Review: The Great Beauty

The Great Beauty is a visually stunning epic directed by Paulo Sorrentino, set in Berlusconi’s Rome. It stars Toni Servillo as Jep Gambardella, a cynical journalist who once wrote a famous novel. He spends his time partying amongst Italy’s rich and powerful, from cardinals to poets to men who own keys to palaces (no, it’s never explained). But one day a stranger informs Jep of the death of a woman he once loved, and his halcyon decadence is jolted by introspective pondering.

Jep refers to the world’s ‘haggard, inconsistent splashes of beauty’ in ‘the wretched squalor and miserable humanity’, and it seems that a large number of those splashes bounced off the streets of Rome. Every shot is a picture, a Mediterranean Barry Lyndon. The characters’ fine tailoring is a suitable descendant to Casino’s: colour coordinated outfits of dazzling jackets and well-creased silk. Sorrentino’s filming perfectly captures the veneer of glamour through sartorial splendour and fine liquor which masks the dark underbelly of extreme living, just as Scorsese managed in Goodfellas. For example, the parties are so drunken, debauched and wild that it is impossible not to feel enticed, yet we see that at such frequency they would be nauseating. Like a bucket of fried chicken, one might say.

People refer to this film under the shadow of La Dolce Vita, and rightly so. World-weary journalist living among Rome’s idle rich, depressed with his existence and wanting to write a literary work of importance, forever trapped in the haze of cigarette smoke and decadence – this describes them both. Several scenes are highly similar. The poetry, aesthetic beauty and philosophical soul-searching owe much to the neo-realism of Italy’s past. It certainly owes something to Rome: the characters live literally in the shadow of Rome’s historical beauties (Jep’s apartment overlooks the Colosseum). In a way, their late-night wanderings through the beauty spots are as meaningless and pathetic as Marcello’s. There is also a chunk of The Great Gatsby – is the questing playboy moral, immoral, or just complicated?

While little exists in the way of a linear plot, the main narrative focus is Jep’s quest for ‘the great beauty’. This is inspiration for his second novel that he never located in the whirl of Roman high society. It is this profundity, this gravitas which Jep seeks, but his hedonistic lifestyle of late nights and no mornings do not allow it. Again, think of Marcello in La Dolce Vita. It takes religious poverty and frequent mortality to allow his mind to focus on the important aspects of living. Ultimately, it is this quest which proves the most consistently interesting aspect.

At two hours twenty minutes there is much which could, and should, be cut. This was its main drawback: not just the effect on audiences used to 90 minutes, but also the endless scenes of minimal importance convey a sense of arrogance on the part of the director. Moments that may have seemed interesting to Sorrentino don’t necessarily equate to viewers’ enjoyment. In fairness, the incessant nature does work well in conjuring the monotony of Jep’s playboy existence, but this could be confined to a handful of long scenes. Remove the bloated extra hour, as any Hitchcock, Scorsese or Fellini would, and The Great Beauty’s stunning positives will shine brighter.

The Great Beauty is at points entertaining, at others self-indulgent. Overall it is highly interesting, but like a piece of modern art, not like Goldfinger.

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!

'Tonight we're asking: fish, coster, iron, war - which is the worst monger?'

Review: The Iceman

The Iceman tells the story of Richard Kuklinksi, mass murderer and contract killer, who slaughtered people who didn't show no respect to the Gambinos. From the late 1940s to his arrest in the 1980s, Kuklinski worked for various Italian mafia outfits in New York and New Jersey, mostly the DeMeo crew. The interesting thing about this guy, who ended the lives of one to three hundred people, is that he lived a pretty normal existence. His family had no idea until his arrest that he was anything other than an average Joe. Kuklinski was meticulous in his separation of wiseguy work and suburban homelife in a New Jersey suburb. This is what the film really focuses on: a tenebrous biopic of his family for one half and his professional rise for the other.

Michael Shannon plays Richard 'Polak' Kuklinski brilliantly, his psychopathic lunacy always ready to burst out of his giant's body. I saw a comparison to his character in Revolutionary Road, and also to Joaquin Phoenix in The Master: brooding, surly, capriciously waiting to damage something. Shannon's whole physical performance was important in a portrayal of a man who barely spoke, and this he certainly did with acumen. Ray Liotta co-starred, playing Ray Liotta. When he first (crocodile skin) loaf(er)s onto the screen, resplendent in fur-lined leather jacket, you know that he’s not going to be playing a new role. Like he was in the recent The Place Beyond the Pines, Liotta is genuinely scary as Gambino associate Roy DeMeo. I would like to see him star in a film soon, as a powerful performance could be achieved. David Scchwimmer plays a schmuck of a mobster- if you ever wanted to see Ross in garish '70s leisurewear with a brylcreemed ponytail and loud moustache then see this. Also amusing is the dodgiest ice cream vendor that you will ever witness, the mass murdering 'Mr. Softy'.

