Film Reviews Thread
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samanthaaaa
Is there an avatar review by any chance? 
Is http://www.thestudentroom.co.uk/showpost.php?p=22835103&postcount=795 not avatar?
Updated the OP too
(sorry lpk)
letsdothetimewarpagain
Ah, thanks
The Princess and the Frog
The Princess and the Frog adds more fuel to the fire that Disney is set to embark on another Golden Age of Animation. After last year’s Bolt proved that - for every horrendous straight-to-DVD sequel that Disney has churned out - they still have something unique to offer, they have jumped in with both feet, this time regressing the medium back to the classically-animated, 2D style that Disney is still best known for, and what a trip it is.
The film takes place during early 20th-century New Orleans, with the beautiful Tiana (Anika Noni Rose) working herself to the bone so she can afford to open her own restaurant and make a better life. After finding a talking frog at her side one night (who is actually Prince Naveen, an extravagant young man who has been turned into a frog by the evil Dr. Facilier [Keith David]), she is convinced to kiss him, causing her to ironically turn into a frog herself. Together, they must find a way, with the help of trumpet-playing alligator Louis and amorous firefly Ray, to break the curse and take down the evil voodoo priest.
Everything great about classic Disney has been packed in here. The confidently funky song-and-dance numbers, juxtaposing catchy jazz licks with gorgeous sweeping shots of New Orleans, aptly infuse the film with a legitimately black identity, and while the film at times runs the risk of dabbling in stereotypes – such as Tiana’s chef at work speaking in hyperactive Ebonics – this is mitigated by Tiana’s firm characterisation as a sympathetic and totally relatable character regardless of your race.
While its aesthetic is delightfully old-fashioned, this is a thematically postmodern film, poking fun at the homogenised, ethnically insular nature of the Disney films of old, this time boasting an almost entirely-black cast of characters. Furthermore, while the film retains a lot of the classical Disney tropes, they are often spun for irony’s sake, playing with your expectations. The film’s narrative is in fact referential to the classic concept of a Princess kissing a frog and turning him into a Prince, using this widely-known plot element to frame a narrative that is decidedly more grounded and down-to-Earth.
Indeed, Tiana is told from an early age by her father that fantastical magic wishes can only take you so far, and a recurring motif throughout the film appears to be that nothing worth getting can be attained without hard work (rather than Prince Charming sweeping the Princess off of her feet). Not only is Tiana’s spoiled childhood friend, Charlotte, made out to be a buffoon compared to the focused and conscientious Tiana, but the means through which Prince Naveen is turned into a frog is through his own delusion that he can get something for nothing from the Devil’s minion Dr. Facilier. In this world, magic is only seen to benefit those who are first willing to help themselves, and it’s certainly a great message for kids.
The film’s maturity and wit extends to less-heady concerns, also; there are plenty of postmodern touches, like Tiana being able to communicate with her dog as soon as she becomes a frog, the archetypical Prince Charming being broke and “cut off” by his parents, and Tiana even misunderstanding the message of one of the character’s sing-songs. It’s very funny if you’re at all aware of the tropes of the medium, and it ensures that Disney is not resting on their laurels with this return to 2D. In fact, the film has only one noticeable scene of filler, where the gang is intercepted by a rabble of inept hunters.
The characterisation is also strong throughout; Keith David’s Dr. Facilier benefits from David’s soothing voice, tailor-made for villainy, and he even nails the singing parts too, while Jennifer Cody’s Charlotte gets quite annoying after a while, but that’s sort of the point. Michael-Leon Wooley is a riot as Louis, as is Jim Cummings as Ray, courting some of the film’s more amusing and affecting moments.
If you’ve had your fill of the exuberant offerings from Pixar (even though Up is sure to snag the Best Animated Oscar), and have a hankering for painterly, musically-infused visuals, then The Princess and the Frog is just the ticket. With classically catchy tunes, a daring spin on Disney’s pro-forma, and the requisite scene of drug-like surrealism, this is truly a Disney film for our times. Even if it returns to the conventions of the genre by its end, it’s still a delightfully revisionist romp.
Rating: 7/10
The Princess and the Frog adds more fuel to the fire that Disney is set to embark on another Golden Age of Animation. After last year’s Bolt proved that - for every horrendous straight-to-DVD sequel that Disney has churned out - they still have something unique to offer, they have jumped in with both feet, this time regressing the medium back to the classically-animated, 2D style that Disney is still best known for, and what a trip it is.
The film takes place during early 20th-century New Orleans, with the beautiful Tiana (Anika Noni Rose) working herself to the bone so she can afford to open her own restaurant and make a better life. After finding a talking frog at her side one night (who is actually Prince Naveen, an extravagant young man who has been turned into a frog by the evil Dr. Facilier [Keith David]), she is convinced to kiss him, causing her to ironically turn into a frog herself. Together, they must find a way, with the help of trumpet-playing alligator Louis and amorous firefly Ray, to break the curse and take down the evil voodoo priest.
Everything great about classic Disney has been packed in here. The confidently funky song-and-dance numbers, juxtaposing catchy jazz licks with gorgeous sweeping shots of New Orleans, aptly infuse the film with a legitimately black identity, and while the film at times runs the risk of dabbling in stereotypes – such as Tiana’s chef at work speaking in hyperactive Ebonics – this is mitigated by Tiana’s firm characterisation as a sympathetic and totally relatable character regardless of your race.
While its aesthetic is delightfully old-fashioned, this is a thematically postmodern film, poking fun at the homogenised, ethnically insular nature of the Disney films of old, this time boasting an almost entirely-black cast of characters. Furthermore, while the film retains a lot of the classical Disney tropes, they are often spun for irony’s sake, playing with your expectations. The film’s narrative is in fact referential to the classic concept of a Princess kissing a frog and turning him into a Prince, using this widely-known plot element to frame a narrative that is decidedly more grounded and down-to-Earth.
Indeed, Tiana is told from an early age by her father that fantastical magic wishes can only take you so far, and a recurring motif throughout the film appears to be that nothing worth getting can be attained without hard work (rather than Prince Charming sweeping the Princess off of her feet). Not only is Tiana’s spoiled childhood friend, Charlotte, made out to be a buffoon compared to the focused and conscientious Tiana, but the means through which Prince Naveen is turned into a frog is through his own delusion that he can get something for nothing from the Devil’s minion Dr. Facilier. In this world, magic is only seen to benefit those who are first willing to help themselves, and it’s certainly a great message for kids.
The film’s maturity and wit extends to less-heady concerns, also; there are plenty of postmodern touches, like Tiana being able to communicate with her dog as soon as she becomes a frog, the archetypical Prince Charming being broke and “cut off” by his parents, and Tiana even misunderstanding the message of one of the character’s sing-songs. It’s very funny if you’re at all aware of the tropes of the medium, and it ensures that Disney is not resting on their laurels with this return to 2D. In fact, the film has only one noticeable scene of filler, where the gang is intercepted by a rabble of inept hunters.
The characterisation is also strong throughout; Keith David’s Dr. Facilier benefits from David’s soothing voice, tailor-made for villainy, and he even nails the singing parts too, while Jennifer Cody’s Charlotte gets quite annoying after a while, but that’s sort of the point. Michael-Leon Wooley is a riot as Louis, as is Jim Cummings as Ray, courting some of the film’s more amusing and affecting moments.
If you’ve had your fill of the exuberant offerings from Pixar (even though Up is sure to snag the Best Animated Oscar), and have a hankering for painterly, musically-infused visuals, then The Princess and the Frog is just the ticket. With classically catchy tunes, a daring spin on Disney’s pro-forma, and the requisite scene of drug-like surrealism, this is truly a Disney film for our times. Even if it returns to the conventions of the genre by its end, it’s still a delightfully revisionist romp.
Rating: 7/10
Youth in Revolt
It’s likely that you’re going to know quickly – given that Michael Cera can be heard masturbating over the film’s opening “Universal” logo - whether you’re going to enjoy Youth in Revolt. Cera’s awkward nerd persona has become rather long in the tooth by now, and so in this adaptation of C.D. Payne’s acclaimed novel, he thankfully sends it up, supplementing it with something a little more challenging.
16-year-old Nick Twisp (Cera) is a socially inept pariah who, while on vacation, chances upon on the beautiful Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday), who shares his creative flair and an interest in Jean-Luc Godard’s films. However, Nick learns that she has a boyfriend, in the pretentious, sweater vest-wearing douche Trent (Jonathan B. Wright), while also having to contend with his own divorced, overbearing parents, George (Steve Buscemi), and Estelle (24’s Jean Smart). As a coping mechanism, Nick concocts what he terms a “supplementary persona”, hilariously named François Dillinger; a moustache-donning, bad-mouthed, irascible upstart who just might be bad enough to win Sheeni’s heart once and for all.
Youth in Revolt’s opening sections very much play off against Cera’s persona built-up in films such as Superbad and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, reinforced here as the socially inept, sex-starved kid who thinks that the prick always gets the girl. However, director Miguel Arteta also manages to aptly satirise the pompous nature of “hip” romantic comedies (which Cera himself has starred in before, both with the aforementioned Infinite Playlist, and Paper Heart), indulging Twisp in a slow-motion shower cutaway after he first meets Sheeni, and then also having him be shown up as pretentious when he attempts to discuss Godard films with her. In every way, Sheeni has Nick outfoxed, and as the sexy temptress, it’s refreshing that she has no time to stop and coddle him through his irksome, self-conscious neurosis.
