therefore, when you’re Steven Soderbergh, and a script like Contagion lands in front of you, you get to bring together your game team of cast and locations in perfect harmony.

Well, yes, that’s true enough, in principle. And it’s also true that – unlike some unfocussed, heart-stringy Roland Emmerich block buster – Soderbergh takes the high road with the story line. He treats it dead seriously that a working Mom returns from a business trip to China trailing a disease in her wake that’s both airborne and transmitted by touch. The ensuing pandemic ultimately takes out several million people whilst Scientists struggle try to isolate a cure and the woman’s surviving husband attempts to fend for his surviving child.

So I found the sociological parts of the story really fascinating – yes, even the close ups that remind us ickily of the gazillion objects we carelessly touch each day. But in spite of the excellent cast and the glorious range of places he puts them (Illinois did stand in for Minnesota), it just fails to connect on any visceral level. Perhaps that’s apt: in a movie where human contact can be fatal we are held at a very safe distance from the characters. So: Contagion? Good, but not, sadly, great.

In The Resident, Hilary Swank plays a newly-dumped ER doctor who’s on the hunt for a new apartment. She finds a huge, atmospheric space with great views over the Brooklyn Bridge – but when you find something that’s too good to be true, the cinematic fact is it probably is. Cue creepy really creepy landlord (and you, yes you, Jeffrey Dean Morgan: I have not yet forgiven you for Watchmen.)

I have to say I’m not much moved by Hilary Swank. I can give her a fat miss at the best of times, and this, honestly, is not the best of times. It looks good, certainly, and it has its icky moments, but I thought the plot gave itself away too soon – and it’s also a terrible waste of Lee Pace. Although it’s set in Brooklyn, the interiors filmed in a studio in New Mexico.

So I’m sitting here imagining an alternative marketing push for the movie Melancholia…… “It’s about this huge meteor, right, that’s heading straight for earth, right, so it’s a race against time coz its gonna kill, like, everyone, right? And it’s got Kiefer Sutherland from 24 in it, and also that Swedish dude who’s the vampire in True Blood, and it’s got Kirsten Dunst, right? and she gets her whole kit off….”

Oh yes, how easily things can be spun. Melancholia is indeed a film about the end of Planet Earth – and Melancholia is also the huge planet that’s about to slam into our little blue marble. Kirsten Dunst plays a woman suffering from both depression and a truly frazzled and fucked-up family. But the thing about depression is, when shit falls apart, you remain entirely cool and collected, and as Melancholia approaches, Kirsten’s weepy dead-beat becomes the only one in the family who holds it all together.

So the worst thing about the film (aside from director von Trier’s Nazi jokes) is that it is extremely slow. The absolute best thing about Melancholia (aside from KiKiDee, who rocks) is the graceful, atmospheric Swedish estate of Tjoloholm Slott where it was filmed. It’s the kind of elegant place the Vanger’s wished they had the class and refinement to inhabit.

In Abduction, teenager Taylor Lautner discovers his face on an abducted kids website. But the site is a scam, the front for an evil Serbian mastermind who wants to……oh hell, I really don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you all this. Because, sad to say, Abduction is awful.

See, on the surface, everything about Abduction starts off pretty peachy. The buff up-and-coming post-tween star, the thrilling plot of espionage, electronic surveillance and stolen identities, all at a run – even some really kind of A-list stars chalking up some screen time. But then it all goes wrong.

It’s not that it’s badly made or badly acted particularly; it’s just that no-one behaves with any emotional authenticity whatsoever. Your life’s in danger? Buy a soda. Your folks are murdered? Meh. Your cover’s been blown? Hang out in the kitchen. You’ve reached a place of safety? Make a phone call. Honestly, there’s narry a single character in the whole 90 minutes who behaves in any way like a normal human being, and it ultimately (or actually pretty quickly) derails the entire experience. It’s like watching someone else play Sims.

Abduction filmed in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania – for tax credit reasons, apparently. Hampton High School, where Nathan is schooled is actually a real school in Hampton Township, just north of Pittsburgh. The school’s name and mascot, the Talbot, appear in the film, as well as real students, cheerleaders, and the marching band.

PS and am I the only one who thinks TL is a dead ringer for that sulky chess prodigy Magnus Carlson?…..