Funnier than Friends

Choc Ice?

In terms of historical accuracy, there are a lot of changes, such as when Kuklinski first started working for DeMeo or the circumstances of death of some of the characters. That stuff ultimately doesn’t matter, because overall accuracy can often only be achieved in a film through the sacrificing of minor details. Where this film does part from the reality is perhaps that he was even more of a lunatic. He severely hurt his wife on a number of occasions, was known to kill for pleasure, tortured victims, and was certainly murdering before the mafia commissioned him.

There is no denying that The Iceman is brutal. Director Ariel Vromaen has not shied away from filming the bloody reality of Kuklisnki, to his credit.  There are some surprisingly amusing moments a la Ross and Mr. Softy. A fear that people often seem to have about gangster films is that they glamorise too much: the lifestyle, especially with the Italians’ style, juxtaposed with the violence often results in the latter’s downplaying, and the dramatic falls of characters at the end become almost irrelevant. Thankfully, this is not the case here. Kuklinski never seemed to get much out of the whole business, except money. We don’t see any of the glamour, just lunacy. It is plain that he is a psychopath and kind of a loner- he hangs around with his family and one or two chums, but mostly just associates. So The Iceman shows the brutal reality, not the glamorous side, of the mafia

Interview: Damian Lewis

I was fortunate enough to secure an interview with actor Damian Lewis for my student newspaper. This is the result:

A household name both sides of the Atlantic, Damian Lewis came to international prominence starring in Band of Brothers, furthering his reputation in The Forsyte Saga, Life and numerous stage plays. A consummate actor of theatre, film and television, his recent triumph in Homeland won him a Golden Globe and an Emmy. I tried to uncover a few pearls of wisdom from the most exciting British actor of the moment.

For many people staring nervously into the precipice of recession unemployment, Damian Lewis’ characters seem unrealistically cool and successful. Decisive and worldly, these soldiers, cops, business executives and assassins don’t rely on others. I asked him what advice he would offer graduates making their way in the world. But his own life wisdom is refreshingly clear. ‘Work hard, play hard,’ he summarises deftly. ‘Understand what makes you happy and do it.’ Such an approach has clearly served him well: he has dined with the U.S. President and been directed by Steven Spielberg. But his drive is evident. ‘I still think I'm trying to make it. A bit like chasing one's tail. Not healthy, but part of the condition.’ Modest, certainly, but that attitude betrays the aspirations of a winner. I suspect that he does not consider sitting on his laurels to be a viable option. If he retired from acting today, he said that his dream job would be teaching. Luckily, he would retain an audience.

Rest assured, even someone as successful as Damian Lewis can encounter bumps on the road. ‘The cold sweat you get on stage the moment you know you have absolutely no idea what to say next haunts me in my dreams,’ he observes. Famously, his eyebrow was slashed open by Ralph Fiennes during a performance of Hamlet. Pretty awkward, but dramatic at least. ‘Worst moment though was when I was at The R.S.C. and heard my cue over the tannoy system. I was still in my dressing room 4 floors up and quite literally skidded to a halt at the end of my hysterical dash on to the stage. The other actors were pacing up and down. If looks could kill...’ As a notorious master of accents, perhaps mimicry is effortless. I wondered if there was any accent he had struggled to perfect. ‘I played football with Paul Gascoigne for a week and spent every moment I wasn't with him trying to be him. I sounded mad. But then so does he. That was Geordie.’ I guess he won’t be adding The Pitmen Painters to his C.V. any time soon.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that to reach the top of your game you must be an arrogant prima donna. In order to prepare for a role, Damian Lewis declares that he has ‘no rituals. Just quiet time on my own when I need it.’ Neither does fame seem to have gone to his head. I am confident that he keeps Balotelli-style antics to a minimum, but surely, I joked, there are some inescapable consequences? ‘I haven't burnt anyone's house down if that's what you mean...’ That fame has not created a pyromaniac is certainly reassuring for his neighbours. Indeed, the single role from cinematic history which he would most like to have played is reassuringly respectful to an historic masterpiece of acting: ‘Ben Braddock in The Graduate.’

Homeland might be Damian Lewis’ biggest success to date, and certainly is in terms of awards. The tense storylines leave many viewers desperate to uncover what happens next. Does he tell anyone what happens before it airs? ‘My wife. Leave her alone.’ You heard him.