This is far from your traditional love story, if only because the boy doesn’t spend 80 minutes chasing the girl; he gets her before the first reel is over, but the tension lies in the fact that this is just a holiday for Nick and his mother, and they’ll be going home soon. Nick is naturally melodramatic about the whole affair, making their fling out to be more portentous and valuable than it actually is, while Sheeni is far more pragmatic about the whole affair. As a mockery of romantic-drama conventions, it is mildly amusing if rather fleeting.
The film really hits its stride once Nick’s François surfaces, who is without doubt a welcome rebuke to Cera’s increasingly-stale usual persona. François urges Nick, “it’s time to rebel”, and it’s true of both part and player. Though not in the film as much as you might hope, François’ badass subset allows Cera to test himself, deepening his voice, washing out his ears, and delivering some real zingers.
Things do lose steam by the end of the second reel, though, and some hokey plotting – such as a ridiculous scheme by Nick to get Sheeni kicked out of her all-girl school – just isn’t “bad” enough, but it still features enough reckless abandon and drug use (with one of the oddest mushroom-inspired scenes you’ll ever see) to satisfy. The absurdity ratchets up suitably for the finale, which amusingly lampoons Bonnie and Clyde-esque runaway scenarios, but it ultimately winds up more silly than surreal, despite plenty of good scenes sprinkled throughout.
Ultimately, the film is more subtly amusing than outwardly hilarious, managing a few ripping one-liners but not much more. Instead, much enjoyment comes from the cast of bit-players that Arteta has assembled, including Steve Buscemi, The Hangover’s Zach Galifianakis, Ray Liotta, Justin Long, Jean Smart, and Fred Willard (in one of his oddest performances yet). It doesn't live up entirely to its pulpy potential, but Youth in Revolt offers some dark, offbeat humour amidst a brilliant cast, with a notable performance from Michael Cera that sees him take a baby step away from his usual business. Still, it's all too slight to be what it should.
Rating: 6/10
It’s likely that you’re going to know quickly – given that Michael Cera can be heard masturbating over the film’s opening “Universal” logo - whether you’re going to enjoy Youth in Revolt. Cera’s awkward nerd persona has become rather long in the tooth by now, and so in this adaptation of C.D. Payne’s acclaimed novel, he thankfully sends it up, supplementing it with something a little more challenging.
16-year-old Nick Twisp (Cera) is a socially inept pariah who, while on vacation, chances upon on the beautiful Sheeni Saunders (Portia Doubleday), who shares his creative flair and an interest in Jean-Luc Godard’s films. However, Nick learns that she has a boyfriend, in the pretentious, sweater vest-wearing douche Trent (Jonathan B. Wright), while also having to contend with his own divorced, overbearing parents, George (Steve Buscemi), and Estelle (24’s Jean Smart). As a coping mechanism, Nick concocts what he terms a “supplementary persona”, hilariously named François Dillinger; a moustache-donning, bad-mouthed, irascible upstart who just might be bad enough to win Sheeni’s heart once and for all.
Youth in Revolt’s opening sections very much play off against Cera’s persona built-up in films such as Superbad and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, reinforced here as the socially inept, sex-starved kid who thinks that the prick always gets the girl. However, director Miguel Arteta also manages to aptly satirise the pompous nature of “hip” romantic comedies (which Cera himself has starred in before, both with the aforementioned Infinite Playlist, and Paper Heart), indulging Twisp in a slow-motion shower cutaway after he first meets Sheeni, and then also having him be shown up as pretentious when he attempts to discuss Godard films with her. In every way, Sheeni has Nick outfoxed, and as the sexy temptress, it’s refreshing that she has no time to stop and coddle him through his irksome, self-conscious neurosis.
This is far from your traditional love story, if only because the boy doesn’t spend 80 minutes chasing the girl; he gets her before the first reel is over, but the tension lies in the fact that this is just a holiday for Nick and his mother, and they’ll be going home soon. Nick is naturally melodramatic about the whole affair, making their fling out to be more portentous and valuable than it actually is, while Sheeni is far more pragmatic about the whole affair. As a mockery of romantic-drama conventions, it is mildly amusing if rather fleeting.
The film really hits its stride once Nick’s François surfaces, who is without doubt a welcome rebuke to Cera’s increasingly-stale usual persona. François urges Nick, “it’s time to rebel”, and it’s true of both part and player. Though not in the film as much as you might hope, François’ badass subset allows Cera to test himself, deepening his voice, washing out his ears, and delivering some real zingers.
Things do lose steam by the end of the second reel, though, and some hokey plotting – such as a ridiculous scheme by Nick to get Sheeni kicked out of her all-girl school – just isn’t “bad” enough, but it still features enough reckless abandon and drug use (with one of the oddest mushroom-inspired scenes you’ll ever see) to satisfy. The absurdity ratchets up suitably for the finale, which amusingly lampoons Bonnie and Clyde-esque runaway scenarios, but it ultimately winds up more silly than surreal, despite plenty of good scenes sprinkled throughout.
Ultimately, the film is more subtly amusing than outwardly hilarious, managing a few ripping one-liners but not much more. Instead, much enjoyment comes from the cast of bit-players that Arteta has assembled, including Steve Buscemi, The Hangover’s Zach Galifianakis, Ray Liotta, Justin Long, Jean Smart, and Fred Willard (in one of his oddest performances yet). It doesn't live up entirely to its pulpy potential, but Youth in Revolt offers some dark, offbeat humour amidst a brilliant cast, with a notable performance from Michael Cera that sees him take a baby step away from his usual business. Still, it's all too slight to be what it should.
Rating: 6/10
Invictus
When Nelson Mandela was asked who he would like to play him were a film to ever be made about his life, he promptly and proudly thrust Morgan Freeman’s name forth, a move unsurprising given not only his obvious physical resemblance to Mandela, but also Freeman’s cinematic stature as an icon whose work has frequently found him embroiled in tempestuous, even violent race relations (particularly evocative is Unforgiven). Morgan Freeman shines in the role he was seemingly born to play, directed by frequent collaborator and master in his own right, Clint Eastwood.
Invictus traces Mandela’s attempts to reunite South Africa at the end of apartheid, from his release from prison in 1990, to his becoming Prime Minister in 1994, and in 1995, his slyest play of all; urging the national rugby team, the Springboks, to win the rugby World Cup and inspire the country to get along (given that the black South Africans view the predominantly white rugby team as representative of oppression). Through his interactions with the Springboks’ captain, François Pienaar (Matt Damon), we observe the subtle political web that Mandela is spinning, and the extent to which sports can have a nation-wide, even global impact.
Eastwood’s biggest achievement with Invictus is in conveying the palpable racial tension and paranoia that permeated throughout South Africa during this time, extending to even Mandela’s own security team, who sweat bullets when a newspaper van appears on their street. Mandela is tasked with balancing black aspirations against white fears, for the blacks have an opportunity for greater equality, while the whites feel that they are being encroached upon, and their national identity is being diminished. Some whites even refer to Mandela as a terrorist, and the film is smart-headed and even-handed enough to draw attention to this, even if the overarching portrait of Mandela is of a reasonable man with the very best intentions at heart.
So much of this film, understandably so, is about the iconography of apartheid; in one scene, members of the rugby board attempt to change the national team’s name and colours, and in another, one child, when presented with an old Springboks uniform, refuses to wear it for fear of being heckled by the other kids. Mandela, however, is an abstract thinker; he refuses to purge the stains of past torment so easily, promoting forgiveness and reconfiguration of what the name and colours represent rather than outright conflagration. To this end, Freeman’s Mandela delivers a stirring monologue, but despite his persuasive charm, the cuts of old run deep, and he is far from a successful demagogue on his own merits.
Thus, the rugby becomes a political conceit, for if the Springboks can even just make it to the final, it will result in a billion eyes on their nation. Mandela’s methods baffle sports pundits and even the Springboks themselves, who fear that by being forced to train local youths between games, they are being overworked, yet Mandela is so clever that by the time we see the cogs turning, footage of the largely-white Springboks training the largely-black youths has reached the news outlets, and he has manipulated the media with masterful prowess.
At 135 minutes, Invictus is a fairly meaty picture, packed with plenty of seemingly ancillary elements, such as Pienaar visiting Mandela’s former prison cell on Robben Island. However, the serene, meditative power of Pienaar peering through the prison bars, imagining what Mandela endured here, while a Freeman voiceover narrates the film’s eponymous poem by William Ernest Henley, makes it absolutely vital.
Just as diverting is the friction and constant jostling for position between Mandela’s two separate security details – one black, one white – as it essentially allegorises the tension inherent in the country at large. As the Springboks flourish during the World Cup, shots of the detail playing rugby together in Mandela’s garden are certainly evocative. As Mandela himself says in the film, small moments of juxtaposition such as these say more than a dozen lectures, and it is all the more praise to Eastwood that he focuses on setting a political stage foregrounded by a sporting event rather than delivering a sermon.
And what a stage he sets. By the third reel, we know what’s on the line, and an ominous pan to New Zealand’s Jonah Lomu in the tunnel prior to the final game elevates the tension a fair few notches, even though the outcome is known. Once the whistle blows, Eastwood treats us to one of the best-filmed scenes you’re likely to see in a sports pic, cutting between the gorgeously-photographed action, and the jubilant reactions of both the black and white denizens. Like Pienaar’s mid-game inspirational speech, it’s an obvious, yet undeniably effective contrivance, and in what better hands could it be than Clint Eastwood’s? It would take an ardent cynic not to smile by the game’s final whistle, even if the subsequent shots of blacks and whites embracing one another is a touch pat.