It’s Rugby World Cup time down-under, and the Springboks are once again attempting to bludgeon their rivals into submission. I never quite know who to support here, being English AND South African, or Irish-Welsh-Scottish ancestry, with dollops of emigration to Argentina, Canada, New Zealand, Australia and the United States along the way. And I even have an unlikely fondness for the beloved Republic of Georgia. (I was going to call them minnows, but have you seen the size of their scrum? Anyway.) About the only team in the competition I don’t have any kind of tie to is Japan, and it’s very difficult to dislike Japanese at the best of times.

Anyway, in honor of the tournament, I’ve spent my non-game-watching hours catching up on the rugby movies that I suppose inevitably emerged in the run up to the event. The biggie of course is Invictus, Clint Eastwood’s movie about the 1995 event that took place in South Africa and (allegedly, at the design of Madiba himself) resulted in the first manifestation of a united Rainbow Nation. It really focuses on how a bunch of good-looking but arrogant white guys learn discipline and humility through the beautiful game. Matt Damon plays the Springbok captain Francois Pienaar, and he does quite well with the accent.

Forever Strong picks up the meme: a good-looking but arrogant white guy learns discipline and humility through the beautiful game. Here a high-school rugby star in the US is plucked from reform school to join an elite rugby team. It’s pretty well made and well acted and not half as bad as it sounds.

Play On is the least polished of the three films, it’s somewhat inconsistent, but it does have the odd flash of brilliance. It’s about, yep, you guessed it, a good looking but arrogant white guy who learns discipline and humility through his participation in a rugby squad. He also reconciles with his Dad – his real-life dad, so it turns out. I’m quietly impressed that the Scottish lead is actually an Australian who lives in LA.

Anyway, enough of the movie watching, it’s back to the real thing.

I read something recently that disturbed me. The scurrilous Daily Beast article suggested that we only love Emma Stone because she’s the convenient cutsey redheaded replacement for Lindsay Lohan. I’d like to respond to that idea most vigorously and most sincerely: that’s just not true. I love Emma Stone because she’s bright and funny and quirky and she’s got that husky voice and that expressive face and she’s got absolutely perfect comic timing. Also, she’s not a selfish drug-addled thieving minx. I would pay to see Emma Stone in just about anything. I would not pay to see Lindsay Lohan in anything, except prison overalls.

Take the snappy, smile-worthy Easy A for instance. Emma plays Olive, a highschooler who tells a little lie which gets completely out of control and ends with her (quite unfairly) being tarnished as the school slag. Can you imagine being outraged if Lindsay had been so besmirched? I thought not.

So, I loved the film, I thought it was heart-warming (serious!) and I laughed out loud too. Easy A filmed entirely on location in the California town of Ojai. filming90201.locations has a photo spread of the choice ones. I’d actually never heard of Ojai until later that very same day when, spookily enough, I happened to read it was where Reese Witherspoon got married. So now you know.

In Limitless, Bradley Cooper plays Eddie Morra, a grungy, feckless, kind-of-despicable no-hoper, whose life is completely transformed on consumption of a teensie leettle pill. Said pill is engineered to activate the bits of brain that normally go unused – that’s quite a bit of brain for Mr. Morra – thus turning Bradley from homeless-looking dude (incl. ghastly frizzy ponytail!) to the smokin’ hot King of Awesomeness we secretly know for certain that he is.

There are complications of course – there’s a plot involving a number of corrupt businessmen and their lawyers, a zippy Russian mobster (stand-out performance – the actor’s Welsh for God’s sake), some rather deadly side-effects and a sweet-faced girlfriend, but I can’t tell you too much about that. Because once Bradley’s cleaned himself up a bit and is working the hand-tailored Italian suits, I kind of lost interest in everything else. Actually, that’s unfair; I thought it was pretty entertaining, and it’s visually interesting too.

Although there are a handful of establishing scenes in New York – most notably the Wollman Ice Rink in Central Park, site of a pivotal chase scene for the much-abused girlfriend – Limitless mostly filmed on soundstages in, wait for it, Philadelphia (of all places….) I thought it felt authentic. It also filmed a bit in Mexico – there’s a nifty racing scene through Puerta Vallarta involving a very product-placed Maserati: (more…)