Despite a significant number of interviews, there is never a great deal of personal information about the avid Liverpool F.C. fan in the press. I wondered if he draws on this ability to play his cards close to his chest when portraying the mercurial Sergeant Brody. ‘Brody doesn't know who he is anymore. He's become a kind of sociopath, extremely adept at compartmentalising. Every actor needs a bit of this.’ Homeland flags some contemporary political issues, such as nationalism, power relations and the nature of war. Does its leading man think that mass entertainment can convey serious political messages? ‘Yes I do. Especially in long form drama.’

Acting aside, his performances in charity football match Soccer Aid proved solid. When I asked him which celebrity he considers to have been the worst player, he named Alastair Campbell. It just goes to show: follow Damian Lewis’ example, and you too could outplay the most powerful opponent.

I rounded off with some quickfire questions:

Beethoven or The Beatles? Depends on my mood.

Pint or champagne? Pint.

Shankly or Paisley? Paisley.

L.A. or London? London.

Silver-screen or modern blockbuster? Silver screen.

The full publication can be found here: http://www.epigram.org.uk/2013/05/damian-lewis-im-still-trying-to-make-it/

Review: The Great Gatsby

Rarely is a film anticipated with so much dread, debated with so much fear and loathing, than this adaptation of The Great Gatsby. In our world of constant online criticism and faceless sniping, it seemed as if millions were at pains to show their literary appreciation by preemptively crushing the efforts of Baz Lurhmann. As a fan of the novel, and of Fitzgerald's greater canon, I attempted to watch with an open mind. There were admittedly many potential faults: 3-D, switching a masterpiece into another art form, the modern soundtrack. My gravest concern was that it would be a triumph of style over substance: a meretricious focus on the decadence of Jazz Age parties. The whole genius of the story is that there are so many themes, so many observations about the world, society and emotion. The time and place in which it is set are important only in the fact that they join these strands together in a way that few historical moments have. I believe that capturing the underlying themes was going to be the most important aspect, and the inevitable cinematographic barrage of lavish aesthetics should follow behind.

For me, this was achieved. Doomed love, tragic attempts at replaying the past, the hubristic bubble of moneyed frivolity standing at the precipice of the Depression, social change and identity were all present in the film as they were in the novel. Perhaps the love between Daisy and Gatsby was over-egged. I read that Luhrmann described it as primarily a love story, and thus other relationships were downplayed. Not many integral elements were slashed, no section suffered, and the pace was retained throughout the two and a half hours.

With these bits captured, the aesthetics could be enjoyed. Luhrmann's film is sickeningly stylish, every moment of swirling inebriation and quixotic love heightened through cinematography. Every shot was a high definition painting, the clothes and scenery all mind-blowing. The most striking visual images of the book are present: shirt throwing, green lights and oculist  eyes. The soundtrack ultimately worked: no single song ever seemed to be played, it was just a stream of diverse tunes. Lurhmann correctly identified the need to use some modern sounds, because if a principal job of music in film is to stir emotion, then a few Charleston numbers weren't going to do the trick in 2013. The 3-D was kind of pointless, as the technology remains a gimic: it's barely even 3-dimensional, there are just a few different layers on-screen, like cardboard cutouts. Basically, it was filmed in a fashion that brought home the nauseousness of twenties New York.

The cast was excellent, although in pretty much the same way that it was in the 1974 version. Leonardo DiCaprio was born for the role of Jay Gatsby: the criticism that he's forever playing brooding geniuses weighed down by life is ironically a main point for praise in this work. Tobey Maguire captures Nick Carroway's polite affability and impartial observation. His narration is pleasingly similar to that of the novel, using all the best quotations, and adding in new ones that Fitzgerald himself could easily have penned. Carey Mulligan likewise portrays Daisy's personality well: tragically shallow but with intense emotional depth, plus Mulligan creates a greater chemistry with her Gatsby than Farrow and Redford managed in '74. Again, Joel Edgerton's Tom Buchanan was as similar to the literary character as anyone could have hoped, funneling his arrogant menace into a hurricane of chauvinistic brutality. Jordan Baker, Myrtle Wilson, George Wilson and Meyer Wolfsheim... same thing, all as perfectly similar to Fitzgerald's creations as I could imagine. Amitabh Bachchan managed to elevate the character of Wolfsheim into a convincing gangster, not a jolly gentleman who dabbled in World Series. Good acting all round.

So I thought that this was a triumph. The main problem is that The Great Gatsby is such a good book: translating it into other media will always result in changes, and literary elements being lost. It was a great film and a skilled adaptation, but it will remain an adaptation: the novel still reigns supreme in Gatsby franchise.