This certainly isn’t Eastwood’s strongest directorial effort, for Invictus doesn’t offer an especially probing look at Mandela, but it is a very classy prestige pic, and far from the Oscar bait it will doubtless be monikered as. It is a testament to Eastwood’s talent, after such a strong streak of films over the last decade, that a film as robust as this can rank among the lower end. It’s regardless an inspiring and engaging film that’s bolstered by two stellar, recently Oscar-nominated performances. Though Freeman’s showy turn trumps Damon’s more stoic performance, the palpable chemistry between the two makes Invictus, for fear of cliché, a joy to behold.
The outcome is known, and the inspirational sports story is beyond shop-worn, but Eastwood’s direction is exceptional, and the dedicated performances make it worth a watch, even if it’s not quite the fully-fledged classic it could have been. It is nevertheless a resolutely inspiring, even entertaining, if broad film.
Rating: 8/10
When Nelson Mandela was asked who he would like to play him were a film to ever be made about his life, he promptly and proudly thrust Morgan Freeman’s name forth, a move unsurprising given not only his obvious physical resemblance to Mandela, but also Freeman’s cinematic stature as an icon whose work has frequently found him embroiled in tempestuous, even violent race relations (particularly evocative is Unforgiven). Morgan Freeman shines in the role he was seemingly born to play, directed by frequent collaborator and master in his own right, Clint Eastwood.
Invictus traces Mandela’s attempts to reunite South Africa at the end of apartheid, from his release from prison in 1990, to his becoming Prime Minister in 1994, and in 1995, his slyest play of all; urging the national rugby team, the Springboks, to win the rugby World Cup and inspire the country to get along (given that the black South Africans view the predominantly white rugby team as representative of oppression). Through his interactions with the Springboks’ captain, François Pienaar (Matt Damon), we observe the subtle political web that Mandela is spinning, and the extent to which sports can have a nation-wide, even global impact.
Eastwood’s biggest achievement with Invictus is in conveying the palpable racial tension and paranoia that permeated throughout South Africa during this time, extending to even Mandela’s own security team, who sweat bullets when a newspaper van appears on their street. Mandela is tasked with balancing black aspirations against white fears, for the blacks have an opportunity for greater equality, while the whites feel that they are being encroached upon, and their national identity is being diminished. Some whites even refer to Mandela as a terrorist, and the film is smart-headed and even-handed enough to draw attention to this, even if the overarching portrait of Mandela is of a reasonable man with the very best intentions at heart.
So much of this film, understandably so, is about the iconography of apartheid; in one scene, members of the rugby board attempt to change the national team’s name and colours, and in another, one child, when presented with an old Springboks uniform, refuses to wear it for fear of being heckled by the other kids. Mandela, however, is an abstract thinker; he refuses to purge the stains of past torment so easily, promoting forgiveness and reconfiguration of what the name and colours represent rather than outright conflagration. To this end, Freeman’s Mandela delivers a stirring monologue, but despite his persuasive charm, the cuts of old run deep, and he is far from a successful demagogue on his own merits.
Thus, the rugby becomes a political conceit, for if the Springboks can even just make it to the final, it will result in a billion eyes on their nation. Mandela’s methods baffle sports pundits and even the Springboks themselves, who fear that by being forced to train local youths between games, they are being overworked, yet Mandela is so clever that by the time we see the cogs turning, footage of the largely-white Springboks training the largely-black youths has reached the news outlets, and he has manipulated the media with masterful prowess.
At 135 minutes, Invictus is a fairly meaty picture, packed with plenty of seemingly ancillary elements, such as Pienaar visiting Mandela’s former prison cell on Robben Island. However, the serene, meditative power of Pienaar peering through the prison bars, imagining what Mandela endured here, while a Freeman voiceover narrates the film’s eponymous poem by William Ernest Henley, makes it absolutely vital.
Just as diverting is the friction and constant jostling for position between Mandela’s two separate security details – one black, one white – as it essentially allegorises the tension inherent in the country at large. As the Springboks flourish during the World Cup, shots of the detail playing rugby together in Mandela’s garden are certainly evocative. As Mandela himself says in the film, small moments of juxtaposition such as these say more than a dozen lectures, and it is all the more praise to Eastwood that he focuses on setting a political stage foregrounded by a sporting event rather than delivering a sermon.
And what a stage he sets. By the third reel, we know what’s on the line, and an ominous pan to New Zealand’s Jonah Lomu in the tunnel prior to the final game elevates the tension a fair few notches, even though the outcome is known. Once the whistle blows, Eastwood treats us to one of the best-filmed scenes you’re likely to see in a sports pic, cutting between the gorgeously-photographed action, and the jubilant reactions of both the black and white denizens. Like Pienaar’s mid-game inspirational speech, it’s an obvious, yet undeniably effective contrivance, and in what better hands could it be than Clint Eastwood’s? It would take an ardent cynic not to smile by the game’s final whistle, even if the subsequent shots of blacks and whites embracing one another is a touch pat.
This certainly isn’t Eastwood’s strongest directorial effort, for Invictus doesn’t offer an especially probing look at Mandela, but it is a very classy prestige pic, and far from the Oscar bait it will doubtless be monikered as. It is a testament to Eastwood’s talent, after such a strong streak of films over the last decade, that a film as robust as this can rank among the lower end. It’s regardless an inspiring and engaging film that’s bolstered by two stellar, recently Oscar-nominated performances. Though Freeman’s showy turn trumps Damon’s more stoic performance, the palpable chemistry between the two makes Invictus, for fear of cliché, a joy to behold.
The outcome is known, and the inspirational sports story is beyond shop-worn, but Eastwood’s direction is exceptional, and the dedicated performances make it worth a watch, even if it’s not quite the fully-fledged classic it could have been. It is nevertheless a resolutely inspiring, even entertaining, if broad film.
Rating: 8/10
The Wolfman
The Wolfman is an easy film to want to like - its leads are two Oscar-winning actors, it has been worked on by a 3-time Oscar-winning editor, an Oscar-winning make-up artist, and has a soundtrack composed by a 4-time Oscar nominee - yet as they say, you can't put lipstick on a pig, and regrettably, The Wolfman is all the wrong kinds of ugly.
You might be fooled by the opening frames, though, which are unmistakably gothic and indeed pleasant to look at. As we observe a poor sap being chased by the Wolfman, director Joe Johnston (Jumanji, Jurassic Park III, Hidalgo) cuts to the film's title logo after lingering on a shot of the Wolfman's lower body, rather than delivering the requisite kill. Jarring though it might be, this confidently fast-paced approach provides initial hope that the film might be a loving throwback to the classics of Hammer Horror's catalogue rather than the vapid double take that it is.
After Ben Talbot is found gruesomely murdered (following the pre-titles chase), his brother, Lawrence (Benicio Del Toro) is invited to return home by Ben's wife, Gwen (Emily Blunt). In this stead, Lawrence reunites with his long-estranged father, John (Anthony Hopkins), as they attempt to get to the bottom of who, or what, killed their brother and son, and he also becomes acquainted with Gwen. Oddly, though, these opening scenes are so thoroughly rudimentary that they needn't have been bothered with at all, for these fine actors are left with nothing to do but munch through dull dialogue for most of the film's first reel.
When director Johnston should be building suspense around the mysterious monster, he instead follows breadcrumbs that lead to a snoozy gypsy aside, and then indulges in an emotional vacuum of a flashback sequence that details the tragic circumstances of Lawrence's mother's death, while offering nothing truly interesting except a rather creepy shot of a young Anthony Hopkins, presumably achieved through CGI (ala Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan in X-Men: The Last Stand). It's dispiriting that for a film that hits the credit roll in barely 90 minutes, there's nothing but tired exposition to kick things off.
But the action scenes deliver, right? Sadly, Johnston's pedestrian direction, combined with some visual effects work that gives the impression that the cinema projectionist has smeared butter over the print, prevents this. These ropey effects are surely not something Johnston had intended in order to evoke the kitschy Hammer style and tone, but ultimately that would have been more enjoyable (as would be simply watching the original film). Distracting from the shoddy work throughout, there are a few gory moments, but rarely does Johnston linger on the infliction of injury, and much of the time it is mostly implied, or we simply see a poor observer discover the strewn body. It shouldn't be difficult to make a hulking wolf tearing people apart exciting - especially given the 15-rating's liberal regard to violence - but the kills are mostly elementary (aside from one notable moment, where the Wolfman stabs his claw through a man's head), and there aren't enough money shots to satisfy even the easily pleased gorehound demographic.
Small pockets of solace surface whenever Hugo Weaving appears on screen though; he plays Francis Aberline, a dedicated Inspector tasked with solving the grisly murders around town. His moments of parlance with Lawrence and a barmaid are among the film's few delights, but he also looks the part, and of course, the soothing voice he perfected on the Matrix films is difficult to resist. However he, like the film on the whole, is underdeveloped and lacking in personality.
It's near the half-way mark that, invariably, Lawrence encounters his first transformation into the Wolfman, yet playing this waiting game with your audience is only effective if you've aptly built suspense in the preceding time, which this film does not do. Don't be surprised - as I wasn't - to see other members of the audience checking their watches well before we first get a proper glimpse at the Wolfman. In the film's defence, the transformative effects are far more convincing than the ones of the Wolfman in motion, but they are nevertheless outdone by Rick Baker's exceptional make-up work once the Wolfman is in full form. We can see Del Toro beneath, yet he's still very much a beast, and were the film overall strong enough to remain in the cultural consciousness until late this year, Baker may well have found himself up for an Oscar. Given how glaringly his make-up outdoes the film's corny visual effects (which reach their risible apex when we observe the Wolfman's blurry face running towards the screen), he's an easy guy to root for.
