Review: The Kings of Summer

The Kings of Summer is about two friends who move away from their oppressive parents (mind-numbingly embarrassing in one case, fascistically strict in the other) by building and living in a house in the wilderness. Once there, the duo are joined by a machete-wielding Buddha-like Italian or Spanish (it’s not that clear which) kid, who is allowed to stay because they ‘don’t know what he’s capable of’. Cue friendship testing and affirming moments, joyful tastes of freedom, hardships and the realities of life, and anguished parents.

From the beginning it is obvious that this is a quirky indie film, with kids in old t-shirts who play acoustic guitars. The folksy soundtrack and unorthodox shooting style are obviously present, adding to the off-tempo story. There are several clichés and motifs already present in cinema – living in the wild, three friends mucking about, cringeworthy high-school moments.

But for all that, The Kings of Summer is a lot better it could be. It is entertaining and highly amusing, the light touches of humour keeping the whole project pleasurable without belittling its gravitas. The actors are all proficient at delivering genuinely comic lines (Megan Mullally from Will & Grace especially).

Ultimately the thing is a metaphor – the realities of building a house and living in the wild are wildly unrealistic. I suspect that the writer conceived the theme before the actual plot, as opposed to wanting to write a story about kids in the wilderness. Instead, the viewer is watching a parable about those formative teenage years – moving away from family, testing friendships, growing up, getting out into the world, dealing with its problems. It’s a nice way of doing it, because it gives a more driving direction to the plot whilst retaining the key themes that we all understand.

Overall The Kings of Summer is funny and warm, significantly more so than other films billed as ‘comedies’, and there is a kind of reckless silliness that makes up for any creative shortcomings.

Review: Only God Forgives

Only God Forgives. Well, the characters in Nicholas Winding Refn’s latest offering certainly don’t, due to their violent psychopathy. It certainly is a bizarre film, one of those that causes you to take a moment to readjust to reality afterward. After the first successful collaboration between Refn and leading man Ryan Gosling in Drive, this is their next, perhaps more ambitious, project.

If I were to compare Only God Forgives to Kubrik’s filmography, I’d say that it is a hybrid of Barry Lyndon’s aesthetic beauty and A Clockwork Orange’s brutal madness. The camera-work is incredible – every shot could be hung in the Louvre. There are fantasy sequences, cutaway scenes to parable-song-filled karaoke performances... and all that stuff. Don’t forget this is as much an art film as a Hollywood blockbuster. I should add that for anyone not keen on extreme violence, which hopefully should be the majority, watching this will be a task at points. There is more chopping and slicing than an episode Masterchef, more blood than a French steak, more guns than a bodybuilding competition. Although it’s all very powerful, and I guess that that’s a good thing, it is the type of production that will probably get people thinking whether the violence was necessary or just gratuitous. Like a Tarantino movie. Personally, I would say it was vital to the story, and so disgusting that there is nothing glamorous about it all. Good soundtrack, too.

The film centres on two American criminal brothers working in Bangkok, and when one is killed mother Crystal (Kristen Scott Thomas) comes to sort things out. She is not a nice person especially, pretty evil, and Gosling’s Julian is thoroughly disturbed, so much so that he barely speaks (Gosling must have had an easy time with learning his lines, both of them). This cues a collision course with a karaoke-singing policeman ‘The Angel of Vengeance’ (Vithaya Pansringarm), whose favourite mode of retribution is swift removal of recalcitrants’ arms via traditional sword. The plot is really very simple - there aren't a host of twists and turns that one might expect.

Is it, as people insisted on predicting, just Drive 2? Well, no, if a every repeated actor-director collaboration was a carbon copy then Scorsese and De Niro would have made eight Mean Streets and Hitchcock would have made four Suspicions. There are similarities, of course, but Gosling’s character is very different. This time, he isn’t a cardboard cut-out of a Man With No Name hero, he’s a disturbed and vulnerable young man.

There are numerous themes running throughout, such as Julian’s feeling of isolation and the nature of his mothering. They are presented in a complex way, through visions and dreams, enough to keep Freud occupied for days. Whether you enjoy it or not, and I did, it is stimulating stuff, and certainly not deserving of the trashing reviews that it has thus far received.

Review: Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa – one of the last decade’s most eagerly anticipated films? Well, for me and certain other Partridge enthusiasts is was long overdue. With a raft of recent activity (online radio episodes, an autobiography that actually sold this time, a documentary, appearances on TV and radio interviews), this big-screen move is another career move from one of North Norfolk’s most successful radio DJs and light entertainment hosts. And this was my main fear: that it had so much to live up to, and TV-to-radio adaptations so often fail.

Imagine my relief, then, when it was all OK. TV Quick Magazine’s Man of the Moment 1994 was working his magic. The plot was solid, there were a lot of laughs, and many of the old faces were there (PTSD Michael, embattled Mrs. Doyle-esque Lynne, boozed-up dosser and dwad Dave Clifton). There were numerous broadcasting gaffes from the man who suggested monkey tennis, inner-city sumo and youth hostelling with Chris Eubank. ‘Tonight we’re asking: has anyone ever met a genuinely clever bus driver?’

It was also an intelligent attempt at maturing Alan. In the decade of absence between series two of I’m Alan Partridge (unless you count a half-hour special) and his return on Mid-Morning Matters, he has gone from a young fogey in the midst of a mid-life crisis to an old fool more comfortable in his own skin, experimenting with staying young and hip. Gone are the blazers, polo necks and anoraks – 2010s Alan is all about the jeans, trainers and snazzy jackets. Watching him banter with Tim Keys’ Sidekick Simon is as funny as Alan’s awkward inability to fend off Chris Morris’ taunts during On The Hour.

I guess that the main problem was that there just wasn’t enough time watching Alan bumble and annoy his way through Norwich. The best moments in his illustrious career have come from very ordinary interactions – chatting to a Geordie about small arms fire procedure, smelling cheese with the chief commissioning editor of the BBC, judging a country fayre in Swaffham. With all this running and slapstick, the very essence of inadequate Alan, and thus his huge appeal, is lost.

Alpha Papa is a very good film, very funny, and as addition to the Partridge canon, a solid effort. Ultimately, nothing is ever going to live up to series one of I’m Alan Partridge. But overall: cashback!

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