Most dispiriting out of everything, though, is the film's horrible editing. It's astounding to believe that legendary editor Walter Murch, who worked on Apocalypse Now and The Godfather films, had anything to do with it, and given the widely-cited reports that he was brought in after-the-fact to try and salvage things, the only plausible explanation is that he didn't have much to work with. Still, a mess is a mess; the film has no editing beat like even most mediocre films manage. There's no flow to the narrative, the worst example of which has one of Lawrence's massacres occuring (at night, obviously), and then, less than a minute later, it's the morning, his father is speaking to him, and he's being beaten down by the local vigilantes.
For a film paced with such moribundity in its opening reel, all of the meat is crammed higgledy-piggledy into a brief 20-minute middle section, occasioning an exceedingly obvious plot twist and another action scene with even more blurry CGI, before sandwiching it with more boring exposition, where a poor attempt is made to establish a romance subplot between Lawrence and Gwen.
By the final act, there was the genuine hope that Johnston would just go for broke, and the makings of an epic werewolf superbrawl certainly provided hope for this, but the scene - which was added late in production - is again, difficult to follow due to clunky editing and poor effects. This leads to an unsatisfactory climax that sows a seed for a sequel which I hope never happens.
Rick Baker is perhaps the only person who emerges out of this film entirely unscathed. Performance-wise, Weaving leads the pack, while Hopkins has a few amusing moments, but the rest of the cast understandably flounders in such murky waters. Walter Murch's failure to fix the film's inherent problems (caused in large part by Johnston's overdirection) and the risible visual effects make it the exact opposite of what it wants to be - and aside from the diverting sight of Emily Blunt's side-boob, this is one creature feature that sucks when it should bite.
Rating: 4/10
The Wolfman is an easy film to want to like - its leads are two Oscar-winning actors, it has been worked on by a 3-time Oscar-winning editor, an Oscar-winning make-up artist, and has a soundtrack composed by a 4-time Oscar nominee - yet as they say, you can't put lipstick on a pig, and regrettably, The Wolfman is all the wrong kinds of ugly.
You might be fooled by the opening frames, though, which are unmistakably gothic and indeed pleasant to look at. As we observe a poor sap being chased by the Wolfman, director Joe Johnston (Jumanji, Jurassic Park III, Hidalgo) cuts to the film's title logo after lingering on a shot of the Wolfman's lower body, rather than delivering the requisite kill. Jarring though it might be, this confidently fast-paced approach provides initial hope that the film might be a loving throwback to the classics of Hammer Horror's catalogue rather than the vapid double take that it is.
After Ben Talbot is found gruesomely murdered (following the pre-titles chase), his brother, Lawrence (Benicio Del Toro) is invited to return home by Ben's wife, Gwen (Emily Blunt). In this stead, Lawrence reunites with his long-estranged father, John (Anthony Hopkins), as they attempt to get to the bottom of who, or what, killed their brother and son, and he also becomes acquainted with Gwen. Oddly, though, these opening scenes are so thoroughly rudimentary that they needn't have been bothered with at all, for these fine actors are left with nothing to do but munch through dull dialogue for most of the film's first reel.
When director Johnston should be building suspense around the mysterious monster, he instead follows breadcrumbs that lead to a snoozy gypsy aside, and then indulges in an emotional vacuum of a flashback sequence that details the tragic circumstances of Lawrence's mother's death, while offering nothing truly interesting except a rather creepy shot of a young Anthony Hopkins, presumably achieved through CGI (ala Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan in X-Men: The Last Stand). It's dispiriting that for a film that hits the credit roll in barely 90 minutes, there's nothing but tired exposition to kick things off.
But the action scenes deliver, right? Sadly, Johnston's pedestrian direction, combined with some visual effects work that gives the impression that the cinema projectionist has smeared butter over the print, prevents this. These ropey effects are surely not something Johnston had intended in order to evoke the kitschy Hammer style and tone, but ultimately that would have been more enjoyable (as would be simply watching the original film). Distracting from the shoddy work throughout, there are a few gory moments, but rarely does Johnston linger on the infliction of injury, and much of the time it is mostly implied, or we simply see a poor observer discover the strewn body. It shouldn't be difficult to make a hulking wolf tearing people apart exciting - especially given the 15-rating's liberal regard to violence - but the kills are mostly elementary (aside from one notable moment, where the Wolfman stabs his claw through a man's head), and there aren't enough money shots to satisfy even the easily pleased gorehound demographic.
Small pockets of solace surface whenever Hugo Weaving appears on screen though; he plays Francis Aberline, a dedicated Inspector tasked with solving the grisly murders around town. His moments of parlance with Lawrence and a barmaid are among the film's few delights, but he also looks the part, and of course, the soothing voice he perfected on the Matrix films is difficult to resist. However he, like the film on the whole, is underdeveloped and lacking in personality.
It's near the half-way mark that, invariably, Lawrence encounters his first transformation into the Wolfman, yet playing this waiting game with your audience is only effective if you've aptly built suspense in the preceding time, which this film does not do. Don't be surprised - as I wasn't - to see other members of the audience checking their watches well before we first get a proper glimpse at the Wolfman. In the film's defence, the transformative effects are far more convincing than the ones of the Wolfman in motion, but they are nevertheless outdone by Rick Baker's exceptional make-up work once the Wolfman is in full form. We can see Del Toro beneath, yet he's still very much a beast, and were the film overall strong enough to remain in the cultural consciousness until late this year, Baker may well have found himself up for an Oscar. Given how glaringly his make-up outdoes the film's corny visual effects (which reach their risible apex when we observe the Wolfman's blurry face running towards the screen), he's an easy guy to root for.
Most dispiriting out of everything, though, is the film's horrible editing. It's astounding to believe that legendary editor Walter Murch, who worked on Apocalypse Now and The Godfather films, had anything to do with it, and given the widely-cited reports that he was brought in after-the-fact to try and salvage things, the only plausible explanation is that he didn't have much to work with. Still, a mess is a mess; the film has no editing beat like even most mediocre films manage. There's no flow to the narrative, the worst example of which has one of Lawrence's massacres occuring (at night, obviously), and then, less than a minute later, it's the morning, his father is speaking to him, and he's being beaten down by the local vigilantes.
For a film paced with such moribundity in its opening reel, all of the meat is crammed higgledy-piggledy into a brief 20-minute middle section, occasioning an exceedingly obvious plot twist and another action scene with even more blurry CGI, before sandwiching it with more boring exposition, where a poor attempt is made to establish a romance subplot between Lawrence and Gwen.
By the final act, there was the genuine hope that Johnston would just go for broke, and the makings of an epic werewolf superbrawl certainly provided hope for this, but the scene - which was added late in production - is again, difficult to follow due to clunky editing and poor effects. This leads to an unsatisfactory climax that sows a seed for a sequel which I hope never happens.
Rick Baker is perhaps the only person who emerges out of this film entirely unscathed. Performance-wise, Weaving leads the pack, while Hopkins has a few amusing moments, but the rest of the cast understandably flounders in such murky waters. Walter Murch's failure to fix the film's inherent problems (caused in large part by Johnston's overdirection) and the risible visual effects make it the exact opposite of what it wants to be - and aside from the diverting sight of Emily Blunt's side-boob, this is one creature feature that sucks when it should bite.
Rating: 4/10
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xXx_pUnK_pOp_pRiNcEsS_xXx
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This is a joke, right?
EDIT: nevermind, I just read your profile
Alice in Wonderland
Ambitious, gorgeous, frustrating; three words that aptly describe Tim Burton’s massively-hyped reworking of Lewis Carroll’s two Alice novels, and though it’s a sure disappointment given the potential, there’s still enough here to make it a worthy – if muddled – addition to his body of work.
This time, Alice (Mia Wasikowska) has come of age, and is about to be married off to a stuffy, nervous young man. However, before she can respond to his proposal, she spots the White Rabbit (Michael Sheen), which she follows to a rabbit hole, where she is pulled into Wonderland. Having no memory of her previous visit as a child, she re-visits the land with a more adult eye, and finds out that she is the only one who can bring peace to the land, by slaying the tyrannical Red Queen’s (Helena Bonham Carter) beloved pet, the Jabberwocky, and returning the crown to the White Queen (Anne Hathaway).
From the opening scenes of Alice, you’ll be mistaken for thinking you’re watching a fluffy little costume drama, but thankfully only about ten minutes go by before things get moving. As Alice flies through the rabbit hole, Burton’s more attuned visual sensibility kicks in, and all manner of objects whirl past a baffled Alice, before she lands in Wonderland. The only real complaint is that the CGI during her journey is full of irritating blurry artefacts, made befuddlingly apparent in its 3D presentation.
Furthermore, Burton is clearly not in a hurry to tell his story; Alice arrives in Wonderland, and experiments around with shrinking and enlarging herself as a means of emphasising the mostly-lush 3D/CGI combo. Once she quits faffing around and actually explores her world, though, it’s a lot more fun; envisioned in the style Burton knows best – dark and gothic – Wonderland, presented in all of its strange, larger-than-life glory, and accompanied by a fabulous score from Danny Elfman, is as marvellous a rendering of the world as anyone could expect from modern technology.
Though Sony Pictures Imageworks are the sure heroes of the film, this isn’t to discount the modest efforts of a varied cast, including, alongside the above, Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, Crispin Glover as the Knave of Hearts, Little Britain’s Matt Lucas as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat, Alan Rickman as the smoking caterpillar, and even Eastenders star Barbara Windsor as the Dormouse. Carter no doubt leads the pack as the Red Queen; her manic performance goes hand-in-hand with some digital wizardry, making her literally and figuratively “big headed”, and she seems to best understand the manner in which Burton has melded his sensibilities with Carroll’s work, no doubt because she’s Burton’s wife.
A barely recognisable Crispin Glover is also a lot of fun in his little role, but grabbing the most attention is probably Depp who, with his best Madonna impression, is a solid Mad Hatter even if the script doesn’t call for him to do a lot or really make much sense. This isn’t to ignore Wasikowska’s contribution in the titular role, for while she’s not bad, she hardly makes the role her own, though this is more due to the uninvolving script rather than her performance.
The visuals certainly distract from the lean story for a while, but the flaws do become abundant the longer the film – running in at an excessive 108 minutes – prattles on, for there’s not much incident at all to be found until the third act, when a generic battle between the Red and White armies abounds. The film’s first half is serviceable and fine as a travelogue of Carroll’s beloved characters, but the pace sags considerably later on, with Burton taking his time to go through laboured pre-battle motions.
Though it’s a novel and daring manner with which to bring Alice back to the screen, Burton fails to, for his modest, if emotionally shallow efforts, grasp the darker story of Alice’s angst, and her trepidations about growing up. Superficially, the film is absolutely sublime, but it sweeps any greater subtext under the rug, and the film’s climax could have been torn from a dozen adventure films released within the last 12 months. That’s not to say Alice in Wonderland isn’t worth a viewing, but it’s worth going in with tempered expectations, because this is far from the auteur on top form, though it once again reaffirms his incredible stylistic confidence, even if the substance this time isn’t so great.
Rating: 6/10
Ambitious, gorgeous, frustrating; three words that aptly describe Tim Burton’s massively-hyped reworking of Lewis Carroll’s two Alice novels, and though it’s a sure disappointment given the potential, there’s still enough here to make it a worthy – if muddled – addition to his body of work.
This time, Alice (Mia Wasikowska) has come of age, and is about to be married off to a stuffy, nervous young man. However, before she can respond to his proposal, she spots the White Rabbit (Michael Sheen), which she follows to a rabbit hole, where she is pulled into Wonderland. Having no memory of her previous visit as a child, she re-visits the land with a more adult eye, and finds out that she is the only one who can bring peace to the land, by slaying the tyrannical Red Queen’s (Helena Bonham Carter) beloved pet, the Jabberwocky, and returning the crown to the White Queen (Anne Hathaway).
From the opening scenes of Alice, you’ll be mistaken for thinking you’re watching a fluffy little costume drama, but thankfully only about ten minutes go by before things get moving. As Alice flies through the rabbit hole, Burton’s more attuned visual sensibility kicks in, and all manner of objects whirl past a baffled Alice, before she lands in Wonderland. The only real complaint is that the CGI during her journey is full of irritating blurry artefacts, made befuddlingly apparent in its 3D presentation.
Furthermore, Burton is clearly not in a hurry to tell his story; Alice arrives in Wonderland, and experiments around with shrinking and enlarging herself as a means of emphasising the mostly-lush 3D/CGI combo. Once she quits faffing around and actually explores her world, though, it’s a lot more fun; envisioned in the style Burton knows best – dark and gothic – Wonderland, presented in all of its strange, larger-than-life glory, and accompanied by a fabulous score from Danny Elfman, is as marvellous a rendering of the world as anyone could expect from modern technology.
Though Sony Pictures Imageworks are the sure heroes of the film, this isn’t to discount the modest efforts of a varied cast, including, alongside the above, Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, Crispin Glover as the Knave of Hearts, Little Britain’s Matt Lucas as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat, Alan Rickman as the smoking caterpillar, and even Eastenders star Barbara Windsor as the Dormouse. Carter no doubt leads the pack as the Red Queen; her manic performance goes hand-in-hand with some digital wizardry, making her literally and figuratively “big headed”, and she seems to best understand the manner in which Burton has melded his sensibilities with Carroll’s work, no doubt because she’s Burton’s wife.
A barely recognisable Crispin Glover is also a lot of fun in his little role, but grabbing the most attention is probably Depp who, with his best Madonna impression, is a solid Mad Hatter even if the script doesn’t call for him to do a lot or really make much sense. This isn’t to ignore Wasikowska’s contribution in the titular role, for while she’s not bad, she hardly makes the role her own, though this is more due to the uninvolving script rather than her performance.
The visuals certainly distract from the lean story for a while, but the flaws do become abundant the longer the film – running in at an excessive 108 minutes – prattles on, for there’s not much incident at all to be found until the third act, when a generic battle between the Red and White armies abounds. The film’s first half is serviceable and fine as a travelogue of Carroll’s beloved characters, but the pace sags considerably later on, with Burton taking his time to go through laboured pre-battle motions.
Though it’s a novel and daring manner with which to bring Alice back to the screen, Burton fails to, for his modest, if emotionally shallow efforts, grasp the darker story of Alice’s angst, and her trepidations about growing up. Superficially, the film is absolutely sublime, but it sweeps any greater subtext under the rug, and the film’s climax could have been torn from a dozen adventure films released within the last 12 months. That’s not to say Alice in Wonderland isn’t worth a viewing, but it’s worth going in with tempered expectations, because this is far from the auteur on top form, though it once again reaffirms his incredible stylistic confidence, even if the substance this time isn’t so great.
Rating: 6/10
I have a film blog if anyone's interested 
The link is in my sig or here.
The link is in my sig or here.Crazy Heart
Saw it this afternoon after finishing uni for the day. Bridges was immense. I like these music-orientated films, like 'Walk the Line' and now this, 'Crazy Heart'. Films that open you up to music that you, well, I, don't really listen to, and perhaps should give more time of the day to - also goes to really demonstrate the power of music and how music influences life and vice-versa. Maggie Gyllenhaal is just irresistable, so damn attractive. I like the themes, the concepts, that change is possible, even if it takes years and years to get there, and that, however easy it may be to give in/a cop-out, that you should never give up on yourself or on others - positive change is always possible. Life can be damn hard and I'm glad that the film stayed true to this reality, in that Bad Blake and Jean didn't hook up again right at the end. There will always be that nagging doubt that the alcoholism and dependency will return and Jean was putting the welfare of her child first, understandably - especially so after the shopping mall incident. Just wonder if Bad Blake would ever have rekindled his relationship with his son. It should be his son that Bad Blake is putting first or at least attempting to...secondly Jean and her son. But maybe his bridges were burnt with regard to rekindling any kind of relationship and father-son attachment, and he attempted to achieve that attachment with Jean and her son. Obviously he genuinely cared for and loved Jean and her son. It was quite sad this, you could see how loving and caring he was, yet he missed out on all this with regard to his own offspring. And it was hurting Bad Blake, having to live with this knowledge, this burden of regret.
9/10.
Was going to post this in the Crazy Heart thread but I'd have needed a spoiler alert, which I don't know how to do, so I thought I'd bung my post in here
Saw it this afternoon after finishing uni for the day. Bridges was immense. I like these music-orientated films, like 'Walk the Line' and now this, 'Crazy Heart'. Films that open you up to music that you, well, I, don't really listen to, and perhaps should give more time of the day to - also goes to really demonstrate the power of music and how music influences life and vice-versa. Maggie Gyllenhaal is just irresistable, so damn attractive. I like the themes, the concepts, that change is possible, even if it takes years and years to get there, and that, however easy it may be to give in/a cop-out, that you should never give up on yourself or on others - positive change is always possible. Life can be damn hard and I'm glad that the film stayed true to this reality, in that Bad Blake and Jean didn't hook up again right at the end. There will always be that nagging doubt that the alcoholism and dependency will return and Jean was putting the welfare of her child first, understandably - especially so after the shopping mall incident. Just wonder if Bad Blake would ever have rekindled his relationship with his son. It should be his son that Bad Blake is putting first or at least attempting to...secondly Jean and her son. But maybe his bridges were burnt with regard to rekindling any kind of relationship and father-son attachment, and he attempted to achieve that attachment with Jean and her son. Obviously he genuinely cared for and loved Jean and her son. It was quite sad this, you could see how loving and caring he was, yet he missed out on all this with regard to his own offspring. And it was hurting Bad Blake, having to live with this knowledge, this burden of regret.
9/10.
Was going to post this in the Crazy Heart thread but I'd have needed a spoiler alert, which I don't know how to do, so I thought I'd bung my post in here
Kick-Ass
Comic book fans need only have seen the brilliant ends to which the medium can be adapted in the mesmerising The Dark Knight and the impressive Watchmen to know that in the right - most often R-rated – hands, it can be thoroughly entertaining while maintaining a cutting, subversive edge. Matthew Vaughn’s Kick-Ass, adapted from the comic by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr., falls somewhat short of being a genre classic due to reinforcing convention more than it reinvents it, but it’s still quite the exercise in visceral action and wild outlandishness.
Dave Lizewski (Aaron Johnson) is your archetypal nerd loser, spending the majority of his time locked away in his room jacking off, while lamenting the fact that there aren’t any superheroes in real life. Fed up with the world’s injustice, he decides to suit-up, naming himself Kick-Ass and aiming to rid the streets of evil-doers. In this stead he becomes an overnight Internet phenomenon, a double-edged sword which also brings him to the attention of mobster Frank D'Amico (Mark Strong, whose manages a great American accent here), who wants to keep the city’s denizens hopeless. Along the way, Dave’s antics inspire others to suit up, such as D’Amico’s own son, donning a cape and the moniker Red Mist (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), while some real superheroes - Hit-Girl (Chloe Moretz) and Big Daddy (Nicolas Cage) – take out the trash with more convincing (and more violent) pizzazz.
From the opening moments of Kick-Ass, where every sort of trite superhero catchphrase is ironically hurled at the viewer, it’s evident that this is a revisionist little riff attempting to invert the tropes of the genre, shamelessly wearing the hilarious slogan, “with no power comes no responsibility”, across its chest. How well Kick-Ass rattles the cages is a matter for debate, though, because while Vaughn and his enthusiastic cast certainly tick a lot of boxes, the film often rehashes the same romance arcs and stock characters we’ve become long bored of.
That said, there is still plenty to like here; the banter between Dave and his friends at a cafe, where they recoil at the thought that Paris Hilton is a more prominent role model than a superhero, is genuinely smart, although lacks the casual Superbad vibe they were clearly going for, perhaps because the two supporting characters aren’t especially well developed. Still, while Aaron Johnson – who scored a knockout in his portrayal of a young John Lennon in last year’s Nowhere Boy – is serviceable, the real reason to watch Kick-Ass is a very different beast altogether.
If you’re even acutely aware of this film, you’re probably familiar with the name Hit Girl. Chloe Moretz, who most memorably starred as the precocious young sister in last year’s excellent (500) Days of Summer, ensures her name won’t be forgotten any time soon, with an audacious, C-word-dropping turn that’s the film’s sure highlight. She is a pre-teen superhero who mercilessly wastes the baddies in cold blood under the supervision of her ex-cop father, Big Daddy, played by Nicholas Cage (with a marvellous Adam West impersonation) in not only one of the film’s more knowing performances, but also one of Cage’s better recent roles.
The first glimpse we get of Cage and Moretz is as they are practising combat; Cage puts a bullet-proof vest on her and then, without as much as a blink, fires a couple of bullets into her chest to prepare her for the feeling of being shot. Though their unconventional relationship is played for laughs, it’s also oddly sweet, hitting the right emotional peaks throughout and helping drive the third act forward in particular, while also being fearless enough to show the father-daughter team in less-glamorous moments, such as when they brutally murder a gangster in a car crusher.
It’s a bit of a slog to reach these gold moments, though, for the opening half-hour goes through the distended rigmarole that has plagued even more serious-minded superhero ventures, endlessly hammering home our hapless hero’s ineptitude while not really getting the ball moving. Similarly, later on, the film breaks off for several stylish but overlong asides, causing things to teeter close to filmmaker indulgence. To this token, the endless pop culture referencing also gets tired quite quickly, and evokes an air of self-conscious smugness at times.
Nevertheless, once our hero is established, the film really hits its stride, savagely mocking the cult of celebrity through Kick-Ass’s own fast ascent to fame, all off the back of one YouTube clip showing him beating up a local gang. With Kick-Ass soon enough having his own merchandising brands and even his own impersonators, Vaughn amusingly, often darkly, knocks this sort of crass idolatry, unmistakably bashing those bystanders who lament the city’s gang problems while hypocritically doing nothing to help, and in fact, often revelling in the violence.
Though the vast majority of the superhero mockery is broad – for the characters themselves hilariously mention that Big Daddy has more than a passing, perhaps copyright-infringing resemblance to Batman – there are a few smarter remarks throughout, particularly with regard to the essence of the superhero mythos, and what a hero should and shouldn’t do. Red Mist, as the son of D’Amico, has access to all kinds of snazzy weaponry and technology, but it’s against Kick-Ass’s notion that anyone, regardless of race, age, gender, or social circumstance, can be a superhero, and while this friction isn’t realised with much depth, it’s one of the film’s more interesting, surely more philosophical notions.
Its status as a postmodern superhero pic par excellence is debatable at best, but the action crowd are sure to get their money’s worth, for Kick-Ass’s final reel delivers scene after scene of wild, frenetic action, beginning with a montage of Big Daddy dispatching D’Amico’s goons, and ending with a climax simply too deliciously demented to spoil. In these scenes, the real star of the show is director Vaughn who, having previously helmed the excellent Layer Cake and so-so Stardust, reveals himself to be an assured action director that certainly has a future alongside Zack Snyder as a go-to-guy for pulpy material of this kind.
Kick-Ass is a film not easily dismissed, but neither is it a totally satisfying one; it defaults often to the same conventions it claims to flout, and is certainly far too long. However, the blitzkrieg of action in the film’s second half is worth admission alone, the plot is pleasantly self-contained, and a star-making turn from Moretz is unforgettable, with Nicholas Cage’s manic appearance sealing the deal.
Rating: 7/10
Comic book fans need only have seen the brilliant ends to which the medium can be adapted in the mesmerising The Dark Knight and the impressive Watchmen to know that in the right - most often R-rated – hands, it can be thoroughly entertaining while maintaining a cutting, subversive edge. Matthew Vaughn’s Kick-Ass, adapted from the comic by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr., falls somewhat short of being a genre classic due to reinforcing convention more than it reinvents it, but it’s still quite the exercise in visceral action and wild outlandishness.
Dave Lizewski (Aaron Johnson) is your archetypal nerd loser, spending the majority of his time locked away in his room jacking off, while lamenting the fact that there aren’t any superheroes in real life. Fed up with the world’s injustice, he decides to suit-up, naming himself Kick-Ass and aiming to rid the streets of evil-doers. In this stead he becomes an overnight Internet phenomenon, a double-edged sword which also brings him to the attention of mobster Frank D'Amico (Mark Strong, whose manages a great American accent here), who wants to keep the city’s denizens hopeless. Along the way, Dave’s antics inspire others to suit up, such as D’Amico’s own son, donning a cape and the moniker Red Mist (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), while some real superheroes - Hit-Girl (Chloe Moretz) and Big Daddy (Nicolas Cage) – take out the trash with more convincing (and more violent) pizzazz.
From the opening moments of Kick-Ass, where every sort of trite superhero catchphrase is ironically hurled at the viewer, it’s evident that this is a revisionist little riff attempting to invert the tropes of the genre, shamelessly wearing the hilarious slogan, “with no power comes no responsibility”, across its chest. How well Kick-Ass rattles the cages is a matter for debate, though, because while Vaughn and his enthusiastic cast certainly tick a lot of boxes, the film often rehashes the same romance arcs and stock characters we’ve become long bored of.
That said, there is still plenty to like here; the banter between Dave and his friends at a cafe, where they recoil at the thought that Paris Hilton is a more prominent role model than a superhero, is genuinely smart, although lacks the casual Superbad vibe they were clearly going for, perhaps because the two supporting characters aren’t especially well developed. Still, while Aaron Johnson – who scored a knockout in his portrayal of a young John Lennon in last year’s Nowhere Boy – is serviceable, the real reason to watch Kick-Ass is a very different beast altogether.
If you’re even acutely aware of this film, you’re probably familiar with the name Hit Girl. Chloe Moretz, who most memorably starred as the precocious young sister in last year’s excellent (500) Days of Summer, ensures her name won’t be forgotten any time soon, with an audacious, C-word-dropping turn that’s the film’s sure highlight. She is a pre-teen superhero who mercilessly wastes the baddies in cold blood under the supervision of her ex-cop father, Big Daddy, played by Nicholas Cage (with a marvellous Adam West impersonation) in not only one of the film’s more knowing performances, but also one of Cage’s better recent roles.
The first glimpse we get of Cage and Moretz is as they are practising combat; Cage puts a bullet-proof vest on her and then, without as much as a blink, fires a couple of bullets into her chest to prepare her for the feeling of being shot. Though their unconventional relationship is played for laughs, it’s also oddly sweet, hitting the right emotional peaks throughout and helping drive the third act forward in particular, while also being fearless enough to show the father-daughter team in less-glamorous moments, such as when they brutally murder a gangster in a car crusher.
It’s a bit of a slog to reach these gold moments, though, for the opening half-hour goes through the distended rigmarole that has plagued even more serious-minded superhero ventures, endlessly hammering home our hapless hero’s ineptitude while not really getting the ball moving. Similarly, later on, the film breaks off for several stylish but overlong asides, causing things to teeter close to filmmaker indulgence. To this token, the endless pop culture referencing also gets tired quite quickly, and evokes an air of self-conscious smugness at times.
Nevertheless, once our hero is established, the film really hits its stride, savagely mocking the cult of celebrity through Kick-Ass’s own fast ascent to fame, all off the back of one YouTube clip showing him beating up a local gang. With Kick-Ass soon enough having his own merchandising brands and even his own impersonators, Vaughn amusingly, often darkly, knocks this sort of crass idolatry, unmistakably bashing those bystanders who lament the city’s gang problems while hypocritically doing nothing to help, and in fact, often revelling in the violence.
Though the vast majority of the superhero mockery is broad – for the characters themselves hilariously mention that Big Daddy has more than a passing, perhaps copyright-infringing resemblance to Batman – there are a few smarter remarks throughout, particularly with regard to the essence of the superhero mythos, and what a hero should and shouldn’t do. Red Mist, as the son of D’Amico, has access to all kinds of snazzy weaponry and technology, but it’s against Kick-Ass’s notion that anyone, regardless of race, age, gender, or social circumstance, can be a superhero, and while this friction isn’t realised with much depth, it’s one of the film’s more interesting, surely more philosophical notions.
Its status as a postmodern superhero pic par excellence is debatable at best, but the action crowd are sure to get their money’s worth, for Kick-Ass’s final reel delivers scene after scene of wild, frenetic action, beginning with a montage of Big Daddy dispatching D’Amico’s goons, and ending with a climax simply too deliciously demented to spoil. In these scenes, the real star of the show is director Vaughn who, having previously helmed the excellent Layer Cake and so-so Stardust, reveals himself to be an assured action director that certainly has a future alongside Zack Snyder as a go-to-guy for pulpy material of this kind.
Kick-Ass is a film not easily dismissed, but neither is it a totally satisfying one; it defaults often to the same conventions it claims to flout, and is certainly far too long. However, the blitzkrieg of action in the film’s second half is worth admission alone, the plot is pleasantly self-contained, and a star-making turn from Moretz is unforgettable, with Nicholas Cage’s manic appearance sealing the deal.
Rating: 7/10
How to Train Your Dragon
With the debate hotly raging about the applications of 3D technology, advocates on both sides are looking for films to back up their stake. James Cameron’s Avatar is surely the format’s best presentation to date, while industry figureheads like Cameron and even Michael Bay have lamented the tendency for studio execs to hurriedly convert 2D films into 3D, as famously occurred with the impending Clash of the Titans remake. While I don’t think 3D is the future of cinema, Dreamworks’ latest animated outing, How to Train Your Dragon, is a top-notch demonstration of how to use the technology so often dismissed as a gimmick to accentuate depth, scale and texture rather than simply poke and prod at your audience.
Based on Cressida Cowell's book, Dragon takes place in the Viking village Berk, where local weedling Hiccup (Jay Baruchel) wants to prove himself a worthy dragon slayer in order to earn the approval of his mighty, highly celebrated warrior father, Stoick the Vast (Gerard Butler). In an opening battle scene of some visual grandeur, Hiccup once again shows himself up as useless, for all of his better efforts, leaving his pop despondent and disappointed. However, when he comes across a wounded dragon in the woods – a Night Fury, the most dangerous of all dragons – he finds himself unable to kill it, and furthermore, discovers that the creatures are not what they seem.
Though it’s easy to praise the film’s presentational delights, it’s not all smooth sailing; the first reel is especially slow moving, indulging in one training scene too many, while failing to get to the narrative’s main crux, that the dragons actually aren’t evil at all. During early expository scenes, too often is the screen embossed in bland greys, dark blues and Earthy greens, where its lack of visual fervour will surely aggravate younger viewers in particular. Also, some of the scripting – even for its ankle-biter audience – is a touch pat, especially when Hiccup wonders out loud why the clearly wounded dragon doesn’t just fly away.
There are plenty of great scenes early on, though – chiefly when Hiccup and the dragon, which he names Toothless, are awkwardly testing each other’s boundaries – and the cast, particularly Baruchel and Butler, fit their respective roles like gloves, but when things should move forward, they rather frustratingly don’t. It’s not until the half-way point that Hiccup becomes aware that Toothless is benevolent, but with this revelation comes the film’s transition into its more eloquent, focused, and far more entertaining second half.
From the moment Toothless takes Hiccup on a trip high into the sky, it becomes evident how well directors Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois have harnessed this 3D technology, hurtling the duo frantically through the clouds while surveying some gorgeous background scenery that equally rivals the visual sophistication you’d expect from Pixar. Though the narrative is too standard and quite breezy, these stunning and ethereal scenes of flight never become tiresome, injecting enough variation each time – by either bringing along a buddy of Hiccup’s, or introducing an enemy dragon to fight – that the sumptuousness of the visuals never becomes business as usual.
Along with its more obvious visual nuance, the plot pushes forward with greater urgency in the second half, while introducing an unexpected amount of moral ambiguity, nailing the hysteria and misunderstanding inherent in any war-like scenario, while giving each side their own fair motivation. It all builds to a hugely impressive final battle, conveying a palpable and literally awesome sense of scale, while the exuberant 3D allows the viewer to differentiate the various battle elements with ease. Unlike other similar efforts, where the 3D winds up a blurry irritation during visually elaborate scenes, it is nothing if not crystal clear.
Once the fireworks are over, Dragon seems to be heading towards a suitably and respectably sombre ending, and while it doesn’t follow this through with the necessary potency, the picture closes with a nevertheless surprising final blow, demonstrating a maturity you might typically associate with Pixar.
Though rather flawed on a storytelling level, How to Train Your Dragon has the luxury of a great cast and rousing visuals to make it a sure hit. In the ongoing fracas over 3D, Dragon provides a visually robust answer to the nay-sayers, while falling short of “classic” status due to the by-the-numbers premise.
Rating: 7/10
With the debate hotly raging about the applications of 3D technology, advocates on both sides are looking for films to back up their stake. James Cameron’s Avatar is surely the format’s best presentation to date, while industry figureheads like Cameron and even Michael Bay have lamented the tendency for studio execs to hurriedly convert 2D films into 3D, as famously occurred with the impending Clash of the Titans remake. While I don’t think 3D is the future of cinema, Dreamworks’ latest animated outing, How to Train Your Dragon, is a top-notch demonstration of how to use the technology so often dismissed as a gimmick to accentuate depth, scale and texture rather than simply poke and prod at your audience.
Based on Cressida Cowell's book, Dragon takes place in the Viking village Berk, where local weedling Hiccup (Jay Baruchel) wants to prove himself a worthy dragon slayer in order to earn the approval of his mighty, highly celebrated warrior father, Stoick the Vast (Gerard Butler). In an opening battle scene of some visual grandeur, Hiccup once again shows himself up as useless, for all of his better efforts, leaving his pop despondent and disappointed. However, when he comes across a wounded dragon in the woods – a Night Fury, the most dangerous of all dragons – he finds himself unable to kill it, and furthermore, discovers that the creatures are not what they seem.
Though it’s easy to praise the film’s presentational delights, it’s not all smooth sailing; the first reel is especially slow moving, indulging in one training scene too many, while failing to get to the narrative’s main crux, that the dragons actually aren’t evil at all. During early expository scenes, too often is the screen embossed in bland greys, dark blues and Earthy greens, where its lack of visual fervour will surely aggravate younger viewers in particular. Also, some of the scripting – even for its ankle-biter audience – is a touch pat, especially when Hiccup wonders out loud why the clearly wounded dragon doesn’t just fly away.
There are plenty of great scenes early on, though – chiefly when Hiccup and the dragon, which he names Toothless, are awkwardly testing each other’s boundaries – and the cast, particularly Baruchel and Butler, fit their respective roles like gloves, but when things should move forward, they rather frustratingly don’t. It’s not until the half-way point that Hiccup becomes aware that Toothless is benevolent, but with this revelation comes the film’s transition into its more eloquent, focused, and far more entertaining second half.
From the moment Toothless takes Hiccup on a trip high into the sky, it becomes evident how well directors Chris Sanders and Dean DeBlois have harnessed this 3D technology, hurtling the duo frantically through the clouds while surveying some gorgeous background scenery that equally rivals the visual sophistication you’d expect from Pixar. Though the narrative is too standard and quite breezy, these stunning and ethereal scenes of flight never become tiresome, injecting enough variation each time – by either bringing along a buddy of Hiccup’s, or introducing an enemy dragon to fight – that the sumptuousness of the visuals never becomes business as usual.
Along with its more obvious visual nuance, the plot pushes forward with greater urgency in the second half, while introducing an unexpected amount of moral ambiguity, nailing the hysteria and misunderstanding inherent in any war-like scenario, while giving each side their own fair motivation. It all builds to a hugely impressive final battle, conveying a palpable and literally awesome sense of scale, while the exuberant 3D allows the viewer to differentiate the various battle elements with ease. Unlike other similar efforts, where the 3D winds up a blurry irritation during visually elaborate scenes, it is nothing if not crystal clear.
Once the fireworks are over, Dragon seems to be heading towards a suitably and respectably sombre ending, and while it doesn’t follow this through with the necessary potency, the picture closes with a nevertheless surprising final blow, demonstrating a maturity you might typically associate with Pixar.
Though rather flawed on a storytelling level, How to Train Your Dragon has the luxury of a great cast and rousing visuals to make it a sure hit. In the ongoing fracas over 3D, Dragon provides a visually robust answer to the nay-sayers, while falling short of “classic” status due to the by-the-numbers premise.
Rating: 7/10
There Will Be Blood
There Will Be Blood is not a film that should be entered into lightly. It is a complex and often disturbing watch. There are jarring sounds and out of place scenes whose purpose at the time seems only to unsettle and disturb you. It is most definitely not a film for everyone, and I can completely understand if you find yourself frustrated or perplexed by it. However, I believe that if you stick with it, it is truly a rich and rewarding experience.
It is a film about the prosperity and spirit of the early twentieth century in mid-western America, and also about the pitfalls and the compromises. Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a silver miner turned oil man, and after a tip off he sets out to Little Boston to create his legacy, carrying in tow his adopted son H.W. (Dillon Freasier). There he encounters the evangelical preacher Eli Sunday (Paul Dano), and the two men are soon locked in a power struggle over the town.
While seeming at times polar opposites, Plainview and Sunday are mirrors of each other both in terms of character and accomplishments. Both seek dominance, and are prepared to do whatever it takes for it. Both are uncompromising, and see others purely in terms of what they can offer them (Plainview uses his son as a negotiation prop, while Sunday uses William Bandy to put the oilman in his place). Both seek utter destruction and humiliation of the other, unaware that their own deeds are causing their own destruction. Both create their business up from the ground until they are no longer needed, finally left only to descend to madness and bankruptcy. While they are obvious metaphors for the two main influences in modern American culture (capitalism and religion) neither is glamourised or demonised, and the script simply shows you the consequences of both. Both characters are acted out superbly, the scene coming alive when either of them are involved, and the absences of any other stand-out characters are easily compensated by their weight.
The film is directed with clear, uncompromising confidence, relying on it’s story and central performances to carry it through some of the more forgettable scenes. It’s opening scenes are completely without speech, and made all the more beautiful for it. On reflection, it is also foreboding of the immediate story, as it is one of the few times when you see pure, genuine honesty from Plainview, an illusion which is shattered as soon as he opens his mouth. It’s a brave move, and many less experienced directors would have not dared to do it, fearing that they wouldn’t be able to keep the audience’s interest for so long. But Paul Thomas Anderson has no such concerns. He see his audience in much the same way that Daniel Plainview see his; they are to be endured, and must not be allowed to compromise his goals. It is ultimate self-expression. As much as films can be art, this is.
There Will Be Blood is not a film for those looking for immediate gratification – it’s score will never allow you to settle into it and the finale will leave you puzzled – but over time you will grow to appreciate it. I would hesitate to call it a masterpiece. It is undoubtedly a great film, but it is also flawed. Is it the best film of the decade? Perhaps not. But it is a film that everyone should see once.
There Will Be Blood is not a film that should be entered into lightly. It is a complex and often disturbing watch. There are jarring sounds and out of place scenes whose purpose at the time seems only to unsettle and disturb you. It is most definitely not a film for everyone, and I can completely understand if you find yourself frustrated or perplexed by it. However, I believe that if you stick with it, it is truly a rich and rewarding experience.
It is a film about the prosperity and spirit of the early twentieth century in mid-western America, and also about the pitfalls and the compromises. Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a silver miner turned oil man, and after a tip off he sets out to Little Boston to create his legacy, carrying in tow his adopted son H.W. (Dillon Freasier). There he encounters the evangelical preacher Eli Sunday (Paul Dano), and the two men are soon locked in a power struggle over the town.
While seeming at times polar opposites, Plainview and Sunday are mirrors of each other both in terms of character and accomplishments. Both seek dominance, and are prepared to do whatever it takes for it. Both are uncompromising, and see others purely in terms of what they can offer them (Plainview uses his son as a negotiation prop, while Sunday uses William Bandy to put the oilman in his place). Both seek utter destruction and humiliation of the other, unaware that their own deeds are causing their own destruction. Both create their business up from the ground until they are no longer needed, finally left only to descend to madness and bankruptcy. While they are obvious metaphors for the two main influences in modern American culture (capitalism and religion) neither is glamourised or demonised, and the script simply shows you the consequences of both. Both characters are acted out superbly, the scene coming alive when either of them are involved, and the absences of any other stand-out characters are easily compensated by their weight.
The film is directed with clear, uncompromising confidence, relying on it’s story and central performances to carry it through some of the more forgettable scenes. It’s opening scenes are completely without speech, and made all the more beautiful for it. On reflection, it is also foreboding of the immediate story, as it is one of the few times when you see pure, genuine honesty from Plainview, an illusion which is shattered as soon as he opens his mouth. It’s a brave move, and many less experienced directors would have not dared to do it, fearing that they wouldn’t be able to keep the audience’s interest for so long. But Paul Thomas Anderson has no such concerns. He see his audience in much the same way that Daniel Plainview see his; they are to be endured, and must not be allowed to compromise his goals. It is ultimate self-expression. As much as films can be art, this is.
There Will Be Blood is not a film for those looking for immediate gratification – it’s score will never allow you to settle into it and the finale will leave you puzzled – but over time you will grow to appreciate it. I would hesitate to call it a masterpiece. It is undoubtedly a great film, but it is also flawed. Is it the best film of the decade? Perhaps not. But it is a film that everyone should see once.
There Will Be Blood
In a film that revolves around greed, wealth, religion and ruthlessness a lot could go wrong. But Paul Thomas Anderson does not disappoint with this. The focal point of this story is a man, Daniel Plainview, a silver miner who stumbles upon oil which in turn sets off his story. As the film goes on, we see how Daniel’s greed for wealth becomes more apparent and how it has consumed him. He has no remorse and is full of hate as he says himself “I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.” Using an orphaned boy as a tool and his highly persuasive speaking ability, he establishes a drilling company that looks for prospective oil deposits around the country.
It is when he clashes with Eli when working in California, a church pastor, that his ruthless side comes into view and we learn more about his character. What starts out to be an annoyance to Daniel, becomes humiliation and anger as Eli uses religion to take hold of Daniel. Eli pushes Daniel to the edge when he forces him to beg for forgiveness over “abandoning his child” after sending him to school in San Francisco. At the end of the film when Eli comes to Daniel for help as a “friend”, Daniel uses it to force to Eli shout out to God that he is a false prophet in a similar fashion to how Eli made Daniel shout out to God for forgiveness over his son. Daniel, fuelled by anger, beats Eli to death completing his consumption into darkness.
However, we do see an emotional side of him, where he learns and weeps of his true brother’s death and early on in the film when his dark side isn’t so apparent. It seems initially that he loves the boy, H.W, he adopted as a true son. But after an accident which leaves H.W. deaf his love for him grows apart as his greed demonizes him and his priorities lie in the oil business which is demonstrated by Plainview sending his son to a school in San Francisco. Towards the end of the film, when his son has grown up and married to Mary whom he met when he was a child at Plainview’s work in California, Daniel’s loss of love for H.W. is further demonstrated as he finally cracks and reveals to H.W. that his image of him as his son is destroyed and he is just an “orphan from a basket in the middle of a desert” that he picked up.
Daniel Day-Lewis’ truly excels in the role as Daniel Plainview and his performance can be argued to rank up there with his performance in Gangs of New York as Bill Cutting. His hawk-like eyes and short-temper perfects the portrayal of the character. His “Best Actor” awards are very justifiable as he made this film his own. Though this film did seem have a lack of magic in it’s scene setting but that is overridden by the fact that the story itself is very intriguing and the well developed characters come into play. It time it could be remembered a classic story as the modern film industry moves into a more action and graphical stage.
Rating: 7.5/10
In a film that revolves around greed, wealth, religion and ruthlessness a lot could go wrong. But Paul Thomas Anderson does not disappoint with this. The focal point of this story is a man, Daniel Plainview, a silver miner who stumbles upon oil which in turn sets off his story. As the film goes on, we see how Daniel’s greed for wealth becomes more apparent and how it has consumed him. He has no remorse and is full of hate as he says himself “I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people.” Using an orphaned boy as a tool and his highly persuasive speaking ability, he establishes a drilling company that looks for prospective oil deposits around the country.
It is when he clashes with Eli when working in California, a church pastor, that his ruthless side comes into view and we learn more about his character. What starts out to be an annoyance to Daniel, becomes humiliation and anger as Eli uses religion to take hold of Daniel. Eli pushes Daniel to the edge when he forces him to beg for forgiveness over “abandoning his child” after sending him to school in San Francisco. At the end of the film when Eli comes to Daniel for help as a “friend”, Daniel uses it to force to Eli shout out to God that he is a false prophet in a similar fashion to how Eli made Daniel shout out to God for forgiveness over his son. Daniel, fuelled by anger, beats Eli to death completing his consumption into darkness.
However, we do see an emotional side of him, where he learns and weeps of his true brother’s death and early on in the film when his dark side isn’t so apparent. It seems initially that he loves the boy, H.W, he adopted as a true son. But after an accident which leaves H.W. deaf his love for him grows apart as his greed demonizes him and his priorities lie in the oil business which is demonstrated by Plainview sending his son to a school in San Francisco. Towards the end of the film, when his son has grown up and married to Mary whom he met when he was a child at Plainview’s work in California, Daniel’s loss of love for H.W. is further demonstrated as he finally cracks and reveals to H.W. that his image of him as his son is destroyed and he is just an “orphan from a basket in the middle of a desert” that he picked up.
Daniel Day-Lewis’ truly excels in the role as Daniel Plainview and his performance can be argued to rank up there with his performance in Gangs of New York as Bill Cutting. His hawk-like eyes and short-temper perfects the portrayal of the character. His “Best Actor” awards are very justifiable as he made this film his own. Though this film did seem have a lack of magic in it’s scene setting but that is overridden by the fact that the story itself is very intriguing and the well developed characters come into play. It time it could be remembered a classic story as the modern film industry moves into a more action and graphical stage.
Rating: 7.5/10
Mad Vlad
I've been quoted in this thread somewhere but I'm not sure where (or why...) 
Vlad, congrats on moving
Someone may have misquoted you (juggling many threads?) then deleted.
Mad Vlad
I've been quoted in this thread somewhere but I'm not sure where (or why...)
In order to create a second post for me at the front, - skyhigh - moved a post of mine over from the mod forums where I had quoted you and redated it. Evidently the links came with it, sorry about that.
Phalanges
In order to create a second post for me at the front, - skyhigh - moved a post of mine over from the mod forums where I had quoted you and redated it. Evidently the links came with it, sorry about that.
Fair enough.
Ape Gone Insane
Vlad, congrats on moving
Someone may have misquoted you (juggling many threads?) then deleted.
Someone may have misquoted you (juggling many threads?) then deleted.
Thanks
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